Inevitably getting lost in Souks

On my first Saturday in Tunis I went on what turned out to be a fruitless hunt for some books and a UBS drive. In order to do said errands I foolishly decided to walk through the Medina in the early afternoon. The souks are crowded during the week, but having never seen the state of things on the weekend, I forgive myself for failing to anticipate the pandemonium that is the medina on a Saturday at 1p.m. I've never been to the World Cup, but being pushed along the twisted little roads in the souks made me wonder if people have ever been trampled to death in a market. There were times when I was so smashed in between an array of veiled grandmothers, teenagers in Armani, and thickly pomaded hair-dos that my feet were not on the ground for several steps. I turned one corner in a mob of about 20 people were smashing into one another, as another group one row tried to go up Rue de la Kasbah and the other, including myself, tried to move down the same street. The stall owners stood along the sidelines yelling "Amshee, Amshee." Walk, walk. I had to bit my cheeks to avoid laughing, walking was just what people were trying to do. Seriously, this activity could drive a Bostonian to madness. When my "row" was finally expelled from the Medina and we dispersed into the courtyard at Port de la France, I felt as thought some large mythical-souk creature had given birth to a bunch of baby rats.

On my way back to l'auberge, I very intelligently decided to take an alternate route. I took another entrance into the medina, and headed in what I knew to be the generally correct direction. I turned onto a few unfamiliar corners and headed right down a rather crowded street. I thought nothing of the group of about 4 sixteen year old boys yelling at me in French: "no, no madame." Which I ignored, because, well men yelling at me has not exactly been a rare occurrence. I walked about 30 feet and passed directly in front of a sort of store front, with two wide doors open onto the street. About three feet from me were an array of women in skin tight shorts and bras grabbing at men from the street and offering massages. Ah. Got it. Sorry nice group of high-schoolers! Now I see why you did not want me walking down this street. I should have listened to you! It is a familiar frustration from various travels, it can be hard to know when to ignore people yelling at you and when to pay attention! Luckily I now know where to find the red light district in Tunis should anyone need directions.