Libya

From Tatouine in Tunisia it was only a short drive to the border and as it was Ramadan Abdul the tour operator had asked us to arrive at midday, so we were in no great hurry. But we had a call at 10am from Ayad our (compulsory) guide asking where we were. He appeared to be early. His voice was friendly and he spoke good English, but he was definitely older than the student we were expecting. He also sounded fat, which didn’t bode well as we only have the three seats across the front of KT.

We ran into John and Helen again at the border as we expected. We had had a few beers with them the night before and both John and I were feeling slightly the worse for wear. This made the questioning about any drink by Libyan customs all the more ironic. Then we had to deal with the paperwork.

Ayad Hussein found us at this point. Thankfully he wasn’t fat, but he was wearing neatly creased chinos, polished shoes and a shirt. He also had a comb-over and, as Claire pointed out, a man handbag. I don’t know who was more dismayed, him or us.

In spite of his obvious misgivings about our plans he got us through the Libyan formalities with the minimum of fuss and we set of into Libya towards the roman ruins at Sabratha. As it was too late to go in we stopped at the Youth Hostel nearby which had a good view of the ruins in the sunset.

Sabratha

We were up early the next day for a look around the ruins, the centrepiece of which is a partially reconstructed theatre that was especially spectacular set against the deep blue of the Mediterranean. We also had the obligatory sit on a roman latrine.

On the way to the hostel Ayad had had to ask for directions a couple of times and during our tour it became obvious that he didn’t know a great deal about the ruins either. He was quite definitely a guide in name only. He was also becoming quite unhappy.

We had mentioned our plans to him and while he looked slightly mollified after we had shown him round the car, he was not keen. After a heated discussion on his mobile he handed me the phone with the words “Mr Abdul wants to talk.” It turned out that Abdul had failed to mention our planned desert trip to Ayad, so Ayad was not willing to go at the rate of pay that they had agreed. This meant that we would have a new guide when we headed south. It also meant that we would have to pay more than we had agreed with Abdul.

Unfortunately we were required by law to have a guide and working on the grounds that Ayad seemed nice enough and, more importantly, that he didn’t smell we had a chat. We suggested that we pay him direct, cutting out Abdul as he was messing all of us around. Ayad agreed, so we continued on our way, first to Tripoli to pick up Ayad’s bag and then on to another vast set of ruins at Leptis Magna. By way of consolation, fuel is very cheap and we filled up with 100 litres of diesel for about a tenner.

Leptis Magna is huge with a couple of fora, a theatre, market place, churches and temples a plenty, again all set on the shoreline. If you’re into ruins they’re probably worth more than the two hours we spent there.

Leptis Magna

That evening we camped in the car park and had our first experience of a post fast meal in Ramadan as Ayad waited impatiently with a glass of milk and some dates until the muezzin call on the radio told him the sun had officially set and he could eat again. John and Helen caught us up again that evening despite their guide taking them on a 500km detour to see the parliament building in Sirt. They were in very good humour, all things considered but already chaffing slightly as their guide appeared to have verbal diarrhoea.

The following day we started heading south away from the fertile coast towards Ghadames and the desert stopping overnight at Nalut. The hotel was perched on the edge of an escarpment with spectacular views of the qasr (They’re ksours in Tunisia, but qasrs in Libya for some reason.) and the desert beyond. The hotel terrace was a perfect spot for watching the sunset, an experience that was somewhat marred by the lack of a cocktail bar. We found that alcohol free beer wasn’t a good substitute.

Nalut - The view from the hotel

Ghadames is an oasis town on one of the main caravan routes south through the Sahara and is deservedly on the World Heritage listing. The old town is a perfectly designed for the desert heat and we were glad to escape into the maze of narrow, covered streets which are lit by small skylights and the occasional window. The squares and meeting areas are also covered, with whitewashed benches built of the same mud bricks as the rest of the town.

Ghadames Old Town

It was in Ghadames we realised we had made a significant mistake. Libya runs on cash, no cards, no ATMs and the banks even refuse dollar bills smaller than $50. We had brought travellers cheques. We did have some cash, but only enough for emergencies and to see us through borders, not enough to tour a country for two weeks. This meant we had to limit our plans somewhat. As we realised when we got round to reading the guidebook, we should have known this.

So we embarked on plan B, an old colonial piste that ran for 480km from Derj to Idri. We had some maps and a guidebook so we were confident we wouldn’t have any problems.

Unfortunately, things had changed in the 5 or so years since the guidebook was written and the marker to turn off the tarmac was no longer a blue oil drum. It turned out to be a large sign marking the well graded route to an industrial project.

Undeterred we continued and soon came across one of the concrete pyramids that marked the route. The piste was definitely going the right way and was very easy going, we just hoped the bulldozer hadn’t removed all the fun. After about 40km the piste took a definite turn west away from our expected direction of travel. As there was a pyramid beside the track we continued but fairly quickly it became clear that we had lost our way.

As we backtracked we checked the GPS waypoint and realized we were 10km further west than we should be. So we returned to the last pyramid and noticed the track we should have taken. This led along the side of a wadi and had obviously been well constructed but the last 80 years had taken its toll and we regularly had to slow to a crawl to negotiate washed out sections.

But at least we were going the right way and as we followed the route, using waypoints to check, the pyramids became more and more regular. Until at last we rose out of the wadi and started to cross the Hamadat al Hamrah, a massive brown stony plain. The main track was slightly lighter coloured, but was very corrugated so there were tyre tracks for a kilometre or so either side as people sought out the smoothest route.

    A pyramid on the Hamadat

Once again we could pick up the pace, traveling at 50 mph at times, but keeping a wary eye out for the shallow wadis that crossed our route causing the landy to bounce alarmingly if I didn’t slow enough. Frankly, it was pretty dull in spite of the wadis. There were the regular pyramids, the occasional patch of scrub and a few camels but that was it for a good 200km, and by late afternoon we decided to stop for the night.

We set up camp next to one of the pyramids as it was reassuring to be near a (small) landmark. The sunset was spectacular, probably because there was nothing else to look at, and we crawled into bed soon after dark. Ayad was in the ground tent, and for a man who seemed completely out of place he was snoring remarkably quickly.

Thankfully the scenery changed about an hour into the next day when some mountains appeared on the horizon. But they were still a long way off when our route turned towards the south and suddenly an escarpment appeared.

The track deteriorated as it dropped down in a series of switchbacks towards a military checkpoint. As we approached about 10 young conscripts piled out rubbing the sleep from their eyes to have a look at their visitors. After a round of handshakes and a quick chat with Ayad they took the relevant paperwork and waved us on our way.

    GPS waypoint - An old pick-up

The scenery was far more interesting now, with low black cliffs surrounding us as we crawled over rocky sections before ploughing into sand, trying to keep the momentum up so we didn’t get bogged down. It was slow going, but at least there was something to look at.

Civilisation crept up on us again though. First the track improved, then we came to a properly graded piste and finally we came across a village and tarmac. Unfortunately the nearest hotel was 160km away in Sebha, which made it a very long days drive.

The following day we failed once again to change any travellers cheques at the bank, so we found a fat oily man in a gold shop to change some dollars before heading for the Wadi Methkandoush.

    Wadi Methkandoush

This is the site of some prehistoric rock art dating from 10,000 years ago that is scattered along a 12km section of a broken rock wall. There are pictures of giraffes, rhinos, elephants, cattle, ostriches, cats and an 8ft long crocodile.

        Rock Art

Once again this involved a drive into the desert (150km this time), at first on a sandy plain skirting some large dunes but the last section takes you through the “Ocean of Stone”. A dramatic name for a massive plain of black rocks that surrounds the wadi.

Unfortunately we chose to listen to Ayad when he said he knew the way and pointed at a track through the rocks. This led to a maze of interweaving tracks that eventually petered out at a roughly bulldozed route towards the wadi. As we found, the bottom was very soft sand. 

After extricating ourselves we went back up onto the plain and followed the bulldozer track away from the wadi until we found another route that ran parallel to it. After a long slow crawl along this very rough track, aiming vaguely towards one of the waypoints from the guide book we found yet another bulldozed track. This one ran directly towards the campsite by the main section of rock art. It was even rougher than the track we had already done, but at least it took us straight there.

The journey was definitely worthwhile though, as the carvings were spectacular. Especially as the setting sun accentuated the shadows.

We camped in the wadi, and had the place to ourselves as the Bedouin trinket sellers retreated to a camp about 200 yards away on the plain because of the snakes. This news didn’t please Ayad who, in spite of my scoffing, insisted on sleeping in the car. I felt a great deal less smug the next morning when amongst the various rodent tracks I noticed the sinuous curves of snake tracks.

The route out of the Ocean of Stone (please feel free to use a suitably dramatic voice) was considerably easier as we reversed the route in the guidebook. So we only had to take a fairly good track for 2km or so and we were out and traveling on sand.

We then headed for Germa and the Ubari lakes, a series of stereotypical oases in the dunes. As we had set off early and probably more to the point not got lost, we arrived around lunchtime. This meant that we had plenty of time to arrange a trip into the dunes.

Yet again we were short of cash, so we planned a quick trip in our own car with a local guide. Ayad found someone fairly quickly, but Mohammed the guide insisted that he drove, as the route was quite complicated. He also insisted that we empty the car of everything that we didn’t need, and if he felt that KT wasn’t powerful enough he wouldn’t even try.

So, with some reservations I handed the keys over and we set off. The first section was the trickiest and required a considerable run up. This wasn’t helped by Mohammed’s inability to manage the gear change, so I did that while he drove and Claire hung on for dear life.

Mohammed hadn’t lied. The route was very tricky, involving sharp turns at the peak of dunes so that we could maintain height and momentum. Once we were over the first set of dunes we followed an undulating valley which Mohammed obviously knew extremely well as he hurtled over the more gentle bumps, but slowed enough to prevent us actually taking off over the sharper drops. He was clearly showing off so we calmed him down and started to relax.

The lakes were spectacular, surrounded by palm trees and dunes and so inviting that Claire had to have a swim. This turned out to be more of a float as the lakes are so salty, but it was apparently very good.

   Floating about

After this break Mohammed announced that it was easier going so he handed me the keys and pointed back down the valley. We set off and once Mohammed had established that I could drive he fell asleep. We managed to wake him as we approached a fork and he directed us up a long slope towards the top of a dune. As we reached the crest I eased off to slow us and as the dune vanished from view touched the brakes. This stopped us dead, and my efforts to get us moving again didn’t help. With a few mutters in Arabic Mohammed shooed me out of the drivers seat and got us free with surprisingly little effort. He took us over the next section until we were at the top of a long steep drop towards another couple of lakes.

    The long drop

He stopped there and got out waving me round to the drivers seat. Claire went ahead with the camera, before I took a big gulp and set off down the 300-foot slope. The car was in low range first gear controlling the speed as I sat with my feet off the pedals floating to the bottom. It was nerve wracking, but straightforward.

On the return from the lakes I drove again until I got the car stuck, Mohammed would get us out and then return to the passenger seat when we could stop again. We made it back to the camp as the sun was setting.

We were aiming to return to Tripoli to change some travellers cheques but we calculated that we had enough cash to get to the Egyptian border and pay Ayad. So again we changed our plans, stopping in Sebha to change money again and heading for Sirt on a very dull and badly maintained road. Claire called it the "Tyre Graveyard" as there were so many blown out tyres littering the side of the road.

From Sirt we were planning to get to Tobruk, so we set off early from our camp on the beach.

Unfortunately, we didn’t get very far before there was a clatter from the engine and the whole car started to shake. Fearing the worst I pulled over, opened the bonnet and had a look. The whole engine was shaking, clearly one cylinder was no longer working as it should. I was optimistic and hoped it was an injector, Ayad thought it might be a valve as he had experienced similar with his car.

While we were mulling over the problem, taking bits off to try and establish what had gone wrong various people stopped. Some offered help, some sympathy and some simply watched. One guy in particular, an Indian man named Prakash, offered the use of his company mechanic at a water project just down the road. After a bit more over-optimistic tinkering we put everything back together and drove carefully to his site.

There we were waved to the garage and explained the problem to the mechanic. He set to work and we were ushered into the site manager’s office and offered tea and coffee while we waited. After chatting a while to Antonio we made our excuses and went to see what was happening. The mechanic had established that the injectors were fine, and it probably was the valve.

Antonio and his staff were very keen to help but after being taken to the local tractor parts shop, shown a valve and told that they could machine it to fit we decided to take KT to Tripoli (after all) to a mechanic Ayad knew. So we loaded KT onto a truck and took a taxi to Tripoli.

    Poor KT

When we arrived, Ayad insisted we stay with him so we met his wife and children. After we ate we had a long chat with his wife. I think we covered pretty much every subject except religion.

We then went out to meet the mechanic, do some window shopping and finally, around midnight, go to the truck park. Unfortunately KT wasn’t there, so we tried another one without success before sitting and waiting back at the first park. Eventually, some time after the “there it is” gags had worn thin, she arrived and we could unload her and tow her to the mechanic.

After a night on the sofa bed it became obvious that Ayad was having some marital problems and when he packed his bag we were taken with him. So Claire got to spend her birthday in a hotel eating chocolate from the mini bar and watching bad movies.

    The Colonel

We got to see the Tripoli museum, which was small enough that we saw everything and interesting enough that we weren’t disappointed. The mechanic managed to source the parts locally and KT was fixed in two days. It turned out the valve was bust, and a small bit had got into the turbo but fortunately didn’t cause any damage.

   Oops !

At the border everything went well until we came to pay Ayad, who was expecting to be paid twice what we had thought. We had had a misunderstanding. Eventually I was able to placate him and as he left us he kissed us both on both cheeks. As we expected we were unable to get our deposit for our number plates back. But they’ll make good souvenirs.