In the morning, after another chaotic trip through the train station, we took the two hour ride to the city of Meknes.
My sister Clara’s friend Jamila has an uncle from this town who will be serving as our guide. He is a charming gentleman who goes by the name “Rani” and met us as the train station. We found a large taxi that transported all of us to the Riad including the mountain of luggage.
Morocco generally has two types of taxis. The petit-taxis, are little blue cars that transport a maximum of three passengers. The grande-taxis, Mercedes that are 25 years old or more, transport as many and as much as it can possibly fit. Grande-taxis are also licensed to take you to other cities while the smaller ones are not. We hired a grande-taxi to transport Rani, Adam, Mom and Dad and myself with all of the luggage (bungee-strapped into the overfilled trunk) to go to the Riad Fellousia.
As I would come to realize, many residences and shops are not on major roads. The streets are old and narrow, so cars can only get you to the nearest intersection. The Riad manager usually meets you to help guide you through the maze of dark and narrow corridors until you reach the guesthouse.
Riad Fellousia looked quite modest from the outside, even sketchy. However, once inside, it was a beautiful, cozy and tall home owned by a French family. Several large suites surrounded a central garden with a soaring roof and skylight. Each suite was decorated in local textiles, lamps and furniture, with ornately shuttered windows facing the central courtyard. A turtle (currently named “Turtle”, formerly known as Julie by the owner’s daughter) ruled the garden. The house was formerly owned by a foreign consulate and was located across the street from the sprawling palace and grounds of the former Sultan Moulay Ismail.
After a light lunch of fresh salads and the cook’s first attempt to make a burger/sandwich (at Adam’s request) we set out on foot to explore the old city. We walked around the mosques, the palace grounds, souks of the Medina as well as the old Jewish quarter of Mellah. Meknes had formerly housed a very large Jewish population in the early half of the last century before they left for Israel.
We passed many small businesses who created their products using the same skills and techniques of their ancestors hundreds of years before them. We met a baker making bread in an ancient oven, someone making sifts, artisans hand embroidering caftans and twisting threads in the street.
We discovered that Rani was a great asset as he knew almost everyone in the streets, many paying him great respect in their greeting. My limited knowledge of French was truly put to the test as Rani’s English was extremely limited. We were informed that finding anyone who spoke fluent English was very rare outside of hotels and high-priced tourist shops.
Adam has aggravated the “Jackie Chan” situation in this city. A trio of Asian tourists accompanied by one taller Caucasian man following a well-known local man created quite a lot of curiosity among local children. Adam whispered and pointed to Dad and said “Jackie Chan”. The children jumped up and down, recruited others and followed us around the streets. Many of them ran up to him showing off their best chop-socky kung fu moves. Rani, horrified that local children were mock-attacking their guest reprimanded them sternly as he shooed them away. Dad was oblivious as Adam giggled to himself.
Rani’s friends offered us a ride in one of the horse-drawn carriages of the palace as a favor to him. Unlike the leisurely pace of Central Park carriages in New York, the horses run through the streets at break-neck speeds.
In the evening, my mother and I decided experience the tradition of a Moroccan Hammam. This was not the luxurious spa, but a local bathhouse. Of course, no one spoke English, and barely French. It was a visual shock of seeing women completely nude washing each other with such comfort and ease after two days of seeing the same women covered up so conservatively in the streets.
The services there consisted of an elderly African woman, about 80 lbs, instructing you to disrobe completely. She rubbed argan oil all over your skin and scrubbed you thoroughly with what can only be described as an adapted Brillo pad. To demonstrate how well she did her work, she showed you the amount of dead skin she took off of you. She covered your entire (and I mean ENTIRE) body.
Later that evening, we visited a local restaurant. Dad had anticipated eating his favorite dish of Bastilla in its home country. Rani had ordered two, as well as a Chicken tagine. My dad was in heaven. The restaurant was cute, with cushions and curtains and Moroccan tiled walls.
For those of you who have never tried this delicacy, Bastilla is a celebratory dish of chicken simmered with many spices such as coriander, saffron, and cinnamon with eggs, sugar and almonds. It is then wrapped in phyllo pastry and butter and baked. Bastilla can also be found in seafood varieties, and a special delicacy for Morocco, pigeon.
Tagine is a stew-like dish that has been simmered for hours, using meat, vegetables and a large selection of spices and sometimes fruit. The combination is a delicious sweet/savory combination often eaten with couscous or bread.
No comments:
Post a Comment