Did you hear that loud crack yesterday?

That was my heart breaking.

Ok, not really breaking, but yesterday was rather bittersweet.

My sweet little Megan, whose long blonde curls have always been one of my favorite things, got her hair cut yesterday. She's had a few trims here and there, and a couple of times we've had several inches taken off, but this time she wanted it short. Lately it's been really scraggly and hard to manage, and I guess, in theory, there comes a time when you maybe should let your children have a say in what their hair looks like, and she has been asking for a long time to get it cut.

So yesterday, I took her over to my friend Lydia's, who was nice enough to do it for us. Megan said, "Up to my ears!" and I said, "On your shoulders!" and we compromised with in between.

Here she is, all ready to go:
One last shot of the length:
The first cut (I hear it's the deepest) :
All done! (Sorry about that shot, Lydia. Thanks for the free haircut!)Definitely a thumbs up!
Not a great shot, but you can kind of see how much she loves it:
I'll miss the long curls some, I'm sure, but I don't think I'll miss the long morning detanglings, and really, she looks so darn cute. This morning she was so excited to be able to do her hair all by herself and have me let her leave the house afterwards. Win-win, if you ask me.

Our time in Egypt in 50 words or less

This is a letter Megan wrote to my grandma. I think she pretty much summed it up!
We've been getting treats, we've been to the pool, and we've seen the pyramids--fun! There's also a little picture of a Wii in there, but I guess that speaks for itself.

Maybe I should let Meg take over the blogging duties.

*Libby or Beckie, can you show this to Grandma? I mailed the letter last week, but I don't know when it will get there. Thanks!

Tunisia Day 4: These are not the droids you're looking for

We got up early again--partly because we wanted to get on our way and partly because we wanted to get the heck out of our hotel--and headed south for Djerba, a resort island that is really popular with Europeans. We rode a ferry to the island, intending to drive around, stop if we wanted, and just see what caught our fancy. Our fancy is easily caught, but there wasn't much that interested us in Djerba. We aren't real big on tourist haunts, so we realized pretty quickly that there wasn't we really wanted to do there. We saw in the guidebook that there is a Jewish synagogue there and that Djerba is home to a rather large Jewish population, so we decided to drive along the coast one last time, find the synagogue, and then leave Djerba.

This is on the north cost of the island:
Just as we were about to turn inland and start the search for the synagogue, we came upon a fort and decided to stop and check it out. I took a picture of the sign out front so that I could remember what the heck it was, but shortly thereafter discovered I was having full memory card issues (mostly an issue because I sort of forgot to bring my cable for downloading the pictures to my computer), and that picture was one that I sacrificed in order to make room for less useful but more pretty pictures.

Here is one of the pictures for which the informational picture lost its existence:
This is from the top of the fort, looking down on the coast:
And this is looking out to sea through one of the windows (in case you can't tell from, you know, the sea, as seen through a fort-type-looking window):
When we'd had our fill of the fort, we left for the synagogue. The synagogue that, while there were signs all over for it, was really really hard to find. I think it took almost an hour to finally track it down. And...wait for it...it was closed. So. On to the next place.

The next place just happened to be Tataouine. To both tell you a little bit about the town and to give you an example of just how awesomely horrible our guidebook was, let me share with you a little bit from the book: "Some fans of Star Wars may also realize that Tataouine provided the name for Luke Skywalker's mythical and wind-blown home planet of Tatooine." We want to buy further books in the series so that we can finally find answers to such mysteries as just who it is that's buried in Grant's tomb and of what material, praytell, were George Washington's wooden teeth made.

One of the things we liked about Tunisia was the consistency of the road marker signs. On one side it would have the name of the next main town or city you would be coming to and the, uh, not mileage...kilometerage?...anyway, how far is was to said town or city. And then on the reverse side it did the same for the travelers coming from the opposite direction. We had both mentioned wanting to get a picture of one, so we figured one of the town that, so we've heard anyway, provided the name for Luke Skywalker's mythical and wind-blown home planet would be good:
The other signs we really liked there (mostly me, I think, since I am more easily entertained than Kevan) were the signs they had when you entered and left each town. As you approached, there would be a sign with the town's name in both English and Arabic, and when you left there would be the same sign, only with a red "busters" sign through it, like they're anti-the town or something. Because digressions are what I do, I'm going to take this opportunity to tell you a little story about Megan and explain the joke we said to each other every time we saw one of these signs. Get comfortable; it's kind of long. And probably not worth the pay-off at the end, but oh well. Since time began (or thereabouts), every week on the way home from church I ask the kids how their lessons were, and without fail get the usual response of, "Good," "Fine," "Huh?"--you get the picture. So then I ask them what their lessons were about, and I get the usual one-word answers of, "Tithing," "Prayer," "Huh?" Well, a couple of years ago we were on our way home and playing our usual game of "Frustrate Mom" when I threw a new question at them, not expecting an answer really, since it was mostly just to entertain myself. I've always believed that if I'm going to spend the bulk of my life around small children, I'm going to entertain myself in the process. So after getting an answer like, "Faith," I said, "Well, what about it?" Being met with blinking and blank stares, I elaborated with, "Well, are ya fer it or agin it?" Apparently those were the magic words needed to get them talking, because after laughing, they finally elaborated, and since then every week they wait until I ask them their position on the topic and then tell me about their class. (The lesson here is: "Talk like an old-timey hick, and your children will open up to you.") So not quite a year ago we were going through our traditional question-and-laugh-and-answer session, and somehow we discovered that all this time Megan had thought what I was saying was, "Well, are ya fer it, or are ya gonna kill it?" Which, you know, makes sense considering that's how we approach most things in life--do we like it? If so, carry on; if not, kill it. It's really applicable to just about any situation.

My point is this (and insert the name of any and every town we drove through to more fully experience the sheer hilarity)--Tataouine: Are ya fer it, or are ya gonna kill it?
Those two signs, by the way, are about all that was interesting about the town of Tataouine. We had heard there was a good market there, but after driving around for awhile could find neither hide nor hair of it. We had also read about a traditional pastry they make there (and anyone who's ever spoken to me for more than a moment or two likely knows my feelings towards pastries), and it took some doing, but we finally found a shop that sold them. Luckily, I've gotten used to being disappointed by desserts in this part of the world.

The next thing we wanted to see in the area was a kasr, a fortified village used by nomadic tribes in the region to store their grains and other goods and which they inhabited between trips out to tend their flocks. There are several of these just south of Tataouine, but we wanted to find Kasr Ouled Sultane, which is the best preserved of all of them. Truthfully though, we would have been happy to find any of them. Therein lies the rub. We saw it on the map, and we found the right road, and we saw the signs telling us we were on the right road, not to mention the 3 or 4 people we stopped and asked for directions from, but we just couldn't find the darn thing. After going back and forth on the same road about 62 billion times (though I may be exaggerating just a hair), we finally decided to just drive down the road that the map said would take us to a different but supposedly closer kasr. Still not seeing anything, we just kept going but agreeing that if we didn't find anything within the next 10 minutes we were giving up. Will it be a surprise to any of you that 9 minutes later not only did we find a kasr but that it was the original one we were looking for? I didn't think so. Pay no heed to the fact that we were nowhere near where any map, sign, or person said Kasr Ouled Sultane was. Still, we had found it, and it was as interesting as we had hoped it would be.

There were two courtyards connected to each other, with all of the dwelling built to face inward. This is coming into the first courtyard:
And this is from the far end of the second courtyard, looking back toward the first. Kevan climbed up one of those tall, narrow staircases to get the picture. Towards the middle of the courtyard where you see that tree is where the well was that they used.
A bit of a close-up:
This is a picture of the ceiling of one of the dwellings:
Our guide explained that each family had a certain marking--a brand really--that they used to mark their property, whether it be their house, granary, or herd, and the long mark, the footprint, and the dots are all a part of this particular family's brand.

Speaking of our guide, he was probably about the most gentle, unassuming one we've ever encountered in all the places we've been. He was missing most of his right arm, and he explained that he lives there in one of the dwellings and spends his time painting watercolors of the kasr and showing people around, if they want him to. He was, as most people we met were, really fascinated that Kevan spoke Arabic to him, and the two of them had a lot of fun joking around. At least as best as I could tell. Really, I just listen for my name. We ended up buying a small watercolor from him, because we both really liked it. It helps that we liked him, too, since Kevan and I share an inability to buy something no matter how much we like it if the person selling it irritates us.

Having enjoyed that stop despite the hassle in getting to it, we decided that we would continue on and try to find the other kasr that interested us--the one they used for filming the slave quarters in The Phantom Menace. (As as side note, you should know that my position on the names of the Star Wars films is this: it's not "Episode 4, 5, or 6" it's Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi. The end.) This was pretty much the only place we went the entire day that we drove straight to.

Apparently this sign survived the Great Picture Deletion of Aught-Eight:
Now if only it explained where Lucas got the name "Tatooine." That would have been really helpful.

Part of Kasr Hedada:
And another part, avec Kev:
After we left here, we had a couple of choices to make: we could backtrack a good bit, get on the main road, and make it a portion of the way to the next day's destination, or we could make our way on less-main roads and drive all the way there that night, both saving time the next day and giving us a really cool (if you're a nerd or a very patient wife) place to sleep. We chose option B.

My mom likes to say that you either have a good time or a good story. Option B was the good story. I think that every single time we came to a fork in the road or a place where we had to choose one of two directions to go, we chose the wrong one. You should know that, not to be all "we're awesome" or anything, but Kevan and I are pretty, you know, awesome navigators. We both have a good sense of direction, memory for where we've been, and understanding of maps and terrain. Man, we were so totally lost. Fortunately--and truly, in direct answer to several prayers--each time we made a wrong turn (aka, every time we turned, just about), we either quickly discovered the error and corrected it or someone just showed up and helped us get back on the right way. At one point when we were, as it turns out, almost 10km off-course and completely unaware of it, two men on a tiny little motor scooter appeared seemingly from nowhere and not only pointed us in the right direction but led us probably 25km (and what turned out to be almost halfway) down the road we wanted to be on. Though I did question more than once why it was we did want to be on said road. That was, hands down, the worst road I have ever been on. Bumpy, rocky, poorly graded, parts of it washed away or with deep crevices washed into it, etc., not to mention completely unlit and unmarked. But up and over the mountain(s?) we went and eventually made it to where we wanted to be, safe and with both our sense of humor and rental car in tact.

Tunisia Day 3: I can't think of a clever subtitle, sorry

The next morning we got up early so that we could be on our way as soon as possible. Several people had told Kevan that we shouldn't miss the Roman ruins in Dougga, so we scrapped our plans to drive down the coastline and headed for the interior. On our way out of the Tunis area though, we went into the Medina one more time to try to see the Great Mosque there. The first time we tried, it took us forever to find it and by the time we did, it had just closed. The second time, it wasn't open for non-Muslims. We checked and rechecked every source of information that we could find on it, and we were fairly certain that on our third try we would be able to find it, it would be open, and we would be able to go inside. So we set off.

On our way into the city, we (Kevan) pulled over to the side of the freeway and got out so that we (Kevan) could get a picture of the sunrise. Ever since we moved to Egypt, we've joked that sending us to live in the Middle East is really just a recipe for an international incident waiting to happen. And this is the picture that almost caused one:
Ok, not really, but there was a police officer who was very concerned about what Kevan was doing and stopped traffic so he could come and find out. Once Kevan started speaking to him in Arabic and explained what he was doing, he was fine with it. Now if it were me, I probably would have tried to be a little more discreet and maybe not climbed up on top of the traffic barrier. But that's just me.

Once we got back on our way, we got into the center of town, found a place to park, headed into the Medina, and walked straight to the mosque. Which was being cleaned. Three strikes.

This is a picture of one of the streets we walked through. I loved how deserted it is (quite the contrast to what it was like the first two times we were there) and how the just-hosed-down street actually looks clean (it's not, mind you, but at least it looks like it here).
This is one of the original gates of the Medina with the early-morning sky behind it.
And here is the bab with our early-morning faces in front of it. (It's hard to block something big when you're close to it, but we did our best.)
On our way out of the city we took a wrong turn (that actually worked out better than our originally planned route, perhaps the only time that happened the whole trip) and drove by this government building. The contrast between the white domes and the dark sky was quite stunning, so we (Kevan) stopped again to get another picture. Despite the fact the we (Kevan) stopped practically right in the middle of the street and then stood on a low wall to get the shot, somehow we (Kevan) remained unnoticed by any form of law enforcement.Getting out of Tunis and getting on the right road to boot, was quite the undertaking, but somehow we did it. About halfway to Dougga, we drove though a town that had a neat-looking mosque. I've never seen one before that looked quite so medieval.
This is another side-of-the-road shot that we got of what we noticed was a pretty common form of property boundary--cacti, really tall cacti. We saw it not just around property, but also in between fields and orchards. I guess that's as good a way as any to keep goats or whatnot out.
Once we found the right road, we drove right to Dougga. Well, I should say, the town right next to Dougga, Teboursouk. Then we drove all over the town looking for the road to Dougga. Our favorite thing in the town was this guy:
Best we could figure out, he's part of a national campaign to get people to recycle. We saw statues of him all over the country, each in various states of disrepair. This one was in probably the best condition we saw.

We finally found Dougga, and what we heard about it was true. The guidebook calls it "the best-preserved Roman ruins in North Africa," and that is one thing the book got right. Have I mentioned that we had a really bad guidebook? Something we said to each other frequently was, "Sure glad we didn't pay for this thing." Anyway, these ruins were really cool. And you know what's great about visiting sights like these in a country that's not America? Nobody cares if you climb all over them. Which exactly what we did.

These are some pictures of the amphitheater:



And this is a picture of Kevan standing on the very top of it:
And this is a picture of Kevan orating from the floor:
And this is a picture of Kevan standing on top of a column to get some pictures:
Hi Kev!
And this is us at the top, looking down: (Sorry that you can still kind of see it there behind us.)
This is a temple on the grounds. There were a bunch of birds nesting around the top of it, and we tried to get some shots with them flying, but this is the best one:
Gratefully, the shot Kevan didn't get is of me, trying to get the birds to fly away. Or if he did, he's a smart man and isn't letting on.

More of the temple:


This is part of the mosaic floor in the courtyard in front of the temple:
I think my feelings for columns have been well established, so there's no need for me to explain this picture:
This was just a cool stone lying on the ground:
After sufficiently tramping all over history, we got back in the car and drove south to a town called Le Kef. We were planning on just driving through the town, but we saw a really cool-looking fort and decided to stop and go in. Problem was, we couldn't figure out how to actually get in.

This is one of the doors that wasn't the entrance:
And this is Kevan on a wall, taking a picture of something else:
After taking those pictures (and not finding any doors we could actually walk through), we walked around to the other side of the fort. The fort is at the top of a hill, and around the side we saw the greatest view of the surrounding area. You could even see the Algerian mountains off in the distance (Le Kef is only about 30 miles from the Algerian border). We got some good pictures of the view, but Kevan, bless his heart, loaded these pictures on to the blog and didn't put one of those pictures on. I would add it now, but they're on his computer and he's on his way to Oman for 2 weeks, so maybe when he gets back.

Anyway, we also came upon a group of boys playing soccer (though they would probably tell you they were playing football). Kevan went over to them to ask where the entrance was, and as soon as he starting speaking Arabic to them, they swarmed him. Swarmed. They could not get over this white American who was speaking to them in Arabic. It was fun to watch. They also loved his camera and had us both take a bunch of pictures of them. Every time the picture would take, they would rush over and jockey for position to see the shot.
They told Kevan that the fort was closed that day (figures) and then walked with us back to our car. The boy in red and the shorter one in the white sweater were the loudest of the bunch. Somehow American politics came up, and I told Kevan to tell the one in red that he looked like Obama. Oh man, did he love that. Then the one in white told Kevan to tell me to tell him (Kevan) to tell him (the boy)(did you follow that?) that he looks like Sarkozy. Nobody seemed to care about looking like the Tunisian president, but that's neither here nor there, I suppose.
After we left Kef, we drove and drove and drove. We decided that since we were sort of in the vicinity, we would go to the city of Kairouan. In the vein of, "if you don't have anything nice to say..." I'm not going to talk much about this town. There was some semi-interesting architecture, and we saw some cool doors, but that was about it that we liked about it. Also there was this guy and his loom; he was nice enough:
The guy who made our experience in that city most unpleasant told us several times over that Kairouan is the 4th most holy city in Islam, but later in the trip someone told Kevan that the only people he had ever heard that from were people from Kairouan.

On the road out of town (which we took as soon as we could find the darn thing), had building after building (mostly houses) with strings of peppers drying on them. The man here came out and turned his lights on when he saw that Kevan was taking pictures of them.
We drove for a couple more hours south and east to the coast and ended up in a town called Gabes. We weren't too impressed with it, either, but there was a really great view of the full moon over the ocean from the balcony of our hotel room.