Morocco - Fez

The other guests in our riad told us on arrival, that Fez was "a medina like any other".
Since we started our travels, Chris and I agree that Fez has to be one of the most memorable experiences we have encountered. A medina like no other.
Not a place that I can say is outwardly beautiful and definitely not a place that can be described as relaxing.  But more of an sensory, educational, humbling and enlightening experience, full of hidden beauty, an experience which has provided us with some of our most emotive memories and vivid images.
I realise as I paint this picture that not everyone will feel the same if they visited Fez. It is an experience that will draw different responses from everyone, it's just that it drew the most remarkable from us.
“There is a good deal of frustration involved in the process of enjoying Fez,” Paul Bowles

It was late afternoon when we ran the gauntlet into Fez. Our car was now suitably filthy from the long winding drive on the streets(half street and half dirt verge), but still  far from blended in.

I had received advice in advance from the manager of the riad where we were to spend the next three nights. He had warned me of the false guides, some who would drive beside us on our entry to Fez and warned me 'not to trust anyone'. I was to ring him when we reached a certain place and he would come to meet us and help us park and lead us into the medina. What I had not factored in was that there would be no mobile coverage so a phone call was not an option. Surprisingly, Chris managed it into the medina alone and located the riad while I stayed put with the boys and the car in a dusty lot just outside the medina's gate ( I tried hard to not make eye contact with anyone). He returned with Mohammed, the riad manager, and his helper. After a security briefing from Mohammed we left our car and ventured in, helper at the front hurriedly pushing a trolley loaded high with our luggage through a warren of narrow lanes of  dun- coloured buildings and dun- coloured unpaved paths.

Tucked away in a quiet lane we came to 'Riad Tyrand'.
The doors of the riad opened onto a welcomed sight. A vast, multi-storey oasis, with high ceilings, blue, green and white tiles and traditional woodwork. It was peaceful and calm!

Over a welcome mint tea, and the start of many head-rubs for Lachlan(his little blond head drew much attention), Mohammed gave us an overview of  'Fes el Bali', the old Medina of Fez.
The legendary Moroccan city of Fez  is the most complete medieval city in the Arab world. Founded in the 9th century, in the 13th and 14th centuries Fez replaced Marrakesh as the capital of the kingdom. The political capital of Morocco was transferred to Rabat in 1912, but Fez has retained its status as the country's cultural and spiritual centre. The major monuments in the Medina - its madrasas, fondouks, palaces, residences, mosques and fountains - all date from the medieval period. The Medina is where over a quarter of Fes' 800,000 inhabitants live.
It "owes little to the West besides its electricity and the tourists".

 

Riad Courtyard

Chris's Office.

Aware of the disorienting nature of the medina, Mohammed was kind enough to lead us to a place he recommended for dinner. "A traditional family meal that wouldn't upset our stomachs" he said.

What we discovered on our first venture was that where we were staying opened onto an unavoidable meat market. Passing goats heads lined up staring at me(eyes still open) on the way to dinner, and the overwhelming stench from meat hung up and dripping with blood  was not a great start for a satisfying dinner.  I reverted back to vegetarianism for my time in Fez, it was an easy decision.

It is difficult to describe the disorienting nature of the Medina. It is a maze of hidden lanes, even almost hidden from the sky, many appearing almost identical, many so narrow that only a single person can pass. There are few points of reference, no street signs, you cannot look out or over to gain any bearing. We came out from dinner and were almost immediately lost. Mohammed had armed the boys with a contact card from the riad and suggested they find a phone-shop if separated, luckily it didn't come to that.

Nadia, our guide, arrived at the Riad the next morning. A highly knowledgeable women who spoke perfect English, Nadia  had been born in the Medina and lived her whole life in the Medina too. Over the course of the next six hours she  poured out a mass of information. She introduced us to the basics of Islamic religion, of which I had known 'nothing'.  I knew I would be lucky to retain even a little of it. She lacked a certain amount of humour or perhaps it was that she just didn't enjoy ours. Of course this was her main income and she was 'processing' us too. She spoke also of the hardships, the lack of a pension and health care meant that there were a lot of old and/or unwell people begging. She gave generously to them. It was noticeable that those who could would give to those less fortunate and that those less fortunate were extremely grateful for it.

Koran Pre-School



Littered with well cared for stray cats, dogs aren't so fortunate.

She started us off at the medersa nearest to our riad, the 'Medersa Bou Inania'.  It is widely acknowledged as an excellent example of Merenid architecture.



Carved plaster, Kufic, Zellij tile work(everything has 'meaning').

It was built by the Merenid sultan Bou Inan between 1350 and 1357 and  underwent extensive restoration a few years ago. The results are amazing: elaborate zellij tilework(terracotta tiles covered with enamel laid in geometrical mosaics mainly as an ornament for walls) and carved plaster, beautiful cedar mashrabiyyas (lattice screens) and massive brass doors. The courtyard decoration covered every possible surface. Cedar beams surrounded three sides of the courtyard and a sash of black Kufic( the oldest calligraphic form of the various Arabic scripts) script wrapped around four sides, dividing the zellij from the stucco.


Off to each side of the courtyard were stairs to the upper storey (closed to the public), which were lined by student 'cells'.
The Bou Inania is unusual in that it contained a complete mosque, including a beautiful green-tiled minaret. It is one of the few religious places in Morocco that is accessible for non-Islamic visitors.

The Moorish art of laceria, “the carpentry of knots”.

Following Nadia we were then lead through a warren of narrow lanes and covered bazaars  and out of the medina  through Bab Boujeloud, considered to be the principal and most beautiful point of entry into Fez el-Bali.

Bab Boujeloud

The outside face covered with blue ceramic tiles painted with flowers and calligraphy, the inside green (the colour of Islam or of peace). It is relatively young, only 200 years old.

We entered back in squishing through more and more lanes, it felt like we were walking through an ancient museum. Wooden supports crossed the lanes above us,  preventing the front facades falling forwards. It was like the picture in your head of an ancient city with the only space left after buildings being the tiny lanes winding through it.






Even with the shops being shut on Friday, Nadia managed to get us to a carpet vendor. I was pretty relaxed about this, presumably Nadia would receive a cut if we bought something, but I didn't mind - it was our first carpet experience in Morocco and I was interested to see what it was all about.

Once inside we were shown the workings of carpet making. It was explained to us that men make blankets using a large horizontal loom and women make carpets using a vertical loom. A women would typically work 1-2 hours for 7-12 months on a carpet.

Out came the customary mint tea offering, signalling to me that sales were about to be attempted.

Carpet after carpet was rolled out in front of us. I was fairly confident that I wasn't going to like any enough to buy one, but the 'Zanafi Tribe' Berber rugs caught Chris and my eye and one was soon negotiated and packed up for us. The legend goes that a Finnish painter married a Berber woman who took her traditional Zanafi Tribal motifs and interwove her husbands landscape paintings into her textiles.
The Zanafi is instantly recognizable for it's bright and colorful mix of colors as well as tribal and modern textures.


The purchase laid out.

'Geared' to sell - but all done with good humor.





Skyline punctuated with satellite dishes and minarets (rooftop of carpet workshop).

 



We took a quick stop to have a look at the outside of the 'Nejjarine' museum - a restored caravanserai, once used for travelling merchants who stored and sold their goods below and took lodgings on the floors above.



Nejjarine Museum.

Fontaine Nejjarine.

Beside it stood 'Fontaine Nejjarine'. The ceramic tile, cedar-ceiling fountain is one of the most beautiful and historic in Fez.  Fountains play an important part in the Medina,  they are the water for the people and are in constant use.



Another of the many Fontaines.

In need if a toilet stop, Nadia invited us into her house (I don't know if a public toilet would even exist in Fez, it would be pretty scary if it did). After walking down a  narrow lane and avoiding the cat poo deposited on her front step, we entered into Nadia's beautiful riad .  Unlike many residents that been happy to sell up to foreigners and swap their somewhat medieval living  for a modern apartment in the ville nouvelle, Nadia had started on renovations. It had been stripped and re-ornamented. She had covered in the internal courtyard to make a large lounge area. She had a flush toilet and a washbasin too!

Nadia's House.

We knew we were entering a sacred place when we ducked under the wooden barrier and smelt the incense. This was the entrance to the 'horm', the sacred area surrounding Zaouia Moulay Idriss II, the mausoleum of the city's founder(founded the city of Fes for the second time in 810) and the most venerated pilgrimage spot in Morocco. 

Crossing the 'horm'

In the year 1308, almost five centuries after the death of Moulay Idriss II, a body was found on the spot. People believed this was Moulay Idriss II and founded the Zaouia (shrine). Originally built by the Marinids  in 1440,  the building has been almost completely replaced in the 18th century.
The wooden beam at the entrance, about 6 feet from the ground, was originally placed there to keep Jews, Christians, and donkeys out of the horm. Inside the horm, Moroccans have historically enjoyed official sanctuary—they cannot be arrested if sought by the law.
You can't enter unless you're a Muslim, but we could take a peek inside. Many hands were 'gracefully' held out for coins and people gave happily . We took a walk around the building to see the beautiful carved and painted wood porches, the wall zellij and painted carved plaster at each doorway. The streets around the zawiya(shrine) sold necessities for pilgrims: votive candles, prayer beads and various types of incense. With some comfort, the benefits of such a pilgrimage,  boys before being circumcised and women wanting to facilitate childbirth did not apply to us.

A glimpse inside.



Sweets sold outside.

Near the main entrance were a fountain and a mzara (niche on the outside wall, richly decorated with zellij and plasterwork) where people could quickly pay their respects.

We didn't manage to  catch the possible glimpse of the saint's tomb at the far right corner through the doorway. Nor did I notice anyone caressing or kissing(baraka (blessing)) the wooden doors, now worn smooth.

The crowds pushed us on wards relatively quickly to the Kairaouine Mosque (Djemaa el Kairaouine) , the second-largest mosque in Morocco (after the new Hassan II Mosque  in Casablanca). Built in 857AD by Fatima, the daughter of a wealthy Kairaouine refugee, the mosque competes with 'Al-Azhar'  in Cairo for the title of the world's oldest university.

The Kairaouine is also the holiest mosque in Morocco and governs the timing of Ramadan and other Islamic festivals. You can't really 'see' the Kairaouine Mosque, it is so large and hidden within Fez's crowded maze, it can accommodate up to 20,000 people. Not permitted to enter we peered in through the entrance door's left side for a peek through the dozen horseshoe arches into the mihrab(east-facing rounded alcove or niche used for leading prayer and designed to project sound back through the building). The Kairaouine's library founded in 1349 is one of the oldest and most important in the world.

Sometimes it's easier to go with the dress-up.

Another mosque followed, but I can't remember the significance. I do however remember admiring the  beautiful dress of a Senegal women and her beautiful smile as she entered for prayer.

 

Then another shopping stop.  Fine by me, I would have been to scared to enter such an obvious 'money extracting' place if I hadn't been lead by a guide. This time it was a business making scarfs and bedspreads. The people were really very lovely, gentle and non-harassing. They showed us the process using their foot operated looms and then out of obligation we all purchased a scarf. Well, we thought they could be handy in the Sahara desert where we were to visit next. The whole process of having them wrapped on our heads was thoroughly entertaining for the boys. We took pictures to try and remember how they were tied in the hope that we could reproduce it on our own. Watching the process does really make you appreciate the beauty, there is no mass-production machine made stuff going on here. It is all skilful laborious craftsmanship, lost to much of the rest of the world, but still so much of the way of life in Fez.

Foot loom for bedspreads



The delights of head-wrapping.

Not a museum piece.

In between our various stops, Nadia continued our education of the Medina. She pointed out a wooden, barrel-shaped windows with little peepholes in the sides. This is were women used to watch the goings-on on the streets below without being seen.

She discussed the symbolism of the different door styles. Inner and outer doors, handle styles.

What goes on behind all these doors, I wondered?  Buildings open inwards not outwards, lanes are hidden from view, there is a whole world in Fez that can't be seen.



I noticed as I walked past, an old women sitting on a ledge of the street. After I had passed her by I stopped and handed Lachlan some money to turn back and give to her.

The old women looked up with such joy when he placed money in her hand. Her aged saddened face turned to the warmest smile, it melted my heart - she reached for Lachlan's hands and shook them vigorously, she rubbed his irresistible head.

Stopping past a traditional herbal medicine souk, we watched the process of extracting argan oil for the first of many times to come. The poor woman siting on the hard floor demonstrating to the few tourists that came through the door in the hope of anyone offering her some money. How hard life can be, many people here live on as little as a few dollars a day.


There were lots of interesting lotions and potions here. Jars of all sought of intriguing herbs and spices are stacked neatly from floor to ceiling upon the walls. I really liked the solid  perfume blocks of musk, amber, rose, sandalwood. They contain no alcohol and are activated by rubbing on the skin.


We sampled 'Amlou', (Moroccan 'nutella'), made from almonds and argan oil. Here you could buy all the products required for a hamman (Morrocan communal bath house where you can be scrubbed out of your old skin). Not wanting such a 'cleansing' experience, we just purchased the black charcoal soap for our own use.

A lot of people follow their noses to the tanneries. The Chouara and Sidi Moussa tanneries are among the main attractions in Fez, they date to the Middle Ages. Here the practice of turning hides into leather has hardly been updated since.

Visitors  are normally not allowed around the pits and their closure on Fridays meant that we sought to get a good viewpoint to overlook them from one of the  many terraces set up as part of the tourist business.

An unexpected playground for Lachlan.

Some people simply pay a few dirhams for the peek but we paid with another sales pitch. We were handed a sprig of mint as we entered the showroom. This was to rub into your hands  to combat the smell, the boys were stopped just before they attempted to eat it. The large showroom we walked through for our viewpoint was overflowing with leather goods. Beautiful assortments of coloured jackets hanging from racks downstairs, traditional and modern styles. Pouffes piled wonkily upon each other upstairs, piles of babouches (the pointy slippers Moroccans are famous for) neatly stacked against the walls. A feast of colours. The boys happily threw themselves all over the pouffes while we negotiated a purchase.

"Bring more money next time" the store owner said. He did not realize that it was really space that was the issue, nothing was expensive in NZD terms. "Women choose and men buy" he repeated many times. "Not where I come from", I responded.

Regardless of it's closure for Friday we still got to view some workers in the pits. We were told that approximately 200 families worked in these tanneries.
Here they toil over open vats containing animal urine and dung.






Standing up to their waists in solvent , they dip the skins in before hand-dying them in yellow, white and red. They are then stomped under the hot sun to distribute the pigment.
Leaving behind a vendor in disbelief that I had not purchased a jacket, we carried on through the medina now with carpet, pouffe and potions in hand.

We observe verbal arguments between souk vendors and tourists taking photographs . The man in the public bakery shook his head and hands at me in disapproval of my perceived  photo opportunity. I knew better than to take a photo without permission and the offer of some dirhams anyway.

Finally we headed for lunch. It was good to have a suggestion from Nadia, so many of the traditional eateries can't be seen from the lanes, there are no signs advertising there whereabouts - you just have to know.

A lot of food, a lack of wine.

From the rooftop of our lunch spot we could see a neighbouring caravanserai being restored. It gave me the gebbes watching builders perched up many stories on crumbling ledges on crumbling buildings, dropping things of the edges and hoisting things up.

By the end of our guided trip we had walked from the highest to the lowest point and returned by taxi. Having an intense dislike of being guided I must admit that it was invaluable.

Without a guide we would have had no idea what we were looking at and where to find, we would have spent more time being lost then anything else.

The following morning we were on our own but now felt a little more confidence that we could manage something on our own.

It began with another fast paced 'horror' walk through the  meat market. This time we were in for an even fuller assault of our senses.
Jarvis called to 'watch out for the juice' as he tried to avoid the trickle of animal blood running down the lane. A man observing had a good laugh watching us hop around it. Chris watched people taste testing raw meat before they bought and buying fruit weighed on the same scale as raw meat.
I brushed up against a trailer to turn and see a ‘bloody’ cow’s head inside. Stunned I turned the other way to see a stall keeper weigh a life chicken on a scale and then slit its throat as the other chickens looked on. The head was then thrown to the cats. He looked at my stunned face with a sense of disapproval.  A hasty exit was made.

As we dashed for escape we hear 'regardez!' (French for look-out) and move quickly to the side to avoid a cart quickly being pushed down the narrow lane, then jump into a doorway at the "Balak, balak, balak" (“Watch out, watch out watch out”) sound coming from someone steering a donkey laden with goods. Cars cannot enter the medina, donkeys are the working vehicle. Watching our step for cat poo, donkey poo, blood trails, animal remains,  "Lachlan  don't drag your new scarf", I yell - yuck!



Fresh leather on its way to become colorful pointy
 slippers, purses or babouches.

 


Cats feasting on animal remains.

On the safe haven of the outside of the medina, Jarvis mentioned to me that he did not like that part of Fez. “No, neither do I”  I said , “but it is the reality of life.” The same man from yesterday approached us with a large cardboard tray full with macaroons lined up in great precision. Happy to eat what looked appealing and ‘fly-free’ the boys jestered for the same biscuits they failed to eat yesterday. The other macaroon option was chosen.

Outside the medina we took refuge visiting the public restored gardens of 'Jnan Sbil', probably the only place in Fez that we experienced quiet apart from within the riad.

Back in again we seek out the 'Glaoui Palace' after having positive emotive reviews .

We entered the palace doorway, almost undifferentible from the outside lane, only a flier signifying that this was indeed the palace we were searching for. A women lay on a bench in the entrance alcove. As she rose I reached for some coins to give her. But fortunately I stopped just before she introduced herself. She was one of the family who had lived within the palace for more than 100 years. She was to be our guide into this "secret palace of faded grandeur".

Glaoui Palace was the Pasha of Marrakesh’s second home. In his day he  ruled over most of southern Morocco.

She told us that the palace housed five families. It was once comprised of seventeen  buildings and two gardens.
We crossed the main courtyard, an empty derelict fountain at it's centre, to enter the kitchen. Somewhat reminiscent of Henry V111s in Hampton court, the kitchen had a huge chimney with tagines lined up underneath. We were told of the underground tunnels which the food  was hurried through to it's eating place.

"Evidence of its former grandeur is visible in the exquisite cedarwood doors, intricate stucco, tiled salons, and the carved wooden balconies that line its patios".



The Harem

We entered the haram , an elaborate but heavily decayed courtyard with rooms surrounding it on two stories. This had once housed the concubines of the prince, who already had four wifes. A cat rushed towards the boys and kepts them delightedly entertained. How can one possibly imagine what has once gone on within this space?

 The El Glaoui Palace is also the studio of Abdelkhalek Boukhars (aka Abdou), a painter and the guardian for the El Glaoui Palace.

Although this is not on the top of the tourist hit-list, it was fascinating to see a palace prior to restoration, large portions left to crumble.

We left the palace and ventured further into the medina.
Walking up one street you get to observe an array of people carrying food to and fro. I double take a man with a plastic bag in one hand and a bunch of cows hooves strung together in the other. A women walks past with a tray for the public bakery and man with a tray of eggs, it is a hive of daily activity.

Skinny passageways redefined.

Our host at the riad had joked that he would await our call when we got lost and send someone to find us, I realised now that he wasn't joking. Armed with our GPS on the mobile phone we turned inwards into the 'poorer' more residential part of the medina. An older child offered to help us, insistent that there was nothing to see in the direction we were heading and insistent that we would get lost in the 3000 plus lanes. We followed his directional advice for a while, but when one child joined with another person and then another we shied away. Another person and then another call out that we are heading nowhere. Not liking to be 'lead' we were happy to head ‘no-where’ as long as we were not lead by someone somewhere we didn’t want to go, and we were unrealistically confident armed with the GPS mobile. Up and down and around, through covered spaces so narrow and dark you could hardly see, the cobbled paths  deteriorated to mud,  the glimpses inside houses(basically pits) grew more despairing, cramped, dark, decayed and dirty, with temporary supports holding up the multitude of crumbling walls - life cannot be easy here.

The boys raced threw it , enjoying each unique encounter. Someone carving inside one room , making hats inside another, people offering goods in French or Arabic language. “Are we far from our riad?” asked Jarvis. "Well" I said, "Dad is navigating today", as I watched him naively stride confidently ahead, not mentioning that the GPS could no longer receive a signal.

Eventually a passing women called to us ‘follow the green signs’, they lead us back to where we could get our bearings. 

Back in the safety of lanes we knew,  peered at the beautiful display of dried fruits. Too scared to purchase the dried fruits swarming with flies , I pondered whether the nuts (in protective shells) I looked at were pecans? “How do you break these shells”, I tried to ask the souk keeper. He proceeded to demonstrate by crushing two together, “simple” he said as he held out what was indeed a pecan nut that he had now de-shelled and carefully  peeled with his finger nails. He placed it on his less than clean hand for Chris and I to eat. His finger nails were black with dirt. I took it and ate it out of respect as did Chris.

Leaving Fez I cannot fathom what we have truly experienced from our 3 night stay. 

A new appreciation for the diversity of life , for the layers of history that a city can be built on, for the different belief systems of people, for humanity. The boys school books have remained buried within their bags but their education here has been immeasurable. Who knows what this experience really brings to them.