Have leisurely lie-in and wake up at our beautiful riad at 9ish. After fab traditional Moroccan breakfast head into ancient Fez. The oldest living medieval city in the world, the Fez’s medina is a completely indecipherable labyrinth of covered passageways that make you feel like you’re walking around during the time of Mohammed. Turn down a slew of over-eager would-be guides (we were warned that even native Moroccans have a hard time navigating these alleyways) and decide to go it alone. Stumble into spectacular 14th century Koranic school adjacent one of the over 90 mosques in the old city.
Head deeper into the Medina and find amazing strands of tiny colored glass beads we decide to turn into necklaces. A little boy (10 or 11) attached himself to us and announces he will be our guide for the day. I shoo him off at first but he’s persistent. We decide we like his energy and let him be our little navigator. I think of my son Aidan back home – the same age – trying to escort tourists to make some cash for his family. Resolve to bring him back here and teach him a life lesson. Our guide makes his way around like only a kid who grew up running around these souks could. We’re snapping photos nonstop – this place is amazing! Then I notice something even more incredible. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cristina taking a photo of an old woman coming around a bend. As she snaps the picture I see our little Mustafa tuck a coin in her hand. Then I notice he’s been doing this the entire way, pulling coins out of his pocket and handing them out to the people we photograph. My heart dies.
Stop at a small cafe and we buy Mustafa a soda and kick our feet up for a while. Love this Moroccan pace. He’s fascinated by our cell phones and I let him play the bubble wrap popping game on my iPhone. The older men huddle around to watch and cheer him on.
Mustafa takes us to see the old caravan house where in the 1300′s Berber craftsmen coming down from the Atlas mountains, would bed their camels and spend a few nights in town selling their wares. The building is now an impeccably restored museum. Mustafa translates the exhibit and we see a plaque highlighting a UNESCO resolution that gave me goose bumps (check out the pic.)
After a quick visit to the silver and brass souks we ask Mustafa for a lunch recommendation. He lights up and tells us to follow him. He takes us really deep into the back alleys – past butcher’s stalls selling camel heads, produce stands, and sardine purveyors – to a tiny spot called Zorhra where we proceed to have one of the most amazing meals to date. We feed Mustafa till he can’t move. He decides he wants to take some pictures with us and we indulge him. He tells us about his 79 year old father, his sisters, and an uncle in Marseille. He asks us how to pronounce a bunch of words in English and explaines that he learned Arabic and French in school and Spanish and English from the tourists. I ask him why he’s not in school today. He says it’s closed. I tell him I dont believe him and he giggles. He blows our minds.
After lunch decide its time to head back and ask Mustafa to lead us out of the souks. I kiss him goodbye three times in the traditional Moroccan way and hand him 100 dirham which should feed his family for a month, although he’ll probably give half of it away. He disappears as quickly as he showed up and I get a little knot in my throat knowing we’ll never see him again.
When we get back to the riad we have a glass of wine in the courtyard and ask our waiter what “Mustafa” means in Arabic. He says it’s the name of the Prophet… The other name of Mohammed. We decide we have a new standard for the men in our lives and a barometer for all future decisions… “What would Mustafa do?”
Freshen up back at hotel and go to the Palais Jamais for a cocktail. It’s dark now and we take a ride around the perimeter of the city walls which are all lit up against the black sky. Catch belly-dancing performance in awesome dining room. Head over to Riad Fez to check out the scene there but it’s closed. Have no idea where we are – lost in a very quiet are of the Medina. Old non-English speaking man with a staff and an uncanny resemblance to Moses asks us where we’re going in Arabic. We give him the name of our hotel and he escorts us all the way back on foot.
Back in the hotel courtyard we recap the day on lounge chairs under the moon. Consider taking leaving for Tangier a day early to get to the coast and maybe take a day trip acroos the Strait of Gibraltar to Spain. Try to call the hotel in Tangier to book an extra night but there’s no answer. I try a few times and get frustrated. Cristina says to stop trying. About ten minutes later a huge flock of birds (again) flies over our heads squawking. She says “try now”. They answer and have the exact room we want available for the extra night.
Head up to bed. Barricade selves in non-haunted room half. Door of armoire creaks open slowly by itself. We crack up and pass out.
