Cruising in Balance: Advantages And Disadvantages
Boat travel—especially on a cruise—offers a distinctive and all-inclusive vacation. Still, there are benefits and drawbacks to take into account, much as with any kind…
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Folegandros’s main village, Chora, perches on a sheer 200 m-high cliff overlooking the Aegean Sea. This windswept Cycladic isle – roughly 31 km² with only a few hundred year-round residents – has remained largely under the radar even amid Greece’s tourist boom. Its whitewashed houses, blue-domed churches and narrow mule-path lanes evoke an air of timeless serenity. Beneath its postcard beauty lies a rich history: ancient Dorian settlers founded the polis of Pholegandros in the 5th century BCE, and much later the island fell under Venetian rule in 1207. Admiral Marco Sanudo conquered Pholegandros in 1207 and held it for Venice until 1566, when Ottoman Turks took control. The Greeks only reclaimed Folegandros during the War of Independence in the 1820s, and it has remained part of modern Greece since.
Folegandros’s history unfolds in a series of bold eras. Under Venetian and then Ottoman suzerainty, the island’s ragged cliffs and secluded bays offered both refuge and challenge. In fact, the village of Chora was originally fortified as a kastro or castle settlement on a steep promontory – a natural fortress dating back to medieval times. Atop its escarpment stands the old Venetian castle (rebuilt in 1210) though few ruins remain. The 20th century saw Folegandros serve as a quiet place of exile under the Metaxas regime, and it retained a rustic, “iron” character through to the present. Today’s visitor will note that Folegandros was officially inscribed within Greece only in 1830; its legacy is one of resistance and self-reliance.
The life of Folegandros is deeply bound to Greek island culture. The island’s villagers speak mainland Greek (with the Cycladic accent) and maintain old-world traditions that few tourism hubs still preserve. Eastern Orthodox faith centers local festivals: for example, the August 15 Feast of the Dormition of the Virgin (Panagia) in Chora draws islanders for midnight liturgies and dances. Culinary traditions revolve around pastoral and maritime staples. Home-baked bread is celebrated here: families still bake large, wood-fired loaves once a week, including special pavli loaves stuffed with pumpkin. Savory cheese pies are Folegandros specialties – sourotenia (onion and feta pie) and manouropita (manouri cheese pie) are made with local goat and sheep cheeses. Fresh seafood – grilled octopus, squid and the island’s famous little lobsters – also graces tables, often accompanied by hand-harvested capers, olives, honey and brusque local wine. Every bit of local produce is grown or gathered on-island, reflecting a centuries-old agrarian way of life.
Architecturally, Chora itself is the island’s crown jewel. Its square is dominated by a square bell-tower (built 1834) and a horseshoe-shaped fortress wall (kastro) behind which cluster 16th-century cottages. From here one gazes over low-slung white homes down to the cerulean sea. The rugged landscape is punctuated by steep cliffs, sea caves and hidden coves: Folegandros is about 31 km² in area with nearly all of its interior wild and undeveloped. Popular beaches include Agali and Livadaki (with fine sand) and the more remote Katergo beach, reached only by foot or boat. The 200 m-high limestone promontory at Katergo shelters a sunken cove beneath, frequented by free-divers. The island’s beaches and bays are often less than 20 m wide, a testament to the dramatic erosion of this “iron” island. Inland, trails lead to ancient chapels (such as Panagia, dating to the 16th century) and salt pans in small marshes. The overall effect is one of pristine Cycladic scenery: blue, white and ochre, almost empty at dawn or dusk.
Folegandros’s allure is precisely its obscurity. Unlike nearby Santorini or Mykonos, it has no airport and only a few daily ferries, so visitors arrive intent on exploring. The result is a quiet island atmosphere unmarred by crowds. Its remote character is partly thanks to the steep shoreline (large cruise ships can’t dock) and the island’s small scale. Tour guides often remark on Folegandros’s “Greek village” vibe – there are only three hamlets (Chora, Ano Meria, Karavostasis) and a single main road looping the coast. For these reasons, Folegandros remains far less trafficked than other Cycladic islands. Even in summer, you’ll find no high-rises or chain resorts; instead there are family-run pensions, tavernas, and artisanal shops. This hidden-gem status makes visiting feel like a discovery of “old Greece,” where one still hears the tinkling of goat bells and the sea breeze at sunset.
Visitors to Folegandros are encouraged to travel thoughtfully. Accommodations are small and limited, so advance booking supports local businesses. Explore on foot or by bicycle where possible, as the few cars on the island already strain its narrow roads and scarce freshwater supply. In the beaches and villages, practice “leave no trace”: pack out any waste and avoid disturbing wildlife. Enjoy local produce and wines to support the island’s farmers and artisans. Stick to marked footpaths when hiking to avoid eroding fragile soils. Finally, in the old churches and villages, dress modestly and speak softly out of respect for tradition. By observing these simple practices, tourists can help keep Folegandros’s culture intact and its ecosystem flourishing.
Svalbard’s stark wilderness – home to the polar bear – is almost as famous as it is remote. This Norwegian archipelago (total land ~61,022 km²) lies well inside the Arctic Circle. Famed for its snow-laden fjords, 1,700 m peaks and endless glaciers, Svalbard is truly at nature’s edge: roughly 60% of the land is ice cap. And yet despite its spectacular scenery, it remains little-visited except by intrepid travellers. The Dutch explorer Willem Barentsz “discovered” Spitsbergen here in 1596, but the Arctic frontier only began modest development centuries later. Unlike mainland Norway, Svalbard has never been densely inhabited: its highest peak (Newtontoppen, 1,717 m) towers above terrain once roamed by polar bears, walrus and snowy owls. Today, only about 3,000 people live year-round here (mostly in Longyearbyen and two Russian mining towns, Barentsburg and Pyramiden). That sparse population is reflected in Svalbard’s quiet spirit – it is a “wild” destination far from routine tourism.
Svalbard’s modern history is tied to Arctic exploration. The archipelago first appeared in medieval Norse sagas (as “Svalbarði”), but it became known to wider Europe only after Barentsz’s 1596 voyage. Sealing and whaling camps cropped up in the 17th century, and for a time crews from England, the Netherlands and Denmark battled over profitable fjords. Yet no nation truly settled Spitsbergen until the late 1800s, when coal was discovered. By the early 20th century, Norwegian and Russian miners established the permanent towns of Longyearbyen (founded 1906) and Barentsburg. In 1920, the Paris Peace Conference formally gave Norway sovereignty through the Svalbard Treaty, which took effect in 1925. The Treaty also demilitarized the islands and guaranteed all signatory countries equal access to fishing and mineral rights. Thus Svalbard became a unique international space: Norwegian law applies, but Poland, Italy, China, and others operate research stations here. After World War II, the Soviet Union (later Russia) maintained settlements; indeed today dozens of Russian citizens still work the coal mines at Barentsburg and Pyramiden. Throughout these shifts, Svalbard’s essence remained Arctic and solitary.
Culturally, Svalbard is a mosaic of Arctic traditions with no indigenous population. Norsk (Norwegian) is the official language, but you will also hear Russian spoken in the old mining towns, and English is a lingua franca among international scientists. The region’s settlers brought a rugged, survivalist ethos. For example, the hymn “Svalbardkatedralen” was improvised in 1948 to praise the light returning after winter. The community celebrates seasonal festivals: Longyearbyen hosts PolarJazz in winter and Dark Season Blues in October, marking the long dark season. Cuisine in Svalbard reflects what can be shipped or hunted here: local specialties include Svalbard-rein (a diminutive subspecies of reindeer) and Arctic char from glacial rivers. Even berry picking (cloudberries, crowberries) is done with care, as these fruits ripen in the short summer. In practice, most food is brought in from Norway, but diners can sample flatbrød (crisp flatbread), rich lamb stews and bakery goods baked in wood-fired ovens in town. Fuel (for warmth and food prep) is dear, so communal wood stoves remain in some mountain huts. Whether Norwegian patrol officer or PhD researcher, Svalbard’s people share a deep respect for the island’s unforgiving climate – an outlook more survivalist than frivolously touristic.
Svalbard’s natural monuments are staggering. It is one of the world’s northernmost inhabited areas, with midnight sun from late April to late August, and polar night from late October to mid-February. National parks and nature reserves cover almost the entire archipelago: seven national parks and 23 nature reserves protect that fauna and scenery. In summer the tundra bursts with life: Arctic fox kits, herds of short-legged Svalbard reindeer, and tens of thousands of migrating seabirds (fulmars, kittiwakes). Marine mammals abound in the frigid waters – walruses haul out on the shores, and narwhals and belugas swim offshore. Most famously, polar bears (Svalbard has roughly 3,000–4,000 of them) roam the pack ice and islands; signage and local law strongly advise travelers never to approach or feed wildlife.
Longyearbyen has brightly painted wooden houses (formerly miners’ quarters) along Main Street. Landmarks include the Svalbard Church (the northernmost church in the world) and the small, informal Svalbard Museum, which documents Arctic exploration. In the north, Ny-Ålesund is a research community where a Statue of Lenin still stands as a relic. Nearby in the sea tunnel lies the Svalbard Global Seed Vault – a reinforced vault built into the permafrost as a safeguard for world crops (though entry requires special permission). A curious sight is on Bear Island: a single meteorological hut and four keepers in summer, who live where the Gulf Stream actually crosses. Most travelers, however, come for the wilderness: glacier cruises out of Longyearbyen reach calving fronts like the 10 km-wide Nordenskiöldbreen. Kayaking among icebergs, dog-sledding on frozen lagoons, and witnessing the aurora borealis are the real highlights.
Why does Svalbard still feel undiscovered? Geography and policy keep it so. The archipelago’s high latitude (78–80° N) and Arctic conditions mean few can endure it. Only a handful of cruise ships or charter flights arrive each summer (total foreign tourists number just tens of thousands annually). The Svalbard Government strictly regulates tourism: certain areas require advance permits and guided access to protect delicate research work. Additionally, prices here are very high (everything must be shipped in), so casual “globe-trotting” is discouraged. Collectively, this has prevented overtourism. If anything, the far north has grown more accessible by novel means: North Pole expeditions sometimes stage out of Spitsbergen. Yet for most travelers, Svalbard remains a faint white dot on the map – alluringly remote, expensive, and only lightly promoted in guidebooks. This solitude is its selling point.
Visiting Svalbard responsibly is paramount. All travelers must respect strict environmental rules: Norwegian law forbids bringing any non-native species (even seeds), and requires bear safety precautions in the field. Camping is allowed in most areas, but campfires are banned outside designated zones to prevent fires; gather driftwood instead. Tourists should use licensed guides for glacier hikes or snowmobiling, who enforce safety and wildlife etiquette. Leave no litter: plastic wastes can last centuries in the Arctic. Carbon footprint is a concern here, too – many companies offset flights and promote “last chance tourism” awareness. In sum, to tread lightly in Svalbard is to honor its fragile polar ecosystem and the Norwegian duty of care established by the Svalbard Treaty.
Giethoorn’s idyllic canals and thatched-roof cottages look like a scene from a fairy tale. This village in northern Overijssel (area ~38.5 km²) is famed for having “no roads” in its historic core. Founded by peat-diggers in the Middle Ages, Giethoorn is laid out on a cluster of small islands interlaced with waterways. Even today, transport through the old town is via wooden punts (flat-bottomed boats) or slow “whisper” electric barges; cars simply can’t navigate the network of canals. With only about 2,800 inhabitants, Giethoorn lives up to its nickname as the “Venice of the North.” In summer the canals teem with rowers and picnickers on the water, while swans glide past flowered gardens. Yet beyond this postcard charm lies an environment shaped by nature and history: the village was born of peat excavation and large floods, and is surrounded by the Weerribben-Wieden National Park, the largest fenland in Northwest Europe.
Giethoorn’s story is written in its waterways. The village’s name is said to date from the 13th century: local lore tells of medieval settlers discovering piles of wild goat horns after the catastrophic St. Elizabeth’s Flood of 1170, calling the area “Geytenhoren” (Goat Horn), later Giethoorn. Over time the Hemmen (peat bogs) were dyked and harvested for fuel. In the 1700s a pair of devastating floods (1776 and 1825) washed away many narrow peat ridges, leaving clusters of high “fields” separated by water. To transport cut peat, residents dug canals that now define the village’s plan. By the 19th century, Giethoorn was a thriving peat-farming community; only after peat was depleted around 1920 did tourism begin to rise. In 1958 the Dutch film Fanfare, shot in Giethoorn’s streets, brought national attention to this car-free hamlet. That modest fame grew slowly as foreign travelers discovered Giethoorn’s unique heritage.
Giethoorn’s culture reflects traditional Dutch provincial life. The local language is Dutch (Overijssels dialect), and village life once centered on family farms. Some households still maintain heritage crafts: thatching reeds for their roofs, and wood carving for decoration. Seasonal events mark the calendar: for instance, an annual spring flower market and a small-scale music festival on the square. Cuisine here is classic Dutch fare: think hearty pea soup (erwtensoep), smoked eel from nearby water, and sweet fried poffertjes. A common treat is krentenbollen (raisin buns) in bakeries, and during holiday fairs locals sell oliebollen (fried doughnuts). Because Giethoorn is part of Overijssel, local specialties like Twente stroopwafels and Holstein cheeses are found on menus. Life in Giethoorn runs at the pace of its canals: peaceful, communal, and attuned to nature. Residents prize their quiet; as one travel writer noted, Robert Plant once joked that Giethoorn’s concert felt wilder than any garden party he’d played, yet the night held fewer people than the weddings he’d attended – a telling comment on the village’s intimate cultural scene.
The quintessential sight is the village itself: rows of low thatched-roof farmhouses, each on its own little island, connected by dozens of wooden arched footbridges. In fact, Giethoorn has about 176 wooden bridges spanning its canals. Many homes date from the 18th and 19th centuries, built in a classic ‘Peatlands’ style (simple rectangular brick with thatched roofs and green shutters). The waterways are all remarkably clean and lined with lush gardens of hydrangeas and hostas, creating a living gallery each spring and summer. Beyond the village, Giethoorn borders the Weerribben-Wieden National Park (≈105 km²) – a vast marsh of lakes, bogs and reedbeds. Here one may spot otters slipping into the canals, black terns and great crested grebes on the water, or herons stalking fish along the banks. Tourists can rent rowboats or canoes and silently glide along narrow tributaries into the wild marsh, or cycle along the embankment paths above the reeds. In winter, when the canals freeze, Giethoorn turns into a skater’s wonderland; locals even build ice huts and carve channels in the thawing ice. Throughout the year, the harmony of house, canal and garden gives Giethoorn its “enchanted village” character.
Giethoorn’s fame has grown, but it still feels tucked away. The village lies off major highways – the nearest motorway is several kilometers distant – and until recent decades was known mainly to Dutch travelers. Its isolation (no thru roads) helps keep it peaceful: cars are banned from the old core. Giethoorn’s limited visitor facilities (a few boat rental shops, bike rentals, and family inns) mean that even in summer the pace is slow. It is rare to see tour buses descending through narrow village lanes; most tourists arrive via guided boat tours or by cycling from nearby towns like Steenwijk. This unassuming nature makes it “undiscovered” in the sense of being low-key: while Instagram is full of its images, the place has escaped large-scale commercialization. Visitors usually plan an overnight stay to enjoy early mornings or evenings on the water, when the canals are misty and virtually empty of other boats.
Travelers to Giethoorn should act as gentle guests. Since canals are the only “roads,” boaters must respect speed limits (the 5 km/h rule) to avoid bank erosion and wake damage to homes. Some operators require electric or silent motorboats, which are recommended to minimize noise and fuel spills. Pilgrims on foot are asked to use footbridges correctly and not trespass on private gardens. Waste facilities in the village are limited, so packing out plastic and recycling is crucial. In the spring, wildflowers at canal edges should be admired in place, not picked. Finally, supporting local businesses – for example, enjoying Dutch pancakes at a canal-side café or buying handmade crafts – helps ensure that tourism benefits Giethoorn without destroying its character. With respectful conduct, visitors can enjoy Giethoorn’s serenity without disturbing the rhythms of life on the water.
Maribor’s riverside setting against the Pohorje Hills gives it a scenic charm. Slovenia’s second city (population ~96,000) lies on the Drava River where lush vineyards spill from the hillsides. Unlike the better-known capitals of Ljubljana or Bled, Maribor’s name is whispered among those seeking Austria-Hungary’s old-world flair. Its history stretches back to at least the 12th century: first mentioned as a castle in 1164 and chartered as a town by 1254. For centuries Maribor (German Marburg an der Drau) was a strategic Habsburg border fortress in Lower Styria. It survived medieval sieges by Ottomans and became a bustling regional capital. In October 1918, Slovenian partisans led by Rudolf Maister famously secured Maribor for the new State of Slovenes, Croats and Serbs, and today it stands as a proud seat of Slovenian culture and wine-making.
Medieval stone and Baroque brick bear witness to Maribor’s past. Gothic structures – above all the 13th-century Cathedral of St. John the Baptist – remain at the core of the old town. The adjacent synagogue (built 14th century) is one of the oldest surviving synagogues in Europe; it now hosts cultural exhibits. The town walls have largely vanished, but three towers survive: the yellow Judgement Tower, the red Water Tower, and a brick Jewish Tower – vestiges of the city’s fortifications. Maribor Castle (now a museum) incorporates 15th-century foundations; similarly, scattered around the city are castle ruins on Pyramid Hill (dating even earlier to the Frankish era). In the Renaissance era, the town hall was rebuilt in a grand style (its arcades still frame Glavni trg, the main square). A conspicuous baroque icon is the Trinity (Plague) Column (1660) at the square’s center, erected in thanks for surviving an epidemic. The turn of the 20th century brought modern growth: the National Hall (1899) heralded Maribor’s economic and cultural rise, and a young engineer named Nikola Tesla even worked here in 1878–79 on electric systems. Maribor later endured World War conflicts and Yugoslav rule, but many historic monuments (with careful restoration) survive into Slovenia’s independence.
Contemporary Maribor embraces its heritage with a lively cultural scene. Its old town has become largely pedestrianized, with plazas and streets that host colorful festivals. Twice yearly Maribor gathers as a European Capital of Culture (it held the 2012 title along with Guimarães) to celebrate literature, music and arts. Since 2020, however, the city’s renown has been spreading for its gastronomy: several Maribor restaurants earned Michelin stars in 2020, and in 2021 Slovenia (with Maribor showcased) was named European Region of Gastronomy. Local cuisine mixes Alpine and Balkan flavors: you’ll find hearty dishes like bograč (stew similar to Hungarian goulash), kisla juha (cabbage soup), and štruklji (dumplings filled with tarragon, walnuts or cheese). Markets bristle with pumpkin seeds (used in local bakery goods and pestos) and aromatic wild herbs. Bakeries still bake rye bread and sweet nut tarts (in summer the air smells of jam-filled potica). Maribor’s wine culture is legendary – the Drava Valley is Slovenia’s largest wine region. Every November St. Martin’s Day is celebrated with local wine and processions, honoring the age-old winemaking tradition. Tourism now includes food and wine tours: visitors sample cviček (a light red blend), rebula whites, and brioche-pastry desserts. English is widely spoken, and Slovenian (a Slavic language) is understood by older hosts; German and Italian menus are common due to Maribor’s position at Europe’s crossroads.
Maribor’s skyline is graceful with historic spires and hillside greenery. The medieval Cathedral with its slender Gothic tower remains a city symbol. Nearby stands the old synagogue building, now repurposed for concerts. The Baroque Town Hall (1662) and pastel merchant houses line Glavni trg. Down by the Drava, the riverside streets reveal Austro-Hungarian brick townhouses, the late-19th-century Synagogue (now cultural center), and the elegant Old Vine House on Lent. This Lent neighborhood by the river is world-famous as home to the Stara trta, the world’s oldest productive vine (over 400 years old), reputedly planted by the Knights Templar. Visitors can tour the Vinag Wine Cellar, an 18th-century subterranean barrel cellar holding Slovenia’s richest wine collection. A short walk leads to the Drava Promenade and the famous Lent Festival site. Across the river, a cable car ascends to historic Calvary Hill for panoramic city views and Stations of the Cross. Nature lovers can venture into the Pohorje Hills right outside town: in summer it’s emerald forest and alpine meadows, in winter nearby ski runs (Maribor Pohorje hosts World Cup races) blanket the slopes. The Drava itself is clean and fast-flowing – in late spring locals sometimes raft or kayak its waters through the city.
Maribor remains “undiscovered” mainly because it lies out of the main tourist triangle (Ljubljana–Bled–Piran). Foreign tour buses rarely come here; it’s primarily Slovene visitors and a growing cadre of niche travelers who arrive. Yet Maribor’s rewards are genuine. Its car-free center is a pleasure to stroll, especially in seasons when the vine leaves change from green to gold. Unlike more famous capitals, Maribor is comfortably laid-back – even by night you hear accordion folk music from a street café or see residents sipping beer by candlelight. Owing to its smaller scale, one can see the main sights in a weekend, then retreat to a local guesthouse amid the vineyards. The city’s hidden-gem appeal also owes to its low-key self-presentation: you won’t see monumental souvenir shops, but you will find convivial farmers’ markets (a revival of medieval traditions) and modern art installations that speak to a youthful urban culture. In short, Maribor is slowly emerging on the “cool travel” radar, but it still feels fresh and not yet overrun by tourists.
Visitors should treat Maribor like an old friend’s home: on foot or bicycle whenever possible (the old town is compact and much is car-free). When tasting wine, buy directly from cooperatives and small vintners to support local producers. Stay in family-run pensions or eco-lodges rather than multinational chains, to keep tourism revenue in the community. Respect the quiet nature of evening in old neighborhoods (many Slovenes eat dinner early). When hiking in Pohorje or vineyards, stick to marked paths to protect the fragile subalpine flora. In Lent area and riverside parks, be mindful of litter – the Drava is cleaner than most rivers this far north, and locals keep it that way. By dining locally, using public transit (including a modern trolleybus system), and speaking a few Slovene pleasantries (even “hello” – dobrodošli), tourists can engage deeply and leave a positive footprint on Maribor’s welcoming streets.
Meknes’s grandiose Bab Mansour gate hints at the city’s imperial past. Nestled at 546 m elevation in a high plain north of the Atlas Mountains, Meknes is Morocco’s sixth-largest city (pop. ~632,000) and one of four “Imperial Cities” alongside Marrakesh, Fès and Rabat. Yet Meknes is often overlooked. Its honor came in the 17th century under Sultan Moulay Ismail (reign 1672–1727), who chose Meknes as his capital and filled it with opulent palaces, mosques and enormous gates. The ruler even tried to rival Versailles by calling Meknes the “Marseille of Morocco” – though his panache was uniquely Maghrebi. Today the city retains a surprisingly well-preserved old medina and kasbah, reflecting a rare blend of Andalusian, Moorish and Saadian architectural styles. In 1996 UNESCO recognized the Historic City of Meknes for this legacy, but the city still feels off most tourist itineraries.
The recorded founding of Meknes dates to the 11th century Almoravid dynasty, which established it as a fortified camp. It later became a major agricultural and trade center under the Almohads. However, Meknes’s golden age began in the 1600s. Sultan Moulay Ismail, founder of the Alawite dynasty, made Meknes his capital in 1672. Over 50 years he embarked on a building frenzy: he constructed a vast Hri Souani granary and stables for his 12,000 horses, dozens of ornate mausoleums, and monumental gates that still stand. Bab Mansour, finished in 1732, served as the grand ceremonial entrance to the royal precinct. Ismail’s projects surrounded the old medina with three rings of walls, making Meknes one of the most fortified cities in Morocco. His legacy included infused European elements (architects brought from Andalusia) into the Franco-Moorish style – the result is a cityscape of horseshoe arches, zellij tile work, cedar wood carvings and imposing crenellated walls. After Ismail’s death, Meknes was eclipsed by Fès but still remained an imperial seat; it later served as a headquarters under French colonial rule. Independence-era Morocco (post-1956) retained Meknes as a regional capital, preserving the grand entrances like Bab Mansour and the nearby Place el-Hedim square.
Moroccan Arabic (Darija) and French are spoken in Meknes, reflecting its francophone schools and history; Berber languages (from the local Aït Atta and Miknassa tribes) have mostly receded in the city, although traditional music festivals may feature Amazigh groups. The city’s name itself comes from the Miknasa Amazigh tribe. Meknes’s culture is a tapestry of Arab and Andalusian influences: classical music (malhoun poetry) and Sufi rituals are part of cultural events, and crafts like zellij tile and leatherwork thrive in the medina’s souks. Cuisine here exemplifies Moroccan flavors: tajines of lamb with prunes or olives, couscous with seven vegetables, and hearty harira soup are staples. A local specialty is pastilla – a flaky pastry pie often filled with pigeon or chicken. Meals typically feature preserved lemons, cumin, coriander and sweet cinnamon. Street foods include sfenj (Moroccan donuts) and kebda (spiced liver skewers). Given Meknes’s rural surroundings, one can also find fresh olives, nuts and orange blossoms. As in all of Morocco, food is often shared communally on large round trays; mint tea is served after meals as a gesture of hospitality.
The Old City (Medina) of Meknes is a UNESCO World Heritage site for good reason. Its most famous monument, Bab Mansour (c.1732), is a vast ornate gate with ivory-colored zellij and incised stucco panels. Nearby is the Place el-Hedim, a broad square often compared to Marrakesh’s Jemaa el-Fna but far quieter – locals gather here in cafes or street musicians perform at dusk. Beyond that gate lies the old royal kasbah: ruined palaces, mosques and lush gardens (hidden even today behind high walls). Of special interest is the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail (1680s), an elaborately tiled and gilded shrine where the sultan himself is interred; it is open to visitors outside prayer times. Other heritage sites include the Sbaat palace complex, extensive city granaries and the Sahrij Swani (a grand reservoir) which once fed the gardens of the palace. The remnants of a 14th-century Borj (fortress tower) overlook the city from a nearby hill, and outside the medina stands the Dar al-Makhzen palace (19th-century royal residence). Meknes’s architecture harmoniously blends Islamic and European elements – thick city walls and minarets alongside Louis XIV-inspired statues of lions on gateposts.
Natural surroundings are also charming. Just north of the medina is the vineyards of Meknes, in the fertile Saïss plain that produces world-class wines (Coteaux de l’Atlas appellation). Only a short drive away lie the oak forests of the Middle Atlas foothills – people often picnic by streams in Azrou cedar woodlands. Even within the city, parks like Lalla ‘Aouda Garden (from 18th century) offer shaded squares of orange trees and fountains.
Meknes’s greatness was hidden by history. For decades, tourists flocked instead to Marrakesh’s plazas, Fès’s medina maze or Rabat’s imperial monuments. Meknes suffered by comparison: it has no international airport and was relatively bypassed by tour operators until recently. Even today, the city feels under-promoted; most guidebooks mention it only in passing as a day-trip from Fès (45 km east). Yet those who linger find a surprisingly uncrowded old town (no long lines or touts), and a sense of authenticity. The quiet majesty of Bab Mansour, the stillness of the royal gardens at sunset, the absence of mass tourism trappings – these make Meknes a discovery to be savored.
Travel responsibly in Meknes by respecting local customs. Dress modestly in the medina, cover shoulders and knees when visiting mosques or shrines, and speak softly near prayer times. Use only guided tours for sacred sites – for example, non-Muslims can enter the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail only with a guide. In the medina, look out for trusting locals who may earn a coin by showing you historic spots (always offer a tip if they take the trouble). Bargain politely in the souk; haggling is customary, but avoid offending. When taking photos of people, always ask first and consider tipping. To help the local economy, buy handicrafts (zellij ceramics, leather goods, babouches slippers) from reputable cooperatives and artisans. Avoid water bottles and single-use plastics by carrying a refillable bottle. Above all, move slowly: Meknes reveals its treasures best in leisurely afternoon strolls, welcoming smiles, and a taste of slow Moroccan life.
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