I caught the TGM trolley out to Sidi Bou Said, a little village just north of Carthage. This is a town decked out in white and blue paint, a town that gets a nice breeze off the ocean all year around.
I guess. I was only there briefly one afternoon in March. I'm definitely making a lot of leaps here. I was too impatient after five days of pure touristing, too instantly bored by environment.
It wasn't as atmospheric as Chefchaouen in Morocco, which has a lot more blue than white, but it is probably a really nice place to live. Bet Sidi Bou Said is part of the rent-is-too-damn-high club, though.
I headed to Carthage next, but after the extraordinary Roman ruins at Dougga, I was mostly disappointed, so headed back to Tunis.
When I got off the train, I passed the Jawa sandcrawler again, and stopped at the first sidewalk cafe I saw for a snack. I'd been breaking my own rules a lot on this trip, skipping meals, not staying hydrated, and not eating on a schedule. One of my rules is eat on a schedule, even if you have to eat poorly. This wasn't poorly though...it was a chicken sandwich.
I hunted for souvenirs next, back in the medina, wandering the alleys looking for something I wanted to carry home.
I finished my afternoon up with a visit to my host in her workshop.
"How much is that?" I asked, pointing at a Noah's Ark painting on her workshop wall. It was the equivalent of $63. I paid her in cash after a visit to the ATM, and she packed the painting up for me.
"Can't I roll it up and leave the frame?" I asked.
She looked horrified. "No. We will pack it with...this stuff. I don't know the English for it." She did a popping motion with her fingers.
"Bubble wrap," I offered.
"Yes, bubble wrap. We will pack it well and you can carry it on the plane."
Hmmm. Okay, I'd give it a shot. I didn't expect the glass to make it home. I didn't expect it to even make it past the plane ride, but I'd deal with that on arrival home.
She took the painting back to the guesthouse for me, and I headed to a cafe up over the medina. I'd be heading back to Spain tomorrow, to Barcelona, my spare home away from the US, a stop I try to make at least once a year, a place I've spent months in over the years. I'd repack there and see if I could do something with the frame that would make the painting easier to manage.
I guess. I was only there briefly one afternoon in March. I'm definitely making a lot of leaps here. I was too impatient after five days of pure touristing, too instantly bored by environment.
It wasn't as atmospheric as Chefchaouen in Morocco, which has a lot more blue than white, but it is probably a really nice place to live. Bet Sidi Bou Said is part of the rent-is-too-damn-high club, though.
I headed to Carthage next, but after the extraordinary Roman ruins at Dougga, I was mostly disappointed, so headed back to Tunis.
When I got off the train, I passed the Jawa sandcrawler again, and stopped at the first sidewalk cafe I saw for a snack. I'd been breaking my own rules a lot on this trip, skipping meals, not staying hydrated, and not eating on a schedule. One of my rules is eat on a schedule, even if you have to eat poorly. This wasn't poorly though...it was a chicken sandwich.
I hunted for souvenirs next, back in the medina, wandering the alleys looking for something I wanted to carry home.
I finished my afternoon up with a visit to my host in her workshop.
"How much is that?" I asked, pointing at a Noah's Ark painting on her workshop wall. It was the equivalent of $63. I paid her in cash after a visit to the ATM, and she packed the painting up for me.
"Can't I roll it up and leave the frame?" I asked.
She looked horrified. "No. We will pack it with...this stuff. I don't know the English for it." She did a popping motion with her fingers.
"Bubble wrap," I offered.
"Yes, bubble wrap. We will pack it well and you can carry it on the plane."
Hmmm. Okay, I'd give it a shot. I didn't expect the glass to make it home. I didn't expect it to even make it past the plane ride, but I'd deal with that on arrival home.
She took the painting back to the guesthouse for me, and I headed to a cafe up over the medina. I'd be heading back to Spain tomorrow, to Barcelona, my spare home away from the US, a stop I try to make at least once a year, a place I've spent months in over the years. I'd repack there and see if I could do something with the frame that would make the painting easier to manage.
1 comment:
Hopefully the painting made it safely home- and you got a chance to pop some of the bubbles of the wrap.
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