Carthage Diaries 02: Kidnapped, Fed, and Welcomed

“Revive me today and kill me tomorrow.”

These are the words of my taxi driver in Tunis. Taxi drivers are a great source of inspiration.

Tunisians are kind and generous. On the street they seem a bit more serious than Egyptians who are joking in any possible situation. I always wonder what events in the history shaped the collective mood of a nation. Whether it is winning/losing a war, or for example works of literature or art that influences everyone.

I visited the Punic and Roman ruins of Carthage, a city of big history that was completely destroyed by the romans. Before that destruction, its general Hannibal marched his army through Spain, crossed the Alps, and spent fifteen years fighting and winning the worst lost battles of the Roman Empire. He marched from the north to Cannae, further than Rome. He did not march to Rome. Nobody knows why.


The problem is that we may never know, because the history that survived was written exclusively by the Romans, who later burned Carthage’s libraries with all the books in Carthage. 

Similar to civilisations, unless we document things ourself, what will remain of us is what the others tell about us. I guess this is one reason I am writing here. But also interesting is to imagine, what others would tell about your “civilisation” when you are gone. Probably the truth is distributed between what you think of yourself and what the others think of you. And as. They say, each of us exists differently in every mind that thinks of us. The versions of you that live in your mother’s perception, in a colleague’s, in a stranger’s who watched you once on the metro are not the same person. And none of them is actually you. Neither is what you think is you! We are probably the overlapping region of several Venn diagrams: some of what we believe about ourselves, some of what the others perceive, and what remains true beyond both. I spent a lot of time alone in Tunisia, reflecting and sorting out my thoughts about my life. On the other hand, I have had a few great conversations, specially with Amel, the English language university professor that definitely enriched my perspective on Tunisian lives as well as mine.

If you’ve read this far: I invite you to also enrich my perspective, There’s an anonymous form below. Tell me something I should change or some aspect I could improve. Just be a bit kind hehe.


5 advices submitted

Amel introduced me to many other beautiful souls, Hajer, Omar, Asma and Malak. They were my window into the Tunisian society with their projects and their dreams. They nicely “kidnapped me” after midnight for a late snack at 2:30 am. I have now officially made new friends in Tunisia and will be back one day.

Carthage Diaries 01: Always Negotiate


You are not the same person at the time of planning and the time of doing. You book your holidays with a certain need that might not be there when your trip starts. A core difference between a backpacker and a regular traveler is the versatility adapted to introspection. Plans force you to comply, so you serve the trip instead of the trip serving you. Maybe this doesn’t apply to people with less temperament who maintain a constant state of being (genau). I came to Tunisia after night shifts in the emergency department with a few very sick patients. I needed to eat, sleep and dance.

Living in the developed world rewires you. You get used to the fact that actions have predictable consequences. Do this, get that. The Middle East doesn’t work like this. And that’s its magic. No matter what you do, you cannot predict what happens next.
On my first night, past midnight, a taxi driver was taking me home. As it always does with Tunisian men, the conversation found its way to football, we have a long rivalry between Egyptian and Tunisian clubs. I asked, almost casually, whether any good matches were coming up. One of the strongest derbies in the country was happening the next day. I asked about tickets. He told me it is probably sold out, and then added: you could also just show up at the stadium and tell them you’re Egyptian. I didn’t think that could possibly work.
The next afternoon I approached the stadium to find it ringed by police checkpoints. At the first one, I said I had no ticket, that I was an Egyptian tourist. The officer looked at me and said: you have no chance, but go ahead and try.
Three years ago I would have turned around at the first refusal and gone home. But I had learned something.

Flashback (like in the movies):
In Dubai, my cousin, a young professor of finance, had once talked our way into a fully booked museum. The tickets were sold out, the desk lady said so immediately, and I was already turning to go. But he simply stayed. He explained that we had come from other continents and that this was spontaneous, that we had no chance to wait. He showed zero intention of leaving without a ticket. And then, somehow, the lady did something on her computer and let us in. (End of flashback, heheh)

That memory came back to me at the second checkpoint, where three officers refused me, but one who appeared to be their superior said: actually, why not? Go and try. Tell them you’re Egyptian. So I did. I went to the gate and told the same story one more time. They pointed me toward a man who looked like a mafia boss, talking on the phone, bossy presence, and people slightly lowered their heads when they talked to him. He listened and nodded, and that nod was my ticket to the game.
It was a full 90 minutes of songs, noise, and action. One of the highlights of the trip. And I walked out having learned something I’m still carrying: always negotiate. Even when you think you don’t need to.

I was ironing my shirt in a mediocre hotel in Tunis, thinking about this trip, about the choices I make when I travel, and I realized I consistently choose the unorthodox. Because I want unusual experiences. Experiences tailored to my interests. In a world where we increasingly have less originality, fewer true individual thoughts and more generalized „woke“, very few people have their “special sauce.” Traveling is great for collecting ingredients for your special sauce of personality. The strangeness of the combination you gather from different places is the point.
We don’t invent. We shuffle. Concepts, words, materials, feelings. We rearrange the universe’s existing inventory and call it creation, and we claim it for ourselves. In Tunisia, I found more spices for my sauce.

The Space Between Us

Was it raining? Or was it drizzling?
What were the drops that accompanied your mascara
over your cheeks?
Probably both:
drops from heaven and drops from your eyes,
also heaven..
heavens intertwined,
like our goodbye,
a mix of destiny and choice,
intertwined.

Your eyes were red. I guess you cried a lot
on your way to this parking lot.
The mixture of your heavenly blue eyes
and this not-so-new red touched my softness,
and I was perplexed.

Another mixture was stirring in my heart:
the firmness of choice
and the ache of distance.
I held your hand
and kissed it twice.
You kissed the air between us,
and vanished.

Thai Days #4: Side Mirrors, Side Roads, and Side Steps in Phuket

The scene of a white man and a Thai woman is something you see daily. Often, the man is older. I personally don’t judge these men who seek feminine energy in times of scrambled gender roles and energies. These women, too, are probably seeking something and it doesn’t always seem to be money. I am yet to interview one of these nice Thai ladies. So far, my contact with them has been limited to being catcalled: “You are sooo handsaaaaa.” Thai people like to stretch words, drop consonants at the end, and speak in what sounds like a high pitch. It was our national sport, Pedrito and I, to immitate them the whole day, untill the commander a.k.a Arm, asked us: “why do you guys speak like this?”. Not much later did Arm recognize the pattern which to native Thai speakers goes unnoticed.

With Pedrito and Arm, we spent three nights in Phuket, starting by renting a car, which meant I had to drive on the other side of the road, like in England. It was my first time, and on numerous occasions I almost ended up in the wrong lane or even on the wrong road altogether. I even knocked off another car’s side mirror, simply because I wasn’t used to calculating the car’s far dimension on the left side. Thankfully, Arm and I could just clip the guy’s mirror back into place.

Also thankfully, I didn’t cause an accident despite the sudden things that appear on Thai roads. And even more thankfully, Pedrito didn’t cause an accident either, despite his Balkan-style aggressive driving, which seems to be the case regardless of which side of the road, or which side of the world, he’s on.

These risky behaviours, like driving in Thailand, come with rewards. They allow you to discover restaurants in the middle of nowhere, or resorts in the middle of nowhere, with maybe ten guests and coconut trees stretching endlessly on both sides. After getting burned by the sun that is far too close to the equator, we engaged in other activities: Pedrito teaching me jiu-jitsu drills on the beach, or us trying to knock coconuts down from palm trees by throwing older coconuts at them. After several failed attempts, the resort staff brought a ladder and got us the freshest coconuts I have ever had.

Our time in Phuket was split between eating (Arm does an excellent job recommending food), driving to places (Arm does a horrible job with logistics), being on the beach, and attending bachata parties. After the first night of dancing bachata, the local organiser noticed us and asked if he could use us to promote his next event the following day: “Three guest European dancers” aka, us.

There were numerous Russian women in the dancing community, and I didn’t see a single Russian man. The parties were fun, and I used my wingman skills in the hope of facilitating romantic connections. “I haven’t felt like this for a long time” was the feedback a few days later. Feedback that thrills any loyal member of the International Wingmen Club. Our next stop is Koh Tao Island, or Koh Taaaaaaaaaoo.

Us in Phuket

Thai Days #3: Napalm Fish, Motorbikes, and Muay Thai in Dangerous Bangkok

In a nice Thai restaurant, Arm asked Pedrito and me if we “can handle” the spicy fish he was about to order. Our sweet toxic masculinity jumped in to say, “Of course!” The fish came decorated with green peppercorns and baby chili with some sweet and sour sauce. Pedrito gave up after a few bites; for me it was delicious (and spicy), but my ego refused to admit that it was probably a better idea to delegate the fishy-task to Arm. What I also learned, is that you should not drink soda after stuffing your food with spicy food; the combination is more like a nuclear reaction, like a volcanic lava that tries to jump out in the form of reflux. Already on the walk after dinner, I felt that some of this napalm ended up in my lungs, making the top of my chest burn. Luckily, the bachata party afterward helped digest the fish and its friends inside my stomach.

With the boys in the restaurant

The few days we spent in Bangkok had an unbreakable routine. We had a daily gym session, ate Pad Thai, which is THE typical Thai dish, had a daily late-night back massage, and ended the day with pancakes from food stalls with banana or mango. Between these essential activities, we explored and discovered crazy Bangkok, which reminds me of Cairo in many aspects. Having almost the same population as Cairo but spread out on 3x the area of Cairo, which makes Cairo more crowded. Nevertheless, it was very crowded, and we sometimes had to take motorbikes as a means of transportation instead of taxis since they are much faster and go through traffic like a hair in dough (Arabic expression). Even though, we barely managed to be on time for most of our appointments. Pedrito said that we were “playing with time” and I thought we were rather playing with destiny taking these motorbikes.

Thailand is the homeland of Muay Thai, a combat kickboxing sometimes named “the Art of Eight Limbs” since you can use fists, elbows, knees, and shins. Pedrito had tried it in the past and was determined to buy original Muay Thai shorts. Which looked like fancy underwear boxers with golden inscriptions. We also went to a Muay Thai event in the main stadium for these events, which was, for me, a highlight of our time in Bangkok. The event featured a few fights, mostly between international fighters. The fighters started by doing rituals in the corners of the ring and then started the actual fight, divided into 3 rounds. At the beginning, the level was good until we saw the later fighters who triggered many WOWs. In particular, there was a fight between “Mohammed” from Iran and a tall black “Christ” from the USA. It is difficult to believe that this fight was not staged, hehe. Mohammed finished Christ quickly with a knockout (nothing intended here). One fight was between two Thai fighters who initially looked like kids with their small bodies. However, once the fight started, you could easily see that this combat sport was born here. They were agile, and their punches were scary fast. This exciting fight ended up with a draw. The last fight was between a Thai champion and another from Taiwan. As exciting as it was, it lasted only less than a minute, where the Thai fighter did an air double kick with his knee ending in the bottom of the poor Taiwanese’s chin, who immediately fell to the ground, followed by a hurry of his trainer and the medics. The Taiwanese fighter was carried out in a wheelchair. This fight concluded the event that was very well-organized and very entertaining. Also the presenter was very charismatic in the “Let’s get ready to rumble!” style.

Bangkok treated us nicely. Piotry does not want to go home. We ate a lot, danced bachata with the locals, and went to jazz events with Arm and his friend Pete. I think we have experienced multiple levels of what Bangkok can offer. We also went for custom-tailored linen suits, which I am excited to see how they come out. Our next stop is Phuket, where we hope to tickle the sandy beaches, get tanned, and eat more Pad Thai and Roti pancakes.

Thai Days #2: The Holies and Unholies of Bangkok

Jetlagged, we woke up around 14:30 pm and rushed to the street for breakfast, thinking we lost half of the day. Khaosan Road is a main party street in Bangkok, crazy at night but so peaceful and quiet during the day. Pedrito and I had a serene breakfast while I contemplated his not-so-often-smiling face. I told him that today, I will have a smile-counter for him to have some statistics. This moment of serenity was not an indicator of the next 12 hours in this crazy city.

We had no plans and no to-do. We started walking randomly in one direction until a tuk-tuk offered us a tour for 40 Bhat (which is around 1.25 Swiss dollars). As Piotr (we also call him Pedrito) said when I asked him about the program, “He can take us where the fuck he wants”. Our first step was a tiny temple with some golden Buddhas. After 30 seconds of looking at the first Buddha temple, you ask yourself, “Now what?”. At this golden moment, a middle-aged Thai man who looked like he had a decent job entered and did some bowing, then came to us to strike up a small conversation. He said we were lucky to be in this temple because it opens one day per year, that Thai people come there when they start a new business or get married to get blessings, that he drove 13 hours for his brother’s wedding, and asked about the program of our tour and said that the planned visit to a textile “factory” was lucky since they had a promotion for custom-tailored suits. He wished us luck and went away while we took our tuk-tuk to the factory, which turned up to be a regular tailor shop with high prices, and the whole thing is a scam. Our tuk-tuk driver confessed that the tailor shop gives them coupons for the gas station to fill the tuk-tuk with gas for the whole day. Our next stop was a “tourist information center” which also turned out to be a scam. The woman lied when I asked her whether this “center” was affiliated with the government. When I said, i don’t want to book any tours, and I just want information,” she said something in Thai that I imagine meant, “Get the F* out, you cheap tourist.”. Our next stop was a Big Buddha temple. Pedrito reached the top of his enthusiasm when he said in a monotonic voice, “Yeah. It is big”.

We then took a boat trip in the canals of Bangkok. For me it was a movie in the cinema. Passing by houses of different economic statuses. Some poor ones that barely have some metal as a roof, and just beside them are glass-walled lofts or villas. It was very interesting to watch people doing random things in their decks; most of the time I had no idea what the person was doing. Some of the houses were shops selling unidentifiable things. This trip triggered a few philosophical conversations between me and Pedrito about the spectrum of human happiness. I pondered how many of them, probably poor, seemed to have a very slow pace of life that was difficult to imagine being stressful. Check this youtube viedeo about the boat tour.

After the tour we walked around, again randomly in any direction. Which took us to a live music concert with a local market, then we found ourselves in a flower market, which is a whole street selling flowers. I assumed it is since Buddhist people use flowers a lot in their temples and offerings.

Crazy things happen all the time. Timing is mostly crazier. The moment Pedrito and I were waiting to cross a street, a motorbike came fast and hit another motorbike with a couple that wanted to turn. Since the second one was at an angle, the second motorbike was kicked away, and the couple that was sitting on it flew in the air and landed on the asphalt. A surreal scene for us. We rushed to the scene to see if help is needed. The girl on the floor was holding her stomach, but nobody seemed to be badly injured. The locals took care of the situation.

We spent the rest of the evening in our party street, where we ate dinner twice, once on a rooftop, and got a full-body Thai massage. Khaosan Road started showing us crazy things, with ladyboys dancing erotically in a bizarre scene. Plenty of food stalls, and many of them selling barbequed insects and scorpions. Grilled crocodile meat! Many offers for sex-shows and etc. Even the wrist bands they sell had bizarre writings like “I rape gay retards”, and “I love irish cunt”. It was easy to conclude that this street is exactly what was meant in all the holy books when God sent his wrath down upon the earth.

The maximum smile from Pedrito

“An electrician’s wet dream” as Pedrito says

Thai Days #1: Freezing Beijing and the Rose Petal Toilet

The trip

A bald Polish gentleman, with a taste for cigars and women with cigar-colored skin, was waiting for me in Milan with a slight flu. A cheaper flight from Malpensa is just another excuse to pass through this kingdom of beauty: Italy. Probably, if you add all the costs, the trip from Zurich would have cost the same. But life can also be measured by the number of times you’ve been to Italy. We took an expensive Uber with Simone, who entertained us with a lively conversation during the 100+ euro ride to the airport. Both flying with Air China, we discovered that Piotr had booked a different and shorter transit through Chengdu instead of Beijing. I tried to convince the check-in clerks to book me on his flight, but my attempt to charm them was met by “I can’t do it in the system”. I knew that Air China would probably be of no help to a privileged person who wanted to change a flight just to be with his friend. The customer support would most likely pay more attention to whatever fraction of the 1,000,000,000 Chinese people are flying today.

I spent my time on the plane watching a Chinese comedy, an Indonesian super-hero movie, and relocating the head of my sleeping Italian neighbor from my shoulder. Aware that his girlfriend is in the seat in front of him, I repeated “I am not your girlfriend”, while he kissed my shoulder and gave smiles and bites in the air (grrrr), without consciousness. Nevertheless, I found the situation cutely funny, hehehe.

The trip comes at the end of my work in my previous clinic before I move to a new hospital for a next rotation. Piotr and I are bachata dancers, and we will be joined later in the journey with our also-dancer Thai friend “Arm”, whose real name is not really “Arm” and we don’t really know his name. With these two gentlemen, I plan to tickle the sun, engage my taste buds with the rich culinary culture of the East and dance with some cigar-skinned ladies (while hoping they are, in fact, ladies without cigars… hehehe, sorry for the cheap joke).

15 hours in Beijing

I planned a 15-hours transit in Beijing to discover the city on my way to Thailand. Well, I didn’t. As soon as I left the metro station downtown to the street, I was hit by the -3 degrees cold, I was not prepared for. Within a minute, I rushed back to the station and looked for plan B. It took a couple of hours. Back and forth to the street to hope for a taxi or a “Didi” = (Chinese Uber). I finally managed to go to a 24-hours SPA where you can relax, eat, drink, play video games, get massages, steam room, sleeping pods, for 299 Yuan which a bit more than 30 swiss francs with all-you-can-eat fruits, ice cream, and popcorn and all you can drink. When I entered the spa, I had to remove my shoes at the entrance, strip, shower, and they gave me one-time underwear and pajamas. In this transition, I saw way more than I wanted (which is zero) of naked Asian men. I am indeed writing these words here inside a steam room decorated with essential oils that force body stress out of your body like an exorcist forcing a jinn out of a possessed aunt. Inside were also chess sets. I spent the next couple of hours indulging in treating my body. The place was posh! They even threw rose petals in the toilet, which you come and shit on (somehow dark).
In China, WhatsApp is blocked, so is Instagram messaging, Telegram, most of Google services are useless. No ChatGPT. I had to use the Chinese DeepSeek as my alternative source of directions and information. Getting a ride with the local app Didi was not successful for me. An eSIM from Hong Kong for the day with unlimited internet costed less than $2, so I could have connection with the non-Chinese world.

During the few hours inside the spa, it snowed. So I experienced Beijing with a different view as well. I took the metro to the airport, where I spent the next flight to Bangkok sleeping. In general, I was positively surprised by Beijing. For some moments I thought that Chinese people would have no reason to live in Europe or the West since their life in China is probably better. The transportation system is very efficient. What also caught my attention was the high sense of security. A security guard in each metro car! In each flight as well, there is a security person.

I arrived to Bangkok, took a “Grab” which is the Thai Uber and went to the hotel where Piotr was still sick. Although it was 3:30 am, I went for a pad Thai to kick off the Thai days.

Esperanza the Chicken

A decade and a half ago,
Esperanza was just a chicken,
born with a limp.

Her chicken-mates bullied her:
beak pokes to the neck,
until the feathers fell.
Esperanza developed neck alopecia

I took Esperanza in the basket
of my old bicycle,
along with three rabbits
with incurable diseases,
and rode all the way to Rotterdam.

There was a farm for underprivileged species.
I gave Esperanza some pocket money
and said farewell.

Fifteen years passed.
I haven’t heard from Esperanza
until one evening, on the TV,
I saw she had flourished.

After arriving at Handicapped farm,
scarred by the cruelty of bullying,
but equipped by the true self-determination,
Esperanza wrote a new story:

She worked hard,
laying an egg every day,
filling the farm with limping chickens.
But only Esperanza had neck Alopecia,
and neck scars.

The other animals only saw the empire.
The new generation believed:
all chickens were born with a limp,
and that heroes have neck alopecia.

The old generation said Esperanza was just lucky
she got some pocket money.

The limping chickens saw a role model.
They all shaved the feathers on their necks,
and tattooed there scars,
just like mother-Esperanza.

And this was the story
written by Esperanza.

At 47.3756° north and 8.5427° east

At 47.3756° north and 8.5427° east
Your white, serious-looking shirt,
partly covered by those golden waves of your hair,
clinching my arm under the umbrella
and your “No is No”.

We have come a long way
Somehow we parted,
Somehow we stayed,
It is like we weren’t destined,
but meant to remain

My soul is naked.
Tears.
You, on the sofa in Buenos Aires,
You, in climax,
Me, within.

It’s a marvel
how hearts can ache to connect
but choose,
still,
to remain apart.
We.

Divine, Then Me


I strolled across the Bellevue Bridge on a serene, though cloudy, afternoon
The beauty of the scene soothed any anxiety I might have carried
after an insightful workday.
Beauty always stirs something in me
existential..
“Are you there?”
“Do you have a plan for me?”
“A partner?”
“A purpose?”
A moment later, I noticed the absurdity of this chain of thought.
It had shifted so quickly
from divine-centered to egocentric
I remembered my friend Matija,
and a remark he once made
about a mental shift in the opposite direction.
I concluded that,
in the larger scheme of things,
my last three questions might not matter.
Each of us has a story,
hopefully, non-boringly unique
and not made to fit the norms
that could render it:
forgettable.
Oh God! you see?
I pivoted even here back to me!