Value for money is a hard thing to determine in a new country. It is hard to put a price on experiences, quality and goods with no price tags.
In Morocco rarely do you find a fixed price for anything. Taxis can vary from a sheep truck to a well fitted out car. Scarf prices find a consensus post buying when chatting with fellow tourists. You wouldn't pay more then 40 dirhams. Bargaining is a test of skill to the locals but distressing for some visitors.
After falling for the maze "scam" in Marrakech, where we payed a pittance to young lads who led us to the market "just around the corner" only to find the corner leading to more mazes, paying decent money to a licensed guide in Fez seemed good value.
Baroush arrived at our door, stately and distinguished. An educated man. Receiving our instructions he guided us through the small winding streets of Fez, pointing out stalls, craftsmen at their trade and points of cultural significance. A steady pace and patient understanding made for a wonderful experience.
The tannery was a highlight. The bakery, the stalls, architecture and the tailors all seemed to have added depth. We could look at the donkeys laden wending their way through the narrow streets and observe hennaed feet and craggy faces rather than memorise each unnamed street corner.
Nearing the end of our time in the medina, we stopped for some takeaway lunch at a cafe suggested by our guide.
"Sit, sit" the old man who owned the cafe gestured. Baroush disappeared politely. The old man was proud of his cafe. A grey beard, neat and clean framed a broad smile. Fez on head he sat us down and directed son and daughter to serve us. The fan flamed the coals that cooked our meat, the daughter brought five small bowls of amazing food. Onions and spices, lentils fragrant and sweet, beans, tomato, something else. Mint tea, sweet and hot. All free. All just given, then more and more given. The old man beamed as he watched our faces and saw the bowls scraped clean with the bread that accompanies all food. More mint tea was brought in, and the conversation flowed without a common word but an ocean of good will and hospitality.
Three loaves of bread stuffed full of spicy meat and onions wrapped and off we went. The price was 130 dirhams, about $13 for lunch for three and a priceless experience. The old man escorted us to the door. Baroush took the lunch we bought him home to share with his family. We went back to the Riad with lunch, full bellies and hearts warmed by the people we met that day.
The old man had waved goodbye to strangers he would never see again, I waved goodbye to a man I will never forget.
In Morocco rarely do you find a fixed price for anything. Taxis can vary from a sheep truck to a well fitted out car. Scarf prices find a consensus post buying when chatting with fellow tourists. You wouldn't pay more then 40 dirhams. Bargaining is a test of skill to the locals but distressing for some visitors.
After falling for the maze "scam" in Marrakech, where we payed a pittance to young lads who led us to the market "just around the corner" only to find the corner leading to more mazes, paying decent money to a licensed guide in Fez seemed good value.
Baroush arrived at our door, stately and distinguished. An educated man. Receiving our instructions he guided us through the small winding streets of Fez, pointing out stalls, craftsmen at their trade and points of cultural significance. A steady pace and patient understanding made for a wonderful experience.
The tannery was a highlight. The bakery, the stalls, architecture and the tailors all seemed to have added depth. We could look at the donkeys laden wending their way through the narrow streets and observe hennaed feet and craggy faces rather than memorise each unnamed street corner.
Nearing the end of our time in the medina, we stopped for some takeaway lunch at a cafe suggested by our guide.
"Sit, sit" the old man who owned the cafe gestured. Baroush disappeared politely. The old man was proud of his cafe. A grey beard, neat and clean framed a broad smile. Fez on head he sat us down and directed son and daughter to serve us. The fan flamed the coals that cooked our meat, the daughter brought five small bowls of amazing food. Onions and spices, lentils fragrant and sweet, beans, tomato, something else. Mint tea, sweet and hot. All free. All just given, then more and more given. The old man beamed as he watched our faces and saw the bowls scraped clean with the bread that accompanies all food. More mint tea was brought in, and the conversation flowed without a common word but an ocean of good will and hospitality.
Three loaves of bread stuffed full of spicy meat and onions wrapped and off we went. The price was 130 dirhams, about $13 for lunch for three and a priceless experience. The old man escorted us to the door. Baroush took the lunch we bought him home to share with his family. We went back to the Riad with lunch, full bellies and hearts warmed by the people we met that day.
The old man had waved goodbye to strangers he would never see again, I waved goodbye to a man I will never forget.
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