Don't leave home, unless you plan to leave home

When I travel I've always bring pictures of my family, a book or two in English, and one item of clothing that I love and believe looks nice on me. Oh, and a few pieces of jewelry, always my Claddagh ring because it never comes off and then some earrings because I feel naked without them. This is the first time I've traveled with an ipod and it makes running much easier. Music has been a nice thing to have, it's like little pieces of home to listen to as I fall asleep. I didn't bring many clothes and so I bought a bunch at the second hand market. Which led to my remarkable discoveries of the Minnesota University t-shirt and my favorite late Saturday morning activity of searching through piles of clothes at the Ibn Khaldoun market. I have found my Filene's basement in Tunis! I try to travel light, books were the heaviest thing I brought, but I did come to study, so I forgive myself. But I travel light mentally too, and that makes a big difference. I'm open to new foods, to a new schedule, to adjusting to not having certain things. I miss wine, beer, and grape-nuts, but I'm enjoying the fresh fruits and vegetables, fresh cheese from the market and all the delicious sweets.

However, I've noticed that some people travel in such a way so as to have everything with them from home, with as little interruptions, and as few distractions from the place to which they have traveled as possible. This seems an odd way to travel. During a three week break from classes, I took a few small trips around Tunis and I ran into this phenomenon often. On my way between Kairouan, considered to be the fourth holiest city of Islam and the place from which Islam was spread across Africa, and El Jem, a city in Tunisian with a remarkable Roman amphitheater and coliseum, I spent a day and night in Sousse, a very touristy coastal town. Sousse was a fun departure from the solemnity of Kairouan. It's loud and lively and bustling, a port city that looks like there are ships parked downtown since the docks are so near the main town square. I arrived from Kairouan via louage, these conversion van-bus thingys that fit about 10-12 travelers. I love them. They seem mostly to be a mostly Tunisian way to travel, and are a good way to meet people. As I entered Sousse I saw large tourists buses along the water front and in front of the mammoth beach hotels. The buses are helpful if you want to travel to Tunisia, arrive at the airport, take transit to a beach town, and see as little of Tunisia as possible.

I was planning on staying at the youth hostel in Sousse which costs 10 dinars a night, but I had no reservations so I just thought I'd wander around and try to find something closer to the center of town. First thing I did was have a coffee on the beach. It was a windy but pleasant day, maybe in the low 70s. So I sat at a little table. I talked to the waiter in Tunisian Arabic, he was friendly, pleasant and seemed shocked that I spoke a bit of Derja. In Tunis, many of the young(ish) foreigners are students at the Bourguiba Institute so people expect us to speak a little Arabic. But since Sousse is such a magnificently touristy place, my ability to communicate was a novelty. I thoroughly enjoyed myself at this cafe. At my little table, I took a few pictures of my cappuccino and the ocean; two of my most favorite things on earth! I wrote some post cards, wrote in my journal, people-watched. There were plenty of middle-aged and elderly Europeans (I heard no American accents), some with sunburns (I wondered how), many wearing tiny tank tops (why?!), shorts, looking a bit silly in 70 degree, windy weather. When I went to pay, the waiter told me the cappuccino was a dinar (about 65 cents). I could see on the menu that he was wrong. It was listed in English, French, German, Dutch (maybe), Spanish and Italian, all as three dinars. I looked confused and he smiled and said "no, for you a dinar," I smiled back, thanked him. He told me to come back anytime.

I headed to the Medina, a really pretty Medina, with huge, stone walls, maybe 30 feet high, a beautiful warm, orange-ish, creamy color. I looked at trinket stalls quickly as I'm never interested in buying anything, the louder the stall person, the quicker I walk past. I came across the front door of a hotel called Hotel Medina which looked quite nice. I figured why not at least go in and ask the price for a room. The lobby was a courtyard with lovely tiled floors and walls, columns, and polished dark wood. I thought it might be expensive, but I asked the reception the price for one person for a night. 20 dinars, glorious!, my own bedroom, bathroom and tasty breakfast was well worth the price. So I stayed, had my own room in the Medina, in the middle of town, about a five minute walk to the train station, which was excellent as my train for El Jem left at 8 a.m. the next morning.

Once my room was secured my next order of business was to get a beer. I had read in my guide book that there is a British Pub where women can drink a beer and not be bothered by Tunisian men. It is not terribly normal here for women to frequent bars (women are not really seen in many of the coffee shops!), so the chance to have a beer undisturbed was too good to pass up. Plus I had not had a beer since I was actually in a real British pub in London in January. So I walked along the board walk, enjoying the waves and more people-watching, and I found the obscene 5 star hotel where this pub was located. After passing the maze of restaurants inside the hotel (Really inside the hotel! So when the hotel patrons want to eat, they do not even have to leave the hotel, and possibly hear Arabic or meet a Tunisian!) and there were also plenty of shops selling Medina-trinkets at ten times the price (too, too funny), I found the football themed bar (very kitsch). I ordered a beer and enjoyed every sip, while writing post cards. I was my first beer in over 2 months, and I enjoyed my break from Tunisian beerlessness. This pub was filled with Brits; I don't even think there were other Europeans. The TVs were broadcasting the results of a soccer match and everything was Manchester this and Manchester that. It was oddly quite in the bar. No cheering, very little talking. I wondered what everyone in this hotel was doing in Tunisia. Me? I was enjoying a much deserved little break from a culture where women don't drink beer. And I felt completely justified in my little break. But I wonder why does one need a break from Tunisia if you are here for 5 days? Aren't you here on vacation, taking a break from England, or wherever? Isn't that the whole idea of a vacation, taking a break from what you usually do? Hearing other languages, eating other food, maybe watch a soccer match in Arabic? English guys, you could walk into any coffee shop in the country and bond with the Tunisian guys over your mutual love of football. I can't because I am thoroughly disinterested in the sport and am totally above pretending to be. But seriously people, find something in common and chat about it. You don't even have to speak the same language, just pick a famous footballer, say his name and give a thumbs up sign (huge bonus if you say Zidane or anyone of Arab descent). The Tunisian guy will be so pleased he'll buy your coffee. But no, you're right this English enclave in Sousse is better.

As I strolled back towards the Medina and away from the tourist bubbles, I had a lovely rest of the evening watching the moon rise over the sea and seeing the lovely palm trees in moonlight accompanied by the smell of jasmine and bougainvillea. The Medina was quieter at night and the hotel was peaceful. I wanted to have another drink (hey I just had one beer at the pub and I had to walk about 4 kilometers to get it!), but there was no one but middle-aged and older men in the hotel bar. Sigh, fine my break is over. So I retired to my room and read some Mark Twain (must write about him in next blog, wow this book!).


The next morning I caught my train to El Jem, and spent a wonderful few hours staring out the window at the landscape passing by. I arrived in El Jem early so there were few other tourists. I met a lovely French father- daughter couple. He was in his mid 50s, she her mid 20s. Darling, sweet, they even invited me to visit them in France when I go this summer. I might, they seemed quite genuine about the invite. He asked me I traveled often with my father. Oh, the image of me and my dad taking buses, trains, and louages around North Africa. No, I replied, my dad is more of a lake in Minnesota type person. I showed him a photo on my camera of a successful father-daughter fishing expedition to Green Lake last summer to offer as proof.

As I continued to wander about El Jem, I overheard lots, almost exclusively in French, Spanish or Italian, and lots of comparisons of El Jem to the Roman ruins in Spain and France, to the Roman Coliseum (i.e, the one in Rome). Many tourists kept saying how they were surprised at how small this one was or the information is better in Rome. I felt like telling them that you can purchase a book, and discover that El Jem is smaller, has no other significant ruins in the area aside from the coliseum. None of this should be news. I got the impression that people were trying not to be impressed. Why are you here if you insist on finding whatever version you have at home superior? All of El Jem was covered in sand for centuries, isn't that interesting? This is why El Jem is well preserved. The Roman ruins at Dougga also, were buried and families farmed on top of the temples and baths of an ancient thriving town. That's quite interesting. No one is saying that there are not also interesting things in Europe. But didn't you leave Europe to see what someplace else might have to offer?

After visiting the mosaic museum in El Jem, I took the train back to Tunis. The only other non-Tunisians at the train station were the darling father-daughter French couple, confirming my suspicion that they were exactly the type of travelers I like. My train was an hour and a half late. No one on the platform seemed to complain. If this were Boston, people would have been having temper tantrums. Me too, I'd be bothering the conductor, asking what the delay was and when the next train would arrive. But I'm traveling somewhere else, in someone else's space, so I will act like them, and if the Tunisians waiting for the train on the platform in the hot sun (much hotter than the day before), are barely bothered by the delay. Oh, I will try to do the same. At least I had a book, curious, as I was the one and only person on the platform reading anything. When a train finally arrived there were no seats and I had to stand on a train for 2 hours until people got off in Sousse, and then some seats opened up. And I did not behave as me-the-Bostonian would have behaved, which is to complain to the conductor and ask for a refund because I clearly paid for a seat. No, just stood quietly in the aisle reading. So I was behaving Tunisian in not complaining about the lateness of the train. But very American in my never, ever getting on public transit without good reading material (because Americans would see that as time wasted, if you are waiting, multitask and read at the same time!). In the whole of my travels to seven cities via trains, louages and buses, I saw three men reading newspapers. That's it. Maybe in traveling I can pick up on the nicer qualities of Tunisians, not complaining about things you cannot change, and maybe they will see that a foreign woman is reading, and think, ah, what a good way to spend all this time that we are just standing here in the sun. Two young Tunisians students asked me about the book I was reading on the platform at El Jem. The title of the book is Palestine, it's a novel written by a Jewish Tunisian author named Hubert Haddad. The story is about an Israeli soldier who is injured and then two young Palestinians take care of him. The book humanizes both sides and argues for a real solution, a la The Lemon Tree. They had never heard of the author and one guy took out a pen and wrote his name down. This would not happen if you take an air conditioned bus from the airport to the beach and then back.

I enjoyed many of the towns I visited, but I actually liked the travel part the best. I like the getting from one place to another. It should take awhile, you should sit and watch the olive trees roll past, see the coast, watch kids playing in the street and try to eavesdrop on people in the train, since it's clearly not rude, just good language practice. It took me 8 hours to get from Matmata to Tunis, which seems about right, they are quite far away from one another and very, very different places geographically and culturally. So I find it disconcerting that the flight from London to Tunis was roughly two hours. It should not feel like you are traveling to a town nearby when you are in fact traveling to another continent, with another culture, and language. Maybe if the trip were longer people would think more about the distance they have crossed and make an effort to appreciate the language, food, and culture they have traveled to visit.