Getting from Marrakech to Fes is not just a change of postcode, it’s a full-blown shift in universe. Think rose-hued chaos to Andalusian elegance. One moment you’re dodging motorbikes and sipping orange juice from a plastic cup in Jemaa el-Fnaa, and the next, you’re wandering through tile-covered courtyards wondering whether you accidentally joined a time-travel tour. Now, you could hop on a plane and get it over with in under an hour, but where’s the fun in that? This is Morocco. It’s about the in-between: the landscape, the snack stops, the goats on the road, the man selling grilled corn out of a shopping trolley who insists you need two.
Let’s talk trains. ONCF trains aren’t the Orient Express, but they’re comfy enough if you book first class and bring low expectations. That way you avoid sharing a bench with five teenagers, a sweaty uncle and a stray chicken that somehow got in without a ticket. The ride takes about seven hours, slicing through the Moroccan heartland like a slow-moving croissant. Watch as the terrain flips from palm groves to wheat fields, tiny villages to olive groves. The train gently rocks you into a meditative stupor unless you get the compartment with someone blasting rai music through their phone. Don’t rely on the snack trolley unless you have an unhealthy attachment to dry madeleines. Bring your own survival kit: water, biscuits, headphones, and that novel you keep pretending to read.
More into the bus scene? CTM or Supratours are the reliable choices, especially if you don’t fancy a surprise goat in the aisle or five roadside stops for tea that takes an eternity to arrive. The journey takes over eight hours, give or take depending on traffic, divine will, and how often the driver decides to pull over for a smoke or an impromptu chat with another driver going the opposite way. Bus stations are chaotic at best, an anthropological field study at worst, so give yourself time and remember to label your bag unless you want it heading to Tangier without you. The upside? You’ll get views, naps, and a playlist that sounds way better when paired with open road and heat shimmer.
Then there’s the route for people who think normal travel is too easy and have a soft spot for sweeping desert vistas: the three-day desert tour. This is the scenic, dramatic, and wildly Instagrammable option. Day one gets you through the Tizi n’Tichka pass into the Atlas Mountains. Expect hairpin turns, heart-stopping views, and at least one photo stop where your guide insists this is “the best panoramic.” Ait Benhaddou, that Game of Thrones mud-brick fantasy, is the main act. You’ll half expect a dragon to fly overhead. Then it’s off to Dades Gorge for the night, where the rocks turn a fiery pink and your auberge might be built right into the cliff face.
Day two takes you to Todra Gorge for a short hike and dramatic selfies, then off to Merzouga where the dunes of Erg Chebbi rise like golden waves. You’ll hop on a camel (or sway side-to-side in existential panic, depending on your relationship with large animals), and ride into the Sahara just in time for sunset. Camp dinner is tagine by firelight, with drumming under a sky so stuffed with stars it feels like a trick. Sleep in a tent with rugs, cushions, and the occasional beetle for company. On day three, you shake the sand out of everything you own and wind through Ziz Valley and apple country until Fes appears in the distance like a mirage wrapped in minarets.
You’ve made it to Fes. Time to get gloriously, beautifully lost. Fes el-Bali is a medieval fever dream of twisting alleys, tiled fountains, and donkeys carrying things they absolutely shouldn’t. The scent changes every five steps: cinnamon, cedarwood, frying oil, incense, and the occasional whiff of something mysterious and probably alive. Don’t fight the chaos—lean in. Maps are useless. Your sense of direction is already doomed. Just follow the most interesting-looking alley and see where it takes you.
Make a beeline (or zigzag, really) for the Al Quaraouiyine Library. Founded in 859, it’s the oldest still-functioning university in the world. It’s also jaw-droppingly beautiful and makes you question every university building you’ve ever sat in. The woodwork alone is reason enough to consider converting to a life of academia. Not far away, the Bou Inania Madrasa will have you staring at one wall for twenty minutes trying to count how many geometric patterns fit on a single square metre.
By now, you’re starving. Time for lunch. Grab a table at Cafe Clock. Touristy? Sure. But the camel burger is iconic, and their cultural events sometimes include oud music or storytelling nights where someone’s great-aunt recounts folktales with dramatic flair. If you’re feeling peckish on the walk there, grab a warm khobz from a street vendor and eat it while dodging motorbikes, cats, and the odd daredevil child playing football.
In the afternoon, swing by the Chouara Tannery. Yes, it smells. No, you’re not above holding a mint sprig to your nose. But the view of technicolour dye vats is worth the olfactory trauma. Watch men wade through pools of vibrant dye, pounding leather with practised efficiency. Pop into a leather shop afterwards and pretend you might actually buy a pouf, even though you haven’t checked your airline’s luggage policy.
Evening calls for dinner on high. Book a table at Nur if you’re in the mood for tasting menus, artisanal couscous, and the feeling of being in a Vogue feature. For something more relaxed but just as lovely, The Ruined Garden serves slow-cooked lamb and tangy salads in a courtyard that feels like a secret garden curated by someone with excellent taste in mismatched furniture.
Day two starts with a nous-nous (half coffee, half milk) at Fez Cafe in the Jardin des Biehn. It’s leafy, peaceful, and the cushions are plump enough to nap on if the caffeine hits too late. Then head to the city walls for a bit of a stroll and perspective. The Mellah, the old Jewish quarter, is next. It’s more residential, less tourist-scrubbed, and full of quiet stories. Check out the Ibn Danan Synagogue – simple, elegant, and historically rich. The nearby cemetery is serene in that sun-bleached, North African way, where the silence buzzes with heat.
Swing by the Royal Palace gates – you can’t go in, but the doors alone are enough to justify twenty photos. The golden bronze is blinding at midday, so maybe wear sunglasses and pretend you’re scouting locations for your imaginary fashion line. If the weather is kind, spend an hour in Jnan Sbil Gardens. Palm trees, fountains, slightly confused peacocks. A good place to sit and absorb the last two days of sensory overload.
Wrap it all up with a visit to Art Naji. You get a peek into the process behind those iconic blue-and-white ceramics and maybe walk away with a plate or a tagine pot you’ll spend months trying to get home intact. Or just enjoy the hypnotic rhythm of artisans chiselling, spinning, and painting by hand, while debating whether that mosaic table is too much for your one-bedroom flat.
Whichever way you choose to get from Marrakech to Fes, it won’t be boring. You’ll arrive sun-kissed, overstimulated, and carrying memories, mint tea cravings, and probably some sand in your shoes. Worth every mile. And every slightly questionable bathroom stop along the way.
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