Day 3 - Fes, Morocco

Monday, 19 October 2009 - Fes, Morocco - Day 3

Culture Shock

We have different cultures. You are just not accustomed to Moroccan culture. This is how we talk and act. Do not be upset. This is how we are.

Hamid, our tour guide, was getting worked up. We had decided to spend an extra day in the imperial city of Fes in order to weld an oil plate onto the Renault. So while John accompanied Larbhi to this end, Nico, Kim, and I took advantage of the unanticipated layover to explore the city's famous medina - a walled-in part of the city comprised of narrow, labrythine streets replete with shops selling everything you can imagine. With John's recommendation, we had agreed to let Larhbi arrange a tour for us. I'm not a particular fan of formal tours, and it seemed this one would be no exception to my previous experiences.

Hamid arrived at 9am sharp. Fortunately, we were all wide awake, having just finished up the coldest showers of our entire lives. To save money, and under the illusion that the 90 degree temperature would surely warm the water up to a tolerable level, we had spurned paying the extra fee for heated water. Little did we know that the water was absolutely freezing. It's possible that the local watershed simply did a fabulous job insulateing the water from the burning sun, but I have a hunch that our hosts purposely put ice cubes in the water supply to spite us. It was unnaturally cold to say the least. But I digress.

Even from the start, Hamid was not well received. And it would only get worse. His dress and countenance exuded a certain arrogance, reaffirmed by our early conversations, that did not mesh well with our group. He was too rude for Kim's taste, which she conveyed to me immediately, "He's a twat." I gathered a similar conclusion, but gave him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't exactly do himself any favors though. "Your English is superb", I remarked at one point, "how long have you been studying the language?" "I majored in English literature" he responded with visible pride. "I always wanted to study at Oxford, but it was too expensive" he continued, as if the application process was of marginal consideration. "Great!" I thought to myself, "not only is he a twat, but a pompous twat to boot."

Before starting the tour we grabbed some bisara, a traditional Moroccan breakfast cuisine. It's a thick soup that consists of churned beans, olive oil, and garlic, which, like most meals in Morocco, is invariably served with bread. Not everyone liked it. I found it a little bland but, all in all, pretty good and surprisingly filling. After eating we learned that we would be providing the fuel and transportation for our tour, in addition, of course, to the rather expensive $50 that we were paying for his time. We weren't exactly happy with this discovery, but it was too late to turn back now.

Our first stop was a factory (in the crude sense of the word) where they manufactured pottery. When he handed off tour duties to a factory guide who hardly spoke English, we realized what sort of tour this was going to be; Hamid was going to drag us from shop to shop, where we were expected to buy things from which he would receive a commission. We immediately addressed the situation, telling him that we didn't want to be carted around outside the medina. This meant bypassing the revered historical palace of the king, which didn't go over too well with Hamid's national pride. Our faux pas only exacerbated his brusque demeanor, resulting in mutual tension for the rest of the day. It was at this time that he provided us (and more specifically Kim) our first instruction on the nature of culture shock alluded to at the top.

The tour of the medina went well, or as well as could be expected under the circumstances. The medina itself was breathtaking. Sensory overload in every aspect of the word - sights, smells, sounds, etc. The juxtaposition of modern brands and items (e.g. Chanel perfume, D&G belts, Diesel jeans) with traditional handicraft made for a fascinating scene. As we feared, he took us from stall to stall and shop to shop, but it was actually quite interesting. We went to a spice shop where we had explained to us the origin and uses of the myriad herbs and spices on sale. At a carpet house we learned the intricate process behind rug-making (it takes three women working 8 hrs/day three months to produce a single rug). We visited the most famous tannery in North Africa, dating back to the 11th century, where we were walked through the laborious method of creating dyes and drying out the hides.

His character aside, Hamid really wasn't a bad tour guide. Fes, a UNESCO World Heritage site, is home to a wealth of history. Hamid possessed a heightened knowledge about the "cultural capital" of the country, and walked us through grand tales of its past, from the time that it served as the first capital of Morocco to French colonization, when its third tour as capital came to an end and all political functions and governing authority were permanently moved to Rabat. In the medina, he briefed us about the University of Al Karaouine (founded in 859), which is widely acknowledged as the the first university in the world. Such historical tidbits were insightful and illuminating, which, in my opinion, compensated for his character flaws. It was overpriced, but if given the chance to do it over again, I would definitely take the tour.

Hamid was a little too much to bear for the others so we ended the tour early, returning to our hostel around 3pm. John was already back with the Renault, newly equipped for the bumpy road ahead. We spent the next two hours getting oil changes for the two cars. The day finished in the bustling food market of Fes, consisting of an endless line of stalls serving something for the most daring of palates. We wimped out and simply grabbed another dinner of kefta and fries. Afterwards, we sauntered back to our rooms, mentally fatigued from the day and ready to get back on the road.