Day Trip from Casablanca to Fez and Lunch with a Moroccan Family
Day Trip from Casablanca to Fez and Lunch with a Moroccan Family
When you think of Morocco, you usually think of Casablanca, which is modern, bustling, and international. But just a few hours away is Fez, a city that feels like you’re stepping into a time machine with its ancient walls, winding lanes, and rich cultures. This is the perfect location for a day trip that goes beyond just sightseeing and incorporates history with genuine human interaction. After seeing the narrow streets of Fez, picture having a home-cooked dinner with a Moroccan family—an experience that turns a simple holiday into a poignant story. Day Trip from Casablanca to Fez and Lunch with a Moroccan Family is really worth it!
Morning: Getting Out of Casablanca and Starting the Trip
The streets of Casablanca were still yawning awake as the day broke before daybreak. Amal, a lone tourist from Spain, examined her daypack again and drank a minty tea from the hotel thermos.
One word had hooked her into booking this journey: Fez. Ancient. Mysterious. Blue doors. Labyrinthine medinas. And—more unexpectedly—a promise of lunch with a Moroccan family.
The contemporary skyline of Casablanca gave way to clay-colored villages and olive groves as the train moved east. Although the journey took little less than four hours, Amal wasn’t in a hurry. Her joy was echoed by the train’s clickety-clack. She was about to meet a 1,200-year-old city and, if the itinerary was to be believed, someone’s grandmother.
Fez: Where the Past Doesn’t Just Whisper—It Sings
By the time Amal met her local guide, Zakaria, outside the Fez station, the city was already buzzing. Scooters zipped past donkeys, and street vendors called out like auctioneers with perfect rhythm. But before she knew it, she was slipping into the famed Fez el-Bali—the old medina.
There’s getting lost, and then there’s Fez lost. The streets twisted like spaghetti, with no signs, no GPS signal, and cats who clearly knew the way better than any tourist. But Zakaria was a magician. He led Amal past fountains tiled in zellij, under archways laced in cedar carvings, and into a leather tannery that smelled… well, unforgettable.
In the souk, she paused for the softest slippers she’d ever touched, dyed sunshine yellow. “Camel leather,” Zakaria said, grinning. “Soft enough to nap on.”
Midday: Couscous, Laughter, and Grandma’s Apron
Just when her feet started to protest, they stopped in front of an unmarked blue door. Zakaria knocked twice. It swung open to reveal the scent of cumin, coriander, and slow-cooked something. Amal stepped into a cool, tiled courtyard where an aproned woman—Fatima—welcomed her like a long-lost niece.
There was no restaurant menu here. Just what Fatima had been preparing all morning: a steaming dish of couscous with seven vegetables, caramelized onions, and tender lamb. They sat on low cushions around a circular table. Amal’s Arabic was minimal, Fatima’s Spanish nonexistent, but the food was fluent. Zakaria translated between bites, but laughter often needed no words.
They talked about Fatima’s childhood in the Atlas Mountains, her six grandchildren, and the family spice mix she guards like gold. Amal, in return, shared photos of her parents’ small café in Barcelona. It didn’t take long for the conversation to feel like a family reunion.
Afternoon: Goodbye, Medina Magic
As the sun began its slow drop behind the rooftops of Fez, Amal and Zakaria meandered back toward the station. The city was glowing. On the train back to Casablanca, Amal cradled a jar of homemade preserved lemons Fatima had slipped into her bag “for your mama.”
She leaned against the window, exhausted but full—of stories, of couscous, of a city that danced between centuries. What was meant to be a day trip felt like something much deeper. Not quite a vacation. More like a memory that would sneak up on her, years later, anytime she smelled cinnamon or heard someone call, “Yalla!”
