As Tommy mentioned in his post on Marrakech, Morocco was not quite the magical destination we expected. It reminded me very much of Egypt in a lot of ways, but without the added draw of the pyramids and temples or the drastically cheap prices. While I would not dare to say that their cultures are the same, I would say that to visit Egypt and then Morocco as we did may be a bit anti-climatic. However, I am not discounting the possibility that maybe we didn’t see and do everything we should have in Morocco. Enough people have recommended it so highly to us that I almost feel as if we must have missed something.
A pleasant difference from Egypt was the slightly lowered language barrier. While my French has long since been forgotten and/or replaced by what little Spanish I know, I can remember enough to order food, understand numbers, inquire about costs, and read advertisements, streets signs, and menus. This allowed us to feel a little less like tourists. In Egypt, where the natives speak Arabic and all the signs and numbers are in entirely unfamiliar characters, the only way we could ever get around was by inquiring if people spoke English and ordering off of English menus (or pointing when one wasn’t available). There was still Arabic in Morocco, but more often than not it was accompanied by French. Except the stop signs, interestingly enough, which were in Arabic.
We were finally getting the hang of all this by the time we were on the train to Fes. I slept most of the way, as we got up painfully early to catch it. We didn’t have directions to our hostel, and a friendly student sitting across from us offered to help us find the place. We spoke with him in Spanish, the only language all three of us knew. He hailed a taxi for us but the driver didn’t know the address. He offered to help us find a phone and call, but we tried one more taxi and the driver knew the hostel. We’re pretty sure he was entirely friendly and good-intentioned, which was nice. We had already had multiple other people offer to “help” us who only wanted money.
The hostel was very nice, albeit a little out of the way (it did not fall on any of our maps). The man who showed us to our room immediately began to press us about free tours. He kept listing the things a guide from the hostel could show us, telling us we’d never be able to find our way by ourselves, and stressing that it was free. He said, “So I’ll put you down for a reservation at 8:30 tomorrow, okay?” We had to repeatedly tell him we would think about it, we weren’t sure, etc. until he finally left us alone. We of course had no intention of going on any “free” tour that was pushed on us so strongly. We read later that many guides will do nothing but take you to shops where they will get a comission and push you to buy something. We also read not to believe that you can’t find your way around Fes on your own.
Determined to prove this was true, we left the hostel on foot with our photocopied maps from Lonely Planet (which were useless at the moment, as the hostel was not on them). We knew we had to go generally north, and we remembered the route the taxi had taken. So we decided to set out on foot rather than hailing another taxi and being forever dependent on them for rides.
It took us not a few wrong turns, but we eventually found our way onto the map in a section of town called Ville Nouvelle. This is not the Fes you may have heard of, a maze of winding old city streets. This is a very new, fashionable section of town with wide boulevards filled with flowers, fountains, and palm trees. It’s absolutely lovely. At times it would be hard to destinguish from a Parisien street, except that the fashionably-dressed women have their heads covered. We decided not to venture into the old city that day, as evening was fast approaching. We wandered through Ville Nouvelle until we found the only Catholic Church marked on our map. It was Saturday and their vigil was just beginning, so we went to mass. It was an understandably small congregation, made up mostly of young people. After mass we had dinner at a restaurant our book had recommended, and it was a really wonderful meal. Moroccan restuarants always seem to have three traditional items: tajines, cooked in a special conical dish; couscous; and brochettes, or meat shishkabobs. I can’t speak for the brochettes, but vegetable or fish tajines and couscous are really delicious. After some time in an internet cafe, we walked back to our hostel in the dark. Once we realized where it was in relation to the map, we were able to find an even shorter route and decided that taxis would be unnecessary. The walk was not so bad.
The next day we headed towards the old city. We quickly found our way to the outer walls and the royal palace, but from there confidence in our navigational skills quickly eroded. We entered the walls and the winding streets of the old city, lined entirely with shops. It was easy to lose one’s direction in the curving alleys, some of which were even entirely covered. This area was not a touristy one; all we saw for sale were goods, clothing, and food that locals might by. Other than a few other lost-looking folks, it was deviod of visitors.
We wanted to find our way into the main part of the city, the medina, which was east of where we were. This proved extremely difficult. There did not seem to be any streets leading east that we could take. We finally ended up exiting the walls and following a road along them until we found a second entrance into the city. We began walking down a road that cut through an immense cemetery, until we stumbled upon one of many maps placed around the medina for tourists. We saw that we were already on the northern end of the city, meaning that we had gone much farther than we thought, and still not in the right direction. Not only that, but the map on the board and our own map were completely incompatible, with walls and streets going entirely different directions.
Still determined to prove that it was possible to get around Fes without a guide, we tried one more time, heading towards some high walls we saw to the south. Beyond them there was an immense square and, in a corner we had not seen before, a tiny entrance into the main maze of the medina. The narrow streets are filled with people and packed with stores. Occasionally a cart or donkey would come down one and everyone would be forced to flatten themselves against the walls so they could pass. The goods being sold were more touristy than what we had seen in the southwestern quarter of the city; lamps, jewelry, ceramics, and leather goods became common sights.
We were tired and hot after our long walk, so we paused at a cafe for coffee and mint tea. The tea is served in a tall glass packed with mint leaves. Into it goes boiling water and a lot of sugar. We compared the taste to drinking chewing gum, but it was delicious. However, bees began to swarm around the glass as we sat, attracted by the sugar encrusted on the rim.
While we sipped our drinks, we saw one of the most amusing sights of the trip thus far–a Coca-Cola delivery man. He wore a gray jumpsuit with a red Coca-Cola patch on the breast, with the name written in Arabic. And he rode down the street on a donkey with cases of Fanta strapped to each side with wood and ropes. We only regret not getting a picture.
From there, we wandered the labyrinth of Fes. Besides the odd and lovely sights of locals going about their business, it was mostly a mass of craft and souvenier shops. We headed into the leather district, where men carried huge piles of raw leather and craftsmen labored away creating shoes, bags, jackets, and other objects. We began to be approached by multiple locals asking if we wanted to see a tannery. The tanneries have become a tourist attraction in themselves, as visitors are drawn in to see the process of curing and dying the leather, and then led through a series of leather stores on their way out. We wanted to see one, so we chose one that was well-marked with signs and allowed ourselves to be led up a narrow staircase to a high veranda which overlooked the dye pits. It’s a sight really difficult to describe; you almost have to see a picture. We watched as workers toiled in the smelly, hot conditions, holding mint leaves to our nose that the tannery had provided to help with the stench. And we made the requisite visit to the tannery’s stores on our way out, politely declining to purchase anything.
After that, we retraced our steps to find our way out of the maze and back to the big square. People were beginning to congregate there; it was filling up fast. Soon games began. We watched as some men set up a series of dishes filled with metal numbers on the ground. They began to sell matching numbers to the crowd, like bets. In the center of it all a little guinea pig sat calmly on a carefully padded stool. We can only imagine that once enough bets were sold they were going to let him loose to pick the winner. Other strange sights filled the square. I saw a man lay out a rug on the ground with a number of large ostrich eggs and feathers, and in moments he had such a crowd around him I could not even tell what he was doing (I can only imagine). Traditionally garbed water sellers roamed the square, but not to take photos with tourists–we watched as locals actually purchased drinks from them. It was a much more genuine Moroccan experience than what we had at Djemaa el Fna in Marrakech.
Since we were running out of Moroccan dirham, we wanted to purchase some street food for dinner. We watched as locals bought sandwiches from a vendor for one or two dirham, and then were promptly charged five each ourselves. However, for less than a dollar, what we got was quite filling–a hollowed-out half loaf of bread filled with baked and salted potato, boiled egg, olives, tomatoes, onions, sardines, and a red sauce. There was also some questionable, spam-like meat available, but we declined.
After this full day, we dragged ourselves back to Ville Nouvelle to use the internet, and then back to our hostel.
The next day, deciding we had experienced enough of the city, we wanted to explore some of the hills surrounding it. They looked lovely, green, and uninhabited, and were visible on all sides from town. I was eager to get out and do some birding. It’s actually quite difficult to get the chance on our budget, as most really good sites require a ride out of town, often to a locality that trains and busses don’t access. Renting a car or hiring a taxi is usually more than we can afford. So I was happy to explore the wilderness in walking distance from the city. We didn’t see too much by way of wildlife, but we did see some nice birds and got some spectacular views of the medina. It was just nice to be out in nature, away from the hustle and bustle we had experienced the day before in the narrow, closed-in streets.
For dinner we wandered the streets of Ville Nouvelle in search of somewhere not too expensive, and found a really fun local place. When we walked in, it was positively packed with Moroccan men. I thought at first I was the only woman inside, until I saw a lady behind the bar. The bar itself was a bit of an oddity, as alcohol is rarely served in Muslim countries, but this place was clearly an exception. Everyone was drinking an obscure Dutch beer we had never heard of. We ordered some ourselves, along with two delicious tajines for maybe half of what they would cost at a fancier place. We were amused to watch the restaurant owners tolerate vendors who came in from the street and sold boiled eggs, dried fruit, and nuts to the patrons.
We caught a taxi back to the hostel, and another one the next morning to the airport for our flight to Barcelona.