fter parking, Mr. Mos-KAY caught up and led us in the opposite direction of the mos-KAY. (I discovered this later). He was, no doubt, trying to steer us to his or a friend's shop. He also tried to tantalize us with the prospect of visiting a shitload of mos-KAYs throughout the medina. His plan fell through when two cops showed up on a motorcycle, forcing him into the shadows, ninja-style. The nice policemen pointed in the right direction but not before warning us (in French) about seedy types like Mr. Mos-KAY.
I regret to report the Great Mos-KAY of Kairouan was underwhelming. The prayer-mat-littered, slightly unkempt condition…Read More
Following dinner, we spent the evening frolicking in the dunes under a waxing, wobbling moon. Enter two bottles of wine, two gin and tonics, and a smidgen of vodka. Wobbling moon, you say? I’m sure getting smashed was a factor, but that, combined with atmospheric idiosyncrasies, made the moon vibrate ever so in the black of night sky. It was fucking mesmerizing, made more so by passing clouds. I had to remind myself I hadn’t swallowed psychedelic mushrooms… had I?
And then there was the goddamn lightning. Off to the north, just above the horizon, was a silent, thunderless light show courtesy of Mother Nature. It was magnificent to behold…
Chebika, Tamerza, and Mides. What are three ancient Berber villages nestle inside mountain oases north of Tozeur? The original settlements were abandoned after torrential flooding in 1969. New villages were established nearby, but these are fairly modern and bland. I thought we might have to rely on Punto Power but the road is excellent all the way to Mides.
First up: Chebika. We drove right past. The road through the palm grove seemed promising but the parking area outside the village looked like a used Land Crruiser sales lot. I estimated more tourists than palm trees. Buh-bye..
“Frogger[a] is a 1981 arcade action game developed by Konami and manufactured by Sega. In North America, it was released by Sega/Gremlin. The object of the game is to direct a series of frogs to their homes by crossing a busy road and a hazardous river.” (Wikipedia)
You're not the frog. You’re the asshole the frog is trying (marginally, as it were) to avoid. There’s a shitload of frogs, a chaotic frenzy of frogs modulating both speed and direction in ways impossible to predict.
Why the hubbub? We assumed it was related to the area's proximity to the Algerian border and illicit smuggling operations. This, coupled with a “tourist safety priority”, might explain Big Brother’s nose up our cabooses. I’m guessing the local authorities (national guard and police) were wary of two Americans wandering alone. If I were a secret agent, I’d have to admit a cute redhead and a Fiat Punto make for one hell of a disguise/cover story. Bond… James Bond.
“The Tableland is a geologic feature known as an inverted relief. Millions of years ago, the hard limestone top of the mesa was actually the bottom of a valley…
Come the morning, we mounted the Punto and set out for Doooo-GA, hailed as “the best preserved Roman small town in North Africa” by UNESCO. (It designated the area a World Heritage Site in 1997.) It was a highlight of my Tunisian sojourn, as “enchanting” as the Lonely Planet describes it. The weather was optimal (mild temperatures and a refreshing breeze), the panorama pleasing to behold, the tourist population tolerable (notwithstanding the large group of obstreperous Chinese tourists), and our archaeologist-guide was knowledgeable and coherent…
MANUAL TRANSMISSION? NO PROBLEM. OR IS IT? In ideal circumstances, my skills are passable, though the streets of Tunis are far from ideal. Between driving in a foreign country and nebulous road etiquette, I was a teensy bit anxious. I clenched my ass cheeks and rode into the breach. Tunis is madness from behind the wheel for those uninitiated. I’m sure rules exist but didn’t seem to apply from my precarious vantage point. Drive anywhere, walk anywhere, do anything, as long as you can get away with it. I only stalled the engine a few times on the way out of Tunis. Not killing pedestrians or totaling the Fiat Punto was an added bonus. Super…
HAN SOLO NO MORE. I met Leslie in cyberspace, so to speak. By some freak algorithmic anomaly, she found my blog online. And she liked it. She really liked it. Our correspondence escalated to friendship and then a mutual desire to put a three-dimensional face to the name. In a nutshell, she put her life on hold and forayed into the unknown. For better or worse, I believe my counsel pushed her across the Rubicon. Our chance encounter enriched my life immeasurably, as I hope it did hers. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…
Her first stop was Istanbul, Turkey. She spent a month exploring the ‘bul and then the island of Bozcaada before we connected in Tunis…
Negotiating was more cumbersome than normal. The problem? We were Americans. Full stop. Djerba has been so jaded by cash-flaunting tourists on short blowout vacations, any attempt at bargaining was seen as a clear insult. Merchants loved pointing out that prices are fixed in America. The fact Northern Africa and the whole of the Middle East are renowned for bargaining culture was lost on them. We were filthy rich and should’ve ceased being whiny little bitchbags. Touché.
After blast off, we didn't get far. My spark plug cable kept separating from the engine. Upon return to the shop, an employee showed me how to screw in the cable to avoid constant breakdown. Super. Off we went…
The Berbers who settled this region took environmental adaptation to another level, constructing underground homes as an escape from the desert inferno. These dwellings resemble manicured bomb craters from above, and many are invisible from ground level until you’re right on them. Just outside Matmata, we stopped at one for tea and a look around. A certain “human zoo” atmosphere permeates the vibe, but it’s still worth a visit. Also, it provides a needed source of income for locals.
If a visit won’t suffice, you can stay at one of many hotels built on the same design. You'd be a complete asshole not to. We bid a not-so-fond farewell to our driver …
We wanted more than a taste of the Sahara (pronounced “sa-HA-ra!” with a violent crotch grab). We wanted a heaping mouthful. Our fantasy was thus: An oasis tent camp surrounded by an ocean of dunes, simmering desert sunsets, peaceful star-filled nights, crackling campfires, and an inescapable feeling of desolation that would echo through our dreams. Perhaps a short camel diversion led by a desert-hardened Berber man with one eye and a scorpion forehead tattoo would be in the cards. Ever heard the expression “wish in one hand, shit in the other”?
Rent a 4WD drive? Not a chance. Nobody was interested, though we found many a tour operator willing to charge the going rate…
Sooooooo… you’re allowed to be a non-Muslim. Muslims can convert, but it must be organic certified. Non-Muslims can practice their faith, but not allowed to proselytize. Non-Muslim foreigners can enter the country but not allowed to conduct missionary activities with those outside their faith. Gray areas and blurred lines, ya heard. See where I'm headed with this?
Ashraf, a Tunisian comrade I met via Couchsurfing.com, invited me to an English club established by a group of young Americans from Texas. The club’s professed aim was to accelerate a cultural exchange and give Tunisians studying English a chance to practice with native speakers. Super. The group met in a courtyard inside Tunis' medina.…
I recognized the rich potential for mass dissent, but to say it was palpable in any sense in the course of my everyday dealings would be a massive stretch. Most tourists shuffling through the medina were blissfully unaware of the circumstances. Causal observation and light banter with the locals revealed nothing. No overt indications implied impending revolution. This held through the entirety of my two-month sojourn. Most of what I knew came via the internet. My research put me in a better position to notice bubbling unrest, but nothing stuck out. In fact, Tunis’ atmosphere was downright tranquil, bordering on sleepy at times. Ignorance is bliss, and I was all stocked up on it
I’d read about a worsening economy and high unemployment. (This put my pickpocket incident in context. Stories of desperate young men risking their lives…
My ancient cultural exploration put me in a pleasant mood, a mood smothered once I’d boarded a Tunis trolley car. A sardine can has nothing on the local tram system. People pack themselves inside like they’re trying to win a contest. My first attempt failed when it became a physical impossibility. You’d think, given the circumstances, I’d taken pains to secure my wallet (and by wallet, I mean a black paper binding clip). Nuh-uh. Somewhere in the scrum, a thieving assface purloined my minimalist wallet, which held my ATM card, credit card, driver's license, and more money than I should have been carrying. By the time I recognized my vulnerability, it was too late… poof!
I couldn’t be sure where it happened, on the platform or the trolley. I remember right after snapping the photo below…
My next installment of “Talk to Random Strangers on the Street” took more than one comical turn. Enter Semy and his nephew. Not sure how it started, but before I knew it, I was discussing everything from motorcycle tires to Issac Hayes. Maintaining composure throughout deliciously random discussions punctuated in broken English was none too easy. I’ll make this as disjointed as possible out of respect for accuracy.
Semy had an old motorcycle he wished to maintain, but couldn’t for lack of parts, specifically tires. He’d recently purchased one that didn’t cut the mustard. Why? Not the right model. And the only place he knew to find one? The good ole US of A. He asked me if I could…
I revived one of my favorite pastimes: talking to shifty-looking strangers on the street. Enter Rashid. I was in search of grub when he approached and struck up a conversation. One thing led to another, and he offered to chaperone me to a local haunt for some traditional Tunisian fare. And yes, I know it sounds sketchy, but there was little to fear in broad daylight with so many around.
Rashid brought me to a veritable hole in the wall and was kind enough to present me with some delicious Tunisian food (spaghetti with the signature chili paste, tomato/cucumber salad, and chicken). Not far into our conversation, my Spidey-sense began to tingle. He had some interesting body scars he was none too shy about showcasing.…
circa 1100 BC - Phoenicians settle the north African coast. The city of Carthage, near the site of present-day Tunis, becomes a naval power.
146 BC - Carthage falls to the Romans.
439 AD - Vandals invade; Roman buildings and artefacts are destroyed.
600s - Arabs conquer the territory of present-day Tunisia.
909 - Berbers wrest the region from the Arabs. 1600s - Tunisia becomes part of the Turkish Ottoman empire, but has a high degree of autonomy.
1800s - French and Turkish designs on Tunisia force it to tread a careful path…
DON QUIXOTE HAD WINDMILLS. WE HAD THE MAURITANIAN EMBASSY. Decision time. Go east or west? Our first choice was Libya, but the embassy wouldn’t see fit to grant anything greater than a three-day transit visa. (Keep in mind, this was when Libya had an actual government and before someone sodomized Gaddafi with a bayonet.) This would not do. We wanted to experience Libya, not blast though like contestants on the Amazing Race. The ideal plan was to spend weeks there, confirming or dispelling our limited (and likely biased) misconceptions of a world pariah. After that, we’d take Egypt, the land of the pharaohs, by storm, going neck-deep in all kinds of archeological and anthropological nerd shit…Read More