SOMEDAY MAYBE
Abdul pulled the van to a halt just outside the walls of Fez el-Bali, the old city of Fez, an enclosed medina of ten thousand or so narrow, indecipherably arranged, completely unmappable streets, alleys, cul-de-sacs, pass-throughs, corridors, homes, businesses, markets, mosques, souks, and hamams (saunas). Over thirty thousand residents live densely packed together in a labyrinth that a lifetime of exploration would never fully explain or reveal - even to a native. Cars, motorbikes, and any other kind of vehicle are not permitted inside the city's walls, as they would be useless. It's too crowded, the streets too narrow, a busy rabbit warren of crumbling walls, sudden drops, steeply inclined steps, switchbacks, turn-offs and dead ends. A thin old man in a djellaba was waiting for us by the outer wall and promptly loaded our luggage into a primitive wooden cart, then headed to a slim break in the wall of what remains - in form, if not in function - a fortress city.
The old city dates back to A.D. 800 and many of its standing structures were built as far back as the fourteenth century. It has been the center of power and intrigue for many of Morocco's ruling dynasties. The fortress architecture is not just a style statement. The buildings, the layout, the walls, the location, as well as the city's agricultural and culinary traditions, all reflect an ancient seige mentality. As the Portugues and Spanish have adopted bacalao - a method of preserving fish for long periods - as a way to ensure naval power, the citizens of Fez have a culinary repertoire developed around survival, food hoarding, preservation and self-sufficiency. Back in the old days, marauding armies from other regions were common, and the standard medieval strategy for taking down a walled city was simply to surround it with superior force, choke off its supply routes, and starve the opponents out. Fez's mazelike walls within walls structure, surrounded by exterior fortifying walls, were constructed as defense against the tactic. Neither infantry nor cavalry would have had an easy time of it even once inside the outer walls, for troops would have had to divert constantly into narrow columns, vulnerable to attack from ahead, behind, and above.
A building's exterior reveals nothing of what's inside. A simple outer door might open onto a palatial residence or a simple private home. Furthermore, between the floors of a building, many homes have hollowed-out areas suitable for stashing food and hiding fugitives. An early hub for the spice routes from south and east, Fez made use of the spices and ingredients from other cultures, particularly when it came to the practical necessities of repelling potential invaders. Air-dried meat, pickled vegetables, preserved fruit, cured food, a protein diet consisting largely of animals easily raised and contained behind high walls - all remain features of Fez's cuisine. The preponderance of inaccessible wells and walled gardens are design features one might well find quaint and even luxurious now. Back then, they were shrewd and even vital additions to the neighborhood. Wealthier citizens of the old city still pride themselves on growing their own dates, figs, lemons, oranges, olives, and almonds, and pulling their own water out of the ground. Situated in the middle of a wide valley, surrounded by unforgiving hills and plains, invaders almost always began to go hungry before the residents and were forced to withraw long before the food ran out inside the walls.
We followed our porter up and down nameless dark alleys, past sleeping beggars, donkeys, soccer-playing kids, merchants selling gum and cigarettes, until we arrived at a dimly lighted doorway in a featureless outer wall. A few sharp knocks echoed through an inner chamber, and an eager young man appeared to welcome us into a deceptively plain passageway large enough to accommodate riders on horseback. Around a corner, I stepped into another world. A spacious antechamber opened up onto a quiet enclosed patio, with a round breakfast table situated beneath a lemon tree. The air smelled of oleander and fresh flowers. Looming up in the center of a vast open space of terraced patios with tiled floors rose what can only be described as a palace, a gargantuan high-ceilinged structure surrounded by out-buildings, a large garden with fruit trees, a small pond, and a well - the residence, it appeared, of a medieval merchant prince, all within the impenetrable walls of the crowded medina.
My residence contained a sitting room and a bedroom with elaborately handcrafted bookshelves, couches covered in embroidered cushions, and Berber rugs on the floors. Upstairs, beyond the top of the estate's walls, no window opened onto the outer world. Those peeking in from a vantage point on the hills outside the city would see only a bare white surface. As I unpacked my belongings, the muezzin's call from the mosque next door resonated through the hard-tiled courtyard. It was easily the most fantastic residence I had ever seen, much less stayed in, a buidling many times older than my whole country.
- taken from A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain
I want to go to Fez. I want to go to Fez in Morocco. I want to walk up and down its narrow streets, engage its steep sudden drops and probably get lost in its maze of walls. I want to taste authentic Moroccan couscous, brochette and tagine. I want to know how bad air permeated with the stench of tanneries smells. I want to hear the haunting chant of the muezzin's call for prayer.
I just want to know.
Maybe someday...
Abdul pulled the van to a halt just outside the walls of Fez el-Bali, the old city of Fez, an enclosed medina of ten thousand or so narrow, indecipherably arranged, completely unmappable streets, alleys, cul-de-sacs, pass-throughs, corridors, homes, businesses, markets, mosques, souks, and hamams (saunas). Over thirty thousand residents live densely packed together in a labyrinth that a lifetime of exploration would never fully explain or reveal - even to a native. Cars, motorbikes, and any other kind of vehicle are not permitted inside the city's walls, as they would be useless. It's too crowded, the streets too narrow, a busy rabbit warren of crumbling walls, sudden drops, steeply inclined steps, switchbacks, turn-offs and dead ends. A thin old man in a djellaba was waiting for us by the outer wall and promptly loaded our luggage into a primitive wooden cart, then headed to a slim break in the wall of what remains - in form, if not in function - a fortress city.
The old city dates back to A.D. 800 and many of its standing structures were built as far back as the fourteenth century. It has been the center of power and intrigue for many of Morocco's ruling dynasties. The fortress architecture is not just a style statement. The buildings, the layout, the walls, the location, as well as the city's agricultural and culinary traditions, all reflect an ancient seige mentality. As the Portugues and Spanish have adopted bacalao - a method of preserving fish for long periods - as a way to ensure naval power, the citizens of Fez have a culinary repertoire developed around survival, food hoarding, preservation and self-sufficiency. Back in the old days, marauding armies from other regions were common, and the standard medieval strategy for taking down a walled city was simply to surround it with superior force, choke off its supply routes, and starve the opponents out. Fez's mazelike walls within walls structure, surrounded by exterior fortifying walls, were constructed as defense against the tactic. Neither infantry nor cavalry would have had an easy time of it even once inside the outer walls, for troops would have had to divert constantly into narrow columns, vulnerable to attack from ahead, behind, and above.
A building's exterior reveals nothing of what's inside. A simple outer door might open onto a palatial residence or a simple private home. Furthermore, between the floors of a building, many homes have hollowed-out areas suitable for stashing food and hiding fugitives. An early hub for the spice routes from south and east, Fez made use of the spices and ingredients from other cultures, particularly when it came to the practical necessities of repelling potential invaders. Air-dried meat, pickled vegetables, preserved fruit, cured food, a protein diet consisting largely of animals easily raised and contained behind high walls - all remain features of Fez's cuisine. The preponderance of inaccessible wells and walled gardens are design features one might well find quaint and even luxurious now. Back then, they were shrewd and even vital additions to the neighborhood. Wealthier citizens of the old city still pride themselves on growing their own dates, figs, lemons, oranges, olives, and almonds, and pulling their own water out of the ground. Situated in the middle of a wide valley, surrounded by unforgiving hills and plains, invaders almost always began to go hungry before the residents and were forced to withraw long before the food ran out inside the walls.
We followed our porter up and down nameless dark alleys, past sleeping beggars, donkeys, soccer-playing kids, merchants selling gum and cigarettes, until we arrived at a dimly lighted doorway in a featureless outer wall. A few sharp knocks echoed through an inner chamber, and an eager young man appeared to welcome us into a deceptively plain passageway large enough to accommodate riders on horseback. Around a corner, I stepped into another world. A spacious antechamber opened up onto a quiet enclosed patio, with a round breakfast table situated beneath a lemon tree. The air smelled of oleander and fresh flowers. Looming up in the center of a vast open space of terraced patios with tiled floors rose what can only be described as a palace, a gargantuan high-ceilinged structure surrounded by out-buildings, a large garden with fruit trees, a small pond, and a well - the residence, it appeared, of a medieval merchant prince, all within the impenetrable walls of the crowded medina.
My residence contained a sitting room and a bedroom with elaborately handcrafted bookshelves, couches covered in embroidered cushions, and Berber rugs on the floors. Upstairs, beyond the top of the estate's walls, no window opened onto the outer world. Those peeking in from a vantage point on the hills outside the city would see only a bare white surface. As I unpacked my belongings, the muezzin's call from the mosque next door resonated through the hard-tiled courtyard. It was easily the most fantastic residence I had ever seen, much less stayed in, a buidling many times older than my whole country.
- taken from A Cook's Tour by Anthony Bourdain
I want to go to Fez. I want to go to Fez in Morocco. I want to walk up and down its narrow streets, engage its steep sudden drops and probably get lost in its maze of walls. I want to taste authentic Moroccan couscous, brochette and tagine. I want to know how bad air permeated with the stench of tanneries smells. I want to hear the haunting chant of the muezzin's call for prayer.
I just want to know.
Maybe someday...
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