The next morning, we started the day with a typical Moroccan breakfast consisting of a delicious vegetable puree soup and various unleavened breads. After returning to our room, we discovered that the couple staying in the suite across from us included the actor who played the father on the 80’s TV show Family Ties, and his wife, a former Peace Corps volunteer who had been stationed in Morocco 40 years ago. After hearing about our dinner fiasco from the previous night, she urged us to have dinner at our riad’s sister hotel.When we arrived in the main courtyard, we met the guide the night manager had hired for us, an older man costumed with a robe, fez and traditional slippers who was literally a walking parody of himself. During a ten-minute soliloquy where we couldn’t get a word in edgewise, he (1) insisted that we had to visit the stores in order to truly appreciate Fes, (2) repeatedly informed us that he had been on haji three times (the implication being that he was an honest man) and (3) kept grabbing Vik’s wrists in mid-conversation. Having our fill of his company and convinced there would be no easy way to manage him, we enlisted the help of the riad manager to send him on his way and replace him with a new, less colorful guide.
Guide number two, Aziz, turned out to be more understated. Dressed smartly in a shirt and dress pants, he struck us as both well-spoken and highly-professional. Understanding that we were only interested in a cultural, as opposed to a shopping, tour, Aziz focused on showing us the sights of the medina. We saw a number of medersas, religious schools where boys had lived throughout the year while studying to become religious leaders or judges. Of the two medersas we were allowed to enter, we noted the significant difference between the one restored with UNESCO support and one slated for restoration next year. Aziz provided us with a sense of history of the importance of the medersa but also emphasized the recent changes that made Morocco a more progressive country that was unusual in the Islamic world in its adoption of women’s rights.
We were disappointed that the mosques that had been written up in the Rough Guide were off limits to us. Occasionally, we peeked inside to catch a glimpse of ornate mosaic work, but generally saw little of the splendor described with great detail in the guide book. Nevertheless, we thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the medina, taking in the mosaic water works, the impossibly narrow alleys, and the stalls selling everything from fresh fruits to fresh meats. Aziz also illuminated aspects of street life that we would never have discovered on our own. In one instance, he pointed out to us several young boys running loaves of bread to be baked in a communal bakery’s wood-burning oven. Interestingly, the bakery also served as a matchmaking site, since the local bakery employees could provide fertile intelligence on eligible bachelorettes to prospective mothers-in-law.
Thereafter, we walked through the Andalusian section of the medina to the dyers’ area (marked by a stench so merciless that we literally were forced to stick sprigs of mint up our noses). In this enclave, men kneedeep in vats of various-colored dyes painstakingly soaked and transferred animal hides from one receptacle to another. Afterward, we ambled to the metal works area of the medina where copper and brass objects were laboriously hammered and crafted by hand. At this point of the tour, Aziz unceremoniously tried to lead us to carpet shops and a touristy lunchtime restaurant, so we had him return us to the riad where we could bid him farewell.
Unable to begin navigating our way back through the maze of streets that might lead us to a different lunch spot, we unabashedly retraced our steps back to the site of the previous day’s lunch. This time, we encountered many of the same storekeepers who had accosted us the day before. With smiles and some light banter invoking Bollywood film stars, we were able to continue on our way without causing any hurt feelings.
That evening, we dined at Maison Bleu Restaurant Gastronomique located in our riad’s older sister location. Overwhelmed by shockingly-generous portions, we feasted on an outstanding array of eight vegetable appetizers prepared with delicate flavors and various spices followed by a second course of pastilla, a traditional Fes savory meat pie, a third course of tajine and capped with a dessert of flakey filo dough with honey. With serving sizes that inspired nausea, we found the food to be eclipsed by the magnificent setting and the attentive service. But the highlight of the meal for us was our conversation with two charming San Franciscans, Bruce and Amanda, seated at an adjacent table. Unlike the night before, when the bill finally came, we found the splurge to have been entirely worthwhile.
With our final day in Fes, we ventured out of the Fes al Bali medina and toured the old Jewish mellah. We happened upon an old synagogue that had been rebuilt with generous private support from abroad. As we explored the neighborhood with its slum-like conditions, we were shocked to learn that Jews hadn’t been allowed to wear shoes outside of their appointed area nor own property. We were also interested to see the difference in architecture outside of the medina. We noted the existence of windows on the second and third floors to let in light, a feature absent in Islamic architecture where the exterior walls are solid and the focus of the home is the interior courtyard.
After a quick lunch in the Ville Nouvelle, we stopped for a drink at the high-end Palais Jamaii hotel acclaimed for its magnificent sweeping views of old Rabat. In a fortunate turn, we ran into our dinner companions from the night before, Bruce and Amanda, and enjoyed an all-too-brief chat in the shade before returning to the riad to collect our bags. After a stressful roundabout petite taxi ride that involved driving in the opposite direction from our hotel, and being delivered to the wrong address, we decompressed over mint tea before heading off to catch our flight to Marrakech.
Our train journey from Fes took us east through the yellow foothills of the Atlas mountain range to Fes, the former Moroccan capital city best known for its World Heritage-designated medina. After disembarking, we found our way through a processional line composed of eager hawkers and reuniting relatives to end up at a not-exactly-organized cab stand. After a few minutes of animated discussion, we finally found a petite taxi driver willing to turn on the meter for the roughly 10-minute drive to the hotel in Fes al Bali, the oldest enclave of the city.
