Tunisia and The Elusive Voice

I've got a story to tell. Lots of stories actually and they begin with being born in the middle of a litter of twelve and ends... well, it's not ended yet. It's a story that meanders through jobs that had screaming fans and brains being scraped off the floor. No, not the same job and yeah, human brains. At times it slams into breathtaking loss and at other times it dances in joyful gain but it's all threaded together with the constancy of my family and evolves as my generation moved from black and white TV to the internet.

I'm a psychiatric nurse, trained to assess and assist people with mental and emotional difficulties. But I can't help but turn the lens towards myself, maybe that's why I'm here. The profession has given me some insight into why I do what I do but it hasn't given me a voice. And I need a voice to tell my story. A voice that can sing and cry and laugh and tell the story as it needs to be told. I'm still looking for that voice, trying out a few like a singer warming up for a performance. But until I find it I'll continue to fill this space with my travelogue and other wonderings.

This piece is about our trip to Tunisia last October/November. I hadn't 'reignited' (thanx Mare) the blog yet so had put it on facebook. I'm putting here just cuz I can and I'm still working on the voice thing so...enjoy.

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A week at an all-inclusive resort means seven consecutive hangovers. And I’m ok with that. I earned every one of them through diligence, perseverence and indulgence and that’s what “all-inclusive” is all about. I’ve not done an all inclusive before but there’s a culture that the incogniti know and I had to learn.

We were there at Halloween

If you want a beach chair, you’re up by 8:30 and with towels in hand you recruit 2 chairs for the missus and you (she’s off staking out a breakfast table), cloak them in your terrycloth and stagger still bleary-eyed and hungover towards the food. You know the direction from the smoke and din and join the first lineup you see: coffee. From there it’s the toast lineup or, if you want your toast warm enough to melt your butter substitute and don’t mind cold eggs, you join the egg lineup first. From there you negotiate your way through the crowd, plate in hand, towards the table your spouse staked out.

We went for the sun and found...some

Following the breakfast bob n’ weave, you decide if the beach was a good idea or, if wind/weather are uncooperative, you should consider the wind-blocked pool area. Lots of others making the same decision so be quick about it. “Maybe we should check out the local town” she says and a sortie to Sousse begins. It’s about 10 kilometers north, eight dinar the negotiated rate and , like Turkey, the lines on the road indicate nothing. Drivers drift left or right as the mood or wind takes ‘em and if there’s no traffic to compete against they’re most comfortable straddling the centre.

What's not to like about a cemetery at dusk

Sousse is Tunisia’s 4th largest city and like all cities in north Africa has a medina or old town. It’s usually the original settlement and so draws the tourists and their wallets which the locals are happy to empty any way they can. “I am a waiter at your hotel. Don’t you recognize me? Come into my brother’s shop, just for you I get you a good deal” With all the guys claiming to be my waiter that day, there would’ve been noone back at the hotel pouring drinks.With the obligaory tshirt and drum in hand (I’ve been collecting percussion instruments as we travel including a full set of electronic drums in Cardiff) we speed back to the hotel for the lunch frenzy.

The President's mausoleum.

It’s difficult to meet people when you don’t speak the same language and while the staff are mutlilingual, the guests are not. The French don’t respond to “hello” and once they realize you speak English refuse to make eye contact. The Germans were more outgoing but impossible to understand. The few Brits we arrived with were quickly swallowed up amongst the 1200 plus guests and, dammit, they looked like everyone else. They’re not particularly outgoing so I had to say hi to everyone to weed out the few English speakers. It wasn’t til the third day that I discovered the couple with kids next door (and a boy Luka’s age!) were English. We were saved. Not only did I have someone to whine to about the other guests, Luka was no longer attached to my hip. He was having as much trouble connecting to the other kids as I was with the adults. They weren’t just aloof like their Moms and Dads, they were mean and I had to threaten one of the little bastards after he kicked my son. He had no idea what I was saying, but my tone and finger-wagging spoke loudly.

Looks seventy, probably forty

Okay, I’m almost done. Going to Tunisia was not a cultural adventure but strictly an attempt to escape the dreary Welsh weather.

I wonder what they do when they're not watching the tourists?

Unfortunately we took it with us. We were occasionally chased indoors by clouds, wind and rain where we’d switch from beer to red wine and play a game or two. It never lasted long and we managed to burn our paler parts before climbing back on the bus for the airport.

How come we don't have shoe repair guys sitting on the streets of Vancouver?

I liked it. We didn’t indulge in a lot of Tunisian culture (I’m pretty sure over-imbibing isn’t common there) but did visit 2 medinas and the President’s mausoleum (morbid but beautiful) at Monastir. The country's as old as anywhere else on the planet but lacks the visible history we've seen elsewhere so when the sun's not shining ... Ah well, the people are beautiful.