Chewie, We’re Home
You’d think after all that’s come before I’d know better than to listen to the tour guides and to be mindful of any suggested/stated times. Yesterday Resa advised me I needed to be at the airport at least three hours before my flight… even for one as early as my 7:20 am one. So I grabbed a taxi outside my hotel around 4 am.
I’m so glad I got there early. Look at the crowds!
I should’ve known the Airport wouldn’t be open for an hour or two; the moose outside should’ve told me, as the old WallyWorld joke goes.
.
It’s gonna be one of those days, and thus the perfect end to this trip.
My blog posts are typically, and dare I say uniformly, riddled with typos, prone to grammatical errors, subjective and superficial, all the while lacking the coherence and grace of a proofread and analytical rewrite. But they have in them the raw, visceral, Malcolm Gladwell “blink” style of-the-moment-ness that I hope makes up for at least a little bit of the wayward errors.
I’m constantly trying to feed the proverbial beast, setting a personal goal of a new post every day. Some days are nothingburgers and some might be a three course meal. Regardless of the day, I sometimes gloss over bits or cut things as I write using a gut-reaction, on-the-fly, self-censoring editing process. It doesn’t always work out very well but … sigh…
There’s been more reflection and analysis in my past few posts than I normally do if only because so much has gone wrong. As I think back on this trip, it was death by a thousand cuts, a broken camel’s back from too much straw, a crossed rubicon of a red line. Those cliches are trite but they have endured because there are kernels of truth to them. I could, as often the case in my life, roll with any number of things until I hit my breaking point. And then I’m just done. This trip broke me the last few days, such that those little things throughout the tour have grown in significance and in disappointment.
And yet I’m trying to see the brighter side. I’m trying to be positive. I’m trying.
The meandering point is that there are any number of cut scenes, alternate takes, abandoned ideas and concept art in any given blog post … and it’s especially true on one of these multiday tour packages. I thought as I sit here for the next 13 or 14 hours flying home it might be a good time to post some of the lost or missing or extended beats. Think of this as the Hanna Solo Bonus Feature Special Edition.
I considered titling this section “Han Shot First!”
Hopefully there will be some fun in this look back… and that may lead to a restoration of balance in my memory of the tour.
***
We begin with a few selections from Israel. Some of these may even have made it into the blog posts or onto social media… though I don’t think so. I’m at 36,000 feet somewhere over the Atlantic and I’m too cheap to pay for the Turkish Airlines wifi… though if ever there were a flight-long charge to pay, it’s probably this one.
This is at the beach in Tel Aviv. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a jew’s harp. I actually think the term jew’s harp might be incredibly racist. I might be incredibly racist just for typing the phrase jew’s harp. Oh, god. I typed “jew’s harp” again. And again just there! Argh!
***
This may have appeared on the blog in a slightly different angle. But I have to say, as a foreigner in a foreign land who struggles speaking his native tongue, I was relieved to be told there was an English menu.
***
This is one of those storefronts that feels like it should be in the background of Springfield, USA, on the Simpsons. ICU – Put Success On Your Face? A bit on the nose don’t you think. HEY YO!
***
For some reason I was obsessed with the street name “Einstein.” I guess because I wished there were IQ tests to determine if you were worthy of living on Smartypants Lane. And I secretly hoped that’s what everybody who DIDN’T live on Einstein Rd called it.
***
I always find it funny to see gift shops/kiosks at religious sites. It always feels unintentionally ironic and hypocritical to me to have them there. Albeit I think vows of poverty amidst cathedrals and jewel encrusted alters is a bit gauche. What do I know? I’ve been a recovering catholic for decades now.
I don’t have a photo to illustrate this, but did you know there are lots of Tunisian vineyards? They’re mostly located in Cap Bon, the Italian christened peninsula in the northeastern corner of the country. Considering Tunisia, for lack of a better definition, is a Muslim country and alcohol is forbidden by the Quoran, this may seem a little puzzling. But there’s a long tradition of wine in this area, and you can thank the Phoenecians for that. And the ensuing civilizations here as well. There’s a small amount of export but the majority of the wine, at least according to my guide, goes to the hotels and tourism industry for visitors… although there are SOME Muslims who do imbibe. Whether alcohol is forbidden or discouraged is claimed to be up for debate/interpretation… albeit as with any such
***
This is outside the Dead Sea ticket booth we went to. There’s something of a giggling 6th grader in me that laughs at the reference to “private things” at a place I have to get naked at in order to go in and out of the salt water.
***
Here’s an example of the cohabitation “balance” the guides promoted, the reason that it’s much better than the mass media would have you believe. Israeli plates are in yellow and Palenstinan plates are in green. So, ya know, if you’re the wrong color on the wrong road you’re in trouble. It’s that kind of “enlightenment” that sounds an awful lot like “coloreds only” vs “whites only.” It creeps me out to no end.
***
Jerusalem Marathon in March – pass. It’s actually only a few days from now and at one point I *had* considered extending my trip to go back out of Israel. Given my current mindset and the fact that post-one-step fall at Hotel Sidi Driss I’m having some pained breathing (suspected bruised ribs and hip), it’s probably for the best that I’m heading home, no passing Jerusalem, not collecting 200 shekels.
***
I always find the word choice in signs amusing, be it a native speaker’s sign or a translaton for foreigners. This “stick to the right” sign felt like some weird hybrid as it has a colloquial vibe … but also the wrong kind of colloquial vibe if that makes sense.
***
God, how I wish this sign worked. Everywhere I went, Israel, Turkey in the airport, on the plane from Turkey, and Tunisia itself there was just so much smoking. No wonder my sinus infection kept getting worse throughout the trip – I kept sucking down lungfuls of this crap despite the oacks being emblazoned in bold Arial font “SMOKING KILLS.”
***
This was in Nazareth, apparently a hotbed HQ for Microsoft. And I found it a little tacky that the Merry Christmas sign was still up in late February. C’mon, MS – set a reminder on your calendar app!
***
While waiting to start the Tel Aviv Marathon, this guy was in front of me. The only thing I could think about in the opening kilometer was, “Is it just me or it that some weird spacing on Bu charest?”
***
And now onto Tunisia…
After picking up my bib for Carthage I realized I dropped my safety pins. I texted the race organizers to ask if they’d have spare ones in the morning. They said they had no idea what a safety pin was. I snet back this photo and said maybe they just call them pins here? Never got an answer on that but they DID have spare whatever these things are called at the starting line.
And I played with the color on my finisher photo as months ago I did a similar one with Steve and me rockin’ our Solo shirts that our mom bought us for Christmas.
***
This I KNOW I posted to social media – but when it’s 10.50 for a can at a kiosk and 6.50 in the vending machine, well, gosh, you buy from the vending machine whether you’re thirsty or not. That’s just good fiscal responsibility to be saving that kind of money.
***
When Ons recommended a restaurant to me in Sidi Bousaid, they had this sticker on their counter. I’m used to the Phantom Gourmet, the anonymous diner I think based in the Northeast who would dine at local places and write reviews. Apparently in Tunis, some joker does it.
***
While killing time at the Carthage Airport before my flight to Djerba, I was craving a Coke Zero. But not even the siren’s call of that caffeinated nectar of the gods could get me to pay these prices. A can of coke was more than a quiche, more than a chocolate cake.
***
During my initial walkabout at Djerba, I took some shots of area establishments ant probably posted them without much comment – sometimes I just let the image speak for itself and sometimes I try and put in a supposedly pithy comment. Here’s a failed attempt at one or two below:
In this McDonald’s knock-off emblem I had hoped to find the Big Mick from Coming to America (1998) fame.
I don’t know if Lloyd’s of London has a branch here or if some entrepreneurial soul saw an opening…
I’m not sure exactly what he does, but I kinda wanted to sign a contract with him just so I could say I was represented by some schmuck.
This was at a pop-up street fair carnival we passed in a city. Of all the kings I can think of (Elvis, Kong, Yul Brynner, Ralph, etc), I don’t recognize this one.
***
When we went through Tataouine I opted for a hitchhiker’s pose at the outskirts. But I also loved this sign showcasing the Arabic and French influences.
Speaking of the French influence, ever since the colonial period (1881 until independence in 1956), Tunisia has adopted a number of French customs and traditions. So while most Muslim dominated countries have their holy day Friday and Saturday as their “weekend,” Tunisia opted to have a Friday mid-day holiday for the most important prayer service but keep their weekend as Saturday and Sunday. I wasn’t sure how to take that honestly. The colonial influence remains strong.
***
This was at a roadside café we stopped at. It’s important NOT to confuse these two doors.
***
Nader (I’m just going to spell it that way now as that’s how the tour company referred to him) and Mohammed at the Ksar Hedada, site of the famed balcony scene from The Phantom Menace. They were chuffed about the previous tour pair leaving behind the “black mask” and “white mask” though they didn’t know who they were. I’d ask them to take a photo and sometimes they’d insist on wearing the masks too to get into the spirit of things… whether it was to make me feel less sad about traveling alone (ugh… enough!) or it was they just enjoyed wearing a mask now and again (who doesn’t!) I don’t know.
I do know that at the Lars Homestead exterior, Mohammed had put on his Darth Vader mask upside down. I thought about NOT saying anything as it was a sort of perfect example of their unfamiliarity with Star Wars but I was worried he was having trouble seeing… which he was… because the mask was upside down.
At some stage we talked about the Arab Spring Revolution in 2011. Nader told me nothing has changed after the revolution. Those countries Tunisia had had ties with in the past – most especially Italy – are in similar financial trouble. The Tunisians he says neither like nor dislike Trump – they think of him as a non-entity as he doesn’t seem to “tweet” or care about Tunisia one way or another. Nader was of the opinion even the Prime Minister was ambivalent about Trump because he’s more concerned about what people will actually do for the country. By the same token, they really liked Clinton – Bill, not Hillary.
Nader’s wife studied telecom and technology at University but there are no jobs. Jobs remain a huge problem. I asked if there would be another revolution/uprising then to try and change matters once more. “Why bother?” Nader said. “It didn’t work last time. They tried and it did nothing.” There’s a resigned sadness to his statement. But, he says, “since 2011 Tunisia lives in hope for better days/time.” I told him that at least since November 8, 2016, the USA is of a similar mindset, hoping it will get better.
***
I can’t remember if I posted this shot or not, but I like to call it my “kitchen sink” shot. It’s got it all – a camel, a donkey, and, well… ya know.
***
Moons over Tunisia. Here’s just a sampling of various moonshots I took throughout the tour. The clear sky shots were courtesy of my lens error prone Canon camera but there were a few shockingly half-way decent iPhone snaps too. I almost never have any luck in low-light/night with the iPhone.
***
At one point while seeing where Queen Amidala’s Royal Starship supposedly landed, Nader suggested I lie in the sand to make all my friends jealous. I hated this idea but wanted to be a good sport. I think I was wrong to hate it. I look terrible in this shot.
***
I tried leaning on this moisture farming tower at Mos Espa. I nearly broke it in two as it was NOT built for that at all. It’s wobbly, paper mache, and chickenwire. I’m surprised a strong desert wind hasn’t blown it away.
***
Amongst the bric-a-brac for sale at Mos Espa was this petrified snake thing. It’s a horned snake. Have I discussed this already? Very dangerous – his fangs and his horns have poisonous venom. Nasty little thing.
***
Here’s an outtake from the Neck of the Camel ascent. It’s only partly staged. My low-grade vertigo was acting up AND I do look that goofily pudgy in real life.
***
Where should we eat? How about that restaurant? Why not?
***
Outside of the bigger cities, and this has been the case in a lot of my travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa, they really only carry regular Coca-Cola. Diet/Light Coke and Coke Zero are almost non-existent. So it was that I found a Carrefour in Tozeur and they didn’t let me down for scoring a fix. The next morning as I was carrying out a half-drunk bottle for the car ride, Nader told me I shouldn’t be drinking that, especiailly in the morning. It’s bad for the digestion and the body, he said, as he puffed away on one of his cigarettes. Unlike in Carthage, he didn’t laugh or see the irony of his comments amidst the carcinogenic haze that enveloped him like an alternate universe Peanuts character.
***
Eventually I did find out what this sign meant.
I was really, really, RIDICULOUSLY disappointed that it wasn’t:
- A pickup/drop off sign for the Olympic torch relay bus
- A minimum speed limit was enforced, i.e. no stopping, because if you fall below let’s say 5 kilometers per hour, the bus explodes.
It was actually a “no flammable tanker trucks allowed in this area” sign. Lame.
***
Salaam, Kitty!
***
In Tozeur I had a series of darkly comic and comically dark language snafus and dining mis-steps. One morning when breakfast seemed impossible I was able to dig up “jus d’orange” from my French I memory banks (shout outs to you, Mademoiselle Zarfos!). Amidst the various sounds best compared to choking, the hotel guy was confused about “juice/jus?” He didn’t know what that was. I swear “jus” is juice is juice and d’orange I’m 100% sure is French acceptable. After pantomiming drinking and saying “boisson?” he acknowledged it and poured me this. I don’t care what language we were speaking – that is NOT juice the color of orange. It was a fruit juice so I took that as a win but I wanted to keep saying “orange, orange, orange!” But in my head I got stuck wondering if there’s a French word that rhymes with “orange.”
That same day, I got into trouble with the women working this roadside stand for snapping a photo. I guess I should’ve asked first but I purposefully didn’t take it of their faces, more of the scene itself. This is a road trip drive-through. Dotting the roads are brave souls hawking their homemade bread and condiments . Mohammed and Nader hadn’t had breakfast that morning because as I think I said the Tozeur hotel didn’t really have a breakfast… or at least not one that I was able to access. But this was way better than a McDonald’s…
***
This was probably the moment the straw broke the camel’s back, when the red line was crossed, when I had stood for as much as I could and couldn’t stand no more. This is Nader showing me the binder of the Raiders of the Lost Ark locations in the Kairouan Medina… an hour after we visited… and effectively displaying it with less panache and showmanship than an apprentice magician playing his first big amphitheater and showing everybody a card that is illegible to anyone more than a few feet away.
***
The Hotel El Fell was on the Mediterranean Sea and these are shots I took while out for a couple of runs to try and clear my mind of the toxic moments of the tour and the literal toxins from my body due to an ongoing illness and second-hand smoke. I also snapped a shot of Omar Khayam Club as there’s a great Rocky and Bullwinkle adventure that involves the ruby yacht of Omar Khayam.
What’s a terrible buffet breakfast look like at least half an hour after opening? This:
***
Sidi Bou Said has a famous café, the café of mats that is very Ottoman in its ambiance. I didn’t have anything there but I snapped a few shots as it’s apparently a touristy tradition.
***
In the Tunis Centre where I stayed my last night in Tunisia… perhaps ever… hopefully ever honestly… I came across this sadly closed storefront. Gods, the stories this place could tell. I really, really wish it had been open.
***
I’m SURE I’ve posted this Pharmacie logo before, and probably even talked about it. But that image just screams martini glass to me. I guess one could argue that they sell drug cocktails so, ya know, maybe… I feel like the US medical logo is a staff surrounded by one or two snakes and a pharmacy is usually a pestle and mortar type thing. But maybe I’m way off the map in the land where there may be dragons. Regardless, imagine the logo as being outside a bar. You totally see it, right? You can’t unsee it now, right?
***
I just wanted something “light for dinner last night. This is what happens when I try and go “small”:
***
I wrote most of the above on my long haul connecting flight through Istanbul. Amongst their amenities are a clock showing when the next Islamic prayer time is and the direction of Mecca relative to the plane. That’s something I hadn’t seen before on the scrolling flight data display.
***
Having arrived back in the US, I endured the long, slow, torturous process of watching all the other bags get unloaded… except for mine. After forty-five minutes the conveyer belt stopped and I was left to go to baggage services. Within seconds they could punch in my claim ticket record locator and see all my stuff was still in Istanbul. They hope to have it on the next day’s flight and I may get it before my next trip out of town next week. Swell.
Of course my bag didn’t make it. And of course it took forever to figure that out. And for every minute I waited at the carousel, and every minute I waited at the international baggage services window, a single clerk tasked with addressing ALL international flight bag problems, I knew I’d be waiting three minutes extra in rush hour traffic home.
Of course they lost my bag. That’s this trip in a nutshell.
The cliché about needing a vacation from one’s vacation? Also trite. Also true.