Palm trees, Fennecs and the Synagogue in Tunis

Yesterday afternoon, after three days in a gray-skied London, I left the warmth of my friend's cozy apartment for the Auberge des Jeunesse in the Tunis Medina. On the seemingly infinite ride from the London Bridge tube station to Heathrow, I briefly flirted with the idea of staying awhile longer. Why was I leaving a guest bedroom, with enormous and insanely comfortable queen-sized bed, my own bathroom with endless supply of hot water, and an amazing array of teas and heavenly Italian coffee? Just to complicate the decision, they've got more wine and champagne in the fridge than food, and there's a parade of Scotch bottles (really good Scotch) lined up next to the hutch in the dining room. Tempted as I was, I continued onto Heathrow because as fly-by-my-pants as I may be, I'm not one to forgo purchased tickets.

So this evening, I'm sitting on a red and black, thick woven rug that is covering a small wooden bench in a tiny little foyer in my auberge in the old city of Tunis. And yes, there is wireless internet but logically no hot water. The decor does not disappoint with blue, yellow and white tiled walls, marble floors, and tiny warm lights illuminating the room from multiple stained glass lanterns on the walls. It's nice to sit after a long day of wandering all over the city. It was warm and sunny in a North African afternoon in February sort of way. Wearing jeans, a sweater (long one!), and light jacket and scarf my body was warm but my cheeks were cold. The slightly dusty streets are lined with palm trees, framed by a backdrop of white buildings, with blue doors, and cloudless sky.

As I meandered about, looking for the language institute where I am scheduled to take classes in about two months, a woman stopped to see if I needed help. I asked for the location of the school and Leila did not simply point me in the right direction, she walked me directly to the front steps. On our way she pointed to a large building and said there's the kineesa. I looked up at the huge building, with golden letters in Hebrew and an enormous star of David above the wrought iron gates. Ah, yes the kineesa, church. After my administrative errand, I walked back to the synagogue, fascinated that it was such a large, prominent building in the middle of town, and yet people seemed unaware of what it was. I asked the armed shurta, policeman, standing in front of the gate if it was open and could I enter? He asked if I was Jewish. Not sure if this was a trick, I said "No, ana mesrihee." I'm Christian. He very nicely replied that the synagogue was only open to the Jewish community. Curious, I might come back some Friday to spy.

I ended the afternoon with a trip to the zoo, because I'm apparently five years old. Well, I happened to walk right by, it cost less than a dollar and I wanted to see if they had any Fennecs. I was pleasantly surprised by the range of animals and the trip served as a helpful language review (because money is an important word to know!). After seeing multiple types of lake and river hippos, a large and scary rhinoceros, lots of camels, emus, beautiful gazelles, and peacocks flying all over the place uninhibited by cages, I found the fennec. It's a small desert fox, with white-creamy coat, huge adorable ears. They were jumping all over each other, biting each other and playing like kittens. The large number of giggling, actual five-year-olds seemed to like them just as much as I did.

Now as I finish these notes, I'm chatting with a group of fellow auberge-goers who are Iranian, Turkish, Canadian, and Spanish. I am going to let you go because we are getting into a great conversation about the amazing pulpo (octopus) from Melide in Northern Spain.