Nostalgia for a Place and Time I Never Knew: My Connection to Casino Hammam-Lif

Hammam-Lif, at the foot of Boukornine, was my father’s birthplace, his final resting place, and my home for two brief years.

Hammam-Lif, or “Naro” in ancient times, carries a history dating back to antiquity. The Romans renamed it Aquae Persianae, and under Arab rule, it became Hammamat El Jazira—“baths of the peninsula.” Eventually, it settled into its current name, referencing its famed thermal springs and the mountain's shape resembling a nose (anf in Arabic).

Renowned for its healing hot springs since antiquity, Hammam-Lif was also a symbol of elegance during Tunisia’s colonial period. Its golden age featured Dar El Bey (the Bey’s Palace) and a glamorous casino.

The Casino, built in the late 19th century in a Moorish style, was a hub of entertainment. Its weathered façade still whispers stories of glam and festivity.

When I was a child, my father and I would often stroll along the shore, passing the Casino. To me, it was just a ruin, but through his stories, it came alive. My father would tell me about my grandfather, who worked in the Casino’s restaurant. As young boys, my father and his brothers would linger by the kitchen windows, eagerly waiting for their father to pass them leftover food. Yet the Casino wasn’t just a workplace for my grandfather—it was the vibrant heart of Hammam-Lif’s nightlife, a place where music, laughter, and life itself seemed to converge.

Though I left Hammam-Lif in 2002, it remains a magnetic part of my life. I return often, not just out of habit but from a deep need to connect with something larger than myself—a shared history, a piece of my father, and the echoes of a time I never knew yet feel so vividly.

When I visit, I sit with my back to the sea, my gaze fixed on the Casino’s fading silhouette. The ruins of the Casino, along with the crumbling palaces of the Bey, mirror the bittersweet nature of time.

Hammam-Lif isn’t just a place to me—it’s a feeling. It’s the bond between me and my father, the bridge to my grandfather’s struggles, and the site of countless imagined moments. Even as its physical structures erode, its spirit remains alive in me, in my memories, and in the silent, unwavering pull that keeps me coming back.