Chapter 1 - YOU CAN'T GET AWAY EVEN IF YOU GO AWAY TO TUNISIA

An airport lounge is always a bit like the bar in the opening scenes of 'Star Wars', and like life is filled with the weird, awkward and wonderful. I was struck by the huge square red earrings with matching ruby full lips protruding from a triple chin and wobbling turkey chops that were eclipsed by an enormous belly. The lips puckered and dragged on a long cheroot and then coughed. My thoughts wandered to the newspaper article of a woman dying from DVT after being crushed by another passenger on a tightly packed aircraft. Surely this one would never fit into the space, maybe she'd be taken as cargo only for a supplement, or be given an 'add-on' safety strap the type they use for cribs. But no, this was Joan who found solace sleeping on a creaking sun-lounger by the indoor pool awaking periodically to pollute the air with a drag of a fag. I watched from the water to ascertain if this beached whale was breathing, her obesity and liking for fags at every opportunity made me think that any minute now, I would be the last person to see her alive. And, it was Joan who had booked a horse-drawn carriage ride on the rainy day of departure around town, but couldn't go unless she could find 3 more willing victims to accompany her, or was it to balance the cart from falling over. I am sure more people would have come forward to answer her request, if their thoughts like mine hadn't been with the horse. The rest of the gaggle of tourists were mostly in the 'Young at Heart' bracket, and were on the whole a nice bunch. So too were the chirpy, bubbly bouncy holiday reps. Joan wasn't alone in the 'odd' category, I was probably in it too, but there was a 'tourist' with matted long, straggly curly hair. He looked pale, skinny and half-asleep most of the time, 'probably drugs' a lady knitting said, and it was obvious to all that he neither changed his clothing, nor washed for the full week, and he sat alone scratching. If there had been a fire at the hotel, and he had been killed, he would be the guy with no name and known only as the 'seedy guy who scratched'; alternatively he might have been the original Mr Indestructible.

After my escape I made my way to an old cave of a coffee shop perched in an eyrie overlooking the sea through arches, with it's cushions, wall hangings, carpets, hubble bubble pipes and clean toilets. There I met a remarkable Palestinian Refugee who told me the Israelis had killed both her brothers who had tried to protect their land from seizure by the Israelis. And, how as the sole family survivor she owned the £6M's worth of seized land. She told me how the Israelis had since built a military installation on her land and given Israelis the right to settle there. They had offered her a pittance in compensation for it, but she had refused, for to accept would make her a traitor to her 'People' and this was something she would never do. Until Palestinians are able to live side by side with the Israelis, and their lands returned there will never be peace. She said she and her family lived in fear on a daily basis. Her phone calls had been tapped, and she was high on a hit list of the Israeli secret police. All she ever wanted was peace. We drank a few cups of thick black, and talked of lighter things, and she showed me the bargains her and a friend had bought in the Medina, and a large henna tattoo on her midriff, we shared a yellow taxi back to the hotel area. I walked away thinking 'what a remarkable woman'.

November in Tunisia was cold, wet and windy, the sea was a tempest. A walk along the beach almost impossible, if the waves didn't drag you under, and you couldn't manage the beach umbrella hurdles that divided the beach resorts, you got approached by a man and his camel 'oik' who pestered you to ride the flea-bitten beast. The Camel was enormous, and the beach barriers were the safest option. Well has anyone seen a camel do the hurdles?

Where to sit and read. The beach and outside the hotel in the 'grounds' wasn't an option since I'd left my warm woollies at home. The hotel, interior was half-OK, except you were the target of all idle waiters on the 'Monopoly' board, who stood waiting like hawks to pick up your cup and refill it, their eyes measured your gulps, and knew how many dregs you had left in your cup. Of course if one had an alcoholic problem, or liked getting hyper on coffee, or endless cups of twiggy mint tea ordered in French this was a viable option. Finally I discovered the Internet Café; on a brisk walk along the orange groves. Relaxation at last? A chance to catch up with the mail? No. It was the place to wait for ages for a modem to connect, to work out an Arabic keyboard and to be stared at and watched so closely, you had to ask a guy to remove his buttock from your mouse, there was no privacy. In the end you just gave up, and went to your room, read a book, outside on your sheltered balcony to be stared at by passers by, or in your room with half an eye on the BBC World News, the only option on the TV in English. I tried a few stares at the French channel, which reminded me all too vividly of my Tunisian encounters. Never free, never alone never except in the toilet, where the chambermaid said, 'No problem look, just me and you have key yes!' Then dinner came and with it the Tunisian 'David Bailey', who wanted to take a picture of me eating in the dining room, should I open my mouth and show food and missing tooth, or closed with bulge in cheeks? I said 'No'! But many with full mouths said 'yes' in his mind, when they really meant 'No' and paid for their eating photos.

The Casino sucked all suckers in in Sousse, and the drinks waiters kept coming up, even though I had two drinks on the side of my slot machine. My game went up and down and then I was out, in the cold evening air, boarding a coach with the glittering top and pierced naval brigade. I returned back to Hammamet.

Chapter Two - The Salt lake, Camel and ' Lezard'

Stopped off at an 'Oasis' at the camel market town of Douz, and the driver drove us about 40 minutes out of town to avoid the camel touts. 'Quickly' said the boy as I stretched my short legs over the camel's hump, and it did the butchers hook down and up, as I held on to the wooden handles, my legs had lost their 'traditional' dress cover and were now exposed to fleas. 'Camel meat, for strong men only' said our guide. From the legs I'd seen in the Medina I realised that you'd have to have a strong stomach to eat it after seeing the fly attachments! The sheer expanse of bareness the line with the sky, the distant shadows of the palm trees, and the slow plod, plod, plod of the camel's slippered feet on the sand was awe-inspiring, it was no wonder that so many successful film directors had chosen this part of the world for a backdrop, such films as 'Star Wars', 'The English Patient', 'Jesus of Nazareth' to name but few had been filmed here. A potential Michael Winner lookalikie swanned waving slunked in the back of a horsedrawn carriage.

My camel was a mother with baby in tow, and when the driver decided to leave the baby in the desert, the mother would not go on, so, I spent the hour with the baby's head tethered inches from my right thigh. I had forgotten how joyous camel riding could be, my previous experience had lasted 4 hours and involved a bolting camel chasing a horse across the main drag into Libya. This time it was different, my thighs ached afterwards of course.

There are three types of desert here in Tunisia, Mountain, Salt and Sand. I experienced all three. The phone rang at 3.45am in the morning - 'Good Morning wake-up'. Ah yes, this means get up even if you have been awake most of the night with a stomach complaint. Brain went into action; I attempted the toilet flush again as I had foolishly accepted a glass of something from a troglodyte and it had an amazing instant weight loss effect. After a strange breakfast, which all breakfasts are here, I selected the most constant feature, dates and pomegranate. The buffet spread catered for every taste except of course there was no sausage, or bacon. The coffee was lickable, stickable Turkish-thick and had to be flushed with bottled water, then 15 minutes later flushed again. But hey, we won't go there!

The bus was waiting and we headed into the salt desert. A fantastic sight of 'white' bleakness as far as the eye could see, and the sunrise on the salt lake was spectacular. Men huddled around braziers, and here I found amethyst geodes, good quality dates and desert roses made from fused sand.

We trundled on and while other's had chosen to go over the mountains in jeeps, I took the 'Lezard' train option through the sandstone gorge. The Lezard was pulled by an old diesel engine and the train was built in the 20's, it's past glory still fresh and lovingly restored, polished brass holding rails, little sepia photos in oval mahogany picture frame panels and in the middle a fine old mirror. Beautiful wood inlaid panels, and sumptuously upholstered pale green velvet seats. All one needed was a bottle of 'Krug' and a bucket of ice to complete the scene. The windows of heavy glass were impossible to pull up and would have required a strong man or a pole to lever them. But, there were no sandstorms to worry about, and in my week in Tunisia this was the best day for weather. It was remarkable to see the train and even more fantastic actually being on it. Of course there were other classes on the train, the wooden seated 'third class', the brass and wood bar coach. An elderly Arab and myself were the only occupants of the plush first class compartment the old Arab managed a gappy grin, and seemed almost as old as the train. He wore his robes and 'farouk' hat and slippers and sat hunched in the corner. I smiled and he acknowledged me, I then had a brief conversation in 'French' and he settled back to enjoy his trip. Once the train began to chug, a young couple from Brighton joined me. They too were amazed at the craftsmanship and the comfort in which my Arab companion and I were riding, they spoke of having a party on the train, and even getting married on it!

The 'Lezard' was hustle free, the friendly waiter arrived with his brass tray, and I ordered an 'express' it arrived disappointingly in a plastic-shrinking cup, but tasted ok. The train paused 3 times for pics and one stop included the phosphate mine. It was over all too quickly, and we were back on the 'bus' and headed for another medina, an oasis and a performing octogenarian date palm climber who probably earned more money going up and down the tree for tourists than picking dates. I cut my leg on the rusty metal wheel hub on the horsedrawn carriage as I sat next to the driver and just hoped my tetanus jab would hold. My thought of the desert, the Gorge, the Oasis and my flushing loo, was what miracle water was, and what just a trickle used wisely could do. Unfortunately, I would have preferred a week of sunshine, but the Tunisians were grateful for the rain. Ah! C'est la vie.