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J. Marcia Night received her Bachelor's Degrees from the University of Washington in Seattle and her Masters in Education from Western Oregon State College in Monmouth, Oregon. She is an EFL Lecturer, Art Instructor, and Travel Photographer who has worked overseas since 1993. She has lived, worked, and traveled in Europe, Asia, the Middle East, Northern Africa, and Latin America. On December 13th, 2000, less than one month prior to leaving to spend a year in Morocco, she became a Certified Tour Director with ITMI.  When she is not traveling or living overseas, Ms. Night returns to her home on the Pacific Coast of Washington State. Additional Resources Living Overseas  International Jobs Listing  Contact Ms. Night

Hopelessly lost, unable to find my way through the maze as the light is becoming dimmer, I search for a way out from amongst the ancient medieval structures that seem to go on forever, perched along cobblestone streets. Houses have closed their shutters, and the deserted alleyways are beginning to fill me with a sense of intrigue mixed with awe; a bit of fear is admittedly beginning to creep in. It is my first evening in the city of Fez.  I continue to follow the narrow cobblestone paths, and am not finding a soul anywhere; tension begins to grow and a feeling of excitement is mixed with apprehension. It's easy to feel I have returned to the Middle Ages, wandering in this cluster of ancient palaces and apartments, with their upstairs windows once used for women of the harem to peek out at the passerbys, magnificent interior and  exterior tile work modeled after the craftsmen and

A man in a jelaba appears from nowhere, and sees that I'm lost.  Although we are unable to communicate in a common language, he is well aware that I am a foreigner and knows the body language of 'I'm lost' only too well! Nowhere is it easier to become lost than in the medina of Fez!

He leads me back to the spot where I had started from, up to the grand tiled arched gateways that enclose the medina. I give him some change, and he is satisfied with it after counting it, and disappears back into the maze, heading back to his own destination after going out of his way to help me find my bearings.

The evening rapidly becomes darker, since it is now late September and the days are becoming shorter, and I am relieved to now find myself in a part of the medina where there is activity, where I am surrounded by open shops, cafes, the aroma of mint tea and steaming harriras  simmering in pots and a few isolated pockets of tourists, many of whom are traveling alone as I am.

Aggressive waiters try to commandeer me to patronize their particular café, but for the time being I only want to savor this magnificent city and the humanity that makes it such an unforgettable spot. Men and women dressed in jelabas, and burnooses, wearing babushes, the typical slippers worn as westerners would wear sandals, bustle through the shops and markets, searching for fresh fruits and vegetables for dinner that evening. 
 

Shopkeepers do their best to attract anyone that looks like they might have some money in their pocket to entice them to buy their wares. In fact, bronzeware is a specialty of Fez, as well as Moroccan leather goods, and dye baths known the world over, are to be found in this ancient part of the city.  Surrounded by its magnificent walls, once a home to Sultans and harems and still a home to Kings, Fez awaits the arrival of the new King, who after a three month period of mourning for the death of his father, is now being reigned in, and I have unknowingly chosen to come to play tourist here at the same time!

It's an exciting and skeptical time for the people, many of whom are impoverished. They are hopeful that this will be the dawn of a new and prosperous era; the general consensus is "We will wait and see." I’ve the honor of being in the right place at the right time. 

Paper Moroccan flags printed for this occasion are handed out freely, the green silhouetted five pointed star proudly stands out from its background of red, and I am offered a flag by a vendor. Larger versions are draped from windows. Carpets have been laid in one part of the town, but unknown to the crowds at this point, the King has chosen to arrive on the following day in yet another part of the city in order to speak in a more open area.
 

Today, crowds of people wait patiently, grandfathers with grandchildren perched on their shoulders for at least two hours. Nothing happens and everyone finally disperses and goes home. He just never showed up, and no one seems to know why. All are disappointed, but it is the Moroccan way to never lose hope. Enshallah, "It is God's will."  The next day, late in the morning while I’m visiting a shop, the friendly young English-speaking shopkeeper tells me that he will be closing the shop in ten minutes because the new King is arriving, and he wants to hear him speak. At last, it's happening!  He invites me to go along with him and his girlfriend to join the crowd of onlookers and listeners, and I am delighted to take him up on his offer. I accompany them both, but shortly afterwards, I am unable to find them amongst the crowd. As I try to position  myself to see the King, a friendly Moroccan man warns me, again with body language, to watch my bag; there will be pickpockets at such

gatherings. I thank him, and having had that experience before in other places I've traveled, I am careful. 
 

The King arrives with a motorcade, in an open car, dressed in a dark suit and tie, standing in the back of the car, waving to the people. Cheers roar from the crowd. I'm able to get a glimpse of him from a distance and a quick click of the camera shows me later that I did manage to get one frame with the King, a mini-view, smiling and waving to the crowds that have gathered for this historic moment.
 

He is driven to a podium where he openly speaks to the people in colloquial Moroccan Arabic. No longer able to understand, I drift back to the medina where I've booked a hotel for a couple of nights. I am told later on in the evening, during dinner with others sharing their accounts of the King's speech with me, that he has promised to bring more jobs, strengthen the economy, and in general, improve the lot of the people. The philosophy of “We will wait and see what happens” remains, but everyone is hopeful.  I realize that I've seen only a small part of this country during this whirlwind trip through Morocco,

and I fully know I am covering only isolated bits and pieces of  Marrakesch, Meknes, Moulay Idriss, Fez, Asilah, Ifrane, Azrou and Tangier, which only whets my appetite to experience it more fully. I will have that opportunity, in fact, and will return in January to work and spend a year here. During that time I will explore the country far more than I've had a chance to on this trip, return to many of the spots I've now spent a little time in, and explore new places that I didn't have the time or opportunity to discover on my first round.

Traveling with the people, the way I always travel, we share baguettes, tangerines, and oranges on trains and buses and do our best to communicate. When I return I'll have a chance to explore the country beyond even my own expectations, due to an excellent infrastructure of buses, trains and inexpensive taxis, but most of all, thanks to friendly, warm and welcoming people, who, once they know my face, no longer regard me as a tourist, but in many cases refer to me as a 'sister.' I heard it said once, 'You can leave Morocco, but Morocco will never leave you.' True for me.