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jamal
17/06/2005 13:13
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Every section of the interior is decorated; any remaining white marble has been carved into intricate designs, waves curl into arches, powerful columns accentuate the height of the roof and glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Colorful tiles and mosaics color the inside of the mosque and the sliding roof is open, letting in the natural light and enhancing their brilliance. One particularly intense segment of the ceiling is covered in a three-dimensional pattern of yellow overlapping green, black and white indentations. It is spectacular.
From Casablanca, a long, hot bus ride takes me to Fes, the former capital and a more typically Moroccan city in the northern part of the country. The Royal Palace here is embellished with even more colorful tiles; circles of green and red are surrounded by yellow stars on a black background, with various blue and white shapes completing the pattern. These tiles border a massive gold door that keeps the public out.
A visit to the Jewish quarter further illustrates the diversity present within the city. Discarded fruit and vegetables rotting in the street greet give off a pungent smell that prompts me to cover my nose. The streets are extremely narrow and filled with people hurrying about their daily business. A donkey attached to an empty cart waits outside some wooden doors. He stands as if defeated, with his head down. Across the street six men sit in front of a café, all wearing long pants, shirt and jackets, oblivious to the heat. I sweat a little more just looking at them.
I stop for lunch at a shady restaurant and start with a cold drink. I order tajine, a Moroccan specialty that is quickly becoming one of my favorite foods. I choose chicken that is baked in a tasty sauce with potatoes and vegetables in a clay dish with a cone lid. Removing the top allows the mouth watering smells to escape and as I bite into the spicy chicken and sip my cool drink, I am energized for the afternoon’s activities. |
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To enter the medina in Fes we pass under a stone arch that leads directly into the chaotic maze. This ancient walled urban center is not a place you explore on your own, and eager guides wait at the entrance hoping to be hired. No one should enter alone - 1500 streets in a very small, enclosed area can lead to a lot of confusion and tourists easily become disoriented. Stepping into the medieval medina is like stepping back in time; life hasn’t changed here for hundreds of years. Originally founded in 809 BC, it is now one of few remaining medinas, and a UNESCO World Heritage site. Tens of thousands of people still work, worship, study, play and even live in the medina today.
The tiny street my guide leads me down winds and curves in no discernable order and I am almost nervous as I walk with him. We have entered the medina in an area selling edibles. I walk past a table covered with big, round blocks of cheese wrapped in brown woven leaves and sitting on piles of long thin, green leaves. A sliver of light streams through a gap in the thatched roof and I am reminded of the intensity of the sun. Barrels of vibrant green beans sit along the side of the next street we walk down, and yellow bananas hang from the ceiling.
A true labyrinth, the streets wind and split off into various directions, and we find even more food for sale. Dead animals hang from wooden beams, fish sit stinking in the heat and I pass a table selling small, gray round items. I think I know what they are, but I have to know for sure. “What’s this?” I ask my guide.
“Brains,” he replies, and I don’t ask him to elaborate.
We wander for half an hour looking at various goods for sale – everything from carpets, to bronze plates and electronics. Somewhere in the maze we pass a mosque, a university, and a weaving factory. As we push our way through the crowds, we hear “Balek!” (Watch out!) and my guide pulls me out of the way so a donkey laden with goods can make its way past us in the narrow alley.
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nostrils. I can barely breathe.
The tannery has been in the medina since medieval times and has changed little. We are on the second level, and endless, huge stone vats of red, yellow and brown dyes occupy the bottom floor. Piles of skins waiting to be colored sit in heaps among the vats, and men tiptoe along the edges stirring the dye and skins with long sticks. They are barefoot and none of them have mint.
After the tannery, our visit to the medina is over and I am relieved to be back in the fresh air and unrestricted space of Fes.
En route to Marrakech, the final city on my itinerary, I make a side trip to the western most edge of the Sahara Desert. A speeding jeep takes the tour I have joined from the main highway near Erfoud to the beginning of this famous expanse of sand. As I bump along the back roads I start to see orange sand dunes in the distance and I think to myself, this is Africa! The jeep drops us where the road meets desert and I immediately bend down and grab a handful of the fine brownish-orange sand and let it fall through my hands. |
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