Tunis, I've a feeling we're not in Cairo any more.

After such a long time in Cairo and such a short time here in Tunis, I find myself making continual comparisons between the two. I am not sure which country is coming out ahead. The essential difference (besides poverty levels, I suppose), according to my minimal expertise, comes from the similarity: both countries demonstrate a lot of Westernization (especially to Westerners, and especially when they seek it out), but while Cairo was Americanized, Tunis is Frenchified. Take the food, for instance (what else could be more important?). Tunis's main drag is back to back crepe and croissant shops and the only falafel I have seen was in a Lebanese restaurant. More shockingly, there is no McDonald's in Tunisia, and although I see plenty of Coca Cola, I have yet to see any Pepsi.

So it's not all bad. Pepsi, as everyone knows, is little better than caramelized yak urine, but I do rather miss Egyptian food.


Another difference: clothing. I have seen many Tunisian men walking the streets in shorts and even a few in sleeveless undershirts. It's not a big deal, really, but it would have been in Cairo. And when people speak a foreign language here, or pollinate their speech with words in other languages, they use French rather than English. This is very confusing for those of us who have wasted years learning Arabic without ever studying French.

The best difference was the reception at the airport, although this has less to do with the country than with what an important individual I have become. The US embassy sent me two whole gentleman to ease my arrival, one to help me through customs and another to drive me to my hotel, an excellent perk of having a fancy-pants scholarship to study Arabic here. I didn't really need help through customs; there is not even a visa required for Americans to visit Tunisia, but it's always reassuring to see my name displayed on a waiting man's sign after a long long trip.

After settling in for a day, I set about searching for a place to live. The best place I could find in the local paper, La Presse, was something the advertiser called a studio. A more accurate description would be shithole. I then looked at a one-bedroom immediately adjacent to my Arabic school, but although I rather liked the green couches, it didn't feel quite right. I want to be close to school but I don't want to be able to hear the classes from my bedroom. So when I saw the three available apartments in a building a few blocks from school, I was in love. The building triumphs on the location front (I can walk to school, to several large supermarkets and a vegetable market, to the main drag, and to the park where visitors to the zoo are permitted to pet the rhino, but am far enough away from school to not feel as if I am living in it), and it seems so far that the landlady is excellent as well.



Once again, I compare with Cairo experiences. Remember how nightmare landlady wouldn't even let a Sudanese man into her property to clean it? This landlady has rented at least two apartments to Africans! They speak French, however, so I haven't gotten beyond "hello."



My street, on the corner of which is the above Coca Cola-themed cafe, is in a district called Lafayette. I was told that this is a Jewish area, and some evidence for this is the presence of a synagogue right near my school. However, I have only ever seen the synagogue all chained up and that intel came from a Tunisian man who decided to talk to me on the street.

My street is called Iran, and it is near the corner of India Street. All the streets nearby have country names; Egypt and United States Street are both lined by palm trees and are equally lovely.