High on Morocco Part 1: Our First Time in Fez

Our first Time in Fez, Morocco

Bouncing in the back of a janky taxi from Fez’s airport to the Medina, the old walled-in city center, reminds me of any third world country I’ve ever visited. Mostly, I feel like I’m in central Mexico. The close knit housing, rough streets and organized chaos are all very familiar. Monstrous cacti covered in scarlet prickly pears, mature agave and citrus trees appear at every glance. Very Mexico. As the Medina’s wall becomes visible in the distance, the ancient surroundings make it obvious this is no generic third world atmosphere.

Our taxi driver pulls up next to a huge Arabic style gate in the wall, the classic curved shape intricately carved with traditional designs. “No car in Medina” he says as a shady looking character approaches and begins to collect our luggage. I’m hoping this tattooed, pierced and bejeweled street urchin is planning to carry our bags and not rob them. He is wearing the traditional Moroccan man’s attire, an earthy robe with a pointed hood that looks like a cross between a Baja hemp hoodie and Klan robes.

“I’m Yahweh, I take you to hotel brother” he explains in a thick accent. “Don’t worry to pay driver, he works for hotel too.”

“Perfect!” I exclaim, both thankful and nervous this gangster is actually a hotel employee.

Arriving at Dar Berrada Hotel

As we weave through dusty alleyways on foot, I feel like I’ve traveled to an ancient trading post along the Silk Road, reminiscent of Agrabah from Aladdin. Within minutes we hit an end to a small corner of the maze and enter our hotel, Dar Berrada, a tall and narrow building covered in lavish Moroccan décor. It’s extremely nice considering I paid less than $25 a night through booking.com. Yahweh, also known as Ismail, has his colleague fetch our key and bags while inviting us join him on the rooftop terrace for a mint tea. We gladly oblige, after a long journey beginning at 5am back in Barcelona. *link dar berrada/booking.com

Spiral stairs of traditional Moroccan tile lead up to the terrace where we lookout over the whole Medina. Scanning the horizon beyond the walls, I’m thrilled to be immersed in this ancient world. Yahweh emerges from the rooftop kitchen with a luxurious silver tea set and heads to an ornate mosaic table with colorful seats adorned with silk pillows, a mere foot off the ground.

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“Moroccan whiskey!” he exclaims “but don’t worry, no alcohol.” He sets down the tea cups loaded with stalks of fresh mint and pours hot green tea atop, releasing the fragrant menthol and setting a vibe. As we sit and talk about potential sightseeing locations, Yahweh pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his robe, along with a hunk of hashish the size of a golf ball. I watch him discreetly warm the hash with a lighter under the table. He break off small pieces into his cupped palm with clear expertise.

My First Taste of Moroccan Hash

“Is it possible for me to buy some of that around here?” I interrupt, nodding my head in his direction.

“You smoke? Here, roll one.” He slides me a cig, the hash, papers and his lighter across the prismatic table.

I’m not a big tobacco guy but have been in this typical European situation many times before. Either a hash spliff, or you smoke nothing. My love of cannabis outweighs my distaste for cigarette tobacco and I break up the kif, the local name for this simple dry sift hashish. I nose the warmed hash and pick up faint piney tones with oxidized, earthy and woody aromas.

As I crumble the kif, I’m pleased with the dry texture as it cools, noting its malleability when heated. An overly dried harvest exposed to too much heat and oxygen will cause volatile terpenes to evaporate, losing the potent fresh aroma and sappy qualities. This is typical of most Moroccan hashish I’ve sampled in France and the UK. I’m sure some there’s some high quality sticky resin out here somewhere in Morocco, but unlikely to be found by an average tourist. If you find it sticky, it’s more likely to have been adulterated with cutting agents.

“My friend’s family own a farm near Chefchaouen. You know this place?” Yaweh asks.

“Yes, the blue city! We are heading there in a few days”

“I can get you some for your trip. In the streets you will only find tourist quality.”

“Great, can I get a gram or two? How much is it?”

“Five gram minimum my brother, but don’t worry, enough to last you whole trip. 400 Dirham.”

“Deal.” I say, satisfied a nice ball of hash will only set me back around $40.

As I inhale my first few puffs, I’m overwhelmed by the tobacco buzz but quickly ease into a brilliant state of mind as I begin tasting the kif. I sip my mint tea and look out over the Medina of Fez, exhilarated for the adventures to come. With my wife being a firm no-tobacco smoker, I’m obligated to finish the spliff on my own. I feel uplifted, heady and ready to explore. We finish our tea, thank Yahweh, and hit the Medina’s streets. I’m in need of lunch and a new hash pipe at the market.