Sunday, February 21, 2010
Trip to Tunisia
Mat & Natty gave us a lift to the railway station in Wigan. The train was on time and we ended up sitting outside a toilet, so when the conductor came along, we asked if we could go through to the next carriage where we found better seats, and bumped into Simon, Cheryl’s bosses son who was off to join the army. He was obviously very nervous and relieved to have someone he knew to talk to, at least some of the way.
Soon we were at the airport and the first thing we did was book in, then wandered outside to have a smoke and we also got some breakfast. Just as well, because we hadn’t pre-paid for an in flight meal. Soon we were boarding and then followed an uneventful flight, ending with a somewhat bumpy landing, no matter; we had arrived!
At the Monastir airport, we queued to go through immigration and finally got to the front. Everyone on a Brit passport got through no problem, but my South African one seemed to present a problem and the Immigration Officer intimated that some English chocolate might speed up the process of getting me a visa. Anyway, someone with the authority finally came along and after having to change some Brit currency into Tunisian Dinar’s, I was able to pay the 10 Dinar fee and we were on our way.
After being directed to the coach that would drop us at our hotel, we were told a delightful story by the tourist operator rep who has lived in Tunisia for some 10 years. A law had been brought out that motorcyclists had to have motorcycle helmets and the law was immediately enforced. The police confiscated the motorcycles from disgruntled owners who did not conform to the new law, but those who possessed a helmet whether it was being worn or just attached somewhere on the motorcycle, were allowed to carry on as usual. On our way into Monastir from our hotel the next day, we passed a motorcycle; the driver wore no helmet, but there was one strapped to the frame! Classic!
One thing we were not prepared for, coming here, is how tenacious the Tunisians are to get a sale. We were in the market in Monastir when Cheryl spotted a carton of cigarettes and (big mistake) showed an interest in it. The stall minder immediately leapt into action with the claim the cigarettes were as ‘cheap as chips; cheaper than ASDA’ (they all use that line to the English) I enquired about the price and he informed me the carton was 120 Dinar’s. I was horrified and he asked me my bottom price to which I responded ‘20 Dinar’s’. He came down to 70, but I had already decided not to buy from him; he had stated an outrageous sum at the beginning. So we started to walk off. He ran after us, dropped to 40 and we carried on walking and when he said OK 20, we still walked on.
We were also royally ripped off by one shop owner who sold us some candles in ceramic pots for a ridiculous price, but we learnt quickly. I told Cheryl, much to her chagrin, that she mustn’t become the defenceless, weak damsel and plead to me to help, because it only drives the salesman to push more aggressively for a sale. She defended herself with indignation, but when we were next at a market, her haggling had improved ten fold!
The morning after we arrived at the hotel, all the new guests who had come with Thompson’s or First Choice, met with the agent, a young Scottish lad named Scott. He gave a brief outline of what there was to do, and we opted to do the ‘Walk on the wild side’ and the ‘Show stoppers’ on the Friday. We had already spoken to a local fellow who introduced himself as Ali Baba, although I doubt that’s his proper name; he just uses it because tourists will remember it! He offered a camel/horse ride or (as they put it) riding on the asses, which tickled me somewhat. The ride would end at the home of a local person, where an elderly woman would make bread (the traditional way) and this would be served with freshly made olive oil, salad and chilli. Whilst at this rural home, we got to see a traditional Bedouin tent and I was surprised to find it made of sisal fibre and dyed black, possibly some sort of preservative is also infused so the fibre can withstand the elements. Camel riding is very uncomfortable, I reckon I’ll stick to horses. At the half way point of the ride, we all dismounted, one of the camels’ muzzle was removed and a piece of cactus leaf (the thorns had been removed) was handed to each of the guests. The idea was to hold the piece of cactus in your mouth and the camel would take it from you. My turn came and before I knew it, the camels soft, hairy lips brushed mine and he had the cactus leaf which he proceeded to gobble down eagerly.
All the trips we went on were ’OK’, not unforgettable though, I suppose we have been spoilt with the places we have visited and where we have lived. Wherever you go here, there is litter and the stench of open sewers. These open sewers also end up in the sea, so it’s just as well it has been too cold to swim.
Another thing we did was to treat ourselves to a massage. Cheryl went for the one where they put mud all over her after a massage, then that got steamed off in a Turkish bath. I just had the reflexology. It was good, but on the way there, we had accepted a lift, gratis, on a horse drawn cart, so we felt obliged to go back on the same one. The driver, then proceeded to take us off for an hour and a half, to a little town close by. We were not amused, and it was cold. We shouldn’t have paid him when we finally got back to the hotel, but did, just to keep the peace. Needless to say, we warned others not to get onto the horse carriages for fear the same might happen to them.
The Walk on the wild side trip started off with Cheryl and I waking to the phone ringing. We had overslept! We hurriedly got ready and rushed down stairs to the bus. Cheryl got told off by the tour guide, an elderly local fellow, short, round and full of self importance. Proper ‘short-man-syndrome’ example! I had forgotten my jacket, and froze my butt off when off the bus. The first thing I did at the market was buy a tracksuit top. We stopped at a pottery factory where we watched a potter, and some ladies and gents painting the pottery, the ceramics made here are really good, but we had to be careful with luggage weight on our return flight, not to mention money.
Our tour guide on this trip, Mr. Short, Round & Pompous, spouted the biggest load of crap I’ve heard in a long time; for instance, olive trees maybe 2 meters in height that are 3000 years old! I think from that point I found it hard to believe anything he said, but a few interesting things were mentioned, i.e.; children here start learning Arabic from age 4, French from age 6 and English from age 8. Also, national service is compulsory for men at age 20. The problem this presents though, is those with jobs in the private sector will lose their jobs when they go for their year stint of national service, so a solution was offered; they can do their month basic training and return to their job, but then have to pay in lieu of their national service amounts that may be up to or even more than half their income. Women can also do national service, but it is not compulsory and they train at a separate facility to the men.
The animal park was, again; OK. The animals are kept in large enclosures, but still, they are caged. But this sort of thing, I suppose, is necessary because young and old can actually see animals they would otherwise only read about or see in pictures. Again, we have been spoilt and we have seen things as they should be; in the wild state. So apart from seeing a few African animals, this place, for me, is not Africa, it is not wild enough, it is people, sand and sea, not the African wilderness as I know it. The only other animals we had seen, that is apart from the camels we had ridden, sheep and horses, were some caged parakeets and emus’ in a little park in our hotel grounds and some peacocks that wandered around the hotel grounds, and the only birds we had seen flying free were blackbirds a laughing dove, some gulls, storks and house sparrows. While I was leaning through the fence railing of the emu cage to get an unobstructed photo of the babies, I heard thumping footsteps approaching at a run and when Cheryl shouted a warning I leapt back just in time to avoid a protective emu mum protecting her young. This of course made Cheryl’s’ day and she couldn’t stop laughing. The only witness to this funny little incident was another guest who wears his pants up around his neck and walks about with his hips sticking forward, shoulders back with arms dangling straight down, his nose up in the air (not in a snobbish way) and with a perpetual smile on his face. Whenever we saw him he was smiling and walking around with a weird gait like a drunk chimp.
Most of the guests were just normal people, but a few stood out from the crowd; there was an old African couple, of what origin I cannot guess, but I have never seen a couple dote on each other quite as much or in the way that they do. It is truly touching to see. He, a tall bespectacled and scholarly looking old gent, made sure she never wanted for anything, and she, quite fragile looking, never expected that sort of treatment and their mutual admiration and respect for each other was plain to see. They seem to have accepted each others quirks and rather than develop misgivings about them, they embrace them and they offer each other comfort and support and above all, love.
Another group who caught my attention were ‘the power walkers’. We called them this because that’s what they did. There were three young lads, two young ladies and a middle aged chap who was their trainer. I think they must have been training for the Olympics and indeed, spent most of their time training. I think they were from Poland, and next Olympics I will make a point of watching the power walking to see if any of them feature. Then there’s an elderly fellow with pointy features and a long narrow face. He wears glasses and is bald on top with a ‘horseshoe’ ring of grey hair back and sides. When he eats, he holds both knife and fork the same way (like most people hold a fork), but that’s not the strange or rather quirky thing, he puts food into his mouth with the fork, then uses the knife to put more in. What a hoot it is watching other peoples odd ways! And speaking of odd ways, I know I probably have some myself, probably more than most, but my dearly beloved, Cheryl, is full of quirks; When she eats, she takes a long time because she puts such tiny portions into her mouth. In fact each little portion is measured; she will anchor a piece of food with her fork, then the knife comes down to cut a reasonably decent sized mouthful, then she carefully moves the knife back towards the fork until she is satisfied the portion is to her liking, then cuts and eats. The pudding though is at an altogether different level, especially when there are two or more types that taste nice together, then each one is measured in exacting amounts so that they all finish at the same time. I am not an impatient person, but watching my other half eat drives me nutty, then I look over to the delightful old couple who have all the time in the world for each other and are comfortable with each others oddities, and I feel guilty about my impatience. But not guilty enough that I don’t let Cheryl know that I am finished and ready to go.
Our next trip was to a hotel in Sousse to the Sousse Palace Hotel. I’ve not been to the theatre since I left school, I think. So I was prepared not to enjoy the evening. How is that for making your own reality. I actually enjoyed it thoroughly. It still isn’t really ‘my cup of tea’ but I had a good time and Cheryl go some half decent photo’s of the occasion.
Today’s weather is lousy. This morning we were going to go quad biking, but the bus never pitched up and we ended up back in the hotel. Cheryl is ready to go back home, so am I, but not to work and I’m not sure I can call England home yet anyway. Africa will always be my home, even though it has taken so much from me, and from so many others. I guess a lot of people probably feel that way about the UK and of other parts of Europe. I suppose, it is about coming to terms with yourself about what is really important to you and trying to balance things out so everyone is happy. I have decided to do a course to qualify as an eco-tourism guide, then use that to get a job back in Africa. So, hopefully, in the not too distant future, that is where (hopefully) we, will go. So the order of things must be; getting that qualification, my health (because that will be my security, ensuring I can keep working for many years ahead) See pics in next post
Soon we were at the airport and the first thing we did was book in, then wandered outside to have a smoke and we also got some breakfast. Just as well, because we hadn’t pre-paid for an in flight meal. Soon we were boarding and then followed an uneventful flight, ending with a somewhat bumpy landing, no matter; we had arrived!
At the Monastir airport, we queued to go through immigration and finally got to the front. Everyone on a Brit passport got through no problem, but my South African one seemed to present a problem and the Immigration Officer intimated that some English chocolate might speed up the process of getting me a visa. Anyway, someone with the authority finally came along and after having to change some Brit currency into Tunisian Dinar’s, I was able to pay the 10 Dinar fee and we were on our way.
After being directed to the coach that would drop us at our hotel, we were told a delightful story by the tourist operator rep who has lived in Tunisia for some 10 years. A law had been brought out that motorcyclists had to have motorcycle helmets and the law was immediately enforced. The police confiscated the motorcycles from disgruntled owners who did not conform to the new law, but those who possessed a helmet whether it was being worn or just attached somewhere on the motorcycle, were allowed to carry on as usual. On our way into Monastir from our hotel the next day, we passed a motorcycle; the driver wore no helmet, but there was one strapped to the frame! Classic!
One thing we were not prepared for, coming here, is how tenacious the Tunisians are to get a sale. We were in the market in Monastir when Cheryl spotted a carton of cigarettes and (big mistake) showed an interest in it. The stall minder immediately leapt into action with the claim the cigarettes were as ‘cheap as chips; cheaper than ASDA’ (they all use that line to the English) I enquired about the price and he informed me the carton was 120 Dinar’s. I was horrified and he asked me my bottom price to which I responded ‘20 Dinar’s’. He came down to 70, but I had already decided not to buy from him; he had stated an outrageous sum at the beginning. So we started to walk off. He ran after us, dropped to 40 and we carried on walking and when he said OK 20, we still walked on.
We were also royally ripped off by one shop owner who sold us some candles in ceramic pots for a ridiculous price, but we learnt quickly. I told Cheryl, much to her chagrin, that she mustn’t become the defenceless, weak damsel and plead to me to help, because it only drives the salesman to push more aggressively for a sale. She defended herself with indignation, but when we were next at a market, her haggling had improved ten fold!
The morning after we arrived at the hotel, all the new guests who had come with Thompson’s or First Choice, met with the agent, a young Scottish lad named Scott. He gave a brief outline of what there was to do, and we opted to do the ‘Walk on the wild side’ and the ‘Show stoppers’ on the Friday. We had already spoken to a local fellow who introduced himself as Ali Baba, although I doubt that’s his proper name; he just uses it because tourists will remember it! He offered a camel/horse ride or (as they put it) riding on the asses, which tickled me somewhat. The ride would end at the home of a local person, where an elderly woman would make bread (the traditional way) and this would be served with freshly made olive oil, salad and chilli. Whilst at this rural home, we got to see a traditional Bedouin tent and I was surprised to find it made of sisal fibre and dyed black, possibly some sort of preservative is also infused so the fibre can withstand the elements. Camel riding is very uncomfortable, I reckon I’ll stick to horses. At the half way point of the ride, we all dismounted, one of the camels’ muzzle was removed and a piece of cactus leaf (the thorns had been removed) was handed to each of the guests. The idea was to hold the piece of cactus in your mouth and the camel would take it from you. My turn came and before I knew it, the camels soft, hairy lips brushed mine and he had the cactus leaf which he proceeded to gobble down eagerly.
All the trips we went on were ’OK’, not unforgettable though, I suppose we have been spoilt with the places we have visited and where we have lived. Wherever you go here, there is litter and the stench of open sewers. These open sewers also end up in the sea, so it’s just as well it has been too cold to swim.
Another thing we did was to treat ourselves to a massage. Cheryl went for the one where they put mud all over her after a massage, then that got steamed off in a Turkish bath. I just had the reflexology. It was good, but on the way there, we had accepted a lift, gratis, on a horse drawn cart, so we felt obliged to go back on the same one. The driver, then proceeded to take us off for an hour and a half, to a little town close by. We were not amused, and it was cold. We shouldn’t have paid him when we finally got back to the hotel, but did, just to keep the peace. Needless to say, we warned others not to get onto the horse carriages for fear the same might happen to them.
The Walk on the wild side trip started off with Cheryl and I waking to the phone ringing. We had overslept! We hurriedly got ready and rushed down stairs to the bus. Cheryl got told off by the tour guide, an elderly local fellow, short, round and full of self importance. Proper ‘short-man-syndrome’ example! I had forgotten my jacket, and froze my butt off when off the bus. The first thing I did at the market was buy a tracksuit top. We stopped at a pottery factory where we watched a potter, and some ladies and gents painting the pottery, the ceramics made here are really good, but we had to be careful with luggage weight on our return flight, not to mention money.
Our tour guide on this trip, Mr. Short, Round & Pompous, spouted the biggest load of crap I’ve heard in a long time; for instance, olive trees maybe 2 meters in height that are 3000 years old! I think from that point I found it hard to believe anything he said, but a few interesting things were mentioned, i.e.; children here start learning Arabic from age 4, French from age 6 and English from age 8. Also, national service is compulsory for men at age 20. The problem this presents though, is those with jobs in the private sector will lose their jobs when they go for their year stint of national service, so a solution was offered; they can do their month basic training and return to their job, but then have to pay in lieu of their national service amounts that may be up to or even more than half their income. Women can also do national service, but it is not compulsory and they train at a separate facility to the men.
The animal park was, again; OK. The animals are kept in large enclosures, but still, they are caged. But this sort of thing, I suppose, is necessary because young and old can actually see animals they would otherwise only read about or see in pictures. Again, we have been spoilt and we have seen things as they should be; in the wild state. So apart from seeing a few African animals, this place, for me, is not Africa, it is not wild enough, it is people, sand and sea, not the African wilderness as I know it. The only other animals we had seen, that is apart from the camels we had ridden, sheep and horses, were some caged parakeets and emus’ in a little park in our hotel grounds and some peacocks that wandered around the hotel grounds, and the only birds we had seen flying free were blackbirds a laughing dove, some gulls, storks and house sparrows. While I was leaning through the fence railing of the emu cage to get an unobstructed photo of the babies, I heard thumping footsteps approaching at a run and when Cheryl shouted a warning I leapt back just in time to avoid a protective emu mum protecting her young. This of course made Cheryl’s’ day and she couldn’t stop laughing. The only witness to this funny little incident was another guest who wears his pants up around his neck and walks about with his hips sticking forward, shoulders back with arms dangling straight down, his nose up in the air (not in a snobbish way) and with a perpetual smile on his face. Whenever we saw him he was smiling and walking around with a weird gait like a drunk chimp.
Most of the guests were just normal people, but a few stood out from the crowd; there was an old African couple, of what origin I cannot guess, but I have never seen a couple dote on each other quite as much or in the way that they do. It is truly touching to see. He, a tall bespectacled and scholarly looking old gent, made sure she never wanted for anything, and she, quite fragile looking, never expected that sort of treatment and their mutual admiration and respect for each other was plain to see. They seem to have accepted each others quirks and rather than develop misgivings about them, they embrace them and they offer each other comfort and support and above all, love.
Another group who caught my attention were ‘the power walkers’. We called them this because that’s what they did. There were three young lads, two young ladies and a middle aged chap who was their trainer. I think they must have been training for the Olympics and indeed, spent most of their time training. I think they were from Poland, and next Olympics I will make a point of watching the power walking to see if any of them feature. Then there’s an elderly fellow with pointy features and a long narrow face. He wears glasses and is bald on top with a ‘horseshoe’ ring of grey hair back and sides. When he eats, he holds both knife and fork the same way (like most people hold a fork), but that’s not the strange or rather quirky thing, he puts food into his mouth with the fork, then uses the knife to put more in. What a hoot it is watching other peoples odd ways! And speaking of odd ways, I know I probably have some myself, probably more than most, but my dearly beloved, Cheryl, is full of quirks; When she eats, she takes a long time because she puts such tiny portions into her mouth. In fact each little portion is measured; she will anchor a piece of food with her fork, then the knife comes down to cut a reasonably decent sized mouthful, then she carefully moves the knife back towards the fork until she is satisfied the portion is to her liking, then cuts and eats. The pudding though is at an altogether different level, especially when there are two or more types that taste nice together, then each one is measured in exacting amounts so that they all finish at the same time. I am not an impatient person, but watching my other half eat drives me nutty, then I look over to the delightful old couple who have all the time in the world for each other and are comfortable with each others oddities, and I feel guilty about my impatience. But not guilty enough that I don’t let Cheryl know that I am finished and ready to go.
Our next trip was to a hotel in Sousse to the Sousse Palace Hotel. I’ve not been to the theatre since I left school, I think. So I was prepared not to enjoy the evening. How is that for making your own reality. I actually enjoyed it thoroughly. It still isn’t really ‘my cup of tea’ but I had a good time and Cheryl go some half decent photo’s of the occasion.
Today’s weather is lousy. This morning we were going to go quad biking, but the bus never pitched up and we ended up back in the hotel. Cheryl is ready to go back home, so am I, but not to work and I’m not sure I can call England home yet anyway. Africa will always be my home, even though it has taken so much from me, and from so many others. I guess a lot of people probably feel that way about the UK and of other parts of Europe. I suppose, it is about coming to terms with yourself about what is really important to you and trying to balance things out so everyone is happy. I have decided to do a course to qualify as an eco-tourism guide, then use that to get a job back in Africa. So, hopefully, in the not too distant future, that is where (hopefully) we, will go. So the order of things must be; getting that qualification, my health (because that will be my security, ensuring I can keep working for many years ahead) See pics in next post
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