Wales On Sunday

TALES AND TRAVAILS FROM A TRIP TO TUNISIA

DISPATCHES FROM A SIMPLER TIME TONSILLITI­S, TEMPESTS AND A TOUR FIRM FLOP – NIGEL THOMPSON RECALLS A WEIRD WEEK IN NORTH AFRICA

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THE first inkling that this might not be a normal family holiday was when we were told the pilot had paid for the plane’s fuel. We’d been late departing for Tunisia from Gatwick (3am instead of 8pm) and it was only as the in-flight meal was being served that we found out why.

That, said the cabin crew, was because the tour operator did not have the money to pay the airline to fill the tanks, so the captain had put it on his credit card.

Cue some wide-eyed looks from the passengers. Though that may have been their reaction to the appalling food, which was allegedly pasta in cream sauce but was more like boiled string in vomit-flavoured wallpaper paste.

A bleary-eyed dawn arrival at Monastir had us in our apartment by the marina in time for breakfast, after a warm welcome from the reception team.

The place was rather tired, as were we, but there was bags of space and great views of the boats from the rooftop terrace.

We’d got a couple of nights there, then a Sahara excursion to see the Star Wars film location, salt flats, an oasis and an amphitheat­re, including a night in a Bedouin camp. Exciting stuff for me, my wife Debbie, Alex, seven, and son Charlie, then eight on this trip back in October 1997.

Before the excursion we explored Monastir. We scouted the bars and restaurant­s at the marina, looked at the beach and visited the medina and the Ribat, a small fort which was a location for Monty Python’s Life of Brian movie.

Here, 75% of the Thompsons thought repeating the film’s classic line “He’s not the Messiah, he’s a very naughty boy’’ was not funny, so 25% of the Thompsons abandoned the recital of the Biggus Dickus sketch.

Woger would have to wait to be weleased.

The temperatur­e was in the mid 20s, so next day we hit the beach by the apartment. Sandcastle­s were built, swarms of jellyfish avoided, shoulders slightly burned and 25% of the Thompsons drank 100% of the local Celtia lager rations and got in trouble.

That evening we found a restaurant that served the Tunisian brik – a triangular pastry containing onions, spices and an egg with a runny yolk.

They are famously messy to eat and we did nothing to disprove that.

We were woken early next morning by a phone call from reception, with urgent news. Were we to be fined for the egg yolk stains on the restaurant tablecloth? No. Our travel firm, SunTours, had gone bust.

The reception staff were on top of things and told us we would be keeping the apartment and a repatriati­on flight was being organised by the UK Civil Aviation Authority.

Sit tight and enjoy the rest of the week as best you can, was the message. And yet, this news was a blessing in disguise.

Why so? After a day at the beach, Alex started to feel a bit poorly, so was given Calpol and tucked up early.

In the morning she was really ill with a severe temperatur­e and former ward sister Debbie said she was in urgent need of a doctor.

Reception were brilliant, calling a paediatric­ian who arrived promptly, diagnosed acute tonsilliti­s, and dosed her up. While not requiring hospitalis­ation, Alex needed medication and to stay as cool as possible.

Debbie and I realised that, had SunTours still been trading, she would likely have fallen ill in a tent in the desert, with no immediate medical attention available.

The doctor handed over a prescripti­on, so Charlie and I set off for a pharmacy. On the way back, walking through the medina, we decided to buy some fruit. An odd-looking one puzzled me and I went to pick it up. The stallholde­r started shouting and gesticulat­ing.

“Don’t worry mate, I’m not nicking it,” I laughed. I wasn’t laughing 10 seconds later – he’d just been trying to warn me it was a prickly pear and I now had about a thousand needles embedded painfully in my hand (only a slight exaggerati­on, I was picking them out for hours).

We hung around the apartment as Alex perked up. However, Mother Nature ensured we had ample in-house entertainm­ent.

First up was The Invasion of the Ants as they suddenly erupted from a hole in a wall in a black tide.

We fought back with towel swatting, stamping and poured boiling water down the outside wall where they were massing again.

Enemy repelled, Debbie and I settled down for a Celtia on the terrace. We spotted an ominous cloud on the horizon and idly wondered if it was heading our way.

Thirty minutes later it was, so we stacked the seats and left.

What happened next was like the arrival of the aliens in Independen­ce Day – with a supremely menacing cloud and military grade thunder and lightning.

In the marina there was panic as owners of boats and bars scrambled to secure things. Too late for some, as the tempest arrived with an end-ofdays fury. Chairs flew into the air, awnings ripped and boats slammed into each other. Thankfully we heard no one was hurt.

If the storm was biblical, it was appropriat­e that night that we had The Plague of Cockroache­s with about a dozen of them scurrying about.

I accept that “about a dozen” is not a plague, but it’s about 12 more than we were comfortabl­e sharing our accommodat­ion with. They easily evaded us and an anxious night was spent listening for six-legged ninjas scuttling by beds.

The morning began with news from reception – a repatriati­on flight was due that evening.

No offence to the delightful Tunisians, but we wanted to get home. We’d made the best of it – the assistance when Alex was ill and with the collapse of the tour firm had been faultless, and what’s an apocalypti­c storm, a jellyfish horde, a fearsome fruit and a billion insects between friends? However, we had a plane to catch.

Well, hello Peach Air!

It was a clapped-out old jet that rolled up to take us back to Gatwick, but we did not care as it shuddered its way across the Med.

Though we did decline the pasta in-flight meal...

What happened next was like the arrival of the aliens in Independen­ce Day – with a supremely menacing cloud and military grade thunder and lightning

 ??  ?? Ship shape: Boats bobbing in the marina
Family time: Nigel with Charlie and Alex at the Ribat
Ship shape: Boats bobbing in the marina Family time: Nigel with Charlie and Alex at the Ribat
 ??  ?? Ace of spades: Charlie and Alex on the beach
Ace of spades: Charlie and Alex on the beach
 ??  ?? Force of nature: The storm rolling in
Coastal charm: Monastir was a fishing port
Cheers: Nigel keeps his feet away from ants and cockroache­s
Force of nature: The storm rolling in Coastal charm: Monastir was a fishing port Cheers: Nigel keeps his feet away from ants and cockroache­s

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