In Morocco some of the local people are not too keen on having their photograph taken so to get a picture you have to wait until their backs are turned!

For our final day in Fez we felt confident enough to look after ourselves and manage without the services of a guide so after breakfast we left the Riad and walked in the direction (or what we thought was the direction) of the souks where our plan was to see the sights that we hadn’t seen a couple of days before when Hussein had taken us on the unexpected shopping tour.

It was a beautiful morning again, the sky was crisp and clear and the sun was rising rapidly scattering the shadows and bringing a welcome glow to the streets which were surprisingly clean today after a lot of overnight street sweeping activity.  Being so obviously without a guide we attracted a lot of attention from the groups of young men who were looking for tourists like us to try and sell their chaperoning services to and some of them took some serious shaking off.  I have found that although it seems rude it is best to blatantly ignore them because if you mention a destination they suddenly attach themselves and try to provide the directions.  We ill-advisedly told one that we were looking for the City’s Blue Gate and he immediately stuck to like a limpet.  We eventually shook him off and he went away but it was a bit of a sticky moment.

We were fairly sure of where the Blue Gate was anyway and sure enough after a few minutes we arrived at the busy junction on the traffic side of the walls of the Medina and we walked through the elegant arch and into the busy Souk.  Immediately we were under assault from the traders inside, first the cafés and the food stalls and then the clothes shops, the men selling Fez hats and then the handicraft shops.

The layout of the Souks was interesting because it was set out in sections where every shop sells the same produce.  A whole Souk selling silver, another selling silks and so on which would be a bit like all of the jewelers shops in a UK shopping mall being organised side by side which I think we would find unusual but here the competing shop keepers seemed quite comfortable with the arrangement.

Soon we were the only tourists amongst the crowds of men and women in their traditional Arab clothing, the men in long gowns called djellabas and the women in colourful kaftans, headscarves tied around the hair, some with face veils and a small minority with a full burqa.  We were in unfamiliar territory now and although there was no danger and we felt perfectly safe there were no street signs to help with navigation so mindful of the risk of getting hopelessly lost we stayed on the main street running through the souk and if we ventured down a side street we were careful always to return the same way and resist the temptation to explore too deeply into the warren of confusing alleyways without being fairy confident of the way back out.

About half way through we stopped and showed some interest in an old palace, now a restaurant, and a man on the door invited us in and showed us around the interior and then took us up the stairs for a high level view of the city which was good but there was a price to pay for this and on the way down he asked for ten dirhams or about £2 each which seemed rather a lot for a skyline view of the city which was no different from that at our Riad.  Almost immediately there was another incident when a young man approached us and asked us if could take us to a tannery, or a silversmiths or a carpet shop or  just about anywhere where he could earn a commission on a sale and Micky told him firmly no to all the options he offered.  This seemed to displease him and his friendly demeanour reversed immediately and he spat out the words’ If there is nothing here that you want why don’t you go back to your own country?’ Or words to that effect – charming!

As we approached the main Mosque down this perpetually busy street there were more shops selling robes, kaftans, carpets and antiques, men serving snail soup from cauldrons of steaming liquid and with an enticing warren of alleys all with tiny shops and kiosks packed in behind.  We were near the tannery now and there were offers to go inside the leather shops for a high level view but after the lucky escape two days before we declined the invitations to repeat the viewing.

We had been walking for an hour and a half now and agreed that this was as far as we would go and as the return journey was all uphill we turned around and made our way back in the direction of the Blue Gate.  On the way Kim spotted a henna souk so went to investigate and to arrange a temporary tattoo on her hand.  It was in a little square off the main street crammed in by overstocked shops which had merchandise spread across the street and it occurred to me what a daily chore it must be to prepare for a day of trading, every morning transferring stock outside onto the pavements where it would stay for twelve hours or so collecting dust and grime, fading in the dappled sunlight leaking through the bamboo and wooden roofs of the streets before the displays would be dismantled again and taken back inside overnight. Some of the items on display looked as though they had been making the same trip back and forth for many weeks, perhaps even months.

Getting back to the Blue Gate didn’t take nearly as long and we had paid attention well because we didn’t get lost once as we negotiated our way back to the city gate stopping only once for Micky to buy a Fez.  It was around about lunchtime now and the waiters in the cafés were in full pestering mode, thrusting stained and dog-eared menus under our noses and imploring us to eat in their establishment but Kim was working on a sort of vague recommendation, actually an overheard conversation on the flight here, and we were looking for somewhere specific which we calculated was close by.

In Morocco some of the local people are not too keen on having their photograph taken so to get a picture it is necessary to be discreet!

Reunited with our driver we left the main square and drove just a short way until we reached the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail, which interestingly (and without satisfactory explanation that I could find)  is one of only three Moroccan shrines that non-Muslims can visit.

The mausoleum was constructed during the reign of Moulay Ismail and since his death has been a point of reverence and a visit to his final resting place is believed to bring baraka, a sort of divine blessing but again I’m not sure if this included anyone or is restricted to Muslims.  Moulay Ismail was responsible for driving out the Spanish and British from Morocco, uniting the country and the establishment of the Alaouite ruling dynasty. His strict observance of orthodox Islamic ritual has also conferred a kind of salutary healing power on him and many Muslims visit the shrine in the hope of receiving health, well-being and good luck.

Moulay Ismaïl was an interesting character and by all accounts a man of excesses.  It is said that he personally killed over twenty-five thousand men but to compensate for this he is alleged to have fathered eight hundred and eighty-nine children and this is generally considered the record number of offspring for any one man throughout history that can actually be verified. It is estimated that to father that number of children Ismaïl would have had to have sex several times every day for sixty years so that must have been a real chore!  When he wasn’t slaughtering or shagging he was building himself  his new capital city at Meknès which took twelve years as he dismantled the Badii Palace in Marrakech and removed the treasures and relocated them in his preferred location.

Being unexpectedly allowed into this place we walked through a series of courts and chambers decorated in bright yellow tiles and spiralling stuccowork. Behind the courts is the sanctuary that holds the remains of Moulay Ismail and his family members and after we had taken off our shoes at the door we were invited into the mausoleum but not the Mosque.

After the mausoleum visit we went next to the Heri es Souani, the site of Moulay Ismail’s stables. We paid the reasonable entrance fee and were allocated a guide.  He asked if we understood French or English, we told him English and he looked at us with a face that said ‘That’s a shame because I do this tour in French’ and he set off on his commentary to our appropriately blank faces.  He took us through a remarkable system of high-vaulted chambers with a series storerooms and granaries. In the time of Moulay Ismail, these were used to hold provisions in a case of a drought or a siege and behind these chambers were the stables for seven-thousand horses.  That’s an awful lot of horses and an awful lot of equine shit to shovel so there were living quarters over the top for the hundreds of grooms and labourers that would have been required to support an operation such as this.

At the completion of the tour the guide said goodbye but rather like a barnacle on a rock stayed close by, we set to walk off but then suddenly he seemed to remember that he could speak a bit of English after all, he coughed an attract attention sort of cough, held out his hand and asked if we had forgotten something.  We had of course and we rifled our pockets for some loose change to give the man his deserved tip.

That was the end of our visit to Meknes and in the late afternoon Abdul steered the taxi out of the city and quickly joined a toll motorway that was straight and quick and soon we were back in the suburbs of Fez.  There were a lot of police check points to negotiate and Abdul explained that they were speed cops who were collecting tax revenues, much the same as in the UK but here they don’t have sneaky cameras to do the dirty work!  The checks didn’t seem to apply to Abdul who seemed to know all the police officers personally and he waved to them and smiled as they inevitably beckoned him through the bollards.

It was a sort of rush-hour in Fez and Abdul joined the lines of undisciplined traffic as he bullied his way through traffic lights and junctions, impatiently blowing his horn or flashing his lights at anyone that he considered was holding him up, which was pretty much everyone else out on the road this Saturday night.

He returned us safely to the Riad and we had a rest and a beer and Micky ill advisedly went out for a walk where he was accosted by a youth who insisted on taking him to a restaurant recommendation and told him that he would meet us again later to escort us there.  It seems that this is an important part of the Moroccan economy which works on introductions, tips, bribery and corruption as we had discovered the day before on Hamid’s walking tour of the Souks.  Actually Hamid had already recommended this very restaurant and was legitimately entitled to the 10% commission if we dined there and we had already decided that was what we would do.

We left the Riad and walked into the streets and Mick’s new pal was thankfully nowhere to be seen but along the way we attracted the attention of another local boy who, sniffing the 10% for himself, insisted that he was taking us to the restaurant that we were already going to anyway.  He was a nuisance and a pest and it could have become unpleasant because when Kim explained this to him and told him to go away he became indignant and threatening and told us not to tell him to go away when he was in his own country and we were only visitors.

It turned out to be a nice restaurant but the boy dropped by to say that he had brought us there and then Micky’s pal turned up claiming the same thing and suddenly there were three people after the 10%.  We explained to the restaurant staff that Hamid had made the recommendation and he should have the commission but Micky went outside to see the boys and although he didn’t own up to this I suspect he gave them a few dirhams just to go away.

 The meal was excellent and we enjoyed three courses of traditional food and to our amazement Sue demonstrated that the lunchtime plate clearing surprise was not a one-off phenomenon and she ate everything again and declared it delicious.  I began to worry that one of my favourite materials for my journals – Sue’s fussy eating – might be in jeopardy here in Morocco!  As we finished the meal and the wine there was some entertainment as the waiters joined a couple of traditional musicians in an impromptu singing and dancing routine which was excellent and we joined in and enjoyed it.

On the short walk back to the Riad, Micky’s pestering pal appeared out of the shadows of a doorway and complained that he had been cheated out of his commission by Abdul and he had made no money tonight.  We might have guessed that Abdul would be involved somewhere in this.  He accompanied us all the way back assuring us that he would keep us safe in a dangerous neighbourhood but we didn’t feel at all threatened so we ignored him and back at the Riad we rang the bell and when we were inside the heavy door was closed in his face and we certainly didn’t give him the tip he was hankering for.

The journey from Moulay Idriss to the UNESCO World Heritage city Meknes took about thirty minutes and when we arrived in the city Abdul stopped first at a lay-by on the edge of the city with a panorama of the city.  The word panaroma makes it sound picturesque or interesting but I have to say that from here it didn’t look terribly exciting at all, just very similar to Fez with a jumble of off-white concrete box. buildings and a forest of satellite dishes and TV aerials.  

Fortunately we didn’t stay long and Abdul drove us into the centre of the city and took us directly to the central square of the Medina, which, although much smaller reminded me straight away of Marrakech.  Abdul parked the taxi right outside the gates of the Royal Palace and I was concerned about that, but I needn’t have been because Abdul seemed to know a lot of people, probably even the guards and there was no problem.  He certainly knew the owner of the restaurant the ‘Terrasses Pavillion des Idrissides’ and before we knew very much about it we had been led to a terrace table overlooking the square by a couple of eager waiters.

Mindful of yesterday’s expensive lunch we examined the menu carefully before making our selections and then we enjoyed a simple meal at a far more agreeable price and it must have been good because Sue, who is a notoriously fussy eater, finished everything on her plate.

The main square was moderately busy but didn’t feel crowded and we walked past the snake charmers and the men with Barbary Apes all trying to sell photographs, fortune tellers and soothsayers and my favourite the tooth puller who would have provided dental surgery at a fraction of the cost of the National Health Service if we had been brave enough to allow him.  There were rows of market stalls selling fresh and dried fruits and others competing to sell a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and all around the square were cafés and restaurants with high level balconies where people were sitting and just enjoying the random entertainment.

A bit like Al Stewart in the ‘Year of the Cat’ we slipped into the souk and walked past carpet shops, elaborate lampshade shops, slipper shops, silver and pottery shops, shops selling leather, silks, ceramics, spices and pastries and our senses were under constant assault from the colourful sights, the rich aromas and the constant chatter and noise of the traders.  Occasionally a donkey and cart would send people scattering as new supplies were delivered and the shop owners were probably glad of this because the only place to go to get out of the way was inside the shop doorways where someone was waiting to pounce.

Threading our way through the heaving twisting lanes we elbowed our way through the crowds and nodded politely as we rejected invitations from all sides, trying all the time not to make eye contact and declining inducement to go inside the shops and look all the time trying hard to remember the way that we had walked so that we could get out again without getting lost.  We seemed to be the only tourists here so we weren’t too adventurous and soon we were back on the sunny street which led to another souk, this time the food market which, maybe because it was Saturday, was extremely busy. 

There was large butchery section here and there was a smell of blood, offal and sawdust.  Whole goats hung from metal hooks, there were bull’s heads in various stages of being dismembered and sheep’s heads carelessly discarded and lying on the floor for anyone who wasn’t paying attention to trip over.  Along one of the internal lanes there were cages and cages of live chickens just waiting to be selected, purchased and killed.  The process was swift but brutal – the selection made and the price paid the butcher deftly cut the bird’s throat and shoved it unceremoniously into a plastic bucket, head first so that the blood would drain away.  The poor thing struggled for a short while but when it was dead and drained it was dunked first in boiling water and then freezing water and then plucked on a primitive but effective plucking machine.  Micky, a butcher himself, and Kim stopped to watch the macabre process but Christine, an animal lover, and Sue, a bit squeamish, walked on without stopping.  I went with Sue and Christine.

As we turned a corner there were herbalist shops with spices arranged in colourful pyramids and baskets of dried flower heads and quack remedies.  Kim went inside to look at the jars of colourful potions and perfumes and to enquire about the spices and the prices each time making a promise to return later.  I imagine that this is a promise that shopkeepers in Meknes hear hundreds of times every day and probably don’t take them too seriously but after a few minutes we did return to one of them and this probably took the owner by surprise.  We bought a few bags of spices and I began to worry about taking these little multi-coloured bags of suspicious looking powder through customs especially bearing in mind that Morocco has a reputation of being a big producer of illegal drugs.

Our heads full of the sights and sounds of the busy souk we pushed our way out through a main entrance and made our way again across the main square which was beginning to fill up and I imagined that it was going to be a big night in Meknes tonight.  We wouldn’t see this of course because now we had to find Abdul who had promised to take us to see the other important sites in the city.  We found him chatting to the restaurant owner – presumably negotiating his commission!

At the entrance to the site we paid the reasonable entry fee and then negotiated with a local guide who offered to give us a guided tour and a history of the city and when we were all satisfied with the price we set off along a dusty path towards the excavations and Hamid began his commentary

Volubilis was the Roman capital of the Province of Mauritania and was founded in the third century B.C., it became an important outpost of the Roman Empire and was graced with many fine buildings.  Extensive remains of these survive in the archaeological site, located in the middle of this fertile agricultural area.  The city continued to be occupied long after the Romans had gone and at some point converted to Islam and Volubilis was later briefly to become the capital of Idris I, founder of the Idrisid dynasty, who is buried at nearby Moulay Idris.   It is now of course a UNESCO World Heritage Site, admitted to the list in 1997.

Volubilis was an important and versatile place, a garrison town which protected the far south western boundary of the Empire, an agricultural bread basket producing important crops like wheat and olives in the fertile valley to be transported across the Empire via Tangier to the North on the Mediterranean Sea and a city of rich noblemen who built themselves fine villas and a beautiful city in an enviable location.  Much better I imagine to be posted here than to the northern extremes of the Empire at Hadrian’s Wall.

Volubilis, it turns out, is the most important ancient archeological site in Morocco and Hassan took us into the old streets running north to south and through the foundations and walls of the houses that flanked them.  In many of them there were fine mosaics and I thought it a little surprising to find them here exposed to the elements and not having been removed to a museum nearby.  The houses were huge and with a bit of imagination it was almost possible to imagine what this place may have been like two thousand years ago.  It was interesting to walk around the old streets, wander through the corridors of the houses, along the main street of shops and imagine that in this very place there were soldiers marching, old Latin plays being performed in the theater, emperor worshippers in the temples, magistrates swaggering around importantly in togas, and slaves to do all of the dirty work.

After walking along the main street lined by the remains of grand columns and arches we arrived at the centre piece of the city, the triumphal arch which has been carefully pieced back together by French archeologists nearly a hundred years ago.  Next to the arch was the Forum, the centre of political life in the city and adjacent to that the ancient Basilica where the citizens came to worship their gods.

Hamid concluded the tour with an explanation of Roman life in this area and tried to speculate why the Romans suddenly abandoned Morocco but like many historians who have wrestled with this question before him could provide no answers.  He walked us back to the car park where Abdul was waiting and we paid the agreed fee and added a tip to thank him for an excellent tour.

Next we were due to drive to Moulay Idriss which nestled in the folds of the mountain and was gleaming white in the sunshine.  Abdul took us along a high level road so that we could get some pictures but we were unsure about this because the heavy rain last night had turned the road to mud and the sides of the mountain had been washed down over the asphalt.  It didn’t seem safe especially when he parked on a precipitous ledge and invited us out to get our photographs.

The problem with stopping we discovered was that it was inevitable that someone would quickly appear trying to sell us something. Uusually this was necklaces and jewellery but sometimes fossils, that were almost certainly fakes, and fascinating round chunks of coal with iron Pyrite crystals which they claimed were completely natural and collected from the mountains but in reality are manufactured in a workshop using a simple crystal solution.  Abdul kept an eye on things and although he allowed them to approach us he stepped in if their sales technique became too robust.

We were glad to leave the precarious hillside and back in the vehicle Abdul drove us into the city which has only one main road running through it and a web of alleyways disappearing into the maze behind it.  Today was flea market day and the road was crammed with people picking over the merchandise on the stalls including a lot of second hand clothing which looked as though it had found its way here via the weekly recycling collections back in the UK.  Abdul nosed his way through the crowds of people who were not especially inclined to give way and clearly thought they had priority to be there. 

We didn’t stop in Moulay Idriss and although no one explained why I believe it is because non Muslims are not especially welcome in this pilgrimage city and certainly we saw no European travellers or tourists as we inched our way along the street and out the other side.  I sensed that even Abdul wasn’t too comfortable to be there with a car full of camera pointing Christian infidels and once through the crowds he quickly returned to the main road and pointed the taxi in the direction of Meknes to the south.

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Considering the amount of rain that had fallen the previous evening and all through the night I wasn’t terribly optimistic when I woke next morning and went to check the weather as a basis for some important decision making about the day ahead but unexpectedly there had been a complete transformation and the sky was big and blue and the sun was shining again as I surveyed the view from the sun terrace at the top of the Riad.

I was glad about that and flushed with relief reported the good news to the others because we had arranged a trip out of Fez today which would take us to the Roman city of Volubilis, the Muslim Holy City of Moulay Idriss and the Royal City of Meknes.  Abdul was due to collect us at ten o’clock so with the weather looking good there was no need for any hasty rearrangements to the itinerary.  We were all up early so we had a leisurely breakfast and took our time over the excellent food before he arrived a few minutes ahead of schedule.

We left the city by the same gate as the previous day and headed west on the main highway towards Rabat competing for tarmac space with trucks, cars and donkeys and curious three wheeled pick-up trucks which wobbled dangerously about and hogged the middle of the road making it difficult to pass.  I suspect they didn’t do this to be difficult but out of necessity because they didn’t look terribly stable and quite unsuitable for driving too close to the verges on both sides of the road.   Soon we were leaving the urban area behind as we passed through suburbs and villages separated by plots of useless scrub land but then we took a turning north and soon entered the countryside.

The fields here were surprisingly green and fertile and we passed through olive groves being tended by men living in makeshift tents at the side of the road and then the alarmingly inconsistent road surface took us deep into the agricultural farmland where the colours of russet, cream and gold reminded me of the plains of La Mancha.  We passed shepherds tending their sheep and men on the high sides of the hills ploughing with donkeys but this traditional way of life appeared somewhat peripheral as the main fields in the lush valley had all the signs of modern commercial agriculture even though some of the tractors looked as though they really belonged in a museum.

Eventually the road started to twist and turn and we started to climb into the mountains of Zerhoun which reared up to our left overlooking the flat valley to our right and after forty kilometres or so we came in sight of a blue lake shimmering in the sunlight and reflecting the shadows of the clouds as they swept across the sky.  This was the Nzala el Oudaïa  and there was a perfect viewing place and Abdul stopped the taxi in a lay-by next to a handful of fruit stalls with owners selling local produce who seemed surprisingly uninterested in doing any business with us.

After a short break we carried on and the road continued to twist and turn as we passed shabby run-down roadside houses each with a recent harvest of olives outside the front door and then through the untidy town of Ouled Youssef which looked an unfriendly and unwelcoming sort of place where the quality of highway engineering came to a sudden and dramatic stop and we were glad that Abdul didn’t stop there.  

I was completely disorientated now as the road threaded its way through the mountain passes heading in different directions with every hairpin bend.  The reason for this was that we were circumnavigating the mountain and eventually we reached the northern slopes and the road turned south and straightened with the mountain now to our left and the agricultural farm land to our right and to the west.

As we drove cloud began to increase, above us was a flotilla of white sails skipping across the sky as though taking part in a regatta but in the distance to the south there was a fleet of steel grey battleships and we were driving straight towards them and none of us had thought to bring our umbrellas.

Eventually we saw signs for the excavations of Volubilis and Abdul left the highway and followed a track towards the Roman City.  I’m not sure what I was really expecting but this took me by surprise rather like the moment we came across the Roman ruins of Segobriga in Spain in 2009 for even from the road it was clear that this place was much bigger than I was expecting. Luckily we hadn’t driven quite into the clouds so the weather remained perfect and the sky a reassuring blue and with the sun dodging between the clouds it was blissfully warm when we climbed out of the taxi to visit the ruins and the excavations.

But this relief from the hard sell routine didn’t last long because as we walked through the dusty back alleys Hussein suddenly declared that he knew a shortcut and knocked on a wooden door with flaking blue paint and rusty red  hinges and as it creaked open and we were invited inside it was obvious that this was not a sudden shortcut recollection at all and that we were inside another shop and I was beginning to detect a pattern here and for someone not generally very keen on shops it was not very pleasant discovery because the truth was that we had been duped into a shopping tour! I shared this suspicion with the others and the girls just smirked in a knowing sort of way.

This time it was an antique and jewelry shop and the owner, a Berber of course, offered us mint tea and said that he would be offended if we said no and invited us to look around the shop while the kettle boiled.  I’d had enough tea already so wasn’t looking forward to any more but luckily Micky came to the rescue and after a bit of bartering bought some silver (well, perhaps it was silver) bracelets and after the deal was done we were allowed to leave and as the kettle whistled to an empty shop everyone seemed relieved to forget about the tea.

There was no attempt by Hussein to disguise the true purpose of our tour now as he rushed us past things that might have been interesting to see with indecent haste because there were no shops and presumably no commission to be earned straight into another shop selling embroidered table cloths and napkins which we escaped from quite quickly but only directly into another one selling bedspreads and brightly coloured scarves and handkerchiefs.  Here the owner had a more effective sales technique where he corralled us all into a corner in the back of the shop with no easy escape route and kept banging on and showing samples in the hope that eventually one of us would lose the will to live and get a wallet out and it worked because after a few minutes we felt obliged to buy a couple of inexpensive scarves before elbowing our way towards the door.

Outside there was a saddle makers shop but we didn’t stop and I can only assume that this was because Hussein didn’t have a deal going there because of the fact that not many tourists are in the market for buying leather saddles in Fez on account of the difficulty in getting them home because of the Ryanair personal baggage allowance restrictions.

It was lunchtime now and Hussein led us straight into another trap – a Berber restaurant where before we knew it we were sat down and ordering off the menu of the day whether we wanted it or not.  Actually it was rather nice and we enjoyed a selection of salad dishes for a shared starter and then a main course, most of us had some sort of traditional chicken pastry pie, and then fruit to finish.  It was good but there was a shock to come because the bill came to about £150 which is about three times what we are usually prepared to pay for lunch and that presumably included a healthy percentage for our guide.

The first stop after lunch was a spice and argan oil shop.  Argan oil is valued for its nutritive, cosmetic and numerous medicinal properties but is one of the rarest oils in the world due the small and very specific growing areas because it is produced from the kernels of the argan tree which are only found in Morocco. By this time we were becoming rather sceptical about whether this was authentic or simply a set-up for the tourists and when we saw the girl who was going to give the demonstration being rushed into position and bundled into traditional clothing we were certain that we were being had!

Naturally there was a shop attached and after the lesson on argan oil production we were invited to look around and try some samples.  Actually it really was rather good but also terribly expensive so once again we apologised for not making a purchase and slipped out and away from the hard sell routine as quickly as we could.  It’s a real nuisance and a shame because it rules out any sort of browsing in the shops of the souks.  There seems to be a collective ethos which is determined to separate visitors from their cash as quickly as they can.  There is no understanding that most tourists have a budget and no comprehension of  or concessions made to the European or western style of shopping.

Next it was a tannery and the price to pay for a rooftop view of the famous limestone dye pits was another difficult twenty minutes in a leather shop selling coats, jackets, slippers and bags. I didn’t think we were going to get out of there very easily but again Micky was our saviour when he negotiated the purchase of a belt and we were able to get away.  Abdul was waiting for us outside the tannery and he loaded us up into the taxi and we set off for the other end of the souk.

We could have walked the short distance but this was no use to Hussein who really needed to keep us altogether because there was one last shop to visit.  Abdul dropped us off at Fez’s most picturesque entrance, the Blue Gate, Bab Boujloud, blue on one side, the colour of Fez and green on the other, the Muslim colour of peace.  We walked a short way into the souk which on account of this being Friday was disappointingly quiet and closing up for the day and then we ended up in a silversmiths shop where there were more invitations to look and buy but I think they sensed that we were all shopped-out by now and not in purchasing mood and so they let us go quite quickly.

Abdul drove us back to the Riad and then it was time to settle up with Hussein.  We asked how much and he said there was no set price and we should pay what we thought the tour was worth.  This was difficult for us because we had no idea so we pressed him for some clues on what he might expect and we decided on €60 which he seemed to be happy with.  We said goodbye and he hurried off presumably back to the shops and the restaurant to pick up his commission on the sales and I expect Abdul was getting a cut as well because surprisingly there was no charge for his services today.

Back at the Riad we captured the sunset from the rooftop terrace and then we rested and played cards in anticipation of walking out later to a restaurant recommended by Hussein but after an hour or so it started to rain, not just light rain that you can walk out in but heavy driving rain which turned the alleys into streams of mud and made it impossible to go out, the sort of rain where you could be sure that the sales assistant in the carpet shop wouldn’t be attempting the three hour walk home.  Luckily we weren’t that hungry after the big lunch so we sat and wasted the evening away, drank our duty free wine and some mint tea and simply enjoyed the company of good friends until it was time to go to bed because, weather permitting, tomorrow we were going on a day trip out of the city.