So after being a little shy of heading into the medina of Fes all by my lonesome, I had decided to spring for an official guide - the unofficial kind being readily available but not generally English speaking or interested in too much beyond shop commissions.
I woke up on Thursday ready to implement my plan. I was going to head to a teleboutique, generally a stall with old coin operated phone booths and call the Tourist Office and set it all up. Except not one of them was open - and they are everywhere - all closed. OK, I would use a payphone. Nope, they take special cards. So I was thwarted, and it was only 9am! It was cold, it was rainy, my fingers were useless and numb - where would I find comfort? The doughnut man, thankfully, was at work. I had my 2 dirham doughnut (about 25 cents), which gave me warmth - a hot doughnut will transfer heat to hands very readily - and some fortitude. I did not need a guide. I would go on my own. And so I did, and I absolutely got lost, repeatedly, but not terminally lost. I saw almost everything I wanted to see and felt pretty darn gratifited by the time I was enjoying my camel burger dinner. Most of the sites in the medina which are not of the atmospheric marketplace variety are either mosques, madersas (madrassas) or old palaces. But non-Muslims cannot enter the mosques, so those are out. And the buildings are so close together that you can't really see the outsides of mosques either - it's more like you pass a doorway, give a discreet glimpse inside, and move on. No complaints either - a hundred years ago or so, non-Muslims weren't let in the city gates at all - and that's where my hotel is today. But the buildings that you can enter are a wonder - elaborately decorated with tiles, carved plaster; intricate wordwork, and occasionally a marble fountain or a moat that runs through the courtyard. Someday I will provide photos, but I realized that the computer I am on right now has a floppy and a hard disk drive. Did usb ports exist then?
Fes is also known for its tanneries, and there is nothing like the combination of animal skins, urine, and pigeon guano to help you assign a place with an odor. But there are also lots of other nicer smells: roasted chestnuts, oranges, dates, sweets of all kinds (diabetes is a big problem here), and, of course, one of my favorites, fried dough.
My friend in Rabat, Yassine, had recommended the town of Moulay Yacoub to me, and I had read of it in my guidebook. It's a short drive from Fes and is popular with the locals for its sulpher springs. I hadn't yet been to a hammam, and this sounded even more interesting. So that was today's destination. I had accidentally discovered where the grand taxis pick up passengers yesterday. Grand taxi being grand in the French sense; they are old Mercedes that make trips between towns. Petit taxis are used for intracity trips. The driver calls out his destination, fills the car up with 6 paying passengers, and only then are you off: Let me clarify that these Mercedes are sedans with bucket seats in the front - seating for 5 but you can squeeze in 7 if you mean to, and they do. I hear a kid calling out Moulay Yacoub and before I know it, I'm on a bus. That wasn't my plan but the bus was almost full, so I figured we'd head out soon. Like the taxis, the buses maximize their per seat revenue. And it was 7 dh, less than a dollar.
I was definitely the only non-Moroccan on this bus. I was definitely the only non-Arabic speaker on this bus. So when some guy gets on the bus, walking up the aisles ranting and raving about something but mentioning Moulay Yacoub, who was a very revered personage who had my destination named after him, I thought I should pay attention. But he was just trying to sell some stuff in packets. The next guy who came on opened his shirt to reveal some skin disorder and to accept donations. And then we are off! The Berber woman sitting next to me is highly entertained at my presence, and we just laugh when we speak to each other because she is a Never-Know when it comes to talking to me. The bus slows down at certain places and the conductor, term used loosely, opens the door and yells out our destination to people waiting: Sometimes we stop to pick them up. And the next thing you know, a fight of some kind has broken out just outside the bus! To my ear, many conversations in Moroccan Arabic sound testy, even angry, but no one seems very worked up. But this one was different because my fellow bus riders were craning their necks to get a look and making exclamations. And now, again, we are off!
It's a pretty drive, and we arrive in a town built on the slope of the hill. I get to what I think is my destination, pay my 20 dh, and wait. But the more I observe, I realize this isn't what I expected. These are just oversized shower stalls that you get to yourself - not a communal, though sex-segregated, sulpher pool. One kindly young man speaks enough English to get me my money back and direct me to what he calls the new pool. So I head to what appears to be a fancy-ish resort - again, not what I'm expecting. And when I see a sign saying bathing suits are required, I know this isn't right, nor do I have one on me. But they have an information desk, and she gives me the scoop. I am looking for les thermes anciennes, and not for some pool where it costs 100 dh to get in, and 130 dh for a bathing suit.
With her info and the help of a pharmacist (I needed a direction check), I make it! And it's 10 dh, cheaper than the shower earlier. Right as I'm feeling slick and like I know what I'm doing, I get to the women's section and realize the significance of the buckets, bowls, and towels one woman on the bus had. She was prepared, and I don't even have a towel (though I did have a spare pair of knickers - thank you, Footprint guidebook). But that's that, so I undress and stow my stuff on a shelf and go to find the pool.
It's a circular pool, constantly being filled with HOT natural sulpher water, and I am, once again, the only non-Moroccan and non-Arabic speaker. But I did expect that after the bus ride. There are dozens of women, of all ages and sizes, and there is swimming, lounging, intentional splashing, shampooing, and much furious scrubbing with a kessa, a kind of rough mitten that removes prodigious amounts of dead skin. It was pretty awesome. I saw my seatmate from the bus - I should have just followed her here, and was made very welcome by all. I met Hayet, who showed me the ropes and shared her shampoo and mandarins, and then I was adopted by another group. But after three hours and nothing to eat day but some almonds and dates I had bought the night before, I had to get out of there before I fainted. After offering my thanks in three languages; I left and had a tagine in a cafe, and then I caught a grand taxi back to Fes (9 dh).
I am so glad I went - it might be my favorite day yet. But it's only day 11.....
Tomorrow, the early bus to Chefchaouen. It's popular with backpackers, so the world wide web can't be too far behind.
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