which was quite a
lavish looking building set in eighty hectares and could only be viewed from a
distance. This palace is set in the Fes el-Jdid (New Fes) area of the city, and
just to the south of here is the Mellah.
Day 5
DAY 5: Friday 27/06/03
I woke several times before the alarm sounded at 6.30, when I switched it off and rolled over again.
Oh shit! I shouted to no one but myself, look at the bloody time! I had dropped back off to sleep and it was now 7.20, and I wanted to catch the 7.50 train to Fes. A very quick wash in the sink and hurried packing of my rucksack and I was ready to go. I had to dash to the station and felt like one of those soldiers you see doing the assault course in some fly on the wall documentary. You know the ones I mean, they go running around like lunatics, jumping over walls, crawling through mud, wading through rivers, up hill and down dale, all with a 40lb rucksack on their back. Then when they finish the course, sweating and fighting for their very last breath, someone sticks a camera in their face and say’s “how do you feel?” They then reply “Great” and collapse into a heap on the floor like they have just died.
Sod all that running around, I can just about run a bath.
“What do you mean there is no train at 7.50?” I said to the man behind the ticket counter at the station, who was looking a little puzzled at my request for a ticket on this train.
“No, there is no 7.50 train to Fes!” he said again, a little exhasbarted this time, he printed me out a list of train times for the day, as if to reinforce this statement with some hard evidence. I had understood him the first time; I just didn’t want to believe what he had told me.
I had somehow managed to misread the timetable and the next train for Fes was not until 10.30, nearly three hours from now! It was decision time again; I could not sit around the station for three hours, so had to think of something to do. Breakfast at McDonalds was the answer, off I marched with the rucksack on my back again and my camera bag slung over my shoulder, both doing their best to weigh me down.
It was a good twenty minute walk to McDonalds from the station, so you can imagine how pissed off I was to find it shut! The sign on the door said quite clearly in English, French and Arabic, that trading hours were between 10 a.m. and 12.p.m.
What kind of a bloody McDonalds was this that didn’t do a breakfast menu, I said to no one in particular.
I trudged a little dejectedly back up into the new town and stopped at a small café where I had some cafe au lait (the way I like it) and croissants, which in hindsight was probably better for me than the crap McDonalds breakfast would have been anyway. With still a good bit of time to kill sitting in the café drinking my second coffee, I noted that the sun was up, but not yet too hot. But then again, I thought it was hot enough not to warrant me walking around town with a 20lb rucksack strapped to my back. So I sat there trying to blend into the local scene by reading, or should I say pretending to read a French newspaper, because I didn’t understand a single bloody word of it.
About 9 a.m. I made my way back to the station where I sat outside watching the world go by for another hour until the train arrived. Had I not already bought my ticket earlier, I could have jumped on one of the buses that go to Fes every hour from close to my hotel.
It was only just over an hour on the train to Fes, which for me was long enough, as I had to stand all the way because every one of the seats were taken on this busy service.
Outside the station I was approached by a young man who “just wanted to practice his English!”
“Oh right, I see, well If you want to practice your English why don’t you buy yourself a good book, or better still enrol at a college”, I told him, trying to stop myself from laughing.
Sowfek was his name; he introduced himself after getting over the shock of my little joke with him.
“How much to show me around for a couple of hours?” I asked him. He wanted 50 DH, which I thought was very reasonable, so arranged to meet him at 1.p.m. outside my hotel.
I was going to stay at the Hotel Royal, just a five minute walk from the station, in a virtually straight line up a tree lined avenue that reminded me of the layout you find in a lot of Spanish towns.
The old man who ran the Royal was very friendly and gave me a room on the ground floor that had a nice view out onto the courtyard. It was clean, very spacious and even had en-suite shower with hot water, all for 100 DH a night, payable in advance. I took advantage of the shower straight away having had to rush out this morning without one. With the hour I had to kill before meeting with Sowfek I sat on the edge of the bed and wrote up some notes. I also read a little about the places I felt I would like to see while walking around here in Fes. There was not that many to really grab my attention.
Exactly on time Sowfwek turned up outside and asked what I would like to see first, I said I would leave it up to him, and he instructed that I follow him. As we walked towards the Royal Palace he told me a little about himself.
Aged 20 years, although he looked about 14 to me, he was still at college and studying languages, with, he said no prospect of getting a job when he left!
He lived in the Mellah (Jewish quarter) part of town with his parents, two brothers, their wives and children, plus his two unmarried sisters. He just worked the summer months as a Faux guide (unofficial guide) to earn some extra money in order to pay for his schooling and contribute to something to the house.
He was very wary of being stopped by the tourist police force, a special force that had been set up to stamp out on these kind of guides and hustlers from annoying tourists. Although he did say these police would not do anything, so long as they were given a bribe, which he did not want to pay so avoided them as much as possible. He was even going so far as to walk a few steps in front of me at all times when we were out in the open I noticed. He also told me about having a very good Canadian friend, who while studying as Arabic teacher, had lived with his family here in Morocco.
The first sight we saw was as I said, the Royal palace, which was quite a
lavish looking building set in eighty hectares and could only be viewed from a
distance. This palace is set in the Fes el-Jdid (New Fes) area of the city, and
just to the south of here is the Mellah.
(Below is an extract from The Lonely Planet guidebook that I found interesting)
Mellah:
“The word mellah (from the Arabic word salt) appears to have referred to the area of Fes` el-jdid where the city’s Jewish population was transferred under the Merenids. Some say it was watered by a salty tributary of the Oued Fes, whereas others describe something more like a salty swamp.
According to a more colourful explanation, the area where the Jews lived derived its name from a job Jews were assigned by the Muslim city authorities – Salting the heads of criminals, rebels and the like before they were hung up to adorn the city’s gates and walls.
Whatever the reason, the word eventually took on the same meaning in Morocco as ‘ghetto’ in Europe: The Jewish quarter.”
Once into the Mellah the first place we went to was the Jewish cemetery, where all you can see are row after row of white tombs standing out so vividly against the blue sky and grey surrounding walls. There is one particular tomb here that is said to be that of a fourteen-year-old girl, known as the Martyr Solica. Legend has it that in 1834 after refusing to convert to Islam, and probably more to the point after she rejected the attention of the then Governor of Tangier, she had her throat slit by one of his soldiers! Habarim Synagogue was also in this area and is a place where many people researching Jewish history come to browse through the extensive records kept there. I did not go into the Synagogue or graveyard, preferring to just has a look from the outside.
A good few of the alleyways and streets here in the Jewish quarter were very tight and only allowed for single file human traffic, I found myself having to stand in doorways to let women, who were carrying large trays on their heads pass in comfort. I had noticed a lot of women and children walking around with these trays on their heads and assumed they were making deliveries of food to one place, or another.
Sowfek told me what they were actually doing was taking unbaked bread to the communal bakery, where for a small sum of money there bread was baked in the large ovens that bake bread non stop all day. This made a lot of sense to me as every meal seemed to be accompanied by bread, that always tasted ‘just baked’ fresh.
Nearby was another Synagogue, this one known as the Ibn Danana, which has had some money donated from UNESCO to aid in the restoration, and so preserve this old synagogue for posterity.
There are not many Jews living in the mellah these days, most have moved to Israel, like so many others from Jewish settlements across Morocco.
It was a very quick walk around the mellah before we were on our way in a small taxi to Fes el-Bali (Old Fes) and into the labyrinth of over 9,000 lanes and alleyways that make up this area, an area that incorporates the famous souqs. We entered through the most modern part of the Medina, the main gate known as Bab bou Jeloud, which is a pretty new piece of architecture having only been built in 1913.
Now as luck would have, or not as the case may be. Today was a Friday, which in the Muslim world is the holy day of the week, and one that a lot of the shopkeepers in this particular souq observed by not opening. What’s so lucky about that? Well this meant I was able to walk around without too many hassles from over zealous shopkeepers and street hawkers, which was great for me, as I did not want to buy anything anyway.
It would not have been so lucky for say, someone like my wife, who likes, no, loves to look in every shop there is!
Without the crowds and shopkeepers to slow us down we were able to see quite a bit of the area, including the Medersa Bou Inania, the great Muslim theological college built by the Merenids around 1350 AD.
Also I saw the Medersa el-Attarine founded by Abu Said some twenty-five years before the Bou Inania Medersa. This theological learning centre boasts some of the finest wood carving in all Morocco, with also some fine examples of early 19th century Moroccan furniture, and further complimented by some nice bits and pieces from Berber tradesmen.
They say the donkeys wear shoes made from old tyres to protect their feet and dampen the noise from the cobbles here in the medina. I can’t confirm this as I saw no donkeys around in the alleyways, being Muslim donkeys they get the Holy day off as well. Sowfek pointed out a small stable in the souq that he described as the best donkey hotel in Fes, where for 3 DH a night the animals were fed, watered and given a place to rest after a hard days fetching and carrying.
At one point we turned a corner to go in one direction, but Sowfek quickly changed his mind in a bit of a panic and turned to walk the other way hurriedly, instructing me in a hushed voice to follow him.
It was obvious to me that he had been spooked by something, but what I don’t know? I questioned this sudden change of direction?
He told me that he had seen one of the tourist police ahead, who according to him would have wanted money from him had he seen us! A good move for Sowfek and one a good one for me also, as it meant we would now get to see an area I wanted to walk in the first place.
The next place he took me was a private music school housed in a rather
spectacular riad (Traditional town house) with classrooms set around a small
open courtyard and decorated in traditional style. We were able to climb the
stairs and go onto the open roof terrace where I was able to get some good views
of the medina from this elevated position.
Famous Mosques are not always as grand as those that tend to dominate the skyline as in Marrakech and Casablanca. Here in the small narrow streets of the souq we came across the Gazleane mosque, another of the well known places, which could quite easily have been missed by me had it not been pointed out.
We walked past one of the many Hammam’s (Turkish style bathhouse and sauna) that was doing a brisk trade today as people were not working. These wash houses are located all around the medina’s of Morocco and are used regularly by both men and women, although not together!
The Hammam plays a very important practical and social role within the Moroccan society, especially in the Medinas, where many people still do not have running water in their homes. I suppose that many things have changed over the years in the Medina’s, but it makes you wonder why to this day people rely solely on the standpipes that can be found on most of the larger intersections in the alleyways and lanes that make up medina. I would imagine the logistics of plumbing water into all of the homes that have stood here for hundreds of years would be a nightmare, and probably not even feasible.
For me it was hard to come to terms with the fact that so many of these
people had to fetch and carry their water. I wondered how I would manage at home
without instant running water from the tap, how would I manage without a shower
whenever I wanted, would I make the effort to go to the bathhouse on a regular
basis? No one I saw looked the slightest bit dirty, apart from a few kids that
is, but they can get themselves dirty ten minutes after a bath so don’t really
count.
The religion of Islam advocates that devotees perform ablutions before entering the holy mosque, they follow a ritual whereby they first wash their hands, then arms, feet, head and neck in a purifying ritual. All the mosques have a facility for this and it is quite a common sight to see people washing outside of the mosques, which can be mistaken for people simply washing in the street.
A few of the leather shops were still open, and it was to one of these that we went to view the Fes Tanneries from the balcony that overlooked the workplace of the leather workers.
Bigger than the tannery in Marrakech and looking more organised and well laid out, this tannery is surrounded on all sides by leather shops and store house that hold the skins and the pungent ingredients that go into the heady concoction they put in the vats.
I was given a rather entertaining explanation of the whole process by the man who worked in the leather shop, followed by the obligatory offer to peruse the finished products on sale in his shop. Babouches (Traditional Slippers), shoes, handbags, purses, belts, you name it they had, providing you can craft it out of leather.
Mean as I am I did not buy anything, instead I gave the man 20 DH for allowing me the view from his balcony and roof terrace, and also in thanks his very informal narrative to accompany this little insight into the whole leather making process. He, I think, was happy enough with this and did not press me to purchase anything.
Just before we left the Medina we visited a Berber carpet and crafts shop, again not to buy anything, I was just interested in having a look around. The man who ran the shop was a good English speaker and explained a few things to me, and was not the least bit pushy in trying to sell. I think the time he had spent in England had shown him that if left alone to browse at leisure, people were more likely to buy!
Hot and thirsty we stopped for a drink in one of the small café’s that was open. Outside on the street sat a large group of men playing card games and just chilling out on this their day of rest. Inspired by this laid back atmosphere Sowfek rolled himself a marijuana joint and joined them, while I sat in the shade drinking my warm coca cola and tried to bring my body temperature down to a level where I would stop sweating!
Just over three hours walking around was more than enough for me, so I was not that disappointed when Sowfek suggested we catch a taxi back to the Vile Nouvelle and the welcome thought of a nice cold shower. Sowfek had been good to his word and not tried to get me to visit any shops, maybe because most of them were shut, but I like to think he was sticking to our agreement, so I gave him twice what he had asked for in appreciation of this.
This seemed to please him no end, he asked that if I wanted to see anything else the next day all I had to do was ask for him at a café nearby, and he would come to me as soon as he could.
Not sure what I was doing the next day I told him I would do that. This of course was dependant on if I decided to stay and see some more sights, but to be honest I had seen all I had wanted to see and had no plans to explore any further. Yet just to cover myself I told him I would check out the guidebook later just in case.
I lay on the bed for the best part of two hours, unable to sleep, I had been reading the guidebook and writing a few notes. It had just turned 7 p.m. according to Mickey, but my watch said 7.15? Seems that Mickey was on a go slow, or, I was ahead of my time! Whoever of us was right, it was time to get my act together and get up and do something. The warm shower was invigorating enough to rejuvenate me enough that I felt fresh and ready to go in search of somewhere to eat.
Sowfek had recommend a restaurant, but I decided against that and went walking around the new city in search of something else to take my fancy.
It was very noticeable the contrast between this area and that of the older section of town in the medina area, not just the architecture, but also the people. Here the people were more smartly dressed in western clothes that all looked as though they were brand new and straight out of the shop. The women especially, they were more liberated looking and some were even dressed how I would describe as a little risqué, well at least by Moroccan standards anyway. Again I got the feeling I was not in Morocco, but somewhere in the Mediterranean. I could quite easily have been somewhere like Spain or Portugal. People were walking leisurely up and down the streets looking in shop windows, Teenagers dressed in designer clothes were sitting on park benches talking in large groups, there were street vendors selling all kinds of everything, including popcorn. There were young children with balloons, mothers pushing state of the art prams, men drinking in western style bars, not a donkey to be seen anywhere, the whole atmosphere felt very chic and non Muslim like.
I chose a restaurant in the centre of town that had an upstairs area, where I sat by the open window to watch the world go by for about an hour. With nothing much to keep me on the streets for too long I went bought some cakes and was back in my hotel room just after nine and packing my rucksack, having decided to move on yet again.
I was disturbed by a mumbling noise outside the room, curious I opened the door to check it out. I did not see him straight away, but when I looked down I saw the old man who ran the hotel was on his knees and in the process of praying! He took no notice of me and I quickly apologised and shut the door.