From Potomac to Port du Punic

By Tasneem - Brrrr . . . Washington D.C. in early March is not a pleasant area in which to spend one’s hard-earned free time. Winter persistently clings to the city long after its welcome has worn out and spring is more of a wishful thought than an actual season – if you blink, you’ll miss it. I wanted to escape the slushy streets, the threatening icicles, and the bone-chilling wind to spend my sabbatical from the law in a relaxed, sun-splashed country. Narrowing my choices was difficult, but I decided to trade the icy Potomac River for the warm Mediterranean Sea. My friend Lina, a fellow attorney-on-the-run, had been encouraging me to visit her in Tunisia since she moved there from the States to join her husband. With the invitation extended and the promise of balmy weather, a visit to a coastal resort, and quiet tours of historical sites, I booked my flight, packed my bags with summer clothes, and made my zig-zaggy way (via Zurich and Paris) to North Africa.

The flights were pretty uneventful, but I encountered a snag at Customs in Tunisia when one high-security-minded or too-much-free-time customs agent began questioning me about my itinerary, place of origin, parental lineage, and lack of passport stamps. He simply could not understand why I did not have an exit stamp from France even though I explained that I never left the Parisian airport and only landed there in transit to Tunisia. My lengthy, forthright answers dwindled away to one-word answers and shrugs until the agent finally let me through. The last one to clear Customs, I was also among the last ones to collect my luggage. Earlier, I witnessed an entire luggage cart tip over and fall off of a fast, weaving truck so that the entire metal cart flipped over and spilled its contents on the ground. I presume my luggage was on that cart because I had to wait for quite some time with a handful of other passengers before our few lowly belongings finally made their way to us on the creaky carousel.

Lina welcomed me warmly at the airport’s lounge, whisked me away to Carthage, and brought me to her gorgeous house on the Port du Punic, the site of many a Roman vs. Carthaginian war but now the stomping grounds of history buffs, adventurous tourists, and government officials. Exhausted, hungry, and feeling a little ripe from all the travel, there was no rest for the weary as several of Lina’s friends, out for an evening stroll, stopped by for a visit. We chatted out on the front patio overlooking the warm, sparkling water of the Gulf of Tunis. Not wanting to offend the others, I sat downwind of them, sipped some refreshing mint tea, and snacked on almonds and raisins. After washing up, I had my first taste of Tunisia’s wonderful Harissa, a spicy chili paste that tastes heavenly when added to soup, meat, or fish. Lina had added it to the soup she had prepared for dinner and after one sip, I was hooked.

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