User:AndrewM/Tunisia
The Start of a Legend
3 January 2009, 23:56 PM
Today marks the first day I stepped foot on the grand continent of Africa, making my first foray into the country of Tunisia. I am rapidly discovering this nation's mesmerizing beauty, and despite being markedly different from the United States, the citizens here still enjoy a fine lifestyle, where the main pastime seems to be hanging out in coffee shops, lounging around and smoking with friends.
I began the day by packing my vital materials in a single suitcase and a bag and being dropped off at the airport. This was the day after I took a train back from Montréal, where I had been celebrating the new year with four of my close friends at a bar in the English-speaking section. It was not conducive to sleep on this ride since it was very bumpy and there were frequent calls for various stops in upstate New York, yet I had been forced to get a few uncomfortable naps due to me forcing myself to stay up many nights prior. Despite my body being all achy and staying up even more the night I had come back to Haddonfield, I still was diligent in packing my clothes, toiletries, documents, and other varied necessities. I loaded up my bags in my ride's car and set off to the airport, reaching it at around 5 PM.
Our plane left for Paris at 6:55 PM EST. The only thing tearing at me more than my immense sleep debt was my realization of just how little I had eaten; the last substantial meal I had had was a cheeseburger on the train from Montréal for lunch (I had to skip dinner because they would not accept my Canadian coins). I sat in the middle aisle, which contained four seats per row - I was in one of the two interior seats. Because of my hunger, I resolved that I would read the book I had gotten for Christmas, _Mount Allegro_, until the airline served me food, after which I would promptly fall asleep. Air France gave me an exquisite flight: there was not a hint of bumpiness after we had taken off, the beef and mashed potato dish they served was delicious as far as airline food goes, and they even provided a complimentary eye cover and ear plugs. These greatly helped me to fall asleep after reading about four chapters of the book and eating. I am not sure how long the flight was, but I reckon I slept for about 3/4 of it.
I was warmly woken up with a breakfast consisting of a chocolate-chip bun and orange juice, and I felt immediately refreshed despite having slept in with my contacts. This would later come to bother me, though, since I have worn these same contacts continually since I first woke up on the 31st in Montréal - even so, it is only a slight stinging that a good night's rest without them in will be able to fix. The four-hour stay in the Parisian airport was largely uneventful - there were no free WiFi access points in sight and much of time was spent alternatively making small talk and napping. However, it did mean that I would be spending time on three continents in the course of a day.
After a very mundane wait, we finally boarded the plane which would introduce me to Africa. During the ride, my attention was alternatively divided between reading Mount Allegro and watching my view of the the French interior expand from my window, eventually seeing the last stretch of European land give way to the Mediterranean. I had become lost in my book again, and before I knew it we had made landfall in Africa. Me in Africa! I still am having trouble realizing the enormity of this.
My inner shutterbug could not be contained almost the moment I left the plane; even at the airport, there were so many bizarre and intriguing signs and sights that would not be done justice were they not captured on camera. The security checks were notably more lax than the ones I had received in America and especially France - I can't help but to think Tunisia might be a hotbed for illicit substances trafficking? We shall see. Before I left the airport, I had exchanged my dollars for dinars - they came in very colorful 10, 20, and 30-dinar banknotes, as well as 1- and 5-dinar coins. The exchange rate was particularly favorable today; we were able to get about 1 dinar for every 1.2 dollars.
I have not been able to sleep for a long time, so I will continue this later. In my next entry, I will be discussing my fantastic dinner and the various odd plants and buildings that I visited and witnessed on the night walk, so keep your eyes on this spot - the next entry should prove to be a more intense adventure than this one.
Gallivanting Through the Delicious Smoke
04 January 08, 23:59
Tonight, we went again to the Sidi Bou Said (سيدي بو سعيد), a hilly town in the greater Tunis area with meandering paths, tricky stone staircases, and buildings featuring a uniform blue-and-white color pattern throughout its entirety. On the way, I took many pictures of the several cactus and palm species that lined the paths - it is enjoyable to see so many different varieties of plants than the comparably trite selection found on American sidewalks. A downward-sloped walk from the hotel led us into the heart of the town, where we walked up to its most recognizable landmark, the coffeshop Al-Aliya (مقهى العاية), and decided to break off into various small groups and explore the city for about an hour. I found my way into one group who wished to go back down the inclined path up to the cafe and through its various side roads. We had to further fragment this group since we managed to attract a particularly large and somewhat unmanageable following.
I found my way with Ted, Adam, and Sara, and after passing by some sleepy plate and textile shops, we found our way into an art gallery, the Rawaq Al-Funun (رواق الفنون). There were several paintings for sale - I am not an art connoisseur, but I contend that they looked most like European impressionist paintings. Gemstones of topaz and amethy and rings crafted from silver were flashily displayed in the back and side rooms. However, the most intriguing thing were the various CDs placed inconveniently on two ends of a narrow hallway. Adam asked about which artists were popular in Tunisia - like in the States, there seems to be "classical" Tunisian music from artists such as Khaled (خالد), and more modern music by artists from Sofia (صوفية). The cover on the Sofia album led to a curious discussion about blonde hair among Adam and the shop owner. During this whole time, the shop owner wanted me to speak in English despite my attempts to converse in Arabic; I later asked my professor how to say "I insist" to make sure I will bolster my speaking skills on this trip.
After bumbling around the city with my small group, we eventually stumbled upon the coffeeshop Al-Aliya, where I was afforded my first opportunity to smoke a hookah. Naturally, I was very eager to try this, so I headed over there with a group of six others. After taking our shoes off, we sat down on some slightly elevated platforms adorned with carpets, which hosted a small green table. We each asked for some tea in Arabic - "شاي من فضلك". The tea we received was topped with pine nuts and had a very pleasant mint flavor, though I cursed myself for drinking my tea too quickly. In addition, we ordered a shisha (شيشى) as a table. We soon discovered that service in the Middle East is far more lax than in the United States - instead of having a waiter constantly attend to our needs every fifteen or so minutes, they largely left us to their own business and liberally took their time in serving us. While it seemed odd at first, I believe I prefer this method since it allows me time to simply lounge out and have good conversation.
After a pleasing wait, the waiter brought out our shisha and placed it on the table. It had a single pipe, which we graciously passed around in the semicircle that we formed. There was a buzz of exciment amid the air beyond just the usual euphoria of smoking a hookah, and many people in the group had a jolly time taking pictures of us variously smoking, inhaling, and exhaling the vapors. The smoke itself was far lighter than I expected it to be - in fact, I was inhaling harder than usual since I didn't think I was receiving enough of the effect. If my prediction that I will start regularly smoking hookah is accurate, I figure that this will soon become second nature. The smoke itself had a light, soothing apple taste which was easy on my lungs, though of course I had choked on it right when I having my pictures taken.
I experimented with various way of releasing the smoke. At first I just forcefully exhaled it from my mouth, which I do not believe made for an effective presentation. Later, there was some talk about how to form smoke rings by forming your mouth into an "O" shape and moving your tongue from the back of your throat to the front - I failed miserably at this, but one girl in our group was quickly picking up on the technique. My two favorite methods were to exhale all the smoke from my nostrils at a moderate pace, and to simply open my mouth and let the smoke flow out in a lazy, billowing cloud. This last method I used suits me the best, plus it adds to the relaxing atmosphere that the hookah provides.
Conversation while smoking the hookah seemed to come more easily and naturally. Whether this was because of the smoke or simply the atmosphere is hard to determine, since I felt only a minimal "buzz" at best. I think the mood in the room was simply a lot more jovial, plus the hookah gave us something to talk about beyond simply the usual bends and twists that a hearty talk takes you in. Despite this only being my first time smoking a hookah, I am glad that I was able to do it authentic Middle Eastern-style (save for the the telltale signs of us being American tourists) and am certainly inviting the possibility of purchasing one for myself for use in the States.
I have yet to discuss my experiences in the morning, where I walked in the downtown area of Tunis city and through the motley open-air markets, but sleep is rapidly conquering me once again so I must save that for another day. Until them, adieu, مع سلام!
A Twinge of Ages Past
08 January 2009, 14:12
We had a break from classes and assignments today, but still had to begin what would be a bustling day early. I woke up around the first breaking of dawn, prepared myself for the day, and headed down at 8:15 to the hotel restaurant to have a somewhat uneventful breakfast. While the amenities in this hotel overall far surpass those of our last, the food in this hotel is certainly not as good - instead of eating authentic Tunisian dishes, we are instead eating comparatively mediocre food catered to the largely-tourist hotel population. This and the increased distance between all of our rooms are what bother me the most; overall, I really wish we could have stayed in host families. (Update: we will be staying with host families! In my section on the town of La Marsa, I will detail my first encounter with my family, which amusingly happened entirely by chance.)
After breakfast, we began the day by visiting an American cemetery dedicated to the troops who had lost their lives in the North African campaigns World War II. The atmosphere of the environment was such that were I not consciously aware that I was in Tunisia, I would have believed myself to be back in the States, perhaps at the latitude of North Carolina. Our tour guide showed us first to a polished stone wall which had engraved on it the names of all the troops which had lost their lives in service, along with three stone statues of women respresenting Honor, Memory, and Recollection. Fitting for such a dedication, all sorts of ornamental trees, flowers, and grasses grew alongside this wall in little beds of soil, and a bouquet had been placed down on one facet of the wall by a relative of some departed soldier.
Continuing along, our guide then pointed out to us a few lavish maps, set almost entirely in mosaic, which detailed and documented the North African campaigns, including the routes taken by the Allied and Axis forces as well as the sites of major battles. Explanatory texts sidled these displays, which I was sure to take pictures of - I have uploaded them along with this document and will type them up as text when I get a chance. Within this pavillion was a stone sepulchre, complete with a inscription honoring the lives of the soldiers who had died. The group as a whole stood in front of this monument for a moment of silence while an attendant cued a recording of the national anthem, complete with gunshots at the end.
The next exhibit was a small temple to commemorate the faith of those who had passed. Hung from the side wall were flags representing each branch of the American military, and from the back wall was mounted a large cross with a compass at its center for the Christian soldiers who had died in the war. In addition, a small stonehead in remembrance of the Jewish forces was situated in the corner of the temple. Beyond the cross and the altar below it, one can overlook the entire cemetery through a window - stone markers shaped like crosses spanning throughout the entire area, with a few headstones topped with a Star of David mixed in for the Jewish soldiers.
Before long, we ventured into the field itself. Each tombstone showed the name, division, military rank, and year of death for those graves who were known, as well as the service number at the foot of the stone on the opposite side. A fair number of graves, however, marked a unidentified combatant - on these stones was marked "Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God". The tour guide remarked that when Jewish mourners came to the graves, they would put stones on top of the two outstretched arms on the Star of David headstones. In addition, one particular headstone had received a bundle of flowers from Chelsea Clinton when she was visiting with her mother, who was on an official duty in Tunisia. This was the extent of the cemetery itself, but inside the visitor's center was a video detailing the war in North Africa, the official documents and letters which had established the cemetery, and a fresca depicting the Roman god Neptune which the first president of Tunisia, Habib Bourguiba, dedicated to the cemetery.
This led us to briefly tour around La Marsa, a subject which I will document in an entire article. I feel the trips to this small town deserved to be addressed altogether - nevertheless, this hour-and-a-half long block of time was certainly an intriguing, if not enjoyable time. (Don't get me wrong! I had fun! Though in retrospect, as least as far as I can see, the town is more enjoyable at night than during the day.)
After this day trip, it was on to exploring more ruins at the historic city of Carthage (قرطاج). Our guide for this was Si Najib (سي نجيب), who you might have seen if you have ever tuned into those specials about ancient empires on the History Channel or the Discovery Channel. He first pointed out to us the old ruins of the buildings the Romans had built - they created small living quarters since, at the time, the arch had not been invented and therefore the walls could not support a very heavy roof. Rubbles of columns and defaced statues were abound - after the Christian era in Rome, one of its emperors decreed that all statues of the pagan gods which were once worshipped had to be destroyed. Most of them were, but a few holdoffs and art conversationists of antiquity had managed to preserve some of them, including two statues of a Greek god which was always depicted as being ugly, fat, and drunk.
From these ruins, we went into the museum itself, a 18th century French cathedral which had been converted for the purposes of display. Housed within it were several mosaics and frescas, one of which covered nearly a third of the floor we were standing on. In order to see the entire piece, one had to go halfway up a flight of stairs and gaze down on it. In addition to these deliberate remains, there were also the refuse and debris of broken pots, tools, and other paraphenalia kept inside glass cases. At the time, ostriches were still rampant throughout North Africa, and the settlers there took it upon themselves to use their large eggs as storage vessels for fluids and grains. The back room on this floor showed more statues of Greek gods, here largely intact and well-preserved, though the garish paint which had once colored them has long since worn off.
The upper floor contained a few maps and some specific artifacts, such as the skeleton of a man who had been buried with his arms crossed. However, I was most intrigued instead by the miniature recreations of the living space and structures that were built during the Roman occupation - they had built a raised forum for the commoners to conduct their business and frolick, which was surrounded by a inner quarters supported with tightly-clustered columns. Behind the forum was the trial house, where criminals and pariahs would receive their judgment and see the last of their days. All of these structures were in turn supported by a large array of horizontal arches (which had been invented, the vertical arch was still in the works) which acted as buttresses to hold up the weight of all the roofs and columns.
As we left for the bus, I was approached by a man who tried to sell me some corroded copper coins for ten dinars (about US $7.50). Per the standard, my curiosity got the best of me, I just had to see what he was selling. (Note to future entepreneurs: approach me if you need to sell something.) After studying them somewhat carefully, I determined that the coins were probably worthless or forgeries - or, at the very least, nowhere near worth the price he was asking. Not wishing to practice my heckling skills, I politely bowed out from his offer and continued on to the bus, from where we would be exploring an old Roman bath-house which faced the sea, affording us a beautiful view amid the ruins.
We were given a brief warning not to take pictures in a certain direction; one of the President's palaces is situated right next to these ruins. Without further ado, Si Najib promptly begain to explain the bath house to us in his scholarly English accent: the building was used in the same manner as those baths which were in the mainland Empire, whereby the patrons would first undress and immerse themselves in any number of small, cooled tubs with perhaps one or two other people. After their bodies were sufficiently chilled, they would go on to the main bath, which was large, warmed, and public. This was a central social hub in Roman culture, and chances are that if you needed to talk to some important figure, you would be able to locate him here in the nude and discuss your affairs with him. The baths were sex-segregated, which made the female-designated baths the prime place for their socialization in a male-dominated society. Once the bathers were fully cleaned, they would spend some time in the frigidarium - as its name suggests, this was a cold room without a tub. From here, they would redress themselves and head back into town.
After this explanation, we were able to behold the ruins - the stones were orange, faded, and had become host to all sorts of shrubs and grasses sprouting out from various odd nooks. Being a later construction, vertical arches had been invented by this time, and were used with aplomb in the construction of the bath house. Furthermore (and it is on this point that I delight the most), there were a vast number of objects to climb upon and hang from in awkward positions. I had climbed up to a stone roof up from a wall, which had a variety of slightly unstable outcroppings upon which I made my uneasy footing. While exploring this, some of the guards took notice and angrily shouted at us, so we scrammed down a moderately tall wall at whose foot lay a puddle of mud. I had almost slipped in this and warned the other two about it, but nevertheless one of the others did not get a good landing and lost out to gravity, getting some of the mud on her pants. A few pictures later, we were just about ready to leave, but we had almost left one of our crew back in the ruins! The sight of him running back to catch up through the gates was cute yet pitiful, which had endeared many of the girls and garnered some chuckles from the guys.
In my next entry, I plan to sum up all of the trips we have had so far to La Marsa, a small, cozy town in the suburbs of Tunis, including the details on my host family. Be prepared for my best entry yet!
(N.B. I have been without an Internet connection for the past few days on account of some construction work being done up the street. Such as I have been doing so much during that time, a few of these entries will be delayed and perhaps outdated, yet I hope they still prove an interesting read.)
We're Going Native!
16 January 2009, 00:38
First off, I apologize for the extreme delay in getting this up, a combination of a broken keyboard, a faulty Internet connection, and just plain not feeling well. Luckily, all three have dissipated, which has afforded me the chance to put this up.
A few days ago marked my first true immersion into the life of everyday Tunisians as I moved into my host family from La Marsa. I was greeted by my father, Mansour (منصور), who teaches at a local elementary school, and his wife Henda (هندة), who is also a teacher - yet she speaks Arabic way too fast for me to understand most of it. In addition to my parents, I have three host brothers: the oldest is Achraf (أشرف), who is twenty-five and is studying to become a lawyer; the youngest is Aziz (عزيز), who is seventeen and plays volleyball; and between the two of them is Moemen (مؤمن), who is twenty years old and so far has hung out with us the most.
Our house is a special case: instead of two students staying in the house as everyone else is, we have four students - one of the intended families apparently had an emergency which rendered them incapable of hosting the extra pair. Nevertheless, Remi and Matt made for an enjoyable addition to our crew as we began the evening hanging out with Moemen on the roof of the house. His affectionate demeanor led us quickly into conversation - he began the conversation by discussing his love of fast cars, shishas, and "house music", all of which meet the disapproval of his mother, who puts great worth on the traditional teachings of the Quran (قرآن). We continued to spend a relaxing evening overlooking La Marsa and its variegated plant species and listening to the last prayer of the day, after which we all plowed down the stairs to enjoy our first authentic homecooked Tunisian dinner.
Henda had prepared for us an exquisite meal of Lebanese flatbread (which had the consistency and texture of tortillas, but was much richer in flavor)and a salami salad with fennel, tomatoes, and hard-boiled eggs, to which I have taken a liking during this trip. In addition, there was the regular staple of bread, olive oil, and a spicy chili pepper-based paste called harissa (هريسة) available as an appetizer. Moemen, in his usual joking manner, dared me to eat a spoonful of harissa - he asked the right person (or maybe the wrong one?), since I accepted the opportunity with open arms. Achraf began filming me while everyone drew their attention to me - at first, they thought that I was joking, but a visible wave of shock passed through the room as I downed the flaming red paste with utter glee. A smile stretched out across my mouth as my family made hurried pleas to give me water, yet miraculously I did not feel a bit thirsty. I ate the rest of my meal without consuming a single drop of water.
Later that night, the UD crew and our three host brothers went out to Cafe Fairouz (مقهى فيروز), which offered a beautiful view of the Mediterranean beyond a tree-lined path. In addition to the usual selection of teas and coffees, Dave, Matt, and I each ordered a personal shisha. Again, Moemen and his fun-loving demeanor kicked in, and my proclivity to perform bizarre acts was receptive to his scheming: this time, he wanted me to smoke three shishas at once. Achraf the cameraman stepped in once again to record this epic moment on film as our waiter, Hatem (حاتم), continued to place hot coals on all three shishas. Firmly occupying the scene, I then carried the discussion between me and Hatem into the realm of women and what we found attractive in them - this has become something of a running gag, and not being in the company of women we were not afraid to show our masculinity. Dave and Moemen offered me fifty dinars each to go over and talk to a women sitting at the other table, but I did not accept this offer because I was unable to think well in Arabic that day. After a few more bawdy jokes, we bade farewell to Hatem, and the seven of us walked back to the house to rest up for a bustling day making purchase in the traditional Arabian marketplace in Tunis.
Known in Arabic as the Suq (سوق), this area of the capital city easily has the most Arabian flavor to it. Any American movie with a depiction of the Middle East shows the unvarnished truth: it is essentially a crowded maze of walkways packed to the brim with vendors selling all sorts of shiny wares and where bargaining is the name of the game. From Tunis proper, there were two routes leading into the Suq - since we had already taken one in our last visit of the city, we decided to travel down the other path, which led to the right. Contrary to my expectations, there were all sorts of brand-name clothing from American and European companies being sold down this path, and it was especially packed even for the Suq. We managed to escape this tourist trap in one group, after which we promptly veered away from it and ended up on a less traveled path rife with hookahs, kuffiyahs, and perfumes.
We immediately immersed ourselves and entered a shop which sold the distinctly Arabian kuffiyah (كوفية), a two-colored checkered scarf which is worn by men over their heads. This afforded us our first chance to practice our bargaining skills - at first the scarves were marked at ten dinars, but we were able to mark them down to six dinars. Remi was able to get a maroon-and-white kuffiyah made with special fabric ("made in Palestine", according to the merchant, despite the label clearly saying it was made in Tunisia) from thirteen dinars to ten dinars. We were given a warm reception based on our ability to speak French and Arabic, which likely garnered us a better discount than the rest of the naïve tourists moving in and out of the place.
Beyond the kuffiyah, I also purchased a fez which had been marked at fifteen dinars, but again I was able to establish good rapport with the shop owner and got a 33% discount on it. All of the owners seemed genuinely impressed at my Arabic speaking abilities, which gives me a slight shock since I feel my speaking skills are far weaker than my reading and writing skills. The fez in particular is important in terms of this trip because it is associated with Tunisia - wherever I go in the Arab world, the locals will recognize the hat and know where I got it from. I left this shop and met up with my housemates, but not before I was brought aside by a persistent merchant selling me hashish (أعشاب, 'a3shaab), which I wisely declined. Khalil would later tell me that the quality of the hashish in the Suq is poor even if I did want to smoke it and that the penalties for possession are much stricter in Tunisia than in the United States.
Perhaps the best deal I got during my stay was from a vendor who sold several wallets of varying sizes - I needed to replace my magic wallet from Commerce Bank since it cannot hold dinar bills well (they are wider than US dollars and make it hard to pull out money). To prove their authenticity, he took a lighter to one of his wallets and showed that the flame did not melt or blacken the wallets. He was offering these for eleven dinars at first, but Matt had barged into the store suggesting that I demand it for four dinars. Seizing the opportunity, I promptly made the offer - the owner exclaimed that "Your friend is crazy!" and made several disapproving gestures. I playfully echoed his sentiments in Arabic (Mejnun! مجنون!) but firmly maintained my price. He raised the ante to six dinars, which was acceptable for me and landed me a large brown wallet with multiple card slots, two bill pouches, and a slot for placing my ID card.
During my next trip to the suq several days later, I was able to land myself a tea set with a small pitcher and five glasses for the poorly-argued price of 55 dinars, though I got two ceramic tiles and an extra glass free with this purchase. On a better note, I also purchased three silver necklaces for ten dinars, a small backpack for fifteen dinars, and a orange-and-black kuffiyah made of pleasing-soft fabric for myself for ten dinars. In addition, I helped drive down the price of two sunglasses to seven dinars apiece, with me and a friend each taking a pair. Overall, I would say this was a worse day for my bargaining skills - I had been stuttering in Arabic and unable to find the right words and numbers - but if nothing else, I was able to reflect on this experience and will come back to the Suq with a heightened savviness.
Coming up next is my experience in the hammam (حمّام), a public Turkish bath, as well as a mystery subject which you will find out when the article is published. As always, keep your eyes glued here! My entries should be more frequent during our twelve-day excursion outside of the house since I will have a stable Internet connection and too much to talk about.
