40 kilometres long, not much going on and the highest elevation is 4 metres. Sounds like easy-going.
While we were the only foreigners on the ferry, we don't find any (visible) ones here either. Besides us, not a single tourist has strayed here.
Apparently there are a few small hotels, but we don't notice anything. The morning begins with leisurely idleness, a 3-minute visit to the abandoned fort, followed by a little washing and a dusting of Felix's most important windows. In the front for driving, in the back for "looking out of bed".
Around noon we visit the capital (6 km away) and stroll through the "city". We buy a few small things, then we are drawn to the first café, this one is called "Croissanterie". Aha. Exclusively men. I get insecure, as usual. Women are barely visible in public here, as are children. Gerd leads the way, asks if it would be okay if the two of us had a drink here. "Yeah sure, of course."
I feel all eyes on me. If I try to maintain eye contact, they avoid my gaze. OK, then don't, I don't want to irritate anyone. After coffee and a really delicious croissant, we move on.
At the harbour we are asked if we are French? No, oh well, because of the football match the night before. Are we also for Morocco? Yes? Wonderful. Everyone here is now in favour of Morocco, after all, people in African countries stick together. At least when it comes to football.
In the next café we see and, above all, hear a boisterous atmosphere. Men are playing cards at the tables. We try to discern the rules. In vain. It must be something like Jass or Skat. It goes fast and there is a lot of laughter. The loser laughs about his bad luck, the winners laugh about it too.
One of the players discovers us, says we should join them, oh, and if we want a coffee? Chairs are fetched and coffee is handed to us. And we dive into the world of card players. Even after almost an hour, a lot of laughter and close observation, we don't have a clue about the rules of the game. We thank them and set off for the end of the island (19 km).
In good time (today is Sunday) we look for a place to work. At the end of a corner of the island we discover a beautiful and also completely deserted beach. I (!) steer our Felix a little off-road to the beach. We check the internet (okay, we can work well here) and decide to stay here for the next few days.
A bit like vanlife paradise.
Merci for "travelling with us
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Road trip realities
How we manage to live in the van
Leben pur! Unterwegs. Whether at icy -30 °C in the Lapland winter or in the sand of the Tunisian desert, whether in the left-hand traffic of England or along picturesque dream coasts of Europe. Whether in the hot summer of Turkey or in the "interesting" traffic of Georgia.
We report on frozen sliding doors, living together on 9.5 square metres, the inevitable sand in the desert and unforgettable ferry trips. We look at how we make do with little and still have way too much.
What has always interested me:
Where are the women's cafés?
In countries like this, I only ever see men sitting over coffee.
In the meantime, this is also the case here in the village.
A cafe, owner Greek, guests men!
🤔
Maybe you will find out ? 😉
Have a good trip! 🌞🌴 🐫
Dear Racheli ❣️
I already asked myself this question in Turkey.
There are probably different reasons why you see more men in cafés in certain countries. In some cultures there are certain traditions and gender roles that mean that women are less likely to be seen in public.
But when we meet a women's group, we see a great warmth and hear a lot of laughter.
It seems important to me that we respect the nature of the roles. Which, I admit, is not always easy. Especially when we read and see how women fight for their rights in Iran, for example.
I don't want to lump everything together, but we Western women are already much further ahead in terms of self-determination.
But again, that's my opinion as of today. It may change, Who knows!
Kind regards ❣️