Le platinum

The Neighborhood "Disco Mosque"

Yes the name of the salon de the (tea) that I am having my evening espresso at sounds like a bad strip joint. That's how it goes. But it is close and allows me to watch Portugal play Spain from an outside table through the glass doors - which is important if you abhor cigarette smoke like I do. I am also intrigued with the waitress here. She ripped me off last time I was in  maybe thinking I was just passing through. Nothing major, just overcharging for drinks not thinking I would come back and look at a menu. So maybe this place does have something in common with exotic dance clubs after all.  Anyway, I am enjoying watching her squirm wondering if I am on to her. She dances around in about five languages but not English. Convenient. On to more important topics - Dinner at Ibrahim's house Sunday night was fantastic. I met my new friend at the Bardo museum and this gave me the opportunity to flirt a bit with a very cute tour guide who is also a PhD student in archaeology whom I met on the previous visit. Nesrine - or "white flower" - lives up to her adorable name and practically overflows with historical knowledge. I was a little disappointed though when she said she had no desire to ever cross the border of Tunisia. It was surprising to hear this and wonder if I misunderstood somehow.

The couscous that night was very good indeed and I was treated like a king - or perhaps a duke. I am prohibiting myself from smiley faces after sentences like that one in my blog. Illegal. The meal was sublime: Couscous with savory chicken, crisp cucumber salad, baguette, homemade strawberry smoothie with floral essence added for affect, and superb fresh mint tea accompanied by raw almonds to accompany a selection of petite fours I brought along for dessert. While the food and the hospitality was extraordinary, there was a very grave shadow over the evening. Ibrahim's sister, Amirah - which means princess in Arabic incidentally -was attacked by a mugger downtown as she was walking to catch the train home. The now potentially walking dead man grabbed her purse, she resisted, and he pulled out his knife and slashed her face deeply on either side.  The wounds were not vastly different from the ones I recall from the Batman movie of a few years ago where the Joker slashed permanent grins on his victims. Hence, her extremely protective brother has enlisted many of his friends and allies on a vigilante mission to find and deliver a form of justice I will leave to the imagination for the purposes of this piece. Suffice to say, bon chance Monsieur.

On a less dour note, I did my very best to be cheerful during the visit, as the family was attempting to stay positive, and it was twistedly pleasant to see Amirah try to stifle her laughter at my attempts to speak credible Arabic. Every time she smiled it threatened to tear out her stitches. Like I said, twisted. Makbooba wore a fantastic Berber tunic and almost never stopped smiling around me even though we could not speak directly and I did my very best to congratulate her on a magnanimous effort. Before Ibrahim and I departed for the cafe and more raucous Arab man love and World Cup action, Amirah told me this was not goodbye and that I was now one of the family. What does one say to that? I was even invited to come back during the festivities of Ramadan in August which is a most solemn, and also joyous, but intimate family event. I will unquestionably be returning to their home. I do hope that the wounds this family have suffered recently will have softened in the interim. Insh'allah.

Yesterday, there was a formal US embassy brief covering the basic functions and roles of the various departments with a little recruitment effort thrown in.  After, Lee took several of us to a terrific restaurant in La Garrott. Only one state brand of wine is produced in Tunisia and fortunately, the label produces some nice vintages of a merlot/syrah blend. A worthy accompaniment to a fresh seafood dinner by the radiant early evening sea. Lee was gracious in his generosity and the five of us capped off a fine day.

Tunisia has many surprises. Most are desirable. A few, apparently, are not. Like any city of several million but with a flair unique unto itself. L'aissez les bon temps roulette.

DD

Ibrahim at home in the Martyrs Quarter of the Medina

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"Good Girls Go to Heaven, Bad Girls Go to London"

Priceless.

Ravi & David's Big Adventure

The weekend is the right time to go exploring in Tunisia. This Saturday found me and a fellow AMIDEASTer at the ancient ruins of Carthage in northern Tunis. Ravi is, like me, a long term intern. He has been in country only a week longer than I and is taking over the reigns of the American Corner. This is a small library which also plays host to weekly movie nights, topical discussions on U.S. matters in English, and liaisons with the U.S. Embassy to coordinate special functions to increase cultural awareness of the U.S. Ravi is an extremely bright guy from the East Coast who shares a deep interest in Middle East history and politics and plans on going to one the elite U.S. universities for his MBA. He also happens to have parents who immigrated from Eastern India in the 70s and has traveled rather extensively throughout the South Asian and North African regions and makes for a phenomenal travel companion as you can imagine. Plus, I thoroughly enjoy ribbing him about his ability to "blend in" to the environment. I happen to stick out like Pee Wee Herman at a cardiology panel discussion. C'est la vie.

The day consisted of a grand tour of myriad Roman ruins. Apparently the Phoenicians had been in the area for nearly a thousand years or so. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carthage ) Having founded the City of Carthage in the 9th c. BC, the Romans eventually took it over and built the usual super cool Roman amphitheatres, and fortresses and such. What we see there today is the barest skeleton of what the Romans had built. There are also several museums that showcase an assortment of artifacts, pottery, art, and even corporeal remains of this civilization. The Roman ruins here are not as delicately protected and meticulously labeled as in other places, so a fair amount is left to the imagination to those of us without extensive backgrounds on the period. So I took lots of pictures and Ravi and I conjectured wildly as to what exactly we were admiring at any given time. This was actually sort of a fun way to visit ruins as my eyes usually glaze over anyway after about an hour of reading captions.

We went from 10 to 4 walking, training, and walking some more and were fairly beat. So we made our way to the beach for the grand finale, kicked some sand around, and had a bite to eat. Of course, I had the obligatory espresso and a meaty shwarma sandwich filled with veggies and spiciness. The day was far from over however. Ravi had used his connections with the U.S. Embassy and got us on the list for a festive embassy football match party - the U.S.vs Ghana game as many of you no doubt have seen or heard about by now. We taxied over to the what would be my first time ever in any embassy and the facade of this one was as blank, drab, and sterile as one could be. Though possibly the largest embassy I have seen in Tunis, it is also the lowest key. Basically, the three hours consisted of a burger BBQ, beer, big-screen football, and lovely discourse with very interesting folk from all over the world - some embassy personnel but most outsiders like Ravi and I who had some connection. Surprisingly, many of the Americans present were pulling for Ghana - I was not however. Many of these guys and gals had served in western Africa at some point and felt connected to this small but proud country and hoped that this tiny victory over the U.S. might somehow mean more to them than it would to the mighty and plundering U.S. I understand the sentiment, but knowing how sad and feeble the U.S. team has been for so long, I was on the home team side and wanted to see the father of a smiling, beautiful family present from Guinea-Bissau and blowing a vuvuzela while wearing a green Ghana football jersey to just pipe down. This was not to be as the U.S. would succumb to the superior team from the small African nation. As a result, I lost a bet of one dinar to Kitty - an American who has lived in more countries than I have ever seen. She was gracious in victory - even buying me a bottle of water. The lone vuvuzela trumpeted in victory. It was a lot of fun and a pleasant introduction to the home embassy. We are scheduled to return Monday for a more formal visit and country briefing. Though, I must admit, I think I will prefer the visits which include a cash bar and grill.  So enjoy the pictures and stay tuned. I have a very busy week including a day trip to Sousse to check out an apartment, an evening with Lee, our AMIDEAST country director, the embassy return visit, and of course, tonight, couscous with my new Tunisian friend, Ibrahim and his family.  A tout a l'heure!

A Room With a View - Tunis's Cosmopolitan Nasser District from Six Floors Up

Jambon et frommage crepe et ce soir

There is something unique about the setting sun here during the summer that gives the evening sky a rich cobalt density presenting an elegant backdrop for the planet Venus, the only celestial object visible shimmering like a radiant cut diamond atop the western horizon. Here in Tunis's upscale High Nasser district, traffic flows without pause all day and well into the night between high rise apartment buildings. One of these, the Residence Miramar is my home for the next three weeks. After five days in a hotel, this is not such a bad change. My new pad is six floors up and only 50 yards from my current dining position. It would not be such a bad place for a longer stay, but Leila, my polyglottal Tunisian supervisor at AMIDEAST with rarefied insouciance and grace under fire which only a woman with French blood could possess, has other plans for me in Sousse. My goal while here in Tunis is to absorb as much as possible about our program and then attempt to recreate aspects of it in the southern office. Essentially, our mission is to prepare highly motivated high school age Tunisians to attend college in the U.S. This is accomplished through academic advising, cultural acclimation, college-level preparatory English training, and assistance in obtaining financial aid among other things. Our office in Sousse has not had the staff and attention of the main office in Tunis and it is hoped that I can assist its development (Insha-Allah!) I have been most impressed with the motivation and desire these kids have. They are inspirational. I truly hope to be of use in making the Sousse branch a more valuable resource for those students who wish to study abroad and make themselves competitive in the world market. This week, I have been given the task of creating a newsletter for our students as well as to begin putting together a small collection for the Sousse academic resource library which consists of SAT prep manuals, university brochures, and other such items. AMIDEAST operates in locations throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Lee Jennings is the country director for Tunisia and Leila is his educational coordinator. The other main wing is the language and professional skills training program. Teachers prepare students to achieve fluency in English so that they may move into our program at some point if they choose. I had the opportunity to meet Lee for the first time today as he has been in the States on personal business the last week. He is a very interesting character and I look forward to getting to know him better. He has been involved in the Peace Corps and international service much of his life and has a robust and palpable, not to mention infectious, desire to make a difference in the world. Next week he has invited me out after work for a chance get acquainted. Leila is also kindly putting together a group dinner for her staff next week, and on Monday we will pay a visit to the U.S. Embassy for an introductory country briefing. Should be an exciting week. I have some pictures to post yet of my neighborhood. I will attempt to do so tomorrow. Until then, Bon soir!

DD

Past Meets Present: A Night at the Bardo Museum

Today began in a rather mundane fashion but developed slowly, as all good things do here, toward a very surprising and most pleasant finale. After knocking out the obligatory Sunday chores - laundry pick up, grocery and cat supply shopping at monoprix- I headed over to the Bardo Museum for a tourist experience. I won't drive my few dear readers away by detailing each piece. Just know the museum showcases Roman period Tunisian art from the Carthage area. Included here are a few of my favorites. The museum was airy and open with large round vaulted arches at every room entrance and ethereal flowing white staircases spiraling to each floor. I nearly enjoyed the graceful architecture of the building as much as the art itself.  As it was under renovation, only about half of the museum was available for tour though they did manage to relocate many of the pieces temporarily to allow for viewing. Though I did break out 3 TD for a guided recording of the exhibit rather than the 25TD live guide, I found it difficult to pay much attention to the audio as I was often interrupted by self appointed "tour guides" offering low grade art history lessons in return for a little spare change. I did get some none too flattering photos of myself out of the deal. I blame the camera operator. You decide for yourself.

The Louvre this is not- but the tiny ceramic tilework really is fantastic stuff. I would probably be more impressed if I knew what I was looking at. Like I said I tried.  As I wound up the tour back at the guide station, a relatively young Tunisian man with a very intense look about him began to query me in very good English about the sordid details of my life and reasons for being in Tunis and, more directly, what I was searching for in the museum this day. I told him I was playing the part of the tourist for a bit, but had much broader ambitions for my 8 month sojourn. This began a long conversation encompassing truth, politics, Americanism, Jewishness, 9/11 conspiracies, Iranian affairs, atheistic Shiites, women's rights, and a host of other topics. I suggested we take our discussion to a cafe if he knew of one nearby. So we sat for a couple hours sipping espresso under an unusually cloudy summer Tunisian sky with a blustery wind keeping me comfortably cool and Ibrahim mildly disconcerted. As we sat, a gathering crowd - men only - began to surround us as a Tunis club soccer match started on TV. He informed me it was the Prophet - not Bourgiba -who gave Tunisian women their exalted status. While he confesses women are sacred, the unusual liberties that females are afforded by the constitution are not to his liking. He said he chooses not to be married because a wife must stay at home and the man must make enough money to support her. When he informed me the average wage for a blue collar worker in Tunis was about 400 TD a month,  it took all i could manage not to spit my espresso out. I saw his dilemma. To compensate for his lack of marital status, he claimed to have 6 girlfriends. Very nice. Whether true or not --this type of hyper-masculine talk seems to dominate much of men's conversations from what I observed later on. Or maybe he avoids marriage as he admitted regretfully being once married to an Italian wife. Another thing I learned was that the average Tunisian does not have the opportunity to leave his or her country. Ibrahim placed the blame predominantly on other countries and their regulations.

I don't know how true that is, but it is obvious his income does not allow him to do much travelling. He said the Hajj is merely a fantasy as it would cost him around 4,000 TD. His other dream journey is Cuba interestingly enough. He said it embodies his vision of "freedom." I said that was ironic considering that Cuba is the one place Americans can't-legally-go. We talked some more as the the cafe became more crowded and I had my first sheesha -- an apple flavored water pipe. I re-learned how to slow down and just relax. Next thing I knew he was inviting me to his house in the Martyrs district for dinner. Knowing this was an honor, I quickly accepted, though I did obligatorily mention I didn't wish to trouble him or his family. Ibrahim's father left for Italy when his son was only 14. Apparently he was some sort of political dissident. Ibrahim's older brother is in jail for reasons not made entirely clear but along the same lines it seems. My companion appears to adore his president but sees the actions of his father as an emboldening burden he must bear as the current leader of his home -- which includes his mother -- Maboobe, a 60 something Berber who once visited Turkey long ago and was not impressed. She speaks only Tunsi Arabic; his sister, about 21years old I guess, who appears very contemporary with french manicure and pedicure; and his younger brother Yusuf, about 13, who also likes boxing and plays soccer. This responsibility as head of the house gives Ibrahim a stern focus and determination I rarely see in American men who are unmarried. Upon arrival, I admit I was a bit anxious not wanting to make any huge cultural gaffes, I greeted everyone warmly in my best two or three words of Arabic introductions -- Thanks Lonely Planet guide! All five of use congregated in the living room. They were watching a Ben Stiller movie, and I attempted to be as gracious as humanly possible - especially toward Maboobe. The apartment was furnished warmly but it was clear this was not a wealthy family. I did not discover whether his sister works or not. Dinner was set on the table in the kitchen - Spicy white beans with peppers, baguette, and bottled water. Added was a tasty green salad - just for me I was told. Ibrahim invited me to the table while the ladies and boy waited in the living room. We used only our hands- though his mother had set out forks, I was informed she only did so because I was there. He even showed me the correct method in which to procure and deliver food to the mouth in this fashion. Faltering slightly, I managed a nice spicy red sheen all over my goatee which provided some amusement. After we had mostly finished - I had two helpings out of respect- plus it was tasty fare, Yusuf was called in to eat. At this point there seemed only enough food left in the pot for him from what I saw. I grew very concerned that the women might not have anything left for themselves. Ibrahim was seemingly unconcerned. I called into the living room from the kitchen professing in my best Arabic - learned only moments before from my host- professing my sincerest thanks for the food to Maboobe. She called back in appreciation. Wow. I must say this level of hospitality staggered me. We made our way back into the living room and chatted some more. His sister speaks English quite well. Before I knew it, I had been invited for a formal dinner next Sunday of traditional couscous. Again, I knew this was a tremendous show of respect. I accepted and will be contemplating the most appropriate gift for this auspicious occasion. Ibrahim and I took off for his local town cafe - sort of a Cheers for him I would say - after I gave as many endearments of gratitude as I could muster. I truly don' t know when or if the women even ate. What followed was another two hours of male bonding, ridiculing, joking, insults, and alcohol-free good times. I was truly a duck out of water here in this setting and Ibrahim capitalized on this opportunity to shock all his friends with this tall, pale, non-Arabic speaking American who apparently has no fear of unusual settings or being used partially for the good humor of others. I learned many new Arabic phrases and met many interesting characters. They were all various insults and swears that I cannot repeat here regarding mothers and unfortunate activities best said if some crazy driver attempts to run you over or if you simply want to harass your coffee barista. Willett, pictured here, became the butt of most of the jokes, and I was used to deliver the insults in my haltingly humorous parroted Arabic. Everyone, all men, were in stitches at this novelty. Willett tested me by saying he always wanted to come to America - and that he was a terrorist from Iraq. I retorted he is probably from southern Iraq and called him a dirty Shiite. Of course, all Tunisians are Sunnis and this made everyone fall to the floor in laughter. From then on, Willett was "Willey" to me and whenever he tried to insult me I reminded him that he was a Shiite in a room full of Sunnis. This interaction would never have occurred in a million years if Ibrahim had not gotten to know me over the last few hours. This was another amazingly rare experience no doubt.

As I intimated earlier, hyper masculine banter was the name of the game among Tunisian cafe men. It reminded me greatly of my infantry days in the army of the type of homo-erotic humor that most civilians just don't get. I felt right at home strangely enough. Willey's yellow short shorts made him the prime suspect in the room for illegal homosexual activity. I met another six or seven of Ibrahim's close friends as well. It was getting late and I suggested I should go home soon and prepare for my work week. One fellow teased me by saying there were nefarious gangsters lurking around outside. Others laughed, but he seemed to maintain an air of concern for me. All I know is, Ibrahim stayed closely by me as we made our way to find a taxi. We even got to see some of the late night wedding festivities of a local family on an upsatirs balcony while waiting for my ride - All Ululation, drums and dancing.We exchenged phone numbers and I departed. He was very adamant about calling me on my mobile IN the taxi as I was headed home and he made me promise to call him once I was safely in my room. Fascinating. I am not really sure exactly how concerned I should have been but maybe ignorance was bliss? I think he is just over-protective.  All in all a pretty spectacular day that afforded me some phenomenal insight. Ibrahim said he didn't know of any other American men who had been into his favorite cafe. He said the threats of secret police kept the embassy guys away. Maybe he is exaggerating. Maybe not. But a couple of his friends insinuated I might be CIA. Go figure. Witty retorts fueled by three or four espressos go a long way to overcoming such suspicions. Who would have thought?

DD

Lessons Learned

1) Cat litter is hard to find. Still Looking. going to the beach next for some sand as a last resort.

2) When out and about around town, don't order whiskey - especially Scotch. One glass cost me 20 TD.
This seems to pertain to anything imported - especially illicit items like alcohol.

3) 1.5 TD (Tunisian Dinar) is approximately 1 Dollar US. So about 75 cents to 1 TD no?

4) To put things in perseprctive a steak hache sandwitch - a delicious meaty creation with spices, greens, and even french fries inside a baked pita like roll is about 3.5 TD. A four star meal - you know, the kind inside an old 19th c. mansion with the three waiters including the guy that brushes your hairless table for stray crumbs - that amazing meal with wine and all the extravagance including a phenomenal Kanoune performer - that cost 90 TD. Cabs are dirt cheap. You can ride all over town for less than 5TD easy.

5) I need a tan.

6) I need to learn Tunisian Arabic. Everybody here just about speaks French. But you are still a pasty white French speaking foreigner. These factors cause opportunistic Medina scammers to want to personally befriend you by telling you that they have a brother in Chicago - its always Chicago - and then to personally take charge of your once random wandering as they steer you toward their "preferred" establishments. Just say no. or perhaps la - ayeeshick.

7) There are plenty of truly great, honest, cordial people who likely do want to befriend you and not use you to make themselves a few dinar. Stick with those.

8) CNN in English is on cable TV here, but strangely, it cuts out more often than it is on. Its the only station that acts this way. On the internet, youtube is unavailable due to censorship, as apparently now is skype, and virtually anything naughty - so I have heard anyway. No whiskey and no US TV news. Its a good thing I have lots of books.


9) If you don't know what President Ben Ali looks like. Come to Tunisia. You will.

10) Prior to coming over here I received about 6 different shots for various innoculations and a round of pills for typhoid. I was told during my medical brief never to drink unbottled water, or to eat fresh vegetables. I am somewhat careful about the water I gulp down but eat nearly anything that looks clean. So far so good. I was told about a million other things I am not supposed to do but have forgotten many or find them extremly impractical. Try to do better when you come over.

11) Drink Celtia! It is Biere de Luxe!

12) Walking through the medina's narrow covered alleys at night is a fascinating test for the senses. Ancient cobbled roads, high walls looming on either side with awnings on each side nearly touching one another create a breezy expericence optimal for hot sunny North African days and haunting for the solo traveler at night. The smell of urine, spices, the cloying scent of a passing young Tunisian male, garbage, bread, the remains of the day all serve to guide your way through the nocturnal labyrinth. There are no lights. While packed full of shopkeepers, tourists, and locals by day, the medina is nearly empty at night. I had no idea where I was going really - just walked until I hit car traffic and found a navigable street. At dusk the medina transforms itself into the domain of the cats.

13) Learn the major city streets by heart BEFORE you get here. It helps.

14) Law and Order in French ROCKS!

15) Fifteen lessons is enough to bore anybody to death. Le fin.

Day 1 - Tunis

So there I was.... sprinting like a star running back (more like a sweaty stumbling shuffle jogger) with a 40 lb. backpack and a cat crate in each hand from the ticket counter, through security, to the end of the terminal, onto a bus, and onto the Tunis Air shuttle across the Mediterranean Sea. This was one of the more fantastic feats of athleticism since my Army days. Seriously. We are talking several hundred yards of this insanity punctuated with a FRANTIC guided search at customs that you simply would not believe.  So how did I get myself in this position? I knew I had a tight layover as I landed in Rome at 9:25am, pick up cats from American baggage pickup, go through customs, back into the airport, to the ticket counter at Tunis Air, back through customs, searched again, frisked the cats, and onto the the airplane to Tunis leaving at 11:20am. That departure time came and went as some guys at the ticket counter in front of me with no tickets were seemingly trying to bribe the counter agent into doing something unorthodox to get them on. By the time I got to the counter, it was already 11:00. I was not happy. Did I mention I had already gone through a fiasco just to find where Rome baggage claim had taken the cats? For some reason, after my demented scamper through the airport, I reached the STILL WAITING plane after 12:00pm. That's right. They held a full plane with about a hundred passengers for over 40 minutes - for me. Unbelievable! I was at the door of the plane and told to halt. The captain came out personally to inspect my precious cargo. There was a pained look on his face as I asked him in breathless rusty French, "Permission to board, Captain?" He waived me and the boys in with a look of bemused contempt. Interesting. I THEN brought in each crate ONE by ONE through the length of the plane over everyone's heads, sweating, dying and simply amazed that no one tried to trip me for delaying them all so long. As I settled into the back I was immediately befriended by the Tunisian flight crew. To be honest, more people in Rome were interested and concerned for my cats by far than anywhere else I have been. As the plane took off into a beautiful sunny sky I had my first crossing of the Mediterranean as I made my first Tunisian friend - Amine. By the time the 50 minute flight was over he had given me his phone number and promised to do anything he could to help get me settled in to the city. What a wonderful introduction to my new temporary home. I must say the linguistic abilities of most Tunisians is fantastic. Most speak Arabic and French fluently. Many others speak Italian, and English as well. Impressive.
After touching down we made the short trip through the Tunis airport where I was told to put the cats through the x-ray machine. I should have protested. But I didn't. I was just too tired. I would have put myself through the thing if they had asked. Another 30 minutes went by while I picked up some Tunisian Dinars and caught a cab to my hotel. I spent the afternoon getting the boys settled into the new room and reporting in for duty at AMIDEAST. Leila is my supervisor. Her French is Parisian's finest (Her mother was French, father Tunisian) and the manner in which she slips fluidly from Arabic, to English, to French is stupefying. Most of her star Tunisian pupils do likewise. We discussed her plans for me -- which include three weeks in Tunis and most of the rest of my time in Sousse arranging the upstart program there after the model in Tunis. At 4:30 pm, I left and wandered around the city like a lost child. It was quite warm and sunny, but not too hot. The traffic has the feel of New York streets but with no lines anywhere. It will take a little getting used to this continuous near death sensation of crossing the street. I walked past parks, down dirty streets, past local women in hijabs, and others in high heels and tight clothing. Men dominated the cafes and public areas while women appear to arrange themselves into the background scenery somehow. This creates an interesting contrast to the highly female dominated atmosphere at AMIDEAST. Several of the women I met today there told me they were excited at the prospect of having another man on staff. While stalled at an incomprehensible street intersection, I was "befriended" by a stout and irresolutely friendly man by the name of Aziz who spoke three or four different languages. This makes it difficult to appear not to understand someone if you wish to avoid contact. He essentially took me on a two hour walking tour as his "fellow brother" and it only cost me $10 or $15 as I paid his "fee" by being overcharged for the various items we bought. I knew what was happening but he was transparent enough to me and not bad as a source of information. This appears to be de rigour for lost souls such as myself.  The faces of the men on the street and the masculine vibes are extraordinary. The women look defiant in contrast. The endless supply of street cats have haunting desperate eyes. I saw one tearing some sinew off of some indescribable hunk of meat. I suspect it might have been a goat's head. I reflected on the rare curiosity my cats must have been to all the Tunisians who watched me actually carting mine around like some priceless exotic treasures.
I am intrigued already with the people here and with my new job. This is like nowhere I have been in Asia, the States, Central America, or Europe. Tunis has its own rhythm. Hopefully I can match it.


DD

En Route

10:40 PM CST, Jun 16th – Mid North Atlantic Ocean: What is it about flying over 600 mph and 6.5 miles up that requires a whiskey cocktail? What IS going on in Greenland right now? This may be the closest I ever get to it. I have heard it really isn’t all that verdant despite the name. What does either of these thoughts have to do with Tunisia or Arab culture? Not much I suppose, but the plane is dark with some god awful “bad girl gets married” chick flick providing the only source of visual stimulation other than my computer screen. Man I really need a crown and coke. The attendants are chattering in the back of the 767 as a few people I suspect manage to catch some zzz’s. My body Seiko is still somewhere around mountain time and is in for a rude awakening come noon tomorrow – about the time I am scheduled to arrive in Tunis. Meanwhile this bird is landing in Rome at 0920 tomorrow. It is going to take some real flight feet to get myself and the cats on our connecting flight on Tunis Air, Insha’ allah (God Willing.) For those of you contemplating your own feline accompanied international travel episode, all I can say is…. It’s not terrifically easy. At $150 bucks a head for cargo hold seating and two separate vet visits, not to mention super deluxe cat carriers…. It’s not cheap. All I keep thinking now though is …man….it’s been 8 hours since they were put in their cages and it’s gonna be at least four more before they get a bathroom break. Damn. Don’t worry though - I put in top of the line wetness absorbers to protect the delicate American shorthair fur. TMI I know.


I want to take a moment and shout out to two people who made this current elevation – and trip – possible: Cam and Ariel. Those two maniacs spent several days of their lives just to help get me packed up, moved and transported to the airport. I won’t go into boring painful detail because it is simply too embarrassing to reveal what an uncontrollable hoarder I am. Unbelievable. If you see one of these characters buy them a massage or something. They really deserve it. I look forward to treating them both right when they each make their way over for a good ole Tunisian hoe-down, or, umm, something, in a few months. As a pleasant harbinger of my upcoming experience, I happened to get a hotel Monday night right by a Somalian restaurant. Right there in SEATAC. Yeah, it’s a city and an airport. Crazy. They were out of goat meat sadly so I settled for chicken. The food and the World Cup soccer rocked. I managed to find my new favorite Mexican summer brew- Sol- in quart bottle size next door too. Nice. Comfort Inn at the Seattle is officially recommended.

Enough blathering for now. It’s time to chase down an attendant and give a toast to Mr. Bernoulli.

DD