Fez - Mysterious ways

 Fes (Morocco)

Casablanca had already taught me the Moroccan way of the Magi, I'm referring to that mysterious period of time between when you first meet a local and then that point where they are parting with money that mentally you had intended to go elsewhere, for the greater good of you. That chasm, that space is where the irrational is made rational and as a foreigner, well, you are sold on the idea of the irrational actually being the truth, and whilst in your heart of hearts you know it isn't the case, it's the damn element of doubt that catches you every time! I considered Hussein and his three drink card trick as I journeyed east from Casablanca to the old imperial city of Fez.

Moroccan flag - Fes - Morocco

Another Moroccan town and alas, another opportunity for 'the scam' to be put on you. I often wonder, as a tourist in a new land, how the hell are you suppose to beat the conspiracy of the entry port taxi cab rank ? They inevitably overcharge and the realisation of this fact only comes from either taking another trip within the same city or speaking to a local who often laughs and says, 'my friend, you got ripped off' - 'Oh really Chachi ? Thanks for the newsflash !' . In the circumstances that were my arrival in Fez I jumped a cab with an English couple in a petit taxi. Our bags were quickly stacked precariously on the roof of the vehicle, nothing tied down and in turn we were simply left to the  deft touch and dexterity of our driver  on his home turf , hoping of course that hi actions and the concept of gravity would work in our favour. We took off from the station with both the couple and I looking behind us every 30 seconds to make sure that we wouldn't have to be collecting our underwear from the road behind any time soon.


Mohammad, our gruff and surly driver inevitably overcharged me. A 15 dirham run turned into a 25 dirham fee but again, where and how do you beat a local when you don't have the home ground advantage ? His real present however, and the one that left me with that special 'Moroccan brotherly feel' , were his directions to my riad after my bag had been lovingly thrown to the kerb. Two grunts and a point down a street. I questioned Mohammad, 'Riad Sara ?', 'Oui' was his response as he pointed again. Well fuck Mohammad, aren't you tops ! Thanks 'my brother', love your work. It was only after my first turn down an alleyway and  the realisation that I had no idea where the riad was that it sunk in that Mohammad had given me the traditional Moroccan bum steer and now, well, I had to door knock my way to a cool room and a bed. Thankfully one of the staff at a neighbouring riad assisted me as I flaying my arms around trying to attract attention ,and as I was soon to quickly find out, I would have had Buckley's in locating the riad without a detailed map. Perhaps the assistance of a taxi driver that knew their way would have been much more helpful, but of course that's not how the way my brothers roll!

Riad Sara - Fes - Morocco

Riad Sara - Fes - Morocco

One thing that you come to realise in a place like Fez or Marrakech for that matter is that looks are always deceiving. The streets and alleyways can be dark, the walls bland and sometimes shabby but once you get through those doors, well, there exists another world. So too was the case in the current circumstance, Riad Sara was gorgeous, a traditional Moroccan design and form of architecture, which essentially meant that I had a great room which opened out onto a terrace from which I could look down into the central courtyard and sip on my mint tea anytime I wanted. OK, so now I could start getting my Moroccan groove on ! To the the medina my fine fellow !!!

One of the entrance gates to Fes el-Bali and the medina - Fes - Morocco

Inside the medina - Fes - Morocco

Spices in the market - Fes - Morocco

Overlooking one of several tanneries in Fes

Now, I pride myself on my orientation skills but I have to say that Fez has got to be the Everest of the orienteering scene....hmmm, and that brings me to a question, is there an 'orienteering scene' , I mean I've never seen anyone with a compass running around the pubs of Sydney but hey, maybe just because I haven't seen it, it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist ! In any case, cracking those entrance gates to Fez just threw me into the midst of a new world, one where there apparently existed over 9300 streets and alleyways within a space of 15 kms squared. It's simply 'impressively insane'. Whilst walking down one of the main routes to the centre of the medina I came across a young boy that was happy to show me the way to one of the three tanneries that existed in the medina. Now, I'm not one for over exaggerated statements such as , 'I laughed my ass off', I mean really, if that were to be true then I'd say the entire female population would be in a state of perpetual hysterics, but I say this, the twists and turns that this kid took me through in a matter of two mins literally made my head spin by the time we made the front door. It was bedazzling, incredible and a challenge for me to try and remember the way out, which I obviously didn't. I knew at that moment Fez was going to be a lot of fun!

Fes - Morocco

Casablanca - Moroccan ´mateship´ - Welcome my brothet

Casablanca (Morocco)

I was really enjoying the fact that I had a relatively huge family in Morocco, many brothers apparently, no sisters, but that was ok. Coming from a family where I was the only child, I didn´t care one way or the other. After leaving my pal Ahmed on the streets of the old medina I walked into the heart of Casablanca so as to catch the semi finals of the Euro´s. Now this was a tough one, the perennial under achievers Spain were up against the 20 to 1 shots Russia. Now for some reason dad had put a couple of dollars on Russia before the tournament commenced, he´s just got the gift for being able to pick the under dog that will actually become the high achiever. He´s been riding that five dollar bet like a cheap pony and was eager to see Spain go down like bag. I on the other hand didn´t mind, and really, the Moroccan crowd would have punished me if I breathed a word other than Hola Amigo, vamos Espana!

After the game I sort of wondered the streets a little and came upon a mall of sorts that was half retail, half cafes, and this is where I also met ´my man´ Hussein. Hussein I discovered was from the coastal town of Essaouira, an older man, perhaps mid 50's, he told me that he´d sailed the seas and had been to many a place, including the fine land of the kangaroo. That I assumed meant that he had been to Australia. He asked if I wanted a drink, of course I replied, ...´I know a place, my friend owns it, it´s just around the corner´...´óh fuck´ was my internal response, this was going to be scam time, again! Never the less, despite my own better judgment, I gave Hussein the benefit of the doubt and followed him to the fabled Canada bar.

The Canada bar was an absolute dive. On arrival there was some Moroccan Brian Mannix rip off artist doing his best version of Berber hits of the 70's, massive feedback from the mikes occupying much of the audio space and really, the purple and orange spotlights were not doing anyone any favours. Hussein however was in his element, moving his head, humming to the mike buzz and prompting me to drink by saying 'lets have a beer´. It wasn't really a prompt but rather a direction, and I knew, I knew as well as I knew my date of birth that I'd be paying for all drinks, no matter how many we were to have. What else are you suppose to do for your brother?

The beer turned out to be good, the entertainment however was so pathetic that it literally made me laugh. There was a table of 40 something Moroccan ladies sitting in front of me and Hussein was either bull shitting me or by some strange internal 'disconnect from reality' he was getting into the total garbage that Brian was passing off as music. For the sake of posterity I made the decision to capture the violence that was accosting my eardrums on my digital - BIG MISTAKE. For some reason the 40 something group took offence immediately and the bouncers  acted with stealth like precision and raced from their posts at the front door in order to get in my face and tell me that videoing was not on. On Hussein´s part he jumped to my defence and told the bouncers to cool down, and really, I saw no issue in getting the total shit that was on offer in order to have a laugh about it later. Never the less, I was told quite sternly that my ´recording´could not continue, ´ok Adib, settle,I get your point´. This as they say in the classics is where the night took a turn for the worse.

I already knew that Hussein was backing me to pick up the tab and I was cool with that, sort of. He started chatting with a portly but pleasant lady sitting next to us and explained that I was from Australia. Their conversation continued and for some reason she decided to offer me some of the fried fish she was having, ummm, ok, sure, I was a little hungry and after turning her down a few times I finally relented. Hussein looks at me and says, ´See the nice lady, hear the lovely music, this is Morocco welcoming you´, ´Yes Hussein, this is Morocco ´Rocking the Kasbah´for me´. Hussein then suggests it would be nice that ´we´, *ahem*, make that ´I´, buy the lady a whiskey. Ok, he interprets and she shakes her head, please note, she has said ´NO´. This is where Husseins´ scam kicks in.

We finish three beers each and I know Hussein is waiting for me to pay. I kindly tell Hussein that I´m ready to leave and that I´d like to settle the bill. He points to the three beer glasses on the portly lady's table and says, 'We must pay for her drinks also'. Hussein, ´What the f**k are you talking about ?´, she didn´t have the whiskey that ´WE´were meant to purchase...Hussein says, 'Ýes, but she had three beers just like us´ ? Ahhh no Hussein, those glasses were already on the table. This is when Hussein starts causing a commotion, the bouncers again walk in and now I´m thinking, alright Hussein, I´m flying solo, have no idea what anyone is saying and cannot take on three beefy bouncers. I pay, nine beers in total, it ends up being $40AUD. Hussein then has the gaul to ask me for another 50 dirham, something like $7 AUD. I laugh and say ´what the hell for ?´. Hussein responds, 'We´re brothers, give me 50 ! You have my address in Essaouira, you will come and visit me and my family, you will sleep and we will make couscous'. His voice rises again, automatically I know that if I don´t give it to him those Moroccan bouncers are going to be playing the bongo´s on my cranium for a few minutes. I relent, I give Hussein his cash and wish to God that I had a few days extra in my travel plans because I´d make it down to his hole in Essaouira and take him and his family for the ride that he just took me for.

Once again, my brother has just put one on me. Tune in again for my next installment of,´My brother, my country, your money´!!!!!