Getting Medieval on Fez

Let me be clear- I love my God, my family, and my country.

But I really love hotel breakfasts. 

That's right, those cheap breakfasts hotels serve you as a complimentary end to your brief time together. Wandering downstairs, getting some coffee, orange juice, then the joy of discovery as you find what food is on offer... it's the best. And the Hotel Perla delivered in spades with a lovely breakfast in their downstairs restaurant section with a gourmet cafe con leche and a variety of breads. This included the chocolate croissant, the highest state of croissant-ness. 

A flavor that surpasses even the pan y chocolate lies behind these gates, however. We would discover it later today, exploring the Old World Medina of Fez.

But first, as is usually the case with Kendra, the fun must be preempted by responsibility. 

We wandered back over to the train station and got our 105dh tickets to Tangier, getting the 7:10 departure in order to make the 1pm ferry in Tangier to Tarifa. We then caught a 10dh taxi to the Bab Bouijloud gate, our gateway into the Medina. "Kdhm l'khoontoor" 'use the meter' we asked/instructed our driver.

The Bab ("Gate") Bouijloud is, per the guidebook, one of the most famous of the Medina's 13 or so, but was built ~1,000 years after the others around 1913 so Kendra and I declared it to be less cool. Its other side is green, the color of Islam.

Apparently it's common to get a guide, or be on a tour, rather than risk the certainty of getting lost in the maze of this medieval marketplace. We're glad we didn't and don't think you need one; the most fun was in wondering around, and the slope of the marketplace (go uphill to get out - it's a bowl shape) as well as signs leading back to the Bab Bouijloud, made it simple to guide ourselves. The sellers were also more relaxed than Marrakech, making a guide's presence as a deterrent against fake guides and sellers less necessary. 

The Medina is described in all the guidebooks as a marvel of the world, unchanged since medieval times; a true old-world marketplace. Leather products, rugs, and ceramics dominated, but there was still a wide variety of goods on offer, from freshly-hammered copper pots to bird shops.

The typical awesomeness of a Moroccan marketplace was in full swing here. Better than the touristed and chaotic medina of Marrakech, here craftsmen and women were plying their trade in and alongside their stalls.

This nice man sold us a beautiful tile. He showed us a picture of his father and told us all about their shop. Blue and white are the colors of Fez. Interestingly, each Moroccan city has its own colors - white for Casablanca and red for Marrakech, 'the red city.' 

Unofficial guides are still a problem in the medina, though. Cast a glance at your map, pause for a minute, or even simply be Caucasian and you're at risk of being offered their services. Not the best idea, as guiding must be official in Morocco, and unofficial guides often simply take you to businesses where they get a cut. We had one such young man avail us of his guiding abilities, following us down the narrow calle and even asking us to "open up our hearts" and help him out by agreeing. We continued to politely decline, and he finally concluded, "I think you are not American. Maybe Chinese, your hearts are hard." It was a sad and universal theme that Moroccan merchants only liked you as much as you paid them; turning from enthusiastic to solemn to noticeably angry as Kendra's Berber-esque bartering skills reduced their profit margin to zero. Such is life, and business, in the medina.

Quiet settings are interspersed between the frantic, making for a pleasantly tumultuous experience. 

That would be our only sour experience today, however, as every turn and alley led us to a completely new adventures. We had no itinerary, but actually  managed to stumble upon most all of the major sites, and even more enjoyably, many off-the-grid ones.

Come around one corner, and a chance opening of the gate permitted a rare view of the literal kaleidoscope of color inside the Mosque Al Qaraouiyine (all but two mosques in Morocco are closed to non-Muslims, so this was a treat)

Around another corner, and we stumble upon a small leather tannery. Above, they are dipping sheep hide in lye to separate the hide prior to a dip in a vat of pigeon droppings.

Down further and around several curves, we happen upon the Terrace of the Tanneries, and climb up several stairs for a whirlwind tour of the view from our sales guy/impromptu tour guide. 

A UNESCO World Heritage site, this is one of the oldest, with nine centuries of family history connecting the workers. The leathery tannery process is fascinating. They begin by taking a hide (sheep and camel being better regarded than cow and goat) and dip it in the white liquid lye.

Then it's transferred into tubs of pigeon droppings where the natural ammonia softens the hide. After washing, it's rubbed with olive oil for smoothness and waterproofing. Then, it's dried on the roof for three days, and dyed with natural dyes - sandalwood for brown, safran for yellow, poppy flowers for a deep blood red. The process is all natural without any machinery. 

Down further still and we soon happened upon the Place Saffrin, where an equally rich history was testified by every bang and gong of the bronze and copper smiths.

At the bottom of the medina, we found ourself in the peaceful Place Rcif, and hiked up some steps to get our bearings on the map.

A chubby-faced boy of about ten wondered over and sat down next to us. "Place R'cif," he offered. "We know," we told him sweetly, pointing to our location on the map. "Mosque R'cif," he offered up next, pointing to the Minaret. "Yes thank you, we know that as well," we replied again, and walked down the steps. "One dirham," he called out behind us, his uncertainty evident in his tone. We smiled and kept walking, a future guide of the medina in the making. 

With the sun overhead we stopped at a cafe alongside the Bab of the R'cif area for some mint tea. We've rapidly adjusted to this wonderful Moroccan tradition, and it was nice to order a "brread a'tay" (pot of tea) and sip the sweet minty liquid in the shade. 

While we were looking at the also-overpriced food offerings, a charming young Moroccan man offered that we "shouldn't eat here, notice all the locals are just drinking. This is just a drinking place," and he had an awesome suggestion for lunch. We got to talking, and it turned out he was a proprietor and guide for the touring service babafrica.com (Bab again meaning gateway). We liked him, and since we'd gotten to know him naturally (being aware of the false guiding touts that are in the Fez area, every visitor needs a very healthy dose of skepticism for all offers), made plans to go to Moulay Idriss, Volubilis, and Meknes with him the next day. Turns out it was an excellent decision, and we had an amazing time. Please see our entry on the day next up in this blog. 

But that was tomorrow. Now we wanted dinner, and we needed to find the best kebabs in town. At our new guides' suggestion, we went from the tea place back through the gates into the main square of Place Rcif, and through the arched entry in the wall, then turned left and walked about fifty meters. A few stalls on the left after "the place with the mounted camel's head," and across from the shop selling ba'bouch (snails as a snack), we found Mister Ayachi.

Oh Mister Ayachi, you magician of the grill and master of the kebab. We will always remember our fleeting moments in your amazing restaurant. He was not only a gracious host, but was something of a showman, plopping the final chicken piece in his mouth like a Hibachi chef. The first bite of beef? ...have you ever tasted something so good that it hijacks your senses and your brain diverts all energy towards focusing on the wave of flavor? That was this bite. We spent 60dh on our two ample sandwiches and didn't even need dinner. Best 60dh we spent this trip. 

Now wandering back uphill, we came across a Medersa that seemed devoid of any people. We payed the 10dh each and wandered in, shocked to find ourselves the only occupants. Though not quite as ornate as it's medersa-counterpart in Marrakech, the experience was so enhanced by our solitude that it greatly eclipsed the other, and we were thrilled to wander the chambers and hallways on our own.

Now wandering back up the hill towards the Bab Bouijloud, we saw a sign for a pottery shop. "We already went that way," I told Kendra. Her reply of "So?" had me convinced, and we went off in search of the pottery shop. I'm exceedingly glad we found it, as on arrival, a young woman guided us back into a virtual labrynth of pottery, each room covered in beautifully-painted, ornate ceramics.

When you visit, find this place, on an alley off the main road down from the Bab Bouijloud.

Rooms and rooms and rooms of gorgeous pottery

Inside we would meet one of the artisans, Lajaj Ali, and we had a wonderful conversation with him. He was a gracious host, teaching us about the pottery and even about the house, which was 300 years old. Inside the large inner chamber, balconies faced inwards by design, he told us. Previously balconies were outside the house, facing the street, where the women of the home were able to gaze upon the world. But the world could then gaze upon them. Jealous husbands then had balconies made inside, to keep their wives to themselves. 

Lajaj had himself been a worker in this Moroccan mansion-turned-art-gallery for 22 years. He very kindly invited us to share in his afternoon coffee, which we happily accepted. While Kendra drank tea stuffed with mint and I had yet another delicious cafe con leche, Lajaj shared with us how 20% of visitors don't accept his offer, suspicious of him as a salesman or, more unfortunately, as an Arab. Given the hospitality we've received from our Arab friends, it is a sad fact indeed; the world is in dire need of Arab hospitality. 

Kendra and I finally chose a candle holder sporting the brilliant blue and white of Fez, and we're happy to see the initials of L.A. adorning the bottom. Lajaj himself had painted it! 

We then left the market, but not until Kendra deliberated on a pair of 5dh (~60 cent) earrings. A shirt taxi ride and we were back at the hotel, body and mind fulfilled by a crazy day in the Medina of Fez.