Not so easy when there are two of you and exactly two opinions about the next destination. How are you supposed to make a democratic decision? Democracy is probably not for us, we have to go through it differently. But how?
I calculate that we still have 10 days until the ferry departure, so we could easily do a few more days in the desert. Gerd calculates: we still have 10 days minus 2 x 2 days of work, minus the Bardo Museum in Tunis, minus Carthage, minus Sidi Bou Saïd. Plus: he wants mountains. I, on the other hand, interject that we could rebook the ferry. Plus extend the visa.
As the title says: 1:0 for him.
Somewhat sadly, we leave the airport, where we say goodbye to our dear friend. And now we turn towards the north of Tunisia. I am a little melancholy now, not to see any more sand dunes. No camels and no desert magic. When will it be next time? Next winter? In a few years?
When we left Greece, it was clear that we would be back soon. That was two years ago. You can't rely on our plans.
So I do what I always do in such situations: I look forward to what is coming, try to give more room to joy than to melancholy. I whine to myself for a few more kilometres, then the joy of the mountains and everything new prevails.
We find a nice spot at a reservoir. Gerd drives almost to the shore. When we check where we are on Google Maps, we realise that we are standing in the middle of the lake. Another sign of far too little water.
In the morning - the rain is splashing nicely on our roof, we chillax a bit, we are suddenly surrounded by military. A friendly "Good morning! We're doing a drill now, don't be scared, it's going to be loud! And please, no photos!"
Oh dear, now when it's getting exciting, we're not allowed to take pictures. But never mind, there's a bang, clouds of smoke rise from a ruin, a squad of hundreds (do you even say that to a bunch of soldiers anymore?) crawls through the really sticky mud, they free (or whatever) the ruin, crawl on, jump over something and look like they're having a lot of fun. At the end, they pose for photos with mud-encrusted faces, the mobile phones are handed around. I think they will still be showing the pictures to their children years later!
Two hours later the site is cleared and we ask ourselves the most important question: Will we ever get out of the mud again with Felix? We full professionals really could have asked ourselves this question earlier, the hundred-strong team would certainly have pushed us out.
Merci for "travelling with us
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