Change In Plans

This short post is about Fes, Morocco, and how our feelings toward the city have changed over the four days we have been here.

To tell the truth, I am still trying to figure out how I feel about Fes. Having had a (very good) guide for the last two days, we ventured out on into the medina on our own today. We stuck to the Talala Kbira, the main track (8-10 feet wide in most places), avoiding the labyrinth of the side alleys and darkened souks. We felt comfortable and not lost throughout. By the end of the walk, even Zola was shouting “Belek!” (which means “Get out of the way!) when donkey caravans muscled past us in the narrow walkway.

Also, yesterday we took a taxi over to the Ville Nouvelle (the “new new” part of the city that the French built in the early 20th Century). The trip to the Ville Nouvelle, on an unsuccessful quest to buy Zola an English-language copy of the final Harry Potter book, reassured me that there is a diesel-filled, vibrant, modern, small emerging-market component to Fes, in addition to the medieval Fes - el Bali.

On one hand, I am saddened and confused to see half a million people living in the medina in conditions only slightly better than they would have had 500 years ago. So many people doing tedious, low-value-add, dangerous, and/or degrading physical tasks unnecessarily. (See the photo at left of men in the giant tanning vats, stomping on skins with a mix of pigeon excrement, water, and vegetable dyes). There did not seem to be an abundance of the “my children will have better lives than I have had” spirit, which I have always thought integral to human nature. There was definitely not a lot of room for kids to run around, or people to be alone.

On the other hand, this city, and this way of life have persisted for over 1,000 years, so they must be doing many things right. The culture of family, community, devotion, worship, are very powerful and stabilizing. Life expectancy in Morocco is over 72 years, and many other social indicators (e.g., infant mortality) are well above what I would have expected for a country at Morocco’s income level.

At an emotional level, though, it is bewitching to stand on the hotel roof at sunset, looking out at the sprawling rooftops of the seemingly motionless medina, with the mountains in the distance, listening to the call to prayer echo from dozens of mosques.

We leave for the desert tomorrow. We still need some time to think about Fes.

This long post is about our first two days in Fes, which is the cultural and intellectual capital of Morocco. Whatever I wrote about Tarifa, Spain being “more like Morocco than like Europe” was complete nonsense. Now that we are here, during Ramadan, and staying far within the walls of the old city (the medina), we feel as though we are truly out of the normal comfort zone for the first time on this trip.

The overland journey from Tangiers (where we lingered only enough to meet our driver and load our bags) to Fes was surprisingly long and desolate. There was only dry farmland for most of the ~300 km drive. There were a few small market towns, but mostly a whole lot of nothing.

We took a short side trip to the ancient Roman regional capital of Volubilis, which has been partially restored. Volubilis is basically a half-completed archaeology dig, with very limited curatorship, and only a handful of signs in English. My brain already hurts from shifting from bad Spanish and into non-existent French. The kids liked the ruins, although it increased Zola’s preoccupation with death and dying. Tallulah wondered when the Romans were coming back, and whether they would be upset about their town being ruined.

We arrived in Fes at about 5pm. Strangely, Morocco is 2 time zones behind Spain (eg, our ferry left at 11:00 am, and arrived at 9:45am). A porter from our hotel, Riad Fes, met us at the city gate, and helped us wheel our luggage through a maze of narrow streets, through three locked gates, and into the lobby. Within two minutes of arriving in the city, I was hopelessly disoriented.

Riad Fes is truly spectacular. It is a traditional Fassi home that has been restored and merged with two of its neighbors to create a boutique hotel. The lobby (where I am sitting now) is the enclosed courtyard of the main house: with intricate tile mosaic, and more intricate plaster-relief and wood carvings covering every square inch of the cavernous room. Remarkable artisanship as far as the eye can see in every direction.

The young women at reception asked us whether we wanted to hire a guide during our stay, and India and I (maybe a little haughtily) brushed off the suggestion.

Just before sunset yesterday we went for a walk, hoping to to find an ATM. We spent about 20 minutes trying to navigate in the medina, including many dead ends, false starts, and a moderately unpleasant harrassing by a would-be guide (”This is not Afghanistan, Mr. American, this is not Iraq! I will show you Americans how to behave here”). Gratefully, we found our way back to the Riad Fes.

Upon our return, when I immediately asked for a guide for the following day, the women at reception were very gracious. I am pretty certain I heard them laughing as I left the reception area, though. My guess is that they have seen that particular movie a few times.

We spent nearly seven hours today with an excellent guide, named Ghali, who walked us to all of the major sites of old Fes, and patiently answered about 500 inane questions from me. Zola’s eyes were as wide as saucers for the entire tour: sharing the narrow passageways with donkeys, and merchants, and wheeled carts, and thousands and thousands of people. Lu attracted a lot of attention (and a few friendly pats on the blond head) as she rode in her stroller across the cobblestones.

Fes is definitely not like anything India and I had seen before, not even in Marrakech, on our earlier trip to Morocco. Very intense, and very close. The tilework and the plasterwork are truly awe-inspiring, and the richness of history in this thousand-year-old city is almost overwhelming. More on all of that later.

We are feeling a lot more comfortable, and excited about our next few days in Fes.

This very short post is about leaving Spain for Morocco.

This morning we packed, had breakfast, and checked out of the hotel. Overall, we really liked Tarifa and we liked the Posada La Sacristia, where we stayed the last two nights.

Our heavily laden little caravan rushed through the narrow streets of the old city, making for the ferry terminal. We desperately need to shed more stuff, like 40% of what we have.

Like every other ticketing/boarding experience we had in Spain, that process was quick and efficient. We waited in long lines at security and passport control, walked across the dock, boarded the fast ferry.

80% of the passengers on the ferry appear to be Europeans on package day trips. Tangier appears to be the Tijuana of Africa. We stood out with our heavy baggage and with our kids. Once on board, everyone got into another long line for Moroccan immigration.

The ferry left about 10 minutes late, which was literally the only thing we found in Spain that did not leave exactly on time.

The ferry flies a Moroccan flag, and on board there is a mosque. The direction to Mecca must be fixed with a compass, but I couldn’t see it. The Diet Coke label is in Arabic, and the can has a pull tab (how retro). Not in Kansas anymore.

That said, the kids are eating Pringles, and staring at a Tom & Jerry cartoon on the lounge TV. They are happy and comfortable.

We will be in Morocco in another 20 minutes, then we have a long drive down to Fes. The real adventure starts.

This very short post is about Tarifa, where we are spending our last two days in Europe. Tarifa is the southernmost town in Spain. On Wednesday we will take a ferry across the Straits of Gibraltar to Morocco.

Although Tarifa is part of the EU, it is hard to think of it as being in the same ‘country’ as Stockholm and Frankfurt, and the well-scrubbed towns of France and the Netherlands.

The sunlight, the architecture, the smells, and the generally relaxed and run-down atmosphere all seem like Morocco. We are staying in a small hotel within the crubling old city walls, on a street which is eight feet wide. The nearest cross street is “Almedina.” All of the buildings are stucco and tile, with open courtyards, and Moorish decor.

Morocco is visible across the water. The big differences appear to be religion (a few Catholic churches, no mosques, no call to prayer, and no green doors in Tarifa), a lot of liquor being served, and Spanish being spoken instead of Arabic or French.

There is a statue down by the water to King Sancho IV (The Brave), who, it appears, chased out the Moors in 1292. It seems that their influence lasted. This is a good transition place before we leave Spain.