Falling in love with Fes

Reading online before coming to Morocco, it seemed that Fes is the Marmite of Morocco, which despite it having a ring to it, probably shouldn’t be used during the marketing campaign for the city. Love it or hate it, Fes deserves better.

Leaving the Fes airport, I avoided the hungry stares of the taxi drivers and instead headed for a bus stop. On the way, I got talking to a German who I then waited with under the insufficient shade of a nearby tree. Soon after, completely out of the blue, a man pulled over and offered us a lift. This local guy was with his family and didn’t speak a word of English but his sincerity and kindness was clear. Unfortunately, as we thanked him profusely and lugged our bags towards his car, the aforementioned taxi drivers swamped him. Arguments erupted left, right and centre, and soon he had to leave us behind to avoid the mob of enraged taxi drivers. Half an hour later our bus arrived and we were on our way to the city centre.

The Medina

After a dead straight cruise along the dusty outskirts of the expanding modern city, we arrived at Fes’ train station. Here we got off the bus hoping to find a taxi to the old city, otherwise known as the Medina. Every old city of the world tethers a constantly modernising society to its roots, in a way reminding itself of its true character. However, Fez’s medina is so vast, intricate and ancient that the old city is multi-faceted in and of itself. Not the open air museum of many old cities, Fez’s medina remains a living and breathing remnant of a bygone era. A labyrinth of true sensory excess.

As the largest pedestrianised zone in the world, Fez’s medina presents chaos to you, stripped down to its purest form. People. People doing every crazy, resourceful, selfish, brash, unsanitary, entrepreneurial and gregarious thing they can do. As you enter one of the grand gates you are enveloped by the intricate sprawl. On each main street or square, people specialising in different products socialise, shout and sell with furious intensity. Steering your way through these lanes, you may find yourself in a small square where metal pans are shaped by hand, the sonorous clangs of hammer strikes never drowning out the pervading buzz of the city. Turning the corner you could descend into a different world, a dark covered alley, hidden from the omnipotent Moroccan sun and, instead, lit by the warm glow of the many lanterns being sold in otherwise shaded nooks. The organisation of street sellers into certain areas kept the place exciting and was about the only organisation anywhere in the medina. As you fight your way through the narrow alleys, brushing off vendors, hurdling rogue ducks and side-stepping donkeys, small gaps in the suffocating freneticism appear and I would advise you to dive into them. These are the small entrances to the tangle of crooked and narrow side streets that muddle the medina’s map ever more. There in the suddenly empty lanes you can breathe and appreciate the place you are in. Away from the vibrancy and vigour of the main streets, noise, space and time seem to bleed into the earthen walls. Throughout the medina these walls rise haphazardly, to a jagged crack of pastel blue sky above. Watching the infinite sky being compressed and cropped, as you move deeper into the ancient city, gives Fes the feeling of being a sunken place. An amber walled labyrinth hidden from the modern world. In places, ancient wooden beams, hewn from even more ancient trees, traverse the alley above your head while uneven cobblestones overlay the rugged ground at your feet. In many of these alleys, being lost or reaching a dead end is a common occurrence, but the very act of walking these time-worn streets is more thrilling than any other city in the world. After days spent in amongst the ancient sprawl, the faces of many lost tourists became a staple sight and their looks of uncertain terror started to bring me a sick sense of satisfaction. We had been the lost ones; happy to be swept this way and that by the human swell. But we had learnt from our mistakes and began to navigate the medina without regularly ending up back where we started. A true accomplishment.

One night, however, our knowledge of the medina proved to be slightly incomplete. Night had fallen as we were tucking into dinner, so as we left the restaurant we decided to follow our usual quick route back through the otherwise impossible warren of streets. After being briefly assaulted by a crazy guy and then told that the way we were going is closed (normal lies told by people who want money to guide you), we reached one of the main gates out of the densest part of the medina. To our surprise the gate was indeed closed, so we walked back and the same man offered to guide us out of the medina. Regrettably, Moroccans (in Fes especially), will not agree on a price beforehand. Instead, they will just say, ‘Money comes and goes, my friend’ and this means at the end they will rip you off. Telling our nighttime guide how much we’d pay, he pretended not to hear and ambled cheerily onwards. We eventually stopped and he demanded some truly extortionate amount of money. Not ones to be hustled, we gave him how much we had said beforehand which unsurprisingly led to an argument. This lively debate was interrupted when he called his much larger friend to reinforce his monetary standpoint. When his hefty pal emerged from the darkness he then proclaimed that he would not lead us the rest of the way out of the medina if we did not pay. We said, ‘Fine’ and walked off, pretty sure we were just around the corner from where we needed to be. A sense of direction and lack of trust in humanity had come to the rescue and we were correct, we made it back to the hostel in one piece.

When we weren’t ducking in and out of small alleys, we enjoyed watching the pulsating city life pass us by, meaty sandwich in one hand and cup of Moroccan tea in the other. People watching is a valued pastime for all nosey people across the world, but in Fes the opportunities to people watch are just so varied. Firstly, there’s always so much going on: taxi drivers having a heated argument, people drinking tea on their haunches outside their shops, people hard at work making everything under the sun. But if the “people” part of “people watching” doesn’t appeal to you then there’s plenty of animals to watch too. Donkeys, sheep, chickens and ducks are just some of the street dwelling menagerie to be found in the medina. After a few days in the clamorous intensity, where it would be so easy to get overwhelmed by it all, I started to feel a strange sense of calm. As a country boy through and through, this feeling was new to me and I think it shows just how much I loved Fes.

What Else To See

Despite our love for the medina, we needed some time in the sunlight and hopefully at the same time we could find a good view or two. In a strange turn of undeserved and unusual luck, it turned out the two things we had planned to see were next to each other.

Our first port of call was Borj Nord, a large castle on the hill looking over the medina and beyond. It’s now an arms museum and only a 10/15-minute walk outside of the medina. After flitting around London’s museums this year, I’ve realised that I enjoy looking at antiquated methods people used for committing homicide. Killing other people isn’t a nice thing (as I hope the majority of people will agree) however, since people have been wanting to kill other people for a while, there’s quite a variety of ways to go about it. Straight stabby things, curvy stabby things, long guns, short guns, they had it all. Ok, admittedly I don’t know much about medieval weaponry but there were lots of pretty patterns on the previously blood-soaked implements so that was nice.

After enjoying the views that the roof of the museum had to offer we headed for the nearby Merenid tombs. These 13^th to 15^th century tombs were in ruins but remained impressive and gave amazing views over medina which was so large that the panorama on my camera couldn’t capture the entire sprawl. The tombs were apparently best seen at sunset, however, being impatient people we left a long time before then. Besides, sunset is when hunger becomes the only driving force in my life. No tombs, only food.

Food and Drink

As a disclaimer, food in Morocco is very tasty. However, there is one slight issue, the lack of variety. If you’re a fan of tagine then get ready for the best time of your life. Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a tagine as much as the next man. But, after a while, my brain and stomach were quivering anxiously at the thought of another day of lunch and dinner tagines. At the end of our collective tether, both mentally and physically, we tried every variety within the realm of the tagine: Beef, lamb, chicken and kofta. But it wasn’t enough. Just the sight of another steaming tagine pot on the table was soul-destroying. Even writing tagine this many times has brought back strong feelings I had buried deep deep down.

There are some other options in the form of kebabs, couscous and (if you’re lucky) pastilla. However, the kebabs are just meat and chips. The couscous, to Ollie’s what can only be described as unmatched abhorrence, was served in a tagine pot. And finally, the pastilla was a sweet but elusive mistress, rare to find in its purest and most succulent state. Poor imitations of this Moroccan filo pastry pie are more common and on occasion their dry, disappointing imitation of greatness drove me to anger.

In terms of specific places to eat in Fes, my main recommendation would be to indulge in whatever street meat you can get your hands on. Served in a large sandwich sometimes with chips, you’ll destroy any semblance of cardiovascular health but also banish hunger with one fell swoop. 10-30DHR and a laissez-faire attitude to food hygiene is all you’ll need to be armed with, so pack your bags and get stuck in.

If a street-side sandwich place isn’t meeting your somewhat fancy standards then, for the best food we found, go to Ruined Garden. As well as being ruined, it is also very hard to find, so look out for the signs on the main thoroughfare. It’s very pricey for Morocco, but the food is incredibly good and has some much needed variety.

If you’re looking for some pastilla, which to be honest I’m not sure why you wouldn’t be, then one of the restaurants overlooking the blue gate is the best. For those that are unfamiliar with this previously mentioned filo pie, it is a slice of heaven. Filled with chicken, ground almonds, egg, and perhaps the essence of true love, its filling is unctuous and complex. And on top, it is doused with a layer of icing sugar and stripes of cinnamon. This sweet and savoury combination, with subtle spices permeating the pie and juxtaposing textures with every mouthful makes this dish an elaborate sensory experience served up in a simple slice of pie.

In terms of beverages, there’s only one place that really has the chilled atmosphere suitable for a long period of relaxing. Where you can sit with a smoothie or milkshake when you fancy a break from madness of the medina. That place is Café Clock. On their roof terrace you can admire the otherwise unseen rooftops and tile-clad minarets while gazing upon the ancient scene undisturbed by cars. Removed from the hum of life below, you can take a breather while avoiding their extortionately priced food. Drink your smoothies and then emerge back to the chaos to grab your street meat. That is the way.

Where to Stay

There seemed to be a choice of accommodation in Fes, however, the main place that everyone recommended was Funky Fes. This was a hostel at the bottom end of the medina and as with many hostels, it was in a riad style, with an indoor courtyard and rooms on various levels arranged around the outside. Funky Fes was a beautifully designed hostel with nice rooms and a great roof terrace but the people seemed a little unfriendly compared to the hostels I had been accustomed to in Central America.

Backhome Fez was where we stayed on our return to Fes at the end of our three weeks, it was much cheaper than Funky Fes (almost half the price). It wasn’t the easiest place to find but the small hostel had a nice friendly atmosphere and the people there seemed more chatty. My only reservation about the place was the polystyrene mattresses. It might have tonnes of air bubbles in it, but Christ alive is it one of the most uncomfortable materials known to man. I think sleeping on the wooden floor would’ve been preferable, at least then my expectations would’ve been lower. Hiding your garbage mattress under a colourful bed sheet won’t hide your miserly ways. Reconsider your priorities, mysterious hostel owner.

Final thoughts

Fez is simply one of my favourite cities in the world. The uncompromising frenzy of life amplified by the streets felt unashamedly authentic. As though if you stripped away the tourists it wouldn’t feel much different. Here, life has continued much the same for centuries and perhaps this ancient hum, this chaotic constant that fuels the medina of Fez, is the white noise that provided me with such counterintuitive catharsis.