Day #12: Fez market and transition to London & Oxford

Sunday Fez Market without being tethered & transition to London & Oxford

2019

As I mentioned in my first blog to Maraketch we had a wonderful trip here as graduate students in 1993. Many of the traditions have been preserved and it is still a magical and mysterious place mixing up long held traditions with modernization. Here are a couple of pictures of us from that time. 

John 1993

About 300,000 people live in this medina often called a souk. However, apparently 10% of the houses are uninhabitable and in disrepair.  Thankfully UNESCO and the Moroccan government are giving money to help restore some of the homes for local people to be able to live in.  We are eager to explore this endless labyrinth of alleys, discover for ourselves and even get lost without the chains of our guide who claimed we would be taken advantage of without his professional guidance. What a glorious, freeing experience this is, dispelling any thoughts of aggressive stall keepers out to take advantage.  Steve gets to buy his sugary donut!

When we say ‘no thank you’ stall owners are respectful and do not pursue with the best prices dialogue. When lost they give us accurate directions and are helpful without asking for tips. We go into one pottery store where I learn about pottery from a wood-fired kiln which takes many hours versus a gas-fired kiln. The store owner stands on a plate that has been wood-fired to demonstrate its strength. The store keeper leaves us alone to explore the beautiful pottery without any sales pitch. 

In another store where we see a man weaving a carpet, the store keeper tells us that he doesn’t deal with guides. The reason being is that they want a 50% commission!  This confirms our worry about our guide from the day before who very likely only took us to places where he got a commission while telling us if we went anywhere else we would be taken advantage of.  Marie buys two blankets/rugs for $30.  I can’t image how they can make any money on this low price. 

One rather funny event was my effort to get a picture of a team of donkeys carrying leather skins. As the donkeys go by and I try to focus my camera I am hit from behind by a donkey. Those men on the street who witnessed this were laughing hysterically and gave me the thumbs up. My pants are wet through to my underwear with some kind of donkey moisture. Unfortunately, once again a prize picture escaped me. 

Goat feet

Snails

It is hard to describe the soul of this market and all its visions, sounds, feelings and smells. There are mosques, universities, fortresses and hundreds of trader stalls all mashed together. A stall selling I-phones and electronic equipment is next to a stall selling garlic or camel heads. There are stalls of colorful spices, dried fruits, dates, figs, nuts, and black soap. There are streets of slippers, leather bags, and people sewing clothing with ancient machines or cutting leather. We pass again through streets of wooden or bronze or copper artisans working intensely on their products with wooden hammers. Still other alleys have piles of nougat, pear cactus, boiled snails, rose petals and goat feet and heads. There are stalls of beautiful cobalt blue pottery and glazed ceramic. The scene is overwhelming and I think that one of these pottery pieces alone without all the hundreds of others would be spectacular in one’s home. 

There are no motor vehicles so we share the path with donkeys and men hauling heavy wagons all rushing down slippery and cobbled alleys. We revisit the tanning vats taking a view from a different place. I am mesmerized by this scene and how it has lasted for generations.  I worry about the people working here. What salary do they get? Are they paid more or less than the other artisans in the market?  I almost buy a leather purse! 

We end our 3-hour self-guided tour feeling confident that we don’t need a guide to enjoy this experience. We have a lovely lunch at a beautiful garden place, forgoing chicken tagine. Late afternoon I decide to join John in trying out the hamman heat saunas plus the excoriating skin process.  John also has a massage which he says is the best one of the trip!  I think my hamman experience is a bit like going through a car wash where I am heated with steam one moment followed by a hose spray. On this evening once again we have drinks on the hotel rooftop enjoying the amazing view. I try to take a picture to capture the sight but know the essence of the feeling really can’t be captured.

  

Waking up Monday morning in London in another culture. 

Transitions are a bit mind boggling for me.  The room in our favorite small hotel (Dukes) in London suddenly looks very small, plain and colorless after all the ceramic-tiled mosaic walls, painted, carved ceilings, decorated arches and ornate chairs.The hotel staff and the tourists are dressed in grey suits and vests rather than colorful hooded jellabas with red fez hats and babouche slippers.While the hotel staff are very friendly and helpful they don’t have the same cultural mystery. I listen for the calls to prayer 5 times a day but not only are they absent but even Big Ben is silent due to it being remodeled. I miss the exotic nature of the markets in Fez especially. Nonetheless we head out for our first day of touring by attending an audio self-guided tour of the House of Commons and the House of Lords at Westminster Hall with tales of medieval kings such as King Charles’ first beheading and the latest details of  the politics of Brexit.  Out on the street are thousands of people protesting the environmental dangers that lie ahead including one person who is selling Trump toilet paper. Many roads are closed. The Mueller report has been partially revealed and I am sucked into the moral dilemmas of what to do about King Trump. It doesn’t take long to get into a more current world mind set. I look forward to afternoon British tea with a scone but unfortunately it won’t be mint tea elegantly poured from above into small glasses! I will focus on the quality of the clotted cream ~ double or triple clot! 

After Marie and Steve leave we go to Oxford for 4 days. We have many memories here because we lived here for 2 years during did two sabbaticals and we meet up with friends each day. We stay in the Old Parsonage our favorite place built in 1600. We spend one day at Blenheim Palace with our friends and their daughter who was Anna's Oxford friend when we lived there. She is with her husband and her 18-month old girl. I remember these two girls at 4 years of age and can hardly believe we are back here 28 years later and it feels like yesterday. 
   

Day #11 Part 2: Tanning Pits of Fez ~ really pigeon droppings, sweat and stench?

Tanning Pits of Fez ~ really pigeon droppings, sweat and stench? 

We arrive at the Chauora Tannery and are offered a sprig of mint as we enter. We walk up 3 flights to a terrace overlooking the tannery pits. As I can’t smell I ask if the smell is as bad as I recall when we were here 46 years ago when the stench of rotting flesh made me nauseous. This time I don’t need the mint to detract from the smell as I no longer can smell. This tannery was originally built in the 11^thcentury and has continued to produce leather in the same traditional way ever since.  However the tannery has been remodeled in the past 5 years so we are not able get as close to the pits as I believe we did years ago.This tannery dyes the hides of cows, sheep and camels.

The workers, some young and some old, some in skimpy shorts, bare legs and feet and others in rain pants and big boots, are standing in the vats with dye above their knees as they wash the skins like washing machines.  It looks like back breaking work. Many of them are sweating due to working in the sun. I am not sure of the temperature of the vats. 

Cutting the skin hair off the hides

White liquids.. pigeon feces, quicklime, salt and water 

The skins are first soaked in vats with white liquids for 2-3 days that contain various mixtures of cow urine, pigeon feces,quicklime, salt, and water in order to clean and soften the tough skins. They are then put into the dyeing vats of many colors which use natural dyes such as  poppy, for red, indigo for blue, and henna for orange. The leather is pulled out of the pits, trimmed and laid out to dry on the rooftops. I wonder about the effect of this dye on the men’s skin. 

 

Skins laid out to dry

Our tannery guide/salesman leads us into showrooms and somewhat aggressively encourages us to  buy leather jackets, slippers, and suitcases which are stacked high to the ceiling. Leather options include camel, sheep, cow or goat. Marie tries on a blue leather coat but we both realize we are past the stage of wanting a leather coat. Last time we were here John bought a custom made red leather coat and wore it for many years. He does not want to replace it. Besides I can’t imagine wearing leather in rainy Seattle when you have the option of warm, down jackets! I leave wondering about these workers; many seem quite young. Will they do this for their lifetime? What is their salary? What happens to their skin with the dye and intense sun? Do they use sun screen? What is it about pigeon droppings that is good for leather and for the environment? Does it soften skin as well as hides? 

Leather for sale 

About 2:30 we are exhausted from all the sensory input and want to dump our guide who has told us too many times that he needs to protect us from all the dishonest vendors who will take advantage of us. Clearly he has been taking us into stores where he undoubtedly gets a commission and I am sure we have disappointed him as we buy nothing. But despite our efforts to end our relationship with him, he insists he must return us to the hotel. So we stop for lunch to reboot our energy and of course order chicken tagine. Have I ordered anything else on this trip?  It is still tasty with its olives and oil. After lunch we take a taxi back to the hotel and discharge our guide. John returns to the room for a nap while the rest of us enter the market untethered. It feels good to stop where we want to look at things and I don’t feel very hassled, at least not like in India. I don’t buy anything so maybe I need the pressure to buy?

We have another lovely pre-dinner drink on the hotel rooftop. The vision of Fez with all its satellite dishes is in contrast to our prior visit years ago. Nonetheless it is still an amazing view with the dense city surrounded by low Atlas hills covered in olive and orange trees. We chat about food and how we will turn into tagine cooks on Vashon and then do research on what restaurant to go to. In the end we decide on Ouliya’s restaurant since we know her cooking is excellent and the tiled-room is beautiful; we love the story behind this restaurant remodel from something like a cave to transformation as a gorgeous tiled and intimate room with hand carved chairs.  We take 2 taxis to a closer entrance to their restaurant and the plan is to be met by one of the restaurant staff so we don’t get lost in the labyrinth. The process of competing for a taxi in itself is an adventure.  Despite being there first, people charge in front of us grabbing taxis. Finally we need to ask a hotel staff member to help us get one.  Our cab driver already has a passenger but takes us as well after confirming we will pay 20 dirhams.  He drops the other passenger off at one place and picks up another. I wonder if he understands where to take us?  Arriving at the chosen spot we can’t find our friends and I worry they are lost somewhere and know they don’t have a phone to call us. Eventually we call the restaurant and the delightful, handsome college student who picked us up the first day arrives. I impulsively hug him as my rescuer but I am not sure if this is culturally appropriate as he seems a bit surprised.  Arriving at the restaurant we find Marie and Steve waiting for us. They had an adventure walking after giving up on us with the aid of a friendly boy who knew where the restaurant was. We have another great meal and yes it was chicken tagine, my second of the day!  

Later our taxi ride home was interesting with the taxi driver and his girlfriend or wife having a heated fight.  I actually was worried this distraction would result in a traffic accident because the heavily made up girlfriend with false eyelashes and long, piercing nails was so angry and loud.  Certainly not a submissive Arabic female. I wonder about male and female relationships in this country. Clearly men do all the selling in the market and does this mean they have all the control? 

Day #11 Part 1: Fez Craftsmen

Day #11: Fez Craftsmen (Saturday)

Entrance to Medina (Old Fez) over 9000 alley ways

Outside Medina

On this day we tour the medieval medina (Old Fez) dating back to the 9^thcentury. We start the day by trying to tell our guide what we would like to see or not like to see.  He indicates agreement that he will follow our guidance but clearly he has a plan and it looks doubtful that he will deviate.  I love this Arabic medina but find it is much more claustrophobic than our prior souks with its incredibly narrow alleys and uneven roofs all with TV antennas on them. You have to be sure to step aside for wagons being pulled by people or donkeys or horses or your feet will be crushed. It is definitely a maze of windowless walls, hundreds of craftsmen and you wonder what mysteries underlie these people’s lives.  

Following our guide in black 

Horse navigating narrow streets

We start by going to the Kairaouine Mosque, built by Tunisian refugees in the 9^thcentury. Our guide gives us a lecture on how Morocco encourages knowledge and the importance of friendly coexistence between the different religious groups and how it is important to preserve every reality. He explains how this “rubbish” village of Fez has been turned into beauty. While I like the message of promoting diversity and wish we had such a message in America, his speech does not feel as genuine as the tile artisan who somehow portrayed the message more authentically with passion. 

Kairaouine Mosque

Our guide who lectures without authenticity 

For the next 3 hours we walk through crowded alleys of artists carving wood and bronze, hearing the pounding of coppersmiths, and the sounds of sewing machines as tailors make clothes and watching the carpet weavers. 

I try to take a picture of a butcher selling fermented goat heads but he is not happy about this so I move on wondering about what is done with these heads. At one store we see how bronze is etched painstakingly with a wooden hammer and how it will take 4 weeks to make the large platter the artist is working on. 

 We learn that “knock offs” of this work are made of brass that easily tarnishes, is designed with a press rather than individual carving and is not authentic Moroccan work. We learn that alpaca tea pots are made of silver, copper and tin. In this store are some amazing pieces of intricate pottery made of camel bone dyed with saffron and henna. I can’t imagine any of these beautiful things in our home and wonder who buys them.   We begin to get a bit anxious because we are tired and still have not seen the tanners which I believe will be the most exciting part of the tour based on my memory of our prior visit to Fez.

One lovely serendipitous event was stopping at a preschool where the teacher leads the small classroom of 6 children singing “twinkle twinkle little star” to us. 

It is hard to imagine our preschoolers sitting in desks in a tiny room like this for even an hour. I wonder where they would get any physical activity. I wish I had time to talk with the teacher about her curriculum but our guide drives us onward. Nonetheless the children seem healthy and happy. 

Preschool and teacher 

John considers a new hair style but elects to change his hat style