Midnight at the Oasis

Throughout the south of Tunisia we saw signs warning us about crossing camels – I guess they get spitting mad or something if you cross them... just imagine if you double-cross them! Wow. For awhile we thought the collective Tunisian camel population had ditched us – or maybe they had gotten fed up with the grind, left town, and went to Club Med for some R&R. Anyway, it wasn't until we approached the border of where the stony desert meets the rolling dunes that we started seeing camels – lots of camels.

None of the camels seemed angry to me. Well, except Andrea's camel got a little cranky after I kept calling her "Whisker Lips," and Marty's camel was a tad sensitive about his adorable nickname of "Fatty" – but the truth can hurt sometimes. Whisker Lips spent most of her time making Chewbacca sounds or belching – boy, let me tell you camels get severe halitosis. World-class halitosis… the bad breath makes it clear to me why evolution helped them develop that enviable trait of nostrils which close on demand.

I guess camels can close their nostrils during sandstorms, which is nice... but come on, clearly the camels who can close their nostrils are more likely to be getting busy than ones who can't, because they are less likely to be off-put by the foul stench of their mate's French-Arabian kisses. Imagine a likely she-camel thought process upon seeing a hunky male: “Hmmmm – bad breath, but he’s funny and he’s got a good looking hump; I’ll just close my nostrils.” That camel's genes are going to make it.

My camel was, unsurprisingly, a delight to be around: ripped, agile, a natural athlete, and a great conversationalist. He's also not a slave to fashion – and like Aldo Cella, he knows what women like: women like Cella Lambrusco on ice.

Sadly, Aldo Cella (spokesman of the ‘70s Cella Lambrusco ad campaigns; please do a YouTube search – it’ll do your heart good. Remember: before there was white zin there was… Cellabrate!) has not been with us during this trip throughout Tunisia. We could use not only his uncanny sense of style but the crates of chilled Cella he would no doubt have sent ahead to meet him at every stop. It is very difficult to get a wine or beer with your meal in Tunisia – it’s almost like the majority of the citizens don't drink alcohol! You can get a brew at one of those big hotels in a city that has a Zone Touristique, but we aren't allowed to visit these places because our guidebook implies that you're much cooler and an all-around better and more hep person if you look down your nose at those hotels; instead staying in small independent places in the center of town. The only acceptable reason for visiting these hotels is so Andrea can kick my butt with "ladder workouts," which loosely translates to "swim intervals until you almost throw up, rest for 10-seconds, repeat."

Baby goats are in abundance at the oases – their cuteness reigns supreme over all living things, especially when they’re doing vertical hops over small streams; on all four hooves at once. The nighttime stars in the oasis were absolutely unbelievable, out of this world – unfortunately we couldn’t capture them on film. Nothing like a complete absence of man-made light combined with zero clouds and a view to the horizon in all directions for stargazing.

Early morning (05h15) was similarly breathtaking in the oases of Tunisia; birds waking up, light slowly bleeding into the night sky, lizards rustling in the bushes, the smell of last night’s leftover couscous in the air…totally fabulous.

Despite high winds for a few hours of the night that whipped sand around outside our Bendouin tent, and the early-morning Gauloise smoke blown in large clouds by our French tent-neighbors, we made it out of the Sahara alive. Heading east, we were amped for one of the highlights of our time in the south; an overnight stay in a groovy troglodyte (pit dwelling) hotel near Tatooine. The limestone keeps the rooms cool and comfortable, and is also a great sound insulator to cut down on the pitter-patter from the feet of our hosts and the numerous scorpions scampering down hallways.

Continental breakfast and a wonderful couscous dinner (hmmmm – were those leftovers from the oasis?) were included in our $15usd/person room rate. As you can see from the photo, the room was simply furnished but still very groovy. The only downside of this place is the owner’s nephew, who skulks about, saying how he was hoping to get his application off to the academy this year but that Uncle Owen needs him another year to help with the harvest, that there’s absolutely nothing fun to do since his friends Biggs and Tank left, and ending every conversation with the sentence “It looks like I’m going nowhere.”

The owners have some pretty advanced equipment at the pit dwelling, considering the remote location and low rates. Marty and I tried to help them with some equipment problems, but neither of us knows enough of the binary language of moisture vaporators, so we recommended they get someone out here that does. We’ve also heard that local tribes in this area travel single-file to hide their numbers. All of this is just a little too weird, so we’re heading back as fast as we can to civilization on the coast.