First Day in Fez

I’m writing from the roof terrance of the Dar Romana riad, with a spectacular view of the sea of rooftops that is the medina (old city) of Fez; stark brown hills on the left, ruined medieval walls behind. At last we’re in Morocco, and just back from our first mind-bending excursion into the ancient medina. More of that later.

28th September

As suspected, the trip to Fez wasn’t uneventful, and in fact our Air Maroc (Atlas Blue, actually) flight was delayed some five hours! In London, we got a taxi to Victoria Station, the took the Gatwick Express to Gatwick; but as soon as we checked our bags in we were told the flight would be late.

Still suffering from jet lag, I was feeling pretty crap and visiting the bathroom every half hour, though a doze in the departure lounge with my head in Carol’s lap made me feel a bit better.

Finally the plane left about 5.30pm, with only about 30 or 40 passengers on board, and it was an easy three hour flight. At Fez airport we were met by a man with a sign, who drove us through the Ville Nouvelle, past thousands of promenading Moroccans, a couple of huge lit-up city fountains, shops and cars and all the activity of a city night, only with that somewhat dim yellow street lighting an dirty streets and collapsing pavements that reminds you that you are somewhere very different.

At a gate to the medina we were met by Mohammed, who led us on a magical walk at a fast pace through narrow medieval streets, thick with the odour of manure, past pockets of loitering young men, and eventually to a little alley with a wooden door at the end and a sign saying Dar Romana – our first home in Fez.

Mohammed, a cheerful young fellow who spoke great English, showed us our beautiful high-ceilinged room and the rest off the dar (a dar is a a smaller version of a riad – traditional Moroccan house – without the interior garden), its walls swathed in geometric tiling and ornate plasterwork. Five narrow flights up, the roof terrace has an unequalled view over the old city.

After mint tea, we gratefully hit our comfy bed.

29th September

First morning in Morocco! A deep sleep only slightly disturbed by barking dogs, the muezzins calling from the mosques, and vivid dreams. Thank goodness for earplugs, which largely block out the former two, anyway.

We woke about 8.30am, got ready, and took breakfast in the inner courtyard outside our door (we’re on the ground floor). A few other guests, and we met one of the owners, Jennifer, and other friendly staff. Fresh orange juice, pastries, and yogurt, plus coffee.

Soon we were fortified for our first trip into medina madness. And there’s nothing for it – you just head in there and get lost. Occasionally we stumbled across a landmark noted in Lonely Planet, but it is virtually impossible not to get turned around and heading in a completely different direction, just when you think you know where you’re going. Hundreds of people pushed past each other in the narrow, high-walled alleyways; heavily-laden donkeys shuffled by, their owners calling “balak!, balak!” (“look out!, look out!”); one area was packed with hole-in-the-wall butchers, slabs of fresh meat on the counters (camel heads hung above one stall), the stallholders waving off the flies; another alley was lined with vegetable stalls, another long street featured dated-looking fashions on Western mannequins. We were occasionally asked to come in and look at various shops, but the hassling was much less than I had expected. Through blind luck we stumbled upon one of the two banks in the medina and withdrew money. The old alleys seem to be crumbling, the walls bending in overhead, some held up by complicated wooden scaffolding. Dust, mud, and manure is underfoot, and the smells wake up your nose and remind you you’re alive. To the touts and shop owners we repeated the mantra “la, shokran” (“no, thankyou”); a kid followed us for a while offering his help but laughed with us when we said we were lost and that was part of the fun. Everyone seemed pretty good-natured and we weren’t stared at, followed, or poked.

Eventually exhaustion began to set in, and the serious business of finding our way back began. After getting some directions from a shopkeeper and an old guy standing there, we eventually gave in and asked one of the many young men standing around, and to our surprise he took us straight to our dar with no hassles. I tipped him 15 dirhams.

It’s afternoon tea time now in the hotel courtyard, the little fountain playing in the centre. Only a short trip outside, but we’re recovering our strength and feel quite pleased with the success of our first adventure!

Now writing from Wednesday evening from the roof terrace of Dar Attajali (our next place to stay), the call to prayer just starting up around me. Such a surreal, mysterious, and strangely frightening sound, full of the unknown. On Tuesday night (the 29th) we ate at the Dar Roumana, and had a nice bottle of white wine. The food was delicious, beginning with a tomato and pesto soup, but halfway through the second course (duck risotto) I began to feel very full and quite ill, and before desert I had to stagger to bed, feeling sick and bloated. This damn jet lag is still affecting me.