My Experiences of Tunisia

A Holiday Less Ordinary…

My trip to Tunisia started, of course, with the inevitable farce of Gatwick parking. I had pre-booked the Valet Parking, which was interesting in itself. For those who have not experienced Gatwick’s Valet Parking, let me explain it to you. So, you pre-book your parking by letting them know what time you will drop the car off, and what time you will pick it up.

You then circumnavigate the endless variants of car parks, green, red, three, ninety one, black, seven, to then find the one for the ‘prestigious’ Valet car park, which was incidentally Orange-Two, Level 2. Once you arrive at the barrier, you press the button for the ticket, and the barrier opens. You drive in, find a space, and park. You then go to the Valet office, where you will find Brett. Now Brett looks as if he has just awoken from hibernation, which, at 3.00am, he quite possibly has done.

You tell Brett your car registration; he will then give you a form, on which you have to write your car registration; he then gives you a further form for you to write your car registration on, and finally a key fob, which you have to write your car registration on again.

After the world and his wife now has access to your registration, you give him your key, he informs you that everything is done, and you can enjoy your holiday, safe in the knowledge that your car will be kept safe from harm’s way. Upon arriving back in the UK, you go back to the Valet office, where he gives you your key back, and points out your car, which is parked in exactly the same parking spot as you left it.

Now, I know what you are thinking; this sounds exactly like the process one would go through if you’d have parked in a normal car park, apart from not giving your keys over. And you’d be right, there is one distinct difference however; your car is parked in exactly the same spot, although not with exactly the same mileage, with your radio tuned in to Rap FM. Essentially, with Gatwick’s Valet Parking, you pay for the privilege of having Brett use your car as his KFC collection vehicle, while doubling up as a recording studio for his latest mix tape.

Now, after I had dealt with Brett, I checked in. Being introduced to Thomas Cook’s finest and most attentive (at 3.00am) check-in staff, Maureen, Pauline and Doreen. Check-in done, I ventured through security, and passport check, finally finding somewhere to have a coffee, and await the signal to inform me to make my way to the gate, which turned out to be a Geordie lass bellowing out instructions.

Sitting on the plane, I get talking to an interesting Liverpudlian couple next to me who were having their first trip away together. They quickly saw this meeting as an opportunity to start to give me their collective life story. When the air hostess came over to explain to Dave why he had to have his seat upright through take-off, I saw this as an opportunity to nestle in to my window seat, and drift off in to a deep sleep, safe in the knowledge that Brett will be ensuring that no harm would come to my car.

I awoke to a shake, bump and a bang. I wasn’t too sure as to whether we had landed or been shot down, but as there was little or no screaming, I was confident that it was it was the former. I knew instinctively that I was in Tunisia by two things: firstly, the map on the TV screen said so, but also by the fact that the airport ground staff were playing what can only described as a cross between rugby and basketball with all of our cases. Now, Tunisian security checks were rather amusing. There was a man sat on a chair in front of the X-ray screen watching the endless stream of see-through iPads and 10ml bottles of factor 50 go through the scanner. He was however getting distracted by being on his phone, something that his superior didn’t like. They started to have a heated Arabic argument, with pushing and shoving, roping in the guy who usually stands at the big scanner waving his bleepy wand over everyone.

At this point, to make the queue go down quicker, everyone took the unanimous decision to just walk through the scanner, with their bags, ignoring the audible and visual alarms of the scanner, and head directly to baggage reclaim. Now, all of this drama was out of my head, as I was now standing outside the terminal, in Tunisia, raring for my exploring trip to start. It started of course by tipping a man who had done absolutely nothing to aid me in finding my transfer coach, but tipped him anyway not wanting to cause offence. After tipping the man standing by the coach door, and the driver, I was allowed on the bus, and settled into the hour trip to my Hotel in Sousse. The trip was relatively uneventful, apart from seeing two, almost simultaneous, plumes of black smoke rise in to the air, which I later found out were terror attacks in a town just outside Sousse – the first sign that this part of the world was a far cry from the green and pleasant land that Brett was experiencing in my car. After a couple of preliminary drop-offs, I arrived at my hotel. I was greeted by two men, holding guns. I didn’t know whether to feel safe, or quite the opposite.

Once I had checked in, and changed £85 into about 1,000,000 Dinar, all of was given to me low denomination, filthy, limp bank notes, I headed up to my room. Even though I carried my own bag, and could have most probably made my way to my room unassisted (after all, I had circumnavigated Gatwick’s array of car parks only a few hours beforehand), I still ended up tipping the bell boy who took great pride in showing me how my balcony door could slide both open, and shut.

Once I had done the male version of unpacking (opening my case and locating my flip flops), I decided to go for a little reconnoitre of my surroundings. I made my way out into the garden, past the empty pool, and through a little archway that led straight onto the whitest sandy beach I had ever set foot on, that then disappeared into the beautiful turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea. It was stunning: just me, the sand, the sea, and the palm trees. Then out of nowhere, appeared a strange-looking man who claimed to go by the name of Ali Baba (I kid you not). Ali Baba decided that what I needed was a Keffiyeh (the head tea towel).

  
I refused profusely, but to no avail. He was adamant that this would purely be a gift from man to man, and that no money would exchange hands. He kept his promise right up to the point where he placed the Keffiyeh on my head, then his palm was out, awaiting for me to remunerate him for his most generous of ‘gifts’. As I had only just changed some money, I had only notes to offer him, however I quickly found out that Ali Baba ‘didn’t do change’, as he proceeded to wander off with my manky old five Dinar note. At this point, I decided to take off my ‘all-inclusive’ hotel wristband, as these attract the Ali Baba’s of the world like wasps to a cider glass, and try to look less ‘touristy’.

My first experience outside the confines of my armed hotel was an excursion to go quad-biking. I was approached by a man on the beach, who said that as the Tunisian football team were playing that afternoon, he would offer me considerable discount on a ticket for his cousin’s quad-biking shop. I obliged and laced his palm with yet more flimsy bank notes. I then followed him, through some interestingly smelling alleyways, to an awaiting vehicle. The vehicle in question was some sort of Toyota people-carrier/bus-type thing, with odd wheels, little windows, a missing door, and a driver who was not dissimilar to an Arabian version of Doc from Back to the Future.

I got in and we set off, past my armed guards, and in to the bustling, noisy, and dirty streets of Sousse. He had his radio tuned into Radio Arabia or something similar. I couldn’t make out if the presenters were singing or arguing. We meandered our way through some of the roughest places I have ever seen, and eventually we ended up at a shack that had an array of quads, all in varying states of repair. After a helmet was given to me, I picked a quad that had four wheels and a seat, and set off following a guy who looked suspiciously like Ali Baba. We headed off in to the arid landscape for a three-hour ride, through shanty towns, olive groves, along dried up river beds, and through courgette fields. It really was a fantastic start to my trip.

  
After my ‘quadding’ exploration, I headed back to my armoured hotel, and ventured back on to the beach, dodging a handful of Ali Baba’s, until I found my original Ali Baba who somehow coerced me in to going jet-skiing, water-skiing and parasailing. I enjoyed my afternoon activities very much, and after tipping the relevant people, ensuring that I stuck to only giving out coins, I headed back to my hotel to have a shower and freshen up for the evening.

I went down to the buffet area, and was greeted with a huge range of culinary fare. There was a wide selection of lovely looking salads (which I avoided as drinking water is not safe in Tunisia), and various bain-marie’s of different dishes -all of which were absolutely revolting- and decided that I would not eat in the hotel anymore. I had a gin or two (no ice) in the hotel bar, tipped the barman for doing his job, tipped the lift man for doing his job, tipped the random guy who was also called Ali Baba who insisted on showing me where my room was again, and headed to bed as I had had a long day.

I was rudely awoken at around 4.00am by the sound of a cow giving birth through a didgeridoo. I slid open my balcony doors to investigate (thank heavens the bell boy showed me how to this as may have never realised they opened), and to see if I could offer any form of assistance to this poor cow. I quickly realised that this wasn’t a cow, it was just morning prayer. So with that, I put my earphones in, and went back to sleep.

Once I finally awoke of my own accord, I had the sun gleaming though my balcony doors, inviting me to go out and play. So I did. I went quad biking once more, and met some great people who, I can honestly say, have become very good friends. I then headed back on to the beach, dodging all the Ali Baba’s, and laid on a sun lounger. The view was spectacular; the weather was beautiful; there was some music that randomly started playing from what sounded like beneath the sand, and that was beautiful too. However, I quickly came to the decision that beach holidays are really not for me. I developed an overwhelming sense of boredom, and needed to go and explore.

I got changed in to something more suited to exploring, leaving the swimming trunks behind, and exited the resort. Now, once I had passed by the two gun-wielding security guards at the gate, it suddenly dawned on me that I was now on my own with no protection. At this point, most people would have had a change of heart, and a change of outfit, and returned to the sun loungers, but, I am not most people, and I decided to ‘risk it’. Something I decided to do an awful lot over the next few days.

As I walked further away from what was left of the Tunisian tourist spot, I came across a guy sitting outside a shack, claiming to be renting cars. I enquired as to how this all worked, and, to cut a long story short, I left his shop with an odd looking key for a 1970’s Fiat 128, without a driver’s window, lights or any useful braking system. I asked him about insurance, and he shook his head, I then asked if he wanted to see my driver’s license, he responded with something that roughly translated as “You’re my brother, I trust you”. I seemed to have quite a few ‘brothers’ here in Tunisia. I didn’t think my mother had ever visited; I must have been mistaken.

  
Anyway, I now had some wheels for the princely sum of around £2.00, and so off I went to use them. Now, driving in Tunisia is an experience all on its own. The main roads are a sort of mini dual-carriage way in effect. And being in Tunisia, one drives on the right. Or so I thought. If you are a car or lorry, you do indeed drive on the right. However, if you are a motorbike, you can drive either on the left, or the right. The same is true when it comes to roundabouts, I would be negotiating a roundabout anticlockwise, and a moped with four people on it would come merrily round clockwise. One needs to be on one’s toes when driving over there.

So, after a mentally exhausting drive north to the capital, Tunis, I returned to my hotel to freshen up, ready to meet my new friends that I had met quad-biking for supper. We went to a very nice steak restaurant which seemed slightly out place, as it was clean. As I wasn’t sure of the quality of the meat, I decided not to go for my usual ‘blue’ preference, but to go for ‘medium’ instead. A stupid decision, because for my starter, I ordered beef Carpaccio, essentially raw beef. Contrary to my expectations, the food was delicious, as was the Tunisian wine, and I would go on to eat here many times over the remainder of my stay – but ordering my steak blue instead.

The following day, I decided to carry on with my exploring full-on. I walked for miles, once again away from the touristy part, deep in to what I liked to call, the Ghetto. Allow me to set the scene: picture the roughest housing estate you have ever seen; blow up a few of the houses/blocks; replace the roads with dirt tracks; add an abundance of stray animals, and finally introduce an interesting aroma of a blend of urine and BO. So, imagine that, now double it, and you now are half way to being where I was.

   
 Nevertheless, I wanted to see the real Tunisia, not just the stuff of the guide books, and I sure was finding it. After some time meandering my way around the side streets of this interesting area, I stumbled across an establishment that looked as though it could sell food. I went in, ordered a coke and what translated as ‘Arabian Pizza’, and sat outside in the baking hot sun.

I was immediately surrounded by stray cats, all wanting me to throw them some of my bread. After a short while, my food arrived, and oddly, all the cats disappeared. I ate my pizza, which was one of the nicest pizzas I have had outside of Italy. It was on a wafer thin base, with some lovely cheese, and some herby mince on the top: delicious. When the waiter came to clear my plate, I enquired as to what the meat was on my pizza, to which he nonchalantly replied “cat”. No wonder all the cats cleared off when they smelled my pizza!
Never mind, I really genuinely enjoyed it, so that was the main thing. Over the next couple of days I continued to explore the north of Tunisia, heading further and further inland, away from the tourist coast. I experienced some interesting things; I saw some disturbing things, and I ate more ‘off the cuff’ Tunisian delights. These included slow-roasted dog in a tagine type sauce, a sort of cat samosa thing, dog casserole, and camel stew. All of which were genuinely tasty, and none of which gave me a dodgy stomach.

After exploring the north, I decided that an exploration of the south was in order. I arranged to join a group of like-minded risk-takers on a two-day trip down to the south of the country. I was picked up from my hotel at 6.00am, waved goodbye to my armed security guards, and set off in a rickety old, but thankfully, air-conditioned bus. We headed south-west, and stopped at Al-Qayrawan, the Islamic capital. I visited the Great Mosque of Kairouan; established in 670AD: it is one of the oldest places of worship in the Islamic world. Standing majestically even after all this time, it still tries to reinforce the true meaning of Islam – which is peace.

  
After some spectacular panoramic photos, and a selfie or two, we headed further west, and then hugged the border of Algeria, as we made our way south. Stopping in Algeria for lunch, which consisted of yet more domestic animals, we then carried on south to an amazing oasis. I traded in my seat on the bus for a horse and carriage which took me deep into the country. Surrounded by palm trees, banana trees and grape vines; I felt like I was in a jungle. As we crossed a river, getting soaked in the process thanks to my horse’s inability to walk calmly through the water, we came across a group of locals who were artificially inseminating palm trees. This involved climbing to the top of the palm trees, bare-foot and with no ropes, and then placing the pollen of the male palm tree into the middle of the seeds of the female palm tree, and tying it up. When the wind blows, it blows the pollen onto the seeds, and hey presto, a baby palm is born.

   

We carried on through the humid oasis, taking in the breath-taking sights and smells until we reached the road again. At this point, I traded in my horse and carriage for a Toyota Landcruiser and this where things were about to get hotter….literally!

Sat next to my driver, we raced along dead straight roads, watching the green shrubbery of the otherwise arid landscape start to disappear. As we turned off the asphalt on to a dusty track, the barren countryside turned into desert. After nearly two hours of driving, I found myself in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Not a tree, bush, animal, road, person, not even an Ali Baba could be seen; just sand for as far as the eye could see. I was deep in the Sahara Desert. The temperature peaked at a very hot 47 degrees celsius.

  
The next hour or so was spent playing silly buggers in the Toyota, driving up and down the sand dunes defying the laws of gravity at unbelievable angles that would have done justice to an episode of Top Gear. How we didn’t roll over I will never know, especially as I was hanging out of the window recording and taking pictures the whole time. And, while on the subject, iPhone 6’s do not, I repeat, do not like the Sahara Desert. I had a yellow warning triangle on my screen for most of the day telling me to cool down my device before I could use it.

  
   
 After an amazing afternoon and feeling like Lawrence of Arabia, my driver dropped at a fantastic hotel. I wasn’t sure if this place was a mirage or not. Still in the Sahara, here was this place, a luxurious, five-star hotel, complete with spa and indoor and outdoor pools: a godsend after an afternoon in the African sun. So, after a filling of camel stew and couscous, and rather a lot of gin, I headed down to the pool. For over an hour, I just floated on my back, looking up at the moon and stars, still not quite believing I was in the Sahara Desert.

  
The following morning was an early start. Breakfast was at 4.00am as I was being picked up at 4:30am. Along came the bus and I settled into my seat, and almost instantaneously fell asleep, still safe in the knowledge that Brett was keeping my car from harm’s way. After a short sleep, I was awoken to one of the most spectacular sights I have seen. The sparse back-drop of the salt lakes. It truly was spectacular. The minerals in the salt give what little water there is pinkish hue. We stayed here until we saw the sun start to break in the distance. Within a couple of minutes, the sun cast an assortment of colours across this already impressive scenery. A sight I don’t think I shall ever forget.

   
 After a further stint in the charabanc, I arrived at a shack in the desert, where I once again traded my seat on the bus, but this time for a camel. A long two-and-a-bit hour trek into the dunes followed upon my trusty camel, once again donning my Keffiyeh. I really did feel like Lawrence now. This was a pinnacle moment for me. I really don’t think I could have done anything more African if I had tried: riding a camel, dressed in the appropriate regalia, through the dunes of the Sahara; it truly was an amazing experience.

  
We carried on south-east, heading closer and closer to the ISIS territory of Libya, with flashbacks of BBC News headlines running through my head, as the stunning scenery that I had become accustomed to turned into war-stricken shanty towns. After a long drive, we stopped to see the cave dwellings of the Berbers: the radically diverse ethnic group indigenous to Northern Africa. Although it was amazing to see this, my mind was focused on the consistent crackle of gunfire heard in the not-so-distant mountains – a timely reminder that I was definitely not in a tourist area.

  
After a few more pictures, we set off once more for the long trek back North. The long drive took me past some unbelievable sights. Including yet more shanty towns, stunning hillsides complete with neat levels of step farming, Libyans selling petrol out of water butts on the roadside, gazebo’s with sheep carcases hanging upside down where you pick your joint to be either barbequed in front of you, or wrapped up for home consumption. I saw women carrying four feet of fruit and veg their heads, mopeds with half the population of Wales riding them, stopped for a drink where I found myself with an Eagle on my head, I saw roadside toilets that made East Coast Rail toilets look like the Ritz, and finally, my penultimate stop took me to a Roman amphitheatre just North of Sousse.

   
 
 
This amphitheatre is the third largest Roman amphitheatre in the world, and is also one of the best preserved in the world. I was able to walk all around it, up into the ‘Gods’, and down under the main arena to where the prisoners were kept. It really is worth a visit. That was my final stop on my Tunisian journey, and after one last meal at the steak restaurant, it was back to the hotel to pack, before I was picked up at 6.00am for my trip back to the airport. A nice easy flight back to Gatwick, was followed by a reintroduction to Brett, who gladly pointed out the location of my car – exactly where I had parked it – and finally a negotiation of the labyrinthine maze that is Gatwick parking.

  
I truly enjoyed my experience of North Africa, and I am genuinely pleased I took the risks I did (some of which will never be printed), otherwise I wouldn’t have seen the magical places that I did. Don’t get me wrong, this country is one of the most dangerous places I have ever been to. Kidnappings, murders, muggings, rape, abductions, trafficking, Tunisian Mafia and ISIS are all part of daily life there.

I saw lots of unnerving things, mainly brought on by myself, going off into nowhere, away from roads, tourists, any form of civilisation, all on my own – but I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I have now seen the real Tunisia, not the stuff of the guidebooks. I have eaten dog, cat, camel, had a car accident in a taxi, argued in Arabic, been approached by some of the dodgiest people I have ever met, been saved by the police, and bribed most of the people I met (including the police). But I can honestly say, I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

   

  
 Tunisia….I will see you again.