Audio Guide: Fes Old Town Walking Tour (Self Guided), Fes
Fes—also known as Fez—is an ancient Moroccan city gathered around the Fes River like it’s been holding a long, serious conversation for over a thousand years. People have called it the “Mecca of the West” and the “Athens of Africa,” which is a lot of pressure for one place.
Its story began in 789, when Idris I—an Arab emir and founder of the Idrisid dynasty—established the city, which his son, Idris II, later expanded. After that, Fes did what long-lived cities do: pass through successive ruling dynasties. The Marinids rose in the 13th century and left a major architectural stamp, followed by the Wattasids and Saadis, and then the Alaouite dynasty, which ruled until the French protectorate began in 1912.
The city's name comes with footnotes. The Arabic “Fas” gave rise to “Fez” or “Fes,” but nobody fully agrees on where Fas itself came from. One popular tradition links it to fas, which means “pickaxe,” with stories about Idris I or his builders using a special pickaxe during construction. Other theories point to the regional words that mean something like “ruins” or “wide plain.” Basically, the etymology is still open for debate, so feel free to enjoy the mystery.
Today, Fez is usually described in two parts: Medina (or the Old Town), incorporating the historic quarters of Fes el-Bali and Fes Jdid; and Ville Nouvelle (the New Town), developed in the French colonial period, with a more modern, cosmopolitan feel.
But the real pulse of the city is Fes el-Bali, the UNESCO-listed district that still runs on its own medieval logic. Many people enter it through the so-called Blue Gate, and then immediately discover that “maze” is not a metaphor here. Inside are markets, mosques, synagogues, hammams, and various schools, stitched together by daily life.
Here, Dar Batha Museum and the Mnebhi Palace showcase art and craftsmanship, while places like Nejjarine Museum of Wooden Arts and Crafts, the Schools of the Rope Makers and Perfumers, the Kairaouine Mosque and University, Al-Attarine Spice Market, Seffarine and R’cif Squares, the Chouara Tannery, Water Clock, and Bou Inania Seminary make one thing clear: faith, learning, and working trades are not museum pieces in the Old Town—they still shape its daily life.
So, don’t treat Fes like a quick stop between cocktails and a souvenir shop. Give it time. Let it pull you off your neat plan, let it surprise you, and let it stay a little complicated. Walk slowly, listen closely, follow the scents of spice and leather, and allow the city to unfold in layers. Old Fes doesn’t perform for visitors—it continues being itself. Your job is simply to show up properly.
Its story began in 789, when Idris I—an Arab emir and founder of the Idrisid dynasty—established the city, which his son, Idris II, later expanded. After that, Fes did what long-lived cities do: pass through successive ruling dynasties. The Marinids rose in the 13th century and left a major architectural stamp, followed by the Wattasids and Saadis, and then the Alaouite dynasty, which ruled until the French protectorate began in 1912.
The city's name comes with footnotes. The Arabic “Fas” gave rise to “Fez” or “Fes,” but nobody fully agrees on where Fas itself came from. One popular tradition links it to fas, which means “pickaxe,” with stories about Idris I or his builders using a special pickaxe during construction. Other theories point to the regional words that mean something like “ruins” or “wide plain.” Basically, the etymology is still open for debate, so feel free to enjoy the mystery.
Today, Fez is usually described in two parts: Medina (or the Old Town), incorporating the historic quarters of Fes el-Bali and Fes Jdid; and Ville Nouvelle (the New Town), developed in the French colonial period, with a more modern, cosmopolitan feel.
But the real pulse of the city is Fes el-Bali, the UNESCO-listed district that still runs on its own medieval logic. Many people enter it through the so-called Blue Gate, and then immediately discover that “maze” is not a metaphor here. Inside are markets, mosques, synagogues, hammams, and various schools, stitched together by daily life.
Here, Dar Batha Museum and the Mnebhi Palace showcase art and craftsmanship, while places like Nejjarine Museum of Wooden Arts and Crafts, the Schools of the Rope Makers and Perfumers, the Kairaouine Mosque and University, Al-Attarine Spice Market, Seffarine and R’cif Squares, the Chouara Tannery, Water Clock, and Bou Inania Seminary make one thing clear: faith, learning, and working trades are not museum pieces in the Old Town—they still shape its daily life.
So, don’t treat Fes like a quick stop between cocktails and a souvenir shop. Give it time. Let it pull you off your neat plan, let it surprise you, and let it stay a little complicated. Walk slowly, listen closely, follow the scents of spice and leather, and allow the city to unfold in layers. Old Fes doesn’t perform for visitors—it continues being itself. Your job is simply to show up properly.
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Fes Old Town Walking Tour Map
Guide Name: Fes Old Town Walking Tour
Guide Location: Morocco » Fes (See other walking tours in Fes)
Guide Type: Self-guided Walking Tour (Sightseeing)
# of Attractions: 15
Tour Duration: 2 Hour(s)
Travel Distance: 3.7 Km or 2.3 Miles
Author: leticia
Sight(s) Featured in This Guide:
Guide Location: Morocco » Fes (See other walking tours in Fes)
Guide Type: Self-guided Walking Tour (Sightseeing)
# of Attractions: 15
Tour Duration: 2 Hour(s)
Travel Distance: 3.7 Km or 2.3 Miles
Author: leticia
Sight(s) Featured in This Guide:
- Bab Boujeloud (Blue Gate)
- Dar Batha Museum
- Dar Mnebhi (Mnebhi Palace)
- Fondouk el-Nejjarine / Nejjarine Museum of Wooden Arts and Crafts
- Cherratine Madrasa (School of the Rope Makers)
- R'cif Square and R'cif Mosque
- Place Seffarine (Seffarine Square)
- Chouara Tannery
- Kairaouine Mosque and University
- Al-Attarine Madrasa (School of the Perfumers)
- Al-Attarine Souk (Spice Market)
- Zawiya de Moulay Idriss II (Shrine of Moulay Idriss II)
- Talaa Kebira (Great Slope Street)
- Dar al-Magana (Water Clock)
- Bou Inania Madrasa (Bou Inania Seminary)
1) Bab Boujeloud (Blue Gate) (must see)
Set inside stout city walls, Pacha el-Baghdadi Square works like a hinge between two worlds: the medieval Medina on one side and Fès el-Jdid on the other. Anchoring the square is the Blue Gate, a favorite rendezvous packed with cafés, snack stalls, and people deciding where to go next. You’ll recognize it instantly by its tiled personality—blue on the outside, the traditional colour of Fes, and green on the inside, a nod to Islam. Subtle symbolism, very photogenic.
The gate you’re looking at dates back to 1913 and was built in a Moorish revival style during the French Protectorate. It may be centuries younger than the surrounding Medina, but it has confidently claimed the role of Fes el-Bali’s main entrance. Three perfectly balanced horseshoe arches give it a ceremonial feel, as if the city is formally clearing its throat before letting you in.
A curious detail: the gate locks from the outside. One popular theory suggests this was a French-era precaution, designed to keep the famously independent Old Town “contained” after dark.
By the time the Blue Gate was built, city gates had largely retired from serious military duty. Cannons had changed the rules of defense, and gates like this one shifted roles—from holding off enemies to impressing visitors and controlling the flow of goods and taxes. In other words, less battlefield, more urban branding...
Step through the gate, and the atmosphere changes immediately. Cars drop away, sound softens, and the Old Medina takes over. Look to the left, and you’ll spot the minaret of the Bou Inania Madrasa, quietly marking one of the city’s architectural highlights. From here on, it’s all on foot—narrow streets, layered history, and the slow realization that Fes is about to do what it does best: pull you in, one turn after another.
The gate you’re looking at dates back to 1913 and was built in a Moorish revival style during the French Protectorate. It may be centuries younger than the surrounding Medina, but it has confidently claimed the role of Fes el-Bali’s main entrance. Three perfectly balanced horseshoe arches give it a ceremonial feel, as if the city is formally clearing its throat before letting you in.
A curious detail: the gate locks from the outside. One popular theory suggests this was a French-era precaution, designed to keep the famously independent Old Town “contained” after dark.
By the time the Blue Gate was built, city gates had largely retired from serious military duty. Cannons had changed the rules of defense, and gates like this one shifted roles—from holding off enemies to impressing visitors and controlling the flow of goods and taxes. In other words, less battlefield, more urban branding...
Step through the gate, and the atmosphere changes immediately. Cars drop away, sound softens, and the Old Medina takes over. Look to the left, and you’ll spot the minaret of the Bou Inania Madrasa, quietly marking one of the city’s architectural highlights. From here on, it’s all on foot—narrow streets, layered history, and the slow realization that Fes is about to do what it does best: pull you in, one turn after another.
2) Dar Batha Museum
Before you dive headfirst into the controlled chaos of the Medina, give yourself a moment of calm at Dar Batha Museum, set inside the former Dar Batha Palace, just south of the Blue Gate. This late-19th-century palace was commissioned in 1873 by Moulay el-Hassan, the Sultan of Morocco, who needed a residence polished enough for official receptions—and who clearly had good taste.
The result is classic Moorish elegance: a generous tiled courtyard anchored by a large fountain and framed by arcades that still know how to make an entrance. Beyond it lies an Andalusian garden that feels like the Medina’s volume knob has been turned way down.
The palace took on a new role in the early 20th century. In 1914, the French scholar Alfred Bel made the first donation toward what would become an ethnographic museum, and by the following year, Dar Batha had officially reinvented itself as the Museum of Moroccan Arts and Crafts. The building didn’t just adapt to this new life—it leaned into it. The collection is split into two main sections: one dedicated to archaeology; the other to ethnography, offering a broad look at the artistic traditions of Fes and the surrounding regions.
Inside, expect a rich mix rather than a single theme. Ceramics, textiles, jewelry, paintings, carved wooden doors, everyday household items, and even genealogical records—all share the space. One particularly rewarding section traces the evolution of architecture in Fes, moving from the Idrissid period through to the Alaouite era, and quietly explaining why the city looks the way it does today. There’s also an on-site working workshop, where visitors can watch woodcarvers practicing skills that have been passed down for generations—no labels required to understand the precision.
And one final suggestion before you move on: every now and then, stop looking at the displays and look up. The ceilings here are doing just as much storytelling as the objects below, and they’re easy to miss if you’re in a hurry...
The result is classic Moorish elegance: a generous tiled courtyard anchored by a large fountain and framed by arcades that still know how to make an entrance. Beyond it lies an Andalusian garden that feels like the Medina’s volume knob has been turned way down.
The palace took on a new role in the early 20th century. In 1914, the French scholar Alfred Bel made the first donation toward what would become an ethnographic museum, and by the following year, Dar Batha had officially reinvented itself as the Museum of Moroccan Arts and Crafts. The building didn’t just adapt to this new life—it leaned into it. The collection is split into two main sections: one dedicated to archaeology; the other to ethnography, offering a broad look at the artistic traditions of Fes and the surrounding regions.
Inside, expect a rich mix rather than a single theme. Ceramics, textiles, jewelry, paintings, carved wooden doors, everyday household items, and even genealogical records—all share the space. One particularly rewarding section traces the evolution of architecture in Fes, moving from the Idrissid period through to the Alaouite era, and quietly explaining why the city looks the way it does today. There’s also an on-site working workshop, where visitors can watch woodcarvers practicing skills that have been passed down for generations—no labels required to understand the precision.
And one final suggestion before you move on: every now and then, stop looking at the displays and look up. The ceilings here are doing just as much storytelling as the objects below, and they’re easy to miss if you’re in a hurry...
3) Dar Mnebhi (Mnebhi Palace)
This early-20th-century palace in the middle of Fes’s Old Medina has a résumé far more dramatic than its calm courtyards suggest. This is where the 1912 Treaty of Fes was signed, the document that placed Morocco under French colonial rule—so yes, big history, quietly sealed behind carved doors. The palace was commissioned between 1900 and 1908 by Mehdi Mnebhi, defense minister to Sultan Abdelaziz, and built along Tala’a Seghira, one of the Medina’s busiest souq streets. Mnebhi clearly liked to build on a grand scale—he also financed another palace that now houses the Marrakech Museum.
Once completed, the building quickly moved from private ambition to political spotlight. Having served as the first residence of the French resident-general Lyautey, it then shifted role as the headquarters of Morocco’s Independence Party. Few buildings in Fes have hosted such opposing chapters of power: colonial administration on the one hand, nationalist resistance on the other. These days, the palace has softened its tone and reinvented itself as a restaurant, where mint tea replaces political negotiations and the rooftop delivers wide views over the Medina’s rooftops.
On the inside, the architecture does all the talking. The main reception hall opens dramatically, crowned by a high wooden dome supported by four imposing columns. A large wall fountain draws the eye, covered in finely detailed zellij mosaic tiles that shimmer as the light shifts. On either side of the hall, two richly decorated rooms echo the same craftsmanship, layered with carved plaster, painted wood, and patterned tilework.
Once a place where treaties were signed and movements were organized, today, it hosts conversations drifting lazily over tea. Pause here for a moment—history doesn’t always announce itself loudly, but in this palace, it’s everywhere you look.
Once completed, the building quickly moved from private ambition to political spotlight. Having served as the first residence of the French resident-general Lyautey, it then shifted role as the headquarters of Morocco’s Independence Party. Few buildings in Fes have hosted such opposing chapters of power: colonial administration on the one hand, nationalist resistance on the other. These days, the palace has softened its tone and reinvented itself as a restaurant, where mint tea replaces political negotiations and the rooftop delivers wide views over the Medina’s rooftops.
On the inside, the architecture does all the talking. The main reception hall opens dramatically, crowned by a high wooden dome supported by four imposing columns. A large wall fountain draws the eye, covered in finely detailed zellij mosaic tiles that shimmer as the light shifts. On either side of the hall, two richly decorated rooms echo the same craftsmanship, layered with carved plaster, painted wood, and patterned tilework.
Once a place where treaties were signed and movements were organized, today, it hosts conversations drifting lazily over tea. Pause here for a moment—history doesn’t always announce itself loudly, but in this palace, it’s everywhere you look.
4) Fondouk el-Nejjarine / Nejjarine Museum of Wooden Arts and Crafts (must see)
Holding court over Nejjarine Square is the Fondouk el-Nejjarine, a late-17th-century building that still seems to smell faintly of cedar and thuya wood. Back when camels were the delivery transport of choice, this was a high-end roadside inn where traders dealing in luxury goods checked in for the night. Today, after a careful restoration, it has reinvented itself as a museum devoted to woodworking—same craftsmanship, far fewer caravans. Inside, you can spot skilled artisans bent over finely carved tables, bed frames, and chairs, keeping techniques alive that have been passed down for generations.
As you move upstairs, the timeline quietly stretches. The first floor shows off cedar-wood friezes dating from the 14th to the 18th centuries—rich, detailed, and unapologetically elegant. One level higher, the story jumps forward to more recent creations, including a rabab, a traditional string instrument delicately inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Still, the real showstopper here isn’t a single object. It’s the building itself: the proportions, the woodwork, the calm order of the courtyard. This is one of those places where the entrance ticket pays for itself simply by letting you wander. Officially listed as a historic monument in 1916 and later included within the UNESCO-protected Medina, the fondouk even throws in a bonus—sweeping views over the rooftops from its rooftop café.
Just outside, the Nejjarine Fountain steals its share of attention, covered in intricate zellij tiles and acting as the square’s visual anchor. Nearby, a large covered workshop adds a lively note to the scene, where richly decorated palanquins and ceremonial thrones are crafted—objects still used today for weddings and circumcisions. Taken together, this corner of the Medina feels less like a museum zone and more like a living chapter of Fes, where past and present keep working side by side.
As you move upstairs, the timeline quietly stretches. The first floor shows off cedar-wood friezes dating from the 14th to the 18th centuries—rich, detailed, and unapologetically elegant. One level higher, the story jumps forward to more recent creations, including a rabab, a traditional string instrument delicately inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Still, the real showstopper here isn’t a single object. It’s the building itself: the proportions, the woodwork, the calm order of the courtyard. This is one of those places where the entrance ticket pays for itself simply by letting you wander. Officially listed as a historic monument in 1916 and later included within the UNESCO-protected Medina, the fondouk even throws in a bonus—sweeping views over the rooftops from its rooftop café.
Just outside, the Nejjarine Fountain steals its share of attention, covered in intricate zellij tiles and acting as the square’s visual anchor. Nearby, a large covered workshop adds a lively note to the scene, where richly decorated palanquins and ceremonial thrones are crafted—objects still used today for weddings and circumcisions. Taken together, this corner of the Medina feels less like a museum zone and more like a living chapter of Fes, where past and present keep working side by side.
5) Cherratine Madrasa (School of the Rope Makers)
Heading up Rue Cherratine, you will find yourself at the Cherratine School, a place that quietly breaks the pattern set by many of Fes’s better-known madrasas. Built in 1670 under Moulay Rachid, the founder of the Alaouite dynasty, this school marks a clear shift away from the lavish Merinid look. No heavy ornament, no visual fireworks—just a building designed to do its job and do it well.
At first glance, its layout may seem familiar if you’ve already seen the 14th-century Merinid schools around the Medina. But pause for a closer look, and it feels different. Cherratine was built to house more than 200 students, and practicality takes the lead. The bronze-engraved entrance doors open into long, narrow residential blocks with rows of compact rooms—known as douiras—where students once lived, studied, and likely argued over lessons late into the night...
The building’s name offers a clue to its surroundings. Cherratine means “rope makers,” a nod to the craftsmen who once worked in the nearby market. Recognized as a historic monument since 1917, the school has been carefully restored, and unlike many similar sites, it doesn’t keep you at arm’s length. Beyond the central courtyard, most of the rooms are open to explore, giving a rare sense of how students actually inhabited the space.
If you’re expecting decoration, you might be surprised. If you’re curious about how education really functioned in old Fes, this stop delivers—quietly, honestly, and without trying to impress.
At first glance, its layout may seem familiar if you’ve already seen the 14th-century Merinid schools around the Medina. But pause for a closer look, and it feels different. Cherratine was built to house more than 200 students, and practicality takes the lead. The bronze-engraved entrance doors open into long, narrow residential blocks with rows of compact rooms—known as douiras—where students once lived, studied, and likely argued over lessons late into the night...
The building’s name offers a clue to its surroundings. Cherratine means “rope makers,” a nod to the craftsmen who once worked in the nearby market. Recognized as a historic monument since 1917, the school has been carefully restored, and unlike many similar sites, it doesn’t keep you at arm’s length. Beyond the central courtyard, most of the rooms are open to explore, giving a rare sense of how students actually inhabited the space.
If you’re expecting decoration, you might be surprised. If you’re curious about how education really functioned in old Fes, this stop delivers—quietly, honestly, and without trying to impress.
6) R'cif Square and R'cif Mosque
If the cafés around the Blue Gate already have you hooked on people-watching, don’t stop there. Drift downhill toward R'cif Square, especially as the sun starts to dip. This is where the city exhales. Children turn the open space into a playground, women settle in to talk and observe, and visitors claim a seat on the stadium-style steps to watch everyday life roll by, no ticket required.
Holding the square together is the unmistakable R'cif Mosque, often called the “Mosque of the Paved Road.” With its tall minaret and solid presence, it is hard to miss—both on the skyline and in the flow of the city. Built in the 18th century along the cliff above the Bou Khrareb River, the mosque marks the threshold between the square, the nearby river crossing, and the busy souqs beyond. Think of it as a visual anchor, quietly reminding everyone where they are...
Inside the mosque, the pace shifts again. A broad courtyard opens up, edged by arcaded galleries that feel instantly familiar in Moroccan religious design. At the centre sits a rectangular water basin used for ablutions, neatly sheltered by a small pavilion—functional, calm, and understated. Beyond it lies the prayer hall, where rows of horseshoe arches create a steady rhythm of light and shadow, drawing worshipers into moments of prayer and reflection.
It’s a space that balances movement and stillness with ease—and a perfect counterpoint to the lively square outside.
Holding the square together is the unmistakable R'cif Mosque, often called the “Mosque of the Paved Road.” With its tall minaret and solid presence, it is hard to miss—both on the skyline and in the flow of the city. Built in the 18th century along the cliff above the Bou Khrareb River, the mosque marks the threshold between the square, the nearby river crossing, and the busy souqs beyond. Think of it as a visual anchor, quietly reminding everyone where they are...
Inside the mosque, the pace shifts again. A broad courtyard opens up, edged by arcaded galleries that feel instantly familiar in Moroccan religious design. At the centre sits a rectangular water basin used for ablutions, neatly sheltered by a small pavilion—functional, calm, and understated. Beyond it lies the prayer hall, where rows of horseshoe arches create a steady rhythm of light and shadow, drawing worshipers into moments of prayer and reflection.
It’s a space that balances movement and stillness with ease—and a perfect counterpoint to the lively square outside.
7) Place Seffarine (Seffarine Square)
Right beside the Kairaouine Mosque, Seffarine Square feels like a scene that refuses to modernize—and proudly so. Copper workers (known as dinandiers) hammer enormous cauldrons with a rhythm that has barely changed since the Middle Ages. The sound carries across the square, bouncing off stone walls and a stubborn old tree that seems to have witnessed it all. After threading your way through the tighter lanes of the Medina, this open space offers a natural pause: a chance to catch your breath, grab a drink, and decide which direction the city will pull you next.
Look uphill toward the mosque, and your eye lands on the Kairaouine University Library, once one of the most important centres of learning in the Islamic world. At its height, the collection rivaled anything outside Baghdad, covering theology, science, mathematics, and philosophy. Although many volumes were lost or scattered during the city’s decline in the 17th century, the library still guards some remarkable survivors—among them a 9th-century Qur’an written on deerskin, decorated with gold leaf in early Kufic script. It’s a quiet reminder that these streets were shaped as much by books as by trade.
Just steps away stands the Seffarine Madrasa, built around 1270 and generally considered Morocco’s oldest purpose-built school. Unlike later, more ornate schools, this one keeps things restrained. Its layout echoes a traditional Fassi home, with an arched balcony overlooking the courtyard and a tall prayer hall that hints at its former status. There’s no excess here—just solid design, worn smooth by centuries of students who once passed through on their way to lessons nearby.
This small square manages to say a lot in a short space: work, study, faith, and daily life, all sharing the same few steps of ground. Pause here, listen closely, and you’ll hear Fes explaining itself—with each steady strike of the hammer...
Look uphill toward the mosque, and your eye lands on the Kairaouine University Library, once one of the most important centres of learning in the Islamic world. At its height, the collection rivaled anything outside Baghdad, covering theology, science, mathematics, and philosophy. Although many volumes were lost or scattered during the city’s decline in the 17th century, the library still guards some remarkable survivors—among them a 9th-century Qur’an written on deerskin, decorated with gold leaf in early Kufic script. It’s a quiet reminder that these streets were shaped as much by books as by trade.
Just steps away stands the Seffarine Madrasa, built around 1270 and generally considered Morocco’s oldest purpose-built school. Unlike later, more ornate schools, this one keeps things restrained. Its layout echoes a traditional Fassi home, with an arched balcony overlooking the courtyard and a tall prayer hall that hints at its former status. There’s no excess here—just solid design, worn smooth by centuries of students who once passed through on their way to lessons nearby.
This small square manages to say a lot in a short space: work, study, faith, and daily life, all sharing the same few steps of ground. Pause here, listen closely, and you’ll hear Fes explaining itself—with each steady strike of the hammer...
8) Chouara Tannery (must see)
At the heart of the Medina, the Chouara Tannery delivers one of Fes’s most unforgettable sights—and smells.
From early morning, this place snaps into motion. Water pours through openings that once belonged to nearby houses, rooftops fill with skins laid out to dry, and below, men wade knee-deep in circular vats that look more like a medieval alchemist’s laboratory than a working factory. Between dyes and pigeon dung, hides are scrubbed, soaked, and turned, while the vats cycle through their traditional colour order: turmeric yellow, poppy red, indigo blue, mint green, and finally black, drawn from antimony. It’s intense, a little shocking, and impossible to look away.
What makes Chouara even more striking is how little it has changed. Aside from the odd modern rinsing machine, the tannery still operates pretty much as it did in the 16th century, when Fes overtook Spanish Córdoba as a leading centre of leather production.
The working structure is equally old-fashioned. Foremen supervise tightly organized guilds, and specific tasks—soaking, scraping, dyeing—are passed down within families. Everyone knows their role, and everyone sticks to it. This continuity gives the place a strange authority, as if time itself has agreed not to interfere.
There’s an undeniable beauty in the patterns, the colours, and the choreography of work, but also a faint sense of discomfort. You’re watching hard physical labour up close, often while standing shoulder to shoulder with visitors leaning over railings, phones and cameras at the ready. The tannery invites admiration, curiosity, and a moment of self-awareness, all at once.
To get a clear view, you’ll usually head upstairs into one of the leather shops overlooking the vats. A small tip is expected, and you’ll likely be handed a sprig of mint—not as a souvenir, but as practical equipment. Hold it close, take a breath, and look down. Few places offer such a raw, living snapshot of how Fes has worked, traded, and endured for centuries.
From early morning, this place snaps into motion. Water pours through openings that once belonged to nearby houses, rooftops fill with skins laid out to dry, and below, men wade knee-deep in circular vats that look more like a medieval alchemist’s laboratory than a working factory. Between dyes and pigeon dung, hides are scrubbed, soaked, and turned, while the vats cycle through their traditional colour order: turmeric yellow, poppy red, indigo blue, mint green, and finally black, drawn from antimony. It’s intense, a little shocking, and impossible to look away.
What makes Chouara even more striking is how little it has changed. Aside from the odd modern rinsing machine, the tannery still operates pretty much as it did in the 16th century, when Fes overtook Spanish Córdoba as a leading centre of leather production.
The working structure is equally old-fashioned. Foremen supervise tightly organized guilds, and specific tasks—soaking, scraping, dyeing—are passed down within families. Everyone knows their role, and everyone sticks to it. This continuity gives the place a strange authority, as if time itself has agreed not to interfere.
There’s an undeniable beauty in the patterns, the colours, and the choreography of work, but also a faint sense of discomfort. You’re watching hard physical labour up close, often while standing shoulder to shoulder with visitors leaning over railings, phones and cameras at the ready. The tannery invites admiration, curiosity, and a moment of self-awareness, all at once.
To get a clear view, you’ll usually head upstairs into one of the leather shops overlooking the vats. A small tip is expected, and you’ll likely be handed a sprig of mint—not as a souvenir, but as practical equipment. Hold it close, take a breath, and look down. Few places offer such a raw, living snapshot of how Fes has worked, traded, and endured for centuries.
9) Kairaouine Mosque and University (must see)
What's pronounced as Kare-a-ween is the mosque and university in one place, and one of Fes’s great cultural heavyweights—impressive, enormous, and slightly mysterious, especially for non-Muslims. One of its main entrances sits at the end of Talaa Kebira street, where a quick peek through the doorway offers a teaser of the courtyard beyond. It’s a good preview, but don’t be fooled—the scale of the place only really registers once you grasp just how far it stretches.
Muslims are free to enter for prayer and to move around the university spaces, unless classes are underway. And here’s one of those quietly human details that sticks with you: worshipers will often take the time to show fellow-Muslim visitors around, pointing out architectural details and explaining how the complex works. It’s not a guided tour—more like a generous, informal show-and-tell inside one of the most important religious spaces in the city.
The place traces its history back to 857, when the mosque was founded by Fatima al-Fihri, the daughter of a wealthy family, originally from Tunisia. Over the centuries, the building grew along with the city. Its most dramatic expansion came in the 12th century under the Almoravids, who enlarged the prayer halls and overall footprint to accommodate up to 22,000 worshipers. This wasn’t modest growth—it was a statement.
Next door sits the university, often described as the oldest in the world. Technically, it began life as a madrasa, closely linked to the mosque, and only became part of Morocco’s modern state university system in 1963. Still, UNESCO recognizes it as the world’s oldest continuously operating educational institution—centuries ahead of Europe’s famous universities.
Even with access restrictions for non-Muslims, a visit here is absolutely worth it. From the edge of the courtyard—with its washing area reserved for men—you can still take in the harmony between open space and covered halls, light and shadow, silence and movement. Step back into the Medina afterward, grab a bowl of bissara (which is a thick, creamy puree soup), and let it sink in: you’ve just brushed up against more than a millennium of uninterrupted learning...
Muslims are free to enter for prayer and to move around the university spaces, unless classes are underway. And here’s one of those quietly human details that sticks with you: worshipers will often take the time to show fellow-Muslim visitors around, pointing out architectural details and explaining how the complex works. It’s not a guided tour—more like a generous, informal show-and-tell inside one of the most important religious spaces in the city.
The place traces its history back to 857, when the mosque was founded by Fatima al-Fihri, the daughter of a wealthy family, originally from Tunisia. Over the centuries, the building grew along with the city. Its most dramatic expansion came in the 12th century under the Almoravids, who enlarged the prayer halls and overall footprint to accommodate up to 22,000 worshipers. This wasn’t modest growth—it was a statement.
Next door sits the university, often described as the oldest in the world. Technically, it began life as a madrasa, closely linked to the mosque, and only became part of Morocco’s modern state university system in 1963. Still, UNESCO recognizes it as the world’s oldest continuously operating educational institution—centuries ahead of Europe’s famous universities.
Even with access restrictions for non-Muslims, a visit here is absolutely worth it. From the edge of the courtyard—with its washing area reserved for men—you can still take in the harmony between open space and covered halls, light and shadow, silence and movement. Step back into the Medina afterward, grab a bowl of bissara (which is a thick, creamy puree soup), and let it sink in: you’ve just brushed up against more than a millennium of uninterrupted learning...
10) Al-Attarine Madrasa (School of the Perfumers) (must see)
At first glance, Al-Attarine Madrasa might feel like it’s doing a lot—and it is. Among Fes’s medieval colleges, this one shows off an almost dizzying range of patterns. Zellij tiles, carved wood, and sculpted stucco compete for attention, yet somehow never get in each other’s way. The result is rich but controlled, decorative without being heavy-handed.
Finished in 1325, it ranks among the city’s earliest madrasas, and its sense of lightness comes from a clever structural trick: pairs of perfectly balanced arches guiding the weight down through marble columns into a single supporting lintel. Elegant and quietly confident.
Before moving any further, slow down at the entrance hall. This is where the madrasa really flexes. Many consider this the most intricate zellij work in Fes, and it’s not hard to see why. The circular layout pulls you in, weaving pentagons and five-pointed stars into an interlocking puzzle that seems to spin the longer you look.
This isn’t decoration for decoration’s sake. Scholars point out that the patterns radiate from a single center, a visual way of expressing the idea of divine unity—one point, many forms. It’s geometry doing theology, without saying a word.
Above, the first floor once housed more than 60 student cells. For centuries, this madrasa functioned as an academic extension of Kairaouine Mosque and its university, a role it kept until the 1950s. Students lived, studied, and debated here, surrounded by some of the finest craftsmanship the city could offer—hardly a bad study environment.
And if luck is on your side and access is allowed, make your way up to the rooftop. From there, you’ll be rewarded with one of the clearest, most complete views of the Kairaouine Mosque, a perspective that neatly ties this quiet scholarly space back to the wider intellectual heart of Fes.
Finished in 1325, it ranks among the city’s earliest madrasas, and its sense of lightness comes from a clever structural trick: pairs of perfectly balanced arches guiding the weight down through marble columns into a single supporting lintel. Elegant and quietly confident.
Before moving any further, slow down at the entrance hall. This is where the madrasa really flexes. Many consider this the most intricate zellij work in Fes, and it’s not hard to see why. The circular layout pulls you in, weaving pentagons and five-pointed stars into an interlocking puzzle that seems to spin the longer you look.
This isn’t decoration for decoration’s sake. Scholars point out that the patterns radiate from a single center, a visual way of expressing the idea of divine unity—one point, many forms. It’s geometry doing theology, without saying a word.
Above, the first floor once housed more than 60 student cells. For centuries, this madrasa functioned as an academic extension of Kairaouine Mosque and its university, a role it kept until the 1950s. Students lived, studied, and debated here, surrounded by some of the finest craftsmanship the city could offer—hardly a bad study environment.
And if luck is on your side and access is allowed, make your way up to the rooftop. From there, you’ll be rewarded with one of the clearest, most complete views of the Kairaouine Mosque, a perspective that neatly ties this quiet scholarly space back to the wider intellectual heart of Fes.
11) Al-Attarine Souk (Spice Market)
As you ease your way along Talaa Kebira—also known as Tarafine Street—your nose gets there before you do. Cinnamon, cumin, cloves… the whole spice rack seems to have staged a quiet takeover of the air. That’s your cue that Al-Attarine Souk, the Spice Market, is just ahead.
Once the height of refined shopping, it now runs on delightful contradiction: brass lamps and teapots share space with mirrors, sunglasses, and those irresistibly tacky souvenirs you swear you’re “just browsing.” Duck down a narrow side lane and—surprise—you’re suddenly surrounded by a full colour spectrum of babouches, the soft leather slippers politely suggesting you abandon sensible footwear altogether.
This market has been at it for a long time. It dates back to the early Idrisid period, around the 9th and 10th centuries, which means it has survived fires, floods, and several enthusiastic attempts at modern “improvement”—usually involving concrete. The good news is that the recent restoration work—in 2016 and 2017—brought back much of its old charm, with wooden roofing, fresh tilework, and a few practical fixes that don’t scream “21st century” quite so loudly.
Now, for a basic rule of Moroccan market logic—learn it once, use it everywhere. Wherever there’s a major mosque, there’s quality shopping nearby.
Case in point: wander around Kairaouine Mosque and University, and watch the merchandise quietly level up. Spices fade into silks, everyday goods give way to embroidery, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with elaborately stitched takchita kaftans. Technically made for weddings and celebrations— frankly, they're just as perfect for any fancy occasion, be it just an evening of sofa time, binge-watching your favorite TV shows...
Once the height of refined shopping, it now runs on delightful contradiction: brass lamps and teapots share space with mirrors, sunglasses, and those irresistibly tacky souvenirs you swear you’re “just browsing.” Duck down a narrow side lane and—surprise—you’re suddenly surrounded by a full colour spectrum of babouches, the soft leather slippers politely suggesting you abandon sensible footwear altogether.
This market has been at it for a long time. It dates back to the early Idrisid period, around the 9th and 10th centuries, which means it has survived fires, floods, and several enthusiastic attempts at modern “improvement”—usually involving concrete. The good news is that the recent restoration work—in 2016 and 2017—brought back much of its old charm, with wooden roofing, fresh tilework, and a few practical fixes that don’t scream “21st century” quite so loudly.
Now, for a basic rule of Moroccan market logic—learn it once, use it everywhere. Wherever there’s a major mosque, there’s quality shopping nearby.
Case in point: wander around Kairaouine Mosque and University, and watch the merchandise quietly level up. Spices fade into silks, everyday goods give way to embroidery, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with elaborately stitched takchita kaftans. Technically made for weddings and celebrations— frankly, they're just as perfect for any fancy occasion, be it just an evening of sofa time, binge-watching your favorite TV shows...
12) Zawiya de Moulay Idriss II (Shrine of Moulay Idriss II)
Just south of Al-Attarine Souk sits one of Fes’s most charged addresses: the Shrine of Moulay Idriss II. For roughly five centuries, this temple has radiated spiritual authority across the Medina. It was rebuilt in the 18th century by Sultan Moulay Ismail, and legend has it this was his sole major act of religious devotion in the city—an all-in gesture, if ever there was one.
Follow Derb Bab Moulay Ismail from the southeast corner of Nejjarine Square, and you’ll encounter an unassuming wooden bar stretched across the lane. This marks the boundary of the sanctuary zone. Before 1911, it functioned as a strict no-go line for Christians, Jews, and—quite firmly—pack animals.
For Muslims, however, crossing that threshold once meant instant refuge, beyond the reach of arrest or dispute. These days, the rules are gentler: non-Muslims can’t enter, but they’re free to linger outside and peer discreetly inward, hoping for a glimpse of the saint’s resting place.
Duck beneath that bar—no spy soundtrack needed—and head uphill along Derb Bab Moulay Ismail. The street tightens, the noise rises, and the senses are quickly overwhelmed. Vendors push silverware, sweets, and slabs of nougat with persuasive enthusiasm.
Somewhere along this stretch, the women’s entrance appears, offering a rare visual corridor into the complex. From here, the 15th-century Shrine of Moulay Idriss II becomes faintly visible, set deep within the structure and surrounded by an atmosphere heavy with devotion and murmured prayer.
Look closely, and you’ll spot one of the shrine’s more unexpected features: a collection of European clocks. These were prized gifts in the 19th century, imported from Manchester by wealthy Fassi merchant families and installed as symbols of prestige. It’s a quietly revealing detail—proof that even in one of Morocco’s most sacred spaces, global trade and local tradition have been keeping time together for centuries.
Follow Derb Bab Moulay Ismail from the southeast corner of Nejjarine Square, and you’ll encounter an unassuming wooden bar stretched across the lane. This marks the boundary of the sanctuary zone. Before 1911, it functioned as a strict no-go line for Christians, Jews, and—quite firmly—pack animals.
For Muslims, however, crossing that threshold once meant instant refuge, beyond the reach of arrest or dispute. These days, the rules are gentler: non-Muslims can’t enter, but they’re free to linger outside and peer discreetly inward, hoping for a glimpse of the saint’s resting place.
Duck beneath that bar—no spy soundtrack needed—and head uphill along Derb Bab Moulay Ismail. The street tightens, the noise rises, and the senses are quickly overwhelmed. Vendors push silverware, sweets, and slabs of nougat with persuasive enthusiasm.
Somewhere along this stretch, the women’s entrance appears, offering a rare visual corridor into the complex. From here, the 15th-century Shrine of Moulay Idriss II becomes faintly visible, set deep within the structure and surrounded by an atmosphere heavy with devotion and murmured prayer.
Look closely, and you’ll spot one of the shrine’s more unexpected features: a collection of European clocks. These were prized gifts in the 19th century, imported from Manchester by wealthy Fassi merchant families and installed as symbols of prestige. It’s a quietly revealing detail—proof that even in one of Morocco’s most sacred spaces, global trade and local tradition have been keeping time together for centuries.
13) Talaa Kebira (Great Slope Street)
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.
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.
14) Dar al-Magana (Water Clock)
Across Talaa Kebira, almost facing the entrance to the Bou Inania Madrasa, stands one of Fes’s most stubborn mysteries: Dar al-Magana, the city’s medieval water clock. Built in the late 13th century by Abou ’l-Hassan Ali—a scholar better known for trigonometry and practical astronomy—this wasn’t just a timekeeper, but a serious scientific message. Today, the carved wooden façade has been carefully restored, while the missing metal parts are still on the waiting list, part of a wider effort to bring the Medina’s overlooked landmarks back to life.
Now for the riddle. The clock runs on water and gravity and is lined with 13 small windows and platforms. Seven of them still hold their original brass bowls, patiently doing nothing. No one has managed to fully decode how the mechanism worked, which is impressive given how long people have been staring at it. According to medieval descriptions, each hour triggered a small performance: a window would open, a weight would drop, and—clang—it would land in a bowl below, marking the passage of time with sound as much as motion.
So, what you’re looking at isn’t a broken clock—it’s a paused experiment from the Middle Ages. A reminder that Fes once measured time with water, mathematics, and a touch of mystery, and that some questions are still allowed to remain unanswered...
Now for the riddle. The clock runs on water and gravity and is lined with 13 small windows and platforms. Seven of them still hold their original brass bowls, patiently doing nothing. No one has managed to fully decode how the mechanism worked, which is impressive given how long people have been staring at it. According to medieval descriptions, each hour triggered a small performance: a window would open, a weight would drop, and—clang—it would land in a bowl below, marking the passage of time with sound as much as motion.
So, what you’re looking at isn’t a broken clock—it’s a paused experiment from the Middle Ages. A reminder that Fes once measured time with water, mathematics, and a touch of mystery, and that some questions are still allowed to remain unanswered...
15) Bou Inania Madrasa (Bou Inania Seminary) (must see)
The Bou Inania Madrasa, built in the 1350s by the Marinid sultan Bou Inan, is where Fes quietly shows off its architectural confidence. Indeed, this was not just a religious school, but a carefully crafted declaration of purpose. The layout is clean and deliberate: two main sections split by a long corridor, with the teaching spaces on one side and an old ablutions annex on the other, now retired from duty. At the entrance, a flat-sided dome and a series of horseshoe arches set the tone, layered with stucco so fine it looks more like lace than stone.
As you step through, the mood changes at once. A narrow passage opens into a courtyard that feels carefully staged for maximum effect. A pool sits at the center, calm and reflective, while galleries line three sides and the prayer hall anchors the fourth.
Everything here pulls your eye downward and upward at the same time: green-tiled awnings, carved cedar wood, crisp stucco patterns, precise zellij tiles, and a floor that reads like a geometric puzzle. It’s detailed without being loud, rich without being overwhelming. The prayer hall remains much as it was centuries ago, while former student cells fill the surrounding levels. Heading up to the terrace, you’re rewarded with a broad view over the Medina rooftops—an instant reminder of where this madrasa sits within the city’s daily life.
What truly sets Bou Inania apart, though, is that it also functioned as a congregational mosque, something rare for a madrasa. During prayer times, access is restricted, but even from outside the prayer space, the mihrab draws attention. Its onyx columns echo the style of the Great Mosque of Córdoba, quietly linking Fes to the wider Islamic world. And if you entered the Medina through the Blue Gate, you may have already spotted the madrasa’s green-tiled minaret—an elegant signal that learning, worship, and architecture are still very much intertwined here.
As you step through, the mood changes at once. A narrow passage opens into a courtyard that feels carefully staged for maximum effect. A pool sits at the center, calm and reflective, while galleries line three sides and the prayer hall anchors the fourth.
Everything here pulls your eye downward and upward at the same time: green-tiled awnings, carved cedar wood, crisp stucco patterns, precise zellij tiles, and a floor that reads like a geometric puzzle. It’s detailed without being loud, rich without being overwhelming. The prayer hall remains much as it was centuries ago, while former student cells fill the surrounding levels. Heading up to the terrace, you’re rewarded with a broad view over the Medina rooftops—an instant reminder of where this madrasa sits within the city’s daily life.
What truly sets Bou Inania apart, though, is that it also functioned as a congregational mosque, something rare for a madrasa. During prayer times, access is restricted, but even from outside the prayer space, the mihrab draws attention. Its onyx columns echo the style of the Great Mosque of Córdoba, quietly linking Fes to the wider Islamic world. And if you entered the Medina through the Blue Gate, you may have already spotted the madrasa’s green-tiled minaret—an elegant signal that learning, worship, and architecture are still very much intertwined here.
Walking Tours in Fes, Morocco
Create Your Own Walk in Fes
Creating your own self-guided walk in Fes is easy and fun. Choose the city attractions that you want to see and a walk route map will be created just for you. You can even set your hotel as the start point of the walk.
Fes New Town Walking Tour
While the Old Town—or Medina, as they call it—twists and turns on its own terms, the Ville Nouvelle, or the New Town of Fes, does things differently. Created by the French in the early 20th century and developed mainly in the 1910s, this district was designed to bring order, space, and modern infrastructure to the city. Wide streets replaced narrow lanes, open squares replaced hidden... view more
Tour Duration: 1 Hour(s)
Travel Distance: 2.7 Km or 1.7 Miles
Tour Duration: 1 Hour(s)
Travel Distance: 2.7 Km or 1.7 Miles
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