There's no doubt that we've entered a Muslim country - all the men are wearing white skull-caps and ankle-length white shirts (which bear an uncanny resemblance to old-fashioned cotton ladies' nightdresses)!  The immigration officer insists that we pay a registration fee on the border before he will give us an entry stamp - we were expecting to be given the option to register in Khartoum, which is much cheaper.  After some debate, we decide just to pay the fee, as we've heard that registration in Khartoum is quite bureaucratic and frustrating and anyway the immigration officer isn't giving us a choice.  We then go to customs, to be told that we need to wait for the customs officer as he is praying.  He must be very religious because he keeps us waiting for a good hour!  Finally two men in nighties arrive and complete our carnet and we're free to leave.  We stop at a tyre repair place to fix our two punctures and by the time we're done it's almost dark.  We have been warned that it's not safe to camp between the border and Gedaref, the first major town, as there are bandits, but we don't fancy driving the 155 km in the dark so we stop at the first army checkpoint and ask if we can camp there.  The officers are friendly and seem pleased to have some new company - after we've cooked and eaten several of them bring chairs over for a chat.  They also offer us a drink, which turns out to be hot, extremely sweet milk - not something we'd usually drink but actually surprisingly nice!

In the morning we leave early as it's 570 km to Khartoum, our next stop.  The roads are surprisingly good so the journey passes quickly.  We get a bit of a shock when we eat a simple meal (pieces of grilled goat, salad, beans and bread) by the roadside and the bill is 18 Sudanese pounds - about 9 USD.  Of course by western standards this isn't that much but we've got used to the extremely low prices in Ethiopia - we rarely paid more than a couple of US dollars for a meal there.  In Khartoum we head for the National Camping, just off the main road into the city centre.  There we meet a French couple with two kids travelling south in a Land Rover Defender with a camper on the back and a German couple in a custom-made camper heading the same way.  In the evening we drive into Khartoum and visit the whirling dervishes at the Hamed-el-Nil mosque.  This colourful dancing is a part of the Friday worship of these devout Muslims, but they allow tourists to come and watch.  We get into conversation with quite a few friendly local people, which is interesting but rather distracts us from the dancing itself!  The whole event is quite atmospheric, though the dancing isn't as coordinated as we had imagined and most of the 'dancers' spend more time swaying than dancing, though a few get carried away and start leaping around in the central space.

Next day we organise our visas for Egypt, which is surprisingly easy - we don't even need to enter the embassy, just hand our application forms, fee and passports to a man at the entrance and wait half an hour for the visas.  Only problem is that we can't read a word of the visa - it's all in Arabic!  Luckily a friendly man on the street outside confirms that it says what we'd hoped.  Again, people seem very friendly and want to chat about what we think about Sudan and what people in Europe generally think about Sudan.  So far, we are really enjoying Sudan and everyone makes us feel very welcome.

The following morning the French and German travellers head for the Ethiopian border, leaving us alone on the campsite, so we decide to check out the other camping option in Khartoum, the famous Blue Nile Sailing Club.  We had heard that this was quite run down, but it seems to have perked up a bit and the facilities are just as good as at the National Camping.  Not to mention that there is some good company - Sam, a motorbiker from Lurgan (not far from my home town of Bangor in Northern Ireland) who's been travelling for more than 2 years, Daniel, a Hungarian journalist, and a few other independent travellers, plus an Oasis overland truck which is heading down the East coast.

We spend quite a lot of time hanging out with Sam, which is great fun in itself and also leads to one of the more surreal and memorable evenings of our trip: Scottish dancing at the Greek Club in Khartoum.  Khartoum doesn't really have the ideal conditions for Scottish dancing - for one thing, the temperature is close to forty decrees C, even at night and, for another, alcohol is banned (the punishment is forty lashes).  But these two factors also mean that there isn't much entertainment for the expat community here and someone obviously decided that a Caledonian Ball would liven things up.  The Ball itself isn't for a couple of weeks, but Sam has been invited to join in one of the practice sessions by a bloke from the British Embassy who spotted him riding round on a Northern Irish registered KTM and seems to have befriended him. Luckily for us, we happen to be hanging out with Sam when his new friend Jonathan arrives to pick him up and we are able to tag along.

You would think that Sam and I, being from Northern Ireland, would have a bit of a clue about Scottish dancing, but neither of us have done it before and, truth be told, we're a wee bit nervous about making prats of ourselves.  Luckily, the teacher realises some people haven't done it before (about half the people there) so we manage to keep up with the herd (more or less). It's enormous fun and ridiculously hot - by the time we get a break, we're gasping for air and everyone's t-shirt is soaking wet.  It all gets a bit more complicated in the second half, when we get split into smaller groups.  Ours happens to contain a veritable Scottish dancing queen, who makes it clear that she doesn't think we're taking it seriously enough, particularly when Roel starts taking breaks in the middle of complicated manoeuvres to take photos!  Oh well, we had fun anyway!

Afterwards, as we're all trying to catch our breath in front of the only fan in the whole room, someone suggests that we go back to one of the girls' flats for drinks and something to eat.  It feels a bit weird to be thinking of going to a social occasion at an embassy flat in soaking wet clothes (and I suddenly realise that I am wearing my most holey t-shirt) but no-one else seems to think it is odd so we accept the invitation!  If anything the evening gets even more surreal as, after a short drive through Khartoum's dusty and deserted streets, we arrive at a gorgeous apartment in a high-security building, to be greeted with 'Cosmos (i.e. Cosmopolitan cocktails) everyone?'  It feels as if we've stepped into a scene from Sex and the City!  We spend a couple of hours drinking, chatting and eating delicious Chinese food (also a bit incongruous in Sudan) before we reluctantly take our leave and return to the real world!

We spend a few more days on the campsite.  Steffi and Michael, the German couple we travelled with in Northern Kenya, arrive, accompanied by a Swiss couple, Tamara and Simon, in a Land Rover.  Sam services his bike in the middle of the car park, sweating profusely in the baking heat and unrelenting sunshine.  Finally, Mark arrives and we decide that the four of us - Roel, me, Sam and Mark - will head north the next day.  We try to show Mark the highlights of Khartoum in one night, though sadly there's no Scottish dancing practice that night so the best we can manage is a slap-up meal in a clinically clean but surprisingly atmospheric restaurant and a white-knuckle ride in a beaten-up taxi with only one brake (the driver's skills at angling the car just right when braking are pretty impressive).

Never mind, the next night makes up for it.  Just a few hours drive north of Khartoum are the Meroe pyramids, essentially smaller (and more numerous) versions of the pyramids in Egypt.  The one massive advantage they have over any site in Egypt is: there's absolutely no-one else there.  We spend a happy hour wandering round the pyramids, which are surrounded (and sometimes partially engulfed) by sand dunes, and then settle down to camp in the shelter of a big dune outside the pyramid enclosure.  It's great to be back camping in the middle of nowhere and Roel treats us all to his speciality of pancakes, which go down a treat.  We also crack open a couple of cans of contraband Oranjeboom beer - a gift from Sam's friend Jonathan at the British Embassy - all the more enjoyable for being highly illegal!

Sunrise the next morning over the pyramids is stunning and we set off soon afterwards for a longish day's driving.  We have decided to take the route along the Nile to Wadi Halfa, rather than the 'desert' route, as we've heard that it's more scenic and carries (marginally) less chance of getting bogged down in the sand.  From Meroe, we have to cross the Nile twice to get to this route - even with the GPS waypoints, finding the ferry landings is a challenge!  The roads themselves aren't too bad, except for the last stretch, where a tar road is being constructed meaning that we are constantly being diverted from the firm, prepared road onto detours on sandy tracks.  We push on, keen to get to the end of this stretch, near Dongola, but as the sun starts to set we give in and pitch camp among some windswept gritty dunes.  It's been a tiring day and after a quick bite to eat we turn in.

Next day we are soon past the end of the road under construction and now we discover why people find this unsealed route challenging - it's just a mass of sandy tracks, all seemingly heading in the same direction but with no way to be sure.  The stories we've heard of people driving in convoy stopping to wait for the vehicles behind only to discover that they've already overtaken all start to make more sense.  Plus, some of the tracks (and it's hard to tell which by just looking) are pretty soft, which really doesn't suit Mark at all as he doesn't enjoy sand riding.  Sam on the other hand, is in his element and keeps heading off to 'play' in enticing sand hills just off the road!  Keeping vague tabs on each other and still managing to drive at a pace that suits each vehicle and rider/driver puts all our skills to the test.  We don't have radio communication (well, we do in the Landy, but our spare handset only has a range of a couple of kilometres and anyway they'd never hear it on the bike) so we just arrange to stop and wait for each other every hour or so somewhere where there seems to be only one track!  At one of the stops we end up taking lots of photographs of a group of women and children who seem to think the photos are the best and funniest thing they've ever seen.  It's a shame we don't have enough common language to communicate properly, but it's amazing how far you can get without it!  Once we really think we've lost Sam and turn back to look for him, only to meet the Swiss couple who've just seen him looking for the lid of one of his panniers which has fallen off with all the vibrations!  Another kilometre and we almost run into Sam himself, riding at full speed and jubilant because he's just found it!  That night, we camp amid lush vegetation by the side of the river, not far from a village.  A few local people come to tend their crops but no-one bothers us and we enjoy the beautiful river scenery.

The next morning, on arriving in Wadi Halfa we find the Swiss couple coming to look for us!  They've already been to the shipping agent, Mazar Mahir (a legend among overlanders), and they take us straight to his office, where we make arrangements for crossing Lake Nasser to Egypt.  Even though Egypt and Sudan have massive land borders, it is forbidden to cross by land and at the moment there are no roads, although apparently this is going to change in 2008.  This will really take a huge amount of the challenge out of this particular border crossing, as the lake crossing is a massive organisational nightmare.  The vehicles have to travel on a cargo barge and officially no passengers are allowed to go with them.  This rule used to be ignored regularly and many overlanders have had a fantastic trip sleeping in their rooftent on the barge during the leisurely (3 day) trip up the lake.  However, Mazar tells us that recently a tourist fell off the boat at night and therefore no-one is permitted to travel with the vehicles any more.  There is a separate boat for passengers, which takes only 18 hours, and we will all have to go on this.  We don't like this idea at all - we had been prepared for some of us to go on the passenger boat but we really want to make sure that at least one of the six of us gets to go with the two Land Rovers and two motorbikes on the barge.  We've heard a few stories about things getting stolen or damaged - mostly at the Egyptian end, to be fair, but we don't want to take any chances.  The Landy is our house and contains almost everything we own!  Mazar says going with the vehicles really isn't possible, but we shouldn't worry because the cargo boat will load before we leave so we can put the vehicles on it ourselves and lock them up so they'll be perfectly safe.  We're not very happy with this - and not very confident that the boat really will load before we leave - but it looks like we're just going to have to wait and see.

It's two days until the passenger boat leaves, so we stock up on some supplies and head out into the desert to camp.  When the appointed day arrives, we head over to Mazar's office at the appointed time, but he's not there!  It turns out he's running around town trying to sort things out for us and after we've had lunch he takes us over to the port.  Obviously, the cargo boat hasn't even arrived yet, let alone being ready to load, so Roel and Simon make it clear to Mazar that they won't be going on the passenger boat.  Either they go with the vehicles or they wait for the next passenger boat so that they can put the vehicles on the boat themselves.  Finally we hear that one of them will be allowed to go on the cargo boat.  Hearing this, they decide to push a little harder and insist that they both go and finally, to our delight, the shipping company consents!

By now the ferry is ready to board, so Mark, Sam, Tamara and I say farewell to Roel and Simon and Mazar takes us onto the boat and shows us a good spot to sleep on deck.  At the moment it is covered with small flies and stinks of diesel, but Mazar assures us that once the boat is under way it will be the ideal spot...  Getting under way involves a further three hours wait, but finally, just before sunset, we wave our last goodbyes to Roel and Simon and to Sudan and we are off!  Soon enough it's dark and there's not much to do on board.  We time our visit to the restaurant badly and there's no chicken left so we have to make do with fuul (a kind of bean stew) and bread.  It's a chilly night sleeping on deck so Mazar's choice of a spot sheltered enough for the flies and diesel fumes to linger turns out to have been a good one.  More than anything though, the iron deck of the boat is extremely hard and unforgiving!  Despite this, we manage to get some sleep, waking in the middle of the night to find that we've just missed the highlight of the journey, the illuminated carved figures on the rock face of the temple of Abu Simbel.  Oh well, hopefully Roel and Simon will see them by daylight and take some good photos for us!

Docking in Aswan, it rapidly becomes clear that everything is chaos.  People can't get out of the ship's one exit because it's blocked by porters rushing in to collect luggage!  After an hour of pushing and shoving, we are finally off the boat.  As 'whiteys' we are ushered past the long queue of our fellow passengers and straight into the customs and immigration building.  As our passports have already been stamped by the immigration officers on the boat, it's just a matter of flashing these (at about 15 different people) and we are through the doors and in an enormous railway station, no trains in sight but literally hundreds of men all shouting 'taxi!' at us.  We manage to fend off most of these and keep walking towards where the taxis are parked.  It's about 15km to Aswan town from the port, so a taxi is an unfortunate necessity.  Mazar has told us that the price is 5 Egyptian pounds per person and we are determined not to pay more than this.  We negotiate with one of the drivers but he insists that we can only get a taxi for this price if we share and we're suspicious of this.  Just when things are getting heated, we run into an Egyptian guy we met on the boat and end up sharing a taxi with him and a Japanese tourist.  We still have to agree to pay 6 EP each as the taxi isn't full (all the port taxis are Peugeot 505 estates and allegedly seven seaters), but the Egyptian guy seems to think it's OK so we just accept it.  The drive to town is pretty hair-raising - the taxi-driver seems to prefer driving on the other side of the road, even when he's not overtaking and especially on blind bends - but we make it in one piece.  Our next challenge is to get our change back from the taxi-driver.  Unfortunately our Egyptian friend has already got out of the taxi before we reach our destination, when the taxi-driver reveals that he doesn't have any change.  When we insist, he goes into a shop and comes out offering us half the change due.  He gets in the car to drive off so Sam has to stand in front of the car to stop him!  Finally, after much persuasion (and us offering to take his leather jacket as payment if he doesn't have the cash!) he miraculously (and very grumpily) 'finds' the extra change in his pocket.

Exhausted from these negotiations, we stumble into the Nubian Oasis Hotel, recommended by Mazar, and take a room.  We try to negotiate, but don't get very far and decide that we really can't be bothered - it's pretty cheap anyway and we're too tired to argue.  Once installed in our stuffy box with four single beds, we start to discover its deficiencies.  We're all dying for a shower, but it rapidly becomes clear that the drain on the shower doesn't work at all, so after the first person it's a case of shower and ankle-bath in dirty water combined - lovely.  The loo doesn't work either - it dribbles water constantly but won't flush.  How nice.

Oh well, we clean up as best we can and head out to explore Aswan.  Rob and Pip, the friendly Australians, have invited us for drinks at their posh hotel on the river bank and watching the feluccas (beautiful old-fashioned sailing boats) on the river as the sun goes down is breathtaking.  After dark we all head for the hotel's (Italian) restaurant.  It's nice to be back in a country where alcohol is widely available (for tourists at least) and we celebrate by drinking rather too much red wine.

Next morning, Tamara and I are determined to find another hotel.  On our return the night before the bathroom had been colonised by extremely large ants and by morning the non-flushing loo is really disgusting.  We check out a couple of possible options from the Rough Guide and the Keylany Hotel is really nice.  It's a bit more expensive but we don't care - the room and bathroom are tons better and the price includes a really nice breakfast, with fruit salad and pancakes!  We book in and go back to the other hotel to pick up our stuff and tell them - they can't believe that we are leaving and the rather sleazy guy who checked us in says confidently 'you will be back, you'll see'.  Hmm, we don't think so!

We now enter a rather frustrating period - we are enjoying the sights of Aswan, a pleasant, though touristy, town, but every day we get downhearted texts from Roel and Simon about the very slow progress they're making and we feel guilty about enjoying ourselves.  The cargo boat has arrived in Wadi Halfa but is taking forever to unload and the likely departure date keeps getting postponed.  Tamara and I decide that we have to try to do something constructive in the mean time, just so it doesn't seem that we've done nothing but enjoy ourselves while our men are bored to tears in Wadi Halfa.  Getting a vehicle into Egypt, particularly in Aswan, is notoriously bureaucratic and difficult - we've heard of people taking 5 days to get vehicles released - perhaps it will save a bit of time when the vehicles finally arrive if we do some ground work now.

Our first efforts are alarmingly unsuccessful.  Mazar has marked on the Rough Guide map where the offices of the insurance company (we need to buy insurance for each vehicle for the time it will be in Egypt) should be, in relation to the Nubian Oasis Hotel.  Unfortunately, the mark he made for the hotel isn't right in the first place, so it's a bit hard to tell where he meant the insurance office to be...  However, by sheer luck, we have managed to spot an insurance office in our wanderings around town - one of the few institutions not catering to the tourist trade which has a sign in English.  So Tamara and I stroll boldly into their offices and try to get someone's attention.  This proves difficult.  No-one at the counter will admit to speaking any English (though they understand our question well enough to answer in the negative).  Finally we get to speak to someone who seems to be the manager and speaks a little English.  We try to explain that we just want to know how much insurance costs for 15 days, which is all the time we'll have in Egypt by the time the vehicles arrive, but our documents are whisked away and before we know it one of the men who said he didn't speak English is using them to draft an annual policy for us starting from today.  Even more worryingly, it turns out to cost 500 Egyptian pounds for each car, almost ten times the amount Mazar told us we should pay.  We try to explain that we only need 15 days, we don't want it to start today and it's too expensive, but in the end we just have to pick up our documents and go.

It seems that definitely wasn't the insurance company Mazar had in mind, but where is it?  We wander around the area we think he meant and stare at lots of buildings, but of course all the signs are in Arabic.  Asking people doesn't help either - the only people who speak English in this town are in the tourist bazaar (swarms of them, who speak to you whether you want them to or not) and they are all desperate to sell you something.  At this point we decide to do something we'd sworn we wouldn't - go back to the Nubian Oasis Hotel and ask the sleazy guy, who's apparently a friend of Mazar's and has probably helped all the other overlanders Mazar has sent to his hotel.  Once he's stopped crowing at the fact that he was right that we'd be back, he does at least try to be helpful.  He doesn't know which insurance office people usually use but says he thinks Mazar is actually in Egypt now, having come across on the ferry after ours.  Unfortunately Mazar doesn't answer his phone.  The guy then sends someone to the insurance office to speak to the people in Arabic and check the price.  They say that the price has just gone up and it's a fixed price.  Do we want his guy to arrange it for us?  We decide to think it over and look for more insurance companies to see if we can get a better price.  Depressed by the failure of our morning's work, we head back to our hotel to collect Mark and Sam and find some lunch.  Over the next couple of days we manage to find a selection of great cheap restaurants in and around the bazaar in Aswan - our favourite has a lovely outside terrace under an awning paved with shocking-pink wood chippings!

With the help of the friendly reception staff at our hotel, we manage to find two other insurers (I get quite good at spotting the Arabic for 'Insurance Company' on signs!) but the price they quote is always the same and eventually we accept that it's a fixed price determined by the government and it really has suddenly gone up by 1000%!  Tamara and I also attempt a reconnaissance mission to the Aswan traffic police (who hand out number plates for foreign cars and bikes and various essential papers for getting the vehicles out of customs), a few km out of town and notoriously difficult to find.  Armed with a map from the tourist office, we decide to walk, as it doesn't look that far, and it isn't, except that the walk is made seriously unpleasant by a crowd of kids who follow us, shouting, and start hitting us with long sticks but dodge out of reach when we turn around.  It's actually quite a shocking experience being terrorised by kids like that and we're both a bit shaken.  Luckily an adult intervenes and tells them off, so we cross the busy road and they don't bother us any more.  When we do reach the customs offices, by waving our carnets we are directed to a man who seems to be in charge of temporary imports and speaks really good English.  In a way, it's a wasted trip as he just tells us that we have to come back when the vehicles have arrived (which we had guessed would be the case) but at least we know where it is and who we need to ask for and he confirms the procedure we'll have to follow when we get there.  So now we have done what we can: we know where to go for insurance and traffic police (and have instructions written in Arabic to tell a taxi-driver to take us there), what days and times they are open and what order all the procedure has to happen in.  Let's just hope it helps!

Finally Tamara and I receive texts with the happy news that the cargo boat has set sail!  We are so excited - we really can't believe it after all the waiting.  Only two more days to wait and Roel and Simon will be with us and our trip will be able to continue!  Once the customs, traffic police and insurance are all dealt with, of course...

On Tuesday evening Roel texts to say the boat will arrive at 7.30 next morning.  We are at the gates of the port on time but the army men on the gate won't let us in as they say no boat has arrived yet.  Finally, they get confirmation that the boat has arrived and we can go in.  It's clear the boat's been there a while as we can see in the distance that all the vehicles are already off and Roel and Simon are standing beside them wondering where we are.  At last, we get permission to go and join them for a joyful reunion!  The initial customs formalities at the port take a couple of hours and we are itching to get to the traffic police as we know their payments counter closes at 12.  Eventually we are finished at the port and can take a taxi to the traffic police, where things go surprisingly smoothly and soon we're on our way back to the port with a traffic policeman so he can take rubbings of the engine and chassis number of each vehicle.  And, at about 2pm, that's it for the day - the customs guys leave and it's just us and the army.  Sam and Mark head back to the hotel in town but Roel and I and Tamara and Simon have decided to camp in the port as we've heard horror stories of cars being broken into when left unattended at night.

We meet Sam and Mark for breakfast at the hotel and go to organise the insurance.  But when we get there the insurance guy says we don't have the right papers from the traffic police.  We get quite cross at this point - as far as we know we've got what we need, though obviously we can't read any of them as they're in Arabic.  He's adamant, though - we have to go back to the traffic police before he will insure us.  And, indeed, back at the traffic police it turns out that there is more paperwork they need to give us, with our Egyptian registration numbers on it, before we can get insured.  Another trip to the insurance company and we're back at the traffic police to collect our number plates and head back, triumphant, to the port.  After waving our papers around and a cursory check of our vehicles by a friendly army guy, we are free to go!  We head into town and celebrate with a late lunch at the pink sawdust place - delicious and very relaxing after all our rushing around.  Unbelievable - we have managed to get our vehicles back within 36 hours of their arrival!

Now all we want to do is get moving, but it's too late to get very far tonight.  We spend the night at Adams' Home Camp, which describes itself as being in Aswan, but at least has the technical advantage of being on the other side of the river some way north of town, in the right direction for our departure next day.  It's a pleasant enough place and we meet a Belgian couple heading south and swap travel tips with them before making it an early night.

Next morning, the party breaks up - Tamara and Simon have less time left to get to Libya than we do and need to hurry on towards Cairo.  We don't have much time, but we can't bear to miss seeing Luxor and the Valley of the Kings now we're so close.  Mark and Sam have decided to stick with us for now - as we're sharing a guide in Libya with Mark he's working to the same timetable we are and Sam seems happy to go at the same pace.

One of the main irritations many independent travellers report in Egypt is the fact that it can be hard to get around without travelling in police-escorted convoys, which depart at inconvenient times and drive ridiculously fast without allowing for any stops (or independent thought).  In theory, the point of the convoys is to protect tourists, but arguably they just make it easier to know where tourists are if you wanted to target them.  Aswan to Luxor is a notorious convoy route, but the convoys generally run on the east bank of the river (where both towns are located and where there's a better road, more suited to the convoys' pace).  For this reason we've chosen to travel on the west bank.  There are still regular checkpoints but we manage to miss the first one (thanks to a tip from the owner of Adams Home Camp) and at the remaining checkpoints we insist that we're only going to the next town, not Luxor (so not far enough for the average Egyptian policeman to be bothered organising a convoy).  This is surprisingly successful and we make it all the way to Luxor without any bother, stopping en route at Edfu for a visit to the impressive Temple of Horus and lunch in a tiny kebab shop where we are the only tourists as all the others (the temple is crammed with them) are herded like sheep on and off buses which all depart according to the convoy's schedule.  Having your own transport is definitely an advantage in a country as crowded with tourists as Egypt.

We stay in the centre of Luxor at Rezeiky Camp, well-known among overlanders.  Luxor isn't that different from Aswan, with its Nile-side setting, though Aswan is prettier and possibly slightly less touristy.  Having enjoyed exploring the well-preserved temple at Edfu, we content ourselves with observing the temple in Luxor from the outside by daylight and floodlight.  The touts in the tourist market here seem slightly less bloodthirsty than in Aswan, or maybe we're just getting used to it!  We do our shopping in the fruit and veg market in the next street instead and spend a pleasant evening drinking Luxor beer (pretty good, especially the wheat beer and dark beer) back at Rezeiky Camp.

Next day we re-cross the river and visit several of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings.  Some are more impressive than others and we've already visited one before we realise that our tickets entitle us to see a maximum of three, which is a bit annoying.  Still, we reckon we've got a fair cross-section and leave satisfied enough.

Our next destination is the Western Desert, another notorious convoy route, and this time it proves a struggle to leave without a convoy.  There are no towns for miles on the road we want to take so our 'we're only going to the next town' routine doesn't wash.  The police at the checkpoint insist we wait for an escort vehicle which is coming in the opposite direction.  Meanwhile other cars with Egyptians in them are being allowed to pass, which really gets on our nerves.  Roel and I play 'good cop / bad cop' with the (very young) guy who seems to be in charge at the checkpoint.  After Roel's been and bawled him out and issued an ultimatum, I go and smooth things over and explain how we really want to get going as soon as possible and we do understand he's just doing his job, etc, etc.  When nothing seems to be working we try to sneak through after another car that's being allowed to pass and the guys on the barrier actually throw a strip of spikes to deflate our tyres across the road to stop us crossing!  It's not clear in the end what does the trick, but eventually we are allowed to go without a convoy.  By the time we get going it's pretty late in the afternoon and we push on towards the first oasis, Kharga, until it's almost dark, one of those situations where you get too tired to choose a good camping spot and settle for somewhere not that great just because in a minute you won't be able to see enough to pick anywhere else.  Oh well, it does the job and we settle down for the night.

In the morning we treat ourselves to an all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast at the fancy Pioneers Hotel on the north side of town - it's a chunk out of our budget (though only a couple of British pounds each) but we feel like a treat and enjoy it to the full.  Almost 200km of desert further north, we arrive at the next oasis, Dhakla, and start looking for a place to camp with hot springs that we've heard about.  The promised hot springs turn out to be lukewarm muddy water in a swimming pool at a resort complex and the owners aren't too keen on our idea of camping rather than forking out for one of their expensive rooms, so we decide to give the whole thing a miss and end up at Bedouin Camp instead (no hot springs, but wacky life-size model camels and a nice roof terrace attract us and they're happy for us to camp in the car park).

On our way out of Dakhla oasis, we make an unscheduled stop to explore El Qasr, an ancient Islamic town built on Roman foundations.  So unscheduled that we almost lose Sam, who roars past in a daydream, not seeing the Landy and Mark's bike at the side of the road.  Luckily Mark is able to catch up and retrieve him and we have a pleasant wander round the narrow passages of the old deserted town, only slightly spoilt by the company of a self-appointed 'guide' who no doubt expects baksheesh for telling us things that we already know from our guidebook.

Then it's another 300km to Farafra, the next oasis town, where we again fruitlessly search for a camping spot with hot springs.  It's nearing sunset as we leave town and the police checkpoint on the northern edge of town are suspicious of our claims that we aren't planning to camp in the desert (of course we are) but finally agree to let us through.  Embarrassingly, when we pull off onto the sands to explore a possible camping spot, the Landy immediately gets stuck just a few metres from the road (no, we hadn't bothered to let the tyres down, there were other tyre tracks and it really didn't look that soft) and after much digging and placing stones under the wheels we end up getting the occupants of a passing police car to help give us a final push out of the sand.  Our next foray off-road is more successful and we find a reasonable spot, in the middle of the 'White Desert' (think white sands and strange rock formations), for the night.

In the morning we go to explore a possible hot spring on the other side of the main road and discover about 40 camels with packs patiently waiting for a party of tourists to come and ride them.  The hot spring turns out to be a disappointment - lukewarm again and mainly used by the guys looking after the camels as a place to do their washing-up.

Just outside the next oasis, Bahariya, we finally find the hot-spring campsite we have been looking for - Eden Garden Camp.  Though used by locals during the day, in the evening the (almost too) hot spring is all ours and we enjoy it to the full, sipping cold beer as we stare up at the stars.  Later in the evening, there is a promise of traditional music and dancing, but in the end (much to the camp owner's disappointment) none of us can bear to wait for it any longer and we head for bed, sleeping too deeply to know whether the promised entertainment ever materialised.

Leaving Bahariya, our aim is to reach Cairo, but after we've been driving an hour or so Sam catches us up and signals that he wants to stop.  He has decided that he hasn't had enough of playing in the sand with his bike yet and wants to spend a last night alone in the desert.  We make plans to meet in Cairo next day and say farewell.

Arriving in Cairo at sunset, we manage (after a struggle) to find the campsite near the pyramids recommended by other overlanders - it's not up to much, with nowhere to shelter from the evening chill, but it's too late to be bothered finding something else, so we cook a quick dinner and tuck ourselves in for the night.  Next morning the pyramids are already thronged with tourists even though it's early.  Once we manage to get the vehicles into the car park - the guards insist on checking inside the Landy and we get quite shirty about this until we realise that it's bombs they're looking for, not contraband - we can relax and take a wander round this truly impressive site.  The pyramids are absolutely enormous and it's staggering to think how long they've been there.  The Sphinx makes less of an impression, possibly because we approach it from the hill above, making it seem a bit dumpy compared with the pyramids.  Clearly all the photos in travel guides are taken from below, which is definitely its best angle!  We finish our pyramid visit with a few shots of the Landy and Mark's bike looking pensive with the pyramids in the background...

Traffic in Cairo is pretty crazy (although tame in comparison with Tehran or any Indian city you care to name) but we manage to make it to Dahab Hotel where we've promised to meet Sam in the evening.  We've heard good things about this place from other travellers, but the rooms we're shown look pretty grotty to us and we decide to check out a few other places.  After a brief struggle trying to extricate the Landy from its parking space on the road outside (Roel thinks his manoeuvring skills can defeat the clever barrier that springs up between the parking space and the road if you fail to pay the meter, but in the end we have to admit defeat and seek help from the parking attendant) we check the vehicles into a car park which claims to have 24-hour security (we've heard bad things about this aspect of bringing your own vehicle to Cairo and don't want to take chances) and set out to explore some nearby hotels on foot.  On the Rough Guide's recommendation, we try Ismailia House, which turns out to have some very swish aircon rooms for a fairly reasonable price (as well as some extremely grotty non-aircon ones), and decide to treat ourselves.  By this time we are absolutely starving and all three of us are seduced by the promise of western food for the first time in a long while.  Roel can't resist the temptation of McDonalds, but Mark and I refuse to stoop that low so we splash out on some overpriced sandwiches in a Swiss restaurant instead.  While none of the food is entirely successful, it fuels us for a wander round Cairo and we decide that we rather like this bustling city.

We duly return to the Dahab for our evening rendezvous with Sam, but an hour after the appointed time he still hasn't shown up.  Perhaps the lure of the desert was too great, we think and leave a note letting him know where we're staying in case he turns up tomorrow.  Then, heading down the (many) stairs from the top-floor hotel, we hear the familiar tread of someone in biker boots coming up and, guess what, it's Sam.  He's absolutely filthy and looks exhausted - he's been through every off-roader's worst nightmare, a flat tyre in the desert, and has had to push his bike for miles and rely on the kindness of strangers to get himself sorted.  We leave him to check in and clean up and meet again later for dinner and a proper catch-up.  We're all a bit too knackered to make much of a night of it though.

The next day is a big day for us - Libya has recently (without warning) started strictly enforcing an old technicality that all foreigners entering the country must have an Arabic translation of their personal details written into their passport and if we don't get this sorted we can kiss goodbye to our chances of visiting the land of Colonel Gaddafi.  We've already been in touch with lots of other travellers and the various embassies about this, but it's taken everyone by surprise and no-one seems entirely sure what the requirements are, so we're understandably nervous.  Luckily the lady in charge at the Dutch embassy has been briefed on what we need and she gives us a form on which Roel can get his translation done by an official translator before having it fixed into his passport with the embassy seal.  The Irish are even more helpful, as someone at the embassy just does the translation for me, straight into my passport, and stamps it - this does work out rather more expensive than the Dutch solution (the Dutch embassy don't charge anything, so you only have to pay the translator) but at least it's quick and means you don't have to find a translator.  Luckily for Roel, we've spotted a translation agency just near our hotel, so we head back there and soon we're back on our way to the Dutch embassy where the form is stapled into his passport and duly stamped.  Only at this stage does the friendly Dutch lady mention that we're the first people she's actually done this for and she hopes it will get us across the border!  Oh well, we shall see...

We meet up with Mark back at the hotel and he's got his translation sorted at the British embassy, so it looks as if the next leg of our trip can go ahead as planned.  We have a fun experience in the evening as Mark has arranged to buy some tyres from James and Lee, a British/Aussie ex-overland couple who now live in Cairo, and Roel, Sam and I decide to tag along and meet them, having nothing better to do.  They turn out to have a Belgian couple passing through Cairo staying with them as well and one way or another it turns into a bit of an overland gathering round at their house!

In the morning, we say farewell to Sam, who's heading back home via Jordan and Syria, and head north.  We part company with Mark for one night as we want to see Alexandria and he's opted to visit the war cemeteries at El-Alamein instead.  Alexandria turns out to be rather fun - hopefully next time we'll have a bit more time to explore, but we manage to have a bit of a wander round and a slap-up seafood dinner overlooking the waterfront.  We have to head off fairly early next day as it's a long way to Sollum, the last town before the Libyan border.  We catch some glimpses of beautiful Mediterranean coastline en route, though much of it seems horribly over-developed.  Arriving in Sollum after dark, we check into the one decent-looking hotel, only to find that Mark's staying there too!

Next morning we are at the border bright and early as arranged with Mabrouk, our Libyan guide.  The deal is that he will come to meet us on the Egyptian side and check our paperwork (we don't want to be processed out of Egypt until we're dead sure we're going to get into Libya!), but there's no sign of him at the appointed time.  Unfortunately we don't have any reception at the border on the mobile number we gave him.  An hour passes and finally we manage to reach him on the satellite phone and hear that he's almost at the border.  When he does eventually reach us, he tells us about the horrendous journey he's had (he seems to have been travelling all through the night) and shows us a cut on his hand where someone pushed him over as he was trying to cross the border.  No wonder he's a bit late!

The border formalities on the Egyptian side pass pretty quickly and then we just have to wait on the Libyan side while Mabrouk gets a lift to the customs office in the next town and back to pick up our Libyan number plates.  He's gone quite a long time as the customs office have run out of plates for motorbikes and he has to wait until someone returns one!  Several hours later, he returns, apologising profusely and laden with biscuits and drinks for us and, more importantly, the much-coveted number plates!  Fantastic, we are free to enter and explore Libya!

Finally, we're in Libya (or, to give it its full name, the 'Great Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya')!  By the time we start driving it's mid-afternoon and it's all we can do to reach the first big town after the border, Tobruk, just after sunset.  Mabrouk thinks he knows a place we can stay but it's some way out of town on the other side so we stop at a restaurant in town first, where we get our first taste of Libyan food and hospitality.  Travelling with a guide is a novel experience for us and it certainly makes a difference having someone with you who speaks the language fluently and can explain what's on the (in this case unwritten) menu.  Mabrouk is very charming and makes it his business to get on well with all the restaurant and hotel owners we encounter.  He seems very anxious that we should like his country and have a good time.

His first accommodation recommendation isn't a success unfortunately - the youth hostel he takes us to is in the process of being redeveloped and the security guard won't let us camp in the car park as we'd hoped.  So we have to turn around and head back into town to look for a cheap hotel.  At this point Mabrouk unveils his secret weapon: he's a boy scout leader and can therefore rely on assistance at the local scout headquarters in every town.  So, where we might have thought of just looking round for a hotel, his first port of call back in Tobruk is at the scout HQ.  We wait for him outside and finally he re-emerges with another bloke, who is going to show us where there's a hotel we can stay at.  We squeeze them both into the Landy (remember, we've only got 3 seats!) and head for the hotel.  Unfortunately, it is full, but Mabrouk's new friend hasn't run out of ideas yet - there's another hotel nearby, in a side street.  They do have room for us and it's quite a pleasant place, basic but clean, with the slightly kitsch furnishings of a British B&B but a completely different atmosphere due to the strip-lighting throughout...

After a good breakfast (Libyan breakfast turns out to be much like a Turkish breakfast - bread, cheese, jam, olives and tea) we head off for our first day exploring Libya.  Our plan is to visit the ancient Greek (later Roman) city of Cyrene and we head up the coast from Tobruk.  On the way, Mabrouk insists that there's a great waterfall he often visits with friends which we just have to see, so we duly make the detour, park up and follow him in scrambling down the grassy bank towards the 'falls'.  Clearly, this is considered a local beauty spot and there is a nice view down over the coast and a bit of a stream trickling down the hill, but we've been rather spoilt for waterfalls on this trip (the last waterfall we made a detour to visit was Victoria Falls) and it's hard not to look disappointed.  In fact we find the amount of litter strewn everywhere a lot more remarkable than the waterfall itself.  We cautiously mention the litter to Mabrouk and he agrees it's a problem but he doesn't really seem bothered by it - perhaps he's just concentrating on the positive, but we can't help wondering if part of the reason the litter is there is because the average Libyan doesn't really mind or even notice it.

Cyrene itself is really impressive - acres of Greco-Roman ruins strewn across a hillside overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.  We have chosen not to pay extra for a site guide, so Mabrouk does his best to explain some of the many ruined buildings, though it becomes clear that it's not really his forte.  There isn't much information at the site (most people pay for expert guides) and we just catch a glimpse of two other tourists and their guide in the distance but otherwise we have the place to ourselves.  It's raining a little and quite cold, so although we're impressed by what we see we scramble round quickly and head back to the vehicles to push on towards our overnight stop in Benghazi.  Our first port of call there is, predictably, the scouts' headquarters.  The scout leader isn't around when we arrive, so someone escorts us to an internet café in the town centre where spend a bit of time catching up with our email.  By the time we've all finished, it's getting dark and we're pretty hungry so we fall in with Mabrouk's suggestion of pizza (rather greasy but tasty and just what we needed) at a tiny pizza place and follow this with a coffee and a Libyan pastry (very sweet) in a highly-polished, brightly-lit coffee shop.  When we get back to the scout place, Mabrouk goes into conference with the scout leader and after much hanging around it emerges that we're being offered a place to sleep at the headquarters that night.  We spend some time politely drinking tea (served with roasted nuts in it!) and making small talk with the scout leader, who is a most impressively cultured person and speaks fantastic English.  By this time we're exhausted, so we're relieved when Mabrouk starts talking about making up our beds, which turn out to be mattresses on the floor of the scouts' computer room!  It seems a bit bizarre settling down to sleep in a room full of ancient dusty computers, but we're really too tired to do anything about it and we actually get a surprisingly good night's sleep.

It's a long drive the next day to Sirte, birthplace of Colonel Gaddafi and our overnight stop, and the weather's pretty windy and wet so Mark has a lousy time of it on his motorbike.  Added to this, for the second time on our trip (the first time was over a year ago, in India) we run out of diesel.  Not that we haven't been trying to fill up, but we've been turned away by three fuel stations as they've all run out of diesel.  Weirdly, as there's not much demand for diesel (petrol is incredibly cheap and only trucks use diesel) they don't bother ordering more until the last lot's run out!  By a stroke of luck, we run out just after stopping to show our papers at a police checkpoint (one of the many - Mabrouk has numerous copies of our visas with him so he can hand them out every time we're stopped) and getting chatting to a French couple in a Land Rover camper who are crossing Libya alone on a transit visa (we didn't even realise this was possible but apparently you can organise transit visas in Alexandria).  As we are wondering what to do, we see the French couple approaching and flag them down.  They won't even take any money for the jerrycan-full of diesel, which they've had with them since Namibia 'for an emergency'!  We can only give them our heartfelt thanks in exchange and wish them 'bonne route'!

By the time we finally arrive in Sirte, it's getting dark and we just want a place to sleep.  Fearful of another long wait at Sirte's scout headquarters, we have delicately pointed out to Mabrouk that we really don't mind paying for cheap accommodation - it's a bit cold for camping but our funds will stretch to a cheap hotel.  The first couple we check out are full, but we end up at what appears to be a seaside resort just outside town (probably very nice in summer but the howling winds coming off the sea - luckily it's not raining any more - rather spoil its charm), where we are able to rent an apartment for a reasonable sum.  We do have to turn down the first apartment we're shown due to the fact that its kitchen is already occupied by a large extended family of cockroaches, but armed with some extra strength cockroach killer spray we feel able to take the second apartment we see, where things haven't got quite so far out of hand.  We cook a basic meal (trying not to touch anything in the kitchen) and settle down for the night.  This is our third night with Mabrouk and by now it's becoming clear that his body clock works a bit differently from ours - at the point when we (especially Mark, who's exhausted from battling the weather all day on the bike, and me, still struggling to shake off a cold I picked up somewhere in the Egyptian desert) are fit for nothing but bed, Mabrouk is just getting ready for the evening's entertainment (on this occasion, watching TV in the apartment).  At the other end of the scale, he evidently finds our plan to get out of bed and head off by, say, nine in the morning, a bit of a stretch, though he struggles manfully and doesn't actually hold us up.

More changeable weather attends our journey to Leptis Magna, Libya's most famous and impressive ancient Roman city, but luckily by the time we arrive it has cleared up and we are able to explore the (stunning) site in sunshine.  The Hadrianic Baths are particularly impressive and we collect the obligatory photo of all four of us lined up on the (open-plan) communal loos.  As at Cyrene, we are stunned by the absence of other tourists - in the hour or two we spend wandering round this massive site we literally see one other group of about 6 people and their guide and then a solitary male tourist with his guide.  The site is just as impressive as any we've seen in Greece or Turkey (if not more so), but the throngs of tourists that swamped (and almost ruined) sites like Ephesus simply don't come here.

We'd heard that you can camp in the car park here, but we end up choosing the camp site opposite instead - there's not much difference in price and it does at least have some facilities, including a warm kitchen where we can cook and eat our evening meal.  Mabrouk is determined that tonight he is going to cook us a typical Libyan meal, so we head into the nearest town to get some shopping.  Just getting there is quite an experience - we leave the Landy at the campsite and hop on a local bus, where we are clearly the most exciting attraction many people have seen for a long time.  In town, Mabrouk takes us round various market stalls to buy vegetables, meat (though luckily he doesn't insist on treating us to the camel's heads dangling outside the butcher's stall) and other essentials.

Back at the campsite we huddle into the kitchen and fortify ourselves with Libyan tea (the trick, according to the campsite owner, is to boil it for ten minutes - not surprisingly, the resulting brew is incredibly strong and requires serious amounts of sugar to make it palatable), while Mabrouk gets going on dinner.  The preparation takes a while, but eventually we all sit down to a delicious meat and vegetable stew.  It's a pleasant evening and a good end to a successful day.  We make as short a journey as possible between the kitchen and our (initially freezing cold) beds and snuggle down to try to get warm for the night.  Luckily our canvas roof tent and heavy duvet mean we soon warm up, though we can't help thinking guiltily about the lightweight tents and sleeping-bags Mark and Mabrouk have to make do with!

Everyone survives the night and next day we get on the road again, this time with the capital, Tripoli, as our destination.  Finding accommodation there turns out to be less of a problem than in other towns and we are soon checked into the Buyut ash-Shabaab (Central Youth Hostel) which is right in the centre.  We head across the city on foot to the office of the agency that organised our visas and guide, Al-Moassera, as there's the small matter of paying their fees to be taken care of.  As we're planning to be in the country for more than a week, we also need to complete an official tourist registration within a week of our arrival.  The agency has promised to organise this for us so we leave them to do the necessary paperwork and arrange to pick up our registrations in the morning.  We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around Tripoli and enjoying the sights of the medina, including a beautiful tiled mosque just off one of the main shopping streets in the medina.  For dinner, we return to the medina and eat at a 'traditional' Libyan restaurant, though it's a bit lacking in atmosphere as we're the only people there.

Next morning, it turns out that the registrations haven't been done.  Rather than hanging about to wait for them, Mabrouk suggests that we push on and register in Ghadames the day after tomorrow instead, which will still be within a week of entering the country.  It's all academic for Mark anyway as he's decided, partly because the weather's been so unpleasant on the bike and partly because he's anxious about catching the ferry from Tunis in time to get home for Christmas, to head straight for the border today.  As he's spent less than a week in the country he doesn't need to register.  By the time we've made our planned stop at the ruins of ancient Sabratha with their stunning Roman theatre, we are almost at the border anyway.  We stop briefly at Mabrouk's house, which is on the way to the border, and leave the Landy parked there while we head to the border in Mabrouk's car - he has to accompany Mark to the border and we just go along for the ride (much quicker in his car than in the Landy, especially as, like most Libyans, he drives rather fast!).  We say goodbye to Mark and wait while he and Mabrouk get through the customs and immigration formalities.  Luckily leaving the country takes much less time than coming in and soon we are driving back to Mabrouk's place.  On the way, we get chatting about the fact tomorrow will be the start of one of the most important festivals in the Muslim calendar, Eid-al-Adha.  It dawns on us that we won't be able to register in Ghadames for several days while the festival is on, meaning that officially we'll be in breach of the requirement to register within 7 days of entering the country.  We simply don't know what the significance of this is and Mabrouk doesn't seem to know either, though he tries to reassure us that there will be a way round it.  We are quite jumpy about the idea of being in a country like Libya 'illegally' and start wondering whether we wouldn't be better to drop the idea of visiting Ghadames (after all we've seen lots of oasis towns in Egypt) and cross into Tunisia tomorrow (our last day to leave without being required to register).  Mabrouk is distressed at the idea that our trip might be cut short because he didn't get this organised and starts ringing round some contacts in Ghadames to see if someone could open the registration office tomorrow or back-date the registration after the holiday has ended.  But now that we've had the thought that we too could be home for Christmas it seems more and more attractive.  In the end he does find someone who would be willing to do the registration for us, but we've already made up our minds.  It's cold here and probably even colder in the desert, not ideal for the desert camping experience we had in mind, and the sight of everyone preparing for the Eid-al-Adha festivities just makes us want to be with our families for the equivalent festivities at home - Christmas.  We suddenly feel that we've been travelling for long enough.  We explain this to Mabrouk and, once we've convinced him that it's nothing to do with his mistake or our satisfaction with him as a guide, he accepts our decision reasonably cheerfully.  After all, it will mean that he can spend the holiday with his family rather than accompanying us to Ghadames.

Back in Mabrouk's town, we again experience the amazing hospitality to strangers that it seems you only encounter in Muslim countries.  We are given a lavish dinner at the house of one of Mabrouk's friends, only to discover that his wife is ill and his sister has had to come round just to cook dinner for us so that the family reputation for hospitality will be upheld!  Then we're invited to sleep at the house of one of Mabrouk's uncles - this turns out to involve sleeping under rugs on cushions in their 'parlour' for entertaining guests, but it's very comfortable and we are made to feel extremely welcome.  All in all, it makes a fantastic end to our stay in Libya.  We are genuinely sorry to say goodbye to Mabrouk at the border and promise to stay in touch.

Now that we've got our minds focused on getting home for Christmas, we can't really get excited about being in Tunisia, which is a shame as it's an interesting and varied country.  I've been there before, before Roel and I met, so I let him choose where he'd like to go in our short time there and he plumps for the island of Jerba, linked to the mainland by a causeway.  When we arrive in the main town, Houmt Souq, the streets are bustling - here, too, everyone is preparing to celebrate Eid-al-Adha and the atmosphere is decidedly festive.  We take a room in the pretty Hotel Erriadh, converted from a funduq, one of the lodging houses where camel caravans stopped in Ottoman times, and decorated throughout with typical Tunisian hand-painted tiles.  Now that we are guideless, it is handy that everyone speaks French as well as Arabic, and we have a delicious lunch of soup and baguette at a bustling café on the main street.  We spend the afternoon wandering around and looking at souvenirs, having suddenly realised that this could be our last chance to buy something in Africa.  At the end of the afternoon the streets suddenly empty as everyone goes home to begin the festivities with their family and we have a rather depressing meal in an empty, chilly restaurant.  After dinner we spend ages trying to find an internet café where there isn't a massive queue and finally get online to discover that there's an overnight boat from Tunis to Sicily the day after tomorrow, 20^th December.  We hesitate a little, knowing that this means a definite end to our African adventure, but decide to make a booking and return to our hotel wondering if we've done the right thing.

Next day dawns bright, sunny and cold and we feel cheerful and pleased to be going home.  This is the most important day of the Eid-al-Adha festivities and everywhere along the roadside there is evidence of people celebrating with their families.  In the grounds of almost every house we see signs of the day's most important ritual, the slaughter of a sheep by every household - as the day progresses, this goes from a couple of sheep tethered in the garden to the man of the family trying to look brave while clutching a sheep and a large knife to the whole family standing round a tree helping to gut and dismember the hapless sheep dangling from it to, finally, just some blood on the ground marking the spot where all this took place.  Although very different, it reminds me of the rituals that take place on a British Christmas Day - opening the presents, the Queen's Speech, the big turkey dinner and finally collapsing in companionable silence in front of the television.  I know I'll be missing out on doing that with my family this year - it will be all we can do to drive to the Netherlands by Christmas Day, let alone getting to Northern Ireland - but it makes me long for Christmas and long to be home.  After almost 21 months of travelling, it's time to get on with our lives and find a place we can call home.

Tunis is feels empty and rather edgy when we arrive and we don't fancy leaving the Landy unattended to stay in a hotel, so we decide just to camp in the car park at the ferry terminal.  It's not too safe there either, but there's another overland vehicle whose owners seem to have the same idea (a massive 6x6 converted truck) and we reckon it will be ok if we are with the car.  We have some food at a surprisingly fancy restaurant in the next town and for something to do we drive on to have a look round the seaside village of Sidi Bou Said, which looks pretty and quite cosmopolitan all lit up by night.  Back at the ferry terminal, we sit in the Landy and read for a while, when Roel suddenly notices a small boy trying to break into the overland truck next to us.  Roel gives chase, but the boy is too quick and disappears into the ferry port.  We don't feel too secure as we head for bed, but we reason that we'd notice someone trying to break in and try to get a decent night's sleep.  The night passes uneventfully and next day we head into Tunis for a wander round the medina and a bit of last-minute souvenir shopping.  The incoming ferry is delayed, but finally it arrives and we're called for boarding.  This is it, the end of our African odyssey.  We do feel sad, but we're also excited about going to Sicily for the first time and racing home through Europe for Christmas, not to mention seeing all our family and friends.