On the Road to Fez | Life of Saturdays

CHAPTER 22

The day following our foray into the Sahara, we said au revoir to the desert, and Rich, and headed north to Fez, one of Morocco’s four Imperial cities, a jewel in the crown of the kingdom. It’s been called the Athens of Africa. It’s been called the Mecca of the West. It should be called the tassel on the Fez of Morocco. For my part, I had a keen interest in visiting Fez, as it is portrayed prominently in the writings of one of the world’s greatest travelers, and my personal idol, Burton Holmes, in Volume I of his epic Travelogue series (If you haven’t heard of Holmes (few have), you should look him up).

On the way north we made one important stop. My grandfather had recently passed away, and I was given some of his ashes to do with whatever I thought would honor him most. As it is, he had served in Morocco during WWII as a spy for the OSS, and growing up I heard stories of his adventures there, though I had probably only heard a veneer of what really went on. I am not sure if he cherished his time in the country, but for better or worse, Morocco had made him, at least in some small part, who he was. So I thought it might be fitting to pay Morocco back, and leave some of him there, to make it what it will be. We found a suitably picturesque overlook, someplace where it wouldn’t be disagreeable to sit gazing off at the rolling hills for the rest of eternity, and sprinkled a little of Grandpy out into the wind. As a bonus, he can watch the troop of barbary apes that live in the vicinity, and who were quite comical to watch as they wrestled over some food and water another motorist had left.

*Note: Photos with a “JR” suffix are credited to J^2

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