Hammamet: the amazing Medina of doors
The maze of alleyways invites lost, to surrender to intuition no other aim than to soak up those corners dissected in time. Wandering without seeking out, his back if necessary. Browse among the stalls of artisans, stop in the quiet whitewashed squares, hear your own footsteps on the pavement. A Medina's always faced a maze, as a metaphor for life that sometimes fills us an illusion by the most unexpected ways. This of Hammamet. Only hours ago, of Tunisia, and in a few days, of Tozeur the Kairouan. The convoluted marrow of a city, tentacles that trap the traveler and immerse you in walking stopped clock, of timeless souks, a certain anxiety when you think instead of running away than you think.
You have to browse among the stalls of artisans, stop in the quiet whitewashed squares, hear your own footsteps on the pavement
To understand what the old Medina (nothing to do with that of the neighboring, and very touristy, Yasmine Hammamet, pasteboard seems) is best to start taking his measurements from the outside, walking the boardwalk that part of the Kasbah and borders the humble whitewashed cemetery headstones. An exceptional viewpoint for sunset. Between palm and new buildings, the walls of the Medina is a parapet against modernity, depositories such an inextricable language as the murmur of the waves breaking on the pier a few meters below. Glisten lampposts and banks, the tiles and bins. The last leg of the ride was opened a few days ago by Albert of Monaco. Long live casinos!
The walls of the Medina is a parapet against modernity, repositories of language as inextricable as the murmur of the waves breaking on the jetty
We walked in Medina by a street that seems to lead somewhere, but soon abandoned before the inevitable call from a mysterious alley, that abdicates stalls and tourists. A detour takes you to another; momentum, to the next. And suddenly you see a dazzling door. And a little further, other. And another one. The commuter travel through the Medina of Hammamet is a succession of doors, equal to any other, colorful, of striking decoration, original and enigmatic knockers hands of Fatima to ward off adversity. You can see them on postcards of the souvenir shops, but you have to enjoy them here, in context of variegated houses, in this white world of nooks and confusion, between the voices of traders, that many run wild, and heaps of hookahs and goatskin drums. Berber bought a copper jug, purifications used for daily, we filled with sand Sahara, as trying to lock it all the magic of the desert. Bargaining is almost forced, part of the game, and lowers the price of 200 initial dinars just over 80.
Hammamet is a succession of doors, equal to any other, colorful, profuse decorations, original and enigmatic knockers hands of Fatima
Drizzle over the Medina and we must take shelter at every step. We are an easy target for traders, trying to seduce you with its refrain of Spanish phrases. Other, subtler, try it with a whisper, with the complicity of who is offering a delicacy. Amid the confusion of words, kindly eyes catch us. Fathi is a craftsman overflowing honesty and follow him without hesitation to his small shop that overlooks a courtyard through which tourists do not pass. You have to attract them to the brightness of the eyes, like us. So we left the last dinars on a couple of trinkets, Thank Fathi disbursement while the ceremoniousness so typical of the Arab.
Fathi is a craftsman overflowing honesty and followed him without hesitation to his small shop
More doors, each more amazing than the last. We passed through places that start sonarnos, allow even timidly oriented, sign that the Medina is willing and to share some of their secrets. Only if ven Farolas, so I presume that at night should be placed more complicated. The abandoned by an arch under which almost have to crouch. The impact is too obscene. A tourist train customers in the door waiting. The driver calls out the ten dinars Ticket. When we turn to his side, the reduction to six. Soon it begins to rain. When night, the horizon of darkness is a succession of furious lightning.
Comments (2)
Juan Antonio Portillo
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I enjoyed, Ricardo. That magic, mystery and sensation you feel and how well your words plasmas I want to enjoy them soon. With calm. Tunisia is a place I want to visit Ricardo Thanks for remembering glimpses of a few days that were.
PD. Beautiful photos
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Lydia
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After reading the text, I thought that the title is very appropriate. It is very suggestive and feel like getting on an airplane and go to there. Beautiful photos and beautiful text.
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