The taxi ride from our hotel to the nearby town of Sidi Bou Said, was always a white knuckle affair. Exhilarating, stressful and dangerous. I tried to always grab the front seat, next to the driver as it was usually the only seat with a seat belt. Agonising the decision between the front seat with seat belt or one of the back ones without and wishing I read the fine print on my travel insurance.
The trip only took about ten minutes and cost a mere $5. As I was the closest to the driver it befell me to negotiate the fare each time, arguing in my broken high-school French. In the end I just made sure I had the correct money and thrust it into the driver’s hand as I leapt out of the car at the destination. Sometimes the sound of foreign cursing followed me loudly along the street.
Sidi Bou Said, is pretty town, a tourist destination famous for its blue doors. Hugging the cliffs just outside Tunis. It is the place to be on a warm summer’s afternoon when the tourists and locals take to the streets for an evening’s promenade.
The older part is closed to traffic and so we had to fight our way through a gridlock of tour buses and taxis, up and up the cobbled streets. Past the streets stalls selling gaudy souvenirs and sticky sweets, Past the women from the tour buses tottering on silly shoes (oh how I love my hiking boots). Past the children nagging their parents to buy them more stuff.
We made our way to Café des Nattes, and were lucky enough to secure a table on the balcony outside, overlooking the main street. We ordered mint tea and settled into the serious business of people-watching. The call to prayer from the local mosque hauntingly, was finding its way into every corner of the town. It was hot. The sun was low and the white washed walls glowed yellow, and not far away there was a boy on the stairs with a drum, watching the passing parade.