What Tunisia Gave Us Twice

There’s a quiet power in returning to a place you’ve already loved once. Tunisia gave us something last year, something gentle, something grounding at a time when there was chaos and so it felt only right to return. This time, Dan and I weren’t seeking adventure, we were seeking rest – something that I struggle with, especially with capacity being a factor with work.

After months of long hours and late nights, we knew what we needed wasn’t newness but ease. So we returned to a familiar sun, familiar rhythm, familiar welcome. We landed at Enfidha airport and made our way back to Hammamet, a coastal breath of stillness. From the very beginning, the pace felt slower, softer. Not lazy, but intentional like the country had remembered our names and saved us a seat.

This trip, we did less and that felt like everything. Long walks with no endpoint, drawn-out meals where we lingered just a bit longer after the last bite. Tunisia feeds you well, not just with flavour, but with peace and there’s something deeply nourishing about knowing that so much of what’s on your plate was grown right there, in the soil beneath your feet. Only a small portion of their food is imported, which you can taste in the freshness, the texture, the fullness of it all. And for us, there’s added comfort knowing everything is halal. It allows you to eat without the hesitation, the second-guessing.

The weather was kind this time round too, with around 23 degrees most days. Warm enough to feel kissed by the sun, but not so hot that it demanded escape. Compared to our last visit, it felt gentler, less about chasing shade, more about basking in light but not directly.

This time round we also took a trip to the capital, Tunis. A city we hadn’t seen before, one I was curious about. It stretches wide and open in a way that’s surprising when you’re used to the closeness of the UK. Coming from the North East of England, where buildings press into one another and life feels tightly packed, the openness of Tunis and Tunisia as a whole is noticeable. It reminded me of cities I’ve visited in Canada, places that breathe differently, where you can walk without brushing shoulders every minute. That space matters because it allows you to think, to stretch out your thoughts, to be a little less guarded.

The medinas feel infinite, winding and whispering history through their narrow turns, but beyond that, Tunis left me a little underwhelmed. I expected more, more energy, more colour, more story in its streets. Instead, it felt like a place holding back. A city with roots, certainly, and depth if you know where to look but also a sense of incompleteness. Like something had been paused mid-sentence. Having said that, there’s a lot changing in Tunisia. You can feel it in the infrastructure, in the tone of conversations, in the eyes of the younger generation. And while development is inevitable, I find myself hoping, deeply that the soul of the place stays intact. That in the pursuit of growth, they don’t lose the quiet magic that makes Tunisia feel so… rooted.

As much as I’ve come to appreciate Tunisia, the ease of its rhythm, the honesty in its food, the sincerity of its people, I think this will be my last visit for a while. There’s beauty in returning, but also wisdom in knowing when to pause and let a place continue its journey without you. I’ll hold onto what it gave me: the stillness, the space, the sense of quiet joy. And maybe one day, years from now, I’ll return with new eyes, ready to rediscover its warmth all over again. My hope is that when I do, it will still carry the same spirit – unpolished, welcoming, and true to itself.