Tunisia 2022

Tunis: Where Cultures Meet But Ramadan Rules

Tunis airport does its very best to compete with Delhi and Agadir as the most tortuous passport control we’ve ever experienced, and comes very close indeed to being the most chaotic. Having left Camp Sunshine at half past midnight to take flights through the night and early morning (Hurghada-Cairo-Tunis) such scenes weren’t exactly top of our wish list. 

With minimal airport staff to control the crowds, chaos quickly breaks out and any semblance of a queue soon dissolves into a free for all where disorder rules and tempers fray. In the end it’s only a few minutes short of two hours before we’re finally reunited with our backpacks, during which time a pre-recorded public announcement has repeatedly and laughably reminded the heaving human mass that social distancing rules should be observed. 

One of the first things that strikes us on our initial wander around the centre of the city is the unmissable clash of Arabic and French. Patisseries and baguettes sit comfortably with Berber clothing and the smell of incense, but the bigger clue is in the street names which carry individual mixes: Rue de la Kasbah, Souk des Femmes, Boulevard Bab Menara.

The exciting medina, the old walled city in the centre of Tunis, is packed with souks and tiny twisting alleys and is an enormously stimulating place to walk through, the history of centuries tapping us on the shoulder as we lose ourselves in its maze. This is not, for the most part anyway, a tourist trap, but is still the thriving, bustling merchant town that it always was, many of the streets individually dedicated to specific trades – here the gold merchants, there the women’s clothing shops, next leather goods, followed by hookah street, then pots and pans.

French is heard marginally more than Arabic within the medina, and, unlike so many other souk areas, there is absolutely no pestering, no hassling, just the occasional friendly “bonjour” as we pass the shopkeepers doing what their families have done for generations, selling essentials to locals rather than fleecing tourists. What a wonderfully absorbing place through which to wander.

It feels as authentic as any medina or bazaar we have visited anywhere, exciting yet calm, full of action but not chaotic. Then, passing through the medina and out of the ancient city gate of Bab El Bhar, we are transported in an instant from North Africa to a French city: as we emerge from those time honoured souks we find ourselves in a wide tree-lined boulevard flanked with shops and cafes which are archetypically Parisienne. Except that, reminding us we are still in Ramadan, those cafes are shuttered and their tables and chairs stacked, even in this “Ville Nouvelle” section of Tunis. 

It almost feels incongruous that such a European looking district should be in the jaws of fasting – and then we start to realise that some, hidden behind blanked out windows and closed doors, are quietly servicing those customers who choose not to observe Ramadan. Tentatively, we open the door of one such, Cafe Bonapart (no “e”), and to our delight we have stepped not just into Paris, but into 1970s France, finding ourselves in a smoke-filled cramped coffee bar packed with guys sipping strong coffee and reading newspapers whilst smoking the cigarettes which you can, amusingly, buy one at a time from the smiling owner.

Our base in Tunis is hidden inside the ancient medina in a beautiful old “Dar” with a castle-like interior featuring extensive ornate tiling and magnificent ceilings. It’s a stunning building beautifully renovated and a haven of peace in the style of a Moroccan riad or Indian haveli.

As well as our own Dar, the tight alleys of the medina conceal a large number of beautiful and historic buildings. Dominated by the imposing Zaytuna mosque, the medina hides old palaces, ancient Dar dwellings of the wealthy, numerous other mosques and several medersas (Quranic schools). The whole area absolutely oozes history and ambience. It’s simply wonderful and fabulously atmospheric. It’s also extremely confusing and it’s not long before we give up trying to navigate and instead just wander around different corners until Zaytuna reappears and we regain our bearings.

Yet this wonderful medina still has more to offer over and above the souks and the landmark buildings. This is a genuine old city, its boundaries still easily determinable despite the walls being long gone, almost an island city within the greater metropolis of modern Tunis. Within its boundaries but outside of the souks, multiple tiny lanes wind around compact houses, gorgeous properties sit shoulder to shoulder in cramped yet peaceful lanes. Fifteen per cent of the population of Tunis still live in this tiny circle, a fact which is hard to believe until you wander these cobbled streets and marvel at what you see.

How about some unfamiliar food words. Bssissa, Lban, Chorba Tel Molk, Brik, Mechouia, Houreya, Koucha Allouche and Kammounia have all featured in our food and drink in the first three days here, as on each evening we have indulged in “iftar”. Iftar is the traditional meal taken at sunset during Ramadan to mark the end of that day’s fasting, and features first a large number of small dishes delivered mezze style, followed by the main meat or fish dish, all accompanied by both water and other nutritional (and unusual) drinks.

Taking iftar is an experience all on its own. Forget having choice, forget the concept of menu, forget having a leisurely meal. Within a few short minutes of taking our seat, the dishes start to arrive, usually six courses, most of them delivered simultaneously. No ceremony, no time wasted, everybody being served the same array of dishes. Within a short space of time it’s over, the tables are being wiped and put away and everyone’s moving round to a salon de thė. When your clients haven’t eaten for fifteen hours, nobody wants to hang around.

The meals are incredibly tasty and thoroughly delicious – harissa features heavily and spices and herbs are used liberally, all creating an explosion of flavours which delight the taste buds. It’s a world away from the bland fayre of Egypt.

Talking of Ramadan, there is a repeat here of something we first saw back in Luxor in the early days of the festival. As sunset approaches, this lively city falls utterly silent: pathways empty, traffic vanishes and the city becomes almost as deserted as lockdown, rather like Spanish towns used to be during the siesta. Even the trams stop. But two hours later, everything is buzzing and the city is once again full of life. Everything is alive after dark and even at 10pm shops are reopening their doors and punters are flooding in. Clearly the iftar is family time, home time.

There is a downside to visiting Tunis during Ramadan, though we realise of course that this is purely a selfish angle. With its French influenced cafe culture, gorgeous inviting cafes at every turn, it’s more than a bit frustrating to see them all closed and out of bounds and we feel that we’re missing out on something which is a big part of life here at other times of the year. It also makes a day walking around a city just that bit harder when there is no opportunity to take time out at a table for half an hour.

Nowhere is this more telling than at Place El Halfouine, a sumptuous leafy square nestled beneath proud old buildings, splendid oh so French cafes strung all around, tables which would normally fill the centre stacked idly in the shade. The square itself is accessed from one of the city gates – Bab Souika – along a tight bustling alley crammed with farmers’ stalls. Amazing scents of fresh produce fill the air, trapped by the tight walls and lofty buildings, mint, fennel, cinnamon, oranges and others taking turns to tease our senses.

Once iftar is over, those Parisienne style cafes, silent all day, unstack the tables and chairs and become convivial sites full of chatter, and more cafes appear in the souks where all day there has only been an unmarked closed door. It’s fascinating to witness.

Despite that “missing out” element – and we stress again that it’s just a personal selfish view so of no real relevance – we already feel welcomed and excited by this city with its differing cultures and diverse influences. Tunis airport may not have impressed us, but Tunis the city has in our first few days done its best to win us over, and is without doubt succeeding. 

The Doors & Shops Of Tunis 

Doors and shops. Now there’s two things which hold a fascination for many travellers. Doors because they just do: there’s something irresistibly photogenic about them. Shops possibly because they are a familiar concept whose distortion by different environment is such a tangible measure of a different culture.

Tunis has delivered so much on both fronts that we thought we’d interrupt our commentaries with this gallery. Doors first…..

And on to the shops…..

And to finish, a few mosaics from the walls of the Medina….

The Wider Tunis: Carthage, The Coast And More 

The teenage boys are just as boisterous on the train now as they were half an hour ago performing outrageous gymnastics on the beach, which in itself is pretty impressive, particularly if they’re practicing Ramadan and leaping around like that when they can’t even take on water. Now, on the train, they jump off and run from carriage to carriage at each station, open the doors while the train is moving, swap shirts and throw bags at each other: we just smile at the fact that wherever you are, whatever the culture…..boys will be boys.

We are on the short suburban railway which runs out from Tunis, across the water on a man made causeway and along the coast north of the city, out to the beaches at La Marsa. By taking this route and hopping on and off the train, we explore three coastal towns of very different character. La Goulette has the look of a popular beach town which hasn’t quite recovered from COVID: some restaurants have reopened, some seem to be waiting till after Ramadan and are being repainted and spruced up, others show no signs of life at all. 

At the far end, La Marsa is a bigger resort, though we struggle to work out whether its usual clientele is Tunisian (90% of signs are in Arabic) or international (there’s a KFC). It’s pleasant enough but probably extremely popular given the number of seafront holiday apartments.

But between those two towns is an absolute gem which just has us purring with pleasure from the moment we walk across its fine golden beach to the moment we get back on the train. This is Sidi Bou Said, a gorgeous blue and white village perched way up on a virtually sheer cliff, looking down on the glistening Mediterranean, on boats bobbing in the harbour and on to that stretch of golden sand where families and teenagers swim and play.

Within the village, doors, tables and chairs are painted blue, whilst quiet streets wend their way around snow white cottages. Traders chatter, city visitors wander around the shops, the smell of coffee is in the air even during the day. Think Greek island chora with a dash of North Africa: it’s ridiculously lovely.

Sidi Bou Said sits just beyond the ancient site of Carthage, the modern developments of which are also served by this handy railway. Carthage is held by historians to be pivotal in World history – or at least, it might have been. Having been settled in 814BC, Carthage grew into a major power, dominating the western Mediterranean and colonising parts of southern Iberia, northern Africa and many of the Mediterranean islands, and engaging in numerous wars most notably with Sicily, Greece and Rome.

Its strategic location and extended mercantile network enabled Carthage to become, according to many commentators both contemporary and ancient, “the richest city in the World”. That pivotal moment came when its powerful and iconic general Hannibal came close to defeating the Romans in the second Punic War, the war during which Hannibal famously crossed the Alps on foot. Scholars tell us that, had Hannibal succeeded in defeating the Roman Empire, world history in terms of western civilisation would have been markedly different  economically, politically and socially.

The third Punic War saw the Romans ultimately victorious, and, in true Roman style, Carthage was destroyed, its histories banished, and a new, revitalised Roman city built in its place in particularly lavish style by first Julius Caesar and then Augustus. 

Sacked and invaded many times, often engulfed in combat, razed and rebuilt by the Romans, plundered for materials to build Tunis, and laid siege by many, Carthage almost suffered again in the twentieth century as housing developments were built over the top of ancient ruins, thankfully stopped before too much damage was done.

The ruins of the Roman city are a wonder to walk around, particularly the lower section where the Antonine Baths constitute the third largest Roman baths in the world. After centuries buried beneath the ground, these magnificent structures were only excavated after WW2. This must have been one commanding, bold city, perched here on the very edge of the continent.

The nightly pageant of iftar – the meal at sundown to mark the end of each day of Ramadan fasting – continues to intrigue and educate us, and we have done our best to embrace and become part of the ritual. Whilst a large part of the population desert the streets and head home to make iftar a family occasion, the rest head for the medina and to those places catering for the celebratory meal.

It’s an exciting but slightly surreal experience as we sit alongside the other diners, some food and water already on the table but everybody steadfastly denying themselves so much as a breadcrumb until the muezzin’s call signals the end of the fast and the time has come to eat.

In the last moments before the call, excitement builds like the approach of midnight on New Years Eve. Before experiencing this, we had no appreciation of the euphoria that each Ramadan evening brings, but seeing it first hand, actually being part of it, is a revelation. And then we’re in, multiple dishes arrive quicker than we can eat, and once again our mouths are alive with flavour.

Amongst the courses are some that seem to remain constant and appear at every iftar meal and others which vary from night to night or from cafe to cafe. It is said that an iftar meal provides the perfect balance of nutrients for those breaking a fast and shortly to embark on another: if that is true, then given that this is an ancient unchanged ritual, it shows how much our forefathers knew, long before food fads and “qualified nutritionists” came along.

There has been a need to adjust our own mechanisms to cope with Ramadan in Tunis – not only are restaurants closed all day but buying from shops or market stalls and consuming in public is very bad form – it is considered obscene and insulting for non-Muslims to eat in the open during Ramadan. We even have to be discreet when swigging from a water bottle. So we too have been eating nothing between breakfast and iftar – not quite full fasting but enough to help us engage with the ritual as well as outsiders like us can.

It’s also been back to long trousers (me), covering the shoulders and keeping a head scarf handy (Michaela) and of course alcohol is off the agenda once more. All a bit different from Camp Sunshine!

For our last day in Tunis we just have to go and spend another few hours at Sidi Bou Said, it’s such a gorgeous little place. As we travel, we often keep an eye out for somewhere which could become a home for several months, where we could spend an idyllic summer enjoying the sun and inviting over friends and family. Sidi Bou Said is so close to ticking all the required boxes, but there is one thing missing, and it’s a dealbreaker: there is no alcohol in the village. And let’s face it, if you’re going to spend a summer looking at Mediterranean views like these, then you want to do it with a beer in your hand. Don’t you.

Tunis has been so interesting, educational and fulfilling – and with both Carthage and the coastal towns on the doorstep, our activities have been satisfyingly varied. We head south and inland next, to the ancient town of Kairouan.

In Deeper: To The Sacred City Of Kairouan 

We feel quite a sense of anticipation as we make our way across the nondescript scrubland plain towards the city of Kairouan and step down from the minibus beneath greying afternoon skies. Indeed, there was a time when we couldn’t even have got as far as this: until being taken by the French in 1881, Kairouan was strictly Muslim only with all others barred from even entering the city.

It is today the fourth most sacred city of Islam after Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem, tradition stating that seven pilgrimages to Kairouan equals one pilgrimage to Mecca. The Great Mosque of Kairouan (aka the Mosque Of Uqba) is widely accepted as being one of the largest and most impressive monuments in North Africa and one of the oldest places of worship in the Islamic world, whilst Kairouan itself, a UNESCO World Heritage site, has for centuries been a much revered centre for Quranic education. 

A louage in Tunisia is the equivalent of a dolmus in Turkey and a collectivo in Mexico, a kind of shared minibus taxi which is always a good cheap alternative wherever they exist. Once we’ve made the train journey from Tunis to Kala Kabira it’s absolutely our intention to take a louage across to Kairouan, but in asking the way to the louage station we somehow end up negotiating a price with a gang of “ordinary taxi” drivers and soon find ourselves speeding across the plain.

By one of those unintentional quirks of timing we arrive in Kairouan on the very day of the festival of Qadr, one of the most important dates in the sacred month of Ramadan, commemorating the date when the Quran was first revealed to Mohamed. Exact dates vary, but in Tunisia it is celebrated on the 26th night of Ramadan, and Kairouan is on that night a particular focal point for the celebration with Muslims travelling here from across North Africa to join the festivities. And we’re here too!

The Grand Mosque presides over the city like a castle, sitting just outside the majestic 3.5-kilometre long city wall which encircles the old town and medina, close to the giant ancient kasbah which looks glorious but nowadays houses a 5-star hotel. As we stand gazing at the giant mosque and those proud city walls, there is a very real sense of being somewhere special.

If we had a notion that such a deeply religious location would be solemn and serious, then Kairouan wastes no time in ridding us of any such thought. Daytimes are calm and friendly with laughter commonplace and smiles as natural as in Thailand, then during the evenings Kairouan comes alive and the streets fill with teenagers, young adults and families enjoying life to the full.

We are regularly approached by locals eager to know where we are from; people slip easily into conversation despite the language barrier; when we stop to buy from a market stall, somebody always steps forward to help. It simply feels that everybody is friendly, everybody wants to help, nobody is on the make. When we are struggling with notes and coins, the stall-holder indicates for us to wait because there is more change due to us. Tunisia is definitely not Egypt, not even Morocco.

A starry eyed girl of about 18 strikes up a conversation in the square outside the mosque, in a mix of Arabic, French, English and Google translate, telling us that we would be beautiful parents and that she wants us to adopt her and take her to England. I am perfectly content to execute this plan but Michaela seems less than keen for some reason, which I really can’t quite understand.

Inside the medina, the lanes are still called souks but are more like street markets, wider and more open than most, and – guess what – you can browse the wares without being pestered to buy. Smaller mosques including the beautiful Mosque Of Three Doors are hidden among the lanes, and deep in the heart is Bir Barouta, a slightly weird 17th century well operated by an unfortunate camel destined to forever walk in tethered circles. As far as the well is concerned, we can only tell you this from research as the door was inexplicably locked each time we called by. 

Outside of the medina, and away from the Great Mosque and the kasbah, a thriving city bustles and bounds with a verve and vitality which is contagious: there is something captivating about Kairouan and its people which is making us feel both content and welcome.

Across the ring road from our hotel are the Aghlabid Basins, which look a bit like pointless circular pools but are in fact cisterns built by the Aghlabide people in the 9th century to provide water for the city, holding a total of 68,800 cubic metres. The basins are no longer in use but were an impressive feat of early hydraulic engineering.

These are still strange times. Our hotel in Kairouan – we’re mostly opting for hotels on this trip now after the earlier airbnb horror – is eerily empty and we only catch occasional glimpses of any other guests. Staff busy themselves but always have time to talk, and when we return home at night, our key is out and waiting as if we are the only ones left to come home.

After two cloudy days the sun finally makes an appearance on Friday and the temperature, surprisingly low in the evenings so far, cranks up a little and the skies turn blue for the first time since Tunis. There is something about Kairouan, whether it’s the splendour of its towering mosque, the charm of its subtly illuminated city walls, the verve of its markets or the engaging character of its people, there is just something here which has really floated our boat. Even in Ramadan. Even on cloudy days. Even without beer.

Our time in Kairouan is not quite done but we have certainly taken to it in our time here. From here we start a bit more of a whirlwind tour, with our next stop on the Mediterranean coast where we are likely to reacquaint ourselves with our old friend alcohol. It’s been a while.

Footnote: Anybody remember the awful airbnb apartment in Aswan which we shunned as it was too dirty to stay? The outcome was…a full refund from airbnb, a voucher to the value of 10% of that stay and the apartment is now listed as “unavailable” leading us to wonder if the host was suspended as a result. An appropriate response by airbnb, we would say.

To A Different World: Kairouan To Monastir 

We have barely entered the chaotic louage station before someone spots us – two backpack laden travellers on the move – and points us in the direction of the correct ticket window for Monastir, and as soon as we have our tickets, a second person is there to show us to the right louage. This is just how Tunisia, and Kairouan, is: helpful people everywhere.

For those unfamiliar with this kind of transport, the louage and its counterparts in other countries, there is no timetable, the driver simply waits until all seats are taken and, as soon as they are, he hits the road. With a stroke of luck the Monastir bound louage has two seats left and the driver is waiting for his last two punters just as we rock up, so in less than five minutes from walking into the station we are on our way to the coast. Sometimes things just fall perfectly into place.

Tickets for the 75-minute journey cost £1.74 each; this particular louage carries eight passengers. That means that even if everyone is paying full price, the total  revenue for the trip is about £14 – petrol and labour must both be very cheap here.

Today heralds a point of change on this Africa adventure. We say goodbye to Kairouan on the last day of Ramadan so from here onwards the restrictions of the sacred month are gone; and as well as this we are swapping the holy city for what we expect to be the tourism-heavy resort town of Monastir for a few days. Quite some change on several levels.

Tonight is also the start of Eid, the celebration at the end of Ramadan, a day which traditionally sees families gather together to mark the end of the month, an even bigger celebration than that first day back in Luxor over four weeks ago. Immersing ourselves in iftar – the meal at the end of each day’s fasting – has been a real experience, a privilege and an education. 

Having indulged in iftar nights in our hotel (once), in decent restaurants (there’s no a la carte during Ramadan) and in the souks and alleys with the locals, we feel we’ve done justice to the learning curve. It might not surprise you to learn that our best experiences of iftar have been in those earthy downtown places rather than the more genteel versions in restaurants – not least our very last one at a street kitchen in Kairouan, which was superb. If you ever get chance to do this, our advice is that if you don’t like spicy food then don’t do it, as some of these iftar dishes are in blow-your-head-off territory, and it’s not as if you get any choice. Basically, your choice of meal during Ramadan is “yes please” or “no thank you”.

With Ramadan ending on a Sunday, the Eid celebrations start in earnest on the Monday, the first of three successive days of public holiday, and there is something of a festival feel in Monastir throughout the next two days. There is a tradition of ladies buying a new frock for Eid and, judging by the large numbers of smartly dressed females from toddlers to middle aged out enjoying the holiday sunshine, that tradition continues.

Families meet, children play, crowds mix – there is definitely a sense of the carefree in the air pretty much like public holidays back home, something akin to lively fairground or summer fete. Squares and parks are full all day, popcorn and candy floss trucks do roaring business, the menfolk play with children instead of sitting in the coffee bars. There is considerable feelgood.

With the Eid public holiday coinciding with shoulder season and a quiet time for tourism, we are witnessing something just a bit mystifying too. It’s interesting enough that the restaurants here are rammed with locals despite the fact that they are less authentic Tunisian and more touristic in nature – but the real intrigue is in the consumption of alcohol. Monastir is seemingly full of Muslims drinking, even to excess, evidently.

Muslims with alcohol? Really? What are we witnessing here, we wonder. A release at the end of Ramadan where the locals indulge themselves for a few days and then go back to obedience? Or are Muslims less devout here because of the tourist influence? Is it too easy to defect when temptation is so blatant? After our many weeks out here being part of an altogether different culture in which alcohol plays no part at all, it’s very strange to witness this.

Our base in Monastir is not in the main tourist area around Skanes but a hotel close to the marina, in town. Nevertheless, it’s clear that the town itself is somewhat affected by the tourist market – whilst there’s no doubting we are still in North Africa, there are obvious western influences in everything from clothing (far fewer in traditional Arab dress) to the menus in waterfront eateries. There are more Real Madrid shirts than djellabas in the souks. It’s by no means overdone, Monastir isn’t by any means a hotspot in the worst way and is definitively still Tunisian, but it is clearly a step towards the west compared to both Tunis and Kairouan.

The end of Ramadan feels like something of a release for us too, especially here in Monastir where things are different. For the first time in a month we can stop at a cafe and enjoy a coffee in the sun; for the first time in a month we can enjoy street food such as mlawi or chapati; we can drink water without going into hiding. Experiencing Ramadan and iftar has been a real travel story, but it feels very good to reach the freedom granted by the end of the sacred month.

There is no escaping the fact that Monastir is the birthplace of Tunisia’s favourite son – or should we say favourite father – the much loved and respected former President Habib Bourghiba, he who instigated independence from France, unified and modernised his country and remained President for 30 years. The Bourghiba Mosque looms over the main square but pride of place goes to the man’s splendid mausoleum sitting in grandeur at the end of its own tree lined boulevard. Bourghiba statues are dotted around the town. Tunisia in general reveres this particular hero, Monastir, his home, doubly so.

Apart from these, Monastir’s other dominant building is the “ribat”, or castle, a former garrison close to the shoreline. The ribat is beautifully restored – so much so that as we explore and climb its interior, parts of it look like a new build designed to look like something of great age, rather than the ancient castle which it actually is. There’s terrific views from the tower though. 

The Mediterranean shouts its characteristic shades of blue as it laps the shores, but finds itself competing with afternoon cloud which brings an unseasonable chill to the evening air. It’s a good job that the bars around the attractive marina have indoor space to entertain the locals (coats on), owners of the yachts moored in the harbour (getting rat arsed every night) and namby pamby hotel guests (us) because it isn’t warm enough to eat outdoors.

Those restaurants are very smoky by the way, there is no hint of a smoking ban in Tunisia and pretty much everywhere is a throwback in those terms – and it’s not just the cafes and restaurants; on buses and trains and even in food shops you will find yourself fighting through smoke clouds or being served by a smoking cashier.

This short call in Monastir was intended to be a little break before we resume normal activity levels at the next locations, but we’ve been a little thwarted by lower than expected temperatures. Still, we’ve had a decent beer and wine fix after our long abstinence, and those restaurants around the marina have ticked lots of boxes too.

On we go. Time to move back inland.

The Journey Continues: Monastir-El Jem-Gabes 

Strictly speaking, El Jem isn’t a desert town, but as we step off the louage from Monastir and squint through the haze, it bears all the hallmarks of one. We arrive in a dust storm – or maybe a sand storm – which makes the whole town shimmer in the heat and minarets and palm trees drift in and out of sight. Flags whip and crack in the stiff wind, the sun is clogged and filtered by the sand which is so concentrated that it’s a bit like looking into a fog.

Our glasses and sunglasses are quickly covered in a film of dust, layers of sand particles have coated every parked car and shopkeepers are kept busy brushing the sand off their displays. Market stall holders drape tarpaulins over fresh food, then tie them down with string as their only defence against the hot wind which blasts down every street. The air feels hot and dry yet we’re breaking sweat, our mouths fill with dust as we inhale the storm on every breath. It sure as hell feels like a desert town!

El Jem has parallels with places we’ve seen before on our travels – a small town dominated by one fabulous iconic sight, which in El Jem’s case is the majestic Roman amphitheatre, so wonderful that it is nicknamed the Colosseum of Africa. Indeed, the remains of this particular amphitheatre are more intact than those of its more famous counterpart in Rome.

Although the El Jem is a smaller amphitheatre than Rome, it is still a mightily impressive place, made even more enthralling by its position in the centre of this modest town. Constructed during the 3rd century, the African version provided all of the same bloodthirsty sports to its estimated 30,000 capacity as well as theatrical and musical entertainment. 

Climbing its steep sides now and taking a seat in the sweeping elliptical arena is not only very reminiscent of the first time you wander into Rome’s Colosseum, but is also uncannily familiar to anyone like me who has spent a lifetime watching live sports in modern stadia.

Just how much remains of this amphitheatre is remarkable, so much of it still intact after almost 2,000 years, so it’s even more fascinating to learn that most of what is missing was destroyed intentionally. When the Ottomans realised that the Berbers were taking refuge inside the relic and using it as a hiding place, they simply blew part of the wall away to flush them out.

Our ticket to enter the amphitheatre includes access to El Jem’s museum, which turns out to be an unexpected gem (pun intended), housing the most astonishing collection of Roman mosaics we’ve seen anywhere. When excavating the remains of the Roman city of Thysdrus on which El Jem now lies, archeologists uncovered extensive areas of mosaic flooring, for which the shifting desert sands had provided the perfect protective cover through the centuries.

Many of the mosaics were painstakingly lifted from position, then pieced back together vertically on the walls of the museum. The result is a fabulous and comprehensive display full of meaningful intricate detail stretching through several display rooms throughout the building. Behind the museum lie the remains of villas and baths in customary Roman city layout, some featuring those floor mosaics which have been purposefully left in situ rather than mounted in the museum. It’s all rather good!

As our short stay in El Jem unfolds the dust storm subsides but the warm winds remain, the sun now golden rather than the pale ball it became when hidden by clouds of sand. Whereas the sand storm sunset is an insipid non-event, the second night brings a warm and deep orange glow across the skyline.

In terms of attractions, there isn’t much to see in El Jem, but that which is here is absolutely well worth the diversion. 

Probably because we’re used to paying such outrageous rail fares at home, we’re still amazed when we come to pay for train tickets abroad: the 3-and-a-half-hour journey from El Jem to Gabes sets us back about £7 for the two of us, in first class. The scenery as we travel would probably not win any awards. Once out of El Jem, we are soon passing a huge flat plain filled with millions of olive trees, after which we go through a huge flat plain filled with millions of olive trees. Eventually we start to catch glimpses of the Mediterranean, but its glinting blue surface is some distance the other side of a huge flat plain filled with millions of….yeah you get the drift.

Approaching the city, the train rumbles past the cement works, oil refineries and chemical plants which help to make Gabes one of Tunisia’s main industrial centres and the country’s sixth largest conurbation. For us, Gabes is a one night stand, simply a convenient point from which to collect a rental car and continue our adventure.

With limited time here we take a single stroll around the city centre, where there seems to be clues that Gabes is relatively prosperous. We suppose that an industrial city such as this won’t have suffered as much through the dearth of tourism over the last couple of years and maybe employment is still reasonably reliable. 

Looping back from the city centre round towards the seafront, we arrive at the city’s fishing port where we find very real evidence of thriving industry: this is one serious fishery. From small craft to hulking trawlers the fleet fills the creek-like harbour, mounds of fishing nets sit dockside, the sound of refrigerated trucks ready to hit the road and feed the nation fills the air, while more trucks sit in silence ready for the next incoming haul. Now and again a crew is busy unravelling a net and extracting today’s catch.

Large seagulls and fat cats scavenge the plentiful waste, discarded crab shells crunch under the wheels of departing trucks. One crew smile and pose as Michaela steals a photograph, grinning as they toss the lifeless fish into a plastic tub. This is indeed no mean port: the Gulf Of Gabes is responsible for over 50% of Tunisia’s fish production, hauling in over 50,000 tonnes of fish per annum. It occurs to us that maybe we should eat one.

Just a hundred metres or so up from the harbour entrance is the aptly named Restaurant Fruits de Mer – interior and outdoor dining on one side of the road, fresh fish cooking over charcoals on the other. We’re still swooning over the aroma of the grilled fish when we’re swamped by the smell of seafood pasta which is filling the air around the restaurant steps.

But it’s got to be the grilled fish, straight from boat to charcoal to plate, and it doesn’t disappoint, it’s just fabulous. So is the soup laced with harissa, the mix of leaves and garlic which we’ve forgotten the name of, and so is even the rice so perfectly cooked and soaked in spicy red sauce. The meal is fabulous. The bill is less than ten quid, for two of us.

In nine days time we will be back in Gabes for another one night stand when we return the rental car. There isn’t the slightest doubt where we’ll be eating that night.

Going Underground: Matmata

As soon as we heard that some former troglodyte homes beneath the ground had been converted into a place where you can stay the night, we knew we had to do it. The temptation of spending a night in one of these most unusual cave dwellings was just too much to resist, especially when our route south and west was taking us close to their very location.

An entire population of troglodyte people lived in and around what is now Matmata, in man made cave dwellings constructed in intriguing fashion. Some of these cave dwellings were simply hewn into the rock, often behind tight entrances between tall natural pillars, but others, like the one where we’re spending this unusual night, were created differently.

Basically, the troglodytes dug a large pit in a suitable piece of raised ground, and then created an entrance tunnel through the rock into the area of the pit. From the central pit area, rooms and houses were constructed by digging into the sandstone sides of the pit, creating the caves and then sealing the walls and roof with lime. Just a few, like ours, have now been converted into homestays.

The story of the troglodytes, Berbers by origin, has a couple of fascinating twists. Until 1969, little or nothing was known of their existence and these lands were thought to be occupied by no one other than nomadic tribes with herds of goats and sheep. But that year – 1969 – brought unprecedented weather when heavy rain, so rare in these parts, fell unabated for 22 days and nights, causing catastrophic damage to cave homes through flooding and, in some cases, collapse.

In desperate need of help, a delegation left for Gabes to seek assistance from the authorities, who until the arrival of that delegation had no knowledge of these peoples’ existence. Struck by the plight of this previously unknown race, funds from the Governorate were provided in order to construct permanent homes and create the village of Matmata itself, though many of the troglodytes declined to move and chose to rebuild their own cave dwellings in the rocks. And then comes another astonishing twist, in the shape of the movie industry.

Now, I don’t know the correct word for the opposite of a “film buff”, but whatever the word is, then I am one. Apart from a small number of movies watched with my children in their younger years, I’ve never got into watching and have only ever seen a mere handful. I think I always thought I’d get round to it when I grew up. Michaela is a much more experienced watcher but is not what you would call a fanatic.

Anyway, back to the troglodytes. One of the cave house locations, not the one we’re in but one right in Matmata itself, was used extensively during the filming of Star Wars, and over the years has become a popular tourist attraction, though according to the very friendly proprietor, most visitors come and go on day trips rather than spend the night there (which you can)…….

That particular cave house, named Sidi Idris, was apparently Luke Skywalker’s family home, the Lars homestead, on the planet Tatooine, just one of many locations in Tunisia used in the Star Wars series. It’s not altogether surprising that this other worldly landscape was used to represent a different planet, you wouldn’t need to change much to make it convincing. Nowadays the dwelling itself shamelessly but understandably milks the Star Wars theme, yet the surrounding village is surprisingly gimmick free and you could conceivably miss the connection – maybe the effect of two years of precious few tourists.

Our own cave house is a few kilometres east of Matmata in the hamlet of Tijma, where the more we study the view, the more we can see that the landscape is peppered with cave entrances, evidence of so many more former troglodyte homes. Wandering around the arid surroundings, we are struck by the absolute tranquility; now and again a car passes by on the nearby road but between vehicles there are just bird calls and silence – the kind of silence which is almost a sound in its own right.

We perch on a hillock for a while, just listening to the silence and studying this dusty, unyielding land. As we gaze at the sun slowly creeping below the mountains which fade into the dusk, we are struck by a sense of timelessness: Berber shepherds have watched the sun go down over this unchanging landscape in just the same way for centuries.

Like so many we people we meet on our travels currently, the cafe owner in Matmata speaks eloquently about the devastating effects of the pandemic on livelihoods, detailing not just the lack of income but also the exodus of workers previously employed in tourism. 

“They’ve all gone home, there is nothing here now”, he says, sadly. “Three years ago life was good, now it’s so hard”.

He also tells us there has been no significant rain in Matmata through the whole 2-year pandemic period, which doesn’t make life any easier either. Next day, as we wake from a surprisingly good night’s sleep in our cave home and peer out into the daylight….it’s raining.

The French-Tunisian couple sharing our homestay laugh at our expense over breakfast.

“You English, you even bring your English weather to the desert!”

Empty Roads, Desert Rain & Mirages: Matmata-Douz-Tozeur

It’s fair to say that the journey from Matmata to Douz isn’t the most challenging foreign drive we’ve ever undertaken, with long stretches of empty road cutting a perfect straight line through the desert. In terms of civilisation, there is nothing: a good hour of roadway passing not a single building, let alone anything as grand as a village.

In fact the greatest – maybe the only – challenge is the patches where the sand has covered the road, the tarmac has all but disappeared and the grip of our tyres is about as good as a stiletto on a polished floor. At last we reach signs of life as we pull into Douz, in fact signs of life are plentiful with charcoal grills smoking, mopeds humming and lively conversations buzzing.

Douz, known as the gateway to the Sahara, is very definitely a desert town. Fine golden sand finds every crevice, corner and doorway, blows along every street and follows each passing car in a swirling golden plume. Even the clouds have pinkish underbellies as they reflect the desert beneath.

The best way to see a Sahara sunset, they tell us, is on a camel, so it’s out into the desert on a 2-hour camel ride for our first Douz sundown, during which time my head is filled with two thoughts. One is the fear that this ride will end in disaster like our last one did (you can read about that HERE), the other is that my animal will suss out that I ate camel tagine recently and seek revenge for consumption of his cousin.

But it’s all OK. The ride is serene, the sunset warm orange, and neither of those fears play out. Handling the Sahara sand is like sifting flour, it’s so soft and fine that it drifts silkily through our fingers and takes on an almost liquid form as it trickles down the dunes. 

Even before Tuesday afternoon arrives, lots of Tunisians have been moaning about the weather – too much cloud, why is summer so late and even, on one occasion, “it’s freezing today”. Well to us English it’s definitely not been “freezing”, but Tuesday afternoon brings with it a surprise gift in the shape of a thunderstorm and torrential downpour. Here we are at the gateway to the mighty Sahara where it hardly ever rains, quietly enjoying some barbecued lambs liver, when large raindrops start to smatter the pavement and thunder starts to rumble around the town and suddenly it’s “novelty selfie” time in the pouring rain for the local youngsters.

“Why go to Douz?” , someone had asked earlier in this trip, “there’s nothing there”. They were definitely wrong in our book, Douz is a classic oasis town and being right on the edge of the Sahara has a buzz all of its own, and is an attractive and interesting town in its own right.

Yet the excitement builds still further as we move on from Douz and set off on surely one of the world’s most curious drives. To make our way from Douz to Tozeur we have to cross Chott El Djerid, the largest salt pan in the Sahara, and what a uniquely alluring and mysterious place it is. This incredible salt lake, partly under water in winter but mostly dry – like today – in summer, covers nearly 2,500 square miles and is around 160 miles long east to west.

Highway P16 takes us across the vast, salt encrusted dry lake on a narrow causeway, different colours twinkling as the salt crystals dazzle in the sunlight. For miles and miles across the centre, nothing can grow in this harsh saline environment which at its lowest is 25 metres below sea level. As we near the last quarter of our crossing, the flooded area of the lake comes into view, the surface of the shining water reflecting the sunlight, the headland at the tip of the oasis, and the sky. It’s like approaching a beautiful stretch of coastline.

Except it isn’t any such thing: as we near the water, the whole scene vanishes, there is no water, the headland is just shadows; there is nothing there but more salt encrusted land. What we were seeing was a true mirage – a fata morgana – and we are in disbelief. We’re not sure what we believed about mirages before this, but what we have both just witnessed is absolutely crazy. It was so real, yet it simply wasn’t there. Chott El Djerid is famous for mirages, but seeing is believing!

Underfoot, the salt encrusted surface is like walking on a cheesecake base, crunchy yet soft and now and again soft enough for a foot to sink. When it does so, the water which lurks just below the salty crust, oozes to the surface. In places, trenches have been dug, within which the intense overhead sun will soon cause the water to evaporate and leave behind pure white salt ready to be “mined”. Underground minerals cause the water in these trenches to vary in colour, the deep red iron infused water just one more crazy sight in this mind blowing terrain.

We’re still talking about what we’ve just seen as we pull into Tozeur, the oasis town on the salt lake’s northern shores, where the ornate and precise architecture, unique to this region, is immediately obvious and immediately appealing. This attractive town is, despite its small size, the administrative centre and largest town of the region: but then, in an area where palm trees outnumber people by 150 to 1, it was never going to be over-populated.

People here are quick to tell us – in fact people told us before we got here – that Tozeur is different from the rest of Tunisia, not just because of the textured brickwork which makes its buildings so smart, but also because the population considers itself to be “of the Sahara” foremost, rather than Tunisian.

The unusually decorative brickwork is though what gives Tozeur its appeal. What was originally an expression of wealth and power in the 15th century has been perpetuated ever since and still features in new construction today. Small sized, almost Romanesque, yellow-brownish bricks are laid on an uneven vertical plain to create patterning and symbolism: the result is very pleasing to the eye, especially where new and old are in close proximity.

Being an oasis town, Tozeur is surrounded by heavy concentrations of date palms, the fruit having provided trade and wealth for the town for centuries, and is still today a primary source of local income along, of course, with tourism. As elsewhere throughout Tunisia, there is usually a bowl of dates on our table regardless of our choice of meal.

Museums, tourist attractions and indeed a few upscale hotels hide within the palmeraie, whilst mosques, more museums and the former home of the regional king are all tucked inside the beautiful old town medina where the regional architecture is perhaps at its most enchanting.

All of this is real, and this time nothing is a mirage, not even the beer on the drinks menu at Restaurant de la Republique – though it is served in metal beakers just to keep it out of view, so you can’t see it even though it’s there. The very opposite of a mirage, in fact.

Oasis: Days In The Sunshine And A Bit Of Morning Glory

Haircuts are something which need consideration when travelling longer term. Now, some who may have noticed that nature has already removed most of my hair will say that haircuts can’t possibly be a source of angst for me – and you’re right, they’re not. But bear in mind that when one doesn’t have much hair, a small amount of growth in millimetres is a large amount of growth in percentage terms – so whilst it’s not angst ridden, the problem is one of regularity.

Michaela and her hair is of course a completely different matter, one which involves equal quantities of research, reconnaissance, perseverance and, ultimately, courage. Once through that threshold and into the chair, it’s wing and a prayer time. She’s not yet had a total disaster but there have been a couple of…..errrrr….close shaves shall we say, including in Egypt and here in Tunisia where they seem a bit too fond of straight lines for Michaela’s taste. It’s fair to say that the current Tozeur styling is not her all time favourite.

By Friday, more typical days of early desert summer have arrived, with unbroken clear blue skies, temperatures in the 30s and the hot sun directly overhead. Taking a drive north from our current base of Tozeur we visit three other oasis towns, Mides, Chebika and Tamaghza, for spectacular hikes through deep canyons and pretty oases where date palms, oleander and pomegranate provide colour.

Stopping on the way to take in the views and sample some jus de palmier (palm juice – odd stuff in that it only has a 3-hour life after collection before it starts to ferment) a helpful guy, Abdul, tells us of a hike to a beautiful canyon and waterfall where “only one in a thousand tourists go” because “the tour bus not take them there”. 

He draws a map of directions in the sand and we decide to give it a go. Six miles later, in Tamaghza, he’s waiting in the car park, having somehow got there before us on his moped, and is now offering his services as a guide. Sometimes you just have to admire the guile of these people! In his defence he does take us off the beaten track through a spectacular trail which we wouldn’t have found on our own.

Back on our own and unguided, our Mides canyon hike puts us within sight of the Algeria border in the Atlas foothills before us; while in both Chebika and Mides there are remnants of villages destroyed and abandoned in the 1969 floods which also wreaked havoc on the troglodyte homes back in Matmata. The depth of the gorges is evidence enough of how powerful the surging water must sometimes be in these parts; those floods must have been incredibly fierce to be so destructive.

A drive westward along the northern edge of the salt lake brings us to Nefta with its sunken palmeraie through the centre providing classic oasis scenery, but unfortunately for the town most visitors turn right and head 14 kilometres across some truly barren desert landscapes to a remote location named Oumg Jemal. The reason is Star Wars again, where an artificial village created in Berber style fulfilled the role of Mos Espa in the movie series. It’s a bit of a strange sight, a rundown place literally miles from anywhere out in the lonely desert, slowly decaying as it is left to rot by humans and simultaneously reclaimed by the Sahara, occupied during the day by a handful of hawkers hoping that the tourists who call in on their “4×4 desert trek” will buy some of their tat for a few dinar.

Star Wars fans would probably be more edified by these photos than by an actual visit, so here you go….

So what’s the story (about) morning glory? Well….

Watching the sunrise over the Chott El Djerid salt plains is a must-do here, so it’s a 4am alarm and a pre-dawn drive out past roaming dogs and silent palms, and whilst the renowned changing colours of the sand are subtle but beautiful, the sight of the sun pushing up above the mountains is indeed glorious. Darkness lifts quickly before the eastern sky turns first orange and then pales to honey then back to orange before the blazing sun pushes above the mountains and races upward with almost indecent haste.

Once clear of the horizon it heads quickly for the skies, shortening the first long shadows of the day and soon casting discernible heat down on to the baked plains below. And it does indeed get hot today, 36C by lunchtime.

Our time in the very pleasant town of Tozeur is coming to an end; ahead of us now is a one night stand in Gabes, really just to return the rental car, and then to complete this adventure a few days on the island of Djerba. Whilst here in the Djerid region we’ve visited six or seven oasis towns, all attractive in their own way but Tozeur is without doubt the nicest. Visit these towns in the morning or the evening and you will love the bustle and character, visit in the afternoon and you will discover a ghost town where the world exists behind closed shutters.

One of our real aims here was to ride the famed Lezard Rouge train through spectacular canyons but sadly it was out of commission at the time of our visit. But, as ever, we don’t look back in anger.

To The Last Place…On To Djerba Island 

“Can I ask you something personal?”, he says from behind his camel dinner, in that way that only an American would just five minutes after introductions, “Do you think the guy who runs our hotel is kinda rude?”

Well no, actually, he’s been fine, but, as far as Dennis and his cousin Bonnie are concerned, our maitre d’ seems to have failed to have made a connection. As it turns out, Dennis and Bonnie had spotted something that we hadn’t. In the way that Americans do.

Because let’s fast forward now to our departure date, when immediately after breakfast a maid bursts into our room without knocking on the door, looks us in the eye and mutters something Arabic at finding we are only just packing. A few minutes later, at 8.40am, we get a call from reception demanding to know when we’ll be leaving. Check out time is 12 noon. Rude huh!?

Using private or family run hotels brings with it the fun of staying in places which reflect the character of the owner – what we English might call the Basil Fawlty effect – and maybe we just got a piece of it. Well hats off, Dennis, you saw it first!

So our final desert drive is from Tozeur back to Gabes where we drop off the car and revisit the terrific fish restaurant by the harbour where we enjoyed a great meal nine days ago. En route we stop off in El Hamma for coffee, street food and ATM, and for the first time in the entire Tunisia tour we find ourselves in a truly Arabic town where nobody we meet speaks French, let alone English. The street food, by the way, is fantastic, as is the grilled fish in Gabes.

And so to our final destination on this trip. There’s two ways to get to the island of Djerba: via ferry from Jorf or by travelling further south and crossing the manmade causeway/bridge by road. Disappointingly our louage driver takes the latter option and deprives us of a ferry ride which we’d been looking forward to.

For this last week of our North Africa trip we’re now done with hotels and are back in the more familiar surroundings of an apartment, and it feels good to have our own space once again.

Something odd has happened over the last few days too: on the last day in Tozeur, my legs decided they’d had enough and flatly refused to walk any distance, then the next day in Gabes Michaela fell asleep before 9pm and didn’t wake till morning. Clearly after nearly 60 days of activity our bodies have finally objected to being controlled by our teenage minds! Perfect timing then that we find ourselves in a ground floor apartment with garden and sun terrace about 50 yards from the beach, food shops and a booze shop (“The Cave”) just down the road, to unwind for a while. 

Our apartment here is a couple of miles from the village of Mezraya and a 10-minute taxi ride from the island’s main town of Houmt Souk. Djerba Island is a popular holiday destination for continental Europeans yet not so much for the British apparently – the flags of European nations mark several of the sights but again ours is conspicuous by its absence. Away from the main “zone touristique” which is south of here, this is a decent location.

Houmt Souk has plenty of visitors currently and is without doubt the most European influenced town we’ve seen on this trip. Yes there are souks and yes there are mosques and yes there is Arabic clothing, but there’s also cafes in leafy squares, glasses of beer in open view, and people in summer clothes. For anything Houmt Souk loses in authenticity, it gains in being a perfect place to end a trip which for us has embraced so much variety. 

Thursday night, 19th May. Stars shine despite the light pollution, the sea breeze bends the palm trees and whispers secrets about the coming summer, the Mediterranean kisses the sand with a gentle sibilance rather than a roar. The lights of small fishing boats bob out at sea, now and again a taxi light glows primrose yellow as it cruises past hoping for a fare.

Through the curved doorway of La Taverne, the sound of the blues drifts skywards on the breeze, passionate guitar solos going straight to the heart and straight to the tear ducts. The scent of good food fills the air, glasses clink and there is even the occasional sound of cocktail shakers. Two thirds of this trip has been alcohol free, we’ve worked through Ramadan and engaged with iftar, evenings have been short and indulgence has been little more than a memory.

And now we’re in La Taverne with its dimmed lights, candlelit tables, wailing blues guitars and well stocked bar. I smile at Michaela, she smiles back and we raise our glasses to the joys of travel. These two months have been an experience and a learning curve and a journey deep into another culture. Tonight, here in La Taverne, we are ourselves again.

Djerba: Rich Jewish History & The Riches Of Street Art

The island of Djerba has a unique and fascinating history of huge significance for those of Jewish faith. Legend has it that when Nebuchadnezzar II destroyed the Temple Of Solomon during the destruction of Jerusalem in 586BC, the fleeing high priests took with them sections of the temple, settled on Djerba and used the remnants to commence construction of a synagogue on the island.

Legend or fact? Story or history? DNA testing of the modern day community has revealed a high level of Kohanim lineage – direct descendants of the early high priests, so the story may well be founded on truth. The Jewish community on Djerba has survived and indeed thrived, the synagogue, known as El Ghriba, is still in use today and has been a place of worship continuously for over 2,000 years, making it the oldest synagogue in Tunisia and a destination for an annual pilgrimage for Jews from across North Africa and Europe.

At its height the Jewish community on Djerba numbered over 100,000, though nowadays estimates of the current population are around 1,300, still a significant community in an Arab land such as Tunisia. Despite the fact that the Djerba people as a whole have an enviable record of harmony and integration between Jews and Muslims, the pilgrimage has regrettably been the scene of violence and terrorist attacks on occasion – most notably in 2002 when an Al-Qaeda truck bomb killed 21 people, mostly German and French visitors. Tensions prevail: Tunisia has no diplomatic relationship with Israel, and Israeli nationals are currently barred from entry into the country.

Reportedly the synagogue has a plain exterior and is lavish within, though unfortunately we can’t provide any photos to show this, having visited on two successive days only to be told the place is ”closed till tomorrow”. Well, that’s now, for us, a tomorrow which will never come.

El Ghriba synagogue sits just outside the small island town of Erriadh, which is also home to something else, very different but perhaps equally remarkable: Djerbahood. Instigated from Paris in 2014, Djerbahood was a street art event in which artists from across the globe descended on the little town to create no less than 250 works of art.

Over 150 artists contributed, piecing together what we think is one of the most vibrant and exciting examples of public art we’ve seen anywhere in the world. Some of the original pieces are a little worn eight years on, but many have been restored and many new or replacement pieces added to this incredible display, making it an ever changing, always evolving collection.

Walking around Erriadh brings continual surprises and wow moments, not least because the traditional architecture provides the perfect backdrop for this remarkable metamorphic exhibition which features many representations of local life and local people and often incorporates the permanent architectural features of the building into the piece.

Enough words about it, browse some more for yourself:-

As we prepare to leave Djerba and bring down the curtain on this adventure, around us the season is starting. Closed cafes are opening, hotel car parks are filling, the beaches are being raked and cleaned and jet aeroplanes are coming in over the coast for the first time since we arrived. As if on cue, the temperature rises and the sun blazes just in time to scorch the newly arrived white bodies. Maybe the first normal season for three years is about to start.

One last word before we wind up this trip and head home. In previous posts (particularly Crete last year) we mentioned the legend of the lotus eaters, those who with Odysseus became stuck on an island, falling so much in love with the place that they lost the desire to return home. The island in that legend was Djerba.

Fitting perhaps that we should find ourselves here then, at the end of one journey and less than a month from starting the next one. Michaela and I may well have eaten our version of the lotus.

To end, here’s some more Djerbahood. Work through the slideshow to see more…..