I’m sitting in my temporary apartment, waiting for the fire in my mouth and throat to calm down.
“Not spicy,” Riadh said yesterday, with complete sincerity.
Well. Not spicy for him. For me it was a full-body workout of tongue, lips, and esophagus.
Even now, the leftovers taste heavenly, still delicious cold. But the heat? Let’s just say the cheese-fondue kid from Switzerland got humbled once again.
And yes, I’ll adapt. I’ve survived Tunisian kitchens before, and I’ll survive them again. That’s not what rattles me.
What rattles me is this essence of Tunisian communication that hits me every single day.
Tunisians talk. A lot. They talk loudly. They talk quickly. And they say—well, let’s call it airy poetry. Not stupidity, not malice, just… complete inability to put themselves in my shoes. They can’t, because they’ve never worn those shoes.
So “not spicy” is their truth. And me gasping for water is mine.
It makes me wonder sometimes: are they forgetful? Or do they simply enjoy the rhythm of words so much that accuracy becomes optional? Either way, I’ve stopped relying on statements like:
- “Tomorrow at eleven.”
- “Yes, we’re open this afternoon, just come by.”
- “When you move, just take the furniture with you.”
Words as smoke. Promises as sand in the wind.
Fissa Fissa – Life in Fast-Forward
The other thing you need to know: Tunisians live in fast-forward. Everything is fissa fissa.
Crossing the street? Forget Swiss Sunday strolling. Here, you sprint like your life depends on it—because it does.
Day two on Tinder, and already a guy wants to meet at “La Sirène”? Mais oui. Why waste time on small talk?
Meanwhile, I’m stuck in language limbo: my jokes don’t land, my expressions stumble, and my brain is juggling French, English, and Arabic all at once.
So when a message pings: “I’m near your place, coffee?”—I panic.
Or take the apartment saga. I show someone a rental listing because I’m curious what he thinks. Next thing I know, there’s an appointment in Tabarka. Did I want to move into Tabarka? No. Do I love Sousse? Yes. Did I manage to stop the avalanche? Absolutely not.
The Swiss in me can’t just say no. Instead, I end up on a road trip to view a shoebox apartment I never asked for. A ridiculous detour. And yet—a surprisingly fun side quest.
That’s the rhythm here: invitations materialize, appointments appear, words scatter like birds. If you resist, you drown in frustration. If you follow along, you gather experience points.
So I adapt. My beta version is glitchy, but I’m patching. The graphics will sharpen, the skins and meshes will polish. The NPCs can keep their insane dialogue speed.
Meanwhile, Zia + Luna keep grinding XP, leveling up day by day in this strange, noisy, beautiful Tunisian sandbox.