 |
| Tunisia April 2009 |
Click on the photo above to view our album of Tunisia
Our Trip to Tunisia
By
Randall D. Ball
Although Christine and I had already dragged Anastasia across two continents when she was five months old, on a trip to see family in the States, spring break 2009 would be her first big vacation abroad, sans grandparents, sans aunts and uncles, sans cousins. We were going to Tunisia in North Africa, a quiet, settled land between two larger, noisier, unsettled, and poorer lands: Algeria and Libya. A Muslim country but not a theocracy, Tunisia is more liberal than its neighbors—or even our current home in the United Arab Emirates. Thus, on Wednesday, 8 April, we pulled Anastasia out of her sound sleep—instead of the other way around for a change—at 3:00 am and made our way to the Abu Dhabi airport, where we flew Qatar Air with a brief layover in Doha before arriving around noon in Tunis, Tunisia.
By
Randall D. Ball
Although Christine and I had already dragged Anastasia across two continents when she was five months old, on a trip to see family in the States, spring break 2009 would be her first big vacation abroad, sans grandparents, sans aunts and uncles, sans cousins. We were going to Tunisia in North Africa, a quiet, settled land between two larger, noisier, unsettled, and poorer lands: Algeria and Libya. A Muslim country but not a theocracy, Tunisia is more liberal than its neighbors—or even our current home in the United Arab Emirates. Thus, on Wednesday, 8 April, we pulled Anastasia out of her sound sleep—instead of the other way around for a change—at 3:00 am and made our way to the Abu Dhabi airport, where we flew Qatar Air with a brief layover in Doha before arriving around noon in Tunis, Tunisia.
Europeans and other Westerners have invaded Tunisia in one way or another for centuries: The Romans made it part of their empire, the French virtually owned Tunisia in the late 1800s and into the 1900s, and the Germans fought the British and the Americans here during World War II. This pattern continues: now Europeans—especially German tourists, apparently—flock to this Mediterranean country in the summer, but it would be much calmer, however, in April). It was our turn to invade—our family of three.
With our Volkswagen (aha! German!) rental car (no, they didn’t have an infant seat for Anastasia, nor did the car have working air conditioning), I pulled out of the airport and quickly got lost in this city of 1.2 million. Driving in the city is a bit hectic, with drivers making new lanes and encroaching upon your space and pedestrians walking into traffic as if you’re driving an invisible car. It reminded me of the driving experience in Beirut, but in Tunis they at least stop at red traffic lights. Somehow, I managed to get back on a main highway and headed south toward our hotel, which was mercifully located outside the city and on the Cap Bon peninsula. We were staying at a hotel in Soliman Plage, the beach near the little village of Soliman. “Plage” is French for beach, and my knowledge of French would get more of a workout here than it does in Paris! French and Arabic are widely spoken in Tunisia, but English is not as often heard…or spoken. My limited French did get me through the conversations in shops, restaurants, and hotels, however.
It was a bit cold at our Mediterranean resort hotel; of course, it was still the off-season, and the hotel was pretty much empty, which meant that Anastasia received loads of attention from the hotel staff. People wanted to kiss her and hold her, and before we left Tunisia, she had been kissed and complimented by countless strangers: men, women, boys, and girls. She expects it now, even going so far as to stare down strangers until she gets their attention. It’s shameless. I don’t know where she gets that from.
Our hotel’s information guide was in German, a telling sign of their client base. Otherwise, everything was in French and Arabic. The hotel was very friendly, probably because of the lack of other customers, and we settled in quickly on our first afternoon in Tunisia. We enjoyed the sea view from our balcony and wandered around the hotel gardens, taking time to appreciate all the green, the flowers, the large cacti, the funky blue tiles decorating the hotel. It was a basic place, nothing fancy, but it felt good. We had coffee in the lobby, where the waiter asked me in French what our daughter’s name was.
“Anastasia,” I replied. “Elle s’appelle Anastasia.”
“Playstation,” the man grinned. “Like Playstation.” Oddly enough, she would be called Playstation by another stranger in another town a few days later.
The next day, after a breakfast of butter and bread (and some processed meat that Anastasia loved), we drove south to El Jem, the third-largest Roman coliseum in the world. We roamed the remains of the coliseum, admiring the views from the top and trying to picture life in an ancient theater. I have seen the coliseum in Basra, Syria, which is similar but smaller, and Christine had seen the big one in Rome. I’m sure the one in El Jem is somewhere in between the two in terms of grandness.
We had lunch at a restaurant recommended by one of the guidebooks, although this was accidental; we just happened to find it, were hungry, and decided it was as good a place as any. Christine and I both had couscous, a national dish, but she had hers with chicken while I had mine with rabbit. Anastasia ate pretty much whatever we tossed her way.
“So,” Christine commented, “you’ll eat both Bambi and Thumper.”
I just nodded between tasty morsels of bunny. It was close to Easter, which I think would have made the meal a bit more appropriate. Forget those eggs or those stale chocolate figures in the shape of rabbits; I’ll eat the Easter bunny!
We spent our second night in Tunisia further south, in the coastal town of Sfax. The next morning, after a breakfast of butter and bread, Christine and I explored the medina (a business district within the old walls of the city) separately. I had Anastasia with me, so we (maybe I should say SHE) got lots of attention. Quite a few women in the medina, both shopkeepers and customers, stopped us to give Anastasia a kiss on the cheek. I told Christine later that I should start asking, “And one for the Papa?” She didn’t think that was very funny.
After a quick and very cheap picnic lunch (another Tunisian specialty, “briq”: tuna and a hard-boiled egg on a roll, along with a French pastry for dessert) just outside the medina, we headed even further south to Matmata, along the edge of the Sahara desert. The coastal road south was very scenic, with huge cacti that make great natural fences and borders. We passed through very few cities; it was mainly beautiful countryside, and we were doing fine until the temperature started getting warmer and the sun started bearing down on Christine and Anastasia, who were in the front passenger seat at the time. They were getting pretty hot by the time we hit the town of Gabes, and with only our guidebook for a map, there was a lot of guesswork and roundabout driving before I finally found (on a hunch) the road to Matmata.
Matmata is one of several towns made famous by George Lucas and his Star Wars movies. Known for its underground troglodyte homes, Matmata has become a tourist destination thanks to Star Wars. We toured the underground hotel that was used in several Star Wars scenes (in the original movie, Luke Skywalker is talking to his uncle about the harvest in their home; this scene, among others, was filmed here), but we stayed in a different troglodyte hotel. We also toured a Berber museum to see how life was like for these underground dwellers, and we climbed a bit of a mountain to see the sun set over this vast and very alien-looking landscape; I could certainly see how George Lucas was affected by this part of the country.
Back at the hotel, we ate more couscous with lamb (and “chorba,” tomato soup, another specialty of the country) and met some of the other guests, including two gay Canadians and a group of mostly Canadian bicyclists who were braving the Tunisian roads and cycling around the country with a tour guide who had much experience in Africa, including Cameroon, much to Christine’s delight.
The next morning, after a breakfast of butter and bread, we headed north again, away from the desert. Some people seemed surprised that we didn’t spend more time in the Sahara; we had to remind them that we already live in a desert, complete with camels, so our desire was to see more green, less sand. Mid-morning, after driving for about ninety minutes and with Anastasia needing a respite, we stopped at the little coastal town of Mahres. The waterfront there has several weird, metal sculptures along the corniche: a giant robot, a pterodactyl, something that looks like a pig with wings, and many other eyesores. It’s unusual, to say the least.
A few hours later, we stopped for a late lunch at a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the outskirts of a tiny village. Granted, we were both very hungry, but we agreed that it was the best meal we had in Tunisia: perfectly-seasoned lemon-pepper chicken with beans and Tunisian salad (and bread, of course). Then we drove on to Mahdia, where I struggled to find our hotel on the corniche. A warning light appeared on the dashboard of our rental car, informing us that there was something wrong with the engine temperature, although the car itself was running fine. After backtracking, we finally found the hotel, where I had a prolonged conversation en francais with the desk clerk. Fortunately, he spoke slowly enough that I was able to comprehend everything. The temperature was dropping fast, and the wind was picking up, so we decided against going too far. We ate dinner next door, eating a filling bowl of “lablabi,” an intriguing mix of tuna, raw egg, and bread stuffing with chickpeas. Perfect for a cold night. This is also where we discovered that Anastasia loves olives!
We awoke to nearly hurricane-force winds roaring in from the sea, repeatedly slamming the loose shutters on our balcony door. The huge sea swells were pounding the little beach just outside our hotel. Today was supposed to be our relaxing day, the one time we had planned on spending two consecutive nights in the same place, where Anastasia—and her exhausted parents--wouldn’t be trapped in a car for hours on end. It looked like a day trapped in a hotel instead. Just yesterday, I had made a flippant comment about “Hurricane Anastasia”; she is a storm leaving a path of destruction in her wake. I must have invoked the hurricane gods.
After a breakfast of bread and butter, I let Christine get some rest, and Anastasia and I braved the wind (it had stopped raining—for a while, at least), trekking into the city center to visit Mahdia’s medina. It was the first time on our trip that touts from local shops tried to draw us in to sell us their wares. Using Anastasia as an excuse and a buffer, I battled the touts and made my way through the medina. It would have been a nicer walk in better weather, but the town of Mahdia is an interesting place, located on a little stretch of land jutting out into the Mediterranean. Of course, with the sea surrounding you on three sides, the winds can be brutal.
Since we were right along the coast, Mahdia offered the perfect opportunity for some fresh seafood; thus, for lunch we enjoyed some grilled squid (even Anastasia had heartily ate some!) and “harissa,” a very tasty, spicy chili paste that you dip your bread into. I had been looking forward to trying it, and finally it appeared as a freebie appetizer. After lunch, I paid a visit to two separate garages in town to inquire about the rental car’s warning light, but no one seemed overly concerned about it. It was pouring down rain while I was asking, though.
We reprised our seafood meal at dinner, with Christine enjoying some jumbo prawns and me eating sea bass (with more harissa). Anastasia ate a bit of both, turning into quite an eater. She was becoming a new person, changing and growing before our eyes. After dinner, I talked Christine into dessert at a little place I had seen the previous day that, according to its sign, served chocolate crepes. Regrettably, when we arrived, we were told no, they didn’t have dessert crepes. Another place a block away also advertised this treat, but once again, they were just teasing us. Now we had a craving for crepes.
The next morning, after another breakfast of bread and butter, we left Mahdia, heading west for Kairouan. Just outside of town, I stopped at another garage, and the third time was the charm! One guy became four, as they all stood around the car engine and peered in, rattling in Arabic and French. I struggled to keep up with the French, but I got the gist of things. The Volkswagen was leaking radiator fluid; they gave me a jug of radiator fluid, and periodically throughout the remainder of our journey, I would refill it. One guy at the garage asked for 3000 dinars for the “parts and repairs.” I paid him eight (about six dollars U.S.)—for the fluid.
Once in Kairouan, the carpet capital of Tunisia, we checked into the hotel, and Anastasia and I went for another walk in yet another medina. We meandered through the narrow alleys of the old town, exploring little nooks and crannies, and dodging all the touts begging for our business. I looked; they didn’t have crepes in Kairouan either.
Anastasia and I returned to the hotel, grabbed Christine, and returned to the city center to enjoy some tea with mint, wander again through the labyrinth that is the medina, getting lost in the process, and bargain with a carpet shop salesman. Ultimately, he was unsuccessful (Christine would say that we were unsuccessful as well), and we walked away empty-handed. Then we ate dinner (more couscous with chicken and some more freshly-squeezed orange juice; the oranges in Tunisia are even better than the ones in Florida). We also saw the Great Mosque, which is the fourth holiest site in Islam—the first mosque in North Africa.
After a breakfast of bread and butter, we left Kairouan, driving through the wheat fields and high plains of north-central Tunisia and then climbing into the mountains. We had a late lunch (couscous, anyone?) in Le Kef in the western part of the country (near the Algerian border), and then we drove east along a mountain range to the Roman ruins of Dougga, a well-preserved city and a Unesco World Heritage site. Perched atop a beautiful green mountain top, surrounded by olive trees and rolling wheat fields below, Dougga was an enchanting place—made even more so by the warm, sunny weather that finally reached us during our stay in Tunisia.
We spent the night in nearby Teboursek (side note: This is where Anastasia slept in a drawer; I pulled a closet drawer out, we put a blanket in it, and that’s where she slept). Following our breakfast of bread and butter, we were on the road again, heading north, further into the mountains along some pretty narrow, winding potholes…er, I mean, roads. One road to our next destination was closed, and after winding up a mountain road for a bit, I stopped to ask directions from a farmer. I understood every other word as we spoke French, but he kindly drew me a map, and soon afterward, we were there: Bulla Regia. Not just more Roman ruins, Bulla Regia is special because it’s an underground town, a little like Matmata but created much earlier. The Romans went underground here to escape the heat, and it was remarkably cooler in the underground homes than it was above. Unlike Dougga, Bulla Regia is on flatter land, but the beauty here was in all the wildflowers that grew everywhere, their yellows, reds, and blues echoing a Monet painting. We wondered if the wildflowers grew during the summer when the tourists would be here, or if we were that fortunate to arrive in the spring to experience the floral fireworks.
From Bulla Regia, we drove eastward again to Tunis, stopping for lunch along the way at a little restaurant where all they served was “Barbeque” (even though I’m from South Carolina, I DO know that barbeque in most places simply means grilled, so I didn’t get TOO excited). The meat that was grilled was lamb, and it was delicious. Christine was disappointed that they didn’t have a typical scene that we had seen earlier on our trip; she wanted a picture of a live lamb standing next to a dead, gutted one hanging from a hook outside a butchery, and yet another lamb cooking on one of the many outdoor grills. One of the employees took Anastasia for a bit while we finished our dinner; he was having a grand time showing her around to his friends, and she seemed to eat up all the attention.
We arrived in Tunis mid-afternoon, fought the traffic through town to the hotel I had read about in a guide book (“a monstrous eyesore but a good value right against the cliffs along the Mediterranean,” it sounded like quite the adventure), only to find it closed. The next hotel we passed was booked, and so we decided to head back to that hotel in Soliman where we had spent our first night in Tunisia. Passing by Carthage, we strained our necks to see a bit of that site before making our way south down the coast. Three frustrating hours after our initial arrival in Tunis, we were settled into our hotel. That night we tucked into a tasty dinner of carrot soup (another Tunisian specialty) and baked fish, and then we turned in early, exhausted from a long day of driving.
The next morning, a Thursday, one full week into our trip, we had breakfast: butter and bread. Then I took Anastasia for a nice walk along the isolated beach. It was the warmest day yet, our last full day in the country. Then we drove up the coast a bit, following a winding coastal road up into the mountains to some hot springs that fall right into the Mediterranean. The springs were actually too hot for Anastasia and really too hot for us, but it was a great place for a quick meal and a foot-dangle in (or just above) the hot springs.
Returning to the hotel in the mid-afternoon, we started feeling that familiar sense of dread: the realization that the trip was almost over, that the long journey home was about to begin, and that once we were home, there would be unpacking, there would be laundry, there would be work to do. Christine entertained Anastasia for a while, and I sat in the hotel coffee shop to begin writing my travelogue. There was a guy to my left who looked like Borat but with huge ears. To my right was not one but TWO guys who looked like Libyan leader Momar Qadafi. Besides the scowling waitress (she only smiles at Anastasia; women either ignore me or scowl at me when I don’t have my chick magnet with me), the people at the hotel were extremely friendly and seemed genuinely happy. Tunisia had turned out to a truly good place. We could live here.
Before dinner, I took Anastasia for a final walk along the beach and shared a Tunisian sunset with her from the dunes. It had been a fun trip, not without some stress and frustration occasionally, but Tunisia was kind to us. I watched the sun set toward the bend in the harbor that led to the city of Tunis, and then father and daughter returned, satisfied, to our hotel for our last evening in a wondrous land in North Africa. Thank you, Tunisia.
