“There is no such thing as a seasoned traveler, because travel is an ongoing experience of the unfamiliar. Regardless of how many stamps you have in your passport, you eventually find yourself in a place … hopelessly trying to deal with people who see you as nothing more than a consumer and haplessly walking in concentric circles until you can find something that resembles your hotel.” Rolf Potts’ words are some comfort to me as I digest the events of the other day, when I got snookered, not once but twice, while trying to explore the souk here in Houmt-Souk.
I took a taxi to the souk from my hotel. It’s not far and if I had been able to acquire a map, I would probably have known to walk. Nonetheless, I didn’t really know where I was going and the driver dropped me at a taxi stand in the center of town and pointed me in the direction of the market.
To my surprise, I was almost immediately buttonholed by Saleh, who works at my hotel, and asked if I was going to see “the festival.” Gee, um … what festival?
I try at all times to be open and friendly. Good things often come to me when I do. I went with him.
He rapidly babbled a bit about native crafts, spices and seeing carpets being made. He invited me to come along and soon we were in a spice shop owned by his brother or some such. The proprietor then proceeded to push scoops of various spices under my nose to smell, while identifying most of them in passable English. He also demonstrated that the saffron on offer, when rubbed on paper, gave a lovely saffron color.
After a bit of fast-talking I was nearly arm-twisted into selecting some spices for purchase and, since I cook, I saw no harm in this. I asked how much the spices were and was flashed a pricelist in Arabic.
Next came a bit of weighing and some poking at a calculator. The result was, well, astronomical. I sputtered something. He reduced the price a bit, explaining that these were “Arab” prices, not “Tourist” prices. 110 dinar! Salah intervened and the price went down to 70 dinar and in a moment of extraordinarily bad judgment, I relented. Hoping to sniff out a cheat in all this I pulled 40 dinar from my pocket, claiming it was all I had. All this accomplished was making me endebted to Salah, who covered my bet.
“Saffron is expensive,” they pointed out to me several times.
Later, I had to drag the 30 dinar out of my wallet stash. Nice try.
Well, yes saffron is expensive. Actually, there is a wide variety in the quality of saffron and powdered saffron is often adulterated in a number of ways, from mixing in inferior quality saffron to adding turmeric and other spices.
Besides, this is probably more saffron than I would use in a long time, although my sale-happy friend told me the spices would last five years!
Reeling from this experience, I was whisked off by Salah to a “government store” to look at some carpets. There was a woman there who was working at the loom, for me to photograph. Then the proprietor and his henchmen showed me countless examples of hand-made carpets and quoted me ridiculous prices with shipping, C.O.D. Cash or credit accepted. I don’t have to pay until I get the rug brought to my door. After today they will close for the season, so better buy now!!
Really, you couldn’t ship the damn things for the prices they were offering me, so the whole thing was pretty smelly.
I managed to wriggle away from the rug vendor and narrowly dodge the souvenir lady, diving for the door and the safety of the street outside. Whew.
Okay. Where was I? Oh, yeah, taking pictures!
These are tagines, a traditional type of cookware in North Africa. They are used to make stew-like dishes that bear the same name. Eventually, I plan to have one and then I’ll tell you all about it!
Bon! The gate to the central market!
Typical market fare.
I think I mentioned that square minarets are the norm here.
I don’t know what this is, but domes are ubiquitous here.
I wandered some more and, in front of a mosque, I was chatted up by a young local. “Where you from?” Ali is a taxi driver and a student. Come. Let me show you something.
Yeah. Here we go again.
Okay, I didn’t spend any money this time, but my time was taken. I was robbed of my good mood. I came away with a very negative impression quite unlike our encounter with Hatem at the souk in Sousse.
Ultimately, I am hurting because I know better. I didn’t use my judgment or my intuition. While their motives were suspect, I didn’t make good choices.
Shame on me.
Back at the hotel, I found that they’d installed flowerboxes.
By the way, this was my hotel.
It was another blissfully calm day.
Okay, I am guilty here of one of the most heinous travel photographer crimes; the “spot in the distance” offence. However, this guy was about 100 meters out, so you can see how shallow the water is here. In the morning, I would often see people digging clams, well out there, wading in the water.
One going in, one going out!
I think this is a lovely, intimate moment for this couple, on the pier across the street from my hotel.
This was Thursday. On Sunday, I returned to Sousse and the comforts of my new home.
