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Before I begin this blog entry I'd like blame any spelling/punctuation errors on the fact that I'm using an Arabic/French keyboard and consequentally many of the keys are in different locations to the 'usual'!

I'm writing this from hot Tunisia. All the locals here still consider the weather to be quite cold and so many are walking aroung with coats and fleeces on! I, however, have already brought out the sunglasses, sun cream and mosquito spray.

After my last blog entry from Genoa I headed to a village called Nervi. Put simply, it was gorgeous. Despite the chill, the sun was shining and the seafront promenade was populated by local families on afternoon strolls. I got stuck into an ice-cream whilst watching the world go by and for the first time, as I gazed across the Med, I really began to appreciate the enormous journey that lay ahead and how lucky I am to be travelling.

The next day, the 13th February, I caught the ferry to Tunis. After checking-in for the ferry I met Sami, a Tunisian who works as a builder in Italy. He was typical of those on the ferry: young Tunisian men commuting between work and home. I saw no other English people on the ship. After boarding I found my seat, on the top of nine decks, before setting out to investigate what the ship had to offer. It looked like such a grand ship but my initial excitement was tempered on realisation that the swimming pool is now a shisha bar and the gymnasium is now a prayer room! The journey lasted 24 hours but, luckily, I was able to sleep across two seats for over half of that, despite the ridiculously loud and lengthy conversations between the Tunisian guys. I don't know what they talk about but their conversations go on and on and on. It's nice, however, that they talk to eachother so much as it's something I rarely see on English public transport. The 460 mile journey passed fairly quickly.

After an obligatory over-priced taxi journey I settled into the sweet youth hostel right at the heart of Tunis' 'medina' (the old part of town where the market is based). The next day was spent literally getting lost in the maze or market stalls and mosques which constitutes the medina. The colours, smells and haggling was exactly what I expected from an African market but just a stone's throw from the medina is the plush newer area of town, which looks just like that in any European city with the monuments and high street shops. I also visited a hammam with Albert, a guy from Texas who I met in the hostel. We were bathed, scrubbed and massaged by a toothless Tunisian guy for just seven dinars (about £3).

When strolling through the medina Albert started speaking to two young guys. They took us to a bar serving alcohol, pointing out the red-light district en route. So these things exist, even in Muslin countries. Anyway, these two Tunisian likely-lads sat and enjoyed a beer with us in a bar. It was nice to chat to Tunisians although I'm not sure of how much they told us was true. The bigger guy claimed to have been African boxing champion in 1998 (the internet does not back this up) and they also taught us the Arabic word for 'cheers' (we later discovered this was a derogatory remark regarding one's sister)!

The following day, the 16th February, Albert and I took a louage (minibus) to Jerba, a town in the south which is situated on the Med coast and, in peak season (which it is not), is packed full of tourists. The journey took about seven hours during which time the landscape changed from lush vegetation to dust as we approached the edge of the Sahara desert. It was on arrival in Jerba that I had my first 'Chawarma' kebab: lamb meat with salad, mayonnaise and harissa spice, served with chips (not like the sort you get in 'Norwich Kebab and Pizza Hut 7').

Jerba has and will be my base until I (hopefully, I see Gaddaffi's been causing more mischief recently) enter Libya on 22nd February. From the hostel in Jerba, which was formerly used as a rest station for camels and their owners, we have visited the nearby beaches, harbours, fortresses and, most impressively, the town of Tataouine. Tataouine is a town on the edge of the Sahara desert and is surrounded by 'ksours'. These villages were built to protect people and supplies from enemy attack by making them both difficult to reach and hard to navigate. We chartered a taxi for half a day to take us to three different villages, Chenini, Douiret and Ksar Ouled Soltane, the last of which was used in Star Wars as the slave quarters (does anybody recognise it?). As I descended from the summit at Douiret, I slipped on the loose gravel and was sliding on my bum towards a significant drop. Luckily, however, (although not for my crown jewels) my legs passed either side of a shrub which halted my slide (see photo for amusement). As Omar, the grumpy taxi driver, drove from one village to the next we had to pinch ourselves as all around us was desert: the rocky slopes, the sand and the wind. By the end of the day we felt like we had had the proper desert treatment as we were thirsty, hungry, tired and I'm still finding sand now.

So, this is what I've been up to. I have also had my first proper shower since Italy, I've been brutally attacked by a hungry mosquito (but only on my hands), I've eaten loads of couscous, tuna and olives, I've seen loads of football on the tv and have enjoyed plenty of shisha pipes and mint tea. The Tunisians are used to tourists and are very welcoming. The trip, however, will become rawer on Monday when I attempt to meet my tour guide and sweet-talk my way passed immigration authorities into Libya. My opportunity to use the internet will be limited, so expect my next entry to be from Egypt.

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