Morocco Malta and the Med: Revisiting Life in Tunis
Sunrise getting close to Tunis.
You may be a little hazy on where Tunisia is:
We recognize Carthage and Sidi Bou Said, but everything is so much more built up.
Saint Louis Cathedral up on the hill, we remember. Oh wow, Wikipedia tells me it is no longer a cathedral: Since 1993, the cathedral has been known as the “Acropolium”. It is no longer used for worship, but instead hosts public events or concerts of Tunisian music and classical music. Currently, the only Roman Catholic cathedral operating in Tunisia is the Cathedral of St. Vincent de Paul in Tunis.[1] Hunh. Acropolium.
We had exactly the day we needed in Tunis, thanks to this fine man, Noureddine Boukari. We found him through Tours by Locals, and he corresponded with us to determine exactly what we wanted to see and experience in our precious few hours in Tunis.
He was there to pick us up as we exited the boat. He took us directly downtown, along Habib Bourgiba to the Central Market and the souks as they were opening. It was a great beginning; the Central Market hasn’t changed much in forty years; people can still find the freshest fish and local vegetables as they do their daily shopping.
LOL this thrilled my heart!
This was so much fun for me – probably because as a young wife, shopping for food was challenging at first – buying by weight in the markets, always carrying our own bags to put our vegetables in. I have so many hilarious stories, mostly because I was so ignorant, and had to learn new ways.
Noureddine introduced us to friends who were shopkeepers, and they had a great time talking with AdventureMan.
As I type this up, I hear the words in French and Arabic for eggs, parsley, pumpkins – it comes roaring back, words I haven’t used in a while.
And we head for the souks, which are just opening. The whole medina area is SO clean now!
The Hotel Royal Victoria on the right used to be the British Embassy a long time ago, right at the main entry to the souks.
I didn’t do a lot of shopping on this trip, but I found in these souks a beautiful silk scarf hand woven in Mahdia for my daughter-in-law and a huge red sefsari in the old pattern for the woman who stays in our house and cares for the cats while we are gone, and who, like me, loves textiles.
These date pastries/cookies are so delicious. Noureddine is taking a box to his family.
Our chariot awaits. We drive around Tunis and arrive at the Bardo just as all the tour groups are leaving. Noureddine leads us through the centuries of mosaics. The Bardo is more beautiful and more organized than it was all those years ago.
The Bardo itself is a former palace. Now it holds priceless mosaics taken from ruins of houses built throughout Tunisian history (Tunis, Carthage, Dougga, Kairoan, Djerba – it is impressive.)
The imagination and the execution of the work is exquisite.
Below is an intricate ceiling.
View of Tunis from the Bardo Palace.
A treasure discovered with hundreds of gold coins and one silver coin (at the bottom).
Ancient Punic Gods. Some are really hideous.
This is the house where once we lived, but not in this house, in the house that used to be there. I am glad Noureddine found the address, but it is not the house where we lived. But it IS on the way to Carthage and Sidi Bou Said, and to a delightful lunch of bric, and couscous.
Brik!
Fresh fish, which Noureddine skilfully deboned for us.
Vegetable couscous. I’ve never tasted carrots as delicious as those grown in Tunisia.
We have a lovely walk around Sidi Bou Said before heading back to the ship.
On return to the Viking Saturn, as instructed, we had our shore passes out and ready to give to the official collecting them. But there was no official collecting them! No one was collecting them! We still have them! Just in case.
The sun is setting over Tunis.
As we sail away, a flock of gulls trail us, hoping for a hand out!
Just in case you are, like me a map person, this is a general idea of the route we took today:
No, No, I Won’t Let Go!
AdventureMan and I make a great team. He is making sure the outside and the garage sparkle, and I am taking care of the inside, except for his office and his personal clothing. He likes to manage those himself, and I can’t blame him.
There are mornings I can barely face another day of packing, and then I remember Fort Leavenworth, when my riding boots arrived, packed without wrapping, in a box with my evening dresses. There was a part of me that felt outraged, dishonored. Who would do such a thing? And another part that empathized with the worker at the end of a long day, packing for a privileged woman who had riding boots, and evening gowns, and saying “what the hell.”
I learned a good lesson. If it matters to you, pack it yourself. If you can’t pack it yourself, have a special crate built for it.
We were so young, but we saved our money and bought a bird cage from Monsieur Samouda, in Sidi bou Said, Tunisia, and had a crate built for it. We’ve had it for forty years now with many moves and no damage.
I have packed a lot of boxes in my life.
I’m finding that there are some things I can part with easily. And then some things I can’t let go.
We met and spent our early married years in Germany. This was our wedding candle, lo, those many years ago. I had to stop burning it on our anniversaries when it started to collapse. It still makes me smile. I can’t let go.
My Mother and Father were in the Wednesday night bowling league in Germany, and they were very good bowlers. They were also on the admin board of the league, and were in charge of the prizes, which they often won. Texting back and forth with my sisters today, I learned that they served on that committee to insure that each of the daughters received an identical crystal cookie tree, which my Mother won each year in the final tournament. Post-war Germany was a wonderland for Americans who lived there. I’m not ready to let this go. One sister let hers go long ago, the other is using hers to hold her jewelry.
I know I should let this pot go – I think it is a fish poacher – and I can’t. We bought it in the Souk al Hammadiyya in Damascus. I can tell I have cooked in it once or twice in the forty years I have owned it, not enough to make it valuable for its utility. The reason I can’t let it go is because of the artistry of the handle. Not even that it looks so beautiful, but the bird handle fits perfectly in your hand. It feels GOOD. I’ve never had any pot or pan that had such a sensuously lovely handle. Someone who made this handle really knew what he was doing, and created it with heart.
When my husband came home today, the first thing that happened when he saw the pot was that he reached for the handle, and then asked “are you thinking of parting with this?” I said “No, I can’t.”
I wish you could put your hand on this bird handle. It’s that special.
We have a family message thread with my son and his wife, who are moving to a larger home as we move to a smaller home. I often take photos and say “would you like this?” maybe with an explanation, and they say yes or no.
This time, AdventureMan texted back immediately: “Not the Kuwait Teapot from the Blue Elephant!” and I immediately packed it to take with us. When we first got to Kuwait, he planned to take me out for Valentine’s dinner, not realizing that it was one of the hugest date nights of the year in Kuwait. On Valentine’s Day, he called everywhere looking for reservations, but there were none to be had.
Being American, we like to eat earlier than Kuwaiti people, so I suggested we dress and go to the Blue Elephant, a favorite restaurant at the Hilton Hotel on the beach, where we were known. When we got there, there were only a few other couples.
“So go in there and beg,” I suggested with a grin, “Tell them we will eat quickly and be out in an hour.” I think he did exactly that. I don’t know what he said, maybe a little money changed hands, but very soon we were ushered to a table, and reminded that we needed to be out by eight, when the table was reserved.
We had a lovely dinner, at the end of which he bought me the little elephant teapot. What I love is that I am not the only one who can’t let go. 🙂
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