Moroccan Spice (a six day taster)

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We sat by the pool, in Alicante, discussing how we should probably head a little further south and have a look at Gibraltar.

A sure fired eight hour dash and all we could see was haze and a misty sea.

What next??

A rough 50 minutes and our FRS Jet ferry reaches the old port of Tangier, Morocco, North Africa. Pass port control is completed on the boat during the trip.

The trip to Morocco is a last minute decision and we have decided to use an English based company “Authentic Morocco Tours”, how original is that??

Tangiers is a sprawling and uninviting city and we are met at the port by our driver/guide and newest friend, Khalid. We are quickly whisked away and on the road for a six hour drive to the large city of Fes.

Khalid is a very witty and accommodating individual and we will enjoy hours of laughing and friendly banter for the next week. A Berber, married with two young children, Khalid lives in the city of Marrakesh which is about a 10 hour drive south west of Tangiers.

Berber’s make up 85 % of the Moroccan population with most people speaking French / Arabic and a mix of Berber. A race strongly devoted to the Islamic faith there is also a smattering of Christianity and Jews. During our time on the road we will spend many hours discussing Khalid’s faith and gain a brief insight into the life of a Moroccan.

We are to spend several nights in Riad Ibn Khaldoun in the Old Medina of Fes.

Fes, once the capital of Morocco, is one of its four imperial cities. Made up of three distinct sections, Fes Jdid (New Fes) Ville Nouvelle (the French-created, newest section of Fes) and the Fes el Bali (the old walled medina). A UNESCO top 100 World Heritage Site, the Old Medina is considered the largest car free urban area in the world. Most of the towns and cities, within Morocco are of a similar make up.

Riads are a typical Moroccan home, however these days the term is usually used as a B&B or guesthouse varying in different shapes and sizes. When asked what style of accommodation we would like, we were given the option of “basic but nice” or “luxury”. We took the former option. A riad is traditionally a family home, built around a central open courtyard with private rooms off the courtyard and a couple of stories high, usually with a roof top terrace. The luxury ones can have swimming pools and fruit trees within the courtyard and may even be a part of a palace. It would have been nice to experience but not this time.

We are told, by the owner one night, that Ibu Khaldoun was originally owned by his cousin who was killed during the civil upheaval of the early 1970’s. It would appear that he was very young, but also the Minister of Finance, at the time.

On our first day we were dropped off in the Old Medina and met by Belau, the house assistant. We needed to walk up a dark, dank and distinctly questionable passageway, less than a couple of meters wide, with heavy wooden doors and the sky blotted out by towering walls. At the end of the passageway another large door awaited us, walking inside we were “gobsmacked”.

To coin a phrase from Belau, “Our eyes swam” in fact I think they were drowning. If this was basic accommodation, then one can only imagine what the other toss of the coin was like. The current owner purchased the property and it has been restored complete with spectacular mosaics, rich cedar ceilings and a warm ambience.

For the first two nights we are the only guests and feel very special.

A Part of our package is a guided tour of the “Old Medina”.

This tightly woven labyrinth is a maze, complete with university (built in 859AD, University Al Karaouine is the oldest continually used university in the world) schools, tanneries, black smiths, weavers, countless food stalls, hammams (communal bath houses/spa) and hostels that housed the families of the dessert tribe people that would lodge in Fes for months at a time whilst trading and purchasing their wares.

I make an observation, to Khalid, whilst comparing Moroccan cities to say that of Athens, Rome or even the souks of Turkey for that matter, in that the Old Medina is a “living history”. Donkeys still transport various wares through the tight and congested alley ways that weave their way through this magical town. To get lost in this maze would take but a blink of an eye, even the sun struggles to find purchase within its confines and yet we turn another street and we hear the sound of children singing from behind a closed door (a pre-school we are informed). Without a guide one could become hopelessly lost – hmmmmm, I’ve got some spare time tomorrow.

The heavens open just prior to our departure of the Medina, turning the alley ways and streets into a torrential water way. The locals are spellbound by the torrential rain; some have never seen anything like it. Our accommodation has fared just as poorly. The drainage on the roof top terrace has blocked and the tight stairwell is turned into a cascade. We spend a couple of hours helping fight back the rising tide and when the sun comes out, Michelle & I sit back upstairs on the terrace with cold beer gazing over the city and marvel at this wonderland.

The following day finds the sun shining and the temperature rising. We make a forage into the medina, though being a Friday, one of the holiest days of the Islamic week a large number of the stalls are closed. This doesn’t deter us, so we find a nice rooftop terrace and sit back for a late lunch.

On our return to our lodging we discover that we have a new lodger, Lucile (a lovely lady, from France and soon to become my second wife; another story).

After dinner, our host decides that we need to become one with the culture of “Moroc” and produces traditional and antique clothing (we discover that all belonged to his parents and grandparents) to which we are to dress up in. I feel like a big kid and am humbled by the generosity bestowed upon us. Our host’s six year old daughter plays mum and fusses over us like an old hand.

We laugh our way well into the late evening. A part of the Islamic faith is that a man can take up to four wives; if he can afford it (or is game enough) and it is decided during our dress up that Lucile is to be my concubine or second wife. Lucile, nothing personal but I can only just manage with the one I’ve got – sorry..

We make our way to the city of Meknes, another large regional city and renowned for its wine making.

The land of Morocco that we have seen to date is a vast area rich in agriculture and the wheat harvest is well under way. As far as the eye can see to the towering snow-capped mountains of the Atlas in the south and the Rif range in the east the land is amassed with olive trees, goats and sheep graze under the watchful eye of their young herders. Donkeys ferry harvested crops to and from the markets and locals are dressed in clothing dating back to pre-biblical times.

On our second last day we make our way to the small, touristy city of Chefchaouen. Known for its rich blue medina and colourful markets, we feel at ease within this ancient town.

After we meander through the streets, we make our way back to the Kasbah and are confronted with dozens of police, dressed in riot gear and seeming agitated. It would appear that most Saturday and Sunday afternoons some of the local youths make a point of demonstrating for social reforms. It would seem that this isn’t a problem, so long as the demonstrations are kept away from the tourist areas. Most of the unrest is timed for 5pm, very civil and is timed to the minute.

Minor incidents take place whilst the majority of tourists sit back drinking coffee, generally unfazed by the civil unrest that sea saws back and forwards in front of us.
Our taster of Morocco has come to an end, though Khalid mentions that for New Year’s Eve the company organises a five day tour into the dessert, staying in Berber tent camps and celebrating the New Year. About 50 or so staff and tourist make the trip and is a true experience. I can think of a couple of people who should start saving.

Last month a suicide bomb was detonated in Marrakech, killing a number of foreign nationals. The government is obviously worried and seem to be taking the intuitive to keep on top if the situation. At no time in our stay in Morocco did we feel threatened or in danger.

It is time for us to leave this wonderful and magical land, but as I've said before I don't know if it will be the last time we meet.

footnote: without starting the day with Berber whisky and fresh BBQ lamb at roadside service stations for lunch you haven’t experienced Morocco.

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