The Mediterranean island without the Brits – but is still 30C in autumn

“YOU can have any fish as long as its dourada,” says my guide Haitham as we browse the fish market of Houmt-Souk.

I’m in the capital — more like a big village — of Tunisian island Djerba, which I’m fast realising must be one of the least known of the Mediterranean’s islands.

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On the north coast, the beaches are a dreamy, wide expanse of butterscotch-coloured sands[/caption]

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But many of the visitors who do make it to Djerba are fanatics of a more recent religion — Jedi[/caption]

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Local Tunisian beer Celtia is all but essential when the temperature tops 30C[/caption]

Houmt-Souk’s fish market, where the vendors bellow at their friends from behind racks of silver and golden catch, leads into the town’s market proper — a warren of caves and stalls selling everything from carpets and candy to terracotta vases.

But my nostrils lead me the spice stalls where traders plunge huge metal trowels into heaped piles of cayenne pepper, turmeric, saffron, cumin and ginger. They, too, seem to know all their customers by name. In fact, I’m the only tourist in the market, or souk.

As I sit down for a strong coffee under the shade of a palm tree, I ask Haitham where all the visitors have gone. “We get some from France but there are very few British people here,” he says while nibbling on a brik — a local speciality of filo pastry stuffed with egg, harissa, parsley and chopped onion.

“There are no direct flights from the UK but I think it’s worth a little extra flying time. There isn’t anywhere in North Africa where you’ll find more peace.”

This isn’t just tourist-brochure spiel. Djerba — only slightly bigger than the Isle of Wight — is home to one of the largest Jewish populations left in any Arabic- speaking country.

In the village of Hara Seghira, a vast, blue synagogue sits cheek-by-jowl along-side the towering minarets of the local mosques.

Both the Muslim Friday prayer and the Saturday Jewish Shabbat are observed here with zero friction.

I see men in Jewish caps walking alongside men donning traditional Muslim headwear.

But many of the visitors who do make it to Djerba are fanatics of a more recent religion — Jedi.

On the Western coastline lies a lonely, squat, whitewashed house besides Roman ruins and olive groves. This house was, as every Star Wars fan knows, the home of Obi-Wan Kenobi in the sci-fi saga’s first movie.

It was built explicitly for that film, in 1977, and left behind afterwards.
Today, it’s a refuge for passing cyclists when the heat gets too much. For me, to sit here as the sun begins to dip is entrancing — even without the prospect of Luke Skywalker popping by.

Rex

Rex

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I’m the only tourist in the market, or souk[/caption]

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Scene of Cantina spaceport in Star Wars films[/caption]

Amulets and rhinestones

Djerba was also the location for Star Wars’ Cantina spaceport.
Visitors like me are not required to abide by many of the island’s religious customs.

Alcohol is plentiful — and local Tunisian beer Celtia is all but essential when the temperature tops 30C, as it frequently does even in autumn.

On the north coast, the beaches are a dreamy, wide expanse of butterscotch-coloured sands, lined with vast resort hotels, such as the luxury Radisson Blu Palace.

Back in Houmt-Souk I spend the early evening peering into the windows of the huge array of jewellery stores that wink and twinkle with silver necklaces, amulets and rhinestones.

This jewellery is traditionally made by Jews and sold by Muslims, and to wear it is to have tolerance pinned to your ears or draped around your neck.

“The most important thing is not whether you’re Jewish or Muslim or Christian,” Haitham tells me. “It’s about being Djerban. There’s nowhere else like this island.”

My guide is right.

There is nowhere I’ve seen in the Med that has Djerba’s vibe of harmony.

And with the added bonuses of sensational food, sun-soaked sandy beaches — and even that home Darth Vader’s arch-enemy.