8 September 05

The Tunisia Experience

Hanane and I have returned from Tunisia, and for me it was a vacation providing many firsts: my first time in the African continent, my first swim in the Mediterranean, my first time in a muslim country, my first site of Roman ruins, my first pick of an olive from an olive tree, and much more. To many eyes, Tunisia would look quite impoverished, and in many ways it is, but I nevertheless found it to be remarkable under the rough.

This particular trip was planned mainly for being lazy on the beach and getting tan, but we also took advantage of a day-long tour to three northern cities for cultural enlightenment. We spent eight days in a supposedly 3 star hotel in Hammamet, a small, spread-out, coastal city in the middle of what is frequently called the Tunisian Riviera. It rained nearly half the time we were there, and always with lots of thunder and lightning, but it was nevertheless warm, and the rain generally passed quickly.

Travel Observations

There are apparently seven main airports in Tunisia, and the one we flew to was in Monastir, a city located along the long stretch of coast that spans Tunisia’s upper-west edge. The flight from Strasbourg to Monastir is only about 2 hours, and a little longer on the return flight due to headwinds. The distance between Europe and Africa is not great. It seemed we had just gotten to cruising altitude when I looked out the window and realized we were flying over what must have been either Sardinia or Sicily, because you could certainly see the waters of the Mediterranean surrounding its edge. (Looking at that map, I’m guessing it was Sardinia, because Sicily would have been quite a ways east of a direct flight path between Strasbourg and Tunisia.) At this point it was hard for me to not pull my nose from the window, and I’m normally an aisle seat person. I noted that whatever part of Italy this was, its coastline looked very inviting, some very nice looking beaches as far as I could tell. Perhaps Sardinia will be a vacation for another time.

Within a couple of minutes the shores of Europe were behind us and we were over the Mediterranean proper; nothing but blue sea, with an occasional merchant ship tracing a line here and there. I could also see distinct fronts and currents in the water, noticeable by the lines they were causing on the surface, like isotopes on a map and stretching for miles/kilometers. It made me think of the thousands of people from central and north Africa who try and illegally cross the Mediterranean each year to get into Europe (much like the Cubans trying to reach Florida), in little boats and makeshift rafts that are overcrowded and undersupplied. Rarely do these people know how to swim, and when their rafts are dashed apart in a summer squall, the currents quickly take them. Those who do make it are promptly sent back to the country they came from. Such occurences are reported in the news here all the time. Quite tragic.

As quickly as the Italian shores passed behind, the Tunisian coastline came into view, and soon thereafter the city of Tunis, which sprawled over an area I’ve never seen covered by a city before (vast). As the city gradually passed underneath, arid farmlands and hills took its place. An interesting and consistent feature of the hills was the concentric rings that would surround them; looping and winding with the hill’s periphery. I would later find out that these rings were terraces carved into the slopes to optimize agriculture. The visual impression from a plane was much like that given by the Mediterranean currents—isotopes on a topigraphical map. Thousands of years of agriculture had shaped these hills into geographical works of art that even Andy Goldsworthy could take inspiration from.

The flatlands were also quite different looking, the patchwork appearance of agriculture was there, but instead of the green and yellow rectangles one often sees, Tunisia’s land was brown and orange, irregularly carved, and each piece of the terrestrial patchwork was dotted with black spots. As we approached Monastir to land, it became clear that the dots were trees with generous space between them (causing the spot-like appearance from the plane). The entire country seemed to be covered by this particular agriculture, though likely not in the east where the desert takes over. I would later discover that these were olive trees, which I had never seen before. It seems it is early for olives yet, because the trees were thick with them but they were still quite small. During my time in Tunisia, I saw many other tree varieties as well, including lemons, limes, almonds, figs, pomegranates, and eucalyptus. There were also many cactus and palms, but none of these were producing fruit that I could recognize.

As we approached the ground, a clearer picture of Tunisia’s poverty was apparent, at least in the rural areas; homes were not much more than one or two-room brick dwellings, often times these structures were unfinished, or in complete disrepair. Sheep, goats, and donkeys could be seen in many places (as well as robed men herding them along roads).

As soon as the wheels of the plane settled on the runway, everyone on the plane began clapping. Hanane explained to me this was a regular thing for flights between Europe and Africa (something she witnessed many times when flying between France and Morocco); I guess for no other reason than people are happy the plane did not crash so they let the pilot know as encouragement to keep up the good work. I also noticed on our flight we could see right into the plane’s cockpit (hello pilots), right past a half-drawn curtain; there was either no door or it was wide open, but either way it struck me as very odd being I was so used to all the security changes in the United States.

The airport in Monastir is not any larger than Strasbourg’s, but unlike in Strasbourg the planes don’t actually dock to a terminal; instead, they line up in a single row away from the airport proper. Stairs are brought to the front and back doors of the plane and passengers exit from both ends. Several shuttle busses are immediately waiting on the tarmac and ground control people are there to quickly usher passengers onto them. The shuttles transport you to the main building, where you go through customs and pick up your baggage. Then you proceed to the front of the airport and find your respective travel agency’s commuter queue. When the commuter arrives, everyone loads onboard and your off to the hotel.

Lodging

Hotels along the Tunisian coastline are numerous, it is almost unbelievable, and they are there primarily for tourists arriving to sun on the incredible Mediterranean beaches. The hotels easily span a stretch of coastline a hundred kilometers or more. Many are clustered together to form quasi communities that have their own restaurants, stores, and whatever else that tourists will buy into.

Our hotel in Hammamet was actually a complex of three hotels all working together: the Kinza, Le Zenith, and Anais. The hotels are billed as separate bordings, but in fact they all share the same building and facilities. (We learned that hotels are owned in Tunisia by families who bought the properties from the government some years back when the government decided to let the businesses go private, so this might have something to do with the shared structure in many cases; families splitting the business as it were.) The hotel was large and actually quite attractive from the outside, with beautiful landscaping and having that typical Mediterranean feel to it.

When we arrived at the hotel, it was just about closing time for the evening meal, so everyone was quickly ushered to the cantina to get something to eat before food was put away. There was no regular restaurant where you sit down and get served; the large cantina was it for hotel guests, and food is served buffet style three times a day (breakfast, lunch, and dinner). The food was not gourmet by any means, but there was always plenty, a large variety, and generally had a middle-eastern flair to it. You could eat as much as you wanted of whatever was available each meal. If anything, the food was perhaps a little bland, as not much in the way of spice was used, but all-in-all we were happy with the food. Fresh sardines were frequently served for lunch and dinner, and I found them to be excellent, so most of my meals consisted of sardines and salads. The fruit was also incredible; perfectly ripe and sweet.

After we ate it was time to check-out our room. The star rating system for hotels in Tunisia should be considered a little differently than face value; subtract a star (maybe two) from whatever a given rating is, and that would be more accurate to Western familiarity. Our first room, which was in the Kinza portion of the hotel complex, was something of a shock. The room was quite large, but there was hardly anything in it other than a bed and a couple of shitty, little tables; it was clear that furnishings and anything of comfort or value was not part of the deal. Perhaps the hotel owners had learned the hard way that such stuff was frequently damaged and/or stolen by young European partiers, and decided long ago that minimal was the way to go. What first appeared to be a headboard for the bed was actually a cheap metal and plastic structure loosely nailed to the wall; it was simply a crap aesthetic that didn’t touch the bed at all. The linens on the bed were clean but were quite worn and thin. The beadspread also had a very worn and faded look to it. Towels also were faded and often fraying on the edges where the stitching had long past come undone.

There was no carpet in the room, instead, the floor was covered with large, white tiles. The sparseness of the room and the tiles gave me the creepy feeling of an operating room. I did not like it at all. The room was also pretty beat up; maintenance was either nonexistant, or when things were fixed it was done in a very unskilled manner. The walls had various little holes, gouges and marks on them. The bathtub had a hole in the bottom that was patched in very ugly fashion, if it was even really fixed at all. Our toilet worked, but it was the kind of toilet you would expect to see in a Motel 6 near hookerville.

Besides the creepy operating room feeling, the security of this room was another big problem for me. The front door had obviously been jimmied a great number of times, as evident by all the chipped wood around the door latch. You could almost see through the gap, which was simply painted over. Anyone with a pocketknife—hell, a paperclip—could have come right into the room. Also, it appeared that the door had even been kicked-in once or twice, apparent by the large cracks in the inside of the door jam right were the lock was located (it was pretty obvious what it was from). The windows were another problem; they were old, single-pain windows. The glazing had fallen out from the edges long ago and the glass barely hung in the frames by a couple of finishing nails. The glass rattled against the frames and nails, threatening to chip or break, whenever you tried to open or close them. Being that the nails were on the outside, anyone could have just pulled them out with their fingers, removed the glass, and jumped right into the room. I’m not exaggerating about any of this. The room did not have a balcony like most of the other rooms, you actually looked out the windows right onto the blinding, white roof of the cantina, which was like looking directly at the sun. About 8 feet above the windows, essentially the next floor above us, was the first row of hotel balconies, where anyone could have hopped-down and came right in.

As if it could not be worse, our room was situated on the backside of the hotel where the hotel’s action took place; this was where the two swimming pools and outside dining were located, which in itself was fine, but the hotel had mounted a huge speaker at the end of one of the pools that faced directly at the rooms on that side, and late into the night they played terrible music like Celine Dion and dopey tourist crap like the Hokey-Pokey song. The music was truly bad, and they played it loud. There was no way anyone on this side of the building could sleep, and the music didn’t stop until about 1:00 a.m. Even with the windows shut, which you could not do anyway because air conditioning did not work, it was still impossible to keep the noise out. The noise was at full volume when we arrived.

All things considering, we decided to go down and demand something else. The room was clearly not what we were sold when we bought the tickets. The woman insisted there was nothing else available at the moment, and after a few failed attempts to break her down (which put her greatly on the defensive), we were inclined to believe her. Needless to say, we did not sleep well that night.

The next morning we we had an obligatory meeting to attend, which is required of all new guests. The whole point of the meeting is to inform you of the various tours that are available, orient you around the hotel grounds, give you safety advisements, etc.; but mainly it’s about getting you to sign up for the various tours to get more of your money. The only one that looked of interest to us was the one-day excursion to Tunis, Carthage and Sidi Bou Said. (I’ll discuss this worthwhile tour later.)

The woman giving the information was somewhat out of character with most everyone else working in the hotel; she had a very Eurotrash way about her, suggesting she has probably crossed the pond a few times, maybe even having family in Europe somewhere. Nevertheless, she gave a well-rehearsed presentation, one she has probably given a thousand times already. After the meeting we asked her about switching rooms. She confirmed what the receptionist had said, that the hotel was full, but added that many rooms would open up the following day and we could change then. So we were stuck with our noisy, insecure, operating room for one more night, which was a little easier to do knowing that the change was coming.

On the third day we were finally able to switch rooms, this time to the Anais section of the hotel complex. The new room was considerably smaller, was still rough in terms of quality, and had the same freaky, white tiles on the floor, but it was a huge improvement with respect to noise and security, and it had more of the usual furnishings you would expect a hotel room to have. We were up on the third floor with our own little balcony now as well, with a great view of the neighborhood and distant hills. We figured this was as good as it was going to get so we were happy.

An Atypical Day

Since this trip was all about spending as much time on the beach as possible, that was our main focus each day. The beaches were sectioned in such a way so that each hotel had it’s own area where its respective guests were catered to. Each area had 30 or 40 of those grass umbrella things that provided a bit of shade for sunbathers, with a couple of lounge chairs under each one. You could also get a mattress for your lounge chair at a dinar each. The beaches are about 50 meters wide with soft, gold sand, and the water was a beautiful auquamarine color with relatively gentle waves and the perfect swimming temperature; you could stay out there all day. There were a variety of water sports one could take-up: water skiing, parasailing, windsurfing, catamaran sailing, kayaking, and of course those stupid inflated bananas that boats pull like a sled on water. There were many volleyball areas too, but few of them were ever used, though the one on the hotel grounds was always active and dominated by the Italians. If it was a good day and the sun remained, we would go back to the hotel for lunch and then return to the beach for a couple more hours of sun in the latter part of the day. Then it was back to the hotel again for a shower and to get ready for dinner.

As I alluded to earlier, the rain often interupted our sunbathing ambitions, and on those days there is not much to do but sit around the hotel grounds, twiddle your thumbs, and watch the other tourists (which can be rather entertaining). The rain generally came in sudden storm fashion, with thunder, lightning, and ominous, black clouds, but it never stuck around for very long. You could go for walks around the neighborhood, but there really wasn’t much to see. The tourists shops all sold the same stuff, the shopkeepers were all pushy, and the cheap wares were priced at 300 times their actual value. You are expected to haggle for prices in Tunisia, and there are some great things to be bought, but these tourist shops were not the places for either. The souks in the medina’s (the old regions of a city), such as the medina in Tunis, are where the real haggling action takes place, and where the better items can be found.

Evenings in the hotel compound were somewhat amusing to me. Most people, especially the twenty-somethings, would get all fancied-up for a night on the town, but the funny part was that there was nowhere for them to go, just the cantina for dinner and then to wonder around the hotel grounds trying to find something to keep amused. Mostly people just ended up talking with folks of similar nationality, sitting around in the large hotel lobbies or at tables by the pools. All the while the terrible music that the hotel was seemingly so fond of blared away from the large poolside speaker. Each hotel tries to provide entertainment for its guests, and I’m sure that somewhere along the 100 kilometers of coastline there were some hotels that knew how to do it right, but it was not the case at ours; things were pretty uneventful in the evenings, and there was nothing going on in our region of town that made up for it either. Hence, people were literally all dressed up with nowhere to go. Hanane and I would take our time with dinner. We would dine outside if it was not raining, and then have a coffee or tea afterwards, but the whole loitering scene was so rediculous, with screaming kids running everywhere, that we would generally call it good for the day and retire to the hotel room early.

People

Locals

I would guess that Tunisia is a rather relaxed muslim country, compared to somewhere like Afghanistan, for example, but there is no mistaking Islam is the dominant religion; mosques are everywhere and easily spied by their rising minarets with green-tiled roofs (and at night, green neon lights), and at every prayer time you can hear the adhan (call to prayer) coming from speakers in the minaret tower.

Tunisian women are free to dress as they please (they don’t have to cover their hair and skin, etc.); it is a matter of choice for the woman how she wants to be seen. We saw women with the traditional muslim attire, and we saw women dressed in more liberated fashion (knee-high skirts, heals, and tight blouses). I saw many police officers who were women, often paired-up with a male officer, so I’m guessing the equality for jobs is a little better for women in Tunisia as well.

Tunisian men tend to gather in groups and hangout on streetsides or cafes drinking tea, coffee, and smoking narghiles (large water pipes with flavored tobacco); and they love to stare at people who walk past, especially foreigners, and especially blond women.

There is seemingly a very big gap between Tunisians who have money and those who do not, and most do not. Those who do have money are likely business owners, or have connections to other countries somehow (such as family members living abroad). We saw many houses that were nothing more than a few, half-finished, brick walls in the middle of a dirt field, while at other times we saw private homes that would make romanticists drool with envy. We saw old men in nothing more than rags hauling things around with a cart and donkey, while at the same time high-class cars like BMW, Audi, and Mercedi-Benz zoomed along the freeways. One night while returning to the hotel from an evening walk, we heard the thump thump bump base of rap blaring loudly from a car passing us from behind. As the car passed, I was suprised to see that it was a brand new Cadillac Seville, tricked-out inside and out, with chrome wheels, whitewalls, mini-televisions on the dashboard and behind each seat (all of which were on)—the works. Two young Tunisian men were in the car, obviously making a show of their priviledges.

We did not have much contact with Tunisian people outside of the hotel, so I can not speak for the country’s people in general, but Tunisian’s working in the hotel were not very friendly, particularly the men, and particularly men seemingly over 25. Hanane did not have the same experiences as I did with this, but that’s likely because she is beautiful, clearly of Arabic ethnicity, and can even speak Arabic reasonably well. Whenever a situation called for dealing with someone, I just let Hanane do it because otherwise it was not going to happen. Contrarily, when my bald-headed, white self tried to ask for something in French (the second language of Tunisia), such as for a simple glass of mint tea, I was pretty much treated as if I was imposing on their time, but even worse was the way they looked at me (or not at all), as if I was a known criminal.

One exception in my experience was with a young man, Walid, who worked in the cantina. Walid must have heard Hanane and I talking in English at some point because one day he walked up to me and started talking to me in English as if he already knew. We exchanged some chit-chat, and I commented how his English was pretty good. He explained to me that he was from central Tunisia but was living in Hammamet to attend the university there (I didn’t know there was a university there; it sure didn’t seem like there would be), studying computers and English. I asked him what exactly he was studying with respect to computers and he was very vague, just replying “everything.” I made the mistake of telling him I was a Web designer, and then suddenly he steered his story to the effect that he was studying Web design too. Uh-huh. I knew what was coming next, and sure enough Walid was right on cue; he immediately suggested we should exchange email and that I would help him with his school project, which was to build a Web site…”a really nice one,” as he put it. I just smiled and said I would be around for another 3 days.

I told Hanane about Walid and she gave me that look like I was walking down a blind alley. At each meal for the next two days Walid would come to our table in the cantina and exchange greetings, but he never mentioned the email exchange situation. I was beginning to feel relieved, thinking it was a dropped issue when on the following day while Hanane and I were sitting together outside, Walid walked to your table and handed me a small piece of paper with writing on both sides. On one side was rough English that was intended for me, which read…

“My name is Walid and i’m 20. i’m student specializing in computing. i think i have the luck because i found some one like you who have a good experience in Web designing. This is my email…”

On the back of the piece of paper was another message written in French, which was crossed out with two big exes. Walid had obviously written the message before meeting me with the objective of using it on someone else, but he didn’t seem to care that Hanane and I would read it. The message translated to English is…

“I am Walid. I am a student looking for love and friendship. If you would like to go out anywhere or do anything I can guarantee you unforgettable and magnificent moments. Tele: ...”

It is a known fact that many north Africans (Moroccans, Algerians, Tunisians), both men and women, will go to great lengths to meet people under the guise of love with the hopes of getting out of the country and into Europe, or anywhere else where life might be more…opportunistic. (That is the more frequent motivation, but there can be other sinister ambitions as well.) Had Walid just talked to me about school and Web design and whatnot, I might not have tried to read into his objectives for anything more than what he was telling me; but when Hanane and I saw the love baiting, Walid lost all validity, which is why I call his double-sided note a faux pas. On the other hand, you can not blame the guy, he is probably unhappy and really trying to find a way to have a better life. As westerners, it is very easy to take what we have for granted; should we be in Walid’s shoes, watching rich westerners flock to his shoreline year after year, we might want to try and get some of that ourselves. I know I certainly would. Nevertheless, I don’t want to be getting 50 emails a day from Walid and potentially all his acquaintences as well, so I won’t be contacting him.

Tourists

I have already mentioned that Tunisia is largely a vacation destination for Europeans, and there was no mistaking it to be true. Our hotel had visitors from all over Europe, but hands-down the majority of the people there were Italian, either that or they were just the most noticable because they were the most loud. I also heard a lot of French spoken, and an occasional word in Dutch, German, and English. I never heard a single word in Spanish (the next language I want to learn if I’m ever to). There were also a few Arabic vacationers that Hanane thought might be from Algeria, the neighboring country to the west. The hotel was harboring many entire families, and I can see how kids would like it, with the swimming pools and daily activities designed for their entertainment. The hotel staff were actually really good with the kids.

However, I can now say the most spoiled-rotton children I have ever seen are Europeen children, and I thought American kids were bad. Let me share: I saw one blond woman carrying a blond boy on her hip who looked about 8 years old and was half as tall as she was. He had a pacifier in his mouth that he was sucking like there was no tomorrow. I wanted to slap them both.

I saw an Italian boy about six running all around while his family ate dinner. Every couple of minutes or so he would run back to his mother and whine about having a stomach ache. The mother would ignore him for a bit until to everyones dismay his persistent whining grew to obnoxious shouting. She would then pick him up onto her lap and start rubbing his belly while he limply laid in her arms with indifference (his belly ache seemingly forgotten). Within moments he would rather violently fight free of her lap and go racing off again, bumping dinner tables as we went. Unfailingly he would tire of the running, return to his mother, and repeat the belly ache routine, and of course she would give in as before.

Another time, and again during an evening meal while Hanane was feeding pieces of sardine to a small cat that hung around our table, an English boy about seven noticed the cat and came running at break-neck speed, directly at Hanane, screaming “Pussy! Pussy!” nearly at the top of his lungs (startling both the cat and Hanane). He was carrying a dinner roll which he ripped into pieces and threw at the cat without much care; apparently expecting the cat to eat the bread, but of course the cat was sensibly running from this lunatic kid. The kid kept chasing the poor cat around tables, throwing bread at it, all the while screaming “pussy” over and over again. I was thinking, okay, this little fucker was young, granted, but where is his parents, particularly his old man so I can kick his ass for letting this go on. The parents never did reveal themselves, and the kid wandered off when the cat disappeared.

To be fair, not all of the culprits were European. There was a little muslim girl, also about six or seven years, who was cute as a bug’s ear but nonetheless wicked. She would cut into the front of food lines like she was the queen of Sheba, intentionally drop serving utensils covered with food on the cantina floor and saunter off with a smirk on her lips, and ignore her parents when they called her. I even watched her half push Hanane out of her way once with an incredulous and annoyed look on her face when Hanane passed closely in front of her in the hotel lobby. Suprisingly, Hanane was not aware of the little girl’s antic and the brat was very lucky for it because Hanane, being a big sister and all, would have let her know who is the boss.

Our Whirlwind Tour to Tunis, Carthage, and Sidi Bou Said

There were three different excursions offered to guests at our initial orientation at the hotel. One was a sold as a Berber experience; a three-day excursion into the desert, complete with camel rides, sleeping in tents, and who knows what else. Another was a half-day trip involving all-terrain vehicules (ATV). The third was an all-day tour of three cities: Tunis, Carthage, and Sidi Bou Said. Knowing that Tunis is the country’s largest city and capital, and that Carthage was the home of Hannibal and where the famous Antonin Baths are located (one of many Roman sites in Tunisia), it took us about two seconds to decide this was the right one for us, and the price was reasonable (55 dinars per person, which included lunch).

The tour bus picked us up early in the morning. The bus already had some people on board, and we would continue on to other hotels in Hammamet to pick up more. Each seat on the bus was sold. As typical with bus tours, there was a driver and a guide. Our bus was seemingly for French speaking tourists because that is the language our guide used when talking to us. (We ran into many other tour groups during the day where the respective guides spoke Russian, Italian, German, etc., so the tours were obviously organized by nationality somehow.) We would come to find out the guide was really an archeological guide and was doing the tour gig on the side for extra money. We never did get his name, but he was a rather large man in his fifties and seemed to really enjoy sharing his knowledge about the country and its history. He would stand up in the front, lean heavily on a seat, and wax on with enthusiam. I should give Hanane all the credit here about what we learned from the tour because I did not understand what was being said most of the time; Hanane was always good about translating for me when I needed her to.

Besides being very knowledgeable, our guide seemed to have a sense of humor as well, because people were often laughing at things he would say. The first time he roused a chuckle from the bus was when he commented about all the police in Tunisia, Hanane translated his remark as “police are everywhere, everywhere, everywhere…everywhere we don’t need them.” Although people laughed at this, I don’t think he meant it as a joke.

As we traveled the highway to Tunis, the first city of the tour, our guide enlightened us about the three big problems facing Tunisia right now. First, the country has an extremely hard time dealing with flooding. He didn’t really elaborate on this, but judging from Tunisia’s landscape and the rain we experienced, I’m guessing the flooding is much like the flash floods of the southwestern United States, only on a much greater scale. There is very little natural tree coverage in Tunisia (the olive groves and scattered palm trees don’t count), and there is probably some geological factors too, such as a shallow topsoil and a hard rock layer underneath. The Tunisian landscape I saw was very similar to that of Arizona and Nevada.

Second, northern Tunisia, where most of the industry is, is facing very bad environmental problems because industry pollution is entirely unregulated. I remember seeing some huge smokestacks from the plane when we first flew over Tunisia, so I could certainly see this being true for air quality.

Third, more than 57% of Tunisia’s population are people under 20 years of age. That seems to suggest people die relatively young, or that the birth rate is vastly overtaking the death rate. I’m not qualified to speculate on the social implications, but they can’t be good. Combine that with the environmental problems Tunisia faces and I would say Tunisia has a lot to be concerned about.

We also learned that if a child misses school, even one day, the parents of the child face going to prison. Considering that education is fundamentally important for making a better life for oneself, I would imagine that most kids want to go to school if they have half a chance to do so.

Tunis

The Bardo museum in Tunis was the first stop on our tour. Bardo is basically where the art and relics from Roman archeological sites from around north Tunisia have been preserved and put on display. Most of the pieces are Roman mosaics (the largest such collection of its kind), but there are also a number of marble statues and busts, jewelry pieces, columns (of course), and even domestic items like oil lamps, wash basins, and mirrors. The mosaics represented the majority of the works, and some are quite large (measuring several meters across), and all are extremely intricate, pieced together by hand using small tiles measuring about a centimeter square. Statues and busts are of people who actually existed and of mythical Roman gods, including Jupiter, Mercury, and Venus.

Several other tour groups were pushing through the rooms at the same time we were, and each of the guides were shouting in their respective languages to be heard over eachother. Our guide, the only one that was Tunisian (our impression anyway), was always the loudest and the most passionate. He would go into great detail about each piece, much to the irritation of the other guides, judging by the looks on their faces as they waited for him to finish. Nevertheless, we were pretty much ushered from room to room rather quickly. I didn’t really listen to our guide because I could not understand him anyway, and it was far to difficult to stay next to Hanane’s side for her translations. Instead, I trailed the pack and spent my time trying to take photos of the art when people were not standing in the way. This is where I wasted most of my camera’s battery, which turned out to be very unfortunate. Even more, the lighting in the museum was quite bad, and many of the photos did not turn out very as I had hoped.

As we exited the museum, there were a couple of tents where people are trying to sell things to the tourists, and it was all crap. One of the carts sold beverages, which was refreshing as the museum was quite hot. Much to Hanane and I’s curiosity, our guide bought what appeared to be a can of beer and proceeded to polish it off in a few gulps as we all gathered and prepared to depart. This was curious to us because muslims don’t drink alcohol and we were of the mind that he was muslim (though to be fair we did not know for sure). Another curious thing about this was that all of the lettering on the can was written in Arabic, so we couldn’t really be sure if it was actually beer, non-alcohol beer, or something else entirely. However, I did try and get a better look at the can and noticed the word “Germany” written on it (oddly enough in English). All very mysterious. Our guide bellowed a couple of rousing commands, and we all made our way back to the bus—next stop, Carthage

Carthage

There are many Roman ruins throughout Tunisia, some remarkably preserved and protected, others nothing more than ancient walls sitting by the side of a highway. Carthage has some of the most popular ruins, with the exception of the Coliseum in El Jem, and of these in particular is the Antonin Baths, which would be our only stop in Carthage. Carthage is a short drive from Tunis, and the difference between Carthage and Tunis is like night and day, at least what we could see from the tour bus. For one thing, Carthage is considerably smaller, quieter, and a lot cleaner. Many of the neighborhoods had a rather wealthy look to them. Houses were quite large and hidden from the streets by large, ornate walls and gates, yards were overflowing well-groomed exotic flora that spilled over walls like colored tapestries, and streets were lined with giant palms and emerald green grass.

Carthage also seems to be a political watering hole: there are at least two foreign embassies there (one being Argentina), the former president’s grand estate is there (which is situated immediately adjacent to the Antonin Baths that we visited), and an immense and relatively modern mosque that looks both ancient and futuristic at the same time. This particular mosque is apparently private and used for very important visitors to Tunisa (such as political leaders, royalty, etc.)

As mentioned, the Antonin Baths sit immediately next to the former president’s estate, overlooking the Mediterranean. In fact, there is a formidable wall separating the two locations with armed military guards at watchstations all along it. We were informed that you could not take a picture in the direction of the former president’s estate, even if it was simply a background to a shot of the ruins, and the guards seemed to be ensuring that this rule was followed because they routinely scanned the tourists with binoculars. Even to now I do not understand why a “former” president is such a big deal.

Our tour bus arrived about the same time as four others, and I recognized several faces I had seen earlier in the day at the Bardo museum. The busses must have all had the same intinerary, which was unfortunate because it always made for a very crowded situation.

Once again our guide commanded attention as he lead us around the ruins of the Antonin Baths, and once again I wandered on my own to try and get some good pictures, the battery in my camera was nearly drained of power, so I didn’t take as many photographs as I would have liked. The Antonin Baths must have been quite spectacular in their time, complete with hot and coldwater baths, steam rooms, massage rooms, rooms for pedicures and manicures (for both men and women), a gymnaseum, and more. The Romans were certainly as civilized as they were bloodthirsty for battle.

Our visit in Carthage, and the Antonin Baths, seemed even quicker than the Bardo museum. At this point is was time for lunch. The plan was to stop at an ocean-side hotel between Tunis and our next destination, Sidi Bou Said. The hotel had a big buffet waiting for us when we arrived. It was never clear where this hotel was located, exactly, but several other tour busses were already there when we arrived. After lunch, filled and refreshed, we loaded back onto the bus and headed for Sidi Bou Said.

Sidi Bou Said

For me, Sidi Bou Said was the highlight of the three cities. We stayed here a little longer than we did at the previous two stops, at least it seemed that way, and we also did not have to follow the guide; everyone was allowed to explore on their own. Sidi Bou Said has its share of outside markets like anywhere else in Tunisia, but the items here are perhaps not as exciting as what you will find in the souks of Tunis, and the tenders seem to be a bit more pushy. However, Sid Bou Said is not where you should think of it you just want to buy trinkets; Sidi Bou Said’s magic comes from it’s romantic characteristics. The city resides on the heights of a mountainside with many areas overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Streets are laid with stone, worn smooth from countless footsteps, abodes are white and blue, and alleys and stairwells turn this way and that—leading to ornate doors behind which only people can guess.

Tunisian doors are something of legend, and Sidi Bou Said is the place where you can find some of the most memorable, and are the subject of many works of art, photographs, and postcards. I didn’t have any battery left for my camera to take as many pictures as I wanted here (again to my great disappointment), so I have no door photos of my own, but here are a couple collections I found online to give you an idea:

After taking a walk together around the picturesque neighborhood, Hanane and I stopped at an open-air, cliffside cafe that looked out over the ocean from high above. Somebody with a knack for romantic depictions could certainly do Sidi Bou Said more justice than me, but there’s certainly stories to be told of romantic interludes here, in warm, jasmine-filled breezes, under the moonlight, overlooking the Mediterranean.

Tunis (again)

Our final stop was once again in Tunis, to the heart of downtown, right in front of the medina where the souks began. The entry to the medina was marked with a large immitation of L’Arc de Triomphe (The Arc of Triumph), the original being in Paris. This was apparently a hokey relic of when Tunisia was a colonial domain of France. Very near to this spot was also an old Catholic church, the age of which I’m not sure.

The souks in Tunis are narrow and long, and very crowded. One has to be very careful about making too many turns from a straight walking path, or risk getting lost. We were also warned to guard our personal effects, as pickpockets are nefarious as well. Our guide’s warning of this was another one of his funny moments: his suggestion was “our backpacks were now to become frontpacks,” meaning anything we intented to carry should be done so in the front of us where we could keep an eye on it.

Walking down the souks was really quite an experience for me; long, cavernous, and colorful. Since Hanane carried all of our papers and money in her purse (which she held like a linebacker), I let her walk in front of me where I could easily keep an eye on her and everyone around her. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the souks, my camera’s battery was mostly gone so I have no photographs there (still kicking myself). The shopkeepers in the souks (always men) were not as aggressive as I thought they would be; it was only when you actually stopped to look at something with closer interest did they then idle up to your side and start feeling you out for a purchase. The shopkeepers also seemed to be knowledgable of many languages, not that they were fluent, but knew enough to banter a bit and make a sale.

At one point as we were walking along, I heard a man up ahead of us making a funny noise; it sounded as if he was belching. As we got closer I could see that he was one of two men working a particular shop, and he kept making the noise over and over again while the second man laughed. They were not being extremely outward about it, but it was obvious if you were paying attention. I figured they were having a private joke of some sort and did not give it much more thought until Hanane asked me later if I had remembered hearing the man making the noise. She explained to me that he was imitating a pig, and directing the insult to the western tourists as they walked by. The insult being that muslims believe pigs to be very filthy animals full of disease and worms (due to the fact that pigs eat the flesh of other animals, and even their own feces; which is why muslims do not eat pork, or the meat of any other omnivorous or carnivorous animal). Hence, these men were suggesting the tourists to be vile pigs. Hanane seemed to think the insult was specifically directed to a rather large woman that was several paces ahead of us, but I never paid attention to that. I’m sure had the woman stopped to look at their wares, the shopkeepers would have bent over backwards with feigned kindness to get her money.

After a couple of passes through the souks, missing much because we never actually entered any of the shops, Hanane and I made our way down the main street. We stopped at a streetside cafe in hopes to get a cool drink and watch the Tunis streetlife for a while. Getting service in France can be a slow thing, even slower when you are ready to pay and leave, so we did not think much of it when ten minutes passed without our order being taken. Then we realized that several other tables were still waiting as well, and had been waiting longer than us. Looking around for a waiter, we noticed a rather obvious dispute going on between the only two guys seemingly on duty, one a middle-aged man and the other a young boy about 18. The gesturing seemed to suggest their was confusion about who was supposed to be working what tables. In any case, there did not seem to be any hope of getting a drink before we had to leave, so we made our way back to the rendezvous spot and waited for the bus to pick us up for the drive back to our hotel in Hammamet.

And that was the end of the tour.

Upon our return to the hotel in Hammamet, we took up our practice of laying on the beach whenever it didn’t rain, but unfortunately it rained quite a bit. One night, during a particularly heavy tempest, and while we were having dinner in the cantina, the ceiling suddenly begin leaking water along a ceiling beam that ran the middle of the cantina’s dining area. At first is was a couple of drips, then almost immediately water started pouring out of the ceiling and down onto the tables. People quickly pushed tables and chairs out of the waterfall, and soon everyone in the cantina (easily 300 people) started cheering and clapping over the spectacle. Diners who had moved tables returned to eating as though nothing happened, and the hotel staff continued working with little concern.

Would I Return to Tunisia?

Yes indeed, Insh’Allah, though knowing what I know now I would aim to do things a bit differently. First, I would stay longer, and I would break the time up by staying in two or three different cities, perhaps a week in the Isle of Djerba to again take in the sun and Mediterranean, and without a doubt an inland city, like Tozeur to experience the desert side of the country. [I recently read on a French travel forum that two tourists in Djerba died from cobra bites; the snake had somehow found its way into their fucking hotel room. Nice.]

I would be a lot more prepared with camera storage and battery supply. Furthermore, I would go with a little extra money than just travel expenses to bring something back this time to add to the “rack of treasures.” This Tunisian advendure tour seems to cover everything you could ever want to see from a historical standpoint, but it is probably not for those wanting siestas on the beach.

Want More?

To learn more about Tunisia and to fill in some of the many gaps I’ve opened with this article, you might visit the following sites.

One elegant and apt article I have found is Tunisia Revisited by Mary Taylor Simeti.

For the straight facts:

Floral Pattern