The Bedouin have nicknamed me Fabiana!  I am thrilled to bits with my newly acquired desert name, which in my vainest moments I have worked out is the abbreviated version of Fabulous Diana. With my 70th birthday fast approaching, a morale booster for sure …….
 
Having survived seven early days of summer in the scorching Sahara, where the daily temperature ranged from 38 – 40 degrees Celsius, I now have the pleasure of reflecting upon my latest desert voyage in the cool comfort of rainy London.  It was without doubt the most demanding trip to date.  The water we took with us on our saddles became so hot that we could have poached eggs in it, or at least brewed a cup of tea.  To prevent ourselves from boiling over, we soaked our scarves in the cooler water from the blue jerry cans that the camels carried, winding the blissfully damp cotton material around our heads, necks and shoulders.  
 

My uncomplaining travelling companion Abdul Thompson was tailor-made for such conditions, as he had travelled with Adel twice before, knew what to expect, and revels in the desert heat.  From 12 noon until late afternoon we made ourselves as comfortable as possible under a makeshift shelter of blanket strewn branches; here we enjoyed our lunch, and when not fending off relentless battalions of flies, rested as much as possible until it was cool enough to reluctantly pull on our boots before getting onto our camels for the evening ride.  
 
The morning ride always began at 8.30 am, but even then the sun was gathering momentum.  Coca cola was our elevenses fix, and a refreshingly fizzy treat with our dinner.  A constant supply of bottled mineral water sustained us day and night.  Abdul, a former work colleague of mine, and a very dear friend, is an IT genius, but his instructions on how to get a signal on my Nokia phone were like something out of a Harry Potter book:  ‘Walk to the top of the highest dune, take four steps to the left followed by one step to the right, and you will succeed’.  Incredibly, this unlikely strategy worked, every time!  
 

Our guides, Adel and Ali worked tirelessly, planning each day’s journey to include a stop at a well every other day.  The camels, Zeydoun, Lahajah and Labiar, were not the only ones to appreciate the icy water – guides and riders alike drenched themselves in it, shrieking with delight.  The only moment of angst we had during our adventure was when my camel Zeydoun had the misfortune to stride into a patch of quicksand.  He suddenly went down, sinking up to his belly in the English equivalent of a moorland bog.  I leapt off, terrified that he might have broken a leg, but all was well, and with gentle words of encouragement from the concerned Bedouin, he heaved himself up and out of this treacherous ground.    
 
Happily for the Tunisian tourist industry, we encountered two groups on camel trains, and a “fly past” of at least sixteen quad bikes.  For me, the trusty dromedaire will for ever remain my means of transport, but I was prepared to relax this rule during the first week of my holiday, to accommodate the well-known author Geoffrey Wansell, a man of strict routine, who is happiest traversing the network of London pavements, and, rather than travelling from oasis to oasis, saunters from one London Club to another, getting side tracked into his favourite restaurants along the way.  
 

In spite of this, he was determined to venture further afield in order to meet the lovely friends I have made in Tunisia, but emphatically drew the line at actually getting his leg over a camel.  And so it was that Adel took him for a drive in his 4×4, roaring up and down the dunes not too far from the oasis village of Sabria.  And of course, I was able to introduce Geoffrey to my beloved Zeydoun.
 
Geoffrey was gently eased in to his final desert destination, staying at three good hotels en route:  The ultra-efficient Hotel Africa in Tunis, the wonderfully eccentric Hotel Dar Faiza in Djerba with its chic restaurant, Le Fort, and the picturesque Hotel Touareg situated in the desert oasis town of Douz.  He was warmly welcomed everywhere he went, immediately tuning in to the characters he encountered.  
 
I must not forget to mention our excellent lunch stop in Matmata at the Hotel Marhala, which is halfway between Djerba and Douz.  Our English speaking driver, Belgacem, was able to give Geoffrey  lots of reassurance, as well as local information such as the rains in March had been good, which meant the vegetation in the desert was flourishing as a result – the best ever news for the Bedouin and their livestock.   
 
I am already making plans for my return in October, perhaps via Eurostar from St Pancras to Marseilles, enjoying a few nights there before flying to Djerba, my spring board Mediterranean island for the mainland Sahara desert.  Happy thoughts!