Another Day in Fes

 

Day 11 - Jay and I took a walk. We were this city in 2010 but, given our age, we're pretty confident we may never return. For our second and final day in Fes, we started with a highly ambitious, completely exhausting 110-meter stroll from our riad to the Bou Inania Medersa. Built in the 1350s by a Marinid sultan who clearly wanted to show off, it is a theological college masquerading as a full congregational mosque. Because the central courtyard is open to heathens like us, we were actually allowed inside to inspect the 14th-century wealth. We spent a good amount of time craning our necks at massive cedar doors dragged down from the Middle Atlas, dizzying geometric zellige tiles, and walls covered in carved stucco that effectively resembles petrified lace.

 

Down we went. Feeling sufficiently cultured, we surrendered entirely to the medina's gravity well and plunged straight down Talaa Kebira, shuffling past the donkeys and navigating a retail gauntlet that absolutely defies all modern zoning concepts. You transition seamlessly from dodging stacks of artisan soaps and being deafened by the rhythmic hammering of brass and copper vendors, right into dark little plumbing supply stalls. This naturally gives way to overflowing vegetable carts and, eventually, the chaotic squawk of a live chicken exchange. We marched through this entire sensory overload all the way to the bottom of the hill to peek through the massive doors of the Al-Qarawiyyin mosque.

 

We cheated. Having successfully reached the absolute floor of the ancient city, Jay and I had a startling realization that hiking back up a medieval slip-and-slide in the Moroccan heat, where the maximum temperature today hit a dry 35°C, was a terrible idea. We promptly flagged down a red petit taxi, completely bypassing the internal gauntlet, and enjoyed the perimeter scenery as internal combustion hauled us comfortably back up to the Bab Boujloud gate.

 

Jay and I miscalculated. Safely back at the top, we confidently returned to the exact same joint that served us a gloriously cheap meal yesterday. Having flagged us as returning patrons, they immediately upgraded us to royal status. The hospitality was aggressive, the spread was vast, and when the bill arrived, we had somehow dropped nearly as much on a medina lunch as we would back home in Canada. It felt fundamentally wrong, but I suppose that is the tax for becoming VIPs in Fes.

 

We must pack. Now, we must enforce strict backpack discipline and get our gear sorted. Tomorrow at the entirely uncivilized hour of 7:10 AM, we are scheduled to be standing out in front of the Bab for our departure. We are officially leaving the labyrinth to begin our push into the Atlas Mountains and down to the edge of the desert, culminating in a Thursday drop off at a Riad in Marrakech.

A Day in Fes

Breakfast at Courtyard of Raid Jaouhara in Fes.

Day 10 - Rather than subjecting ourselves to the indignity of another exhausting day trip only to retreat to the exact same hotel room, Jay and I plotted a far grander exit strategy for our Monday departure. We decided by then, it will be high time to pack up the circus completely and commit to a much larger expedition southward.

We have officially parted with perfectly good Canadian dollars for the distinct privilege of a three night / four day desert expedition. We start the gauntlet by heading into lush forests of the Middle Atlas Mountains visiting traditional Berber villages before migrating to Sahara's sand for an obligatory camel ride. Frankly, these ill tempered, spitting ungulates were a dime a dozen during our Middle East years, but one must play the tourist. 

As we extract ourselves from the desert, we will wander the cinematic ruins of Ouarzazate, squinting at the exact spot where Hollywood shoots every single gladiator epic. Assuming the treacherous mountain ranges do not claim us on the final leg, Jay and I will finally collapse into a heavily air conditioned, four night stationary interlude in Marrakech.

I have included a few photographic highlights below to document our stroll through Jnan Sbil Gardens, situated just on the other side of the upper plaza. Today's little excursion naturally required navigating our way down the hill, which inevitably meant a punishing slog right back up again. Fortunately, Jay and I survived the incline and immediately rewarded ourselves with a highly satisfying lunch. The entire meal for the two of us set us back a mere 100 dirhams, which translates to a highly agreeable total of less than US $11.

 

Chefchaouen to Fes

Day 09 - We reunited with Nasir, the exact same driver who successfully hauled us from Tangier to Chefchaouen. He had the foresight to hand over his phone number earlier in the trip, so yesterday we simply used WhatsApp to arrange a 10:00 AM pickup right at our hotel for the onward journey to Fes. We banked on a four-hour transit, and the actual drive only tipped slightly past that estimate.

​We watched the entire topographical surrender unfold right outside the windows. Leaving the Rif Mountains, the rugged, scrub-covered limestone peaks and tight valleys gradually softened into rolling foothills. The roadside provided a steady, fascinating stream of rural Moroccan life. We passed flocks of wandering goats and plenty of working donkeys hauling their daily burdens. As we continued south, the terrain completely flattened out and spilled onto the Saïss Plain. We also spotted massive White Stork nests perched precariously high above the ground. These avian squatters have constructed their giant, messy homes on top of nearly every available utility pole and minaret. The final stretch approaching Fes delivered a tranquil, strictly horizontal patchwork of endless olive groves and wheat fields. It was quite a striking contrast to the dramatic elevation we had just left behind. 

It was a genuine privilege to witness rural Morocco rolling past the glass. Jay and I firmly believe that observing the daily rhythms of how others actually live is a fundamentally important part of why we travel.

So here we are, securely barricaded at the upper lip of Fes el-Bali. This ancient place is a twelve-hundred-year-old urban bowl where wedging a modern car between the alley walls is an absolute physical impossibility. Jay and I have claimed our refuge at Riad Jaouhara, comfortably positioned near the Bab Boujloud gate and the rather grand nineteenth-century royal summer palace of Dar Batha. For all intents and purposes, we are occupying the tactical high ground of the entire medina.

Whenever we dare venture outside our heavy wooden doors, we must surrender entirely to gravity. Two main arteries plunge directly into the heart of the labyrinth. Talaa Kebira, the Great Slope, and Talaa Seghira, the Little Slope, act as grueling one-and-a-half-kilometer chutes dropping straight into the core. These streets are relentless commercial gauntlets. One constantly squeezes past butcher stalls, brass merchants, and fragrant street food vendors. The surrounding architecture is a beautifully chaotic collision of crumbling medieval stonework and hastily poured concrete from the 1920s.

Our brief foray into the neighborhood for a late lunch this afternoon demanded a highly specific, borderline athletic skill set. Jay and I spent half the walk violently flattening ourselves against dusty walls to dodge heavily burdened donkeys. The rest of the excursion involved absorbing the sheer sensory overload of a functioning medieval market while hunting down sustenance. We just have to remember our golden rule of local navigation. Every downward step dragged us deeper into the madness, and a sweat-inducing uphill hike was the only guaranteed ticket back to sanctuary.

A Day in Chefchaouen

Day 08 - I am going to kick things off today by showcasing some serious blue. The city is entirely famous because of it; who am I to stand in the way of international expectation? We only had a single full day to tackle Chefchaouen, and we have already arranged for a taxi to spirit us away tomorrow. Naturally, we started our morning by actively attempting not to seek out the defining color. That proved utterly futile. Therefore, let us just get a generous portion of the cyan scenery out of the way right now.

A few folks back home are wondering whether this blue wash actually seems more effective at reflecting heat than the blinding white of a place like Santorini. That thermal trickery happens to be one of the three main theories explaining why this became the "Blue City" in the first place. In all likelihood, the real reason has much more to do with a few generations of local tradition, deep civic pride, and an incredibly astute business sense. Anyway, let us do some blue before we continue with the rest of today's entry!

The blue is down, now let's get to other parts of our day in the city.  Right after our hotel breakfast, one of our first orders of business was to head straight to the Plaza Uta el-Hammam. You simply cannot miss the most imposing building anchoring the square: the Chefchaouen Kasbah. It is a massive red-brown fortress that aggressively interrupts all the surrounding blue.

This formidable structure was actually the birthplace of the city. A local leader named Moulay Ali ibn Rashid ordered it built back in 1471. He needed a sturdy military base to fend off the Portuguese who were busy launching attacks across northern Morocco at the time. Over the centuries, it evolved from a rugged military garrison into a governor's residence and even served a stint as a prison. Today, the space functions primarily as an ethnographic museum and a rather tranquil Andalusian garden. The complex itself is surprisingly large and is completely enclosed by thick mud-brick walls topped with crenellated towers.

We happily handed over the 80 MAD entry fee to get inside. The small museum exhibits are pleasant enough, but the real highlight is the architecture itself. We made a point to walk all the way up to the roof of the main ten-sided tower. The climb is absolutely worth the effort. From that elevated vantage point, you are rewarded with sweeping, unobstructed panoramic views of the entire blue medina spilling out below and the rugged Rif Mountains rising up in the distance.

One of the primary goals of our morning walk was to track down the absolute lifeblood of the town. We wanted to see the initial source of water that made Chefchaouen possible in the first place. A formidable mountain fortification is completely useless without a reliable water supply. In a very literal sense, this specific mountain stream allowed an entire city to spring into existence right here. We navigated to the eastern gate of the city, known as Bab el Ansar, to find the Ras el Maa. The name translates to the head of the water. Traditionally, this is the communal spot where local women would gather to scrub laundry and carpets on the smooth stones. The scene is slightly altered for the tourist crowd these days. The area is currently occupied by highly opportunistic orange sellers. The mountain water is brutally cold. The vendors simply use the rushing stream as a natural refrigerator to chill massive piles of fruit. Jay and I figured it was worth a try. We handed over 10 MAD, which is about $1.50 CAD, to a father and son team. In exchange, we received two exceptionally cold glasses of freshly squeezed juice.

 

Tangier to Chefchaouen

Day 07 - We kicked off the day with a rooftop breakfast, gazing out over the Tangier medina and a lot that lays beyond. Jay and I had booked a private taxi for 10:30 to haul us two and a half hours up to Chefchaouen. Naturally, this meant we had to conquer some serious elevation. Our original driver was fashionably late; however, he managed to organize one of his guys for the job. The resulting drive up to the Blue City was surprisingly pleasant. We only stopped a handful of times along the route to absorb the sweeping mountain views, eventually rolling into our destination around 1:30 PM.

As luck would have it, our driver is a local. He immediately spotted a friend while navigating the edge of town. Jay settled the bill. Since we are lodged deep in the old Casbah again, pulling the car right up to the hotel entrance was geographically impossible. Thankfully, the driver's fortuitously placed buddy doubled as our personal sherpa to guide us up the relentless hills to Hotel Dar Mounir.

We breezed through check-in at the hotel. Since the peak tourist season packed its bags a couple of months ago, we definitely aren't throwing elbows for a spot in this picture-postcard city. Truthfully, I suspect we might be the sole occupants of the establishment tonight. The main public square did maintain a pleasant hum of activity; it was temporarily flooded by the day-tripper crowd spilling out of tour buses for a few fleeting hours. Consequently, we were entirely spoiled for choice when it came time for a late lunch. We ultimately rolled the dice on Restaurant Twins, and it turned out to be an absolutely stellar selection.

I always find it fascinating how a place like this actually evolved. Chefchaouen was born back in 1471 as a military fortress. A local leader named Moulay Ali ibn Rashid built the original kasbah primarily to keep the Portuguese from aggressively expanding inland from the coast. The town quickly morphed into a rugged mountain refuge for Muslims and Jews who were fleeing the Spanish Reconquista. For centuries, it remained a fiercely isolated stronghold. In fact, the city was essentially closed off to outsiders right up until 1920 when the Spanish established a protectorate. After those doors finally opened, a slow trickle of curious travelers gradually became a massive wave of global tourism by the late twentieth century. The town itself has grown to a modest population of about 46,000 residents today.

As for why Jay and I are currently drowning in a sea of cyan, there is no single agreed-upon answer. The most poetic theory points to the Jewish community who settled here. They supposedly introduced the blue wash to mirror the heavens and maintain a constant connection to the divine. A much more practical local theory claims the bright blue tricks mosquitoes into thinking the walls are actually flowing water, thereby keeping the pests at bay. Others simply argue that light colors reflect the brutal Moroccan summer sun to help keep the mud-brick houses cool.

Whatever the true origin story might be, the modern reality is all about the dirhams. The "Blue Pearl" branding is an absolute magnet for travelers. The locals fully embrace this lucrative identity. They haul out massive bags of raw blue pigment every single spring to refresh the walls and keep the tourist economy thriving.