Since the day started out quite nippy, the dress regulations whereby long sleeves and long trousers are compulsory, presumably because the sight of elbows and knees are likely to inflame uncontrollable passions or offence (my knees have been known to cause many offence at passers-by - not sure about the inflamed passions though) - anyway, where was I - oh yes, the dress regulations didn't look to be a problem. However, as the day wore on, the temperature rose quite considerably, and you can easily tell the Brits, sweating and uncomfortable, longing to fling their clothes off and reveal their glorious bodies to the world, whilst the libyans proudly wander around in great long overcoats and leather jackets.

Medina is the old walled town of Tripoli, which is a warren of tiny streets where people congregate in small numbers on ricketty chairs and seem to chat the day away. The Souqs are markets that populate several areas of the town, full of exotic smells and bright colours. Although we were recommended to keep to the main thoroughfares and not go wandering into the tiny side streets by oneself, I found that very pastime far more fulfilling than just keeping to the busier bits. Taking photographs is okay, apparently, but it's considered bad practice to go snapping people, particularly the women, without first asking permission. So, I took photos and shot video very discreetly. Although there were plenty of opportunities for muggers to jump out at me and drag me off into the shadows, I found everyone exceedingly friendly. At the Arch of Aurelius, an impressive ancient four-sided archway, where I sat myself down and sketched, a couple of very amiable young chaps came up to me and started chatting to me, wanting to know my name, where I was from, and did I find Libya a friendly place. In fact, the very same questions were asked of me by several residents as I passed, to the point where I started to wonder if this was official tourist-welcoming policy as laid out by the great Gadaffi (who's delightful image looked down upon me almost everywhere I went - smiling reassuringly but slightly spookily and looking like a benevolent uncle).

The city walls are magnificent, as are the many mosques there, the largest of which seemed to be the Gurgi Mosque; at just past 1pm, a deep hollering and a-wailing summoned the citizens to prayer.

What is a bit of a culture shock is to see military personnel stood around with machine guns slung over their shoulders; we were warned by the bus guide not to take photographs of them, though it makes you wonder what would actually rile them. There were several serious traffic violations I saw, amidst a hail of car-horns and angry voices, that didn't seem to raise so much as a flicker!

I spent a good three hours in the town, returning by the shuttle bus laid on by the ship (to and from Green Square every 20 minutes - last bus at 4pm).

I'm going to enjoy a hour or two of hot sunshine on my naked elbows and knees now, on the Lido Deck. A cold glass of beer would be nice; alas, the fierce-looking Libyan police were on board first thing this morning, checking every bar. The looks on the faces of the ship's crew-members whose job it was to escort them around rather said it all. I asked a bartender after they'd gone (cos I was just across from them eating my fried breakfast at the time) if we'd passed. He said yes, and when I asked him what would have happened if they'd found any, he laughed and said they would have taken it!

Roll on 2300 hours - hic!