What is life in Tunisia really like when infrastructure, cultural influences, and personal privileges collide head-on?
In this third part of my series “A Country Beautiful to Die For,” I talk about power outages, a very expensive veal fillet – and what happens when Swiss trust in systems meets Tunisian reality.
Last Saturday on Valentine’s Day, I bought a kilo of veal fillet.
Because nothing says “independent woman” more than spending way too much money on expensive meat while being spectacularly single.
It arrived late.
Very late.
In a delivery box that only inspires trust if you firmly believe in fate.
I told myself, it’s February. It’ll be fine.
Power outage in Tunisia – when the fridge no longer cools
Sunday morning: power outage.
No electricity. No heating. The wind wreaks havoc inside the apartment despite the windows confidently described as “closed” by the Tunisians themselves. I wrapped myself in blankets, drank coffee, and felt dramatic but brave.
And then it hits me again.
The fillet.
A piece of meat worth roughly a Tunisian week’s wages. It’s sitting in a fridge that’s no longer cold.
Swiss security mindset vs. Tunisian reality
And here my Swiss conditioning clashes hard with reality.
For three days – from Saturday to Tuesday – my emotions revolved around this fillet.
Throw it away?
That would be safe.
That would also be decadent, spoiled European behavior.
Eating?
That could be bold.
Or fatal.
I was torn between two inner voices:
Voice one:
“Just throw it away. Don’t be stupid.”
Voice two:
“Only spoiled Swiss princesses waste meat that’s worth so much. Pull yourself together.”
Meanwhile, my anxiety disorder and I were already rehearsing our stay in a dramatic public hospital. I saw myself fighting against mysterious bacteria under flickering neon lights. Heroic. Tragic. A bit theatrical.
Learning to trust – or at least smell the meat
The AI suggested I just smell the meat.
Where I come from, we don’t smell meat. We trust the systems. We trust the expiration dates. We trust that an army of regulations between cow and consumer has already smelled it for us.
I am an adult woman who has changed continents.
And I don’t know how raw veal is supposed to smell.
So I smell it.
Is that vinegar?
Or my imagination?
Or the scent of my fragile European innocence dissolving?
At some point, I decided I needed a second opinion.
Not from the AI.
Not from my mother in Switzerland.
From my very attractive Tunisian neighbor.
I waited until we met at the café in the evening to watch football.
I casually asked, “Could you maybe come over later and check my meat?”
I held eye contact a second longer than necessary. Just long enough to make the sentence go from culinary to conversational.
He blinked once.
“Sure.”
Later in my kitchen, I placed the fillet on the countertop like evidence in a court case.
He stepped closer. Leaned forward. Examined it with calm concentration. Pressed lightly on it. Smelled it. Assessed texture and color with the seriousness of a forensic expert.
After half a minute, he straightened up and said calmly:
“It’s good.”
That was it.
Apparently, my carefully constructed ambiguity was translated as:
Neighbor needs practical help with protein supply.
I was relieved about the meat.
Less so about my seduction skills.
Living in Tunisia also means: putting drama into perspective
I cooked it.
It was excellent. Tender. Perfect. Worth the drama.
After about 200 grams, I had another realization:
I generally don’t actually like meat that much.
Luna, my dog girl, on the other hand, experienced the most beautiful belated Valentine’s Day dinner of her life.
And so here we stand now.
Four days of existential crisis.
Moral philosophy about food waste.
Imaginary hospital scenes.
Failed flirting strategy.
Luxury protein panic.
And all this because I couldn’t admit the obvious:
I could have made a vegetable casserole.
Tunisia teaches you many things!
How to smell meat.
How to deal with your privileges.
How to survive your own melodrama.
And how to flirt unsuccessfully in at least two languages.
Tunisia.
A country you could die for.
FAQ – Everyday life and living in Tunisia
Depending on the region, temporary outages may occur, particularly in winter or during maintenance work. They are less common in tourist areas, but cannot be ruled out.
Basically, yes – however, cold chains are not always comparable to European standards. Common sense and your own perception are important.
Dealing with uncertainty. In Europe, many people place their trust in systems. In Tunisia, people rely more on personal judgement and relationships.
More posts from the series ‘Tunisia – A Country Beautiful Enough to Die For’
More tunisian madness:
Living in Tunisia – Tunisia: a country to die for (1)
