Observations & Contemplations from Tunisia (pt. 1)

After living in Tunisia for nearly 3 weeks, I must be some sort of cultural and social expert on all things Tunisia.  (In much of the same way that someone who reads a magazine article about Einstein is an expert in his theory of general relativity.) 

Here are three brief observations and contemplations, mostly gathered while strolling the streets during this hot, humid month of Ramadan.

Black Sedans and Yellow Cabs

Black sedans rule the streets of greater Tunis.  Black Peugeots, BMWs, Renaults, VWs and Citroens roll past by the dozens.  Not all cars on the road are black sedans, of course, but it is a bit striking at first glance that so many are.  The only vehicles that are perhaps even more prevalent than the black sedans are the yellow taxis trawling the streets for fares.  Historically, I’ve not been drawn to riding in taxis.  The supposed convenience of being chauffeured to my destination has in most places I’ve lived lately been outweighed by the inconvenience of cost, riding in broken-down vehicles, and drivers who don’t know how to reach my destination.  I also value the benefits of walking from point A to point B and/or using mass transit if either or both of those are viable options.  But I arrived in Tunisia during the peak of the summer heat (more on that below), which makes walking during the day an uncomfortable affair.  And the combination of fairly inexpensive taxis fares, good roads, and competent taxi drivers makes taxis a more attractive option for many destinations throughout large sections of the day.

Underage ‘drivers’

I’ve traveled extensively around the world and am accustomed to seeing prodigious deployment of cars and motorcycles—a family of four on a motorcycle is not an unusual sight; a one-year old standing on the passenger seat in a moving car is terrifying to see but not out of the ordinary.  However, Tunisians seem to be a bit more ambitious when it comes to children and their vehicles.  One very common sight is a small child on a moped—almost always a young boy of around 4 or 5— grasping the handle bars while standing in front of his seated father.  I don’t have a picture of this, but imagine a man sitting on the scooter pictured below with a child standing in front of him; the boy’s head barely reaches the handle bars but he grips onto them with his father as they motor down the road. 

Keep in mind that there are no helmet laws in Tunisia.  And although I do see the occasional motorcyclist with a helmet, I’ve never seen a child wearing a helmet, much less eye protection.  I’m sure it’s a thrill for the child and is considered to be convenient transportation, but the outcome of even a minor wreck conjures an utterly horrific scene.

Even more puzzling, the other day while walking home from work, I saw a car—probably a black sedan, although I wasn’t paying close attention to the outside of the vehicle—in the far right lane of the road that is essentially a 3-lane highway to Tunis.  The car initially caught my attention because it was on the road but not moving.  When I looked closer, I saw a man in the passenger seat and two men in the backseat, but nobody in the driver’s seat.  The car appeared to be stalled on the side of the road, but nobody was outside of the vehicle trying to fix it—rather, the man in the passenger seat seemed to be leaning over to the driver’s seat trying to fix the problem.  As I kept walking down the sidewalk and could see inside the front seat more clearly, I saw a boy of maybe 7 or 8 years old perched in the driver’s seat.  To my surprise, the man in the passenger seat then started the car and to the apparent delight of him and the other adult passengers, the child started driving the vehicle slowly down the busy street.  (I assume the man in the passenger’s seat was controlling the pedals because I don’t think the child was tall enough to reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel.)  The car picked up speed until I lost sight of it in the distance.  As I continued down the road, I feared I would hear a crash or see evidence that it had careened off the road.  My fears were not realized—at least not as far as I saw.

It’s not the heat, it’s the…

The past few months, when I told friends that I was moving to Tunisia, a common point of discussion was the weather here.  Oftentimes, people would comment on how hot it would be—especially in July and August.  I had consulted a few weather-related websites that indicated July and August were the hottest months of the year with average highs in the 90s.  I had also looked at the map and noted the proximity of my new home to the Mediterranean.  (In fact, I live an easy 30-minute walk from the water.)  After my 5-minutes of research, I determined that it wouldn’t really be very hot.  I’ve certainly lived through 90-degree temperatures (and hotter); and surely a large body of water such as the Mediterranean would moderate extreme weather conditions, I thought.  So when my friends said something along the lines of: Boy, that’s going to be hot!  I refuted their supposition, noting my experience with hot conditions and/or the more moderate climate I expected to experience.

Well, I’m here to admit some flaws in my logic.  Apparently, when the sun wants to be hot and intense, it’s going to be hot and intense, no matter the presence of a large body of water.  And when the heat is combined with high humidity, as it turns out to be here in Northern Tunisia most of the time, even an otherwise tolerable 90 degree day gets uncomfortable very quickly.  And last weekend, an unusual hot spell sent temperatures soaring well above 100.  Some sources reported temperatures of 45 or even 46 degrees Celsius, which equates to temperatures around 115 Fahrenheit.  Unfortunately, my curiosity took me outside for a mid-day walk last Sunday.  Under the blazing sun, my walk started out ok.  But as the minutes wore on and the sweat collected on my face and forearms, I realized that being out at that time was not a smart idea.  There was scant shade to be found on the streets and few businesses were open—both because it is Ramadan and because why in the world would anyone be outside shopping in those conditions?  After 45 minutes in the sun, I started walking back in the direction of my house.  But I am still not very familiar with the neighborhood and my imagination started to get the worse of me—spinning through a fantasy in which I was disoriented and unable to find my way home.  Luckily, within a few minutes, I started recognizing landmarks and knew that I was within 15 minutes of reaching my house.  But by then the sweat on my forehead started to flood into my eyes, bringing with it the sunscreen I had judiciously applied before leaving the house.  I was half blind and half delirious for the final few blocks of my foolish outing.  Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day inside in an air conditioned room drinking cold water and juice—and trying to restore the energy that had been sapped by the intense mid-day sun.

Which brings me to a slightly tangential question: What does it take to coin a phrase?  Because I invented a phrase several years ago that I’ve tested with various people without much success.  I realize now, though, that perhaps I was testing the phrase out of context  And only in thinking about the foolish escapade I just described have I discovered the proper context for what I feel is a clever and useful phrase.  With that in mind, perhaps I will re-introduce and try again to coin the phrase here: It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity.

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And with that, I conclude part one of my initial observations and contemplations from Tunisia except to add one more thought.  Based on this blog entry, you might be under the impression that I think poorly of Tunisians or am having a miserable time here.  That is far from the case.  My three weeks here have been filled with many happy moments, little discoveries, beautiful sunsets, wonderful views of the aqua blue Mediterranean, and hundreds of inconsequential but pleasant interactions with Tunisians—who by all accounts are friendly, kind, and generous.  And last weekend’s hot weather anomaly has not repeated itself—today I enjoyed a trouble-free two hour walk around town.  Here’s a glimpse from my route today:

Stayed tuned as I continue my journey to knowing, enjoying, and understanding Tunisia…

Philly Philly!

March 6, 1999—13 years ago—on the outskirts of a small town in Southern Mali I found myself face-to-foot with a deadly snake.  The snake nabbed my little toe and the venom slowly spread through my system doing the damage it is meant to do.  Eleven days later on March 17, after my foot and leg swelled to outrageous proportions—bringing searing pain that prevented me from bearing weight on my left leg— Peace Corps flew me to DC for treatment and recovery.  Six months later, I returned to Mali, met the woman I now call my darling wife, and finished my Peace Corps service.  (That’s the short version.)

Since surviving that ordeal, I don’t take March 6 for granted.  This year, with a few vacation days to burn and several Hyatt points to redeem, my darling wife and I decided to make a run to the City of Brotherly Love.  After more than 6 years living in Baltimore, we’ve talked about it often but never made the two-hour trek to Philadelphia—until this week.  I left work early Monday afternoon, and my darling wife and I went to the Greyhound station and sat comfortably in plush leatherette seats on the way to Philly.  (I’m sitting in a similar Greyhound bus seat on our way back to Baltimore as I write this.)

We arrived in Philly in the late afternoon and walked two short blocks to the Reading Terminal Market, which holds an impressively large collection of vendors—mostly restaurants and food stands, but also bookstores, grocers, and souvenir shops.  I grabbed a felafel sandwich, but my darling wife couldn’t find anything appealing enough for her discriminating palate.  We left the market and walked a mile and a half to the hotel to check in to our room and drop off our bags.  We were soon back on the streets of Philly on the hunt for food.  We had read about Blackbird Pizzeria on the internet and were intrigued by their vegan pizza offerings—it proved to be location a short distance from the hotel, so we walked down the historic streets to the pizzeria.  My darling wife declared her slice the second best vegan pizza she’s ever had.  I was out of luck because all of their selections were tomato-laden, but we shared an order of tasty french fries, so all was not lost for me.

After filling up on vegan pizza and fries, we strolled down the street contemplating our entertainment options for the night—the top two options were jazz at Chris’ Jazz Café or a concert by British performer, Estelle, at the World Café Live.  Estelle seemed like the more exciting option, so we marched down the street and across the Schuylkill River to see what British pop and hip-hop looks like these days.

At World Café Live, a DJ and MC got the crowd riled up before the concert with a barrage of old school hip hop hits, so we were primed for the live music when the first opener took the stage.  Bridget Kelly started things out performing three energetic songs, including one that featured her yelling “BOOM BOOM” and the crowd responding with “DYNAMITE!”  Next, Luke James took the stage and swooned, swayed, and sang sappy love songs.  His style was a bit over the top for me, but I give him an A for effort.

Following Luke James, the DJ returned and worked the audience into a frenzy with a rapid succession of crowd pleasers.  Finally, the main act was ready.  This was the final stop on the North American swing of the “All of Me” tour, and that song played as Estelle and her band and back-up singers took the stage.  (The song, “All of Me,” is particularly significant for yours truly and some readers of this blog, so I thought the main act started out on a good note.)  Although neither my darling wife nor I knew a single Estelle song before last night’s show, we enjoyed her set.  Many in attendance were able to sing along to her songs word-for-word, but we just raised our hands in the air when told, shook our booties a bit, and clapped in appreciation. 

After the show, we walked to the Chris’ Jazz Café to see whether there was still music to enjoy there.  We caught the final 20 minutes of the show, which featured some great music and bit of singing, too.  Finally, at close to 1am, we arrived back at the hotel.

On Tuesday, March 6, we enjoyed a relaxing day—enjoying tasty vegetarian fare at Essene Market, delicious vegan desserts at Sweet Freedom Bakery, eclectic art installations at the Fabric Workshop and Museum, late lunch at a noodle restaurant in Chinatown, and buying rice noodles and mirin at an Asian grocery store.

All in all, it was a nice impromptu trip to Philadelphia.  Hopefully we won’t wait another 6 years before enjoying it again.

Baltimore Bustle

Since returning to Baltimore from nearly a year living in Palestine, it seems as though my darling wife and I have been racing to catch up on every conceivable benefit of living in Charm City.  The last few weeks have been especially busy and fun and this blog posting will quickly chronicle the highlights.

Roller derby!

The Charm City Roller Girls compete monthly on a flat track in Baltimore’s DuBurns Arena.  We enjoyed their first match of the season a few weeks ago with some friends.  It’s a fast-paced game—not as violent as the movies portray—but much quicker and more complex than I expected.  Above all, though, it is fun.  The competitors are serious on the track, but the overall scene is campy, quirky, and lively, with a lot of tongue-in-cheek entertainment.  Team names include: Junkyard Dolls, Night Terrors, and Fresh Meat.  The players use intimidating names such as I.M. Pain, Trixy Von Doom, Ellie Vation, Slambellina, and Holden Grudges.  And the numbers they use only add to the quirkiness: 415, .45, 1964, 3E, and 1on1.  Announcers provide play-by-play, analysis, commentary, and observation over the blasting music.  See below for a blurred photo and some video from the match we saw.  All in all, it was a fun way to spend a Saturday night.

Charm City Roller Girls do battle!

Skiing

Within two hours of Baltimore are at least three ski hills.  Although we’ve had stretches this year of very un-winterlike conditions, it is still possible to ski thanks to the miracles of snow machines and low standards.  Loyal readers of this blog will recall that in December I hit the slopes for the first time in nearly 15 years while in Kyrgyzstan for a business trip.  Eager to show off my skills to my darling wife and to share the joy of skiing with her, we joined friends on Super Bowl Sunday for a day trip to Liberty Mountain Resort in Pennsylvania.  The buildings at Liberty Mountain were drastically more impressive than those at Karakol in Kyrgyzstan, but the skiing conditions were far less impressive.  The crew at Liberty Mountain is probably doing everything in their power to provide decent conditions, but as seen in the photos below, Mother Nature has not been a willing partner in the efforts to create prime skiing conditions.  Nevertheless, we conquered the slopes and had fun doing it. 

Just a 'chance of snow' on this stretch of Liberty Mountain

Showing off skills on the bunny hill

The Arts

Twice last week and twice this week, we’ve enjoyed the arts in various forms—live theater, live music, and documentary film.

Last week Thursday, we joined friends for dinner and a show, namely, Single Carrot Theater’s production of “MilkMilkLemonade.”  The show was lively, fun, and well crafted to present issues of gender identity, societal norms, commercial agriculture, and urbanization.  It didn’t hurt that a talking chicken performed awkward stand-up comedy half-way through the show and that my darling wife’s verbal show of support for the chicken in face of overwhelming disapproval gave a slightly new dimension to that part of the performance. 

The next night, we saw Baltimore’s Lea Gilmore perform an eclectic show featuring blues, soul, reggae, rock-n-roll, and gospel music and several special guests.  Lea artfully weaved in her viewpoints on a range of social justice issues, making compelling and humanitarian arguments after winning over fans with her entertaining style and beautiful voice.

This week, we have been educated and entertained at two documentary screenings.  On Thursday, we saw a documentary called, “We are Egypt,” which was filmed in the months leading up to last year’s revolution.  The documentarian finished filming and departed Egypt two months before the events of January 25, 2011 that are considered the official start of the revolution.  But her film demonstrates that the roots of the revolution were widely established well before January, although it still took a ‘perfect storm’ of events and efforts for the revolution to find the momentum necessary to unseat Mubarak. 

On Friday night we saw the excellent home grown documentary, “Cafeteria Man.”  The documentary follows Tony Geraci for nearly two years as he fights to bring change to Baltimore City School’s food program in his role as chief of food and nutrition for the city school system that includes nearly 200 schools and 85,000 students.  His frustrations with bureaucracy and his successes bringing urban youth into contact with fresh fruits, herbs, and vegetables are presented with humor and thoughtfulness.  In my opinion, the scenes featuring school students—especially hearing them talk about their relationship with food and seeing them interact with food—were the most enlightening and the most fun. 

House hunting

Another thing that Baltimore offers is a large housing stock at a reasonable price.  With interest rates historically low and our house currently being rented out, we decided to take the opportunity to see whether it makes sense to purchase another home.  The search has taken us into new neighborhoods—new to me, at least—and has resulted in some compelling options that require further consideration.  We’re still in ‘hunting’ mode, but things are becoming clearer—at least from the perspective of our priorities and preferences—and it’s not inconceivable that we might make a move in the near future.

One of many houses that we won't be buying...

Although this weekend is starting at a much slower pace, I have a feeling that we will find a way to fill the hours with some collection of fun and fulfilling activities.  Until then, I’m content to watch snow fall lightly outside, enjoy the aroma of pork shoulder simmering in the slow cooker, and blog about life in Charm City in 2012.

One Unspectacular Night in Cairo

Four Americans, two Egyptians, and an Italian walk into a bar... (add your punchline here)

Even an unspectacular night in Cairo is worthy of a blog entry.  A colleague of mine and I met the two other Americans and the Italian at the KFC in Tahrir Square.  This location was selected mainly because it is such a prominent landmark that any cab driver or passerby would easily be able to direct me there.  There’s nothing particularly striking about the KFC that would make it an obvious landmark, but we learned that this location is actually very well known for something other than offering mouth watering chicken that is craved by many Egyptians.  During last year’s revolution, the KFC was shuttered but the sidewalk in front of it became a sort of field hospital for injured protestors.  At some point during the revolution, government officials accused KFC of supporting the protest by providing meals to the revolutionaries (despite the fact that it was closed).  This falsehood added to the appeal of the restaurant among the protesters, and the shuttered metal gates covering the doors of the restaurant were covered with protest art.  That’s right, Colonel Sanders was an unlikely participant in the Egyptian revolution.

Art posted at the Tahrir KFC during the revolution

Col Sanders - an unlikely revolutionary

So, we met our friends at the KFC and then walked down the block to meet the rest of our group.  Just as we left the Tahrir Square area, I noticed a few people fleeing from the general area where we had just been standing.  They were running away from something, but since it was only a few people fleeing—and not the entire population on the streets at the time—I didn’t join them.  Then I heard the sounds of distress behind me and two young men were running in our direction, helping a third man who was bleeding from the head.  Blood was gushing from his head onto the sidewalk and after they stopped running, we passed them as others offered tissues to help him stop the bleeding.  He didn’t seem to be in grave danger and none of us had medical training or supplies, so we continued down the road and quietly wished him speedy recovery, assuming he had been in a fight.

A few short minutes later, we met up with the two Egyptian members of our group and started discussing dinner options.  It was agreed that we would eat “Egyptian” food, even after a short debate about whether an Egyptian menu would contain anything other than ful (pronounced "fool" and consisting of fava beans, olive oil, chopped parsley, garlic, onion, and lemon juice) and koshari, which is a vegetarian dish with rice, macaroni, lentils, chickpeas, garlic, fried onion, and tomato sauce.   

Koshari

We navigated the streets of Cairo to a neighborhood called Imbabah and settled into seats at a busy outdoor restaurant.  Our Egyptian hosts suggested some options, including liver.  I innocently asked from which animal the liver comes.  I didn’t expect the question to spark much conversation, but somehow my question led to the decision that we needed to order a plate of camel liver.  (I wasn’t really interested in liver no matter what the animal, but I was curious because it seemed that chicken liver was quite popular in Palestine and I thought that it might be popular throughout the region.)  In addition to the camel liver, we ordered lamb on the bone, lamb in sauce, rice, and okra soup.  We also had a generous pile of pita bread, small bowls of hummus, and some olives to share.  I stuck with the rice and okra soup—and found that pouring the soup onto the rice helped make both components more interesting.

Eating outside was nice, but the air was cool and the restaurant is built for high traffic rather than leisurely meals.  And it turned out that one of our Egyptian hosts grew up only two blocks from the restaurant, so he invited us to his mother’s house for tea.  So we walked down the block and then piled into his mother’s living room, which was decorated with streamers and colorful balloons from a recent birthday party.  After warming up with tea, we thanked our host and ventured back into the heart of Cairo to finish the night with a drink.

The drive back into downtown Cairo was uneventful, and as we walked the streets to a bar tucked deep into the alley we passed a neighborhood dessert shop.  The Egyptians didn’t want to pass up the opportunity for us to ‘sample’ their sweet treats (even though most of us non-Egyptians had lived in the Middle East and eaten the same desserts many times before).  The sample turned out to be a full plate of sticky sweets, which we carried to the bar.

The bar was a very comfortable lounge—not too loud, not too smoky, not too crowded—and we passed the rest of the night talking politics and religion and sharing travel stories and bits of wisdom and plenty of laughs.  As we left, the waiters asked for the last of the desserts that we didn’t eat.

Altogether, nothing spectacular transpired, but it was just my speed.  A little history at the KFC, a bit of excitement at Tahrir, camel liver at dinner, colorful balloons with tea, and dessert, drinks, and pleasant conversation.  Just another night in Cairo.