June 6th: Slow train to Fes

Photos for June 6th: Essaouira to Fes

The alarm clock went off at a cruel and inhuman hour; we had purchased tickets to Fes. My aunt had it all planned, we would walk to Bab el Menzeh and catch a taxi the short distance to the Supratours office, near Bastion su Sud, for the 6.30am bus. No problem … until we reached Bab El Menzeh and ne’er a taxi was there in sight. We were told they don't start running until 7am… It was now 6.15am. Only one thing for it, sprint through the Place Orson Welles, past Bab Sbaa, through the gardens. I say sprint, but my friends know I don't run - although my kids claim they had to grow such long legs to keep up with my walking pace. As for my aunt, well, she’s a game old biddy, but I've seen snails outdo her. I grabbed the bags and set off, hoping against hope that the bus wouldn't leave early. Rounding the corner I could see the bus still there, motor running. A glance behind and my aunt was nowhere in sight! I ran into the ticket office, showed the tickets, went outdoors to plead to hold the bus, when she suddenly appeared. Yes! We were on our way to Fes, in 3 hours we would be in Marakesh.

It was still Ramadan, so at 7.30am the bus stopped for the driver to eat. Lo and behold, there was a stall flying a Union Jack, displaying pictures of mouth watering burgers, fish and chips … but, closed for Ramadan. I'm interested to see what changes take place after Ramadan.

I watched the countryside pass by. Looking forward to sights of the Atlas mountains, but we edged onto the motorway and sped on to Marakesh.

We disembarked, knowing we had 30 minutes to have some lunch and find the train before it departed. Thankfully the coach had deposited us right at the train station, no searching except for the platform number. No lunch. No food anywhere, except for the bread, boiled eggs and yogurts we'd had the foresight to pack.

The train station in Marakesh is lovely; clean, well organised, the employees friendly and helpful - even in a language they didn't know! The train was waiting at the platform … I love train rides, and this was going to be a long one! We boarded the train and, as with everything else when we travel, I let my aunt make the choices… because I refuse to get settled in one place then move to another. So, if we had to walk the length of the train to find a clean, unoccupied, compartment, then that's what we were going to do because we would be on this train for 8 hours.

Settled and comfortable in our compartment, the train slowly chugged its way out of the station. I hadn't had time to look at the route. I hadn't had time to check out the things to do in either Fes or Meknes… all I knew was ‘old medina.’ I was tired, grumpy, and facing backwards unable to take photos of the anticipated change in the countryside. But, we were once again on the move. Next stop Fes.

The countryside changed enormously as we headed almost due North, from Marakesh to Casablanca, from Sandy to lush green and plenty of agriculture. We passed through Casablanca, seeing the ocean in the distance, and continued northeast, along the coast, to Rabat. Public transportation reveals a lot about the communities it passes through. The commuters at Marakesh train station held a near 50/50 mix of European and Arabic clothing. Rabat could have been almost any European city; young, smart, jeans, dockers, cell phones glued to their ears … even the slow walk had been replaced by the rapid weaving those of us from big cities are used to. I'd love to explore this City. We stayed northeastward, towards Kenitra, wondering whether we were in Morocco or speeding through the English countryside; stone walls, fields of green vegetables and golden wheat. Our fellow commuters confirmed that we were not in England.

At Kenitra we turned Eastward, watching the homes become poorer, more sparse, with small cities or towns in the distance. Our fellow commuters definitely more Arabic than European. Meknes, where would be in a couple of days, and finally, Fes. I had done no research, I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I wanted a hotel to aim for and not just to direct the taxi driver to “the medina.” I finally made myself understood to my aunt, and we sat and looked though the usual - expedia, trip advisor … everything was booked! Finally, Riad Dar Guennoun. They had a room with 2 beds, and we could reserve it. I had asked about transportation at the ticket counter in the train station and was told that taxi fare to the medina should run around 10 dirham, and that there were no buses. I get the feeling that people assume we won't rough it on a local bus, how wrong they are!

The taxis wait in line outside the train station, much the same as anywhere else in the world … they all insisted the charge would be 50 dirham … “old part of medina, far away, is Ramadan.” Welcome to Fes! I seriously can't wait for Ramadan to end. I may celebrate with them.

The taxi driver wanted assurance that we had a reservation, as the Riad was not on a main street and someone would have to come out and get us. So our trip was conducted with me connecting to our hotspot, transmitting information to my aunt to translate into French for the driver to make phone calls in Arabic to the hotel staff, all while zipping around roundabouts. Welcome to Fes!

The taxi driver waited with us until the young male receptionist from the hotel came to meet us and walk with us to the hotel … just up these steps, and these steps, and around this corner and up these steps, to this street and up these steps and here is the hotel. We don't have a room at the rate you reserved, but we have another with 2 beds, just up these steps to the top of the riad. I should point out that the steps in the riad resemble those of old cathedrals; they are stone, steep, narrow, and spiral. And we had had a long day.

I told my aunt to stay put while the receptionist and I went all the way back down to fill out the papers and for me to get the wifi password. I would return and we could decide on dinner. As I began filling out papers, sure enough, there she was by my side! I summoned all that was left of my patience and asked whether she wanted to go out for dinner now, or return to the room and look through a map.  You guessed it, the answer was “yes.” I know this is my fault, I know I should have made a better attempt to learn French before my trip, but still, something inside me died. We walked out of the hotel, retraced our many steps to the street and sought a restaurant - because it was now well after 7.30pm, and food should be available for tired, hungry travelers.

We found the Cafe R’cif and were led to the elegant rooftop terrace where we ordered tea. Apparently that was the signal for the waiter to forget about us … more running up and down stairs to make it known that yes, we would like to eat. SOON. Two lamb tajines please …  Delicious as they were, they were consumed in stony silence.

During dinner we were approached by a young Italian woman, a student, wanting to know if we wanted to share a taxi to the airport the next day. She then told us about her hotel, a nearby riad, Riad la Source Bleue … at ground level… that included breakfast, was cheap and very clean.

You know what comes next, don't you? My aunt called the current riad to cancel our stay - although they had our bags. I found the Source Bleue online and made two reservations, one for 2 nights, the other for one night … just in case. We walked to the new riad to check that it was acceptable. I sat, firmly planted in the lobby, sending my aunt up the stairs to see the rooms. One of the two managers - both named Isham - accompanied us to the Riad Dar Guennon where we picked up our bags and then brought us safely home to the Riad de la Source Bleue. We ascended the steps to our room… only to discover that we had separate rooms, a salon separating the rooms with a balcony looking into the riad, and a bathroom with toiletries… all for a total of €30 per night, and that included breakfast!!!

A separate bedroom. Heaven! I don't remember if I wished my aunt a good night, but I remember closing the door, happy to be alone, at last.