To relive the exotic romance of the period a thousand years before the French occupied North Africa a hundred years ago, bringing their baguettes and patisserie, where better than the Medina of Fes, Morocco. No cars, no American Burger chains, little English spoken, donkeys and push-carts laden with produce abound. A very complicated tangle of 9400 little alleyways, home to about 200,000 people is compressed into an area of about 2 kilometres square.

The buildings are usually 2 or 3 stories high topped by satellite dishes. When the buildings lean precariously over the alleyways they are held apart by chocks of wood. Most streets are two donkeys wide. The narrowest are only one donkey wide. Donkey and push-cart gridlock is rare, but does happen. Satellite GPS signals don’t penetrate at all into the deep narrow streets, so navigation by smart phone app is not on. Maybe the compass on your smart phone could be useful.

But the guide-books say you WILL get lost – so just concentrate on learning recovery skills. They were absolutely right. A 12 year old computer savvy member of our team took another tack. He asked Siri (sort of Guru that you talk to on the smart phone and she answers back, usually wisely and correctly) “Where is the Riad Medina in Fes Morocco”? Siri had problems with his plummy London accent. She asked him to repeat more clearly. The exchange became steadily more intense till Siri said to him. “You must understand that this is about you, not me”. We got lost. And recovered. Eventually. In the process we had a marvelous afternoon.

Sweetiepie located our riad through the web. Owned by three English people who bought it as a wreck seven years ago, sight unseen. Some of the mosaic floor tiles are original, but in the course of a massive project most of the floors and ceilings had to be replaced.

Currently resembles what would have been the home of a successful merchant. Some of the ceilings maybe 16 ft high. So we live in style and grace, although the temp is such that the boys have only briefly used the pool.

People on the streets of the Medina are straight out of an anthropologists study of 700 years ago. A rich tapestry of colourful people. Smiling faces sometimes reveal a lack of trust in the local dentist, probably also lack of the necessary Dirhams. The tourists by comparison are awfully beige. The well-to-do local lads about town wear a smart leather jacket and tight pants. The haughty head held high, the centre topped with pomaded black curls, the sides neatly trimmed with a #2 comb. Many of their entrepreneurial younger brothers hang about the streets doing secret little boy business. The little girls are of course more protected. The older generation wear a sort of hooded cover-all called a Jelaba that drapes down to the ankles. Spotlessly clean and carried with some gravitas by gentlemen as they answer the call to prayer. Grubby men are sometimes seen wearing a grubby Jelaba. Perhaps they are just poor with no dignity

At the top end of the Medina, where the streets are sometimes three donkeys wide, there are caravanserais where the cameleers brought their goods for sale. Apart from the usual fruit, fish and meat smells, the dominating aroma of the souks is a rich cocktail of spices. The selling spaces vary from a small dark hole in the wall to expansive expensive glittering extravaganzas. The smallest business is probably an old guy who sits on a corner of our street, all day every day. He wears a medium grubby Jelaba and his wares are kept in a drawer in a little box by his side. Have only seen one transaction. A little packet was taken from the drawer and exchanged for Dirhams. In the markets bargaining is expected. Along the main drag the boys were attracted to a lunette shop where they wanted to spend their pocket money on sun glasses. Their dad tried to explain to them that they will make the best deal if they don’t appear too eager. The smiling shop keeper could see that they were indeed quite eager. The episode ended happily for everyone.

There are free schools – video clip shows a kindergarten in action. The school day is short and many of the children spend time before and after school involved in the family business. Youth unemployment is very high – in the area of 30 – 40%. Many of them is not prepared to be paid a low wage, working as fodder in production of textile, leather and metal goods. This is all in contrast to the new city, where there are world wide standard freeways, fast cars and shopping malls with fast food. One point of individuality in the Carrefour supermarket in the new town is that they offer camel sausage. It is nothing to get excited about. A bit like kangaroo but not so bouncy. Another use for camels – 500 years ago the administrative records of the town were inscribed onto camel bones, some of which are on show in a museum.

The donkeys are a lugubrious lot, very patient and versatile. There are no wheelie bins in the alleys, no rubbish bins, the rubbish is put out into the street in bags. In the morning a couple of guys come with the rubbish donkey. The donkey and the guys carry out the daily chore with simple resignation. At the other end of the social scale would have to be the royal family, reputed to be amongst the 10 richest families in the world. The king is said to travel the world spruiking for the business interests of the Moroccan companies that the family controls. There is a movement in some quarters for the lot of the lowest strata to be improved so that they might live and work with more dignity. Doesn’t appear to be gaining much traction at this stage.