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Published: February 4th 2012
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Fes to Casablanca
We woke late after a good night’s sleep, excluding the call for prayers which seems to happen every hour after 4am. The sun is rising rather late although it is the middle of winter. We have dramatically underestimated the amount of clothing needed for this trip, some judicious shopping will be necessary – 6 degrees in Fes this morning maximum 10. Our hotel, The Moroccan House, very comfortable at $95.
We are travelling by train to Fes today, always an adventure in itself. We catch a Petit Taxi (small taxi) to the train station, the usual crazy ride although a touch more civil than Asia. The train station is reasonably small and sedate; tickets were easily purchased for 165 dirham’s (9 to 1 conversion). The main language spoken seems to be French, which is a lot easier for us than Arabic. It is 4.5 hour journey to Fes.
The train is late of course and (with a little assistance) we manage to switch to the express. Seating seems to be wherever you want and every carriage is numbered ‘2’. We settle into a compartment, 8 seats facing each other.
Our company for the trip
(which is always the most interesting part of train travel) are two young local gentlemen – one English speaking to a degree; a young girl – a Negro French backpacker; a lady from Rabat with an American accent; her friend from Turkey (who I am sure is actually a Yank); and a silent, local lady.
We follow the Atlantic coast upto Rabat: passing shepherds with their flocks, shanty towns, orchids of oranges, olives, grapes and various other fruits. Wheat, it seems, is in every paddock. I am told the Moroccans grow 4 million tonne per year but need 6 million tonne to be self sufficient. Bread is the most basic part of the local diet.
As we pass through Rabat and head inland to Meknes we think we are back home – the countryside is full of gum trees. From Meknes to Fes the landscape becomes more European with big green valley’s full of fertile agriculture.
Arriving in fez we say au-revoir to our travelling companions. Mustafa has already invited us to his home. Alighting at the station we are greeted by our driver who is to take us to our lodgings.
Kathy has booked us
a dar (guesthouse without a garden, riads have a garden) in the medina. The medina is the old city surrounded by a wall, no traffic is allowed inside except of the animal variety.
We are the only people staying in this small guesthouse in fact the owner, who believe it or not is Australian, is away visiting friends in Casablanca. The housekeeper-cook greets us in French leaves us the keys than departs. We are left all alone in our own house in the medina of Fes. Rather disconcerting to say the least.
Josephine, the owner, has arranged a restaurant for us to dine in for the evening. Luckily for us she has arranged one of the staff to escort us to and from the restaurant. I know this sounds hard to believe but we would never have found our way there or back.
Dinner consists of 20(!) bowls of cold vegetables for entree with bread followed by beef and prunes, chicken and olives and b’stilla (Arabic vegetable pie). We wash it all down with Coca-Cola, with no alcohol on offer it most restaurants. It is fair to say all was not consumed.
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