I walked quite a bit before I found a cab, from my bed and breakfast in the medina to the kasbah and then down the main street. I found a cab parked and talking to another cabbie. I raised my hand discretely. He pulled over to me. I leaned down to the open passengers seat window and said Sidi Bou Said, in more of a statement than a question.

“Tfadaly,” he said.  (Welcome/come in)

I got into the back seat of the hot car and took off my hat, my futile hat because it just flops over my face and I can’t see.

“3aslama,” I said, the Tunisian “hello.”

“3aslama,” I got back.

I peered over the passenger seat to look at the 3adad, (the meter) and in doing so the driver got the hint and turned it on.

We wove through traffic and I longed to drive. With every gear shift and (not so slight) jerk of the car, I thought of the art of driving, but for now I was enjoying being a passenger.  Vespas passed us by, a red one with a couple riding, he wore jeans and a blue t-shirt and she a screaming blue jumpsuit and matching blue hijab with of course, Jackie Kennedy sunglasses.

We passed Carthage on the way and I could see Roman ruins from the cab. When we reached to Sidi bou Said the taxi driver dropped me off and I asked him where Cook’s restaurant was, where I would be meeting friends, he pointed up the mountain. I said, do you know that specific one, Cook’s?

“Yes yes,” he repeated, “Cook’s” and pointed again upwards.

So I got out of the car, put my hat back on and started up the hill. I stopped in a shop to ask about Cook’s.

“Lebanese?” the man said.

It’s quite irksome that every time I open my mouth to ask a question, rather than address what I’m talking about, the men—because it’s only men that do this—inquire about my nationality.  But this time I was going to be stubborn, “it’s a restaurant, it’s called Cook’s.”

“Egyptian!” He seemed proud of himself.

For the love of God. I should have known I would be met with stubbornness.

A guy sitting behind the guy I was talking to (I guess we weren’t really talking, I mean, we were talking but not having a conversation, I was asking for directions and he was playing a guessing game as to where my accent came from.) told me, “it’s down the hill.”

The first guy turns to his friend and says “Hey! Quiet! I’m trying to talk to her.”

The guy in the back pays little regard to the first and says, “Across from the supermarket GM, you’ll see it.”

“Thank you!” (Yeslamu) I call out and as I turn to walk away I say “souriya” (a female from Syria) to the first man.

“Ahhhhh,” he yells after me, “Tislam 3eyewnauk!!” A Syrian nicety and response to my thank you that normally sounds charming but bothered me from this man.

I go back down where I came, turns out Mr. Taxi driver did not know what he was talking about and find Cook’s.

Building in Sidi Bou Said

Streets of Sidi Bou Said

Mosque in Sidi Bou Said

Several of the ladies were there already and we had coffees and juices. Eventually Wafa showed up and we all hung out some more.

Coffee with the bride & ladies

Afterwards we split off into 2 groups, 6 of us walking up to Sidi Bou Said. Ines, our resident Tunisian expert and true renaissance woman (the lady with the Tennessee Williams quote, she said I could use her name), walked us around and told us about it. Tunisian Sufism was born here and she showed us the mosque that Sidi bou Said built.

Around Sidi Bou Said

The Mediterranean through the buildings.

Beautiful coastline

Gorgeous door in Sidi Bou Said

Me with the door

Trying not to get burned by the door

Just gorgeous!!!!

Bougainvillea in Sidi Bou Said

This is a country where knowledge is power. We were starving and really wanted to eat, Ines had gone home so us three ladies walked around looking for food. We found cafes with loads of men smoking hookah and no women. After roaming for an hour we decided to call it quits and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to go to bed hungry.

We hailed a cab and told him two stops. He didn’t understand why and maybe I didn’t do a good job explaining that we would be splitting up. Finally he got it.  He would drop me off at the Kasbah and continue on to the hotel where the other two were staying.

I got home and shed my bags and sweaty, sweaty clothes and had a glorious shower. I sat down to write when I heard the key unlock the deadbolt of the door downstairs and heard, in a lovely French accent, “Sally?”

Sondos was home!  She came upstairs and introduced me to her daughter who was with her.  She asked if I was hungry or wanted a beer.  Yes!  How serendipitous, so she got us each a beer and made some rice and a salad, put together some cheese and charcuterie and we ate and chatted for some time.  Sondos, the innkeeper, is a dancer and an actress and the more I talk to her, the more I realize how well-known she is.  She leaves tomorrow for Avignon, Hamburg, and Zurich to tour with a show she is doing.  And all over the house there are movie posters of films she has starred in.  But she is so humble and it is a lovely experience talk to her every time!

A church in Tunis

Cool clock tower in Tunis

As it turns out, my friend’s brother and I were on the same flight.  Thanks to technology, we learned this and Wafa (my friend, the bride) said she would pick me up at the airport since she would already be there for her brother.

I landed in Tunis and was hit by heat and humidity as soon as I stepped off the airplane.  However, I was quickly cooled by the airport’s marble and tiled walls and floors.

Cool tile and marble baggage claim area

I tried to exchange money but of course the two change bureaus were closed but the lovely security guards told me I could exchange my money after customs.

Airports make me emotional, the tug on the heartstrings of watching people say goodbye or be reunited is deep for me.  I have spent my life bidding farewell to family with the hope of seeing them again the following year, or the year after, or my current state of unknowing.

As I walked out of customs and searched the crowds awaiting for their own arriving loved ones, I heard, in a California accent none the less, “Sally!” I turned my head to the voice and found Wafa waving and running towards me.  I dropped my suitcase and hugged her and immediately burst into tears.  It’s not that I haven’t seen her in too long, I guess it’s been about a year or two since she moved to Tunisia but now she’s a bride and a lawyer and I had been traveling for over 20 hours.  And I don’t need to justify my emotions, I feel and I’m happy for feeling.  When I pulled it together, I said hello to her mother, her littlest brother, and her cousin.  Now we went to exchange money as we waited for her other brother–the one that was on my flight.

We walked out to the sweltering heat and loaded our bags in her car, then we wove our way around the labyrinth of the airport parking lot.  I was told that the barricades and barriers in the lanes were not there even a year ago but security has increased with the rise of terrorism.

We drove to her flat, piled in the elevator which took us two trips between the 5 people and 4 suitcases.  As soon as we were inside we all got comfortable, shoes off, covers off, air conditioning on, everybody wash your face and drink some water.  Like I said, I haven’t seen Wafa in a year or two so we, needless to say, had a lot to talk about.  We talked and talked and then decided to make coffee and have a sweet, over which we talked some more.

Wafa’s street

Not the best photo but can you please, please admire the light hitting the building on the left? The Mediterranean sun IS different.

Grape vines in the courtyard

Eventually we decided we should take me to my bed and breakfast.  So we drove to the kasbah (city center and place of government), Wafa parked and the two of us dragged my suitcase and my handbag; sometimes we would park the handbag on the side of the walkway and carry, from either side, my behemoth of a suitcase down some stairs or across some particularly unpatched cobblestone.

Tunisian machmoum, cluster of flowers

This now lives on my nightstand and I can think of no better scent to wake up to

We wove through the allies of the old medina stopping where we deemed fit.  We popped into Dar el Jeld, a restaurant and hotel that Wafa really wanted to show me.  It was beautiful, in the style of old Arabic houses, mosaic tiles and an open air courtyard, a gentleman was playing a qanun (lap guitar) in the courtyard and the scene was just perfect.  Wafa stopped me on our way out to spray jasmine perfume on my wrist and we both reveled in the amazing floral scents of the mediterranean.  On our way out, the bell boy who had been watching our bags, handed us each a machmoum, a cluster of flowers  (ward el full, or in English, jasmine of the east) tightly wrapped with red string.  If you like the smell of jasmine, wait until you smell this.

We continued walking and talking, observing on our way the stray cats in the alleys and the children playing.  As we were walking, Wafa suddenly stopped and said “wait, this is where I take book binding classes!” So naturally, we stopped in to say hello to her instructor.  He was so thrilled to see her and she gave him a wedding invitation.  His workshop was amazing, hand bound books everywhere, paper everywhere, a press.  Wow!

Onwards.  Finally we got to the junction that we thought was my street and so we turned under the archway, as the B&B owner had instructed me and there it was, #24.  We rang the bell, heard footsteps and the door opened by a beautiful petite woman, Sondos.  She had a full head of grey and white curls and the body of a dancer, she was wearing a small, flowered summer dress and welcomed us in.  We chatted, she showed me my room, the house, and offered us lemonade.  We drank in one of the open-aired sitting rooms and after all of the logistics had been covered, she invited me to her friend’s house for an aperitif, only if I didn’t already have plans.

I did not and on we went.  The house we had been invited to was also an old house in the medina, not a two minute walk from Sondos’s and had been recently renovated by Salim, an architect and the owner.  We knocked on the door and as soon as he opened the door, a cat greeted our legs.  “Come in, come in!” We were ushered in and then out to the courtyard at the center of the house where a lemon tree took up half of the space.  A jasmine vine was crawling up the stark white of one of the walls.  There was a table in the middle of the courtyard where I joined the already happening discussion: Salim’s wife (I feel terrible for not recalling her name), two Italian researchers: Esther and Emmanuela, and a Colombian researcher, Andreas, on sabbatical at Rutgers but in Tunisia for a month to study Arabic.

I had a celtia, a Tunisian beer and nibbled on super salty black olives with leaves of rosemary stuck to them while we talked and Salim prepared pasta.  We discussed all of our backgrounds and research and the current state of affairs in Tunisia, the United States, Europe, and Colombia.  The languages being spoken were Spanish, French, Arabic–both Levantine and Tunisian, and English.  Salim and his wife’s two little girls paraded in and out of the living room to the courtyard, one dressed in a long blue princess dress and the other in just her underwear.  When the little princess went to sleep, the one parading around half naked brought us all flowers to smell and helped Andreas with his Arabic.

Eventually we were all exhausted and parted ways, Sondos and I walking back to La Chambre Bleue, the B&B. What a day, like I said, travel with an open heart.  Or come to think of it, we ought to live life with an open heart, not only when we are traveling outside of our element.  We should always welcome what life throws our way with open arms and heart.