Marrakech - C.S.I

Marrakech (Morocco)

This is where it happened, this as they say was the location for the scene of the crime or of the unbelievable stupidity that unfolded, take your pick as to which you prefer there.

Mellah - The Jewish Quarter - Google Maps view - Marrakech - Morocco

Just to note, the bottom marker in this picture is irrelevant, the top marker is where my riad was located. Also note, the main street just above the riad is one way, the taxi that dropped me off did so at the t-intersection to the left of that marker. I essentially walked to the end of the street, and asked a few people where my riad was because obviously I didn't have any sort of clue as to where I was going. I made a very sharp left hand turn at the end of the road and stopped where the red X marks the spot. It was there that the Moroccan magician picked me out as his target of opportunism. I don't need to go into the how and when of what happened as I've already done that, needless to say, by the time I hit the blue X and Mr Copperfield had fled from the scene I was a man full of rage and Serbian madness (quite common for me I know).

Marrakech

Marrakech (Morocco)

Thus far the little phone drama that I had played a lead role in had been the 'highlight' of my authentic Marrakechi experience and in its eventful afterglow I had walked the smoke filled streets in a kind of a haze, oblivious to calls by various vendors asking me to come into their shop and check out their wares, 'Hola amigo', 'No mate, I'm Australian'. You know, I was going to have to make a little more of that Spanish look that I apparently had going. In any case I strolled back to Dar One, headed upstairs to my terrace room and just crashed out for the evening, tomorrow was just going to be another opportunity for me to be able to take it all in again.
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Day two in Marrakech, it was going to be a new day but first it was going to involve a stop off at the local police station for over two hours of nothingness.There I waited, outside the office of the Chief of Police, waiting to have my details taken down and the loss of my phone recorded, more than anything for insurance purposes. I've got to say, it was lesson in Moroccan bureaucracy, people wondering in and about, no order, no queues, not structure and there I stood, with my mate from the riad,waiting, and waiting and waiting. It sucked. I could go further into the utter stupidity of having to take my signed statement across the road to get it photocopied in one store and then stamped in another before bringing it back to the police to have it signed by them, a ludicrous authentication process if ever I witnessed one but stuff it, recounting the complete idiocy of having to do that would bore me also.

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Finally, police stop over, the streets of Marrakech were mine to own and check out for a few days. Considering that I was unable to make D'jemma El Fna the day before I made my way in the heat of the day to check out what was going on. It must be said, the square is enormous but the day crowd is basically made up of orange juice carts, snake charmers and the occasional henna artist also seeking to dupe you, which again, happened to me! Damn, these Moroccans seemed to be getting me at every freakin turn! And before I continue on with my henna tattoo story I'd like to say this. My first couple of days in Marrakech sound like they were awful and in some ways they were but on reflection, the sight, smells, great food etc, made this one of my favourite places of the trip, go figure! In any case, a Moroccan lady pulls me over to a small plastic chair and says, 'I give you tattoo for free'. You can see it unfolding already can't you, when do you ever get offered something for free? Before I have time to pull my hand away she starts drawing a design on it., and so she continues, up my arm and I start thinking to myself, 'Hmmm, that's quite a large free tattoo Ms Henna Artist of the Square'. As the lady finishes off, looking rather pleased with her work (or pleased with the fact that her scam was in motion) she says to me, 50 dirhams ! 'Oh f*** you', 'What for' ? 'Wasn't that for free' ? She points to a small couple of circles on my hand telling me that 'this part of the tattoo was free, the rest was 50 dirhams'. My blood is boiling, after giving my phone away, spending time in the sun at a Moroccan police station and being totally ignored, having to scream down the phone to my dumb ass aunty and now being duped by some freakin' Berber, I was starting to flip out. So I cut loose. I gave her my seriously pissed look and told her that thus far I'd only experienced bad things of Marrakech and she was contributing to the the view provided by several tourists that I'd spoken to telling me that Marrakechi's are the greatest of scam artists. There was just no way that I was going to pay her the 50 dirhams, I threw her 10 and walked away thoroughly pissed at being duped by this masters yet again ! So I headed into the markets to check out what was on offer, again ignoring anyone that may have been calling my name or referring to me as señor but as I walked and as my mind cleared I thankfully calmed myself down and really chilled the hell out. This was in fact their culture and being duped or negotiating a democratic price or having personal items stolen was all part of the deal and all part of being a tourist in their city. These are the things you remember from your journey and the elements that you end up laughing about and remembering with strange fondness months or years down the track. Once I accepted that I knew I had arrived  at a turning point and it was at that exact moment that I realised that Marrakech had really started to grow on me.
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After two hours getting lost within the markets and taking turn after turn, going deeper and deeper into a seemingly endless row of small shops I finally found what seemed to be the light, an exit back to the square. This is when I encountered a brazen young Marrakechi pulling off his best pick pocketing moves on two young unsuspecting English females. This guy was walking about 5mtrs in front of me, in a lane that had quite a few people and shops. He walked right up beside one of the girls and appeared to touch her elbow. At this point I'm walking just a couple of metres behind them thinking 'Oh, he must be their guide'. He unzips part of their pack and pulls out something like 50 dirhams, equivalent to $14-$15 dollars, he then casually starts making an exit stage left. For a few seconds my brain doesn't quite equate the act to being pick pocketed and I somehow try and rationalise the act but in the end I can't. I call out to the girls and ask if they had any money in their bags, they confirm that they did. After checking their pockets the person whom I saw getting pick pocketed realises that their money has well and truly travelled on the S-train to Copperfield world and they won't ever be seeing it again. Now this thief is only 50mtrs away and I'm more than happy to point him out to his victims. All three of us have a bit of a chuckle at the audacity of this guy and start following him knowing full well that the money is not coming back but more to press the point that he's been busted. It was from this point on that I realised that Marrakech was going to be a game of wits, a challenge of sorts and I was more than happy to accept the challenge and take these guys on. This is where the fun began.
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As the heat of the afternoon grew I checked out one of the many orange juice cart stands that surrounded the square. Most of these places charge 5 dirhams for a glass or you can simply have your empty water bottled filled when you feel the need. Now, I don't know if it was the supreme heat of the day  but damn, it's got to be some of the best orange juice I've ever had. Supremely cold, tasty and refreshing, I don't know how many glasses or bottles of orange juice I had in my time there but on each occasion, two or three glasses never ever seemed to be enough. As early afternoon came on I headed back to Dar One to cool my feet in their splash pool and lay out in my room for a while until I headed back to the square in the evening, because that apparently is when the real fun begins and when the square just bursts into life.

Marrakech - The Dream Police

 Marrakech (Morocco)

I think it would be fair to say that my first 30 minutes in Marrakech was an instruction manual in what not to do whilst travelling. All things I should have known,are all things that I had decided to disregard. Well, there's someone in Marrakech that now has a Snowpatrol ring tone, lol. So, as Mr MobileStolen made an exit stage left, 1st assistant to the manager of Dar One Riad picked me up from a dark doorway of the alleyway where I was duped. At this point in time I was pissed, partly because this was mobile number three that had left my grasp in the last 14 months, partly because, well, BECAUSE I WAS SO DUMB !!

When we got to the riad assistant #1, whom I'll call Michel because his name escapes me, sits me down and decides to run over events. Questions such as, 'Why did you give him the phone?' weren't really helping my cause and only upped my level of internal anger. Michel then decides to lay down the good news as his 'informants' tell him that the person of whom I speak is known in the area, apparently I had walked pretty close to the riad and some of the local crowd who act as a type of 'front door security' had seen me walk by. Then Michel drops me a line that goes something like this, 'I think from what we know you probably have a 65% chance of getting your phone back'. Really Michel ? 65%, wow, that's great news, with the powers of your supreme deductive reasoning and obvious Phd in statistics you were able to generate me a favourable recovery rate percentage of 65%. I so wanted to say 'Michel, that was complete bullshit wasn't ?' but I didn't and for the moment I have to say that it did kind of make me feel good.

In my first few moments within the confines of Dar One riad I was totally oblivious to the design, feel and look of the place, all I wanted to do was unpack and then organise what I needed to do in terms of getting the phone cancelled and  getting out the necessary messages to the people that would be calling me on the phone. After about 90 mins I headed out of the riad in search of an internet/international dial centre so I could contact who I needed to. The first call I was completely dreading. My Aunty is, shall we say, stupid in a crazy 'old folk' type of way, coupled with the fact that she's  also quite deaf, it proves to be a lethal cocktail for my nerves when I need to speak to her in an informative, no questions asked type of manner. I go into the international dial centre loaded with coins and pre-programme my head to put the right questions to her. I know not to say that my phone was stolen, this would inevitably lead to 100 questions as to why this happened and my coin count just wouldn't go the distance with her rambling on about how I shouldn't have gone to a 'bad country' such as Morocco. The conversation my dear friends travels along in a manner closely resembling the following;

'Hi, it's Henry'

'Where are you ?' (Stupid Aunt)

'In Morocco, listen to me, I have an important message' (Already irritated person, aka, me)

'You're in Egypt ?'

'Morocco, MOROCCO' - (thinking how the f*** did she get Egypt from Morocco)

'What's the weather like?'

Now internally I'm already fuming, I need to get a message across and she's talking to me about the weather ! The small bag of dirhams that I have are being eaten up wildly by this phone and my Aunt if about to give me a nervous breakdown.

'LISTEN !! Call Tanja and tell her I've lost my phone and that they'll not be able to contact me'

'OH, you lost your phone, where ?'

'Bloody hell, can you tell them that'

'Where did you lose it?'

'F***, listen to me' (she's deaf, she wouldn't have heard the 'f***')

The phone clicks out. I start smashing the handle of the phone against this dirham eating monster out of the sheer torture that I just had to endure because of a mostly insane relative. The shop owner and the only other client in the store look at me like perhaps I should have been locked up. I give them a smile and ask them where I can change more dirhams, he decides that he can help me out, perhaps out of fear, perhaps for his own sheer amusement.

I go through the process of calling again. I get my message across but only after I tell her a number of times to LISTEN ! , and really, I was screaming. I walk out with some of my nerves in tact and decide that perhaps that now I'm in Marrakech I should check out the place. I had already booked in to see the Marrakechi police the next day, not out of any hope that they may actually get my phone back but rather so I could have an incident report filled out for insurance purposes.

Initial perceptions of Marrakech were that it was unlike Fez in its make up. The sights, sounds and smells were there but somehow the touristic element was pervasive whereas in Fez it wasn't. That's not an overwhelmingly bad thing, just that you need to make mental adjustments to overlook the local grab for the tourist dirham. It always amazes me when people say that they don't like a place because it's 'very touristy'. Well if people like you and I didn't go there then it wouldn't be! They're only feeding of what we bring and provide for them in terms of currency. Usually it's accompanied by the lamented argument that they require a 'unique' experience or require that they experience something 'authentic' ! Bloody hell, what's classified as 'authentic' these days !? My take on it is that any experience that you have is unique in the way you , as an individual experience it, you reflect, have your own insights, investigate and experience with all your senses in a totally different way to anyone else. It's very, very, very rare to do things or to go places that no one else has been before, so just accept that and enjoy your environment for what it has to offer.

....hmmm, I haven't touched on the 'Dream Police as yet', will mention them in my next update.

Marrakech - The giveaway

 Marrakech (Morocco)

The train from Fez to Marrakech was approximately seven hours and some change worth of travel, not highly stimulating but not uninteresting either. The countryside as we journeyed south, progressively became more and more arid, turning into a full landscape of Moroccan desert an hour or so  south of Casablanca, basically it was what I expected to see in Morocco. Whilst my journey wasn't particularly eventful the people around me constantly kept me amused, especially the older Moroccan guy sitting across from me that was checking out both females in the compartment, BIG TIME. He wasn't even being discreet, he'd take his opportunity to stop and stare,catch the gaze of the woman who was the object of his affections for that 30 second period, smile and hey, that was it. He was obviously getting his rocks off but no real harm was being done. That's the one thing that surprised me in Morocco, although I'm not female so I couldn't say with absolute assurance but of all the articles I've read about Moroccan men being overtly sexual or crass, I saw not of that. This is coming from a totally male perspective, so really, what do I know? Not much, right!

The last hour into Marrakech was quite the challenge. The comfort level in the compartment was made challenging by the fact that the air conditioning was virtually not existent. There was air being pumped into the cabin but it certainly wasn't cool and I'd say the 40 plus degree temperatures hitting the carriages on the outside weren't assisting anyone. Needless to say, the food and beverage carts were doing a roaring trade and the cashiers must have been the most overworked people on that ride, at least for the later part of the journey. In any case, once we were on the outskirts of Marrakech I felt the nerves of my companions settle, I think we were all dreaming of a cold shower and a cold beer (or mint tea as the case may be), depending on what continent you came from and which God you felt inclined to pray to.

I jumped off the carriage and out into the scorching North African sun, ready to make a b-line for my riad and my evening date with Mr Heineken and his 3 or 4 relatives. Sometimes at this point I like to partake in a little bit of a game of cat and mouse, usually whilst at an airport or train station. A lot of the time you'll have drivers hawking their services and getting in your face from the moment you cross that invisible line from 'port exit' and enter their turf of private enterprise and city knowledge. Usually I deliberately set out to dodge the first five or six 'pretenders to the crown' and act as if I'm waiting for a 'local ride' before turning my eyes to the most honest looking driver I can find, usually some dude reading the paper or looking forlornly into the distance. On this occasion however I  did the complete opposite to my usual arrival set-up and took the first guy that was in my face when he yelled out 'Taxi ?', 'Sure mate, let's go for a spin'. I jumped in his cab, gave him the address details of my riad and we were off.

The first question I put to Mr Marrakechi taxi driver was how much the trip was going to be. I think he said something like 60 dirhams and my response was 'what, for a five minute drive' ? Why oh why did I decide to give my driver shit ? Why do I ever decide to do that? Does it really make any sense at all ? I mean he obviously has the upper hand in this transaction and could take me any which way to the riad, I wouldn't know any better. I mean, I had my authentic Lonely Planet map of Marrakech with me and to tell you the truth it didn't look like any sort of a hike but the driver assured me it was going to be a 25 min drive........so, just over five minutes later, we were at my destination (.....I knew I shouldn't have given the driver shit), and sure enough, the charge was 60 dirhams. The driver had driven me as close to the start of a one way street as he could get and now it was going to be my turn to use my internal GPS in order to find where it was that I should be heading. Now who do you supposed I called to my rescue? Why Mr Marrakechi taxi driver of course, and his response was to yell out something in Arabic and point me down the one way street that had a barrel load of traffic coming our way. 'Oh cool, thanks mate, I'll find it', knowing full well that at this point in time I was slightly stuffed. It's was over 40 degrees, I'm  feeling pretty weary, I'm carrying a 20kg bag that's weighing a lot more than that and I'm surrounded by enough sounds, smells and sights to make my head spin in an instant. Looking back at it now, it's a pretty fond memory to tell you the truth but at the time  I was just looking for a place to crash. So in an instant I randomly select another guy that's walking down the street and show him the pathetic map that 'should' be getting me to the Dar One riad. He virtually does the same thing as the taxi driver, points me down the street but this time says something in French that all my eight weeks at the Alliance de Francaise could not decipher.....'Man, perdu au Marrakech !!mtrs down this one way street and then turned a corner, this as they say in the classics is where the fun began !

 

There I stood, on a relatively busy street in Marrakech, looking around with map in hand, being scorched by the blazing sun and looking like the eternal Western tourist clichè of a lost dingbat, and yes, at this stage I admit that I was. The problem with Fez and Marrakech is that you really need a detailed map in certain areas otherwise you WILL NOT find your way anywhere - at this point I've got to say that Lonely Planet was about as useful as a packet of matches in the given situation. In any case a young Moroccan guy walked up to me and asked in his best broken English something equivalent to 'what's going on', I showed him the address I had written and said something like 'I go here'. So we walk about 50 mtrs before he turns to me and says that he doesn't know where it is, he then asks if I have the number of the riad, of which I responded that I do. I take the number out and give it a call, it rings through to the riad and I ask my 'Moroccan mate' to get clued in on where I should be going. After a few seconds he seems enlightened, we move on.

We take a turn down an alleyway and then another. There are groups of young guys watching me as I move past them, for some reason I'm starting to feel that this area is slightly shady. We take another turn onto another alleyway, even smaller that the last and on this occasion its one with nobody else on it. Now my brain starts critically analysing the situation, 'One westerner with $X amount of dollars, one dark alleyway in Marrakech, one tallish now dodgy looking Moroccan dude by my side, getting jumped for being a dumb ass....PRICELESS'. This was starting to become an authentic Moroccan experience and at that moment I was kind of preparing myself to be jumped by three or four other guys. We now stop and he says ' to me 'We need taxi', I question him on his desired mode of transport, 'Taxi ?', and then he mouths it like I was the biggest moron on earth, 'T-a-x-i'. Did I stuff up so badly that I could have possibly ended up on the other side of town ? I don't think so. He then asks me for dirhams and mouths in that same mocking way, 'soixante', for some reason it clicked in my head that this equalled sixteen dirhams when really it was sixty, so I pull out 100. So I know, I know, it's now starting to sound like a horror movie where the girl always runs up the stairs to the bedroom and locks herself in, or perhaps that car crash that you can't avert your eyes from, this was one continuous brain explosion for me. He now pushes me into a side door, looks me straight in the eyes and says 'wait', I follow him out and again he pushes me in and tell me to wait once again. I stop for a second as he walks down the alleyway and makes a left hand turn - it was at that precise moment, basically as I was seeing his back, that I realised the bastard had pocketed my phone much earlier in this jaunt and now I'd paid him 100 dirhams for the privilege - F***, you absolute DUMBASS !!! I don't know where my head had been for those few minutes but the guy  had virtually doubled me over in broad daylight and I had happily cheered him on! As the seconds and then minutes passed I grew more infuriated for the sheer fact that I could actually have been so stupid. Just as I was about to pick up my bag and try and make my way out of the Marrakechi maze a French guy walked past and asked what was wrong. I explained the story and told him I was staying at 'Dar One' riad, it just so happened that this guy was from 'Dar One' riad and it seems that in a moment that was tainted by audacity and opportunism that this little Moroccan thief had called my place of accommodation post flight in order to advise them of my whereabouts...lol....'thankyou kind Moroccan thief'! I guess that's a unique Welcome to Marrakech if ever there was one!

Fes - Abdul, you shady bastard!

 Fes (Morocco)

As per last entry, Abdul seemed to be a nice enough kid but there was something that wasn't quite right about him. Not that I got caught out but latter that night (that being on the day that he 'made himself' my guide) I think I may have come within an hour or so of getting royally ripped again, but I'll get to that story a little later on.

So, within the market place we were, wondering around, chatting and I was generally taking in the sights. All of a sudden Abdul starts putting the speed on and gets to be walking four or five metres in front of me. Every now and then I stopped and called him back, at those times he seemed kind of irritated by me. As soon as I put the question to him, 'Hey, what's the hurry ?', he mentioned that there were people that he didn't want to run into. Oh right,  an alarm triggers in my head yet again - it's amazing how many times this happened in Morocco and on how many occasions I was actually correct in trusting my suspicions. The funny thing is, it was this aspect that made Morocco far more enjoyable than your average, sedate, 'run-of-the-mill' country.

We did a hell of a lot of walking that day, covering the old medina, one of the main Fez tanneries, the Andalusian side of Fez, a few more 'artisan' stores, the city walls, some great food stalls and a few other nooks and crannies. By the end of the day we were kind of wrecked, we had spent the last part of the day in direct sunlight and it had been well over 40 degrees. Abdul and his cousin guessed 47, probably not that much but not too far off either. In any case I discussed some possible plans with Abdul for that night, mostly including sheesha and heading into the 'new town' to one of the cafe's that he knew. It didn't sound like too bad a plan, so I organised to hook up with him at my riad and then we'd take a short cab ride to get our sheesh on.

Later in the evening I was waiting for Abdul at the riad, we had organised to catch up at 8pm. He was running 15-20mins late and to tell you the truth I was loosing my impetus to get some fruity smoke into me, so I split and headed to a local cafe where the Euro final was being played (Spain v Germany), no prizes for guessing who the Moroccans were backing. The cafe was absolutely packed but the atmosphere was brilliant. In any case after the game was over I went to an Internet cafe in order to write up a post, somehow Abdul found me when I had been bashing away at the keyboard for sometime. Strangely he looked a little agitated and I asked him on several occasions if everything was ok, he said that he was but he was keen to make a move as soon as possible. Just reflecting a little on some of the situations in Morocco, I'd have to say that quite a few dealings were tainted by some inherent 'shiftiness' of the people that I was 'cohorting' with. It wasn't intimidating but it definitely put you on your game, which at times was fun and at other times was cumbersome - on this occasion however I had an altogether different feeling, call it one specifically underlined by a sense of unease. 

Abdul and I left the internet cafe, walking up past the main gates which were brilliantly illuminated with blue lights. I had my camera with me and I decided to stop to take a few pictures and for the second time on that day, Abdul decided to move a significant distance away from me. I noticed that we were almost directly in front of the police station and hence I deliberately called to him, trying to get him to walk to me - he ignores me, no reaction at all. As we move away I ask him what the hell is going on, he tells me that the police quite often harass him, as he called it, 'they like to have fun with me, play games'. I'm thinking, Abdul, you're really starting to sound like you're full of shit. We may have walked an additional 100mtrs when another guy, probably in his early 20's turns up and starts talking to Abdul, in an instant the conversation gets heated. I actually recognised the guy as someone that I'd been speaking to in another cafe the day before and he had recognised me as I walked by. This guy tells me not to trust Abdul and then asks where we're going. I explain we're going to the old town for a sheesha. He tells me not to go, that Abdul and his 'cousins' are shady and that they would set me up in order to steal my cash. Abdul is trying to defend himself by saying that this guy is jealous and he doesn't like people having fun - of course a piss weak defence. The 'cafe guy' as I'll call him tells me about a Japanese fellow that Abdul had befriended and whom ended up having his possessions stolen after being 'drugged' - again he tells me not to go and that I'd end up in the same situation. Now Abdul and this guy are nearly screaming at each other and I have of course by this time decided to call it a night in light of this new information, I say 'thankyou' to the 'cafe guy' and offer to buy him a drink or rather a 'mint tea'. He politely declines but adds that he hopes that I have a good time in Fez. Abdul is still in my ear, now extremely agitated and trying everything to get me to go along, sorry Abdul by 'stuff that for a joke'. I don't know what kind of 'potential' set up may have been waiting for me but at the end of the day I'm glad that I wasn't given the opportunity to find out.

Fes - Getting lost in Fez, it's like deliberately trying to get ill in a hospital

 Fes (Morocco)

Getting lost in Fez would be easy if there weren't any Moroccans living there. On my last day I deliberately walked out into the medina with the intention of taking so many wrong turns or perhaps right ones and tried to end up having the internal navigational board light up like a Christmas tree in my mind. I certainly tried  to do this but the quest failed as the persistence  and aptitude of the Moroccan locals to sniff out and make a dirham is much more overwhelming than the desire of a tourist to utilise their boys cout survival skills, (incidentally, I was never a boy scout). I turned up to a hall one day when I was eight or nine but my mum was quite suspicious of the beady eyed sweaty head scout master that breathed far too heavily for a man just tieing knots, you do the maths!

 Fes - Mororcco

In Morocco you get use to standard questions such as  'Hello, where are you from ?'. Sometimes you feel like mucking around and with my type of look it was quite easy to do just that. At other times you drop the  fact that your Australian immediately and either  get the 'Ahh, kangaroo' acknowledgment or have this most embarrasing of replies 'Aussie, Aussie, oi, oi'. Why the hell did we come up with such an idiotic war cry?

 Fes - Morocco

Fes - Morocco

The difficulty therefore is  in attempting to dodge the local entrepreneurs, ready to take you to a terrace for a panoramic view or to a local artisan for a free mint tea because is you don't themnmy friends it's time for negotiation, you are ALWAYS negotiating. in Morocco On the rare occasions this form of negotiation worked in my favour when I was actually interested in an item as by the end of these sessions I was so jacked of saying 'no thank you' that I'd drop my required 'sale' price to what I considered so low as for it not to be feasible and just stuck to my guns, feigning a walk out when I thought the saleman wasn't budging. Nine out of ten times there would be a handshake with the comment or rather insulting question, 'Are you a berber ?', to which I did reply to one guy, 'Yes, aren't we brothers?' ....he didn't get it but I thought the response rocked both our kasbahs. In any case  it was in my artful dodging that I ran into a 16 year old kid named Abdul. His story was that he wanted 'just' to learn English and that taking me to a terrace with a 'panoramic' view of Fez would be at no cost. 'OK Abdul, I'm willing to pay for the privelage, lets just see who has the nuts to hang the longest for the inevitable transaction'.

 Fes taken from the Andalusian side

Shady Abdul and his cousin

Lets say this at the start, Abdul was a nice enough kid and the terrace that he took me to was in the centre of Fez and had a great view of the old city and surrounding areas. I was able to get the exact pictures that I wanted and without his help, well, I would have just been a lost tourist waiting for another Fez local to 'proposition' me. After chatting with Abdul for a little while I was happy to follow him for the rest of the day and let him be my guide and at the end of the day it I discovered that it was the best decision I had made and quite possibly, could have been the worst decision.

 This is an 'actual' thoroughfare! How would you get a fridge through there?

Fes - Here's my ConFezsion

 Fes (Morocco)

First a little fact finding and fact adding about Fez. The city is divided into three sections, although, the part of the city that people from all over the world come to see is known as Fes el Bali which is the old, walled party of Fez. It's this area that has close to 10,000 streets and alleyways and it's in this area where 'if' you could get lost, and I say 'if' because you have willing entrepreneurs at each corner just waiting to be your guide, but if you could get lost then you could literally spend days trying to find your way out. For me, that's what gave Fez its charm, its sense of mystery and wonder, it's probably also the reason why the area as also been classified as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

View of Fes el-Bali - the older, walled part of Fes - Morocco

Fes el-Bali - Fes - Morocco

King's palace - Fes - Morocco

The University of Al-Karaouine, founded in AD 859, is the oldest continuously functioning university in the world

There's a quote about Fez that I quite like and fits appropriately to the way in which I absorbed and discovered what was around me, it comes from the novelist Amin Maalouf, he writes that Fez uncovers its layers 'veil by veil, like a bride in her marriage chamber'. The more you walk, the more you explore and the more you're willing to absorb, bit by bit, the sights, smells and people leave such a great and teriffic impression. It is a fact however that a lot of the time the main barriers to experiencing the true Fez is about getting through the doors, beyond the great walls of the streets and into the world that exists beyond. Honestly, during the fours days that I stayed in Fez this was a more that difficult thing to do. Other than the artisans that were willing to sell you their wares and constantly offering  mint tea (which is more than difficult to resist), I was only able on two occasions to chat with someone in their house or riad without any additional expectations. With that said, that only tells half the story of Fez, the other half is right in front of you, in the streets and alleyways filled with spice sellers, in the areas where the air is so thick with smoke from kefta being cooked on open grills that seeing a few steps ahead is difficult, it's the live chickens /pigeons / doves in cages ready to be sold, men in burnous (hooded capes) and jellabas of all colours, the amazing dried nut and fruit stalls, that specific smell of tanned leather, the animal taxis (donkeys) weighed down with all sorts of merchandise being transported within the medina, the heated 'discussions' surrounding a trade or 'attempted bargain, the hussle and bussle of what appears to be a never ending market, the vibrancy of the tanneries and the serenity of the mosques. Fez really attacks all your senses and provides you with an experience so unique and different to a typical 'Western' city that appreciating and falling for a place like this is simply inevitable. During the day and into the early evening the city is vibrant and full of life, it was a pleasure just spending time walking the streets and trying to soak up all that atmosphere.

Moroccan tea party - Fes - Morocco

Moroccan tea party - Fes - Morocco

Carpet central

One of the several tanneries of Fes - Morocco

Recovering the sattelites - tuning in to Radio Tehran - Fes - Morocco

Fez is an absolute labyrinth and it's a large part of what gives the city an almost mystical air about it. On two days I hired myself a guide to take me around the town and I recall one of the guides telling me that even these days, (he was in his late 30's) ,he sometimes has to check himself in order to make sure he's going the right way,now that's pretty cool. The other thing I liked about Fez is that when you get in amongst the hills surrounding the town all you see are buildings, there's no movement ! There's no object within that vast space that provides a clue of the life and vibrancy that exists at the base of all those buildings, it's almost as if its  been deliberately hidden. Perhaps that actually is the case.Once you're inside the walls of the medina however you automatically get swept up in the tidal movement of people. That's where the true Fez lives and breaths.

I know I'll be making my way back here soon rather than later!