Fez Through the Senses
Lost in a labyrinth of straights and narrows. Should I wander left or right? Up or back down again? Fez is a maze of alleys with mesmerizing colors and kaleidoscopic geometric shapes, delicately framed in place with sheer devotion to the Prophet Mohammed.
The Medina's alleyways carry me to a dead end, leaving me trapped in an architectural limbo between two imposing doors. Women ruffle their hijabs in hopes of veiling themselves before I enter yet another maze - that of a home in Fez. I go up one set of steep, dimly lit stairs and back down another with liberating windows that expose the opposite rooms. I glide my hands along the deep-blue tiled stairways, feeling each break between every individual tile beneath my fingertips, and imagining the grandeur of time to create such a house into scale. I am carried from one room to the next and then out into another hall, until I am finally drawn back to the beginning of the maze where a tranquil, tropic courtyard awaits me. In the courtyard, birds chirp a beautiful melody while the cold breeze kisses the leafy palms and carries an overwhelming aroma of chickpeas, tajine, homemade bread, and freshly cut strawberries.
Image Credit: Walking Lightly Travel
I rush back through the Medina, passing by mosque after mosque with cookie cutter doorways punched into the walls; what awaits inside is seemingly mysterious, yet approachable. These gateways are windows into a world I will never fully understand, a world of religion that will always have me yearning for more. The multiplying arches become hypnotic in the Al Quaraouiyine Mosque, forcing me to resist the temptation to sit on the ruby red carpets that Believers regularly devote their personal time to Allah on. Turning and turning, no matter where I go the arches align perfectly and provide me a new path for me to follow down deeper into the ancient mosque.
Image Credit: Walking Lightly Travel
The most welcoming sight in Fez is Jaouad, a man slightly hunched, slightly grayed, slightly tarnished, and slightly youthful. A man who, like me, stands in this maze surrounded by colors. Woven blankets tower the entry to our right and hand painted ceramics enclose us as if they're begging to be bought. Jaouad smiles as he shares glimmering memories of a time when his home was attractive to outsiders. He explains how the Arab Spring changed not only the city of Fez, but also it's reputation, "people think Morocco is dangerous, but we are different. We are kind people, our king is good to us and we are safe." He shares how happy he is to hear broken Darija from the mouth of a tourist.
My hands are grasped in his and gently pulled to the top of his brow in a sign of respect, as the maze of minaret lined alleyways and cumin filled air sucks me back into the Medina. Always leaving me to yearn for more.
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