Day 157: Essaouria’s medina

Essaouira’s medina is pretty similar to the medina in Rabat. It’s nice, but it lacks the charm that the medina in Fes is so full of. Also, we began our day with possibly the worst breakfast we’ve had in all of the nearly six months we’ve been traveling. So… that certainly didn’t help matters. But after walking around the medina, we settled in for some soup and internet at a really lovely cafe on the edge of town, almost towards the port area. It made up for breakfast. As did being able to snap this picture of a man wearing a jalaba. Most Moroccan men wear these. It’s pretty much like being in a Star Wars movie when they walk around with them on.

When we got back to our couchsurfers’ place, another surfer had arrived for the evening and had just finished preparing dinner for us all! They all obliged me with my self timer during dinner.

Day 152: Fes and its tanneries

Another favorite day of the trip. Andrew and I walked around through the medina, getting lost a lot, and then finding our way again. Fes, at least in the medina, is what I pictured when I thought of ‘Morocco.’ I could spend days walking through the medina. It was close quartered, chickens tied to cages in the middle of the walkway, horses hauling bottles of water through the old town, and everyone buying or selling something. Sometimes, especially after five months of travel, if my five senses aren’t being under a full blown attack, it’s not the experience I’m looking for. Fes assaulted my senses. It was not always pleasant, but it was wonderful, and exactly what I was craving from Morocco.

Walking through the medina was an elevated experience compared to the medinas of Rabat and Chefchaouen. We were two of the few tourists in the city- as we were told Ryan Air and a few others have discontinued their routes to Fes. Which is a shame, especially considering after a day, it had already become my favorite city in Morocco.

After seeing a few pictures of the tanneries, I warned Andrew that I really wanted to visit them. We read that you should be prepared to accept a child’s offer to take you to the tanneries in exchange for a little tip. Instead, an old man started guiding us there- not exactly by choice, either. Andrew and I were in our own little world wandering through the maze, enjoying getting lost trying to find where the tanneries were! I also get a little flustered when someone offers to help only to ask for a tip after. I know, I’ve mentioned this before, but what’s wrong with offering to help in exchange for a small fee right off the bat? I will happily pay!

Instead, we were lead through a leather shop (big surprise) to the view from the rooftop. I didn’t think any of the leather goods were well made (especially compared to the gorgeous leather bag that I passed up in Chefchaouen the day before) and wouldn’t buy from one of the shops right on the tanneries anyway- hello mark-up! Commission for the dude who walked us there, commission for the owner, commission for the dude who handed us mint on the stairs on the way up… No. Way.

We admired the view, I took a ton of pictures, and then we walked out and handed the man who led us there a small amount of change. Perhaps too small- but we didn’t have anything else on us! He grumbled. I wanted to take our tip back. It was at least enough for a bowl of soup and some bread to go with! We apologized, tried to explain that we didn’t ask for his help, and eventually turned and walked away.

Problem: I really wanted to go to the other side of the tanneries where it looked like it had a more interesting view. I hemmed. I hauled. We walked away from the tanneries before turning back around. Bigger problem: Now we really didn’t have anything in our pockets for a tip. We knew where we were going, and it wasn’t far to double back to find it, but of course, another old dude appeared in hopes of a lofty commission or a heavy handed tip.

Doubling back was worth it. The view was much better and I think the pictures I got were much better too! We lingered. It was peaceful. The older man who led us there wasn’t lurking right behind us as we looked on. I even pretended to debate camel vs. lamb footstools. (In case you’re interested, lambskin is WAY softer. Go for camel leather if you want a sturdy travel bag though!) We walked out, thanked everyone, and then we were faced with our “guide” wanting a tip. We pulled our pockets out so he could see how empty they were. He demanded what we gave our first guide, we told him, and he sighed. We apologized again, and he didn’t seem nearly as upset about the ordeal as our previous “guide” was.

On our way back through, we stumbled upon a medersa; an old religious school. Again, the ceramic tiling was beautiful. I want all of it. We stayed longer than we might otherwise have because it was starting to rain, and there was a little cover in the medersa.

We walked out of the medina and tried to go up to these arches overlooking the medina. It was pretty windy. Then it started to rain. We made it about halfway and ducked into a shop to try to wait it out over some tea a la menthe. (Yum) We walked back out and made it another quarter of the way when it started to cold rain on us again. The view from where we were wasn’t even so great. We walked back through the medina, got more Moroccans to wish Mochi a happy birthday, had the BEST soup from a street stall and went back to our fancy hostel for a hot bath!

Day 151: Fes at dusk

After an afternoon on the bus from Chefchaouen, we arrived in Fes at dusk. Andrew had directions that specifically said: “Do not get out of your petit taxi unless you are in front of the hotel.” I didn’t know this. I thought the name Andrew gave me, to tell our driver, was the name of the area of the medina where we were going to walk through. (Cars aren’t allowed – can’t fit – inside the medina walls, where our hotel was located) I was busy practicing French, assuring our driver that we would walk to our hotel from where he dropped us off. Meanwhile, Andrew was thinking I told him the name of the hotel we were supposed to get out in front of… It was a bi-lingual mess, that we (I?) somehow managed to get ourselves into.

We walked through the maze of the medina in Fes, asked for directions, walked the wrong way (I thought he said turn right, when he actually said walk straight) then doubled back until we finally found the hotel that we were supposed to originally get dropped off at, but not where we were to stay. Our hotel was around two corners from that hotel. See? See how it could be confusing?

We found it. We were delighted when we discovered that the “hostel” was nearly empty and we could have our choice from three different non-dorm rooms! One even had a bathtub! No outside windows, but a clean bathtub! Guess which one we chose?

We walked around the medina and even outside of the walls where we stumbled upon a huge kind of flea market? I looked at a few pairs of used shoes, but didn’t find any in my size that I liked.

Day 147: Rabat

Rabat definitely has more character than Casablanca, but it still lacked that “ooooh exotic!” Moroccan feel I came here chasing after. I practiced my French with the sweet frontdesk man at our hotel. He didn’t judge (my mistakes). And that made me happy. Then we walked through the medina and a little through the quiet kasbah just as dusk was approaching.

When we walked up towards the entrance of the kasbah, a young man approached us to warn us that the kasbah would be closing soon. We assured him we were just walking through and it was ok that it was closing soon. We weren’t planning on staying long. He let us through and we started making our way through the blue and white maze. And then he magically reappeared. Andrew and I briefly made eye-contact, knowing exactly where this was going… He would guide us through, make pleasant conversation, and then expect a tip at the end of his “job” well done. It may be our first time in Morocco, son, but it’s not our first time around the block.

He pointed out door knockers of Islamic influence. He pointed out doorways of Portugese influence. He led us to what felt like his family’s balcony overseeing the Atlantic. He told us of his language studies: English, French, more recently Spanish. He waited every time I stopped to take a picture (in hopes it would shake his patience and he would scurry along) and didn’t pick up on our many hints that “We’re ok! We can find our way back out!” or my favorite “Are you missing your soccer game that you left to walk with us?”

Finally, not wanting him to accompany us to the sunset over the Atlantic overlook (Can a girl get a kiss on the cheek in private please?) I turned to him and said “We can find it on our own, Thank you. We’d like to go alone.”

He said, “It’s ok, I will show you.”

Andrew said, “No, we can find it. Thank you.”

He said, “Ok, a tip, whatever you want for my time.”

Andrew laughed.

I said, “No, we didn’t ask you for your time. You volunteered it. Thank you. We are not giving you anything. Good night.”

He tried to argue, clearly annoyed that his ten minutes was completely wasted. We turned and started walking away. We sighed. I mean, we saw it coming, we knew he was going to have a hissy fit about us not tipping him for his uninvited ten minute tour of the kasbah. And maybe, if he (like the many others) were upfront about it, like “Hey, it’s a little difficult to find your way, and I know of a secret view that I can take you to for 10 Dirhams.” I’d be down. I would probably even give him 20 (maybe) if he was cool and really did take me to a sweet secret spot. But this whole I’ll present myself as a nice guy with the expectation of making something after does not sit well with me.

And while I’m being honest, I spent the past five years of my life getting paid for my mad English skills. I’m particularly skilled at small talk with “foreigners.” Next time, I’m just going to ask him “Ok, a tip for me? For speaking English together? Whatever you want for my time…” and see what he says.