The riad Khouloud does at least provide a free breakfast and Christi and I take full advantage. Our plan today is to explore the medina and we ask Saleem, the riad manager, for directions through the market to the main gate, Bab Bou Jeloud. The manager shakes his head, a knowing smile creeping around his mouth. ‘Impossible,’ he says. The medina has no direction. You just have to know your way around. He does, however, point us in the right direction as we exit the riad – and gives us a business card. ‘Don’t lose it,’ he says because the taxi driver will need to call us. It’s my turn to give him a wry smile. I’m pretty good at finding my way around. Christi and I won’t need a taxi back to the riad, although in truth I’m not sure where the riad is or where the medina is or how to get to Bab Bou Jeloud, so perhaps I’m being unduly optimistic.
I am being unduly optimistic. Christi and I lose our way within 5 minutes of entering Fes el Bali (this is the oldest part of Fes). We are at the extreme eastern edge of Fes el Bali and we want to walk through the medina to the western entrance at Bab Bou Jeloud. The eastern section of the medina is clearly more authentic as locals go about their daily business of buying provisions in the market. We are the only tourists in this part of town and we get some strange looks. It’s time to embrace being lost and uncomfortable. We try in our limited French (our Arabic is non-existent) to ask for directions to Bab Bou Jeloud. ‘Bab Bou Jeloud?’ they cry. Eyebrows are raised, and wild hand gestures point into the far distance, which makes me wonder if we are even in the right city. We plod along past dozens of narrow alleys, never knowing which turn will take us closer to Bab Bou Jeloud. We eventually escape the claustrophobic clutches of the medina, but our passage is blocked by a fast flowing river, the Bou Khareb, where men appear to be risking life and limb to wash animal skins.
It takes more than an hour of wrong turns and repeated requests for directions before we finally reach the western gate at Bab Bou Jeloud. After the wide-open spaces of Djemaa el-Fna the row of restaurants stretching out from the Bab Bou Jeloud arch is a little underwhelming. Still we are hungry after our exertions and order a late lunch of lamb tajine from a street vendor.
The Fez medina is collected into different areas for different purposes: produce, leather work, slippers, ironmongery, ceramics, silks, jewelry, and carpets to name but a few. The stall holders appear to at least tolerate tourist cameras and are not that aggressive in pursuing a sale. This makes walking through the medina a wonderful experience. I think it’s fair to say Christi and I embraced being lost and uncomfortable, although the prospect of trying to find our way back to our riad is impossible – mostly because I have no idea where our riad is located. Realistically our only choice is to use a taxi, although I allow myself a hint of a smile when our driver has to call Saleem, the manager of riad Khouloud, for directions.
Blog post bt Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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