Chapter 10 - Day 12: Fes (Day 4)

Chapter 10 - Day 12   Fes (Day 4)

Losing my camera, while galling at the time, had turned out to be a mixed blessing since it had actually freed me from my obsessive need to locate those 'perfect' photo opportunities in Fes.  

Anton was, however, still very tethered to his lens. So he had set out, right after breakfast, for one last morning of local picture-taking in Fes' exquisite light.

Our last full day in Fes had dawned bright, warm and clear. Oh, how I would miss this weather, once back in England!  Knowing that my afternoon and evening were likely to be particularly busy, I did some last-minute laundry, that morning, whilst swimming laps in the pool. 

Afterwards, I re-packed my backpack with the 'booty' I had acquired on two separate shopping tours of the Medina. One of my purchases, the thick Moroccan blanket, was already providing comfort, as a cosy under-mat for my sleeping bag. Our diamond hard desert campsite was tough on my bruised, battered body!

My backpack was already filled with exotic fabrics that I would later turn into personal items such as decorative dressing table cloths as well as unexpected gifts for long-suffering friends and family. 

I felt so lucky, to be travelling in Morocco, that I genuinely wanted to share my joy with others back home, even though I hadn't yet decided who would receive which gifts.  But, I would have the joy of giving the perfect gift to the right person - and that thought pleased me.

That day, I also purchased several smaller gifts, that I had seen made in the Medina.  A skillful artisan was teaching his 4 year old grandson how to whittle wood, using only a length of string attached, at one end, to a flimsy wooden contraption and, at the other end, to his big toe.

Bou Inania Madrasa 

 Bou Inania Madrasa photo by kind courtesy of www.panoramio.com

By adjusting his toe movement, this artisan caused the string to vibrate with enough friction to whittle a tiny replica of Bou Inania Madrasa, from a single sliver of wood.  

The very top of his minaret featured  four spheres, decreasing in size as they ascended a common central  spindle.  It looked exactly like the very top of the Fes Minaret. 

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20306853,00.html

The uppermost sphere of this talented man's minaret had a slight difference. Between the two central spheres, was a carved slender, wooden hoop, cleverly trapped in place and unable to fall off.  Yet a gentle hand motion could cause it to turn on the common spindle, like a hula hoop encircling a person's waist.

I watched this toy being created in silent awe! There were so many questions I would have liked to asked the Grandfather about his life and skills. And had Azim been with us, that afternoon, I would have asked him to be our interpreter, so that I could speak to this artisan and learn more about his craft.

Once completed, this intriguing little 'toy' was no more than 5" long, yet very intricately designed. Lightweight and easy to transport, it made the perfect gift.

The children in my family would love it!

Our final lunchtime in Fes turned into a major celebration.  We travellers wanted to show our appreciation for the endurance and many kindnesses of our drivers. So we insisted on taking THEM to lunch in the Medina.  They were genuinely touched by our gesture, and everyone had a wonderful time.

At Anton's suggestion - for he, alone, had researched Fes' restaurants - we sought out a casual eating establishment in the Medina.  

photo by kind courtesy of entertainment.wagerweb.com

Some of the group wanted to taste "camel-burgers", especially since we had not had the opportunity, on this trip, to ride on top of one of the gangly ships of the desert.  

Having seen these creatures , up close and personal, on that dune in Tangier, I ordered couscous instead.

Lunch was followed by one last, frenetic shopping trip. Then we wandered back to the campsite to add our latest spoils to our packs as we were to depart from Fes quite early the next morning.  

Later that night we boarded the Love Bus, to travel to the home of Azim's uncle, the Chief of Police!  All 13 of us had accepted his invitation, and I was very excited to finally visit an authentic Moroccan home.  

We were about to step into a different reality - yet again - and the evening turned out to be an unexpected delight, though not for the reasons one might think!

We arrived at a palatial edifice, at the very edge of town that I learned was another Riad, much like the Riad that had been converted into the restaurant in which Anton and I had enjoyed our meal the previous night.  

For more information about a Riad, press here

Set back from the road, on a slight rise, this Riad was huge, and seemed quite impenetrable from the outside.  Our bus was met in the parking compound as we arrived.  The setting rays of the sun bathed the building, and our group, in a deep red glow as we walked towards a concealed doorway.

Shedding our shoes as we entered, we were overcome both by the stunning opulence that greeted us,  and by the enthusiasm of our host's welcome.  Azim's uncle was every bit as charming and endearing as his young nephew.  They shared the same wide smile and laughing eyes. But he seemed more like a good-natured hotelier than Fes' Chief of Police. 

Our host then led us into a pale salmon pink rectangular room. similar to the one shown in the picture.  Ours also featured several very long lounging chaises, set against the walls.

The Chief of Police's salon had a marble floor of the same pale colour.  And the stiffly upholstered white woollen chaises, each appeared to be about 10 ft long, and had enough gold threads in them that they shimmered in the subdued light. 

There was more than enough room to seat our group.  So we took our places, somewhat self-consciously and still in awe. The extravagant surroundings were evidently designed to impress. And yet being there was so calming that they encouraged one to be on one's best behaviour!

 

Azim kept the conversation going, telling us, in considerable detail how his Uncle got the position of Police Chief.  Since he was a child, with a keen sense of humour and a definite gift for embellishment, I have no idea - to this day - whether or not what he said was true.  But this is what he told us:

His Uncle had once owned and managed a successful, if shady, business. But in the troubles that had ensued when Morocco became independent from France, about 16 years before, Uncle had pledged his 'business' savvy to the service of his country.  This house and job were the eventual reward for his 'loyalty'.  And should he ever need more help in doing his duty, his brother was later made the Head of Fes' Army.

We didn't know whether to feel worried or relieved!  You knew such things happened, but you rarely visited people who directly experienced  - or caused - real political change. 

Putting my cynicism on the back burner, I reminded myself that, today, we were this man's honoured guests and that, while in his home, I needed to enjoy myself and not allow my mind to pick at every little detail.

Our host graciously offered us liquid refreshment, but no alcohol, as Morocco is technically a Muslim country. I expect the restaurant at which Anton and I had eaten the previous evening had secured a special liquor license.  And, looking around me, I imagined that those licenses had probably been quite expensive.

Annoyed that I seemed to be nit-picking everything that caught my attention in this room, I excused myself, and went in search of a washroom.  I needed to be alone, to run cool water over my wrists and calm down so as to understand why my mood was so discombobulated.

The Riad's "hallway" was actually a covered atrium through which you reached the surrounding rooms. Even just strolling through the beautiful, calming, natural elements of citrus trees, desert plants and water features lowered my blood pressure.  

But this exotic 'atrium' offered no hint about the exact location of the opulent bathroom. So I cautiously opened each door in turn, until I found it.  Housed in a lofty, cavernous room, this bathroom was more spacious than my entire English flat.

This bathroom's walls and ceiling were so ornately tiled that, at first, I had thought I had entered one of the bedrooms.  Somewhat bedazzled, I was about to leave it, when I spied the toilet and bidet, parked in tandem in the very centre of the long wall, opposite the door.  They looked so small, lonely and isolated on their own,  as they were placed opposite a lone pedestal sink, that stood about 15 feet away, on the same wall as the entrance door. 

An enormous bath occupied the furthest and shortest part of the room, between the sink and toilet walls. Somewhat incongruously - to Western eyes - a full suite of sumptuous, comfortable-looking, upholstered lounging furniture filled the nearest end of the room. For whose comfort, I wondered?  Were one's servants - or musicians - also present in the room while one bathed? Or was this astonishing room truly designed only so that the ladies in residence might enjoy blissful ablutions?

I had never seen such 
a grand bathroom before 
- at least not in THIS life!  

 

But this "salon with benefits" was perfect for my present purposes. So I accepted its invitation to recline on the comfortable lounger, and lose myself in the play of candlelight on the beautiful tiled,  glistening ceiling.

What was going on with me?  Was my foul mood the result of unexpressed anger at being attacked at the tannery?  Oh dear, I hoped not.  I really wanted to enjoy this last night in Fes and not bring everyone down with my acerbic comments.  

Perhaps I could just hide out in this gigantic jewel box of a bathroom till it was time to leave?  

I realized, at once, the idiocy of my girlish wish. To do so would be to snub our host's hospitality - and that would an unconscionable act of disrespect. Besides, everyone would know I was missing.

Resigned to practising equanimity, I proposed to remain mentally calm and composed as a way to combat the irresponsibility of my current mood.  I would simply have to behave well despite my feelings of anarchy!

Visiting the facilities before rejoining the fray, I discovered that my menses had begun - a full week earlier than expected.  No wonder I had been feeling particularly emotional these last few days!

While washing my hands, before joining the rest of the group, I reasoned that the shock of the attack itself, had probably expedited my cycle!  But perhaps not?!  Even before we entered Fes, our journey had certainly provided us with enough shocks and surprises to throw my bodily system out of kilter. Perhaps Anton's romantic pursuit had also precipitated matters. . .

Then my mind flashed on the looks of horror on the faces of those tannery men when I had bitten, punched, kicked and screamed at them.

Had they unknowingly attacked a pre-menstrual woman?!  

If so, that THEY had survived my
wrath was the real miracle!

photo by kind courtesy of http://lolmode.com/god-and-his-sense-of-humour

The delicious thought sent me chuckling all the way back to the salon.

I was so glad to have taken a 'time out' to listen to my biological needs, which, in turn, had allowed my sense of humour to re-emerge. 

The tannery attack had shaken
my self-confidence.  I just couldn't
allow it to rob me of humour as well.  

My angels had held a mirror to my own thoughts and succeeded in getting my attention.  As a result I now understood a deep truth about myself that I hadn't consciously known before.  I really need to keep a sense of humour in and about my life.  It keeps me level, and I had been sad without it!

With hormones irritating the conscious me into listening to their deeper wisdom, my angels helped me to realize what I had desperately needed, but had been missing.  Mission accomplished!

Those angels had certainly earned 
their wings that evening! 

The rest of the evening with my pals passed uneventfully. Anton was puzzled by my frequent fits of chuckling.  But I found it easier to let him believe that he was the reason for my mirth, than to try to explain my bathroom revelations to him.  It wasn't a lie.  He was definitely part of the reason for it.

One genuinely hilarious incident did occur, as a result of my visiting the bathroom of dreams. Because I hadn't expected my menses until returning to London, I carried only one 'emergency' Tampax on the road with me.  And since we would be leaving Fes early the next morning,  I had yet another personal crisis to resolve - and I had to do it quickly!

On being made aware of my predicament, Aziz's older cousin insisted on driving me into Fes town on the back of his Vespa scooter.  There, we found a late-night pharmacy, which I entered alone, while the cousin waited for me by his scooter.  

Horrified, I suddenly realized that I didn't have a clue how to ask for Tampax in French, despite 'tampon' being a very French word!  And since I was reluctant to enlist any more help from Azim's cousin, I attempted to mime my needs, much to the amusement of the young man who watched my suggestive yet ridiculous gyrations from behind the pharmacy counter. 

He let me make a complete idiot of myself before asking - in perfect English - "Do you need Tampax?" He was, he said, an Australian student, working in Fez for a season.  And he said that he, too, had needed a good belly laugh!

Such things can only happen once

you get out of your comfort zone!!

Crisis averted, I was returned to the Riad for the remainder of the evening.  Our host was gracious, interesting and magnanimous,  plying us with more drinks and snacks before offering us a tour of his lavish home, which we - of course - accepted.

We bid goodbye to our host, and collected our shoes as the tour ended. Then we returned to the Love Bus and drove back to the campground for a restful sleep.

Tomorrow, we would leave Morocco  

and slowly wend our way home again

 photo by Christobelle

  SEASON'S GREETINGS! 

 to you and your loved ones

from  Michael and Christobelle 

I am taking a break to celebrate 

the Season with my family and friends.

Hope you will be here on 

  January 4, 2013  

 for

Section 3 - Chapter 11
 Fes to Estepona

ConFessions of Fescapades  in

My Road to Morocco- Day 13