Where to begin? We've been in Tunisia for two weeks
now and it has totally blown me away. Here's why:
You can be a visitor not a tourist.
Tunisia relies on tourism, and their model is to
create a Zone Touristique at certain points on the coast. Cheap packages fly in
hoardes of Germans, Poles, Russians and Brits, who generally stay in
all-inclusive hotels. They enjoy the sun, sea and sand, and seem to have very
little interaction with the local people. We're clearly not package tourists
but certainly still foreigners so we've caused a bit of a stir. The reaction
we're getting so far is overwhelmingly positive. Everyone is genuinely
interested in us and what we're doing. This makes it far easier and more
enjoyable to find out about them.
Finding somewhere to sleep is an adventure of its own.
They don't really 'do' campsites here: there are
outdoor centres for kids which often let campervans stay over. Otherwise it's
generally safe to sleep beside a port, by a beach, or in a field, provided you
clear it first with the Guarde Nationale. The few accepted camping places that
do exist are hard to find. Red triangles mark them on our map, but that seems
arbitrary. We were lucky to meet Michael the overlanding German early on: it
turned out he worked for Garmin and gave us co-ordinates of many more possible
pitstops.
Even the coppers are nice.
Huw is skeptical by nature; I trust everyone
wholeheartedly until they give me reason not to. It works well when travelling:
I lead us into potentially risky situations he wouldn't entertain, and his
suspicion prevents things going too far. On our first night, when we asked if
we could camp by the beach, the local coppers insisted we sleep outside the cop
shop instead. Huw was instantly wary, and more so the next morning when
Mohammed jumped in and guided us to the nearest 'campsite', a scout centre in
the next town. He showed us around: the beach, the supermarket, the patisserie,
the internet cafe, and he wanted nothing. Huw couldn't believe it. Since then,
the Guarde Nationale have popped up and quietly kept tabs on us as we've moved
around the country. Always polite and friendly, they do seem genuinely
concerned for our wellbeing. The only thing is, Tunisia has yet to show us
there's anything to be concerned of.
It's not all dune and dusted. (Sorry,
that's a bad one. Couldn't resist.)
In my ignorance, I'd imagined the landscape to consist
of endless sand dunes, dotted with the occasional oasis. That might be true of
the south, but it's definitely a country of two halves. When my parents arrived
last week (luckily the volcano crisis was over in time for their flight) we
headed out round the Cap Bon, "the garden of Tunisia", then along the
north coast almost as far as Algeria and back to Tunis on the inland road. All
along our route was lush vegetation, some wild, some tamed. Eucalyptus and
olive trees in abundance, plus cypress and pines. And none of us could get over
the flowers: dense carpets of yellow, purple and red spreading over entire
fields. White butterflies led our way.
The French influence is everywhere.
I've found communication frustratingly difficult in
Arabic countries, having inane non-conversations, smiling lots, with words
screaming inside your head to get out. But in Tunisia everyone is bi-lingual,
and with a little French you can have far more decent communication with people
in shops, station ticket offices, taxi drivers, police, waiters. They also make
wine and bake baguettes here, and in the patisseries croissants sit happily
beside baklava.
Old men wear flowers in their hair.
I've not worked out why yet, I just love that they do.
They've got good ruins.
I'm not really one for archaeological site-seeing, but
I appreciate a good stack of rocks when I see one. Last week we saw the
Carthaginian village of Kerkouane, abandoned in the 2nd century BC and each
house still with its red, pink and white mosaicked bathroom, the unique Roman
underground town of Bulla Regia, and the dramatic hilltop city of Dougga which
in the 4th century AD housed 10,000 people. Highlights were the Capitol,
remarkably well preserved due to a fortification the Byzantines built around
it, the communal toilets in the baths and the city brothel, named demurely at
the site as 'The biggest house in Dougga'. Originally a stone with a relief of
a phallus had stood outside the door to identify the building, but the
authorities, "concerned for tourist sensibilities" moved it a few
years ago.
You get ignored in the market.
Anyone who's walked through the souks in Egypt or
Morocco might assume they'd be hassled in Tunisia. Think again. The markets
here are colourful and vibrant as you'd expect, but also pleasant and,
surprisingly, relaxing. Even the main stretch of the Tunis Medina is a joy to
walk along. With mum and dad, we also went to the Sunday market at Korba, the
Tuesday one at Bizerte and the Saturday one in Hammam Lif. At all of these it
was a complete relief to feel that they really couldn't give a damn whether we
were there or not. We weren't in the way, we weren't an attraction or someone
to be ripped off. We were just shoppers, unusual ones at most, looking for a
chopping board, a brush and dustpan, some mint.
You can hold hands in the street in Tunis, just about.
The attitude here to public displays of affection is
hardly liberal, but it's not bad. In the cities it seems things are changing,
and (we're both aware of the the dangers of offending our hosts) it seems that
a little touching is ok. We've seen young lovers holding hands on the train and
couples alone on quiet streets.
Women here have greater equality than elsewhere in the
Arab world.
They work alongside men in many professions and we've
seen women in police and military uniforms. Young girls love their skinny jeans
and Converse trainers. From what we've seen of the north, maybe two thirds
don't cover their heads, and some show their arms. Huw spotted one lady with a
sexy off-the-shoulder number. Trust him! Skin stands out like a sore thumb: I
cringe when I see a group of tourists in town in spaghetti-strap tops and
shorts: bare legs are never shown by locals, they seem to be the last taboo.
Route, photos and more at www.thelongandwinding.co.uk
