Flying Carpets in Djerba: Our Adventure in Tunisia

Who has not dreamed of Arabian Nights? The mysterious stories of Ali Baba, Sindbad, Aladdin and the captivating Princess Scheherazade, who, by her beauty and intelligence, managed to escape the executioner.

Many years ago, I was on a plane to northern Africa; to the charming little island of Djerba, off the coast of Tunisia. On the plane with me were my husband and our three young children. This was to be our most exotic holiday ever.

We had no idea what awaited us across the Mediterranean Sea. Our heads were filled with romantic stories of the past, and we couldn’t wait to be among them. We arrived at the airport with our pale, European skin and naivety. What could go wrong?

At first glances, everything was beautiful and perfect. The hotel was a dream in white with manicured gardens and palm trees. Behind the enormous white-washed building one found the roaring, wild Mediterranean Sea, with endless beaches. Yes, this was what we signed up for.
A few days after our happy arrival we received the chance to visit a real bazaar. In my minds eye I had pictured these magnificent, beckoning markets with their spices and fruits and flowing, see-through fabrics.

This was the day! The moment had arrived!
Only – when we arrived, it was nothing we had expected. Nothing like the pictures we had seen, and what they had silently promised us. It was just an ordinary market. Nothing more. Street vendors on your right and left side, with an aisle in the center.

But – there was one difference. One difference which shattered our hopeful dreams. As we started walking over this bazaar, the men approached us quite aggressively, wanting us to buy their products. We had to pull our children close to us, and like horses, whose eyes had been covered, we slowly pulled ourselves away from the vendors. It was afterwards, that I realized with great disappointment, that we had not seen a single item on that bazaar.

To recover, we retrieved back to the hotel to watch the people by the pool. After a while we left the pool and strolled down towards the long beach, which lay quiet and empty in front of us. A strong wind blew from the east, tarring at my dress. We hoped the next day would be more promising.

We signed ourselves up for a little mini-tour hosted through our hotel. The Tunisian arrived cheerful with his little bus, and we climbed into the vehicle, excited for our adventure. All started out well. He showed us interesting things on the island.

Then we stopped at a tiny building which hardly let any sunlight in. Inside, crammed together tightly on the ground, sat young girls. Chattering and laughing, their tiny fingers worked busily with a hook, weaving through thick wool, to create a beautiful carpet. Our two oldest were shown how to hook the wool thread, which, of course, our children found quite enthralling. We said our good-byes and continued on with the journey.

Our guide stopped the van in front of another building, and he urged us to come in and enjoy some tea. We didn’t think much of it, so we followed him. Did I mention before that we were a little naïve? We entered the Lion’s Den in disguise of a harmless looking Carpet Store. We were shown to a corner, where we sat down. A man brought us Moroccan Peppermint Tea in a huge, silver pot and poured us cups with the steaming sweet liquid. The best peppermint tea I have ever tasted; unfortunately I have not been able to duplicate that wonderful, exotic taste since.

What happened next was so unexpected and sublime, that we were utterly speechless. One man began rolling out one carpet after another in front of our feet, wanting us to admire the unique patterns and colours. And I truly have to say, yes, they were very beautiful. But we did not come to Djerba to buy a carpet. We did not have the sufficient funds to buy one of these very expensive carpets. As a young family, we had to make ends meet. It was a miracle that we found ourselves on this trip. How could we explain this to these people, who didn’t speak our language, and we didn’t speak theirs? It was impossible. They saw us as rich Europeans with their pockets full of money. And – who can blame them, really? In most cases, it is so.

Carpets came flying from all angles and sides – all shades of blues, reds, and golds intertwined into one blurry big dot in front of our eyes. By now, they had every man in that store rolling out carpets, letting us know they could ship the carpet to wherever. What started out as something innocent and harmless had turned into something ridiculous and annoying. All we wanted was to get out of that building, but they would not take no for an answer. I guess we were as stubborn as they were, for standing our grounds. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they released us out of their grip, and a most displeasing tour guide greeted us outside. One can imagine how relieved we were to be back at our hotel.

We recovered from the shock quickly and tried to enjoy the beauty of the island, which, by the way, is covered in Saharan sand. We walked barefoot most of the time, enjoying the feel of the fine kernel between our toes.

One more adventure awaited us on this most interesting holiday. This visit wouldn’t be complete without a ride on camels. So, we hired a guide to take us for a one-hour ride. We were very excited! My husband rode the camel with our oldest son, I took our youngest son along, while our oldest daughter was the privileged one to ride on her own.

As for those who have sat on camels before know what I am speaking of when I say we had to hold on to dear life itself. Especially having to hold my two-year old in front of me proved quite a challenge, not wanting to lose him along the way.

The camels had looked so inviting with their huge, cozy red cushions. They had looked very comfortable, but only a few minutes into the ride I thought they had been filled with cement. While we were swaying through the desert, my husband and I noticed that our hour was soon up, but the guide kept on walking away from the hotel. We tried to communicate with him, but he could not be persuaded. He had to show us this Mosque, which was not far away. The Mosque turned out to be an ordinary, little building in the old Tunisian style, totally deserted between sand dunes, palm trees and huge aloe plants.

We made it back to the hotel two hours later. My husband was fuming mad by the time we arrived, telling me he was not paying overtime. He was arguing with the guide for many minutes, and the argument went back and forth, until final both agreed upon a price.

We must have looked like drunkards returning to our little cottage. We were sore and tired, but happy to have made it back in one piece. We had survived yet another adventure on Djerba.