When Life Gives You Lemons...

... gather them all together and assemble a lemonade/lemon meringue/lemon pie/tequila stand with over-inflated prices and an aggressive market strategy. With the profits, invest in more lemons (alternatively life could give them to you again for free) and build on further collecting every single lemon zest of all the lemons you've ever had so when you're good and ready you can squirt the acid into life's eyes.

Them's the breaks when you travel in the off-season I suppose.

Instead of the relaxing, adventurous, sun-filled countrywide venture I was planning. This trip instead turned into a relaxing, contemplative, semi-sun filled beach dwelling holiday. It did however let me think about my life and things and showed me a different side of the country not flogged about in travel books. My first proper storm in ages. It raged solid for 2 days.

My first few days; (pre-storm)

Does the trip begin when I reach the destination residence or when I pass through customs? Or perhaps the departure airport? Does it also include the journey from home, where ever that may be, to the departure airport?
The extra hour I had to wait in the very early, very cold, very London morning in my holiday skirt, shouldering my luggage because the bus driver was either late or too busy to go coz he was having a heated conversation with another bus driver that didn't look like it was about to be resolved anytime soon. I wonder if they are still at it.
Does it include the loud cursing drunk on the London airport bus which made everyone feel uncomfortable? No it wasn't me. I was on the upper floor and glad of that (he was on the lower deck).
An uneventful check-in except the queue ran the entire length of the check-in hall. Moved quickly through though.
A new airline to add to my list. An Italian job called Alitalia. Loads of leg room and the seats go w-a-y back. And served meals. Shoddy ones as I found out on the return flight when I felt immediately ill after the snack of a ham and cheese panini. I was due to get breakfast which I was excited about as I normally don't mind airline food and I've only ever had an airborne breakfast once (hmm..) I fell asleep though.
FA Attendant "We will shortly be serving breakfast...”
Me "...zzz...”

After arrival and clearing through Tunis Airport with purchasing the applicable visa for being Australian I was being assured numerous times in very broken English that the only way to get from Tunis Airport to Hammamet, the tourism town on the beach and where the cheaper hotels are, is via taxi. I haggled my driver (who followed me around the airport terminal as well.. just couldn’t shake the bugger so I decided to trumps up and give him my business) down to 60 Dinars (roughly $AUD60) for the 85km trek. I have no idea if that was a good price or not. The concierge said it was good but keep reading and you’ll get the idea that men in this country only seem to say things they think are flattering. I don’t trust haggling because the price is usually so inflated at the start it’s out of touch with anything considered a reasonably price so you have no idea if you got a good deal or not and therefore no real confirmation about whether you should feel good or not about your haggling skills. I especially hate being called ’baby’ by people trying to sell my stuff. One shop owner said it too many times. (Twice - once, then once again after I said not to.) I promptly walked out and into the shop next door.
This taxi driver, lets get back to the chronological story telling shall we, insisted driving at 150km, weaving over lanes and not having a seatbelt was actually an ok and pretty safe why to earn my 60 Dinars. I was just happy to get out of the slight stale smelling odour of the taxi.
My first night hotel was a 4 star sprawling hotel with a beauty center, indoor heated pool, restaurant and bar and very near the Yasmine Hammament Medina which the concierge offered to walk me through. Not exactly naive to his intentions but having nothing better to do by myself I obliged. Inside the Medina there were restaurants, a dude sitting on a carpet stroking erect cobras, a camel stumps down, half asleep and eye balling passersby with half-hearted repulsiveness and market stalls (called souks) where locals & shop owners chatted animatedly and smoked hashish through shishas.

Definition: Animated Souks [n]: Bric-a-brac shops cum market stalls with obnoxious, loud shop keepers who would just as soon blast you with obscenities as be nice to you if it meant they’d get your attention. Usually just persistently annoying the way an over-eager yet dumb puppy is coz they can’t remember the rebuff you gave them last time. Harmless but annoying. Also soon forgotten about so don’t worry about it.

On day 2 I changed hotels to one with a private beach so I could get away from the persistent local men who wanted to ’chat’. Seriously. I had a queue of them when all I wanted to do was sit on the beach and relax. I wore very modest clothes in keeping with the 98% Arab Islam faith of the country and so I could avoid such annoyances. Didn’t work. My new hotel backs, or fronts... whatever... onto our own piece of the Mediterranean. I took up a lounger and enjoyed to bright sun, blue skies, the gaggling of German holiday makers nearby and no one hassling me. Glorious.

Day 3 marked the expedition to the capital Tunis, the Roman ruins of Carthage and the pretty sea-side town of Sidi Bou Saïd.
Through out the drives, aside from the grand architecture of the mosques, the houses resembled all the imagination of a 5 year old making a doll house from a shoe box armed solely with a pair of scissors and a tub of thickened clag glue. Then with a huge satellite dish incongruously plonked on the roof. Not criticism, just an observation.

Tunis was larger than I expected. The main street was clean and well mannered drivers and pedestrians went about their business in the characteristically nonchalant way I’d come to expect from the local Tunisians who weren’t souk stall keepers.

Carthage was very thoroughly destroyed so there is not a lot to see but (don’t want to sound all touchy-feely weirdo like but I’m going to say it anyway) I felt a great impression of power at the place. I suppose that was probably the idea when they built it on the edge of the cove overlooking the wide expanse of Mediterranean towards Sicily.

Sidi Bou Saïd reminded me a lot of Capri, the small island just off Sorrento in southern Italy. Pretty and well colour coordinated in white and blue but didn’t do much for me.
Also took a visit to the Musee de Bardo - a Roman mosaic museum - just out of Tunis which was actually a lot more impressive than it sounds.

At lunch today with my expedition group, on our first course of fish soup, Lucy & Elaine, my only other fellow English compatriots, something happened which I’d like to make comment on. Reaching the dregs of the meal I instinctively tipped the bowl towards myself. I then noticed my fellow English (who actually happened to be English) tipped their away from themselves. It makes logic sense that if control over the bowl or spoon was lost the resulting mess would be over the table and not on your own lap. I’d never succumb to such motions though coz you look like such a damn prat doing it.


Post-Storm Days.

The brochure description of the tour I booked:
“Sahara Explorer: A 2 day safari to the Southern plains of Tunisia and the "Sahara Desert". You will be amazed by the most fantastic sights Tunisia has to offer. Visit the troglodyte settlement to see the caves of Matmata, the famous setting for Star Wars. Then take the opportunity to ride a camel over the glistering sand dunes of the Sahara. Experience the most fantastic, well-preserved ancient colosseum, El Jem. One of the most impressive monuments in Africa. See the sunrise over the Chott el Jerid and take the 4x4 jeep ride through the Atlas Mountains to visit the oasis of Chebikz. Experience the real Tunisia - a stunning 2 days you will never forget.“

Then a massive eruption of thunder, lighting and driving rain came to my calm, peaceful sunny world and gave me a refund.

Through my travels, until now, I had been sensationally fortunate with the weather. Aside from 2 overcast days in Paris (made up for by the brilliantly sunny 3rd) I've had a great run with Mother Nature. Seems she needed a break from cooperation.

Part of me wanted to scream and cry and throw the biggest tantrum ever. But would I have been able to sit on the beach endlessly watching the waves roll in, hearing them roll and crash and stream up the beach toward me then back out again into the folds of the ocean? I do love the noise of the ocean.

The waves were choppy as heck and didn’t seem to know whether they were coming or going. Diagonal retreating unbroken waves collided with breaking waves on their way in and sent up a string of spray like an invisible rope being ripped up out of the white water. It was fascinating to watch.

We all know what a desert looks like don't we? We've seen documentaries.
We know what the troglodyte homes of Matmatta look like don't we? We've seen Star Wars.
I've got a post card of El Jem, bought in Sidi Bou Saïd with some fortunate foresight.
I've ridden a camel before too. Albeit I was 5 and it was at a zoo in Oz. I also had a lame ride on a camel at the Pub with No Beer, I've forgotten the proper name but it's north of Brissie somewhere. So done that before. It would have been great to do it again in the Sahara, and to see for myself all those places, but alas, not to be. This time.

The next few days went by like the first few. Lounging in the sun and reading whatever english books turned up on the hotel book shelf.

I can’t write this blog without at least mentioning my 2 favourite Tunisian foods.
Brik: a folded semi circle of extremely light pastry filled with either egg or meat or tuna fish mix and deep fried. Delicious and you should do like the Tunisians, eat it with your fingers.
Couscous: often referred to as the national dish and is a semolina grain made from hard wheat. Served with either fish, vegetables or lamb although the latter is thought to be the best.
and a food sub-topic:
Baklava: dessert pastry with nuts and honey (I thought it was awful but I like the name, sounded exotic)

Day 6 - Second Last Day
Today was not a day to go outside. Not because of the weather this time. Everything was closed due to some sort of holiday. Even the restaurants here in the hotel are doing much. On the beach, and inside - in spite of what the posted menu says, it's just drinks or salad. (What the? I don't care what any one says; a salad is not a meal.) Or chicken. Chicken what? I don’t care I've already walked out.
Good thing I stored up on breakfast. Everything will be open tomorrow I'm assured. Better be. I got souvenirs to buy and dinars to get rid off. Might just go for that massage instead.

Day 7 - Last Day
Same thing as Day 1 but in reverse. Wonderful warm sunny day. Taxi driver was less insane than the first and much much cleaner. Off back into London where the people are just the same pushy lot but at least they ignore you better.
Seriously though, I had a good time in this w-a-y-laid back country.
Next time I'll try the on-season though.


Meaningless Rant Topic of the Moment: SINGLE SUPPPLEMENT:
The bane of the solo traveler’s existence. Why should we be punished for how we choose to travel? Why should we have to pay 150% (and it really really was) of what it would be if someone else was tacked along on my travels. Hotels should have places set up for us independent soloists who enjoy their freedom instead of worrying about the small dent we make in their exorbitant profit margins.

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