The king of Sidi Bou Said's souk is Café des Nattes, right at the
central place Sidi Bou Said. This is where all the winding streets of
the small medina lead to, with the Café des Nattes sitting on top of an
impressive flight of stairs. From its beautiful balconies, there's amazing views over the sea and, on the other side the medina and the valley beyond. You can see the outskirts of Tunis and, on a clear day, lake Tunis. In
the evening it gets so crowded that people sit on the stairs to enjoy the sunset.
At the bottom of the steps, on place Sidi Bou Said itself, there's another café that has none of these: no impressive flight of stairs, no balconies, no view - well, no view to speak of as it looks out on a series of souvenir shops. It doesn't even have a name, and the Lonely Planet guide to Tunisia mentions it as "another inexpensive café". It does have one thing Café des Nattes doesn't have, though: pancakes. This makes it a good place to enjoy breakfast.
It's
still quite early as we make our way to the medina amidst throngs of
members of package tours who get dropped off downtown, then walk through the village and - if they're given some more time -
down past the harbour, back to the bus. The mornings are often the busiest, with seemingly endless streams of tourists pouring out of the buses. Men selling machmoum -
strong scenting Jasmine petals speared onto a piece of stiff grass -
await the tourists as they enter the medina and from the sides other men
are touting their souvenir stalls. As usual, I'm asked if I'm Italian
from several sides - guessing a tourist's nationality is a common trick
to get their attention. I've seen it used from Istanbul to Cairo, but
often more successfully than here in Sidi Bou Said. So far, nobody got
my nationality right while the touts in, say, Istanbul hardly ever make a
mistake.
As usual, though, most of the attention is for Rihanna Gaga, with the souvenir sellers constantly trying to get her attention. Not because they want to sell her anything - though I suspect that, if she'd had any money, she'd be a very easy victim, with her preference for shiny and colourful things - but because they just love small children here.
We sit down at the nameless café (Google maps locates it as Café Hadj Amor, but this name is not announced anywhere at the café itself). You could wonder how this café has any patrons whatsoever, located as it is, right next to the amazing Café des Nattes. But I guess the difference between these two is also a matter of perspective: while Café des Nattes enables you to look down upon the bustle of the souk, overseeing it but not really being part of it, the ground level terrace of café Hadj Amor allows you to become much more involved in the action.
It's around 8:45 when I order Turkish coffee and two pancakes: one with cheese and one with honey. It's not difficult to be up early: so far, Rihanna Gaga has refused to adapt to Tunisian time, which is one hour behind Dutch time - and thus, we have to wake up around six, rather than the usual seven. However, apart from this minor annoyance it's really amazing how graciously she's dealt with the huge changes in her life. First, she stopped going to daycare. Then a week later, her mother left. Then, she saw me deconstruct her bed and put it in the attic on the morning when we left for Tunis - which she really didn't like. And then she was living in a new place, with completely different sounds, sights, smells, people and weather. And yet, she has not made a big fuss about it. The first few days were a bit difficult, but now she is her cheerful self again. For her, everything is a game and all games are funny.
The pancakes are delicious and so is the Turkish coffee. Rihanna Gaga eats a bit of the cheese pancake, but isn't really interested. What is interesting to her, though, is my reaction to the flies, which I keep swatting away. She copies my movements, waving her arms and laughing. Then a wasp appears and I become really agitated - which she finds even more hilarious. I try to hide my panic from her - I have a deep, irrational fear of wasps. When I was a child, I nearly choked when one flew into my open mouth and stung my throat, which then started swelling, depriving me of air. I remember the feeling of not being able to get air, my own swollen throat choking me until - after what seemed like ages - a doctor injected me with an antidote that relieved the swelling. That night, I couldn't sleep, afraid that the swelling would start again and I'd never make it to the morning. In fact, over the years I have made progress. When I was younger, I would have just jumped up and run. Now I remain seated, controlling my fear, using my phone to knock the wasp away. Rihanna Gaga laughs loudly at all of this and when the wasp is gone, I cuddle her. After that, every now and then my heart jumps when I see a wasp approaching her while she walks around the café's terrace.
The two waiters play with Rihanna Gaga in between touting their café to the passing tourists. They pick her up, kiss her and clap their hands for her. This is something you just have to accept when being with a small child in Tunisia - although if Rihanna Gaga weren't enjoying all the attention, I would ask them to stop. But she likes it. Another thing that demands a bit of adjustment from a Western parent is the tendency of Tunisians to meddle with your child. One of the waiters rolls up her trousers because he thinks they're too long (and actually, he's right) - behaviour I would never accept in the Netherlands, but which seems to be quite common here. I guess children are seen as not just the responsibility of their parents, but of the collective as well.
The touting is unsuccessful. No matter how often the waiters shout to tourists that here there be coffee, tea, cappucino, pancakes, only a few locals sit down for a drink. The tourists are merely walking by in an endless stream, climbing with difficulty the slope on which the village is built, moving by in row after row, as if on a pilgrimage.
Meanwhile, the weather clears up. There were quite heavy clouds this morning and the weather was even a bit chilly (only a bit, calling for longsleeve t-shirts rather than shortsleeve). And strong winds. The winds are still there, but the sun has returned. We pay and make our way downhill, back to where we live.
At the bottom of the steps, on place Sidi Bou Said itself, there's another café that has none of these: no impressive flight of stairs, no balconies, no view - well, no view to speak of as it looks out on a series of souvenir shops. It doesn't even have a name, and the Lonely Planet guide to Tunisia mentions it as "another inexpensive café". It does have one thing Café des Nattes doesn't have, though: pancakes. This makes it a good place to enjoy breakfast.
As usual, though, most of the attention is for Rihanna Gaga, with the souvenir sellers constantly trying to get her attention. Not because they want to sell her anything - though I suspect that, if she'd had any money, she'd be a very easy victim, with her preference for shiny and colourful things - but because they just love small children here.
We sit down at the nameless café (Google maps locates it as Café Hadj Amor, but this name is not announced anywhere at the café itself). You could wonder how this café has any patrons whatsoever, located as it is, right next to the amazing Café des Nattes. But I guess the difference between these two is also a matter of perspective: while Café des Nattes enables you to look down upon the bustle of the souk, overseeing it but not really being part of it, the ground level terrace of café Hadj Amor allows you to become much more involved in the action.
It's around 8:45 when I order Turkish coffee and two pancakes: one with cheese and one with honey. It's not difficult to be up early: so far, Rihanna Gaga has refused to adapt to Tunisian time, which is one hour behind Dutch time - and thus, we have to wake up around six, rather than the usual seven. However, apart from this minor annoyance it's really amazing how graciously she's dealt with the huge changes in her life. First, she stopped going to daycare. Then a week later, her mother left. Then, she saw me deconstruct her bed and put it in the attic on the morning when we left for Tunis - which she really didn't like. And then she was living in a new place, with completely different sounds, sights, smells, people and weather. And yet, she has not made a big fuss about it. The first few days were a bit difficult, but now she is her cheerful self again. For her, everything is a game and all games are funny.
The pancakes are delicious and so is the Turkish coffee. Rihanna Gaga eats a bit of the cheese pancake, but isn't really interested. What is interesting to her, though, is my reaction to the flies, which I keep swatting away. She copies my movements, waving her arms and laughing. Then a wasp appears and I become really agitated - which she finds even more hilarious. I try to hide my panic from her - I have a deep, irrational fear of wasps. When I was a child, I nearly choked when one flew into my open mouth and stung my throat, which then started swelling, depriving me of air. I remember the feeling of not being able to get air, my own swollen throat choking me until - after what seemed like ages - a doctor injected me with an antidote that relieved the swelling. That night, I couldn't sleep, afraid that the swelling would start again and I'd never make it to the morning. In fact, over the years I have made progress. When I was younger, I would have just jumped up and run. Now I remain seated, controlling my fear, using my phone to knock the wasp away. Rihanna Gaga laughs loudly at all of this and when the wasp is gone, I cuddle her. After that, every now and then my heart jumps when I see a wasp approaching her while she walks around the café's terrace.
The two waiters play with Rihanna Gaga in between touting their café to the passing tourists. They pick her up, kiss her and clap their hands for her. This is something you just have to accept when being with a small child in Tunisia - although if Rihanna Gaga weren't enjoying all the attention, I would ask them to stop. But she likes it. Another thing that demands a bit of adjustment from a Western parent is the tendency of Tunisians to meddle with your child. One of the waiters rolls up her trousers because he thinks they're too long (and actually, he's right) - behaviour I would never accept in the Netherlands, but which seems to be quite common here. I guess children are seen as not just the responsibility of their parents, but of the collective as well.
The touting is unsuccessful. No matter how often the waiters shout to tourists that here there be coffee, tea, cappucino, pancakes, only a few locals sit down for a drink. The tourists are merely walking by in an endless stream, climbing with difficulty the slope on which the village is built, moving by in row after row, as if on a pilgrimage.
Meanwhile, the weather clears up. There were quite heavy clouds this morning and the weather was even a bit chilly (only a bit, calling for longsleeve t-shirts rather than shortsleeve). And strong winds. The winds are still there, but the sun has returned. We pay and make our way downhill, back to where we live.
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