In this personal report, I describe my first winter in Tunisia – between lack of heating, improvisation, culture shock, and the surprising difference between Swiss and Tunisian cold. This text is not a guide, but a subjective everyday experience from Chatt Meriem.
When I planned my move from Switzerland to Tunisia, I only worried about one thing: the summer.
The heat.
Forty degrees.
Survival.
I work from home, Tunisian houses stay cool, and in the worst case there is air conditioning. Besides, Tunisian summer nights are warm, lively, and pleasant. At 3 a.m. there are still cafés, food, cigarettes, life. Unlike in Switzerland, where the sidewalks politely close at 10 p.m.
Hot summers?
Perfect.
Bring it on.
Living in Tunisia – when expectations meet reality
What I was not prepared for was the Tunisian winter.
Ten degrees Celsius sounds charming from the perspective of Switzerland. Almost springlike. Every Swiss winter without a minus sign is considered a luxury experience. So I smiled, packed a slightly thicker jacket, and carried on with my life.
Mistake.
In December, I still lived in a heated apartment and sent smug selfies to friends back home. Sunshine. Blue skies. Guaranteed envy. Switzerland was sinking in fog; I had the golden ticket.
Then came the offer: a brand new apartment. Panoramic windows. Sea view.
Construction site atmosphere, but pipes sticking out of the walls. To my Swiss mind, this clearly meant: There will be heating. Why else would these pipes be there? Decoration? Minimalist art? Coat hangers?
Fast forward: Early January. I move in.
No gas.
No heating.
No hot water.
Welcome to the Tunisian winter.
I quickly learned something important:
Minus fifteen degrees in Switzerland are harmless. Because they only last twenty minutes – between two heated rooms.
Ten degrees in Tunisia accompany you day and night. Relentlessly.
I spent days wrapped in wool blankets like a tragic burrito. Cleaning was a fantasy. Showering became a historical reenactment. I boiled water with a kettle and washed myself using medieval techniques.
And then there were the trips to the toilet.
I don’t know if it’s medically possible to freeze to death at ten degrees. But when you sit on an ice-cold ceramic toilet at night – naked, vulnerable, questioning your life choices – it definitely feels like an excellent way to die.
Tunisia. A country you would die for.
Promises were made daily. Solutions were not. I was told I was exaggerating. That I lacked patience. That this was normal.
One night I almost booked a flight back to Switzerland. Instead, I insulated the door gaps with clothes, cried a little, cuddled my freezing dog, and fell asleep.
The next morning I embraced my inner Tunisian.
Surviving the Tunisian winter – improvisation instead of comfort
I lied creatively. About authorities. About urgency. About imaginary phone calls. Within 24 hours, a provisional gas line appeared – a masterpiece of improvisation, held together by optimism and a belief that defied the laws of physics.
There was hot soup again.
Hope returned.
I bought an oil heater. Then an air conditioner – to get through the winter. It was installed within a day.
Now I pay for the heating myself.
Is that fair?
No.
Is it warm?
Yes.
And right now, warmth is not a luxury.
It is survival.
- The text describes my personal experience with winter in Tunisia.
- The focus is on cold, lack of heating, and improvisation in everyday life.
- It is not about technical solutions or instructions.
- The article highlights the emotional difference between Swiss and Tunisian winter.
- The text is a subjective observation about adaptation and survival.