They seemed to dangle, by some gossamer thread, from the
grey vault of Heaven.
This first view of the oasis of Tozeur, and the Chott Djerid beyond it,
has often been praised. To me, arriving at the water-shed on a cloudy
afternoon, that line of inky-black palm trees with its background of
blanched sterility melting into a lowering, leaden-hued sky, conveyed a
most uncanny impression: the prospect was absolutely familiar! Yes, there
was no doubt about it: I had seen the place before; not in Africa, of
course, but--somewhere else. Where--where? Suddenly I remembered: it was a
northern landscape, a well-known forest of sombre firs, rising out of the
wintry plain. The white, salty expanse, filling up the interstices between
the palms, helped to complete the illusion; it was powdered snow among the
tree-tops. For a brief moment I was _transported_....
It was not long before I found a companion at Tozeur. He was an Arab from
the Souf, region of sand; dark-skinned, oval-faced, with straight
eyelashes, straight nose, and an infectious, lingering smile; quite a
worthless fellow; he had picked up a few words of French slang, and never
tired of exhibiting them.
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