The Day I Got Lost in Fes Medina (And Why It Changed Everything)

Lost and Found in Fes: A Lesson in Moroccan Hospitality

I still remember the exact moment I realized we were completely lost. My phone had died twenty minutes ago, my wife was giving me that look, and my seven-year-old daughter was tugging at my sleeve asking for the third time if we were going back to the hotel soon. The ancient walls of Fes medina surrounded us on all sides, each alleyway looking exactly like the last one we’d just walked through.

This wasn’t how our Moroccan adventure was supposed to start.

How It All Went Wrong

We’d arrived in Fes that morning, fresh off a red-eye flight and running on nothing but excitement and terrible airplane coffee. The Medina of Fes el-Bali is the largest car-free urban area in the world, a maze of over 9,000 narrow streets and alleys. I’d read about it, seen photos, even watched YouTube videos. How hard could it be?

Spoiler alert: very hard.

My plan was simple. We’d walk from our riad to the famous tanneries, snap some photos, grab lunch, and be back before the afternoon heat kicked in. I’d downloaded an offline map, taken a screenshot of our route, and felt completely prepared. What I didn’t account for was that GPS barely works in the medina, street names are often unmarked, and that screenshot became useless the moment we took our first wrong turn.

It started innocently enough. We followed what I thought was the main path, but then we saw a beautiful carved door and detoured to take a photo. Then we wandered down an alley that smelled amazing because of a spice shop. Then we turned left instead of right because a carpet seller waved us over. Before I knew it, we were deep in a residential area I didn’t recognize, with no idea which direction we’d come from.

The Panic Sets In

Here’s what nobody tells you about getting lost in a foreign medina with your family: the panic doesn’t hit all at once. First comes the confidence that you’ll figure it out. Then the mild concern. Then your wife suggests maybe you should ask for help, and you wave her off because you’ve totally got this. Then your daughter says she’s tired. Then you realize you’ve passed the same blue door three times. Then comes the panic.

My heart was racing. I was supposed to be the one keeping everyone safe, and instead I’d led us into a labyrinth with no exit in sight. The alleys were getting narrower, the afternoon sun was beating down, and every turn just led to more confusion. I tried to retrace our steps, but everything looked the same—weathered walls, hanging laundry, the occasional donkey carrying goods.

My wife, bless her, was trying to stay calm for our daughter’s sake, but I could see the worry in her eyes. And honestly? I was terrified. Not because we were in danger exactly, but because I felt completely helpless in a situation I’d created.

The Shopkeeper Who Saved Our Day

We’d been wandering for almost an hour when we stumbled upon a small shop selling traditional lamps and pottery. The owner, a man probably in his sixties with kind eyes and a weathered face, was sitting outside watching us with obvious amusement. He’d probably seen this exact scenario play out a hundred times before.

“Lost?” he asked in English, a gentle smile crossing his face.

I wanted to say no, to preserve some dignity, but my daughter answered before I could. “Yes! Very lost!”

He laughed, not unkindly, and waved us over. “Come, sit. Have tea first.” Now, this is the moment where all my tourist alarm bells should have been ringing. Strange man, foreign country, offers to help—I’d been warned about scams a dozen times. But something about his demeanor put me at ease. Plus, we were desperate.

We sat on the small bench outside his shop, and he brought out three glasses of sweet Moroccan mint tea. He didn’t ask for money. Didn’t try to sell us anything. He just talked with us while my daughter sipped her tea and my wife and I caught our breath. He asked where we were from, how we liked Morocco, what we’d seen so far.

After about ten minutes, he asked where we were trying to go. I showed him the address of our riad, and he nodded. “Not far. Maybe ten minutes. I will walk you most of the way.” He closed his shop, hung a small sign on the door, and led us through the maze. As we walked, he pointed out landmarks—a particular fountain, a mosque with a green door, a bakery where locals bought bread.

When we reached a point where he said we could find our way, he refused the money I tried to offer him. “Welcome to Morocco,” he said simply. “Tomorrow, you come back. I show you the real Fes. Bring your family for tea.” And he walked away before I could even properly thank him.

The Cultural Significance of Tea in Morocco

In Morocco, tea is far more than just a drink; it is a profound symbol of hospitality and social connection. Known affectionately as “Berber Whiskey,” the preparation of Maghrebi mint tea is an art form. It is traditionally served three times, with each glass having a different flavor profile, representing life, love, and death. Accepting a glass of tea from a local is the first step in moving from being a “tourist” to being a “guest.”

What This Experience Taught Me

That evening, sitting on the terrace of our riad watching the sunset over the medina, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. I’d been so focused on my own embarrassment at getting lost that I almost missed the real story: the extraordinary kindness of a complete stranger who had nothing to gain from helping us.

This experience completely changed how I approached the rest of our Morocco trip and honestly, how I approach travel in general. I learned that getting lost isn’t always a disaster—sometimes it’s an opportunity. I learned that accepting help isn’t a sign of weakness but of wisdom. Most importantly, I learned that Moroccan hospitality isn’t just a phrase in a guidebook; it’s real, genuine, and freely given.

My Hard-Earned Advice for Families Visiting Morocco

If you’re planning to visit Fes or any medina in Morocco with your family, here’s what I wish I’d known:

• Hire a local guide for your first day. Seriously, just do it. It’s the best investment you can make. A good guide won’t just show you around—they’ll teach you how to navigate on your own. Many travelers find registered guides through the Official Moroccan Tourism Portal.
• Share your location constantly. Make sure you have a local SIM card or international data. Use WhatsApp to share your live location with someone back home or with your hotel.
• Take photos of landmarks. Every time you turn onto a major street, snap a photo of something distinctive. These photos become your breadcrumbs for finding your way back.
• Start small and build confidence. Don’t try to cross the entire medina on your first day like I did. Start with a short loop.
• Learn a few Arabic or French phrases. “Ayn…” (where is…), “shukran” (thank you), and “afwan” (excuse me) will take you far.
• Keep kids close but relaxed. The medina can be overwhelming. Making it into an adventure—a treasure hunt for specific colored doors—keeps children engaged.
• Carry physical backup. Print a card with your riad’s name and address in Arabic. Keep a backup battery for your phone. Portable power banks are a lifesaver in areas where GPS is unreliable.

The Unexpected Gift

Getting lost in Fes medina was scary in the moment, but looking back, it was the best thing that could have happened on our trip. It humbled me. It connected us with real Moroccan hospitality. It taught me that travel isn’t about controlling every moment but about staying open to whatever unfolds.

That shopkeeper didn’t just help us find our way that day—he showed us a different way of seeing the world. A way that values human connection over efficiency, hospitality over suspicion, and kindness over profit.

The lamp we bought from him sits in our living room now, and every time I look at it, I remember the panic of being lost and the grace of being found. I remember that sometimes the best travel experiences come from our mistakes, not our plans. And I remember a kind man who closed his shop in the middle of the day to help a confused family of strangers, expecting nothing in return.

Morocco taught us many lessons over the following weeks, but that first day in Fes set the tone for everything that followed. It reminded us why we travel in the first place—not to check off sights on a list, but to connect with people and places in ways that change us.

The medina that seemed so threatening that morning became our favorite place by the end of the week. We returned several times, each visit building our confidence and revealing new corners to explore. We had tea in hidden courtyards, watched craftsmen work copper and leather, and yes, occasionally got turned around—but never truly lost again.

Because once you’ve been lost and found your way back, everything else is just navigation.

But that wasn’t my most challenging moment in Morocco. Wait until you hear about the sandstorm incident in the Sahara…