Market Men

So I'm experimenting in sharing some of my personal travel/life abroad stories. I've kept a series of journals throughout the past 3 years. They're full of what are, to me, quite treasured memories. This one stems from an encounter I had in August 2008, on my first trip to Paris.

One is from Tunisia and the other from Lebanon. The Tunisian man owns a little food shop in Montmartre, and Mr. Lebanon sells highly overpriced cigarettes there in the evenings, when all of the "tabacs" are closed. Mr. Lebanon wrote "Je T'Aime" on the overhand of the Tunisian man's shop.

Alex and I visited their shop during our summer visit. We chatted with them a lot, and on the last night, they gave us each a free soft drink. Upon moving back to Paris, I knew that I'd have those two to go back to. In fact, after unloading my suitcases into Greg's Montmartre flat, that shop was my first stop. They were the only two people in Paris who I knew. I learned that the Tunisian man was called Neji, and the Lebanese guy was Mario.

I passed the store every day on my way to and from work. I always stopped in, talked to Neji for a few minutes in my broken but ever-improving French. One night, Mario called me and invited me to have a drink with them. I assumed we'd go to the café across the street, but instead they pulled up a seat near the register for me and told me to pick a drink. We sat and talked and Neji told me I looked sad. I burst into tears, full of loneliness and winter depression. I didn't have the words to say any of that, so instead I was just some girl crying on a stool in a little food shop. "Je te comprend," Neji kept saying, and he told me to go pick out a candy because "Les filles adorent les bonbons".

Winter turned to spring and spring to summer and I spent many afternoons and evenings chatting with Neji. I sometimes ran into Mario in the neighborhood, wearing striped nautical shirts and a big white beard as he teetered on his red bicycle. And on the nights when I met him in Neji's shop, he and Neji were usually bickering. They got in fights over Mario's lewd behavior toward women, over Neji's strict parenting methods, over politics and gambling and everything in between. Meanwhile my French improved, and I learned how to work the cash register. I translated random tourists' broken English in to French for Neji, steered drunken late night visitors to the alcohol section of the store, and told desperate smokers the price of Marios's Marlboro's. Mario made me couscous dinners when I was sick, and Neji gave me oysters for my family's Christmas visit.

Neji and I talked about religion and philosophy, lifestyles and choices. He used to give me such spot-on advice, which at times seemed strange considering our many differences. It was a strange friendship, but it was really meaningful and it brought me a lot of comfort and stability during a lonely time in my life.

Somehow I came full circle and moved to Tunisia. I took a trip to Paris in September, and Neji was one of my first stops. He and Mario had gotten into some awful argument and hadn't spoken since I left Paris. He had converted his food shop into a souvenir store. The top level, which had once been the kitchen, is now an internet café. I'm sure it brings him a lot more revenue, but I have to say that I'll always miss that old store.

I'm missing someone but I don't remember who

It was a strange day. I kept myself busy with church and lunch and wandering and taking photos and sitting in parks, but even when surrounded by friends and chatter, I felt hollow. My mind was in another place. I kept catching myself throwing in the obligatory "mmm hmmm", as I flitted into my own world, disconnected from the conversation, the people passing, the little boys trying to sell me flowers, the kids screaming from the trees they had climbed.

I guess I just found myself wanting to be back, wanting to be home, wondering what home even means anymore... Part of me is afraid of going back and feeling lonely in a place full of my friends. And an even bigger part of me just really misses them.



"You worry that I will leave you.
I will not leave you.
Only strangers travel.
Owning everything, I have nowhere to go."
-Leonard Cohen

Follow my blog with bloglovin

So I joined "Bloglovin". I don't really have any idea what it is, but you can follow me on it??

Avril and I are heading to the Medina this afternoon. Gonna see if I can chip away at my wishlist and buy some gifts...

Thanks, Alex

sometimes
shit goes down
that just
shit goin' down
that we never want to see again

Currently listening to...

Sam Sparro's "Black and Gold". Starscapes and moon cycles.

Two Months

until I burst into flames of joy. Moving back and feeling so excited, so ready, and a bit nervous... All of those expectations, where will they fall? Those past lives and future reflections, where will the meet?





"I hate farewells, don't you? And the terror of coming back to what is at once new and familiar, a reunion of two times chimed exactly that leaves us estranged from ourselves, staring at shadows trembling in the shade."

Sweet and Bitter Taste

Days spent at the Medina, stumbling into little shops full of dusty treasures. My wishlist consists of an old Tunisian lace wedding dress, a large traveling bag made of an old, brightly coloured rug, a giant bronze camel, hand-painted cerulean blue dishes, and giant patterned rugs.

Days spent at work, trudging up and down stairs in the Amideast buildings, drinking too many coffees and feeling exhausted.

Days spent with Hilary, cooking Mediterranean dishes and admiring her paintings and photographs.

Days spent learning Arabic script, an endless cycle of memorizing and forgetting.