Fez: Jerusalem of the Maghreb

The Atlas Express carried us out of Marrakech - a rail line that only skirted the Atlas Mountains and most certainly was not express. Rocky hills and desert plains were replaced by recently-reaped fields of grain and eventually the Casablanca suburbs. As we ran further north, the coastline was dotted with oil refineries and container ports, interspersed with plastered apartment buildings that would have belonged anywhere in the Mediterranean. We passed Rabat and Kenitra, and the train turned east to cut across eucalyptus and orange groves before we ended up in forested brown hills that looked just like the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway.

The train itself was a fascinating mix of Moroccan characters. We were sitting in a compartment seating eight, and each new passenger entering the compartment would announce their entrance with a curt "salaam alaikum" that almost made it feel like a sitcom. The giggly women in their late 20s with wireless headphones and dark jeans were replaced by another woman in a niqab and gloves and her young son. I walked to the end of the car to stretch my legs and encountered a wide-open door and a woman in a hijab and a t-shirt boldly stating "I'm here to make money, not friends." Globalization came in many forms, but this had to be one of the funnier ones.

Nearly seven hours after boarding, we were in Fez. The taxi carried us past the royal palace, a compound the size of a small town surrounded by 15-foot walls, towards the old city. The medina of Fez was broadly similar to its equivalent in Marrakech, but built on a sharply-sloping hill. The city had blissfully banned motor vehicles, leaving the streets clean and quiet. Deliveries took place on donkeys, or on foot.

Fez was an important city under the Berber Almoravid dynasty, who constructed a water supply system that connected to most public buildings and wealthy homes in the 11th century. In subsequent centuries, the city became the capital of the Marinid Sultanate, who invited a large Jewish population to settle in it even before the Spanish Expulsion. Fez in the 16th-20th centuries, thus became the largest and most important Jewish community in North Africa, centered, again, on the city's mellah. The word "mellah" actually comes from Fez and its salt trade, which was once dominated by Jews.

Beyond the salt trade, many of Fez's Jews were jewelers, and to this day the mellah is tucked away behind a jewelry market. Looking for the right alley, we were profiled by a local named Abdellatif who asked us whether we were looking for the synagogue. His first piece of information was a uniquely helpful one - dead ends were marked by hexagonal street signs, while through streets had square ones. The mellah had other important distinctions: homes built by Jews have wooden doors and exterior balconies; those built by Muslims have metal gates and internal courtyards. A closer look also revealed discoloring on the doorposts that used to hold mezuzahs.

Abdellatif guided us through the maze of alleyways, stopping occasionally to perform random neighborly tasks - helping a woman navigate steps with a cart, comforting a crying child, and picking up scraps of food from the ground. He's spent his whole life in this neighborhood, likely living in a house which once housed some of its 80,000 Jewish residents, and knew what each Hebrew inscription meant.

Three synagogues are visible in the mellah today. The first is a crumbling ruin waiting for funding to be renovated. The Aben Danan synagogue was built in the 17th century and closed in 1968. Its contents were robbed, but it was renovated in the 1990s and reopened on my birthdate. The El-Fassayn synagogue housed the community of Berber Jews (known as toshavim, or "residents") that predated the Spanish Expulsion. It was similarly built in the 17th century and renovated in the last decade "under the high patronage of the King," as a sign proudly proclaims. Its design was rather unique, with geometric wall decorations that were evocative of a mosque.

Just beneath the neighborhood's homes is the Jewish cemetery, relocated in 1884 after the king wanted to expand his palace grounds onto its former location. It was very neat and orderly, and contained a surprise at its center. A small grassy patch bore Israeli and Moroccan flags, and a plaque commemorating the Abraham Accords.

Of course, Fez is and was primarily a Muslim city, and an important one at that. In the mid-9th century, the city's Muslim rulers founded the al-Qarawiyyin Mosque which became one of the most important educational institutions in the Muslim world. Depending on what one considers the term to include, it may even be the world's longest continuously-operating university. Like most mosques in Morocco, al-Qarawiyyin is closed to non-Muslim visitors, and so we chose to visit the comparatively modern Attarine madrassa down the street, dating to the 14th century. We had the place practically to ourselves - an amazingly intricate courtyard and prayer room on the ground floor, with tiny study rooms and dorms above. In order to preserve the perfect proportions of the courtyard, the windows on the upper levels were at floor level, which testified to the extremely particular aesthetic sensibilities of the civilization in which the madrassa was built.

We were certainly enjoying these aesthetic sensibilities, staying in a gorgeous riad with 15-foot ceilings and decorated with all the goodies the market had to offer. The riad was also the temporary home of Ismail, a tour guide accompanying an American couple who spent his evenings drinking eight-ounce beers on the roof. It was the first alcohol I had seen in Morocco, and clearly doing a number on him. We also discovered new foods: pastilla, camel burgers, and briouat (dumplings stuffed with cheese or meat).

For the past millennium, the eastern end of Fez has been the site of a tannery. We climbed to the roof of one of the leather shops surrounding the outdoor workshop, and were handed fresh mint leaves to mask the intense smell. "Moroccan gas mask," as the owner joked. He showed us the different vats in which animal skins are soaked, dyed, and scrubbed, using natural materials including indigo, tea leaves, and pigeon poop. "Coco Chanel should be called Caca Chanel," he added. Today was a yellow dye day, and pieces of leather at different stages of readiness were stacked everywhere across the plaza. It was a truly incredible sight, even if the stench was literally eye-watering.

We snaked our way out of the medina in alleys barely large enough for me to fit through. This neighborhood, only slightly higher up the hill, was like a replica of the old medina, only catering to locals. Produce replaced souvenirs, and workshops produced wood products and garments for the tourist market below.

Our goal was to reach a hill above the city to watch the sunset among the tombs of the city's leaders. A local man guided us up a dirt path and through a neglected cemetery to the wall above. He claimed to be the biggest fan of the United States, but then tried extorting us for 200 dirhams ($20) for his services. I gave him half that and he stormed away, leaving us on the wall among groups of male teenagers, young couples looking for a semi-private makeout spot, and sheep grazing below.