2024 Morocco – Fes
29th April 2024
Despite being an internal flight we had to queue up at passport control leaving Marakesh and also in security when landing in Fes. We were picked up at the airport by a taxi arranged by our hotel and on arrival, the driver pointed down a side street to what looked like the front door of a crack cocaine den. Not quite the five-star Ryad we had booked. A woman saw what was happening and pointed us to a hotel entrance on the main road so I went there and spoke to a young waiter. By now I was thoroughly confused and concerned that the taxi driver might have been paid extra to take us to the wrong hotel. I showed the waiter our booking at the Palais Laraichi Riad but as it didn’t seem to ring any bells with him he called someone. After a lot of talking he confirmed that we were in the right place and to follow him upstairs to meet the owner. Considering it was all one building owned by the same person it seemed very strange that the waiter didn’t know the name of the hotel he was working in. The woman we were introduced to didn’t speak a word of English but assured me we were in the right place and told the waiter to take our luggage to our room on the top floor.
The room was large with a lounge area at one end and the first thing I noticed was that the ceiling light had only one out of four light bulbs working. There was a gloomy old wardrobe in the bedroom area but half of it was locked and the only place to hang clothes was on two hangers on a wall coat rail. The bed was full of cushions that were very decorative but had covers that had probably never been washed they were so full of dust. I hated the place and the amateur way it was run especially after the last hotel had been so good. Federika was much more tolerant than me and as neither of us was feeling great I didn’t want to say anything so I was overjoyed when she told me she didn’t like it either. We went in search of a place for lunch and were lucky to find a big hotel next door called The Fez Heritage Luxury Hotel so we ate there. While we were waiting to be served we decided that even though we would lose the money we paid for the first hotel, we would cut our losses and move. Lunch was excellent and we even had the chef come out to ask if everything was ok. A friendly and efficient receptionist showed us their last remaining room and we took it straight away. It was far from the luxury hotel it claimed to be but it was clean and bright and we were both so happy we had moved. It was awkward that our suitcases were still in the other hotel so I took a porter with me to collect them and to explain to the owner we were not going to stay with them. She started arguing until she understood I would still pay but later I discovered that by cancelling on the day we arrived, we would at least get a 50% refund. As we weren’t feeling well we spent the rest of the day in the hotel and ordered room service which would have all been so depressing in the other hotel.
Next morning we had a walking tour booked but I was able to change it to the day after as although we were feeling a little better, we were both still very weak and I was also developing the cold. We took a stroll down to the famous Blue Gate which was the start of the Medina (old town.) 
I had read lots of warnings of how easy it was to get lost in the tiny streets but there were two main streets (more like alleys) which went straight down the hill so it was easy to find our way up and down those. I had heard a lot about Fez but as far as I could see it was just a giant market and didn’t have anything like the same atmosphere as Marakesh although Federika liked it and thought it was “more authentic.” One thing that was immeasurably better than Marakesh was there were no motorbikes or scooters. The occasional donkey here and there and a man pushing a cart but that was about it. 
We looked around the small shops offering much the same as Marakesh but managed to find a few things that interested us.
We had originally planned to go to a desert safari dinner and show which looked great but it was just as well I didn’t book it. By the time we were back at the hotel after lunch, we both had colds and the temperature had dropped drastically so we didn’t even want to go out for dinner. It was just as well, as dinner in the hotel turned into one of those amusing experiences that we will laugh about for years to come.
When we had lunch in the hotel the day before we had both wanted salmon pasta but it was off the menu. That night we wanted to eat in the hotel but the only thing on the menu either of us fancied was the salmon pasta so I went down to the restaurant to ask if it was now available. I spoke to the strange-looking middle-aged chubby-faced man who had bought us our room service pizza the night before. I will call him Basil. I remembered him as he looked like a restaurant manager so I wasn’t expecting to see him delivering room service. I had tipped him a couple of euros and not only didn’t he say thank you but he left the room expressionless so I assumed he thought two euros was not a big enough tip. So when I saw him the night after I was a bit apprehensive about asking him anything but he was happy enough to tell me that the salmon was available and I said I would be down shortly with my wife. On the way back to the room I noticed another large dining room and saw they had a buffet which looked good so we decided to go there instead. We had already taken our table and helped ourselves to a main course from the buffet when suddenly, Basil appeared and started shouting at me in Arabic that I had ordered two plates of salmon pasta from him so what were we doing eating at the buffet? I guessed that was what he was saying by his repeating of the word “salmon.”
A waiter who spoke a little English explained to him on my behalf that I hadn’t actually ordered anything. Because of the way Basil kept going on I naturally assumed that the meals had already been cooked and if we didn’t eat them they would be thrown away. In the spirit of compromise, I agreed to take one plate of salmon which he seemed to accept as he went back to the kitchen. Federika tucked into her buffet and ten minutes later I was still waiting for the salmon to arrive, I asked our waiter what was going on and he told me if I wanted the buffet then just go ahead and help myself which is what I did. Basil made a short appearance but the waiter told him to bugger off. We finished the meal which we enjoyed although it was surprisingly expensive for what it was. In common with the standard Fawlty Towers menu, there was a large table filled with desserts, but they were all the same, one-inch square chocolate cake petite fours. We paid the bill and were ready to leave when suddenly, there before us stood Basil, waving a plate of salmon pasta. We just laughed and the waiter told him to bugger off again and looked at us with a look that confirmed that Basil was definitely a nut job.
Next morning we went on a private walking tour of the Fes Medina. I had chosen a guide through Tripadvisor that was highly recommended which was why I was a bit pissed off that he sent someone else in his place. As we walked to the Blue Gate our substitute guide told us he had only got his licence a month earlier although he had been guiding unofficially for 20 years which had led him to a few short terms in prison. 
He seemed to know his business and spoke English well so we were happy enough with him. He took us to a Madrasa to see where students came from all over to study the Quran and showed us a few other moderately interesting buildings. We had coffee overlooking Nejjarine Square with the sound of men bashing away on copper dishes in the background. 
We went to a workshop where a highly skilled craftsman was making plates of all sizes and although I loved his work and would have liked to have bought something, I don’t like ornaments. The only possibility of using one was as a large serving dish but they were much too heavy to take on the plane. I had only paid for 20 kilos of hold baggage and unlike other airlines, I couldn’t just pay for a few extra kilos. I would have had to buy another suitcase and pay for another 20 kilos which would have doubled the price of the plate.
The highlight of the tour was the tannery. We were met at the bottom of some steps by a young girl who was handing out twigs of mint we had to hold to our noses because of the smell. I had read a book about a man who worked in a tannery in India and it sounded horrific with a smell you can never get rid of so I was glad of mint. The viewing area was up four flights of stairs. We weren’t able to walk around the tannery and there was no information about what was going on. There was plenty of activity below but it was just men taking things to and from the vats filled with what I assumed were dyes and other various liquids. One of the vats was for soaking the leather in chicken shit which they refer to as “Kaka Channel.”
We were only at the open window for a few minutes when we were moved on to the selling area and they started working on us. I was mildly interested in a gilet and a young man showed me a beautifully made leather one with warm padding which I wanted until he said it cost €450. I just laughed and walked away but he started the usual “What is your best price?” routine which I had little patience for. I told him my best price was €120 and although it might well have been worth a lot more, that is what it was worth to me. It was a luxury and after a lifetime of being short of money, I still found it hard to splash out on such luxuries, even if I could now afford it. He pestered me for half an hour by which time he went down to €130 which I would probably have paid if he had just started at that price but by then I was irritated by the whole thing and walked out with Federika who had had a similar experience.
One thing Federika was definitely in the market for was a carpet so our guide took us to a large shop that made and sold them. We were given a cup of Moroccan tea and assigned a salesman who got his assistant to roll several out in front of us. The cost of each carpet was determined by the number of knots they contained. The cheaper carpets had only 100,000 knots per square metre and it went up to a million per square metre for the most expensive. I didn’t envy the person whose job it was to sit and count all those knots to make sure tourists weren’t short changed. Some of the carpets were fantastic but as often happens, Federika’s taste differed from mine and whereas I preferred the traditional Persian rugs, Federika liked the local Berber ones. 
It didn’t matter anyway as it was impractical for us to buy anything. We would have had to book extra luggage for two flights and pay a 25% import tax in Croatia. The salesman offered to ship it to us so the cost would have ended up the same but without a guarantee that we would ever receive it. It made me laugh when he assured us that Morocco had a special agreement with the Croatian government so we wouldn’t have to pay import tax. I could just imagine trying to explain that to the Croatian customs officer.
Our guide showed us to a lovely little restaurant for lunch where we each had a tajin with lots of side dishes making it one of those meals that was a joy to eat, even if we had no idea what half of it was. 
We said goodbye to our guide and although I always enjoy our tours, I always feel a little relieved to be on our own again, free to wander around as we pleased. It was good to gain knowledge of the places we visited but like Homer Simpson, I was always conscious that “every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain.”
We went to one large shop selling a million types of teas and spices and Federika enquired about some Fenal tea. Once again the salesperson refused to give a price until she had shown 50 other products. If she had just told us at the beginning that a small back of fennel tea cost €25 it would have saved us all half an hour of our lives. By now we were both sick of the constant pressure to buy things so went back to our hotel to recover as we were still not feeling great.
It was a strange hotel. Advertised as a “Five Star Luxury Boutique Hotel” charging €220 a night we were very happy with it but in the real world, it would have been lucky to get four stars. On arrival, our bathroom door was so squeaky that every time I went to the bathroom during the night it would wake Federika. The two TVs (non-smart) had no English channels at all and the A/C only provided cold air whereas every A/C unit I have ever known provided heating as well. The receptionist sent someone up a young lad to “fix it.” He was hopeless and after telling him we weren’t bothered about the A/C or the TV I thought he could at least manage to put a bit of oil on the bathroom door hinges. He went away and we never saw him again. Something had to be done about the squeaky door so I heated up some of Federika’s coconut oil in hot water and poured it on the hinges. It worked a treat. We also had a problem with a little machine that squirts out air freshener every five minutes. It was overpowering with a nauseating smell so we put it away in various places but it kept creeping out like those plants in the film, The Day of the Triffids. Eventually, I took the batteries out, wrapped it in three plastic bags and put it at the back of a cupboard. I don’t know what the chambermaid must have thought when she found it.
On our return to the hotel that day, there were two large buses outside and the lobby was full of Africans that turned out to be Senegalese. It was a strange sight as I am sad to say that the only time I had ever come into contact with someone from Senegal was in the street trying to sell me something. I expect they were having a good time but I couldn’t think of anything worse than touring around in a big group so everywhere you go it will be overcrowded. In the coffee shop that day there was a group of 15 Americans. We spoke to a couple who said that because they were part of a tour they had to accept what was offered which included them having to sit on the centre seats of the aeroplane for two long flights. The coffee shop was packed with their group when we arrived but as soon as they went it was lovely and empty. The couple were thoroughly fed up with having to follow the group like sheep all the time. There were 75 people in the African Senegalese group.
That night we were still quite full from lunch and didn’t want to go out into the cold night air. We couldn’t face Basil Fawlty with room service or a €30 buffet when we only wanted a snack so we sat in our room and had a banana and the three remaining pieces of cold pizza from our first night. What a feast for our last night in Morroco.
2024 Barcelona and Morocco
