Monastir buying snow

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Monastir buying snow

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Zadig & Voltaire Monastir Skull Sweater

Monastir buying snow

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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. Doors and shops. Shops possibly because they are a familiar concept whose distortion by different environment is such a tangible measure of a different culture. Doors first….. 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….. 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. 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. 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 BC, 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. All a bit different from Camp Sunshine! 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. The Grand Mosque presides over the city like a castle, sitting just outside the majestic 3. 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. 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, cubic metres. The basins are no longer in use but were an impressive feat of early hydraulic engineering. These are still strange times. 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. 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. Footnote: Anybody remember the awful airbnb apartment in Aswan which we shunned as it was too dirty to stay? An appropriate response by airbnb, we would say. 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. 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. 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. 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. Monastir is seemingly full of Muslims drinking, even to excess, evidently. Muslims with alcohol? 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? Our base in Monastir is not in the main tourist area around Skanes but a hotel close to the marina, in town. There are more Real Madrid shirts than djellabas in the souks. 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. Bourghiba statues are dotted around the town. Tunisia in general reveres this particular hero, Monastir, his home, doubly so. 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. 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. 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. 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. It sure as hell feels like a desert town! 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, capacity as well as theatrical and musical entertainment. 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. 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. 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. 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…. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 , 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 — — 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. 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. Michaela is a much more experienced watcher but is not what you would call a fanatic. Anyway, back to the troglodytes. 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. 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. 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. The ride is serene, the sunset warm orange, and neither of those fears play out. 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. 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, square miles and is around 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. What we were seeing was a true mirage — a fata morgana — and we are in disbelief. 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. 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. 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 to 1, it was never going to be over-populated. 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. The very opposite of a mirage, in fact. Haircuts are something which need consideration when travelling longer term. Michaela and her hair is of course a completely different matter, one which involves equal quantities of research, reconnaissance, perseverance and, ultimately, courage. 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. He draws a map of directions in the sand and we decide to give it a go. Sometimes you just have to admire the guile of these people! 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 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. Star Wars fans would probably be more edified by these photos than by an actual visit, so here you go…. 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. 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. In the way that Americans do. A few minutes later, at 8. 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. Clearly after nearly 60 days of activity our bodies have finally objected to being controlled by our teenage minds! 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. 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. 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. 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 BC, 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, 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 ,, though nowadays estimates of the current population are around 1,, 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 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. The Hungry Travellers Independent travel, food, photography and culture. Tunis Medina 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. Inside the Medina Inside the Medina 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. Avenue Habib Bourguiba Municipal Theatre Clock Tower 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. Our home, Palais Bayram Our sumptuous room As well as our own Dar, the tight alleys of the medina conceal a large number of beautiful and historic buildings. Zaytuna Mosque Zaytuna Mosque Yet this wonderful medina still has more to offer over and above the souks and the landmark buildings. Deserted at sunset Deserted at sunset Deserted at sunset Talking of Ramadan, there is a repeat here of something we first saw back in Luxor in the early days of the festival. Busy again at night There is a downside to visiting Tunis during Ramadan, though we realise of course that this is purely a selfish angle. Place El Halfouine Place El Halfouine Place El Halfouine 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. Men fill the tea rooms.

Monastir buying snow