Spice up your life in vibrant Fez
It is far less in your face than Marrakech but no less vibrant. Roslyn Dee explores the oldest of Morocco’s imperial cities
In the Fez medina, the locals are buying live chickens hand over fist. Amid the hustle and bustle of this part of the Moroccan city known as Fez el-Bali (old Fez), here we are, on a November morning, wandering through what is one of the largest medieval centres in the world.
I’m visiting Fez with my friend, Aileen. It’s a short break and we’re here for just three nights, but determined to cram in as much as we possibly can. So, after a late-night arrival, we are here in the old city the next morning and, with the help of our guide, attempting to make sense of the myriad alleyways and narrow cobbled lanes that make up the 9,400 ‘streets’ of the medina. No, that’s not a misprint – there really are 9,400 passageways in this ancient, city-centre maze.
It’s the day before Milad un Nabi, the holy day in the Muslim calendar that celebrates the birth of the Prophet Muhammed, a day when shops and businesses close and families all get together to eat – hence the run on the chickens.
Live chickens, however (and some dead ones too, albeit still fully feathered), are just one aspect of the day-to-day trading that goes on in the medina. For here there seems to be every conceivable kind of workshop, retail outlet and café, plus countless small mosques and madrasa schools.
Most of the ‘shops’ are what you could only describe as selling spaces that have been literally carved out of the walls. So no doors or windows anywhere, although there are shutters which are pulled down at night. And as you stroll along one of the walkways (it’s too tight for vehicular traffic in the medina) you’ll find, say, a butcher’s, then, right next door, perhaps a man making and selling copper pans, next to that some jewellery for sale, then maybe a huckster of a café, followed by another butcher’s with live, squawking chickens, and beside that an outlet with the most magnificently styled and bejewelled wedding dresses. It’s an absolute assault on the senses. And utterly intoxicating. And all the while there will be men with carts laden with olives, or oranges or spices or prickly pears, all pushing their way through the crowds or setting up their stalls in their tried-and-tested pitches inside the old walls.
Our stay in Fez is being split, accommodation wise, between Hotel Sahrai, a beautiful, modern boutique hotel just ten minutes’ drive (by hotel shuttle-bus service) from the city centre (both the medina and the café-lined boulevards of the Ville Nouvelle) and its sister hotel, Riad Fes, originally a traditional Moroccan home and a real architectural stunner that comes with Relais & Chateaux accreditation and lies just inside the medina. While the hotels are under the same ownership, they offer guests quite contrasting experiences. Although there’s nothing contrasting about the food or the wonderful spa facilities which are superb in both hotels. And both pride themselves on their rooftop views – from the terrace off the Jungle bar in the Sahrai you look out over the city, while on the roof of Riad Fes you are up close and personal with the minarets and the myriad ancient buildings of the old city.
This isn’t my first Moroccan visit, but it is my first time in Fez, a city that has long fascinated me and which I have been determined to visit for some years now. It’s the oldest of the country’s imperial cities and was known throughout the centuries as the cultural and religious heart of Morocco. It was in Fez that the movement for independence began and it is a city that has always left its mark when it comes to people power.
In November the tourist quota is very low, giving us a great opportunity to observe the city in its true colours. Perhaps it’s simply the time of year, but I find Fez in November 2018 to be far less touristy and commercial than Marrakech when I visited that city well over a decade ago.
There are no gimmicks in Fez. What you see is real, not dressed up for the tourists. Yes, of course you have to barter a bit as we did for some beautiful good-quality pashminas in what was more of an actual ‘shop’ than most of the outlets we saw in the medina. But that’s the nature of doing business here. And the locals we encountered – the Fassis – were welcoming, polite, extremely charming, and delighted that we were visiting their city. Meanwhile the hassle factor, which can be a bit overwhelming in Marrakech, isn’t so much a factor in Fez.
Ceramics are everywhere in the city – to be admired in all their formats in the hotels and the restaurants, and to purchase in the shops.
We decide to grab a taxi and head out to the source of many of these beautiful pieces – to the Naji factory on the outskirts of the city. There we are shown around by a charming young man and we watch, mesmerised, as some of the workers put together, piece by miniscule piece, some of the mosaics that will later end up for sale in the factory shop – and in the outlets in the medina and beyond.
A BUTCHER WITH LIVE CHICKENS TRADES NEXT TO ONE SELLING WEDDING DRESSES
Back in the medina itself, and feeling our senses assaulted at every turn as our guide walks us expertly through the maze, there is, nonetheless, one particular ‘wow’ moment.
Leading us here and there, down alleyways and around corners, Aileen and I eventually follow our guide into a leather shop. Oh, here we go, I think – here comes the hard sell. But nothing could be further from the truth.
Past the handbags we go, up the narrow stairs and past rails of leather jackets as soft as putty. Then, pushing our way through hanging fabrics that act as a curtain, we find ourselves on an outdoor balcony and there, down below us, and for as far as the eye can see is the Chouara tannery, the largest of the tanneries in the city.
Looking for all the world like a giant version of an artist’s tray of paints, what it actually is is an array of stone containers filled with various coloured dyes. In each of the containers men are standing, waist deep in the dye, tending to the various hides that are being soaked and treated there.
Many of the dyes are vegetable or spice-based, so red is likely to be poppies, yellow, saffron, green, mint and so forth. It is the most extraordinary sight; a scene in 21st century Morocco that could be straight out of biblical times.
When the rain starts to pour down on our last afternoon in the city we repair to Riad Fes for a few hours relaxation, sitting in one of the hotel’s beautiful patio areas, reading, and drinking sweet mint tea, served with much theatrical aplomb by one of the waiters.
Then, as darkness falls, the rains finally stop and we decide to venture forth – without a guide – into the medina. We walk out from Riad Fes, turn left and descend down a narrow alley, turning right at the corner and watching out for landmarks (and snapping them on our phones) so that we can make our way back through the maze.
As we round a corner we are joined from the left by two young men. Are we ok?, they ask. Do we want to see the mosque? (It’s the holy day and people are heading for prayers.)
We converse a little in French with the boys as we walk.
‘Irlande’, I reply when one of them asks where we are from.
Their faces light up – ‘Ah, Conor McGregor!’, the smaller one says, delighted with this connection.
All we can do is laugh. And then, leaving our new-found friends behind as they head to evening prayers, Aileen and I plunge ourselves into the heart of the ancient medina, ready to surrender ourselves to its intoxicating vibrancy, to its colours, its sounds, and its idiosyncrasies.
And ready too to feel humbled by this city’s old-as-time traditions, by its ability to stand still in such a fast-moving world. And yet to offer such a warm welcome to any outsiders who choose to embrace it – and enter in.
THERE ARE NO GIMMICKS IN FEZ. WHAT YOU SEE IS REAL