The Ises and the Eses: Moulay Idriss, Volubilis, Meknes and Fes

Last updated you on our time in Rabat, Jarrod, where I witnessed the politest political protest I’ve ever encountered and had the very best chicken tagine of my life. Despite my ardent declaration that “I could eat that tagine every day and never get sick of it, really, I could…” a small group tour waits for no woman, and I’m wrenched away before I can start licking the tagine base/propositioning the chef. It’s time to move on. A three hour train journey and a short taxi ride later, and we arrive in the lovely town of Moulay Idriss (which spellcheck seems hellbent on renaming Mouldy Idriss. No, spellcheck, no!)

Moulay Idriss is a holy town in Morocco, it’s the place where Moulay Idriss himself arrived in 789 and brought with him the religion of Islam. The town is more or less spread over two hills and our accommodation for the night is a homestay/guesthouse located some fifteen gruelling uphill minutes up one of those hills.

As we clamber out of our taxis, we notice a beleaguered donkey standing beside a steep flight of stairs. Our guide informs us that if we don’t want to carry our bags uphill, we can strap them onto the donkey and I swear, I literally see tears well up in the donkeys eyes. Three of us hastily grab our backpacks out of the taxi boot, and firmly refuse the insistent offer of the donkey handler. The massive suitcases of the other eight however, get loaded onto it’s back in a giant harness. Our guide tells us confidently that there’s no cause for worry because “donkeys are very strong animals, they can carry up to 120kg.” Sadly this only serves to make me wonder how they arrived at the cut off figure of 120kg, and I proceed up the stairs haunted by images of donkey knees shattering like chalk as the handler discovers 121kg is just little that bit too heavy.

15 minutes later, or approximately 360 increasingly breathless chants of “buns of steel, buns of steel” and we arrive at our home stay where we are fed delicious home made biscuits and cups of sweet, hot, mint tea.

Then it’s time for a walking tour of the town, which, you guessed it, involves walking further uphill!

The walking tour is our first introduction to the notion of a central bakehouse where people (our guide keeps saying ‘women’ but surely some menfolk also do this as well? Are you telling me that widowers, for example just throw up their hands and declare “well, I guess that’s no more bread for me then! Paleo it is!”)- where PEOPLE take their bread in the morning to be baked. Not a bakery where you purchase bread, somewhere where you take your dough and have them bake it for you in their wood fire. And the baker somehow knows which loaf is yours when you return despite them all looking fairly identical (to the untrained eye, obviously). Imagine just popping down to Baker’s Delight in the morning…. “Cheesymite scroll please, oh, sorry, I don’t mean one of YOURS! Here’s one I prepared earlier. If you could just be so kind as to pop it in the oven…”

We climb further uphill, well and truly burning off our mint tea and biscuits, to be rewarded with a gorgeous view of the town below.

Quads nearing repetition maximum, it’s then time to make a wobbly descent, back down to the main square to snap a few pictures as the sun sets.

Then it’s back to the home stay for a delicious home cooked dinner of meatball and egg tagine, and cous cous and vegetables. Obligatory foodie pic–

Morning dawns and we’re off to the Unesco World Heritage Site of Volubilis, an excavated Roman city that was developed in the 3rd Century BC. I always approach these sorts of excursions with a spirit best described as “hmph, we’ll see…” because I’ve been frogmarched around many a ruin, usually in the blazing sun, staring at the remains of sections of wall about ankle high, REALLY having to use my imagination to bring it to life.

But as you can see these ones are actually pretty impressive. Here’s me, in front of what I’m going to use as the brief for design of my front gate, should I ever own a home. Just something modest and understated, where I can deliver the occasional stirring speech to my subjects.

You really have to hand it to this stork who’s just decided to claim squatters’ rights atop an ancient column….

There are also incredibly well preserved mosaic floors in some of the buildings.

I love a mosaic. Especially when they’re depicting stuff that’s really relatable–like this one, for example, where a man has returned from the hunt and is having a shower where the water comes out of the mouth of a flying horse. We’ve all been there. Nothing worse than Pegasus screwing up the water pressure guys, amirite?!

Onto the Ezes now, and first up is Meknes where we pause for a few hours en route to Fes. Meknes is home to ancient stables that once housed 1000 horses:

And a reasonably pretty mausoleum:

And it’s the place where we eat Camel Burger. I can’t think of camel without remembering a conversation in South America with a very sweet German named Sebastian. Someone had mentioned camel toe and he’d looked confused, so I asked him if he knew what it meant and he innocently asked “is it something you eat?” Naturally I did the responsible thing and said that it was indeed something you ate, and he should ask for it frequently…

Anyway, I’m pretty sure there was no toe in the burger, just the meatier parts of the camel and herbs and spices. It tasted a bit like beef. Delicious.

Now Fes. Oh, Fes.

I have deliberately squeezed Fes into this blog entry partly because it rhymes with Meknes and thus makes for nice wordplay in the title; but mainly to eliminate the chances of me writing a gushing 2000 word tribute to Fes–because it is out of this world.

A panoramic view of the city gives you an appreciation of the size and scope of the Fes medina (walled city section). About 156,000 people live here and the best way to get around is with a guided tour because frankly, otherwise you may never find your way out short of leaving a Hansel and Gretel style trail behind you. To say it’s a maze is an understatement. The alleys are incredibly narrow–

You’ll find something different around every corner, including stores selling food such as dates, spices, fish, olives, jars of meat preserved in butter (?!), and of course, camel meat…

We start our visit to the city at a ceramics cooperative where absolutely everything is done by hand. The ceramic wares are fashioned on a foot operated pottery wheel–

and the intricate details on them are all painted by hand….

The mosaics are carved out piece by piece. Painstaking work.

Exit via gift shop. I don’t buy anything–I know, I am as shocked as anyone–but I’m suffering an acute case of ‘I’ll have to carry it for another two weeks without breaking it’ syndrome.

Next up is a visit to the Chouara Leather Tannery, a MUST for the Morocco Instagram feed, as this is where one gets the quintessential shot overlooking the tannery pits.

You can only really get a view of the tannery pits from the balconies of one of the shops that surround them. They arm you with a few sprigs of mint before you meander out, and it’s with good reason.

The leather hides are soaked in one mixture that contains cow urine followed by another mixture that contains pigeon poo (the ammonia acts as a softening agent) and in the midday sun, that shit is PUNGENT. But if you hold the mint against your nostrils it more or less makes it bearable. The other pits are filled with dyes made from natural ingredients like indigo, poppy flower, henna and saffron.

I purchase four bags, five pairs of slippers and three coloured wallets to atone for my shameless gawking from the balcony. Lunch is wisely scheduled for after the tannery visit…

Then we’re led for another hour or so through the medina, stopping finally at a silversmith/metal work shop that does some of the most breathtaking work I’ve ever seen.

All. By. Hand.

So obviously I loved the Is’es and Es’es in Morocco but as always, Jarrod, I will throw it across to you. Moulay Idriss, Volubilis, Meknes and Fes. Jarrod, would you go there?