Vingt jours en Tunisie

A restless narrator prepares for a sweltering August journey to Tunisia, bartering a sun‑blinded Marseille summer for the heat of Ramadan. Guided by his friend Marius, he dons a white elderflower helmet—part practical protection, part quirky badge of respect among locals—before setting off on a fishing rite that doubles as a farewell ritual with the elderly Rabastoul.

The conversation drifts from Provencal memories to the shadow of an ancient well that once sustained a vanished coastal village. Rabastoul spins tales of bygone alliances and betrayals between the French and the Turkish corsairs, hinting at a rhythm of raids, captives, and uneasy trade that still whispers through the salt‑slick air. The scene is richly painted with Mediterranean scent, sizzling bouillabaisse, and the promise of new horizons, inviting listeners to wander into a world where history and personal adventure intertwine.