Fes fantastique!

En route to Fes I stayed one night in Chefchaouen, a pictaresque and post-card ready town in the Rif mountains. The medina is whitewashed and painted turquoise; the effect is charming. The square is lined with cafes catering mainly to tourists, but a few local tea shops squeeze their plastic tables and chairs amongst the wooden tables with tablecloths meant for travellers.

I ate lunch on a rooftop terrace overlooking the square and the surrounding mountains. A cool breeze blew through the terrace. Afterwards I wandered the small town, taking the time to walk to a nearby mosque overlooking the valleys and back towards the town.

The next morning I was up early to catch the seven a.m. bus to Fes. At ten till, a local bus ambled into the bus station, and my backpack was thrust unceremoniously underneath. We were on our way. The bus wound its way through the mountain roads, up into and then suddenly out of the clouds. The sun suddenly shone brightly in the sky and out the windows I couldn't see the valley for the clouds. The highest peaks jutted out through the billowing white cover. The effect was magical.

As the bus continued through the mountains, hours passed, and the clouds dissipated. The mountains dropped off into towns and villages, tiny dots covering the slopes. I dozed as we picked up and dropped off passengers.

Afer five hours we were still in the mountains. The receptionist at the hotel in Fes said it would take only about five hours to get to Fes, but we were still over 100 kilometers away. The scenery was breathtaking, however, and I didn't mind the extra kilometers and hours.

Two hours later we rolled into Fes, a city rising out of a landscape of rolling brown fields. I walked into the medina and found my pensione. I took the cheapest room. The receptionist said there was no shower, but I could use the nearby hammam. She walked me up to my room on the top floor, a small but charming adode with a washbasin and toilet at the foot of the bed. Windows overlooked the street.

Yesterday, I experienced the first great day of my trip, as I lost myself in the medina (the largest in the world) and discovered beautifully restored medressi, overflowing souks, and many mosques dotting the streets and alleys. Twice I was almost overrun by donkeys carrying their loads. At one point, standing at a confluence of roads, an olive seller asked me what I was looking for. "Nothing, really," I said. I was just walking around. "That's good," he said. "It's the best way to find something!" He laughed.

In the morning I sought out the tanneries, in the northwest corner of the medina, stopping to look at various sights along the way. The stench of the place let me know I was near, and I paid a guardienne for the priviledge of walking down to the floor. He lead me up to a series of terraces just above the workers. I was fascinated, watching as they stood knee deep in the 800 year old tubs to dye the leather skins. I stood transfixed. The guard got into an argument with a shop seller standing on a terrace above. When I asked what they argued about, he told me the shop owner wanted him to lead me to his shop when I was done.

I could have watched the workers all day, but the guard asked me if I had seen enough, suggesting it was time to move on. He then lead me to a higher terrace looking over the dye pools and the limestone pools used for curing before leading me back to the main streets.

For lunch I sought out a palace restaurant hidden below the Palace Jamai. The street was deserted; there were no signs. A man sat in a doorway and asked if I were looking for something. I was about to reply in the negative until I looked above his head. I had found the restaurant. "Come in, come in," he said, flipping a switch. The lights turned on amidst a flurry of activity. I was the only guest.

I was offered a set menu of three courses and was asked to choose between a Moroccan soup or a salad. I had difficulty deciding, finally settling on the soup. I sat down, and Hasnaa brought over a pitcher of water and a brass pail with a tray set above it. She poured the water over my hands into the tray and then offered me a towel with which to dry them.

She then surprised me with a small bowl of soup ("To try," she said). She served it with Moroccan squid. She said I should take a little piece of squid and eat it with the soup. The squid was deep fried and slightly caramelized. With the soup it was delicious.

She then brought out the salad, comprised of potatos, green peppers, eggplant, olives, zucchini, and lentils. She also offered a small pastilla. "You eat it with your hands," she said pointing to the triangular pastilla. I was in heaven, devouring everything before me, but trying to pace myself. I still had a cous cous with seven vegetables on its way.

By the time the cous cous arrived I was stuffed. I ate slowly, listening to the Andalucian music they played over the loudspeakers, finally making a bargain with myself to eat at least all the vegetables. As I neared the end of the meal, Hasnaa brought me a plate of grapes and mint tea. With the tea she placed a small plate of sesame biscuits. The tea brought out the taste of the biscuits, and I happily munched them as I sipped my tea, soaking in the atmosphere of the restaurant. I knew that this quiet place of rest was deep within the teeming medina, and that soon I would again let myself be pulled along by the tides of humanity within. Posted by eku at September 12, 2005 7:02 PM