The drab suburbs of Marrakesh soon gave way to a harsh, empty landscape. Black plastic bags, having been swept along for miles by the wind, flapped helplessly on the thorn bushes. In the distance, wavy and indistinct in the haze, huge mountains loomed against the skyline.

The terrain shifted quickly as the journey progressed. After a little while, the land flattened out and yellow carpets of grass grew amongst the eucalyptus trees rising stubbornly out of the red earth. Then it changed again, quite abruptly, to near desert.

A car bounced along in a trail of dust, accompanied by a small dog. Amazingly, there were still people and settlements out here, scratching a living in amongst all the nothingness. Small villages appeared once in a while, as if out of nowhere, before quickly disappearing again

Hot Summer Nights

As we pulled into Fes, dusk was setting in, and the heat sat heavy upon the city. On summer evenings in Morocco it often clouds over and a hot wind sweeps through the place, bringing with it distant rumbles of thunder.

One night, the heat built up so much that rain burst out of the pregnant clouds, and fell on the dry earth in fat, noisy drops. It was only a brief respite, however, and it ended almost as soon as it had begun. Within fifteen minutes, all traces of moisture had dried up.

We were booked into the Riad Damia on the edge of the Old Town. But the first problem was getting there… As we pulled out of the station, the taxi driver clearly had no idea where he was going. He nevertheless darted in and out of the traffic in suicidal fashion.

We stopped at a set of traffic lights and a little boy jumped in the back. It was the driver’s son. Perching on our backpacks, he proceeded to direct his father as we ducked under a large crumbling gate, and into the gloomy old city.

We finally arrived at the place, and were ushered in through the huge, carved door with incredible warmth and kindness, by our Fez-wearing host. The place was jaw-droppingly beautiful, and the tinkle of water from the fountain seemed to cool the air of the grand patio.

The rooms, set off the central patio were similarly impressive. Huge, decked out with table and chair, they were cavernously high with gorgeous dark wood ceilings, more tiles and stuccowork. Palatial was the only word to describe it.

The Next Morning: A Date with Fes el Bali

After a wonderful night’s sleep and a substantial breakfast, the city of Fes sprawled out in the gathering heat of mid-morning. Unlike Marrakesh, Fes is laid out over a couple of hills, making it even more impenetrable - and getting lost an absolute inevitability.

With a couple of stunning ‘medersas’, an ancient mosque, or two, and some fascinating hamams, in terms of ‘sights’, Fes actually has more to it than Marrakesh. But these monuments are merely an afterthought next to the extraordinary spectacle of life in the city.

Like Marrakech, the souks of the Medina are the city’s beating heart. From the point of view of the shopper looking for jewelry or that elusive pair of slippers, however, Fes’ souks are less colorful, and, at least, at first glance, slightly less interesting.

A Mystifying Mass of Streets and Alleyways

But they’re just a façade to what lies behind, above and all around. Narrow streets and low passageways shut off to the light above, riddle the ruinous Old Town, and run off in every direction. Other than Havana, nowhere else I’ve been to can match its dilapidated grandeur.

Beyond Fes el Bali, there’s plenty to explore if you’ve got time on your hands. Indeed, the city demands several days to take in everything it has to offer. Aside from the slightly dreary Ville Nouvelle, (the new town), Fes el Djedid, the former royal town is an intriguing place.

While Fes isn’t a particularly large city, it seems vast. But in addition to this illusion of size, it has a profoundly mysterious feel, as if it’s reluctant to reveal its secrets, hidden amongst its labyrinthine twists and turns…