New Food Adventures - Photo Essay

A recent trip to the coast provided us with the chance to check out some local ingredients and a two-day foodie fest ensued!

On the road to Rabat we came across some guys selling Saharan desert truffles. We’d heard about them and the season has just started so we were keen to give them a try. They cost 100dh (10 Euro) for half a kilo (we probably paid too much).

We arrived in Asilah and headed to our holiday house. We had been on the road all afternoon and had skipped lunch so we decided a truffle and mushroom omelette was an immediate priority. Once the mud had been rinsed off they appeared a pale pinky-brown colour and looked rather disconcertingly like testicles…still, we persevered. The truffles didn’t have much smell but we hoped if we put enough in they would have some flavour.

Sliced up and added to a frying pan with the mushrooms and some seasoning, our tastebuds were getting juicy in anticipation…add the eggs, struggle with the non-non-stick frying pan, serve with flaky Moroccan bread and voila! Hmm. Not quite as we were hoping – the truffles had very little flavour and a bitter after-taste. More research into the best way to use this ingredient is definitely needed.

The next food adventure came across our path on the way out for dinner. We bumped into some fishermen who had just brought in a crate of live spider crabs and decided to snap some up for lunch the next day. Four big crabs for 110dh – a much better investment than the truffles! We popped back home and put them to sleep in the freezer.

Dinner out was underwhelming, a disappointing paella (Asilah is close to Spain and so has a lot of Spanish influences) – we were better off eating at home!

The next morning I searched out the local market and came home laden with ripe avocados, fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, lemons, baguettes, olives, a bottle of rose and a jar of mayonnaise. Meanwhile Vincent had been boiling the crabs in salt water. We got to work and a simple, but very tasty lunch was soon ready: salad, fresh avocado with lemon juice and olive oil, crusty baguette with butter, green olives with preserved lemon and most importantly fresh crab. Picking the crabs apart took some doing as we didn’t have the right tools but we improvised with scissors, a garlic crusher and some garden secateurs! It was worth the effort though – mixed with a little seasoning, lemon juice and mayonnaise or just eaten plain, the crab was sensational.

Our last new food experience was discovered on the way back from the beach – fresh cheese and local farm butter from the back of a guys van. Back home again and chilling with a gin and tonic and a couple of hands of gin rummy, the cheese drizzled with olive oil and a sprinkling of salt and pepper was the perfect snack with more baguette and olives.

All cooked out, that night we opted for pizza and red wine – a lazy but satisfying end to two days of culinary adventure.

Building Relationships

With our V2 finally granted we were able to begin work on the house – two months to the day since we’d arrived back in Fes.

We changed the locks and nervously handed over sets of keys – and much trust – to our chief de chantier and build manager.

The first step was to protect the original features that we wanted to preserve. As I’ve said before, there are only three rooms with original zellij tiling on the floor – the modern tiling in the rest of the house can be destroyed by the builders as much as they like. To protect the floors a layer of thick plastic is laid down and then a plaster mix spread over the top, which then forms a hard surface.

All the woodwork – doors and windows – has been wrapped in plastic, and the dodgy ceiling in the downstairs kitchen has been supported with scaffolding.

The next stage is the ‘decappage’, which involves chipping off the plaster from all the walls to expose the bricks underneath. The purpose of this is to examine the condition of the walls behind and find any hidden cracks. We were a little nervous about this after hearing other people’s horror stories of finding walls so riddled with fissures that the whole side of their house had to be rebuilt, or finding bricks with no mortar in between.

So far, so good though. We’re now a week and a half into the build and most of the plaster has been removed, revealing walls in good condition and only a few major cracks that need repairing. To repair them, a section of bricks either side of the crack needs to be removed and then new bricks are ‘stitched’ in. The bricks themselves do not resemble the normal red house bricks that we’re used to, they are stone coloured and thin and the mortar that binds them together is a mix of sand and lime.

I actually really like the look of the exposed brick walls and we’ve been discussing the possibility of leaving a section of wall exposed as a feature. The problem though is the fragility of the ‘mortar’ which crumbles when you touch it, so we would have to find a way of sealing the walls with something strong enough to endure knocks, but permeable enough to allow the walls to breathe. Any suggestions are welcome!

Having the building work underway meant yet more paperwork, as a contract with the building company had to be drawn up, signed and stamped. This took several meetings – discussing the terms, making the changes, approving the changes and then finally heading to (a whole new) baladiya’s office.

We had been advised by friends not to sign a contract for a fixed amount of time, but rather to do multiple contracts for the different stages of the work, eg: a contract for the decappage, then if we were happy we’d contract them to continue with the masonry etc. When faced with the standard contract prepared by the builder however (and knowing how much paperwork is involved every time you want to create a new contract) we decided to sign a contract with them for 90 days, but add a clause saying that if we were unhappy with the work we could cancel the contract at any time.

We also added a clause saying that the building company would be responsible for their workers on site at all times, to avoid insurance payouts if someone is injured while working on our house.

Terms agreed and papers signed we went to the baladiya to get the contract made official. This process has to be seen to be believed! There were two copies of the contract, five pages for each, and each page had to undergo rigorous officialising. Both Vincent and the builder had to sign each individual page and then the lady behind the desk began the arduous task of marking each page with a total of SEVEN different rubber stamps and three stuck on stamps, plus scribbling official numbers next to all the signatures and writing both Vincent’s name and the builder’s name in full, on EVERY page.

This would have been fine if she’d been in efficient mode, but of course she was not. The process went: stamp, turn page, stamp, turn page, pause – look around, chat to the builder about his mother, stamp, turn page, stop to consult with colleague about the weather, stamp, turn page, stop because someone else has come into the office with an enquiry, deal with that person at length, finally remember the task at hand, leaf back through pages already stamped to remind yourself what you were doing, oh yes, another stamp. Stamping ten pages took the best part of an hour, which could have been amusing if not for the fact that we were both hung-over and dying for a coffee. Mission finally accomplished we then had to broach a difficult subject – money.

Our builder had asked Vincent for a cheque for 40,000 dirhams (about 4000 Euro), but I had balked at handing over so much money upfront. We had heard lots of stories about builders doing a runner with people’s money, and while we had signed on a well-known and reputable builder I was wary of signing over chunks of money. I also wanted to keep a close eye on what was being spent on materials, wages etc and preferred to actually go with the builder when he was purchasing materials and pay for it directly to avoid money being skimmed off the top.

The difficulty was broaching the subject without causing offense – how do you say I don’t trust you in a delicate way?

Anyway, we went for a much-awaited coffee and set about explaining our position. The main points I made were that we were living in Fes and so could be on site – with funds – every day (unlike some expats who renovate from afar), that we wanted to be involved in the process because we were excited to learn as much as possible – including where to source the materials, and that this was our first building project so we were interested in all the details and keen to be as hands-on as we could. I tried to frame it so that it was a positive wish for involvement and offering help, rather than having a negative ‘we want to watch your every step’ overtone.

Despite my best efforts though, the nuances were lost in translation and things started to get very heated. Basically the builder felt that we were hindering him from doing the job we’d employed him to do (which was managing the build, ordering materials, paying the workers etc) and were insulting him by refusing to hand over the money in advance. My suggestion of working on a weekly basis was met with derision – apparently a lot of the materials need to be ordered in advance and deposits made to secure timely deliveries.

The conversation continued to go in circles for quite some time – with Vincent and the builder going back and forth in French and me trying unsuccessfully to put our points across to the builder’s business partner who speaks some English, which he then relayed to the builder. I had to do a lot of backpedalling to calm the conversation down and went to great pains to reassure them that it was not a matter of trust and that no insult had been intended.

The resolution was a compromise. We would give them a cheque for 30,000 dirham and in return they would give us a detailed breakdown of how everything was spent and let us be involved as much as we wanted.

We were happy in the end, because although we still handed over some money upfront, the builders were definitely put on notice that we would be watching everything closely and that we wouldn’t tolerate being ripped off. We also felt sure that this team wouldn’t run off with the money as they were working on another much bigger project at the same time, and wouldn’t risk their reputation or employment over a relatively small amount of money.

Egos were soothed, tempers were calmed, and friendly relations were restored. But our message was clear – we won’t be messed with!

The Booze Factor

The wedding really highlighted for me just how different our cultures are in terms of alcohol.

The whole of the medina is actually a dry-zone, with no alcohol available to buy except in hotels for tourists. To buy bottles of wine, beer or spirits for your home, you have to travel to the new town or one of the big supermarkets on the outskirts of the city.

Rather than finding this a problem though, Vincent and I have actually enjoyed not having alcohol readily available on our doorstep. Our normal habit was to have a gin or vodka in the evening before dinner, and then a bottle of wine with our meal. As well as being fattening and expensive, we’ve realised this was probably quite unhealthy but it was our habit nonetheless. However, since moving here (apart from the Christmas and New Year’s seasonal celebrations) we’ve really cut down on our drinking and definitely feel better for it.

We attended a party last year where half the people were young Moroccans, and half westerners. One half were drinking, the other were not, but all had an equally good time – I bet only half of them felt good in the morning though. It was interesting to think about how we feel like we have to drink in order to enjoy ourselves.

And so much of our socialising revolves around alcohol! Whether it’s bars, pubs, clubs or restaurants, all these places are centred on drinking. What would we do otherwise? Where would we go?

I’m not knocking our culture at all, and those who know me know I love a drink, but living here has just made me think about it for the first time and question our dependence on alcohol as a social tool. We still have bottles of gin, vodka and wine in the kitchen and serve them when our friends come for dinner, but I’m now consciously deciding not to drink every day.

Another part of this issue is our restaurant. A major part of our concept (and future revenue) is built around having a decent wine-list but at the moment there are no stand-alone restaurants in the medina with an alcohol license. There are a few places that do, but they’re all part of hotels or guesthouses. The only bars are just outside the medina walls or in the new town. Part of the reason for this is that you’re not supposed to serve alcohol within 50m of a mosque. Come to the medina and you’ll realise that there are so many mosques there is nowhere that’s outside their range! I’ve heard that some enterprising official has now knocked off the zero, bringing the range to 5m. Anyway, an alcohol license is crucial to our business as we don’t have revenue from renting rooms and the profits from just serving food are slim. Much of our discussions in these past months have been about just how difficult getting the fabled license will be. Some say easy, others say it will be our biggest hurdle. Either way, we are pioneers on this quest and if we get it we’ll be the first ones to break the mould.

Our approach will have to be carefully considered, but the argument is that our customers will mostly be tourists or expats so therefore we won’t be corrupting the locals with evil liquor. As Fes is trying to attract more tourists and compete with Marrakesh, we need more European style establishments to cater for their tastes. A common complaint from visitors is that there’s nowhere to go out in the medina at night. With the government’s current drive to promote tourism as a growth industry and the King’s interest in developing Fes, we hope to use these arguments to our advantage.

After hearing all the nay-saying you can imagine our surprise when we received a positive endorsement of the idea from our local Caid. We haven’t quite figured out the levels of administration yet, but each area of the medina has a Caid, who then reports to the Mokkadam, who reports to the Pasha – I think. One of the French residents here, upon hearing of our alcohol license plan advised us to get in touch with our Caid immediately, as he is the one who approves or rejects such things in the neighbourhood. This we did, and he arranged to meet us at our house. After showing him around and discussing our plans for converting the house into a restaurant we warily broached the subject of applying for an alcohol license to find out if he was open to the idea. Expecting some resistance, we were delighted when he said “you MUST have an alcohol license, there is no question!”.

Having him on side is big plus, it now just remains to be seen how much it will cost us to have his official support when it comes down to it.

However the whole thing has made me reflect on our cultural impact here. Part of the reason we moved here was the unique opportunity to live amongst people who’s day-to-day lives have remained unchanged for centuries. While the new town is modern, the medina is like a living, breathing piece of history and we want to contribute to its preservation by restoring one small piece of it – our house. To be able to do that and continue living here though, we need to create a profitable business. And that business will in turn create employment for the locals directly by giving them jobs, and indirectly by attracting more tourists through providing the European-style service that they want.

But at what cost? I know modernisation is inevitable but what makes Fes unique – even compared with Marrakesh – is that they still have an authentic-feeling medina. This is one of Fes’s biggest draw-cards. And the quest for the tourist dollar may end up undermining that uniqueness. The development here will have to be very carefully managed to avoid that outcome. And sure, a handful of restaurants serving wine with dinner may not change the medina too much. But I just don’t want to be the thin end of a wedge that unintentionally destroys what we’re all trying to preserve.

On the other hand, someone else will eventually do it if we don’t. And perhaps the only solution is to be as culturally-aware and sensitive as possible while bringing about the inevitable change. Hopefully we’re equipped to do that.

Marriage in Morocco

Although we’ve only been here for two months, Vincent and I have been invited to around half a dozen weddings, sometimes by people that we’ve only met for five minutes. Apparently this is normal – Moroccan weddings are drawn out events and not many people stay for the duration except family members. Mostly guests arrive, pay their respects, have a bit of a dance and then leave after a couple of hours. My ex-pat friends have also told me that Moroccan weddings can be very boring, with the women and men segregated in separate rooms and that a lot of sitting around and waiting is involved.

We hadn’t taken up any of these invitations until recently, mostly because we felt awkward turning up and some random stranger’s wedding. However an Australian friend of ours just married a local woman so I took the opportunity to attend my first Moroccan wedding to see what goes on and of course support the union. Vince was unfortunately working, so I went solo.

Weddings here are alcohol-free as drinking is against the Islamic religion, but of course with a bunch of ‘gauries’ in attendance and an Aussie getting hitched, we felt that we couldn’t celebrate properly without a few drinks. So we all met up at a friends place beforehand for a cocktail party and then decided to sneak in pre-mixed vodka and tonics in water bottles. We felt like naughty kids again, trying to spike the fruit punch at the school disco or hiding in the loos swigging from a hidden hip-flask but it was actually quite fun! There was some discussion about whether this was disrespectful but we agreed that as long as we were discreet it was ok. Besides, in our culture having a drink at someone’s wedding is the way we celebrate the occasion, so we felt justified.

The other issue was (as always for a woman but especially here) what to wear? Apart from the fact that all my dressier clothes are still on route via ship, I wanted to acknowledge their traditions and wear something appropriate. A lot of women dress very conservatively here, especially in the medina, and although I balk at wearing a headscarf I do try to avoid revealing clothes. I had also seen some very fancy djellabas in the shops here and figured these were for weddings, so was keen to give them a try. I hadn’t had time to buy one however, but at the last minute a friend lent me one of hers which was gorgeous – pale pink and gold with embroidery and a vintage look to it. Perfect. I accessorized it with a gold pashmina from India (Hindu and Muslim in one outfit!) and was set to go. The bonus of these ‘dresses’ is that you can wear any comfy clothes underneath and as it was winter I happily layered up with my favourite jeans and several jumpers. [Some women in the medina go out still wearing their pyjamas underneath their djellaba, if you look at their ankles you can sometimes spot an inch of pink flannel decorated with ice-skating penguins peeking out!]

However when we arrived at the wedding and I proudly stepped out wearing my local garb I quickly realised I had missed one crucial element – all the women had wide, fancy belts matching their dresses that cinched them in at the waist. Apparently the one time these outfits are allowed to be form-fitting is at weddings! I had seen little shops full of these gaudy, mostly gold belts but hadn’t known what they were for until now – they actually resemble wrestling trophy belts and we’d been hazarding random guesses at their purpose…now I knew. Typical that whenever you try to blend in you end up standing out even more by getting it wrong!

Anyway, we had arrived at the right moment because after a few minutes of waiting the big procession started. All the women gathered around and the bride was lifted in a glittering, silver wedding chair (called an ‘amariya’) onto the shoulders of the men and carried along the street. She was followed by a group of musicians playing long horns and drums and preceded by her new husband and us – all the women – clapping and dancing. We slowly made our way into the hall, the bride was lowered to the floor and then escorted to a throne, where she sat beside her husband for the next couple of hours. People made their way up to them to pay respects and have their pictures taken and then got back to dancing. Basically the bride and groom have to sit unmoving while all their guests have fun. Although, considering the bridal gown it was probably more comfortable for her not to move! It was covered in so much bling that it must have weighed a ton. Add to that a diamante-encrusted tiara, huge necklace and ear-cuff things, rings and bracelets galore, and it’s a miracle she could even stand up…Plus this outfit was only the first of seven she would change into throughout the evening, each one more bling-tastic than the last. Apparently it took a team of women to dress her each time.

There was also an overly enthusiastic videographer who kept doing sweeping shots of the couple – far away, swooping in scarily close to their faces and then back again, and this live-feed was projected onto a large screen for us to watch while we danced. Personally I would have found this very annoying!

Another bummer about being a Moroccan bride is that you’re not supposed to smile. At all. Ever. The whole night. Apparently one reason is that as the woman is leaving her family home to live with her husband she is supposed to look sad. Another reason I heard is that it’s based on a superstition that smiling on your wedding day will bring bad luck to the marriage. And one cheeky commentator suggested she couldn’t smile because it would have cracked her heavy make-up. Whatever the reason, surely it’s rather depressing for both the bride and groom not to be able to express their happiness?

Apart from the bridal couple, the rest of us had a ball. We started off with about two hours of dancing, to a mix of traditional and modern Moroccan and Western music. Apparently the music played at this wedding was quite progressive comparatively and the inclusion of a few clubbing tunes later in the night led to vast amusement as the gauries demonstrated their best nightclub moves while the locals looked on. They then retaliated by breaking out their best belly-dancing routines – which were amazing – and a bit of a dance-off ensued!

Dinner was served at about 11pm and consisted of a succession of large dishes placed in the centre of the table which everyone ate from with their hands. There were no plates or cutlery, everyone just dug in to whole chickens, ripping pieces off and munching away. As all the dishes were meat I ended up eating bread and mandarins for dinner – thankfully we’d eaten pizza at the cocktail party earlier. Dinner was over fairly quickly, and the tables and chairs cleared away. A fancy hand-washing contraption appeared – called a bakrage – which was a silver metal basin on a tall stand topped by a large silver kettle. A waiter poured the warm water over your hands which then drained into the stand below, and then you dried your hands on a tea-towel.

We got back to dancing, but this time the women grabbed myself and a female friend of mine and invited us to join them in their corner of the room.

The women were absolutely lovely, very friendly, warm and open and I think decided to include the two of us because we’d come dressed in djellabas. Dancing with them mostly consisted of moving around in a big circle, formed by joining hands with the person next to you but one. Turning slowly with these women, linking hands and listening to them sing in Arabic was a highlight of the night for me. I felt that my presence as a foreigner in their community was not only accepted but welcomed. Then the little girls took over our dance instruction and niftily tied our scarves around our hips to affect belly-dancing outfits. I spent a very enjoyable hour with the little ones as they tried to get my more rigid moves to flow into fluid hip wiggles and bum shaking. For a supposedly conservative culture, their national dance is really sexy! I was so inspired that I’ve resolved to take belly-dancing classes sometime soon.

When our group finally left at 2.30am, the party was still in full swing, with the bride only on outfit number three (I was thinking about the expense of buying seven wedding dresses but fortunately the gowns are all hired!). The groom told me later that things didn’t wrap up until 6am. All my friends said that it was the best Moroccan wedding they’d ever experienced, very modern (with the men and women mixing) and heaps of fun.

I was just glad I’d had a chance to witness a new side of the local culture in such a warm and welcoming environment, while picking up a few hip-wiggles on the way.

Work Begins!

The builder's have arrived!
The first stage has been protecting the zellij floor tiling, wooden doors and windows.


Vince surveys proceedings from the second floor. We're on site every day keeping an eye on the progress.

The 'blue' room with plaster on plastic sheeting on the floor to protect the tiles underneath.

 

Our build manager and chef de chantier discussing how best to proceed among the growing piles of debris.
They are now removing all the plaster from the walls to inspect the bricks and mortar underneath. So far a few big cracks have been found but nothing too devastating...fingers crossed!

Moving Forward (Part Three)

Well, the weekend came and went and (predictably) we still didn’t have our V2 permission to start building work.

A couple more false starts were initially to blame, with us turning up to get the piece of paper and finding it hadn’t been signed by the inspector, coming back and finding he was away and so on.

Today we finally had what we thought was the permission, only to find out it was just the document saying we had to pay 500dh to obtain the permission. However when we tried to immediately pay them at the baladiya’s office (in the medina), it turned out that the payment had to be lodged at another office, this time in the new town.

We were familiar with this office – this was the same place as the attestation fiscale debacle. Thankfully it was quiet this time and a woman at a desk quickly pointed us to the counter where we had to pay, which we did.

Heading out the door, we suddenly realised that it had probably been a bit too easy and decided to call our builder to check if anything else was required. Ah yes. We needed to go back to the first woman at the desk and get another bit of paper, which she of course had failed to mention during our initial enquiry.

We went back up the steps and gave her the receipt only for her to tell us we needed the attestation fiscale to go with it. As it was the same woman from our visit the previous week, she remembered that she had the document in her desk drawer– the same document that we’d been waiting for, expecting it to appear via post as promised at least a week before. Who knows what would have happened if we’d been to a different person’s desk. Anyway, she produced the attestation fiscale, now appropriately signed and stamped (the Moroccans love their stamps on documents, the more the better it seems) and told us we needed to photocopy it and the receipt and come back.

Dutifully we headed across the road to the (now also familiar) teleboutique, obtained the copies and trudged back up the stairs again.

A few scribbles later and we were told that was all we needed to do. Scarcely believing that we’d actually got the permission, we asked her again if there was anything else. She checked with a colleague and no, that was it. Still wary, we called our builder again and triple checked. “You have the small orange receipt?” Check. “And a white piece of paper?” Check. “Ok, now you need to go back to the baladiya’s office in the medina to get the actual permission document”. Of course.

Back in the car (thank goodness we brought it – catching taxi’s back and forth would have been a nightmare) we returned to the baladiya’s office once more.

Handing over the receipt and the attestation fiscale, there was momentary confusion. “You don’t need that for a V2,” the lady said. Ok then. Just the receipt (aaaarrrgh!). A few more scribbles and stamps and we were done. This was the correct piece of paper! We finally had our V2 Simple building permission! Work could now start on the house…elated we grinned and high-fived as we walked triumphantly out of the office. ‘Simple’ permission? Someone had a sense of humour. We hardly dared to think about how difficult getting the authorisation to do the structural work would be.

That afternoon we had another meeting with our architect to check the changes we’d discussed and view the altered plans. We also had the elusive attestation fiscale to finally hand over to him, completing the document package for the proper authorisation we were about to start trying for.

Joyfully Vince handed over the annoying piece of paper we’d randomly managed to collect from the bureaucrat woman’s desk drawer earlier. The architect inspected it, turned it over and sighed. What now?

“You need to take this to the other office with your passport and get it stamped on the back,” he said. Un. F**king. Believable. Why couldn’t bureaucrat desk woman have mentioned that when she handed it over? Because that would be helpful. Because that would be doing her job. Because nobody has any idea what the f**k is going on most of the time.

Cue gritted teeth and forced smile. Fine. We would do that tomorrow. And then bring it back again.

So, back to the plans. “Here are the drawings of what we discussed last week, showing the changes you want to make to the structure.” Mmmhmm. Nope, not quite. No window there, no arch there, that’s a cupboard not a toilet, we wanted a door there, that’s not the shape of the room actually and so on. Lines were drawn and redone and he shuffled over to his assistant to have her make the changes immediately on the computer. Some time later the alterations were printed out again and we rechecked them. Mmmhmm. Almost, but not quite. You forgot the fountain, those are not arches it’s a completely open balcony, there’s no wall there etc. This process was repeated several times over the course of an hour and eventually we had the plans correct, bar a few more minor alterations. We’re meeting him again on Friday once he’s had a chance to complete the detailed plans and then we should be done. Except for the contract we apparently have to draw up with him and take to the baladiya’s office. That should be fun.

Keeping it Simple

We have just met yet again with our architect (although finally the meetings are feeling productive) to look at the draft plans he’s made of the existing house and to discuss the changes we want to make. This was quite challenging as we have strong ideas about how to make the house work as a restaurant and know what the requirements are, whereas he was more interested in making the house more symmetric and in-keeping with traditional medina houses. We listened to his ideas, which were all very nice, but had to keep pointing out the impracticalities. For example, ‘no, we can’t extend that salon into the (proposed) toilet and put a nice window in there because we need the toilet for our customers’, and ‘no we can’t keep the toilet in the kitchen (where it’s currently located) because it’s the kitchen!’.
He also wants us to extend the wooden corniche on the second level so it wraps around all four walls (it’s currently on two, under the balconies, on opposite sides) and have intricate plaster work around the windows into the courtyard to pretty it all up.
This raised an issue that Vince and I have been discussing for a while. Houses in the medina have a variety of features which can include zellij tiling (on the floors, walls, skirtings, stairs and fountains in varying degrees), painted woodwork (doors, ceilings, corniches), coloured glass windows, curved metalwork (on balconies, windows and terraces) and intricately carved plaster (around windows, above doorways, edging ceilings etc). The number of features you have can be seen as a good or bad thing according to your taste. Personally we find the bigger, very ornate houses a bit full on and trust me, you wouldn’t want to be facing some of the rooms first thing in the morning with a hangover.
The amount and type of decoration also indicates the period your house was built, as these features and their quantity came in and out of fashion – like brown, swirly wallpaper or shag-pile carpets for instance. Also you have to be careful with plasterwork, as unless you have very good craftsmen it can look chunky and very average.
We are relatively undecorated in comparison to many of the houses we’ve seen, with no plasterwork, only a few rooms with zellij on the floor, a couple of pretty windows and a small amount of painted wood. Our standout feature is the zellij on the walls of the courtyard which comes to about waist height. As people came through our house we heard a lot of differing opinions. The ‘more is more’ crowd suggested we redo all the floors with traditional zellij, put in plasterwork around all the windows and put wooden beams on the ceiling of the third floor extension which is currently concrete. This approach is fine if you have buckets of money and want to recreate the completely traditional look.
The other school of thought is to work with what you have and not get drawn in to feeling you have to make your house overly fussy. This is what we were thinking, and after seeing houses without the plasterwork and wall-to-wall zellij we were convinced. The spaces felt cleaner, simpler and more relaxing. Considering we have a relatively small space to work with and that once you put in all the tables, chairs, lighting and deco you will have plenty to look at anyway, we were loathe to clutter it up even more.
We had already decided to pull up the modern floor tiles and redo them with plainer flooring. I wanted to put marble in the courtyard and lower salon and was delighted to find out that rather than being unaffordable, marble is actually one of the cheaper options. Zellij (intricate mosaic-style tiling) on the other hand, is very pricey and time-consuming because of the work involved.
The only feature we want to ‘create’ as such, is a fountain in the courtyard. Currently there’s an old fountain in the kitchen but the tiling will be lost when we turn it into a commercial kitchen. In order to save it, we want to relocate the tiles to the back wall of the courtyard and build a small basin to catch the water. In the summer, the sound and presence of water will hopefully have a cooling effect on the centre of the house and will also serve as a simple central feature for the courtyard. Beyond this though, we have no intention of going in for fancy detailing.
So when the architect started suggesting additional features, Vince and I shot each other ‘here we go again’ looks and after smiling and nodding we tactfully said we’d go back and look at the house and consider it.
We also need to put in windows for what will be the office on the top floor. At the moment there’s no solid roof on this room and just a grill where the windows will be. I’m a big fan of light and want fairly simple windows with big panes of glass. Our architect wants to put in three fancy arches and traditional windows. However the top level is a more recent addition and has no traditional features. As this is where we’ll be living we’d prefer to create a space that’s different from the restaurant downstairs, to help us separate our work and home life.
Simplicity seems to be a very un-Moroccan concept though. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see…

Moving Forward (Part Two)

In the meantime we had met with our builder of choice and told him he was getting the job. We had also decided to get what’s known as a ‘simple permission’ or V2 to allow the builders to start work while the more complex permission to build a restaurant was processed (this can take months). A V2 allows you to start the ‘decapage’ (which is removing the plaster from the walls to see what’s underneath) and repair any cracks you find, and investigate the existing plumbing and electrics.
Our builder offered to accompany us to the baladiya’s office (where such things are decided) to get the forms and start the process. Having a local with you makes things SO much easier. We went straight to the correct office and got the forms, which he then filled out for us. Then it was on to the next room to show the certified copies of our passports and house papers (which we now carried everywhere just in case). We had to sign a couple of registers and have the papers checked. One of them had the date stamp missing but (hamdullah!) as it happened to be the same bureaucrat checking them who had originally certified them, he corrected it without a drama. Had it been someone else we probably would have had to get the whole thing redone.
Apparently we didn’t need the attestation de stabilite to get a simple permission, and the V2 could be granted within a day. Had we known this before, we could have started work on the house a month before.
We then met up with the building inspector who conveniently our builder knew well and spotted at a nearby café. We arranged to have him view the house the next day. Once inspected we were told we’d have the permission within a few days and building work could start the next Tuesday or Wednesday.
However Tuesday came and went and on Wednesday morning our builder called. The inspector had been in touch and we needed more paperwork. One document was the attestation de stabilite (no problem there) and the other was a letter we had to send by registered post to our engineer. The letter had to ask the engineer to give his authorisation to start the work on the house and couldn’t be delivered (quickly and easily) to his office by hand, it had to be sent via registered post.
Once the letter was written and signed we walked to the post office in the medina. Confronted by chaotic crowds we quickly decided to head to the one in the Ville Nouvelle and be done with it. Once the letter was sent and the stamped receipt saying we’d sent it had been procured we headed back to the baladiya. Once there we were completely bemused to find out that it wasn’t necessary to wait for a reply from the engineer, simply having sent the letter and having the receipt to prove it was all that was required.
Apparently now we just need to pay 500dh and building can commence on the weekend, inshallah.
Meanwhile we’d met with the electrician we want to employ and told him he’d got the job as well. This raised the spectre of yet more paperwork as apparently now we have to write up a contract saying he’s got the job and go back to the baladiya to get it signed and stamped. We’re really looking forward to that.
Then, while chatting to the electrician our builder appeared (they are working together on another project). He joined in the conversation and we now have to draw up a contract with him as well, which he’d forgotten to mention on all our previous sojourns as the baladiya’s.
The builder then gave us an prediction on how long our project would take to get the majority of the work done. “We’ll be finished in three months,” he said.
Vince and I exchanged dubious glances. Somehow – can’t imagine why – we find that hard to believe.

Moving Forward in a Decidedly Moroccan Fashion (Part One)

Once we had decided on our engineer, architect and builder things started to move forward relatively quickly. Everything here takes far longer than you expect, mainly because of the bureaucracy involved. We met the architect and engineer recommended by our useful friends and over the course of a couple of weeks had some plans underway. The process is quite drawn out – first we met them both (separately, but the process is the same) at their offices in the new town to say that we were interested in their services, then we made another appointment to meet them at our house and explain what we wanted to do, then there was another meeting to get a quote for their services based on what they’d seen, then we had another meeting to let them know that we’d decided to employ them, then another meeting back at the house to discuss things further (and in the architect’s case to get some sketches and measurements) and so on.
At the moment we’ve managed to obtain the all-important ‘attestation de stabilite’ from our engineer, which after all the hype is simply a standard letter where he fills in your name and address and says the house won’t fall down. This letter, which you need to obtain your building permit, costs 3000dh/300 Euro. Ironically though, they can’t really tell the proper stability of the house until building work actually starts – once you start removing the plaster from the walls you can see where the cracks are and how bad (or good hopefully!) it really is. Our contract with the engineer also includes him making regular visits to the house during the build to check that things are being done correctly for the structure, and drawing up plans for the electricity and plumbing – but that comes later.
What we need the architect for is to draw up fairly straightforward plans and put together all the paperwork required to get the correct building permit. In order to do that he needs certified copies of our passports, copies of the house papers (known as the melkia), the plans from the topographer, the attestation de stabilite from the engineer and (this was the first we’d heard of it) something called an attestation fiscale.
We had already obtained the topography plans (surprisingly cheap and painless), the certified copies of the documents and the attestation from the engineer and happily handed them over at another meeting with our architect, thinking that we were almost done with the paperwork. After reading the attestation de stabilite though, it seemed there was a problem. “All this says is that the engineer will visit the house during the building work, it doesn’t say the house is stable,” he informed us.
Hmmm. We rang the engineer who was also perplexed (“but the document says it’s an attestation de stabilite” he insisted), but after getting him to speak directly to the architect they agreed on what had to be done.
We then arranged yet another meeting with the engineer and had to go back and get a new piece of paper with an extra sentence added, explicitly stating the house wouldn’t collapse.
Then there was the mysterious attestation fiscale (tax forms). “You just need to go down the road and get a form and sign it,” said the architect. Sounds simple right?
The office was closed at that moment as our meeting had been at the end of the day so we arranged to come back the next day, meet the architect and he would take us through it. He wasn’t there when we next turned up however, so his assistant drew us a map and off we went. After finally finding the right place we were confronted by two rooms, multiple desks, Arabic signs and crowds of people milling about in a disorganised queue. We loitered for a few minutes before Vince simply interrupted one of the paper pushers and asked where we could get the correct forms. Thank God we hadn’t ‘queued’ as the forms were not collected from their office, you had to get them from the tele-boutique (phone shop) across the road. Once we got there the only reason we could deduce for this randomness was that the shop had a photocopier so perhaps the office had sub-contracted out their forms. Anyway, we got the papers and headed back to the architect’s. He had arrived in the meantime and filled out the details for us (as the forms were in Arabic script and therefore unintelligible). He then offered to take us to a totally different office where the forms now had to be stamped. We had just got out the door when he said “you do have your passports don’t you?” Ah, no, no-one had mentioned that. “You have our certified copies, won’t they do?” I suggested. He thought it might be ok so we retrieved the copies and headed to this other municipal building. A couple of floors up was a similar scene to the previous place – lots of random desks and semi-queues. We waited for nearly 20 minutes only to be told (predictably) that we needed our original passports and the copies that had been certified in another of their municipal offices wouldn’t do.
We came back the next day, but the office was closed. And the next. After the weekend we finally had the forms stamped and headed back to the first office where we’d been originally sent to get the forms in the first place. Finally we were ready to get the elusive attestation fiscale. But no. We queued and were then informed that we needed to bring copies of the house papers as well. Which were back at home in the medina of course. (Every time we have to go to and from the Ville Nouvelle – where all the administration takes place – it takes around 45 minutes. The drive is only ten minutes but you then have to park on the medina outskirts and walk for a good ten minutes dodging pedestrians, donkeys and wheeled carts to get to the house, retrieve what you need and then repeat the process in reverse.)
We gave up for the day as we couldn’t face anymore. The next day we returned with all the documents and finally lodged the papers to obtain the attestation fiscale. It had only taken us a week and a half. Vince resolved “in future I’m going to carry around our whole filing cabinet just in case…”

What’s in a Name?

One of the important decisions we’ve had to make was choosing an accountant – in the beginning to help us set up a company and register our business name, and later on to manage our restaurant accounts.

There are two types of accountants here – accountants or expert accountants, so naturally you would think an expert accountant is the better option.

We’d had several recommendations from friends so began meeting these prospective accountants to see how they stacked up. Not having any experience in this field it was hard to tell who was good or not, so again we went on our impressions.

Together we met the first guy, an expert accountant who had been well recommended by a long-term resident of Fes. He seemed impressive, had all the right answers and a professional looking office. He also told us to be wary of many accountants here, who simply put up a plaque and practised accounting without any qualifications. He was well qualified himself, with a degree from France.

Vincent went to see the second candidate, a lady who had been suggested by a couple of people. She, however, was not an ‘expert’ and gave some conflicting answers to the first guy, contrary to the information we had from several sources. We wanted to know when we should set up our company, for tax reasons. She said it was better to do it sooner rather than later, but we’d heard it was better to wait so as not to waste the tax breaks given to new companies – as we wouldn’t be operating for another year.

Based on these impressions, we decided to go with the ‘expert’ guy and were on the verge of starting our business name registration process with him when a lucky intervention made us reconsider.

I was catching up with a friend and mentioned that we’d finally made a decision on our accountant. When I said who it was she paused and said “Hang on a second I think that’s the same guy that *** was using, and she’s just had some major problems with him, let me give her a ring to check.”

On the phone her suspicions were confirmed and she passed me over to our friend who quickly urged me “don’t touch that guy with a bargepole!” It turned out that she had followed the same recommendation we’d been given and had also been impressed with him at the beginning. However, once she had given him her accounts he had been impossible to get hold of and was never available. In the end she had had to force her way into his office to take back her paperwork. “You’d naturally think that the ‘experts’ are better,” she said, “but actually they are often dealing with very big companies accounts, so smaller businesses like ours fall by the wayside and get overlooked. The guy is a nightmare. *** recommended him to me as well, but he is not really business-minded – in future I’d only take his advice on tiling or plastering, not accounting.”

Saved just in time, we had to start the process again from scratch and again began visiting different accountants.

In the end we found a lady (who had also been recommended, but this time by someone who was running a restaurant) who seemed brilliant. She appeared very clued-up on the ins and outs of the Moroccan tax system and was very friendly and approachable, where the other guy had seemed a little arrogant. Most of our friends here actually prefer the female accountants as they’re les egotistical.

She has recommended that we set up our company later on, but ask our builder to make the invoices out to the (future) company so we can put the building expenses through the company and therefore claim back the TVA (20%).

We’ve since taken the first step towards setting up our company, which is registering the business name. You have to choose five options for a name, and then she takes the form to Rabat to see if any of the names are available. We wanted to call it Restaurant Faracha (the Arabic word for butterfly) because my name means butterfly and we’d come up with the name for the house two years earlier when we were signing the papers with the estate agent. Dar Faracha had a nice ring to it and the name had stuck, but we couldn’t call our business ‘Dar’ anything, as we weren’t a guesthouse, as the inclusion of ‘Dar’ in a business name implies. So, we wrote the name we wanted in five different variations eg: Faracha Restaurant, Restaurant L’Faracha etc. When we presented her with the form we were told that we had to write five completely different names, so had to think up four new options on the spot.

We Googled the word for butterfly in the languages that matched some of the cuisine we would serve and came up with Papillon, Mariposa and Farfalle. Farfalle sounded too much like the pasta shape and Papillion had too many connotations from the book and movie of the same name. We then looked up the names of different butterfly genus/species to see if anything jumped out (we’d taken over our accountants laptop while she patiently waited for us to make a decision). The genus Vanessa Cardui was called Painted Lady butterfly, which in French was known as La Belle Dame. We liked these name options so added them to the list. In the end we came up with Restaurant Faracha, Restaurant La Belle Dame, Restaurant Butterfly, Restaurant Mariposa and The Painted Lady Restaurant. We hoped for our first choice, but also quite liked La Belle Dame.

We were told it would take a week or so, but that we should have the reply by December 23rd, my birthday.

The day came and brought with it a very good birthday present – our original choice was available and so Restaurant Faracha was born.