We landed at El Kantara (the name means “bridge”), the ancient Meninx. Once a magnificent city, as attested by the sculptured stones, broken columns, and fragments of marble sarcophagi which still strew the site, it is now a mere cluster of mud hovels inhabited by native sponge-fishers, the sole Europeans in the place being the French _douanier_ and his young and pretty wife. The _controleur civil_ had telephoned from Houmt-Souk that a car had been sent for us, but as it had not shown up and as it was now long past noon and breakfast ancient history, the _douanier_ took pity on us and invited us into his little house, bringing out for our entertainment a plate of biscuits and a bottle of the rather pungent cordial called Cap Corse. When at last the car sent by the _controleur_ made its appearance—it belonged, as might have been expected, to the ubiquitous Ford family of Detroit—the plate had been emptied, the bottle had been drained, and the hospitality of our host and hostess had been strained to the breaking-point, I fear. It is about five-and-twenty kilometers across the island, the smooth white road skirting the edges of venerable olive-groves or running between the walls of prosperous farms. I had expected to find a rugged land, with lofty peaks and brawling streams and leafy glens and lush green valleys, for Homer speaks of the “three mountain peaks” and the “gleaming river” and the high cascades of “downward smoke”; but there was not a hill or valley worthy of the name; not a single stream of any sort, let alone a river; nor was there a mountain anywhere in sight. Physiographically, Djerba is, as might be expected, merely a continuation of the mainland, but, unlike the mainland, every foot of its gently rolling surface has been irrigated and cultivated and fertilized until its naturally arid soil has attained an amazing degree of productiveness. Numerous palms give it a semi-tropical appearance; the fields are carpeted with wild flowers; the climate is delightful; and the vast groves of old, old olive-trees provide ample shade; so it is easy to understand how the Hellenic mariners, coming here from the bleaker shores of the Ægean, thought it was a paradise indeed.