Trip to Hammamet

Last weekend, since everything was closed for Eid, I took a trip to the beach town of Hammamet. Hammamet is popular for Europeans, but I was the first American for most of the Hammamet residents I met. It’s a weird sensation, and I felt like any quirks I had might be generalized as a thing Americans do. I ended up trying to strike a balance between friendly and sincere, since insincere enthusiasm is one of the main complaints I’ve heard about Americans while abroad.

I enjoyed the gentle waves and clear turquoise water, surrounded by families and young people excited to celebrate the end of Ramadan. Lying on the beach in the brilliant sunshine, it didn’t seem possible that a year ago, 54 miles to the south in the resort town of Sousse, a young man took the lives of 38 people.

But there’s no atmosphere of fear here in this very similar beachfront town, no lingering anxiety preventing Tunisians from going to the beach. Life goes on. Kids build sand castles, and Egyptian pop music plays obnoxiously from nearby speakers. 

I don’t know, statistically, how safe I am. I’ve only been here a month. But before I came, I consulted with security experts who told me Tunisia could be safe if I was cautious. There is some mild street harassment (“bonjour,” “ça va” “hey baby”), but it’s not explicit, unlike some catcalling in New York, for example. I feel safe: on the beach, walking downtown, taking the bus to the office.

For the past few days, the shootings of young black men and of police have been the most common thing people have spoken to me about regarding America, frowning and shaking their heads. They’re concerned about race relations in America. They are watching, as they are watching the elections, to see what happens next. And I wonder, am I safer as a young white female in Tunisia than a young black man in the US?
 

Musician in the Hammamet medina