On the way to the herbalist, lost in La Mara oasis, hibernating between green shades of ancient presidential garden, unknown birds and children play, a humming town washes ashore, a distant ambulance chases a soul escaping toward angels singing.
Despite the revolution, supermarkets are still full, everything more expensive than you really need, and thus basically it is again La Marsa Souk; the open air market on a cool late December Sunday morning in this north eastern Tunisian sea-side town. My wife and her brother go for the fruit and vegetables and then we look for what else, going home with a white porcelain teapot, a five liter printed glass bottle and a lentil formed curious looking stone that I think wants to be cut in half to show it is a septarian concretion.
Below the road along the cliff between La Marsa and Sidi Bou Said (Tunisia), one finds the villas of La Marsa Corniche. Quiet is the beach because of rocky sea bottom and in the warm red-green underwater world of algae and seagrass, we spend lazy summer afternoons. when not sunbathing on hot sand or shade-reading against the cool wall along this Mediterranean sea-shore. Remembering the last vacation with my father, the beach is empty apart from fishermen returning home, certainly because of the early morning hour and maybe also a bit because of the Arab spring that brought refreshing wind with some uncertainty and a whiff of fear.