NYE in Fes

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My last day in Spain was spent along the Costa del Sol, staying the night in Torremolinos. Sixty years ago, the towns along this coast were nothing more than small fishing villages; however, after a decision by the government to develop these towns in order to bring tourists to the area in an effort to help the cash-strapped region of the south, the coastline is now completely developed, much like the Gold Coast in Australia. The plan has evidently worked, with hundreds of thousands of tourists flocking here each year. As I was there in the middle of winter, I had the streets and beaches to myself, which is apparently quite different from what occurs in the summer months. Whilst I did not care much for this tourist enclave, I visited a town in the surrounding hills that I would happily while away the time in. The quaint white-walled village of Mijas, complete with donkey-drawn taxis, was voted as the most Mediterranean town in Europe. It consists of winding cobblestone streets, little squares surrounded by restaurants, houses built into the hillside and sweeping views of the lower hills as they fold down into the sea. It is probably different during summer, but I found this place to be relaxing and it had a wonderful 'feel'. If I was a writer, I could see myself wanting to set up camp here for a few months whilst piecing together a novel.

From Torremolinos I headed to the old fortress town of Terife to board a vessel to carry me across the Strait of Gibraltar. The aspect of Terife that struck me was the homes which use the ancient city wall as one of the four walls of their abode, inserting windows to allow some natural light into the rooms on that side of the building. It certainly is a unique way of making use of such an imposing ancient structure.

Once across the Strait (with a few people a little lighter after relieving themselves of their breakfast) and standing on Moroccan soil, I boarded the bus en route to Fes. The first thing I learnt about this city is that it is not written as Fez, as that is the name of the distinctive hat worn by some of the men in this region. We have a strange habit of changing the spelling of words in the English language. For example, when I was in Madrid and gazing at a statue of Christopher Columbus, I became aware that this was not his actual name, for he was known in Spain as Cristóbal Colón. This reminded me of when I was in Mongolia and being puzzled as to who Chinggis Khan was, until it was explained to me that it was who I had always been told was a fellow by the name of Genghis Khan! Whilst Colombus is probably a better name to go by than Colón in the English language, I would still prefer it if we were taught and used the real names of people for historical purposes. Maybe I'm just a nerd though?

Anyway, to Fes it was that I went. Along the way I got to observe a sight that I did not expect to see: green fields for mile after mile. I did not realise how much rain Morocco receives and had expected a desert landscape. What I saw was quite the opposite, which reminded me of why it is so important and valuable to travel, as you can really learn the truth of things and put misled perceptions to bed. A sight that burned itself into my consciousness was that of an impoverished shanty town, seeing the children washing themselves in the muddy water before running back to their makeshift shack that was being supported by and supporting other similar constructions, if I can be so careless as to use that term to describe the hovels that I saw.

Fes was a wonderful city to visit and I will remember it fondly. At various times in Morocco's history, Fes has been the imperial capital. This title currently belongs to Rabat, but the presence of royalty and its money in times gone by has left an indelible imprint upon some of the grand buildings of the city. Whilst you cannot enter the expansive grounds of the royal palace as it is still used by the royal family when they visit the city, the entrance gates alone give you some indication of what must lie behind the seemingly never ending surrounding walls. The real attraction at Fes though is the Medina, which is the largest and oldest in Morocco and really has to be walked through to be fully grasped and understood. The labyrinthine layout is entirely confusing and I could easily imagine a tourist being lost for days on end amidst its 1,200 or so narrow winding alleys. I loved the crammed congestion of the Medina, with numerous shops and stalls selling their produce and wares to the local folk who still use this place as they have for hundreds of years. At one point I was permitted to climb to the roof of a leather shop and view the tannery which lay beyond. This explained the pungent odour I detected from the street, for I could see hundreds of skins being soaked in the dyes of the circular mud and tile pits, being sloshed around in by men who must have feet resistant to sloughing off great sheets of skin after hours upon hours of standing in these pits every day. It was fascinating to observe the various stages of the process, from removing the wool, cleaning in the pits and then hanging the skins up to dry, before being placed in the chosen colour of dye before being worked into the finished product. Even the enormous wooden wheels which are still used as washing machines were a sight to see and I could not help but feel that I was standing in a bygone era, having travelled back in time to watch an ancient process take place. It was the stuff of dreams for me and I was seeing things that I had only really seen before in publications such as National Geographic.

My nights in Fes were spent enjoying marvellous dinners, complete with troupes performing traditional music of the region. One of these dinners was consumed in the divine courtyard of a Riad. A Riad is a residence which contains an interior courtyard with gardens and a pond or fountain, none of which you would ever guess from the plain exterior walls that line the street. I remembered this from my visit to Marrakech two years ago, for once you enter through the typically small door and archways, you emerge into an oasis where the sounds of the busy streets vanish and you enter a serene place that one finds extremely hard to leave. However, the time came whereupon I had to leave, so I relocated to a bar to slake my thirst as I awaited midnight to arrive on this final night of 2010. Sometime after midnight a percussion troupe stormed the bar, prompting everyone to move to the propulsive rhythms they were providing. At some point during this performance I must have had a drink full of courage masquerading as beer, for I purloined one of their drums and joined in on their act! I was obviously enjoying myself and it was, without doubt, a unique experience to be celebrating New Year's Eve in such an exotic location.

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Comments

[Meleah]

Yes, Bronson, I think you are a bit of a nerd, but it's great, I'm getting home school in History!