Mixed feelings for an experienced tourist.

After my mountain adventure I spent 5 days in Fez, and those days have been a serious source of writers block. It's not because Fez is boring because it wasn't, but it kind of was, although if anyone visited Morocco I would urge them not to miss Fez, thus the complications I'm having. It was a little bit of fatigue since I was resting up, and a little bit of been there done that. Fez is everything in Morocco all packed into one spot and twice the thrill of anything anywhere else, so it definitely is a must see, and I enjoyed it, but my enjoyment was a bit more somber.

I spent the first few days running around to all the tourist sites and figuring out the streets of the medina. I managed to find everything on my own, but it took quite a while and several attempts, partly because the center was tread by too many horses and my allergies could only last about an hour in the heart of the city. The shops did however bore me. I went into a few, but the prices were ridiculous compared to what I'm used to scouting out merchandise in villages, and the patter was very old hat. At first, knowing the response to every usual question I started toying with the dealers, but that wasn't enjoyable and I finally hung up my shopping hat.

The next couple of days I toyed around in various museums and some of the odder attractions. The museums were lovely, but I found a sadness in them. The pieces looked ancient, and reminded me of native american works that I've seen in natural history museums. Then I started looking at the dates. Most of the pieces were 19th century, and a few 20th century. A few dated back to 14th and 15th century but the technology had changed very little. I started running around just looking at the dates, trying to find something, although I had no idea what. I became very sad when I saw how new this country was. I sat in the courtyard for a while thinking about colonialism. My image of the country was of a young child being corrupted by a local teenager. I didn't like my mood very much so I moved on from the Moroccan museums and went elsewhere.

I don't know why I chose it, but I decided to go to a synagogue. I was actually looking for a pick me up, but I put my brain on hold when I was fascinated by seeing jewish life in a muslim country. My first stop was the cemetary, which I thought I needed to cross through to get to the synagogue. I was led around by a jewish guide who spoke a little english. I would never have known he was jewish until he started translating hebrew for me. The cemetary is very crowded. Most of the graves are unmarked and take up about a square foot. Most of the Moroccan rabbis have small shrines dedicated to them. The dates go back about 500 years and the most recent rabbi died in the 70s. Next to the cemetary is a small row of maybe six or seven houses with distinctly jewish architecture, namely small iron clad windows. Other than that the place is dwarfed by its islamic neighbors. The synagogue is there, but since the rabbi died it had been converted into a museum and replaced by a neighboring synagogue restored by UNESCO. Outside of the synagogue was a sight that conjured up all my compassion for the jewish plight. On the wall leading up to the door is a large star painted red and green. It's the star of the country and being an islamic country is has five points. Five is a deeply important number to Islam. I saw it and thought about how the Jews here were so proud of their country that they were willing to fly it's flag despite it symbolizing Islam. In spite of being taxed for the construction of mosques (which they still are but they aren't required to pay for all of it as was done in the past), and despite the problems over the centuries related to religious persecution they were willing to fly the flag because they loved the land they stood on. I could not find any more compassion left to give when I saw it.

We had a tough time finding the keys to the museum and at first I was told to come back but eventually we found the keymaster. During this I waited for a bit at the front gate with the tour guide who was also in charge of the cemetary. A muslim guide brought a few americans into the cemetary and gave them a two minute tour. On their way out the manager asked for a donation to keep up the cemetary. The americans fumbled for some change, saying I don't have any do you have any. The muslim guide made it quite clear that, 'A contribution is not mandatory, you do not have to pay.' The americans managed one U.S. quarter. Although the manager had assured me that life for jews here is perfect, no problems like the middle east and actually many families that left for Israel, the U.S. and Canada are actually returning. He didn't have the same attitude after they left and mentioned something about mulsim guides being 'no good.'

The museum was full of old relics and costumes and paintings and torahs. One painting was of a jewish woman that caught the attention of the king a century or so ago. The king wanted to marry her and demanded that she convert to Islam. She refused and he killed her. Oddly there was not a shred of resentment during the telling of this story. The museum's pride and joy is a 400 year old Torah, when leather was still used for writing. It was quite remarkable especially since I was allowed to touch it. It was just sitting in a cabinet unprotected. I didn't really want to but the manager insisted. After the museum I was taken to the replacement synagogue, considered the best in Morocco. I've never been in a synagogue and I expected Catholic grandure and was quite shocked that it only held about a hundred people including the balcony. Sadly I have to say that I am totally ignorant as to what goes on in a synagogue, and the guide for the synagogue did not speak english so I couldn't ask. He was also annoyed with me since I didn't rub the little thing on the door. He wanted me too, but all I could think of is communion and I know I'm not supposed to take it, and thus I didn't want to rub it and screw up and then have him discover I'm not jewish or something paranoid like that. The synagogue was very pretty, but it became stunning once I thumbed through the pictures of what it looked like 10 years ago. I'm amazed anyone knew it was ever a synagogue at all. The roof had caved in and the interior had long been gutted. It makes a difference when I was able to appreciate the effort that went into to saving it.

Here is where I have to get honest and I hope I don't offend my family but this is how we learn. So when I went into the museum the manager of the cemetary asked me for a donation. I though, you know, I'm quite moved so I should give him 50 dh. The standard price for museums in Morocco is 10 dh. Then I though, oh I can get away with 20 and offered that. He gave me a friendly look as though I was kidding with him and corrected me. I ended up paying the 50 dh. The museum which was part of the cemetary also charged me the usual museum rate. At the synagogue, I made a 20 dh donation to the further restoration of the building, and the guide handed me three 10 dh pieces and then asked for 10 dh for the tour, making it very difficult to refuse. Now I expected the whole thing to be 10 dh and I walked out of their feeling totally ripped off after paying 90 dh and for a moment I understood, and hate to say it, but sympathized with the sentament that jews rip people off. Now for me it didn't take two long for this thought to terrify me and I had to sit down for a while and talk with myself. I really struggled to find any remnants of all that compassion that I had at first, and after too long to admit I finally came to terms with the situation. It wasn't until I got really honest with myself was I able to admit that 90 dh is only $8 and well worth what I got for it. I kind of felt that the folks I met knew how much I could afford and therefore asked for that much. I kept thinking about how the manager asked for exactly what I initially considered giving him. Now 90 dh is an outrageous price for Morocco, but I'm not Moroccan and I had forgotten that. From all this I learned that honesty grows tolerance, which made me extremely sad since the kind of honesty I needed was a result of a month and a half wandering around by myself with nothing but my thoughts. On that pessimistic note I left Fes earlier than I expected. I was tired of traveling but I just needed to move. I needed something and I couldn't find it here.