According to Google Maps, there is a footpath from Sidi Bou Saïd back to La Marsa, running along the steep coastline. On the satellite image it looks attractive enough — perfectly manageable.

From a fine viewpoint, the path descends past several villa compounds enclosed by high walls. It then becomes rough going: debris has slid down from the steep slopes, and low-lying sections are flooded by deep puddles. Near what appears to be an abandoned helicopter landing pad, the route climbs again along a road that is, at first, reasonably well surfaced. Cast-iron lamp posts line the verge — though every single lantern is missing from them.

Further on, mimosa scrub and other shrubs have forced their way through the asphalt, and the path grows steadily more impassable. Coils of NATO barbed wire serve as a warning not to continue, reinforced by the increasingly loud barking of guard dogs. Almost at the main road, the path ends abruptly at a fence, behind which the dogs are keeping watch. Then, through a gate in the fence, a uniformed guard appears carrying a submachine gun, one of the large dogs at his side. He informs us firmly that we cannot go any further and must turn back.

It is only on the way back that we realise what we have stumbled into. The large estate high up on the hillside is the former residence of President Ben Ali, who fled the country after the popular uprising of 14 January 2011. The beach below the helicopter pad was his private beach.

The Palace of Sidi Dhrif — A Monument to Indecision

For over fifteen years, the ostentatious palace between La Marsa and Sidi Bou Saïd has stood empty. Perched high on a cliff, the building was stabilised for a time with concrete injections — but those works have since been abandoned, and the stability of the entire slope is now at risk.

The Palais de Sidi Dhrif is a glaring illustration of the political and administrative failures that followed the brief Arab Spring: missed opportunities, and a complete absence of ideas for alternative uses or any form of economic reactivation. It could have been turned into a museum, repurposed as a cultural centre, or simply sold. Instead: nothing. The estate stands empty, unused — but guarded. A monument to indecision, in a country where nothing seems to move.