Fez

Situated amid the gentle folds of the Middle Atlas foothills, Fez unfolds like a living manuscript of Moroccan memory. Its two ancient quarters—Fes el-Bali and Fes Jdid—press close around the swath of the Fez River, where narrow watercourses once carried grain and clay from the hills into the heart of town. Emerging under Idrisid rule in the late eighth century, Fez began as twin settlements on either bank of the river. They grew beside one another in rivalry, shaped by waves of newcomers from Ifriqiya and al-Andalus, each bringing their own customs, languages and crafts.

By the early eleventh century, the Almoravid sultan Yusuf ibn Tashfin set aside the rivalry and joined the two halves into what remains today’s densely woven medina, Fes el-Bali. Under these pious rulers, the city acquired its reputation as a centre of learning: mosques and Quranic schools rose on every corner, and traders laden with silks and spices shaped its market life. When the Marinids seized power in the thirteenth century, Fez reclaimed the mantle of capital, and the city’s most celebrated monuments took form. The madrasas commissioned by Abu Inan and his predecessors—Al-Attarine, Bou Inania, Cherratine—enclose shaded courtyards and carved cedar galleries. Walls of zellij tilework shimmer in patterns whose geometry seems to pulse with deeper meaning.

Beyond these cloistered colleges, the Marinids raised the ramparts of Fes Jdid—“New Fez”—where the Royal Palace still stands behind massive gates polished to a burnished green. On the south side of this district, the mellah took shape: the walled Jewish quarter, with its synagogues and narrow lanes, reflecting the long presence of Fez’s Jewish community. Though today so few remain, the Al-Fassiyin and Ibn Danan synagogues speak to a time when Arabic, Berber and Hebrew mingled in daily speech.

The modern city extends far beyond the old walls. The Ville Nouvelle, a grid of broad avenues and Art Deco buildings laid out under the French protectorate, stretches westward onto the Saïss plain. Here, cafés line Avenue Hassan II; gardens offer shade to strollers; and the muted façades of colonial-era post offices and courthouses stand as markers of a different chapter in Fez’s story.

Climatic shifts have long shaped life in Fez. Winters bring cool rains—sometimes even frost—while summers press dry heat into the stone walls. Temperatures fluctuate between mild winter days of around 15 °C and mid-summer peaks near 35 °C. On rare occasions, the city has witnessed snow or recorded lows below freezing. Across centuries, the river’s branched channels have sustained gardens and hammams alike, their domes and vaults rising from the rooftops.

Today, more than 1.25 million residents call Fez home, speaking a local dialect of Moroccan Arabic—known as Fessi—that once carried the prestige of court and mosque. In tandem, Modern Standard Arabic and Tamazight claim official status, while French, a legacy of colonial rule, remains the language of law and higher learning. In the medina’s lanes, the calls of stallkeepers echo beside the rhythmic clipping of leather: the Chouara Tannery still handles hides in vats of dye much as it did nearly a thousand years ago.

Craft and commerce continue to define the city’s economy. Artisans shape brass trays, weave carpets and bind manuscripts, often in workshops that have operated for generations. Farther afield, the Saïss plains yield cereals, olives and grapes; markets in the modern city pulse with produce brought from the surrounding farmland. Tourism too sustains many livelihoods, as travelers seek the medina’s world-heritage landmarks: the Qarawiyyin University, founded in 857 and regarded as the oldest continuously operating degree institution; the cascading terraces of the Saffarin and Mokhfiya hammams; the centuries-old gates at Bab Mahrouk, Bab Guissa and Bab Ftouh.

In the rhythms of religious life, the city’s great zawiyas (shrines) still draw pilgrims. Each autumn, guilds join in procession for the Moussem of Moulay Idris II, bearing a richly embroidered keswa to drape over the founder’s tomb. Festivals take place throughout the year, from the World Sacred Music Festival in late spring—when concert stages rise beside medieval walls—to gatherings of Sufi ritual and the Festival of Amazigh Culture in midsummer. In recent years, runners have made their mark too, following a course through old lanes and open squares in the Fez Running Festival.

Yet beneath these proud traditions, Fez wrestles with the demands of modern life. Unemployment and uneven development test the city’s ability to sustain its historic core. Many riads stand restored as guesthouses, their courtyards revived with fountains and orange trees, while other homes wait for funds to conserve centuries-old woodwork and plaster moldings. The challenge lies in marrying heritage with opportunity—so that the same families who once labored in tanneries or madrasa courts might find new work in preservation and hospitality.

Fez endures because its streets carry more than foot traffic: they bear the weight of memory. A visitor turning a corner into a narrow alley may glimpse a carved portal opening onto a courtyard garden. Elsewhere, the call to prayer rises above pigeon-dotted roofs, offering a moment of quiet against the city’s relentless hum. Here, in the winding lanes of Fes el-Bali or beneath the avenue-trees of the Ville Nouvelle, one finds a city that has always been in motion—yet remains rooted in the lives of those who built it, one stone at a time.