Well, actually, they do: their lifespan is about 40-50 years. What I mean is, no matter how many camels we saw during our Tunisian excursions, we never tired of watching them and taking pictures with them. They're the perfect combination of cute and exotic!
***
As we are more sightseers than beach bums, we signed up for two tours immediately after our arrival at the hotel. This was a good move as we got in a couple of days to relax on the beach, then spent three days on the road seeing most of the country, and finally, decompressed again on our last day at the resort.
The first tour--always the hotel's most popular--was a 2-day bus/Jeep trek in the Sahara. We started by visiting the Roman amphitheater of El Jem--the third largest of its kind, after the Colosseum and the theater of Capua.
The amphitheater is still used today, not for gladiatorial battles,
bien entendu, but for concerts and other events.
We headed to the village of Matmata, home to cave-dwelling Berbers and one of the sites where
Star Wars was filmed. But not before being accosted by vendors around El Jem!
Alan channels Yasser Arafat
I enjoy a quick photo-op with Mr. Camel, before a random villager starts charging people 1 dinar per picture
These colors must be associated with Muhammad's daughter Fatimah, because as I walked down the street in this head scarf (which was, ahem, Made in China), the shopkeepers kept crying her name out to me. It was a little like the Tunisian version of men whistling at you, except it wasn't lewd. Rather, you could hear the admiration in their voices: in Muslim culture, Fatimah is the paragon of the virtuous woman.
After many kilometers in the bus--we traveled 1300 km in 2 days--we finally reached Matmata. There wasn't too much scenery along the way: in the beginning, we saw endless rows of olive trees. I was surprised to see many more than I've seen in Italy or even Southern France. The closer we got to the desert, the trees gave way to this cracked land with dry shrubbery:
Occasionally there would be signs of life: a shepherd watching his sheep from under the shade of an olive tree, a group of men grilling lamb at their local cafe, fruit vendors and, interestingly enough, gasoline vendors:
(It was difficult to get good pictures from the bus).
If I remember correctly, these are mostly poor Libyans who set up shop along desert roads and sell their gas much more cheaply than do the Tunisian gas stations. This practice is illegal, but the police mostly turn a blind eye to it, because, in the words of our tour guide, "the poor need to be able to make money."
There were also small oases, next to which vendors of fruit and palm juice had set up camp, and, in the middle of nowhere, an unexpected reminder of home:
This is the panorama we stopped for at the village of Matmata. You can't see them in the picture, but the place was swarming with falcons...and, of course, their owners, who were charging 1 dinar per picture. I'm sure that, in the hot, desolate, beauty of the desert, tourists represent a meal ticket for many of the locals. A good thing--but it doesn't change the fact that, for the non-hagglers among us, their persistence gets old after a while (unlike the camels).
Lunch--the best meal during our three days of excursions--was in this little underground Berber cave-dwelling:
Appetizers were rice with tomatoes, herbs and olives, plus a sort of fried tortilla with cheese. The main dish was couscous, followed by dessert: honeyed Fig-Newton-type things.
Next we visited a typical Berber house. To stay out of the sun, they dig underground to form caves. Sure enough, as soon as we entered their home, we felt immediate relief from the heat: nature's A/C! The accommodations were Spartan (obviously there is no Wal-mart nearby to help fill up your home) and once again reminded me just how much most Americans
have.
As you can see, there are very few decorations, and even fewer luxuries...save for one surprise: the trusty TV.
If you are wondering why the woman pictured is wearing so many clothes in a desert climate, there are a couple of reasons. First--and this seems counterintuitive to shorts-and-t-shirt-donning Americans--but it is important to shield your skin from the sun's rays. I was surprised at how little I sweated, despite being mostly covered: the secret is wearing light, roomy cotton. Second, Tunisia is 98% Muslim, which means that believers must dress modestly. Although I admit women tend to cover more skin, I didn't see a single Tunisian man in shorts.
Because of this modesty, I was unsure of what to pack when preparing for our trip. I had read that it is better to show your respect for the culture by covering up. (Westerners--women especially, thanks to fashion's push for revealing clothing--have a reputation among Muslims for being loose). On the other hand, we were going to a beach and a desert, so bathing suits and summer clothing were a must. Additionally, I had read that Tunisia was one of the Muslim countries where women enjoyed quite a bit of freedom. In fact, in some bigger cities, the head scarf was more the exception than the rule.
So I packed what few long-ish summer clothes I had, filled in the gaps with what I would normally wear (after all, I wouldn't say I'm too daring in my choice of clothing), and hoped that the vacationers' reviews I had read online would work out. The result? At the resort, bikinis were completely acceptable: we even saw some German and Italian women take off their tops. On the other hand, we saw some conservative Muslim women wearing the
jilbab (the long robe that covers arms and legs) on the beach and even in the water (I think these were made of a loose bathing suit fabric).
In the streets of Tunisia, women's dress was a mix between the traditional
jilbab and loose Western-style clothing that usually covered arms and legs. We would often see groups of women walking together dressed very differently from one another: for example, some wore the
hijab (head scarf), while others did not. Some older men preferred the traditional tunic and skull-cap (
takiyah); most others wore jeans or capris and a t-shirt or long-sleeved button-down. In the big cities the closest thing I saw to "revealing" dress was girls wearing the skinny jeans you see everywhere, or a scoop-neck t-shirt. Usually you would not see both of these at once, and the scoop neck never went anywhere near the cleavage.
So was I right to pack what I did? On the first excursion day, everything was covered except my head, my forearms, and my ankles. I felt like I was blending in as best I could--especially given the short shorts and spaghetti straps on some of the European tourists. On the second and third excursion days, I relaxed a little (pictures forthcoming) and attracted a
lot more attention from the men. I was in a group, and still decent by Western standards, but if I were to do it again I think I would try to stay covered. For me it was a question of what I already had in my wardrobe, but you can't change the fact that knees and shoulders are viewed differently in Tunisia.
I will conclude this post with something a little lighter: camel rides! The rest of day 1 in the Sahara was a lot more driving, with the occasional stop for desert photos and 1-dinar potty breaks. Some people bought souvenirs, such as the desert roses you see in the last photo, next to a daring tourist's exposed legs.
Finally, the highlight of the trip. For 40 dinars extra--because it's all included, except for drinks and camel rides and trips to the WC--we got a 1-hour+ ride in the Sahara on these gentle beasts. It was exhilerating just thinking about what we were doing, but I did have a few complaints. First, Alan's camel (I was in front) was constantly chewing his cud...millimeters from my thigh.
Alan was kind enough to switch with me on the way back. Not that I wanted his leg sacrificed instead of mine, but the camel was probably not going to bite and he knew it better than I.
I'll admit, my fear got in the way of my enjoyment. Additionally, my camel did not have a whole lot of padding on it, so my butt bones (I'm sorry I can't be more scientific than that) were extremely sore for the next few days.
At the midway point we were allowed to walk around the desert a little and bond with our camels. I wanted a closeup with mine, but was too afraid of his big chompers. One swift turn of the head from him (her?) and this is what you get.
Classic.
I warmed up to the old bugger (OK, the old bugger of our travel companions, who assured me they had been petting bite-free for the last 10 minutes):
Riding off into the sunset
"I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, and a long way from home..." (For my American readers, that's an allusion to the French comic book character Lucky Luke).
More Tunisia installments to come!
