travel tips

9 Tips for Navigating the Fes Medina — and Making It Out Alive

OK, that’s a bit dramatic. But Fez, Morocco is an intense city to explore. Read these tips before you go.

A donkey overpacked with boxes is about as much of a traffic jam you’ll encounter in the Fès medina.

Fès is a city of discoveries. You never know what lies around the next corner. You cannot imagine the beauty that hides behind a plain wall once that wooden door opens.

As such, though, it can be intimidating as well. I’m not gonna lie: That first day we had booked to explore the medina on our own, we were hesitant to leave the riad. We really had to work up our courage. Because once you step foot outside the door, you have to be prepared to not only get lost, but also to deal with local men making snide comments, hoping to get you to pay them to act as guides.

For the most part, it worked, and we were able to follow the trail back, like Hansel and Gretel.

Landmarks like mosque towers don’t really help you find your way around the medina — there are lots of them, and once you turn a corner, they’re gone.

1. Get a guide on your first day.

It’s nice to put yourself in someone else’s hands on your first day in Fès. Our guide, Abdul, was fantastic, and we just followed him around as he led us to the major sites. It’s nice to get them out of the way, know you’ve ticked the “important” stuff off your list, and that you have nothing left but to shop and eat (and hit a hammam for a spa day).

Abdul took us to the narrowest street in the medina:

2. Pay close attention to how to get to the Blue Gate.

It all comes back to the Blue Gate, it seems. We took a daytrip to the Roman ruins and mosaics of Volubilis, and had a guide from the riad lead us to the Blue Gate just outside of the medina to meet our driver (there aren’t any cars allowed in the medina — and anyway they wouldn’t fit on the narrow twists and turns).

I literally just kept track of the major turns we made: left, left, right, right, right. And that was all we needed to retrace our steps the following day. Sure, we took a turn too soon a couple of times, but just backtracked once we hit a dead end. We got back to the Blue Gate eventually. And from there you can hit one of the major thoroughfares of the medina.

You never know what lies around the next corner in Fès. It might be a bunch of roosters tied to a cage in front of a gorgeous doorway.

3. Ignore the hustlers.

As mentioned, you’ll pass young men every so often who want to con you into paying them to act as guides. “There’s nothing that way,” they’ll tell you. “The Blue Gate isn’t down there,” they’ll say. Don’t pay them any mind. Unless, of course, you truly are hopelessly lost. And then agree to a reasonable fee before you have them lead you back to your hotel or guesthouse.

We didn’t end up having to do this in Fès but did so twice in Marrakech (though we hired young boys to guide us there).

 

4. Chat with your fellow travelers over breakfast.

Because we talked with a lovely British couple, Susan and Colin, our first morning at our amazing riad, Dar Bensouda, we learned about the gardens (which happened to be closed for the Sacred Music Festival, but still) and the tapas bar across the street, Mezzanine (a welcome change from couscous and tagines).

They also told us about the Ruined Garden, which was close to our riad, and ended up being our favorite restaurant in Fès.

 

5. Follow the signs.

One of the best ideas Fassi business owners ever had was to put up small rectangular signs throughout the medina. Coming back from the souks or the Blue Gate, we started noticing signs for nearby dars and riads (guesthouses). After a day or so, we knew which ones would lead us close enough to our own lodgings that we could find our way.

We also knew that there were signs that led from Riad Dar Bensouda to the Ruined Garden. So once we passed that, we followed the signs back to our temporary home. This gets a bit tricky — you have to turn a corner and then glance back to make sure there’s a sign pointing back to the restaurant. But for the most part, it worked, and we were able to follow the trail back, like Hansel and Gretel.

6. Walk with confidence.

This was advice given to us by Susan and Colin. It really did help put some of the would-be guides in their place. They’d look at us, walking with a purpose, and then go back to their conversations.

To help get you into the mindset, imagine yourself a local. Or at least someone who’s been in the city for some time.

This was harder to do when we made a wrong turn, hit a dead end and had to walk back past a group of men. But fake it till you make it. If they say something, just tell them, “We’re good.”

 

7. Try your smartphone.

We didn’t have a data plan abroad, so we didn’t use use our phones. But fellow travelers said that there were Google Maps or another app that was surprisingly helpful for navigating the medina. I’m a bit skeptical, given the labyrinthian nature of this ancient city — but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try it out.

A butcher in one of the more-populated areas of the medina

8. Let yourself get lost.

Everyone doles out this advice. And it’s all well and good, as long as you’re not trying to find something specific. For our third day in Fès, we had nothing planned but wandering the medina and shopping. And that was the day we didn’t worry if we didn’t know where we were going — just so long as we were back in the safety of our riad by dark.

 

9. Friday is a great day to wander a less-crowded Fès.

This is the day of worship for Muslims. So wandering on Friday is actually a lot more chill. You’ll get hassled less, as mosques keep many of the people away. As an added bonus, shops that are open are often willing to give a good deal since business will be slow.


As I mentioned, the Fès medina can be intimidating. But by following this advice, you should be able to navigate the seemingly endless twists and turns on your own…somewhat successfully. –Wally

Travel Karma

Some trips are blessed, some cursed.

We are all connected, as this detail from a Jain temple in Rajasthan, India shows

My son’s friend went off a cliff on a defective scooter on the Greek island of Poros. He had to be flown to Athens on the orders of the local doctor whose limited English had him explain, “I can see his mind.” In other words, a big gash in the head.

My rented jeep was confiscated when the owner saw a wrecked scooter in the back. My son’s scooter was confiscated when he rode through town during siesta looking for help. Bad travel karma.

We all put one foot slowly behind the other, except for a newlywed groom who turned and ran, knocking his bride to the ground without ever breaking stride. They did not speak for the rest of the trip.


My two friends and I met Ahmed on the train in Morocco from Rabat to Fès. Ahmed was middle-aged, skinny, snaggle-toothed — too much sugar in the mint tea — and extremely talkative. He was a nice man and we had three hours to kill. We heard about his nine siblings and his extended family of 45, who prevent him from selling his father’s riad since he can’t get everyone to sign the papers. Ahmed worked for the leather cooperative.

He wasn’t pushy but he gave us his number. When we called, he sent Abdul, who guided us to the tannery and gave us a tour of the medina, two hours, more than five miles, much of it uphill. He led us through the rat’s maze of streets and the crush of people and didn’t seem to mind that, although we bought leather, we didn’t buy anything else. A nice guy showing people his hometown. Good travel karma.


Bad travel karma can haunt you for years.

We were told by the guide in Zimbabwe that if charged by a lion, we must not run and we must not panic. We set off on foot through Matusadona on Lake Kariba. A female lion crossed the dry riverbed we were walking down. We stopped. She disappeared into the bush. We went on. She charged when we came even with her and her two cubs.

A charging lion makes a noise that shakes the earth, a growl that starts in the soles of your feet and travels to the back of your neck like a lightning striking. We all froze. The guide raised his gun but did not cock it. We stared at her. She stared at us. The guide whispered, “Back up.” We all put one foot slowly behind the other, except for a newlywed groom who turned and ran, knocking his bride to the ground without ever breaking stride. The guide scooped her up with one hand while still aiming at the lioness. The bride and groom did not speak for the rest of the trip. Bad travel karma is a bad start to a marriage.



Good travel karma can be accrued.

In Turkey, Egypt and Morocco, taxis are often shared. You give the driver your destination, but if there’s room, he may stop and pick up somebody else. Sometimes even if there’s not room. Cabs never use their meters and never have change. Pay it forward. How much for the lady in the front seat with the two gallons of olive oil?

A little global goodwill goes a long way, and you may earn so much good travel karma that your Airbnb host serves a lunch of tagine with fresh sardines and warm bread.

 

How to Accrue Good Travel Karma

  • Don’t give money to beggar children; give pencils.
  • Always give away leftovers.
  • Pack used clothes to trade at street markets in sub-Saharan Africa. They can be worn or sold. Used jeans, and you’re royalty for a day.
  • Pose for pictures with people. I am in the family albums of more Indian families than I can count, often with their children in my lap.

Karma goes around and it comes around, the original global energy. –Rebecca

The Unpleasant Experience of Hiring a Driver in India

Darkness turned to daylight as we awaited our driver. At least we had stray dogs to keep us company

Darkness turned to daylight as we awaited our driver. At least we had stray dogs to keep us company

Our road trip from Baroda to Dungarpur taught us not to expect your driver to speak English, show up on time or care about your sanity.

We weren't having any luck finding a driver who spoke English. (Prakash informed us that people who spoke English got the good jobs, and apparently “chauffeur” doesn’t fit into that category.)

An online search revealed a company called TaxiForSure. It seemed professional. It was also pretty much our only option. So we arranged transport to Dungapur. We requested a pick-up of 5 a.m. According to Google Maps, it’s a pretty straightforward four-hour drive from Baroda.

A sullen, if handsome, 20-something driver showed up, playing what seemed to be techno versions of Bollywood music blared at full volume.

At 5 the next morning, our friend and host George got a confirmation text from TaxiForSure, which provided the driver’s name, license plate number and estimated arrival time.

A few minutes later, he received a call from someone at TaxiForSure, who regretted to inform us that our original driver would not be coming — his car broke down.

I’d like to point out that no matter how much you try to plan, things can change unexpectedly (and inevitably, it seems), for India moves in its own unpredictable way.

We were waiting outside in front of George’s apartment building (he calls it his “tenement”). George saves his kitchen scraps to leave outside for the cows. As he was tossing a bag onto the heap, a neighbor who was up early yelled at him, telling him not to just throw it there — that there’s an actual place to leave food scraps down the street near the ashram. The neighbor was just doing his part to attempt to reduce the ridiculous amount of garbage strewn about. Indeed, everywhere you go, you see cans, paper and plastic bags picked at and chewed on by rats, jackdaw birds, stray dogs and cows.

 

How “OK, OK” Can Mean Anything But

We waited. George called back after a half-hour had passed, and then again every 15 minutes. The conversations went something like this:

“The driver is in the area.”

“The driver is very close.”

“The driver is 3 to 5 minutes away.”

“The driver is 2 to 3 minutes away.”

George hung up in a huff. “Indians will always tell you, ‘OK, OK,’” he said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It can mean he’s hours away, or he could be here in 5 minutes. I’ve learned they tell you what you want to hear — even if it’s not the truth.”

Two hours in total had passed before George received another text from TaxiForSure.

Your taxi has arrived.

It was now 7 a.m.

Beep! Beep! A sullen, if handsome, 20-something driver named Pankach, who only spoke Gujarati showed up, playing what seemed to be techno versions of Bollywood music blared at full volume, which we endured the entire trip.

Before we left Baroda, he pulled the car over, and a man approached and gave him a bag full of clothes. Then our road trip was in full swing.

 

Road Trippin'

Once we were outside the city limits, the scenery changed, and we began to pass rural homes, which were transformed into hand-painted advertisements for the sturdy but humble materials cement and brick.

Many of the signs touted Ambuja Cement. The company's logo is a comically proportioned man with a tiny head and a ginormous right bicep embracing a pair of buildings.

Elaborate conical Hindu temples dotted the landscape, confections in bubblegum pink, white, mint and lemon yellow. Cloth flags atop spires fluttered in the breeze.

We weren't sure we were ever going to make it. But we were finally en route to Dungapur, otherwise known as the City of Hills, located at the southernmost Aravalli mountains of Rajasthan.

We almost got used to the Bollywood Molly dance party in the car. Almost. –Duke

RELATED: 3 Tips for Hiring a Driver in India

No matter how much you try to plan, things can change unexpectedly (and inevitably, it seems), for India moves in its own unpredictable way.

Oh India! Why We Decided to Finally Give India a Try

George, Duke and Wally enjoying pre-dinner drinks at the Mews at Udai Bilas Palace, our hotel in Dungarpur, India

George, Duke and Wally enjoying pre-dinner drinks at the Mews at Udai Bilas Palace, our hotel in Dungarpur, India

Purchasing guidebooks to India and suffering the side effects of malaria pills.

 

When Wally received an email in early September 2014 from our friend George, inviting us to visit him in India, we agreed to make it our next adventure.

India had been on both of our shortlists of places to go and having a friend there made the decision a no-brainer. Plus we decided to plan the trip for the dead of winter, which would give us a much-needed reprieve from the cold, gray days of February in Chicago.

India is an expansive country comparable in size to the United States.

Wally purchased travel guides (DK and Lonely Planet) while I began researching online. We also got the informative and detailed Blue Guide India by Sam Miller from the Chicago Public Library. Together, over the following three months, we mercilessly altered and tweaked our itinerary in hopes of reducing the amount of time spent traveling. After all, we only had 12 days, two of which would be lost getting there and back. India is an expansive country comparable in size to the United States.

 

Bitter Pills to Swallow

Two days prior to leaving for our trip, we began taking our daily dose of Malarone, an oral malaria preventative. After swallowing the first tablet, I felt my stomach cramp and was convinced they were giving me the shits.

Wally’s experience was different. He thought it caused him to produce an excessive flow of saliva, and by the second dose I felt it, too.

In addition to the above, we both experienced some of the more common side effects:

• Mouth sores

• Shortness of breath

• Strange dreams

I had a curious dream where my niece morphed into a combination of an Ewok and our calico cat. As she is black, Wally remarked that my subconscious is racist.

I countered that Ewoks are soft, fuzzy and cute. But he wasn't buying it. –Duke