Moving on from Chefchaouen proved utterly painless. Within an hour of our gentle amble down the hill and to the station, we were on a bus and, by nightfall, were once again battling our way through the heart of another Medina - this time, approximately 4 hours and 120 km or so further south - in our first of the four Imperial cities, the city of Fes.

Again, similar to Chefchaouen, most of Fes’ budget accomodation was situated within the sprawling, mazelike interior of the Medina, in Fes El-Bali, or Old Fes. Having enjoyed our taster of the last Medina, this suited us just fine.

From the moment we entered the Medina at Bab el-Mahrouk (a huge, intricately tiled archway on the eastern perimeter of the old city) we were powerless but to bob along in the already established sea of moving bodies. It was as if we had been seized by a savage riptide, albeit without such a distinct possibility of expending all your energy in sheer panic and succumbing to a lonely death in a watery grave. Stepping into the briskly shuffling mass of people was to seal your intention to also travel in that direction at that speed. No faster or slower, and certainly with no change of direction. When you did eventually reach your desired destination it was entirely possible, however, to hop off the ride and let the remaining masses continue shuffling in your absence; just as long as you pushed your backpack firmly into the high sided, cobbled wall, thus allowing the more squidgy, constantly moving wall to continue doing the Fes shuffle past your sucked in belly. Once clear of the human rip you are then free to then dart inside your chosen doorway and go about your business.

We successfully managed this several times during our hunt for accommodation, and, by the time we had checked over our fourth and final guesthouse, we had almost mastered the convoluted hop, suck, dart and shuffle as if we were true pros. Tomorrow, we may even try it whilst eating kebabs and shaking off rug salesmen. Only then could we truly prove our proficiency. But tonight would be more of a subdued affair - a little sit down, a tagine or couscous maybe, a few mint teas, and perhaps a brief scout around the alleys near our digs; this evening we would rest well, for tomorrow the Medina is ours.