Meknes spent a period as the capital city of Morocco under King Moulay Ishmael, famous for consolidating the unified country, his enthusiasm for building works and committing bloody murders. Much of what he built was destroyed in the 1755 earthquake, but the city still has enough to show how splendid it was, including the late king's ornate mausoleum (above). Part of the attraction of Meknes is that it's less visited, less tourist oriented, quieter and less pressured than Fes. We didn't get the full benefit of that, but got other benefits instead, as we happened to turn up for the biggest party of the year, the highlight of Meknes' calendar, the twin festivals of Mouloud and the Moussem of Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa.
Morocco celebrates Mouloud (Mohammed's birthday) with more enthusiasm than anywhere else (in some Muslim countries such as Saudi Arabia the celebration is banned entirely). In Meknes in the days around Mouloud they also commemorate their local Sufi Saint Mohammed Ben Aïssa whose tomb is in the northern edge of the city.
We found it surprisingly hard to get firm information on what was likely to be happening, when and where. The well hidden Meknes tourist office didn't seem to know anything, reports on the web were vague. In the event I'm sure we missed some things, but we saw plenty.
Town was absolutely heaving with people, mostly shopping. Far be it for us Europeans to accuse Moroccans of consumerism, but there was an incredible retail frenzy. We retreated from one street in the medina, crammed with stalls and people, when there seemed to be a real possibility of people getting crushed. The strangest thing was that most of them seemed to be joining the crush to buy things that they could have bought any day; socks, acrylic blankets, plastic stools and fruit.
A pottery stallholder gave us an explanation that might help to make sense of it. In his view, Meknes is the capital of Berber Morocco and everyone who can comes into town for the two festivals. For people who live in the remote mountain villages this might be a rare opportunity to stock up on big city produce.
On some rough ground on the outskirts there was a huge heaving funfair, surrounded by handcarts selling nougat and charcoal grilled brochettes. All around the streets were gridlocked with frustrated, ill tempered traffic. The air was filled with the smoke of burning meat, fairground music, car horns, police whistles and screams from the walzers.
In the main square in the town centre, Place Lahadim, there were knots of people gathered around story tellers, musicians and acrobats, and opportunities to take photos of your toddler on a horse. But there were other, more exciting, horse opportunities to be had, as we later found out.
After a couple of attempts we finally located Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa's mausoleum on the edge of a cemetery north of town. When the French captured Morocco this is where they found his Sufi followers celebrating his teaching and exploiting his magical protection by catching cannon balls on their heads, eating live scorpions and chopping at each other with axes. The French banned those antics, but this remains the focal point of the Brotherhood's religious celebrations – these days singing, dancing and chanting the beautiful names of God. By the time we arrived all there was to see was a stream of people making their way into the mausoleum and an eager crowd looking out for VIP visitors.
Our guidebook and various web pages agreed that the celebrations of the Moussem of Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa included a 'fantasia', but couldn't agree on where or when. A 'fantasia' is a display of traditional military horsemanship involving dressing up and galloping around firing muskets. Teams complete for prizes awarded for skill and the most splendid tack and costume. Some fantasias are put on for tourists, but others such as this one are for local enthusiasts.
Everyone we asked either knew nothing about it, or gave us a different time and place. We managed to track down a large field just outside the city walls where tents were being erected and horses delivered in wagons. We came back on each of the succeeding days to see if anything was likely to happen.
It all came together on the day of Mouloud. We arrived to find men striding around in pale jelabas and white turbans, elaborate brocade saddles stood outside on hay bales, horses being groomed and muzzle loading muskets being test fired.
By 11am everyone was ready and the competitions started.
Teams rode the length of the field up to a barrier where presumably the judges were. Some rode slowly in close formation, then saluted the judges by bowing deeply from the saddle and twirling their muskets so the barrels faced backwards under their arms. Others galloped hell for leather, yelling, before coming to an abrupt halt with a belly shaking volley of muskets. The aim seemed to be to keep in a close group and to act in unison. We thought it was a sport that Fenella (Richard's cousin's wife) would probably be pretty good at, but we're not sure if any of the teams are yet ready for a female warrior.
Some teams made it look easy, others demonstrated how difficult it really was. While we were there only one guy got taken away in the 'Croissant Rouge du Maroc' ambulance but a few more must have been bruised or scorched.
We left Meknes still thronged with celebrating Berbers and made our way north through the spectacular Rif mountains...
... to our present location in a popular campsite on the hillside overlooking Chefchaouen.
This friendly little town is famous for its blue and white painted medina, apparently repainted that way when the town was occupied by Jews exiled from Spain.
The guidebooks didn't pay as much attention to its spectacular setting, nestled in a cleft between two soaring cloud capped crags, but we think it's stunning. We climbed up to the old Spanish mosque today and enjoyed the fabulous views over the town.
We're planning to spend another night here before making our way to a campsite by the beach at Martil on the Mediterranean coast, and then back to Tangier Med and finally, by the end of the week, back to Spain.
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