Preparing Aisling for her long winter in Monastir was a bigger job than we had anticipated, but after a week of drudgery we could see the end in sight and decided to escape to Tunis. Fifteen minutes before our taxi was due to arrive, we were still rushing around doing last minute things. We didn't want to miss our cab- it was unlikely we would find another driver willing to make a long drive so close to sunset during Ramadan - so I suggested to Rick that I leave the bags with him and dash round to the Capitainerie to meet the taxi. My plan was to bring the driver back to the boat to pick up Rick and the bags. I swear I explained this to Rick, but somehow we got our wires crossed and when I arrived back at the boat everything was locked up tight and Rick was nowhere in sight. After another sprint around the dock I finally spied him, struggling toward the Capitainerie, dragging our four huge duffle bags on a completely inadequate little cart. By the time we returned to the cab and got the bags stowed we were both dripping with sweat and more than a little grumpy. The driver didn't seem to understand any English but he probably recognized the tone as we went back and forth with "I can't believe you did that!" "I can't believe you did that!" "But I told you I was bringing the cab round the dock" ... followed by "I hope I closed the hatch over the settee!" and then "I'd better call Mr. Mrad and ask him to check the hatch over the settee". Now all we had to worry about was whether one of the multitude of feral cats that lurk around the garbage bins at the Monastir marina would decide to move onboard Aisling in our absence. Hopefully our canine neighbour Buddy will chase away any unwanted tenants.
As we drove through the outskirts of Monastir and past Sousse, the quantity of garbage and litter along the roads was distressing. Even the olive groves were strewn with garbage and there seemed to be a large number of unfinished building projects every few miles. Once we saw beyond these things, the countryside had its own special beauty with olive groves and vineyards sprinkled among barren, desert-like rolling hills and plains.
We reached Tunis in the early evening, drove past the clock tower at the end of Avenue Habib Bourguiba and checked into the Hotel Carleton. This hotel is in the "Ville Nouvelle", the newer section of the town built by the French in the 19th century. Most people would not describe the Carleton as a luxury hotel but for us the air conditioning, unlimited showers and a toilet that flushed without use of a hand pump definitely qualified as luxury. We lounged around enjoying the blessed coolness of our room until sundown, then ventured out to a local restaurant. Our waiter was a friendly young Tunisian man with a beautiful, almost feminine face. I apparently caused him a bit of anxiety by asking if they had non-alcoholic beer and he carefully explained that they could not serve beer. He was so relieved when he finally understood that I was looking for the non-alcoholic type that he offered to run out to a local store to buy some for me. I assured him that lime soda would be just fine. We feasted on chorba (Tunisian soup) lamb cous cous, steak and frites, all for less than 15 dinars ($13 Cdn).
As we walked back to the hotel, we stopped to admire the beautiful art nouveau National Theatre, where the steps were lined with men relaxing and socializing. Along the tree lined sidewalks, the caf�s were buzzing with activity. The social scene in Tunis is quite different to that of European cities. The most striking difference was not the absence of alcohol on the tables, but the scarcity of women in the caf�s. We saw a few tables where women and men were sitting together but for the most part the caf�s seem to be male territory.
The next morning we had breakfast in our hotel, choking down coffee that was so strong and thick that it curdled the milk in our cups. During breakfast, we debated our choices for the day's touring- would it be Carthage (a suburb of Tunis where some sparse Carthaginian remains can be viewed) Sidi Bou Said (a pretty blue and white cliffside village) the medina (a world heritage site) or the Bardo Museum (a 13th century palace that boasts the world's finest collection of ancient Roman mosaics). Since the Bardo museum was closed on Mondays (we'd timed things perfectly as usual) and the medina was only a short walk from our hotel, we decided to make the medina our first stop. Enroute to the medina, we had a firsthand opportunity to observe the degree to which the "scam the tourist" routine has been perfected. It appears to be a three-stage process:
1. On the boulevard, we are approached by a Tunisian man who speaks perfect English. He asks our nationality, tells us that he has family in Canada, advises us that we must be sure to visit the medina, and mentions that a government-sponsored display of Tunisian crafts is being held throughout Ramadan. To our surprise, he leaves us without offering to guide us to the display.
2. As we walk toward the medina, a second man approaches, strikes up a conversation, mentions the craft display and offers to take us there. We thank him politely but tell him that we plan spend the morning touring the medina. He asks where we are staying, Rick hesitates and tells him we are staying at the Hotel Africa (a large hotel near the Carleton). The man becomes more insistent and calls out warnings about pickpockets in the medina as we walk away.
3. Within less than a minute a third man appears and tells us that he is the Director of Security at the Hotel Africa and that he recognizes us as guests of the hotel. He becomes angry and agitated when we decline his offer to take us to the craft market and insists that it is very unwise for us to enter the medina without his protection. As we walk away he is still shouting warnings.
Needless to say this episode was more than a bit disconcerting. When the medina defeated even Rick's map reading and navigation skills, we were initially skeptical of the various people who offered to direct us, but there were no further problems so we eventually relaxed (and guarded our wallets very carefully).
The word "medina" simply means "town" in Arabic, but the North-African medinas are old walled towns with narrow lanes. At first glance, the Tunis medina appears to be a typical Arabic souk, with a mixture of crafts, artwork, carpets and cheap souvenirs but hidden within the labyrinth of alleyways are many beautiful old mansions with intricate Moorish architecture and tranquil courtyards. Many of the mansions have been converted to art galleries, museums, restaurants and stores. One special place was the Ed-Dar, a delightful, meandering old house with a collection of antiques, artwork, carpets and jewelry. Many of the items on display were from the personal collection of the owner and were not for sale. We were guided upward through the house to a rooftop garden overlooking the Great Mosque, then back to an air-conditioned room with a multitude of carpets on display. The beauty of the carpets made this a tempting proposition, but the complications of shipping a carpet back to Canada were too daunting. Rick was far more interested in a beautiful painting by a Dutch artist and the owner was called over to quote a price- 18,000 dinhars. As usual, Rick has an eye for quality. He's been talking about that painting ever since, but I don't think it will ever hang in our dining room!
Leaving the medina, we stopped to buy two slices of olive flatbread and surreptitiously wolfed them down in a quiet courtyard, hoping to avoid offending any fasting Muslims. As we made our way through the winding streets of the Jewish quarter and back to our hotel, the mid-day temperature was in the high thirties. On one corner, a woman had collapsed and was surrounded by a crowd trying to revive her. Obviously devout, she pushed away the jar of water they were urging her to drink.
That evening, we ate at the Andalous restaurant on rue de Marseille, where we tried salade mechouia (a blend of roasted peppers, garlic and harissa) and briq (a deep fried envelope stuffed with a filling of soft egg and other tidbits). We also had our first taste of delicious Tunisian wine. Certain restaurants designated as "tourist" restaurants are permitted to serve wine- and they are not frequented only by tourists!
The next morning, we hailed a taxi and headed straight for the Bardo Palace and Museum. The 15-minute cab ride was a "hang on to your hat" experience, with the driver leaning into the back seat regaling us with his cheerful theories on the benefits of fasting for a month (good for the body as well as for the soul). When we arrived at the Bardo, hundreds of tourists were pouring from the doors of a fleet of tour buses. This is one of the premiere tourist destinations in Tunisia and dodging the numerous tour groups is essential for anyone hoping for an unobstructed view of the exhibits. The palace itself was built by the Hafsid Sultans as a place of rest and relaxation, but the similarities to the Alhambra are a reminder of the historic links between northern Africa and Spain. The Bardo collection is huge, wonderful and completely overwhelming. Tunisian artifacts dating as far back as the 3rd century BC have been assembled here, but the museum is best known for the collection of well-preserved mosaics. After three hours I had lost Rick and was wandering through the last rooms somewhat aimlessly when I spied some familiar faces- Bill and Karen Foss, CCA friends we had last seen in Bayonna! Although Rick was still nowhere in sight, I thought it was safe to break our usual rule of not making social commitments without the other's agreement, and arranged to meet them for a drink at 6 p.m. Eventually I found Rick and we had another interesting cab ride back to our hotel. The cab driver did not start the meter and we had been warned that this tactic is sometimes used to boost the fare. Rick asked what the fare would be and the driver quoted over double what the fare had been to go to the Bardo. When Rick told him to stop the car and let us out, he dropped his price to the fare we had paid previously. The driver cheerfully accepted this as "business as usual" and proceeded to helpfully point out the noteworthy sites along our route. Accuracy seemed to be an issue though- he described the cathedral as the church of "les juifs" (Jews) and when I observed that Jewish synagogues generally don't have crosses over the door, he said "Yes, yes. It's definitely the Jews' church, I see them all going in there every Sunday morning!"
That evening, we enjoyed drinks with Bill, Karen and their friends in the lobby of their hotel, then returned to our room to finish packing and catch a few hours of sleep before heading to the airport to catch our 3 a.m. flight. Our routing home was the worst milk-run ever- Tunis to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Rome, Rome to Toronto and Toronto to Halifax. This is the price we paid for travelling on frequent flyer points and for changing our return plans at the last minute. Fortunately, it all went remarkably smoothly and we arrived in Halifax, with all bags on board, exactly on schedule. We've been home for a month and sometimes Tunisia and Sicily just seem like a lovely dream- but when we need a little escape, we pull out an Imray guide and start planning next year's cruising!
09/08/2008, Monastir, Tunisia, Africa!
The passage from Sicily to Tunisia was mainly uneventful, with light winds, calm seas and brilliant stars at night. Our biggest adrenalin-rush moment was when Rick noticed that the bilge pump light was on and realized we were taking in water. Within moments he had tracked down the cause-the exhaust valve on the engine had failed. Fortunately, he was able to jury-rig a replacement very quickly with a fitting that he pulled out of an obscure locker. He continues to amaze me with his resourcefulness and the extent of his pre-trip planning. We've carried about five hundred pounds worth of spare parts with us for over six thousand miles, "just in case". Even though I've been known to whine that the lockers I would like to keep my T-shirts in are filled with nuts and bolts, it makes me feel very safe. It's not like we can phone up the CAA when something goes wrong in the middle of an ocean.
We considered stopping at Pantelleria and sailed close enough to get a good look at its fields and cliffs, but we were anxious to get to Tunisia and decided to sail through the night. By 4 a.m. we had 17 fishing boats within sight, with a confusing array of red lights. Not a single one of them showed up on the AIS, and even the radar wasn't consistently picking them up We eventually realized that most of the boats were displaying the over-and-under red lights signifying a vessel that is not underway and is limited in its maneuverability. That made it a bit easier to navigate through the obstacle course, but I was relieved that most of the action happened on Rick's watch instead of mine.
We arrived at Monastir's fuel dock at 8 a.m. on Sunday, and were happy to see that the price of fuel was roughly half of what we'd been paying in Italy and France. The police arrived immediately and we began an arrival procedure that took nearly two hours to complete. We expected that bringing alcohol into the country could be an issue, but the customs officer seemed to be concerned only about "whisky" and guns.
It was a bit disconcerting when the policeman returned to ask for money for "service". We might have obliged if we'd had any dinars, but it is not possible to obtain Tunisian currency outside the country, so we were effectively penniless. He came back again after Rick made a trip to the bank, but by then the skipper of a nearby French boat had advised us not to pay, so he went away empty-handed. Later, the secretary in the capitainerie suggested that we should file a report about the incident, but we decided not to push our luck.
Monastir marina is located in the "zone touristique" and consequently it was not immediately obvious that we had arrived in a new continent. If it weren't for the sound of the prayer calls and the view of the minarets of the town, we might have thought we had taken a wrong turn and arrived back in France. The vast majority of boats in the marina are French-flagged, which isn't surprising since French is widely spoken here and the cost of living is a fraction of what it would be in France. After days of searching, we have found only two people who speak English- a German man who keeps his boat here permanently, and a Scottish woman who has lived in France for most of her life.
It has been more difficult than usual to meet people, because Ramadan began on Monday. During the month of Ramadan, Muslims do not eat or drink between sunrise and sunset- a particularly difficult assignment when Ramadan occurs during the long, hot days of summer. Out of respect for the Muslim community, the marina administration is not permitting social gatherings in the clubhouse before sunset. Even in the tourist area, the scene is very subdued until the sunset cannon is fired. After dark, things get livelier and we can sit on deck and listen to the prayers from the mosque competing with the strains of the "Hokey Pokey" drifting down from the discotheque near the beach.
Late on Monday afternoon, we made our first foray into the town. Monastir has some interesting sights- we walked past the 8th century ribat (fort), a large mosque and the fantastic mausoleum of Habib Bourguiba, Tunisia's first president. The Monoprix was mobbed with people- the large yoghurt section was stripped bare and everyone seemed to be buying dates or date pastries. (Later, I read that it is traditional to break the Ramadan fast by eating a date). Most things seemed inexpensive, but I will have to change my breakfast habits, since a box of Special K cost nine dinars-over eight dollars! We continued on to the market, where the floors were muddy and the produce in the vegetable stalls looked limp and unappealing. Live birds were swooping around under the roof. A man was holding two live chickens upside down by their feet, while two other hens scuffled around his ankles in the dirt. Rabbits were crammed into cages, their whiskers trembling with fright. I began to contemplate the possibility of turning vegetarian. When Rick felt someone trying to pick his pocket, we beat a fast retreat to the boat, feeling a bit shellshocked. This was not the first time we'd visited a market in a developing country, but it was a bit worrisome to realize that this would be our main source of provisions when we return in the spring for a more extended stay.
To my great relief, the market scene was completely different when we returned on Wednesday morning. Delicious fresh bread, busy stalls selling fresh fruit and vegetables, a vast array of herbs and spice, wonderful raisins and olives and a huge fresh fish section. I think we will eat well here. The vendors seem very friendly and honest. In one case when I inadvertently overpaid (who would have thought that a big bag of tomatoes could cost only twenty cents?) my money was returned to me. Pickpockets do seem to be a real concern, though- I felt someone opening my waistpouch on the return visit. We will have to keep out wits about us and not carry large sums of money. Tourist "scams" seem to be a problem also. As we were leaving the market, we were approached by a man speaking very good English, who welcomed us to Tunisia and informed us that today was a public holiday and that the government was sponsoring an excellent display of high-quality Tunisian crafts-he could take us there now if we wished, but we must go quickly because it would be closing soon. We'd fallen for that scam in Thailand about twenty years ago and weren't about to make the same mistake here!
It may sound like we are on holiday, but in reality it has been an exhausting week. The heat is so brutally intense that we break out in a sweat with the slightest activity. Sahara dust is everywhere, mixing with the sweat on our skin and staining our clothing. Working inside the boat at midday is especially difficult and I have coped by stripping down to just my panties while I work. Rick says I remind him of a photo from National Geographic. (You will note that National Geographic came to mind rather than Playboy; this is how things change when we reach the age of 50). Rick has broken out in a nasty heat rash and sleeps fitfully at night, mumbling strange phrases in his sleep. One night he sat bolt upright and shouted "Christie Brinkley!" then wandered off to sleep on deck. I was happy to have the bed to myself for a while, and not just because of the Christie Brinkley outburst. There's a real advantage to having control of the single fan on our bedroom wall. What were we thinking when we installed a furnace rather than air conditioning?
Thursday was the hottest day of all and at five o'clock we decided to take a break and go for a swim. Actually, I decided to go for a swim and Rick decided that he couldn't let me go to the beach alone. Although Tunisia is more liberal than some Muslim countries, I assumed that the expectations around dress would be different and wore a skirted bathing suit with a T shirt over the top. Even so, I was the most scantily-clad woman on the beach. All the other women seemed to be swimming in head scarves, long sleeved tunics and long pants or skirts. At least the hejab (veil) is not generally worn here.
Since Tunisia is not part of the EU, we have now resolved our VAT concerns. We were fortunate to have reserved our marina position early in the season, because Monastir marina is now apparently fully booked for the winter. Anyone considering this as a wintering option for 2009/10 should try to confirm a booking by the spring. We would suggest arriving a little later in the season than we did, since presumably the temperatures will moderate as September advances.
We are excited about getting home on Wednesday night and even more excited that Rick's mother is scheduled to be released from hospital on Thursday. It was a disappointment that her discharge was delayed for another week, but we are happy that we will be back in Halifax to help her get settled at home. I promise not to complain about rain or cool temperatures for at least a week.
I had become obsessed with the search for a lavanderia, but days of searching turned up nothing. Some of the dry-cleaning establishments will accept bags of laundry for washing, but they price by the piece- two euros for a shirt, four euros for a sheet, one euro for a washcloth...good grief, at home I can BUY a washcloth for less than a euro! With almost every sheet and towel on the boat dirty and Janet arriving in less than 24 hours, I was desperate enough to pay the price, but it was Sunday and everything was closed. Furthermore, our water tanks were almost dry. We decided to resolve the problem by spending a night at the Marina Levante, where the price of 70 euros included use of a washing machine. It was a tiny washer/wringer model that drained into the sink- just a step up from the one Mom used to have at the Cape- but I figured I could cope. No one mentioned that the spinner had conked out, so you can well imagine the wailing and gnashing of teeth onboard Aisling when Rick returned from the laundry room with a sodden mess of soapy sheets. Things looked even worse when it started to rain just as I finally got everything rinsed and wrung out. Luckily, rain doesn't last long in Sicily in summer and by Sunday evening we had everything dry and the boat shipshape.
In spite of having travelled for more than 24 hours to get from Ottawa to Sicily, Janet was as energetic as always when I met her at the hotel Chiavi di San Francesco early Monday morning. We visited the fish market and vegetables stalls to shop for dinner, then walked through the pedestrian area of old Trapani, talking nonstop as we caught up on each others' news. We dropped in to the cathedral (where the Madonna of Trapani seemed blissfully unaware of all the fuss that had been made about her in the past week) and then visited the Chiesi del Purgatorio, which houses the "Misteri" that are carried in Trapani's Good Friday procession. The twenty misteris depict scenes from the Passion of Christ and the lifelike wooden figures are works of art. Each grouping is displayed with a placard indicating the guild that accompanies it in the procession- shoemakers, fishermen, shopkeepers, interior decorators-it seems that most of the population of Trapani takes part in the procession. It must be an impressive sight for the few stragglers that remain as spectators. (Just kidding, it's a big deal and people come from all over the world to see it.)
By mid-day, we were underway for Favignana, with the wind cooperating by providing perfect sailing conditions. We anchored on the east side of Punta Longa in 25' of patchy sand and weed and spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing. In the evening we cooked a swordfish dinner onboard and celebrated Janet's arrival with a bottle of Barolo that Rick had bought at the grocery store in Palermo. Barolo with swordfish? It was great! Rick and I may be putting ourselves at risk of mercury poisoning from the amount of swordfish we've eaten in the past three weeks, but it's so delicious that we could eat it every night.
The next day, we set our sights on Selinunte, where we hoped to anchor off the beach. We set off in a 15-20 knot breeze from the north, but after a few hours the wind died and we were back to motor-sailing. Just as Rick went below for a nap, we noticed thunder clouds and flashes of lightening over the hills at Selinunte. It seemed to be moving our way and Janet (who is a much better sailor than I) suggested that it might be wise to take in the jib. We got it furled in the nick of time- within minutes the wind was whipping up scary-looking horses' tails from the downdrafts, the wind instrument was showing gusts of over 30 knots and the wind clocked about 90 degrees. It only lasted for minutes, but anchoring on the exposed shore near Selinunte no longer seemed like a good idea, so we decide to continue on to the marina in Sciacca.
It's impossible to imagine ever receiving a warmer welcome than we were given at the Circolo Nautico Corolla in Sciacca. The club is managed by volunteers and Vincenzo, the Vice Presidente, had cups of espresso and sparkling water on the table in front of us before we had even checked in. Apparently, the 30 euro marina fee also included a bottle of wine- would we prefer red, rose or white? After getting settled at the dock, we made the steep walk up the hill to the town. Near the harbour, the streets of Sciacca look a bit bleak, but the town centre is very pleasant, with many beautiful old buildings. We joined the local "passagiata" (evening stroll) along the promenade above the sea and had pizza and pasta in a little caf� with a fantastic view. Our route on the walk home was more scenic, and we found a set of elaborately tiled stairs that led back to the port. Sciacca is known for its artisanal ceramic work and we assumed that the unique designs on the risers were created by local artists.
In the morning, Vincenzo made arrangements for a rental car to be delivered to us in the early afternoon, then invited us to drive into the town with him. He took us on a tour that included the old town walls and gate, the Chiesa di Santa Margherita and the "Termale"- the spa that makes Sciacca a destination for many elderly Italians. Vincenzo left us at a small caf� where Janet's bus ticket to the airport could be purchased. We got information on the schedule and then sat in the shade outside, drinking cappuchinos drizzled with an intricate chocolate design. On our way back to the port, we passed a stall where fresh sea urchins were being served and a small child was happily gobbling them up as fast as her father could scrape the meat from the shells.
We had time for an espresso with Vincenzo while we waited for the rental car to arrive- our conversation proceeding at a snail's pace as Vincenzo patiently consulted the Italian/English dictionary each time we encountered a translation problem. At 1.30, we were finally on the road. We stopped briefly at the beautiful beach at Eraclia Minoa, where the noise of the cicadas was almost deafening, but decided to drive on to Scala dei Turchie for our swim. A huge white rock formation makes this beach a spectacular sight, so it was difficult to drag ourselves away. The mud that collects on the rocks in this area is said to have magical rejuvenating qualities, so Janet and I decided to slap some on our faces and bodies. It didn't seem to remove ten years from our faces as promised, but it left our skin feeling amazingly silky.
It was late afternoon when we reached the Valley of the Temples in Agrigento- a World Heritage site with five Doric temples in varying states of preservation. The angle of the sun seemed to emphasize the colour of the temples against the sky, and the two wedding parties who were having photos taken there while we toured will probably have some amazing shots in their albums. We sneaked a few photos of them too- you don't often see a groom wearing a white satin suit back in Canada! Unfortunately we missed the 7 p.m. cut-off time for entering the western end of the site, but we were back in Sciacca on time to have a fantastic dinner at the Trattoria Vela. The "fish menu", priced at 25 euros a person, included 14 courses, plus wine! There was no printed menu or list of dishes, we just waited to see what would arrive and hoped we could keep up. It was a great way to try some local specialties- including sea urchins, which are much tastier than they look, and deep fried cylinders of fish eggs, which aren't. Rick kept detailed notes on the courses for your reading pleasure....raw sea urchins, steamed mussels, deep fried calamari, octopus and seafood salad, fried small shrimp, meatballs in fresh tomato sauce, thinly-sliced swordfish in oil and garlic, deep fried ouva de spatella (fish eggs), pasta Gallinella in a tuna ragout sauce, casarecce pasta in a mixed whitefish and vegetable sauce, grilled tria (a small red-skinned fish) lemon granita with fruit and almond mousse with chocolate sauce. This would have been followed by a local liqueur and coffee, but we were too full to attempt it. All of the courses were brought to the table separately on large plates. It was a mountain of food, but very yummy!! Italians know how to cook and how to eat.
The next day we spent some time on a local beach, then Vincenzo drove Janet to the bus stop to catch her 4 p.m. bus to the Palermo airport. From there she had a long journey to Basel and we were relived to hear that she arrived on schedule for her Thursday meeting. Rick and I spent another day in Sciacca, but mainly stayed onboard getting the boat ready- although I did find time to try the lemon granita at the Bar Roma and finally understood why Vincenzo kept insisting that we try it. When we said our goodbyes to Vincenzo, he presented us with a club burgee, a key ring, and a piece of paper with his address, which he made us promise to pass on to Janet. Our stay in Sciacca and mini-holiday with Janet had been the perfect ending to our summer of sailing. Now we're off to Marina Cap Monastir and Africa, where we will prepare Aisling for her lonely winter