Tunisia surprised me. A land where the stones remember Carthaginian walls still whispering of empires lost, Roman amphitheatres standing proud against the desert wind. In one day you can walk through millennia: Punic ruins at sunrise, magnificent mosaics by noon, and the echo of gladiators in El Djem by dusk.
But what lingers isn’t only the past but the people. Warm, curious, unflinchingly kind. In cafés and narrow streets you feel a quiet strength shaped by a remarkable, ongoing struggle for equality among themselves and freedom from a past shaped by endless tides of invaders.
#Tunisia #Travel #Carthage #HistoryLives
Les vieux maîtres de sort aiment raconter que la magie a un goût. Les sorts de braise ressemblent à une épice qui vous brûle le bout de la langue. La magie du souf e est subtile, presque rafraîchissante, un peu comme si vous teniez une feuille de menthe entre vos lèvres. Le sable, la soie, le sang, le fer… cha- cune de ces magies a son parfum. Un véritable adepte, autre- ment dit un mage capable de jeter un sort même à l’extérieur d’une oasis, les connaît tous.
'I totally saw this coming,’ Reichis growled, leaping onto my shoulder as lightning scorched the sand barely ten feet from us. The squirrel cat’s claws pierced my sweat-soaked shirt and dug into my skin.
The way of the Argosi is the way of water. Water never seeks to block another’s path, nor does it permit impediments to its own. It moves freely, slipping past those who would capture it, taking nothing that belongs to others. To forget this is to stray from the path, for despite the rumours one sometimes hears, an Argosi never, ever steals.
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