March 29th – Tenerife

2 days after Tracy's birthday, we were finally on dry land to celebrate her big day. So, we decided to do a bit sightseeing first, and we caught Santa Cruz's new tram up to the old colonial capital, La Laguna. This new system is super-efficient and pretty cheap too - €2.45 for the 45 minute journey up the steep hills behind Santa Cruz.

The tram deposits you in a world away from the cosmopolitan shopping streets of Santa Cruz, and from the tourist resorts of the South of the island. La Laguna was the island's first capital, founded in the 15th century, so its quiet streets are lined with historic churches and old stone houses fronted by their traditional Canarian wooden balconies. The town feels like it's been locked in something a time warp, and has an almost South American feel – not surprising, since La Laguna's layout was used as a template for many of the new cities founded by the Spanish in the Americas.

Somehow we ended up in one of the old convents, where the attendant told us that they have the body of a saintly nun whose body was dug up and found to be miraculously preserved – as we expressed feint interest, before we knew it, we were being whisked into a little museum about her life. It turns out that she lived a life of total self-denial and self-punishment – they showed us the brick that she used as a pillow, the planks of nails that she used for a bed, the chains that she used to whip herself to purge her body of its sins, and the blood-stained rough shirts she wore. Apparently they think that this odd behaviour qualifies her for sainthood, and she's one miracle short of being beatified.

Anyway, having seen all this self-denial, we were in need of some self-indulgence and feeling hungry. Unfortunately, our quest for the perfect restaurant for the perfect belated birthday lunch wasn't particularly successful, so we just had a snack and will do the celebratory lunch another day.

So, we got the tram back into the busy shopping streets of Santa Cruz, for Tracy to select her birthday presents from her mile-long list of things she absolutely needs. It turns out that today was merely a "scouting mission" in preparation for an all-out assault when we come back in two days time. I wait with baited breath…..

March 26th – Mindelo, Cape Verde Islands

Today we had half a day in Mindelo, the largest town of São Vicente on the Cape Verde Islands.
As we were arriving at 12pm on a Saturday and everything shuts at 2pm, we rushed off the ship and walked around the harbour into town. Before everything shut down, we zoomed over to the market – the contrast with São Tome's chaotic market was massive. This was clean, cheerful and well ordered; although we couldn't help but notice how small much of the produce was – the thin soils of these volcanic islands are notoriously unproductive, a factor that has caused many famines in the islands' past.

We visited the much more lively fish market, where the fish traders loudly shouted out their orders, and the workers sliced open and expertly gutted the fish with their big knives. With all the shouting and the presence of a couple of mentally disturbed people shouting out random incomprehensible yells, this gave the place a bit more of the chaotic atmosphere of Africa.

But really, the city had a much more First World atmosphere than Praia yesterday – the buildings were in a better state of repair and everything seemed more organised. There were even some very upmarket bars and restaurants that cater to Western tourists, and an estate agents advertising posh holiday homes.

Many of the buildings were painted in bright pastel shades, and combined with the blue seas and the laid-back attitudes of the people, it reminded me a lot of the Caribbean– however, this wasn't a place particularly set up to make money from a boat load of tourists, because by 2pm, it felt like the whole town had gone to sleep.

So, we set up residence in the shade of a veranda of a bar in the city centre, had a couple of beers and watched the action – not a huge amount to see, other than to say hello to various cruise passengers walking past. Tracy inadvertently ordered a bottle of one of the strongest beers she's ever had (9%), (maybe she was attracted by its brand, "Ego"), so the rest of the afternoon was very chilled.

Before returning to the ship, we called in at the pretty city beach on the other side of the port, where all the beautiful people of Mindelo seemed to be gathered, to make me feel out of shape and overweight. Muscle men strode up and down, pausing their posing only to do a few nonchalant pull ups, while incredibly agile and toned Caporeira experts practiced their moves and did amazing routines of flick-flacks, slow-motion handstands and huge leaps, in a very entertaining free exhibition.

Even watching those people made me tired - this is a great place to relax and s l o w d o w n ………

March 25th – Praia, Cape Verde Islands

After the chaos and poverty of Dakar and Sao Tome, the general cleanliness and order of the Cape Verde Islands, 300 miles off the coast of Senegal, felt positively First World.

The Cape Verde Islands were first settled by the Portuguese in the 15th century, and then slaves were brought over from Africa to do all the hard work. As a result, the island is a fascinating fusion of Europe and Africa, with a vibrant creole culture where people of all shades of skin mix together happily – much more European and organised in atmosphere than Sao Tome, but still distinctly African.

We were docked in the capital of the islands, Praia on the island of Santiago, and so we got the Shuttle Bus up to the Plato area, where the majority of the historic buildings were. Praia took over as capital in the 18th century, from the now-ruined city of Cidade Velha, about 11 miles away around the coast. So, we caught a taxi there – the taxi driver wouldn't put it on the meter, so we settled on a price of €10 – probably over the odds, but I met lots of people who paid more, so I didn't feel too bad about it.

Back in the 16th century, Cidade Velha was one of the boom towns of the Portuguese Empire, and a major centre of the slave trade, as slaves were shipped here from Africa to be sold off to the highest bidder. Unfortunately for the city, it was very vulnerable to attacks from pirates (including Sir Francis Drake amongst others), so it was eventually destroyed one too many times and abandoned.

We got the taxi to drop us off at the enormous Portuguese fort above town – its size a testament to how highly the Portuguese valued the city, but it couldn't provide adequate protection for Cidade Velha. Having explored the fort, we walked down the steep and treacherous path in town, past a few shacks where the children demanded that we take their photos. At the bottom of the hill, were the sad remains of a massive ruined cathedral, destroyed by the Dutch in a 17th century raid, and also the town's pillory, where the Portuguese slavers held their weekly slave auction. In such a peaceful and idyllic seaside setting, it was difficult to grasp the terror that those slaves must have felt in what was to be their last stay in Africa before they were transported to the Americas.

After a bit more wandering around along the beachfront, we decided to be brave and caught the bus/shared taxi, back to Praia. It was scarcely any slower than our first taxi, and at 50p each, it was a lot cheaper.

As the sun set, we wandered around Praia's vaguely dilapidated but laid-back streets, and enjoyed the atmosphere of a lovely island that's an unthreatening mix of Third World and First World.

March 24th – Dakar and Gorée Island

Darkar in Senegal, can be Africa at its most chaotic – the traffic is terrible, the streets are crumbling, and the hassle that you get from the persistent hawkers and street vendors is unrelenting at best and bordering on the aggressive at its worst. It's also a vibrant modern city that's growing all the time, where a well-off elite are doing pretty well, even if the ordinary man in the street has to struggle hard to make a living.

Instead of taking on Dakar's urban jungle, we took a softer option of going to the historic Gorée Island by public ferry. Just walking round the docks from our berth to the ferry terminal was a good introduction to the city – with a non-existent health and safety regime here, we were able to walk in between the huge trucks shifting enormous containers in a non-stop helter skelter of jerky movements. Then, when we got out of the industrial port, we immediately attracted a "guide" who wanted to escort us to the ferry and then around the island. He helpfully pointed us to the incredibly obvious terminal building, and informed us that we couldn't use Euros to buy our tickets, and he knew somewhere to change our money.

The tourist's first rule of Dakar is never to believe a word anyone says to you, so we tried to outpace him on our march to buy the tickets. He doggedly trotted alongside us and was still telling us we couldn't use Euros as we were in the process of paying with Euros – I pointed out to him that this fundamental lack of knowledge didn't do his guiding credentials much good, nor did it make us feel inclined to trust him. He didn't seem to care, and told us that he'd meet us once we got to the island.

As we waited for the ferry, I got talking to some friendly local women in my schoolboy French, which taught us another Dakar lesson – almost anyone you talk to, will try to sell you something at some point. So, it turned out that these women ran souvenir shops and were soon trying to persuade us to visit their shops on the island.

Once we were on the ferry, it appeared that there was a special occasion going on – normally a ferry ride isn't accompanied by the presence of three film crews and lots of well-dressed VIPs. It turned out that today was the day when the Transatlantic Slave Trade was commemorated around the world. They were all converging on this idyllic little island, because up until the 19th century, Gorée Island was one of the main staging posts of the cruel slave trade, when thousands (possibly millions) of slaves stolen from Africa, were corralled here like cattle, before being crammed onto the slave boats bound for the plantations of the Americas.

However, when you arrive at this tranquil little hideaway, it's hard to believe all this traumatic history could have taken place here – it seemed just too beautiful to have witnessed such terrible events. With all the historic buildings painted in beautiful pastel shades and many covered in colourful bougainvillea, the place had more of the feel of a French Provencal village, or a Caribbean island.

Of course, the hustlers and the vendors do their best to take the gloss off the place, so we attached ourselves to one of the tour groups to get beyond the first line of hasslers, and then made a bolt for it in the opposite direction to everyone else. We did well and we weren't followed – later we met a couple from the ship who'd spent the last two hours trying to shake off an unwanted guide.

We visited the historic round fort overlooking the tip of the island, which the French had built on taking the island in the 17th century, and we enjoyed the views from this peaceful haven over the sea to Dakar, its skyline absolutely crammed with buildings jostling for position.

We explored the quiet sandy streets, and made our way to the island's number one sight – the Slave House. This house was one of 28 slave houses on the island, but this one has become a symbol of the evils of the slave trade. As you walk around the dank dungeons on the ground floor were the slaves were held, mostly chained to the wall, it's difficult to comprehend what these poor souls must have felt, snatched from their homes, treated worse than animals, and about to be taken to another world where no-one spoke their language or gave a damn about their welfare.

After this sobering visit, we walked up to the hill at the top of the island to enjoy the views, and had to run the gauntlet of the stall holders on the way up – almost exclusively people we'd shared the ferry over with, who felt that we'd "promised" to visit their particular stall. Even though we're the meanest travellers around, even we felt guilted into visiting the stall of the lady that we'd spoken to the most, and so we ended up buying stuff we really didn't want.

As we waited for the ferry, we had a relaxing drink on the beach in totally idyllic surroundings, as we were serenaded by a constant parade of buskers and yet more people trying to sell us stuff – even they couldn't take away from the chilled out Gorée vibe.

Of course, any relaxed vibe disappeared immediately, as soon as we set foot in Dakar's sweaty streets, so we did a little exploring in the chaos, before we returned to the serenity of the ship for some peace and quiet.

March 19th – São Tomé

São Tomé is a tiny island nation off the coast of West Africa – it's also just about the hottest and most humid place I've ever been to. Just by the time we'd got onto the rocky tender, we were dripping with sweat, and even when it started to rain briefly, it scarcely cooled down at all.

São Tomé is a place that's hardly seen any development since the Portuguese ended their 500-year rule here in 1975, but thankfully it isn't a place where crime and disorder have taken a hold. So, we felt quite safe as we wandered the crumbling streets, shouting "olas" to the cheerful groups of barefoot children, and soaking up the generally relaxed tropical atmosphere.

We first went to the old 15th century Portuguese fort overlooking the bay, and did a "guided" tour of the national museum inside. Our "guide", in his tattered shirt, seemed to feel that his job was mainly to keep the group together and shout at anyone who veered off his allotted path, and to repeat continually his "no fotos" mantra – being a non-conformist, Tracy delighted in disobeying both of his rules.

We then went into town, and sought out the market. As we walked the empty streets, we kept remarking on how few people there were, but once we got to the incredibly busy market, it was obvious where they all were, crammed into the narrow paths between the stalls. The market was a complete assault on your senses – people shouting, music blaring, fish stinking, and shoppers shoving. We must have looked pretty bewildered by it all and were constantly getting in someone's way – there was so much going on that you didn't know where to look.

Different stallholders were talking to us incomprehensibly, children were demanding that we take their photos and show them the results, and a mentally deranged man with ulcerous legs attached himself to me, mumbling manically. Fortunately, a couple of the ladies shouted at him in Portuguese the equivalent of "bugger off", and he finally left us alone. Just as we were getting into the swing of things, and as Tracy was taking photos of the mayhem, one lady on a fish stall took complete exception to her photography, and started screaming at us, her eyes utterly bulging with rage. Seeing as she was holding a big chopping knife, we didn't hang around to apologise for any unintended insult, and we made a hasty retreat to the ever-so-slightly cooler air outside.

For a break from the chaos, we walked around São Tomé's wide bay, surveying all the rusting shipwrecks in the water, and looking at the decaying houses on the waterfront – this would have been prime real estate back in colonial times, and it probably still is now, even though it's hard to appreciate.

Our next task was to find somewhere for lunch – somewhere that we'd be happy to eat in. This wasn't our most successful search, because all the places we were heading for had either shut down, looked dodgy, or were unfindable. We did thankfully find one shop with air-conditioning, so we hung around in there for a while to reduce our core body temperatures down to just below boiling point. It was interesting to see that this must have been the most upmarket food shop in town – you knew that because it had a security guard virtually asleep outside, and everything was kept behind counters, so every single thing you wanted, you had to ask someone to get for you. Anyway, once we'd chilled down a bit, we settled on a deserted café that sold cold beer and a doughnut – an odd combination but strangely satisfying in the circumstances.

Suitably fortified, we spent the next couple of hours just wandering the baking streets, leaving a trail of perspiration behind us, ticking off the main historic sights (not too many in a small town of 50,000 people). So we went to the Cathedral and walked over to the Presidential Palace, where we watched the most laid-back changing of guard ever, as a troupe of loose-hipped soldiers sauntered up vaguely marching in jaunty step. As we admired the Palace, a big soldier with an even bigger gun came up to us. "What's your problem?" he demanded unsmilingly. The best I could come up with was to stammer out, "I like your Palace". Then it became obvious why he was talking to us, "If you want photos, you must pay me". He obviously didn't realise that we'd surreptitiously been taking photos from across the road, so we said thanks but no thanks, and pretty much ran away before he could shoot us.

Being a Saturday afternoon, the whole town seemed to have shut down completely, and the only people we encountered were either over-heated cruise passengers, or the really desperate street hawkers trying to sell us poorly-made necklaces. That most of them were talking to us in French, seemed to point to the fact that they'd come over from West Africa, and they were certainly a lot more aggressive and less friendly than the other people we'd met (leaving aside the ulcerated lunatic, the knife-wielding fish saleswoman, and the gun-toting soldier).

So, an enjoyable day in a fascinating country, that's not scored too high on Tracy's "I could live there Index", but would be great to explore in more depth.

March 15th – A Walk On The Wild Side in Namibia

When the alarm went off at 5.45 am, I was beginning to regret volunteering to go on "The Living Desert" tour. At least at that early hour, it wasn't too hot, but once we'd got into the desert in our 4x4, it soon started to heat up.

Our guide was a straight-talking Afrikkaner, Francois, a bear of a man who'd been brought up next to the desert, so he knew all the best places to find the desert's hidden wildlife. Initially, when you drive into the vast empty spaces of the open desert, you'd have thought that this wilderness couldn't support much life at all, but Francois knew exactly where to look to find a remarkably varied array of flora and fauna.

We'd be bumping along the desert sands, when he'd stop the car abruptly, hop out of the car and start running up what looked like an empty dune. He'd then start burrowing into the sand with his hands, and come back to us, with a hidden present.

Our first gift was a little lizard – as I was the escort on the tour I became his stooge, so he first got it to clamp onto my finger with its jaws. Not being a great fan of creepy crawlies, I gritted my teeth and bravely took this in my stride, so he upped the stakes and told me that he was going to stick him to my ear. So, with my heart nearly beating through my chest, he got this baby dinosaur to clamp onto my ear lobe as I attempted to look calm in front of the passengers. Somehow I managed not to scream when the lizard fell off and almost went down my shirt.

Next, we found a fearsome-looking but thankfully small sidewinder snake, and fortunately, seeing as these can give you a nasty bite, Francois didn't feel the need to hang him off any part of my body this time. Somehow, he also knew where to dig down to find a beautiful gecko that lived underground and only came out at night – he had to show us the gecko in the shade, because if the directly sunlight fell on him, his skin would immediately have blown up into blisters.

Our final close encounter was with a chameleon – how Francois spotted this expertly camouflaged creature in the undergrowth of a remote desert bush, I'll never know. We began to get the feeling that he'd spent the night before hiding these creatures strategically around the desert. As we admired the chameleon, it was immediately plonked on my unsuspecting hand, its tiny claws digging into my skin to grip on. As you stare face-to-face with a prehistoric-looking chameleon, it's a bit unnerving as one eye fixes your gaze, while the other eye swivels round independently to look at something else. And at the same time as I was holding him, his skin slowly changed colour from the dark green of the shade of the bush – unfortunately, in his palette of colours, he didn't have a bright red to match the colour of my red face.

By now, we had become experts in animal tracking, so as we dove over the soaring dunes, we were spotting lizards, beetles, hyena tracks, and snake trails – it's amazing how much life there is in this most bleak of environments if you just know where to look. A great tour.

March 14th – Walvis Bay, Namibia

As we sailed towards the port of Walvis Bay, you got a sense of how the whole town is totally surrounded by the golden sands of the vast Namib Desert. Seeing this remote oasis of port cranes and low-rise buildings encircled by empty dunes, it feels like the inhabitants of Walvis Bay must feel pretty isolated from the outside world.

Namibia is a rarity in Africa, as one of the few ex-German colonies, so here there was an intriguing array of German colonial buildings to discover in the town of Swakopmund, about 20 miles north of the port. The town was founded by the Germans in the 1880s, and was the main colonial town on the coast until the Germans were ejected from Africa during the First World War, so there were many typically German-looking buildings dotting the town. If it weren't for the piercing African sun and the desert at the end of the streets, you could easily be in a Bavarian town, as you walked past the gabled houses and half-timbered buildings.

Maybe because of the charming historic atmosphere and the relaxed way of life here, this part of the world has become a favourite holiday destination for Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt – in fact, they had their daughter, Shiloh, in Swakopmund. In Namibia's post-apartheid constitution, it's a criminal offence for anyone to restrict another person's movement, so Brangelina appreciate the fact that the local police will arrest any paparazzi who get in the way of their most famous visitors.

As we drove through the desert on our way back from Swakopmund, we called in at the imaginatively-named Dune 7 – the area's highest sand dune. Tracy and I boldly attempted to climb the steep dune, but with every sweaty step, the sand gave way and you sank back to almost the same spot. After 10 minutes of thigh-burningly hard climbing, we were only half way up, and we collapsed in a heap on the sandy slope to enjoy the fantastic views over the majestic dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. Fortunately, coming down was A LOT easier than going up, so we slid down on our behinds, gradually scooping up most of the desert into our pockets (and other parts of our bodies too).

Once we were back to the ship, we just about had time for a quick shower to wash the desert off us, before we were picked up to go back into the desert again, for one of the highlights of the cruise, a complimentary "Silversea Experience" of a night under the stars. After a very bumpy trip into the middle of nowhere, we pulled into a gap between the dunes, and emerged into what seemed like a mirage – a huge marquee in the middle of the desert, with the surrounding sand dunes magically lit up by candles as the sun went down in the distance.

We were greeted by Herero ladies in their colourful local dress, and by a fantastic local choir who serenaded us with their catchy African rhythms. After a magnificent dinner (quite how they got all this food and drink into the desert, I'll never know), we were treated to a hypnotic fire-dance performance and yet more fabulous singing from the choir, underneath a bright blanket of shimmering stars.

This was another of those wonderful occasions where you have to pinch yourself to confirm it's all real – a truly magical and unforgettable night!