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Published: March 8th 2010
Oh my days there is SO much to write about from the last two weeks. So I'm sorry if this drags on and sorry if I upload way too many photos (again) but I have simply been left with no choice. Since my trip began I have taken 567 photos (not including the ones I have taken and subsequently deleted) which, bearing in mind I hate taking photos, gives some indication as to how photogenic North Africa is. Anyway, let's get down to it.
On 21st February I finally moved on from Jerba. It was about time too. The waiters at Cafe El Medina had started bringing me mint tea and shisha pipes before I'd even asked for them. My next stop was the Tunisian town of Ben Guerdane which is about 30km away from the Libyan border. I jumped in a louage (minibus) with several others but we only made it 10 minutes down the road when there was a huge BANG flap flap flap... from under my seat. All the men in the louage (everybody except the one female passenger) jumped out to inspect/assist/encourage the tyre-change so I thought it was only right to do the same. I
Libyan border
Spot the Berghaus rucksackamused myself by trying to teach the other passengers the word 'puncture' which, understandably, is not so easy to pronounce. I also enquired about youth hostels in Ben Guerdane and one untrustworthy looking guy speaking good English told me that there was one about 5km short of Ben Guerdane and that the louage would stop to let me out. I trusted him. Spot my mistake.
Right on cue, about 5km outside BG the louage pulled over and I was cheerfully ushered out by the other passengers. I felt it rude to refuse so I hopped out and the untrustworthy guy pointed me in the direction of the youth hostel (some tiny buildings in the distance). The louage drove off and I looked around (I have a great video of this moment but it won't upload). I was alone in a barren expanse of land, about 1km from the sea and the nearest buildings. I started walking down a narrow road in the direction of the only buildings I could see and was approached my a wild dog. In me the dog probably saw it's first chance of a decent meal in weeks so I shouted and it left me
alone. A car approached from behind so I flagged it down and the men agreed to take me to the buildings to look for this hostel. We communicated in French and German but, after they made some enquiries in the nearby buildings, they informed me that one of the buildings is a hotel but is only open in 'sommerzeit' and that I should head back to BG. They drove me back to the junction where I expected them to drop me off but they insisted on driving me all the way to BG and refused the tip I offered when we got there. Throughout the journey I was sitting in the back next to the driver's two-year-old boy. He was standing on the seat next to me, staring at this bearded white guy who had got in next to him, and was repeating words which sounded like 'prri' and 'hap' which, according to his dad, translated as 'beach' and 'dog'.
I found a hotel charging only 10 Dinar a night (£5) for a private room. My room was worse than a prison cell but what else would you expect from somewhere called Hotel Bagdad? Most importantly, it was close
to the shared taxis that go to the border, to the illegal black market money-changers who operate in semi-permanent shops on a long street in the centre of BG and close to a restaurant.
The next day I headed to the taxi rank. The drivers seemed bemused that I would wait for other people to share a taxi with but I explained I did not have enough money for my own which meant they all had a whip-around and gave me more money. I tried to refuse but they insisted. Curiously, however, they still hadn't given me enough for my own taxi so I still had to wait around for others to come with a pocket-full of unwanted Tunisian Dinars. Eventually we had a full car-load and headed to the border, arriving there at about 11.30 Libyan time, half an hour before I was due to meet the tour company. The taxi dropped us off a short walk from the border and one of the old guys from the taxi, dressed in traditional robes, insisted on carrying my sexy-Western-streamline-Berghaus-Remote20-rucksack (see photo). I smiled at the sight of him carrying it, slung over his shoulder. I didn't have the heart
to tell him that he wasn't making best use of the cushion-straps/cross-chest-strap/optional waste-strap which would have ensured more effective weight distribution.
The border consisted of two covered areas (one Tunisian/one Libyan), six separate checkpoints and one huge poster of Colonel Muammar Gaddaffi. Photos were not allowed, so I took some. The process was smooth until I reached the Libyan immigration point where I was embarassingly shepherded to the front of the queue. I should have been able to hand over a letter confirming my visa but I had not been sent this by my tour company. It may have made things easier, although I doubt it. I handed over the itinerary and the contact details of the Libyan tour company. I was asked by the immigration officer to follow him, which I did. He took me to a crummy office in which several immigration officers sat around drinking coffee. The chief immigration officer, was exactly as I'd have imagined and hoped. About 50 years of age, tall, chubby, curly grey hair and so very, very loud. He shouted at everybody, except me, who he was very polite to.
There seemed to be much surprise at the presence of
a European traveller. To clarify, five days before my arrival in Libya, Gaddaffi had banned the issue of visas to all nationals from countries signed up to the Schengen Agreement. This is the agreement to relax border controls signed by almost every European country except, crucially, the UK. Throughout Libya people expressed surprise at seeing a European and I even had to explain at some police checkpoints that we were not part of the Schengen Agreement (thank god). Gaddaffi's decision to stop issuing visas had been quite high-profile as it came as the result of his fall-out with the Swiss over his son's arrest for assaulting a domestic worker in Switzerland. Later in the week, and whilst I was still in Libya, Gaddaffi followed the visa ban up with a speech in Benghazi in which he encouraged Jihad on Switzerland.
Still with me? Anyway the boss-man searched through files and papers as I drank the sweetest espresso of my life (it's rude to refuse). He tried to ring the tour company but got no response. Eventually I was told to wait ouside whilst he attempted to make contact with the right people. The initial immigration officer escorted me back
Green Square
Also a car park to a bench in the covered area and I noticed that he was the only officer working on the front desk and that a huge queue had formed in his absence (oops).
Two hours later the boss-man gave me the bad news: "Unfortunately you cannot enter today, we cannot get hold of your company so there is no visa." Nooooo! I said that I had been early and that they may just be running late. I told him I would try and call them off my phone. Luckily he was distracted by conversation with a random guy which meant I could try and get hold of the tour company, which I couldn't. With hope fading, the boss-man called over and said, "Wait there, they are on their way." Yeeees! A few minutes later Saif, my guide, and Ali, the boss of the company, arrived. I chatted to Saif whilst Ali took my passport and sorted my visa. He returned with my passport which, despite all the hullaballoo, only had a tiny little stamp to show for the ordeal. I had expected flowers, chocolates and (non-alcoholic) champagne. Most importantly, however, after three hours at the border I was in Libya.
We jumped in the Hyundai Avante and headed to Tripoli, the capital, 170km away. I spent the night in a 3-star (that's right) hotel room with a hot shower, mini bar, air conditioning and satellite TV.
Before I begin to write about what I did in Libya I need to first explain that I was taken everywhere by Saif, my tour guide. Gaddaffi banned free-travel some 20 years ago when some tourists were caught attempting to smuggle some ancient rock-art out of the country. Since then the only way to travel, apart from on business, is with a tour company. They take responsbility for you during your stay and take care of arranging your visa. I stayed in most of the hotels alone and was allowed to wander around some places alone. Having paid my fee to the tour company, however, they pay for everything and arrange both the itinerary and the transport. Whilst it inevitably feels restrictive to some extent, travelling with a tour guide (especially on a one-to-one basis as I was) does give you a unique insight into the Libyan people and their ways as, through the guide, you are able to meet and get to
know many other Libyans.
Libya's history goes something like this: Phoenicians, (Greeks in some areas), Romans, Vandals, Byzantines, Islamists, Ottomans, Italians and, following WWII, independence. And Gaddaffi. It contains many ancient cities and one of them, Sebratha, was where we began my first full day in Libya. I slapped the sun-cream on and wandered with Saif around the city's remains, situated on the sea-front. Highlights included an enormous theatre (still used) and incredeibly detailed mosaics. Only 500m long and 200m deep, Saif told me it was a good 'starter' for what was to come later in the week. He was right.
After this he showed me around Tripoli. From a distance the city looks modern with high rise buildings, posh hotels and 'upside-down-bottle-style' office blocks all overlooking the Med. Almost all of Tripoli has been built since the Italian occupation in 1911 but, at the heart of it, is the medina, which existed many years before. Tripoli castle is on the sea-front overlooking the harbour and is adjacent to Green Square which connects the older and newer parts of town. This enormous space is surrounded by a combination of the harbour, the castle, the old city wall, cafes,
fountains and palm trees. It is often used for speeches made by Gaddaffi (have I mentioned him before?). It is now used, wait for it, as a car park! Rubbish!
On the way back to the hotel Saif took me past Gaddaffi's heavily fortified headquarters. There are posters of him everywhere. Last year was the 40th anniversary of the revolution when he, at the age of 27, assumed power. This is also emphasised in the posters. The Libyan's seem resigned to the unpredictable dictatorship they live under. They are keen, however, to emphasise that Libya is a very free country unless you speak out of line politically or religiously. Saif (who owns a oil company, tour company, decorating company and is a TV producer with government contracts) is well-known in Libya but said that the state also does not like 'famous' people. 'Well-known' is a desirable title in Libya but 'famous' is not. Once you reach the 'famous' stage then the state, apparently, seek to bring you down a peg or two. Gaddafi's son, Saif Islam, is widely expected to take on the reigns of power when Gaddaffi dies (or if he ever does). Apparently he is much more
liberal than Gaddaffi and Saif, who knows Saif Islam, is enthused by the prospect of him taking over power, if a little concerned with regards to the power-struggle that might surface with some of Gaddaffi's other sons. Anyway, there are posters of Gaddaffi everywhere. You can't look at the posters for long though as you need to keep your eyes on the road. This leads me on nicely to the first of two points about Libya.
Driving in Libya is the worst I have seen anywhere in the world. It is hard to describe but I'll have a go anyway. It's a case of the bravest driver wins. You need to move your car as far forward along the road as possible, even if this means turning on to the pavement. There is no right of way. The exit of motorways is off the fast lane and passes across traffic coming the other way. It is like driving in a Playstation game: unreal and where you care little about the other man's bumper. You rarely (and I mean this) see a car with an undamaged bumper (and they all drive around in posh new Japanese cars). I saw the
Leptis Magna
The ruins continue into the sea. Scuba-diving achaeological visits should be introduced. Imagine that! immediate aftermate of three big accidents in my seven days there (I've got a great video of one (which I also couldn't upload): the cars are making no effort to get out of the way of the police car despite there being plenty of room on the right and the guys in the crash have got out of the cars and are laughing). Everyone in Libya drives (petrol only costs 10p per litre). It's madness.
The other point about Libya is the fact that I have never been to a country where they eat so much. The traditional dish is bread, dips, salad, bread, soup, a mountain of couscous, meat and fruit. Twice a day. It was painful. Even when you buy a kebab, it's commonplace to order a pizza as well, just in case the kebab doesn't fill you up.
Anyway, on my second full day in Libya we visited the national museum. Some of the best mosaics (the Four Seasons) and statues (the Three Graces) from the ancient cities have been brought here. I also saw the VW beetle Gaddaffi used at the time of the revolution. From here we headed to Leptis Magna. Leptis Magna
Leptis Magna
The Basilica is another ancient city and is mainly Roman in architecture. The Roman Emperor Septimus Severus was from Leptis Magna and he ensured that that his home-town was nicely spruced up. It is truly spectacular and I saw the first truly awe-inspriring thing of my trip, the Arch of Septimus Severus, built for the Emperor's return to the town in about 200AD. Having seen so many photos of it prior to my trip, it was great to see for real and it was so much bigger than I expected. We wandered through a theatre, temples, and a market to the old harbour. The fact that the ruins continue into the sea add to the intrigue of the place. On our way back to the enrance/exit we visited the enormous Basilica, which is incredibly well-preserved, as well as the forum and the baths. After a huge lunch and a non-alcoholic beer (which said on the back it contains 0.3% alcohol volume) we visited the 20,000 person capacity ampitheatre, situated right on the seafront.
With Tripoli, Sebratha and Leptis Magna all ticked off, I was due to fly (I know, I know) to Benghazi (Libya's second city in the east of the
country) the next day. We had to change these plans, however, because Gaddaffi was flying from Tripoli to Benghazi to deliver his speech urging Jihad on Switzerland and therefore both airports would be closed for that day. After a huge discussion with Saif, Ali and two of their friends outside of a juice parlour it was decided that Saif and I would visit the desert oasis of Ghadames instead. I was delighted with this as I'd heard so much about it and was secretly disappointed that I wouldn't be able to see it. But, thanks to the 'great leader', I did. The next day Saif picked me up early and we headed to Ghadames, about 700km away, via the Berber ruins of Qasr-al-Haj and Nalut. It was Eid-al-Moulid, the birthday of the prophet Mohammad (Islamic version of Xmas) and a national holiday which meant that everyone was at home and the roads were quiet. We got down to Ghadames at about 17.00 and drove straight to the sand dunes outside the town to watch the sunset. Situated at the bottom of the dunes was a tent selling peanut tea (yes, they actually leave the peanuts in your tea) and traditional
flat-bread cooked beneath the sand. After tucking in to this feast we headed up the dunes but I soon left Saif for dead and walked to the furthest point possible. From here I could see across the Sahara desert and into Libya, Tunisia and Algeria, behind which the sun set.
That night, Saif took me to a 5-star hotel where he knows the hotel manager. The hotel manager came and joined us for a coffee with several other Libyan tourism 'heavyweights'. It dawned on me that, not only here but previously, I had been mixing, predominantly, with Libya's wealthy and influential. Tour company owners, hotel owners, TV producers, architects, oil company owners, friends of the Gaddaffi's, etc. In many places I went, people knew Saif and Ali. Anyway, as I sat there I noticed one of the guys had brought a bottle of water to the table. He wouldn't let go of it and it instantly struck me as strange. Another bloke came and tried to take it away from him so he snatched it back. Not mineral water, I thought. The hotel manager, had obviously noticed me notice the bottle and so said to me, "Would you like
Qasr-al-Haj
Table Mountain is closer than I thought! to try some local drink?" I knew what was coming. He got me a glass and I was poured a glass of locally made 'date' vodka from the aforementioned bottle. I enjoyed the drink and then clarified with them that if I was caught the punishment would be a £250 fine and deportation. For them it would mean at least four months in prison, unless their influence could dictate otherwise.
The next morning was spent exploring the old town of Ghadames where 8000 people of local tribles once lived. Tahar, the guide, spoke fantastic English and was really interesting. The white walled town is surrounded by palm trees and you really get the feeling of being in an oasis. Built due to the natural springs found there, the town was a major Sahara trading point particularly for the caravan trade. The town is divided into seven main areas, one for each tribe. Each area contains a mosque, a Quranic school and a courtyard. The men used to conduct their lives on ground level and the women used to conduct theirs on the rooftops. No interaction was allowed except within the family. The women even had their own markets on
The road to Nalut
The castle is at the top the rooftops. The kitchens of the houses were located, obviously, near top level and outside of the kitchen doors were mirrors. The reason for this was that the women were expected to look pretty when serving up food. Quality!
Following the visit to the old town of Ghadames we headed back to Tripoli via Kabaw and Gharyan. At Gharyan we visited a traditional Berber house which, still inhabited, is built in a pit with a large hole in the middle for drainage. The benefit of this type of housing is that the rooms remain at 20 degrees celcius all year round. Gharyan has about 3000 of these pits, and each holds about eight families.
I spent the night in Tripoli and flew to Benghazi the next day. Whilst not on land it is still over land as planes, obviously, go over the land. And it was part of the tour. And it was cheap. And it saved 11 hours in the car. So it counts. The trip is still an overland trip. I missed the flight I was meant to get because Saif and Ali were busy taking their time drinking coffees and eating kebabs. They insisted I
hadn't missed the flight but the reaction of the girl at check-in and the time on the ticket suggest otherwise. I chatted with a Glasgow Ranger, Allan, on the flight and it was great to have some English-speaking company. He probably wished (as you do by now I should imagine) that I'd shut up! At Benghazi airport (a luggage conveyor belt and an exit) I met Ahmed, the substitute tour guide for my final night/day in the east of Libya. He barely spoke English and when I say I speak nearly as much Arabic as he speaks English, I'm not exaggerating.
Ahmed picked me up early the next day and we headed to Cyrene, another ancient city situated in the green, rolling hills of eastern Libya and over-looking the sea. We then headed towards the Egyptian border, stopping at Tobruk on the way. Tobruk was the scene of fierce fighting during WWII as the Germans and Italians tried to force their way towards the Suez Canal. First stop was the Knightsbridge Commonwealth War Cemetry, containing some 4000 graves. It was emotional walking around the cemetry alone with not another person in sight. More striking however, was the German cemetry
which we visited after eating fantastic chicken kebabs for lunch. The old fort over-looking Tobruk harbour has been converted into what it is now, a memorial bearing the names of 6000 deceased German soldiers. In order to visit, you get a key from the girl next door and have to let yourself in. Walking around this enormous fort alone really makes you feel so small. In the centre of the fort is a fountain which is being held by the backs of angels as they stare into the pit where the soldiers are buried. I was struck by the power and simplicity of the memorial.
Next stop was the Libyan/Egyptian border at Amsaad which I had read and had been warned can be a dreadfully agonising experience. True enough, it is a maze of roads and it's never very clear where you need to go. There is also quite a distance to walk between posts and it's not where I'd want to be caught in the heat of midday. The Libyan exit was straight-forward enough. I found Libyan authorities pretty officious throughout. It has to be said though, that the Libyan people are fantastically welcoming, hospitable, friendly, relaxed people.
Much like the Tunisians, I grew very fond of them. Theres only five million of them but they and their country has so much to offer would be tourists and it's a shame that more don't go.
With these thoughts in my mind I entered Egypt, on 28th February, having been informed not to expect the same from the people there. It smacked me in the face. They were aggressive, 'in your face', rude and after nothing but your money. This was typified when, having passed through the first level of Egyptian immigration, I was accosted by a police officer. He took my passport. The only word of English he could say was 'money'. I walked with him to the next checkpoint and, having smelt a rat, I asked the guy behing the desk whether this guy was an immigration officer or a policeman. He said he was neither. That's right. The bloke dresses up as a policeman and waits for what must be no more than one western tourist a day so that he can get some money out of him. It was hard to keep my patience (which I knew I had to) as I walked from
the visa counter to the immigration officer to another immigration officer and so on but I managed to do so by talking about football with some Egyptian lads and then getting out my hacky-sack and doing some keep-ups with them. As I finally passed through the final controls I followed my principal of not going with the first taxi driver who approaches you and this ended up being a wise move. I walked further down the road and I was asked by a Libyan guy speaking very good English if I was going to Saloum (the next town from where one can get connections into Egypt). I was, and so I jumped in with him and his two friends. I chatted with these guys on the way to Saloum and they delighted themselves in teaching me some filthy Arabic expressions. As it transpired they were heading to Alexandria, as I was, and persuaded me to get a taxi there with them. Although it cost more than the bus they said it was worth the extra for the comfort and the option to stop if necessary. At 60 Egyptian pounds (£6) for the 600km I wasn't going to argue so I
Gas-find
This was BP. Good work! got the death seat: back, middle, no seat belt.
This was a slog. Only one of the three (or four, including the driver) spoke English and the journey was long. We dropped one of the lads off before Alex as the three of us cracked on. The guys, Fatih (the English speaker) and Mobrouq, were students at the university in Alexandria and asked if I'd like to stay at their flat in Alex. Due to the estimated time of arrival (we got to Alex at 1 in the morning in the end) I thought this would be a good idea so accepted. Alex is 20km long and 3km deep and as we approached was a sea of bright lights. We eventually found our way through these lights and, after a beer and some crisps, I got to sleep on the floor of Fatih's flat at about 3 in the morning.
After chapati, cheese and egg for breakfast I told the lads I wanted to crack on to Cairo as soon as possible. They were really hospitable and, despite wanting me to stay, knew that I had to crack on. I got a service-taxi to Cairo, and had to
Gharyan
Spot the house (not the nice new one) pinch myself as we passed close by the pyramids. Both Alex and Cairo are incredibly hectic with car horns providing the soundtrack. Unless you are in the right frame of mind they would drive you mad and I found that I needed to keep telling myself to relax and that the bloke who was blatantly trying to rip me off was only trying to make a living and did not deserve to be on the receiving end of my angst.
Many of you reading this (if you've got this far) may have noted a change in tone between my writing on Libya and that on Egypt. If you have, good spot. Without going into too much detail I was having some problems with my girlfriend (my fault) and had decided that I was going to come back to the UK to sort them out. When I got to Cairo I went straight to the airport, booked a flight for the next morning and spent the night in Cairo International Airport's snazzy, new Terminal 3. I am now in the UK and have clarified the situation with my girlfriend who is now, unfortunately, my ex-girlfriend. I don't want to talk
In the pit
A whole Berber family will live in this house about it and I definitely don't want sympathy because I don't deserve it so please keep any blog messages journey-related! I am flying back out to Cairo tomorrow (Tuesday) to carry on where I left off. The last week or so has been strange, travelling away from where I want to be (although I'm not sure where that is) but I'm determined to get things back on track.
My stay in Egypt depends entirely on how long it takes to get a Sudanese visa which, wait for it, can take anything between a day and a month. I've been to Cairo before so am hoping to move on to the south and to Sudan as soon as possible.
Finally, I have two spare tickets for three games at the World Cup this year. Holland v Denmark, Slovakia v Paraguay and Nigeria v South Korea. £60 per ticket (face value). Please get in touch if you are interested.
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Mel
non-member comment
How do!
Lovin' the blog - and the photos too. Keep them coming :)