FES

With a backpack of clothes, a guidebook, and four other students, I left campus on Friday geared up for my first real weekend adventure in Morocco. We were headed to Fez, Morocco’s third largest city. Fez is also one of the four imperial cities of Morocco, which have at one time or another served as the capital. I was naïve to my own naiveté about travel, counting on my guidebook (which has admittedly become somewhat of an appendage) and the companionship of three other female students to navigate me through the weekend. Thus, I didn’t realize at the time what a fortune twist of events it was when Anass, a Moroccan student we’d met, flagged us down as we were leaving campus. He too was headed for Fès and offered to share a cab. In the end, Anass proved an indispensable part of the weekend, from finding restaurants and cabs to warding off false tour guides and ensuring our safety.

As the taxi wound down the rugged mountain side to Fez, I saw parts of Morocco that the isolated and well-kempt campus of AUI did not exhibit. Children herded sheep alongside the road. Women wearing long jellabas guided donkeys saddled with goods. Every hundred yards we’d pass by someone sitting in the little shade available alongside the road, selling jars of olive oil or honey. Looking backwards, the earthen houses built into the mountainside popped up like a sand-colored landscape in a children’s pop-up picture book.

One hour and a few heart-attacks later (thanks to the driver’s persistent passing of “slow” cars along hair-pin turns), we arrived in Fez. Because we were first-timers, we opted to stay in a chain hotel in New Fez, or Fez El-Jdid, rather than venture to Fez El-Bali (Old Fez), which offered potentially cheaper, more authentic, and frequently more Spartan accommodations (aka- cold showers and questionable pluming). New Fez is actually somewhat of a misnomer. It was built in the 13th century, and though it is young compared to Fez El-Bali, built in 808, New Fes is equally rich in history.

Saturday morning we headed into the medina, the old-walled city and must-see attraction for Fez tourists. Fez El Bali is considered the largest contiguous car-free urban area in the world. It is also on of UNESCO’s World Heritage Sites.

We entered the medina through the main gate called Bab Bou Jeloud. Immediately my senses were flooded with competing sights, smells, and sounds as I tried to discern which path led through the chaos to the first guide-book attraction. After only a couple minutes into the medina, Anass motioned for us to turn around and follow him back out Bab Bou Jeloud. Anass, a Moroccan male accompanying four American girls, was mistaken for a “faux guide.” Other would-be faux guides were trying to snatch his business! Fez police have recently cracked down on illegal guides but inevitably, if you enter the medina with a guide-book, a camera, or a confused look on your face, you will be accosted by a handful of people more than willing to take you around the medina for the right price.

We reentered the medina, this time with our police-approved official guide Hamido. Hamido grew up within the walls of Fez El-Bali and new the winding labyrinth like the back of his hand. As we wove through the crowded stone alleys we quickly caught on to key Arabic phrases- “balak” (look out) and “andak” (move). The oblivious tourist was likely to get rammed by a donkey, a wheelbarrow, or a man shouldering a heavy load. Though I let my eyes wander from the dangling camel heads to the colorful cloths to the fish for sale to the Nikes hanging on display, I quickly learned to jump aside at a second’s notice.

According to Hamido, 250,000 people live within the walls of the medina. I wondered as we ducked through short door frames and twisted up and down uneven alleys, how many of those 250,000 people had gotten lost on their way home?! Hamido showed us the common ovens where families bring their own dough to cook over the wood. We then stopped by Madrasa Bou Inania, a remarkable theological school built in the 1350’s. Hamido pointed out the feats of Islamic architecture and the elaborate carvings and writing around the madrasa.

We entered the carpenter’s market where engaged couple come to pick out there elaborate decorated thrones for their wedding receptions. Weddings here are a serious business lasting some 10 hours and entailing at least four outfit changes for the newlyweds. The groom’s family must buy the bride a gold belt to wear for the ceremony thus, as Hamido says, the skinnier the bride the better!

Next, we visited the tannery where animal skins are dyed for purses, clothing, and belts. As we entered the tannery we were each handed a bundle of fresh mint to hold to our noses to block the pungent odor of animal skins in the process of drying and dyeing. We climbed to the roof of the tannery which overlooked enormous vats of natural dyes and leather drying in the air.

For lunch, Hamido led us to, quite literally, a hole in the wall. Inside the doorway, I stepped into a gorgeous tiled Moroccan salon. Couches surrounded the tables and we indulged in a three course meal of salads followed by couscous, tajines (meats cooked in clay pots), and pastilla (a delicious pastry sprinkled with cinnamon sugar and stuffed with chicken and raisins) and finally fresh fruit.

Our bellies full and our hearts content, we continued to our next stop- a Berber weaving shop. Here, we were treated to mint tea, a loom demonstration, and an elaborate showing of at least twenty hand-made rugs and blankets. “Go ahead. Take you sandals off and walk on it! It is like a massage for the feet!” encouraged the shop owner. Each woven piece was unique with symbol of the Berber tribe in the middle and the family’s symbol adorning the outer pattern. All the vibrant blues, pinks and yellows come from natural dyes of like saphron and indigo, etc. After the ceremonial display, we each got a reduced “sister price” for the Berber blankets we purchased. It has proved a welcome addition to my beige and barren dorm room!

Then, Hamido led us through a tiny passage and, remarkably, we emerged into a high-ceilinged cloth shop where the men were hard at work on their giant looms as well. We each donned one of the four-styles of turbans for a picture and continued on through the maze.

After an action-packed, noisy and exhilarating six hours in the medina, Hamido led us outside of the medina walls where the environment immediately shifted from chaos to calm. I was no longer in imminent danger of a being run over by a donkey or mistakenly walking into a hanging camel head at the butchers! I felt as though I had just stepped out of another world- labyrinth of history and culture, a self-contained walled community where traditions and modernity blend seamlessly together.