Fes

After easing into Moroccan culture by passing several lazy days in the quiet mountain town of Chefchaouen, I took a bus to the imperial city of Fes to experience the intense atmosphere of a large Moroccan city. My time in Chefchaouen had proved quite relaxing and I was not at all worried to be travelling on my own again, despite not speaking Arabic or French (the unofficial second language of Morocco is used in business, education and government). With Eddie’s linguistic skills no longer available, I was determined to make do with my minimal collection of French and Arabic phrases.

Fes, a former capital of Morocco, is second only to Casablanca in size and is one of the four “imperial cities” (Rabat, Meknes and Marrakech the others). It is also some distance from the northern town of Chefchaouen, and I watched the Moroccan landscape pass by for several hours. The previous months of unseasonal rain again impressed themselves upon me, as I witnessed countless waterlogged fields, swollen rivers overflowing their banks and cutting swathes through the land, and villages entirely under water. At times it appeared that the bus could not possibly go any further, but to my amazement the driver refused even to slow down and we forced a way across several flooded sections of road. The occasional stretches of dry land were so amazingly, vividly green in colour, in stark contrast to the dark and muddy water.

Trivia #1: The old medina of Fes is believed to be the world’s largest car-free urban area. And indeed, the bus only delivered me outside the tall city walls.

Walking along the city walls to the nearest gate, I entered to find awnings and stalls covering almost every available space. Pedestrians were slowly weaving through the tangle of wares and somehow a donkey-led cart was also making headway. I found a hotel, dumped my pack in the room (which contained a single mattress and room for little else) and set out to get lost in the dark and twisting canvas-roofed avenues of the medina.

The first thing I noticed was the melange of heavy odours; fragrant foods and spices of many vivid colours beckoned from street stalls, intermingled with the sour scent of tanneries, the densely packed crowd of bodies and sodden earth. Compared to the fresh mountain breeze of Chefchaouen, this was a truly intoxicating air.

Trivia #2: Fes was the only source of Fez hats, before France and Turkey began to produce them. The dye originally came from a berry that grew outside the city walls.

I clearly stood out from the locals as I walked along the crowded streets, and without any other tourists evident (this was most definitely not the Moroccan tourist season) I drew a lot of attention. This mostly consisted of offers to show me the Berber workshops and tanneries; the first I refused since I had already spent an entire afternoon in a workshop in Chefchaouen, and the second I refused as I could already smell the tanneries from afar.

However, not every interjection was such an offer. Some local youths wanted to practice their English and others called to me simply out of curiosity. At this point it had been more than three months since I last shaved, and this drew smiles and calls of “Ali Baba! Ali Baba!” and many friendly waves.

Through the soukhs and alleys, I could occasionally catch glimpses of the local mosques, washed an immaculate white and studded with tiles of brilliant colour. I could peek through the open gates into the exterior courtyards, but since I did not share the faith (and had no intent to pretend so) I could not enter. Instead, I followed a set of stairs through several levels of workrooms and observed the mosque domes as I took in a panoramic view of Fes from a high rooftop. The peace and calm in the quiet, still air was a shock after the bustle of human traffic and voices from the streets below, quelled as they were by the thick walls and layers of awnings.

Trivia #3: Fes is home to the University of Al-Karaouine (Al-Qarawiyyin). A certain book of world records considers it to be (breathe in) “the oldest continuously operating academic degree-granting university in the world”, although this claim is apparently not without some controversy.

From here I eventually emerged into the relative space of the modern town, where paved roads capable of bearing cars separate concrete apartment buildings. I found this juxtaposition unsettling; the noise and bustle of the people crammed into the narrow alleyways was replaced by the din of cars squeezing past each other, and the air no longer bore the odour spices and tanneries, but rather the stench of petrol. I took refuge in an internet cafe and, in between answering emails, I caught up on the news back home. The devastating bush-fires that had begun to erase entire towns in rural Victoria were nearly too fanciful to believe. Being so distant and removed from home, absorbing the news through a dusty computer screen, it did not feel real. I would spend the next fortnight keeping in much closer contact with friends and family back home.

Trying to navigate through the warren of alleys to my hotel was easily the most difficult challenge I faced in Fes. As I was determined to avoid the busiest soukhs and retracing my original route, I was guilty of making it even harder. Of course, I ended up completely lost and after taking some questionable turns and negotiating several dead-ends, I arrived at a very dark and narrow cul-de-sac lined by empty, towering shells of buildings in various states of collapse, leaning together at alarming angles and half-sunken into the mud so that the ground floors were mostly buried. Despite the hectic, crowded streets that lay only a short walk behind me, the crumbling husks absorbed every sound and it was easy to imagine that I was in the deserted relic of an ancient city. Standing alone in mud and the uneasy silence, staring up at facades that appeared to be on the verge of collapsing, was disquieting. I retraced my last steps and joined the haphazard throng once more, this time with a mild sense of relief. I returned to my hotel as twilight descended, my clothes damp from the insistent drizzle.

Trivia #4: Fes was seen to be stagnating in recent years, a trend which has allegedly been reversed since the King married a computer engineer from Fes. Princess Lalla Salma is the first wife of a Moroccan ruler to have been given a royal title; the other Moroccan princesses have been royalty by birth.

The next morning I arose early and, lured by the delicious smell of breads and pastries, I bought a range of baked goods from several street stalls for the train ride to Marrakesh. A short taxi-ride later, I arrived at the station and began the 7 hour trip. The gentle rocking motion of the train kept putting me to sleep, but in between naps I was witness to a variety of landscapes: dead flat and vivid, emerald green fields; gentle rolling hills occasionally topped with rocky peaks; dry plains speckled with cacti; and the ragged, rocky beginnings of mountains. The heavy rains of the previous months were again evident. Rapidly flowing torrents had cut new paths across the land and vegetation had flourished, covering hills with brilliant flowers in shades of orange, yellow and purple.