Tunisia
Chapter four
Christmas afternoon in Sidi Bou Saïd and Carthage.
We head back to the car for the drive to Sidi Bou Saïd, where we’ll climb the hill for the views. Bouthine tells me it’s considered the Santorini of Tunisia, and I’m to see why when we arrive.
Before we begin, we stop for lunch at Raïs Labhar, a restaurant near the roundabout that seems to mark the main tourist path up the hill. Bouthine wants me to try everything and orders a ton of food: Tunisian salad, brik (a savory fried pastry with egg and tuna), grilled fish and french fries, spaghetti, cous cous.
I can’t even begin to eat it all. The manager asks if I’d like to take the leftovers with me. But I have more meals booked for me at the hotel this evening.
Over lunch, I ask Bouthine how many female guides there are working around Tunis. Not many, she tells me. About 20. You have to choose a private life or the life of a guide and she chose the latter. She tells me she loves Tunisia and she loves sharing her country with others. She’s been doing this for over 18 years.
It pours rain outside while we eat but by the time we’re finished the rain has abated. Bouthine pays the check, I pay for drinks, and we head out into the street to climb the cobblestoned hill that runs through the main touristic area of town.
Bouthine pauses before a street-art portrait of Hedi Turki, a Tunisian painter of Turkish origin who is considered the pioneer of abstract painting in Tunisia.
We continue walking. Bouthine tells me to watch my step; the cobblestones are slippery when wet. At one point she tells me to stop and turn around. She points up at sets of blue shutters obscuring the windows of a balcony above. They’re designed so that women can watch the street unseen.
She buys me a bambalouni at Beignet and Bambalouni and hands it to me. It’s a tasty Tunisian fried donut and I juggle it with my camera, trying not to spill sugar all over myself as I follow Bouthine up the street.
It’s easy to see why Sidi Bou Saïd is considered the Santorini of Tunisia. The whitewashed walls and blue shutters definitely give a Greek island vibe to the Arabic architecture.
While pausing to take a picture of a door, a woman asks me where I’m from. She’s from Algeria and we chat a bit about our respective itineraries. Bouthine is eager to continue our tour. Afterwards she tells me that Algerians love to chat, which starts me thinking of when I can come back to Northern Africa. The gears turn and I begin to consider visiting Algeria this coming December, continuing my streak of spending Christmas and New Year’s in Africa.
There are more doors I want to take photos of, and wait patiently before a few waiting for others to finish. After some time, Bouthine encourages me to continue. We can take a photo on our way back down, she tells me.
We walk to the top of the hill, pausing above the Café des Délices, famous for its views of the old port and the bay and imortalized by Patrick Bruel in his song “Au Café des Délices.” A group of students lingers out front, each waiting for their turn to be photographed on the steps inside the cafe. She tells me it’s a famous location and everyone takes this photo. Bouthine asks if we can cut in line and she snaps a quick photo of me. She asks if I’d like to get a drink at the cafe, but I’m ready to move on.
Storm clouds loom on the horizon but the weather holds for the rest of our time in Sidi Bou Saïd. We walk back towards the main road to meet up with the driver and I pause again before the door I had tried to photograph before. People still stand before it, and I decide to include them in the photo.
As we’re about to leave Bouthine points to a small door painted red and green. Take a picture, she tells me. It’s Christmas, and the colors and the design seem to perfectly capture my experience of the day.
We drive to Carthage. Our first stop is the Baths of Antoninus, a large complex set by the sea. They’re the largest set in Africa and one of three largest built in the Roman Empire. Bouthine gives me an explanation of the history and traces out the different buildings and their functions. She leads me through a part of it and then leaves me to explore on my own.
There’s almost nobody visiting this afternoon. I spot a large family and a smaller one, their children play amongst the arches. Another tourist wanders alone.
I walk towards the exit. Bouthine is sitting in the cafe. I tell her I want to take a look at the sea before leaving. She tells me to take my time. I walk to the shore and gaze out over the Gulf of Tunis and its blue green waters.
We drive out to a view of the old Punic Port of Carthage. A rainbow arcs across the sky. We can see The Saint Louis Cathedral of Carthage off in the distance. Bouthine tells me that this is area is coveted in Tunis; the real estate prices are high (as they are in Sidi Bou Saïd). She asks if I have a two Dinar coin. I fish one out of my pocket and she shows me the port etched into the back.
We drive to the Roman amphitheater, constructed in the first century CE. Bouthine tells me that Churchill once addressed the troops here and that one of the soliders etched his name and the date into one of the remaining marble seats. She tells me to look for it.
She gives me time to climb and explore the theater and tells me to meet her back at the car. I climb to the top for the views of the stage and out to the sea and then head back down to search the marble seats. It takes me a moment, but I finally find it: E. Ford, 1943.
From there we head to the Zaghouan Aqueduct of Carthage. It’s closed, but she has Samir drive us around and we cross a small field to look out over it. I wonder where the sheep live, and Bouthine tells me that they’re housed nearby. It’s fun to see them grazing right by the road, in the middle of town.
Bouthine checks the time and says we have time to visit Basra Hill, on top of which sits the Saint Louis Cathedral of Carthage and a museum that is currently closed. It’s also the burial site of Saint Louis IX of France.
When we arrive there is a school group roaming the grounds and I try to take photos of their reflections in the puddles that have been left after the rain. Bouthine wants me to stop and listen to her explanations before she gives me time to explore and take photos.
She gives me time to wander on my own and tells me that she’ll meet me back at the car. I walk the grounds, searching for the tomb of Saint Louis IX of France, almost missing it as I look for something that may insist more upon itself.
When I finally spot it between two stands of trees, I find it a serene final resting place.
I walk to the edge of the complex and then back, passing the museum en route back to the parking lot. The dramatic skies of the day have given way to fluffier clouds, allowing patches of blue to show through.
Back at the car Bouthine asks me how my day was. It was fantastic. Thinking back it’s amazing how much ground we covered; how many things we’d seen. She tells me it’s not long back to the hotel, and I settle back in my seat to ruminate on the day, closing my eyes. Before I know it, I’m asleep, and then back at the hotel. 🇹🇳
—25 December 2024, afternoon
