Across the rooftops of Tunis, the day’s final call to prayer gave way to the sounds of a D.J. getting started for the evening with a mix of disco and the bagpipe-infused Tunisian music known as mezwed. The contrast perfectly captured the moment in this Mediterranean city at the confluence of Europe, North Africa and the Middle East.
Tunis feels like a city remaking itself in real time. In Sidi Bou Said, a cliff-side suburb overlooking the Gulf of Tunis, cobalt doors open onto concept stores and slow-fashion ateliers. In the city center, artist collectives host film screenings in old apartment blocks. Old men sip espresso and play cards under ceiling fans just a stone’s throw from youth- and queer-friendly spaces.
I first came to Tunis on a whim about a year ago, on a $50 flight from London, expecting a sleepy seaside capital. Instead, I found a city with an addictive creative tempo. It felt raw and un-self-conscious. Everyone I met was creating something: a cafe, a clothing line, a gallery show. Since then, drawn by this spirit, I’ve made many return trips.
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By early evening, music began to pulse from cafes. A crowd — young Tunisians and travelers who had heard whispers about the scene — spilled into the courtyard outside an opening at the Selma Feriani gallery. Opened in 2013, Selma Feriani is among the first privately run galleries in North Africa to champion conceptual and multidisciplinary work, showing artists from across the Maghreb and the Mediterranean.
I fell into step with a group heading toward Les Indécis, a small, trendy restaurant nestled amid the ruins of Carthage. As I sat down, I recognized many faces from the gallery. Eyeing the ever-changing seasonal menu, I ordered sea bass with preserved lemon (30 dinars), smashed burrata with pistachio (27 dinars) and a bittersweet glass of hibiscus tea (6 dinars).
The tables were close enough to catch fragments of conversations: a journalist debating the next Venice Biennale; a woman opening a Pilates studio in Tunis; another mapping out an artist residency over a shared bowl of olives. Everyone, it seemed, was building something.
Later that night, I took a taxi up the coast to Gammarth, the city’s laid-back, beach-club district. At a rooftop club, Arabic pop music throbbed from the speakers. Someone passed me a minty mocktail. From this vantage point, I could see the ruins of Carthage along with minarets and the hot-pink neon glow of a nearby club — an ancient city blurring into the future.