I didn’t know whether I was being kidnapped or rescued—that was what made my one big decision so difficult. That and the fact that I was young and foolish, and more than a little anxious about being stranded in the North African desert.
It all began quite innocently. Our bus had deposited Alan, my affable traveling companion, and myself at the door of a small, clean hotel in a dusty Tunisian village. The buildings were two stories high at most, covered with plaster, and whitewashed against the powdery red dust that enveloped the town and seemed to stretch forever. In the desperate heat of late afternoon, the place appeared to be completely deserted. Not a single shop was open and the dirt streets were empty: no vehicles, no pedestrians, not even a stray dog.
Inside, the 1940s-era hotel was as empty as the street. There were no brochures advertising nearby attractions (I suspected there were no nearby attractions); there was no “We accept VISA, MasterCard, and American Express” sign. That was okay; I had travelers’ checks. There was no bouquet of silk flowers, no table, no couch on which weary travelers could rest. A lone white straight-backed chair stood sentry on the floor of exquisitely patterned blue and red ceramic tiles.
I had only just met Alan, a wandering college student like myself, that morning. But I quickly decided he’d be great to travel with: he seemed friendly, calm and reasonable—not the type to freak out if a bus schedule changed or a train was delayed. Plus he spoke a little French, which I did not. Alan had a quick, cryptic conversation with the hotel clerk, and then translated for me. The clerk had suggested that he hitch a ride to the local bar/restaurant—six miles out of town—for a beer and a bite to eat. It didn’t occur to either of us that a woman shouldn’t also venture out, and I was eager to see some sights, meet the locals, and have dinner. Of course I went along.
In retrospect, I realize I should have known better. We were in Tunisia, a country where women stay indoors and cover up like caterpillars in cocoons. The guidebooks had warned me to cover my shoulders and legs, and I felt quite modest and accommodating in a button-up shirt and baggy jeans.
