On Saturday, my family and a friend, Uncle Bruce, decided to visit the Fez Medina. We tramped down the stairs from our second floor apartment to the basement garage and scrambled into our black Chevrolet Captiva. Then, we emerged from the dark garage into the bright sunlight and blue sky of mid-afternoon and headed down the paved road towards our destination. We passed the main entrance of the Medina and skirted the massive, sand colored walls on a winding road.

We pulled into a dirt parking lot scattered with gravel. A pitted rock face guarded the side opposite the entrance; a barbed wire fence enclosed the rest of the lot. We clambered out of the car and strolled down an unevenly cobbled sidewalk. Cars flashed by within a few feet from where we were walking. Uncle Bruce spied a shop with some copper pots, so we explored it asking prices. Uncle Bruce was satisfied with just looking, so we moved on. As we neared a large gateway called Bab R’cif, we saw a crowd of people standing around some cars. A few of them were yelling angrily while a policeman attempted to placate them. We thought there was an accident, but we didn’t stop to investigate.

Soon we passed through Bab R’cif into a large square at the entrance of the Medina where vendors selling various items congregated. We entered the outer edges of the Medina where pyramids of sticky sweets dripping with honey sat tempting the passerby and ambled across a stone bridge that spanned the small river. We arrived at a street with many shops along one side containing numerous articles made from handcrafted metals. Some copper pots and pans caught the eye of Uncle Bruce who, with my parents, surveyed the shop asking prices. An elderly man trudged by carrying several chickens by their feet. He plopped them down on the side of the street. We moved on without buying any of the copper. Suddenly we heard a loud clang. I jumped, and we turned to see a man hammering a pot. A series of clanks echoed all around us. We had reached the Seffarine square.