Tunisian Dream

In the heat of the afternoon there is respite at least. The shimmering African summer is absorbed by an oasis of ficus and a tangled vine, wrapping and twisting around hot house foliage and flowers, untrimmed, growing to enormous proportions. Down the centre of the garden runs a long, oblong lotus pond with a fine gravel path on either side. At the end is a simple garden bench. This is the coolest most spiritually contemplative part of the garden. It's almost as if the jungle has peeled back in hallowed respect to the lotus blossoms growing out of the dark, tangled, muddy bottom, reaching toward light and blooming into indescribable beauty. Peacocks strut and scratch amongst the foliage in the dappled sunlight at the head of the pond. The ground tiers up to a higher level where it spills into a courtyard in the round.

Cobble-paved and white in the glare of the midday sun, rendered retaining walls curve around long lounges like naked bodies curled around another. The thick walls have succulents of all descriptions growing in gravel. The undergrowth surrounding the courtyard provides some cooling protection but this is the heat basin, very languid and sexy, especially at night where it stands under the clear, starry sky. The heat of the day radiates from the stone like a warm body and it is lit with the seductive flicker of candles and glowing sandalwood sticks.

The edge of the house is marked by a deep, black and white tiled, pavilion-style veranda which leads through heavy wooden doors into the dark, cool interior of the house.

The interior is filled with natural fibres and it's walls are lined with art and artefacts from travels. The neutral palate of colour, mostly white with earth and stone shades, accented with bright vivid red, orange, turquoise and a million shades of green. There is not much sound, the thick walls tend to deaden sound but the faint strains of music mingle with the quiet rustle of linen as staff walk the cool, dark corridors attending to the comfort of visiting guests and family.

At the front of the house the flat, shuttered front stands bravely facing the Mediterranean Sea like a soldier, arms at sides, straight up and down, not blinking. At night, sun-darkened hands lift the rings and rungs and open the house to the fresh, briny evening sea-breeze. Ringed stones circle overgrown plots of succulents before petering out into sand dunes nurturing soft seagrasses and cacti. Over the rise of the dune, the azure horizon is just visible. The ocean sighs it's secrets of scandal and solace, sacrifice and struggle, of shipwrecks and journeys, of love and betrayal...