“The Frippe” begins as a 4-block stretch of street, closed to motor traffic (except for the occasional rogue scooter and one crazed Fiat). The street is crowded with battered wooden tables heaped with used clothing and various and sundry other things that can be purchased for next to nothing. Reportedly, many of these are European donations (think Big Brother) that come to Tunis by ship in huge bales. Young men stand near (sometimes on) the tables, crying their wares. Moira, Karen, and Paige found nice sweaters and scarves for a dinar or two apiece (a dinar is currently worth about $.70 Canadian); Paige scored a pair of Italian leather boots lined with rabbit fur.
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| Especially for Adaline! |
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| Dough, stove, and pan for making a tortilla-like flatbread served with harissa and egg. |
The Frippe street gives way to a large open lot, crammed with all manner of products: Yet more clothing; household sundries; doors and window frames; calligraphy; ornate silver guitar wall mirrors; curious fishes; heaping-full bags of spices; mounts of olives; live chickens beheaded, gutted, and plucked on order. Best of all were the faces of the men and women in the Frippe, many of them deeply and richly marked by years of sun and hardship.
As I write this, I can still conjure the shocking taste of the juice of these oranges. Marvelous.
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