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.