Arriving to Monastir

Despite all the stories I’ve heard about the legend of Monastir, Tunisia ITF Futures, I couldn’t prepare myself for my first day at the resort. Well, a resort is a generous way to describe this hotel on the Mediterranean in the antithesis of peak holiday travel. There isn’t a soul staying in this hotel unaffiliated with the tennis tournaments. Every direction you look, it’s either a player, coach, or parent preparing in some way, shape, or form for the matches to come. It reminds me of a summer tennis camp without the counselors and rules. The all-inclusive buffet was the first thing the receptionist mentioned to me, so before even checking into my room, I was escorted to the buffet. Hesitant to eat much with my practice in an hour, I decided to have a quick nosh and then get my things sorted in my room. Within the first 10 minutes of arriving, the eerie 70’s pop music in the dining room left me anticipating that tomorrow I will feel like Bill Murray on Groundhog Day.

The rest of my afternoon I spent practicing on the court with my roommate Lachlan, a lefty-Aussie with clean strokes and jokes. We bonded over a few mutual Aussie friends we have, and he gave me the run-down for what to expect on-site. The essentials: a small weight room, open bar, busy practice courts, and snack shack. As I toured the hotel before and after dinner, I continued to feel like I was in a time-warp. It’s just odd… maybe it’s the well-oiled machine of the hotel raking in cash from young tennis professionals beginning (or ending) their tennis careers. As I told Lachlan, this is the place where dreams are born or go to die...