"Shukran"

Fez: Part II

We woke up early Saturday morning and had a traditional Arabic breakfast in the Riad. I’m not quite sure what it all was, but the cafe au lait was excellent and the pancakey breads with jam were delicious.
Most people in Fez are unbelievably kind, and sometimes it’s hard to believe and trust that people are actually that nice. After breakfast, we wanted to go to our previously reserved Riad to see if we still had a place to stay that night or if we needed to look elsewhere. We had no map and no idea where the other Riad was, so when we asked for directions from the French-speaking receptionist, the owner of the Riad (the one who only spoke Berber) offered to take us. Thank goodness he did, because we never would have found it on our own.

It was about a 30 minute walk from the first Riad and we got our first glimpse into daily life in the Medina on the way. We walked through the heart of the Medina to get to Riad Al Pacha and I have never felt so much like an outsider—not even in China. China was foreign, but still very tourist-accessible. Before coming to Fez, I had done minimal research online about the city and knew one word in Arabic—shukran (thank you). This word, though, seemed to get us a long way. We walked through the food market where local women were buying fresh meat (and I mean REALLY fresh—there were live chickens being sold!), fresh fruit, and fresh vegetables. There were olives of every kind, tropical fruits, fresh flowers, spices, and tea. The women, just as at the rest stop, showed no skin other than their faces and some women were even wearing burkas. After walking through the food market, we walked down small streets and alleyways filled with shop after shop selling handicrafts (about 90% of people from Fez earn money by making and selling things like rugs, pottery, and leather goods). We saw very few women in the streets once we left the food market. There were Arabic men asking people if they wanted a tour of the city, and impoverished children playing games in the dirt. As we walked, I felt as if all eyes were on us because we were women travelers. It was uncomfortable at first, but I never really felt unsafe. The man who walked us to our Riad always made sure we were behind him. He didn’t know where the Riad was either, but kept asking for directions along the way until we found it.

We finally arrived at our Riad and were greeted by the owner. We said “shukran” (“thank you” in Arabic) to the man who brought us there and tried to give him a small tip, but he kindly refused and went on his way. The owner of the new Riad spoke several languages, but we mostly spoke in Spanish. When we asked him about our room, he said he gave it away that he would figure something out for us. He offered us fresh mint tea (Morocco’s national drink) on the terrace overlooking the city, gave us a map, and told us to come back that evening to figure out where we would be staying. So we headed out to explore the Medina for the day.

Cerena and I began the day without a tour guide to explore a bit. We started at the Bab Bou Jeloud gate—one of the 14 entrances into the Medina and worked our way through the winding streets soaking in every detail. There was an equal mix of locals and tourists alike. There are only two main streets in the Old City, and hundreds of “cajellones.” The streets in the Medina are small and narrow, like the streets in most Old City’s around the world. There is one often unknown detail, though, that makes the streets in Fez seem much narrower than they actually are: donkey taxis. There are both “big” donkey taxis and “small” donkey taxis. As you walk down the streets of the Medina, you will constantly here Arab men shouting, “Ballacks!” (I’m sure that the spelling is incorrect, but that is what the word sounds like) which means “Look out!” in Arabic. Clearly the streets were not designed to fit both donkey taxis and people because Cerena and I got nudged by a few donkeys more than once!

Along the main streets, there are color-coded signs on the sides of shops and buildings throughout the Medina directing you to the most important sights and monuments in Fez. We made our way down the Talaâ Kebira through the food market and into the handicraft shops. We followed the signs to our first historical sight—the Bou Inania Medersa. When you arrive at a monument in Fez, it’s always difficult to figure out how to actually get in and if you are even allowed to enter. They are always behind closed doors and the entrances are often down small alleyways off the main streets. The signs are all in Arabic (who can read Arabic?!), and there is no information for tourists. Arabic men stand in front of the entrance of each monument collecting entrance fees, which are very inexpensive. The entire process intimidated me because I had to ask questions in a language I don’t actually speak to Arabic men who probably didn’t understand me anyway. The Medersa was gorgeous, though, and worth the embarrassment of trying to ask questions in French about how much it cost to enter. A medersa is sort of like a giant courtyard designed in typical Arabic architecture—detailed wooden doors and Barroque-style walls. It looked like the Alhambra, as did several other buildings in Fez.

After leaving the Medersa, we ran into Hassan for the third time that morning (the Medina is extremely small), and we finally agreed to let him be our tour guide for the morning. He was convincing and persistent! He first took us to the tanneries, where locals turn animal skin into leather. This was both amazing and disgusting to witness. Because we were with a local, they allowed us to walk around the tanneries and take pictures (one of the advantages of having a guide). There was sheep skin everywhere, and several tools being used to make, soften, and dye the leather. The locals take so much pride in this business. There is a small hill you can climb to get a better look at the tanneries also. From above, you can see all of the different “pilas” (stone baths) filled with different colored water to dye the leather. All of the colors are natural dye, made from flowers, leaves, and spices. Yellow leather is the most expensive because the color is made from Saffron. Hassan then walked us through an antique furniture market selling old, quality pieces of traditional Arabic furniture where people from all over Morocco come to shop. We hiked up a different hill for a great view of the Medina and all of the tanneries.

Coming back down the hill, we walked through some of the smaller streets in the Medina and Hassan pointed out important facts, symbols, and buildings. Everything looked like the Alhambra to me, from the key-hole shaped doors and windows to the blue (the color of Fez) and green (the color of Morocco)-tiled fountains. We walked past an old wooden door with a symbol representing the Hand of Fátima, which means good luck and protection of eyesight (this is my kind of door!).

Eventually we reached a gorgeous building a little smaller than a Riad. Inside were thousands of beautiful African rugs, for which Fez is well-known. We went up to the rooftop terrace where there was a small room. Inside the small room, women were weaving the rugs, which can take anywhere from 3-6 years to make. The amount of tedious work that goes into making each rug is astounding. We were lucky enough to be able to try weaving a few threads alongside the experts. It was embarrassing how bad I was at weaving a thread—making rugs is much harder than it looks! We went back downstairs and were given a tour of the factory and information about the different knots, qualities, and styles of each rug. The Berber rugs look almost indigenous, typified by angular shapes and earthy colors. The Jewish-style rugs have a classic design, like Persian rugs. One day, I will return to Fez when I have money and a house of my own to buy one of these rugs. They are absolutely gorgeous.

Near the rug factory is the Kairaouine Mosque—the largest mosque in all of Africa. Only Muslims are allowed to enter mosques, but you can peer in through the open entrance and see the amazing architecture resembling the Alhambra. We stood there for a few minutes just observing. Muslims entering removed their shoes at the entrance. As they entered, people were talking, praying, doing as they pleased. It was like a different world inside the mosque hidden from foreigners—very secretive and very exclusive. In front of the mosque there was a man selling Fez hats and saying in a very unenthusiastic voice, “Fez. Fez. Fez…” It was strange to see something so touristy in front of such an important cultural sight.

Wanting to explore on our own for the rest of the day, Cerena and I said goodbye to our tour guide Hassan and went to lunch at the Restaurant Kazbah Fez (near the Bab Bou Jeloud gate). We ate on the rooftop terrace and had a fantastic Arabic meal of Tajine avec legumes et poullet served on a traditional ceramic plate. All meals in Fez are served with this delicious flat bread. Food in Fez is very inexpensive also—each item on the menu costs about 40 or 50 dirham ($4 or $5).

After lunch, we walked around outside of the Medina for a bit trying to find the Batha Museum, which was closed. Life outside the Medina is completely different. All of the streets are paved, there are cars, big buildings, and things you would see in any other city. Still, it felt completely different. There were men everywhere and as we walked past them, many of the men would make inappropriate and sometimes demeaning comments in English. One hilarious comment we will never forget, though, was an Arabic man who said to us, “Hello my flowers” in a deep, Barry Manilow voice.

We stopped for a soda and traditional Arabic dessert at a small restaurant in the Medina before ending our day doing one of my all-time favorite things to do while traveling where it is cultural—bargaining! When someone told me that it was kosher and actually cultural to bargain in Fez, I was so excited. Bargaining in Morocco is exactly like bargaining in China—it is an important part of the culture and is actually considered extremely rude not to bargain. Before walking into a street shop in Morocco, make sure you actually want to buy something in that particular shop first. You do have the option of leaving the shop with nothing, but once you walk in, the shop owners make it very difficult for you to leave without buying something! The two things I really wanted from Fez were scarves and a painting. We went to a shop selling scarves and I bargained a little for two scarves (it always takes me a while to getting into the “bargaining mode” because it feels so unnatural).

Then we walking down the street a little further and reached a painting shop. I hadn’t bought a painting yet this year, but I had to get one somewhere to add to my local street artist painting collection from my travels. Why not Morocco? This artist’s paintings were incredible, and they reminded me of my Mexico painting. They depicted typical scenes of Fez in brilliant colors. I bargained in Spanish for almost an hour and walked away with a stunning painting of a typical street in Fez for 540 dirham less than the original asking price. It took me a little less than 5 minutes to choose the painting I wanted—it was the first painting I noticed when I walked into the shop and I fell immediately in love with it. Then the bargaining started. I asked the artist how much the painting cost and he said, “I can sell it to you for 860 dirham (about $86)—very good price.” His starting price was a little higher than I was expecting, so I knew I would have to be creative and strategic in getting him to lower the price to what I could afford to pay (which was about 300 dirham). Just like in China, bargaining in Fez is all about acting. You have to smile a lot, be very charming, and make a personal connection with the shop owner. I started off by telling him that I was an American, but that I lived in Granada. That was the connection—Granada has a strong connection to Arabic people and culture, so as soon as I said I lived in Granada, he said, “You’re like family! I’ll make you a good price.” Then I played the sympathy card, explaining that I was a teacher, had no money, and was leaving Fez tomorrow. I showed him the amount of money in my wallet and told him that I had a total of 800 dirham for the rest of the trip. I described in detail how I planned to spend every cent. I had to pay 400 dirham for the Riad that night, and had to leave enough money for dinner that night and lunch the next day. That left me with 300 dirham. His response was simple and logical: “You don’t need money for food and hotel! I invite you to my house tonight. You will meet my sister and my mother, and they will give you good Arabic food and wine for dinner!” Every time he came back to this argument, I just had to laugh and explain that I could really only afford to pay 300 dirham for the painting. 45 minutes later, he agreed to sell it to me for the price I wanted. He hugged us goodbye and said, “Remember to come back and visit next time you’re in Fez!”

Cerena and I had another amazing Moroccan meal at Panorama Bouanania for dinner. We ordered brochettes (shishkebabs), fries, and bread. We made it back to the Riad Al Pacha before dark (a must when traveling in Fez with only women) and the owner told us that we wouldn’t be able to stay there that night because all of the rooms were full. He said that he knew of an inexpensive hotel just outside the Medina that he would take us too, and if there was no space there then he would let us stay in his home for the night. He drove us to the hotel and luckily there was a room available—only 300 dirham for the two of us! The owner of the Riad, who had helped us so much that day, wouldn’t even let us tip him. The hotel seemed to be in the middle of all the action. There isn’t much nightlife in Fez, but it was a Saturday night and there was a Barcelona game on. People in Fez are big Barça fans for some reason, and we would hear huge cheers from inside our room every time Barça scored a goal. We were also woken up by the 5:00am prayer on Sunday morning (Muslims pray 5 times a day). You can hear the prayers over the loudspeakers echoing throughout the city.

We woke up Sunday morning and saw two of the sights we didn’t get to see the day before. First we went to the Batha Museum. This museum, set inside a Moroccan palace, houses collections of typical Arabic dress, jewelry, pottery, carpets, iron, and wood from past centuries. We then took a taxi to the base of the hill leading up to the Tombeaux des Mérinides to see some ancient ruins and an amazing view of the city. We decided to walk back down into the medina instead of taking a taxi just to get a feel for life outside of the Medina. There were government buildings, beautiful parks, people picnicking, families enjoying the day together. Even though we felt a little uncomfortable being the only tourists, I am so glad we decided to walk and see a little bit of daily life in the New City.

We went back to the Medina to do some last minute “window shopping.” Our window shopping turned into us leaving with about 300 dirham worth of ceramics each. We bought everything from one shop and the owner kept hugging us and calling us “family” because we were from Granada. We also stopped by Café Clock—a great café in the Medina catered toward tourists with an amazing rooftop terrace—for a smoothie (woohoo!) and some Arabic “tapas.” We had couscous for lunch (we couldn’t leave Fez without having couscous!) and went back to the hotel to grab our bags and head the airport. The drive to the airport was bittersweet. We were sad to be leaving Fez because there was still so much that we didn’t get a chance to see, but when we landed in Madrid we were happy to be “home.” Shukran, Fes, for giving us one of the most amazing and adventurous weekends of our lives. We will never forget these two days and cannot wait to come back someday.

“Eso sí que es” (S.O.C.K.S)

Fez: Part I

“It is what it is.” This describes Fez, in a nutshell. When most people think of Morocco, they think of a country plagued by poverty and far too foreign or dangerous to ever travel to themselves, especially for women. Although this may all be true, Fez is an incredible city that offers a unique look into the Muslim culture—a culture that is strikingly different than that of America yet is oddly similar in more ways than one might think. When traveling to Morocco, all you have to do is adopt the “S.O.C.K.S.” attitude and you will end up loving it all.

Cerena and I opted for the 55 minute flight to Madrid (rather than the 5 hour bus ride) early Friday morning and spent the day in Madrid doing as the Madrileños do—drinking coffee, walking around the Plaza Mayor, eating bocadillos, and shopping. It’s so nice having lived in a city long enough to know your way around! Our flight to Fez left around 4:30 that evening. What should have been a 1 ½ flight ended up being 3 ½ hours and us landing in the wrong city. About a half hour before we were supposed to land in Fez, the pilot announced that we would not be able to land because of severe thunder storms and that we were being diverted to Casablanca. Going through immigration control in Casablanca was one of the scariest customs experiences of my life! The guard checking our passports was intimidating and just plain mean. He was asking us for papers and information that no one on our flight had, and he almost didn’t let us through! All of this because we are American’s. However, I left the airport with a Moroccan stamp in my passport—mission accomplished (and only 3 more pages to fill before my passport expires in 2013).

Walking through the Casablanca airport gave me the same feeling I had walking through the Shanghai airport in China 2 ½ years earlier—that intriguing, anxious, helpless feeling you get when traveling to a place so foreign. You don’t speak the language(s), you can’t read the signs, and you can’t “blend in” despite your strongest efforts. We exchanged our money (We felt rich! The exchange rate is about 10 dirham to the dollar) and then went to buy 2 bottles of water and a snack. It was then, sadly, that I realized I had pretty much lost my ability to speak the little French I learned in college. Madame Marachi would have been so disappointed!

After waiting (without information) for almost 2 hours, Cerena and I finally got on the last bus to Fez with about 10 other Spanish people. What we were told would be a 2 hour bus ride was actually 4. The entire bus ride, though, all of the Spanish people kept saying, “No pasa nada. Ya no espero nada de hoy—¡es una aventura! Y ahora podemos decir que hemos estado en Casablanca” (“It’s okay. I’m not expecting anything else today—it’s an adventure! And now we can say that we’ve been to Casablanca”). Being the American that I am (although I’m becoming more and more Spanish everyday), I was frustrated with the entire situation and angry with the airline for not giving us any information. Then I thought, “Why? Being frustrated isn’t going to help the situation in any way whatsoever.” Thus the “Eso sí que es” and “ya está” (another Spanish expression meaning “and that’s that”) state of mind.

We couldn’t see much on the bus ride, but not being able to read any of the billboards or having any idea where we were was a trip, and exactly how I remember feeling on our bus ride from Shanghai airport to the center of town. The bus drivers in Morocco are exactly like the bus drivers in China also—¡LOCOS! The driver was talking on his cell phone in an angry tone almost the entire drive, making illegal u-turns in the middle of the freeway, speeding, and may or may not have had a beer at the rest stop (beer and coke bottles look extremely similar in Morocco). The rest stop was fascinating. It was your typical roadside gas station with a mini-restaurant, but the atmosphere was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The restaurant served Arabic fast-food and the menu was all in Arabic (How are tourists supposed to order food?!). There were hardly any women, and the women that we did see wore head scarves and showed no skin other than their faces. It was the first time since we had landed in Casablanca that I really felt like we were in Morocco.

We finally made it to Fez around midnight and were dropped off in the middle of the New City without a clue as to where we were. We got a petit taxi with another Spanish couple to the Medina (the Old City) where both of our Riads (old Moroccan palaces that have been turned into hotels) were. We showed the taxi driver the addresses of our Riad and agreed to pay 100 Dirham for the 4 of us (it should have only cost about 20 or 30 dirham). At this point, we didn’t care that he was overcharging us—we just wanted to arrive at our Riads safely. He dropped us off in the Medina, told us that all of the Riads were “just around the corner”, and tried to charge us even more than the price we had agreed to earlier. I am SO relieved that we were with the other Spanish couple because the husband took charge of the situation—something I never would have done by myself in Fez.

A young Arabic man (who seemed to speak a little bit of every language) came to the rescue. He got rid of the taxi driver for us and said he would take us to our Riads (this is common in Fez—there are locals who wait for tourists to arrive and offer to show you where your Riad is/be your tour guide in exchange for a small tip). Neither of our Riads, apparently, was anywhere near where the taxi had dropped us off. We had to make quick decisions that night (which I am terrible at!) in order to find a safe place to stay that night. Hassan (the Arabic man) said that he didn’t want to take us to the Riad we had reserved because it wasn’t safe to walk around that area at night, especially for women. He knew of a good Riad around the corner where we could stay for the night. The Riad he took us to was beautiful, with typical Arabic architecture and fountains reminiscent of the Alhambra. The owner spoke only Berber, so Hassan translated for us. He also offered to be our tour guide the next day, to which we responded, “We’ll think about it.” We thanked him and said goodbye. We had a safe place to stay for the night and finally went to bed around 2am. Tomorrow was a new day.

¡Vienen los Reyes! ¡Vienen los Reyes! (Salamanca)

After a long flight back from the States, I went straight from the Madrid airport to the Estación de Chamartín to meet Cerena and go to Salamanca. We took Spain’s version of Italy’s IC train and arrived in Salamanca about 3 hours later.

We stayed at the Hostal Revolutum—a hotel that is in the process of being converted into a hostal. For 23 euros/night, we had a private room with 2 beds, private bathroom, heat, a t.v., towels and sheets included, maid service, and a small balcony. Oh, and did I mention that it was about 20 feet from the Plaza Mayor? This was definitely still a hotel. We got a map, marked the streets with all the places Inés told me about, and headed out in the rain.

First, we went to my favorite place in all of Salamanca and possibly in all of Spain—the Plaza Mayor. Although there is a Plaza Mayor in the majority of cities in Spain (central and Northern), the one in Salamanca is exceptionally special not only in its architecture but also in its atmosphere. There are people everywhere all the time—talking, playing, eating churros, drinking café, and just enjoying every aspect of life. If you ever feel like you want to “be in the moment,” go spend a few hours (or even a few minutes will do it) in Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor.

After people watching for a bit, we went to the Bar Cervantes (in the Pl. Mayor) for some sangria and pinchos (the name for “tapas” in Salamanca). Then we explored a much more local part of the city where we went for more tapas at some places Inés recommended. We got back to our hostal around 11:00, watched “Callejeros, Viajeros,” and went to sleep in preparation for a busy next day.

Our morning of day 2 in Salamanca was relaxed. We slept in and went to a café in the Plaza Mayor for some café con leche and a napolitana (it was great having Spanish breakfast again!) Then we walked to the Puente Romano.

One of the things I love about Salamanca in how old everything feels. I love that every street In the centro is cobblestone and that there is something beautiful and historical on every corner. The Puente Romano is over 2000 years old and although it’s no the most elegant bridge I’ve ever seen, it’s just feels cool (for lack of a better word) to set foot on something that old.

Then we visited the cathedrals of Salamanca. There are 2—the Catedral Vieja and the Catedral nueva. The Catedral Nueva is enormous and a little dark inside, as gothic cathedrals always are. The Catedral Vieja, however, is as its name describes—old, and very beautiful. The altar is made up of a series of paintings portraying various biblical scenes surrounded by gold. The outside of the cathedral is impressive. The doors are excessively big and wooden, and the façade is an old tone in a Tuscan-brown color. There is one other very unique aspect of Salamanca’s Cathedral—there is an astronaut carved out of stone among the hundreds of other religious figures.

After our visit to the cathedrals and our search for the astronaut, we went to see the Casa de Conchas—a house built by a prestigious Salamanca family in the 1500’s decorated with shells all over the exterior walls. It reminds of the Dalí museum in Figueres outside Barcelona (which is decorated with loaves of bread).

As per what is no seemingly my Salamanca tradition, we went to the Chinese restaurant in the centro for lunch. (The “tradition” started when I went to Spain for my first time as a college sophomore and didn’t know how to find good Spanish food).

Before going back to our hostal for a little while, we went to a pasterlería in the Plaza Mayor to buy our first (and hopefully not our last!) roscón de Reyes for Día de los Reyes Magos. A roscón is a mix between sweet break and cake with fuity-gummy candy and sugar on top. They are shaped in a circle or an oval and there is a figurine hidden inside. The roscón is traditionally only eaten on the 5th and 6th of January for Día de los Reyes. So, we stood in line for 40 minutes waiting to get our roscón while we watched mothers and grandmothers buy their own roscones for their families. We watched one woman pick up her pre-order 3 kilo roscón (6.5 lbs.)! We went back to our hostal and dove into our first roscón (after taking a few pictures with and of it of course).

Around 4:30 we headed back out into the cold to visit our last monument/historical sight of the trip—la Universidad de Salamanca, one of the oldest universities in Europe. There are 2 buildings you can visit—the old library and old classrooms (many of which are still used for conferences and lectures today). The university is gorgeous—it feels like a castle. Walking through the place where famous people like Cervantes studied makes you feel like yuou want to spend the rest of your life learning and studying. Salamanca is a student-centered city much like Granada and everything in the city seems to somehow relate back to the university and its students.

We started to walk back through the Plaza Mayor around 6:30, but stopped about 200 yards away in a chocolatería called Valor (a Spanish chocolate company like See’s or Godiva in the U.S.). It was packed full of families and older people—always a good way of finding good places to eat or have coffee!) We walked inside and squeezed our way through all of the people into a tiny open space at the bar. We ordered “una taza de chocolate caliente a lo suizo con fideos” (translated on the menu as: “A cup of hot chocolate with whip cream and noodles”)—“fideos” means noodles and sprinkles in Spanish). I can safely say that this was the best cup of hot chocolate I have ever had. There was hardly any milk in it and it tasted more like a cup of hot chocolate syrup with a thick, almost mouse-like cream on top. I would go back to Salamanca just to have a cup of that “hot chocolate” again.

We walked through the Plaza Mayor and they were still setting up for the parade, so we did some shopping (window only) before going back to the Plaza Mayor around 7:15. When we got there it was packed! People had been standing out in the Plaza since 6 in order to find a good spot to watch the Reyes parade. The parade started at 8:30 and it was ridiculously random and so much fun to watch. It was like a combination of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, Halloween, a Christmas pagent, and 4th of July all rolled into one event. There were Alice and Wonderland characters, pirates, fireworks, elves, floats, and of course, the three kings. Near the end of the parade, the 3 kings came out on the main balcony on the 2nd level of the Plaza Mayor to speak to the town. Their speech was about how happy they were to be returning to Salamanca, “the most beautiful city in the world.” They then talked about the future and told the kids to keep being good and listening to their parents and grandparents. They talked about the magic of Día de los Reyes and told the kids why it was so magical. The reason they gave for why this day was so magical was that it brought family together to celebrate their faith and be thankful for their love, for nothing is more magical than this.

After the parade we went to our last and our best tapas bar, went back to the hostal, packed, and fell asleep watching the news, which was all about the festivities we had just witnessed in the Salamanca and the ones we hadn’t in all other parts of Spain. It was a great trip and the perfect way to re-acclimate myself to Spanish life. Adiós Salamanca, y hasta pronto.