On Home

…while going to sleep in our haunted hotel room:

Me "Do you miss Kerkennah a little?"
Tara "Yeah."
Me "Me too."

Despite a rough week of feeling cooped up and generally stuck in "waiting mode", we were both ever-so-slightly sad to leave Kerkennah. After just two weeks on the tiny islands, landmarks and faces had started to look familiar. Comforting even.

Each day we'd march up to the clock tower in the center of town, wave to everyone we knew, turn left and head to our "spot" at La Corniche. In the parking lot we'd see the same familiar run down scooters, and we'd even paired a few of them with their owners! Everyone knew us and came to say hello. Yousri or one of the other waiters would come bringing "the usual" and ask us how our work was going. They'd tell us about their recent trip to Sfax to see a girlfriend, or how the Kerkennah soccer match went.

Walking through town we'd invariably pass (with waves and bonjours) some of the following: the grouchy orange seller guy (who eventually warmed up to us), the friendly english-speaking pizza shop manager who would say things like "seya later allygator, affawhile crocodile!", the lady at the lablabi shop who would laugh at how much spicy harissa we liked in our bowls, the nonesense-shouting toothless street sweeper, the regular waiter at Remla's restaurant: La Sirene, the very kind director of the youth hostel, and even occasionally, Captain Abdallah.

We've read on numerous cycle touring websites and forums that people who do tours like ours wind up having a hard time settling into a "normal" non-nomadic life, but I don't think Tara and I will have that problem at all. We can make ourselves at home mostly anywhere and we're both looking fondly forward to settling down at the end of our journey.

Kerkennah really is a special island. I have a feeling it's one of those places we'll remember forever and someday return to when we're old.