That's how we came to meet at Heathrow on the Friday before the Spring Bank Holiday weekend, holdalls packed with helmet, goggles, gloves and a supply of shorts and tee shirts. Temperatures in the low 90s were promised, a far more attractive prospect than the usual British Bank Holiday weather. It has to be said that Heathrow at such a busy time is not an attractive place to spend an afternoon. When your tickets don't arrive at the ticket desk until 40 minutes before the flight goes and you don't even have the chance to relieve the monotony by sitting at a bar with a beer in your hand the attractions are even less. But ho hum, we weren't having to pay for the "privilege" of being kept waiting and we did catch the plane, even if it was nearly an hour late leaving.

Just under three hours later and we were at Tunis airport, where we were met by the Tunisian National Tourist Office representative. "You must be the journalists from England," she said. "Please put your profession on these entry cards so that I can speed you through Immigration." Keen to co-operate we became journalists. Well Andy has written a book and my flight bag contained a copy of the latest Yachts and Yachting with an article written by me, so the description contained an element of truth. And so we were sped through the Corps Diplomatique channel and on to our next flight south to Tozeur. Between the Arrivals and Departure lounges we saw a poster for a speedsail event that very weekend. "Look, they are sailing as well," we said.

We arrived at Tozeur at midnight, again to be welcomed by representatives of the Tunisian National Tourist Office. Then on to Kibili by car, just over an hour's drive away. Nice hotel, check in completed and off to bed at 1.30am. Rather later then we would have chosen, given that we had to be up again at 5.30am and ready for departure to the sailing site at 6.30am.

The following morning we bumped into a couple of British parakarters, Ted Money and Mike Regan. So it was to be a parakart, speedsail and Class 5 event was it? Well no, actually, there were no speedsails anywhere except on the posters. As for the Class 5s, it transpired that there were only five of them and no other Class 5 pilots. The Class 5 racing was being organised for local Tunisians, who were to be taught to sail that morning and we really were journalists. We would not have been much use as Instructors, as the trainees spoke French and Arabic and we spoke virtually none of one and absolutely none of the other. There were, though, 45 parakarters from around Europe, with Denmark, France, Germany, Holland, Italy, Portugal, Spain, Switzerland and UK represented. "Well that's that," we thought, "we really will have to be journalists, non-sailing ones at that."

So off to the sailing site in a convoy of 12 Toyota Landcruisers, a couple of small coaches and a minibus. The racing was to take place at Chott El Jerid, a vast dry lake some 40 minutes drive away. The Chott is 50 miles by 15 miles and floods each winter, though not to any great depth. In the Spring it drains and turns mainly into a huge sandy area with other parts remaining damp or drying to a sparkling white crystaline surface (gypsum, we thought). The week before we arrived there had been three days of rain, which had had an adverse effect on the surface. Unseasonable rain, we were told, so even in Tunisia they suffer from that phenomenon familiar to the well-travelled landyachter - "it's not usually like this here/on this beach/at this time of year (delete as appropriate to find the relevant explanation)."

Chott El Jerid is crossed by the main road from Tozeur to Kibili, which is constructed on a raised causeway to provide a two lane highway. Alongside it, about a third of the way across the Chott, was a large marquee and the collapsed remains of another that had blown down the previous day. It was here the that the weekend's activities were to be based. The marquee was full of parakarts and somebody was busy assembling five Class 5 training yachts which, once rigged, were taken across the road where a course was set up to train the beginners well away from where the parakarts would be racing.

Other journalist colleagues and photographers bustled hither and thither, interviewing parakarters, gathering information about how the racing would be organised and so on and photographing away as the colourful kites emerged from their bags. Meanwhile we more experienced landyachting journalists were spared the need to do this. We knew the form so far as the racing was concerned and elected to do our in-depth interviewing in the bar that evening. This left us free to offer help with setting up the Class 5s and to generally enjoy the spectacle and watch the racing.

It was a grey, cloudy morning with no wind initially but eventually rising to force 3 or 4. There was the usual pre-race debate about which kite, what tyre pressures and so on. Once the race got underway there was the usual confusion at some of the turning marks as the inattentive or less able got themselves involved in tangles of grounded kites and the more skilled made it all look very easy. The preceding days of rain had left the sandy surface quite soft and it quickly became cut-up around the turning marks - reminiscent of the beach at Fylde in mid-Summer. This gave the buggies with wide axles and balloon tyres a distinct advantage. With the first race out of the way and a change in the wind strength there was a flurry of activity as kites were changed for different ones and then off they went again. We only saw half of this race as part way through the members of the press (that included us) were whisked off on an excursion to the mountains for lunch. This involved a drive north, across another, smaller Chott with plenty of evidence of the days of rain where water rushing down the wadis had in some places washed the road away or left it flooded. Then up a series of very tight hairpin bends, past oases and gorges, to a hotel in the village of Tamerza. This is a spectacular location, with the hotel built on the hillside overlooking the ruins of the old village on the opposite side of the narrow valley, abandoned since it was devastated by flooding 30 years ago.

A very pleasant lunch by the swimming pool, then back into the convoy of vehicles and off to visit the oases and gorges that we had passed on the way up. Plenty of shopping opportunities at the small colourful stalls at one of them, for those interested in rugs, leather goods, pottery and local knick knacks (an opportunity declined on our part, both being allergic to shopping). We eventually arrived back at Chott El Jerid at 5.30, the parakarters having got back shortly before having themselves been back to the hotel in Kibili for lunch, a swim and a siesta. While another race was in progress we took the opportunity to watch the final stages of the Class 5 racing and give a helping push to those who were struggling to keep moving in what at times was rather a light wind for the soft sand conditions.

Back at the hotel that evening we did our in-depth interviewing over a glass of wine or three. Not in the bar, as we had expected, but in tents in the hotel grounds. These had been laid out in a circle around a camp fire and our interviews and five course meal were accompanied by traditional entertainment. A camel looked on as belly dancers performed, musicians played their wailing pipe music and a rider galloped around the fire on his Arabian horse. All very colourful and a good way to round off what had been a long day.

No lie in the following morning - the convoy of vehicles left for the Chott at 6.00am. It was a hot and sunny day, unfortunately with no wind. Soon after 10.30 the racing for the day was abandoned and the parakarters started dismantling their buggies ready for the arrival of the lorry that was due at 1.00pm to truck all the gear 300 miles north to the airport at Tunis. With no gear to pack up we found three journalist colleagues who were ready to leave and took an early lift back to the hotel in Kibili, there to relax by the pool, swim and generally lounge about before lunch.

Once everybody else had arrived (and generally created mayhem, thrown each other on the pool and so on), and with lunch out of the way, it was time for another excursion. This time the journalists were joined by the parakarters and the whole convoy of coaches, minibuses and Landcruisers headed south for the 30 minute drive to Douz. Douz is probably an ancient town but now seems to owe its existence to the filmset for "The English Patient" and "Star Wars." It is also home to more camels than you've ever seen before. It lies on the edge of the Sahara and is bordered by sand dunes and the odd outcrop of date palms. Roads to the south and the west are marked on the map as "unsurfaced" and the nearest towns or villages in those directions are hundreds of miles away across the desert, with only an occasional oil well or oasis on the way.

Why we were there soon became apparent, as we were fitted with appropriate headwear (a piece of white cloth and a circle of coloured string) and helped onto a camel. Those with a bad back should avoid riding a camel. Even those without a bad back should not embark on a camel ride if they can't cope with sitting on something with a strange, lurching gait that gives it a corkscrew motion. Why a camel is called "the ship of the desert" swiftly becomes clear. If you ever need to travel far on a camel (unlikely, I'll grant you), give serious thought to walking and letting the camel carry the luggage.

So the camel train lurched off into the desert, to join what seemed like hundreds of other equally uncomfortable tourists on what is obviously a well established feature of the Tunisian tourist trail. After 10 to 15 minutes (which felt like much more) it was a relief to dismount to take photographs (and fend off the opportunist locals determined to sell over-priced Coke whether you wanted it or not). Then back into the saddle to lurch back to the coach. "Who wants to go shopping?" said the driver. "No. Swimming pool, swimming pool," shouted the (mainly Italian and German) parakarters. So we were the first back at the hotel, another shopping opportunity gratefully avoided (cue more general mayhem, people thrown into the pool and so on).

A pool side prize giving preceded the evening meal. For the record the results were:

INDIVIDUAL
1 Franck Rosin (Germany)
2 Erwan Mivielle (France)
3 Jaques Courtot (France)

TEAM
1 France
2 Germany
3 Switzerland

The prize winners were swiftly consigned to the pool by their envious fellow competitors (we journalists kept well out of the way of this rough horseplay) and we adjourned to the restaurant for some more in-depth interviewing over a glass of red wine or three.

With the sailing out of the way (!) all that was left for the next day was to start the journey home. Now I'm told that at home the Spring Bank Holiday was not blessed by the best of weather conditions. In Tunisia it was hot and sunny. We had originally expected to spend this day sightseeing followed by a 4.00am start the following day to catch an internal flight to Tunis then home. To our relief the flight was fully booked, so we needed to travel the 300 miles to Tunis by road. It was arranged that we would go with Ted Money and Mike Regan. A leisurely start to the day - breakfast followed by a relax by the pool and a swim, prior to an 11.00 departure. We headed north, back across Chott El Jerid (all signs of the weekend's event having disappeared apart from the tyre marks) then to Tozeur for lunch. Our driver spoke no English so conversation was limited to pidgin French. We managed to convey our desire to see some of the old town but were less successful in getting across the message that we needed a light lunch. Outcome? We were delivered to an extremely plush hotel where we enjoyed a large and sumptuous lunch before heading north again in mid afternoon. Somewhat later than planned, but you can't hurry a good lunch.

This trip north provided an ideal opportunity to see something of Tunisia, as we traversed most of the length of the habitable part of the country. Down near Chott El Jerid and its surrounding high mountains the countryside was very dry. Vegetation was sparse apart from around Tozeur, where there are thousand of date palms. Towns and villages were few and far between and though some towns were bustling with life the smaller villages looked poor and rundown. As we were driven north, across miles of desert scrub and past high mountains, the land gradually became greener and more fertile. Scrub gave way to fields full of crops, bordered by cactus "hedges" (a prickly green alternative to barbed wire). Villages became more prosperous. The main roads are good and relatively traffic free. Traffic seems, as Andy Parr remarked, to have two speeds. Flat out or barely moving. The barely moving variety mainly comprised ancient Peugot pickups, laden with a variety of market garden crops. First you would be delayed by a truck-load of melons, then by one of cucumbers or apricots.

In Tunis the well mannered driver occasionally keeps to his designated lane but not often (the rest switch from one to the other seemingly at random). Frequent use of the car horn is expected (and essential). To the hotel by 8.00pm, where we indulged in the second large, sumptuous meal of the day, accompanied by more in-depth interviewing (and red wine). The following morning involved breakfast and relaxing by the pool, with the car arriving at noon to take us to the airport. In-depth interviewing was concluded on the plane back to Heathrow.

The weekend was definitely a rewarding sailing experience. When's the Tunisian Class 5 Championships? Put me down for it!

CHRIS WRIGHT
K508

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