Port El Kantoui: Day Three and Four.

We woke up, got dressed and went for a walk along the beach. Every day we are harassed by Mohammed the tour guide who wants us to pay extortionate prices to go on quad bikes, go on a boat ride or to ride a camel. We paid the deposit for the camel and horse ride, mainly to shut him the hell up and walked on. A man stopped me to say "You have cold yes? Red nose?" I muttered a thanks for his honesty and rolled my eyes. He's the third man to stop me and comment about my crusted red nose; perhaps tact is something that can't be translated through broken English.

We took our shoes and socks off and it is lovely to feel warm, soft sand between my toes. As we walk along I notice that a lot of the beach huts are similar to those in 'Donkey Kong Country' on the SNES. I take photo's of Ali walking with her feet in the sea and try hard to get a real feeling of Tunisia in the photos... only to get pissed off that the only photos Ali takes of me are close ups of my sweaty, snot ridden face. Sigh. While taking in the closed beach huts and glimmering sea I stood on a twig which embedded itself in my foot. Yelping, I begged Ali to remove it then ran to stand in an estuary to soothe my sore foot in the salt water. My moment of calm was ruined by Ali saying "That's sewage leading into the sea." Nice one.

We came off the beach and as I sat on the steps putting my socks and Ali's converses back on I heard "Wipe the sand off your socks before putting your sandy feet in my shoes. Sand stains you know." What, the whole three grains on my sock? Alright then. We walked down an alley which took us into town and I casually kicked a stone. Ali snapped "Did you just kick that stone to piss me off? Are you trying to stain my shoes?" honestly, she said it like I was trying to ruin her life. It was only an effing stone. I walked off in a sulk, only to be photographed by a Tunisian man from his window. This only made me more angry and I shouted at the crowing cockerel to "FUCK - OFF!!!" I don't know what it is about this place. It's meant to be relaxing but any time I am in public I feel incredibly angry and on edge.

There was a robot and space ship shop in town, and by that I don't mean Tunisia is giving NASA a run for their money. I mean the decor was of planes and space ships and robots as a way of drawing in the impressed tourist. We went into the government owned shop where there are price tags on stock and the shop assistants don't harass you to buy things, they just stalk you like you have three ASBO tags for stealing jingling about your person like tacky black bracelets. The shop assistant tried to be funny with Ali and asked "You are English yes? And your friend (i.e; me) is Jamaican?" Oh, AHAHAHAHAHA! Excuse me while I roll about the floor in mirth. After being in the shop for half an hour, being stalked the whole time by a burly security guard, I brought some "snide" Dior sunglasses and the shop assistant / moonlighting comedian said to me "Ah nooor! What happened to your nose?" God. Help. Me.


Ali and I headed back to the hotel to watch movies on our hotel room TV. There is little night life in Port El Kantoui but we didn't mind. We aren't big drinkers and came more for the sunshine and the beach.


Day Four:


Ali is feeling poorlier. We were going to head into Sousse but instead stayed local and went to Port El Kantoui's Botanic Zoo. A worker there put a parrot on my head and arm for photos then asked for two dinar. You don't get owt for nowt these days. We fed the llama's and stroked the chiauaua's before walking around the zoo. There were lots of different birds that we chucked seed at and got stalked by yet another cat. There are cats everywhere in Tunis. Ali and this cat had a certain bond and it followed her, sashaying around her legs like the little flooze it is. This bond was swiftly broken by the appearance of a new cat on the scene which Ali stroked. That was it for the other cat. No more sashaying, no more following. It punched its paws at Ali's hands like the cat in 'Scary Movie Two' and dug a nail deep in to Ali's hand, making it bleed. She was concerned about getting ill from it but it wasn't rabid, just jealous. The cat continued to follow us either glowering or showing its tummy to us, depending on it's quickly fluctuating moods.

We came to the goats and fed the big fat greedy one which was climbing up the gate in unimaginable starvation judging from the size of it, the greedy git. Can goats get Prader Willi? There appeared to be two half goat half sheep animals that were two of the cutest things I have ever seen. So adorable. The zoo didn't take long to go around but for the sake of five dinar it took some time out of the day.

We walked to the port and admired the boats of the wealthy before sitting on a bench on the jetty and watched the fishermen and the clearness of the water. In some vain attempt at feeling better we brought a deliciously fresh orange juice from a stall then went back to the hotel room. 

Ali sat on the balcony while I read '1984', a brilliant book. Later we played mini golf and our banter was intermingled with our frustration with being ill and being harassed constantly in public. It became quite the competitive game. When we took our clubs back we were asked for the tenth time if we wanted to pay 60 dinar for a massage and it took all my patience not to scream "NO, NO, I DO NOT WANT A MASSAGE! I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE TOUCHING ME WHO I DON'T KNOW! STOP ASKING!" Or, as Hagar the Horrible would say: "@*#!!?&*@!"

Journey to the airport / First Two Days in Tunis

We had to get the train to Gatwick airport at 11PM and Ali hadn't even packed yet. This was because she spent the night before boiling me alive as she tossed and turned with a fever of 38.9. At one point she kissed me in some vain attempt at proving to herself that she was not ill at all, oh no, because ill people don't kiss. Her stubborn yet feeble attempt was emotionally touching to see but physically felt like 3rd degree burns on my lips. No wonder they went so flaky. She kept complaining she was cold and clung on to me through the night as I kept the rest of my body out of the covers to avoid heat stroke. I tried to stay awake through the night to make sure she would be OK but by quarter past one I was exhausted and selfishly went to sleep. The next day I woke up and was in such a good mood after seeing Ali up and about in comparison to the cold, lifeless body I expected to find next to me. What can I say, I’m a worrier.

So, that’s why Ali hadn’t packed. I had told her to see a doctor but she refused and spent the day playing Guitar Hero to distract herself from illness and deliver her from evil, for thine is the music, the star power and the rawkness. Amen. I spent the day feeling great and watching ‘Futurama’ up until about 6PM when my throat had a little catch in it. I was coughing a little but thought nothing of it. We left at half 10 and arrived at Gatwick at 12. Only 6 hours to go in a cold, air conditioned airport. Great. It wasn't long until I started getting chest pains whenever I exhaled; this was soon followed by the shits and a fever. Just what you need before you go to Africa. 

We waited an hour to hand our luggage over, both snotty and aching. Ali couldn't even speak and would express herself verbally with a menacing whisper in a slightly Cockney accent, even though she is from Leeds. 'Eastenders' has a lot to answer for. There was an awful woman waiting in the line who would not shut up complaining and forced her past experiences of travelling to Tunisia on to our suffering ears. It was just our luck that she sat behind us on the plane, griping and grousing the whole journey: “It’s appalling we are holed up like this, shouldn’t be allowed. Sardines have more space than us. Just trying to save money aren’t they? It really is dreadful and the size of that woman’s bag, tsk, shouldn’t be allowed on the plane. And she’s got one on her back. Excuse me Miss, didn’t think you were allowed two big bags on a flight like this. Tsk. I feel like mackerel in a tin of sardines I do. I can’t even fit in my seat properly; disgraceful.” Why don’t you lose some weight then you horrible fat bitch? I turned to Ali who was biting her thumb in a rage and said “I hope she’s not at our hotel. She’s horrible.” We later heard then saw her in the hotel restaurant when we went down for dinner in the evening. Typical.

The plane landed next to sand and water at 9.30AM. We took a tiny mini bus to the hotel which didn't even have seatbelts (the mini bus that is, not the hotel. Why would a hotel need seatbelts?). Fearing for my life as the driver pelted it past other cars in some sort of competitive death race I distracted myself by looking out of the window. There were dogs running about in the roads and Ali sternly said “Don’t touch the dogs Jo” like I had suddenly morphed into Lenny from 'Of Mice and Men' and wanted to “Stroke ‘em and hold ‘em and squeeze ‘em George.” For God's sake. As much as I love dogs I'm not going to stroke any straggy looking ones that could give the mouldy rottweilers in the Resident Evil games a run for their money in the ugliness and rabidity stakes. It was a big shock to the cultural system being in Tunisia. There were cow heads with the tongue lolling out in shop windows and men were everywhere you looked; in bars and café’s, in cars and on the streets. Hardly any women were to be seen. I was told this was because the women worked and a lot of the men are unemployed.

The Hotel Marhaba is a beautiful looking hotel with marble floors and walls. The decor is slightly dated but our room was large with a comfortable bed, TV and a balcony overlooking the palm trees at the front of the hotel. Ali and I both had a high fever but were quietly smug at how good we looked. Flushed in the face and shiny eyed, maybe this illness wasn't so bad after all? We spent the rest of the day in bed drinking unnatural amounts of water. I had four litres of water in twelve hours and only went to the toilet twice.


Day two:


No more looking good. Good looks all gone. Instead we were left with clammy skin, glazed eyes streaming noses and watering eyes. To get some fresh air and escape the acrid, foisty stench of our hotel room that was brimming with germs and bad breath we took a walk along beach. Port El Kantoui has beautiful beaches with stunningly clear sea water. We walked down the golden beach and around the port where we were harassed by men. It reminded me of Peter out of Family Guy when he tries to chat up women: 


“Hey pretty lady how ya doin’? I’m Peter-“ (woman walks off) “Well screw you you’re a bitch” 


We soon realised that Tunisia is no place for two young women with no male company. You are either harassed for your money or for your body, or for both. We noticed a woman in her fourties with metallic eye make up on smooching a young Tunisian in his twenties. She was at the bank, getting money out for him and had a black eye under the metallic silver she had chosen to decorate her face with. Quite depressing, no?

Trotting up and down the road that lay before the hotels was a man on horse and cart. He halted to talk to some English holiday makers only to be interrupted by Ali who shouted at him “That’s disgusting. Feed your horses!” Stunned that someone with a vagina has spoken to him in such a harsh manner he asked “What?” to which Ali repeated “You are disgusting. Feed your horses.” Then grumbled to me about how none of the money he makes must go on carrots for those poor horses and how the Japanese are really nice to animal but in African countries they are cruel. Yeah, what about that girl who gouges cat’s eyes out with her stiletto heels?


We noticed the horribly loud and crass woman was walking towards us but managed to avoid her by pretending to observe the statue of the giraffe we had walked past four times already. Still feeling ill with temperatures of over 38 degrees we decided to go to a pharmacy. The pharmacist wanted 51 danir (around £26.00) for some antibiotics we didn't even need. Rip off. We brought some paracetamol and fever sachets and went back to the hotel room to do an online NHS quiz on fevers. It has obvious questions hinting at septicaemia, meningitis and appendicitis. No, no, no. “Do you have general aches and pains, a snotty nose and high fever?” Yes, and lots of the above too. We have a virus. Woo.

Slick hair, eyes that can barely stay open and a red nose. Fit.

As part of our package holiday we get free breakfast and dinner so we went down to see what culinary delights they had for us. Not much that I would call a culinary delight... just lots of mushed up, bland food to suit the tastes of the ancient and dentured; otherwise known as the majority of holiday makers in the hotel. Lovely. We were sat right next to other people, so it was hardly a romantic atmosphere for two rheumy eyed lesbians hoping for a loved up break.  We were exhausted and annoyingly the couple next to us fancied a chat. We had to listen to them as they regaled us with their experiences of Tunisia. So many seem to come back year after year and enjoy acting like smug tour guides or “know it all fuck alls” as my sister would call them. They told us the Tunisian for "fuck off" if we are harassed which was hardly a polite way to talk to a monster that the Westernised world has created. You can't create a beggar and then scold the beggar for begging and since when did politeness cost anything? It just seemed as though this couple came back each year to feel like they were somebody important, where their small amount of money made them rich and special compared to being Mr and Mrs Normal at home. I found it very unattractive and depressing. 


We were also subjected to horror stories from the women on the other side of us as they told us of white women going into carpet shops only for the doors to be barricaded by men while the men inside raped them: “The women would be covered in love bites. It was just awful.” one of them said as though this was an hourly occurence in Tunisia in the 70's and probably still goes on now. Indeed, it would be awful... if there was any truth in it! We left our new dinner guests to their ignorant conversations and went for a walk through the ports funfair. It was dated and had paintings of classic Disney characters and a few typical rides like Dodgems. I doubted I could ever get used to the attention from Tunisian men, knowing I am more of an observer of what goes on around me rather than a person whose desire it is to be observed.