Walked along the beach of the Atlantic coast off of Morocco at sunrise this morning, looking at the light come up on Casablanca’s mish-mashed skyline, while trying to get my bearings and re-set my internal clock. Upon arriving last evening, we had a long leisurely supper at an outdoor restaurant; essentially an enormous deck carved into the cliffs above the crashing waves. We ate platters of freshly caught branzino, grilled over the open fireplace, and lobsters laden with black roe, pulled from the waters that very morning. Our glasses of chilled Moroccan rose kept being refilled by a solicitous waiter, while we watched the German and Italian tourists smoke, laugh loudly and gorge on languostines. Today, my small group departed Casablanca, climbing into a large car for a drive through the Moroccan countryside. I was surprised how green and lush it was; expecting desert and sagebrush rather than rolling hills and farm land. We stopped halfway between Casablanca and Fez and climbed through ruins from early Roman inhabitants.
Arrived in the magical city of Fez. The truly lovely Palais Jamai Hotel is a former presidential palace and is situated in the hills, overlooking the Medinas; one dating back to the 9th century and the other the 14th. Sitting on my balcony looking out over the city, listening to the call to prayer, sipping a sweet mint tea and smoking a hash/tobacco cigarette scored from the taxi driver in Casablanca, I was immediately transported to another time. The smoke in the hills across the way isn’t from burning garbage but from the kilns which are constantly stoked to fire Fez’s famed pottery, ceramics and tiles. Comprised of hundreds of tiny labyrinths, Fez is an abundance of sights, sounds and smells of the Middle East. Goat’s heads, cow’s tongues, snowy white tripe and live chickens being weighed on old scales compete with vendors passively hawking pastry, dates, vegetables and caftans.
Our darkly handsome and knowledgeable guide, Hicham, led us to mosques, Roman ruins, synagogues, palaces, potters, rug makers, tanneries. Walking through the tiny alleyways, littered with cigarettes, animal dung and pieces of food in varying states of decay, it often felt as though I had stepped back into Biblical times.
We dined in hidden ‘riads,’ the former homes of the very wealthy, which now housed spectacular restaurants, bars and hotels. One evening found us walking through the darkened labyrinths, completely at a loss as to where we were. Hicham guided us through the dimly lit alleys, now rife with scrawny, screeching cats, and showed us to an elaborately carved, huge wooden door. He rang the bell and bid us goodnight. The door swung open and an older, impeccably dressed Moroccan welcomed us. It truly over the top. Buried deep in the Medina, this riad was once a spectacular home home with a gorgeous main room, resplendent with ornate Arabesque tile work, fountains, and Islamic lighting. The bar was one of the chicest I’ve seen. The tiny dining room was perfectly appointed and dinner was flawless: Moroccan salads, lamb, local Cabernet Sauvignon. The proprietor gave us a tour of one of the salons. The rooms were inviting and lovely.
Walking through the labrynths of Fez, I gained a new understanding of and appreciation for the Islamic arts; detailed and incredibly intricate, with each color and symbol corresponding to a particular meaning. Tile work, wood carvings and vivid paintings are to be found behind every doorway in the ancient city. The entire city of Fez is ringed by a huge wall which has holes in it throughout, allowing the compressed mixture of sand and earth the ability to breathe; expanding and contracting depending upon the season’s weather. Swallows have taken up residence within these thousands of holes, so the old city is filled with bird life. In the early morning, I rise and swim alone in the magnificent pool, which overlooks the Medinas below. The swallows dive over my head, sipping the waters, their voices prominent throughout the gardens.
I bought a seriously beautiful pair of earrings. They’re early 1800s, long and dangly, and sterling silver. I never buy jewelry, but they moved me.
I had a Hammam for the first time… but certainly not the last… Is its origin Turkish or Moroccan?? The debate continues. I was sent into a very hot steam in a large, traditionally tiled room and had the place to myself. I walked the room for twenty minutes, sweating and thinking about how blessed I am… friends, travel, the sights, sounds, smells of Fez. A lovely dark haired woman with almond eyes retrieved me just before I turned into a puddle. She laid me face down, naked, on a large marble slab. She fully massaged me with eucalyptus oil and then bathed me in warm water. She then took a hard, black loofah and roughed up my skin. Then, she bathed me again. I was then instructed to turn over; she repeated the entire process.
Then she washed my hair.
And oiled my entire body.
It took everything I had not to ask her to marry me…