7/13 “ ‘Balack!’ If you hear it twice it’s already too late.”

‘Fez, the donkeys not going to stop for you.’

I awoke from another rare 8 hour sleep. Today was all about the old medina of Fes. We started off the day by driving up to the fortress that overlooks the city. The view was magnificent, and the medina of Fes extends through the hillside like spilled milk. The city was packed, and seemed to keep going with no rhyme or reason. The guide confirmed this last point, and warned us to stay together while confronting the maze of alleyways known as Fes. After our photo-op extravaganza, we drove down the valley and entered the medina gates, wallets and purses once again by our front pockets. It wasn’t long into the city that I lost complete since of direction. Alleys alternated between up and downhills, and after every half block we turned down another stretch of them. The only constant besides our lost feeling and the guide (aka lighthouse) was the skinny paths and tall corridors. These last two points, in fact, were the main causes for the first one.

Our guide warned us before entering that donkeys and carts will pass by us often. They won’t stop for us, and to keep from becoming roadkill we must pay attention to the “Balack!” which serves as a warning call for all would-be speedbumps. “Listen for the ‘Balack!’ as we go,” he joked “and if you hear it twice it’s already too late.” This advice was the greatest use to us all day, as we randomly (and constantly) had to shift to niches left and right to dodge the incoming traffic.

Our first stop was the Jewish quarter, where we got a feel for the city, and visited the famous synagogue there. We kept wandering, and the guide took us to two of the oldest mosques in the city, the first also serving as the oldest standing school in the world. The latter, a religious school, we ran by before the guide quickly moved on to more ‘trucs,’ and I almost got left because I just had to get my picture ‘Whooshing’ in front of the school. The guide’s rushed ‘show and tell’ continued throughout the day, and as a result my memory card almost filled up while my legs correspondingly were running on empty. Along the way we met other tour groups and visited other mosques and schools (an etub [cool] one of which named after the ablution pool in the middle casting an obstacle illusion to its depth), as well as the largest tanning factory in the area and a sowing factory. The closest I had been to a tanning factory was having seen pictures of tanning salons, so first seeing the hundred some odd vats, I didn’t know whether the red ones were blood and brown were poop (they're not). Workers pulled skins from vats brown, red, white, black, and everything in between, and shuffled around like ants seen from our third story shop window. The smell was overwhelming, and every student in the group held tight to the sprigs of mint given to us on entry, which we whiffed unreservedly. The store owner explained to us the various colors, and the white is apparently the lye used to clean each skin, which afterwards must stay in each appropriate vat for days to obtain the best colors. The store itself held a royal amount of purses, shoes, belts, seats, jackets, backpacks, more purses, and more shoes. Again, the shop was a huge tourist trap, so I didn’t buy anything, but our guide was better than the first, and he warned us sternly to bargain heavily for anything we wanted.

Our last scheduled stop in Fes was to watch the weavers at work. Explained how they make the rugs and scarves from agave, wool, and cotton, we were then used as models for the owners to show off their wares. It was slightly expensive (50 DH), but I decided to buy the Tuareg blue ‘thoob’ I was wearing around as my turban as a souvenir – hopefully it will remind me of all the smiles we had while wearing the different styles of headcoverings that day. Somehow we made it back to the bus and back at the hotel most everyone crashed or went swimming.

Steph and I wanted to go back to the medina, so we got advice on where to head from Fadoua and the guide before he left. I didn’t have the cash, so I went to find an ATM (after testing a nearby café’s banana juice – not as good as Rabat’s), and with the help of a local college kid (who prayerfully didn’t hustle me for money but just wanted to practice his English– I met him at the café, so I figured if he was a hustler he was at least off duty) finally found an ATM that worked (we tried three to no avail). Getting help from locals is a crapshoot in a tourist city. In Rabat, the case is almost always they are being friendly (if you're a guy) and love the chance to practice English or French (and Arabic vice-versa), but in a city heavy with tourism you never know. But he was extremely friendly, apparently came from the Western Sudan (he was an Amazight), and was studying Japanese. To pass the time he taught me some, which I politely forgot so he could teach me again. I returned to the hotel to pick up Steph, and we caught a cab to the inner-city. The cab driver was friendly, though Steph brought up the interesting lack that often taxi drivers will speak mainly to the guy, even answering a girl in the front seat by talking to the guy in the back. This cab driver did that once or twice, but I was the one sitting in the front so we gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The plan was to check out some shops and chill at a café (recommended by Lonely Planet/Rough Guide) before returning for dinner. One shop we stopped at had extremely talkative owners, who invited us to their house as we left. This friendly behavior is quite common here, I can’t count the number of times I’ve been invited to strangers houses (don’t worry mom, I never took up any offers, but it’s still nice). We returned to the café and Steph had the great idea to buy sweets before we got their, as their cheaper on the streets. She gets some carmel delight thingies, and I get my mille fois (which minus my café’s icing aren’t as good), and I get some laughs from the shop keeper when I demand he speaks Arabic to me, even though clearly we can both speak French. At the café we go to the roof and snack (again, the banana juice is not as good as Rabat’s), and speak of the glories found in moments, which may or may not be possible to record (and sometimes are better without). We have an amazing and peaceful time, an excellently blessed little adventure.

Similar cab ride back, and after dinner I stop by the pool to join Naomi, Kristen, and Whitney for some synchronized swimming and water jogging. Back in my room, Geoff, Mat, Modolu, and I break down how our classes are going and the various highlights of the trip before drifting off to bed.