meeting the locals

Bribery is often underrated.

is anyone there?

To stand alone amongst the dunes with your own destiny firmly clasped between your sweat soaked hands is an awesome experience and one which should be distributed under the national curriculum.

My only wish is that I could convey the feelings this awesome landscape evokes but unfortunately my vocabulary fails me. It looks like you’re going to have to experience it yourself.

saharan enterprise is alive and kicking

Whilst munching our morning flapjack we enjoyed the company of a rather enterprising shepherd. After a brief conversation solely involving the word ‘Sahara’ we sent him on his way with a fresh bottle of water as the poor chap had no supplies. How wrong we were. Within seconds of his departure he waved through his remaining flock, a further two shepherds and three donkeys straining under the weight of food and water.

Fingers crossed we won’t need it later on.

recovering an ill-advised decision

In an attempt to emulate the great Ray Mears we set off to conquer the Saharan dunes armed with a handful of GPS waypoints and a bag of pasta.

Spent the majority of the morning charting virgin dunes, however, after an unfortunate line choice by Ollie we found ourselves attempting our first desert recovery in the heat of the midday sun.

Equipment used:

2 x bottle jacks
2 x sand ladders
2 x sand mats
2 x shovels
2 x tow ropes (ours snapped)
1 x inflating jack
2 x sand hours

wild wood

Perched high up on a rocky hillside we settled down for the first wild camp of the trip. However being of the mind that Africa was supposedly warm we were distinctly under prepared as the temperature steadily dropped along with the sun.

Thankfully the ever-resourceful Ollie had carted a large bag of logs freshly cut from the woodland surrounding the pretty Cambridge countryside. By around 10 o’clock we had used all the logs and felled a nearby tree in an unsuccessful attempt to stay warm. With our faces inches from the flames we finally hauled the white flag up the chilly pole and headed to bed with warm eyes.

Small mercies.

pied piper of el kef

Arrived at el kef just in time to meet schools of children flooding out of lessons. Within seconds we were surrounded by hundreds of children each dragging us off in different directions with their tiny hands.

Our initial plan of discreetly entering a village before blending in with the locals hence reducing the likehood of getting the car stolen looked far from successful.

After re-grouping we were led off by around 50 children through the centre of the market in the loose direction of the Kasbah. By the time we arrived at our destination we had lost 47 children, gained yet another telephone number and attracted the interest of a small boy who appeared to make a living from stealing friendship bracelets from the bags of young girls.

As a foil we paid four dinars to visit the local museum in a naïve attempt to lose our three companions, however, we failed to notice the sign which proclaimed that all Tunisian nationals could pass through the door bearing traditional treats without parting with a single dinar. Not to be discouraged we spent a yawn inducing 40 minutes staring at small strange objects each lovingly described in detailed Arabic script.

The result saw four rather confused boys attempt to invent meaning for seemingly unusable objects. I believe it was at this point that we lost our appeal and our small guides slunk off to munch cheese sandwiches under a small olive tree.

meal fit for a king

Having been tempted by the waiter’s chillingly accurate description; “Mister, it like un petit chat”, I pushed my initial reservations to one side and ordered the lapin. However, upon receiving my meal, which incidentally resembled a meaty stingray, I feared I might be about to munch on a six year old’s kitten.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen a rabbit since the shores of France…

three girls, one number and a long walk

Upon leaving the hotel with a sack full of dirty washing we bumped into Ollie– a fellow Englishman undertaking an overland trip to Cape Town. With our new friend at our side we set off in search of an internet café.

Having chased numerous false leads we were initially pleased to bump into three girls who offered to walk us to the nearest purveyor of the world wide web. However, after 30 minutes of walking all we had successfully managed to do was lose two girls, gain a telephone number and walk in a complete circle. Finally, after a further 20 minute walk, we eventually stumbled into the café, exhausted but relieved.

However, our adventure was far from over as our collective bucket of French phrases once again got us into a little bother. In a vain attempt to ask for the address so Matt and Neil could join us after dropping the washing at the laundrette, Ollie inadvertently asked for the chaps address for a midnight rendezvous. Fear factor 10.

goldie locks

After surviving a near death experience involving a tram, a stream of fast moving traffic and a narrow crumbling curb we unloaded our clean pants on Tunisia’s answer to Oxford Street.

It was to be our first night in a hotel and as you can imagine we were all rather excited. At 10pm we trooped off to bed in search of an illusive undisturbed slumber, however we had yet to realise the true resourcefulness of this fine nation. Upon bedding down we discovered the pillows led a double life…moonlighting as sleeping policemen during daylight hours – rough.

toothgate

Still having trouble identifying toothbrushes so have opted to name them in a last ditch attempt:

Gary Green – Ben

Billy Blue – Tom

Barry White – Matt