Talaa Kebira (Great Slope Street), Fes

Cutting straight through Fès el-Bali and running all the way down to the Kairaouine Mosque and University, Talaa Kebira—which literally means “the Big Slope”—is the Medina’s main artery. It goes by different names along the way, but the experience stays the same: this street is less about ticking off monuments and more about letting your senses take the lead. Look up, and you’ll spot shop signs shaped like camel heads pointing the way to butchers.

Look around, and you’ll hear vendors bargaining over spices and slippers. Listen carefully, and you’ll also hear donkeys, doing the real heavy lifting as they haul goods up and down the uneven stone pavement. At the western end, the street starts out firmly focused on food. Produce stalls, butchers, and small grocery shops dominate this stretch, supplying both locals and restaurant kitchens.

As you pass the Bou Inania Madrasa, the scene shifts. The shops become more varied, selling everything from everyday essentials to items aimed at rural visitors who come into the city to trade. This is where Talaa Kebira begins to feel like a moving cross-section of Medina life.

Keep going, and you’ll notice a cluster of old fondouks—just a few survivors from the roughly 200 that once filled Fès el-Bali. Built around the same period as the madrasa, these large two-storey buildings were medieval inns for traveling merchants and their animals. Rooms lined the upper floors, while the ground level opened onto wide courtyards designed for unloading goods and stabling mules.

One of the more interesting stops is Bousl Hame, at number 49 on the left, now home to a lively drum workshop where traditional rhythms take shape. About fifty metres further along, on the right, is Qaât Smen, a small market specializing in butter and honey. You’ll probably smell it before you see it—smen, an aged butter prized in Moroccan cooking, announces itself loudly.

A little farther down, also on the right, is the worn-down Fondouk Tazi, with a few pottery stalls still hanging on. Almost opposite, on the left, sits the largely abandoned Fondouk Lbbata, unmistakable for its stacks of sheepskins waiting to be cured. It’s not polished, it’s not subtle—but it’s very much Talaa Kebira doing what it has always done.