Fez Is Nice, Just Don’t Get Any On You

We made it out of Morocco, no worse for wear.  Certainly, the urine and dook smell from the leather bag Vy bought in Fez isn’t doing us any favors (or making us any friends), but we hardly notice it anymore.

Fez was a lot of fun.  There were fewer mosquitoes than Italy, which was a plus.  On the downside, Fez, Morocco is more tourist trap than place to see.  There are a few museums and some interesting old buildings, but between the aggressive hawkers, hash dealers (or maybe we get them because I’m a tall white guy who looks like he needs someone to offer him hash every few feet or I burst into flames?) and people following you in order to demand a tip after they’ve “shown you the way” to your room, it’s a bit of a nightmare.  The streets are poorly labelled, if at all, and there aren’t available maps.  It was fun, but there’s a lot of frustration- like any Middle Eastern tourist trap.  I’d strongly recommend going to Marrakesh.  There’s a lot more to see there.  Chefchouen doesn’t have anything going for it, either.  We didn’t have time to get to the caves or go mountain climbing, so maybe that would have changed our outlook on the seeming tourist trap painted blue.

The food was great- there were a few vegetarian options for me- and Vy really enjoyed the meats and fish.  We’re in Rome right now and the hawkers around monuments are just as bad.  At least there’s some kick ass shit to see, yeah?

Our room wasn’t ready when we arrived, so we got this place. This is the entirety of the room. I could only turn 1/4 of the way around at any given point. Shit was cramped.

Cats. Morocco is the cat capital of the world. Fuck cats.

Fancy doors abound.

Vy and some tiles. Bitches love tiles.

I think this is a mosque/burial site for the first or second king of Morocco.

Vy had to keep shawled the entire time. Well, not really, but had she not kept shawled, the number of gross things that men on the street said to her when I wasn’t around likely would have been tripled. So… tolerant Morocco!

Fancy lights in that same place.

This was a wood market in Fez from antiquity. They’ve nearly finished restoring it. It looks pretty nice inside. I don’t know why the woodworkers deserve such fancy quarters. I always wonder what the people of yore who put time and money into a place hoping to help it to become better would think if they could see that place now. “Now” being the distant future, I mean. I would imagine that Fez is well behind where the founders intended.

Moroccan sky line. You can see some Roman ruins on the hill on the leftish side of the image.

Deep inside the woodworker’s market. This area is almost completely done. It’s a weird, abandoned museum thing (like most of Fez).

This was some dude’s shop. Like everyone in this town, he does wholesale and can offer a discount.

More of the same.

Bustin’ heads.

Looking up ocsasionally yields cool stuff.

Keep… looking… up,

This dude fixed my shirts. Only kind of. But, he tried. Which is great.

Shirts! #overchargedmeafterworkwasdonesotherewasnothingicoulddo

Roman ruins. This shit is old as hell.

Pretty.

View of an ancient archway.

The inside walls. I think the holes were where supports for stairs or floor divisions were. Not sure. Maybe somebody shot holes out with a hand cannon.

Vy NOT peeing in a thousand year old monument to human achievement.

A view from the side. These are the Merenid Tombs. Or something. I couldn’t hear how people were pronouncing that shit. I’m not a fucking scientist.

Okay. I looked these tombs up. They aren’t Roman. Nor are they a thousand years old. They are only 700 years old. 700 years ain’t shit. I’ve been dipping my balls in ancient cultures for my entire fucking life. You know what kind of a monument is proud of being 700 years old? A bitch monument that gets dry humped by The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Like a bitch.

These used to be pretty nice. It’s fucked to think that shit like this was once beautiful and people just let it turn to shit. Or yanked the nice shit off of it. People are careless dicks.

Vy!

Some walls.

The main vein of tombish ruins (pronounced: rain).

A wall. Barely standing.

A place for dead people.

A cool shot of the tombs from a different lower ruin.

Vy fell and hunked her toe on some rocks. Not the first or last time she falls on this trip. When she’s old, her hips are going to be made primarily out of Dorito dust and super glue.

Arches.

Vy!

Countryside behind the tomb ruins.

The tombs attracted other corpses like a magnet to flies. Metal flies. Who are animated. And who, in their wanderings, approach a magnet.

This shit is on the way out.

So’s this donkey. He’s been smoking all his life.

Vy is ashamed of the donkey’s lack of self-awareness.

The blue gates.

Vy’s happy to be here.

Another shot of the blue gate. Bab Boujloud. That’s what it’s called.

This dude made Vy orange juice for which Vy was forever grateful.

The full weight of what he is doing struck him as I clicked the shutter.

Vy likes it.

A narrow street, or, as they call them in Morocco, “a street”.

Knockers. Huge knockers.

A lantern at a mosque entrance.

Door of the same.

A dude chilling out therein.

Some neat tilework.

A wizard.

These guys are chilling out.

A weird mini door.

A tower thing for a mujahideen guy.

A family’s crypt just hanging out on a street corner.

Danger! French electricity!

They’re rehabbing this place and want it to be a crystal-clear place for tourists to walk around. It is filled with trash. So… good luck on that one.

The Al R’cif Gate.

The horror…. the horror.

Another mujahideen nest.

Donkeys abound.

A shot of the city from the walk up to the armaments museum.

A canon. We saw how these were made in the museum, and that shit was labor intensive and awesome.

This sword is bigger than Vy. It had to be ceremonial, because everyone was Vy-sized back then…

Rad.

I would consider owning a gun if they were all this awesome.

A mortar.

A view of Fez from up on top of the armaments museum.

Same

Vy on top of the museum.

Same

Same

Cats and dogs, living together, mass hysteria.

A pretty triple door. Again, this is that king guy’s resting place. Where he rests.

Chefchouen. It’s a blue city. I don’t know why.

Alright. I looked it up. Chouen (as it’s called) is blue because of the Jewish tradition to dye a single thread in one’s prayer shawl blue to remind one of god and the sky. They painted the town blue for the same reason. Now Muslims do it because…. tourism? They love Jews? Not sure on that one. They still do it, though. It feels cooler. Maybe that’s why. Probably the tourist thing, though.

Blue doors

Blue stairs.

Blue walls. Also, note that someone’s grandpa named that shop whose sign is featured in the top right portion of the photo.

A terrible HDR photo of my wife. You’re welcome, honey!

A nice photo of me. No HDR here.

Blue walls.

Dr. Who door.

Vy getting the plague.

Dudes in the act.

The mountains behind Chouen, after which they are named.

Grapes were growing everywhere in this town. What with the Muslim prohibition against drinking, they must be making jams and jellies.

Vy!

People make an effort to make this place look pretty. It’s nice. I wonder how the blue runoff from all the paint affects the environment?

This tree is hollow, but still, somehow, manages to grow and pop out leaves. It’s really fucking cool looking.

These kids were great. Vy threw some Oreos at them and made them fight to the death. The carnage was soul-sharting.

This is the only pretty running water I’ve seen in a Middle Eastern Country. Don’t worry, though, it’s filled with trash about 15 feet from here. Yay!

Meow.

My mom used to pull these out of my ear when I was a kid. Or pretend to. I was continually baffled and consistently checked my ears for flowers as a result of this dark magic.

Trash can in Chouen.

Vy getting the plague.

Vy getting mange.

The last living photo of a healthy Vy.

Me in the Ruined Garden Cafe. It was nice! A veritable oasis in Fez.

Vy in the public area of our Dar in Fez.

Vy, Fatima and myself. Fatima was the manager at the Dar we stayed at. She was very nice and helpful!

If it doesn’t say, “Junkers,” take it straight to the dump. (If it DOES say “Junkers” leave it at the dump where you found it. Then live in the dump because shortly someone will bring something nice that isn’t ‘Junkers’ brand and you can take that.” A corporate motto for the ages.