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Published: July 27th 2023
We wake up seemingly alive and well … and it even looks like we’re in the same room we went to sleep in, so we appear to have survived the night … unless of course this is yet another elaborate ruse by our would be kidnappers ….
We enjoy breakfast in the ground floor courtyard next to the pool and one of the fountains .… well we enjoy some of the breakfast. I’m not sure anyone could eat everything that’s been served up and still be able to waddle out of here - pancakes, roti, flat buns, a massive basket of bread rolls, yoghurt, large bowls of fruit salad, a cup of cheese, olives and scrambled eggs, all washed down with tea, coffee and orange juice. I think I need to go back to bed.
This morning we’ve organised a walking tour of the Medina. Our guide introduces himself as Khlafa. He speaks excellent English which he says he studied at university, and he tells us he’s currently undertaking a PhD in eco-tourism.
He tells us that Fes was founded in 789 by Idris I and his son Idris II who were direct descendants of the Prophet Muhammad.
The city’s apparently generally regarded as Morocco’s cultural capital, and was for many centuries also its political capital. The political bit all came to an abrupt end in 1912 when the French took control of the country. The Fes locals weren’t overly happy about their new colonial rulers … so they rioted … and the French responded by moving the capital to Rabat, where it’s remained ever since. The Fes Medina was Morocco’s first UNESCO listed World Heritage Site and has been described as “one of the most extensive and best conserved historic towns of the Arab-Muslim world”.
We head off into the Medina. I thought the alleyways in Marrakech were narrow but these ones make that lot look like eight lane superhighways. I can just fit through one tight spot front on, and if I was a couple of metres taller I wouldn’t have gotten through at all - the narrow gaps between the walls above our heads are only gaps at all because someone’s decided to prop them apart with a few bits of four by two. We’re told that there are more than nine thousand “streets” in here, the majority of them dead ends, and only
about twenty percent have even got names.
We head into a food market, and then into the souk which is handicrafts central. We watch a craftsmen melt fine metal wire into braided strips which he then drapes onto some earthenware pots. And it’s a bit hard not to notice a coppersmith banging away at a pot with his hammer. I hope he’s got some earplugs - we’ve only been here a couple of minutes and we’re already nearly deaf.
Next stop is a former hamman, or bathhouse, which is now a museum. We’re told that the Islamic world taught the rest of us about bathing. Muslims have to wash their hands, head and feet five times a day before they pray, and if they‘ve been enjoying the horizontal rumba they can’t head down to the mosque until they’ve had a shower. The hamman had separate hours for men and woman, and the ladies got the lions share of the time because … well they talk more. The floor was heated by a guy tending a fire in a room underneath, and if it got a bit cold someone yelled into a tube in the wall for him to
add more wood. There’s also a private room which brides used to rent out for the equivalent of a modern day hen’s night.
We wander on through the maze to our next stop, the apparently famed Chaouara Tannery. We’re given sprigs of mint before we climb the stairs to the viewing platform. That was a nice gift ... well yes, but it’s for a purpose … the smell’s overpowering, so the idea is to crumple the mint up into balls and stuff them up your nose. I hope we can get them out again. This is the city’s largest and oldest tannery, and is believed to have been established way back in the ninth century. The skins are soaked for twenty days in vats full of a white liquid. This is packed with ammonia-rich pigeon droppings which then burn off the remaining animal fur. The skins are then dyed in other vats filled with various coloured organic dyes. The exception is yellow. The yellow leather gets its colour from saffron, and that’s too expensive to put in vats, so it’s rubbed on by hand. We’re told that, perhaps unsurprisingly, any yellow coloured leather goods are a lot more expensive
than any of the other shades.
Next up is the Kairaouine University and its associated mosque. The University is apparently generally regarded as the world’s oldest. It’s thought to have been founded by an Arab lady, Fatima al-Fihri (although some historians doubt this), between 857 and 859. It reached its zenith as a learning institution during the Islamic Golden Age of the 13th and 14th centuries. Unfortunately we can only peer into the courtyard; we can’t actually go in because non-Muslims aren’t allowed to enter any mosques in Morocco. We’ve been told that this restriction has nothing at all to do with Islam - there are apparently mosques all over the world that “infidels” are perfectly free to enter - it was introduced by the French as part of attempts to control dissidents, and has never been repealed. Anyway, the courtyard of the mosque looks beautiful based on the little of it we can see.
We move onto the Al-Attarine Madrasa which was a boarding school founded in the early 14th century. Fes was very much a centre of learning and we’re told that there are a lot more madrasas here than in any other Moroccan cities, many
of them having been built around the same time. The architecture is stunning - a central courtyard with a fountain, and multiple dormitories, enough to hold around 600 students, above and looking into the courtyard.
Next stop is the Tomb of Moulay Idris II, one of the city’s co-founders. It’s a religious site, so again we can’t go in, but it again looks impressive based on a quick peek through one of the doors. We’re told that this is widely regarded as one of the holiest shrines in Morocco.
Reibal told us when we arrived last night that it’s not possible to get lost in the Medina. Hang on, more than nine thousand narrow winding alleyways in here, and it’s impossible to get lost? Anyway he pointed out two major thoroughfares that go right through the maze from one end to the other, so if we did perhaps, by chance, happen to get a tad disoriented, albeit temporarily, well all we’d need to do would be to get back onto one of these and follow it back to the riad. Issy and I both had visions of a couple of wide avenues with footpaths, medians, even trees perhaps.
I ask Khlafa if he could perhaps take us to one of these thoroughfares. He says we’ve been on and off them most of the morning. Huh? They’re not even two metres wide. Impossible to get lost? Yeah right ...
We‘re led deeper into the ever narrowing maze to watch a guy weaving carpets using a centuries old traditional loom.
Khlafa asks us if he can recommend a restaurant where we can get lunch, which sounds like a good idea. We thought we were as deep in the maze as it was possible to get, but no, the restaurant‘s deeper in still. It’s a bit like the riad - a large old house with an open central courtyard, and multiple floors with rooms looking inwards, all decorated in full Moroccan style. Khlafa tells us that the tour is now over, and he’ll leave us in peace to enjoy our lunch. Huh? What? But how do we get out of here back to the riad, and what will the authorities tell our children?
We decide to enjoy our last meal. We’re starting to get the message that all meals here are actually feasts. We only order main courses
- lamb with couscous - but it seems that if you order a main course this is automatically preceded by a massive basket of bread … and nine large plates filled with condiments that completely cover the table - we’re struggling to find anywhere to put our drinks. We’re now full and we’ve yet to receive what we actually ordered. And if that’s not enough, the main course done with we’re then presented with a plate of cookies and a massive bowl of fruit. I suspect we might be skipping dinner.
Now comes the “interesting” part - finding our way back to the riad. We know it’s near a river, so if we just keep going downhill … We emerge into an actual street … with cars … outside the Medina. It’s a miracle! Hang on, this doesn’t look quite right. Oops. Wrong street, wrong bit of river, wrong end of the Medina … I start to think again about our beloved offspring. So it’s off back into the maze again ….
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Beautiful
Great artistry.