Wonder and Wander

It was a few hours of driving from Kenitra at the coast to Fes, so after a delicious lunch of fish and couscous, we headed out.

Mamen was our marketing liason/tour guide/translator for the trip, and although the kids had just met her the week before, she quickly became part of the family. Evie said, “I thought Ms. Mamen was just going to be a regular lady, like everyone else. I didn’t think I would have much to say to her, but she’s so fun to talk to!” We have been so blessed to have such a warm-hearted, generous person to work with. I spent the trip to Fes practicing my Spanish with a very patient tutor, chatting it up with Mamen with the Arabic radio in the background and the mountains rolling in beside us.

Our riadh (home that faces inward toward an interior courtyard with a fountain) was in the medina (the heart of the ancient city). Accordingly, we parked our huge van in a sketchy covered building and waited for our hosts to collect us. I learned why when they came: we were ushered into a literal labyrinth–the downward sloping streets twisting one way and then another, with no street signs to speak of anywhere. For a few minutes I wondered if my claustrophobia might kick in, because the alleys were so narrow and the walls so impenetrably high. I checked in with the night sky every few minutes to steady myself and kept following our little caravan downhill.

Mamen told me that our riadh wasn’t the nicest we could go to, but it was the best because the owners would treat us like family. We came to an unassuming door in the nondescript wall, and after climbing a flight of stairs, we were suddenly in a miniature palace. Beautiful patterned tile, slender columns and carved arches, a bubbling fountain–it was hard to believe this was “not the nicest”. According to Muslim tradition, homes are intended to reserve their beauty for those that live within, and all the focus of the building is toward the heart of the home rather than the exterior. All of the streets look similar because of these ubiquitous silent walls, but once inside, the riadh felt like our secret hideaway from the world beyond.

Fes was founded in 789 AD, and the medina is the largest car-free urban area in the world. It’s huge and ancient and unmarked. I’ve never been to a city where I felt that I needed a guide to get me around–wandering around a new city a little lost is one of traveling’s pleasures. Not here. There was no way I was leaving that hotel without an expert, at least on the first day. Even locals can get lost in the medina. Fortunately, we had a guide to take us around after breakfast (still Isaac’s favorite–this time with croissants and a rose-flavored jam).

Fes was a city unlike any other I’ve visited. It was beautiful and crowded and dirty and bustling and cheerful and smelly and exciting. I am still pretty proud of myself for not losing any children during our walks. The medina is full of artisans–it seems like absolutely everything there is made by hand, from the argan oil softsoap in the shower and the hand-carved doors and the filigreed lamps to the orange blossom extract the women make at home. We passed by live chickens and a dead camel head, vats of spices, woodworkers, and coppersmiths. We toured a pottery house, a tannery (with a complimentary sprig of peppermint to keep in front of your nose because of the smell), and a weaver’s shop. We walked by a massive ancient mosque still in use, and passed by the oldest still-running university in the world (founded by a woman, Fatima al-Fihri, in 859). We haggled (well, I did 🙂 and perused and soaked it all up.

Although Vance had done amazingly well on our strawberry tours, his body had had enough, and he missed all the walking tours. I expected him to need to rest, but it was hard to come back from such an exciting day and realize that he was crashing pretty hard. We were both discouraged. Mamen was right, though–our host treated us like family. He was so concerned about Vance, and he concocted some herbal teas that really did seem to make a difference (lemon verbena and clove, I think).

Travel is an unforgiving companion to chronic illness–it’s one of the reasons we have tried to travel pretty slowly for the most part. Morocco was a quick trip, however, and I was worried about getting Vance out and home. Just getting to the car was an uphill trek, plus all the waiting in line and security and passport control and customs and, and, and… Once again, we were needing the kindness of God to pave the way for us. And he did. Vance got a wild and hairy motorcycle ride up out of the medina, I found a wheelchair in the airport, and despite delays and swindling rental car managers and other crazy obstacles, we made it back to Spain in one piece. There is nothing like being out of your comfort zone to bring the providence of God into stark relief. Morocco was beautiful chaos, and I’m so glad we were able to go.