Tunis Bardo Museum

My eyes are opened

          Bardo Museum: Black stone Nubian figure           Bardo Museum: Palace grand reception hall ceiling           Bardo Museum: "Fruitful Amme Dera" Roman mosaic floor from Haidra           Bardo Museum: Statue in the reception hall's Carthaginian display           Bardo Museum: Husseinite courtyard detail           Bardo Museum: Glazed tile alcove in former Bey's private residence           Bardo Museum: Roman woman's marble statue           Bardo Museum: Detail of domed palace ceiling           Bardo Museum: Roman mosaics line the staircase to the first floor           Bardo Museum: Palace room polychrome ceiling above mosaic Bardo Museum: Black stone Nubian figure

During our last few weeks in Asia I started to get a little afraid. I was scared that after 7 months of travel it was getting a bit “old”. I felt that I was failing to be excited by things that should have been thrilling, were I a little younger and fresher. I was getting nasty, twingey worries that spending a lot of money and planning to be away for another 6 months might have been a mistake, though the trip sounded truly amazing even to a jaded old broad like me.

Then we arrived in north Africa.

I felt the first fluttering of anticipation watching the wadis of Sinai slither through the desert on the “downwards cam” channel of our Emirates IFE units.

After a 24 hour flight odyssey we limped into Tunis feeling dizzy from two days without sleep and sluggish circulation. Needless to say we did little more after arriving at the hotel than hunt down some Tunisian Dinars and some bottled water before crashing into an immediate deep sleep from which we did not emerge until birdcall this morning – 15 hours later.

Even in those first few hours the culture shock was massive. Had we come to Tunis from home it probably would have seemed far less strange. The clash with diminutive Southeast Asia however, was so powerful I was a little breathless at first. To begin with we had been transformed from clumsy giants to dolls overnight. The streets are as broad as Hanoi streets are narrow, the traffic is sedate and regulated, the people are passionate hand-talkers, so far from the inscrutable, patient Asians. The sky is blue and fluffy clouds scuttle across it. I haven't seen that in so long – we've been trapped under steely tropical sheets.

Halva and chocolate croissants for breakfast couldn't be further from rice and red bean paste (though to be honest, I prefer the latter). We began our first tentative foray into the wider streets wanting to be impressed but in general our cynical selves. All that was blown away by ten minutes in the medina. Doug was more photographically inspired than I have seen him since Luang Prabang. I was so wide-eyed and open-mouthed I would have looked like this (had you rotated me 90o CCW): 8O

I just had the best day I can remember since our Phongsali expedition. I'm so sleepy I can barely see the screen but I want so much to write about the amazing, inspiring things we saw today. We've been inside the twisting stairwells and roof gardens of perfect whitewashed Arabic homes. We wandered across vast marble squares, peered into the back lots of ancient Ottoman forts, drank peppermint tea in hole in the wall cafes - and then there was Bardo.

This morning we decided to go to the Bardo Museum. I cringe now about how flippant that was. You shouldn't “go” to Bardo, you should make it a pilgrimage or pay homage at Bardo. Pay homage to Tunisian architecture and the Bey who built a heaven on earth. Pay homage to the art of Greek sculptors, Roman, African and Punic mosaic makers, Mamluk potters and Byzantine comb carvers. The museum blew both of our minds. I've been to the national museums of Egypt, Japan, Greece – they all had beautiful things, but the Bardo Museum is just beautiful all over. After walking into a few rooms and staring at ceilings until your neck aches you begin to feel an exquisite sadness that you can't pitch a tent and have just one little corner to yourself, always.

I've had my sense of wonder and my travel “purity” restored by a single day in Tunis. I wish I spoke a little French so I could tell the Tunisians just how much I respect their wonderful city. I can't believe how lucky I am that I'm going to wake up with explorations this awesome ahead of me for the next 150 or so days.

I'm ready now. Bring it on :)

P.S. Check out Eros' mares. They cracked me up.