Jones

After our visit to the Sahara at Erg Chegaga, we chose our route to the eastern side of the High Atlas, based on our desire to visit Fes. Rog in particular has been very keen, parroting “largest pedestrianised urban area in the world” whenever anyone so much as starts a word “Fe…”

So we made an early start from our petrol station – a new low in camping, but at least we’ve not resorted to Lidl yet! The day started overcast, but the sun came out and we got some lovely views of this part of the Middle Atlas, including some higher snowy peaks in the distance.

This whole, vast area to the east of the Atlas is amazing – quite empty, with so many deserted valleys and unspoilt peaks. Hardly anyone comes here though, so there are no campsites and very few places to get fresh water. Although our petrol station was supposed to oblige, we were told that their water was “non potable.” Was this something the water filter would sort out for us? Best not to risk it, we thought, and limped on with tanks only 20% full – and both of us in need of a shower, it have been just pits and bits for a couple of days now.

We stopped at  Sefrou for an excellent breakfast – more an early lunch as it was midday – porridge, omelette, bread, amlou, olive oil, olives, cheese, orange juice and coffee, all for less than £6 for the two of us.

The porridge is particularly interesting – it’s salty, flavoured with aniseed and star anise, and topped with olive oil. Much better than the sugary version people eat in the UK. 

As we left Sefrou, we drove into this.

A quick check of the weather apps showed wet weather all over Northern Morocco and Southern Europe, for most of the next week. Great.

I’d found a petrol station promising water, and this time it was potable. We filled Jones’s boots with it, and diesel, then drove on through the pouring rain to a car park just outside the old town of Fes.

The rain trousered it down all afternoon, so we just sat and waited it out, feeling pretty fed up. Eventually, we decided that at least we should eat out, and walked up the hill into the old town.

Our first port of call was the British Saloon, in a hotel in the former British Consulate. It wasn’t a great bar – no choice of beer for Rog, and no fancy cocktails for me. 

We wandered the old town and souk for a while – despite the rain, it was very atmospheric.

Although I didn’t expect to be shivering in a down jacket and jeans just two days after sitting outside in shorts playing board games.

We struggled to find a place for dinner. Our first choice just wasn’t there, and our second was closed. Eventually, led by the promise of wine, we accepted a tout’s offer to nip down a side alley to his brother’s cousin’s mother’s restaurant. It was pretty good actually, though pricy compared to what we’ve been used to.

We started with a warming soup, then Rog had pigeon pastilla and I had a camel ball stew. I had no idea they were so small!

There was even a pud chucked in – a sort of almond Spanish flan, accompanied by some very, very, very sweet Moroccan biscuits also stuffed with almonds. 

And so to bed, totally stuffed.