When I paint my mastepiece

Today is the day we were supposed to be going on the last of our trips. This was going to involve a trip to the Nabeul Market, which is North Africa's largest street market. Then onwards to a spice museum, then after lunch it was going to be a visit to a vineyard for wine sampling. But late last evening June started to feel unwell, so I emailed the holiday company to cancel the trip, since it was supposed to be an 0805 am pick up.
Still this did not deter them, as at half past the hour, thankfully I was awake, the reception phoned to say that the bus was here. So much for the 24-7 service.
Anyway, as I have already said, I was awake early, around five past seven, and I just sat on the balcony watching the other early risers, going about their business. Couples out for walks, people heading to the beach, even at this cool hour, some placing their belongings on poolside loungers as the pool man readies everything for another day.
The tree cutter decided that another palm beside our window needed pruning and set about placing his ladder, which only goes part the way up the tree, he then gets his rope, which has a cloth attached around it for when it goes around his back, and loops it round the tree when he is standing atop said climbing device, knots it, and them sets about, using his chisel type cutting implement, hammering, what looks like, six inch nails into the tree at various heights.
These he uses for temporary hand holds, as, barefooted, he slowly eases his way up to the pinnacle of the trunk of the date palm, before, one-handed hacking away at the thick base of each leaf he intends to remove.
After sitting out for around an hour or so, June woke up, still not feeling to chipper, and after slowly getting showered and dressed we made our way over for breakfast, and to see how she felt after that, as to what we should do on this, our third last day in Tunisia.

Late morning, we got the reception to call a cab for us to take us to old Hammamet, and to the Medina. We were on two minds as to whether we should go there or to the market, but in the end decided on the waterfront and The Medina. This was, with hindsight, a good choice, as the weekly market took all the crowds away, and left those old part not too busy nor hectic. I can imagine that it would be quite easy to get lost in the maze of stall and shops, all contained within a walled protectorate. And by no means did we explore it all, but whichever way you turned, another shop keeper would invite you into view his wares. " No buy, just lookee," they would exclaim. But the maxim around here is, if you pick up an item to look at it, it is all but considered sold. A lot of people don't like this way of doing business and get mightily cheeses off with the traders. But we always smile, and politely move on. A common saying from guys on the street is, "Excuse me sir, don't you recognise me? I am the cook from your hotel ." And then the next thing you know you are off on a trip, or buying some un-needed piece software tourist tack.
I smile, and say, " Which hotel is that?"
On the way out of the maze, we came across an two artists and their studio. No bartering, no hard sell, just a wonderful leisurely chat about his art. And He was very keen to meet artists from abroad. June with her jewels and me with my photography. He now has my email address and my Deviant Art website. This man, and I am so annoyed I have forgotten his name, paints mainly on metal, soaking it a until rust starts to form, and then he utilises the ochre coloured rust in his finished product, as well as etching on it. There is a female artist there also who makes perfumes ( June bought a couple) and various other small art and craft things. We also purchased a piece. I would have loved to buy a small piece from him, but we did not have enough money with us, and getting it home could be a problem.
After lunch at a sidewalk cafe, we went looking for the tourist train that shoots about between the old part and the new part. We saw the sign, but not the pick up point, so we meandered back to the taxi rank and jumped in a yellow cab back to the hotel. And just as we progressed a little on the route back to hotel, we spotted the stop, and a few meters further on, we saw the little carriage hauler approaching.
C'est la vie.
Tonight the four of us are supposed to be going into Yasmine for a night out. But as June still has a painful stomach, that comes and goes, I may end up going on my own. The weather is relatively overcast today, and slightly cooler, only 25 Celsius, in the shade. But still fine.
The weather in Tunisia, which is the smallest African Country, varies between temperatures of up to 50 c in the Sahara south, and minus temperatures in the far north west, where, in winter, it has been known to snow, including a few years ago when there was a meter of the infernal white stuff.