Le Grand Bleu in Gammarth.
Bettino Craxi's final resting place, Hammamet.
In Hammamet, the cemetery entrance reminds one just a little bit of Tatooine.
December 18, 2010. Don’t get me wrong: I as an outsider have no right or reason to condemn or judge the country, nor do I wish to. Who am I to say that corruption or inequality - or any other charges of wrongdoing - are any more serious than in any other State? The point is this: everything seemed FINE. And this worried me. As a tourist enjoying an impossible and absolute comfort and peace – as one standing in a calm before the proverbial storm – I just had the feeling that it would not be for long.
The next morning I made my way by taxi to the city of Tunis to meet Abed. I looked around me. My impression of Tunis was that it was – yes – rather busy but no more so than any other big city. Given this sunny day, everything glowed in its splendor, so the section of the city I kicked around in just before lunch – Place de l’Independence, a park and fountain area facing a few governmental buildings with subtle Ottoman, Arab and Islamic influences that lend Tunisian architecture an appearance all its own – was equally lovely.
Before we ducked into a small side street, Abed was pointing at the passing road. He was laughing at a scene he had just witnessed of a female traffic cop who had stopped a car. The driver was in the wrong on some account or another, and the officer was ready to give him a ticket.
“He was relentless. He tried to argue his case! But she wouldn’t yield. She was firm.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. Even though I had not seen the scene and thus did not share in Abed’s mirth at having been privy to the goings-on, he transmitted his amusement to me for no good reason at all – except that his energy and expressions in regards to the tiniest details were just so infectious.
Once on the aforementioned small side street, we ducked again, this time into a restaurant with a rather nondescript entrance. Shooting down a couple steps, we ended up in a dark-yet-slightly-sunlit den with devans and… tea! And a bit of a chat while we wait for our table.
The interior of the restaurant is as I would have expected a restaurant in Seville, Toledo or Mexico City to be: a courtyard in the Moorish aesthetic, roofed, not open-air, but with plenty of sunshine filtering in. The cuisine featured mostly seafood, and a variety of vegetables stewed, sautéed and pureed, and spiced to perfection in typical North African style. I was fat and happy all over again, and this would not be the last time.
I made sure to spread my fair share of harissa, a thick red chile paste, on the items it would best compliment. This is when Abed informed me that statistics showed that Moroccans and Tunisians suffer among the lowest rates of cancer in the world, thanks to the antioxidants in this spicy red goodness.
Upon hearing this, I eagerly reached for more harissa and told him, “let’s not forget to buy some at the end of the trip.” Statistics or no statistics.
I returned to the hotel, utterly stuffed. Good thing it had been a spa day (well, half-day). Anyway, good, because the evening would be filled with more eating, and lots of it!
Abed drove us to another Tunisian suburb, Gammarth, so that we could fill up on the offerings at Le Grand Bleu, an expansive but cozy, dimly-lit restaurant with mosaic-covered columns, a bar and fireplace. Over the next hour-and-a-half, more than twenty dishes were placed before us, leaving us to sample what we would family-style. I started to think to myself that perhaps Italy had a sort of unsung rival in terms of cuisine. This debate continued to push back in and out of my mind like a worm coming and going, at least for a few months. I realized that in time, I have sampled new flavors and dishes throughout Italy, deepening my knowledge of its traditions and methods of preparing food. I can still affirm even to the present day that which for many years in the past I took so for granted that it seemingly ceased to be true: Italy absolutely has the upper hand in FOOD for variety, quality, and taste. (Yes, in a way it is an apple/orange comparison, as somehow, the cuisine in each of these cultures seems to testify to the countries’ rich, complex histories and cultures.) Such, however, does not negate that the weight I gained while in Tunisia was not worth the splurge. It was!
December 19, 2010. Actually, I have to say that the third day was the best day. This time we traveled far outside of Tunis, to begin our morning in Hammamet. Hammamet is a rather famous seaside resort, especially for Italians and the French. It served as the retreat for self-exiled Italian politician (and the country's first Socialist Prime Minister) Bettino Craxi, where, due to corruption charges and ongoing trials, he spent his last years, beginning in 1994. His grave, along with that of a number of other Italians, lies in a cemetery literally a stone’s throw away from the sea. After a lovely coffee, a stroll through the medina, and a visit to see Bettino, we were ready to hit the road again – this time to lunch.
At this point, you must forgive me, dear reader, as that afternoon I found myself in yet another beautiful port town; however, so captivated by my experience and surroundings, I failed to take notes! We met Abed’s friend – owner of a characteristic restaurant right on the sea – for lunch. It truly was a golden afternoon of toasting, laughing, and savoring the food, the moment, and the beautiful day.
It took us at least a good two hours of a long stretch of empty road, running past dusty grassland with a sparse covering of olive trees, to arrive back in Carthage.
Our time in Tunisia was nearing its end, and the next morning we would be back on TunisAir, leaving one ancient Mediterranean civilization for another. The intrigue I felt for this new place was certainly the tip of an iceberg, and I had only seen a very small part of it. But, what will happen here? I wondered. I will be watching and waiting, I thought to myself… I already know which part of the country I want to visit next, but for now, I will have to watch and wait.
December 20, 2010. As I made my way to airport security early this morning, I glanced at the threshold wall on my right and took in my very last visual of Tunis: the portrait of Zine al-Abidine Ben-Ali.
Not used to being in a country where the leader’s image smiled back at me, as if he were an icon – and in the most surreal places – I sensed something on the verge. Mind you, I had not even heard of what had happened three days before.
I had no idea that the day I arrived in Tunisia, Mohamed Bouazizi, a college graduate, had self-immolated in response to the governments’s refusals against his own livelihood, i.e. selling fruit, in Sidi Bouzid (whose name resembles that of the charming seaside city of Sidi Bou Said, but is in the south of Tunisia, far from the Capital). Ironically, like Dido he gave himself to his country, dying from his burns approximately one month later. Bouazizi’s protest would awaken what was almost immediately known as the Jasmine Revolution, and would lead to Ben-Ali’s stepping down in January of the following year. What would then become the so-far two-year long Arab Spring has mostly turned out to be a battle between extremes, between clans and ideologies, and has not yet come to resemble what the international community hoped would be an approach to a people’s democracy.
It is not over yet.
I have hope that Tunisia will find its way, but as I continue to watch events unfold there, I think of Iran, once a splendid civilization that had a lot going for it until the Revolution of 1979. What was supposed to be a revolution for the people turned out to fall into the hands of Islamists. In such a case, one wonders whether it would have been better to stick with the lesser of two evils. Tunisia seems to set the precedent, whether in regard to women’s rights or the toppling of government.
For now, Tunisia’s fate is still in moratorium. So is Italy’s, for that matter. And similarly to Italy, Tunisia possesses a history, culture and landscape that is varied and multi-layered, and that still has not been entirely revealed to me. The more I learn about ancient and present-day Ifriqiya, the more enamored I become of it. I cannot wait to go back!
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