Fnideq, Morocco: My Street Market Experience

    On a Thursday afternoon, I stood at my third-story hotel window and watched the busy but simple life in this Moroccan Mediterranean city pass by. I watched with a mixed sense of ease and wonder, which mirrored the energy of the tranquil yet bustling little world below. Though the breeze off the sea was something more than gentle, it brought with it the aromas of the local cuisine – fresh seafood, bread, and the occasional waft of the smell of chicken, beef, and shrimp on the grill. Under my fingertips, the tile work along the bottom of the window frame reminded me of the first time I saw such a craft in Casablanca. In the distance, I could hear the street vendors calling out the daily specials to passers by. Of course, no Moroccan scene would be complete without the chainsaw buzz of the old-school mopeds over riding every other sound until it fades off, blocks away on some side road. It may all sound like too much at once, but there was a surprising balance that felt pleasing to the senses.

    Fnideq, nestled up in the far north of Morocco, is an hour and a half from Tangier by grand taxi and only a couple of miles from the border of the Spanish enclave, Ceuta (known by Moroccans as Sebta). While to this day as I am writing this, there has been a long-standing dispute over who has the right to claim this territory.

    Like most cities in the northern region of the country, the identifying color is blue and can be seen on the landmark buildings such as the main mosque right on the coastal road as well as some of the hotels.

    For the early riser such as myself, Fnideq offers a slow, quiet morning. What I have found is that the coffee shops already open prove to be another way to watch this amazing community come to life right in front of your eyes – all while enjoying a coffee (or tea) just the way you like it, and a delightful Moroccan breakfast (served at some but not all cafes). Both mornings of my stay, I sat at a small table situated right on the sidewalk at the front of the cafe’. I watched as men of the older generations would greet one another as they arrived to begin their daily routine. The low gray light of dawn soon gave way to a dark but pale blue. The redolence of coffee, fresh bread, and eggs played its part in this slow morning experience. And though I was feeling very hungry and ready to eat, everything else about that moment quickly replaced any rushed or uncomfortable sensations. I took a small sip from my espresso, settled back into my chair and listened to the old men chatter on in a language I was only beginning to learn. 

    For most foreigners, a trip to Fnideq means one thing: Visa run. They arrive, catch a ride by taxi to the border, then essentially stamp out and back in. Few rarely stay more than a twenty-four hour period. From the outskirts of Fnideq, they hire a taxi to take them to other big cities in the northern region of the country, completely missing out on the experience of this small but quickly growing coastal town. 

    After returning from the other side of this highly disputed border, I made my way back to my hotel, dropped my things and headed right back out to buy a freshly squeezed fruit juice, then immerse myself into the crazy and colorful space that is the pulse of Fnideq, the street market. The street markets (souks) drive Fnideq’s economy with hundreds of people crammed in along a narrow road (shared with automobiles, no less) all pouring their hard-earned money right back into local businesses and even the ambulant vendor selling snack foods and juices. The economical handshake keeps this city moving as it has done for generations. It stretches across about one third of the old part of the city (approximately a quarter mile through the city center). It’s a place where you can find anything and everything…except tourists. Well, it’s not overrun with them anyway– not even close. And without an excessive number of tourists, the sense of a deeper connection begins to take hold. 

    Mid to late afternoon in Fnideq is the time of day when the energy of the town begins to shift from the calm and laid back into optimistic hope as the vendors begin to open up their shops and curbside stands. This air of optimism, though vital to the success of the market as a whole, serves only as the bridge that carries Fnideq into the evening time frenzy that is both magnificent and photogenic. 

    As I walked through the street market of Fnideq, I couldn’t help feeling swept away – back in time to when this was the only way to buy anything. Obviously this wasn’t a nostalgic moment. However, the intensity and vibrance of everything around me — the sounds, the smells, right down to how people were dressed in their traditional Moroccan attire – the imagery began to take on its own life in my head. As I interacted with people in even my best broken Darija right there in the present, it only added to this realistic “what if”. What if I had lived here way back when?  While the things for sale in this street market have changed drastically, and the city has for sure progressed over literal centuries, the energy – the spirit remains. I was in that energy completely as if the borders of time did not exist. I felt perfectly in the moment…a century ago.

       While Fnideq has its own level of chaos, it’s no Marrakech, Fes, or even Rabat. Rather, Fnideq is best compared to any small village found in the rural areas throughout Morocco – but with a bit of flare found in the bigger cities. In these places, you find a more conservative lifestyle that takes its sweet little time every day. The mornings are slow. The work gets done, and family and social circles are never neglected. It’s a town where foreign travelers should absolutely stay for a few days. Fnideq will be that place you visited one time in Morocco and it will never let you forget it.