Here's another retrospective post about my first time in Morocco. I visited this ancient North African city in October 1990, while backpacking in Europe with a friend called Dean. Our Moroccan adventure kicked off on 7 October when we crossed the Strait of Gibraltar by ferry, then made our way to Fez, travelling with two English couples, Cathy and Tony and Linda and Craig, whom we'd met on board the boat. You read about our adventures in Fez here.
After 2.5 days in Fez, Dean and I were keen to head for a new destination. We had UK Working Holiday Visas that had to be endorsed within six months of being issued. As a result, we had to arrive in the UK by 25 October. We’d arrived in Morocco on 7 October and thus had two weeks remaining. Before time ran out, we wanted to see more of Morocco, visit Paris and explore the Netherlands.
However, we soon discovered our English friends were operating on a different timetable. They weren’t in a hurry to go anywhere. We decided to leave them at a campground in Fez and travel by train to Meknes, one of Morocco's four Imperial cities, before returning to Spain.
We reached Meknes mid-morning on Wednesday, 10 October, and spent the day exploring its popular tourist sites, including el-Hedim Square, a vast plaza at the southern end of the old city, and Bab Mansur al-'Alj, an ornate ceremonial grand entrance to the Kasbah of Moulay Isma'il. You can see this gate in the image above, along with a couple of entrepreneurial locals dressed as Guerrabine, or traditional Berber water sellers.
Water sellers once provided fresh water for local residents before the advent of modern plumbing. You’d find them in public squares and markets loaded with goatskin water bags and brass containers, dishing out a measure of water using brass cups. The brass implements, accompanied by bells, were often hung in a fashion that caused them to jangle as they walked, thus announcing their presence. These days, they’re simply a tourist attraction.
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The Kasbah is a vast palace complex built in the medina by the Moroccan sultan Moulay Isma'il ibn Sharif between 1672 and 1727. It's said to be the world's largest palace. We explored the complex for much of the day, including the ruins of Dar el-Kebira, the oldest of several palaces inside. Dar el-Kebira was abandoned after Moulay Isma'il's death and replaced by another, even grander series of buildings. These were replaced in turn by successive sultans.
Our final night in Morocco was spent sleeping (sort of) on an overnight train to Tangiers. The train was crowded, and the seats (if you could get one) were little more than rows of timber benches. Most of us sat on our luggage or on the floor, resting against the carriage walls. In many respects, this noisy and chaotic carriage was the closest we ever got to experiencing real daily life in Morocco.
The following morning, 11 October, we caught the ferry back to Spain. Yes, that's my actual ferry ticket above. As we backpacked through Europe, instead of buying bulky and impractical souvenirs, I kept some of the tickets and receipts we collected along the way. While researching this post, I discovered that the ferry no longer docks in Tangier. These days, its final destination is a massive new international port built approximately 40km along the coast.
After 2.5 days in Fez, Dean and I were keen to head for a new destination. We had UK Working Holiday Visas that had to be endorsed within six months of being issued. As a result, we had to arrive in the UK by 25 October. We’d arrived in Morocco on 7 October and thus had two weeks remaining. Before time ran out, we wanted to see more of Morocco, visit Paris and explore the Netherlands.
However, we soon discovered our English friends were operating on a different timetable. They weren’t in a hurry to go anywhere. We decided to leave them at a campground in Fez and travel by train to Meknes, one of Morocco's four Imperial cities, before returning to Spain.
Water sellers once provided fresh water for local residents before the advent of modern plumbing. You’d find them in public squares and markets loaded with goatskin water bags and brass containers, dishing out a measure of water using brass cups. The brass implements, accompanied by bells, were often hung in a fashion that caused them to jangle as they walked, thus announcing their presence. These days, they’re simply a tourist attraction.
_DSCF5775.jpg)
The three images above were pulled from the web. They give you an excellent sense of the size and scale of the old city walls surrounding the medina, and the spectacular Mausoleum of Moulay Isma’il within the palace complex. To be honest, I can't recall much about our time in Meknes beyond a general consensus that we were glad we'd made the effort to stop here on our way back to the Mediterranean coast. It offered an interesting contrast to the chaos, crowds and clutter we'd encountered in Fez.
Our final night in Morocco was spent sleeping (sort of) on an overnight train to Tangiers. The train was crowded, and the seats (if you could get one) were little more than rows of timber benches. Most of us sat on our luggage or on the floor, resting against the carriage walls. In many respects, this noisy and chaotic carriage was the closest we ever got to experiencing real daily life in Morocco.
The following morning, 11 October, we caught the ferry back to Spain. Yes, that's my actual ferry ticket above. As we backpacked through Europe, instead of buying bulky and impractical souvenirs, I kept some of the tickets and receipts we collected along the way. While researching this post, I discovered that the ferry no longer docks in Tangier. These days, its final destination is a massive new international port built approximately 40km along the coast.
Upon arrival in Algeciras, we successfully retrieved our confiscated backpacks after paying a modest fine for failing to collect them before our locker time expired. You can learn about our cheeky storage solution in my retrospective post about Fez. From here, we made our way north by train to Seville, our final stop in Spain. More about this next adventure in another post.
Upon reflection, I’m astounded by how bold we were travelling in North Africa. Even more so, given the stories we’d heard of backpackers mugged by ruthless youths. Likewise, seemingly harmless encounters sometimes morphed into situations that often made us feel decidedly unsafe.
For example, we’d jokingly decided early on that the first English words every Moroccan child learns are “Hello, my friend”. However, we soon discovered that their language skills morphed dramatically when we refused to buy their trinkets. Smiles were rapidly replaced by anger and a string of graphic profanities in English and Moroccan, which quickly drew a crowd. This often included older boys who'd harass and intimidate us as we walked along the street. It was another valuable lesson about the situational lack of power experienced by cultural minorities.
For example, we’d jokingly decided early on that the first English words every Moroccan child learns are “Hello, my friend”. However, we soon discovered that their language skills morphed dramatically when we refused to buy their trinkets. Smiles were rapidly replaced by anger and a string of graphic profanities in English and Moroccan, which quickly drew a crowd. This often included older boys who'd harass and intimidate us as we walked along the street. It was another valuable lesson about the situational lack of power experienced by cultural minorities.
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