Aisling I
18 July 2016 | Genoa
11 July 2016 | Genoa Italy
04 July 2016 | Genoa
02 July 2016 | Genoa
25 June 2016 | Porto Azzurro Elba
11 April 2016 | Marina di Ragusa
21 March 2016 | Halifax
01 March 2016
14 January 2016
30 September 2015
25 September 2015 | Crotone Italy
18 September 2015 | Erikoussa
10 September 2015 | Preveza
10 September 2015 | Preveza
24 July 2015 | Preveza
20 July 2015 | Varko Bay
13 July 2015 | Vlicho Bay
09 July 2015
03 July 2015 | Preveza Greece
21 June 2015
Et Encore Monastir!
16 October 2014 | Marina di Ragusa
Bonnie
Don't be misled by the title. We actually sailed away from Tunisia three weeks ago, but it would be a shame not to write at least a few words about our brief stop in Monastir. It's a place that we know well, having spent time there in 2008, 2009 and 2013. This year our visit was short, with our main goal being to take Aisling briefly out of EU waters. The passage from Trapani was quick but bumpy, especially for the first 12 hours. I was grateful when the seas calmed down, and the payback was a brilliant starry night.
Arriving in Monastir is always interesting. One is never sure what "gifts" the police and customs agents may expect. Some like whisky. Some like wine. Some ask for money. This time, the officers wanted our expired flares. A strange request, but good for us, since disposing of expired flares can be complicated. With the formalities behind us, and the contents of our wine "cellar" intact, we got Aisling settled at her assigned berth, which was alongside the dock behind one of the tour boats. The advantage of being tied "side-to" instead of our usual "bow-to" system is that it is easy for us to climb on and off the boat. The disadvantage is that it is equally easy for unwanted guests to hop onboard. During our stay, we found the corpse of the biggest cockroach I've ever seen on the floor underneath one of the hatches. Quite dead and dry as tinder, but still horrifying. I took ten deep breaths and told myself that it had probably been dead when it blew in, so wouldn't have had the chance to lay any eggs. Lesson learned; keep the screens in the hatches! Later, and even more horrifying, I found a set of tiny footprints on the cabin top. Fortunately, with three weeks behind us, I can now say with some confidence that we didn't have any extra guests with us when we left.
Things in Monastir hadn't changed much since our last visit, although perhaps there were even fewer tourists. The sales pitches of the vendors in the medina had almost a touch of desperation, which was very sad to see. On the other hand, mid-September is not the ideal time to visit Tunisia, with the thermometer soaring to over 35 degrees during our visit. Perhaps business will be better during the winter and spring. And during the weekend, the cafes in the marina and the little boys selling tiny bouquets of jasmine were getting lots of business from local Tunisians.
Early one morning, we went for a run up the hill behind the marina. We'd always been curious about the ruins on the cliff above the water, and this time there was a guard on site. I suppose that guarding ruins, even ones dating back to Roman times, gets a little boring at times , so he seemed happy to give us a tour of the site. He certainly had a few surprises to show us. There were several deep storage wells (which he explained were used for storing grain in ancient times) and a beautiful mosaic still partially buried in the sand.
His "piece de resistance" was a human skull, which he uncovered with a flourish. A Roman, he said. (Hopefully a very old one.) Tunisia has so many treasures.It looked like perhaps someone is finally excavating the ruins, so perhaps we will eventually learn more.
Later, we walked through the town to the medina and market, where the sights and smells let us know that, even though Sicily was barely more than a stone's throw across the water, we were in very different land. You certainly wouldn't see anyone leading a camel down the streets of Trapani!
On the other hand, the desserts in the local bakery were as fine as anything you would see in France.
The market was as wonderful as we'd remembered.
When we took a break at a little café, we almost forgot that we weren't in Italy. Except that the price of a cappuccino was about a quarter of what it would have been in Italy. And that the men in the back room were smoking hookahs. And that we were sitting just across from the Ribat, the 8th century AD fort where the movie "Life of Brian" was filmed.
I was enjoying being back in Monastir, but Rick was getting edgy. It was too hot, and he was convinced that my wardrobe choices were offending the local men. Moreover, the friendly woman who runs the laundry warned us that tomorrow would be hotter, the next day even hotter and the day after that hotter still. At the beach, local women wrapped in long sleeves, trousers and headscarves bathed alongside elderly Europeans in bikinis and thongs.
After only three days, the weather forecast looked perfect for a sail to Sciacca. Although it was a bit earlier than we'd planned on leaving, the thought of getting back to the relatively cool temperatures in southern Sicily was sounding pretty appealing. After one last visit to the Medina, and one last visit from the customs agents, we were on our way. I wonder if we'll ever be back in Tunisia? I hope so.
(To read about our earlier visits to Tunisia and our drive to the Sahara select Tunisia under the quick links on the right-hand side of the page. The previous posts will then be displayed underneath this one.)
Arriving in Monastir is always interesting. One is never sure what "gifts" the police and customs agents may expect. Some like whisky. Some like wine. Some ask for money. This time, the officers wanted our expired flares. A strange request, but good for us, since disposing of expired flares can be complicated. With the formalities behind us, and the contents of our wine "cellar" intact, we got Aisling settled at her assigned berth, which was alongside the dock behind one of the tour boats. The advantage of being tied "side-to" instead of our usual "bow-to" system is that it is easy for us to climb on and off the boat. The disadvantage is that it is equally easy for unwanted guests to hop onboard. During our stay, we found the corpse of the biggest cockroach I've ever seen on the floor underneath one of the hatches. Quite dead and dry as tinder, but still horrifying. I took ten deep breaths and told myself that it had probably been dead when it blew in, so wouldn't have had the chance to lay any eggs. Lesson learned; keep the screens in the hatches! Later, and even more horrifying, I found a set of tiny footprints on the cabin top. Fortunately, with three weeks behind us, I can now say with some confidence that we didn't have any extra guests with us when we left.
Things in Monastir hadn't changed much since our last visit, although perhaps there were even fewer tourists. The sales pitches of the vendors in the medina had almost a touch of desperation, which was very sad to see. On the other hand, mid-September is not the ideal time to visit Tunisia, with the thermometer soaring to over 35 degrees during our visit. Perhaps business will be better during the winter and spring. And during the weekend, the cafes in the marina and the little boys selling tiny bouquets of jasmine were getting lots of business from local Tunisians.
Early one morning, we went for a run up the hill behind the marina. We'd always been curious about the ruins on the cliff above the water, and this time there was a guard on site. I suppose that guarding ruins, even ones dating back to Roman times, gets a little boring at times , so he seemed happy to give us a tour of the site. He certainly had a few surprises to show us. There were several deep storage wells (which he explained were used for storing grain in ancient times) and a beautiful mosaic still partially buried in the sand.
His "piece de resistance" was a human skull, which he uncovered with a flourish. A Roman, he said. (Hopefully a very old one.) Tunisia has so many treasures.It looked like perhaps someone is finally excavating the ruins, so perhaps we will eventually learn more.
Later, we walked through the town to the medina and market, where the sights and smells let us know that, even though Sicily was barely more than a stone's throw across the water, we were in very different land. You certainly wouldn't see anyone leading a camel down the streets of Trapani!
On the other hand, the desserts in the local bakery were as fine as anything you would see in France.
The market was as wonderful as we'd remembered.
When we took a break at a little café, we almost forgot that we weren't in Italy. Except that the price of a cappuccino was about a quarter of what it would have been in Italy. And that the men in the back room were smoking hookahs. And that we were sitting just across from the Ribat, the 8th century AD fort where the movie "Life of Brian" was filmed.
I was enjoying being back in Monastir, but Rick was getting edgy. It was too hot, and he was convinced that my wardrobe choices were offending the local men. Moreover, the friendly woman who runs the laundry warned us that tomorrow would be hotter, the next day even hotter and the day after that hotter still. At the beach, local women wrapped in long sleeves, trousers and headscarves bathed alongside elderly Europeans in bikinis and thongs.
After only three days, the weather forecast looked perfect for a sail to Sciacca. Although it was a bit earlier than we'd planned on leaving, the thought of getting back to the relatively cool temperatures in southern Sicily was sounding pretty appealing. After one last visit to the Medina, and one last visit from the customs agents, we were on our way. I wonder if we'll ever be back in Tunisia? I hope so.
(To read about our earlier visits to Tunisia and our drive to the Sahara select Tunisia under the quick links on the right-hand side of the page. The previous posts will then be displayed underneath this one.)
Bessalama Tunisia!
24 June 2013
Although 3 a.m. is not exactly zero-dark-thirty, it's definitely not my favourite time to crawl out of bed. But a perfect weather window had popped up, and if we left Monastir at first light on Tuesday, we could arrive in Pantelleria before dark.
In some respects, our sudden decision to leave so soon was disappointing. For one thing, we wouldn't be able to go with Philip and Cara (Fabuloso) on their tour to southern Tunisia and the Sahara desert. We'd already made the same trip in the spring of 2009, but we'd been keen on doing it again. And rest assured, travelling with Philip and Cara would have been...well...Fabuloso! Hopefully we'll see them again in some other port.
The short timeline also had us scrambling to do a few things that we wouldn't have a chance to do again for a very long time, if ever. For me, it was one last run along the water and through the ancient ruins on the point near the marina. One last chance to be called a gazelle by the Tunisian Romeos in the park. One last trip to the market, to stock up on merquez sausages. One last (failed) attempt to capture a photo of an old woman in a sifsari. One last load at the full service laundry, where everything comes back sparkling clean and beautifully folded (8 TD to wash and dry a medium load, 10.50 TD for a large load). One last purchase of a tiny bouquet of jasmine blossoms that small boys sell at the marina for 1 dinar each. But it's not really the last. I have made the mistake of saying yes to the first boy who approaches me, and the boy I've been buying them from every day suddenly appears. "Madame!!" he cries, his face a study in outrage and disappointment. So today, I buy two bouquets.
Meanwhile, Rick settles our bill with Mr. Mrad for the haul-out and relaunch, antifouling paint, and waxing and polishing of Aisling's hull, topsides and stainless. The grand total is 1500 TD or about 700 euros- about half what we would have paid in Sicily. At 5 p.m., we say goodbye to our neighbours Paul and Gabriela on Bellanova, move Aisling over to the fuel dock, and fill up with diesel at 1.15 TD/liter. When all is said and done, and even after buying 5 liters of good Tunisian olive oil, we find ourselves left with over 300 dinars between us. We decide to buy a small painting at an art exhibit in the marina (featuring the works of maître Rokbani Med Habib and his students) and still have enough left over for one last dinner at the Calypso restaurant, where we've almost become regulars. Our waiter is more talkative than usual. "I'm actually a physics teacher. But I have to work in this restaurant to make a living."
In spite of the ungodly hour of our departure on Tuesday, the customs officer and port police come to the boat to check us out, and to confirm that we do not have any illegal Tunisians stowed in our closets. The customs officer seems even less pleased than I am to be up at this hour, but the policeman is cheerful and talkative. He slyly asks about the three bottles of whiskey we'd declared when we checked in. We'd been advised by other cruisers to bring along the whiskey to use as gifts but in fact, the men who'd worked on our boat had been non- drinkers, and the policeman who'd checked us in had had a preference for good Italian wine. Our new best friend is all smiles as he walks up the dock carrying two bottles of the cheapest whisky that can be found at the MD store in Marina di Ragusa.
At 4.30a.m., we finally throw off the docklines and sail into a beautiful sunrise for a quick passage to Pantelleria. By early evening, the sails are down, and we motor around the harbour of Pantelleria town looking for the places where Paul and Gabriela have suggested we can tie up for free. How we ended up paying 50 euros a night for a laid mooring at one of the bleakest, dirtiest docks we've ever seen is a long story. What's done is done, and in the end, it turned out to be a good thing. After all, if we hadn't gone in there, we would never have been taken under the wing of Kapitan Trutz, a German ex-merchant mariner who was living on his boat, on the hard, at the port.
But that's tomorrow's story.
In some respects, our sudden decision to leave so soon was disappointing. For one thing, we wouldn't be able to go with Philip and Cara (Fabuloso) on their tour to southern Tunisia and the Sahara desert. We'd already made the same trip in the spring of 2009, but we'd been keen on doing it again. And rest assured, travelling with Philip and Cara would have been...well...Fabuloso! Hopefully we'll see them again in some other port.
The short timeline also had us scrambling to do a few things that we wouldn't have a chance to do again for a very long time, if ever. For me, it was one last run along the water and through the ancient ruins on the point near the marina. One last chance to be called a gazelle by the Tunisian Romeos in the park. One last trip to the market, to stock up on merquez sausages. One last (failed) attempt to capture a photo of an old woman in a sifsari. One last load at the full service laundry, where everything comes back sparkling clean and beautifully folded (8 TD to wash and dry a medium load, 10.50 TD for a large load). One last purchase of a tiny bouquet of jasmine blossoms that small boys sell at the marina for 1 dinar each. But it's not really the last. I have made the mistake of saying yes to the first boy who approaches me, and the boy I've been buying them from every day suddenly appears. "Madame!!" he cries, his face a study in outrage and disappointment. So today, I buy two bouquets.
Meanwhile, Rick settles our bill with Mr. Mrad for the haul-out and relaunch, antifouling paint, and waxing and polishing of Aisling's hull, topsides and stainless. The grand total is 1500 TD or about 700 euros- about half what we would have paid in Sicily. At 5 p.m., we say goodbye to our neighbours Paul and Gabriela on Bellanova, move Aisling over to the fuel dock, and fill up with diesel at 1.15 TD/liter. When all is said and done, and even after buying 5 liters of good Tunisian olive oil, we find ourselves left with over 300 dinars between us. We decide to buy a small painting at an art exhibit in the marina (featuring the works of maître Rokbani Med Habib and his students) and still have enough left over for one last dinner at the Calypso restaurant, where we've almost become regulars. Our waiter is more talkative than usual. "I'm actually a physics teacher. But I have to work in this restaurant to make a living."
In spite of the ungodly hour of our departure on Tuesday, the customs officer and port police come to the boat to check us out, and to confirm that we do not have any illegal Tunisians stowed in our closets. The customs officer seems even less pleased than I am to be up at this hour, but the policeman is cheerful and talkative. He slyly asks about the three bottles of whiskey we'd declared when we checked in. We'd been advised by other cruisers to bring along the whiskey to use as gifts but in fact, the men who'd worked on our boat had been non- drinkers, and the policeman who'd checked us in had had a preference for good Italian wine. Our new best friend is all smiles as he walks up the dock carrying two bottles of the cheapest whisky that can be found at the MD store in Marina di Ragusa.
At 4.30a.m., we finally throw off the docklines and sail into a beautiful sunrise for a quick passage to Pantelleria. By early evening, the sails are down, and we motor around the harbour of Pantelleria town looking for the places where Paul and Gabriela have suggested we can tie up for free. How we ended up paying 50 euros a night for a laid mooring at one of the bleakest, dirtiest docks we've ever seen is a long story. What's done is done, and in the end, it turned out to be a good thing. After all, if we hadn't gone in there, we would never have been taken under the wing of Kapitan Trutz, a German ex-merchant mariner who was living on his boat, on the hard, at the port.
But that's tomorrow's story.
A Trip to the Souk
17 June 2013
Bonnie and Rick
On Saturday, we made the hot, dusty walk to the souk. Our path takes us along the water, past the Great Mosque, toward the fishing harbour. As we pass the public beach, children splash in the waves while their mothers wade or swim nearby, fully clothed in headscarves, long sleeves and long skirts. In a small cove below the road, a young woman is swimming, also fully clothed, while her husband stands guard. As we get further from the town centre, the amount of garbage on the side of the road increases exponentially. We step around a dead bird that no one has bothered to remove, and the carcass of a dead cat, so flat that it looks like it has been run over by a steam roller in a Looney Tunes cartoon. In real life, this is not very funny.
By the time we reach the souk, my feet look like this.
At the souk, our senses are bombarded by the brightly coloured vegetables and fruits, the shouts of the vendors and the smell of fresh herbs. Near the entrance, stalks of garlic are neatly stacked in the back of a small pickup truck, the heads forming a mosaic pattern. The vendor cleans garlic heads with a shingle, and the silvery skins float in the breeze. Green almonds, still in their shells, are piled on a blanket. Cherry tomatoes cost the equivalent of 25 cents a kilogram, and a friendly woman translates from Arabic to French to help us distinguish whether the shiny red peppers are the mild variety, or the dangerously hot ones that we once purchased accidentally. We buy a kilogram of dates, a bunch of fresh dill (impossible to find in Sicily!) and a big bag of sweetened nuts that several vendors reach out to taste as we walk through the crowd.
A large section of the souk is given over to the sort of junk that is found in flea markets around the globe. But here, the quality is even lower than usual, and the piles of used clothing and shoes have seen better days. A carpet salesman pursues us as we make our way between the stalls, wanting to give us a "prix d'ami". We escape to a shaded café to get out of the mayhem.
As we drink our cappuccino and bottled water, I do a quick count of the number of women wearing headscarves (hijab). When teenagers and tourists are excluded, roughly seventy five percent are wearing scarves. While I am certain that this is a higher percentage than in 2009, Rick is unconvinced. But we also see four women wearing black garments that hide everything but the eyes (niqab) which we did not see here at all during our previous visit.
Why am I interested in the headscarves? After all, they can be quite chic, and the young women who wear them with tight pants and figure-hugging blouses do not appear to be at all oppressed. But both the first president of Tunisia, Habib Bourguiba, and his successor Ben Ali, were opposed to the hijab. Bouguiba went so far as to call it an "odious rag". From the early 1980s until 2011, Tunisia's laws banned the wearing of headscarves (hijab) in public offices and schools. With that ban now lifted, it seems likely that more Muslim women in Tunisia will reclaim this right. Whether or not this turns out to be a good thing for Tunisian women remains to be seen.
On our way back to the marina, we drop in to the Orange shop in the medina to top up our internet data. We've already used a gigabyte in about 5 days. If you think you're immune to culture shock, try navigating the cellphone and internet system in a foreign country. It's a bewildering process when the clerks do not speak English, French is their second language and the rules of the cellphone company are convoluted. The clerks are helpful and patient, but we never do get a real grip on what happened to the second gigabyte that we thought we had paid for on Monday. We walk away scratching our heads, but with 750MBs added to our account.
It's time for lunch. We treat ourselves to seafood salad, pizza and cold beer at the Calypso restaurant and spend less than $15. As we are walking down the dock, we run into Kara and Phillip, who have hauled Fabuloso in the Port de Peche. They are looking for someone to do a tour of the south of Tunisia, similar to the one we did in 2009. Depending on the weather, that might just be a great idea! As we climb back on board Aisling, Paul, next door asks if we have plans for the evening. Would we to join them for dinner at the Calypso Restaurant?
By the time we reach the souk, my feet look like this.
At the souk, our senses are bombarded by the brightly coloured vegetables and fruits, the shouts of the vendors and the smell of fresh herbs. Near the entrance, stalks of garlic are neatly stacked in the back of a small pickup truck, the heads forming a mosaic pattern. The vendor cleans garlic heads with a shingle, and the silvery skins float in the breeze. Green almonds, still in their shells, are piled on a blanket. Cherry tomatoes cost the equivalent of 25 cents a kilogram, and a friendly woman translates from Arabic to French to help us distinguish whether the shiny red peppers are the mild variety, or the dangerously hot ones that we once purchased accidentally. We buy a kilogram of dates, a bunch of fresh dill (impossible to find in Sicily!) and a big bag of sweetened nuts that several vendors reach out to taste as we walk through the crowd.
A large section of the souk is given over to the sort of junk that is found in flea markets around the globe. But here, the quality is even lower than usual, and the piles of used clothing and shoes have seen better days. A carpet salesman pursues us as we make our way between the stalls, wanting to give us a "prix d'ami". We escape to a shaded café to get out of the mayhem.
As we drink our cappuccino and bottled water, I do a quick count of the number of women wearing headscarves (hijab). When teenagers and tourists are excluded, roughly seventy five percent are wearing scarves. While I am certain that this is a higher percentage than in 2009, Rick is unconvinced. But we also see four women wearing black garments that hide everything but the eyes (niqab) which we did not see here at all during our previous visit.
Why am I interested in the headscarves? After all, they can be quite chic, and the young women who wear them with tight pants and figure-hugging blouses do not appear to be at all oppressed. But both the first president of Tunisia, Habib Bourguiba, and his successor Ben Ali, were opposed to the hijab. Bouguiba went so far as to call it an "odious rag". From the early 1980s until 2011, Tunisia's laws banned the wearing of headscarves (hijab) in public offices and schools. With that ban now lifted, it seems likely that more Muslim women in Tunisia will reclaim this right. Whether or not this turns out to be a good thing for Tunisian women remains to be seen.
On our way back to the marina, we drop in to the Orange shop in the medina to top up our internet data. We've already used a gigabyte in about 5 days. If you think you're immune to culture shock, try navigating the cellphone and internet system in a foreign country. It's a bewildering process when the clerks do not speak English, French is their second language and the rules of the cellphone company are convoluted. The clerks are helpful and patient, but we never do get a real grip on what happened to the second gigabyte that we thought we had paid for on Monday. We walk away scratching our heads, but with 750MBs added to our account.
It's time for lunch. We treat ourselves to seafood salad, pizza and cold beer at the Calypso restaurant and spend less than $15. As we are walking down the dock, we run into Kara and Phillip, who have hauled Fabuloso in the Port de Peche. They are looking for someone to do a tour of the south of Tunisia, similar to the one we did in 2009. Depending on the weather, that might just be a great idea! As we climb back on board Aisling, Paul, next door asks if we have plans for the evening. Would we to join them for dinner at the Calypso Restaurant?
Back in Tunisia!
10 June 2013 | Marina Cap Monastir
Bonnie
To say that we were happy to arrive in Monastir would be a significant understatement. Although the passage took just a bit over 31 hours, it was bumpy and cold. The wind was on the nose for the first 10 hours. Two-meter waves were tossing the boat around like a cork. One of us was seasick (I'm sure you can guess which one). Consequently, the one of us who was not seasick was on deck for 24 of the 31 hours. To add insult to injury, a pigeon landed on deck and rode most of the way across the Strait of Sicily with us. With the passing of the years, I've mostly overcome my bird phobia, but I assure you that at 5 a.m., while struggling to overcome a queasy stomach, a bird fluttering around the foredeck was the last thing I wanted to see. And what on earth was a pigeon doing at sea anyway?
For that matter, what on earth were we doing out there? Both of us had seen the weather forecast. But the thing is, it sounded positively benign compared to the previous days' forecast of 25-30 knot winds and 2-3 meter waves. We'd also neglected to factor in the increased vulnerability to seasickness that, for me, is an inevitable consequence of spending six months on land. But mostly, it was because we had been at the dock too long and were itching to get away.
It was a blessed relief when the wind clocked round to the forward beam late Friday evening, and an even greater relief when the waves finally moderated. By noon on Saturday, we were motoring in light winds on a mostly calm sea. After consuming the lion's share of the lemon cake that our friend Sandra had given us before we left, I was definitely feeling more cheerful. Dolphins jumped beside the boat and four sea turtles swam by (perhaps in pursuit of the platoons of tiny purple-sail jellyfish that also passed us). At five p.m., the familiar turrets of Habib Bourguiba's mausoleum came into view. What a wonderful feeling to step off the dock at Marina Cap Monastir! And how nice to almost immediately bump into three other cruising couples that we know. We had dinner at the Café Calypso with Philip and Kara from Fabuloso, but since we'd all sailed through the same nasty weather, we made it an early night.
For a while, I had assumed we'd never be back in Tunisia. When we'd last been here in the spring of 2009, there were huge photos of President Ben Ali at every 10 paces. Less than two years later, we'd watched the news coverage of Ben Ali's photos being burned in the streets during the revolution with a kind of horrified fascination. How could we not have realized that things were so bad? Not that we hadn't noticed the restrictions to civil liberties. Our Tunisian guide Hamid had been reprimanded by the authorities for visiting our boat without clearance. Our dockside neighbours Tom and Liz had witnessed a citizen being beaten by the police. But we'd had no sense that things were about to blow up.
Fortunately, things have settled down a lot since then, and the cruisers from Marina di Ragusa who visited Tunisia last year returned with good reports. Not so Paolo our electrician, who travels all over the world servicing the steering systems on superyachts. "Don't go!" he said. "It used to be nice; now it's terrible! It's dirty, they drive on the wrong side of the road and they don't even wear helmets!" For him, the helmets seemed to be the last straw. (Sicilians may not be models of defensive driving, but they do observe the helmet laws.) "But you could say the same things about Greece!" I countered. Anyway, we needed to get the boat out of the EU, and a short passage to Tunisia was more appealing than heading 350 miles to Albania. So off we went, and we're glad to be here.
Things in Monastir seem much the same as they did four years ago. Oh, perhaps there are fewer Europeans in the marina restaurants, and there seem to be more headscarves on the streets (although Rick is convinced there are fewer). There's lots of garbage in the water, and the young bucks hassle me when I walk through the park beside the Ribat, but that is nothing new. Last night, we went to the tea salon in search of wireless internet, and drank almond tea while the men at the table behind us smoked a "hubble bubble" pipe and watched the football match. This morning, I walked up to the market and bought a bag of fresh figs and some merquez sausages. The weather is lovely. I wouldn't mind hanging around here for a while. We probably will. Paolo was right about one thing though. I haven't seen anyone wearing a helmet yet!
The downside is that, at the moment, we're "on the hard" which is, in my opinion, a most unsatisfactory way to live. This means that the boat is essentially on stilts. They didn't quite get things right when they put the boat in the stands, so it's sitting significantly lower at the bow than at the stern. Things should get really interesting at bedtime! We can't use the head, so will have to climb down a steep ladder any time we feel the urge to use the toilet. Worse, we have been given a particularly rickety ladder that trembles like a leaf in the wind each time I set foot on it. Or is that my knees knocking? Never mind, it will only be for a day or two. At least I'm not seasick!
Cruisers notes-Prices Marina Cap Monastir 2013
For 12 M boat:
High season (June-Sept): 30 TD (15 euros)/day or 500TD/month
Low Season (Oct-May): 24TD (12 euros)/day or 400TD/month
Water and electricity add 5.5 TD/day
Multihulls add 65%
Fresh market and supermarket in the town
Full service laundry in marina
Several good and inexpensive restaurants in the marina
Reasonably priced apartments available at marina Studio (one room 2 people) 64DT in June 2013 2 Rooms 4 people 86 DT see Marina Website
For that matter, what on earth were we doing out there? Both of us had seen the weather forecast. But the thing is, it sounded positively benign compared to the previous days' forecast of 25-30 knot winds and 2-3 meter waves. We'd also neglected to factor in the increased vulnerability to seasickness that, for me, is an inevitable consequence of spending six months on land. But mostly, it was because we had been at the dock too long and were itching to get away.
It was a blessed relief when the wind clocked round to the forward beam late Friday evening, and an even greater relief when the waves finally moderated. By noon on Saturday, we were motoring in light winds on a mostly calm sea. After consuming the lion's share of the lemon cake that our friend Sandra had given us before we left, I was definitely feeling more cheerful. Dolphins jumped beside the boat and four sea turtles swam by (perhaps in pursuit of the platoons of tiny purple-sail jellyfish that also passed us). At five p.m., the familiar turrets of Habib Bourguiba's mausoleum came into view. What a wonderful feeling to step off the dock at Marina Cap Monastir! And how nice to almost immediately bump into three other cruising couples that we know. We had dinner at the Café Calypso with Philip and Kara from Fabuloso, but since we'd all sailed through the same nasty weather, we made it an early night.
For a while, I had assumed we'd never be back in Tunisia. When we'd last been here in the spring of 2009, there were huge photos of President Ben Ali at every 10 paces. Less than two years later, we'd watched the news coverage of Ben Ali's photos being burned in the streets during the revolution with a kind of horrified fascination. How could we not have realized that things were so bad? Not that we hadn't noticed the restrictions to civil liberties. Our Tunisian guide Hamid had been reprimanded by the authorities for visiting our boat without clearance. Our dockside neighbours Tom and Liz had witnessed a citizen being beaten by the police. But we'd had no sense that things were about to blow up.
Fortunately, things have settled down a lot since then, and the cruisers from Marina di Ragusa who visited Tunisia last year returned with good reports. Not so Paolo our electrician, who travels all over the world servicing the steering systems on superyachts. "Don't go!" he said. "It used to be nice; now it's terrible! It's dirty, they drive on the wrong side of the road and they don't even wear helmets!" For him, the helmets seemed to be the last straw. (Sicilians may not be models of defensive driving, but they do observe the helmet laws.) "But you could say the same things about Greece!" I countered. Anyway, we needed to get the boat out of the EU, and a short passage to Tunisia was more appealing than heading 350 miles to Albania. So off we went, and we're glad to be here.
Things in Monastir seem much the same as they did four years ago. Oh, perhaps there are fewer Europeans in the marina restaurants, and there seem to be more headscarves on the streets (although Rick is convinced there are fewer). There's lots of garbage in the water, and the young bucks hassle me when I walk through the park beside the Ribat, but that is nothing new. Last night, we went to the tea salon in search of wireless internet, and drank almond tea while the men at the table behind us smoked a "hubble bubble" pipe and watched the football match. This morning, I walked up to the market and bought a bag of fresh figs and some merquez sausages. The weather is lovely. I wouldn't mind hanging around here for a while. We probably will. Paolo was right about one thing though. I haven't seen anyone wearing a helmet yet!
The downside is that, at the moment, we're "on the hard" which is, in my opinion, a most unsatisfactory way to live. This means that the boat is essentially on stilts. They didn't quite get things right when they put the boat in the stands, so it's sitting significantly lower at the bow than at the stern. Things should get really interesting at bedtime! We can't use the head, so will have to climb down a steep ladder any time we feel the urge to use the toilet. Worse, we have been given a particularly rickety ladder that trembles like a leaf in the wind each time I set foot on it. Or is that my knees knocking? Never mind, it will only be for a day or two. At least I'm not seasick!
Cruisers notes-Prices Marina Cap Monastir 2013
For 12 M boat:
High season (June-Sept): 30 TD (15 euros)/day or 500TD/month
Low Season (Oct-May): 24TD (12 euros)/day or 400TD/month
Water and electricity add 5.5 TD/day
Multihulls add 65%
Fresh market and supermarket in the town
Full service laundry in marina
Several good and inexpensive restaurants in the marina
Reasonably priced apartments available at marina Studio (one room 2 people) 64DT in June 2013 2 Rooms 4 people 86 DT see Marina Website
| Vessel Name: | Aisling I |
| Vessel Make/Model: | Slocum 43 |
| Hailing Port: | Halifax, NS, Canada |
| Crew: | Rick and Bonnie Salsman |
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Aisling I's Photos - Aisling I (Main)
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During the winter, we babysat Murphy Brown (a lovely poodle that belongs to our friends Wally and Martha) for 10 days. I had some fun capturing her in some of her favourite spots!
8 Photos
Created 16 May 2012
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Pics of Aisling at anchor, up top and down below.
23 Photos
Created 2 November 2008
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About Aisling 1
Who: Rick and Bonnie Salsman
Port: Halifax, NS, Canada
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