Magic Car(pet) Ride; and The Man with the Yellow Babouche

Written by Paula

Almost daily as we wander the medina alleys we hear at least one vendor shyly say, “Magic carpet, flying carpet – best price?!”  We share with him that our childhood included hearing the stories of Ali Baba, Aladdin and the rest of the 1001 Nights. I ask – “Do you read these stories to your children?” “Oh yes” is always the reply, with a smile and twinkling eyes.

Well, we today we had our first magic car(pet) ride. It all started with an invitation from our calligraphy teacher, Abdullah, to join him for an afternoon stroll through the Jardin Jnan Sbil, a beautiful peaceful garden originally part of the Kings Palace, now open to the public. Our first stop was the bamboo grove, planted, we were told, by ancient calligraphers. It seems bamboo of the right size and texture makes the perfect qalam, or calligraphy pen. Indeed, Abdullah uses the bamboo from this grove to make his own qalams (or whatever is the plural of this Arabic word).

Bamboo Grove in Jardin Jnan Sbil, by and for calligraphers -- and the people of Fez

Entryway to this beautiful park

A noria, a waterwheel that lifts water for irrigation

I sat with this man for a bit; he was pleased to meet an American, and I was thrilled to meet him!

As we were walking through the bamboo forest he casually said, “Have you been to Ifrane, the Switzerland of Morocco?” Well no, not on this trip, was our reply. We actually had been thinking of going in a few days and this seemed fortuitous. He called a friend with a car and soon we were driving into the countryside toward Ifrane. About 10 minutes out of Fez he leaned back and asked – “Have you ever been to the Roman ruins at Volubilis?” Again our response was “well, no” but we knew Volubilis was not directly on the way to Ifrane. “Ok”, said Abdullah, “Let’s make a detour!”

We looked at each other and smiled – wow – we have wanted to go to Volubilis since we first got to Fez and had spent hours researching and discussing transportation options. This seemed like a magical moment, to say the least. (We may have more to say about Volubilis later.)

We made it! Volubilis

Abdullah and Paul (on the right) with ancient Roman mosaic floor

Abdullah and his friend, who drove us all here

Paula and the triumphal arch

The famous stork nest of Volubilis

As the afternoon faded, we thought it was too late to go to Ifrane; however, there was more in store. We arrived at the Swiss chalet town at sunset, and spent the evening strolling the fashionable streets, sipping coffee with the locals. This was not Morocco!  We were transported.

Large home in Ifrane, the Switzerland of Morocco!

Pointy roofs, must be, ah, Ifrane!

The Switzerland of Morocco in Winter
(photo courtesy of  yalalla.com)

The famed lion of Ifrane, carved in stone by a former prisoner

Ifrane at night -- Morocco's national crest: God, King, Country

It was midnight before we got home. All we could do was shake our heads and laugh. What a ride!

Man with the Yellow Babouche

Ever since our first trip to Morocco three years ago, Paul has been fascinated with the yellow babouche (pointy-toed slippers) seen on the feet of many Moroccan men. Not just any color babouche mind you, only yellow. We have learned since then that only men wear these yellow babouche. He didn’t buy a pair on that trip three years ago, and I figured it was time: he’d definitely buy them now. Well, time went on and he kept taking pictures of them (and including them in the blog). We learned there are many qualities of leather (some leather even coming from China), craftsmanship, and a wide range of prices. But still he made no move toward getting a pair.

 I encouraged him to ask a local for help. One of our neighbors is a young man whose family works in the tannery near us. We meet him every day as we come and go. Like most Moroccans, he is friendly and very open, and after about a week he informed us “You are now my family – you are like my parents!” (I thought, Great, at least he didn’t say grandparents.)

It was our last week before leaving Fez for good. Paul went off to explore the tannery (always a hot tourist destination, although I don’t know why – I declined this visit) and ran into Redoine, our new family member. Paul talked to him about how much he would like to buy a good quality pair of babouche and asked him where to get them. After all, his family’s business was leather! Redoine was on it – he knows everyone and said he would find us the best quality and price. We were stoked! Paul gave him his size and Redoine said he would call with the price soon. About an hour later our doorbell rang. It was Redoine. In his hand were the longed-for yellow babouche. “This is a gift for you” he said. There are no words to describe how touched Paul was. No amount of asking could persuade Redoine to accept money for them. Yet another example of the extreme generosity of the Moroccan people.

Paul wears them proudly and will be glad to show them off, if you ask (and probably even if you don’t!). Next, we have to find him a djellabah…

The photo that started it all

The Street That Wasn’t There (or Was it?)

This picture appeared recently in The View from Fez, a website for English-speakers to keep up on what’s happening in the city. The caption was something like “How well do you know Morocco – where was this picture taken?”

Mystery street, from View From Fez

Narrow streets are pretty common in the medinas of Moroccan cities, but bright colors and plants are almost unknown. We puzzled over it for a bit, but had no clue. It’s like nothing we’d ever seen here. Not that we’ve seen everything, but hey, we’ve been around!

The next day the website revealed the answer: the Fez Medina. What?! Admittedly, we haven’t been everywhere in the Fez medina, but we’ve seen a good bit of it. I studied the description and the photo, but couldn’t quite tell where, exactly, it was in Fez.

Saturday morning we were out bright and early (for us) on another Photo Club outing, this time up the mountain just outside of town. And there, as we casually glanced over our shoulders, right across from our butcher’s stall, a spot we’ve passed at least a hundred times, was The Street! It’s as if it only came into existence after we read about it. Would it be there when we came back that afternoon?

Yup, it was there; we got photos to prove it!

Mystery street found! With cats

Looking back up the mystery street

Post Script: We chatted with our butcher buddy about the street (he can see it from his stall). Turns out it was painted only a couple of weeks ago. Whew! We’re not losing our minds after all… although a disappearing street would make for a more interesting story!

The Photography Club

“I feel so lethargic!” said Paula.

Yeah, that’s a good word, lethargic. It’s hardly onomatopoetic, yet it seems to capture that almost liquid feeling; lassitude; letting everything go, muscles softening, sinews slack.

It’s that kind of day. We are having lunch at a café we found recently, just inside the Bab Boujloud, the famed Blue Gate. (Except on this side it’s green; blue is the outside side.) I wanted to come here because of the excellent view of the Bab from the terrace. We’ve found the food is quite good, and the banana juice Paula ordered was surprisingly tasty. (It’s actually a smoothie, quite popular here; I’d sure like to see a banana juicer, though.)

Bab Bjouloud, the Blue Gate; from our terrace restaurant, the green (inside) side

Bab Bjouloud from the outside

The weather has turned a corner: Winter is done! Goodbye cold days, hello Spring and that warm sun - 85ºF! But enjoy it while you can, it gets powerfully hot here in the summer - 100º.

We’re taking it easy today, after two intense days of exploring. Saturday we were on our own, and investigated some parts of the medina we had never seen before. Sunday, though, we were with the Photography Club.

Yes, the Photography Club. Paula, inveterate researcher that she is, has been reading The View from Fez, a locally-produced English-language website for things of interest in Fez. And, well, she found the Photography Club, part of the American Language Center. 

Our first outing with the Club was about a month ago, to the Merenid Tombs. These were built in the 15^th century to house the remains of the rulers of the day. What I know about the Tombs is they are clearly visible from our terrace and we spend hours staring at them, watching people gather around them and hike down the hill. It’s a particular favorite around sundown, with the clear view of the city to the south and east, and the sun setting in the west. (It may also be popular at sunrise, but so far we haven’t been ambitious enough to check that early.)

The Merenid Tombs (on the hill to the left), seen from our roof-top terrace.

Fez, seen from the Merenid Tombs

On this particular Sunday we met the other photography enthusiasts near the fountain that’s just outside the Bab Boujloud. Omar, the leader, divided us up and we piled into cars for the short trip up the hill to the Tombs, arriving comfortably before sunset. This gave us a chance to talk with the other members, mostly students, about their lives and what they did here in Fez.

    

The ruins of the tombs are picturesque by themselves; the valley behind them is verdant with farms scattered throughout; and of course, the incredibly dense medina of Fez spreads out below. Pretty much anywhere you pointed a camera was worth a photo! But Omar had an assignment for us: slow shutter speeds. Well of course! The sun was on its way down, the sky was darkening, and the city was lighting up.

    

People gather at the Tombs around sunset

The Tombs after sunset

A one-second exposure of the city after sunset

The full moon rising over the hills; another one-second exposure

It was a thrilling experience. Although we’d been up to the tombs before (just the day previously, in fact), being there at night, and being there with other photographers – especially local photographers – was quite another experience. We came away with a better appreciation of the physical beauty of the area, but more important to us was the better appreciation of the Moroccans and their culture.

We somehow managed to miss the next couple of photography meetings, which are held every Sunday, but we made it this week. This time the assignment was street shooting in the medina.

I’ve never thought much about street shooting, although I have a friend who is keen on it. Basically, it means wandering the streets taking photos of interesting things, usually people. There is some controversy around it: is it an invasion of privacy, photographing people in public? (Well, it is in public…) Do people like to have their pictures taken? (Maybe, maybe not.) Do I need to ask permission? Ah…

Case in point: it’s now Easter week, bringing a huge influx of tourists (Spanish escaping the sometimes-crazy Semana Santa; students on Spring break). Saturday we were hurrying up the street to meet someone. I noticed a vendor we had spoken with often (he always has good music playing in his shop: light jazz, or perhaps Johnny Cash, maybe something symphonic). No music on this day, instead he was holding his cell phone in the face of a tourist (tee shirt stretched over belly, large camera around his neck), as if he were taking a picture. The tourist was laughing, but our vendor’s face was screwed up in a grimace of anger. We passed quickly on, but I expect the tourist was being very disrespectful of the vendor's "no photos!" request…

I’m always careful not to take pictures of people in the street, because it can be annoying. But asking permission destroys the spontaneity of the shot. To avoid all of these questions, I just leave street shooting alone. But it occurred to me just a month or two ago (after nine months of continuous travel) that travel photography is street shooting. That, and views of the countryside (landscape photography), and interesting buildings and monuments (architectural photograph). And, maybe, local flora and fauna (nature photography).

So now, our assignment for this day is shooting scenes in the medina: street shooting. And, we are divided into two-person teams. I’m paired with a young guy, a student with a nice SLR, enthusiastic about photography, and a Moroccan. Ah, someone familiar with the language and local customs!

That's my photo buddy on the far left (the one with the camera)

We started out slowly, neither of us feeling comfortable asking people for permission, but soon enough we were flying along snapping away. He’d ask permission, and we’d both take a few shots; or I’d tap him on the shoulder and say, ask this guy! We even got invited into some places I’d never dare to go (indeed, some places I never would have even known about).

Still, photography in the medina is not without its challenges. The streets are narrow, no more than eight feet wide, and lined with tiny shops, often with goods, or customers – or both – spilling into the street. There are always streams of people flowing in both directions, usually a few tourists but mostly locals going about their business. A vendor selling fresh mint or boiled chick peas (garbanzo beans) from a cart slows traffic; a donkey, resigned to his fate and burdened with propane bottles for the many eating places (and private residences; 150,000 people live in the medina) plods slowly up the street. Or perhaps it’s one of the ubiquitous two-wheeled hand carts, expertly guided through the crowd, carrying new appliances, or tourist luggage, or eight-foot steel I-beams for a construction project. (Just because the Fez medina is the world’s largest car-free zone doesn’t mean goods don’t need to get moved around!)

A knock-kneed horse delivers coke and orange soda

More yellow slippers! 

And the stone walls are high, generally three stories. Lattice-work wooden “ceilings” keep out the heat of the sun (especially important in the summer) while allowing air to flow, so it is often quite dark. Except when it isn’t. Intense sunlight slashing through openings produces sharp lighting contrasts. Tight quarters, constant commotion, inconsistent lighting: a perfect storm for photographic frustration. (Oh, and need I mention that everywhere you look are bright colors, outrageous sights, and fascinating people, begging to be captured by your digital image sensor?)

Banging out pots in Place Seffarine

A food stand, great for a quick lunch

But I’ve been roaming these streets for six weeks now, filling my hard drive with hundreds of images. Surely, you must think, I’m a master at this, right? Sadly, no. Slow shutter speeds blur some shots; improper focus upsets others; glare from that sunbeam makes this shot unusable. But I managed to get a few good ones…

Being about five hours from the ocean, we don't eat fish here. But some people do!

This mint seller seems to know more than he'll tell

We don't see many dogs in Fez but cats are highly regarded

Weighing out live chickens. I don't expect them to become pets...

My photo partner taking a head shot

A cat, cozy in the sun, snuggles against tanjine pots for sale

The real value of these meetings, of course, isn’t what we learn about photography (although there is always something to learn!). It’s the connections we make with the locals, with Omar and the other club members, that really makes these meetings so special.

Just look! No buy. Just look!

So say the touts* as we stroll through the medina, along the narrow, steeply-sloping roadway crowded with people, made narrower by goods spilling out into the path. No, no! we say. No. "No buy"? Yeah, sure. Isn’t it always about buying?

*Tout: a person soliciting custom or business, typically in an aggressive or bold manner

Actually, no it's not, as we are slowly learning. Oh sure, the shopkeepers want a sale and we are potential customers. But, the vendors in the Fez medina, one of the oldest shopping centers in the world, have a broader view of life than that. When we slow down and actually listen to what they have to say we find people who are experienced and as interested in us and our lifestyle as we are in theirs.

  

Standard transport in the car-free medina. Donkeys, and hand carts

Fresh mint, a staple in Moroccan households

No matter how much of the medina we see, there is always something mysterious...

And besides, tending a stall in the marketplace, even one as colorful and dynamic as the old Fez medina, must get boring. It’s great to break up the day by sharing tea with a stranger, a foreigner, and hearing what they have to say. From this perspective, stopping to chat with the shopkeepers is enjoyable and inevitably rewarding.

Since we are staying here for a couple of months we wanted to get to know the vendors, and make sure they knew us. So we often stop to explain that we will be here for a while, and will visit with them soon.

A plumber displays his workmanship

An old man waits.
(Look! More yellow slippers!)

One thing we learned three years ago on our last trip to Morocco, from a rug merchant, is that you never say no; the two acceptable answers are “yes” and “maybe.” You never want to close out a possibility. Consequently, we make it a point to let vendors know that we’ll be around for a while, and we’ll stop in another time. Mostly what we say is “not today, perhaps later.” (To which the answer is inevitably “Inshallah!” If God wills it; an on-going reminder that in Islam, God is at the center of everything. And this is always said with the right hand on the heart, to show sincerity.)

Our first week here Paula used a new expression on a couple of young men who were anxious for her to try their restaurant. She said, “Not yet!” That threw them for a loop, as they hadn’t heard that before. So she gave them a quick explanation of this somewhat obscure phrase (obscure for non-English speakers, anyway). Now, every time we pass by they shout, “Not yet! Hey, not yet!” And we agree, Yup, not yet! We did stop in one day and they showed us around the restaurant; it’s quite nice and we will have dinner there some day; just not yet…

Brass Lacework

Among all the artisanal handicrafts constantly on display here, such as the hand-crafted, complex, detailed tile work known as zellij, traditional iron screens, carved plaster, and hand-done wooden screens, the one that intrigues me the most are the pierced metal lamps. We’ve seen demonstrations of how they are made: brass sheets are cut with tiny openings in traditional patterns, the sheets are assembled into a sphere or other closed shape, and a candle or lamp (an electric lightbulb, these days) is placed inside. The work is incredible in daylight, and the lamp casts fantastic shadows at night.

Contemporary lamps in an artisan's shop.

These lamps are for sale in shops all over the medina; much like the carved and inlaid boxes we saw in profusion in Essaouira, the vast number of them tend to dilute the appreciation of the fine work and careful craftsmanship they require. After all, when it seems that everybody is doing it, how hard can it be?

Very hard! There is a local artisan school to teach and encourage traditional crafts just outside the medina; we’ve visited it a couple of times to see how these mind-boggling works are created. Slowly and carefully, is the answer. In the case of the lamps, we saw students with fine little saws carefully cutting each tiny opening (and there are hundreds), then assembling the sheets into the finished lamp. Truly extraordinary.

An established artisan hand-cutting brass sheets for a lamp

Stops in making a lamp, right to left; from artwork to a formed, pierced sheet

One day in the medina we came upon a shop specializing in these lamps, with some very large and unusual pieces. (Referring to them simply as “lamps” seems derogatory; these are truly works of art!) After a few words with the young man at the entrance, we were invited in to speak to his father, far back in the dark depths of the shop. He spoke excellent English, having visited California some time ago. As he talked about what he did, we looked around and realized this man was truly an artist and a master craftsman.

Contemporary styles in an ancient art form.

One thing I found most impressive was a sphere almost two feet (60 cm) in diameter formed entirely of Arabic characters. He said the letters were the lyrics to songs by Om Kalsum, an Egyptian singer widely popular in the Arab-speaking world. Her fame, he said, is something like that of Edith Piaf, or perhaps Barbra Streisand.

(I’ve been back to look at that sphere again, and I still don’t get it: neither the design, nor the layout, nor the construction of such a thing seems probably; yet there it is.)

The lyrics to songs by Om Kalsum, made into a lamp (!?)

The Bakery

It’s one of many small storefronts along the Tala’a Kbira (Big Street), the larger of the two main avenues in the medina (the smaller being Tala’a Sghira, Small Street), and it’s not far from where we live, so we pass it often. It’s not much to look at, just an aging display case full of pastries and cookies.  There are fancier patisseries in Fez, although they are mostly in the Nouveau Ville, the new town built by the colonial French. But like I said, it’s right near where we live so we pass it every day. And, Paula discovered a to-live-for peanut-chocolate confection that we quickly became quite fond of.

"Our" bakery

So this day we stopped to get some more, and the older man behind the pastry case immediately pulled one out and held it up with an anticipatory grin on his face. We both laughed. Yup, that is what we came for! We bought 10 (hey, they’re small) plus a few cookies I liked. Then a younger fellow came out and invited us in.

Again, my immediate reaction is, uh oh, what does he want? So we hesitatingly stepped around the case and into the carnivorous room. Well, what he wanted was to show us around, share with us what he does and how their products come into being.

The room was large, maybe 15 -20 feet in every direction, lit by a single CFL bulb hanging on a wire from far above. It was hard to see into the corners, but the Main Event here was the oven. The small door was open, revealing a stone-lined floor that seemed to stretch about 10 feet in every direction. It was lit by orange-yellow flames which we could not see, but the oven was certainly hot!

The baker loads the oven. This time it's chicken, not bread, to be baked

Lonely chicken in the huge oven, lit by the hidden flames

Our host, speaking decent English, explained that this is a neighborhood bakery. Housewives from all over the neighborhood bring (or send – this is one of the chores the kids do) their bread to the local oven for baking. And the baker knows each family, and what kind of bread they bring, and how to bake it. He keeps a mental map of his oven, knowing the optimum spot for each loaf, and which is whose.  And when a loaf is done, he pulls it out on a wooden paddle on a 20-foot pole, shiny from years of use.

The bakery fellow, our guide for this particular journey, went on to explain that the communal oven is one of the five things every neighborhood has. In addition to the oven there is a mosque, for worship; a school, for learning; a fountain, for water (largely replaced by indoor plumbing these days); and a hammam, or public bath, for cleansing. (Today hammams are often modern spas, including scrubs, massage, facials, and hair and nail care, appealing to locals and especially tourists. Traditional hammams are still around, though, serving men in the early morning and late evening and women during the day.) Oftentimes the bakery is located next to the hammam, so they can share the same fire: the one for heating water, and the other for cooking.

This fountain, no longer in use, once supplied the neighborhood with water

The restored fountain in the Nejjarine Square, Fez (still providing water, note!)

        A Lesson in ‘50s Slang

Most of our journeys outside the medina start at the Bab Boujloud, the closest place to get a taxi. And along the way we pass through restaurant row. As you may recall (and if you don’t, refresh your memory here: Our previous blog, "Another Fine Moment...") we often eat at one of the restaurants here, and the guys (and the ladies cooking!) know us now, and always greet us warmly. After shaking hands all around, and agreeing that we were, indeed, doing quite well, we turned to continue on our way when we were caught by “See you later, alligator!” from one of the guys. Paula turned back and spent a few moments to instruct him in the proper response, which is, of course, “In a while, crocodile!”  He was chuffed.

Ah yes, doing good and spreading knowledge everywhere we go….

            The Butcher Boy

He’s really not a boy, and I’m not even sure he is a butcher. It’s his father who is the butcher; Imed fills in for him in the butcher’s stall. He actually makes me think of a lacrosse player for an Ivy League college (not that I know the first thing about lacrosse; nor about Ivy League colleges, for that matter). But he speaks good English, and is always willing to talk with us. And, of course, we’re pleased to talk with him and get his view of life in this part of the world.

Imed, "our" butcher. Nice guy, loves to talk with us, in English

We’ve also found that he makes (or can get) sausage. (I checked today: he makes the sausage meat, with his own secret blend of spices and herbs; someone else has the stuffing machine.) Several butcher stalls have turkeys out front (live ones, that is to say), and a few even have signs (“Dinde”: a French turkey). So we checked with him; yup, he makes turkey sausage.

And what sausage! Great stuff. For the next round we’ve ordered a half-kilo (about a pound) more of sausage, plus a half-kilo of sausage without the casings (which are made from lamb intestines, if I understood him correctly). He explained to me that different spices are used in sausages and the ground meat (there is a particular Arabic word for that meat that slips my mind – as do most foreign words the first dozen times I hear them). I said, Do what you think best; after all, you are the expert! He said, with a big grin, sure!

Making sausage meat.

I can’t wait to try it!

Along with chickens and turkeys (and hedgehogs), the medina is also home to these free-range ducks.

Yeah, I think it's a hedgehog, looking  cozy. Used for some kind of headache remedy, I'm told. No word on what it does to the hedgehog.

So we have our butcher, our baker; not much need for candles here, and indeed we have yet to see any candle makers. (I expect candles melt in the heat of the summer; in the house where we’re staying, the candles are kept in the refrigerator!) But we’re looking. In the meantime, we have found a great herbalist.

Or rather, he found us.

On our first morning in Fez, as we unlocked our front door (three locks, a real process, getting in and out) and stepped into the street for the first time, a jolly-looking man greeted us and welcomed us to Fez. It was Tabyor, a fifth-generation herbalist. He knows the people who own the house, and was pleased to meet us. His shop is just up the street, and he spends the day in a chair outside talking to friends and neighbors (as do many of the shop keepers in the medina). Our daily ritual includes chatting with him as we leave, and again as we arrive back home. It’s always good to exchange pleasantries with him, learning the common Fassi* salutations and farewells.  

*Fassi: the dialect spoken in Fez (Fès, in French), and by extension people and customs from Fez.

We weren’t in Fez long before Tabyor invited us into his shop. The walls are lined with large glass jars with screw lids, each marked with a hand-written label on a piece of tape, containing herbs and spices. It was quite a long demonstration, as his knowledge is broad and deep, and he is very conversational.

The Herbalist's space.

Paula gets the details of herbs and spices, for both cooking and healing.

Since herbology is something I’m not even interested in dabbling in, most of what he said passed right through. But I was impressed with his knowledge, and his enthusiasm. He said he is not interested in people asking him for particular herbs; there are lots of herb shops that can do that (indeed, his shop is a bit out of the way for most medina visitors). He prefers to provide solutions to sprcific issues: You’re making a lamb tajine? Let me mix you up something…. Stiff back? Runny nose? Bald head? I’ve got just what you need!

Ah, smell THIS!

Ah, Tabyor, you may never know how much you’ve added to our experience of Fez, Alhamd lillah! (Thanks be to God!) And, thanks to you, as well.

For more on the medina, try this site (I know exactly where he ate!):

             https://www.journeybeyondtravel.com/blog/fez-medina-story.html

although I know nothing about the tours offered at the end of the article.


   --- 6 April 2017


       Back again by popular demand: the travel map! It's interactive, poke around. See where we've been, and where we will be going.
I've been working on this for quite a while, but only now figured out how to link to it (I really wanted to embed it in this blog but my lifetime is finite and some things just don't seem worth spending too much of it on).

View Full Size Travel Map at Travellerspoint

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