Fez and the Desert.

Cath and I must have been getting pretty good at navigating because we were able to find for ourselves a recommended hotel in the medina, which is pretty much a maze with no apparent street plan. It seemed to be a decent enough place and so we took a double room to share. Later that day our host introduced us to a “fellow Canadian” who had just arrived in Fez and was staying in a nearby hotel. He was interested to meet us and for us all to take a guided tour of the medina, next morning. The tour turned out to be pretty lame for the most part, and of course included an obligatory tour of the ceramics factory. These factory and shop tours are especially geared to bus tours, which I’m sure they have more success with than they do with individuals. But even when you tell them AT THE OUTSET that you have no intention of buying anything, they become highly offended when you don’t! The tour guide is in on the deal, so he is also pissed off! And the prices are quite ridiculous to boot (36 Euros - C$57 - for a lunch size plate, for instance. “How many do you want? Okay, 33 Euros each.”). There are some very beautiful bowls and platters with traditional Moroccan designs in a stunning array of colours. But there is no way a bowl would arrive by mail in one piece, and add in the cost of shipping - yikes! (For instance, I mailed a c.d. to Canada, with nothing else in the package but a postcard, and that cost about C$8.) Better to just buy one back home at one of those import shops. Oh yes, the fellow Canadian turned out to be a real pest. He was from Lebanon, lives in Toronto, and was one of these entrepreneurial types who blab on and on about how much money they make flipping houses and selling carpets. Lebanese Mafia. Fancied himself a Big Fish. He fit right in, in Morocco. How tedious.

There are many beautiful buildings in the Imperial city of Fez. The intricate carved plaster and tile work is so fine and delicate. I can’t imagine how many man hours it took to complete palaces and mosques (except for two mosques in the whole of Morocco, entry for non Muslims is forbidden, unfortunately). So, it wasn’t all bad in Fez! Not at all - but I just wouldn’t rush back, now that I have seen it.

Neither of us really liked Fez all that much, not so much because of the city, but more because of the people (read: men). Pushy, pushy people, all of them wanting money, even just for giving simple directions to somewhere. But who knows what the women are like? Many are mostly fully covered, except for their eyes, and the further south you go the more that becomes the case. There are actually a number of younger women who are uncovered or only have a scarf over their head, with their faces fully exposed. But it is rare to actually conduct any sort of business transaction with a female, other than to quietly purchase a small item with little of nothing said. And this goes for all of Morocco, not just Fez.

Fez itself is interesting enough, but would be so much more enjoyable if the shopkeepers and salesmen would just back off! We felt very fortunate to find a couple of places of refuge where we could sit and enjoy a glass of mint tea (“Morocco whiskey”!) without being hassled by anyone for anything, and just watch the traffic go by. This included bicycles, motorcycles and cars, carts and wagons, horses and donkeys. The latter two being beasts of burden, it was sad to see how badly treated they are in terms of their general care (none) and the excessively heavy and large loads stacked upon them. It was not uncommon to see them literally staggering under the weight and bumping against walls whilst navigating the narrow winding streets through the ever constant crowds of people. Caked with dried mud and left tethered and hobbled for hours, even days, at a time, these creatures endure untold suffering day in and day out. One sees this across Morocco, urban and rural. They seem completely resigned to this life of drudgery and penance, obediently accepting whatever is demanded of them.

Cath and I decided that an excursion to the desert was an important part of a trip to Morocco, and we ended up signing up for a “package” which included a car and driver to get us there, one night in a riad at the edge of the desert, journey by camel to a Berber camp and overnight in Berber tent, return the next morning to the riad and transfer back to the town of Er Rachidia. It seemed like it might have been complicated and time consuming to make our own arrangements and good information was hard to come by, so this package seemed like a good idea, since Cath had a deadline of about 10 days left in Morocco, before her departure from Marakkesh.

The route from Fez goes south east through the Middle Atlas where there was some fresh snow at the pass. Along the way the highway goes through a forested area that is inhabited by Barbary apes (as in Barbary coast, Barbary pirates - Corsairs - and perhaps the route word for barbarian. Look that up in your OED!), and where one is invited to step out of ones vehicle to see them up close. No thanks! I really NO desire to get personal with monkeys and apes. Kinda like getting up close to a Griz, but worse! There was a bus load of Japanese tourists, taking photos like mad at the merest glimpse or sighting. Just a little way down the road, there were dozens of them waiting for handouts from passers by and the curious. ICK!!!

After a few hours of travel in the old Mercedes (the car that never quits…) our driver got us to the town of Rissani, where we would transfer to a mini-bus. The mini-bus needed to be summoned, so we were invited to take tea while we waited. In a carpet shop. Surprise! So, for carpet demonstration # 67, we sat politely as we could, refusing to buy, again. Usually, when I explain that I have several Persian and Afghan rugs already, they give up on me, knowing that Moroccan rugs are really not in the same league. But, you can’t blame these guys for trying, I guess! Any excuse will do.

The mini-bus arrived, not a minute too soon, and ushered us past the end of pavement and into the edge of the Sahara Desert, where somehow, the driver knew where to go. There seemed to be slightly used routes criss-crossing each other, willy-nilly, into the vast great beyond. As the sun was setting we arrived at Erg Chebbi, where we would spend the night. Next morning we hiked up one of the nearest dunes to have a look-see, and as we already guessed, there was a lot more sand out there, and dunes as far as the eye could see, and just over there was the Algerian border. We managed to fill the rest of the day with idle chit chat, meeting a young couple from North Bay, Ontario, who had just returned from their trip into the dunes. They were great good company, and we ended up travelling with Ryan and Meagan for a few days hence.

As the day wore on, the weather worsened, becoming more and more windy. The forecast for gust up to 67km/hr seemed to be quite accurate! Finally it was time to climb aboard our trusty camels, but not before we all donned the head scarves used by all Sahara dwellers, to protect ourselves from sand and sun. These scarves need to be at least 2 meters in length in order to be securely fastened, but the Berber people use much longer ones, probably twice that. The wind blew across the dunes and drove the sand into every nook and cranny, requiring us to just keep our eyes closed for good portion of the journey to the Berber camp. It took almost 2 hours to get there, and not one of us was unhappy to have the ordeal over and done with, until our return trip next morning! All the while, I couldn’t stop the theme music from “Lawrence of Arabia” going through my head, and remembering a scene where he was asked what it was about the desert that attracted him so much. “It’s so clean.” was his reply. Incredibly, there are a few things that grow, hardy grasses mostly, and the sand is completely clean, even though it gets into everything, including underneath contact lenses.

We were made up of two camel trains of about 7 each, as well as the Berber guides, who walked in front, leading the way. There was a group of about 10 Spanish law and business students, mostly female. They were really good at singing Spanish folk songs together in a circle outside the tent in the blackness of the desert night. One of the women was an excellent drummer, as were the Berber guides. The wind continued to howl most of the night, but dawn was calm and after a hike up the dune to watch a Sahara sunrise and we packed up and rode back to Erg Chebbi. For some reason, the camel/saddle that I was riding was the most uncomfortable place I have ever been in my life! It was impossible for me to enjoy this ride, as my body was completely rebelling! When we finally emerged from the dunes and hit the flatland about 1 km from our destination, I chose to walk the remainder, and was much happier and healthier for it! There - I’ve ridden a camel into the desert. Tick! BTW, these are one-humpers, which I understand are actually dromedaries, but the Berbers call them camels - who am I to argue?

After a meagre breakfast of tea and bread, marjarine and jam we collected our belongings and headed away from the desert back to Rissani. The two from North Bay and two Italian girls and Cath and I had teamed up, and would travel west from here to the much lauded Todra Gorge. We were returned to the carpet shop, but refusing offers to come in, we had the driver take us to the taxi rank on the edge of town. With great protest and argument, we were informed that we had already missed the bus to Todra Gorge, and there were no taxis going there. We decided to give it a shot, anyway, and within 15 minutes the six of us (four in the back, two plus driver in the front, and luggage!) were crammed into a “Grand Taxi” heading to where we wanted to go.