Last Updated on June 24, 2019 by PowersToTravel
As a teenager, I had read mystery novels of young women traveling the world, facing danger, solving the puzzles and rescuing their men. Some novels were set in earlier years, during the time of the British Empire, in places to which I would never consider traveling now-a-days. As a diabetic I knew I would never survive the fictional adventures, yet I still would dream.
I had read about the souks, the medinas, the mosques of the middle east, and would smell the spices in my imagination. Then came the late ’70s and ’80s with the Iran Hostage affair, and the heightening of tensions and violence against Americans. The souk of my imagination, inherited from the imagination of the British writers, seemed lost, to my generation at least. The dream faded away.
Last year, in our seasonal stroll through the web, around the world, looking for our next destination, Greg suggested, “Morocco.”
Greg had announced, on our first date, that he would like to travel to Africa, and my heart had dropped with the fear of disease and of being eaten by a lion. I subsequently researched African safari destinations and planned our trip to Tanzania. The trip was a wonderful success, resulting in no illness, once-in-a-lifetime experiences, with all limbs accounted for. Since then, I have taken Greg’s suggestions seriously, researching them on the internet for interest, cost, and safety.
So, Morocco? Our research led us to an 11 day private trip with an SUV and driver, traveling from the imperial cities of the north, to the Sahara, and to Marrakesh. I had read so many travelogues of happy travelers and felt comfortable with our choices. During the months leading up to our trip I focused on the logistics of getting to Morocco, choosing the agency (Sun Trails!) and planning the costs.
We spent our first night in Morocco in the medina at Rabat, at a wonderful traditional riad. Our host encouraged us to go out and stroll in the medina at night. What?? at night? So we did, however I was so tired from our transatlantic flight that I hardly noticed what we saw, and was simply happy to return to the riad to sleep.
The next day we visited Meknes, Volubilis and landed in Fes. Once again we were hosted in a riad in the medina. Our hosts encouraged us to visit the medina at night. “Oh yes, it is very safe. You just have to be careful to find your way out.” We were so tired, we decided to stay and sleep.
The once-in-a-lifetime experience occurred the following day. A guide had been engaged to take us through the Fez medina and souk and to show us the historical sites. As we strolled the narrow alleys, we passed the spice vendor, the butcher and the baker. A man selling sneakers sat opposite a gravestone carver. The knife-sharpener’s stall opened just down the alley from the olive merchant.
Little courtyards surprised us at the ends of the alleys. A tree and a fountain bathed in light encouraged us to rest. Each little booth was individually constructed for its unique purpose, and the wares were colorful and aromatic. The narrow alleyways were sometimes wide enough for four to walk abreast, and sometimes only narrow enough for two to squeeze by. Light filtered down through canvas drapes which protected us from the heat. Little children darted unaccompanied and safely around the alleyways.
Our clothing and awestruck gaze announced our tourist status, and we saw other tourists in the alleys, however the souk was clearly a local affair as well. A man with a laden donkey pressed down an alley. My vision reeled with the juxtaposition of ancient tarred, scraped, polished wood stalls, flaking stone and plaster walls and the colorful tiled frescoes with ornately carved cedar wood.
We visited a carpet house, the tannery, a tiny Koranic kindergarten. We gazed at the ancient waterclock. An ornately carved door announced a mosque, and we peered into the entrance of the oldest university in the world. We visited the tiny alley next to the home of the Jewish mystic Maimonides, who had lived in the 12th century. I was warmed by the knowledge that the Morocco of the middle ages, and the Morocco of the 20th and 21st century, was a place of Jewish and Islamic respect and cooperation.
All around us the busy market hummed with the daily experience of buying the chicken for dinner, the vegetables and the olives. We saw so much to buy, so eagerly embraced so many bargaining experiences. “O! Je suis desolée. Nous ne sommes pas riches!”
No, we are not rich. However the experience of the medina at Fes that day is one of the richest gifts I have ever received.
Related Links
Wikipedia article about Maimonides
Check out this article of mine too:
Morocco Travel Blog – Itinerary, Reviews and Diabetic Travel Tips
