For it was my intention to go from England straight down to the
oases of the Djerid, Tozeur and Nefta, a corner of Tunisia left unexplored
during my last visit to that country--there, where the inland regions
shelve down towards those mysterious depressions, the Chotts, dried-up
oceans, they say, where in olden days the fleets of Atlantis rode at
anchor....
But there fell into my hands, by the way, a volume that deals exclusively
with Gafsa--Pierre Bordereau's "La Capsa ancienne: La Gafsa moderne"--and,
glancing over its pages as the train wound southwards along sterile
river-beds and across dusty highlands, I became interested in this place
of Gafsa, which seems to have had such a long and eventful history. Even
before arriving at the spot, I had come to the correct conclusion that it
must be worth more than a two days' visit.
The book opens thus: _One must reach Gafsa by way of Sfax._ Undoubtedly,
this was the right thing to do; all my fellow-travellers were agreed upon
that point; leaving Sfax by a night train, you arrive at Gafsa in the
early hours of the following morning.
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