TRAVELLIVE 2-2016
I have a three-year old daughter. To teach her basic science knowledge, I always play some interesting games with her. One of her most favorite games is “raining ice cube”. We put an ice cube above a glass of a little hot water. Some seconds later, tiny water droplets will fall down like a lovely “rain”. February comes, new season greets us with drizzling rain whose tiny droplets dampen our hair and shoulders, running down our windows and blurring the world across the pane. Once my daughter woke up early in the morning and pressed her face against the glass pensively, and asked me “Mommy Mommy, there are some ice cubes on our roof, right? Our house is warmer so it rains like this, huh?”
I have a three-year old daughter. To teach her basic science knowledge, I always play some interesting games with her. One of her most favorite games is “raining ice cube”. We put an ice cube above a glass of a little hot water. Some seconds later, tiny water droplets will fall down like a lovely “rain”. February comes, new season greets us with drizzling rain whose tiny droplets dampen our hair and shoulders, running down our windows and blurring the world across the pane. Once my daughter woke up early in the morning and pressed her face against the glass pensively, and asked me “Mommy Mommy, there are some ice cubes on our roof, right? Our house is warmer so it rains like this, huh?”
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he town gets busier at 5am when venders<br />
from neighboring villages arrive with their<br />
horses and fresh home-growth vegetables.<br />
Cabbage leaves are wrapped together tightly,<br />
Napa cabbages boast their chicken’s fat color.<br />
Small flavorful basil branches are tied in<br />
bundles. Among herbs, basil is the most favored<br />
as Tunisians enjoy their morning hot tea with<br />
some basil leaves.<br />
Unlike other Muslim countries in North Africa,<br />
Tunisia surprises me with its allowance for<br />
women to sell goods at the market. Sometimes,<br />
old men just forgot their traditional customs<br />
either to take photos with me or to ask me to<br />
take photos of them. The images of white haired<br />
locals wearing traditional scarves, charmingly<br />
giggling are among my best memories. The<br />
Medina becomes more peaceful and quiet on<br />
weekends.<br />
The vibrant sounds of people advertising their<br />
products and chatting tend to die down at<br />
noon on Saturday and disappear completely on<br />
Sunday. Only tranquility is left in this city, giving<br />
people a peaceful time. I unconditionally love<br />
wandering around Medina on these serene days<br />
when the sun splashes its yellow rays through<br />
every street.<br />
There is no middle class in the Medina, only<br />
the poor and the wealthy. The poor either don’t<br />
have enough money to leave the city or can’t<br />
afford to buy a piece of land in the suburbs;<br />
therefore, they must live a hard life in run-down<br />
houses that can collapse at anytime. The wealthy<br />
don’t want to leave their hometown where they<br />
have accumulated so many memories through<br />
generations. They reconstruct their antique<br />
buildings, turning them into gorgeous villas.<br />
102<br />
<strong>TRAVELLIVE</strong><br />
I just follow the enticing windows but don’t<br />
know exactly where I am going. Sometimes, I<br />
see a girl riding her bike across the street to a<br />
nearby bakery. Winds bear the scents of different<br />
spices through the windows.
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