176 - The Great Mos-KAY! (Kairouan, Tunisia)
AFTER KSAR GHILANE, our Tunisian extravaganza wound down. We spent a not-so-memorable night in the not-so-quaint seaside town of Mahdia. The next day, we passed our morning at El Jem, an ancient Roman colosseum in the center of a city by the same name. I’d expected a semi-secluded archaeological site. Nuh-uh. Instead, it was right in the thick of the busy center, almost like a contemporary sports arena. Frown.
The vibe within was no less modern—tour groups, steel grates, a souvenir shop selling DVDs, and so on and so forth. The backdrop of a modern Tunisian city intrigued me, but the scene felt artificial, like a reproduction. Worth a look, but not so compelling. I believe Dougga spoiled us. Double frown.
“The grand mosque was anything but grand. I try not to set expectations, but after all I read about this site, I was expecting to see and feel something. What we found was nothing more than an old building, cracking at the seams, with weathered prayer mats strewn about. You would anticipate them to take pride in this structure, especially because it’s the oldest mosque in North Africa, and believed to house a well that’s connected to Mecca (Now, that’s probably just a myth, but still). A site like this should be appreciated, and this is coming from someone who doesn’t agree with principles of Islam – at all.”
— Leslie Peralta, “Playing Gladiator & The Not-So-Grand Mos-Kay!” - Soledad - Notes From My Travels
To Kairouan, home to the fourth holiest site in Islam. It’s there you’ll find the Great Mosque, the oldest in North Africa. We had no trouble finding it, due in no small part to the gentleman who ran us down on his motorbike. His entire end of the conversation consisted of him yelling the word “mosque” in French (or was it Arabic?) repeatedly. He’d yell, “Mos-KAY” and I’d reply, “Yes, yes, we want to go to the Mos-KAY.” He continued yelling Mos-KAY until I answered in the affirmative at least five fucking times. I turned the Punto around and followed him to the local medina, where the Great Mos-KAY is located.
After parking, Mr. Mos-KAY caught up and led us in the opposite direction of the mos-KAY. (I discovered this later). He was, no doubt, trying to steer us to his or a friend's shop. He also tried to tantalize us with the prospect of visiting a shitload of mos-KAYs throughout the medina. His plan fell through when two cops showed up on a motorcycle, forcing him into the shadows, ninja-style. The nice policemen pointed in the right direction but not before warning us (in French) about seedy types like Mr. Mos-KAY.
I regret to report the Great Mos-KAY of Kairouan was underwhelming. The prayer-mat-littered, slightly unkempt condition of the central courtyard made it feel like a backup mos-KAY, the one used when the Great Mos-KAY has an ear infection. I found it all so uninspiring, I snapped nary a photograph.
Before leaving the area, we had the pleasure of experiencing the quintessential hard sell, the one where a guy stands in front of your Punto, tries to convince you to park, see the Great Mos-KAY, and then buy a pile of worthless shit. When I inquired about the road to Tunis, he ignored the question and began a broken interrogation as to why I did not want to visit the Great 'Mos-KAY. I began ignoring him, put the Punto in reverse (having mastered the technique by this time), mumbled something about being in a “terrible rush”, and got the hell out. See ya.
I should also mention our reunion with Mr. Mos-KAY. He wanted his fee. I was hesitant about shelling out dinar, performing a dramatization of his earlier escape to let him know I was onto him. However, as he did lead us to the Great Mos-KAY, we threw him a few dinar for his trouble. He was less than satisfied.
Back to Tunis for one more fun-filled afternoon drive through the frenetic, traffic-choked center. Superb. The next morning, we returned the car to the airport, but not before being stopped at the “Arrivals” entrance by more nice policemen. For the first and only time during our trip, they wanted to see my license, not just the car registration. Did I have it? Negative. Left it back at the hotel. Of course, I did.
I was then informed I wouldn’t be able to leave the airport without a license and instructed to pull over. I didn’t want to leave, I just wanted to return the fucking rental car… kind sir. He relented, but due to confusion, we did another loop past “Arrivals.” Just to be safe, we switched seats (Leslie had her license), but it was all for naught because we weren’t stopped again. Hertz was unbelievably nonchalant about our return. They failed to mention our tardiness (just charged the daily rate) and didn’t even bother to look over the Punto. Their trust was refreshing.
Here’s a bit of footage of our drive through the cities of Kairouan (following Mr. Mos-KAY) and Tunis. It doesn’t do the experience justice, but it does provide a small taste.