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| Tannery in Fes. |
Friday morning then - and just for a change, I'm woken up at dawn by the amplified call to prayer from the various Mosques. Again, I stifle the urge to yell back at them, 'no, god is not great, he probably doesn't even exist'. Might go down badly, especially on the holy day. Well, back to sleep for a bit, then breakfast and out for a wander about. The medina feels different to Marrakech, it is rather smaller, and built on a hill, mainly though an awful lot of the little booths are shut up so that the owner can spend all day either in, or hanging around one of the Mosques. In theory this should make it quieter, but I suspect that with the adults off praying (or in the case of the women, shut up at home), the result is that the teenage boys run free. We are dogged at every step by offers to take us to one thing or another, but the worst is that whenever we try to head out of the medina we find some youth following us, repeatedly telling us 'not that way', 'just houses', and 'closed'. No mate, it is not closed, a moped just came out of it for crying out loud. We emerge briefly to look at the ramparts, plus a large crowd of young men apparently selling caged birds to each other, as you do. Diving back in, we do the tourist thing and accept an offer to be taken up to a gallery to view the tannery, where traditional methods are used to turn goat, sheep, cow and camel hides into leather. Apparently pigeon droppings are involved, from the smell I can well believe it... on the way down I'm persuaded to buy a camel leather belt, and even manage to haggle. A bit.
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| Remains of the baths at Chellah. |
Can't say I am that impressed by Fes though, although the modern city a mile or so away is pleasant enough, and furnishes us with some lunch that is not a three course meal, which is good - specifically, shwarma and chips. From here it's a couple of hours' (motorway!) drive to Rabat, the capital of the country and not really rated as a tourist destination. Well, I would certainly rate the place... we park up by the Hassan Tower and take a look at the nearby Mosque (of course). Then a short drive takes us to the Chellah, a walled in area of gardens and amazing ruins, some dating back to Roman times, others from the middle ages including a mausoleum complex and various baths. What is more there are storks nesting throughout the site, giving Chris a chance to get some use out his DSLR. It's a pity we didn't get here until late in the afternoon, I could spend a day in this place but as it is the sun is going down and the gardiens are starting to urge people towards the exit. Back onto the motorway and on to Casablanca then. Motorway driving certainly is easier than the twisty mountain roads, or the craziness of the desert towns, but we still have some surprises - people herd sheep along the central reservation and sometimes wander into the carriageway, and as we approach Casablanca the traffic is heavier, and there is a fair bit of tailgating and undertaking going on. Actually it isn't that different to the M25...
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| Of all the gin joints in all the world... |
Casablanca then - a different atmosphere here, this is the business center of Morocco and we find ourselves at an anonymous commercial hotel. There are actual bars here, we have a choice of them! First one we walk into is full, the next nearly so but we huddle by the wall with some beer, and goggle somewhat as the barman brings us bowl after bowl of olives, salad, cucumber and so on. Shame we already have dinner booked and need to head off... on the plus side, it is at Rick's Café. Now I know, it isn't the real thing - the film wasn't even shot in this country - but, whatever, there certainly is a real atmosphere about the place with the piano playing and the fez-clad waiters. We consume cocktails and some thoroughly excellent food before heading back across town, where we experience new heights of touting and aggressive begging. Not sure if it is the readier availability of alchohol here, but these guys just won't leave us alone, actually grabbing my sleeve on a few occasions. We hide in a bar, which is an odd place in itself. The TV shows a group of women in a cheap studio, wearing slightly immodest clothing - leggings, a small amount of cleavage - either sat on sofas or dancing, while a lot of Arabic text scrolls along. Is this the Morrocan version of babestation? Can't say it holds my interest anyway, time for bed.
The next morning we hit the other 'worth a visit' spot in Casablanca - yes, there are two. This is the Hassan II Mosque, the third biggest in the world and the only one we're allowed into. It isn't a historic piece of architecture, this was built between 1987 and 1993, however it is certainly impressive, both in terms of size but also the ornate detail of carving, tiling, plasterwork and so forth. I can't help but feel a little depressed though to see this country which as we have seen is not short of poverty, and which lets its history wash away like sandcastles in the tide, spend so much on monumental religious architecture. Neither am I terribly impressed when the guide points out the 'womens gallery' - far fewer women than men are allowed in, and they're stuck up on the first floor where nobody can see them. Ah well, their country and I am just a tourist I suppose, still I am starting to look forward to getting back to London tomorrow, cold though it will doubtless be. Mind you, we seem to be bringing British weather to us today, barrelling along the motorway towards Marrakech the rain descends in biblical proportions, I even lose traction a few times, there is so much water on the road. Thankfully it stops long enough for us to grab some food in Settat - enough tagine already, we find a pizzeria. There is even one last kasbah to wander about - seems to have been turned into garages. Returning to Marrakech, we get lost in the souks one last time and grab some souvenir tat, then back to the modern city for food - a place called Cheese Me where as you might expect, we get a considerable variety of cheese, plus numerous wines to accompany. Pretty good for a last meal, and we have time for some final beers at the British Pub. Then, a night's sleep, an early start and back to actual Britain. It is, indeed, cold here...
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| Cheese Me! |
Photos to go with this post can be found here.
