cheese and biscuits came in handy on the ferry from Algeciras to Ceuta. We were expected to buy lunch, but I didnt want to go down into the hole on that little bucketing ferry. I preferred the blasting wind on top, and picked my way through most of the cheese and half of the plain cookies. Later when I went down to avoid missing an opportunity, I was glad to only have twenty minutes remaining. It was hot, stuffy and close.
Being a Spanish tour, of course our meals were on the Spanish schedule. By eight oclock in Fes , I was truly hungry, in spite of the plain cookies along the way. Since the government had taken over all the hotels in Fes for a medical conference, we were in an alternate hotel. Beneficial, because they gave us Moroccan food. First a thin bean and beef soup with little or no salt. Then a couple of deep fried patties; inside and outside they looked like potatoes, except they were too glutinous and did not entirely taste like potatoes. When I asked what they were, the waiter said croquettes in a voice that more questions. Finally,
we were served a true tagine, in a proper tagine dish. It is, in effect a pressure cooker – a shallow pottery dish covered with a top, which is very heavy. Evidently, the meat, in about 2 cubes, had been layered with vegetable into the cone shape. This tagine had a sort of squash as its final vegetable layer – one piece each. The pieces looked just like pears and tasted like that. The waiter, now more friendly, told me the name in French, but I still didnt know it. He also confirmed it was vegetable, not fruit. The beer was called Flag, and was smoother than the Spanish beer.
Breakfast buffet of doughnuts (not for me), rolls, an sweet roll, dried figs, oranges, orange juice, and caf au lait.
Lunch was free from the Hotel de Fs, for pushing us into the hotel (which was better in some ways). They served awful canned vegetable salad that so many societies think is special, with half eggs on it (3 each!). Then there was fish filet – ok only.
tough roast (boiled?) beef with carrots and rice. I asked our guide, Antonio, if we couldnt have Moroccan food from now on. He said it was too hard on some peoples stomachs, implying that it was too spicy. Its not particularly spicy.
During the day, we visited the medina or market of Fes, of interlinked markets running as it had for centuries in an traditional manner. Only residents and vendors who were extremely familiar with the market walked about freely. All others – shoppers and tourists - needed a guide, because it was all too possible to get lost beyond hope. The pathways donkeys, which have never favoured straight lines. Lane after lane featured specialities of spices, meats, vegetables, sweets, clothing, cosmetics, decorative and household merchandise, building supplies and every other necessity for living a good life. The sections eased into each other, so that for the uninitiated it would be impossible later to even find an exit onto a more modern street. The noise and personal confusion created an exhilarating sense of fear and wonderment.
When our guide did bring us out, we were in a main square where snake charmers and magicians enticed tips from the tourist crowd. We were close to the hugely extensive kings palace. The magnificent gates, mundanely, were being cleaned by a worker, a juxtaposition that charmed me.
