Tunisia - Quick & Dirty

I am way behind on my travel writing: Bolivia, Peru, Mexico, US Road Trip, Stockholm, Moscow, Kiev, Istanbul, Odessa, and more stories from the usual suspects (London, Paris, Rome, Naples) have been woefully neglected. But today, I find myself in Tataouine (Tunisia, not Galactic Empire) with not much to do but hang out at the internet cafe, and thought I should get down some tips and observations above and beyond the standard guidebook fare while they're still fresh in my mind. So here goes:

1. All travel here takes place in the morning. If you want to go anywhere, it's probably happening before noon, and definitely before 3. There's no "sleep where you want to wake up" going on, unless you want to pay an arm and a leg to buy out the whole van.

2. There really is a strange, casual resemblance to "Star Wars" that is above and beyond the tourist sites. Road signs point the way to minor Jedi. Dudes are occasionally dressed like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

3. Tunisia is basically Jamaica, or maybe the Dominican Republic, for the French. A place to go for a cheap and all-inclusive beach holiday, with the more adventurous folks taking a day trip into town, or maybe arranging a 4x4 tour.

4. As such, all even mildly touristy towns are laid out basically like Vegas: a regular city, and then a huge, guady, and insular "zone touristique" a mile or so outside of town.

5. This ends up - especially in the off-season - leading to a serious lack of interaction with other tourists if you are the dirty backpacker type. My brother and I are used to backpacking around Latin America, where you're hard pressed to avoid Australian or German 20-somethings if you tried. But here we're following the Lonely Planet faithfully, and have encountered 2 Japanese solo tourists and a middle-aged American couple who wandered into the internet cafe to watch "America's Next Top Model."

6. There really is a worldwide Jewish conspiracy. Here is how it works: roll up to the El Ghriba synagouge on Saturday. When they tell you it's closed, tell them you're Jewish. Wait for them to check your passport and let you in. Say Shalom, kick off your shoes, throw on a yamulke and tallis, and try to follow along with the guys inside. Save the 1 Dinar admission fee because it's Shabbas and you aren't supposed to have money. Feel kind of bad as you roll past the guys walking back from Synagogue in a taxi. Don't feel that bad though: they don't let the non-Muslims visit the Mosques in this country, so you figure it's only fair.

Note: sorry ladies, I am pretty sure the worldwide Jewish conspiracy only applies to men.

7. The cult of personality is weird. There have been two leaders since independence. The first guy was the leader of the independence movement. The second guy deposed the first guy in a bloodless coup when the first guy was 83. All the posters are of the second guy, but the main street in each town is named after the first guy.

8. This is the first place I've been where I can't speak the main language, the second language, or the main tourist language. 50 words of French will help you immeasurably.

9. The best marketing scheme I've seen so far: accost tourist on the street. Ask where they are from. When you get the answer, pull out tattered notebook and point to a page written in their language. Have tourist read what a great guide you are. Successfully sell 4-hour tour for 10 dinar more than what the guidebook suggest it costs despite not speaking a language in common.

10. The worst-executed tourist scam so far: try to sell 35 dinar ride from Matmata to Gabes. Make a deal to give a ride to Nouvelle Matmata, and then arrange for a van for tourist to Gabes for 20 dinar total. When arriving at Nouvelle Matmata, fail to arrange van ride that gives you sufficient profit margin, try to claim to tourists that there are no buses or vans to Gabes, and reiterate offer to drive to Gabes for 35 dinar. Don't get money in advance and end up taking the 5 dinar offered when tourists do not fall for the scam.

11. Best executed tourist scam so far: do not make deal with guy above to take tourists in your van for (I'm guessing) 10 dinar. Try to get 25 dinar from them directly. Make deal for 20 because tourists do not do "walk away" trick quick enough and are tired. As soon as money is handed over, magically fill the rest of the van with 6 other people despite initially insisting there is nobody else who wants to go to Gabes.

12. Best bargaining strategy. Show interest. Immediately get price quote. Immediately walk away. Keep walking and do not look back for at least three or four "hey, hey, HEYs." Return. Do not give a price yourself until original price has been lowered to almost appropriate amount. Haggle. When you get close to a deal, walk away again. Return after one or two "hey, hey, HEYs" or the guy will think you are actually not interested. Haggle. Overpay.

13. Remember to constantly remind yourself that finding the love of your life in a lunch counter behind the bus station in Gabes only happens in the movies. But still enjoy demure smiles and extra olives on your merguez sandwich.

14. Pay the extra 93 cents for "Confort" class on the trains. Realize this only guarantees you A seat, not the specific seat that is actually on your ticket. Still easily worth it.

15. Spellcheck on the computers is in French. Sorry for the mistakes.

Crossing the border

When it comes to landscapes, Argentina is a lot like America. The plains of the Pampas might as well be the Midwest, Tierra del Fuego could easily be the Rockies or even the Pacific Northwest, and even the small tropical corner near Iguazu is mirrored in Hawaii. I headed out from Buenos Aires to the north, around Salta and Jujuy, and felt like I might well be in New Mexico or Arizona. Painted deserts, sparse cactus-filled landscapes - the only real differences are the alpacas and llamas every once in a while.

I also got the chance to do my first bungee jump. It was fairly sketchy - they only had velcro bands around the ankles with no other security - but the fact that it was only about 50 feet or so over a river meant that I most probably would have been perfectly fine if the velcro around my ankles gave way. It was pretty fun - you got dunked into the river at the bottom, then bounced right back out. They also had a great zip line over the river.



After that it was time to head over to Bolivia. A short bus ride, and I encountered the most relaxed border crossing I've ever been to. I was the only gringo. There was a small bridge over a dry creek, with a passport office on the side. Despite it saying "Passport Office" in 6 languages (including Hebrew), I was the only person who actually used the passport office - everyone else just passed back and forth over the bridge, often pushing wagons covered in blankets, completely ignoring the armed border guards.

Once in the passport office a disinterested Bolivian civil servant manning a dusty typewriter stamped my passport with a 30 day visa without even looking at me. I'm not saying this from experience, but if you ever find yourself on the run from the law in Argentina, definitely consider the La Quiaca/Villazon border crossing for making your escape.

The White Whale Lives

Like captain Ahab, we all have our particular White Whales we chase. Mine is an abandoned bridge in Buenos Aires. I can’t explain it. You’re either one of the small subset of people who see this and drool at the thought of climbing it, or you’re not.

I first encountered the Puente Transbordador (also known as the Puente Avellaneda Antigua) during my first trip to Buenos Aires. It didn’t turn out so great. I don’t really know when I first got it in my head I had to climb this thing - maybe because it was the first interesting structure I ran into in Buenos Aires. As is evidenced from the link above, it’s in a not-so-great part of town, but that’s not why I didn’t want to go at night. I really wanted the views - the Bombanera (the Boca Junior soccer club's stadium), downtown, the port. It’s also definitely not so structurally sound anymore, but I wasn’t really worried about how to climb it or falling - I was worried about getting arrested. More specifically, I was worried about getting arrested in a foreign country.

Knowing the local culture is a big, and underrated, part of going interesting places. In Paris or New York, I wouldn’t have thought twice about climbing the thing. Not because I wouldn’t get caught, but because I would know what to do it I was. In Argentina, I had no clue. Local gossip had it that the police were all lazy and corrupt, but what that meant in practicality I didn’t know. That they’d just let me go? That I should try to bribe them? That they’d haul me down to the station and throw me in jail where I’d quickly be forgotten about? That I’d end up being hustled for thousands of dollars by various bureaucrats and officials to get out of the situation? I never felt comfortable enough doing it during my stay in 2005, but I had resolved that one day, I would. After rolling back into town I had 24 hours to figure it out before I left for Northern Argentina. And in addition to the bridge, I wanted some good views I hadn’t been able to find last time. Luckily, I met an adorable Swedish tourist, and we decided to spend some time seeing what rooftops we could get onto.

When in a strange city (or a familiar one for that matter) hotels are almost always your best bet for easily accessible rooftops. After a couple of false starts, we decided to hit the Sheraton near the Retiro train station north of downtown. In most non-English speaking countries, no matter how you’re dressed, no matter how fancy the hotel, if you walk in speaking English you’re almost always left alone. Here was no exception - we made out way out onto the roof with no problems at all.

Now, when you have a evening in Buenos Aires with the company of a lovely lady, you don’t spend it climbing abandoned bridges. We spent the night dancing the tango in San Telmo, and after my companion had left early the next morning, I resolved to give the bridge one last shot before I had to leave. Unfortunately, sometimes these adventures are anti-climactic. Stationed right out front were these guys: not even cops, but naval officers.

I had one small hope though, which was that maybe this town, like Paris, was sufficiently Latin enough to just let me do whatever I wanted. After all, this is a town where a cabby’s favorite move while stopped at a red light is to pull into the oncoming traffic lane, pull around the cars in front of him, and blow right through the light - cops around or no. I went right up to the naval officers and told them I was climbing up the bridge to take pictures. I wasn’t really surprised when, despite my self-assurance, I was met with a resounding “no you aren’t.”

I still kind of regret not just doing it. Forget about beautiful Swedes, angry naval officers, cultural uncertainly - there's a bridge to climb! Still, during moments like these - and they come for all of us - it’s always good to remember that the White Whale did end up killing Ahab.

Tightrope on top of Sao Paulo

On my last day in Sao Paulo I decide to head up one more observation deck, the Edificio Italia downtown. The Edificio Italia was erected by Sao Paulo’s Italian community (hence the name), and has both a restaurant and an observation deck at the top. Contrary to what a lot of guidebooks say, you don’t need to go to the restaurant in order to go to the observation deck if you go at certain times of the day. I head up there for the view, but end up encountering Gabriel, one of my companions from PreservaSP, and his friend Guto.

The Edificio Italia used to be the tallest building not just in Sao Paulo, but all of Brazil. That honor now belongs to the Mirante do Vale, a residential building a little ways away. Downtown Sao Paulo is somewhat hilly, and despite being the tallest building it actually ends up being lower than some others due to do it being constructed in a valley. Still, we decided to see if they’d let us up on the roof.

Sao Paulo is kind of schitzophrenic when it comes to residential security. Middle-class people tend to live in 30-40 story high-rises surrounded by fences, sometime topped with barbed or even electrified wires, and staffed 24-7 by security guards. You might think this would make for difficult access to the roofs of residential buildings. But no, we simply go up to reception and ask, and 5 minutes later a janitor is escorting us up. The elevators have an interesting transport philosophy - they stop halfway between two floors, with either a half-flight walk up or down stairs to get to the floor. This leads to half as many potential stops, and at least theoretically, less transportation time.

We go to the top floor, walk up a flight of stairs, and the janitor unlocks the door. But we aren't on the roof yet. It turns out the top five stories don’t exist. Not empty floors, but non-existent floors. No floors, no ceilings, no walls. Just five-foot wide ledges surrounding nothing. We get up to the roof, half of which is actually a Helicopter Landing pad. The view is spectacular.

Top 5 stories of the Mirante do Vale

Helicopter landing pad on the roof

View northeast of the Edificios BANESPA and Banco do Brasil

View South - you can see the antennas of Avenida Paulista off in the distance

Looking down on the Viaduto Santa Ifigenia

The janitor hangs out while we go trampsing onto the other half - the aforementioned five-foot wide ledge. No guardrails, no nothing, with a 50-foot drop on one side, and 500-foot drop on the other. I cannot imagine anywhere in the United States letting us do this - for free no less.


No liability insurance - no problem!

Guto checking the camera

Guto and Gabriel

We hang out for a while, tip the janitor 10 Reals (about 4 dollars), and head back down. One more reason to love Brazil.

How to arrive in Rio

For anyone traveling to Brazil, my advice is this: you’ll probably fly into Sao Paulo’s international airport. Stay two or three days in Sao Paulo, and then fly to Rio. If you fly directly to Rio, or if you transfer from Sao Paulo’s international airport to Rio, you’ll end up flying into Galeao airport, north of the city. However, if you go from Congonhas, Sao Paulo’s domestic airport, you’ll be rewarded with one of the most spectacular flight descents in the world. The ascent from Sao Paulo isn’t bad either - you get to see just how vast the city really is. The only drawback is that Congonas doesn't have the greatest safety record.

Sao Paulo-Rio is the second-most traveled flight pattern in the world (Madrid-Barcelona is number one). Don’t worry about reservations - flights leave at least once an hour, and are usually more like once every half-hour. There’s even a dedicated ticket desk for “buy & fly” purchases -which shouldn’t cost you more than $100 US.

Now, don’t get on the next plane - at least not if you can’t get a window (that’s the whole point). Wait until the one after- you should pretty much have your pick of seats. Although both sides actually have great views, my advice is to sit on the left-hand side window. Rio’s domestic airport (Santos Dumont) is a little two-runway job right next to downtown. This isn’t the difference between flying into JFK and LaGuardia - flying into Santos Dumont is basically the equivalent of flying into the Wall Street Heliport.

Not only are the views astounding (and way better than my disposable-camera picture above), but you can grab your stuff and walk right into the middle of Rio. The subway - which will take you as far south as Copacabana - is only about a 15 minute walk through downtown.

I ♥ Brazil

Whenever people tell me they’re taking a trip South America, I always give them the same advice - spend the entire time in Brazil.

I spent a blisteringly cold day in New York upon my return from Europe - completely justifying to myself my choice to spend the winter elsewhere. After taking care of various errands, I was on an Aero Mexico flight to Sao Paulo.

Never fly Aero Mexico. Upon arrival at the airport I was informed that they had lost my luggage, which they didn’t manage to find for a week. Plus it immediately started to rain nonstop about 2 hours after my arrival, putting the kibosh on my plans to visit abandoned mansions with a local architecture/exploration group there.

Plans ruined, wet clothes, and not even a pair of dry socks to change into. I couldn’t have been happier. I was in Brazil. I don’t know what it is about the country, but it never fails to put me in good mood. Despite its social problems (which are bad, but maybe not quite as bad as is commonly thought in the U.S.), people are generally just very friendly, relaxed, affectionate, and in a good mood. It’s infectious - the general positive vibe is just in the air. Even in a town like Sao Paulo, which is known among Brazilians for being somewhat harried and business-like, this atmosphere can still work magic on your average New Yorker.

The next day I went shopping for some clothes to tide me over. Now, I do have one small complaint about the country. Brazilians do not believe in Boxer Shorts. Or Boxer Briefs. Or, apparently, any type of underwear that wouldn’t be worn by your average 14-year old girl in the United States. But it’s a small complaint - not nearly as bad as my complaint against Aero Mexico: arriving in a foreign country for three months with what you’ve got on your back. A pair of shorts, a set of flips-flops, a decent shirt, three pairs of socks, and a three-pack of the tightest underwear I’ve ever worn later, I was good to go. Not even having to wear bikini briefs could bother me. I was in Brazil.

Axis to Allies

We left Berlin and headed on our flight to London. We were pretty exited - we had plans to hook up with some locals, and spend 4 or 5 days really getting to know the town. I love the feeling of London in the winter - my father says it’s the kind of atmosphere where you “turn up your collar, light a cigarette, and walk away.”

I had been to London before, but it was my first time in Berlin. Although I only spent about a day and a half there, it was enough to get a certain feel for the city. It actually reminded me a lot of New York, as much as any other city I´ve been to except perhaps Sao Paulo. The kicker was the subway - not only is it one of the largest systems in the world, it pulled something straight out the NYC Transit book - changing lines due to construction in the middle of the trip. And while not quite 24/7 like the NYC Subway, I think it´s the closest any other system comes: all night on weekends and only closed for about three hours at night on weekdays. When Berlin was divided, the subway would run through several ghost stations, complete with armed guards, in the eastern section before returning to the west.

Today, you can hardly notice that Berlin ever was divided. For someone like me, who tends to anthropomorphize cities to a great degree, this isn´t very surprising. The idea of completely cutting a city in half (and not even along a natural boundary, such as a river) is almost unimaginable. Something as complicated as a world city, with subways, sewers, electric grids, water pipes, not to mention the natural economic and social flows of its citizens, can only be cut in half and stitched up on either side with crippling results. While I never got to see Berlin heal itself after the wall came down in 1989, I imagine it was quick, painless, and completely natural. Even after 28 years of separation, a city will fall into its natural state seamlessly, the way the body heals itself after a wound.

London didn´t start off too well. Instead of adventures in drains and rooftops, we had adventures in hospitals and airports. Steve ended up laid up in the “Lord Wigram Ward” of the Chelsea and Westminster hospital, and had to take an early fight back home. Due to e-mail miscommunication I missed a chance to head into some drains and underground rivers (one of which, I am told, goes right underneath Buckingham Palace), and a friend I was going to see ended up being horribly ill for some of my stay, and in Liverpool for the rest.

Four days in and I hadn’t really done a lot. I’d walked around a bit, and seen a few museums (almost all of which are free in London), including getting to ride the 5-story slide that’s a temporary exhibition at the Tate Modern. But I certainly hadn’t done anything interesting or fun. The highlight of my trip so far was meeting up with a friend in South London at, by far, the worst nightclub I had ever been to. Imagine a bunch of drunk Brits trying to dance to “Living on a Prayer.”

By the time I had planned to leave, I was pretty frustrated with my time in England. That frustration, however, would change in a big way.