The Impeccably Dressed Man

It was the second time in a half hour that we found ourselves in front of this same entrance to the Zitouna Mosque, the oldest and most significant mosque in Tunisia. While we knew we couldn’t go inside – passage is reserved for Muslims only – we were trying to find a way to see the mosque and its courtyard from above. So far, though, it felt as if the medina of Tunis was getting the best of us.

Medinas – dense webs of narrow streets and corridors that stretch for miles and contain shops, food markets, homes, and other buildings – are the antithesis to grid-laid street planning found in many urban centers. Navigating a medina can be particularly difficult because many streets are not marked, the names of others can change without warning, and the visibility inside the medina tends to be low. That said, they are fascinating places to visit and wander in search of things or just to immerse oneself in the historic centers of old cities. In Tunis, the medina runs like a tangled web of string around the Zitouna Mosque, and we were trying to find a way to get above the web to see the Mosque from above.

It was at this moment, perhaps in response to my audible sigh of frustration, that from within the mosque emerged a tall man, impeccably dressed in a beige suit and long wool coat. His shoes were bright and polished, his hair slicked back. This man would look more at home walking out of a center city bank than here in the dark and winding corridors of the Tunis Medina.

“Hello!” He greeted us, in flawless English.

Ding, ding. A system alert went off in my head. Emotional scar tissue from past travel abuses swelled in my soul. Fight or flight, fight or…

“It is a beautiful mosque,” he continued, clearly able to discern why we were awkwardly lingering outside the entry way. “Would you like to see it? There is a place with a good view just over there.”

Jess and I looked at each other. Attempting communication through telepathy or our refined system of winking, based loosely on morse code. Should we trust this man, and wander deeper into the medina with him as our guide?

“Okay, yes,” I responded. The subsequent look from Jess told me that our wink system was still in beta.

We followed him for a short distance to an intersection in the path.

“Just over there, to the left. Look for the doorway by the bright light.”

With that direction given, the man walked away.

Wait, what? No requests to buy anything? No demand for a tip? No “quick stop” at his brother’s best friend’s cousin’s souvenir stall where he would get us a “good price”? Could it be that the impeccably dressed man was defying all the odds of the tourist hustle and was just being… helpful?

Travel, and particularly independent travel, is always a humbling experience. When you don’t know the language, the cultural norms, or, well, any people, that discomfort is an exhilarating reminder of what it means to be vulnerable. And, in those moments, it’s important to be careful with whom you trust. My problem is that I tend to trust most people. And that has gotten me into trouble many times (there was getting robbed in Argentina, hoodwinked by a tuk-tuk driver in India- three times! three times!, and, most recently, sold a ride to a closed Park in Colombia. And that’s just scratching the surface. Flash me a smile, and I’m like a fish with a hook in its mouth.

Over time, I’ve refined what I call the Norcini Vulnerability Index (NVI) which gauges the factors contributing to my vulnerability in any given situation. A measure of zero is when I’m not vulnerable to shenanigans (read: never), and a 100 marks me as highly probably to overpay, get lost, or, generally, to give up money and pride for very little effort. At this moment, the Moment of The Impeccably Dressed Man, my NVI score was a 78. Let me break that down for you:

-Straight off an overnight flight (+17);

-In a country where I do not speak or read the language (Arabic, +15);

-Current location is a Médina, labyrinth, or corn maze (+22);

-No internet access (+9);

-Surrounded by interesting objects (+5), some shiny (+3);

-At least three hours since last meal (+7)

Without the mitigating factor of being with Jess, whose street smarts and wisdom far exceed my own, my NVI score would be even higher than a 78.

And not everyone is out to get you when traveling. Hence, part of the reason for my general trust in humanity, however misapplied at times. Just that day, there was the man who stopped us in the animal market near the baby turtle salesman to let Jess know that her guidebook was hanging out of her bag. Legit helpful. And the woman who saw us trying to figure out where we were and came by to help. Now, when we couldn’t understand her, she left the scene with a wave of her hand and some mutterings that she probably wouldn’t have said to her mother, but her first instincts were sincere.

And so, given what appeared to be genuine assistance from The Impeccably Dressed Man, I wandered on, deeper and deeper into the medina in search of the doorway by the bright light. Jess ran after me. But, despite our best efforts, it was no where to be found.

It was at that moment that The Impeccably Dressed Man reappeared.

“Well, now, we meet again,” he said. If he had been wearing a top hat, he would have tipped it just then. “Please come with me, the doorway you seek is just up ahead.”

Jess and I looked at one another, knowing we had been marked. Winding this way and that and then back again through the dark and narrow corridors of the medina, we submitted to the journey and prepared for what likely lay at its end: a tourist trap souvenir shop that had access to a “view” of a “mosque” for which we would be fleeced and walk away with nothing but a cheap wall plate that read “Tunisia” in script with an image of a camel on it.

It was at the last minute that the winking system sprung to life as collectively we prepared ourselves for the fate so many tourists had met in this or any medina. And, when finally the Impeccably Dressed Man turned to us and said “here, come in here,” while simultaneously gesturing to his buddies/uncles/neighbors in the souvenir shop to descend, we yelled, or, well, just said (but the power of denial in that situation felt like a yell) “No Thank You,” and we quickly pushed off back into the Médina and away from The Impeccably Dressed Man and his cohort of overpriced crafts dealers.

Walking quickly while glancing over our shoulders, there was a sense of victory in the air, a recalibration of control of the day.

After getting some distance, we paused to get a location and by the luck of a gap in the brick and canvas ceiling, were able to get a signal. Cafe Panorama, said to have a view of the mosque, was just a couple of turns away.

Remarkably, we found what appeared to be the entrance without much trouble. Was this the Cafe Panorama? Alarms again went off when we saw the sign placed outside a souvenir shop: on a piece of cardboard laying against the wall was written Cafe Panorama. Recognizing this was not a good sign – pun intended – we nonetheless decided to go inside and look for the stairs.

After waving off the advances of an older man selling Tunisia plates and other odd ceramics, we made our way up the first flight of stairs. From the 2nd floor landing, we could see that there was a second flight of stairs down to another shop – the same shop that The Impeccably dressed man had led us into! Out run him we did, out wit him, we did not.

Surrendering to our fate, and now curious to see if there was a view, we climbed the four flights of stairs, shaking off salesmen offering good prices for everything from carpets to candy, and emerged on the roof. So, did we resist the man who brought us coffee at 5x the local price? No. Did I complain when I realized he had probably just swiftly stirred the grounds of the last guy’s coffee with some water and dumped it into my cup? Did we took our sweet time on that roof admiring the view of the Mosque and the rest of Tunis? Yes, yes we did.

It turns out, the same guy who is trying to take you for a ride might just be taking you on a ride to the right destination. Would we have ever found the rooftop view if we hadn’t taken the bait of The Impeccably Dressed Man? I’d like to think so, but perhaps not. Maybe, just maybe, there is some benefit to being an over-trusting traveler with chronically a high NVI index. While it may have cost me some time, dignity, and a couple of cups of overpriced and gently used coffee, is that a fair price for a good story, and a little adventure?

And, no, I didn’t get suckered into buying one of those souvenir Tunisia plates – at least, not yet.