Wake up to breakfast on the terrace and Chris getting us packed ready to go. Sad to be saying goodbye to our little home in Marrakech and our new friends, but excited to make our way to Fez. He warns us that Fez is much more conservative than Marrakech… While Marrakeck is a true African city, Fez is a wholly Arabic and very Islamic.
Hurry through breakfast and as I say goodbye to our little rooftop, a huge flock of storks lift of the palace walls and start circling over our heads, yelling and squawking. We decide they’re saying goodbye back. Whip out cameras and start taking photos – bye bye “House of Storks”.
Chris arranges out car and we say our farewells. He assures us that if we need anything at all for the rest of our time in Morocco, we can call him.
Arrive at station and board train for seven hour ride to Fez. Again train is ultra comfortable and we’re unfazed by the long trip. After about an hour into the trip I stroll to the back of the car. Since we are in the last car, the view is just the track speeding away from us. I open the side door and sit down on the steps with my legs hanging out. Everything feels so peaceful. Cristina joins me. Nostalgic African air gets to our heads and we start talking about the metaphors between the train ride, our trip, and our lives. How you get so distracted with everyone and everything else back home. And how, like with the cameras that have been attached to our faces this entire trip, it’s important to take time to see the world though your own lens. Hours pass with feet dangling out of train while zipping through countryside as we indulge in saccharin contemplation.
Arrive at Fez on time and after the usual harassment by the local taxi drivers our driver from the riad shows up. After about a fifteen minute drive from the train we’re deposited in our hotel in a desolate quarter of the town. We’re immediately uncomfortable. It’s slightly run down and our room, though spacious, feels a little rickety. Christina thinks she hears a donkey. We decide we can’t stay there and call Chris in Marrkech and ask what to do. Within ten minutes he has new accommodation booked and a porter at the front door to collect us and take us to our new riad. After some awkward negotiating we settle on a one night cancellation fee.
Arrive at Riad Sheherezad. It’s incredible – with a magnificent tiled courtyard and stunning swimming pool surrounded by African palms. Our room is dark and mysterious – perfect for the mood of this city. We’re told the Medina is unlit and dangerous for women at night so we head into the Ville Nouvelle for dinner. Hassled by young Fassi boys at every turn. Wander around the strange little city for an hour before settling on a restaurant someone on the train recommended. Dinner is fab. We’re dead tired and getting a little cranky from the nonstop day.
Go to taxi stand and try to hail cab. There is ZERO English spoken in this city and no one has any idea what we’re talking about. By now my French is back in full swing and I explain the directions to six cabbies in a row. They all say they have never heard of this place. After an hour of this we decide we need a better plan. Take a time-out on a park bench next to some gossiping Arab ladies and hatch a plan – write out the name of the hotel in bog bold letters and remember that Cristina took a photo of the front door sign. Use the writing / photo visual aids, which prove to be a successful combo. Within 20 minutes are safely back home.
Arrive to a beautifully candlelit courtyard and the sound of a mandolin being played. We order a tea and plop down on the lounges. We’re now overtired and delirious. I become obsessed with taking the perfect picture of the room key against the blue tile floor. After about 300 attempts Cristina bursts into hysterics behind me. She snaps a picture of me bent over like a lunatic in my djellaba looking like I lost something. She shows me the picture and we dye laughing.
Realize we need sleep and head upstairs. After deciding half the room is haunted we barricade ourselves in the other half. Crawl into bed, still laughing about me and the key.
