I decided that instead of giving you the whole of my travel stories, I would just pick out what I think is the most interesting part of each experience. So these might seem a bit chopped about - which they are - but you have to imagine that I have already told you all about the flight, the horrible food, the hard beds, the beautiful scenery and the fun bridge. I went to Tunisia with my step-mother, Grace, who was 80 at the time. She is a very good bridge player.

On one morning, and I can't now remember if it was Monday or Wednesday, we decided to take a taxi into Sousse. We got our friends Shirley and Barbara to share it with us, and so it was a very cheap trip - being about a 20 minute ride and costing about $1.50 each. We had been told that we were likely to be approached by a young man saying he was a waiter at our hotel and asking if we wanted a tour guide. Apparently the men have an arrangement with the taxi drivers to find out where they got their customers from, and then pretend to belong to that hotel in order to reassure the tourists that they are reliable and honest people. But when I was approached I just said firmly "No" and the man didn't persist.

The Medina is the most ancient part of the city - and  is a warren of little Souks or stalls - built into a hillside - with alleys off in all directions. It had a roof overhead and the alleys were very narrow and dark, and each stall was overflowing with the goods on offer - all much as we had already seen at the Marina.

Bartering was not only allowed but encouraged in the Medina - and the shopkeepers felt it was necessary to approach and harangue us into buying their particular product. It made us feel very uncomfortable - as I said before the men gave off an aura of aggression. I did consider buying some spices and the man who originally had said they would cost $10, brought the price down to $1 - not because I was bartering, but because I didn't look as if I was going to buy. And then when I still decided not to, he said, "You are rich and we are poor" and almost spit at me.

I always feel uncomfortable when confronted by poverty in these countries, but I almost said, "If you want tourists to buy your stuff, you must learn to treat us with respect and then we will be pleased to share our wealth with you." But I didn't.

We went by some ancient mosques and could have gone in closer, but would have had to pay, and would have had to get an extra covering - as we broke the rules by having bare arms - even though we had slacks on. So we gave that a miss. After an hour or so of wandering and wondering if we would get lost or attacked, we felt rather as if we had had enough. It would have been lovely to have a sit down and coffee - but the only coffee places were for men only - and there was no way I was going to challenge that.

Then we went into a rather nice and new department store - which was cool and organised looking - and served almost entirely by women. They were a complete contrast. Not only did they not bully you into buying, they completely ignored you - and only served you when you approached them. But again, no place for a sit down and drink. Grace bought a few little souvenirs, and we regretfully left. We needed to sit down, so found some benches, but the best ones in the shade were all full - of whom ?- Tunisian men of course. But we did find a seat in the sun, and when we had felt fully recovered, we got a taxi and went back to the hotel - happy for the experience of the Medina - but not tempted to repeat it.

Our taxi man was very chatty and pointed out to us the summer home of the President - who had had his anniversary feted so completely on Monday. And we saw more of the countryside as we drove past. There were sheep, between the hotel plots searching for the tiny pieces of green grass among the sandy dunes - each group accompanied by a shepherd with a crook and a head dress and looking for all the world as if he had stepped out of the bible.

Many of the women in the Medina had been traditionally dressed - covered from head to toe - with only their eyes exposed. Some only had a head covering - some bravely looked fairly Western. But in the department store, they all wore Western dress. The men for the most part looked Western in their dress - but you saw the odd few in what looked like homespun long shirts with baggy trousers under - and some sort of head covering.

Another day, when we were walking along the Marina - we saw another aspect of Tunisian pageantry. There was a group of six men, dressed like Morris dancers in white shirts and pants with coloured scarves around their middle. They were playing instruments - some sort of flutes, and drums and a sort of guitar - and dancing.

One was busy building up a fire. This was outside a building that looked like a hotel - on the far side of the Marina. We walked past, and then on our return trip, the reason for the music was apparent. The president and all his men were meeting at the hotel and this was their equivalent of a brass band playing Hail to the Chief.

They went on and on as the men trailed in - dozens of them, and then continued playing afterwards. As we walked by when it was all over, it was apparent that the fire was to burn incense, as the air reeked of it. I did notice that the men were dissimilar in their footwear - some wearing sandals - some with socks and shoes and some with coloured socks - rather than the white that would have someone seemed more appropriate with their outfits.

As I said, we spent most of our shopping hours at the Marina. Grace had good luck in finding blouses that she liked for all her friends - and pretty brass plates which could hang on the wall. Some of the tops were tie-dyed, and some were plain colors, but all had very elaborate embroidery on them. I bought wine, capers, olives, and dates. Grace bought some cookies to take home and we both really liked the honey and nut candy which we bought lots of both to eat there and to take back.

By this time, Grace had had a bit of trouble with diahhrea - nothing too incapacitating, but enough to curtail her sightseeing trips. And a day later, I got it too. We were as careful as we could about what we ate, but still kept eating some food. One day, Grace felt very faint before a meal (we had waited a long time for our food) and ended up having to go back for a lie down before the bridge. When we mentioned our upsets to the others in the group, it turned out most people had been ill in some form. And one lady in particular had been very ill.

After our week was over and we returned home, and Grace had flown back to the States, I again experienced diahhrea. I went to the doctor and was asked to provide a specimen. It then cleared up and I didn’t even think of it. About two weeks later, just as I was getting ready to go to work, there was a knock on the door.

“Are you Mrs. Barbara Day?”

“Yes,” I  admitted, shortly, as I wasn’t in the mood for anyone selling me anyone. But the use of my first name should have been a give away that this was not the ordinary sort of call.

“I’m from the contagious disease centre. May I please come in?”

“Well, I am just about to go to work. Can you come back another time?”

“I’m afraid this is very important.”

“Well, come in then. I can give you five minutes.”

“Well, I will come right to the point. Your specimen was analysed and you have cholera. It is very important that you do not do anything which would involve you with serving food or drink to anyone else. You must wash your hands thoroughly in anticeptic liquid each time you use the toilet. You must not just use ordinary soap. You must give me a list of all the people you can contacted in the last month.”

“Well, I got diahhrea when I was in Tunisia - so I presume that this infection has come from there. I was in a hotel with hundreds of other people. I have no idea how I caught it, as we were most careful to not eat or drink anything that we thought might be suspect.”

“Who were you on holiday with?”

“My step-mother and 38 other bridge players.”

“I need the names and addresses of all of them.”

“I’m sorry, I cannot supply you with those. My step-mother lives in America.”

“You must contact her immediately and insist that she gets checked out for cholera.”

“I will do that certainly. I can give you the phone number of our bridge contact person. She will know the names and addresses of the others on the trip.”

“Well that might help. And remember, your husband, your children, your friends are all in danger of you contaminating them. You must go back to your GP with a specimen each week until the cholera is dealt with.”

“Isn’t there any medication I can take?”

“No, and as you appear to be well, I can only assume you had it only slightly and have recovered, or are recovering, but who knows how many you have contaminated in the past month.”

“Well, thanks for coming and telling me all that. I must go to work now. Good bye.”

I usually made coffee for the people at my centre - and had done each night of each week since I had returned from Tunisia, but without saying why, I opted out of doing it that night.

The next day, I rang my husband, who was working in Australia that month. I told him about the situation and he said, “Leave it with me.”

I contacted my girls (Jonathan hadn’t been home for a visit since I got back) and they both got checked out without any problems. Grace also said her doctor said she was fine.

About two days later I had a phone call from a doctor friend of Philip’s.

“It’s okay, Jean. I’ve dealt with it. No problem. Just go back to your usual life.”

“But did they make a mistake, Peter?”

“No, it was cholera - but in a form that is not serious. I’ve had a word with the people in the contagious disease department and they agree that you are no threat to anybody. Just forget all about it.  Probably most of the people who go abroad to these countries get cholera, but because they are healthy, they don’t succumb to it. You only found out because you had a recurrance and went to your GP. Most people wouldn’t bother, and if you hadn’t it would have just gone away in a day or two. Really, Jean. It is nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Peter. That makes me feel much better. It’s good to have friends like you.”

So that’s the end of the Tunisia Holiday - but I won’t be in a hurry to go there again.