All posts tagged: travel

to market, to market

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An advantage of visiting a place more than once is that you’re no longer hostage to its sensations, or to its beauty. The second, third, tenth times around you might avoid being bowled over by the aromas and flavors, tingly with the aura of the landscape; you’re likely have your wits about you, and that means you can make reasonable decisions about where to go, how to eat, and what to leave with. I found myself in this delightful situation in Tunis. I’d been just enough times to know exactly what I wanted to eat, where I wanted to visit, and I had designs to package loads of good stuff to take home with me.

what’s to eat: special edition (Tunisian lablebi)

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I’d waited seven years to taste the real deal again, during which time I made many attempts to replicate, imitate, reconstruct. Sometimes I came up longer than short, but it was never quite right. Lablebi, oh miracle dish of Tunisia, comforting stew of myriad spices. Cheap, quick, filling, and perfect for a cold and blustery winter day in the capital city of Tunis. Guided in my culinary endeavors by good friend (and veteran edibles guide) Zied, we aimed to be Champions of Lablebi, consuming full portions of this hearty, filling stew. We started with the requisite bowls of bread, tearing the chunks into smaller pieces, or crumbs, depending on personal preference (the smaller the pieces, the thicker the resulting stew, or so say the Experts). Bowls properly filled with bread crumbs, we handed them over to the Professionals Behind the Counter, who ladled steaming chickpea stew into each. They  topped each bowl with mounds of spices: cumin, harissa, and others that should probably remain the secrets of Those Who Know. And then a few adroit tosses; just enough, not too much. And …

on a Tunisian souk

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There are people who claim value in high art: ballet, opera, the finest works of most-lauded authors. I agree, I do agree, that’s all important. But if you ask me about poetry in motion, about where to find the art of life manifested, I’ll point you towards the markets, the wilds of a city, like the souk of downtown Tunis. You only know a place once you’ve learned its rugged streets, its funky corners, the beauty it hides in small bites and in plain sight. You know a place once you’ve engaged its most forthright ambassadors, its most plenipotentiary negotiators: market vendors. You know a place when you’ve breathed it in, whatever olfactory sensations that affords you! You come to know a place through the rhythm of footsteps on its pavement, when the many aspects of culture, climate and locale culminate to produce a throbbing, artful chaos. Greetings knock about as people slip past each other effortlessly, and the sacred in the ordinary is evident, and unremarkable, and breathtaking, all at once.

on the world social forum

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There were idealists, it’s true. There were dreamers, thinkers, and activists. They came together at El Manar Tunis University, and they waited patiently, as proper anarchists are meant to do. They came from all over the globe, intent on sharing, learning, and shaking things up. They had causes, they had passion, and they had creativity and spunk. Most of all, they had community; they created community, as experts would. They exchanged, and persuaded, and laid plans, and made friends. They walked together, they walked in unison. And they showed love. . . . World Social Forum, 2015 Tunis, Tunisia

on knowing a place

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Last Friday marked 1.5 years since I’ve lived in Mali. Some people settle in to a new place quickly, but I like to take my time – observing, breathing it in deeply, engaging only delicately at first, slowly building a steady foundation for Living. But by now, I’ve learned a thing or two, and the arc of my life has bent in ways I didn’t know it could, to accommodate being lived out in this place. To wit, a few things I’ve picked up: – I’ve learned the neighborhood boutiques by heart, and I know which stocks flour un-infiltrated by insects, which keeps real butter, where the eggs are freshest, and where I can buy on credit if I don’t have CFA handy; -I’ve got Plans B and C vegetable stands, and I know that if one is out of cucumbers I might get lucky at the other, but if one is out of limes, there’s a high probability nobody has them; -I know the hours of the 3 fruit stands in the neighborhood, and who I can …

what’s to eat: a christmas repas in west africa

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I spent Christmas Eve and day in Bandiagara, some 65 kilometers outside Mopti, in Mali’s eastern pocket. I was stuck somewhere between wanting to Christmas (ahem, I verbed that word) and wanting to avoid it altogether. Regardless, the night sky insisted I be at least grateful for family, friends, and good fortune, even if I felt momentarily far from all three. I recently read a few words on the magic of Christmas Eve, beyond religion, and this was the spirit I kept with me through the chilly night and the frosty beers. In the morning (well, more like lunchtime) the eating options in Bandiagara were scarce. All the brochette ladies were sold out; no one’s rice had come in yet. In the Christmas spirit of hasty mangers and serendipity, we made do at a small boutique with a front porch and a picnic table. Fresh baguette, omelette for three, and the kind of fried, canned meat whose mystery should remain just that. Actually, this was some sort of pressed chicken, although the Malians in my company insisted that all meat …