Saturday 17 December 2011

Riads, riads, riads....

Riad Fellousia
I have had a small obsession with riads for many years. Everything from staying in them, stealing design ideas from them, to buying and doing one up has been considered. It is therefore with a pleasure to live 60 kilometres away from the medinas of two Imperial cities. We don't need much of an excuse to go down to the big smoke and test out different riads. So far we have been to sunny Riad Maison D'a Cote and formal Riad 53. Tempted by the thought of Christmas shopping and a break from the quiet of Ifrane we were thrilled to find an absolute bargain $40 stay at Riad Fellousia in Meknes. 




Maison D'a Cote
Riad 53



















The Meknes medina is far smaller than the one in Fes and we have been told by many people that it is prudent to browse in Fes but purchase in Meknes. Prices are lower and the hassle far less. As this is our first Christmas at home in four years we are keen to take lots of local gifts back home. Partly because it's more original and partly because no present is worth going out looking for on Christmas Eve in the UK, the first full day we are back.

Set against the fortified wall of the medina Riad Fellousia has five suites and is a warren of little doors and steep staircases. Three of the rooms are situated around the small garden courtyard, the others up on the second floor sharing a lounge and with balconies into the courtyard. Decorated with local arts and crafts it is more on the traditional side than the other riads we've been to, but in a low-key Berber way rather than a ridiculously grand and fussy way as is often the case. 








For $40 a night we weren't expecting too much. We couldn't believe it when we saw the place. the location was so good that from the roof terrace of the riad it was possible to sip Moroccan tea while watching the shamens and snake charmers at work. Our room was a suite with an old converted section of a hammam for the bathroom. A hammam is a traditional bathhouse. Although only a few are still used, and now act more as spas than a way of life, these bathhouses were once the social centre for all women. Important for men as well, as there was often no place to bathe in the home, they were traditionally more valued by women as they were the only occasion that they were allowed to go out of the home and interact with people. It would have been usual to go and spend a whole day bathing, getting scrubbed and stretched, relaxing and gossiping surrounded by other women. Now people have bathrooms and go there only as a treat. Our converted hammam was a low ceiling arched bathroom with a toilet cubby that had a door frame that came up to only chin height and a slightly misplaced pink glow. The blue tiled shower was big enough for about ten people. 




 

















As well as being a great place for much cheaper riads and a calmer medina experience than other Imperial cities, Meknes boasts the claim of having more pubs than any other city in Morocco. We saw quite a few but I’m not sure how relatively unknown and un-touristy Meknes can beat places like Tangier, Marrakesh and Casablanca. Having had our fill of tajine and Moroccan food we went to the highly recommended 'Le Pub'. Here it was a relief to see men and women out socialising and having a drink. This place is ruled by coffee shops. The majority of which will not have a single woman in them. It really isn't that sexist here, it just seems that way when you're in search of a cafĂ©. Anyway, it was a pleasure to eat and drink in an almost pubby atmosphere with a roaring fire, beer, seafood starter, amazing blue cheese steak and red wine for under $40.

After our success at Le Pub we decided to carry on and investigate some of the other recommended drinking establishments in the area. Our next stop was the somewhat suspiciously named Novelty Bar. This was one that had been recommended as a great place to visit by a number of websites. There are two levels to this bar and when entering we were shepherded upstairs by a slightly bemused doorman. Upstairs was low ceilinged, smoky, neon lit and full of men. Not quite to our taste we went for the downstairs option. Upon entering we had one of those experiences you always read about. All chatter ceases and all eyes stare. We made it across the room full of Moroccan men before we decided that perhaps this wasn't a drink we really needed to have and turned and left. There it was, white woman in pub of Moroccan men, instant heathen. 



The rest of the trip was quite uneventful. I was called a Berber three times when shopping. This was on account of the fact that I have learnt to haggle the Moroccan way and managed to get most things at quarter of the price. Which is somewhere close to the real price. The only one annoyance of the trip was as we were leaving where we encountered the most aggressively begging child I’ve ever come across. About five years old and clothed nicely she lived in one of the houses along the alley from the riad. So angry and demanding for a Dirham, she grabbed, pushed and ripped at clothes. When I told her to stop she just laughed and pulled harder. She was not in desperate need and found it highly entertaining to harass the foreigners. Standing and shouting at kids in the street is not how we planned to end the trip.




Sunday 11 December 2011

Cold Weather Exploring and Car Deals

After the departure of our visitors we had the most horrible weather we have encountered up here. Constant heavy sleet, thick fog and whipping icy wind non stop for three and a half days. It felt winter had arrived in force. It saps all inclination to do anything. School is extra hard work as the kids can't set foot outside all day.

The following weekend we woke up to clear skies and warm sunshine. Just as we were thinking our weekly planning day in school wasn't looking so inviting, I answered the phone to Zaid, one of my 6 year old students. Apparently he had been pestering his dad for the previous two hours to let him call us to invite us out hiking. Thankfully his dad being the conscientious man that he is let his son's teacher enjoy a bit of a lie in on a Saturday morning before letting him phone. He and his dad go out walking most weekends and knew we were keen to explore the area. Although we are surrounded by open countryside and forest it is really hard to know where to go. Is it okay to just hike off into the hills or are we likely to encounter some aggressive shepherd, rabid dog or grumpy donkey?

We set off in Nicholas, Zaid's dad's car. From the minute we set off to when we arrived 20 minutes later Zaid did not stop talking to me sat in the back. His dad was highly embarrassed at his overexcited son and apologised profusely. Thankfully Zaid is one of those refreshing kids that you're always happy to be around, even when he doesn't even stop talking long enough to breathe.

On the way to the hike we pulled off the road at a rustic Berber camp. Nicholas had been giving clothes and toys to a family out there for a long time. One day when driving past the ramshackle make shift home made of rocks, hay bales and plastic sheets, Nicholas said to Zaid how little the people living there had. They decided to raid Zaid's room and go back with any unused clothes and toys. They now stop by regularly to drop off baby clothes for a new baby. These people eke out an existence from the barren land, have no access to school and live through extreme heat and bitter cold. It was so nice to see something positive being done for people who really need it.

Further on, in the middle of nowhere, Nicholas pulled off the side of the road and parked in the scrubby grass. We then set off to visit a place Zaid had talked about a lot in class. Ifrane and the surrounding hills have a lot of volcanic history. They led us down around scree piles and through a forest into a big collapsed crater known as Foxhole. Now ringed with trees around the rim and lined with grass, walking the flat interior was so peaceful. Sheltered from the bitter wind and surrounded by the calls of birds we walked in waist high grass across the 200 metre hole. Ancient cedars can be seen towering over the rest of the trees. Sadly these enormous old trees are dropping like flies and we passed a few of them recently laid out flat, shallow roots failing to keep these old trees upright against the battering Middle Atlas winds. 







After crossing the crater we hiked up the other side. Even the steep hill didn't stop Zaid talking. That boy could out walk and out talk anyone else his age. Thankfully he has been brought up to be a really lovely kid and his observations are highly entertaining. Once up and out of the shelter of the crater we were faced with the wind whipping across a flat, rocky and barren plain, typical of the harsh land that people have to live off here. Nicholas then searched for another crater that is hidden from view in the flat land. Dropping vertically 200 metres, this old crater is a geological wonder. Tall trees cling precariously to sheer rock faces. Climbing down as far as we safely could it was possible to see a small collection of trees growing on moss lined floor of the crater. This place is out in the middle of nowhere seen only by shepherds and the occasional wandering professor. 



Tired and rather chilled, we headed back for home. While we had been walking Nicholas had told us about a car that was for sale at the Residences which we could actually afford. All through the walk he had been trying to phone the owner so we could put an offer in. Arriving back at the Residence he saw friends of the vendor and went to ask them about it. At that point one of them put down the phone having just bought the car. We were devastated. We had missed the deal by 5 minutes. Surprisingly though one of the other friends immediately offered us their car for sale and gave us the keys so we could test drive it for a few days. This is just another fine example of how unusual the community is here. The trust and generosity is forever taking you by surprise. Anyway, we are now the proud owners of a old, overpriced, battered and falling apart car. We have freedom... this is life changing.




We seem to be experiencing the best time of year for sunsets. Here are a couple of the ones from our window this week.

Saturday 3 December 2011

Visitors!!

Well, it has felt like forever coming around, but finally, over much last minute hammering and tidying away, we had people to visit the home we are so proud of. Both Nick’s and my mum were brave enough to pay us a visit. Unlike most mothers in law who don't know each other before their children get together, our mums have already travelled together and often catch up over coffee in our absence. Not the usual situation for most families, but then again very little is normal about my family and its set up.

Hoping for the best of what autumnal Morocco could show we were relieved when we checked and saw the weather would be fine. Not sure who wrote that forecast but they need to find themselves a job that they are more proficient at. It was blustery, cloudy and cold when we went to pick them up from the airport late on Thursday night and was only to get worse over thr course of the weekend. We were keen to be there on time to hopefully relieve some of the stress of arriving in Fes that we were greeted with when we arrived. The airport is okay, but you go from a chaotic flight (even by Ryanair’s standards) to an even more chaotic and cramped arrival lounge with suspicious customs men. To be fair they were far less suspicious of our mums than they were of us. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that we were bringing an oversized odd shaped bag in and trying to get them to believe it was a snowboard when it was 40 degrees C outside.
Once through and safely ensconced in the car you would expect the worst to be over. Not in Fes. Blessed with not only some of the worst drivers on the road and the worst lit highways you have ever seen, or not seen as the case may be, Fes also has some of the most Kamikaze like pedestrians I have ever encountered. Wearing only black these suicidal people of all genders and ages wander aimlessly along the road with little regard for potential loss of life. They find the darkest spots or the least visible corners and decide that this is the perfect place to cross the road. Without street lights, cats eyes, road markings or moon, you only see people at the very last minute. This was not the best first impressions to present proudly to our mums.
Now, we were fully aware of the fear that this and the general chaos that usually ensues when navigating around Fes would cause to an unfamiliar driver who is accustomed to the relative order of the roads in the UK, outside of London at least. It was for this reason that we decided to head down to Fes early in our hire car and do a trial run to make sure we knew the route and could instil our guests with confidence that we were in control. Within five minutes we were lost. Within ten minutes we were completely lost, and within fifteen we were so lost I couldn’t even tell which way was north. This is about as lost as I’ve ever been and reduced me to near panic attack. People were everywhere, kids were rolling tyres down the middle of the road and we were surrounded by crazy drivers. What was worse was that finding an approachable looking person to ask directions from in a dark and run-down suburb on the edge of Fes took a bit of time and nerve. Eventually we were heading back to the airport and deciding to stick with what we knew… a route that we had found on our previous attempt to get around the city when we got very lost. Following maps here is a nightmare, they have so many new roads that are not on the map that you are instantly lost.
Thankfully we got our guests to the medina without too many wrong turns. Sadly this was not the end of our woes and our failings in presenting the best of life here. As with most riads, ours was one that was somewhere inside the medina. The Fes medina is home to around 350,000 people and is the largest car free zone in the world. It is a veritable warren of streets and houses. For those who were not born, raised and learnt the hard way how to get around, it is impossible to navigate, especially with two mums and wheely bags. Knowing this we had come prepared and had a telephone number for the riad. We parked up at the gate and called to have someone come out and get us. This plan didn’t quite work out. Nick was quickly told in aggressive broken French-Arabic that our booking wasn’t for that night but the one before and the day after. The kind man then hung up on Nick leaving him rather stressed and me trying reassure our increasingly concerned guests that all would be fine. At this point our solution arrived (as it always does in Africa), in the shape of a young man who for a not so small fee ran in front of our car to find us a safe place to park and then took Nick off in search of the riad. Nick was met there by a friendly young woman with perfect English who had been worried we’d gotten lost. Thankfully all was fine. We still have no idea who we phoned.

Thankfully, when there, Riad 53 was everything we had hoped http://www.fes-ryad53.com/ . Three stories high surrounding a central blue tiled courtyard, it had enough ancient features to go with the ‘mod’est of mod cons. We even had sensor light switches. We arrived late and the table was set waiting with a small mince tagine and lots of warm fresh bread. Sadly they later tried to charge us 40 Euros for this small tagine. It should have only cost about 10. it was good, but not that good.






Next day we were up fresh and sprightly for our morning tour of the medina. Nick and I had explored once on our own but had been so terrified of getting lost that we barely ventured off the main route. This time we wanted to do it properly with a guide. Whereever you go in the medina you are likely to be followed, called out to or harassed by young men helpfully trying to show you the way or act as an 'unofficial' guide. Needless to say they still want official payment. Following the advice of many we hired an ‘official’ guide. He arrived impeccably dressed and was incredibly well spoken. Neither Nick nor I are one for tours and find we quickly get bored. This gentleman gave us the perfect balance of walk and talk, providing us with just the right amount of information. The walls of the Medina are from the 9th Century. Most of the rest of it from the 12th. What is called ‘New Fes’ was added on during the 13th Century. It really is ancient. The oldest university in the world is in the middle and is today still used as a mosque. We toured around one old Islamic school with most of its original tile work and beams. Having spent so much time looking at the mosaic walls and thinking ‘my, aren’t they pretty’, we were astounded to find out the every part means something. From the base layer signifying the first level of schooling to university and further enlightenment of prayer, the walls are covered with representations that have lasted the test of time. Some of the most detailed work that has lasted is made from gypsum and egg white. Not something you would think would stand last the ages.
Having a tour guide was really worthwhile. We wound our way along narrow alleys, past traditional bath houses and even under some buildings along a path 4 feet high. Every so often you pass a leather tannery. You can’t see these places from outside but you can smell them a mile off. During the treatment of all the hide, which is pungent in itself, guano is used. When visiting a tannery you are provided with a sprig of mint to hold under your nose while you view the treatment pots from overlooking terraces high above. When walking near one of these places you are hit with such an onslaught of smell that you struggle to breathe until you remember to breathe through your mouth. It is a smell that seems to permeate the hair, clothes and skin. That’ll be that dreaded Bog of Eternal Stench again…









































After spending two days back in time in the medina, driving back through Fes towards Ifrane is another onslaught of the senses. Back to masses of cars, bad drivers and crazy pedestrians. This is the side of Fes that I hate. The medina is a world away from the city that is pretending to be organized and modern. Thankfully driving up to Ifrane you quickly get away from the crowds if not the bad drivers. With rain and low clouds all the way we were quickly rethinking all our countryside appreciation plans. Thankfully the miserable weather can’t detract from how pretty Ifrane is and when we arrived the mums were shocked by just how picturesque it was. Autumn leaves, red sloping roofs and French mountain architecture look good in any weather.
Apart from getting home and starting a bid fire we did little the rest of the day. Much longed for supplies from home were unpacked and appreciated, and warm comfy clothes put on to ward off the increasing cold. We did tempt the mums out with the thought of hot chocolate. We took them up to Michliflin resort. Not expecting the grandeur and huge roaring fires of the five star resort that is owned by the King, they were both blown away and declared intention to stay there on a future visit no matter what the cost. Later that evening after some research, this thought was quashed by a $250 a night price tag for a room without a view. All of a sudden our sofa beds looked quite inviting again. Even our drinks were $10 a pop. The food menu is ridiculously expensive and not hugely appetising. I have no idea how the place survives stunning as it is.
















The next day to our great surprise we woke up to snow. Due to the altitude here it snows at around 2 degrees C. This was definitely not what our visitors had expected. Defeat was finally admitted and sun cream was put away. We set off for our morning coffee well wrapped up and then instead of our planned walk we drove around and explored the area from the warmth of the car. Snow softens the landscape here which is admittedly very bleak in places. Snow also brings up what the Lonely Planet describes as the 'hoi polloi' from the warmer cities. Bus and car loads of people come up to play around on the slopes in the snow. When we drove past the ski area people were renting sledges to put on the tiny area of snow that remained and dragging each other over patches of mud and rocks and out into the road. Snow obviously goes to their heads even more than mine. On the way back to Ifrane we stopped off at our friendly carpets seller's shop. Hassan has run the shop for nearly ten years. Set in side a small riad it has head height piles of carpets in many rooms and other ancient artefacts dotted around. It is musty and a little dark but a great collection of history. As well as a bit of history on carpets, local language and tribes, he gave us tea and a desert saved for special feasts, all with no pressure to buy.


When we dropped our mums at the airport later that day it felt good that it will only be four weeks until we are back home for Christmas. Regardless of the nice apartment, small classes, fresh air and countryside here, that is one of the biggest perks of the jobs for me. Cheap and quick access to home. Probably the one and only time I’ll consider Ryanair to be a perk.
Despite the stressful start and bad weather, all in all I would say our guests left having enjoyed their stay and hopefully want to come back. Now, who's next...


Sunday 27 November 2011

Snow, sun and farting camels part 2...


After enjoying a long day spent relaxing by the slightly indulgent pool at our Kasbah, Auberge De Sud, and exploring the small poor dust bowl that is the town of Merzouga we met our camels that were to carry us off into the sunset. These animals have a lot of bad press, a lot of it deservedly so. They are known for growling, spitting, biting and bucking and they are remarkably stubborn. You have to cling on for dear life as they launch themselves up into the air, and they are a lot taller than they look. I was the only one in the group to have ridden a camel before; a short ride across the Egyptian desert with my younger sister perched precariously in front, and so was quietly amused when we set off behind our Toureg caravan leader and Nick said “this is nowhere near as painful as you led me to believe”. Fifteen minutes later and after our first brief decent this observation had been corrected. By this point one of the camels, who had obviously having one of those days, had been swapped out for a different one by guides who obviously knew better than to try and make a camel do something it didn't want to do. After an hour of riding even the magic of a spectacular sunset over the Sahara could not detract the attention from pain in the more delicate parts of the anatomy. A camel has a curious gate and while the seat looks nice and padded with blankets, the blankets are curved around the single hump of the camel. This hump looks all furry and soft. It is in fact rock solid. It is this that you are jolted forward against every stride the camel takes. This becomes particularly violent when going downhill. All the while we riding my camel was making peculiar sounds and vibrated regularly. I’m not sure what it had been eating but it belched every few strides. It really bugged me as the sound was really distinct and reminded me of something. After about twenty minutes of pensiveness I realised it was an exact mimic of the sounds made by the Bog of Eternal Stench in David Bowie's 80's classic Labyrinth.


 
 













 
Our camel caravan was made up of two trains. The first was a group of French who did not stop talking the whole time. Believe it or not they were the quieter of the two groups of French we were to encounter over the following twenty-four hours. Our particular caravan was thankfully happy to sit back and relax and we did get to enjoy some of the surroundings in peace. We stopped and climbed a dune for the final part of the sunset. It was incredible and looks almost unreal in the photos. The sky was on fire with the streaks of clouds catching the best of the colour. While it was nice to stop and rest, getting back on the camel faced with a further hour’s ride was very painful. The pins and needles had only just stopped. 








It was dark when we reached the tented camp at the base of a huge dune. It had begun to dawn on us over the previous twenty-four hours that we might not get the isolated desert camping experience we had hoped. It seemed there we a lot of Kasbahs with quad bikes and camel tracks heading in the same direction. When we rounded the last corner we were greeted with a lit village of camps, around fifteen to twenty in all. Our camp was the biggest and already had quite a few people there. Made up of an enclosed ring of black head high Berber tents with carpet strewn around a fire in the middle, the camp was warm and inviting. There was a toilet tent just a short distance away with two portable camping toilets, running water and a mirror. There were electric solar powered lamps outside and inside the tents and two dining room tents. This was definitely not camping as we know it. That night and the following day we were served an absolute banquet. We even got chicken and chips as a side dish. Following dinner the guides got together and played a traditional drum concert in front of the fire. Sadly the second and far noisier French family had arrived and took over the drums at around 11.00 when we were on our way to bed. Their whiskey fuelled drumming went on late into the night. This they accompanied by shouts and whistles over our tent into the dunes where there teenage sons were making a mess burning lots of things they shouldn’t be.



We had planned on staying in the desert for two nights. This is not the standard trip that the hotel offered, but we arranged it as we wanted to explore, feeling that the isolation and peace of the desert would be just what we needed after the madness of the last few months. What with the noisy French, the remarkably unforgiving sleeping surface of the sand and a few blankets, and the bitter bitter cold of the night meant that we all had plenty of time to think our decision through during the long night. We all arose the next morning keen to return to the relative luxury of the Kasbah. We all would have been willing to put up with the cold and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements if it hadn’t been for the ignorance of others determined to ruin the whole reason people go on a trip like that.

As it was our decision to return was the right one. We opted to stay out the day and ride back at sunset. This meant that we got to watch everyone else pack up and ride off while we hiked up the big dune in peace and quiet without anyone else around. I made it about two thirds of the way up along the steep ridge before I made the mistake of looking behind. At this point I got virtigo and had to sit down. Nick got summit fever and carried on while I stayed rooted in one place, one foot either side of the ridge, bottom firmly planted, scaring myself silly with thoughts of the walk back down. Going down is always harder than going up for me. Even though I only made it part way up the 150m (there is huge debate over the official height) dune I got to survey the Sahara stretching away in front of me with the camps and the occasional traditional nomadic ramshackle tent dwarfed by the dunes around them. 




Our camp, our tent was the bottom one.

The departing noise makers.




Our peaceful day in the Sahara worked out well. We got to relax and read books, explore in peace, ate an absolute banquet for four and got to attempt sandboarding without anyone there to laugh at us. Unlike snowboarding sandboarding gives little reward. Not only do you have to climb up and down the dunes on your own staem, the sand creates so much friction that you don't really move and if you are lucky enough to get going your jerk and stick when you hit a solid spot. We also seemed to pick the most fly infested place in all of the dunes. Our enthusiasm for the sport didn't last long. We spent most of the afternoon chilling out before gingerly mounting our camels and returning to the Kasbah for a night of showers, bed and more amazing food. 

The photo of the trip, Sarah's first time on a board.


Nick's nifty fly screen.


The view from the breakfast table.

The next day after another breakfast with a view, we set off on our drive home. While in the desert we had been able to see the snow on the mountains in the distance, another good example of the absolute extremes of this country. We were a bit concerned about the route back and how many obstacles we'd have to deal with. Luckily we had decided to break up our journey with a stop in the Ziz Valley. Nicolas, the father of one of my student's, had recommended a 200 year old Kasbah in an untouched mud village. This village is away from the normal tourist route and is set amongst an oasis of date palms that runs along either side of the River Ziz. This is an area where people live off the land and rarely venture out. We went out for a walk and quickly got lost amongst the plantations and trees. We seemed to have a bit of a Pied Piper affect on the local kids who followed us giggling at a distance before getting brave enough to walk between us. People were so friendly. What could have felt like a slightly threatening place had we been greeted with stares, felt welcoming as nearly every person we passed waved or said hello. 



The kasbah itself wasn't quite what we had hoped. It was old and maintained in a wonderful way, and the rooms were cozy and decorated in rugs. The lounge was immense with the biggest selection of multicoloured rugs I’ve seen outside of a carpet shop. The hosts were informative and friendly and were keen to tell us about how Prince Charles had nearly visited in April. The kasbah are at the forefront of sustainable farming in the area. On the day of the talk all the security were in place a sand storm prevented his flight. Sadly, our experience was ruined by the much promoted 'family' feel of the place. They had many children who without so much as a hello tried to steal cookies from in front of us and decided that outside our room in an echoey corridor was just the right place to sit and shout for about two hours. Beautiful place, probably won't be back. 


The rest of our journey back was reasonably stress free. We made it back in good enough time to go carpet shopping. I am developing a addiction to rival that of my drum habit in Thailand.... we now have six.