Just over a week ago, I visited Fez with the abroad program. The twelve of us traveled by bus through the Middle Atlas, stopping briefly in Meknes, Ifrane, Volubilis, and Moulay Idriss. The stress of being in close quarters with a packed schedule seemed to get to everyone and, by the time we returned to Rabat, nearly half of us had colds (which, I suspect, was only exacerbated by our stroll in the rain through Volubilis’ ancient vomitoriums).
Perils aside, I wasn’t let down by Fez. Fassis have a reputation among their fellow Moroccans for being eccentric (I’m not sure I saw definitive evidence of this.), and the city itself has a reputation for being Morocco’s religious and traditional center.
The latter reputation manifests itself most in the medina. Like any large North African city, Fez has both an old medina (built just after the coming of Islam) and a ville nouvelle (built just after the coming of the French). At the edge of the ville nouvelle, next to a vast no-man’s land that divides the two areas, sits perhaps the largest McDonald’s I’ve ever seen. Café McDo’s seems to be a geographic reference point in Moroccan cities. I still cringe every time I have to say it to a cab driver.
Fez vs. Rabat, after the break.
As promised by every guidebook ever, Fez’s medina is huge, with narrow winding streets and dark corners. We stayed inside the medina in a beautiful rihad that was decorated with traditional Moroccan tiles and intricate woodwork. I think we were too distracted by the heating and hot running water to really comprehend its grandeur. Upon entering or exiting the rihad, we had to walk through pitch-black passageways (where people like to hang out, for god knows what reason) in order to reach the medina’s more commercial areas.
Now, Rabat’s medina is concentrated around two main streets, with many small side streets; it’s hard to get lost if you just pay attention because the main streets are wide-open with easily recognizable landmarks. Shopkeepers aren’t pushy, and their most precious goods aren’t spices, but Dolce & Gabbana jeans. Furthermore, there’s an actual mall inside the medina.
But anyone can tell you that Fez is not Rabat. In Fez’s medina, there are real hazards. You can get winded from walking up the hilly streets; you can get run over by mules carrying wool; you can asphyxiate from the smell of animal skin emanating from the tannery; and you’ll most certainly be harassed by shopkeepers and tour guides.
(You may also be sprayed with animal blood in the meat district.)
In Fez’s medina, the buildings are so close together, the sky’s hardly visible. It’s like the outside world is closed off. To say going to Fez is like going back in time would be a cliché and probably not what I actually took away from my visit. Modern things indeed exist in the medina. Rather, the space is a huge concentration of people and goods, like its own condensed world that you really never have to leave.
Of course, we did leave, and none too soon. We were sick and it had started to rain. The bus ride, which I estimated took much longer than necessary, took us over bumpy highways that cut through the preternaturally green countryside. The places we visited that weekend – dead Meknes, European Ifrane, traditional Fez, Ancient Roman Volubilis, and small town Moulay Idriss – were certainly a (welcome) change from Rabat. Still, when our bus pulled into Agdal (mere steps from the McDonald’s), it felt good to be back.
1 Comment
February 24, 2008 at 1:02 pm
meat markets remind me of Cairo in a big, big way