We'd taken a very roundabout route to get to Meknes, which is really only about a 45 minute trip from Fes.
At first, and over much of our stay there it seemed a world away. Things were busy when we arrived, but as soon as Friday Prayers began everything quietened down to almost nothing. The streets mostly emptied. The hotel we'd checked out earlier and decided to stay at was unattended for a couple of hours. Even the Medina was almost deserted, with almost no one walking its alleys and virtually every shop shuttered.
Our street, just outside the Medina and forming its southern boundary was one of the livelier ones, so after eventually managing to check in to our hotel and taking an extended walk through the Medina-cum-ghosttown, we did find several open restaurants. The place we ate in Meknes became, if not our favourite in Morocco then at least the standard against which we judged all others. We had two bowls of Harira (delicious thick lentil, chick pea and noodle soup), a vegetable Tagine (a Tagine is pretty much anything cooked in a wide, shallow clay dish with a conical lid of the same name and is ubiquitous in Morocco) and a plate of deep fried potato patties, all of which came out to about NZD9.
We went to bed early in our basic, but clean and prettily tiled hotel, as we had a big day planned for Saturday.
We were up and out of our hotel before sunrise (at this time of year, a few weeks before the vernal equinox, this was surprisingly late, around 07:45). The city was slowly getting going for the morning, and we were some of the first few people on the city bus headed out to the town of Moulay Idriss. As in Fes, we were surprised by how suddenly the city ended, and most of our journey was spent speeding along country roads, somewhat incongruously in a jam-packed city bus filled with passengers and (further incongruously) goods for sale in Moulay Idriss including big piles of clothing and mannequins.
While our primary destination was the ruined Roman city of Volubilis, Moulay Idriss was a worthy destination in itself. The first capital of Moulay (Mullah) Idriss, founder of the Idrissid Dynasty who introduced Islam to Morocco in 789, scarcely 150 years after the religion was founded a continent away. Not much remains of its former glories, but the tomb of Moulay Idriss is an important shrine and pilgrimage site. And the town itself is postcard pretty, spilling down the slopes of two adjacent hills with the tomb and main square sitting in the saddle between them. We had a coffee on said square, and then paid a young man near the entrance of the tomb (non Muslims can't go inside) a few dirhams to lead us up the beautiful winding streets and alleys to a view out over the town.
Normally we'd have been happy to wander til we found it ourselves, but it was now almost ten o'clock and we still had the 5km walk out to the Volubilis site in front of us. I can hardly imagine a more pleasant way to spend a sunny spring morning than strolling along the wide shoulder of the road through rolling fields and olive groves, the pillars and arches of an ancient city growing closer over the hour-long walk.
The Volubilis site began in pre-Roman times as a Phonecian city, and carried on well after as an Arab one. But most of its legacy is Roman. It was a prosperous agricultural centre, manufacturing olive oil and flour for export. The ruins of the common houses, gateway arches, public baths, mills and temples were impressive in size and fun to explore, but the real highlight were the mansions of the city's wealthy merchants, which contained an impressive collection of mosaics. They were in great condition, some of them showing colours that looked so bright and fresh that they might have been laid a few weeks before.
There were lots of tour buses there, and plenty of Moroccan visitors who'd arrived in private vehicles or taxi. But they tended to clump together in large groups so you really just needed to stop for a while or walk extra quickly whenever you encountered one and soon enough you'd have it to yourself again.
On our way home the walk was a bit hotter and sunnier, but still pleasant enough. And as we boarded the bus down below Moulay Idriss on the main road, it was much busier when we got aboard. Buy hospitable Moroccans fairly quickly insisted that the visitors ought to have seats, with no hope of refusal, so we made the 50km journey back to Meknes in relative comfort anyway.
Back in town, the day of rest behind them, merchants, snake charmers and storytellers in the square were doing a bustling business with large crowds of locals and visitors alike. The Medina was once more a hive of activity. And our previous day's afternoon coffee spot on a sunny terrace looking over the new town, had plenty of custom as well.
We visited all of these, as well as the (remains of the) palace complex and tomb of Moulay Ismail, the 17th century king who had made Meknes his capital. The whole experience was like a toned down version of Fes. Smaller and less energetic, but almost entirely without the (limited) hassles of its more famous cousin down the road.
The next morning we woke up even earlier, once again well before sunrise and walked to the nearest train station in the new town to catch a 07:53 service to Morocco's modern capital, Rabat.
The train ride was great. Smooth, quick and quite comfortable in a nice modern carriage (even in second class).
Rabat is often written off as a bit boring and lacking in the grandeur of Morocco's other imperial cities. But it was on our way, so we decided to stop for an afternoon and evening and have a look around. It was definitely worthwhile.
Our walk to our Airbnb took us along the main drag of colonial and modern government buildings, monumental, white and palm fronted.
The Atlantic was sending big swell onto the shore and the waterfront was coated in salty mist by the huge waves smashing into the rocks. Further north past a breakwater, the bay was filled with surfers who simply walked to the end and hopped into the water, saving themselves the trouble of paddling out. Then in the blue-painted Casbah (fortress) looking over the oceanic turmoil we had a pleasant wander through a residential area and French designed colonial era gardens.
Across the street in the Medina, Sarah got her hair cut. The salon was a tiny space inside a Medina doorway with a curtain covering the front (no men allowed inside, or even looking that way). The lady got the length about how Sarah wanted it, but had very much her own ideas about what sort of style suited her, so Sarah ended up with a fringe that wasn't entirely in her haircut plans.
Our final stop for the day was a former imperial mosque. Former because it was destroyed by an earthquake and only (very) partially restored. All that really remains today are the somewhat abbreviated minaret and the floor plan laid out as a series of partial height columns. But it still looks pretty cool and judging by the number of people picnincking, posing for photos and playing amongst the forest of columns, its still a popular spot for Morrocan and foreign tourists and Rabat residents alike.
For dinner we contented ourselves (as we did for maybe half of our meals in Morocco!) with bread, olives and tomatoes. The bread was usually either round, soft Moroccan loaves, or crusty French baguettes (another legacy of the colonial era). The Moroccan bread was more reliable, but the baguettes were often good, sometimes very good, with a crispy, crusty outside and a dense chewy interior. The olives meanwhile, were pretty much always great. Dedicated olive shops would be fronted with great piles of multiple varieties. Often they'd be flavoured with preserved lemon, or parsley or ground nuts or garlic or hot pepper or various combinations of these. And at around NZD2.50 a kilo it's no surprise that we ate lots and lots of them.
It was yet another early morning for transportation as we returned to the station, this time heading southward along the coast via Casablanca (where we stopped for a coffee and to change trains) to the small city of El Jadida.
We arrived just after noon and were met at the station by my friend Gareth. We know one another from my annual visits to the World Boardgaming Championships in the US, where I think he is probably the only regular attendee from Africa. We headed back to his place and met his roommates Austin, She and (the one whose name I've forgotten) (cats) and Douschka (small dog, who was the newest addition to the family). Douschka had just recently been spayed, and so was wearing a cone round her neck to keep her from biting at her stitches. The cone led to lots of intrigued questions from Moroccans as we took her for walks on the nearby beach. And the operation itself led to Gareth's Moroccan co-workers going from regarding him as a kind gentleman for rescuing a street dog to seeing him as a big meanie for denying his pet the joys of sex and motherhood.
On our first afternoon with Gareth we had a look around the old Portuguese fortress at the centre of town. We had a fabulous lunch at a fancy restaurant (roughly four times the price of our meals in Meknes, but that fish Tagine… perfectly cooked and packed full of delicious herbs and caramelized veggies…)
We went for a walk up on the ramparts and took a visit down to the cistern, whose magical atmosphere is perfected by the shallow pool of water they allow to remain on its bottom, forming a perfect mirror of the arched roof and well opening above.
We finished the day with a drive out to the even more lovely Sidi Bouzid beach South of town to take Douschka for another walk and then to enjoy dinner on a rooftop terrace overlooking the Atlantic.
Back home before bed I got to try my first two Moroccan beers: Flag (pretty average boring international lager) and Casablanca (surprisingly okay pilsner).
The next day we took a road trip down the coast road. It was a weird mix of lovely (wild beaches and rocky points) and yucky (phosphate factories, petrochemical plants and a coal fired power station). But Oualidia, where we stopped for (another delicious seafood based) lunch was magical. It had a huge lagoon, mostly blocked from the wild, ragged waves of the Atlantic by sand dunes, and probably the loveliest beach yet. It's no wonder it's a major beach resort in the summer. In March, however it was pretty quiet, with only boatmen offering rides out on the lagoon and guys on mopeds selling oysters to distract from the tranquility.
Back home we prepared a dinner of curry and roti (a wee taste of home for Gareth who, though having lived in Morocco for nine years, is originally from the UK). While cooking and eating we tried our first Moroccan wine. Alcohol is legal in Morocco, but licenses to sell it are few, and it's usually tucked away in dark dusty shops or segregated corners of a few select supermarkets. The wine was surprisingly good. We had two (genuinely “gris”) pinot gris and enjoyed them both. Morocco's winemakers have obviously made the most of their hot, dry Mediterranean climate and the French legacy.
Later that evening Gareth and I talked games a bit (I was distressed to learn that I'm statistically the worst player in WBC history at Napoleonic Wars, though I blame this on the fact that I actively seek out opportunities to play long-suffering Austria). And Gareth showed of the prototype of a his Wars of the French Revolution game that I'm honestly excited to try out.
And that was our busy visit to El Jadida. The next morning Gareth drove us to the bus station in town, we (with the assistance of learning where and when buses were departing to) decided on a destination and we were once again off to explore more of Morocco.
No comments:
Post a Comment