Tough Talk - Fez, Morocco

…”You care for nothing but yourself, young man” he tells me, his voice rising in anger.
I laugh, stunned.
“You are wasting my time!” he shouts, “you are the only one alone. Everyone else is in a tour group. Only you are so selfish!..”

We ask Ouma if she would like to go to the Medina with us and her reply is immediate and emphatic:
“No thank you. I hate the Medina. Everyone is so pushy and rude, and it’s too crowded and dirty.”
Coming from a Moroccan, this is fair warning.
But, we are in Fez, and the Medina is the oldest in the country and famous for it’s architecture, so…

(Top pic: snail stew. It actually tastes worse than it looks!)

Pushy is an understatement when it comes to describing the shopkeepers and touts of the Fez Medina. Conniving, sleazy, abusive, deceitful – these are words that spring readily to mind.
The standard approach is the same as in the Medinas of Tangier and Chefchaouen; greet, interrogate, invite, sell. This standard formula is varied with tactics such as: giving false or misleading directions and advice; inventing urgent deadlines for seeing sights that just happen to be accessible through the shop; implying the tourist is insulting the honor of the shopkeeper; and on and on…

(The Fez Medina.)

(Nia chowing down on a stewed snail.)

Mustafa wins us over by simply being friendly. With a beaming smile he asks us if we have seen the largest house in the Medina.
“It’s right there. You can visit it for free. 13th century my friends. It is a superb example.”
“OK” we say, and he kindly shows us to the entrance.
Stepping inside, I am greeted by the sight of carpets hanging from every wall and stacked in every corner.
“It kind of looks like a rug shop, Mustafa”, I comment, poker faced.
“No, no, it is just a convenient place for storage. Look, I will show you the house.”
We obediently follow Mustafa through 4 or five rooms, all so crammed with rugs that the superb 13th century architecture is barely visible. We nod and smile and edge toward the exit as Mustafa delivers a running commentary.
“Well, thank you” we say.
“Would you like to see a carpet?” Mustafa inquires innocently, as if it were the thought of the instant, just a passing whimsy.

I’m taking some pictures of a beautiful, tumbling facade in the heart of the Medina. A dapper Moroccan gent in a spotless suit and classic Ali Baba hat pauses beside me. He has a little card hanging round his neck.
“I am with the Moroccan tourist board”, the old gent advises me.
“Ah, yes?” I mumble.
“It is the tomb of a great man” he says somberly, pointing at the facade with his cane.
“He brought five thousand Muslims.”
I nod and say “ah”.
“A great man. This is his tomb and monument.”
The old gent pauses and I wait for him to continue.
“You are a selfish man” he intones seriously.
I am too taken aback by the non-sequitur to demur.
“You care for nothing but yourself, young man” he tells me, his voice rising in anger.
I laugh, stunned.
“You are wasting my time!” he shouts, “you are the only one alone. Everyone else is in a tour group. Only you are so selfish!”
He stamps away down the street, leaving me gaping and bemused.
I see him several times after that, and every time he is busily abusing tourists. I take his photo outside the medieval college compound, the “Madrasa Bou Inania”, and he shouts at me across the road:
“you piece of shit!”
A passing american advises me helpfully, “that old guy’s an asshole”.
“We’re old friends”, I reply.

The architecture in Fez Medina is magnificent, crumbling, and deeply crusted with soot, garbage and cat poop. There is a ticket booth at the gate to the “Madrasa Bou Inania” and a ticket seller, who gruffly inform me that he requires exact money and has no change. I stand on my toes and look over the wall, and see the open air courtyard for free. I notice signs inside, saying non Muslim visitors are not allowed into the building’s interior, so I have seen it all.

24 hours in the Fez Medina seems like an adequate dose. Tomorrow it’s Marrakesh.