It was my first time in North Africa.
My first time in an Arab nation.
Tunisia felt different in a way that’s hard to explain until you’re standing in it—the sounds, the rhythm, the way the air itself feels layered with history. Everything was foreign compared to the other countries I’ve visited. Even driving felt like an adventure reserved for the brave.
Driving in Tunis is not for the faint of heart. And GPS? Let’s just say it becomes more of a suggestion than a guide—especially once you find yourself inside the Medina.
It was Ramadan.
The sun had just set.
The Medina of Tunis came alive—people filling the narrow alleys, voices echoing off ancient walls, movement everywhere. Meanwhile, my GPS kept sending me deeper and deeper into tighter streets, narrower alleys, places that clearly were not meant for cars. I was lost. Completely. Anxiety was climbing fast.
Then I reached what felt like a dead end.
Standing in front of the car was a slim man wearing a classic flat cap and a blazer. He had a mustache, familiar facial features—he looked exactly like a younger version of my dad. Same energy. Same presence. Same calm.
He asked where we were trying to go.
“We’re just trying to get back to the main roads… to the parking garage.”
He paused for half a second, smiled, and said:
“Follow me.”
He turned and started walking down an alley, guiding us through the maze of the Medina. A few turns in, he stopped again.
“Where did you park?”
We told him.
“Can I get in the car?”
At that point I was like—yes, please.
He hopped in, guided us safely out, and got us back to the parking garage like it was nothing. Before leaving, we exchanged numbers. That’s when he mentioned casually that this was what he did—he’s a tour guide in Tunisia.
No pitch. No pressure. Just genuine help.
The next day, we met at Kasbah Square to start what would become a completely different experience of the Medina. That’s when I really got to know him.
His name is Mouin.
Over the course of a private three-hour tour, Mouin didn’t just walk us through the Medina—he translated it. He pointed out hidden symbols carved into doors and walls, explaining their meanings and histories. He helped us slow down, relax, breathe, and actually feel the space instead of being overwhelmed by it.
The Medina stopped feeling chaotic and started feeling alive.
At the end of the tour, he recommended a restaurant tucked away in the heart of the Medina. Later that evening, after dinner, as we were heading toward a hookah lounge, we unexpectedly ran into him again.
Once more, he smiled and said:
“Follow me.”
He guided us to the spot, left, and then came back just to hang out. We talked. He introduced me to a friend. No agenda. Just connection.
Mouin made the trip more than I expected. He turned moments of anxiety into moments of meaning. He reminded me that sometimes the best parts of travel aren’t the places you plan to see—but the people you meet when you’re lost.
If you’re visiting Tunisia and want to truly experience the Medina—not just see it, but understand it—I can’t recommend him enough.
Mouin, thank you for the unforgettable experience. Until next time.
You can find him here:
Instagram: @tunisian_tours
Facebook: Ferchichi Mouin
Some guides show you places.
Others help you find your way.
This was the second kind.
