Fez (Arabic for sweat)

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Greeting to all from Fez.
So since you last heard from us we have left the little town of Chefchaouen and ventured to the big city of Fez. They are two quite different kettles of fish as the populations indicate (Chaouen 45,000 Fez 1.3 million).
We arrived by bus which took about 6 hours and took us from the heights of the Rif Mountains down to the rolling farmland that seperates the Rif from the Atlas Mountains.
It's a weird contrast travelling by road in Morocco, so much so that we decided to put together a little list:

Things that make road travel in Morocco like that of continental Europe:
1) They drive on the right
2) The signs are in km/hour
3) They have windy roads with cliff-like drops on the sides
4) Air-conditioned buses
5) Smooth paved roads

Things that make road travel in Morocco nothing like that of continental Europe:
1) Meat kebabs at service stations
2) Driving with bonnets open
3) Smoking in petrol stations
4) Dusty 'African' bus parks
5) Beggars on buses

So the jourmey wasn't too long and was punctuated by two stops, one in a dusty bus park where Alice nipped out for a wee (in a toilet, not on the floor). The second stop was at a petrol station in what seemed to be a very agricultural area. There were many farming folk arund along with pick-up trucks and tractors. The highlight of this stop was, without a shadow of a doubt, buying some meat from a little butchers stall then taking it to another man who barbequed it and put it in some stale bread to for what can only be described as the best kebab in the world (including Bridgend).
No sooner had we gorged the kebab meat down we saw Fez come across the horizon, it was massive, stretching to the left and the right as far as the eye could see. The bus dropped us in the new town so we promptly jumped in a petit taxi and clumsily explained that we needed to go to an ATM then the medina (old town).
This is when the kerfuffle began, we visited one bank but it wouldn't even accept a card, we then asked if there was another and the driver obliged and took us to another one but both of us tried and had no luck. By this point the driver showed his sense of humour and got quite into the challenge of finding a working ATM, the third bank we stopped at worked like a dream and all three of us in the car had a real sense of joy at this small acomplishment. We then crossed the city to the medina where we fell out of the car with our bags onto the street. The whole journey cost only one pound twenty for forty minutes of confusion. While being left in the car Alice's heart was warmed as she watched the man turn off the meter the second we stopped at each bank. He was a real hero and again showed us the warmth and honesty of the Moroccan people.
Now this isn't said lightly but Fez is the busiest place either of us have every been. Forget central London at rush-hour, this place has more going on than you can ever hope to comprehend. Full of people, mules, meat and teapots amongst a million smells and sight that are far too much for Western senses to cope with.
That said, we love it here. It's busy, crazy, hot and overwhelming but it has so much life to it. Fes is truly the Morocco you dream of.

Our little respite from the assault that is Fez is the Pension Talaa, a delightful little abode (Alice says cell) with temperate climate (Alice says sweat) and it's right in the heart of the soul of Fez (Alice says it's 1000dB all night).

This is where our contrast come in:

Chris - sleeps like a baby through motorbike traffic and donkeys being slaughtered
Alice - Does not

Chris - Poos like a dream whenever he feels like it
Alice - Cannot

And our similarities:

Chris - Smells like a men's changing room
Alice - Smells like a slightly fresher men's changing room

Chris - Sweats like a trooper
Alice - Perspires like a trooper

We shall explore Fez probably until Monday, then we head west to the coast. Until then.

Au revour.

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