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 		 Bizerte to Monastir
June 2 to 9,  2001

We liked Bizerte. It was a good, easily accessed port of entry; had an economical and adequately equipped marina with friendly helpful staff, with fuel, electricity, water, a dive shop and a small bar and restaurant available; was convenient to town which was large enough, but not a tourist trap; had a couple of internet sites, although we were not able to send E-mail from our laptop; had good train, bus, taxi, louage, car rental and air connections; and was a pleasant amalgam of the old and new in a representative small Tunisian city. We enjoyed the markets, and the atmosphere of the hustle and bustle in the picturesque old port area, not far away from the new hotels and lush beaches fringing the Med. We could have stayed there much longer, but wanted to get on down the coast and over to Malta. Initially we were going to head from Bizerte directly to Malta, but changed our minds to day sail down the coast before heading across towards Croatia.

We left at noon hour June 3 with pleasant light winds for a combination of sailing and motor sailing to Cap Farina 22 miles away. It is at the north western cape of the large Gulf of Tunis, on a stretch of lovely sandy beaches that extend for miles down that coast. We anchored just around the Cap, but shifted another mile down later to avoid the swell circling around the point. It was a wide open anchorage with good sand holding, but exposed to anything from the south to the northeast. This is one of the difficulties of anchorages in Tunisia; they are exposed to 50% of the compass, and you can find yourself on a lee shore if there is much of a wind shift. We spent two nights there strolling the beach, swimming, and climbing up into the hills to look at some seemingly abandoned ruins still occupied by one family, and ragged palm frond shacks that were occupied by lonely shepherds or fishermen, out in the middle of nowhere. I watched the fisherman/shepherd one evening as he walked out into the water, up to his chest on the sandy bottom, to stretch out his nets. I had to watch when dinghying along the coast to be aware of nets supported by floats close in to shore. Next day this same man was escorting five cows along a path, possibly to the small community a few miles down the cape.

We saw many small fishing boats going out early mornings, and several lights of fishing boats way out on the water at night as well. There is a large fishing harbour a couple of miles down the coast, but not suitable or spacious enough for cruising yachts, except as a harbour of refuge. 

As we had a long 60 mile passage across the Gulf of Tunis, around Cap Bon to Kelibia, we left early, at 0445, just before dawn on June 5. The crossing to Cap Bon was a 39 mile motorsail in light variable winds. This cape is the northernmost point of North Africa, closest to Sicily and Italy, separated by the Sicilian Channel, an about 100 mile wide stretch of water, the narrowest point in the Med between Africa and Europe. That is why this area has been an important strategic location for commerce and warfare since the time of the Phoenicians. In WW II the central area of this strait was mined, forcing the British convoys towards the African coastline occupied by the axis powers or in Vichy France territory. These convoys were essential for the support of Montgomeryís forces in North Africa and for the supply lines to a beleaguered Malta, especially in 1941-42.

Kelibia is a large fishing port with one jetty for a few local and transitting yachts. We found out from the local police that we ought to have brought with us the entry form we had filled out in Bizerte, which we should have picked up as part of our checking out procedure from that port. They faxed Bizerte for us and reminded us we had to have it with us when we checked out of Kelibia. No problems, they were quite friendly, but they need to identify the whereabouts of foreign yachts, and checking in and out with the local police at each port is the procedure to be followed. The port was a pleasant blend of the old and the new. We saw several wooden skeletons of large fishing boats in various stages of completion or repair. I was able to get a piece of pipe to secure the two broken ends of my whisker pole from a local metal shop in the port. We also enjoyed an economical meal at a portside restaurant for only 32 Dinars for both of us, in contrast to a rip-off at a resta urant up by the fortress which charged us 12 Dinars for two drinks at noon hour. Iíll have to learn to ask the price first to avoid being taken advantage of.

The port is dominated by a large fortress on the hill overlooking the port, and containing remnants of Roman ruins as well as Byzantine and Moslem structures from the 6th century A.D. In the port area itself there were several sites of Roman ruins, with inscriptions in Latin and mosaic floors in open stretches of abandoned yards. The town of Kelibia was a few kilometers inland, but our major interest was in Kerkouane, a complete Punic town of the 4th and 3rd centuries B.C. We hired a cab for the morning to take us there and back. The ruins were quite impressive as the entire town is there, with the walls of the houses, streets, temples, granaries, and even the water and sewage systems in evidence. In addition to the mosaic floors, still vibrant, were the bathrooms in individual houses with sabot shaped tubs in pink plaster with white marble flecks containing a seat for the bather. The town would have had a population of 2000 or more, but its citizenry waned after the Roman conquest, and it was an unknown, de serted ruin until rediscovered in 1952.

After doing some shopping at the local market in Kelibia, we went into a cybercafe to check our E-mail, as Tunisia does not have local access numbers that we can use from our laptop over phone lines. This was also the first we have been able to acces it since Mahon in Menorca in mid May. We tried in Bizerte, but the connections were faulty and we could not get a satisfactory link. To our consternation we found a message from a Yahoo service advertising my logs to be mailed directly to my address list. I had no idea where such originated. As I scrolled down through the 45 messages waiting, I had several friends upset at this invasion of their E-mail by a Yahoo service, and asking me to delete them from my mailing list. I still had no idea as to who set this up, but later was to find that a couple of acquaintances in Toronto set it up, thinking it would help in the problems I reported earlier from Palma with AOL. I have asked them to cancel it. 

The port had economical rates, but lacked any facilities such as washrooms, showers, shore power or security. June 8th, it was a 40 mile motorsail on a calm day to Hammamet, a famous seaside resort where we anchored off the luxurious beaches and the whitewashed Casbah cloistered behind 15th century walls, the late afternoon call to prayer echoing from the local mosque.

We went ashore, but did not enjoy it as it was a tourist trap where we couldnít wander the streets of the Casbah without constant irritation of the hustlers trying to con us in to their shops. Even the children were into it; I tried to be friendly to a couple of kids where we brought Sprite ashore. One gave Judy a small cluster of buds and asked 2 dinar. No way, but I gave him a half Dinar for it, and said he could earn another Dinar if he watched the dinghy until we returned. A couple of hours later when we returned there were three boys aged 9 or 10 there, and the first boy asked for a Dinar for each, as they all had watched the dinghy. I anticipated this and had three half Dinars ready, and said he could have one, or a half for each of the three, which was accepted. Then when we started to move the dinghy into the water, he helped pull it out until I could lower the motor, and of course he asked for another Dinar. No way! A half Dinar. No. So he took the small bouquet of buds originally bought from him and took off. We were glad to be rid of that place. 

We left early next morning, at 0600, as the wind had shifted and we were now on an uncomfortable lumpy lee shore in a force 4 to 5 wind. Before noon we were going into a heavy force 6 wind and 1.5 metre waves. Heading into it our speed was cut dramatically, so we headed inshore with the possibility of heading to Sousse instead of farther south to Monastir. Angling off, our speed increased, and the wind veered as we got closer inshore, so we crept down the shoreline to Monastir. However, Monastir is on a promontory with an island a hundred yards seawards of it. The entrance was on the south side, which meant even though we were less than a mile from the marina, we had to motor another 3 miles out into the heavy force 6 wind and waves, around the island, and back to the entrance. Too bad they didnít have both a north and south facing entrance to this lovely economical full service marina. 

The Sahara
June 10 to 13,  2001

Monastir has an excellent and economical marina, and because of its good service and low rates is getting more and more boats wintering there. For our 10 metre Veleda, daily high season rates were only TD 6,420 (the Tunisian Dinar was approximately 96 cents Canadian) or about $6.40 a day. Water and electricity was another $2.00 Cdn. The monthly low season rate was only TD 77,000 or about $75.00 Cdn. In addition there was a 20% discount for SSCA or CA members. No locked gates, but they were closed, and no problems with theft reported. Locals are not supposed to go on foreign yachts. There is also a Police station on the dock. I talked with a French gentleman who has kept his boat there for 10 years, and doesn't lock it unless he is leaving it for several weeks. The people were quite friendly and helpful, especially Corrinne in the office. They were not looking for handouts or charging for every little task. 

The set up of the marina reminded me of Olympic Harbour in Barcelona, a large modern marina fringed by public walkways lined with restaurants, boutiques, night clubs, a dive shop, and condominiums. They had a work yard with a good sized travel lift, a dozen yachts up on the hard, and space for winter storage of boats on the hard. The fuel dock had the most economical diesel we have ever purchased, about 25 cents Canadian per litre. There were boat rentals, car rentals, and a couple of large mock brigantine party boats.

From the marina could be seen the sandstone ramparts of the Rabat, a couple of minarets, and the gold dome of the mausoleum to Habib Bourguiba, the first president, who fought for Tunisian independence. Through an arcade of small shops the land entrance to the marina faces on a major traffic circle a few minutes walk from the Rabat and the souks of the Medina within the walls of the old city. The money grubbing hucksters are still there, bothering you and trying to lead you into their shops. 

However, there is a state operated craft centre which has fixed standard prices for most things one can buy in the souks. This centre gives you a chance to shop unmolested, or to get a frame of reference of the cost of many of the items being flaunted at outrageous starting prices in the souks. The best advice I heard about "bargaining is to start at about 25% of their initial asking price, and donŐt go above 35% of the start. I found some tiles that they started at the equivalent of $15.00 each to get them down to $7.00. Another shop started at $5.00, and they could probably be had for $2.50. In the craft centre they cost $1.50 to $2.00. It is definitely buyer beware!

Monastir is an upscale tourist town, not as bad as Hammamet, but has many amenities and interesting sites, an airport, train and bus connections, lush sandy beaches, markets, parks and ancient fortifications and ruins. The island that we had to sail around in heavy weather to get to the south entrance of the marina was a fascinating archeological experience. It had ancient ruins that possibly went back to Phoenician times, then structures dating back to the Moors, and the French fortifications and major dockyards of a couple of hundred years ago, right up to the tennis courts used up until the 1970's. The dockyard had a wide 100 metre inclined hard that could have accommodated the maintenance, repair, or careening of major wooden warships. The remains of a massive capstan were intriguing to figure out. The slots radiating from it at right angles suggested it would be used to haul ships onto the hard, but the slots going uphill to a ruinous stone shed suggested that it might have been linked to engine power i n the later stages of its history.

We found a useful cybercafe in the medina, but no telephone connections for our E-mail. Here we learned the first bit of transferring from disc to the internet AOL site to send E-mail. However, on our own we couldnŐt go much farther as the instructions were French or Arabic. After a few frustrating wrong key strokes we gave up trying to find out details of saving onto the disc or printing from the screen.

We arranged a private car for a day trip south. It was expensive, and we could have shared it with another couple, except the few boaters we knew were tied up that day. However, we think it was worth it as we may not be that way again, unless we leave Veleda in Monastir for a winter before we leave the Med. This is a possibility as we liked it there, and the weather is warm all winter. Maybe???

Anyways, we had a fascinating day starting at 0630 until 2200, covering close to 1000 kilometres. We first went to the Roman amphitheatre at El Jem. It was not as large or well preserved as the one we visited in Arles, but this one had its subterranean caves and openings intact. There was also the Museum of El Jem with fascinating Roman mosaics of intricate patterns, hunting scenes, Roman warriors and senators, all in vivid multicoloured stones.

We continued south to Sfax and along the coast road, getting into arid semi-desert terrain relieved by more verdant oases as at Gabes. Outside the oases, Gabes is a dusty grey town in which we had a nice full meal of lamb, chicken, potatoes, salad and water for less than $12.00 Cdn for the three of us. Crowded, noisy, simple, and moderate level of hygiene, but quite acceptable, the food tasty, and the price was good. From Gabes we went inland, southwest through more hilly, rocky desert, sparsely inhabited with primitive buildings, the sand blowing across the arid fields, reducing visibility. Other than a few isolated palm trees, there was only some low scrub vegetation that looked like black moles on the landscape. These were hillocks of scrub brush that accumulated in a cluster, and being rooted more heavily were not blown away by the severe winds that blow across the desert. It was a barren depressing landscape, and we hadnŐt reached the "real" desert yet!

Troglodytes! As we wound our way up the 600 foot level of these hills, we saw several cave openings with sheds outside, and in some cases power lines going into them! When we reached Matmata we stopped for a look at the cave dwellings still used by some of the Berbers. They were not organized in fortified villages or on rocky peaks, but separate cave dwelling homes, dug into the sandstone hundreds of years ago and still housing families and livestock. 

These cave houses had open air courtyards entered from the hillside through open cuts or tunnels. The open courtyard would be about 10 metres below surface level, a large circular opening up to 15 to 20 metres in diameter. Radiating off this courtyard would be the entrance passageway, and four to six "rooms" dug into the rock wall, and entered through a standup size doorway (but no door; perhaps curtains). Each room would have a different function. One might be a food, grain, and utensil storage. Another would be a kitchen, while others could be personal bedrooms. In one of the "houses " we were in there was a second level room dug into the rock wall about two or three metres above the floor, with a rope ladder for access. The courtyard and some of the rooms were whitewashed, others left with the natural soft rock walls. 

The government has provided water and electricity, and the pipes and wires entered through the entrance passageway, and were strung over to the appropriate rooms. The only daylight In the rooms came from the doorways, as no windows were carved into the rock faces. Some of the rooms were partitioned off with curtains as I saw in one room where a baby was sleeping. The furniture was primitive, some of the walls and floors decorated with colourful carpets, the electric lights were just bare bulbs with a switch to turn them on or off I donŐt know what they used for toilet facilities.

Walking on top of the hillsides, these courtyards were not protected with any kind of fencing, but were just open holes in the sloping terrain. An aspect that struck me as funny was that an occasional TV antenna could be seen sticking up from some of these courtyards (I didn't notice any satellite dishes). Near the entrance was a reed shed for the animals, a few goats and a donkey. Some of the houses had paintings of fish on the outside walls for good fortune, and beaded curtains in their entrances. Only scarce scrub vegetation broken by the occasional palm tree, rocks, dust, and bleak ancient hills made up this desert landscape. The Berbers have lived this way (minus electricity and TV) for hundreds if not thousands of years.

As we drove on we noted many of these cave houses, several far from the road, some now being used for animal shelters rather than residential accommodations. Without trees, the panorama expanded over each crest and around each bend, vistas of rocky hills, canyons, dry brush, a periodic small oasis with some palm trees and greenery, but everything else a brown grey wasteland. No wonder some of the desert scenes from Star Wars were filmed in this region, including the cave dwellings of Matmata.

Driving westward now towards the desert proper, the hills were reduced to dry rolling plains, the dust, being whipped up by force 5 or 6 winds, drifting across the road blurring visibility and starting to accumulate on the tarmac in places. It reminded me of snowstorms in Northern Ontario, with the fine dry snow drifting across the roads, piling up at snow fences, making moving patterns as it swirled across long straight stretches, then curved into little cyclones, starting to dangerously pile up on the roads, making them slippery and reducing visibility. The sand storm that was brewing was like that too. In some stretches there were long fences of palm tree trunks to protect the road or buildings from the accumulating sand dunes. Even the sun was hazed out, making it look like an overcast day due to the sand swept high in the air. 

Westward we went to the fringes of the Sahara Desert at a small town called Douz. We drove through the windswept streets, over accumulations of sand at corners and around the bases of the buildings. A few locals were out, but wrapped up in flowing robes with hoods pulled over their faces for protection. Through town we came to a long white wall with an arch in the middle, grandiosely proclaiming itself to be the Gateway to the Sahara Desert. Rather presumptuous I thought. However as we slowly went through the arch, a grand uninterrupted vista of nothing but sand dunes, and blowing sand magically opened up! The Sahara Desert!

I could almost hear the theme song from Lawrence of Arabia playing in my head as I looked in awe at this remarkable landscape of nothing but rolling sand dunes as far as the eye could see. No more scrub brush or rocky hills; just undulating soft curves of windswept sand. We drove several hundred yards out into this sandy kingdom, ironically following a track made from old tires standing up, their bases sunk into the sand, to indicate a more solid route for vehicles. Again it reminded me of the branches that would be planted on the snow and ice in Northern Ontario winters to safely guide vehicles across frozen lakes. We got out of the car. The sand was extremely fine, almost like flour. Our feet would sink into the road only a couple of centimetres, but when we walked off the marked roadway, we would sink in ten centimetres or more as we tried to walk up some of the small hills. The sand blew in our faces, eyes, and mouths. Goggles would definitely be needed for anyone travelling in the open. I was concerned that the fine sand would get into my camera, and shielded it as I tried to take some pictures. The blowing sand was so uncomfortable that we stayed out for only a few minutes, as we were not prepared for desert walking. I can see that survival clothing and skills in the desert would be just as important as the survival skills and clothing in the arctic.

As we left the desert and went back through Douz, we passed an ornate hotel with traditional desert arches with crenellated battlements that used to be a French Foreign Legion outpost. On the streets we saw columns of camels, and several roaming loose in open fields. We declined the suggested camel rides. 

Monastir to Malta

June 12 to 18, 2001

In the last log, we had just left the Sahara Desert at Douz. The architecture of the forts, now turned into hotels, was that of the French Foreign Legion which used Douz as one of its outposts at the edge of the Sahara. As we left "The Gateway to The Sahara", we passed several herds and strings of camels, led or shepherded by young men in baseball caps trying to attract us to ride them, or at least stop so they could charge us to take pictures of them. Then there were old men in flowing hooded robes leading their caravans of pack camels, right out of The Arabian Nights.

The wind was still blowing as we made our way back through the town and north to Kebili, along a sand swept road on the eastern edge of Chott Jerid, a huge salt lake about 100 kilometres long. Our driver was going quite fast as we had a lot of distance to go to get back to Monastir. He didn't slow down even though at times the road was whitened out by the blowing sand. We passed arrays of meat shops and vegetable stands on the roadsides, some being just sad kids or men standing there all day with only a couple of baskets of watermelons, or onions. What a life, to spend a whole day on the side of a hot dusty road to try to sell such a few meager bits of produce. As it was the driver stopped at one stretch where there was a boy with a wheelbarrow with about ten watermelons. He got out and did some hard bargaining with the boy (to us it sounded more like arguing) and struck a deal where he bought the whole barrowful of melons. The boy did not seem overly happy with the deal or at the prospect of taking the empty wheelbarrow back to wherever. I would have thought the kid would be delighted to have sold the whole barrow and be done for the day. No happiness was shown.

We took an inland road from Gabes, 200 kilometres north to Kairouan, known for its carpets, as it was the centre of an ancient trade route, and for the Oqba Mosque, the most sacred Islamic sanctuary in North Africa. It was dark by the time we got there, and the museums and sites were closed. However, we walked around the fortress-like walls of the Mosque, and peered into the open doors of the courtyard, seeing the devout on their prayer mats, facing Mecca as they recited their evening prayers.

Back in Monastir, we paid the driver $250 Cdn as agreed for the day. It would have been nice had we had another couple to share the expense, but the trip was worth it. Besides, the driver gave us a couple of his watermelons.

Next day, June 14, we picked up a few last things, such as some tiles for the main salon table and meat and vegetables, watered, cleared out with the local police, and left by 1500. However, even though it was a bright sunny day the seas, combined with a force four NE wind, (and of course our course was NE), made for a very rough ride. We gave up pounding into it and returned an hour later to the consternation of the police and customs officials. Re-entry and exit forms had to be completed again before leaving next day. (Judy wouldn't accept just going in without declaring our return.)

We left at 0915 June 15 for Malta with a stop at the Italian island of Lampedusa. The winds were better for sailing and motorsailing, but our autopilot was still acting up and we had to hand steer for the last 12 hours of the 18 hour trip. We also had water problems again while motorsailing. We saw many fishing boats, floats, and long lines of nets. One set of net floats that we were reluctant to cross extended for a minimum of 7 miles! At one time during the night, I counted at least 15 boats in sight at once. The problem at night is that the white working lights of the boats frequently obscure their port and starboard running lights, and because they are often trawling, laying or hauling in nets, they do not follow a straight course. Thus the problem is not only to avoid collision situations, but also not to cross too close astern of the boats and foul their nets or trawls. To avoid one boat may put us in the path of another. It is an uncomfortable situation.

We entered the harbour at Lampedusa and tied up at the town dock by 0330 (35 29.9 N, 012 19.2 E) after a 92 mile and 18 hour trip for a lumpy few hours sleep. Later in the morning we relocated to the end of the breakwater by the police boat where it was not as turbulent. We walked the main street, had pizza and Italian ice cream for lunch, sent some E-mail from an internet shop, and had a good night's sleep. Lampedusa is a good stopping off place between Monastir in Tunisia and Malta. Next day, June 17, we were off for the 112 mile trip to Malta.

We left Lampedusa at 1000 and arrived at the customs dock in Msida Creek, Malta by 0800 next day. We had an enjoyable sail most of the way in force 3 and 4 winds. Unfortunately our autopilot was giving us trouble and we had to hand steer again. However, we were to pick up a new Simrad wheel pilot WP30 in Malta. After completing the formalities at Customs and the Police, we motored around Manoel Island and picked up an unused mooring opposite the Manoel Island Yacht Yard, free of charge. 

We were in Malta (35 54.4 N, 014 30.0 E) at last, the religious island on which St. Paul was shipwrecked, the fabled isle of the Knights of Malta, the strategic and historic island that has been fought over by the Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Turks, Byzantines, Spanish, French, Italians, Germans and lastly the British, the gallant island that was awarded the George Cross for its bravery in holding out in WW II, and the island from which so many Canadians originated. More about our enjoyable time on Malta and its sister island Gozo in my next log.