Travel Log 2 - Djerba to Ben Guerdane, Tunisia

13/01/08 – 15/01/08
We spent the first morning in Djerba pacing the tourist beach which in the gloom, swarmed with agéd German tourists with ruddy faces in tracksuits walking as silent couples being smarmed by two greased-back-hair Tunisians on horseback. When unsuccessful in luring a punter into paying for a ride along the beach, they were placated by their in-on-the-scam horses that bit playfully at the shoulders of their handlers. We left the beach passing through the huge construction sites of holiday complexes comprising of bizarre concrete monstrosities patrolled by men in army boots. It was easy to see why this huge development has put such a strain on the islands water resources, the trouble is all there was to the island was the tourist industry.

One of the island's lesser advertised and more interesting ports of call was the mysterious El Ghriba synagogue, apparently home to the world's oldest Torah. The Jewish population was shaken in 2002 during a terrorist attack causing many people to leave the island and it therefore required strict security checks to gain entry. Inside in a corner of the building men with small very similar features on their large faces were absorbed in prayer led by the man with a long wispy beard and wizened features. The building's interior was a visual overload of intricate silver and colored glass. Upon leaving in the taxi we were struck by a moment the likes of which are only indelibly etched upon the memory when there is a serendipitous hand at play – the sound of children laughing in the school, melodramatic 70's French pop on the taxi's radio, the sea blue of the Jewish quarters, the stark white of the synagogue and the yellow of the flowers in the meadow surrounding it.

The vast Monday night market back in town was an impressive sight. Tables heaved with piles of second hand clothes and dates and pick up trucks displayed their cargoes of oranges. Spice stalls filled the air with reminisces of foods from all over the world. On our way to get a bite to eat we were got talking to a pair of likely lads named Omar and Rauph, who fitted the mold of Del Boy and Rodney snuggly. One had a Polish wife and the other a degree in sociology and they were in the process of setting a business selling camel tooth jewelry. It was hard not to be wary of them with their complex haircuts and fake Ray Bans, but we shared sweet, smoky, grainy black coffee with them, invariably in brightly lit cafes with smartly dressed, smoking waiters and raucous card games all about. We really need not have worried, but it’s a mentality that is the curse of the guide book.

Leaving Djerba we took a cramped louage (minibus) to Ben Guerdane – the last town before Libya, and over-nighted in a clammy little hotel with a mischievous proprietor who pulled faces behind the police while they checked our passports.

It was a cowboy town of unpaved street, stinking sewers and immaculately turned out Libyans strolling about the place posturing widely in fake designer wear and in flashy cars, while many of the townsfolk scooted about on horse drawn carts. While one street was entirely dedicated to small huts containing an oversized calculator, bed, TV and drawer of money for exchanging Tunisian Dinars for Libyan.