March 2004

The Road to Tunisia - Day 4

From the moment I opened my eyes from a good nights sleep, I worried about how the camel trip was going to work.  I could see from our balcony that it was a rainy day and that only meant one thing…it would be cold outside.

After breakfast we hurried down to the stables to meet up with the guy we had paid 90D the day before.  We were promised a ride to Hammamet alternating between a camel, a horse and a carriage (that way we wouldn’t get too tired).  From the start I had my doubts about how this was going to go.  Maybe it was the guy’s manner when I first met him, or the skinny horses chewing straw (not hay) while saddled in their stalls that raised my first concern.  But, I went along anyway.

At the stable we were told, by a man we didn’t recognize, that the camels were kept in another stable.  He told us to follow a nice looking young guy who promptly walked off into the orange trees.

We wandered behind him through the grove, ending up at the front entrance of the hotel.  Here we were told to get into a taxi, and the young guide jumped into the front seat.  Under my breath I told Jay it felt more like we were being kidnapped.  I hoped I was just being a paranoid American in a Muslim country.

The cab driver was smoking a cigarette so I immediately covered my nose and started coughing.  He opened the door and put out his “fag” as they call it in England.  I thought this was a good sign since someone kidnapping us would not care if I hated cigarette smoke.  I tried to feel relieved.

We made several turns through the shop-lined streets and headed south towards the big new resort hotels.  After a couple of miles we left the highway and drove up a bumpy dirt road that went straight up a steep hill.  As we bounced around over the rocks and through the ruts in the tiny taxi my concern about being kidnapped returned.  Just as I was about to say we should jump out before we were too far from the road, we reached the top of the hill where some camels were saddled and waiting.

 The young man in the taxi motioned us out of the cab (no English spoken here, of course) and we waited in the drizzle, feeling cold and unsure of what to do next.  Pretty soon a thin dark-haired man with a weathered face came to explain in French that we would ride a camel.  For a moment I had to let the words sink in, but I had already made up my mind that I was not riding a camel in the rain. 

Jay told him, in much better French than I could manage, that we had paid for a carriage as well, and that I had a bad back, so I would prefer to ride in the carriage rather than on a camel.  He looked very confused but went off to find a horse to hitch up to the old buggy I was sitting in, doing my best to stay dry.  As he walked away he said we would join the group and ride  “ensemble”, leaving in a few moments.

This adventure was turning into a confusing roller coaster ride, but for the moment I was relieved to know we would be “riding” with a fairly large group.  I guess misery loves company.

From behind me I could hear what sounded like an earthquake with lots of banging and clanging.  When I turned I could see a skinny chestnut horse with blinders fighting the guide.  That poor horse was determined that he was not going to pull the wagon and it took quite a while to get him to back up to the hitch.

Jay tried to reassure me that the guide was in control of the situation.  I was not convinced.

Soon “Ali Baba”, the camel, appeared.  He had a muzzle knitted from baling twine covering his frothing moth, and never stopped making low moans.  He seemed to be complaining that he really didn’t want to go out in the rain either.

As the camel obeyed the instructions to kneel down, I was impressed by his intelligence.  He minded like a dog.  The guide would tell him to raise up a little so the cinch could be pushed under him, and he moved up just enough for the strap to pass under his belly.  He obeyed this command twice more.  On his back he carried a large leather saddle and a bright cloth to cover his dirty hide.

When it was time to go, another man came from behind the stables to help Jay and Cat climb onto the camel.  I could tell Cat was sizing up the whole situation, trying to figure out how she was going to get through this with her dignity intact.  AND I think she was really afraid of how big the camel was once he stood up.

The guide called to her, telling her it was time to climb on.  She almost started to cry.   Everyone was waiting so I softy said, "Catlyn this is your one chance to do this.  I do not want you to look back and think you didn't do this one thing that you have wanted to do for such a long time.  This will be a story to stay with you your whole life...to tell your grandchildren."  And she let go of my hand and walked right to the camel, then climbed on with Jay.  They gracefully dipped forward, then backward, then forward as the camel stood.  There was no fear on her face...only a giant smile of happiness.  She had faced her fear, and found delight.  For the next two hours she rode Ali Baba in the rain and the cold.  She got on and off twice, but had no fear.  Later she said this camel ride was the best part of her entire trip to Tunisia.

I wish I could say that everything went smoothly, but then, what kind of a story would that make?  What happened next can only be defined as sheer craziness.

The guide tied Ali Baba to the carriage and led us through the stable grounds, past the saddled camels and onto a dirt path lined with garbage, barking dogs and concrete block farm outbuildings.  When I turned around to look where we were going I could see that the guide was fighting the horse, which had reared up and started to walk backwards.  At this moment I knew without a doubt that this horse had never pulled a carriage before. 

By now the dogs were barking and lunging at the horse.  I grabbed a big stick the guide had left on the seat beside me and started yelling at them, swinging the stick back and forth.  The dogs disappeared, but not before the horse backed up, and jackknifed the carriage, nearly dumping me off in the mud.  The camel, tied to the back with my precious family sitting on top of him, fought against being jerked forward and back. 

After three more episodes, the guide finally got off and walked with the horse.  I shouted to Jay that I was getting off before I was thrown off, but Jay assured me he thought things were now under control.  I wasn’t scared…I was just really angry to be put in such a dangerous situation by the hotel.

So the guide led the carriage and the camel through fields of plastic bags, empty gas containers (plastic), plastic milk jugs, plastic water bottles and old rusted parts of vehicles.  On past cement block huts with no windows, cactus hedges, burros grazing next to olive groves, pink blooming almond trees, and through a tunnel that slid beneath the nearby highway…then on past high walls topped with broken glass designed to keep people from climbing over. 

Finally, after an hour we turned off of this garbage road into a small lane that led to a tiny small white house.  The horse pulled us all the way into the cactus hedge and then reared up again as if trying to dump me out once more for old times sake.  The guide said we would rest here.  We were all freezing from the drizzle.

A young pregnant woman, with a headscarf and modern clothes came out to greet us.  The guide showed her that his knee had been scrapped up from all of the horse’s crazy kicking.  She was sympathetic, and then disappeared into the house.  The guide motioned for us to sit down under the big porch awning on the low benches that lined the wall, and said we would have tea.

The tea was served in juice glass sized cups on a little tray.  The woman replaced the tape in the worn out looking boom box and suddenly we were transported to traditional Tunisia.  The snake-charming flute played toe-tapping music as we drank the tea and ate hot flat pita bread.  When the woman reappeared, she brought some material and motioned for Cat and me to allow her to dress us in the bright red and gold heavy “tissue”.  We obeyed.  She smiled as she tied the scarf on Cat’s little head (I still had mine on as was my new style of dress in Tunisia).  Together we danced with Jay, who by now was covered in a caftan and wore a too small fez on his head.  I wasn’t sure if we were being good sports or just looking stupid, but the woman was so sincere that I couldn’t help but go along with her.

Next she brought a little clay pot that looked as if it had been burned on the inside.  She added a tiny drop of water and took what looked like the pointed end of a nail and wrote our names on our arms with clove juice.  Her movements were graceful and she seemed to take great pleasure in showing us the fancy Arabic lettering that spelled “Annie” and “Cat”.

When she was finished, we asked if we could go to the toilet.  She proudly led us into her house and down a hallway to a door.  When she opened the door she apologized that there was no electricity.  Once inside we realized there were also no windows for light, and no running water.  Everything was very clean and we were grateful for the little porcelain bowl that was actually indoors.

The ride back was just as eventful, but the real surprise was waiting for us back at the stable.  At the end of the trip we gave the guide a 10D ($8) tip.  He looked at it and started to explain that we were rich and he had many children so we must give him 15 or 20D.  Jay just laughed, but it was clear that we would have to find our own way home unless we were a bit more generous.

Jay was not to be robbed (too badly) though, so he promised 15D after the guide walked down the hill with us to flag down a ride.  This took quite a bit of discussion, but eventually we were in the taxi and kicking ourselves for allowing ourselves to be put in such a vulnerable position.

At the hotel, Cat couldn’t understand why we were so disturbed about the adventure.  Over and over she told the story of walking up to the camel and getting on…of riding in the rain and cold…of facing her fears.

As I looked into those violet blue eyes, and that smiling contented face I realized that when she is an old woman, speaking to her grandchildren she will tell the story of going with her grandparents to ride the camel in Tunisia.  There will be no danger in the telling…no garbage, no fear.  No petty shakedown at the end of the ride.  It will be her and the camel, floating high above the sands of North Africa. 

I smiled at the thought of the gift of this day.