By tradition, and inspired by the Bedouin, each Camel Voyage I make with them is given a name. Our guides, Adel and Ali, got on so well with the latest newcomer on their block, Andrew Powell, that it was unanimously agreed that we should dedicate the seven-day Saharan voyage to him, and call it Circuit André.

Out of respect to this distinguished traveller, a friend of Geoffrey’s since their days at the LSE, I had insisted he rode my beloved Zeydoun, whilst I rode Ali’s reliable Lahajah. Andrew had never ridden a dromedary before, but man and beast bonded in an instant, and it was such a pleasure for me to watch the majestic Zeydoun striding ahead across the dunes, with such an empathetic rider in the saddle.

We were blessed with warm weather, sunshine and brilliant blue skies, albeit somewhat windy on our first day – but then that’s all part of the desert experience. A waxing moon lit the night sky, and a rising and setting sun heralded the beginning and end of each joyful day. As we rode, Geoffrey wrote, editing his second novel in the comfort of the Sahara Douz Hotel, which he has grown to love, as have I. So much so, that we will be there for Christmas!

Our two-week itinerary began with two nights at The Hotel Africa in Tunis. We visited Carthage, a historical site of huge interest overlooking the Mediterranean, but what captivated me the most were the two Falcons who presided over their very own stall. Tourists were their lure, but only to have photographs taken – needless to say, I was easy prey! The owner of these two enchanting birds had bred them himself.

We then flew to the oasis town of Tozeur, noted for its distinctive brickwork, where we spent two nights at the El Mouradi Hotel, a sister hotel of The Hotel Africa, and with a stunningly designed swimming pool into which we dived without demur. We strolled through the ancient medina, a maze of peaceful alleys providing a cool respite from the midday heat, and passed a tiny shop selling baskets woven from palm leaves, and mirrors and miniature wooden doors crafted from palm wood. Just around the next corner, we came across a cavernous emporium on several floors trading in Tunisian antiquaries, Touareg and Berber jewellery, carpets, ceramics, paintings, in fact just about everything under the North African sun. We climbed the uneven stone steps to the top of this building, and out onto a flat roof where we discovered a café serving mint tea, and a panoramic view stretching across a vast expanse of palms, minarets, sprawling houses, and the desert beyond.

Our wonderful friend and chauffeur Belgacem drove us from Tozeur to Douz, taking the causeway across the dry salt-water lake Chott el-Jerid, famous for its mirages, then on to Kebili where we stopped by a supermarket to purchase sweets and fizzy orange juice to give to the children in Sabria, the village where my camel lives. The local shoppers looked at us as though we were aliens from another planet, but the guy at the checkout thought otherwise, giving us a welcoming smile!

The camel voyage successfully completed without incident, the time came for Belgacem to drive us to our final destination, the Hotel Dar Faiza, Djerba. The hotel has only recently re-opened, having undergone extensive renovation. It is still awaiting the renewal of its licence to serve alcohol, so we lunched at the Hotel Dar Dhiafa in Erriadh, and dined at the Restaurant Haroun in Houmet Souk, both of which are excellent eateries, serving delightful Tunisian wines. Hopefully, when we stay at Dar Faiza next spring, it will be over its various teething troubles, and we will be able to wine and dine on site, enjoying Monir the chef’s delicious cuisine to the full. I have been staying here for ten years, usually in Chambre Douze, which has just been re-numbered Chambre Six, and bears the name Diana – what an honour to have a room named after me!

But there was one piece of sad news: dear old Mustapha, the gardener and housekeeper whose life’s work has been devoted to Dar Faiza, is very ill, and although out of hospital and now at home, Mustapha’s presence will most probably never grace his gardens and rooms again, for he is barely able to walk. I use the word ‘his’ because he cared for them as if they were his own, working to a meticulous routine which you could set your clock by. He was the very heart of the Hotel Dar Faiza, and the place will never, ever be the same without him.