The guide I remember best is a man called Rashid, who showed us around the old city of Fez, in Morocco, about two years ago. I went there with three university friends from Istanbul during our spring holiday.
We met him at the gate of the medina early one morning. A friend of my cousin had recommended him, because the old city is a maze of narrow alleys and people get lost constantly. He was a retired history teacher, about sixty, wearing a long traditional robe and carrying a small notebook full of drawings.
He spent a whole day with us. He took us to the famous tanneries, where leather has been dyed in stone pits for centuries, and explained how the colours come from plants like saffron and mint. He showed us a madrasa with carved wooden ceilings and told us the story behind the patterns. But what I liked most were the small things. He stopped at a tiny bakery where families bring their own dough to be baked in a shared oven, and he introduced us to a coppersmith who'd been working in the same shop for fifty years.
I remember him for several reasons. Mainly, he made history feel alive. Instead of dates and kings, he told us about ordinary people, like apprentices and traders, and how they lived. He was also very honest. When we asked about shops, he told us which ones would overcharge tourists. And he clearly loved his city. At the end, he gave each of us a page from his notebook with a drawing of a door we'd seen. Mine is framed on my wall in Istanbul now.