Another travelin’ song

After hours of sitting in a dusty Mercedes, we have returned from our first Tunisian excursion complete with myself, Alex, Max, Geri and Professor Mounir.

Strangely enough I am happy to be back home in Tunis.

It’s thundering and I am now realizing how it is the beginning of October.

Bring it on Fall, bring it.
…

I was excited for our first Tunisian excursion.

So excited that I woke up on Saturday morning, like I use to wake up on the last day of elementary school.

I jumped around and took forever to get ready.

Finally when I was ready and a little more mature, I skipped on over to school and met my crew.

We met under an overcast sky and loaded everything into our chariot.

Then we were off.

We drove west into the rocky cliffs off the Mediterranean, kissed the most northern tip of Africa and scooted into the Atlas Mountains.

Scoot scoot.

And we honked a lot, because who doesn’t like honking their horn.

Toot toot.

We passed goats, cows and some unsuspecting dogs.

We waved at little school children, sheepherders and some donkeys.

We listened to Julieta Venegas, Radiohead and Bach.

We rode with our windows down westward, letting the wind blow dry our hair.

We explored Roman ruins over and over and over.

Through that time out west, we visited the beach port of Bizerta then moved further west to the steep cliffs around Tabarka, finally we headed southwest to the ancient city of El Kef.

Before we knew it we were eastbound.

We toot tooted and scoot scooted some more.

We retraced our steps back into the Atlas Mountains.

We passed some more sheepherders and donkeys and people selling honey on the highway (which I believed was lemonade).

We didn’t wave this time.

We explored some more Roman ruins.

We drove with the windows up and the AC blasting cold air.

We arrived to finish our excursion with the tourist city of lights and discothèques, Hammamet.

Traveling has got to teach us something, right?

Here are some things I took note of about each place:

….

On Saturday we found ourselves on the sunny beach of Ghar el Melh before arriving at Bizerta.

For swimming?

Nope.

Oh the disappointment.

We were going to hike up the steep sea cliff.

Professor Mounir claims this will take one hour up and one hour down.

Oh how he was wrong, so wrong.

We marched tenaciously through trees, bushes and wet sand.

We hiked and sweated and hiked a little more.

After following the path, we found ourselves at an old shrine with white washed walls and a green door.

Dogs barked viciously from the roof.

A woman came out to greet us.

She was very old and sick.

Professor felt bad so we kept the visit brief.

We entered her house, the shrine.

Complete with jade walls and red carpets.

It smelled on rotten fish and grapes, flies were everywhere.

The shrine has been around for generation after generation after generation.

It’s old, like the woman.

She lives there with her husband, who hikes down the cliff everyday to catch fish.

The shrine is always handed down to the oldest child to keep and look after it.

She unfortunately has no one to hand it down to since she has had no children (she claimed we were all her children).

So one day when she dies, her niece will take ownership.

She insisted we drink some tea and eat her grapes.

But we didn’t and we weren’t trying to be rude, we just didn’t want her to put effort into being a good, traditional hostess when it was obvious she was sick.

She was a good hostess without the tea and grapes.

She sweet-talked to us, as she was luring us to stay longer than we intended. The girls and I cooed at everything she said. But we had to leave before the sun was setting, and it was setting.

So we left her and professor led us down the same path we took up.

Or so we thought.

We got lost.

We bushwhacked our way through the green mess.

For every few steps, Mounir would lead on to say, “Oops, dead end.”

Then he would quote Wordsworth, telling us the need for a little optimism.

Never, ever give up.

Optimism indeed is what got us through the pinesap and pricks from cacti.

After diving into all the bushes for so long, my first instinct was “I hope there are no ticks in Tunisia.”

After growing up in Northern Minnesota, I am all too familiar with deer ticks sticking to you when you walk through the forest.

I hate ticks.

I ignored the thought only to be reminded hours later of one crawling through the car while we were crossing a bridge.

I say to professor, “Are there ticks in Tunisia?”

“No.”

“Well what’s that?”

“A tick.”

Thanks professor, real profound.

…

We arrived at Bizerta as the sun was setting and settled into our hotel for the night.

Hours later we dined on meat and Magon and finally passed out.

The next morning professor dropped us off at the medina.

We were there to distinguish the difference between the medina in Tunis versus the medina in Bizerta.

The difference that we noted was the lack of tourist zeal throughout each local shop.

No one was selling goods like they do in Tunis.

This is not a tourist spot, so no one living in Bizerta’s medina expects foreigners to knock on their door demanding their local goods.

It’s nice though, local people see you but they don’t annoy you by asking you to buy this and buy that.

….

Later on during the day, we drove on a dirt road to park next to a rural house.

Professor called someone on his cell phone and a pack of sheep crossed the street behind us.

Then we got out of the car and walked into the rural house.

We met a family who made their own pottery and has done so for years and years.

They collect the terra cotta colored clay from a mountain they hike to.

They then mold it into bowls, vases and some random animals.

They heat it in their old oven and dry it.

Then they paint it.

They sell it close the road for a cheap, cheap price.

It intrigued me to wonder why the family would sell their pottery right by the road for a cheap price, when they could walk to a close town and sell it and make more money.

They are very aware of this scenario as well.

They are not interested in that, money isn’t important in that respect.

Sometimes when we do what we have a passion for, making a money profit is not necessary in order to feel the rewards. Doing what we love to do daily gives us a satisfying sensation, which is the ultimate profit.

…

Later we arrived in Tabarka to explore an ancient fort.

We saw the gymnasium (warriors have to keep in shape), bakery (because they love their bread) and the places where the warriors use to live back in the day. We also saw the battleground, naturally.

We had a 360-degree view of the Mediterranean with the wind knocking us over.

Later back at the hotel, we changed clothes and dined on some pasta and more Magon.

The compelling conversations that come up during dinner every night always fascinated me to think about how ready I am for the world.

Sometime I feel like a little insect in the world, about to be squashed. At other times I feel like Atlas.

It’s just the five of us sitting around a rectangular table with a tablecloth covered in breadcrumbs and wine stains. Professor always sits at the head of the table leading conversation.

Hours later we find ourselves stuffed and ready for bed.

…

On Monday we left to arrive in El Kef. We stayed there for two days.

This town was much different from the other towns we had visited and had driven through, as we were in the rural country away from the sea.

We were given a tour of the whole town and it’s complete history through a local guide.

There were Judaic, Christian, and Islamic buildings in between narrow streets.

We came across Berber, Roman and Pagan ruins.

As well as cats that nimbly crossed the streets and little children who poked their heads out of windows, whispering to one another.

Then the sun set and we had more pasta and Magon as well as more conversation and debriefing of our days on the trip so far.

A stray cat would linger around our legs under the table, waiting for us to finish our meals so it could pounce on the rejected meat.

It stared at me and I pet it. I felt rebellious to touch a feral cat.

Woohoo!

I wanted to take it but professor insisted that I couldn’t keep it.

My childhood dreams of owning a pet resurfaced and my heart broke once again.

…

Before we knew it we were in Hammamet on a Wednesday afternoon.

It was muggy and I could sense the presence of foreigners.

I’ve finally found my US, Canadian and UK tourists; they’re here in Hammamet.

Hammamet is the destination for Tunisian and European tourists during the summer months as it has many, many clubs.

During the peak season, as much as 90% of the people in the town are tourists.

Now that it is fall, I would say 40% of the people living there are tourists.

That’s still a lot.

We theorized the effects of tourism and discussed the difference between authenticity and tacky look-alikes.

We were able to witness this by going into the resort part of the town and were baffled to see a “New Medina.”

What?

How is a medina new and how has it been formed so quickly (Medina’s are the oldest part of a city and only form when one culture fills in another culture and polishes itself off through time to become truly authentic)?

How can a wealthy person envision building a medina as a resort to lure tourists into believing this is what Tunisia is?

I felt like I was in the Middle East section of Disneyland.

Plaster, plastic and prissiness all boxed up and tied shut with a red ribbon.

It was so fake and cheap.

Men were aggressively asking us to buy this and that.

I’m sure everything they were trying to sell us was imported from China.

Oh the irony.

What we came to discuss later was why exactly do tourists want these products that the shopkeepers were trying to sell us?

Is this the image tourists have of an exotic area in North Africa, because last time I checked, there were no camels this far up north as well as black servants.

How terrible!

Where do they get this idea?

Hollywood?

Possibly.

As much as we would like to think that luxury and bounty do exist in the Meghrib, we also need to consider where we get these images.

We need to challenge these images we have of far and distant lands by actually traveling to these places.

When we are there, away from the touristy areas, we find a new reality and grow an appreciation for the culture’s authenticity.

Because believe me, the reality of these “exotic” lands may not be what you had in mind, but there is a reward of seeing something you were not expecting to see.

Search for what locals think define themselves and their culture, not what they think you think defines them, because it doesn’t.

Men sell these tacky products because they know what sells but they also know what they are selling is foreign to them.

They’re selling things that don’t even define them, yet they are attempting to define what we all think defines them

There’s something troubling with this scenario, but yet it happens in every tourist city around the world.

…

Hours after exploring the New Medina, we headed back to Tunis to come back home and sleep some more.

After being on the road for so long I realized why I missed home life so much.

I love where I live and who I live with.

There’s just something about living with a mom and a sister, just us there.

It’s a very small house with an incredibly loving and caring atmosphere.

When Mimi was crying the other night (possibly because she missed her sister, who’s studying in France) all I could hear from my room was my mom talking to her with the clink of teacups.

It’s important to talk everything over with a warm belly of mint tea.

It makes you think clearly and heals the pain quicker.

…

My mom may have had two daughters but she still is young at heart.

One late evening as I was eating my potatoes and chicken my mom put the radio up.

I asked her how one dances to this music.

She took her jacket off and walked into the other room. I assumed she didn’t hear me.

She came back into the kitchen with a leopard print scarf, tied it around her waist and belly danced for Mimi and I.

She was so good.

I ask, “How did you get to be so good?”

She dances in front of her mirror, self-taught.

A natural.

She wants Mimi to dance with her but Mimi’s embarrassed, she would rather sing.

Then my mom encourages me to dance and I give it a go.

I got some potential, man.

…

I think the reason why I like my family so much is because we’re all so young or we act young together.

We find alternative ways to express ourselves when language is lacking.

We work in sync and we all recognize each other and what we need.

And these ladies like their academics.

My mom has been studying HIV and currently is looking at the H1N1 virus.

I know, right?

At this moment she is asking my sister and I about what to wear for her party tonight.

She is wearing a red dress with some shiny high heels.

I just gave her the thumbs up.

I want to ask her how she does her makeup.

Makeup and how it is applied to someone’s face can be an incredibly culturing experience.

As for Mimi, she’s got brains too.

She wants to study engineering when she is older.

She likes it when we sing when we walk Bianco.

The routine of walking the dog is so cultural as well.

Where we go, who we pass as well as various landmarks around the neighborhood, all mark a different conversation or song sung.

She got a new cell phone the other day and she downloaded some songs from my computer that she recognized.

We played them while we walk and sang along to “Piano Man” “Say My Name” and “ABC” among others on empty streets with just some cats as our audience.

We only needed a microphone and a spotlight to make it karaoke.

Sometimes we would hit a note and dogs would bark from houses.

Bianco would go crazy.

We’ve got free spirit, yes we do.