One night in Fez

by Donally Bernal (New Zealand)

I didn't expect to find Morocco

We flew into the African desert. It was a short but emotionally draining flight. My partner and I were fighting. I was pregnant, and in a mood, and with my boyfriend’s mood he might as well have been pregnant too. But as we reached the African desert excitement grew and it was like we had left our worries at the Strait of Gibraltar. There was something adventurous about overlooking the dry desert sands, into a world we had yet to explore. We disembarked the plane at Saiss Airport which looked more modern than expected. Our plan was to take a public bus into Ville Nouvelle and walk an hour from there to the medina. Thank goodness we didn’t and instead paid the extra money for a hotel shuttle. The heat was unforgiving and so were the locals’ stares. I admit, we had fears for Fez. The medina was a maze with lefts, rights, ups and downs. There were steep, dusty paths to give you a workout and underground passages to knock your head on. The ground and walls were tan colored and on every other corner was a plastic bag of food scraps and used diapers. Through narrow walkways we could hear noises coming from inside the doors we passed, glimpses of conversation from local men and the high-pitched banter of pre-adolescent boys kicking their ball around. There was a noticeable lack of women, which only added more fear to me, as a woman. At last we arrived at our safe haven, Dar Gnaoua Hotel, with the help of our friendly guide, Laurence. A dungeon-like door lead to a cool, dimly lit hallway. At the end was a grand, beautiful lobby with balconies above and a centerpiece below. It was then time to follow our guide, now receptionist, to our room. Already sore and tired from the medina, I braced myself for more stairs. We dragged ourselves up dark, narrow staircases, anticipating each room and wondering if it would be ours. At last we made it to the very top of the riad, where there was just one suite and a terrace. Austen and I were in awe. I felt like a queen with views of Fez spread out before me. We continued the evening with dinner at the nearest restaurant that Laurence recommended. Austen and I hurried along with our heads down. At Darori Resto, we were met with smiling faces, unlike the ones we had avoided making eye contact with on the street. Our waiter put on a performance for us of his impeccable hospitality. We chose to sit on couches to be a little more different to what we’re used to. The food was amazing. We had a ‘salad’ of four separate cooked vegetables, contrasting tastes and textures for the mains, and freshly squeezed orange juice to drink. We savored every bite and soaked up the ambience until it was time to take our full stomachs back to the hotel. Then the best part of it all happened. After venturing through alleyways and climbing back to the top of the riad, it hit me. Everything became worth it in that moment. Long months of scrubbing toilets to save money, staying at home instead of socializing, and journeying to the other side of the world chasing trains and delayed flights, all became so worth it for a moment that I wasn’t expecting and could never have imagined. The view of Fez during the day was one thing, but seeing this mysterious yet unwelcoming city at night with the moon and stars up above brought tears to my eyes. I looked over at Austen and he felt the same way. After losing my son there have been very few moments where I have been so overwhelmed by the beauty of the world, that I truly felt like life was worth living. A night in Fez was one of these.