I find it hard to pass by a cemetery. There are too many illusions buried for not spending even a few minutes. Had reached Kairouan like most who visit: the race. The fourth holiest city of Islam after Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem remains, much to his regret, a crossing. For centuries, the route of the caravans. Now, of the many trips busloads of tourists who come to the gates of Sahara from the Tunisian beaches Hammamet, Port El Kantaoui and Monastir.
And that Kairouan has enough lures to attract the attention of visitors. Above all, its spectacular mosque and a minaret of a square that is considered the world's oldest (if anything I have taught twenty years of journalism is to relativize such categorical statements). To make matters worse, the stairs leading to the top of the minaret was built with pieces of ancient Roman cemeteries tombstones (Roman stones also adorn the capitals of the great mosque).
I find it hard to pass by a cemetery. There are too many illusions buried for not spending even a few minutes
But to me the first thing that caught my attention were its walls, lighted by the evening light, with its walls seven feet thick at the mosque are one aspect of strength that a place of worship. Maybe it's because the founder of Kairouan was a general, Oqba Ibn Nafaa, who after seeing spring water from a plain besieged by the sun decided to raise the spot, in the year 671, the first major Muslim city in the Maghreb. Still, pilgrimages to Kairouan equals seven times, for the faithful Muslims, a trip to Mecca.
And there, close to the walls, is the cemetery before I could not pass by. Their tombstones whitish salt chapels seemed hovering over dry land. The whitewashed stone softened the approach of death. Walking among the tombs of the old cemetery with a magnificent backdrop as he had very little desire to get closer to see the mosque dodging tour groups. I sat on a stone and I enjoyed this picture from another time listening to the silence of the dead, perhaps the most resounding of silences, because inevitably reverberates in Honduras in the human soul, huddle where our fears.
I sat on a stone and I enjoyed this picture from another time listening to the silence of the dead, perhaps the most resounding of silences
I took a few pictures and go sparingly after a stretch of the wall, bricks which used the Nazis during World War II to build an airstrip, I walked to the mosque and I melted in the sun on his vast arcaded courtyard. Although allowed entry to tourists, be satisfied with seeing the prayer room from outside.
Had enough. I wanted to see the holy city of the Maghreb with more perspective. The owner of one of the nearby shops soon offered me up to the roof of the building to enjoy those views. From above the city lost some magic, for modern construction environment desmerecían. Better to go slowly its medina and souks lost among the many, listening to the warble of traders shouting their offers. All had, course, the best carpets and unmatched affordability.
Kairouan assumes its oldest city without fanfare or fuss Tunisia. Over time as the only ally
The roots of Kairouan looming around every corner, in each of its many mosques, at the doors of its wall, detained in the life of their tea. These streets of the medina had something special, unlike anything I had seen in any other Tunisian town. Maybe it was the ease with which assumed its status Kairouan oldest city in Tunisia, City missed the end of the day. Without fanfare or fuss. Over time as the only ally.
For believers, the visit is not complete without the Mosque of the Barber, who keeps a shrine of great value to the Muslims: a lock of hair of Mohammed preserved with devotion to his barber. Its tiles are amazing. Already in the leather souk, another mosque, the Three Doors, certainly raises the curiosity of the traveler, who nevertheless have to settle for enjoying it from the street, they are not allowed visits.
A city that welcomes visitors with a cemetery can never forget his past. His immaculate tombstones seemed now, however, Blank pages for writing a book
Returning to the cemetery, think Kairouan is obliged to look back towards. A city that welcomes visitors with a cemetery can never forget his past. His immaculate tombstones seemed now, however, Blank pages for writing a book. Of a Kairouan that deserves more than a bus stop for tourists in a hurry.
