El Jem's arena brings glamour to the middle of nowhere

It is surely one of tourism's more delightful ironies that one of the most impressive Roman amphitheatres in the world looms above a poor, ramshackle little town on a dusty ... if magnificently straight ... road towards nowhere.

Of course, 1800 years ago this was most certainly SOMEWHERE; not deprived El Jem but sophisticated Thyrsus, a gracious community of wealthy grain and olive oil magnates at a crossroads on the busy highway between the provincial capitals of Carthage and Leptis Magna. The impressive arena was a gift to the city from local boy made good Gordian I, who was briefly emperor before committing suicide. We encountered Gordian in bust form at the Bardo, and he did look like a poster child for stress. But he built a fine stadium.

It held 30,000 -- more than the city's population -- so was obviously an entertainment draw for the whole region.

El Jem is known these days as the world's most perfectly preserved Roman amphitheatre. This is probably a superlative too far. Verona's version has a much more intact seating area and a more complete circuit of exterior walls. But El Jem has three things I've never seen before.

First, three complete levels of stairs and internal corridors, so you can climb all the way to the top and marvel at how little sports stadia design has changed since the Romans invented it. Second, this certainly must be the world's best preserved arena floor. The full ring of walls that separated gladiator from the best seats is intact, still punctuated at regular intervals with the doors through which performers came on and off. It is startling, standing on the packed dirt of the arena floor, to realise just how close observers were to the action. Certainly it mustn't have been unusual for the wealthy patrons in the best seats to get sprayed with blood. I strongly suspect that was part of the allure.

The third unusual feature is the completeness of the subterranean "backstage" area, where gladiators, animals and sets would have been massed before heading up, often through trap doors, to wow the crowds.

The El Jem complex is big, and, given the meagre huddle of buildings around it today, seems even bigger. This is a relatively flat part of the country and we could see the amphitheatre from miles off on our approach. The modern town is comprised of one and two story stucco buildings, many in a poor state of repair, with no obvious plan to the streets and a crazy bustle of natives, many in traditional dress, going about their business by car, motor scooter or donkey cart. It reminded me vividly of photos I've seen of Afghanistan.

So, needless to say, there's not a lot to see in El Jem beyond its star sight. The little town museum, however, is a pleasant surprise and should not be missed by anyone who's made the effort to get all the way out here. It's perhaps a quarter mile from the arena, on the outskirts of town.

The relatively modern building is constructed in Roman style, with large rooms grouped around open courtyards. The collection is mostly mosaics pulled up from local houses. Another indication of how different life was here once; these people lived WELL. Though far smaller, the collection here has quality to match the Bardo. Doors from several galleries lead to porticos and beyond that to an area of excavations where you can wander around the remains of several villas, with many of their floors intact.

At one side is the so called "Africa House" a villa that was moved here piece by piece from the centre of town and then partially reconstructed so you can get a feel for some of the rooms once they're walled and roofed. The double story dining room with its transom windows, lavish mosaic pavement and one side open to a peristyle court planted with a garden was particularly evocative.

The drive to and from El Jem took about 90 minutes each way, and despite the fact that this is the main road to the south, wasn't particularly crowded once we cleared the traffic around Sousse. As on the road to Dougga, we saw seemingly endless miles of olive trees. Increasingly curious, I dug around on my Blackberry and discovered that Tunisia is the world's 4th largest exporter after Italy, Greece and Spain. They've just done a rotten job of marketing and a lot of their oil is disappearing behind brands that are bottled, but not produced, in the top three producing countries.

The other consistent feature of the landscape is construction. Buildings are in the works everywhere, although many of them seem to have been abandoned mid-way. Construction appears to be uniformly made of terracotta, honeycombed breeze blocks. This all looks rather slapdash, but once covered with stucco appears sturdy. They're then decorated with an abundance of columns, tiles, moulded cement arabesque plaques and statues. The Tunisians do seem to love their decorative detail. All this seems to be available at tiny construction supply yards packed with decorative details and placed frequently along the road. I've never been to a country where builder's supply seems so abundant. And yet these homes are going up in seedy villages awash with trash, cheek by jowl with ancient hovels. I suppose that's one of the enduring paradoxes of the developing world.

We arrived back at the hotel at 2. (Driver for half day was 120 dinar plus tip) In time for Hillary and Lisa to disappear to the spa for more treatments and me to head to the pool. Unfortunately, the rainclouds that opened our trip had returned and it was a bit cool. But that, wrapped in spa bathrobe and a big beach towel, just made for lovely napping weather. The sun did return for a bit in the late afternoon. Which made the view from our westward facing balcony particularly lovely as we watched sunset colour the sky and killed off the last of the wine we'd bought at duty free on arrival.

Eventually we headed back to the port one last time and, based on the past 3 nights, returned to Les Emirs for dinner. The staff was particularly glad to see us, encouraging us to order more drinks and scattering the table with rose petals. Must have been a slow night. Before consuming too much wine we toted up the spa and restaurant bills, getting everything into balance before heading home. We were all in perfect agreement: Tunisia delivered to, and beyond, our expectations for a fantastic holiday.

The scene gets more exotic in Sousse

I love Sousse. I had been searching for Tunisian tilework to decorate my garden since my arrival, and had seen nothing but mass-produced stuff. Finally, in Sousse, a proper tile shop.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at the beginning of the day, in the spa. From the impressive domed space where we made our reservations, a long hall leads to the main spa areas. Fountains of arab design cascade water down the walls and all the floors are of highly polished white marble. At the end of the hall you come to a big square atrium with a pavilion in the middle where a girl is brewing tea. There are atrium gardens on each side and song birds in cages. Upstairs, massage rooms radiate in two half circles from the atrium lobby.

Fortunately Hillary had prepared me for the possibility of a masseur rather than a messeuse, so I wasn't as horrified as I might have been when the wiry Tunisian lad came in and helped me off with my bathrobe. Perhaps not surprising, then, that this was the most vigorous massage I've ever had, really digging down into knots and stretching things out. Suitably relaxed, I joined the girls at the pool for a few hours before our afternoon excursion.

Sousse is the third largest city in Tunisia and just 15 minutes by taxi from the hotel. The feel of the old town, however, is totally different from Tunis. In the capital, the souks wind away from a square of 19th century French colonial buildings. In Sousse, the 1000-year old crenelated walls are intact and the entry square is bordered by the mosque dating from 900 ad and the ribat, a defensive castle cum monastery built for a Muslim equivalent of the Knights Templar. The sand coloured walls and round topped towers make you feel that you've dropped into the set of one of those French foreign legion films from the '50s.

The souks here sell much of the same stuff as in Tunis but with far fewer crowds. This means that there's also a lot more hard sell, as people invite you in for coffee or literally tug on your sleeve. If you do wish to buy something, this can actually turn into quite a pleasant experience as you sit down and are given the special treatment. The biggest difference from Tunis, topographically, is that the old city of Sousse runs up a hill, making the streets even more picturesque.

I would be hard pressed to find the tile shop again. All I know is that after much wandering I finally came upon a shop that did nothing but hand painted tiles in a variety of patterns and configurations. Exactly what I wanted for the garden. After some moderate bargaining, and allowing the young shop keeper to stroke my hair, which for some reason fascinated him, we struck a deal that satisfied us both. I got a central mural made up of 8 standard-sized tiles and two single side tiles approx 8 inches by 12 inches, for 50 dinars. Which is about £18. It will cost me more to pay my handyman to install them than it cost me to buy them.

After more shopping and a late lunch in the picturesque cafe de casbah, we set off in search of the Dar Essid museum. We narrowly averted a rather monumental mistake when a local man blocked our way and turned us around as we tried to go through a gate that was "as the crow flies" in the direction of the building. We later discovered that it was the red light district. Not a tourist version like Amsterdam's, but a state-sanctioned, entirely enclosed area with just one entry and exit, the gate we'd almost passed through.

We followed the wall of the district and finally came to our objective: a rich merchant's house, foundations 1000 years old, rooms and furnishings laid on over the centuries. There's amazing tile work throughout. Wife no. 1 and no. 2 had bedroom complexes across from each other. In the room of no. 1 you can see an ancient Roman lamp which, legend has it, was there as a guide to the man. He was to make love to his wife as long as the lamp burned and couldn't stop 'til it burned out. A rare piece of girl power in this country. But clearly the care and concern for the female didn't last long. You can see the much smaller bed across the room that the woman was supposed to move to to sleep once love making was concluded.

Upstairs at Dar Essid you can see kitchens and another drawing room, and climb up the tower that's the second highest point in Sousse. You can also have a coffee in a cafe with expansive views. That includes a look directly down into the aforementioned red light district. We were fascinated to watch the men coming and going at a furious pace. And this on Friday afternoon, the Muslim holy day.

Leaving the old town we plunged into the 4 story, fixed price shopping bazzar next to the main entry to the old town and realised this is where we should have started. It gives you benchmark prices, many of which are lower than you'd get haggling in the souks. My tiles still turned out to be a good deal, but I bought small gifts for others here. And if I were to buy a carpet, I'd do it here. Quality, range and price were great.

We had originally thought to eat dinner in Sousse, but found the hotel and restaurant district here to be package tour hell. In comparison, Port al Kantaoui is quiet, refined and sophisticated. So we returned "home" and tried our third place on the marina: the Restaurant des Emirs. Ironically, this wasn't in the guidebooks but we felt it was better food, and better value, than the two that were.

Thus almost a whole week falls behind us. Just one more day of adventure and sun left.

Beach resorts make Tunisia feel like Florida , with Europeans

Today was a complete R+R day, taking advantage of the hotel facilities. We're staying at The Hasdrubal in Port al Kantaoui, a massive, V-shaped building that encloses lush gardens and a pool separating hotel from beach.

We knew we were coming to packaged tour land, but we guessed wrong on the audience. We had imagined a lot of 30- and 40-something Brits, both parents with small children and drinkers in search of late season sun. Instead, we were surrounded by hoards of 50-something Germans, French and Russions all shuffling around the place in white bathrobes on their way to their abundant course of spa treatments. One advantage of this demographic is that it's spectacularly quiet; I barely heard anything above a low murmur when poolside.

The three of us headed to the spa first thing to make appointments. I am fairly laid back about this process, but Lisa and Hillary had been studying up on possibilities and Hillary had a diligently researched, neatly drawn up short list that made it clear she was the lawyer of the trio. It's a shame the spa receptionist did not have a soupcon more of this efficiency.

The entry to the spa is impressive: a long, marble-paved hall with windows on each side giving views of the gardens and decorations down its length with bowls of flower petals and swans fashioned neatly from snowy towels and sprinkled with more petals. You walk down some stairs and emerge into a grand, domed hall redolent of that heavy floral and spice scent all spas seem to share. The staff are shuffling around quietly in white coats, looking more medical than their trendy, pajama clad bretheren in the UK. So far, so good. Then we tried to get our appointments.

English is obviously a fourth language here after Arabic, French and German. We certainly couldn't find a common ground on which to get much detail of the treatments. And very little seemed to be available, probably as a consequence of all these Continental types here for their two and three treatment a day packages. Hillary and Lisa finally got some stuff booked for our first day; I had an appointment on our second. That much scheduling took more than half an hour.

I spent half my day at the pool and half on our hotel balcony, doing my best to follow the sun. This was a bit challenging as it rained all night and was partly cloudy for most of the day. The pool area is magnificent. The pool is a huge rectangle, with a long curved addition to one side and an artificial island planted with palms and bouganvilla in the middle. It's paved with hexagonal tiles in a vivid blue, making the expanse glimmer jewel like against the lush green foliage of the gardens around it. There's a smaller indoor pool with lots of jacuzzi jets, but it's not heated ... And I'm only fond of getting pummelled with water when it's good and hot.

A short walk through the gardens brings you out to the beach, of which you're aware when poolside because of the sound of the surf. It is a massively disappointing coast, unfortunately. The surf is rough, probably too much so for swimming on an unknown beach, even if you could ignore the fishing nets that were suspended fairly close in. The tides had kicked up a wide bed of seaweed at the high tied mark, interspersed with a lot of trash and a variety of sea urchin type creatures. This is a beach desperately in need of a Florida-style beach tractor that drags the sand clean each day. But that's obviously not something they do here. And despite the resemblance to Florida in the resort hotels and condos stretching as far as the eye could see, there was almost nobody to be spotted on the beach, either in repose or walking in the surf. With all that gunk, I suppose it's no surprise. Even I, who normally prefer to be seaside, retreated to the pool after my 10-minute foray.

We rendezvous-ed back at the hotel room in the late afternoon, where we sat on our porch, drank a bottle of wine and watched daylight fade. Then it was back to the harbour for dinner at the other recommended restaurant, Le Doraude. Much of a muchness with last night, except that we could eat outside and there was a bellydancer we could watch generally embarassing all the 50-something men in the place.

Head to the souks for shopping as competitive sport

"I'll be honest, we need your money."

That was the most refreshingly honest of all the lines I heard enticing me into shops in the souks of Tunis. I had a marvellous time, though it didn't take long for me to decide that the difference in shopping styles is perhaps the biggest gulf between Arabic and Western culture.

The souks are little more than winding alley ways, perhaps 8 feet wide. They are all covered, most with high barrel vaults with small, occasional holes to let in the light. You realise the wisdom of this the moment you step into full sun. There was a 10 to 15 degree difference between inside and out. Stores are mostly small, some no bigger than an American walk-in closet, the biggest perhaps the size of a two-car garage. And outside each shop is the keeper, always male and doing his utmost to get your attention and lure you in for a browse.

I will admit to being a sucker for a flirting man in any culture. So, unlike Lisa and Hillary who'd perfected their "ignore everything and stride straight ahead" stares, I was ready to exchange words with anyone who told me I had pretty eyes. This did not lure me into any unwise purchases, but I did talk to more people and admittedly slowed us down a bit. The banter rarely bothered me and I never felt threatened. The only times the attention got mildly uncomfortable was mostly when the younger shopkeepers were directing their attention directly at Lisa. There are few circumstances in which being thin, blonde and beautiful can be considered a disadvantage, but I think wandering the souks of Tunis is probably one of them.

So what is there to buy in this warren? Tunics, robes and belly dancer costumes of every design. Pottery. Tiles. Hammered brass and silver. Gold jewelry (like gold sellers around the world, these guys had the prettiest shop interiors, some with really ornate carved ceilings.) Lanterns. The tacky triumverate of chicha pipes, tee shirts and stuffed camels. Perfume. Spices.

It was the last two that were my objective today. One of the souks is actually called the souk of the perfume makers, and though there's more than that there today, there are still many shops selling scents. I picked a tiny, beautiful cubbyhole that ONLY sold perfumes. No stuffed camels here. I negotiated a third off the price. Which, frankly, says little for my bargaining skills. But 1/3 off was already so far below London prices that I didn't bother. My percentage of discount on the saffron was much better, starting with 12 dinars a pack and buying at 3 packs for 10. In comparison ... 10 dinars is about £3.50. A tiny box with approximately a teaspoon of saffron in it is almost £3 at Waitrose. Each of these packets had about 10 times the Waitrose portion. In both cases, I wished I'd bought much more after I left. But the souks meander and there was no going back.

At the heart of the souks is the Great Mosque. As both infidels and women, there was no chance of us seeing the interior of the prayer hall. But you can pay 2 dinars (about 40 pence) to get into one of the arcades to see the courtyard. If shopping emphasised our differences, the mosque made me contemplate our similarities. Swap the marble courtyard for grass and the architectural decoration for gothic, and it could have been a cloister in any monastery in Europe. Columned arcades formed a square around the central court. The minaret stood high over one side, serving exactly the same calling to worship purpose as a medieval bell tower. On the other side, doors opened into the prayer hall, clearly magnificent from the elusive glimpses we got through the doors.

The crowds were intense on the main route between the old town gate and the Great Mosque, but fell away to almost nothing the moment we tried another route. We were the only Westerners in sight when we were invited upstairs to the tiled roof of a shop that overlooked the sprawl of the whole souk area. The same applied when we took a break in a tiny coffee shop walled in vivid tiles and topped by a towering arabesque dome.

In addition to the regular tourist souks, we purposely took a wander through local areas. Used clothes markets, shoe makers, junk recyclers: the cheerful heckle of shopkeepers immediately fell away in these areas, where it was obvious we did not fit and were not potential patrons. Eventually we found ourselves wandering through entirely residential streets. Not the wealthy suburbs of Carthage but a decrepit, narrow, garbage-strewn district of breath-taking antiquity. The architecture crushed in layers like geological strata. It was obvious people had just been building on, up or around for centuries. We kept going through covered passageways supported by columns that were only 4 feet tall, topped by corinthian capitals almost worn away, implying that the street level was at least 4 feet further down when the passageway was originally built. We felt perfectly safe in these backstreets. In fact, everyone just ignored us. But it was a pleasant validation of our map reading skills to emerge from those native passageways into the tourist hum of the Place de la Victoire.

The final shop on our excursion was Mains de Femmes, not in the souk but on Avenue Bourgiba, the so-called Champs Elysses of Tunis. No tourist could ever stumble upon this shop without being directed here specifically. As we were by the Lonely Planet guidebook. It barely has a sign and is on the second floor of a non descript office building. The appeal? This is the outlet for a fair trade cooperative for women artisans. And it's fixed price. It's lovely, after the relentless masculine hard sell of the souks, to be able to let your guard down, have a nice chat with the women running things while knowing that the money we spend goes directly to the women who make the stuff. This seemed particularly relevant in light of the one thing we haven't liked about Tunisia: the women seem to be absent (at home?), running errands or working, while scores of men pack the coffee houses doing absoutely nothing for hours at a time. The only shame about Mains des Femmes is that their selection is so limited: most women's desire to spend money here will probably outstrip the small selection of cothing, rugs and knitted toys on offer here.

Back to the hotel in a taxi. Now that we've figured the system out, we realise that the three of us can get to Sidi Bou for less than £5. So while we're glad we had the early experience of taking the second class train with the locals (3 for less than a pound) we've settled in to treating ourselves.

And on the subject of taxi drivers, I should relate a salutory tale. Even though I feel it's almost a rite of passage to be ripped off by a taxi driver in every country you visit, it's still good to be warned. Tunisian dinars are made up of millimes. Not 100 of them, as is standard in most Western currencies, but 1000 of them. Which means there are three numbers behind the decimal point. You may not notice this the first time you get in a taxi. And when the meter reads 02875 your brain will immediately put the decimal point between the 8 and the 7. You'll round up to 30 dinars, do a quick calculation and realise you've gone all the way across town for £12, which seems reasonable in comparison to London. It's only after you take a few more rides that you realise the fare was less than 3 dinars and the driver let you overpay him by a factor of 10 without giving you a hint of your mistake. C'est la vie. I hope he's saving to send his kids to college.

Back at the Dar Said, we had a late lunch at the pool while waiting for our transfer to our next hotel. At 4 we set off, driving for an hour down the coast. A bit like yesterday, we drove through miles of exansive, gentle hills covered with olive groves, mountains in the distance. But today the sea was always to our left, and long miles of landscape were flat, marshy areas.

We were prepared to enter a different world at Port el Kantaoui, and we were right. It's a bit like Florida with Arab architecture. After settling into our room we walked over to the port and had dinner at the recommended Le Mediterranee. Good food, good views, not exceptional.

I'll refrain from describing the hotel today, as I suspect we won't be moving far beyond it tomorrow.

Dougga delivers on promise of spectacular ruined city

Today, away from beguiling coastal views and into the interior.

Our objective was Dougga, legendary for being one of the finest Roman sites in the world. It's about 80 miles from Tunis and quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

We hired a driver for the day for 200 dinars (about £75). He was cheerful and attentive but neither his English, nor his French, was up to communicating that we were taking the longer, but much more picturesque, route out to Dougga and would take the shorter route home. This might have made us a bit more relaxed about the seemingly interminable, but in fact 3 hour, ride. It was enjoyable nonetheless.

We drove through vast agricultural valleys with wheat fields spreading to distant horizons and olive groves on every hill. (Turns out 19% of the world's total of olive trees are in Tunisia, and it's the world's fourth biggest producer after Italy, Greece and Spain.) But this isn't an area of modern agriculture. It was half way through the return journey before I saw a tractor; the roads were filled with horse carts and men bobbing along on heavily laden donkeys. People were selling piles of melons, garlic and pomegranates on the roadside. And every flock of sheep or goats we saw was accompanied by its own shepherd. (I can't grasp the economic validity of that.) It was both easy to see how this was the bread basket of the Roman empire, and to understand how they now import wheat because their modern agricultural standards are backwards.

We climbed over a low mountain range, getting spectacular views reminiscent of Tuscany. Then we wound back down into a non-descript, rickety outpost of a town, followed a country road along the edge of more hills and finally saw the temple of Saturn on the promontory that told us we had arrived.

Dougga has the usual mix for Roman urban sites: forum, temples, houses, baths. But I found it unusual in three ways. First, the whole place is made of a golden, almost Cotswold-coloured stone, which gives it a buttery glow. Second, there's been no attempt at a geometric city plan. The hill was too steep. So roads circle up it, creating a most un-Roman spiral plan. Third, it was almost empty. For vast parts of our visit we were alone but for site workers and their donkeys, and were free to scramble up or over any ruin we fancied. It wasn't hard to imagine that we were the first discovering a lost city after a thousand year sleep.

Several buildings are particularly well preserved and dramatic. The capitol has been rebuilt to its full height, though not re roofed. Not only does this provide a picturesque focal point for the whole site, but it also means the capitol is one of the few places in Dougga where there's any shade. Thus we paused here for a picnic lunch, perched on bits of broken pediments beneath the empty niches where Jupiter, Juno and Minerva once stood.

Another temple nearby is not so complete, but interesting in its unique structure. It stood in a semi-circular walled enclosure, and you get a perfect sense of the gracious proportions of the space. The theatre has been extensively rebuilt and has a full complement of seating as well as comprehensive remains of the stage. There's enough of the forum areas to paint a vivid picture of commercial and civic life, and the warren of residential areas was fascinating. I'm so glad we did this after visiting the Bardo, as multiple places are identified by the mosaics that were discovered there.

By far the greatest thrill of Dougga was that sense of discovering the unknown. We tramped between sites over fields covered with scrubby brush and burnt out thistles, strange white snails clinging to the dead foliage in such profuse amounts they seemed like flowers. We reached other sites through olive groves. Hobbled donkeys with no masters in sight munched on the wild thyme and rosemary growing amongst the stones. This was just so far from your usual regulated, high traffic tourist site. There was no guidebook in English, so we followed the entries in our general guidebooks and pieced the stories together as well as we could. It was a wonderful journey of discovery.

The shorter route back to Tunis still took 2 hours thanks to hitting the city at rush hour. We didn't linger at the hotel, however, but rather changed and headed for a local restaurant, Les Bon Vieux Temps. Great views, a mix of French and Tunisian specialties and a location close enough to dash to and from the hotel without minding the rain that has returned.

I started with the marinated seafood salad and went on to the stuffed squid, both dishes that could have been served in any Sicilian restaurant. More reminders, should you need it, that Palermo is a hell of a lot closer to Tunis than it is to Rome. I finished with perhaps the best lemon sherbet I've ever had (the Arabs did invent the stuff, after all), the perfect balance to the spices of the meal and the heat of the day.

Tomorrow we head into Tunis. The only chance to shop in the main souks before we catch our 4pm transfer down the coast to the beach resort half of the trip.

Mighty Carthage now a leafy, seaside suburb

We were up early to take a stroll around Sidi Bou. Our objective was to catch the town before tourists and with good light. This is a photographer's paradise; it's hard to go more than a few feet without unother perfect composition hitting your eye. We eventually ended up on a little promontory looking down on the town beach and harbour, and down the coast at neighbouring Carthage, our objective for the day. The light was indeed spectacular, and at 8am there wasn't a tourist in sight.


Back at the hotel, we let our new friend Abdullah serve us breakfast next to the pool. A Tunisian breakfast, at least at the Dar Said hotel, is a Continental one: a pot of strong black coffee and jug of hot milk; a basket of breads including croissant and pain au chocolat; butter and jans, including fig; plates of meat and cheese; yogurt; soft boiled egg. It's quite enough to set you up for the day. Good thing, too. We were going to need our energy.

Carthage has lived many lives, most notably as the capital of the Punic kingdom and home of Hannibal who almost brought down Rome before it became a world power. Later, it emerged from the ashes of Roman conquest as a new and sophisticated imperial city, one of the largest in the Empire. Perhaps its most surprising incarnation is its modern one, a leafy and exclusive suburb of Carthage. To see the ruins you have to walk through palm tree-lined avenues bordered by walled villas. It all felt a bit like LA, frankly.

Seeing Carthage means walking. A lot. This was a big town and the main sites are spread out. It's also very hilly; culture and a work out at the same time.

We started on Byrsa Hill, where the Romans built their Acropolis-like forum on the remains of the Punic city centre. There's not a lot to see beyond foundations, but the spectacular views give you a sense of just what a great location this was for a city. And you can just make out the outlines of the ancient harbour, once one of the world's most sophisticated; now apparently a series of lakes giving some of those posh villas a bit more water in their view.

There's a small museum up on the hill that gives the history of the city and shows some of what was unearthed here. The models are most helpful, letting you get a better sense of what all these bare foundations underpinned. My favourite sight here, however, was two sarcophagi, each topped by life sized effigies, one male, one female. I looked closely at this woman who lived 400 years bc. She wore an obviously Egyptian skirt, beneath a very Greek blouse and hair style. Her funerary monument was Etruscan in tradition, yet she was burried in North Africa. And I laughed, thinking of our world's obsession with this "new" concept of globalisation. This 2400-year-old woman could tell us that there's nothing new under the sun.

Next to the ruins on the hill you find the slightly dilapidated, Moorish, yellow hulk of the Cathedral of St. Louis. (Turns out the namesake of my home town died here during a seige in the Crusades.) The church has been deconsecrated and is now used as a concert venue, so I didn't get the chance to get inside to hunt amongst the monuments for proof of the family legend that a 19th c Ferrara was a ptiest who had something to do with the bishop of Carthage.

A 20-minute walk, downhill then up again, brought us to a ridge covered with the remains of Roman villas. And sandwiched, a bit incongruously, between the sprawl of the President's palace on the coast and the massive mosque he's constructed just inland. The villas will be a dissappointment to anyone who's seen Pompeii, Herculaneum or Ostia. There's just not a lot here besides foundations and a few signs showing where a particular mosaic now in the Bardo once stood. But the views are magnificent and you do get the sense that the residents of ancient Carthage, just like their modern descendents, had it good.

Another stroll, about 15 minutes downhill, brought us to the Antonine Baths. These were once amongst the biggest in the Empire. There's a model here that shows how the massive complex spread out along the sea front: any modern city would lust after such a well situated and comprehensive facility. But once again, a lot of imagination is required here as only foundations remain. At least in this case, foundations are vaults and corridors that tower above your head. With underpinnings this impressive you can grasp, a bit, at what it might have been. Despite the overall size you're still going to get a better sense of a baths complex at the Baths of Diocletian in Rome, or out at Ostia. But there you won't have the sound of pounding surf and the sparkling sea vistas.

So my verdict on Carthage: very hard work for very average ruins within a particularly alluring setting. As a fan of all things Ancient Roman I had to do them, but the ruins we saw at Dougga and El Jem were finer.

We hiked up hill to the Carthage train, and further up to return to the hotel from train station. Sidi Bou is not recommended for people who can't walk up and down hills. By the time I staggered up the stairs to the hotel, beneath the clouds of fragrant jasmine, I could hear the pool calling my name. We all collapsed there for a few hours, dozing like the hotel's wild cats in the sun.

Later, refreshed, dressed and made up, we were transformed enough in both energy levels and appearance to head out for a very special dinner at Dar el Jeld. This is mentioned in every guidebook as the best restaurant in Tunis, and it delivered on expectations.

The setting is fantastic. It's in a converted mansion near the souks of the old city. There's only one subtle sign; you have to be directed to the big, nail-studded door and then knock to gain entry. Once inside you go through a procession of reception rooms before emerging in what was the main palace courtyard and is now the dining room. Brightly coloured tiles covered the walls and the lighting was low, kept subtle by candles burning in wall sconces around the room. A musician played haunting strains on an Arabic stringed instrument while waiters in local costume seemed omnipresent when serving diners' needs.

Unlike most places we've been to, the maitre'd had a thorough command of English, so we didn't have to rely on our French patois to get through the menu. After an explanation of the local specialities, we opted for the mixed hors d'oeuvres to start. This was more what we expected when we ordered meze last night. There was a variety of small, fried, stuffed dough parcels; a cold, marinated seafood salad; slices of hard boiled egg on a bed of something like ratatouille; slices of a cheese somewhere between ricotta and bufala mozzarella on a salad of diced tomato, cucumber and onion. For mains, I had a plate of lamb couscous of great delicacy, the meat literally falling from the bone. Hillary had lamb as well and Lisa opted for kabkabou, a local specialty that prepares a whole fish in tomatoes, olives and capers. (No denying we're just 80 miles south of Sicily.) All this was washed down with a couple of bottles of vieux magot, Tunisia's best red wine.

We split assorted pastries for dessert; almonds and pistachios abound. The maitre'd, who by now had warmed to the charms of three single girls (waiters always love us) brought us a creme caramel/puddingy sort of thing covered with ground pistachios to try, on the house. Tasty, but the savouries were better than the sweets.

All in all a fantastic dining experience, with great food and wine, attentive service and super atmosphere. All for about £30 per person ... the most expensive dinner we were to eat in the country.

A wet Tunis greets us with spectacular sights

It was a bit disconcerting to arrive for our sun-baked holiday to find Tunis drenched in one of its rare torrential downpours. On the first morning the skies were still leaden and rain was falling steadily, slicking the marble pavements of our hotel and muting the white walls and towers around us.

But then the sun came out, bringing this charming small town of Sidi Bou Said ... a suburb of Tunis ... into sharp focus. It is, quite simply, one of the most picturesque places I have ever seen. Sidi Bou is famous, justifiably, for its blue and white colour scheme. All buildings, without exception, are painted a dazzling white. All architectural accents -- magnificent arched doorways, fanciful iron grillwork, latticework porticoes overhanging the street -- are painted in subtle variations of the same vivid sky blue. If that weren't striking enough, this is all complemented by the distinctive keyhole arches, domes, minarets and geometric patterning of arab architecture, draped with lush bouganvilla and given depth and dimension by the way the town spirals up its seaside hill. Add a backdrop of ocean and mountains glimpsed at the end of streets or over garden walls, and you have to admit that you've wandered into a landscape painting. It's all just a bit too pretty to be real.

Our hotel, the Dar Said, extends that fairy tale. It is essentially an Arabic-inspired palace, with opulently decorated rooms wrapping around cool, white marble courtyards full of exotic plants and fountains gurgling merrily. Bedrooms vary widely in decor and size; mine had tall louvred doors opening onto a roof terrace with views over the town. 

The hotel wraps itself around a glimmering blue pool, its pool deck enhanced with the decorative Tunisian tiles we would soon learn were ubiquitous throughout the country. You can take your breakfast here and gaze down upon the bay of Tunis, with the ruins of ancient Carthage and the sprawl of modern Tunis both visible. There's also a garden on a lower level, with white marble paths running through formal green parterres, sharing the same view and surrounded by the property's walls so entirely private. 

One of the glories of Sidi Bou Said in general, and the Dar Said in specific, is the quiet. Like most Mediterranean cities, Tunis is a bustling and brash, exciting and noisy. Here, you're within reach of the excitement, yet withdrawn into a soothing bubble like some enchanted potentate from the Arabian Nights.

We didn't linger too much here on the first day, however. A week was already starting to seem a criminally short time to spend in Tunisia. Our movements plus different attractions' closed days dictated that Sunday would be the day for the Bardo Museum.

The Bardo is acclaimed for having the finest collection of Roman mosaic floors in the world, pulled from civic and residential ruins across what was once the capital of Rome's Africa province and the bread basket of the empire. Your first few minutes in the Bardo, however, you might find this difficult to believe. The building was once the Bey's palace and, though large, is looking more than a bit weather beaten on the outside. There is no clear, dramatic entry into the place. Even the door that appears to be the main one leads into a dim and unimpressive hall. The first room off this is filled with early Christian mosaics; interesting enough, but clearly from a time when the whole art form was in decline.

The secret: get upstairs immediately. The architecture and the mosaics get very impressive, very quickly. Both the number and the artistic virtuousity of the mosaics here are beyond belief. The closest I've seen is the museum in Naples, which is dwarfed by the Bardo. There are mosaics here of beguiling complexity, with vines or geometric patterns enclosing rondels of animals or people. Fish were a popular theme, with many floors depicting underwater scenes with scores of different piscine species. Hunting scenes were equally abundant, some almost a pictorial encyclopedia of different animals, some showing hunts in progress and some showing animals at their ease in nature.
Several mosaics showed buildings or scenes of everyday human habitation, giving some sense of what life must have been like. And, of course, there were endless scenes from mythology: Theseus and the minotaur at the centre of a complex labyrinth, Hercules surrounded by depictions of his labours and enough detailed depictions of Dionysus amongst his grape vines to pave a score of dining rooms.

If you can tear your eyes from the exhibits, some of the rooms themselves are spectacular, particularly the ceilings. There's some sculpture and a nice collection of Greek bronzes hauled up from a shipwreck, both collections of which would be star sights in most other museums. But here, the mosaics rule.

After this we took a taxi back to the centre of town, strolling up the main avenue and stopping first for a drink, then for a snack. I tried the much-written-about local tea, which had a lot less mint and a lot more sugar than anticipated. We then tried tuna and cheese crepes. Unlike the French tradition, these were folded into a square and left to grill for so long that they came to resemble toasted sandwiches. Not the greatest street food I've ever had, but we were starving and it went down a treat.

It took about an hour of train transport, walking and waiting to get back to our hotel. Once there we retired to the courtyard occupied by the swimming pool and took a table with an expansive view of the sea, drinking a bottle of wine and enjoying a quiet punctuated only by the dusk call to prayer ringing out from the nearby minaret.

After that interlude, we washed, dressed and headed out to Le Grand Blu, a restaurant about 15 minutes down the coast recommended by our tour coordinator. It was "assez bien" ... Good, but nothing hugely memorable. It's a big place, of modern construction but traditional design, built on a cliff face. It clearly has amazing views looking over the water to Sidi Bou Said, but as it was after dark we didn't benefit much from these. We opted for the meze, a mix of shared plates that included several types of fried fish, several grilled and a plate of pene pasta in tomato sauce with shrimp and caviar that was by far the best thing on the table. The meal probably would have been elevated several levels if they would have brought out a couple of dishes at a time, giving us a chance to sample a progression. By placing everything on the table at once, 1/3 was lukewarm and another 1/3 close to cold by the time you tucked in. There was also a complete absence of vegetables, so not a particularly balanced meal. But good service, tasty food and a bottle of wine between us in one of the area's nicest restaurants for the equivalent of £20 per person, so we're certainly not complaining.

And thus ended day 1.