It’s a later start to the day with the tour heading off into the ruins of Leptis Magna. The ancient Roman city considered almost second or third to Rome.

Arriving at the site we start with a tour around the museum, much to Mohammed Tabala’s frustration a few of the tour keep slacking…

Again, it is a long road trip and up at 6am and away by 7, we are on the road all day. We stop for a brief break at a gas station and then on to our first site.

This is a granary which is protected by the high cliffs around and a number of small village houses.

It’s an early start and I get the chance to get out as the sun is rising and wander up towards some activity with taxis and buses. This is after breakfast on my own.

The day was almost over. No doubt the group were feeling the ardour’s of the day as we sat eating couscous and salad in Alshark restaurant in the old Medina.
The senses had experienced all the elements during the day and to be honest horrific they were not. Personally I was surprised at how organised and civilised the day had been albeit the chaos of the morning at Heathrow was behind us now.

What I miss the most on this trip is civility. No one trusts one another and to be quite frank I want to go home and get away from this. Most people fall into the camps “Love it and want to move there” and the other camp is “Seen it but will not go back”. Alas I fall into the last camp.

Oh well! BA take me home.

Another early start and I am off across the N2 towards the “Private Nature Reserve at Aquila”. The so-called drive is about 90 minutes but in total it took me just under 2 hours including a 5 minute stop for some water and a quick leg stretch. Again, once you get through the Cape Flats you are faced with this wall of mountains.

Work, work, work. I have got to catch up on some bits for MFI before I get home. So today is a rather quiet solitary day in my room.

I have managed to get out in the afternoon to the Kirstenbosh Botanical Gardens. The sun is high and it’s gone 2 p.m. when I arrive. I must stand out like a sore thumb as I am the only person without a cooler box!

Up, early and away and I am down at Bolders Beach by 7 a.m. There isn’t a sole including the workers at the penguin colony. A Chubb security van goes steaming past and stops at the gates whereupon the occupant gets out and leaps over the wall. That is the way to do a robbery, pretend you are a guard.

At the ferry departure point it is a quarter to eight and the group waiting for the eight o’clock to Robben Island has assembled. Only to be informed that the ferry has been cancelled due to a technical fault; someone got out of bed too late more likely.

Here I am in Cape Town at the beginning of 2004 not knowing what it brings or takes. It is more fun guessing than having it all planned and mapped out for you. A nice quiet day is called for with a little sauntering and reading.

I head off up to Kloof to see if there is anything else above the area I visited the other day.

I didn’t expect the length of ride out to Gainsbrain but if I had read the literature I would know.

The VW minibus, standard transport for groups of three to ten people collects me and a group of three from the hotel. In total our little bus group is made up of a guy from one of the RFA ships in the dock…

Well it is almost the end of the year and reflecting back it has been a bit of a helter skelter year. If helter relates to the highs then work and the business has been a high; after all this time last year I was still an employee whilst now I am my own boss. Trips all over the place and new experiences have helped to widen my competencies. Skelter, well the lows must be everything socially or rather that lack of any social or what I call relationships.

Nazeem greeted and introduced me to Robert on my arrival to the foyer. Robert is a fourth generation South African mixed with Welsh, English, Spanish and possibly Dutch East Indian. He speaks very good English and probably more averse to these tours than Nazeem.

There are hundreds of people, families and kids in the breakfast area when I go down but that’s probably due to the lateness.

This time the few postcards I am sending will leave relatively early in comparison to my normal efforts. Those from Uzbekistan were sent on nearly the last day and took over 6 weeks to arrive.

I realise now that South Africa has little culture and it’s almost how I imagine Australia. This I discovered or rather assumed after today’s tour. After venturing down to breakfast in the Holiday Inn, so alike any other Holiday Inn, but that’s the format, so accept it, I head on foot back to the epicentre that is the waterfront.

How exactly do you start a journal when the departure date from London is 25th December. It’s ridiculous as only a week has gone past since my birthday. Amazing that in the last two weeks I have met over a dozen people heading to Cape Town and travelling on Christmas Day.

Do I want to see Tashkent or do I sleep more? It is just past 8.00 and I decide that as I have read so much about the famous Tashkent Metro I will attempt to use it.

From breakfast I pack and decide to check out remembering to get the hotel registration slip. Today will not be easily forgotten.

The local Iman woke me this morning with the early call to pray. It is quite a melodic muffled sound and sometimes barely audible but at 5.30 in the morning not at lot moves. It is also the call sign for dogs and cockerels to wake and once they start there is no stopping them. Normally I am fast asleep and hear nothing of all this.

I am not sure I can take in any more Madrassahs or Mosques as we have seen just about everyone there is in Uzbekistan. Not entirely true but in 2 weeks I reckon I have been in over a hundred Mosques and Madrassahs. Khiva will be on foot today, no buses or coach or taxis. Founded 6th Century BC by a shepherd who found a spring where the water was so sweet he praised it Khiva (water so sweet) and here starts the tale of much history to the city of Khiva.

We are now well and truly in the Kyzylkum desert. Heading west with our driver who looks part Turkish as he holds his thick bushy moustache on his rugged face. The desert journey is nearly 8 hours and broken by very few events. The passing of a Yurt with camels and sheep and their shepherd in attendance I rather disappointing as the image on celluloid would have made an interesting composure.

The sites were of little interest and even though we went out to see the main Sufi Mosque and Mausoleum they were sadly being renovated by hundreds of builders and it was difficult to get around. The Sumar Palace of the Emir which was built by Tsar Nicholas for the Emir in early 20th Century I found of no interest and really was a waste of time but it all fits the jigsaw that is Bukhara.

For the minute I was introduced to our guide to Bukhara I immediately knew this was to be no easy day. Dark duty complexion, she reminded me of a school headmistress. She carried a few extra pounds and only very slightly she waddled. Later I was to find out that no matter whether she was big or small she cracked a pace when we went on our trip.

Today we are on the road to Bukhara away from the 3* proclaiming 4* hotel in Samarkand by 8 a.m. Sergei joins us for the last part of Shakhrisabz the birthplace of Timur or at least the closest city to whence he came from. The land begins to lose its green lushness and becomes sparse with vegetation almost running to a desert. Dotted along the road, which is almost straight, are small villages and keeping on our left are the mountains.

Up early and out of the hotel by 6.30. I passed by the Registan Square and headed towards the bazaar. Yesterday I felt quite satisfied only in the sense that the bazaar was well under way and beginning to close up in some parts.

Now I am here early and people are arriving with trucks, vans, cars, porters with trolleys and donkeys.

Waking at 6.00 I was out of the hotel by 6.30 and within minutes walking up towards Gur Emir Mausoleum that of Timur/Tamerlane whatever you wish to call him. The same Mausoleum I was at yesterday. Today I get the opportunity to visit Rukhabad Mausoleum which has had little renovation but stands proud and brown in this early morning light.

Allah be praised for he has delivered us from a great torment – Elspeth’s luggage is waiting at the airport for us. I am beginning to warm to her. Noticeably the rest of the group are beginning to distance them from her politely, or so it seems. Our group wimp, poor old Guy, has had doctors and nurses out to the hotel, their services costs 17,000 cums ($17.50), cheap and yet he gets a full enema and injections for that.

Guy is really ill as we board the bus to head for the last city in the Ferghana Valley – Kokand. What is really memorable about this day is from the city of Kokan we are transferred to three taxis. I opt for the two ladies and me in the front; me thinks we one the good taxi group competition.

Tim is away with Elspeth to the synagogue early in the morning that Anwar pointed out to them, we have now to start an hour later, pick them up once Bilso has got us. Anna’s compatriot at reception speaks perfect English so to get laundry done is not an issue.

Up at 6 a.m., I thought this was a holiday. Quick shower and I am with the group for breakfast, rather on my own table, as the group have filled the table. Acceptable standard with an omelette I reckon will set me up for the day prior to our departure for 7 a.m. to the airport.

It’s time to fly again and from Terminal 2. It’s only a day ago that I came through Terminal 2 on my way back from Saudi Arabia and I have I just spotted a fellow English traveller on his way to Uzbekistan – me thinks so.

Dry, very dry and almost brown is the South East after quite a hot spell this year.

What an unearthly time to get up. I have still got to walk down to the Hotel Lapud for the privilege of an Atlas bus picking me up to go to Cilipi. We are down before we’re up and within minutes en route to Zagreb via Croatia Airlines bus. So simple, the bus waits for any incoming flight.

Last day and I have decided to head into town. There are still some sites to see. Yesterday before going over to Lokran I stopped in the Sponza Palace and found copies of beautiful letters written from all the great heads of Europe to the city of Dubrovnik over the last five hundred years. Even a letter from Napoleon’s General to the city informing them of the end of their independence.

Was in no rush to get going today and had very little of any idea where I wished to go. By the time I got going the sun was high and I decided to walk on the bottom road. There seemed to be a few people going further round to the point at Babaluk which I hadn’t seen.

Thank heavens for travel wash. The single traveller who now has a bag full of smellies needs to wash them too. Chores done, off to Centro.

Didn’t have a clue what to do today and so went straight into town on the old No. 6. Wish they would buy some new buses, some of them really grind the gears and you wonder if you will ever get up the hills.

Last night in the usual bar I overhear the waiter attempting to sell desserts to a couple of girls. It turns out that Jacks (Jackie) and Trace (Tracy) are from South Africa and Zimbabwe respectively and met at University and are now both working in London. A little like all the Aussies and Kiwis that come over.

It is a short day, well the intention is to lie in and get up in my own time. I don’t get going till after 11:00 and decide to get the No. 6 out to the end of the line, see what’s out there.

The Dubrovnik President hotel and somewhere down through this pile of concrete, is a beach. The hotel is nothing special but does state to be 4*.

I have promised myself no more early mornings, I can’t keep jumping up and out the door by 7:00 every day, it is just no holiday.

Today’s different as I am off to Mostar, unfortunately on an organised journey with other tourists.

Last night I didn’t sleep with the new occupants of the room next to mine arriving in the early hours and with the wind picking up, there was ongoing noise. The wind picked up so much, it’s the Borro. As it was cold I succumbed to first sleeping with a sheet and then a blanket.

Each day cannot be odd but it can be different and this morning the light woke me about 7.00 a.m. The sun is still low over the hills from Montenegro and there is a light breeze with just enough chill carrying on it to need an extra cover over the bed sheet. In the mid distance there is an engine hum, quite low, but it is noticeable.

One does what one feels like, two do what they agree on and three get partway there but are never satisfied. Thank god I am one my own I can do what ever.

Whenever you wake on the first morning you know you are desperate to get a feel of the place, especially as I am so close to the old town. Its warm and sunny in fact its bloody hot and the sun has been pouring in through the bedroom doors for a while now.

The one thing about going on holiday is you have to start from somewhere; somewhere you do not consider as a “holiday”. It’s also advantageous to the holiday feeling that it be pouring in rain, cold and knowing that the onslaught of autumn has started.