Those of you who know me will appreciate that I’m not a desperate basher, never have been. I go out nowadays for the thrash, not to score engines, although I do like to have as many loud ones as I can to record onto minidisk for posterity. That’s why Tunisia had beckoned to me for a few years with visions of little MLW’s clagging preposterously and the desert resounding to 12-cylinder Alco thrash. Dan Cross’s "North American Diesel Power in North Africa" CD provided a good grounding on what the classes sounded like and I liked what I heard, in particular the Alco units. I decided that I just had to experience this for myself!

My dilemma was that I didn’t want to do a week in Tunisia by myself; this seemed like a very unsociable thing to do so I put it off again and again until, during a chance conversation with Dave Unpronounceable, a week on the bash in Tunisia was suggested. I jumped at the chance and, after a false start when we struggled to get leave, we decided to bite the bullet and book a week off in early may to undertake the move. We aimed to stay in the tourist honeypot of Hammamet, conveniently located for visiting any part of the country, but I only had 3 days to research the trip as Dave booked the flights on the Tuesday and that was it - we were committed and were leaving on Saturday evening from Bristol! The move was on and in addition to the traction there was also the additional attraction of 2 brewpubs to get in the book. The only information I had managed to glean about them came from the rough guide that described them as "German style brewpubs" and enthused that "Golfbräu is the best beer in Tunisia". That settled it, they needed to be investigated!

We had read loads of reports and gen on ERG about the locos in Tunisia and, from what we had read, it sounded like the best country left for bashing within easy reach of Europe. I especially wanted to have a fling on the DK’s, the little Alco beasts that worked the push-pull services out of Tunis as I’d never head an Alco loco for haulage, although Dave assured me if they sounded like the Greek ones I was in for a treat. Jeff Hawken had very sociably emailed me a complete fleet list and timetable so we each planned what moves we wanted to do and arrived at a basic plan for the week. It looked like we would be able to cover everything worth doing in 4 days with a few days spare for any unplanned spinning that might occur. I was keen on avoiding the new GM locos as much as possible although Dave, being a GM fan, wanted to get as many as he could. The majority of our moves didn’t involve the GT’s apart from the trips down the mainline back to the hotel and down to Sfax, which pleased both of us as I avoided many runs on them but Dave still got to score a possible 11. With all the gen sorted, we were ready to go!

As the flight was late in the afternoon I had plenty of time to pack my snailsack for the week’s bashing and then drive down to Dave’s house in Bristol. We did the bus to town for a few pre-flight beers before making our way to the coach station where we just missed a bus, literally by seconds – it was just reversing out and Bert wouldn’t stop for us – cheers then! Fortunately, the fester was only 20 minutes before another one produced so we piled on for the half-hour run to Bristol International airport.

Apologies for the next wad of text being off-topic (yes, already), but I feel I must set the scene for what happened during the flight and transfer. Neither Dave nor I are used to "normal" holidays, the sort where you get a plane ticket and seat number rather than a simple confirmation number and the hugely entertaining free-for-all a la Ryotscare and squeezyJet. Consequently, turning up at the airport and collecting a plane ticket was a strange experience for both of us although, to our intense relief, our fellow passengers were not shaven-headed union jack shirt wearing yobs but middle aged couples obviously off for some relaxation rather than with the ambition of being as spectacularly pissed as possible. The plane was an elderly Boeing 737-300 belonging to the exotically-named Karthago airlines and after a couple of hours of boredom, broken only by getting a piss-poor "meal" we hadn’t paid for, we were at Monastir airport at about 22:00 on a Saturday night along with hundreds of other tourists, although I suspect our motives for the visit were not replicated anywhere else in the terminal!

We changed some money getting a surprisingly good rate of exchange (which was compensated for by the spectacularly crap rate we got when leaving) and boarded the transfer bus (another alien experience for us) for the hour trip to Hammamet and our ridiculously named Hotel Bel Air – I expected to see that total tosser Will Smith leering out of the door every time we returned, but fortunately (for him) he didn’t put in an appearance. During the hour-long tedious bus transfer to the hotel I comprehensively withered the rep when she asked the assembled tourists (who had obviously never bothered to research anything about Tunisia at all) if anyone knew the Arabic for hello. I immediately piped up "Assalama" and she was visibly withered that anyone had actually bothered to learn a single word of the local language (I’d learned about 6 incidentally). "That’s the first time anyone’s known that…" she gibbered.

When we finally arrived at midnight into the huge sprawling tourist ghetto of Hammamet, we told her that we’d not be attending the "welcome meeting" (a rancid-sounding occurrence where the assembled tourists are told basically nothing about the country and sold crap excursions they could have done themselves for a third the price if they had the nous to get off their lazy arses and arrange them) as we were travelling all over Tunisia using the hotel as a base. Exit one confused rep!

Dave had booked a twin room for us (or so he says!) so I was a touch disconcerted when we strolled into the room ("very nice room, very nice room" as the receptionist Bert had promised) and saw we had a double bed. "Oh!" we both exclaimed, looking at it. "Thought you’d booked a twin room – something you’re not telling me?" I enquired. Any ideas we had about pulling the 2 beds apart were quickly terminated as we discovered the bed was actually 2 mattresses sat on a brick and concrete base! "Looks like a cosy week, then!" I said, although I knew that Dave wasn’t old enough to remember peaks so I was probably safe! We decided to get some much-needed doss as we had an appointment very early next morning with some loud Alco machinery.

Right, this was it - our first day bashing in Tunisia, and our alarms went off at the ridiculously early time of 05:30 so we could get to the station for the 06:40 Bir Bou Regba and the connecting GT into Tunis. We had no idea how to get a taxi, although we had seen hundreds of them everywhere the night before so we reasoned we had a pretty good chance of finding one, even at half six in the morning. To add to our confusion and general genlessness, we didn’t even know how far the station was, or even where it was which wasn’t really a good start. Ah well, all would become clear, I thought.

We emerged from our hotel that, unsurprisingly, was like a ghost town but then again I suspect that going for a week to Tunisia and getting up at 05:30 wasn’t on the itinerary of many in the hotel. We walked up to the main road and almost immediately a yellow taxi hove into view. Not knowing the correct procedure for hailing one, we decided on the all-out approach and waved and bellowed wildly like a pair of primates until it stopped. With a mixture of French, English and Arabic we persuaded the driver that it wasn’t Bir Bou Regba we wanted but rather Hammamet station, and off we went, vastly over the speed limit (assuming there is one) with Arabic music blaring out. It turned out that the station was a good 4km from the hotel yet it only took about 5 minutes as we hurtled through the quiet streets veering wildly between tractors, other taxis and the odd pickup truck (which resemble DDR trabants!). I resolved to use the seatbelt next time and I think I actually closed my eyes a few times as we stormed on a collision course towards another vehicle. When I opened them again, we were still intact and moving in the right direction so I assumed that driving straight for other vehicles was part of the Tunisian highway code and was accepted behaviour.

Therefore, having paid the 2.2TD fare we were at Hammamet station 25 minutes before the train was due, talk about good service! Being a Sunday it was deserted and apart from a few locals using the p-way as a footpath there was no sign that anything was going to happen. The ticket office at Hammamet was closed on Sundays, so the plan was to buy single tickets to Tunis from the guard and get the Carte bleu there and ask about a photo permit.

It was at this point I felt a strange sensation in my stomach – I needed a dump, and pretty soon! "For fucks sake, I’ve only been in the country 7 hours, I can’t have the shits already!" I mumbled through gritted teeth. I shuffled over to the station toilets, but predictably found them locked and it was still 15 minutes till the train was due. This was serious! I wildly cast around for a makeshift toilet, but nowhere looked private enough as vast crowds of normals had chosen that minute to amble past very slowly. I shuffled behind the station buildings with my arse cheeks clenched as if a whole crowd of peak bashers was in pursuit but all I found was the station Bert’s vegetable garden. "Ah well, needs must" I thought and climbed into it, reaching in my bag for my bogroll that I’d brought with me for such a moment. Disaster – I’d left it in my big bag back in the hotel room! At that point I saw a whole row of taxi drivers staring at me over the wall in bemusement and, thankfully, the urge suddenly subsided enough for me to make my way back to the platform. "I can’t believe you’ve shat in Bert’s garden" Dave said. "I didn’t, but the cabbages nearly got manured" I mumbled, "Let’s hope that Bir Bou Regba’s got a bloody bog that’s open".

My mood lightened greatly when the train arrived. "Bloody hell, it’s loco and stock!" we both gibbered as DM262 appeared with 3 DMU trailers vice the booked unit. The DM looked rather like a shunter and the stock was well decrepit, but we took it as a positive sign that the first move of the trip was a vice. The little DM made a go of it but it after the first few seconds when the thrash sounded OK it soon became clear that it was just a shunter and wasn’t all that loud. Never mind, I thought, tomorrow it’ll be another engine and I’ll only have 4km off shunters this trip! How little I knew… Bert was keen and chinged us 3.5TD each for the singles to Tunis, which I thought was pretty reasonable. We were soon at the junction and I decided that a dump was definitely in order ASAP so, leaving Dave on lookout outside the bogs in case the GT arrived, I stormed inside and was soon feeling much better and a lot lighter. "It’s here!" came the shout from outside much sooner than I would have liked, so I hurriedly applied the pop bottle and water that was available and stormed out – to find it was the southbound and not ours! "Cheers!" I growled, "I’ve not finished yet!" I decided there wasn’t enough time for a second round as almost immediately the northbound arrived behind the ubiquitous GT.

Once aboard the train, we quickly discovered about the supplement system that makes bashing anything other than DKs a bit of a shambles; why you can’t buy a Carte bleue for a tenner more with all supplements included is beyond me! The fact that buying supplements off the guard costs double the ticket office price means a lot of queuing at shacks and trying to explain that you want a supplement not the whole ticket, which usually involves waving the Carte bleue at the ticket Bert and insisting "Deux acclimitisé supplement á Tunis, sil vous plait!" several times until he gets the message. Mind you, as I’m not a massive fan of GM 645’s (or any turbocharged GMs really) this isn’t a likely scenario and I’d rather stick with the DKs. In my view, paying a supplement should mean you hear the engine more rather than less? Someone should tell them they’ve got it back to front and you should be allowed to remove the window if you’ve got a supplement – although the thoughtful locals along the Borj Cedria section seem to be doing their best to achieve this with rocks.

Rant over, back to the move. I visited the bogs for the second time in 10 minutes and wondered how I could have got the shits after only a few hours in Tunisia, but that ended up being the end of the matter and all was well in the stool department for the rest of the week. The GT droned away at the front sounding like an IE071 or HZ2044 and was fine if you like that sort of thing, but I found it pretty boring; OK they’re loud, but it’s not a good noise in my opinion! We were soon passing Borj Cedria giving us our first sight of the mythical DK’s and they looked just as ridiculous as they had in the photos – like someone had designed a hood loco and forgotten to include a cab, so in a panic had stuck a broad gauge 1950s prototype one on the front and, inexplicably, a spare kettle chimney for the exhaust too.

We decided to take the GT straight onto the blocks and see what was occurring at Tunis. It seemed nothing that exciting was so we went to purchase our Carte Bleue tickets. I had visions of this being a shambles but, within 5 minutes, we were in possession of our all-line tickets at the silly price of £15 each. We asked the ticket Bert if we could take photos, and he told us it was "no problem". We should really have got our authorisation there and then, but we couldn’t be arsed as Bert had said we didn’t need one and, anyway, we assumed all would be OK which was proved to be a totally wrong assumption the next day…

It was time for our first trip on a DK on the Borj Cedria push-pull services. We soon discovered that the rakes of stock are usually load 6 luminous green sliding door cars of various origins (we saw Ganz, Hyundai and MAN) with the alleged "first class" marshalled next to the loco, although how the 1^st class coaches are different from the 2^nd class is hard to discern and the grippers rarely eject normals back to peasant class meaning they get VERY wedged in the busy periods. Another annoying thing is that the windows rarely open – most are jammed shut, some are locked but can be unlocked with a carriage key in most cases. To balance this out, the end doors have a mind of their own and are usually unlocked meaning the Alco’s thrash (and when Borj Cedria bound the clag too!) is allowed free entry into the stock, resulting in much gibbering from the locals that we deciphered as "Fresh air! Fresh air!" and much slamming tightly shut of doors and windows despite it being at least 30 degrees outside. The sliding doors themselves don’t always close (or open) so normals frequently attempt to board or leave the train when it’s doing ludicrous speeds – maybe they know the phrase "always makes" too!

I think the Borj Cedria line must rate as one of the most outrageous suburban lines I’ve ever seen or heard about – where else can you do loud loco+stock on a decent load with only 1-2km between stops running to a very tight schedule? Basically, it’s outrageous! The little beasties are thrashed mercilessly all day without much complaint; we only saw a few swapouts done during the week although DK89 (clagbeast of the week) expired at Rades on the second day only to be revived later. If you’re into loud locos and not a book-filling ned (or even if you are!) then you’ll probably love the BC shuttles – they are absolutely dreadful. We spent a lot of time on them as, to be honest, there’s not a lot else to do if the Ghardimaou is Ganz rather than DPs and the Bizerte is nothing interesting (unless you like turbocharged GM’s!)

We did some leaps on the monstrous DK’s and I was totally withered by the clag these beasts produce. It was good to see that, like ČD grumpies, they are all different with their own personalities – some clag, some don’t clag as much, some sound like grids, some like tractors and so on. DK89 quickly became my beast as she was one of the loudest and emitted huge clouds of impenetrable black clag on every restart – I was bellowing out of the window at this monster! "My looooords!!!" I screamed as the end door slid open, exposing 89’s nose and allowing clouds of inky clag to swirl into the carriage, much to the dismay of the locals. "Fresh air, Fresh air!" they gibbered, hauling the door shut, but as soon as we rounded the next curve it flew open again just as 89 attained notch 8, with predictable results – the stack belched the oily black clag straight through the door once again, accompanied by the MLW’s deafening thrash! "Dreeeeeadful!" I bellowed as the normals wrestled with the door again and again.

I managed to tear myself away from DK89 and we presented ourselves at Tunis for the 11:00 Ghardimaou service. We both stood and stared at the traction on offer in a state of shock. "It’s another bloody DK!" I said, and indeed it was – DK82 was sat at the front of the train, one of only 2 standard gauge DKs. What a monster, this had to be done! We stocked up on water and fodder from the stall outside the shack then boarded 82 for the long run to the Algerian border that Dave had been frothing about crossing (on an alleged connecting train) just to get the country in the book, despite it being supposedly very dodgy. Jeff Hawken had told me that the run to Ghardimaou was his favourite route in Tunisia and I could see what he meant; we passed under what looked like a huge roman aqueduct near Manouba and the scenery all the way was very green and hilly, nothing like I’d expected from Tunisia at all. The only thing that differentiated it from southern Europe was the huge cactuses and herds of goats everywhere! This line is an absolute beast; the only problem is most trains are hauled by Ganz rubbish. If a DK or DP does the run, it’s just got to be done!

DK82 thrashed along well but the lack of clag showed she was obviously in much better mechanical condition than the metre gauge locos, presumably as she doesn’t do stop-start trains all day. Despite this, we lost time noticeably owing to the little MLW being only around half the power of the booked Ganz or DP and we arrived in Ghardimaou half an hour late. The driver wasn’t helping matters, as he was very easy on the power handle; we found that the standard gauge drivers were a lot less "digital" in their driving style than their metre gauge compatriots. Dave was frothing as his camera had burst, flat batteries being the likely diagnosis, with the consequence that he couldn’t phot properly. This was a bit of a bummer considering the very scenic line and quality traction involved. A quick run-round was achieved just allowing us to view a DN on an eastbound freight, the station cat, and some huge storks nesting in a chimney before we growled off back to Tunis nose first. To Dave’s intense chagrin there had been no sight of the promised connection into Algeria - only 1 new country this time then, mate!

 I enjoyed the scenery most of the way back from the open door and got some pretty decent phots, especially of a huge viaduct and the aqueduct. We arrived in Tunis a good half-hour late with the driver having given the same mundane performance as he’d shown on the outward run. We went in search of batteries for Dave’s camera without success, although we viewed the plastic trams on the square outside the shack and the location of the Hotel Maison Doreé. We decided to head back to Hammamet via the 1845 Bir Bou Regba to scoop in the free fodder that we were entitled to, so we settled into confort class behind GT554.

Unfortunately, Tunisia seems to have some of the social problems we have back in the UK, bricking of trains (especially around Tunis) being one. The train suffered a number of hits, including what must have been a paving slab uncomfortably close to my window, before a pane near the front exploded dramatically – a rock had come through both panes of glass! Cheers then! The guard sitting opposite seemed to be unfazed by the situation and even managed a smile; he seemed to think it was quite amusing and just a normal occurrence. I wasn’t impressed at all and cowered behind the seat until we were well past the Rades area where most of these incidents seem to occur. We saw quite a lot of broken windows during our trip, for some reason most of them on the Sunday, which put me off the place for a while – I’m not into being bricked on trains, and didn’t think it would happen in Tunisia. Thankfully this was the most serious incident we were involved in all week which came as a relief to me!

Back at Bir Bou Regba we piled onto DM262 again (with another freshly broken window in the stock) for the 5-minute run back to Hammamet. The little shunter sounded better than in the morning, especially on departing Hammamet, but still not in the same league as a DK! With our quickly increasing confidence in what to do, we found a taxi and were stormed back to the hotel in record time. This driver was a right nutter; he drove an inch behind cars, flashing them until they moved, then veered disconcertingly into the middle of the road to pass them whilst accelerating to a worrying speed before slamming on the anchors behind another staggering truck - whereupon the whole operation was repeated. On the plus side the fare was only 2TD so I suppose it’s something you learn to put up with. Anyone who rates those computer car-driving games should go to Tunisia and take a few taxi rides!

Back at the Bel Air Dave attempted to buy some batteries for his camera in the hotel shop where the bloke turned out to be a right whopper; he was adamant we were brothers and I looked like some geezer called Beckham! Poor bloke, he must have an eyesight problem. He also had a strange vocabulary of English phrases that seem to have been borrowed from soaps, such as "Take a butcher’s" and "Cheaper than Tesco’s!" What a bloody treat! He told us to come back in half an hour so we made sure we got our money’s worth at the evening buffet which, to be fair, was pretty good for a tourist hotel especially as the harissa on offer was full-strength gear. We decided on a "harissa with everything" approach to eating in Tunisia from then on! The shop bloke did Dave proud and conjured up 2 batteries that produced the required result – the camera burst into life! After a couple of Celtia beers that weren’t as bad as we thought they’d be we headed off to the brewpub in town, Les Berbères, for some proper hardcore beer scooping via another hair-raising taxi ride. I think I must have been getting used to the Tunisian highway code by this time as I forgot to put my seatbelt on. Rock hard, me.

We found the brewpub easily; it’s a huge place next to the medina walls on Place des Martyrs with large illuminated signs on the roof depicting a beer glass or blazing out the pub’s name for all within miles to see. The brewing kit was obvious even from the street, situated in the front window, and it looked like it was more than just show – the control panel was blinking away and the kit looked used.

Inside, the pub resembled a firkin with pine furniture and the décor was bright, clean and well laid out with the bar at the rear, brewery at the front and seating in-between. We found ourselves a table and, after waiting for a short while, decided that waiting for table service would result in us dying of thirst so I made for the bar. After a few initial language problems I ascertained that there were 3 beers on offer; a Weiss (wheat), a Helles (pale lager) and a Dunkle (dark lager) all, presumably, bottom fermented in typical German style.

Brauhaus Les Berbères at Hammamet.

We started with the Helles and immediately wished we hadn’t. It looked the part but that was where the positive aspects stopped – it tasted watery with a weird cereal tang and minimal hopping. Not a good start. The Weiss was better, but certainly not impressive, yet again being a bit thin with a fairly bland flavour although as I’m not a massive fan of wheat beers anyway I have to say that I wasn’t surprised it didn’t hit many spots for me. The final beer, the Dunkle, was by far the best of the night but that’s not really saying a lot given the piss-poor quality of the 2 previous beers we had sampled; at least it tasted of something! It was a deep brown colour with a strong caramelly aroma, taste and finish that managed to swamp any other flavours that may have been lurking beneath. I’m not convinced this beer is authentically German but it was certainly the best one we had all night, although I’d much rather they brew with a bit of roasted barley than just mounds of caramalt as this seemed to be made with; this just gives it a sickly sweet flavour and stops any subtle flavours from being detected, but of course that assumes there are any subtle flavours to start with.

The rather disappointing beer scooping done and dusted we got a taxi back to the hotel having had a very good first day on the bash with loads of DK clicks in the book.

The next day we had decided to spin around Tunis again and stay in the highly recommended Hotel Maison Doreé to allow us to cover the early Kalaa Khasba and Ghardimaou trains the next morning. We presented ourselves at Hammamet shack for the first train, the 06:02, via a pretty tame taxi journey – by tame I mean the average speed was probably within 20mph of the speed limits. We twigged then that the 2 diagrams on the Nabeul line swap daily and we still hadn’t seen the other unit/loco as DM262 rolled in on the Tunis stopper. By now, Dave was beginning to froth about not scoring any new engines and was visibly withered by 262 bowling us out again, whereas I just wanted to score some more DK’s!

I suppose I’d better reveal a little secret at this point. As I’m now in my advancing years it seems necessary to use more sun cream than I used to – I now need to apply some to my bald spot. This is highly embarrassing, but at least it gave Dave (and some normals) a laugh as I applied the gooey stuff to the top of my bonce. "Cheers then!" I complained bitterly as Dave took the piss about me being "heritage". Bloody youth, no respect for their elders and betters these days! A bit of national service would sort them out… Using suncream may seem a bit "huurmuur" to some people but, believe me, it was bloody hot and the sun was powerful even at 07:00 in the morning and we had no desire to get burnt to a crisp. Unfortunately, due to Tunisia being such a dry and dusty place, as soon as sun cream is applied all the dust in the immediate locality somehow gets attracted to it and you turn a strange orangey-brown colour. This means overnights are a seriously filthy business that require a massive de-rance when back at the hotel – we both needed a bath followed by a shower to get clean after our first Metlaoui overnight! I foolishly wore a white t-shirt for our first overnight and it was totally soiled with DK clag and other detritus when we got back to Hammamet on the second evening.

I managed to catch some of the conversation between the Chef du Gare and Tunis control, which seemed to be that we were without authorisation and doing something he didn’t understand. Eventually, he asked me to play him the disk. I handed one earphone to him and one to the security guard and regaled them with DK89 leaving Rades – the expressions on their faces would have made me laugh but I decided better of it in our position. The Chef, apparently satisfied that we were mad, asked us if we were English; when we replied in the affirmative he said "Ok!" and we were free to go. He told us that we needed written permission not just to record, but to phot too and we should get this at SNCFT HQ at Tunis. With this, he shook our hands and went back to his office, still very confused as to why 2 Englishmen should be riding up and down his line recording his engines.

We were a little pissed off at missing 89 back to Tunis but grateful that we had escaped the hossing without being thrown in prison (or worse), so we took DK87 back to Tunis and decided to get our authorization there and then. I asked the Chef du Gare, and he showed us upstairs into the offices of SCNFT where we attempted to find the bloke who does such things. The search proved difficult until a member of staff who must have felt sorry for us found Madame Jardak who completed the exercise in about 10 minutes. The permit was for photography, so I asked her about recording the locos too. She looked at me, raised her eyebrows and said, "Hmmm, you are unique!" and affirmed this was included in the photography permit. Not knowing whether I’d been insulted or complemented, we thanked her and left, clutching that all-important bit of paper that allowed us to run riot over SNCFT with all manner of recording equipment.

The next standard gauge train out was the 11:55 Bizerte, and the stock was already at the far end of the platform with the loco running round. It looked like the power was a DK as booked, but I certainly didn’t expect DK81 to be working the train – both standard gauge little MLW’s in 2 days? What a total treat! By now we had worked out why trains came into the platform already loaded – the normals leap on when it’s running round at the far end of the platform. However, now we were in possession of a permit to phot, we were determined to use it so we waited until 81 had backed the stock in and got a few seminars before leaping on for the run to the blocks at Bizerte. The train was pretty wedged but we managed to get 2 seats in the front coach before far too many normals for comfort piled on. We left on time with prospective passengers still trying to board all the way down the platform so wedged was the train. I was intending to record 81 but, owing to the mega wedge-out this wasn’t possible and it soon became clear she had the same problem as 82 – very good mechanical condition leading to little clag and average thrash. The noise was still pretty good but compared to the antics on the metre gauge it seemed pretty tame, the clag especially so.

The line was reasonably scenic, especially the last bit where it follows the sea/lake for a good distance. There is a huge naval garrison at Bizerte and a report we had read warned about photting but, armed with our "authorisation", we were fearless and photted the DK along with a saddletank kettle that happened to be stuffed adjacent to our platform. As we had arrived 30 late it surprised us when the DK uncoupled, ran to the blocks, and shut down rather than starting to run round the stock. The noise of a caterpillar engine starting in the yard made Dave froth with the thought of a new engine, but I didn’t want one – I wanted the DK back to Tunis, especially as the train looked like it’d be a lot quieter on the return run! We went to investigate and, sure enough, DM2xx was fired up and proceeded to attach itself to the stock. I hoped that it would just shunt-release the DK (after all, DM’s are just shunters!) but no such luck on my part as the DK remained resolutely shut down and away we went with the DM doing the tractive honours. I wasn’t impressed with the prospect of a large number of shunter clicks!

To be honest, the driver on the DM was well whipped and we fairly stormed along more or less keeping to the timings in contrast to the driver on 81 previously who had been extremely reticent in his use of the thrash handle. I cursed that the current thrash merchant hadn’t driven the MLW on the outwards turn! The little DM was making a good go of it with the top driver at the controls so I settled for some photting out of the open doors and the journey passed a lot quicker than the outbound. Dave was also photting out of the door, leaning out to get a good angle, when the guard appeared and gibbered at him something about not leaning out despite me having been doing the same thing for the last hour!

Rolling into Tunis Ville, we viewed the Bizerte – it looked like a DM when we pulled in, but it was in fact one of the rare DJ’s that I think sound unsilenced and are far better than the very similar DM class. The stock was load 4 totally knackered DMU trailer cars thoroughly wedged out and standing but this had to be done. We found some space in the second coach where some locals gibbered at us in broken English but they seemed to be sociable and just curious why we were on their train. I talked Dave out of his planned ned leap to Manouba and we instead we did the more respectable leap to Jedeida where we had 40 minutes for the DP back. We knew the Ghardimaou following us was a heap of Ganz junk so we hoped the Tunis-bound train was the DP we had passed on DK82 a few hours previously.

Not wishing to stand on the platform for such a long stretch we ambled out of the shack to see what was there. We soon discovered that there wasn’t much apart from a louage station and associated café, so in we went to shelter from the sun and have a cup of the superb Tunisian coffee – well, a sip would be a more accurate description of the cup size! The Bert in the café was mega sociable (and maybe a bit surprised to see 2 Englishmen there!) and 2 tiny, but hellfire, coffees and a cake later we returned to the platform to watch the DO arrive. It wheezed off before DP150 chugged into the shack - result, a winning class and more Alco power to boot!

We were very impressed with the DP; I thought she sounded like a very loud EE machine but that’s simplifying the very unusual sound these machines make. The transition wasn’t as fierce as I’d read about in some reports and the run wasn’t really long enough to judge the loco properly but let’s just say we rated it! We hadn’t got a supplement, but when Bert came round he was all for chinging us up. I didn’t think paying 1.4TD for the 25km trip was good value, so decided to try and blag him. "Mais l’acclimatiseé, Il ne marche pas!" (The aircon doesn’t work!) I gibbered and, to my complete amazement, he seemed to agree and walked off - what a treat! We arrived back at Tunis, did a few moves on the DK’s, then decided to call it a day so we had monster DK89 back onto the blocks and booked into the Maison Doreé for some fodder and a bottle of Tunisian wine that was a bit of a beast!

Back in the room after the food, I decided to utilise the ensuite facilities and settled down with the rough guide to see what delights awaited us in Metlaoui on the overnight (OK, sorry, no more mention of toilets in any context from now on, I promise). Whilst reading, I noticed something moving behind my foot so decided to have a look at the earliest opportunity. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was a 2-inch long cockroach, lying on his back waving his antennae around feebly! Using a glass from the sink, I hastily captured him and triumphantly presented the glass to Dave. "What about that, then?" I demanded.

Dave was very impressed by the size of the almost deceased insect and stated "cockroaches are the most likely insect to survive a nuclear war". "He won’t be surviving much else, looks like he’s caped" I replied, and indeed the cockroach’s antennae were only moving pathetically now. "He could survive a nuclear war, but not your dump!" Dave declared, so to finish him off we summarily threw him out of our window. Winning wildlife all round! The cockroach was so big we could still see him on the road from our 2nd floor room, but it seemed that my rancid dump had undeniably caped him where George W Bush and his nuclear stockpile theoretically couldn’t.

After a good night’s doss the alarm clock broke the silence much too early. "05:00 already?" I moaned as Dave sprinted for the shower. We ambled over to the shack to cover the early standard gauge trains- and were totally withered by Ganz junk on both the Kalaa Khasbah and Ghardimaou services. "Fucking cheers then!" we both bellowed in disgust; it looked like the works had been frantically repairing DO’s all weekend and we were taking it personally! We got some cakes from the stall and decided to do some storming around on DK’s before going back to the hotel for breakfast, do some more DK’s, then take the 13:05 to Sfax for the overnight. We leapt on the DK92 going south for 91 back to fill in time until the works train, which we had high hopes of producing something huge in the freight mould. I don’t think DL236 was what either of us had really been hoping for, but we knew that a DL on a service train was a pretty rare occurrence so we took it to Jebel Jelloud before doing a DK back to Tunis for breakfast.

Back at the Maison Doreé, the breakfast was in full swing and we could soon see why; it was a good trayful, so we tucked into the croissants and cake. The fresh orange juice is extra, but well worth it as it was mega fresh and I could almost feel it doing me good as I drank it. Feeling ready for the overnight, we trooped back to the shack and set about covering the 9 DK diagrams yet again, although it was hardly a hardship with all the audio and clag entertainment. Dave was getting well upset that there were no winners out, and I suppose I’d have liked to sample a few of the other machines, but to be honest just getting the thrash in was enough for me. We soon found that winner DK90 had appeared so we set about getting a few clicks off it before we had to do the GT down to Sfax, which was met at Hammam Lif to maximise the Alco mileage or minimise GM mileage depending on your view!

The run down to Sfax is quite interesting as the scenery becomes more and more arid the further south you go with an increasing number of olive trees arranged in rows stretching for miles. The size of the cacti also increases, and we saw some absolutely massive specimens that would have made excellent phots if only we weren’t shut in a train with no opening windows! The GT droned away on the front, attaining some quite high speeds; I was surprised how smooth and fast the running was on the metre gauge, pity it wasn’t something making a decent noise on the front! As we were both a bit hungry by this time I decided to get some butties from the rolling riot, so off I went to the buffet. I was well impressed to find they had merguez rolls so ordered 2 – and Bert attempted to ching me 8TD for the pleasure! We entered into a bartering match, and I eventually emerged with 2 rolls and 2 coffees for 5TD, which is still a bit ching but much better than the original price!

We arrived at Sfax and I was immediately struck at the size of the shack with numerous bay platforms that seem to be out of use. We located the Metlaoui stock, a standard rake of load 5 with the confort coach at the front being one of the old ones with those crappy blinds in the windows that are always broken and twisted, obscuring the view outside. The rest of the stock was newer, cheers then! A green DP was backing onto the stock and it turned out to be DP136, which looked a right beast – she was filthy with phosphate dust and grime. Having had DP150 earlier in the week I knew that once DP’s thrashed up the sulzer "chug" vanished and more of an EE one appeared (i.e; one that sounds good) so we boarded the stock and waited for departure. I must say we were quite lucky to be on the train as on the way down Dave had blundered the bible reading and quoted a long fester at Sfax; we were considering finding a bar until the 17:35 departure. Imagine how we would have felt listening to 136 chug off at 17:00 whilst sipping our Celtias…. Thankfully, we checked the times and discovered the error before we bowled ourselves out!

I had tried to get the driver whipped up at Sfax and he seemed to be up for it, but it soon became apparent he was a bit of a windbag with the thrash handle. He notched up very carefully so the transition was hardly noticed, then opened her up fully. Lots of noise but no roaring transition – cheers! Ah well. We stood in the open door vestibule and viewed the strange desert-like scrubland outside and small villages we passed through (and occasionally stopped at). It became apparent that Tunisia has a serious refuse problem, especially with plastic bags and bottles. They are everywhere, and make the country look a bit of a mess. They need to have a right big tidy-up and collect all the crap lying around! When it became dark we got a bit of doss in the reclining chairs as thanks to the busted blinds there was no looking out of the windows. We passed the occasional freight, the thump of Alco power waking me up on a number of occasions, and eventually we rolled into Metlaoui 35 minutes late for no apparent reason.

As the rough guide had said, there wasn’t much there. We had an hour until the return run so went for a walk up the road opposite the shack. There is a shop straight ahead at the end, and 2 more a few hundred metres along if you turn right by the first shop. There is also a hotel with associated bar and a café and that seems to be about it. We got some water from one of the shops where Bert was a right beast; he kept pointing at my beergut, ranting something intelligible, and trying to persuade us to buy Celtia from the fridge – "cold beer my friend, cold beer!" he insisted. If it had been a winner then we’d have probably had some but Celtia wasn’t high on the list of priorities so we chinged up and left, and noticed that about 22:00 all the shops started to close. With nothing else to do we wandered back to the shack to find the very nice toilet block that we had been planning to utilise locked up. Cheers then, it had clean bogs and running water – something lacking on the overnight! Just to finish us off for the bowl-out, DP136 backed onto the stock. I wasn’t seriously expecting a new loco back although it would have been nice to get a DI in the book or even another DP. Saying that, 400+ km’s off ALCO power isn’t really to be rejected (not that we were in any position to do that) so we bailed on and tried to get some doss.

We were a bit pissed off that the bogs on the overnight were rancid as we were bound to need them and the lovely clean ones at Metlaoui had been locked by the time we got back. In fact, the bogs on Tunisian trains are generally pretty filthy, and we played the old basher’s game of "bog bingo" where we tried to find a bog with a "full house" – water, lights, bog seat, soap, sink and bog. I think the overnight scored 2 out of 6! I was expecting the doss to be rancid as, although the seats reclined, the lights were glaring and as usual the aircon wasn’t doing a lot. We were in pairs of seats and I got invaded somewhere along the way by a Tunisian bloke who did his own impressions of MLW sounds, although I still got a lot more doss than I thought I would!

I awoke passing through Borj Cedria just missing the 3 DKs there. "What a shame, we’ll just have to cover them all again!" I smirked to myself. We staggered through the Tunis suburbs 20 minutes late and as we passed the depot at 06:47 we were flapping about the works train with the plus 19 looking a bit dodgy. In the end we made it by 2 minutes, but it didn’t really matter as it was a GT! "Oh for fuck’s sake…" I moaned as we pulled into Tunis and viewed the GM. Dave was tempted to do it as it was a winner but I told him he could go nedding GT’s, I was going to get some water and cakes from the shop! We did a few moves on the DK’s and, as my beast DK89 was out, she was taken into Borj Cedria and back out again, this time with no interference from the chef du gare!

The plan for the day was to cover the DK on the Sousse diagram to Mahdia and back or, in Dave’s case, the DK down for the daily GT on the return. Before that we had the little matter of the best beer in Tunisia to drink. We did the 09:05 ex Tunis which managed to score the first full-house in out "bog bingo" game (it had water – wow!) and, as we knew Port el Kantaoui was a fair way north of Sousse, we leapt at Kalaa Khabira to get a taxi to the brewpub which theoretically cut out the time to go into Sousse and back out again. As with all well-laid plans this one went tits up almost immediately, as there were loads of taxis around but all of them wedged. After about 5 minutes we reasoned that we had cocked up big time and were preparing to search for a bus or something when a white taxi appeared. We bellowed at him until he stopped and we piled in, but it became clear that we had hailed a louage (fixed route taxi) and that we might be in an even worse situation than before!

I tried to tell the driver where we were going and he seemed to understand; "yes, yes, Golfbräu" he repeated frequently as we careered along scattering pedestrians everywhere. We stopped to pick up some more passengers and Dave got well and truly wedged in the back with about 8 other Tunisians! Eventually we stopped at a kind of taxi-station in what I can only assume was the suburbs of Sousse, where Bert told us to leap and get a taxi onwards to Golfbräu. He only charged us 1TD each for the last 5km; what a bargain! A quick search quickly found a vacant taxi of the correct colour so off we went into the tourist ghetto of Port el Kantaoui in search of good beer.

Port el Kantaoui is a place that takes the concept of a tourist ghetto to the extreme. When you arrive on your air-conditioned transfer bus from the airport, you need never step outside the resort again; everything you could possibly want is there for you. This means that you never need to see the real Tunisia and get involved with all that drinking tiny cups of superb coffee, travelling on trains with a confusing 3 classes, attempting to speak Arabic, French or the other tiresome things that come with visiting a foreign country. Sterile, plastic, false, legoland – all these things are true when describing Port el Kantaoui. I hate places like this where it feels like a home from home; I mean, why bother going on holiday!?!?! If the purpose of travel is to feed the mind, visiting tourist gulags like this are pretty arid pastures in my view. These people should save their money, buy a sunlamp and lie on their couch at home and stop getting in my way and on my nerves! Tossers.

As we cruised along the wide palm-lined avenues it became evident that the driver wasn’t the usual Tunisian driver – he was driving slowly and keeping to the speed limits! There seemed to be a lot of police around so maybe he was driving slowly under oppression? We passed a place with Golfbräu signs and I started bellowing, "There it is! Back there! Whoa!" Bert seemed quite unruffled by this unprovoked agitation and told us Golfbräu was further on; the place we had passed turned out to be the previously reported Hotel Sinbad so I sat down again and stopped flapping, feeling a bit of a muppet. After only a few minutes we arrived at a large roundabout flanked with trees and large buildings. One of them was indeed Golfbräu so we paid Bert the amount on the meter (about 2.5TD) and he started rioting! Unsure what we had done wrong in paying the correct amount we slung him another 100 mini-chings and bailed out to scoop the beers in. The bar was quite cool and relaxing and I immediately felt like this had been a very good move.

The pub is massive and has several floors, with a restaurant upstairs with the brewery in the middle that was installed by Salmbräu, the Austrian brewplant manufacturers. We sat in the small downstairs bar where the beers are dispensed via a slightly tacky imitation wooden barrel, although they are such good beers I’d forgive Golfbräu for dispensing them from a tramp’s pustulent sock. Once again there were 3 beers available, Helles Weiss and Dunkle, exactly the same range as Les Berbères in Hammamet and a very Germanic range of beer which, presumably, is the main target clientele. The upstairs restaurant was closed at the time of our visit (noon) but the barstaff were very ameniable and showed us round, even taking our picture next to the vessels. Cheers guys!

Once again, we started with the Helles. A massive assault of citrussy hop and malt billowed from the glass, and the taste was excellent – a strange mix of dry German pils and rich sweetish Czech Plzen with good malt body and a bitter, lemony hop taste and finish. This beer would hold it’s own in any brewpub I’ve been to, it’s a real class act. I said previously that I don’t really like wheat beers, so unsurprisingly I didn’t like the Weiss although it was so German I expected it to make a dash for the deckchairs outside. Loads of bread-like grain and intense banana and bubblegum merged to give a characterful beer that I appreciate is a good go at German Weiss – I’m just not a massive fan of it.

The Dunkle, on the other hand, was my style of beer entirely. Almost black in colour, it had the sweet caramalt flavour but also the dryness of roasted barley which gave a superbly balanced and tasty beer. The flavour was strong in roasted bitterness and malt, and some bitter hop came through in the rich, roasted and toffeeish finish. It reminded me of Pivovarsky Dům Crno in style although it was slightly too roasty to be as drinkable as the Praha classic beer, even though my litre pot (how very German) went down rather too easily. All in all the beers brewed here are excellent examples of the styles and I’d defy anyone to say that they’re not, although people may not like individual beers – I don’t like the wheat beer that much.

We decided that rather than rush our beers we would have another two then go for the 14:05 DK turn out to Mahdia. The beers were so good we had a Dunkle and Helles each and I took the opportunity to take a photo of a baglet’s hellfire arse when she was stood at the bar – digital cameras with back viewfinders come in so handy - before settling up the bill and commandeering a taxi. The "tuc-tuc" driver tried to get us to travel with him but we felt it would be a bit too chingy even though it did look quite fun! We had been watching the taxi rank during our drinking session and it had never been empty for more than a few minutes so it was no surprise when we found a line-up of taxis waiting on the roundabout. We leapt into the first one and off we went to Sousse Bab Jedid shack. Or so we thought.

The journey to Sousse took only a few minutes but Bert had other ideas about going to Bab Jedid; he stopped outside the medina and gibbered something about the station being "up there" which it plainly wasn’t. Rather than waste time arguing we paid him and, with 15 minutes to spare before the DK, we had a quick look at the city walls. It was at this point I noticed a funny smell that I couldn’t place but the source was quickly obvious – two large handcarts were parked by the pavement and they were full of live snails! The snails seemed determined to escape and were storming around everywhere, frequently falling off the trolleys and having to be retrieved by their keepers! Suddenly the two carts made off, leaving a trail of snails in their wake, which were collected by the locals; I didn’t stop to ask what for although as Tunisia was a French colony I don’t think it’s hard to work out. Rancid mollusc eaters!

The day’s mollusc-related merriment over, we wandered over to Bab Jedid station that proved quite easy to find – just find the rail line by the seafront and follow it! Imagine our horror when, instead of the booked DK, a filthy Ganz EMU rolled in! "Fucking CHEERS THEN!!!!" we screamed, not for the first time that week. That was our move well and truly shafted and Dave’s plan for no units all week up the creek too. In an attempt to salvage the situation I spoke to the driver of the unit asking him where "Le trein diesel" was. He was very accommodating and revealed it was on diagram B for some reason, and even showed us where we passed it on his turn sheet. The reality dawned on me that if we had done the original move from Golfbrau instead of drinking more delicious beer we would have dropped right onto the DK on the 13:15 vice unit but, as it was, we couldn’t do it to Mahdia and back out now so we would have to suffer the EMU for over an hour for the DK back in. At least the unit had sociable first class and we opened the windows and slumped in the seats, a bit withered.

The journey passed quickly and we were soon leaping at Bekalta for what the driver assured us yet again was "le diesel"; I think by this stage he realised we were rail cranks and sat in his cab well amused at the situation. Sure enough, a cloud of clag announced the arrival of "le diesel" but fate wasn’t with us that day and had one more card to play. On the way down, we had been wondering which DK it would be and decided it couldn’t be regular DK87 as she was on the Borj Cedrias so it just HAD to be a winner… predictably, DK87 rolled in, to our absolute astonishment. Dave was more gutted than me and he declared the whole day a write-off. I disagreed, as we’d done a top brewpub and it was just bad luck the DK was on the wrong diagram and, anyway, 87 was a right beast. As if to prove this, 87 emitted a huge cloud of thick black clag as we pulled away and I was glad that even if it wasn’t a winner, it was a right monster in anyone’s book.

Dave was still moaning about 87 being dud and, on arrival at Monastir, he declared he was leaping for the GT into Sousse rather than doing the DK into Bab Jedid. Fair enough, he was desperate for a winning GT, but I didn’t give a toss about scoring GM’s and stayed on the little MLW. Just before departure hundreds of school brats piled on, but I kept my window and was treated to a superb exit from the shack with a total eclipse of the sun due to monumental clag emission from the screaming DK. The run into Sousse was excellent with the driver trying to make up time very hard – notch 4 for about 5 seconds, then handle right back out of every shack! What a total monster; the clag was outrageous. The scenery was also unusual with assorted lakes and hotel complexes strung along the line, not to mention the ludicrous airport station with what must be the best airport transfer for many miles – Alco to the airport, sir? Oh yes!

On arrival at Sousse I had time for a phot of 87 working straight back out again, departing in a veil of smog with the same digital driving style. Feeling well happy with the run, I followed the rails through the town and kicked myself for not coming here in time to have a train through the square – it looked like it would have been a right riot, knowing the standard of Tunisian driving! After a 10-minute walk I arrived at Sousse "Hlavni" shack with 20 minutes to spare so I purchased the aircon supplement and some water before returning to the platform to fester, but then decided on a coffee as I was getting well dossy. I caused a riot by going back in via the "entrée interdit" door and almost knocking the Bert off his stool, but played the innocent tourist card and slunk over to the hellfire little coffee bar for some well needed caffeine in the shape of the thick, ridiculously strong, tiny little coffee for about 15p!

Making my apologies to Bert, who was still rubbing his elbow where the door had clouted it, I went back to the platform again where for want of anything better to do I photted a GT sat in the yard on stock. A droning of horns proclaimed the arrival of the GT from Mahdia and I must admit I had a little laugh as I saw it was dud… I could imagine Dave stood at Monastir praying for a winner and screaming abuse as another dud one rolled in! Cruel, I know, but you’ve got to laugh. We took the GT to Bir Bou Regba where we had worked out we’d view the other Nabeul diagram and we had high hopes of it being something decent. No such luck! "It’s a bloody DO!" Dave ranted, and it was indeed true that a piece of Ganz crap was on the front of the Nabeul. Funnily enough, it turned out to be another DL in the shape of 232, which was better than a DO on account of them being rarer on passenger. We did the DL to Hammamet and failed to find any redeeming features in it apart from it being better than a cart – just!

After the overnight we were totally rancid and needed a shower followed by a bath before we were clean again! As I entered the bog in our room, something stormed across the floor in front of me – it was another bloody cockroach! This one had obviously heard about the rancidity of my dumps and was determined to get out before I sat down, as I was aiming to do just that before my de-rance. I opened the door for it and, in the manner of a well-trained dog, it scuttled out into the corridor and pelted off at a fair lick towards the lifts! Dreadful! We decided on an early night as we were both pretty knackered after the overnight and no sooner had I hit the bed than I was dossed out.

It’s amazing how fast the days slip by when you’re out on the bash – one day you’ve got a whole week of unmitigated cranking to go, but then there’s a blur and suddenly there are only 2 days remaining. I had this feeling as we left the hotel for the 0708 to Nabeul and was very pleased that we had slotted into Tunisia so well insofar as we knew how to get taxis, ask for things in Arabic and had met with nothing but sociability (apart from the desperate guard and chef du gare at Borj Cedria!) although I was a bit gutted that we only had 2 full days left. "Ah well", I thought, "we’d better make the most of it and get some more Alco beasts in!"

We had decided to scoop in the Nabeul branch as it was vice and, besides, we got an extra 30 minutes in bed by doing this move – I was still well knackered from the overnight. We knew that the rancid DL should be on the Tunis today but I was still relieved when the DM appeared, as had it been the DL, it would have been a fast car to Bir Bou Regba! We tottered up the little branch line to Nabeul where the loco ran round and we letched at some lasses – some of the Tunisian girls we saw were absolute whoppers! With no other obvious attractions in Nabeul, we bailed back on for the return run.

The little DM was taken back as far as Bir Bou Regba where we leapt for GT555 to Hammam Lif and then proceeded to cover the DK diagrams. I was well agitated to find DK89 still out and her clag problem seemed to be getting even worse! As if to appease Dave, who was flapping about scoring something, DK94 had appeared so we set about caning her in for a few clicks before covering the Dahmani-Tunis turn which had produced DF355 the other morning. As usual, the train was late and it soon vanished from the overhead screens – if things are more than 10 minutes late, they just pretend they don’t exist anymore! Eventually the train crept round the curve, and Dave was well whipped up as it looked like another DF, but he was soon withered as it turned out to be the same one as the other day. I didn’t mind as I had flagged it then so it was a score for me! We took the little GM onto the blocks at Tunis where we got some more cakes from the stall (they are hell!) and then covered a few more DK turns, including some more clicks off DK94, until we had to do DK93 to Hammam Lif for the GT forwards to Sfax on the overnight.

The run down to Sfax was as interesting as the last time and I was amazed at the size of the olive groves – they stretch for miles and miles, the trees marshalled into lines in the red earth. There were also more herds of goats than last time with the herders mostly wearing traditional Berber robes, although some wore t-shirts and trainers (as do most of the youth of Tunisia); that was one major thing I noticed there, the reality that there is a major change between the generations with the old people wearing traditional robes, middle aged people wearing shirts and trousers and the youngsters wearing t-shirts. I suppose it’s progress, but I’d hate to see Tunisia get too westernised, after all it’s being a Muslim country that makes it so different and interesting to visit.

On arrival at Sfax we weren’t impressed to see the stock was the same rake as 2 days ago as this would probably mean it was diagrammed for the same loco… and, right on cue, DP136 appeared to work the train. Dave was very unimpressed at having the same DP for 2 runs, but we should really have worked out that there would be 2 locos working the Metlaoui turns. Saying that, we weren’t to know that the locos stuck to diagram – for all we knew they could have been chuckouts on the day. All this, however, was academic now we were committed to the move so we boarded the train for the long run into the desert. We decided to go for a beer in Metlaoui and make use of the immaculate toilets on the shack, as our recent experiences with the overnight toilets were a bit grim; no lights, water or bog roll even in confort class!

The driver was a lot better than the last run we had off 136 and he was giving her the reins with excellent results in the audio department – I closed my eyes and could imagine it was a very loud EE machine on the front! We arrived into Metlaoui bang on time and immediately made use of the sparkling toilets before they could be locked and wither us again before heading into "town" for a beer. We trolled down the road past the shops and a café before investigating the hotel we had seen on Tuesday night; there was obviously a bar inside as we could hear bar noises and clinking of bottles and glasses going on. As we looked inside, the barman came out and assured us "beer in here!" so in we went and weren’t surprised when the choice inside turned out to be Celtia or nowt. We got 2 bottles of Celtia and sat at a table where we surveyed the scene. It was what I’d call a typical country bar with groups of locals sitting around drinking beer or coffee and ranting. The walls were covered in football posters and scarves which, as I hate football, didn’t interest me at all but looked as if they were covering holes or other structural issues. Some of the locals were looking at us in a kind of "what the hell are they doing here?" kind of way although it felt like curiosity rather than animosity; I’m sure if one of the locals here walked into a bar in the UK they’d get a much different reception than we received. We finished our beers and, not wanting any more Celtia, we paid up and wandered back up the road to the shack.

Back at the shack we purchased the supplements and a mild flap began when we saw there was no loco on the train, but predictably DP136 re-appeared and was bolted onto the front. With that done we decided to doss out so, to avoid getting invaded again, we got a pair of seats and crashed out straight away.

The move for the last day was to hopefully get a DP to Ghardimaou but I wasn’t feeling very hopeful as there had been swarms of Ganz junk around since Tuesday and they had been irritatingly reliable. We hoped to view the 06:35 off the overnight but, as usual, we were late into Tunis and missed it. The works train was the same DL as had been on it all week (236) so we decided to give the DK’s a bit of a spin to see what had changed and then cover the 11:00 Ghardimaou which, realistically, was our last chance of getting a DP out and back.

There were no new DK’s out which got Dave into a right state, so he did a desperate GT leap out and back from Hammam Lif to score 2 new ones! I refused this move and carried on with the little MLWs. The only shack on the Borj Cedrias we hadn’t leapt at was Bir el Bay, the first one out from Borj, as it was only a plus 2 there and by the time the southbound services got there they were invariably a few minutes late. Being a man of steel I decided to scratch the shack in, so DK97 was chosen as the move as she was running near enough to time. As we pulled in the northbound was just arriving, so a quick leap over the p-way was required after it had stopped. Dave was on the same move too, so there went my plan to wither him by clearing the line for leaping at every shack! We took DK94 back to Jebel Jelloud to cover the incoming Dahmani again, hoping for another DF.

We wandered over to get a phot of the station cat who was dossed under a tree, which seemed to whip up the station Berts. They came over and started gibbering so I produced the authorisation we had obtained earlier in the week. Bert was a bit withered by this, but said he had to make a copy of it and rushed off into his office. Cheers then, the Dahmani was due any minute and our authorisation had been knicked by the shack Berts! After 5 minutes, I decided that they were taking the piss so stomped into Bert’s office and demanded it back, which produced a flurry of activity and a returned form. I’ve no idea what they were doing with it, but they pissed me off! As I got back to the platform, the train was nosing round the bend and it was immediately obvious that it wasn’t Ganz, but it didn’t look like a DF either. The reason for its excessive lateness soon became apparent, as it was DM267 on load 4 DMU trailers – cheers then, another bloody shunter, and bang goes our idea of doing the Dahmani out that afternoon!

Back on the blocks at Tunis yet again, we assessed the situation. The 11:00 Ghardiamou had been missed, the Bizerte was DM270 again and the Nabeul had, predictably, produced DM262 on it’s rock-solid diagram. With nothing to do on the standard gauge, we decided to cover the works train on it’s inwards run in the slim hope something new would drop on it then cover the FO Beja, the earlier Bizerte and the Dahmani, so off we blasted on DK93 back south for some more Alco thrash. We were sat in the front bay as usual when a Bert sat with us. He kept looking at us writing gen in our books and smiling which I thought was a bit disconcerting – was he a member of the secret police, or something? My fears were proved to be unfounded as he tapped me on the shoulder and showed me his phone. Thinking he was trying to give me his number I looked away, but he was remarkably persistent. Bert then decided that direct action was the best plan and waved the phone under our noses and, when we saw what was on it, we both started bellowing, much to his amusement. He was one of the DK drivers, and had taken a phot of us photting him driving a DK on his picture phone… What a right beast!

After getting some more much needed KMs off DK90, we took up position at Jebel Jelloud again and refrained from photting the cat in case Bert got agitated. Any hopes we may have had of getting something massive on the works train were well and truly caped as in it came with DL236 on the front again, but we decided to do it anyway and see what was dropping on the FO turns at Tunis. We bailed on the back coach but immediately an SNCFT Bert started hassling us about not being allowed on the train. We played the innocent tourist bit and told him we needed to get to Tunis and would know next time and he seemed to grudgingly accept this, maybe as we had just moved off and we couldn’t now be ejected from the stock! He told us, in very good English, this was because the works train has "no insurance" and if anything happened we would not be covered. No matter that the train doesn’t actually go over about 20mph the whole way! I thanked him for not throwing us off and we leapt at Tunis Ville with the other SNCFT employees. So, if you aim to do the works train, watch you don’t get hossed – although the traction was pretty shit when we were covering it, I would have hated to have been evicted from a DI or something equally massive.

Back at Tunis the Nabeul was, predictably, DM262 yet again; the 14:30 Bizerte was another DM and the 15:00 Beja had dropped DK81. Not looking good for winners and we couldn’t really do any decent moves off the DK as it would be guaranteed Ganz rubbish back. I had assumed that DM267 would be doing the Dahmani turn, but when we saw what it was that was that decision made – DF355 had dropped again to work it! The "piffly Yank shunter" as I had somewhat disparagingly named it earlier in the week was running nose first and looked rather impressive in her clean brunswick green livery. Dave was transformed into a gibbering, foaming mess at the sight of his beast working again so, with nothing else to do, we decided to cover the little GM. Unfortunately, as we were on an early-ish flight the next day, an overnight at Dahmani was out but we could have a good few clicks off her anyway.

The stock was the usual load 4 and it was pretty full already. We clambered aboard the front coach and bagged floorspace in the doorwell as that was the only surface not already claimed by hordes of Tunisians although the vestibule was already quite wedged. We were away on time and the driver was obviously keen to keep to the timings; we hit notch 8 before we had cleared the end of the platform! Dave was well impressed with the thrash being produced and I must admit, despite not being a massive GM fan, it did sound good although it was obviously helped by the driver being well whipped up!

It soon became apparent that we had chosen the wrong side to sit on as the afternoon sun beat down on us. We both applied the suncream to much bemusement from the locals who were mostly wearing jackets and long-sleeved shirts – maybe it was still spring to them and a touch chilly! We sweated it out as the little GM thrashed away on the front, and it kept time until an unexplained 15-minute stop at Bir Kassaa put us behind schedule. We decided that it would be too risky to go for the crossing point at Bou Arada as we didn’t know if the trains could pass on the long stretch between Pont du Fahs and there, so we reluctantly leapt at Pont au Fahs for the 35-minute fester. The GM screamed out of the shack to Dave’s delight and there we were, miles from anywhere, with a certain DO back in half an hour’s time. The things you do for some decent traction!

The shack was a cracking little building, looking like something from the Split line but with a roof (and walls) and painted in a garish white and blue. We ventured out and, to our surprise, found some civilisation beyond the shack. We wandered up the road and found an ice cream stall that seemed just the job in the 30-degree plus heat, so we bought 2 each for some small amount and, with nothing else obvious to do, returned to the shack to fester. The ice creams were soon consumed and we still had 15 minutes to wait so we viewed the station chickens before retreating to the waiting room to get out of the scorching sun which seemed a lot hotter here than in Tunis. Eventually the Ganz arrived, so on we leapt for the scenic run back to Tunis Ville where we decided to call it a day and head back to the hotel. We took DK83 to Hammam Lif to minimise the GT clickage then did GT565 to Bir Bou Regba where, on viewing DM262 on the Nabeul and having 20 minutes before departure, we decided to flag the extra 5 kms and scooped in a taxi back to the hotel – it only took 10 minutes and we were in the restaurant by 20:00!

So, this was it – our last day, and it wasn’t even much of a day as we were flying back at 14:05. We covered breakfast, making a butty to take out in direct contravention of the rules (right anarchists, us), then checked out of the hotel for the last time. We left a message for the rep with the receptionist that we wouldn’t be needing the transfer to the airport before hailing our last taxi of the trip – once again, we didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before one appeared. Taking a taxi in the UK will never be the same again; waiting more than 2 minutes for one would get me seriously aggravated, and let’s not even mention the cost, shall we? Enough said?

As booked, DM262 arrived on the 06:40 with the same rake as had been on it all week; I’d love to know when they do maintenance on the locos and stock as they always seem to be in service! We took it to Bir Bou Regba where we got some coffee and waited for the southbound GT to Sousse for our very tight +17 onto the DK to Monastir. Having walked the route on Wednesday I told Dave that if the train was more than ten late we wouldn’t make it, so we were flapping a bit as we’d already decided that to finish on a DK to the airport would be the best way to see the country off. Predictably, the minutes ticked away and I knew we would be breaking into our first sweat of the bash attempting to get from Sousse "hlavni" to Bab Jedid in less than ten minutes – Tunisia is so arid that breaking into a sweat is really hard work. The GT left about 12 down and, even though Bert was going for it, we were delayed by the p-way around the new junction prior to Sousse before we rolled down the hill into town at an agonisingly slow pace. "Come on, you staggering tosser!" I ranted, frantically looking at my watch, and realised I was flapping severely as our plus had withered away to 6 minutes, giving us little chance of making the DK. We had to go for it though so we stormed off at an unfeasible pace for 2 fat unhealthy cranks in 25-degree heat.

We crossed the square risking life and limb from careering vehicles before marching along the seafront at a pace that would have made the SAS proud. I looked at my watch; we had 2 minutes to do about 200 metres but we couldn’t see if the train was in due to the station buildings obscuring the view. I’m not a religious person, but I was moved to prayer at this point! "Please let it be late!" I mumbled to whoever or whatever just happened to be listening in. All our efforts were in vain, however, as when we were about 100 metres away we saw a cloud of clag rise from the shack and the unmistakeable noise of an Alco power plant. "For fuck’s sake!" we chorused… it had been close, another 2 minutes and we’d have made it. I roundly cursed the non-existent gods that hadn’t intervened on our behalf. "Thanks for nothing, you bunch of wankers!" I ranted but it was no good – we were bowled.

Knackered and sweating we watched the trail of thick smoke moving away from us in what I thought was a particularly teasing manner. "Bloody cheers then, that was close" I gasped, "it’s too early in the morning to go marching around like a bloody trooper, I’m knackered now!" Dave agreed with me that the physical exertion for nothing had been particularly gutting but, facts were facts, we had missed it and now needed a backup plan. I consulted the bible and found there was an EMU in about 40 minutes that we could do to Monastir where, fortunately for us, the DK would be sat on the blocks forming the return to Sousse. We could do it back in and out a fair way for a unit back but we wanted to finish the bash on a DK so l’Aeroport it was, arriving at 10:40. When we had recovered our breath we went for a walk to get some phots of the city walls, which are very impressive and look quite heritage, before returning to the shack for the unit to Monastir.

The Ganz unit duly appeared so we leapt on and settled into the comfy first class bit. We were looking through the timetable as we left Sahline Ville when something passed us making a lot of noise and pulling stock - Dave and I looked at each other and groaned; surely this wasn’t happening? The DK was booked to sit at Monastir for a good 40 minutes so all we could assume was they had sent it back ECS for it’s diagram to be replaced by the unit we had seen being gronked out of the depot. It seemed like our plan to arrive at the airport in style had gone majestically tits-up and we weren’t happy about it at all. "I hate this line, everything goes wrong here!" complained Dave and I agreed with him as it did seem like we had been comprehensively shafted by missing the DK on it’s outward run to Monastir. We resigned ourselves to a loco-free day and as we pulled into Monastir it seemed like our assumption had been correct with an EMU sat in the platform but, as we passed it, Dave shouted, "That’s not a unit, it’s push pull stock!" We both rushed to the door and, sure enough, there was the DK idling on the blocks. We both wore smiles as big as any Cheshire cat at this reprieve; "My lords, that’s a right treat!" we beamed and leapt out to get the photographic evidence.

I had assumed that the turn would be 87 again so I was gobsmacked when we viewed the beast and saw it was winner 86. "What a fucking truncheon!" Dave enthused. "Yeah, that’s a right monster" I replied, "and what a way to finish, eh? Hope it’s a good’un". We had time for a quick seminar before we climbed aboard for the run back to Sousse over the track that Dave still required, owing to him leaping for the dud GT a few days earlier. The end 2 windows were opened and we craned out expectantly to see if 86 was "any good" on departure. At 09:35 we got the right away, bang to time, and Bert immediately set out his stall by applying notch 8 before we had cleared the platform end with superb results – we were shocked by the volume of the thrash and the density of clag which poured from the stack like a kind of airborne treacle (go with me here, I know it doesn’t exist but if it did that’s what it would look like). "My Looooooooords!!!" we screamed as Bert slowed for the junction then whacked the thunderous DK wide open as we cleared it, producing inconceivable amounts of clag; this was going to be some run!

Being on EMU timings, the little Alco had to work hard to keep to the schedule and Bert seemed to know this giving the power handle a right good seeing to out of every shack. This produced billowing clouds of black clag that turned the blue sky a filthy black in the vicinity of stations – not that we were complaining, of course. The sound was also pretty sociable with a very loud thrash coming from the little beastie, what a pity this was our last day: I’d have loved to have done her to Mahdia and back out. Unfortunately, this would have given us a minus 5 for the plane, which wouldn’t have been a position of strength!

We arrived in Sousse Bab Jedid 1 minute early – this is a bloody good effort for a DK with load 4 on EMU timings! This was in no little part due to the excellent driving and we were pleased to see Bert jogging back to the loco for the return working; he had a maniacal look in his eye as he passed our windows and he certainly drove like a man possessed. After our 10-minute turnaround off we went again with the clag billowing past our windows in voluminous amounts, but so much better as now the DK was leading. I cursed again not being able to do this beast all the way to the blocks at Mahdia, but at least we had got her in the book and we’d achieved the planned finale to the bash - a DK to the airport.

The run out of Sousse was one of the best we’d had all week with the little MLW giving her all out of every shack. We were well whipped up by this excellent display of driving and bellowed accordingly; this is what it’s all about, front window all the way! The only mild regret was the corridor door was locked although, with 86 being so loud, this wasn’t really an issue. As we pulled into L’Aeroport I felt a bit gutted that this was my last move on this monster and in Tunisia, but knew that I’d have to come back again to clear the rest of the DK’s (for research purposes, obviously!) We had our cameras ready as we screeched to a jarring halt and we were out of the door before the train stopped. We leapt over the ballast to the other platform like a pair of fat unhealthy mountain goats to get some final phots and we weren’t disappointed with the results – one of my best phots of the trip was taken at that moment as the handle came right back with outrageous results in the clag department. We watched the monster storm off into the heat haze, laying a trail of clag all the way, then walked the short distance across to the airport and the flight home. That was the end of the bash, but what a wonderful way to go!

We were at the airport over 3 hours before the flight so we loitered around until the check-in opened. Despite being vigilant in our watching of the screens we still somehow managed to join the queue behind about 100 other people who were pushing luggage trolleys straining with the weight of suitcases – what the fuck do these people take on holiday with them for a week that needs 3 suitcases? Do they change clothes every ten minutes, or what? If I were a customs Bert I’d stop all the normals with more than 1 suitcase and open them all just to see what the hell they take on holiday with them. If anyone knows what people with 3 cases take, please let me know, as it’s really confusing me!

We eventually checked in and went through security before realising the money changing kiosks were back on the landside, so we caused a riot by going back through all the stages of security to change our spare chings back, getting a crap exchange rate (I suppose this makes up for the really good one we got when arriving). Back we went through the security causing yet another riot until we reached the departures hall where we bought some Tunisian wine and some harissa to take home (the duty free shop is Euros only, strangely) then waited for the plane to arrive.

There was a Karthago airlines 737 sat on the tarmac and I was withered that it was the same one we’d had in the previous Saturday. Fate was smiling on me, however, as with 40 minutes to go another 737 arrived, disgorged its passengers, and formed our flight back to Bristol. Result! Dave was ranting about me being a "plane ned" but I just take the advice of an old bashing colleague of mine; "Write everything down, it’s called future proofing. You never know if you’ll start doing something in the future". I don’t really think I’ll take it to the extreme he did and write down the numbers of chocolate machines on the London Underground (machine 1 is at Paddington District line westbound, allegedly) but I think he makes a valid point!

The flight back was uneventful and once again we got food that we hadn’t paid for, although how much we would have paid for it would be a contentious subject. Back in the UK we immediately started sweating with the rancid humidity that had been missing in Tunisia – a week away makes you realise how shit our weather really is! We leapt on the first bus back to Bristol and had a swift pint to finish off in the Cornubia. That was it, move over, and when’s the next trip?

Conclusions.

This was my first time in Tunisia after a few years of dithering and, basically, it’s hellfire! The people are very sociable and chatty although most will just be wondering what you’re doing on a train with no other westerners on it. We didn’t see or hear any "Muslim fundamentalism" at all and, as it is outlawed in Tunisian’s constitution, it’s a safe country to visit as long as you obey the usual tourist rules about not carrying all your money and showing off cameras, especially in and around the medinas. The cost of living is very cheap; we changed £100 each and still had around £15 left at the end of the week and that included paying for 1 night in Maison Doreé and all food and drink! The standard of accommodation we saw was very adequate, and all the essentials work such as mobiles and power sockets in rooms. If you drink real coffee (i.e; not instant shit) then you’ll probably rate it as it can be VERY strong! The food is also passable and there are lots of cake and pastry stalls around (including on Tunis Ville shack) where you can get a cheap snack between moves.

If you rate GM power units then it’s really hard to get bowled out especially as SNCFT’s DMU fleet seems to be almost all withdrawn and used as trailers now (although we did see 1 DMU on the Bizerte, the only one running all week). If you’re not a massive GM fan then the GT class which work the mainline trains on the narrow gauge are unsilenced but not that interesting. It goes without saying that the DK and DP classes (Alco) are absolutely hellfire in their individual ways, especially the DKs that work the Borj Cedria push-pull turns – the clag from these beasts must be seen to be believed! The little caterpillar-engined trip shunters (DM, DJ) that work some passenger turns are OK for a laugh and do clag quite well although the thrash is a bit muted compared to a DK. There are also loads of other freight locos that appear on vices or failures from time to time, some of these sound pretty good too!

If anyone is thinking of going but keeps putting it off (as I did) then my message is clear – GO NOW! Apparently the Borj Cedria push-pulls are due to be electrified within the next couple of years which will remove the best part of the bashing in Tunisia and leaving a big hole in the attractions of the country. The hellfire DP class doesn’t have many diagrams and are hard to find working, particularly if you get unlucky and the Ganz junk is being reliable on the Ghardimaou route. If you’re bored with Czech because the loud grumpies have got rubbish diagrams nowadays, get yourself over to Tunisia and wallow in the Alco thrash-fest to be had there – the DK’s sound like a more "industrial" grumpy! If you’re just into book-filling and don’t care what things sound like then there’s enough engines to keep anyone happy; there’s something for everyone and a cultural experience that’s nothing like anywhere in Europe.

Massive thanks to the people who supplied us with gen for this trip and made it such an enjoyable week on the bash. Big thanks to Jeff Hawken, Worthy, Dan Cross and all other contributors to Euro-RBB and World Rail Gen who posted useful info. Cheers guys.

Gazza Prescott, 27^th June 2004.

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