Adventures in Fez

As our petite taxi turned up a steep dusty road toward the walled city of old Fez, I silently hoped (with fingers crossed) that I'd made the right decision to book a room in a traditional riad in the thousand-year-old medina rather than a room at the stylish Palace Jamai. It was romantic, yes, but was I sacrificing comfort and security?

The taxi stopped at the entrance to a narrow lane. We'd have to walk the rest of the way on foot. A man with a wooden cart appeared from nowhere and began loading our luggage. Neighborhood children stopped kicking a soccer ball and accompanied us the two short blocks to a plain wooden door. Above the door, a plaque read "Riad Maison Bleue: one of the most romantic hotels of the world." See there, I needn't have worried!

We identified ourselves through a speaker and were buzzed into a garden courtyard filled with fruit trees, comfortable couches with deep cushions, and a tranquil plunge pool. Security and comfort all sorted out. We snacked on almond stuffed dates and listened to the chattiest birds ever to grace a riad as the staff brought us orange-blossom scented milk...

Riad Maison Bleue




Up a narrow, winding flight of steps and through a low doorway, a skeleton key (that took me our entire stay to get used to) opened the door to a beautiful room with a canopied bed, colored-glass windows, and a Moroccan salon complete with another comfortable couch with deep cushions. The floors, walls, and ceiling were decorated with intricate Zellij tile patterns and lacy plaster carvings.




Just outside our door, the rooftop garden overlooked the medina, a sea of peeling gray and white cubes that receded toward the Rif Mountains, all flat-roofed buildings similar to ours. The nearby Mosque's minaret announced the afternoon call to prayer, and a neighbor woman several rooftops away leaned over big mounds of sheep's wool, gathering them up in her arms. Except for the overwhelming number of satellite dishes, I felt as if we'd stepped into a Bible story. In fact, the medina has changed very little in over a thousand years. Donkeys still transport goods. As they make their way through the narrow streets, people shout "Baleek! Baleek!" to warn each other, and Jonathan and I learned very quickly to hug the walls along with the others.

Our Rooftop View



Inside the Medina



Baleek!



A few blocks away near the river, the tanneries look like a child's giant paintbox with rows of colorful vats. The tanners dunk prepared sheep skins in brightly colored dyes and hang them to dry. To the left of the dye vats, large vats filled with pigeon droppings are used to separate the fat from the animals' skin. Curious tourists, with fresh mint sprigs crammed to their nostrils to mask the overwhelming smell, watch from a second-story balcony as the less fortunate tanners work knee-deep in the milky vats.

Jonathan and I resisted the mint sprigs and were rewarded for it. A tannery guide invited us down to the dye vats for a closer view. We were encouraged to step out onto the vats and walk from one dye to the next, balancing on the thin lip in between. We sighed with relief that the pigeon vats remained safely off in the distance. After our tour was nearly over, a tanner came to us with a hefty-looking bag. He opened it for our inspection. "Pigeon shit!" he explained as white dust wafted our way. Backing slowly away, we nodded politely and held our breath. Pigeon shit indeed!

Stepping gingerly through the muck, we headed back upstairs to the mint-bearing tourists. "Is it good?" our tannery guide wanted to know. "The best!" we assured him, hopeful that someday we would be able to exorcise the smell of pigeon shit from our nostrils and our memories.

Fez Tannery




UNESCO has designated the Fez medina in its entirety as a World Heritage Site.