#Tunisian beaches

[delusionalbubble]

Morocco or Tunisia, Which One Should You Visit?

Morocco or Tunisia? A tough question! Deciding between Morocco and Tunisia for your next vacation can be tough, as both countries offer a unique blend of cultural, historical, and natural attractions. In this post, we will compare Morocco and Tunisia in five different sections to help you make a decision. History and Culture Morocco has a rich and diverse history, with influences from various…

[madame-the-guillotine]

Un été à la goulette (1996)  Férid Boughedir

[lukaa95]

Mediterranean View 💙

North Tunisian , Africa 📍

[postcard-from-the-past]

Beach scene in Gammarth, Tunisia

Tunisian vintage postcard, mailed in 1965 to France

[lutnistas]

Djerba Island ( Aghir / Tunisia ) 

[harpersessentials]

i have been working on a little special trip with my harpers and i decided to explore the trip to egypt mod by nando. suddenly, the urge to have ancient egypt related cc (pharaos, pyramids, mummies...) became a thing. so i present you a selection of cc that i liked particularly. i hope it can help you in the future if you wish to explore a north african landscape in your sims game too.

p.s. all bullets with * mean it is a TSR link.

worlds & save files

trip to egypt (world modification) by nando

egyptian oasis save file by sims 4 collab

the sims medieval save by divan the simmer (oasis springs was turned into ancient egypt)

lots (no-cc)

trip to egypt lot by genkai haretsu*

maroccan mansion by mychqqq*

morocco by sharon337*

egyptian palace gardens by weekendbuilder

moroccan riad by weekenbuilder

egyptian bathhouse by beccatownsims

egyptian cocktails by camillevalentine

egyptian pyramid home by buddaguitarz

egyptian pyramid by oscarella

egyptian pyramid by kimmyal

ancient egyptian tomb by cutelilycat333

egyptian house alone by bankbest19482

super mansão marroquina by ac sims (dl here)

moroccan dream home by mr olkan (dl here)

moroccan oasis by amaranth sims stop motion (dl here)

maroccan riad by nolanasims

maroccan riad spa by nolanasims

maroccan house by nolanasims

maroccan souk by nolanasims

maroccan hammam hotel by nolanasims

maroccan house by nolanasims

arabian villa by the grim simmer (dl here)

tunisian house by simday

dream arabic villa by marmelad (dl here)

oasis retreat by sati sim

mansão marroquina by game simms (dl here)

the pyramids by sarahamina

ancient pyramid by virtualfairytales*

buy mode

egyptian stuff by sims 4 fun

egyptian relics by thejim07

a cat haiku by pforestsims

hair

hathor hair by sehablasimlish*

sahara sunset collab by savvysweet (part) /crypticsim/simtric

amani hair by alladin

monica hair by alladin

candice hair by alladin

ivy hair by simkatu

makeup & tattoos

egypt eyeliner by ngsims3*

treasures of hateshepsut by joliebean

grave digger - zobie facepaint by imtater

zombie stitches by pipco*

zombie skin overlay by imtater

princess ahmanet by overkillsimmer

agnes facepaint by magichand*

clothing

egyptian dress by tatyana name*

missandrei dress and cape by simmring

missandrei outfit by sifix

missandrei dress by sifix*

nemesis dress by sifix*

necklace top and panneled skirt by bustedpixels

cleo de nile outfit by colores urbanos*

mummy outfit 2 by pipco*

terses outfit by natalia auditore

pharaoh outfit 2 by natalia auditore

clothing for men ancient egypt by mara

mummy outfit by plumbobs n fries*

toddler egyptian formal dress by bekahluann*

egyptian robe for kids by bekahluann*

pyramid pals: egyptian kids set by clepsydra

accessories

spring/summer 2021 earrings by sentate

twisted alongated hoops by feyona*

keondra earrings by feyona*

medusa earrings by bluecraving

ariana earrings by solistair

coil necklace by bokchoijo*

egyptian collar necklace & males by bokchoijo*

egyptian bead collar necklace by bokchoijo*

keondra plate necklace by feyona*

helena necklace by feyona*

serpentine necklace by icecreamforbreakfast

leaves necklace by valley tulya

egypt snake upper arm tires by specialany

egyptian bangles by bokchoijo*

keondra cuff bracelets by feyona*

serpentine bracelet by icecreamforbreakfast

ds cuff bracelet by darknightt*

urmia rings by madlen

bandage set by nell

mummeh set by pinkpatchy

shoes

adriana feet by madlen*

life's a beach ibiza sandals by lvndrcc*

volos shoes by madlen*

babylon shoes by madlen*

gaspare sandals by madlen*

niella platform sandals by darknight*

gladiator sandals by clepsydra

jw sandals by mauvemorn*

premade sims

nikare & cat by jazmilia

egyptian cat by ratatanpan

[flawedamythyst]

Amazing news!! I finally finished the modern no powers au, slow burn, marriage of convenience, Old Guard Nicky/Joe fic that I started in 2020!!!

You may remember hearing about it in one of my post popular Tumblr posts this year, complaining that I had completed the entire Arabic Duolingo course before I finished the fic.

It's 125k words in 31 chapters and I am very excited to finally post it and move on with my life.

However, I would absolutely love to get a sensitivity reader (or readers) for it first. Joe is Muslim and Tunisian and there is a lot of stuff with his family, as well as his feelings about his religion. In addition to Nicky being Italian, most of it is set in Milan, and he's leaving behind the priesthood and so having some Catholicism issues.

I am English, an atheist, and have been to Milan for less than a week 20 years ago. I did my best with Google but I am bound to have missed things, or not known to look them up. Please, if you are Tunisian, Muslim, Italian or Catholic, it would be so incredibly useful if you have time to read it over.

It's PG, no smut or violence, and mostly pining, banter and found family feels. The plot is basically 'hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but why don't we get married so you get Italian citizenship and I get someone to fund me through a nursing degree?'

Warning tags are Homophobia as a main plotpoint, Islamophobia and Racism as minor plot details, family rejection, and the traditional Booker tags of depression, grief, alcoholism and mention of suicidal ideation, although he's only a secondary character so they're not a focus.

I'm also up for a normal Beta if anyone is up for that, atm I am the only person who has had eyes on it.

And so you can see the kind of thing you'd be getting into, given the length of it, this is the first scene:

The first thing to catch Joe’s attention was the man’s <i>shoulders</i>.

Perfectly broad and tanned even for a white guy, glowing under the warm Maltese sun as they rose up from the ocean, water spilling down them. Joe was so taken with them that it was a moment before he realised that more beauty was being revealed as the guy straightened up and started to walk out of the sea. A set of biceps that also took Joe a moment to fully take in, a chest just as broad as the shoulders, narrowing to a trim waist and a set of hips that he could all too easily imagine curling his hands around. The weight of the water had dragged the guy’s bright red swimming shorts low enough to reveal the cut of his hipbones, glistening with water.

Joe was so taken with them that it took him a moment to realise that the guy had left the water behind and was now coming up the beach, which meant Joe could see just how short his shorts were. His thighs were long and strong, and just as tanned as his shoulders. Holy shit, this had to be some kind of vision of paradise, no man could be this hot in real life, surely?

The man stopped at a beach umbrella a few metres from the sun lounger Joe was sprawled on, and then bent over to grab his towel.

Joe made an actual noise at that, an involuntary guttural exclamation in his throat as he tipped his sunglasses down to make sure he got the best view.

“Jesus, Joe,” said Andy from beside him. “Have some dignity.”

“I’m going to marry that man,” said Joe in a dazed voice, not taking his eyes away for a second. 

The man stood back up, rubbing himself down with his towel, and Joe took the time to actually look at his face. Large eyes and prominent cheekbones and, okay, a lot of nose, but Joe could easily imagine waking up to that face on the pillow beside him. His hair was dark with water, slicked back from his face, and Joe wondered what colour it would dry to, if the strands around his face would fall over his forehead where Joe could push them away for him, fingers gliding over his head as he leaned in to kiss him.

“Wow,” said Nile, half-sitting up to take a look. “I know you said you were going to cut loose and get flirty, but I didn’t realise you’d just straight up turn into a total horndog.” She tipped her head to one side as she took in the vision of perfection. “I guess he’s kinda cute. Nice shoulders.”

“I would dedicate whole years of my life to worshipping those shoulders,” said Joe, barely even letting himself blink as the guy ran the towel roughly over his hair, leaving it damply stuck up.

“Okay, dial it back,” said Andy. “Or at least pretend to. This isn’t Tunisia, but staring at strangers on the beach like you’re picturing them in your favourite porn film is kinda skeevy.”

Joe made himself blink and tipped his sunglasses back on, settling back against the lounger. The guy was packing his stuff up anyway, pulling on a shirt that he didn’t bother buttoning and shoving his feet in a pair of flip flops. Joe was about to watch him walk away, and probably never see him again, but at least he’d be able to live the rest of his life knowing that such perfection existed in the world. Truly, Allah was great.

“Look how tiny those shorts are,” he said. “He has to be gay, right?”

Quỳnh, who had been half-asleep but never missed a chance to judge someone’s outfit, lifted herself on her elbows and inspected him for a moment. “Either gay or Italian,” she announced.

The guy threw his towel over his shoulder and strode off up the beach. Joe took his last look at that perfect arse, sitting up to watch it leave, then collapsed back down onto his sunlounger.

“I have been ruined for all other men,” he announced.

[dozing-marshmallow]

I looooooooove the chris x wife! reader fic that you wrote!! It got me kicking my feet and blushing 😊 By any chance, could you write a chris x wife! reader going on their honeymoon?

Awww this is such a cute idea, thank you so much, I’m so happy to hear that you loved the last one! ⋆˙⟡♡  I had to get something out on the man’s birthday as soon as I could and this request was the one I was fixated on finishing the most, so do enjoy reading and McLean’s bday ~💗!

CHRIS MCLEAN X WIFE! READER ON HONEYMOON HEADCANONS

Most newly wed couples go to just one location for their honeymoon.

Yet it was very poor of you to think that standard would apply to Chris.

You didn’t realise until he informed you that you were gonna go to two countries per continent(apart from Antartica, cuz what the hell): Barbados and Costa Rica for North America, Brazil and Colombia for South America, France and Italy for Europe, Thailand and (The) Philippines for Asia, Morocco and Tunisia for Africa, French Polynesia and Australia for Oceania.

The only reason why Chris cut it to two instead of four was because he suspected you would get sick of travelling, and didn’t want you to be complaining on holiday.

“Chriiis, we don’t need to, you know!” you’re verbal about your humble take on the honeymoon as Chris made his long list based on the notes he wrote from his and your opinions,“This is all so costly! We could really go to two continents instead!”

“Huh?” he looks at you, confusion scratching into the space between his eyebrows,“(Y/N), this is literally nothing. You seriously wanna spend our whole two months of celebrating marriage in one place like working class people?”

Harsh, but it’s fine because it’s Chris.

Before you left, he took you on a massive shopping spree where it had not even been the beginning of him pampering you with all the jewellery, the swimsuits and the candies.

This guy doesn’t need to book reservations: the best hotels, air BNBs, holiday homes, you name the one you want to stay at the country and baam. Availability opens a door and charm hands over the keys.

He also hired a chaperone for each country, but most of the time, only for the arrival and departure; he wanted more alone time with you.

At this rate, you wondered if he needed to pay to enter the countries asides from paying the fuel and landing runway.

That’s right. You were getting there by his jet -he ended up upgrading- to each location.

Since it wasn’t meant to carry fifteen contestants this time, Chris abolished the loser and first class section in the new version of his plane to be furnished completely into his headquarters.

During each jet ride, you and Chris would review helpful phrases and attractions that would enhance the experience.

“So in France, we will have to remember to say “bonsoir” from 6 PM onwards.” you reiterate.

“That’s doable.” Chris comments, leaning back in his chair.

“And they don’t like smiling a lot.” you add, doing it yourself.

His relaxation ended,“Bummer. D’you think they can make an exception for me? My resting face is a smile.”

They did- in every place.

The honeymoon was an epoch for Chris to meet his fans from all over the world. If you had a dollar for every autograph he signed the entire getaway, you would have enough money to have your own jet.

Weirdly enough, Chris lost genuine pleasure to greet his global admirers and increasingly rushed the interactions.

“It’s okay to be more attentive to your fans, Chris.” you insist, with your head on his bare body, laying around somewhere on the warm Tunisian beach.

“Nah.” he differs with his hand scrubbing sand on your back,“I came on holiday with you, not them. I couldn’t leave you by yourself.”

Aw. You love your husband,“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He bought you anything that caught your eye. Clothes, hats, rings, ice cream, souvenirs.

Chris had also bought five cameras. He wasn’t letting a single moment of a scenery or pose go to waste.

Be prepared for the day when he eventually gets them all printed out and stuck in fresh albums and wants to reminisce with you.

He took you to the best restaurants, never settling for one less than five stars (maybe four if you persuaded him enough).

“To another exceptional night of our honeymoon!” he raises his glass of happiness.

You copy, both clinking and declaring cheers.

Going back to your accommodation, Chris would have you carried until the first descent onto the fine duvets.

Let’s just say that, by the time you do get back to Canada, both husband and wife’s necks have never been more wine red.

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: The Alliance

Summary: Princess (Y/N)'s hunt has finally come, and Ivar has more than a country to explore.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

A/N: I know I haven't been uploading and I'm sorry, I've been working and this story in particular requires a LOT of research (like literally so much). That said please enjoy this chapter, remember if its bold that means it is spoken in the foreign language. This chapter does include a hunting scene so trigger warning if it applies.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Taglist:

The celebration of Princess (Y/N)’s homecoming was indeed an event that would be talked about in Tunisia for months, and the Norse travelers would never forget it. The beach, the dancing, the music, the food that was served was all breathtaking and bordering comfortably on the edge of overwhelming.

It was only when the feast was entirely eaten and the performers were physically unable to continue that everyone agreed to retreat to their own homes to rest.

Ivar found himself on the back of his father, he couldn’t fathom hauling his weight on his crutches after he had exhausted all his energy during the festivities. However; it seemed Ragnar had reserved just enough energy to help his youngest son to the palace.

He even carried Ivar’s crutches in his arms as Ivar clung to his back, and Ivar saw how his father’s grip on them left his knuckles pale white.

‘You do not like my crutches.’ he said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of them as they lagged behind the royal party on the way back to the castle.

‘I do not like them.’ Ragnar confessed casually.

‘Why?’

‘You do not need them, Ivar; you move slower with them. I can tell it exhausts you and you break more bones by standing upright.’

‘I haven’t bro-’

‘You have.’ Ragnar interrupted the lie, his voice suddenly stern.

‘I am not your mother, I don’t need to see and hear you crying to know when you have pushed your body too far for its limitations. Every time I tried to hold you for the first year of your life I broke a bone in my rough handling.’

At his father’s confession Ivar was left speechless; how many times had his mother drunkenly rambled that as a babe Ivar cried whenever Ragnar picked him up? Of course Ivar had not known why he did this, he was too young, all he knew was his mother was telling the truth about it. Aslaug’s drunken complaining made up a large amount of Ivar’s childhood and sometimes her drunkenness made her dramatize the events but this was one of the few that never changed; Ragnar never spoke of it in front of him.

Not once in all his life.

‘Even the night I left you in the woods, it was your right ankle, it cracked as I tried to swaddle you. I hadn’t intended to leave you that night, I was just trying to hold you and I couldn’t do even that without hurting you.’ Ragnar continued.

‘You must not be used to the palm wine these Tunisians serve, mead has never made you drunk enough to tell me this before.’ Ivar tried weakly to joke.

He hadn’t been prepared to hear this, he had long ago come to accept that he would die without ever having had this conversation with his father.

‘I must not be.’ his father let out a humorless breath of laughter.

‘How do you know when I break a bone? Is it the blue in my eyes?’ Ivar asked.

‘No, son; it is not your eyes, it’s your nose.’

‘My nose?’

‘It scrunches up in a wince whenever a bone breaks, even as a baby before the cries could fall from your lips your nose would give you away. I also know because whenever I see you break a bone I feel it.’ his father confessed.

‘I feel the same sickness rise up in my throat, the same guilt. My guiltiness led me to abandon you, my guilt kept me from loving you. Guilt over how you were born, guilt that my impatience and disregard to your mother’s warning cost you your health.’

Ivar did not need any elaborations on what his father was referencing.

“His mother said he would be a monster.”

“Not even ten and already a killer.”

“There is something not human in him, I just know it.”

“She wasn’t even pregnant yet and she knew he’d be vile and twisted.”

“He even slithers around like the great serpent, he will bring Ragnarok to us all!”

Phrases like these were whispered around him all his life; his mother’s prophecy that if Ragnar had her too soon she would birth him a monster.

‘I do not blame you, or mother, I am not angry with you father. I never have been… I never could be. I-’ Ivar felt like he was physically choking on the words he was trying to say.

It was the first time he’d ever said them out loud before.

‘I love you Father, even if you broke my bones holding me I never wanted you to put me down.’ he said pressing his face into his father’s shoulder, and let Ragnar feel the tears soak into the fabric of his tunic.

‘You do not have to blame me, I will even allow you to be foolish enough to forgive me, but son, I will never forgive myself for the way I treated you. You and your brothers are one of the very few things that keep me in Midgard, and I do not deserve the love and respect you all show me. I have wronged you all, in unforgivable ways.’

‘I have never heard you admit to being wrong.’ Ivar said around the lump that had formed in his throat as he at last got a hold of his emotions.

‘Do not get used to it, it will never happen again and I will deny it if you tell any other living thing.’ his father said, his voice once again becoming lighthearted.

Their emotional conversation had ended, and he knew that neither he nor his father would ever mention it again. Not to each other or to anyone else.

Not even the Princess would hear of this, he would keep this moment selfishly to himself for the rest of his life.

A comfortable silence fell over the two men and lasted until they were finally in the palace, where Ragnar placed his son down and placed the crutches down, sending them a distasteful glance.

Ivar looked over at the others and saw that they were still raving over the festivities and their eagerness for sleep and he looked back to his father.

‘I know I do not need them, father, but I do want them. I want to stand tall among other men, I'm tired of looking up at those I know are beneath me.’ he whispered as he pulled himself up on his crutches.

‘I will not use them forever, I will improve them…and myself.’ he promised.

Ragnar sighed and placed a sudden, unexpected kiss on Ivar’s temple and whispered into his ear in confidence.

‘You will be a man to be feared one day, Ivar the Boneless. Your broken body will never be able to contain your mind and violence.’

With those last words Ragnar went back to the group and he along with Aslaug retired to their chambers.

His brothers and the Tunisians all quickly followed suit, and gave quick and polite goodbyes before going their own ways as well.

‘Let us also retire. I am absolutely exhausted.’ (Y/N) said and indeed she looked like her will alone was keeping her upright.

‘Yes, I’m sure that kind of dancing used up all your energy.’ Ivar agreed and soon they began their journey to their newly shared chamber.

‘I enjoyed dancing to your heart beat. It beats in alignment with my own.’ she remarked as they entered.

Inside they were met with their respective servants who must have brought in their things before joining the feast, as all their things were now properly in place in the chamber.

To Ivar’s surprise and delight the princess sent them both away.

Occasionally on the journey the princess would feel very affectionate and would like to undress Ivar herself; it was another thing he came to rely on while they shared space on the ship.

He would always eagerly offer to undress her in return, she would graciously accept and they would lie in each other’s arms as they slept through the night.

Tonight, however, she was more slow in removing his tunic than she usually did and he could tell by the distanced look in her eye as her hands moved that her mind was not truly in this moment.

‘I will not be at your side when you wake my love.’ she said as she discarded the clothing.

‘How long will your hunt last?’

‘As long as it takes, after the hunt is complete I will be taken to the Skinner's hut to fashion the cloak alone. Every three days a hunting party will be sent after me, if I were to forfeit, they would escort me back safely. In which case I will have failed, and we would not have the blessing of the Great and Many.’

‘Then we would not marry.’ Ivar concluded.

A pregnant silence set in over the two of them as they undressed and remained even as they lay in each other's arms.

‘Can I make a request for my cloak?’ Ivar said at last.

‘Of course.’

‘Something warm. I will want to wear it often and the weather back home is not as nice as this.’ he said with a smile.

He hoped she understood what he was saying between his words; prayed she understood that he had confidence she would succeed and they would marry.

Ivar only needed to meet her watering eyes to know she did understand him, and more than anything else she needed his confidence in her.

‘I’ve trained since the day Sven left with his party, and I am even bold enough to call myself a warrior, but I have never hunted alone.’ she confessed.

‘I had never known true combat until our Matrimonial Fight.’ Ivar returned.

He was surprised that she looked so surprised.

‘Are you trying to console me?’ the princess accused.

‘I am being truthful. Sure on occasion my brothers include me in a bit of roughhousing, or I may even initiate a scuffle but they are never actually aiming to overtake me. Our fights are never true.’ Ivar replied.

‘I knew when I fought with you there would be no holding back on your part, you fought me as an equal and you hit where it hurt.’

The princess’s accusing eyes softened before she hid her face in his chest.

‘I did apologize. ‘ she yawned sleepily.

‘Nothing to forgive, I loved it. I loved fighting you, watching how skilled you are, seeing that look in your eyes as you look for a new place to aim. And if you hunt as well as you fight I imagine I won’t be waiting a full week.’ Ivar encouraged.

Ivar whispered soft assurances and praises until he heard her soft snores, and even still he kept silently praising her, hoping that his Gods would hear his love for her and give her protection.

As he himself finally fell into slumber he even hoped the Great and Many would watch over her as well.

When Ivar woke up he had known (Y/N) wouldn’t be there, but he was still disappointed by her absence.

A small pebble was suddenly thrown into the room, noisily hitting the floor.

‘I am awake, Trya.’ Ivar sighed as he sat up to see his thrall entering the princess’s chamber holding a Tunisian shield.

‘My Prince, did you not sleep well? Should I call for the healers?’ the woman asked, the concern for his legs showing on her face.

‘My legs are no worse than I can handle, and my sleep was sound.’ he assured her as she began to dress him.

‘You have gotten used to her being there.’ Trya realized, but immediately she went red with embarrassment at her impulsive speaking.

‘I’m sorry Prince Ivar.’ she said quickly.

‘No need to apologize when you are right, if anything I should apologize in advance for my bad mood while she is away.’

‘If I may say, I think she will return sooner than you think and with a noble animal fur just for you. In the meantime there is a beautiful village to explore and such wonderful people to meet.’ Trya offered.

Ivar knew the old woman was simply trying to cheer him up, and she was even right; but he found little comfort in her words as he left the room on his crutches.

Just as he began to wonder where he should go without (Y/N) to guide him through the unfamiliar palace, one of her servants, Kya, rounded a corner and approached him.

‘Meal before.’ she mumbled in broken Norse.

‘We are in your homeland, no need to speak a foreign language for my sake.’ he said in perfect Derja.

The girl let out a sigh of relief and began speaking in her mother language.

‘It is time for first meal, I will take you to the great hall .’ she said, her tone very confident and proper in her own dialect, before leading him through the labyrinth of halls.

Ivar was led into a large room where both royal families were sitting on the floor in a circle, all of them eating some type of bread and dipping it into something steaming hot from their bowls.

‘Ivar you must try this porridge, their spices are so flavorful.’ Hvitserk said as Ivar lowered himself down as gracefully as he could.

‘I must agree, we will definitely be trading a great deal of spices in the near future.’ Ragnar agreed, his own bowl nearly empty before Ivar had even received his portion.

The flavor of the porridge was very strong and delicious, and the bread was more grainy than the bread back home.

‘It is delicious.’ Ivar complimented as he ate with a bit more vigor.

After all, he had a long journey on the ship and had drank far too much at the feast.

‘I’m sure if my future daughter in law were here she would be flattered.’ Aslaug said, surprising everyone.

‘(Y/N) made this meal?’ Ivar asked, truly questioning how his mother knew this.

His mother sat aside her now empty bowl and looked at him in earnest, as she always had. As if she hadn’t ignored him from the moment he decided to sail here.

‘I was unable to sleep through your father’s snoring so I had a servant show me around the palace. The princess was in the kitchens, helping the cooks as they prepared her rations and first meal. We had a talk.’ the Norse Queen answered.

Ivar sent a look to his brothers, who looked equally as stunned, even his father had wide eyes.

Every word she just said went against everything they knew about their mother. Aslaug was often so drunk she could sleep through the harshest winter storm, she despised watching thralls work, and in all their lives they had never seen her set foot in any kitchen.

It hadn’t been a convenient coincidence, Ivar was certain his mother had snuck out of bed in the wee hours to speak to (Y/N) privately before her departure.

However, if anyone was waiting on Aslaug to explain her conversation with the princess, they were disappointed when she went back to her wine in silence.

‘Well then, what will you all like to do today?’ King Akashi asked the Norse royals.

‘We would like to walk through your markets. Your daughter tells us it was her most important duty as a child. The concept is both foreign and intriguing to all of us, plus we are eager to see in person the beautiful kingdom that raised our new princess.’ Ragnar replied.

‘Excellent, I shall give them a tour.’ Prince Ayo beamed as he stood excitedly.

‘Sit down.’ the queen said in a quiet but stern tone, the kind that came only from mothers and queens; and considering that she was both, her tone was truly powerful.

The child prince sighed in his defeat and sat back down on the floor.

‘You are not old enough yet my son, and you are not far enough along in your studies to walk the village and converse with the people. Until then you will spend your day with your tutors.’ the king said, seeing the upset on his son’s face.

‘I will send a servant to escort you through the markets, she will meet you at the castle gate.’

‘If I may.’ Ivar spoke up, politely asking to speak directly to the royal family, something (Y/N) had informed him was considered extremely polite.

The queen looked at him with a raised eyebrow before nodding her approval.

‘As my father has said, we are all eager to see your markets and kingdom today, but may I join the young prince with his tutors tomorrow?’

Now the queen was downright studying him, her gaze alone making the cripple straighten up his posture.

‘You wish to study here?’ she asked.

‘I have a great thirst for knowledge, like our All Father Odin, who traded his eye for it. It seems I already traded my legs at birth.’Ivar smiled charmingly, making a humorous face at the prince, who let out a small breath of laughter.

The queen smiled, seemingly against her better judgment.

‘Yes you may join the lessons tomorrow, I will have Bintu accompany you both to the library together tomorrow. She seems to want to get acquainted with you better.’ Queen Aza agreed.

‘Are you close with Bintu as well?’ Sigurd asked.

‘Of course, I personally chose Bintu to protect my daughter. She was my closest friend as a girl, had I ever chosen to propose a Matrimonial Fight she would be my instructor.’

‘I must say, while there are so many fascinating customs in your country, the one that fascinates me the most is your approach to your inferiors.’ Aslaug confessed.

‘No no no. I have no inferiors, my Queen Sister. I am Queen and I am the highest authority, but there isn’t one subject in all my kingdom that is inferior to me. Do you know how most commoners address queens in this country?’ the Tunisian Queen questioned.

When none of the Norse answered she smiled to herself.

‘Queen Mother; that is how I am addressed by every single one of my subjects. Queen to show me their respect, and Mother to show their love. Of course now the title is more than fitting.’ she explained, rubbing the roundness of her belly.

‘I may not know you well, Queen Sister, but I feel that the title was well earned. For I have never seen so many happy commoners, and I have certainly never met a young woman more amazing than your daughter. Truly you are Queen Mother, if I may, I’d like to accompany you today. I have been a Queen almost as long as I have been a Mother, but I am not blind to my shortcomings. I would like to learn from you, Queen Aza.’ Aslaug requested, her eyes never leaving the other woman’s.

At this Ragnar had to cover his mouth to silence his own gasp; Ivar was happy they were already sitting on the floor, had they been in chairs he is certain his brothers would have all fallen out of them in shock.

Years and years, all their lives, they all sat watching their mother drink away her affections and love for anyone other than Ivar. They had stopped expecting her love before they had even gotten their armrings. They never in their wildest dreams thought she cared enough to notice their disappointment in her as a mother.

Ivar looked over at his brothers and surely enough each of them had different expressions of shock.

Ubbe looked as if he simply couldn’t process what he’d heard, Hvitserk had dropped the grainy bread into his nearly empty bowl, Sigurd was wide eyed and his face was becoming red.

‘I would love your company, Queen Aslaug. In fact, I am quite done with first meal. I will await you in the throne room. I will send for Kya to accompany the rest of you through the markets.’ Aza said before holding out her hand to her husband.

King Akashi, who had been silently eating the last of his own meal while observing his guest, set aside his empty bowl and helped the queen rise to her feet.

The Tunisians bid their farewells, instructed a servant girl to give them a tour of the markets and departed.

As soon as the retreating footsteps could no longer be heard all eyes fell on Queen Aslaug, who had met their eyes confidently.

‘Do not look so stunned, have you not all wished for a better mother? A better woman to sit beside your great father on the throne? As I have no intention of losing my status, I must improve; at least that is the advice I was given.’ she said in Norse.

‘Why did you seek her out? You have been spiteful to all of us since the fight; you ignored us all nearly completely since she suggested sailing here.’ Ubbe asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

The hint of accusation was still noticed by his mother.

‘I had no ill intention, my son, I only meant to see her before she left for her hunt. A servant led me to the kitchens and there she was gathering her rations, we spoke and she left.’

‘What did you say to her?’ Ivar asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

‘She spoke to me, and I saw what about her you love. She is intelligent, wise and almost annoyingly well spoken. Though she hasn’t seen one of your fits yet, Ivar, I’m sure she will be able to control even your rage.’

The princes all looked between each other, wondering if the others believed a word of this; even Ragnar had been studying his wife to see if there were any visible signs of deception.

‘Mother, she is going on a hunt, alone, I don’t even know what kind of animals they have here. I need you to tell me with conviction that you did not upset her before she left to do something so dangerous.’ he was pleading with his mother.

Aslaug stood from the floor and looked around at her family.

‘I do not know why I sought her out, I don’t know what I wanted to say to her. I know what she said to me. That she can see the weeds of hate growing in all of your eyes when you look my way. That your frowns deepen when I speak to you directly no matter what I say…and now I can see how right she was.’ Aslaug said with a truly hurt expression painting her face.

‘You think I would be so spiteful to try and sabotage her hunt Ivar? Even you? It seems I have been far worse a mother than I thought.’ she said, her voice beginning to shake as her eyes misted.

Before Ivar had a chance to let the guilt take hold of his heart fully his mother had turned and left the rest of them to their now unappealing bowls of porridge.

The room was quiet, everyone needed to digest more than the food; Aslaug’s words had left a bitter taste in their mouths.

‘Do you believe her?’ Hvitserk asked.

‘Of course not, she has been wretched since she birthed us, that doesn’t change after one talk.’ Sigurd dismissed with irritation.

‘She seemed upset, maybe she does regret the way she raised us.’ Ubbe said in her defense.

‘How could you think so, Ubbe? What raising did we get from her? It was while she was meant to be raising us that you and Hvitserk fell through ice and nearly died. In her “care” Bjorn lost his first daughter! The only time the truth comes out of her mouth is when she knows it will hurt.’ Sigurd spat angrily.

‘She is your mother, Sigurd. You owe her your life and respect.’ Ragnar said, a hint of a warning in his tone.

The circle was tense now, despite the fragility of their marriage Aslaug was still Ragnar’s wife and not many Viking men allow their wives to be insulted in their presence.

‘I had no say in who my mother was Father, did I? Even still you are right, I owe her respect…just as she owes us her love, but unfortunately for her I no longer want it.’ Sigurd replied just as stubborn as he had been as a child as he stood up.

‘I will wait at the gate for the escort.’ he said formally before leaving.

Ivar watched Sigurd in a mixture of annoyance and understanding, no one could deny that Sigurd had been the most hurt by Aslaug’s neglect growing up. He was always the one to interrupt their chess games to ask if they could have a walk all together, and he was always turned away.

‘I know your mother was…is a hard woman to understand and that it was hard growing up when I would sail away, but I know her. For better or worse I can read that woman’s heart like fresh carved runes, and I think she is being genuine. Now if you excuse me, I believe I need to have a private conversation with my son.’ Ragnar sighed tiredly before he followed Sigurd.

‘What do you think, Ivar?’ Ubbe asked his youngest brother.

‘I think…my betrothed did speak with her, and I think the conversation went more or less the same way she says it does. What I don’t know is if she is accepting that conversation as a friendly warning or a threat.’

‘You think she would sabotage (Y/N)’s hunt?’ Hvitserk asked in shock.

‘At first I will admit I did think her capable of it, but in my heart I know that isn’t like her. I know I should have no say in it seeing how she doted on me, but she has never gone out of her way to hurt any one of us. I don’t think she ever would.’ Ivar answered honestly.

‘He is right, Mother never cared enough to be cruel to us, sure she poured love onto Ivar, but Ivar is going to marry. Who will be there for her to pour on to? Ragnar?’ Ubbe said strategically, as if he were discussing a battle in a war room, not his own mother.

‘So she wants our love now that Ivar has his own woman.’ Hvitserk realized.

The room fell into one last long silence before Hvitserk noisily slurped down the very last of porridge in his bowl and stood up.

‘Well,I’m flattered to finally be worth her affections, however, what she does will have no true effect on me, but I will not discourage her efforts.’ The middle son declared before he too left.

‘What about you Ubbe? Do you still long for Mother’s love?’ Ivar asked.

‘You know, I remember the day we fell through the ice.’ Ubbe said, surprising Ivar.

Neither Ubbe or Hvitserk ever spoke about that terrible day, no matter how strategically he and Sigurd asked about it growing up; and they had asked quite often back then.

‘We had followed mother and Harbard, because why not, it was too cold for fishing obviously and we were too young to hunt back then. They went into a hut and we went to get a closer look but there was a noise…a calling so inviting and pleasant it carried us away.’

Ivar didn’t want to reply and pull his brother out of his sharing mood so he just listened and let Ubbe speak freely. He had never seen his eldest brother look so lost in his own mind while talking before, it seemed as if he was doing more than remembering. He was there all over again, a small boy out exploring with his brother on a winter's day.

‘It promised such fun and we were so excited we didn’t realize how far we had walked, but we did notice when the snowy grass became ice beneath our feet, but the call assured us and on we walked further out on the ice. Siggy, do you remember her?’ Ubbe asked.

‘Of course, Rollo’s wife.’ Ivar provided.

‘She was a kind woman to us, mother often left us in her care and she had seen us on the lake, she tried to call out for us but what was her small far away voice to a call only we could hear? A call that must have been from the Gods? She chased after us but it was too late, the ice cracked and the call stopped as soon as we fell into the freezing water.’

Ubbe seemed to not even see Ivar sitting across from him anymore, he was lost in the memory of coldness.

‘The water was so much colder than the ice had been, or at least that’s how it felt, cold all over my body, cold water in the lungs. In that cold do you know what I thought, Ivar?’

Ivar shook his head no, and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘I want my mother.’ Ubbe said softly, leaning in closer, as if this was his most precious secret.

‘I wanted to feel the warmth of her embrace and for her to whisper soothing words into my ear to assure me I would not be forced out of Midgard so soon. I even thought maybe she’d heard my silent cries and rescued us, but it was only Siggy pulling us out of the ice. Harbard was there, and she managed to give us to him before her own life was taken by that cold water. After Harbard had brought us to Mother she asked him to heal us and once he had she sent us off to bed for rest…without ever touching us.’

Ivar, who of course saw that his mother showed him more love than his brothers, was stunned by just how cold the woman had truly been to her other children.

As Ivar chewed over his rapid change in family dynamics his bride to be was walking vast dry hunting grounds.

She was brought some comfort in the fact she wasn’t in completely new territory. She had gone on at least a dozen hunts in this area. Of course those hunts had been with full hunting parties of at least ten.

Hunting in large groups was a common practice throughout the world because the simple fact was that there is power in numbers. More hunters mean more game can be caught, and the hunters had a stronger sense of security knowing that there would be more people able to watch their blind spots in case of predator attacks.

More than that, for (Y/N) at least, hunting in a group simply made the experience of hunting much more pleasant. She remembers talking with the others as they walked for hours to the waterhole where most game favored to drink and bathe.

Now she was alone and could not afford any such pleasantries. She had to keep her ears and eyes sharp, there was no one there to assist her in spotting anything that may be lying in wait.

Another benefit of hunting parties, she had come to understand quickly, was that it entailed more provisions. She had a large canteen of water that weighed heavily on her hip, but she knew it would be all she had until she reached the water hole.

And that was a half day’s journey and as heavy as it felt the canteen only had so much water inside. So she ignored the dryness of her mouth, resigned not to drink until the sun was fully in the sky.

Along with her water canteen she had a variety of tools and rope to make shelter, her father’s blade, an ax, twenty ready made arrows to go with the bow she carried by hand and a fortnight's worth of food in the pack she had on her back. One fortnight’s worth of food.

One fortnight worth of food.

One fortnight, that is two weeks.

Two weeks is fourteen days.

She repeated these things mentally every mile or so, she was determined to keep track of the time. If she allowed herself to lose her senses she could find herself out here alone with nothing to eat, no water and no choice but to wait for the rescue party.

No. Even if it did come to that she would refuse to return, and that would mean staying not only to hunt for a beast but also hunting to survive.

The thought of scavenging for berries in the dry lands was almost as discouraging as the thought of wasting arrows on smaller prey before finding her true target.

Whatever that target may be; she thought guiltily.

She had promised Ivar a grand cloak worthy of his Gods but she had no idea what that even meant yet alone what animal she would hunt. Luckily the water hole would be sure to have a variety of beasts to choose from.

After what she guessed had been four hours the sun was finally shining at its highest point in the sky. She took the canteen from her side and took a singular large swallow of cool water before closing it off again, but she held the container to her forehead to feel the coolness of the water inside.

It had to be at least noon now, that meant about six more hours until she was at the water hole, but that would mean arriving at by nightfall and that wasn’t wise. She would have to stop and make her shelter for the night.

A large cluster of boulders and a tiny cluster of palm oil trees in the distance told her she had in fact remembered the path from her previous hunts.

The rocks were where her hunting party usually sought shelter. The formation of the boulders created a sort of rocky valley and with wood and leaves from the trees a roof and walls can be fashioned.

(Y/N) took special care in looking around for any signs of a predator before she removed her pack and dug out some dried biltong and a piece of plantain bread.

She kept alert as she ate quickly, wanting to make sure she didn’t stay here long enough to be found by any thing, but she also wanted to savor the chewiness of the antelope meat, and the bread was so filling on her empty stomach it felt as warm as an embrace.

Once the last of the bread had been eaten (Y/N) picked up her pack again and continued on, still chewing the last bite of biltong, trying to extend the longevity of its flavor and the mere illusion of eating. After she had finally resigned to swallow the over chewed meat she again took a single drink from her canteen, this time only a sip as it was less about true thirst and more a desire to wash down her brief meal.

The further she walked the more she thought over her plans for when she reached the boulders.

First she would find the best spot in between the rocks that required the least amount of material to fortify. Then she would go and gather the wood and palm leaves to make the roofing and walls, after that she would go again to the trees for firewood to keep her warm once night fell.

She tried not to get too comfortable or confident but so far she was pleased with her progress. She had yet to come across so much as an antelope so far and if there were no prey animals near her that meant the chances of predators were much lower.

Of course that also meant if she did encounter a hungry meat eater it would probably be extremely eager to eat the first thing it found.

With that in mind she kept her grip firm on her bow as she pushed on.

It was when she was only about an hour away from her destination that she heard a rustling in the grass behind her that was too isolated and sudden to have been wind.

With an alarming quickness she pulled an arrow from her pack and raised her bow, aiming at the direction of the noise.

It was quiet again, but she was certain she’d heard something and she wasn’t going to turn around or move on until she found and killed whatever had made that sound.

She focused her gaze and scanned through the tall yellow grass for anything out of place. She kept a special look out for spots and stripes; this was big cat territory.

A final second of quiet passed before finally the grass rustled again, and this time she had seen exactly where the grass moved.

Without hesitation she released the arrow and several things seemed to happen all at once to her.

Of course things had happened one at a time, and they happened in this exact order.

First; the arrow flew like lightning into the tall grass, second; a loud pitiful roar cut through the air, and thirdly a lion had leapt out of its hiding place.

With no small amount of fear and an even larger amount of alarm the princess readied another arrow and began back stepping, she knew better than to turn her back to this beast.

Now that it was out of the tallest grass she could see it was a truly pathetic thing. Its mane was shaggy and matted, several scabby bald patches that had been licked raw from over grooming littered his back legs and it was so unsightly thin even in her panic she could see its protruding rib cage.

Her arrow stuck out of its left front leg in a vulgar way as it tried weakly to chase her down, but already her fear was subsiding.

Even as she backed away to put distance between her and the lion so that she could have a clear clean shot, (Y/N) could see that the arrow wasn’t the only thing slowing down her attacker.

Yes it limped on its injured front leg, but it made a huffing whimpering noise every time his right hind leg hit the ground. Clearly something had tussled with this frail thing before she had and it seemed that unknown creature had done her a great kindness.

Once she was confident in the distance between them she released the second arrow and watched it land true as it sunk into the lion's skull and the weak body fell into the dirt with a soft thud.

A final breath escaped its mouth and sent up a small cloud in the dry dirt it now laid lifelessly upon.

With the beast taken down she found herself breathing hard, her adrenaline still racing as she approached it.

Up close she could better inspect it to see if this had been it, if this could be THE beast.

However, no amount of optimism could allow her to overlook the matted shabby dark mane, the many bald patches she could see in the lion’s coat or the clearly visible bites they exposed.

No, this wouldn’t even be worth skinning, not for her husband's cloak, but still leaving it here was not an option, it would attract scavengers and most of those were pack animals. So she took out her ax and made quick work of dismembering the lion and then did her best to wrap the remains in the blanket she intended to sleep under.

It was too heavy to lift alone so she attached the sack to a rope and dragged it the rest of the way to the boulders. By the time she had reached her destination her legs and arms were more sore than they had ever been in all her years of training, but she didn't stop to rest.

Just as she had planned she found a small rectangular spot that was perfectly spaced between two boulders that stood twice as high as she did. There she sat the lion sack before she went to fetch the wood and palm leaves. The sun would be setting soon and she would not be out in the open with a fresh kill at her side when it happened.

She chopped and dragged long branches for one hour, then she fashioned two walls about one foot taller than herself using rope to tie the branches together, tying the leaves together to keep out the wind. She installed her walls by burying the branches in the dirt making sure they were firmly planted. The roof was easier to make since she had to leave a spot open for smoke to escape.

Finally, just as she had tied the last bit of rope securing the roof to the walls the sun was beginning to set. She made her final trip to the grove of trees for firewood and quickly returned to her newly built shelter.

Her fire was burning strong as the sun set, but she did not lay down, she sat beside the fire watching the flames as she thought one thing over and over.

What beast was worthy of Ivar the Boneless?

[bu1410]

Palermo - Italy

Hotel du Lac - Tunis

Hammamet - Tunisia

Costantine - Algeria

Fez - Morocco

Casablanca - Downtown

Typical Moroccan ''Grand Taxi

Benalmadena - Spain

Good evening TUMBLR - March 4th - 2024

From today , in order not to boring my 3 or 4 readers, I decided to alternate the writing of my work's experience, with holidays/vacation's adventures.

I hope that will make my writing less boring and more various.

Neverthekess, the overall title remains the same':

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

Ch. I - August 1975 - Italy - Tunisia – Algeria – Morocco – Spain – France – Italy.

So me and my ''partner in crime'' Gianluigi, we decided to make a Mediterramean circumnavigation: the Citroen DS19 purchased from by Mr. Proserpio, Gianluigi's uncle, for the modest sum of 300,000 lire (150 euros) we hope it will take us on a journey through six countries. The travel from Milan to Palermo was smoothly. It should be noted that the works on the Salerno – Reggio Calabria highway section (especially in the Lagonegro area) were already underway, and will continue for many years to come. Once in Palermo, we slept the night in a moribund AGIP Motel, an attempt by ENI (italian Hydrocarbur Giant) to provide Italy with a network of decent and not excessively expensive motels, obviously doomed to failure.

TUNISIA We board the ship to Tunis early in the morning and the got first surprise: on the ferry there is Mr. Mastelloni, a very popular Italian comedian at that time, of which no one ever really understood what he was, artistically speaking I mean. However, it was easy to understand: he was accompanied by a young ''blondy boy'' with blue eyes, similar to the main carachter of ''Death in Venice'' movie. As well as by two whiskey-coloured Afghan dogs, which were ''trendy'' at that time. We spent the night standing up, since we had a bridge ticket, so we slept little and badly on the sofas in the on-board bar. After docking in Tunis and disembarking, we understood that we were behind everyone at the customs check. A business card from the son of the Tunisian Minister of Industry, in Gianluigi's possession, comes to our aid (we have to deliver to this guy two sample chairs produced by G. Luigi's workshop for possible approval and export). As soon as the local policeman saw the business card, he immediately made us leave the queue, and in an instant, followed by the protests of the other passengers in the queue under the midday sun, we were outside the fence of Tunis port. We stay overnight at the Hotel du Lac, a building with the strange shape of an inverted pyramid: from the window of our room, on the 22nd floor, it was easy to see the sidewalk about 60 meters below: ''Let's hope that the building doesn't tip over this very night'' I told my friend. In the evening we take a tour of the old Medina, with dinner in a typical restaurant: large crevettes dish with a unique flavor at a price at which in Italy you would eat a sandwich on the street! For the rest, at the time, there was no nightlife, the clubs were all closed, in a sort of early lockdown. The following day, after having delivered the chairs to the Minister's son (followed by his exaggerated thanks) we left for Hammamet, where we would treat ourselves to a couple of days of relaxation before embarking on the journey to Algeria. And here I must make a premise: Tunisia in 1975 was a nation that was emerging from the long post-colonial period, and was governed by a Socialist regime. The ''Mediterranee hotel'', where we stayed, was a typical expression of this management: the various activities of the hotel - kitchen, rooms, swimming pool, beach -were managed by various cooperatives.

The result was simply disheartening. On the access staircase to the restaurant, in a glass showcase, the day's food was displayed: lunch with tomato-colored soup where 2 crevettes were floating - green salad with tomatoes, carrots, peppers and hard-boiled eggs. Two flies flew happily inside the box… and then there was nothing else…. In the hotel lobby we come in touch with a group of Italians from Abeille Insurance on a reward trip. The wife of one of them, a tall, large guy weighing at least 120 kg, takes us by the arms and, speaking in a low voice, she asked: - ''I saw that you have a car, right? - ''Yes, I answer cautiously… - - Well, the Lady continues – I ask you a favor, would you take my husband to eat in the city this evening? We are willing to pay for dinner for you too, there is no problem, please, we have been here for three days, my husband doesn't eat anything that is offered to us, and this morning when he got out of bed he almost fainted to the floor ……'' Well, the rumors spread at fast speed: attracted by the possibility of ''eating'' in the evening, 8 Italians found us and board our the Citroen before we can say anuthing! We choose the ''Barberousse restaurant''and we were threated with excellent grilled meat and local rosé wine – our guests had a sort of big binge, and all of them filled several take away containers. After the dinner, while wandering around the Medina of Hammamet, we understand the reason for Mr. Mastelloni's trip to Tunisia: some advert on the walls inform us that the 'Deuxieme Festival des Homosexuelles'' (the 2nd Homosexual Festival) was underway in a nightclub of the city!!! We were really astonished that in a Muslim country such kind of festival could take place. After a two-day stay where we also discover that around the hotel swimming pool yet another cooperative cooks excellent meat and fish brochette, we set off for Algeria.

ALGERIA The Tunisian state roads have good asphalt, and the journey was smooth till the border. The formalities at the Tunisian border post were completed in a few minutes. Then a couple of kilometers of ''No Man's Land'' took us to the Algeria border post.

The police shack was in very bad shape. The immigration policeman at first doesn't believe it was me on passport picture. (I had a mustache in the passport photo). Than he went back into the guard post box with both of our passports. After about twenty minutes, the Algerian policeman opened the shack's window and, shouting incomprehensible words in Arabic, literally throwed our passports at us! I stop Gianluigi from replying, I collect the passports and said ''merci Monsieur, au-revoir'' we finally left: certainly not a good welcome to Algeria!

Algeria is a land that is iconographically symbolized by deserts and dunes, but the region we pass through instead appears to us as a sort of ''African Switzerland''. Kabylia is mountainous and green and in the distance you can see numerous flocks of sheep and cows. The farms are bordered by well-maintained fences. We travelled quickly, and in the evening we arrived in Constantine. We pass impressed on the famous Sidi M'Cid: a 164 m long suspended bridge that crosses the Rhumel river in Constantine. It was opened to traffic in April 1912 and until 1929 it was the highest bridge in the world, standing at considerable height of 175 m. The next day we were traveling towards the North-West - at midday we have a quick lunch in white Algiers: its kasbah is still impressive but we had no intention of stopping there. And then away again, the roads were worse than the Tunisian ones; the asphalt is often full of potholes or completely missing. This is despite the country being a large oil producer, so asphalt should be available at very low cost. It was evening when we arrived in Sidi Bel Abbes and for the overnight stay we choose the pompous ''Intercontinental'' an old hotel built during the French occupation of the country. The rooms were dirty, sheets not washed since when? Bathrooms with taps from which a trickle of water flows slowly. The dinner, however, is a farce: - ''What are you offering for dinner''? - ''Des pates avec sardines'' (Spaghetti with sardines) - ''Et apres''? (And after''? - ''Des sardines'' (Sardines) - ''Chaude''………….(hot…) The next morning we literally escaped from the Intercontinental and pass through Tlemcen. From the main road it was possible to have a glimpse of the vineyards of the famous ''Coteux de Mascara'' rosé wine planted by the French. During the years of the civil war from 1991-1995, all the vineyards were removed. At the Western Algerian border we were lucky, and we crossed without problems. Further on, after the usual 2 kilometers of no man's land, at the Moroccan border post of Zouij Beghal a singular encounter: four Italians from Venice traveling in an Opel Rekord: - ''Where do you come from?'' we asked them

- From the Cape North'' - ''Cape North''? - Yes, we have few days holidays, and we promised ourselves to run from Padua to Cape North – than Morocco – Algeria �� Tunisia – Italy. - ''Ahh….ok …''vaste programme''……. good continuation guys ….''

MOROCCO In the meantime, the Moroccan policeman kindly asked us to give a lift till the first village to an elderly lady that was carrieng a box containing four chickens. It is very common practice in Morocco, being asked to give a lift of stranded people. Once left the lady at the Attamiaas souk, our journey continued towards Oujda, the first important Moroccan city on the road to South-West. The route was very tormented, with ups and downs among the stony hills and sudden, very steep descents towards the ouadis and their unsafe bridges. We were crossing one of these bridges, where the road narrows sharply, when, about halfway through it, suddenly a blue Mercedes Grand Taxi enters the bridge from the opposite side!!! The Mercedes star on the hood of the car seems to get bigger and bigger as the taxi gets closer to us! In this situation - Gianluigi was driving - the only thing to do would be to stop and lean the car as much as possible against the balustrade of the bridge. Which - for inscrutable reasons - my friend didn't do! In fact I had the feeling that he speeds up in an (useless) attempt to reach the opposite end of the bridge before the Mercedes meet us! By then we understood that two cars cannot pass on the bridge at the same time, and we huddle closer and closer to the right parapet of the bridge, fearing the impact of the bodies at any moment! WHICH HAPPENED ! But… after a skid I believe due to the blow received on the side of the Citroen by the Mercedes, my friend managed to put the car back in the right direction!! We arrived on the other side of the Ouadi and we find ourselves at the first lay-by and we stop – for a moment we didn't had the strength to go down and check the damage to the car. In the meantime we realize that the blue taxi, far from stopping, has disappeared up the opposite slope. At this point Gianluigi took out a providential bottle of whiskey from the cardboard box, purchased on the ship between Palermo and Tunis! A couple of sips and we recover from the scare! It was needed!! Finally we got out of the car and realize that the end part of the left side of car's bodywork was missing! The impact with the Mercedes detached it. As we run back, and we see it lying in the middle of the bridge: it was a little battered, but once we returned to our car, we manage to put it back in his place: everything was resolved with a great scare and minor damage to the car, but it

could have gone much worse: the clash could have thrown us further down, onto the dry riverbed of the Ouadi and than perhaps I wouldn't be here to tell you about it…… After a couple of hours (and after a few further sips of whiskey because every now and then the memory of the narrow escape came back to us) we arrived in Fez.

Fez was founded under the rule of the Idrisids during the 8th-9th centuries AD. It initially consisted of two autonomous and competing settlements. Successive waves of mainly Arab immigrants from Ifriqiya (Tunisia) and al-Andalus (Spain/Portugal) in the early 9th century gave the nascent city its Arab character. After the fall of the Idrisid dynasty, other empires came and went until the 11th century, when the Almoravid sultan Yusuf ibn Tashfin united the two settlements in what is today the neighborhood of Fes el-Bali. Under Almoravid rule, the city gained a reputation for religious culture and mercantile activity. Fez reached its peak in the Marinid era (13th-15th centuries), regaining its status as a political capital. Numerous new madrasas and mosques were built, many of which survive today, while other structures were restored. These buildings are counted among the distinctive features of the Moorish and Moroccan. We stayed at the Moorish-style hotel les Merinides, where in the evening we had a delicious dinner of local dishes. The night was spectacular, the hotel stood on a hill and I cannot forget the view of the city lights, and of the sky illuminated by the full moon and a myriad of stars. The next day, unfortunately (in the sense that with hindsight we should/could have taken more advantage of the hospitality of Fez…) we left again for Casablanca, our final Moroccan destination. Yes, because August 15th was approaching, the date on which we had an appointment with the Mr. Proserpio in Benalmadena, on the Costa del Sol, Spain. Now my three readers need to consider an important factor: we are in 1975, so no cell phones, no computers etc and international calls between Morocco and Europe were very problematic. We arrived in Dar El Baida (Casablanca) and the problem arises of finding the Toubkal hotel (a structure we found in Morocco's tourist brochures). As soon as we arrive in the city, we notice a fruit and vegetable shop: I stopped, get out of the car and show off my French knowledge (I studied it in middle school, and my teacher would be proud of me…) I ask the greengrocer: - Excuse me Monsieur, the direction to go to the Toubkal hotel? - And he ''The Toubkal Hotel''? T'as dit l'Hotel Toubkal??? Ahh yes……Wait…. one minute……'' I saw returning from the shop with two very fat Maroccan women, together by bags and bags of fruit and vegetables. Whereupon the rear doors of the Citroen are opened, and everything - bundled women, vegetables, fruit is introduced into the car!! Then the greengrocer approaches the window and says to me:

''Elles save ou' est l'hotel Toubkal, elles vont vous donner la management''! Au revoir, M'salamah! '('They know where the Toubkal hotel is, they will give you the management''! Goodbye)

So we set off again, and at every crossroads I was asking: ou'? And the women: ''a droite - a gauche-tout droite'' (Where to go''? and the women ''To the right - to the left - go straight...''). We end up leaving the city, and it occurs to me that the Toubkal hotel is near the Place des Nations Unies, therefore in the city centre……. You should know that the Moroccans have established a scale of values of ''shrewdness'' of nationalities where obviously they are in first place - les Marocain sont de raquins (Moroccans are like sharks) and all the others are more or less imbeciles. According to this scale, the Japanese are considered the most badmouthed, followed by the Germans and the English - Italians and French are nationalities that should not be trusted too much… Well, when we now understood that we have been victims of a typical ''Moroccan'' scam, the women say ''ici ici'' (here...here) and tell us to stop - we were in a suburban street, and so we asked the women: So where is hotel Toubkal '' ? They get out of the car, look at each other perplexed and then at

'in unison, throwing their hands in the air in the typical Arab expression, they tell us: ''ça moi je ne sait pas…'' (This I dont know) and disappear with all their belongs! We than continued following the signs for Center Ville until we reached the aforementioned square and then finally, in a side street, the Toubkal hotel. We spent a couple of pleasant days in Casablanca, visiting mosques and the waterfront, eating exquisite Atlantic fish dishes and drinking excellent Moroccan wines (Rosé Boulaone – Red Guerrouane). We spent the evening at the (reconstructed) coffee shop from the famous movie ''Casablanca'' at the Hyatt hotel: waiters in period uniforms, delicious dishes, mint tea served in an exemplary manner.

And then we started the journey to Spain: Tangier (Tanja as the Moroccans call it) was the first stop over on the way back to North. While waiting for the ferry that will take us to Algeciras, across the Strait of Gibraltar, we stay in an old hotel, Les Almohades, directly on the seafront. In the evening we go out for a walk on the promenade, before dinner, and we were approached by a Moroccan guy who was dragging himself on homemade crutches. Like all Tangerois he was fluent in at least three foreign languages, and he offered us ''hierba, buena cossa……'' (hashish) and then kif, the ''smoke'' of Moroccan production. Gianluigi senses the deal (if he brings it to Spain he will be able to resell it at a good profit) and buys a couple of pieces.

''Good - says my friend - let's take him to the hotel and then go out for dinner'' But at this point the limping Moroccan changed register and becomes annoying - suddenly some friends of the guy materialize who - following our steps - sing and shout like:

''hierbaaaa…… hieerbaaaa los hombres tenern hierbaaaa…policia…policiaaaaa'' (Hashish......hashish.....this guys have hashish...). My friend immediately come up with a plan: ''Let's get to the first street, turn the corner and then start running uphill towards our hotel – we'll get rid of the ''stuff'' before entering the lobby. No sooner said than done, once we reach the corner we started running! The chasers understood the game, and started running too, always shouting! With a great surprise, looking back, we discovered that the limper has thrown his crutches to the ground and he was running like a new Usain Bolt!! We manage to maintain a certain advantage, and arrived near the hotel and Gianluigi throwed the package of stuff into a rubbish bin, as we enter the hotel. We went up to the room, and with the lights off we were looking down to the street: the pursuers have arrived, and after a meeting with their neighbors, they head to the rubbish bins, where they recovered the stuff! And then, not satisfied, they direct sneers at us towards the window where they suppose we are observing the scene of their triumph! It was like that Gianluigi's career as a ''smoke trafficker'' ended, before it even began.

Early in the morning we boarded one of the first ferries to Algericiras. After a quiet Strait of Gibartar crossing, and having traveled the 120 km that separate Algeciras from Benalmadena, we arrived at the residence where – supposingly – Mr. Proserpio & Family were waiting for us. We had managed to reserve an apartment for the entire month of August - the Proserpio family would stay there for 15 days, with Gianluigi and me for the rest of the month.

Citron DS19 Pallas

[gaviicreates]

Sunday Stitchin'

Today I wanted to do a check-in, since I am due in providing an update. It deserves to be more of a WIP Wednesday because I am deep in juggling all of my many projects. Except it's Sunday on my side of the planet, so...

The active WIP count is up to 6, with 2 projects in each of my three crafts.

Tunisian Crochet: 2 Knit: 2 Crochet: 2

Crochet has taken more of a backseat this week. I've got what I am calling my palate cleanser doily in off white. I tend to work on it whenever I am bored with the repetition in my other projects. Since each row is different, the doily works a bit like putting puzzle pieces together. The chevron scarf from my bingo is the other crochet project, and while I have worked on it some this week, I will admit I got annoyed at the weaving in of ends this last round. So even though I finished this section, I haven't been eager to rinse & repeat quite yet.

In the knit world, I've finally started to figure out the magic loop technique. I hadn't shared what I was learning it for - eventually I want to feel comfortable enough to attempt socks again, but for now I was working it with a fingerless mitts pattern with worsted weight yarn. My first pair of mitts I am so pleased with, and they were well worth the initial awkward struggle of magic loop. The variegation in the yarn was spiraling upward until I started increasing around the thumb, so in the end it does look jarringly inconsistent. I love them though. I immediately went out and bought yarn to start some more, as I decided this is going to be the holiday pattern this year. So my current knit projects are two more pairs of the same mitt pattern.

MVP of this week is Tunisian Crochet.

At my LYS knit night, I worked the chevron scarf in Tunisian Crochet which is going to be a gift around the holidays as well. This is the one I had to frog back 11 inches after missing a stitch I didn't notice until later. This past week, I finally worked it back up to where I was before the frogging, so this felt like a huge accomplishment. It currently can drape over my neck, but not wrap, so I still have a bit to go - and I personally like my scarves on the longer end. It's fingering weight, I think I've mentioned before, so by the end this will truly have been a labor of love.

Finally - and pretty spontaneously - yesterday I decided I was going to try to make the Aruba Tunic by Toni at TL Yarn Crafts in preparation for our beach vacation coming up. For clarity, I will be there this time next week, so I went ambitious with my deadline, but I also didn't have a lot of time to plan. The actual trip was also a fairly recent addition to the calendar. I figure, if I don't actually finish beforehand this isn't a bad idea for a vacation project while away.

I'm still going to give it a solid college try.

I drove over to JoAnn's, picked some colors, compared dye lots, repicked colors, and then repicked them again, triple checked dye lots, and I've been working on the first panel of the tunic all last night and today. As of this evening, I'm at row 23/26 of this panel, and then I will be halfway.

I am using the recommended Coboo for this project, and the colors I selected are Denim and Taupe.

[bolnasblog]

Day 10

I feel like sh1t.

Yesterday, I feel like I ate for 3.

I ate for lunch: rice and chekchouka (« the tunisian ratatouille ») and for dinner: a pizza and a crepe. That was awful. The worst part is that I had a “midnight snack” (French fries) with my cousins.

Since I came back to Tunisia, I took some weight. So when my dad knew that I ate French fries at night, he became angry (I don’t even know why, he is usually happy when I eat). I felt like it was free meanspo. I cried my heart out because of that.

I HAVE to talk about my cousin who is definitely thinspo. She is tall, tan, THIN while I have a medium size, white like a medicine and the fattest pig I’ve ever seen. She is gorgeous. I remember going to the beach with her and we have purkinis that look alike. During the whole time I thought about the picture that I put down here.

I really have to eat less now that I don’t have any party.

Anyway, I hope you guys are doing well in your weight loss journey!

Love you!! 🎀

[velvet-cupcake-games]

Hi!! First of all I'm going to thank you for bringing your creation which is made Marion into the world! I love it so much and I can see a lot of work and dedication has gone into it or well, is still going into it. Keep up the great work you are all doing amazing!! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Anyway I also came with a question, if it hasn't been asked before that is, what modern book genre would Marion and the LI's enjoy reading the most? Oh, and where would their favorite place to read be? I, myself like fantasy, historical and/or romance but that should be obvious seeing as I love your game!

Bye for now ♥

Aww, thanks for the sweet note!

Marion: This is canon. She prefers non-fiction and especially loves history and social sciences (fun fact, the man generally credited with founding the modern social scientists was a Medieval Tunisian philosopher and scholar named Ibn Khaldun). She likes to read curled up beside the fire.

Robin: He'd be a Tom Clancy kind of reader, whatever cool masculine-aimed stuff is on the NYT bestseller list. He's not a heavy reader, so in the modern day he'd be a reader while traveling or lying out on the beach.

John: He enjoys poetry and "high literature." He'd love migration narratives for obvious reasons. He reads under a tree outside.

Will: This is canon, he reads legends and adventure tales (action-packed fantasy/sci-fi in modern genres). And he'll read whenever and wherever he can.

Meissa: This is canon if you translate back to Medieval genres. Meissa reads scientific journals for fun. They also enjoy a good romance novel. They like to read in bed, preferably snuggled up next to their favorite fellow reader, Marion.

Alanna: In modern terms she'd bury herself in history, comparative folklore, and newspaper/news website reading, but for fun she also likes mystery novels. She's a frequent library visitor and patron.

Geoffrey: A general non-fiction reader like Marion, and a subscriber to several law journals. He likes to read in his solar.

Gui: Enjoys poetry, philosophy, comparative religion, art history... all that good stuff. He reads in his hotel room because modern Gui is probably as much of a traveler as Medieval Gui.

[sherinebensalem]

FAS3000 - Final evaluation

I was tasked with a brief titled ‘The story of you’ where I needed to create a sketchbook and write a blog about my creations throughout this module. I started by mind mapping my ideas and the different themes that I could use for this brief and ended up with the theme of key Tunisian landscapes that are important to me. I am half Tunsian and I grew up in Tunisia for 10 years, so it is a place very dear to my heart, for the people who live there and for the beautiful landscapes there. I thought this theme would be good for this brief as it is something I’m really passionate about and I’ve always spoken about how beautiful Tunisia is, so it was an opportunity for me to show this.

My research was made up mainly of pictures I had taken, primary research, when I’ve been back to Tunisia to visit family and friends. These pictures were of places that I loved to visit like the beach or the colosseum. I have many fond memories of these places so it felt right for me to use these in this project. I’ve always loved to swim since I was young and my first time swimming was in Tunisia so the sea is really special to me, and whenever I’d meet up with friends we’d go for a swim and sunbathe in the summer. When it was winter we’d walk around or in the colosseum to just feel the history surrounding it.

For my secondary research I looked into many different photographers, collage artists, textile artists and painters, to help inspire me along the way while creating samples. These artists have been used as inspiration to help either my narrative, my use of colour, my collages or the techniques used while creating samples. Artists like Hugo Barros were really helpful while I was collaging in my sketchbook but other artists like Agnés Decourchelle were helpful with my overall narrative and how to express it visually. 

With these artists helping inspire me, I was able to interpret my primary images in different ways. I was able to collage them, embroider them, print or even weave them. I had many different options for creation and interpretation, I was able to make the meaning behind different pieces literal but other pieces I was still able to make more abstract and thought out, and some pieces were still connected to my narrative but could be up for interpretation.

My primary research was incredibly important in relation to making samples in the workshops. I always had to have an image ready before a workshop so I knew what I was going in with. I would almost always have to have at least one image printed off for inspiration so I knew what I needed to create, but also what I had already created so that my work would not become repetitive. 

Since my two main landscapes were the sea and the colosseum I didn't want to make too much of one and less of the other, so I often had to look back at previous work I had created to make sure the landscapes were balanced out in numbers. I also wanted to make sure that I wasn’t doing too much of one technique and less of the other, for example I really enjoyed weaving so I often gravitated to making samples through weave but I also had to remind myself that I needed variety in techniques while creating these samples.

I am happy to say I have experienced successes throughout this module with samples, mostly, turning out the way I had hoped, but I also had times where they did not so I had to try and be innovative and to use these samples in different ways. In the indigo dye workshop for example, a couple of the samples did not turn out how I had hoped so I decided to cut them up and use them for my wear sample in my final outcome. 

I had to keep being innovative throughout to try and make new things out of bad samples. I found it especially difficult to do this, as sometimes I was just disheartened by a bad sample, but I learnt not to take it too seriously and that I could always fix it to make it even better than the original design in mind. This is why I believe my experimentation throughout this brief was successful, although not all my samples turned out the way I wanted them to, they all were able to be changed to still fit my narrative.

I started off the module quite unsure of how well my narrative would be portrayed visually and whether it would really be understood or not, whether the viewer could really feel what I feel for the place I used to call home. But at some point along the way I realised that as long as it felt right to me then others would be able to feel the same. If I felt I had shown Tunisia correctly then other people would be able to understand the narrative and have the same feelings while going through my sketchbook and viewing my final outcome. 

I think this mindset really helped me to progress through the module and allowed me to be much freer while creating samples, which also helped to make my samples better overall. Tunisian people have a very carefree attitude, so as soon as I was able to adopt that attitude towards my samples, then it started to feel like my narrative was really being portrayed.

My final outcome was an A1 board filled with samples that visually communicated my narrative on important Tunisian landscapes through different techniques such as aqua film, embroidery and weave. Some of these samples I had already created and then used the improvements I had mentioned previously to better them, and then some samples were completely new and made with the intention of being presented on my board. The indigo dye sample I had created was a sample I had already made before starting my final outcome, however I improved it for my final outcome by adding pintucks to it to further elevate it physically and visually. The plain weave of the sky and colosseum is an example of a piece I created with the idea of having it presented on my board. I knew I wanted a weave piece for the board and so I made one. 

I believe my final outcome was successful because I was able to communicate my narrative and have all of the different parts of my narrative connect through the whole board. I could of course, still improve the board further by adding more printed samples, or adding some embroidery to the crocheted piece, but overall, I am pleased with the final outcome and thought the pieces were great examples of important Tunisian landscapes and the placement of the pieces on the board were balanced well.

[depictae]

10 Interesting Facts About Tunisia

Discover 10 interesting facts about Tunisia, known for its ancient Carthage, diverse landscapes, Mediterranean beaches, and rich cultural heritage. #tunisia #africa #explore #travel #depictaè

Basic Information About Tunisia Country Full Name: Republic of Tunisia Continent: Africa Official Language: Arabic Currency: Tunisian Dinar (TND) Capital: Tunis Main Dish: Couscous Famous For: Ancient Carthage, Mediterranean beaches, Sahara Desert, and rich history. Size: 163,610 square kilometers Population: Approximately 11.8 million Name Meaning: The name “Tunisia” is derived from…