We pull up at Bab Guissa, a gate leading to Palais Jamai, an opulent 19th century palace hotel enveloped in manicured gardens with a sweeping view of the medina beyond. "I sure hope we can get a room," I whisper to my husband as we get in line behind several couples just checking in. "Mais oui, Madame, nous avons une belle chambre por vous," says the cheerful man at the desk. We follow a porter to a sunlit double room, to be delighted by its size and magnificent brocaded drapes and bedspreads. The porter speaks some well-rehearsed English, enough to relay a brief history of the property. "This palace was built in 1879 by Si Mohammaed ben Arbi El Jamai who was the Grand Vizier of Sultan Moulay Hassan Aziz II," he explains. "Unfortunately, when the Sultan died in 1894 the Vizier's family fell out of favor with the new Sultan Abd El Aziz. Two members of the family even landed in jail! The property was confiscated. Some years later, the Palais was recovered by the family and later sold to the Companie Generale Transatlantique. It was a very complicated sale that took many years to finalize," he elaborates. "Finally, by 1929 the details were complete and the Palais was transformed into a luxury hotel. Be sure to experience our beautiful swimming pool and dine at our El Fassia traditional restaurant. You will be impressed," the porter smiles convincingly as he departs.

El Fassia is abuzz by 7 PM, with only a few vacant tables remaining. The soothing scent of mandarin blossoms emanates from several dwarf orange trees potted in traditional cobalt blue and white Fez jardinieres. "What are your specialties?" I ask our solicitous waiter. "Everything," he says without blinking an eye. "But you will be especially pleased with our salads. All the vegetables and fruits come from our very own garden." "Exactly what I am in the mood for," I announce excitedly. "Please bring out a nice selection of your best," my husband tells our waiter, "and some of your puffy flat bread, I think it's called 'khobz,' and crispy 'msemen,' the one shaped like a pancake." I am impressed by how much he has immersed himself in Moroccan cuisine. In no time, the waiter brings out a large round tray laden with nearly a dozen colorful salads and artfully arranges them on our table. I am sorry to have left the camera in our room because this garden feast is mind-blowing, and the tangy and refreshing tastes that follow leave me on the verge of swooning: an orange and black olive salad dressed in argan oil, a chopped tomato, cucumber and scallion salad flecked with mint known as shlada, a tangy eggplant and garden tomato salad called zaalouk, multi-color carrots dressed in vinaigrette and thyme with a hint of red chili pepper, tender artichoke hearts with preserved lemons, and several others. The breads are fresh and complement the garden tastes. "The world would be a better place if the Moroccan palate were adopted by more people," I declare as we head back to our room for a restorative night's sleep. I drift off, delighted to be visiting a land where French cooking has met its match.
    

   
Just inside the medina, a square splits into two main streets, the large Talaa Kebira and the smaller Talaa Sqhira. It's a chaotic and fascinating scene. I find myself constantly dodging donkeys and carts laden with every imaginable item under the sun, from building supplies, mounds of oranges, jars of olives, books and magazines to leather hides and small glazed tiles. Nearby, on the upper part of Talaa Kebira, is an important monument of old Fez, the Madrasa Bou Inania. A madrasa is an Islamic school that once played a major role in Morocco, providing housing for students who concentrated on religious studies. Madrasas have beautiful courtyards decorated with lacy zellige stucco and carvings made from the abundant cedars from the Middle Atlas region. "Bou Inania was built by Sultan Abou Inan who gave up his debauchery to dedicate his life to one concubine and the madrasa was meant to be evidence of his new piety," Habib explains. "So beautiful is Madrasa Bou Inania that it is considered a rival to our Kairaouine Mosque. In recent years, it officially evolved from a religious institution to a modern university."

Fez is Morocco's oldest imperial city, a place where Hispano-Arab and even Jewish history and traditions took root. "It was a good place for a settlement because it lies at the intersection of two caravan routes stretching all the way from the Mediterranean and from the Atlantic to the Middle Atlas. We call it's the 'Athens of Africa,' because several emperors chose it to become the torch-bearer of the empire," Habib explains. I am quite taken by how much pride Habib has for his city. "The founder of Fez was a descendant of Mohammed named Moulay Idriss the Elder. He later became the enemy of all the Abbasid caliphs that followed because he participated in an uprising in Mecca. He had to flee. And in the course of his flight, he stopped on the right bank of the Fez River and established the first Moroccan settlement known as Madinat Fez." "When did the Jews arrive in Morocco?" I ask Habib as we trail behind him down a very narrow lane.

"Ah, that is a very long and complex story," Habib replies when we arrive at a small square. Jews had already been living in Morocco for centuries, but when they were expelled from Spain, great numbers arrived. By the way, 'Mellah' actually means 'salt,' which the earth in this section was filled with. The Jewish presence in Fez developed in stages, and never without hardship and violence," Habib observes. "So what else is new," I mutter to myself. "Since the Mellah was situated near the Royal Palace, it allowed the ruler to take full advantage of the community's special skills, especially their artisanal creativity and their commercial relations with other Jewish settlements in Europe," Habib elaborates. "Didn't Maimonides live in Fez for a while?" I ask. "Yes, indeed," Habib replies. "During his time here he continued his scientific studies and became an influential Torah scholar as well as a practicing physician. It was here that Maimonides completed his famous commentary on the Mishnah." We are both stunned by how much Habib knows about the Jews of Fez. Could it be that his family had some Jewish ancestors in centuries past? "Well, you know how the story ends," he continues in closing. "When Israel was founded in 1948, almost the entire Jewish community of Fez immigrated. Today only about 150 Jews remain in Fez, and most are quite elderly. That's quite a drop from the community's heyday when there more than 15,000 living in the Mellah and nearly 22,000 in all of Fez." I smile to myself, thinking about the injection of Morocco's food traditions into the newly formed Jewish state. How fortunate that culinary development in Israel pivoted away from the bland cuisine of the shtetls of Eastern Europe!

"We would be honored if you would be willing to join us for dinner," I smile at Habib, remembering our feast with our charming guide in Marrakech. "I would be delighted," he replies with a surprised smile. "Let me think about where we should go. Meet me again in front of Bab Boujeloud at eight. I will find us the perfect riad for dinner, and one that also has traditional music and dancing." "We must give Habib a very generous tip for all his time and effort," I remark to my husband as we head back to the hotel to rest and change clothes. "I would love it if he actually finds a place with live music."

Later at a popular riad not far from Boujeloud, the three of us sit spellbound as seven musicians dressed in flowing white djellabas play an array of instruments including an oud, a ney, several darbuka drums, an hourglass-shaped gimbas drum, and a Moroccan guitar called a sintir with an extra-long neck. There is even a flute-like instrument that dates back to ancient Egypt. A hefty woman dressed in white undulates effortlessly to the rhythmic drums as she bursts into a wailing song, receiving immediate cheers from the audience. The music is mesmerizing and the food fresh and delicious. We eat on the light side, selecting a steaming mound of couscous with local vegetables, followed by some sweet pastries, including almond crescents and triangular briouats coated in fragrant honey. "We have a souk right here in Fez that specializes in Middle Atlas honey. It's considered the very best in all of Morocco," brags Habib. The entire day and evening have exceeded our expectations and we reluctantly part company with Habib after handing him a generous payment for providing us such an exceptional time in Fez.
   

   
Only minutes away is a shrine known as Zaouia of Side Mohammed ben Aissa, once the revered sanctuary of the Aissaoua cult. "The people who worshipped here had very strange rituals," Imran explains. "They swallowed live scorpions and broken glass, ate live sheep and poisonous plants." "I don't need to hear any more," I mutter as I rush ahead on my own. Apparently, this cult is still quite a force in Morocco, attracting thousands who gather from all over North Africa to participate in its feast days in early June. Here snakes are charmed and people break into trances that imitate the movement of animals. This feast is called a moussem and ordinary locals and tourists are gobsmacked as they witness its outlandish rituals and exotic dances. It ranks as one of Morocco's most unique and astonishing events.
    

   
Since there is much to see in the environs of Meknes, we head out in early afternoon past the whitewashed town of Moulay Idriss, an important pilgrimage place, toward Volubilis, once the capital of the Roman province of Mauritania. The town marks Rome's farthest incursion into North Africa. It is laid out in typical Roman municipal plan, a classic example of Roman urban planning with well-preserved mosaic floors and a lineup of elegant columns that are testimony to the architectural grandeur of the site. "It was here that Caesar and Cleopatra's son, Juba II, lived with his wife, Cleopatra Selene. Many remarkable treasures were found here," says the guide at the site. "You can see them in Rabat's Archaeological Museum." "Volubilis once was home to 20,000 people," he continues. "There was a large triumphal arch here, but it collapsed during the great Lisbon earthquake of 1755. There was even a brothel here, the Lupanar. You can still recognize it by its giant stone phallus." We linger in stunned silence, taking in the magnificent views, awed by Rome's mighty reach into the entire Mediterranean. By early evening back in Meknes, our hotel pool area is abuzz with guests, and attentive servers are happy to bring us classic fare such as Croque Monsieur and Quiche Lorraine followed by a platter of just-picked fruit.

Rabat, located on the Atlantic coast, is Morocco's fourth Imperial City. It reigns as the modern capital of the country. Its grand palace is also the king's official residence. The city boasts wide boulevards, multi-storied department stores and luxury apartments, but also a large traditional medina with colorful souks. We are delighted to find a room at the Tour Hassan, a modernized hotel that incorporates traditional architectural details and a large interior Andalusian garden with numerous walkways and flower beds. The concierge hands us a map of the city and proudly recommends his very favorite restaurant for dinner. After a leisurely afternoon nap, we find ourselves being led by a guide standing at the edge of Rabat's medina toward Dinarjat, famed for native cooking that ranges from piquant salads and crunchy bastilla to aromatic couscous topped with garden vegetables. Meals here taste all the more authentic to the strains of rhythmic Andalusian and Berber music.