The longer I’m in Morocco, the more the medinas of each city fascinate me. It’s cliché, sure, but the medinas feel more like a living creature than just a part of the city. They all have a different feel, different flavor, but somehow they all seem distinctly ancient in all the right ways. No matter what, you have to agree that they’re either a fire marshal’s best dream or worst nightmare.

Jokes aside, the haphazard placement of homes, businesses, and alleyways in the medinas are really the best part of their charm in my opinion. The neighborhood of Rabat where our dorm is located, Agdal, is laid out on a grid system and honestly is a little boring as a result. On the other hand, the medina is easy to get lost in and probably the best place to do so. It feels organic and unplanned, like the city crystallized around a single point. I think that’s what I love the most about it. It almost feels fake to visit cities like New York where things are meticulously laid out, because that isn’t how people think when they settle somewhere. They set up shop where there’s space and that’s it – no worrying about straight roads or consistent design. That’s another thing that fascinates me about the medinas – if there’s space, you bet that someone is using it. Even if there’s a shop that’s maybe a meter or two wide, somebody is making their living there.

It all goes to show that even when something isn’t planned meticulously from the start, it can still operate with enough efficiency and cohesion to achieve good results. In the US, we place so much emphasis on planning and organization. Here in Morocco, things are a little different, and that’s obvious in the medina. Prior to my arrival I read about the medinas and thought they would be the very image of chaos itself. But that’s not really the case: they’re more an image of harmony. I mean, even look at the concept of punctuality: in the US, it’s considered extremely rude to be even a couple minutes late to something, while in Morocco lateness is acceptable and sometimes even expected. And it’s not like life crumbles to the ground as a result, like some people at home would think if you showed up twenty minutes late to an appointment.

Another example of the haphazardness of the medina is the construction. The building materials are brought in on machines that I would describe as motorized wheelbarrows on which you can stand and drive; you’ll know when they’re coming because you hear the loud engine and the operator shouting “BALAK” to tell you to get out of the way. Once the materials are at the construction site, very few safety precautions are taken, at least in comparison to home in the States. The one that’s most obvious to me is that generally the construction sites aren’t blocked off in any way, and you can walk right through them. This would never fly in the US! And yet that’s the way it has to work in the medina here, because the streets are narrow and laid out in such a way that’s prohibitive to blocking off the construction zone and creating a detour. The most surprising thing to me is that it all works without a problem. For the most part, the pedestrians stay out of the way of the construction and vice-versa, and the normal activities in the medina go on as usual.

The idea of a (mostly) pedestrian old quarter is really foreign to me, which I think adds to the charm. For example, the medina in Fes is especially crazy, thanks to its massive size, some extremely narrow alleys, and plenty of low ceilings and doorways in the buildings. But slipping through the tiny passageways, you can feel the history of that place and of the Kingdom of Morocco. Tucked away in the medina of Fes is Al-Qarawiyyin University, the oldest continuously-operating institute of higher education in the world. You could stumble upon it by total chance, and yet still instantly sense the centuries that passed while people studied in that place. When I go home I’ll definitely miss that feeling of being in touch with something ancient, since our country is really young compared to most.

Despite the history innate in the medinas of the major cities, they’re not just gathering places for elderly Moroccans. In fact, it seems like people of all ages spend plenty of time in the medinas. Of course, you have lots of people who live there, but those who live outside the medina still visit, often with their friends and family – go there on a Friday evening and you’ll spot them walking around in the insanely busy, ridiculously crowded streets. With all the people there, it’s a little natural for me to ask: is there room for an American? Based on my experiences, absolutely. I’ve never felt anything but welcome in those centers of Moroccan antiquity. Speaking a little Darija helps, but more than anything, being friendly and polite helps to ensure you’ll get the same in return. Be kind, and others will be kind to you. Isn’t that more important than organization and planning anyway?