First morning in Tunisia

IS THAT REALLY a packet of fig jam on the breakfast tray?  I may be seated calmly in post-yoga bliss, about to enjoy my first breakfast in Tunis, but my inner being has been jumping up and down, shouting HELL YES, as the first 19 hours spent in this sunny North African country have been outstanding.  As I savor the hard roll, Arabic music videos play on the TV.  The mustached man behind the modest counter steams milk and serves out trays of rolls and cafés au lait to the steady trickle of morning diners.  In this hotel dining room, watercolor and oil paintings adorn the upper part of the walls, the lower half being tiled with geometric patterns of yellow, green, black, and white.  After 19 hours of travel from Korea to Tunisia, last night’s slumber on the yoga mat on the tiled floor was deep and refreshing… …

The seats of the Turkish Airliner were a shade of turquoise that reminded me of the freshness I had just left in Jeju.  The snack of hazelnuts and sour cherry nectar gave me the false impression that the upcoming meals might be slightly pleasing.  As I settled into my place, an aisle seat with two vacancies to the left, the air’s heavy fragrance of jasmine perfume was a prelude to the symphony of sweet, musky, floral, smoky scents that would continue to seduce my being for the hours to come.  Thankfully, the meal on the connecting flight from Istanbul passed as flavorful spicy tofu and curried potatoes.  On that flight, I was stuck in the middle.   The man to my right, who had been studying what appeared to be the script of a play in French and Arabic, fell into a deep sleep after his second cup of wine.  The Tunisian to my left enthusiastically suggested an itinerary for the next week, to include a delve into the South. 

Upon arriving, I found the airport to be clean, humble, and elegant with cool tiled floors, and quick yet non-smiling security inspectors.  I attempted to use a pay phone to call a hotel, but was unable to hear or understand anything beyond the surrounding bustle.  Of course, the reservation office only booked mid to high-range hotels, but the man kindly showed me to the bus stop, as the area was under construction.  Because of luggage, I opted for a taxi.  I checked out a driver-recommended hotel, but it was too expensive for me and too far from the center of town.  Though initially pushy, the driver appreciated my attempt at Arabic and even began speaking to me in a ridiculously proper form that I once knew so well.  There was no more English between us, and it was good.  I had him drop me in the center of town.  He asked if I knew what I was doing and pointed to the area of cheap hotels.  As I confirmed my inner compass was working, I assured him I’d be fine.  Pulling my over-stuffed suitcase, backpack in tow past the lunch peak of outdoor cafés, up and down sidewalk curbs, I was so very happy to be warmed by the Tunisian sun.

Thanks to the already useful guidebook (The Rough Guide to Tunisia), I easily found my first choice of hotels, De France.  Before the very friendly reception, the beautiful blue, white and burnt sienna patterns of the lobby’s floor tiles impressed me.  Upon opening the shutters, breezy rays of sunlight filled the room.  Perfect.  Venturing out, I walk past the square, dominated by the old Bab al Bahr (Gate of the Sea) and into the medina where the streets narrow into the meandering mazes of markets.  After making a short loop, I return to the square to sit at an outdoor café table for people watching over a cool citronade.  Eventually, I get to chatting with a Tunisian, who takes me through the winding medina to the Zaytouna Mosque where we sit on the steps. 

I head back to the hotel to meet an English Eugene who happens to be writing a book about everything, to include his experiences across the Middle East, the “ideal” form of the hermaphrodite, and surely plenty of scholarly info across the subjects of history and economics.  We go out to meet a friend of his friend, Sofeen, who turns out to be a well-spoken man who has taught Arabic in the States.  Over mint tea in a cafe, the two discuss economics, discrimination, and French colonization.  I’m open to learning, so I try to listen.  The oil painting mounted above Sofeen’s head, depicting a woman who eerily looks like Kate Moss, serves as a nice distraction.  We head for dinner and Sofeen gives me directions to a school in town that runs an English education program.  The cheese and mushroom omelet leaves me pleasantly full and I’m back to the hotel and sleeping before 11.  Alhamdulillah.

… Breakfast was simple, yet satisfying, and I’ll soon be off for a lovely walk around the capitol city…