The tanneries are one of the city’s defining sights. The colors, the smell, and the workers standing in stone vats create a scene that feels anchored in another time. Around them the medina rises in tight layers, its alleys filled with craftsmen shaping wood, metal and leather in workshops no larger than a doorway. The pace can feel relentless, but mint tea offers a moment of pause. Workers step aside for small glasses packed with fresh mint and strong tea, a break that carries the weight of routine and the history of people who have labored in these same pits for generations.

Climb the hills with locals and Fes takes on a different shape. The ancient graveyards spread across the slopes, white tombs scattered like markers watching over the old city. From up here the shouts of the market soften to a steady hum and the age of the place becomes easier to feel. Residents point out old caravan paths, forgotten gates and the way the call to prayer moves across the rooftops at dusk. From the hills, the city stops feeling like a maze and instead becomes a place built on work, memory and the quiet endurance of the people who know it best.