I was on my way to Fes. My peculiar express-travel trip had almost come to an end…
What a random morsel of adventure I’d had?
Buckle up. It’s not over yet.
The drama continues…
Of course it does. It’s me.
The reason I say ‘almost come to an end’ is because, unlike almost everyone else in any of the dozens of tour buses traveling along together, I was one of very few passengers that had opted for the Marrakech-to-Fes option. That seemed strange to me.
Why go Marrakech-back-to-Marrakech?
I had only considered that option for a very fleeting moment, but disregarded it as soon as I realized I would just be dumped back in Marrakech, stuck trying to figure out how to make my way to Fes.
Marrakech to the desert, I’d go. Then the desert straight north to Fes! Way to get two birds stoned at once… right?
Our crackerjack guide eventually resurfaced, just in the nick of time to collect a tip from me before I climbed into a northbound van.
I was a little torn on what I was going to do about the tip. Perhaps that was the wrong attitude to have, considering he’d been lovely for half of the trip. The awful part sure resonated now though.
I definitely had to tip Mustafa, our driver. He’d been fabulous… although he did have an irritating habit of leaving the keys in the ignition, with the door open, much too often for my liking. The beep beep beep beep was infuriating to listen to and he seemed completely oblivious to it, often letting it go on for 30-40 minutes. But… truth be told… I could hardly tip Mustafa without tipping Ali… especially while they were both standing directly in front of me.
Ugh.
Why did he have to turn out to be such a foul tempered, greedy drunk creep?
It wasn’t just me.
Everyone felt the same way.
We were all curious as to what the atmosphere would be like in the bus for the 10-hour trip back to Marrakech. I had a sneaking suspicion that he would sleep for the entire journey.
Regardless of giving a tip or not… what was I going to do about a review? Suggestions welcome…
Whatever.
I figured I’d think about that later. I was euphoric to be away from that exceedingly awkward situation.
But… out of the fire and into the frying pan, as is the norm for me. When I boarded my other van… guess who was right there, sitting in the front seat to greet me? The ignorant German girl who’d been laughing at the mournful camel as he attempted an escape across the desert…
Remember I had shot her a death stare a few hours earlier?
Ya…
Sure, she fully deserved it… but when I do this shit, I do it with the full intention of never seeing that particular person ever again. I don’t know why I never learn. It’s usually 98% guaranteed that I either randomly run into these people again … or get stuck with them in some inopportune situation.
Bingo.
Another home run for Jo.
Awkward strikes again.
I put my head down, made my way to the back of the bus and took a window seat. But… WHOA! Wait a darn second… my luck was changing!!! The seat next to me remained vacant as we pulled out of the parking lot!! This rarely ever happens! Wow… something brilliant. This was exactly the break I needed…
… until we pulled into the next stop and a girl got on to take the seat.
She was lovely… but then I was uncomfortably squished for the remainder of the 10 hour journey. I was so squished, in fact, that my arm went numb. It was penance for my camel girl death glare…
So began my very random journey to Fes.
One would think that ‘Day Three’ of a 3-day tour would still be considered part of the tour.
No.
Wrong.
The driver hardly spoke. His only function of the day was getting us from Point A to Point B. He was set on delivering us to our final destination, Fes… and not much else was included apart from a couple of toilet breaks… and lunch.
We drove through the Ziz Gorge, following the Ziz River through the Ziz Valley… and it was stunning. Seriously stunning. Did we stop? No. I think we all would have appreciated a two minute photography pull over… but… denied.
Lunch was similar… or one could argue, the exact same, as all of the other places we’d stopped for lunch. A large, uncharacteristic restaurant with a limited and fairly expensive menu. Ok… I fully understand the importance of time management, efficiency, profitability and commission… but shake it up a bit! Each place the tour took us for a meal had the exact same three-course menu. ZERO variations. And there was no option to opt out of the full 3 courses for simply 1 or 2… It was 3 or bust. And the three usually rounded up to about $30.
Ya… no.
I would’ve been happy with a samosa and a kitkat, but I’m a difficult client who sabotages plans. I’m over tajine, couscous and pizza… at least at lunchtime.
After lunch, the driver made a quick stop at the Azrou Forest to feed the Macaques that were loitering on the road. As soon as we pulled over, a handful of men swarmed our bus, trying to sell us peanuts for the monkeys.
I think I’ve spoken enough on the topic of animal rights without further infuriating everyone on why it’s discouraged to feed wildlife. Let’s just say, I waited in the bus.
My numb, aching arm and I eventually made it into Fes around 7pm… and… this was where things went sideways.
At least my adventures are never dull, though often I wish they were. I don’t know why I’m always astonished when things take a turn. It’s become routine. I spend soooo much more of my time writing about scenarios than I do describing lovely scenes. Thank goodness, as I’m quite crap at coming up with captivating adjectives…
Ok.
Bring on the crazy…
Accommodation fiasco # 2.
Hit it.
Let’s start by saying … I was thoroughly exhausted. I’d been squished on a bus for over 10 hours. My arm and my brain - both numb.
I know I’m complaining. Bear with me…
I couldn’t wait to get to Fes, get to my riad… or riayadh (either way means hotel or guesthouse) and sleep.
Ping!
I got a text.
Hmmmm… from who?
It was from the owner of my Fes riad, inquiring as to what time I’d be arriving.
My response?
6:30 / 6:45.
He then responded by saying that I could contact him if I needed help. That was nice. What a kind man. Lovely. Perfect. Sorted.
Ping!
Another message.
This time he asked me to let him know when I arrived in Fes. Ok… yep… I can do that. No problem. I also texted to inquire as to if everything was ok with my room, as he seemed a little too concerned with my arrival time.
Please note that while these texts were coming in, I was in a bus with a bunch of random strangers, all being dropped off in different locations. The non-communicative driver had taken all our hotel names and had mapped his route prior to arriving in the city.
Ping!
Another message…
This one was instructing me to tell the driver to drop me off at the post office. The post office??? Wtf…
He also shared his location, which, oddly enough, wasn’t at the post office at all.
So I did what any diligent & self-reliant traveler would do. I checked the proximity of the post office to that of my riad. Not even close… so I wrote to ask… why???
In turn, I got another response informing me that he was eating in a restaurant near the post office. He also mentioned that he would wait for me and take me to the riad… because… get this… “it’ll be a bit difficult for me to go there alone.”
Difficult?
Does he even know how resourceful I am ?
Nothing is difficult alone… well… many things are … but certainly not this. Them’s fighting words for an independent, solo female traveller.
He further buried himself by suggesting I am afraid… but then continued to advise that I do “whatever feels comfortable.”
“Good luck” was a bit of a deal breaker too. Not cool.
Exhibit D below…
Ok.
I decide to quash this conversation once and for all, because you know what I was comfortable doing?
Staying on the bus and letting the driver drop me to the location we originally agreed on without causing confusion and complicating matters.
Making my way to the riad… on my own.
Ping!
Another message…
This time he was informing me that vehicles were not permitted to enter the Medina. OMG… I know… I have this little device called a smart phone… and it has GPS. And if all else fails, I can ask someone (or him) for assistance.
I thank him again for his kindness and offer of assistance… but assured him that I would be ok on my own. I intended to proceed with my predetermined path. How hard is this place to find? I could see it in on my Google Maps… and I was feeling fairly confident I could find it.
He didn’t stop.
Ping!
Another message…
This pestering was getting to be too much. As irritating and disturbing as it had become, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would be sending the same messages to a single male traveler? Or a couple? Or a family?
Was I being singled out simply for being a solo female traveler? Sure… the offer of assistance was appreciated… but it had now far surpassed courtesy and was teetering on harassment.
Again… I assured him I was not afraid and that I would make my own way. It was high time to leave it alone. It was getting creepy. I hoped my response might bring a much-anticipated end to this very exhausting conversation.
“If I get lost, I will ask you to send me your location when you get back to the riad. I don’t have time to go back-and-forth like this anymore because I’m very tired.”
Did the conversation end there?
It did not.
Ping!
Another message…
“I'm not going to Riyadh. I told you if you want I'll wait for you here to take you with me to Riyadh.”
Ok… wait…what?
He’s not going there? … but he’ll wait and take me there??? By this time, I was in the Medina, walking with an Italian couple that had been dropped off at the same stop. They had been witness to this entire unsettling exchange… and were now more worried about the situation than I was.
He just kept texting me… and with every word I read, I was getting closer and closer to cancelling my reservation and completely cutting my losses.
As many times as I said I was not going to the restaurant, he would not accept it. As many times as I told him I was not being dropped at the post office, he would not accept it. As many times as I told him I would make it to the hotel on my own, he would not accept it.
It was very unprofessional and I mentioned that. I was feeling very uncomfortable with the persistence, despite my insistence I would persevere on my own.
I asked him to stop texting me.
He did not.
Ping!
Another message…
I received this one when I was actually STANDING INSIDE of his riad… having made it there all on my own…
“I am not telling you to go to the restaurant, I am telling you that I am eating at the restaurant now and I sent you the location of the restaurant only if you want to come, it is the closest place where the driver will leave you and it is easy to come to, and then I will take you with me, I am waiting for you only, I have finished eating, I am only trying to help you so that you do not waste time searching for Riyadh, and I told you to tell me when the driver will come and I will wait for you in Al-Batha Square in front of the post office, and you do not understand what I am saying and you say that this is unprofessional, I want to help you and I think that you do not understand what I am saying to you. Are you saying this is unprofessional? What are you talking about? I'm trying to help you here and you're talking like this. I can wait for you where I told you the driver would leave you. Tell him in front of the post office in Batha Square and I will be there in a minute. Just tell me when you will come there. Okay, please tell me now what you want to do. Do you want to come alone or do you want me to wait for you because I will be going somewhere else now?”
What the actual f**k???
Again… I have to say it. As many times as I said I was not going to the restaurant, he would not accept it. As many times as I told him I was not being dropped at the post office or in the main square, he would not accept it. As many times as I told him I would make it to the hotel on my own, he would not accept it.
What was wrong with this guy???
Much to the surprise of the lovely gentleman who had let me in the front door, I immediately turned around and walked right out of the riad.
It was too much.
I’d had enough.
The time had come to fully remove myself from the entire situation.
Well… funny thing…
He didn’t wait at the restaurant… nor was he waiting in the square… nor by the post office. Nope. Not at all. He was returning to the riad, consumed with rage that I hadn’t accepted any of his creepy & repetitious offers of assistance over the past hour. The man at the riad must have alerted him to my abrupt departure because as I was making my escape, he rounded the corner and stormed right up to me. He was shaking as he shoved his phone right into my face.
“IS THIS YOU?” he screamed.
Yep.
I kept walking.
He then proceeded to tell me to F**K OFF, very loudly, in front of everybody that was mulling around in the area.
So I did F**K off.
I F**KED right off to another riad.
Once I was safely away from his general vicinity, I frantically started searching for another place to stay. It was dark and I had to sort something out pronto.
Ping!
Another message…
This time it was an aggressive & threatening message letting me know that I was a “stupid person.” Ironically, he told ME to “go away” because “I didn’t deserve help.” He ended his infuriated rant with “YOU WILL PAY.”
The last comment frightened me slightly, as I wasn’t quite sure if he meant it literally or metaphorically. Or both. Either way, it was a little unsettling…
It was whack.
All of it.
Whack.
PAY I did, as it was well beyond the acceptable cancellation deadline. But leaving that scenario behind was all I was capable of doing. There was no hesitation. No second guessing myself.
Never a dull moment.
I did find another place…
As soon as I arrived, and the door opened, I was greeted by Omiami… the female owner of my new riad. She was kind, welcoming and made me a cup of tea to calm my nerves. I told her the entire story and she read through all of the texts, shaking her head and muttering, “he crazy” and “why he keep saying same thing?”
Exactly my question.
At one point, I was so overcome with the traumatizing stress of the evening that I burst into tears. I felt quite silly doing it in front of Omiami, but it was a much needed release for having to endure so much of that texting torture.
He was crazy.
It was incredible luck for me to find Omiami’s riad. With over 110 guesthouses in Fes, I managed to find the one that was female owned. Due to cultural, social and economic factors, it’s very rare in Morocco for a woman to solely own a business such as this. It’s definitely a male-dominated world here.
The following day, I set off to explore the city of Fes. I would like to say I set off early… but I slept in.
I’ll admit, I left the riad with much trepidation, worried I might run into my latest adversary, but Omiami promised me I would not.
She, obviously, was not aware of my luck…
I liked Fes.
A lot.
It’s the oldest of Morocco's imperial cities and is apparently the most impressive. The old town is a world heritage site and is home to the world's oldest university, University of Al Quaraouiyine. It was originally founded as a mosque in 859, before developing into one of the leading spiritual and educational centres of the Islamic Golden Age.
I wandered through the Medina, fighting off the urge to purchase everything I saw… snapping photos of decorative doors & alluring alleyways… and then finally made my way into the area that contained the rancid tanneries.
Considering this has been a bit of a shitty post, I figure I might as well end on a shitty note…
No… I did not run into crazy man.
Hopefully that never happens.
So…
Fes is not only famous for its university, but also for its leather-making. Hundreds of visitors here flock here every year for the sole purpose of visiting the tanneries.
Why?
Well… Moroccan tanneries stick to a traditional process… ancient methods passed down for centuries. One of these ancient methods is using pigeon poop in the process.
That’s right… pigeon poop.
Why pigeon poo?
Pigeon poop contains ammonia and this acts as a natural cleaning and degreasing agent.
Pigeon poop could be fermented and then effective in loosening fibres in the hide.
Pigeon poop is cheap… and everywhere, obviously.
Who’da thunk?
I learn something new every day.
The stench was rank… and only tolerable because shop owners were handing out mint leaves to shove up our nostrils.
They say the foul odour adds to the authenticity of the experience… but…
… it was pretty shitty…
:-)
PS ~ my next post is going to be drama-free.
I hope…
Fingers crossed.
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