Ancient History

For those interested in History and remains of the past, Morocco is undoubtedly one of the greatest places on Earth to explore. Aside from the Medinas that showcase a life trapped in a time warp, and the crumbling ruins of the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs, there is evidence of life long since passed in every small village or town you go to. Ramparts that would be walled and protected elsewhere are used as a place to secure animals or park a car. People here have a great deal of respect for the past, but this respect is doused with practicality. Why cordon off a strip of 10^th Century wall when it could be used to build a new home against, after all, it’s only a wall.

While in Meknes and Fes you see stretches of these imposing walls. Up to 15 metres in height the one in Meknes winds around the city for 25 kilometres. Understandably crumbling in places, this wall was commissioned by the 17^th Century ruler Moulay Ismail after he took over control of the weakened country from his brother who was killed when he fell off a horse in 1672. Sadly Moulay Ismail was so busy building walls and seeing off the competition for right of rule from his 83 brothers and half-brothers, that he was unable to finish building what would have been one of the greatest palaces in the country. Murdering those who failed to submit to his rule, family or otherwise, Moulay Ismail who was also known as Warrior King was one of the greatest leaders of the era. Famous for doing gruesome things such as adorning his new wall with the heads of slain enemies he also managed to build up 160,000 strong elite army called the ‘Black Guard’. This fearsome army successfully subdued the rest of the Moroccan feuding tribes, get rid of most of the Spanish and Brits from the country, and prevent further invasion. This army grew from 16,000 slaves that Moulay Ismail brought from sub Saharan Africa. By providing them with women he bought not only their allegiance but also their children who grew to become soldiers.

As well as all the wall building, murder, fighting and organising, Moulay Ismail fathered literally hundreds of children (876 if you believe Wiki). This caused chaos when he died as it took years to resolve the small issue of who was to be his successor.

Visiting Moulay Ismail’s Mausoleum, it takes a moment for it to register that not only is there no entrance booth; there are also no pestering guides, no information pamphlet or even a single sign. Set into one of his majestic and ornate walls the tomb is reached by walking through five connected courtyards. Contrary to guide book predictions during our visit we didn’t have to squeeze past busloads of tourists and had the place more or less to ourselves. Blue sky contrasts with the tall yellow walls and colourful mosaics. Fountains add to the sense of peace. The aim of the courtyards and fountains being to humble and calm all visitors before they reach the tomb of Moulay Ismail. The simplicity of the first four courtyards contrast greatly with the fifth area and the tomb itself. Foreigners are not allowed to approach the tomb and have to stop in the fifth area. This is possibly the most spectacular space anyway, with light pouring through high windows onto some of the finest craftsmanship that Morocco has to offer. Years’ worth of carving, engraving and mosaic laying has survived through the ages.

As beautiful as the interior is, it is the external courtyards which leave a lasting impression. The fountains, calls of the birds high on the walls and gentle sweeping of the old man in charge of keeping the place tidy, all combine to make it a very serene escape from the harsh light and honking cars outside. 

 

 

Simple Things...

I had been concerned about how I would feel coming back to Ifrane. The last five months have been some of the most stressful I’ve ever had. When people back home asked how I had lost 10 kilos in the last year my response is simply 'stress at altitude'. After leaving friends and family and having such a good time at home over Christmas I was anticipating the heavy weight of dread to arrive on my shoulders as soon as I walked through the door to our apartment. Instead it just felt nice to be back in our cosy home surrounded by all our cushions, rugs, art and high wooden ceiling. We had given ourselves three days before school started to settle back in. then when we started we only had two days of teaching before the weekend. This is definitely a recommended way to ease back into the swing of things.

As well as the cosy apartment there have been a few other things that have made it easier coming back. First is the sun. The sky is as crystal clear as ever and is that deep blue of summer holidays. It is glorious outdoor living weather. It makes you want to run, cycle and hike whenever you have time. I have nearly done more exercise this week then the last 5 months combined. At night it gets down to freezing and in the day it is said to feel around 10-15 degrees. Our thermometer on our window claims got up to 57.5 degrees C yesterday. We live in a sun trap. Next week it is forecast to be maximum of 2 degrees, minimum of -8 degrees. Those snow boots and thermals aren't going to be waisted then.

When we arrived back we were car-less and felt slightly lost. We had only purchased it two weeks before we left and already feel dependant and lost without it. It's amazing how well we coped before, then two weeks with a car and calling a taxi or catching the shuttle bus seems like too much of a faff. We had left the car at a mechanics to get checked out over the holiday. It was returned to us having had a Moroccan style service including the replacement of four engine belts, the spare tyre and drivers wing mirror, all for about 150 GBP. The spare tyre cost 15 Dirhams. One Pound is 13 Dirhams. We are baffled by this as tyres aren't that cheap here. It is a bit battered and old, but it's a snow tyre and as long as it gets us to a garage in an emergency you can't go wrong for less than one pound fifty. Now we have a car again and we have found that if you hit a bump right we can get the stereo working and life feels so much better with music in the car. Blue sky, sun, music and wheels.... it's that joy only a seventeen year old understands. The difference is that unlike when I was seventeen I’ll actually be able to drive a bit. Ifrane is the perfect place to get back behind to wheel. The speed limit is about thirty kilometres an hour in most places with speed bumps and roundabouts... it's a drivers training area.

As well as fully appreciating the freedom of a car, we have found that absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder. Being away has made me appreciate our surroundings far more. There seems to be beauty at every turn. The trees, lakes and buildings are spectacular at the moment. All set of by the colour of the sky and that feel good feeling of the sun on a frosty morning. We have been out to our favourite restaurant three or four times this week. Sun, blue sky, warm fragrant bread and pastries, fresh orange juice, good coffee and Bob Marley while overlooking the impressive football skills of the local kids playing in the village square. What a way to relax and unwind. This is a good start to my new chilled 'it will get done when it's done, don't stress' attitude. 

The final little revelation and potentially imminent life changing discovery was made on Friday night. Out with friends for a little reminiscing of the good holiday life, we found our regular drinking bar in the Hotel Grande had been made uninviting a looked closed. We had liked this area of the hotel as although it was usually empty it was small and cosy so you didn't feel weird. It also had nice non florescent lighting and wasn't full of smoke. Because it was small we could make our own atmosphere and pretend we were out in a normal bar. To our disappointment it was closed and we had to revert to the other drinking area of the bar. Called Charlie's Pub and probably the most pub like room we have seen in Morocco, it was silent and quite dark, with two tables taken by people with no drinks who decided their best entertainment was to stare at the foreigners. Gradually the place filled up and became less silent. Sadly it also became s lot more smoky, but you want people and atmosphere here then you have to have smoke. Everybody smokes and being behind the times as they are they generally choose to do it indoors. So, surrounded by smoke we were also surrounded by other people drinking, chatting and having a good time. I was quite perplexed when I went to the toilet and had to navigate my was around two semi naked women applying make up in there. When I returned a small group of local musicians had set up and started to play. After a short time the aforementioned ladies came out to dance, thankfully wearing a lot more clothing (otherwise I’m not sure I could have coped with the embarrassment. Thailand is one thing, but go-go bars in a place where it's rude to show an ankle is a bit wrong). These girls wearing high necked, long sleeved floor length flowing white dresses had jangly belts around their waist. The preceded to belly dance around the tables. My only experience of belly dancing has been of slightly older and droopy rotund women wearing very little and wobbling too close to your wine glass. This 'covered' version was much more flattering. While we were working out a polite moment to leave they came over and danced either side of our friend. In most other place money would be exchanged for this, but here where offence and insult occurs far easier we didn't really know what to do. It was only after leaving and checking with the bar tender that we were told that is what the belts are for. While this kind of drinking, music and dancing is not really what we are used to and long for, it is a huge improvement on what we thought we had access to.

On a further note this week...

….ended up being pulled up to join the belly dancing and was given jangly belt as well,

….newly fixed car is squealing horrifically,

…..had about 30 cm of snow and have lived in snow boots for a week. Thermometer at this moment says 51 degrees yet there is still snow on the roof across from us. Sitting in the apartment in a towel with windows open and feeling hot while there are still piles of snow outside is a little weird.

Christmas Celebration Marathon

Much concern was expressed by family and friends who read this blog on a regular basis upon our return home for Christmas. On reflection, it does seem that there have been an increasing number of negative posts over the last few months. What with the stress of planning, battles for resources and the claustrophobic nature of living in a small village with little to do in the way of socialising, it had been difficult to see the positive side of life. We spent the last month focused upon going home for two and a half weeks at Christmas. All my thoughts were on quality time with friends and family, pints, pubs, cheap shopping, chips and gravy, Asian food and my first Christmas dinner with my mum in seven years. It is only when you live abroad that you really appreciate the cold and rainy England.

Thankfully our return for our first Christmas home in four years was everything we hoped and much much more. Some of the many highlights included a Christmas Day drivathon; five visits in twelve hours, seventeen different pubs, a Decathlon shopping frenzy (you can never have enough stylish sporty black jackets, Nick now has one for every season), my Mum's Christmas dinner with so many trimmings I left feeling despondent that I hadn't eaten enough and days of waking up at Nick's house which was as warm and welcoming as ever. Sadly the time at home passed quicker than we'd expected. And after a week I already had a growing sense of panic and guilt that we weren't going to see everyone. Two and a half weeks had seemed like such a long time. As we worked out our packed schedule and tried to divvy nights between mums fairly we quickly realised it wasn't actually much time at all. Both mums seemed quite shocked when we gave them their allocated four evenings each... where does the time go? Did we really need so much time in Ireland...? Had we made the right decision just going for the cheapest flights rather than the days that fit best. Surely there is only so much Guinness and Bulmers you can drink in the quaint Irish tardises that are otherwise known as pubs.

Thankfully the amount of time in Ireland was just right. We arrived after about five days of solid catching up and we were in much need of a quiet meal, a big comfy sofa and control of a TV remote. This was exactly what we were given. This gave us enough time to recover our enthusiasm for New Year's Eve the following day. New Year is a tricky one and probably leaves 90% of revellers feeling they didn't quite get what they were hoping for and it wasn't quite the night of the year they anticipated. Every year many of us say that we are going to have a quiet one so as not to start the New Year with stress and disappointment. You buy a new outfit, do the hair and make up and plan for the best night of the year. Generally what actually happens is you pay a fortune to get into a place so busy you can't even get to the bar to buy one of the overpriced drinks that strangely fail on this one mighty let it all go night to actually get you drunk. You can't find a seat and there are so many people it's difficult to find the ones you actually want to talk to and bring the New Year in with. Then, to top it all of if you're ripped off on the taxi ride home, that is if you're one of the fortunate few who actually manage to get a taxi to take you anywhere useful. Maybe this isn't everyone's view of New Year, maybe I’m just getting old.

New Year in Ireland was probably one of the best New Years I’ve ever had. Opting for a meal in for and then a short ride to the local where drinks were reasonable and it was free to get in was a spark of genius. The local in question is about thirty minutes outside of Galway in a small village. About the size of a farmhouse kitchen, this one room thatched roof pub had a steady stream of music we liked, a cosy corner we wedged ourselves into between the window and the bar (instant service on New Year's Eve, surely not) and welcoming locals that sounded like Brad Pitt in Snatch. Immersed in gossip and banter we got steadily smashed and enjoyed a lock in and dancing towards the later hours. Even the premenstrual tattooed-motor bike riding bar manager didn't manage to spoil the night. Just because someone broke a glass and fell out of the toilet doesn't mean you need to get all stressy on us.

We recovered from our New Year celebration in true Irish fashion; bacon, black pudding, white pudding, sausages and eggs before embarking on a day exploring the pubs in town. Galway has an incredible density of pubs. There are probably more pubs than any other type of shop or restaurant. Every pub has a unique atmosphere. You get sucked into one and find it hard to leave. You force yourself out and into the one next door and feel a sense of loss over the one you just left. Moments later having gone round a corner, down the stairs, into a bar, through another bar, up the stairs, past the musicians and across a balcony do you find that you are still in the same bar and not in fact in another realm and you have been engulfed of the jovial easy going warmth of yet another tardis of a pub. After five months of publess Ifrane the pints, the music and the good 'craic' that surrounds you everywhere you go in Galway was just what we needed.

Having had such a good time in Galway we returned to England for more celebrating. We drove from Manchester across the unusually pretty moors to Sheffield for Nick's brother's wedding. With concern about getting over Snake Pass in wind and wild weather we were staying in the hotel the day before the wedding. This allowed us to spend some more quality time with all parts of Nick's family. The wedding was beautiful; a meeting of Persian and Western culture and special for all lucky enough to be there. The highlight of the night was the groom's take on the 'second' dance where he danced in a rather inventive way wearing shades and an afro wig in front of his new wife and the bridesmaids to Daddy Cool. There is something strange that happens to men when they attend weddings. After trying to avoid it at all costs the rest of the time, at weddings they suddenly find their disco grove and hit the dance floor like it's going out of fashion. Andrew and Shima's wedding was no exception. In fact the dance floor was mainly filled with men most of the night. It was strange to be the only female at times. And no, they weren't gay.

Thankfully after my initial panic we did manage to spend enough time with people. Always planned to the last minute anyway, we became quite creative with our time keeping. We 'double dated' with friends and family. This led to one rather entertaining evening where my step dad Karl (a Manchester City supporter) enjoyed winding up Nick's dad Eric (a United supporter) over a Thai meal. Despite a few tense moments for me and Nick everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. We also ended up out with my family and friends for an Indian that while being very tasty was slightly bizarre due to the fact that 80's music was blasted out through the restaurant all evening. You would trail off mid sentence momentarily distracted by the chronic taste in music that someone had.

For all those who were concerned, our return to Ifrane has been surprisingly positive. I shan't write about it now. Living in a sleepy village doesn't provide much in the way of interesting reading so it can be kept for next week. 

Sadly we were unprecedently camera lazy this holiday so have no pictures. Christopher Collins needs to post them... and having trouble downloading wedding ones.

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 café. 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.

Riad Fellousia http://www.riadfelloussia.com/

Riad 53 http://www.fes-ryad53.com/

Maison d'a Cote http://www.riadmaisondacote.com/riad_meknes.php

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.

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 9^th Century. Most of the rest of it from the 12^th. What is called ‘New Fes’ was added on during the 13^th 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...