Holy Zeus! In Sousse!

I've been so busy! First my parents visited and then I had a two week training course, which sounds like fun, except that you have to attend lectures all day, complete assignments and coursework and also continue to keep up to date with your day job... lest your return workload will rise up and crush you... This is what awaits me as I return to the office tomorrow - pray for me.

In addition, the new beautiful and amazing GPS watch which I received for my birthday has encouraged a competitive demon within me, and him aside, I have been really enjoying racking up the mileage of my runs and did a total of 40.9 miles last week (and yes, I'm taking that .9 thank you very much, because I deserve credit for every footstep). More on running later.

Anyway, sorry for taking 150 years to get back to you with this one - and please all stop your moaning, especially you, Dad, because, let's be honest, you already know what happened on our great trip to central Tunisia, and all of your comments about my blog not being updated are born out of a desire for stardom. He's your moment to shine. Granting me some liberal artistic license. Naturally.

When you live overseas and you spend a great deal of time on skype calls coaxing your family back home to send you biscuits and Anglophone magazines, it's difficult to know how to play it when they visit. On the one hand you need to show them that you are safe, comfortable and happy, but you really don't want to let life look too luxurious so that they stop sending the care packages... or even stop caring. It took me a few iterations to get this right. My first visitors to Uganda, my darling, Western sisters, were left weeping in terror as we arrived at most of the accommodation that I had booked for our safari. So when my parents came, it all went a bit far the other way, and the spectacular resorts that I had booked left my parents declaring that they had eaten some of the best food of their lives in Uganda and could they come back on holiday again next year?. As luck would have it, I actually left Uganda soon after that, and so didn't get to do the sun-creamed, insect repellant-ed, AC to AC tango again... but it's something I look forward to in my next sub-Sahara posting.

Messing aside, it really is great to have family to visit (even if they bring over bags of dry-roasted peanuts that they scoff while you are sleeping) as it also gives you the opportunity to be a tourist in your host country, learn formally about the rich culture and history, and see her as she wishes to be shown off. With my guests wanting good access to Star Wars sites, we decided to travel down to Sousse, and pick up a desert tour from there - I'm going to do another post about visiting the Star Wars filming sites, because when I was researching online, it was hard to get much information, so I think it would be helpful to do a full informative post about how to do it.

Juicy Sousse-y

Sousse is a destination in its own right, to the extent that many flights come in from Europe straight to Enfidha airport, full of pasty, package-holiday patrons. While many of then will stay in their resorts, Sousse does have a massive Fort, Ribat and Mosque, if you're feeling adventurous. Luckily, I was born adventurous, to adventurous parents, so we hit the city at the earliest opportunity.

In Sousse, I experienced some moments of extreme discomfort as a result of touristic cultural pollution (which may or may not be a real term, but just exploded out of my brain). Walking through the Medina, you're subjected to lots of invitations to look into souks, of varying levels of aggression, from gentle coaxing, right up to rudeness, cat-calling and crude gestures and language, that make you stop and wonder - what is this person really trying to achieve? Some of the things that are called out in this market place really aren't designed to get you to browse the souks, but rather to get your attention, and to maybe get a rise from you. Let's face it, it's a boring job, and one up-sale to a unseasoned tourist will probably cover the day's wage... the rest of the time can be used for the shop keepers own amusement.

So none of this actually bothers me, I bartered for every single tomato at Nakawa market in Kampala during my two years there, I'm used to the trading spirit. I'm also used to bear-faced aggression in the face of desperation, I was in Zimbabwe in 2006. But the disturbing thing about the traders in Sousse, was much more unsettling:

Some of the traders, on discovering that we were British, would shout out, plays on famous British advertising: "Cheaper than Tescos", "We have Asda price", or up the ante with some British slang "c'mon 'av a shufty", "c'mon 'av a butcher's" (both of which mean "come and have a look" in British Arabic slang and Cockney rhyming slang respectively). This got a smile from us, as the vendors would adopt a funny, playful British Accent.

Then they called out "cheaper than a ... shop" and used the racist word that is wildly un-PC and often used to define a cornershop. You know the one, guys, I'm not going to type it out. 

To hear that word shouted in the street naturally grates on me and burns my face and throat with anger, but the uncomfortable realisation that the regional specificness of that word and all the other phrases, means that they have been taught all of this by British tourists, passing through, spreading the dregs and the filth of our embarrassing sub-culture... well that's pretty hard to bear.

Onwards and upwards - people, go to Sousse, you can see Tunisia at its best (good restaurant service, nice museums and clean beaches) and my culture at its worst.

A Jem in the Desert

Just three hours from Sousse (ish, I wasn't really counting) is the Roman Amphitheatre at El Jem. I had been once before for the International Symphonic Music Festival, where you go at night and the whole Amphitheatre is lit up, and you can take a picnic, and cushions. We forgot the cushions. Never again.

Anyway, it was super to finally visit in the daylight. The El Jem amphitheatre is huge and beautiful, the biggest in Africa, and was digitally remastered for the Gladiator film. Like all Tunisian monuments, it was gloriously quiet and hardly anyone was visiting. We ran around pretending to be lions, Christians and Russell Crowes.

We also hit the desert hard and took a cheeky camel ride down at Tozeur. You hear "Camel, camel" everywhere in Tunisia, but let's be honest - they're dromedaries. They have just one hump and long, long legs. Even the traffic signs know it, the word is right in French, but mis-translated to 'camels' in English. 

Maybe a dromedary is a type of camel. I'm no expert. Neither is my mother, who, while aboard, asked me if camels eat meat. This woman is the "Head of Science" at her primary school. 

Britain has no chance.