Leaving Libya was pip-squeak.  Entering Egypt… absolutely horrendous.  As we had heard on many occasions the Libyan/Egyptian border is the hardest and most horrific to cross in the whole world.  No matter how much we psyched ourselves up nothing could have prepared us for a full eight plus hours of experiencing what we can only describe as an utter hell hole.   Once you have read the following I have no doubt you will feel the same way.

Banging, drilling and the odd squabble rudely awoke us from our rickety itchy linen beds all puffy eyed and shattered.  From a fairly early start building works had commenced to make good of the artillery shelled roof and exterior of the hotel, just when we had managed to be lured into a deep sleep after a restless night.  We dressed, packed and waited for the knock of our driver but it was almost 2 hours later than expected due to him having a wee bit of a lie in after a late night on the sheesha!  Once he managed to stumble around and gather himself rapidly we all sleepily made our way down to the truck.  Before hopping in we both had a quick check over the bikes and noted that everything was still in order… Good times!  Loading our boots, helmets and bags into the back of the truck and under the tarpaulin we jumped in the cabin and were ready to go again.

Back on track, we were heading to Torbruq on the desert road – a long, straight, empty desert road with no services or buildings to break the horizon.  Our driver was pretty exhausted and on the odd occasion he would “blink” for a prolonged period before individually forcing each sleepy dust crusted eyelid back open, readjusting his seating and squinting to refocus.  This process was repeated every few minutes as he slouched further and further into his seat.  It was when he started properly nodding that Sam and I made every effort to chat away loudly, nudging and including him in broken Arabic conversations to try and sustain his attention and alertness.  We even turned up and sung along to the Spice Girls cassette he had on loop in hope that would give him a burst of energy.  In the warm cosiness of the truck though it was a struggle for us all not to feel drowsy.  We really had to fight hard the temptation of a quick power nap.

A few hours on and we found ourselves leaving the desert road behind.  It was around 2pm so we figured we were making good time considering we would be stopping off for a night in Torbruq… Or so we thought.  At this point in time we were unaware of the drivers intentions for crossing the border that day.  We had a short break at a food shack where we hungrily munched our way through a greasy chicken, chips and humous, avoiding the rather flaccid looking salad presented to us.  It wasn’t great but we were ravished.  Back on the road we made it to Torbruq where the driver continued straight through.  It was only then Sam and I realised we were heading straight for the border and concerned about the time we pulled out the GPS and pointed to where we were and then the border, trying to explain it was still a good few hundred kilometres and we would arrive near nightfall.  The driver nodded and said he understood but continued either way.

A few hours on, and after passing lines and lines of Chad military all queued by the hundreds in their toyota pick ups, we arrived at the border town.  For about half an hour we drove backwards and forwards looking for insurance on a busy, dusty road full of others also doing the same whilst simultaneously loading goods in to their suspension strained vehicles.  When waiting we watched as various cars and trucks with furniture and goods piled high on top bundled precariously past.   So many of the rusted vans were brimming with families squished in like sardines the young ones clinging to the outside due to the abundance of room.

Once we were sorted for insurance our driver took us straight to the border.  The time was now 16:30 and the sun was beginning to slip out of the sky casting long shadows across the rubbish filled desert road.  We knew we were going to be there in darkness and in anticipation of the guards and politics I ensured I was well covered and aimed to remain as inconspicuous as I could be.  We arrived at the Libyan border and handed over our documents, plates and passports.  Within about half an hour all the details were dealt with and finished rather painlessly and we found ourselves happily heading to the Egyptian border control!  I remember thinking if it’s all going to be like this, it’s going to be a complete doddle!

We then drove through the final Libyan border post and suddenly the atmosphere around us changed.  Slowly we made our way around a large queue of parked vehicles where people were frantically running around like skittish ants, tying down goods, swapping items over and reloading, some shouting and barking orders from the tops of lorries to others as they eagerly buzzed around below at their will.  Scooting up over pavements, much to the protest of some people blocking the path, we passed a border post and entered a new swell of chaos.  Within seconds the truck was fully submerged into a crowd of desperation with people and guards combined in to one gigantic sea of commotion all rolling past, rocking us side ways through a tide of pushing, pulling, crying and shouting out for a response, a reaction, some hope or an answer… But all succeeding in nothing.  Every inch we crawled a face would shape itself out of the monstrous mass.  Some were darkened with anger and furrowed brows, their cheeks flushed with fury, mouths raging and fists shaking as their raw throats continually cried out vigorously in all directions, splaying those within close proximity with spittle and fear.  Others showed signs of creases formed from the constant flow of daily tears which had etched sore tributaries from their swollen eyes, their sobbing unheard or ignored as their tired and wasted bodies limply clasped desperately on to officials before being tossed back into the storm.  In darkened corners lurked some suspicious figures, eyes glinting and hunting the crowd for an opportunity.  Framed in front of a barred window, one elder caught my eye as he twitched gently but perched perfectly on the slither of the window ledge, bandaged stumps replacing where his hands once were and balanced on a gnarled, crippled foot, a living human version or a deformed city pigeon.  It looked like he had been their for months, if not years, slowly decaying.  The worst though were the ones who swept past in a ghostly fashion. Their bodies would tumble and jaunt back and forth like a dancing rag doll as they mumbled monotonously and repetitively, sometimes silently but always obliviously through the contorting tidal mass.  What was most haunting about these ones were their eyes.  They were soulless.  Completely soulless.  Despite being among a throng of hundreds, they swayed endlessly, all alone.  My heart sank trying to contemplate what they must have been part of or witnessed to have reached such a state.  Our launch into this area was like being hit by a human tsnami of confusion, anger, sadness and destruction.  It was a complete mess and shock.

It took about 20minutes to be fully washed through the crowd and churned into a small clearing the other side where a concrete guard house stood.  An official was outside, a rather rounded looking chap with a blank expression despite the hysteria merely meters away.  We were signaled to stop and after a brief discussion and some form of bribing negotiation our Libyan driver indicated that this guard would help see us through the initial stages of the border which was to commence in a building set off to our left.  The border guard took some time to greet Sameer and I with a friendly firm handshake and upon asking us the usual questions in broken English (where are we from, where have we travelled, are we married etc etc) he burst into a huge grin when I exclaimed I was ex-police, proceeded to give me a hearty handshake, a half hug and a European style kiss stating “you like me! I also police! We police friends! This is good”!  At the time I was a bit taken aback by his enthusiasm but Sameer and I figured he was just being funny and friendly and was in fact harmless.  We were kind of relieved that he was so happy and thought it may even help us with the border crossing.

So, with our border guard guide, Sameer and I were directed off towards a large official building, leaving our driver to stand over the truck, bikes and luggage as the clashing crowd bubbled nearby.  It was a large, square lined concrete structure which emanated nothing but cold and emptiness – something straight out of the gloomy working towers depicted in George Orwell’s 1984 book.  Upon entering through the beggars at the doorway and excusing ourselves between huddled groups, I was frequently subjected to double takes and the odd person sharing their unwanted intentions towards me as a white western woman, despite my efforts to remain fully covered.  The room funneled into a long, bustling corridor, a dim hive of activity, bribing and commotion not too dissimilar to the chaos rumbling outside although worryingly contained within a tight, barred enclosure.  If it all kicked off, it would be mayhem.  I am fortunate that I was born with a rather strong gut and the ability to cope with stenches without much other than a flicker of the nostrils and a side remark.  But here… it was a struggle not to gag at the lingering wretched stench which invaded your nostrils with such force it managed to leave a heavy taste  lingering at the back of your throat.  With fresh and old feces and vomit on the floor and walls along with sweaty people in various states of hygiene and health it all seemed to combine stickily, only momentarily to be masked by a cloud of thick, puce cigarette smoke billowing out from a side room.  It was claustrophobic and unpleasant to say the least.

After fighting our way through the gluey atmosphere we found ourselves being pulled off into a side room which, once the huddled groups had been fought back out from the heels of our entry and door firmly locked shut, fell surprisingly quiet.  It was a small and strange, strange room.  In stark contrast to the nude grey concrete corridors beyond the multiple lock-wearing door, they had made some bizarre attempt to decorate in a elegant and business like fashion, presumable to make it have an official and authoritative air.  With torn, rugged, leather topped tables, stained upholstered wood carved chairs, faded and wonkily framed Egyptian hieroglyphics, a large mahogany dresser and grotesque vintage lampshades, it was tired, worn and tacky.  Filling the room was seven guards casually lounging out in jeans and shirts smoking and chatting.   It was kind all very odd.  There was chaos brewing away outside and yet they were in here ignoring it all.  It felt unnatural.  We made our greetings and were offered seats where we politely sat down albeit on the edge, nervous and aware of our uneasy surroundings.  Our passports were requested and before long each official had a nosey through before the runt of the group was pulled off to one side, thrusted the documents and ushered off into an accompanying room much to his annoyance.  Sam explained in broken Arabic how his Father was Arab and Mother English, making him half Arab.  This went down well with the guards and there was a lot of exchanging of handshakes and high fives.  Our border guard then indicated I was ex-police and the same reaction ensued.  A bit more relaxed we waited quietly for our paperwork, answering general informal questions when they were asked.

It was mid being enthusiastically explained that the fella sat with his feet up on the desk could speak multiple languages (12 apparently, including English, although he was quite incapable of saying hello in any of these supposed fluent languages he spoke) when a door flourished opened and out stepped a rotund velvet crushed suited and waist coated chap.  Instantly the others jumped up and fell silent, eyes to the floor and feet shuffling… this guy obviously had some clout and I tell you what, he knew it.  In his clippity heeled shiny shoes he slowly and meaningfully approached Sam and I, regarding only Sam’s passport in hand and not once making eye contact.  After a prolonged, dramatic silent pause he tilted his head and looked down his nose at Sam before making some kind of drawn out comment in Arabic.  Smiling, Sam explained he only spoke a little Arabic “shuh why shuh why” and that he was only half Arab.  Without recognition of Sam’s comment, a further long silence ensued before he swiveled on his heels and as stiff as a plank clippity-cloppity returned to the small side room.  The runt officer attentively pulled the door to and immediately relief filled the room, cigarettes were lit up and conversations reformed.  Sam and I exchanged knowing looks.  This guy was going to be a complete doosh.

Twenty minutes passed… then another.  We were reassured “not long not long, two minutes” every so often.  Sam and I figured this was all for show and patiently accepted we were at his will.  A few times officers slipped in and out of the room, some carrying trays of empty tea glasses and returning with new brews.  It was almost an hour later and the door creeked open.  Again the screeching of chairs and shuffling of feet filled the room as everyone stood to attention for our rotund official.  Without expression he approached Sam and the following conversation followed:

Rotund Official: “So you not speak much Arabic?”
Sam: “Heh, no unfortunately not.  My Father never really taught me and my Mother is English so I spoke very little Arabic when younger.” *cracks a smile*
Rotund Official: *stoney faced* “Why you no want to learn Arabic?”
Sam: “Oh I do want to learn it but it’s difficult language to learn when older!”
Rotund Official: “You not learn Arabic means you not like Arab.”
Sam: “Noooo no no no, I am half Arab I just never had the opportunity.  I grew up in England and my Father worked away…”
Rotund Official: “You don’t like Arabs then?”
Sam: “No, I am half Arab, of course I like Arabs, my Father is…”
Rotund Official: “…But you don’t speak Arabic so you don’t like Arabs”

It went on and round in circles.  In short he was being a complete and utter nob.  Eventually, he clip clopped back into his little room with a disgruntled huff.  I tried to reassure Sam and encourage him to just ignore the guy as it was all just a willy wanging show.  Sam agreed but was naturally miffed off they were trying to wind him up.

Half an hour passed and we decided that our rotund friend was probably just sat playing Solitaire in his manky little room, the aloof twonk.  During this time there were a few rolling black outs and now with the sun set it left us in sheer darkness.  It seemed these cuts were a regular occurrence as the guards were unfazed and quite pprepared with torches and mobile lights.  After another ten minutes I decided I would go check on the truck and driver and explain we were waiting for this official to give us the nod to the next stage.  I informed my intentions to the “multiple fluent language English speaking guard” who just stared back at me bemused.  It was evident English was as alien to him as Clingon is to me.

Accompanied by our bribed border guard I forced my way out into the stench of the corridor.  Whilst squeezing past a group as politely and inoffensively as possible, another black out came over.  With no windows around we were all unexpectedly blinded by a sudden inky black dank air.  People cried out and from the darkness emerged an opportune groping hand on my arse, followed by a desperate grab for my pockets.  With the lights flickering and a sense of confusion, I was nearly pulled off centre but within moments I rebalanced by grabbing the offending arm and with a twist and a yank I returned the original gesture with a hard knee jab in a general sweaty groin area.  It was quite surreal as the whole scene happened captured in a slow motion action due to the intermittent strobe lighting, all accompanied with fearsome shouting.  When stepping back I witnessed the guard also heavily shunting the fallen felon with force and without further ado I hastily fumbled my way in the flickering light past fighting bodies, guided blindly by my hands along the icey, lumpy-bubble-gummed walls to the entrance which I burst out of in relief.

Outside, I stood to the side and took a breath.  I remember thinking how utterly shit and out of hand this could all get.  It was not good at all.

Within moments I was joined by the guard and with a reassuring back pat we made our way to the driver where I left them both to discuss our current situation in Arabic giving me five to assess the truck, happenings, my pockets and sanity.  Everything was in tact.  I was fine.  I had to be fine.

A few minutes and leveling breaths later the lighting fully returned and with the guard at my side we made with haste our way back to Sam, dodging and ducking without a moment of hesitation.  Fortunately we managed to avoid any offending hands this time round.

As soon as I sat down, Sam took one look at me and knew something had happened.  Whispering, I unfolded the recent happenings and just as I had finished, our rotund friend appeared again giving Sam no time to react other than utter fury glinting in his eye.  Fortunately for Sam’s building temper we were given a “we were lucky this time” nod and both our passports were tossed back.  Up up, we were moved on and ushered out and down the corridor to a much larger crowded room, this time all filled with heavily paper weighted desks, folders, files, phones and the odd computer screen.  The opaque fly filled windows were moving with lamp lit silhouetted bodies crying out for help, begging and pleading.  Sam kept a white knuckle crushing grip on my hand, pressing me protectively into his body as we were bumped about.  After more introductions, our bribed border guard guide took our passports and started conversing with a screen focused admin officer.  Whilst they debated Sam and I watched as another officer approach a pleading man at a broken corner of the filthy barred window.  A rather calm discussion ensued, accompanied by lots of sympathy and agreement from the officer.  He then made some form of acknowledgement, taking the man’s papers and a few bank notes with it.  It was bribery before our eyes, but at least the Officer was being nice and actually trying to help… Or so we thought.  After taking the pleading man’s papers he turned, strutted across the room and dumped the papers in a broken bursting waste paper bin whilst simultaneously pocketing the cash.

This place was atrocious.

A lot of paper work continued and then out of no where the truck driver appeared, seemingly being man handled and receiving hassle from another official.  After trying to intervene he was released and within a few seconds delay we suddenly realised that if the driver was with us, along with our border guard… the truck and our luggage (only protected by a tarpaulin) was unguarded.  Unwilling to leave our documents out of sight, yet also unwilling to leave the truck unguarded meant being split up – we were torn.  Sam looked straight into my eyes and told me to remain with the guard at all costs and not speak to anyone unless it was the officials – he would go stay with the truck.  Squeezing my hand Sam then disappeared into the crowd of chaos in the corridor.

Half hour later, I had filled in various forms and answered various questions, keeping as low profile as possible.  Some papers were finally handed over although they explained they could not give us a visa because they were “too tired” and we would have to get one at a bank.  Not a problem really and with much relief we all made our way out of the building to Sam.  Upon stumbling out of the exit, I instantly spotted Sam and he gave me the thumbs up – everything was fine.  Phew!  Relieved we moved on to the next stage… the motorbike check.

With the driver, Sam, border guard and I in the cab we were quite rammed in.  I managed to part squash up against our driver and with my legs across Sam our bribed border guard took the opportunity to hold on to my ankles… something I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.  We stopped and the driver signaled at Sam to get out and for me to stay covered with the guard.  Once alone in the cabin the border guard tried to talk to me in broken English and after some charades he pointed at me and exclaimed “You, Police!”.   I laughed and said yes and grabbing my hand he shook it whilst cheering and tried to give me a stubbly kiss on the cheek.  Feeling quite uncomfortable I laughed it off and asked where Sam was, pointing to my wedding ring and saying “husband”.  He glanced about and said “no worries, you ok, you POLICE! Yaaaaaaah!” and again took my hand, shook it and pulled me in with a firm grip, kissing me hard on the cheek but trying to pull my face further towards his lips.  I immediately pulled back harshly and edged away looking around desperately for Sam.  Ugh.  Such slime and inappropriateness.  Was anyone going to be good at this border?  He then gets out his gun and proceeded to ask who I would like to shoot, or perhaps I would I like to shoot one of the stray pack dogs?  Flinging his arm around me he tried to scoot his rounded, cheap aftershave stink of a self right up next to me, exclaiming again “You police you police!” attempting to take my hand and pull me in for a full on kiss.  Within seconds I found myself leaping out of the truck, fortunately just as Sam came back into view leaving the creepy border guard cheering and smiling in the cab.  I explained to Sam I’d sit on his lap to the next section and whispered “don’t leave me with him”.  Sam had already clocked the guard was bad news having seen him with his arm around me.  Climbing back in the truck Sam indicated I was his wife and kept me to one side.  Our driver too recognised the danger of the guard and at the next opportune moment we managed to get the driver to shake off the border guard saying we no longer needed his assistance.  It took a fair whack of Arabic conversing but he left with a smile and wave… Thank God for that, what a creep.

Now, knowing our VIN numbers were part hidden on the bike by electrics and a metal plate (not able to be moved unless the whole bike is completely dismantled) we were not looking forward to the bike checking part.  At a tiny border post we were greeted by Mr Sayad (if memory recalls correctly).  As opposed to the aloof velvet crushed twonk we met before this official came across as quite friendly and polite with an air of respected authority around him.  I was offered tea and given gifts of sealed water whilst Sam accompanied another chap to check the VIN numbers and sort the carnets.  I was also then told it would take “Five minutes, five minutes, no problem”.  Five minutes my arse.

During the following three hours they really tested our patience to the maximum, especially when heavily handling our bikes.  The chap Sam was with needed to take a rubbing of the VIN number but to do so had to cut a plastic coating off the top of it.  Using a sharp pen knife he kept scraping dangerously close to our wiring causing Sam to have to interject frequently, the guy just ignoring him and brushing him off.  Mr Sayad kept telling me “no problem” and I did all I could to help get the rubbings they needed or at least get us off the hook of needing to take the bikes apart… but nothing seemed to be satisfactory enough.  They would just totter off to the small outpost and then return exclaiming it wasn’t the full VIN number and repeat the same steps again, succeeding in only pulling off an identical rubbing as before and repeating the above.  Three hours of this.  It was madness and hopeless.  Eventually I went and spoke to Mr Sayad and said there was no way it was going to happen and annoyed he stormed off outside and confronted the whole team now gathered around the truck.

Having been told to wait inside by Mr Sayad I sat quietly, closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths in, trying to refresh my mind.  It was the third inhale I took when I was suddenly overwhelmed by a cheap aftershave whiff.  Opening my eyes I all but leapt out of my skin as the border guard who was trying to get cosy with me before was stood merely inches away.  Leaping to my feet he sheepishly said hello and asked if I was okay.  I thanked him and took a step sideways trying to recover my personal space and indicated that I was fine and my husband was outside sorting everything.  Just as I went to point at Sam out the door and make my quick escape there was a sudden black out.  Shit.  Shit shit shit shit shit.  I heard the guard laughing and cheerily calling out “You police you police! It’s good! Yaaaaah!” and then felt him trying to grab me as he blocked the doorway.  Hands held out I backed clumsily into the room knocking the coffee table over spilling tea everywhere.  The lights blinkered and then hummed back on.  The guard laughed and as he bent down to pick up the toppled table left me an escape route past him out the door.

Relieved at leaving him behind flailing at his lost opportunity, I stumbled straight into Mr Sayad who was in a full flowing argument with Sam. The guy who was trying to originally take the rubbings was now wielding a gigantic hammer and set of metal embossing stamps.   Apparently he went to hammer in new numbers to Sam’s plastic petrol tank at which point Sam lost the plot.  Blockading the bikes we spent a good half hour debating why it was a stupid idea to stamp a plastic tank and that it wasn’t going to happen.  Mr Sayad finally told us in a grump we would suffer in Aswan when heading to Wadi Halfa if we did not have the stamps but realising we weren’t going to back down he gave in, stamping our carnets and telling us to move on.

Back and forward we then drove visiting small official rooms a few hundred yards off each other.  Eventually our driver decided to leave the truck by the Mr Sayad’s small office post and continue the palaver on foot with Sam.  During this time, I stayed with the truck and attempted to re-cover the bikes with the tarpaulin.  I remember trying to regurgitate in my mind how to do sensible rope knots which my Father taught me as a child.   Due to  tiredness and an overloaded mind, I achieved merely in yanking the rope hard and making countless double knots to secure it.  It did the job either way!  For a while I patrolled the truck as infrequent cars pulled up to have their vin number rubbed before disappearing into the dark night.  Eventually though no one was around and with the border guard house empty, the night coldness setting in hard and wild dogs starting to linger too close for comfort I decided to take to the warmth and safety of the cabin.

About twenty minutes later, I spotted a figure emerging from another recent black out.  It was the bribed creepy touchy feely border guard and he was heading straight for me.  Taking a look about I couldn’t see Sam or the driver anywhere… nor anyone else at that fact so I edged over to the door and subtly locked it whilst keeping my head down.  I was hoping dearly he would just walk past.  Alas.  The border guard approached the truck and called out to me asking if I was okay.  I gave the thumbs up and said “No problem, okay” pointed to the lock and gave the thumbs up again.  The border guard then persisted with me and continually said “You okay? You okay? I make you okay?”, and tried the door handle unsuccessfully.

By this point I was exhausted, frustrated and scared witless.  I decided to stop saying I was okay and averted my eyes, looking down at my phone.  It was when he started tapping the window with his gun I felt myself freeze and the realisation set in that I had no where to run to.  The only border house close to me was where the VIN rubbing stamp man was and to be honest, I hadn’t seen him in ages.  Even if he was about, I wondered whether they would stop anything from happening.

His tone of voice changed from a friendly helpful tone to a lower aggressive one where he rumbled “I make you okay lady, I come in. You police like I, boosie, boosie (kiss kiss), you like, you must let me in”.  The door rattled harder at my silent response and the metal of his gun tinnily scratched the window as he grunted and tugged harder.  Glancing sideways he took the opportunity to catch my peripheral vision where he held the gun straight at me and pointed to his crotch, “You will let me in, now.  Boosie.”.  I froze.  If I did not open the door, he may shoot.  If I did open the door, God knows what will happen.  What was I to do?  I was petrified.  Suddenly though two bright lights stunned me leaving me looking like a rabbit in headlights and I heard a huge thunder.  Out of the darkness emerged a coach and as it hissed to a stop people starting bundling out irratically.  The guard lowered his gun to a point it was hidden, watching with care the movement of the people.  It was evident they were not going to go anywhere fast and as he was in full view of everyone it left him in a compromising position.  I stared straight ahead and hoped he would back away.  A moment or two later he thankfully stepped away, returning the gun to his holster.  He then slinked off like a vulture to the coach where I am sure there was plenty of money and bribing to partake in, another opportunity for him to pursue.  I watched carefully and with a backward glare he turned and disappeared into the new commotion.

For the next hour there was quite a crowd of people coming through and the truck was constantly surrounded.  I think I was in shock at the time, I hadn’t moved an inch and my eyes were beginning to water at the constant staring and straining of my eyes into the darkness.  Thankfully, the border guard did not return.  With a loud thump, I leapt out of my skin and then saw Sam at the driver door.  It wasn’t the border guard.  Thank God. I then fell apart and threw myself into Sam’s arms explaining in croaky tears what had happened.

Filling Sam in he felt horrendous for leaving me in what we had originally thought was a safe place.  He comforted me with a hug and promised he would never leave me again… I was so relieved.  Sam then updates me on what happened his side and he too went through a bit of an ordeal being heavily questioned by what sounded like a most disgusting man.  The Official who grilled him apparently kept saying how much he hated Libyans and how they were scum… locked in a room with this creep Sam felt the situation he was in was really not good and very dangerous, particular with them using the whole unable-to-speak-Arabic-despite-being-half-Arab combined with having a Libyan driver with us.  Fortunately, Sam managed to dodge much of the questions he was proposed and was finally released. I could feel myself getting less upset and more angry at the whole situation.

At that point Sam then updated me we had no money left and we were currently being held up for some ridiculous paperwork reason which we couldn’t make head or tail of.  Confused as we had brought plenty of cash Sam explained we had to pay a ridiculous amount for the number plates ($200 each).  I think for me this was the final straw and I saw red.  Furious, absolutely furious beyond belief, I flew out of the truck with the number plates in hand and made my way to the room they were issued.  Calling out “Who issued these?  I want to know NOW who issued these?”, the officials saw me coming and took a step aside.  Storming into a small border post, I slammed the number plates down on the desk and demanded our money back.  I told them their way of working was disgusting and I wasn’t having any of it and I would not leave until they had given my money back.  They looked confused.  I waited and then asked again.  After much debating amidst themselves they called out to the other guards over who were giving the driver a hard time and they backed off.  They apologised to me and said I would get my money back at the other border and that they had issued a receipt to Sam, there was nothing we could do, that was the cost.  I told them it was all ridiculous and they made me sick.  Scouring at them I pushed my way past the officials completely livid, headscarf falling off and with flushed red cheeks and made my way back a few hundred yards to the truck like an aggravated whirlwind.  With Sam still struggling to hold back some guards who were insisting again the bike was to be stamped I just burst.

Me: *pointing ferociously and rapidly approaching the truck* “RIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH. WE HAVE SAID NO.  It’s simple.  NO.  Now BACK the HELL up and stamp the paperwork NOW.”

The guards froze, fell silent and didn’t budge.

Me:  “You’re all HORRENDOUS criminals. Absolutely DISGUSTING.  HOW DARE you treat us like this, how utterly DARE YOU.  We have been here for 8 HOURS.  Eight.  You understand?!? EIGHT HOURS. For absolutely NO POINT WHATSOEVER other than the fact you are dogs and being BLOODY STUPID.  EIGHT… HOURS.” *holds up 8 fingers and points to the watch* “You have treated us like utter shit, we’ve watched you steal, cause problems, threaten us, you’re all very very BAD people and crazy – MAGNOUT (Arabic for crazy).  You are all Magnout!” *gestures at head and then points to the stunned crowd of guards*

Still motionless I had now reached the truck and stepped between them.

Me: “I’VE SAID IT ONCE, and I don’t plan on saying it again, GET AWAY FROM OUR CAR.  HALLAS (arabic for Stop). HALLAS. ENOUGH. LA. Lah Lah LAH. HALLAS.”

The paperwork was handed back, supplied rapidly with the required stamp.  Another officer objected to this and taking my arm gestured towards the paperwork.

Me:  “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME…. DON’T YOU DARE. The same goes for MY BIKE, OUR TRUCK AND MY HUSBAND.  We are leaving.  Get the hell away from our vehicle. KELB.  YOU all – KELB. (Arabic for dog)”

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Shocked the guard stood back, hands up.  Bundling in to the cabin, followed swiftly by Sam, I pulled in the driver and told him to go.  It seemed to have worked.  We may not have got our money back but they completely backed off and we were let through.   Sam realised I was at the point of break and comforted me the best he could.

Sadly, that was not all.  We needed to get something stamped again to confirm the number plates so at the next border point I followed Sam into another building and we waited another half an hour for our papers to be processed.  During this time others came in and with a bribe on their paperwork they were passed through instantaneously.  They had issues with spelling our names in Arabic for our license for Egypt apparently.  I refused to do any more bribing, they had had enough of our money by that point.  It was just a sickening and stupid place.

Finally though, we made it out.  A few more border guards attempted to stop and grill us but by this point I was either spitting fury or begging to continue to the guards saying we had already been there 8 hours plus.  Whether it was a good tactic or not it had us waved through no worries.

Out on the road the driver, Sam and I spent the rest of the trip conjuring up every word possible we could think of to describe the people we had just had to endure.  Donkey seemed to be a favourite of the driver and I, whereas Sam had a few stronger words to impart!  We drove for a further hour before reaching a hotel stop off point and although the room was manky with itchy sheets and a water, feces flooded toilet we were completely emotionally and physically exhausted so decided to stay.

And that… was our experience of the Egyptian border on the Libyan side.  It was horrific, frightening, disgusting on all levels and probably the worst experience I have ever had in my whole entire life.

I am so glad we made it through okay in the end, although I’m genuinely not sure how we did it.  It’s something I will never ever do again in my life and certainly something I would recommend for everyone to avoid at all costs.

I have no idea whether anything will be done about this border.  It’s frought with illegal activity, bribing and incompetency.  I have never been so offended or scared and can only hope that our Embassy can summon the powers to change this experience to a better one for future travellers.  Unfortunately it’s one of those places which is heavily influenced by gangs and who knows who so I doubt very much if anything will be done.

I will say though this is by no means any reflection on the Egyptian community as a whole.  We have spent a good month in Egypt now and so far we have been greeted with phenomenal hospitality, kindness and friendly experiences.  It is just a very small corrupt minority we had the misfortune to meet.

Onwards and upwards!

At this very point, Sam cuts out and I splurge a variety of colourful expletives.  Straining to see out of my desert filthy smeared goggles which cause the bustling city lights to dance and streak tauntingly in my vision, I watch helplessly as the big metal fume spewing coach obliviously pulls closer, now leaving merely inches available for me to escape from between him and the churning cement lorry to my other side.  My horn, pathetic, is lost amidst dozens of other hoots and honks, having no affect. Not even the roar of my baffle free exhaust helped. Like a dog with fleas, my left foot continued to frantically paddle the air, desperately trying to catch my clutch… But it just wasn’t there.

“PLEEEAASE FOR ****s SAKE GET. INTO. GEaayaaaaaaaAAARGH”

It caught. Dumping the clutch I rocketed forward, thudding hard over a boulder-deep pot hole and breaking through the gap now only a midgys nackers away from grinding me in to a messy kebab like pulp.  Chest pumping I gasp a relief and dive between a disco-disco crammed minibus and a pick up, Sam now in view and straining to look round to find me. He suddenly comes back on the headset:

“What The Hell Clare?!?!!”
“I couldn’t move, my clutch, something’s wrong its not ..oh **** change up you STUPID Lump of metal…”

Failing me again, I am caught in neutral and left a sitting duck amidst the frenzied Alexandria night traffic, the doomful coach revving impatiently on my heals.  I was tired… Exhausted in fact. The last day had emotionally wiped me having been threatened at gun point which, by only pure luck, i managed to get out of.  Worse still, it was due to be that time of month for me and much alike the mogwai gizmo I require regular feeding else a womanly wrath brews inside me… And I hadn’t been fed since noon the day prior. I was beginning to lose my sense of humour and turn a slightly incredible-hulk-green-colour.

“The clutch… It’s wrong, it’s broken, something’s not right I.cant.gET.IT.IN.TO.GEEAAARgh…”

Famous last words as I then lurched into first and proceed to all but pinball through the skittery traffic.  With no where to stop, we continue to pulsate our way through the metal mangles on wheels.  After beating off a few trucks, a moment of estrogen overload ensues and I well up.

“I can’t do this, I’m so tired Sam, I’m so tired”

Fortunately we manage to spot a break in the continuos concrete dividers and swoop into a car park of some refinery. Tugging off my helmet and taking a much needed breath in (albeit a smoke filled one from the puffing silhouetted factory) I struggle off the bike and fall to my knees to take a closer look at the clutch.  Flapping about, it was still intact but the spring load had snapped causing it to neatly tuck away under my chain. The little bugger. Nothing a bit of electric tape couldn’t fix for the moment though.  Whilst Sam foraged around in our luggage for our repair kit I take a moment and attempt to regather myself. Sam was also exhausted and much like me increasingly narky and desperate to stop. Our intentions had been to reach Alexandria in daylight but after a slightly delayed start (truck driver had a lie in after an horrific night at the border) and then the offloading of bikes and attempting to find a cash point to pay back some additional border fees to the driver… Night had caught up with us.

I had thought Sfax, Tunisia, had been insane riding but it just wasn’t a mark on Alexandria.  With careless, insanely daring and erratic driving it is just a hub of chaos. Combined with torrential potholes and lake like puddles, riding Alexandria at night is quite simply a death trap, particularly if you can’t get in gear!

Finished refitting the shifter, we stand up with a strain, only to be faced with a bear sized gnarling mastiff.  Without realising it we had been surrounded by the refinery security team and their pet pooch, didnt half give us a shock though especially after being chased by a pack of dogs in town earlier.  We enquired about some directions and kindly they indicated where to go and off we went again for our last leg of impending doom!

Other than a minor side swipe which caused me to shake my fist (truly British) and also riding around a lorry which was having its tyre changed in the middle of a dual carriageway by a randomly set up small business on the island we finally and thankfully arrived at our destination. Annoyingly we discover later this we had all but passed this road earlier! CURSE to road blocks, one way systems and GPS reroutes!

Having called a family friend Sam quickly purchases from a nearby vendor a kitkat chunky to alleviate my burbling womanly hunger-pang-wrath!  Both nomming away at our choccie bars we are relieved to see our friend pull up.  With big hugs, hunger reduced and smiles all round we both throw ourselves over our bikes for a short stint following Mahmoud round through some less manic back streets lined with beautiful iconic buildings.  Despite still being amidst mad traffic, there’s something quite profoundly different when you are riding following a street savvy driver with a definite idea of location and destination!  Within minutes,  we arrive at a garage and unload.  Only a couple of hundred yards later we are tumbling into a gorgeously quaint mechanical wooden lift which takes us up to Mahmoud’s old student apartment he is kindly letting us stay in for the duration of our time in Alex.  Inviting us in we both cannot believe our fortune.  Decadent and beautifully furnished it’s a million miles from our bombed out dusty hotel the nights previous!  Not only that but Mahmoud produces fresh oranges and tea… It’s like a little bit of heaven!  Seeing how utterly shattered and filthy we are Mahmoud leaves us to settle in, letting us know of a little cafe just down the road which we can pick up a meal at if we hurry.

We change into some standard clothes and limp our way out.  With our no sense of direction and our sleepiness we stroll straight past the cafe and find ourselves in the hub of a mobile phone market!  It’s insane and a little bit overwhelming for our lethargic aching and hungry selves!  Across the road we spot a pizza place… Definitely not something we would normally vouch for but knowing we could grab something and take it back to the flat and collapse… It was an opportunity we were not going to pass up!

A cheesy vegetarian pizza later, we both disintergrate in the shower to our formal non smelly blackened selves and then stumble clumsily into a clean sheeted bed.   Snuggling, we instantly are lulled into a deep and safe sleep and until gone 9am we are both out, with not even the morning prayers which echo out over the entire city at 5am awakening us.

It’s been a hard introduction to Egypt and indeed Alexandria!  Considering we have not managed to see a dicky bird of anything we cannot really comment on what it is like other than utterly 110% mental at night when riding and a not so pleasant border!  We are determined not to let these experiences tarnish our view of Egypt though and in the next few days we hope to get out and see the real Alexandria and have a proper report for you all that isn’t so horrifying!

We both cannot thank enough Mahmoud for his kindness and help, his generosity has just been overwhelming and we are so grateful!  The apartment is just amazing.  Hot, powerful shower… A kitchen… Internet (although intermittent so please hang in there with us and updates)… In the hub of Alexandria… With a garage… It’s just perfect! Big thank you Mahmoud, we cannot wait to spend a few days with you! :D

Clare: Metal Mule UTE Panniers
2 x Hard Luggage Panniers:

1 x 31 Litre Powder Coated
1 x 38 Litre Powder Coated
1 x Stainless Steel Pannier Frame
1 x Rear Rack

Pros:
Secure (can remain on the bike)
Lockable
Water tight (not let in a drop yet!)
Hard core and strong (takes a beating and does not warp!)
Slim Line design
Easy to load
Pannier Frame reinforces the rear subframe (weak spot for the KTM 690 Enduro R 2012)

Cons:
Heavier than soft luggage
Can be bulky to carry

Clare Metal Mule

On my bike we have mounted the famously superb Metal Mule UTE Panniers – a quality hard luggage system.  We had originally thought to take soft luggage only but after reviewing the delicate and expensive kit we are having to take and the areas we were going to be travelling through we decided that we ideally needed to have something that could take a bit of a beating and remain locked, secure and waterproof.  Sam has previously had hard luggage panniers (the zegas) which were, as he put it, made of chocolate!  After an off his zegas were completely warped out of shape and then for the rest of the trip were leaking.  So with this in mind we were unsure as to what to really look for until we discovered Metal Mules.  They are just far far superior in quality, feel and strength.

The panniers themselves are cleverly designed by Metal Mule. Taking into consideration the slightly extra girth and weightiness of the exhaust side of the bike, one pannier holds up to 31litres and the other 38litres to help establish an even balance and width to your bike.  If you prefer you can have two of the same sizes but we opted for this system.

They are beautifully fitted onto a stainless steel frame specifically designed for the KTM 690 Enduro R 2012. Metal Mule also provide framing for various other motorbikes varying from BMW to Yamaha – check it out on their webby! The actual workmanship of both the panniers and framing is top quality.  The panniers are powder coated to a stunning finish which to date remains in perfect condition despite some heavy usage.  The actual welding and composition is smooth and sleek.  The width when mounted on the bike is just a smidgen wider than the handlebars making it very slim and easy to judge when weaving through traffic or tight spots!  Having been through Alexandria, Egypt in rush hour at night with them fully loaded on my KTM 690 Enduro R 2012 I can vouch 110% that they are easy to ride with and certainly not bulky at all!

To mount them to the bike, the panniers have sturdy metal holders on one side which then hook over the framing and are secured by two bolts from the interior.  It literally takes a few seconds to remove them which is pretty mega!  The inside lids are rimmed by a form of rubber so when they are closed it provides a perfectly water tight seal.  We have ridden through weeks of torrential rains and have thrown the bikes heavily onto the panniers and yet still they have remained water tight!  It’s phenomenal and just shines with absolutely awesome quality.  Strength wise, as said above they have taken a bit of a beating and remain completely solid.  Check out this youtube clip to see how hardcore they are: YouTube Tractor Test Metal Mule

On top there is a twist shut and key lock – again very simple and smooth to do.  On many occasions we have left the panniers secured on the bikes overnight without concern for their security.

The panniers we have opted for is the standard set.  You are able to purchase additional features (top boxes, handles etc) but for us these were not a necessity as they are rarely carried and we tend to keep them remained locked on the bike!  What’s kind of awesome about these panniers are if you do decide to unmount them they make awesome seats to dine on around a camp stove!

We carry all our electronics, including laptop, spares and camera equipment in them and for us the peace of mind that they remain secure and safe from being nabbed or taking a bash (I do have a habit of hugging trees with the bike when offroading) it’s just magnificent.  Being a girl and slightly less muscular than the boys I was initially nervous they would be weighty but they’re actually fairly easy to carry if you are required to and I find they only a positive impact on the handling of the bikes!

A great investment. Overall, the Metal Mule Utes are a fantastic and most awesome quality hard luggage system and we are so glad we have them for our Chasing Horizons round the world motorcycle trip.  Take a peek at the http://www.metalmule.com for more information.  If you need to find out more details or have any specific requirements, drop Metal Mule an email or give them a call, they are stupendous there!

Sam: Enduristan Monsoon Saddle Bags
Soft Luggage Panniers

30-60 Litre adjustable volume per bag
Total Weight: 3.0kg

Pros:
Water Proof (not let in a drop yet!)
3 Protective Layerings
No Rear Rack required
Adjustable
Light weight
Easy to remove and load

Cons:
Potential vulnerability to slash and stash thieving (frequent occurrence in some of the third world countries we are travelling through)
Not lockable (must remove and take with you when visiting insecure areas)

Sam Enduristan

On Sam’s bike we have the superbly constructed Enduristan Monsoon Saddle Bag soft luggage system.  Having never travelled with soft luggage panniers before other than roll tops we were unsure how it would work with our style of travelling but so far the Monsoon Saddle bags have proved to be absolutely perfect!   As the carrier of our camping equipment and food it is important for our panniers to remain watertight and easily accessible/transportable.  With the roll top design the Enduristan panniers have worked a treat, snugly fitting varying amount of bits and bobs we use daily and remaining 100% waterproof despite enduring weeks of horrendous weather.

What is particularly awesome about the Enduristan Monsoon Saddle bags is their construction and usability.  They are neatly shaped by a tough but light weight impact plastic running from the front to the back of the panniers.  Not only does this provide additional protection from stones flicking up but it also gives the panniers a decent yet flexible shape to help you organise your gear inside as opposed to a floppy like bag.  As well as this you also have separators on the inside and rather cleverly they have a bright red lining making it pip squeak to spot your bits and bobs you’ve packed no matter the light conditions!

They have so far endured a couple months of constant usage which has included some heavy riding, severe sand and rain storms and the odd brush with the chaotic traffic in and around Egypt.  Due to their cordura material and awesome design they have remained unscathed, waterproof and shapely.

The unique design requires no rear rack although we have ours seated over our Adventure Spec Rack for the KTM 690 which pulls the panniers a bit further back and enables us to then rokstrap additional luggage on top.  If you are to use no frames and have a rather toasty exhaust we would recommended purchasing a heat shield just to keep it lifted off and prevent damage!  Fortunately for us our new KTM Basel Quest 690 bike kit has moved the exhaust into a position where this is not required!

They are held on with adjustable velcro and ROKstraps making them reasonably quick and easy to clip on and take off.  With rubberised handles they are very comfortable to carry around too!

Overall they are a superb design and are proving to be rock solid!  At such an affordable price they exceed in quality and well considered construction, particularly when in comparison to leading competition such as the Giant Loop.  It is very evident they have been designed by a well seasoned motorcycle travel enthusiast who is incredibly helpful and friendly in every way if you have any enquiries.

As an addition, both Sam and I have the Enduristan Tornado Roll top bags and the Sandstorm 2S tank bags which again are just supremely fantastic quality and are surviving a good deal of use and abuse!  A top quality brand!  Check out their website for a full list of their products: http://www.enduristan.com

We will upload some videos and pictures whilst we are going along!  If you have any questions in the meantime though don’t hesitate to pop us a message at clare@chasinghorizons.co.uk! If we do delay in responding it’s only because we’re in the middle of no where with no wifi so hang in there with us or alternatively contact Enduristan and Metal Mule direct – they’ve been really superb with helping and advising us! :D

It’s been a long time coming but at least you now have reading material for a while whilst enjoying a few cups of tea and some dunking goodness!

Check out the new blogs below:

NORTH AFRICA:

Tunisia: Sfax – Insane Riding and Tramps in Trees
Tunisia: Sfax – Family Fun and Chickens the size of Children
Tunisia: Tozeur – Road Tripping
Tunisia: Tozeur – Star Wars and Sand People
Tunisia: Tozeur – Mos Espa Star Wars Set
Tunisia: Tozeur – Salt Pans, Star Wars, Sand Storms and Sleeplessness
Tunisia / Libya: Border Crossing and Cous Cous Kindness
Libya: Road Blocks, Bullet Riddled Cars and Explosions
Libya: Tripoli – Medina
Libya: Tripoli – Leptis Magna and Villa Selene
Libya: Tripoli to Egypt Crossing – Tanks, Kids with Guns and the Spice Girls

More to come as well as updates to galleries and other sections of the site :)

Keep Smiling people and catch you soon!

Again, we cannot reinforce our thanks to family and friends old and new who have helped us through this leg of the journey! The care, concern and hospitality of everyone has been phenomenal! Thank you so much!

Libya was fantastic, we both cannot wait to return when it’s had a bit more time to settle and head to the Southern Deserts. It’s truly a stunning place and will be an up and coming area to visit in the future we have no doubt! GO LIBYA!

Crossing Libya was a complete doddle! After all the Home Office worries and scares from the BBC we were cacking ourselves a bit and took all precautions necessary, but genuinely it was absolutely fine! We had a lovely Libyan Truck Driver with us although he did not speak a word of English so we communicated with charades and stickmen the whole way! We drove through many a war torn town and city which are all cluttered with burnt out cars, tanks, artillery bombed homes and roads. What was most surreal though was during these few days we had on loop, 24/7, without choice, no other than the Spice Girls greatest hits cassette tape playing! I have to admit, driving up to a border surrounded with teenage military guards wielding AK47′s who are sat in pick ups decked out with anti aircraft guns with “I tell you what I want what I really really want – Well tell me what you want what you really really want – I wanna – I wanna – I wanna – I wanna – I really really really wanna zigga zig ahhh” booming out with the driver singing in broken English is just the weirdest and funniest thing I have ever experienced! On the third day though, Sam was asking for the border guards to put him out of his misery! At one point we thought we had got lucky as the tape was changed and after minor delay suddenly we were confronted with: AGGaaaaaa DO DO DO push pineapples shake the tree…. Ahahahahaha! This was followed by the Birdie Song and a whole track of other party gems from our childhood school discos! I said to Sam that the music combined with the guns and shocking war damaged sites around us that it almost felt like we were in some warped Quentin Tarantino movie!

So so funny!

The Border though was another story.  Leaving Libya was pip-squeak.  Entering Egypt… absolutely horrendous.  As we had heard on many occasions the Libyan/Egyptian border is the hardest and most horrific to cross in the whole world.  No matter how much we psyched ourselves up for it nothing could have prepared us for a full 7 hours of experiencing what we did.  We will post a full update on the crossing in the near future!

In short the whole trip across minus the border was fab!  We couldn’t have done it without our driver, Mohammed and the help of our family though, they’ve been superb.  Thank you all again for your support, you’re all mega :)

We were fortunate to have a truly superb tour guide with us, Jamal, a local who’s passion is the history of Libya.  With astounding English he took his time to guide us around the sites answering all of our questions without hesitation and taking great pleasure at our exasperation in the sites.  The day itself was stunning too with eerie ghost-buster like clouds looming over us and the ruins.  Fortunately we only experienced a couple of down pours but nothing a shake of a leg and burst of sunshine didn’t dry off.

I had so many moments of “wow”ness that it’s hard to pick any favourite areas but I think the two sections which had the most impact was the New Forum and Amphitheater.  The New Forum is just of a incomprehensible size.  It’s gigantic.  Jamal explained to us that what was still standing is only half the height of the original build… which when you took time to sit and take it all in left you stood gawping.  The amphitheater too was pretty much fully intact and blooming ENORMOUS!  You could run around the tunnels and see the exotic animal traps, all whilst you could hear the roar of the ocean just beyond.

It was simply phenomenal.  Not only that but we were there for hours… absolutely hours… and in that time we only saw two very small families from a far.  The rest of the time we had the place entirely to ourselves.  Just a phenomenal experience.

Villa Selene too was just undeniably breath taking.  A small Roman Villa on it’s own private cove over looking the Mediterranean… it was a perfect harmonious place to be.  Built with such detail and attention the whole Villa is top to toe in delicate and awe-inspiring mosaics.  It’s nice to see too that the Romans had a sense of human with one mosaic depicting a story of two Pygmies trying to capture an alligator followed by another where the alligator had nommed one Pygmy and his mate was trying to pull his friend out from it’s jaws!  Funny expressions!

When we stopped for lunch we met some wonderful locals and a lovely Australian lady who has been on the road with her husband now for years in an effort to raise monies for epilepsy and cancer for children.  How utter awesome is that? :)

All in all Libya has so far proven to be amazing.  Absolutely amazing.  We are loving every minute of it here, the places and people are just tremendous!  We both cannot wait to return when the times have settled a bit so we can visit the desert and oasis in the South!

Tomorrow we unfortunately have to leave which saddens us a little and also makes us a little nervous as we are heading away from the safety of Tripoli and into the zones which are a little bit dangerous.  Thankfully our friend Muhammad has arranged for our bikes to be put on a Libyan truck and covered for the trip meaning we will be much more inconspicuous and hopefully not draw so much attention. He has been an absolute star in helping us through this section and inspiring us with confidence – we cannot thank him enough!  Alongside our parents and friends who have remained in constant contact, thank you all again so so much :)  We will post again in the near future!

We did, however, stumble upon a square which we think was surrounded by government buildings. As soon as we walked in from a small alley I spotted a car with anti aircraft artillery on the back… then a few steps later clocked two teenagers with AK47s. By this time we were centre of the square and had no choice but to continue to what we hoped was a main street, passing by two elderly fellas also propping up guns. To say we cacked ourselves a little would be an understatement, but again they greeted us and offered no harm. It’s been explained to us that being able to differentiate between militia and military is pretty much impossible as many are just plain clothed so we were pretty darn uncomfortable. Not only that, but kids are still throwing fire crackers around so the bangs as we just exited the square did enough to skip a heart beat or two!

We did pass by a local mosque but unfortunately no one was there to let us in. All in all you can see how amazingly wonderful and incredible this place is. It is definitely a place I would recommend people to visit and see as it has so much to offer but perhaps after this period of uncertainty has passed.

Tomorrow, Roman Ruins! Very excited. Will try and post more when we can – very slow connection speeds here so hang on with us :)

It is early January 2013 and as of the day before the Home Office were frantically pulling all British Nationals out of Benghazi, Libya due to imminent threat of hostage takings, murders and violence towards Westerners from the militia and Al-qaeda.  With the ongoing hostage situation in bordering Algeria, the war torn country Libya is in a state of absolute unrest and thus deemed high risk to terrorist activity… and there we were riding through the hub of it on our loud, brash, Western motorbikes.

We had crossed the border earlier that morning and on the instruction of many locals, friends and border guards we were hammering it through without stopping to our friend in Tripoli where we had been reassured we would be safe.  Sam had been holding up great, although the nerves in his voice and eagerness to ride at speed to get through fast was evident.  The road conditions were pretty diabolical and the car driving utterly insane.  With truck sized pot holes and plenty of traffic we were playing a constant game of chicken and dodgems.  Normally, given any other ordinary and uneventful day, I would be nervous riding at such a pace but for one reason or another I was void of such emotions and just focused on concentrating.  I think this was perhaps due my history with the Police.  It would seem in life threatening, high intense or dangerous situations I am able remain uncannily calm and level headed, sometimes in almost a scarily desensitised and detached way.  My energy and concentration channels into resolving the situation as quickly and safely as possible whilst remaining vigilant and in control despite any form of frenzy going on around me.

For example, earlier that day we suddenly found ourselves wedged inbetween cars in a huge chunk of traffic.  As we edged our way around the corner into view came a blockade of people… non military… all shouting rather angrily wielding AK47’s.  Some of them were just kids and to be fair angry kids with guns wasn’t an ideal Friday afternoon ride we wanted to be in, especially with the current political situation.  Although the adreniline was pumping I cannot recall feeling scared.  All I was doing was searching for an escape route as far away from the blockade as possible for us both to safely scoot round without being noticed… not easy when you’re on two KTM 690 Enduro R 2012’s with their baffles removed!  Nevertheless we managed to barge past various cars and although it was indicated for me to stop by a frowning gun waving bearded man, I kept rolling pretending I had not seen, keeping a truck in between as a form of cover and excuse.  Round the corner we bore witness to a freshly shot up car with very disgruntled looking occupants.  Again, no fear, no concern, just focus.  It’s odd… I don’t know what my mind does but it just works like that

However.  My Sam being shot at… that changed everything.  All emotions possible came flooding in at once and I all but flat lined on that back street.  It took me nearly a moment too long to reset my brain and recover all senses and in the nick of time I managed to wrench my bike back on the road and away from crumbing into the back of a car.  Sam had continued riding… I realised I was shouting in my helmet asking him to confirm he was okay and with nothing but swearing as I response I suddenly caught in my peripheral vision a laughing child with a fistful of fire crackers.  It then dawned on me what had happened.

The little *******!!

My heart pounded back into a steady motion and I explained to the now-needing-new-pants-Sam he had not been shot at and that it was in fact a small little shit lobbing a fire cracker.  We just had to be rocking through Libya the day after Mohammed, the Prophets birthday, a major celebration in Libya so fire works and crackers were in abundance!

A little bit of hysterical laughter later we continued on with the rest of the journey which was pretty uneventful in comparison.  As the towns built up heading into Tripoli the driving became more mental and required space hopper sized testicles to ride through it.  Some roads provided much amusement, particular one butchers street.  For the entire length of the road the tiny crammed pavement shops displayed freshly decapitated and dripping goats, cows and camel heads.  It was like a Predators trophy road, with many of the animals with their spinal cords still intact and blood running black into the drains.  Half way down the road rocking gently in time to the drumming traffic there was a camels head in the middle, tongue lulled out, eyes open in shock (not surprising really!)  Quite a sight to see!

We finally make it into Tripoli where we both sigh a relief after a long long day.  Tripoli is a stark contrast to what we were expecting on the sea front with its tall impressive buildings, shops and streets which aren’t too dissimilar to what you would find in London.  It’s all very modern and awash with a general feeling of liveliness and normality.  Whilst waiting for our family friend to come find us we were generously given a display of dough-nutting and wheelies by a fellow motorcyclist who stopped all traffic to give us the pleasure!

Mohammed turns up and after smiles and hugs we are guided back to his restaurant – Al Athar – a stunning and most beautiful set up opposite Marcus Aurelius Archway in central Tripoli.  Despite being absolutely filthily and smelly we are welcomed into the restaurant by all and then are proceeded to be refreshed with a gorgeous mint and lemon cocktail.  Food wise we are treated to meat soup, dips, mixed salad and a traditional Libyan Clay Pot camel meat meal with cous cous.   For afters we cannot refuse a caramel creme desert too!  An absolutely king size and quality meal we cannot recommend enough to all who visit Tripoli!  It is a must do!!

During our meal we find ourselves smiling at each other.  What a bizarre day and quite a surreal moment!  Here we are, eating the most divine meal ever, in a simply breath taking setting over looking a roman ruin with the rolling mediterraen sea in the distance at complete peace… we felt a million miles away from a worn torn country.

After we are taken to Al Khan, a hotel in the Old City.  When we enter we are greeted by open aired court yards with a dipping pool and a very relaxed and absolutely stunning arabic environment.  Completed with archways and tastefully decorated with stunning arabic relics, we are guided to our room which is just a complete sight of luxury.

Shattered and simple stuffed, we pass on our thanks and shortly after a hot shower collapse in a state of bliss.  This Libya crossing was turning out to be pretty amazing :)

“ALLLLLAAAaaAaAAAHhhHHH…. ALLLlllllAaaAAAAAaaaAAAAhhhAHhhh”

We both bolted upright, limbs flailing and completely flummoxed at this attack on our ears.  In our utter exhaustion the night prior we hadn’t quite realised where exactly we had set up camp…. it was smack bang in front of the prayer megaphone.  No wonder we had so many   local guys smirking at us when we were setting up camp.  With all brain activity temporarily disengaged due to the booming voice pumping at our ear drums, we grabbed our stove and like the true Brits that we are made ourselves a cuppa to help settle our frazzled nerves.   In silence cradling our tea we blearily looked out beyond our potato sacked eye bagged vision at each other in the breaking dawn light and couldn’t help but crank a smile at the situation.  It was almost ludicrous!  We were about to ride into the currently most news worthy war thronged country in the world which was at threat to imminent attacks on Westerners.  Were we mad?!  At that moment we had no idea, not with the wailing going on anyway.

By the time the calling had stopped we had finished our tea.  With caffeine pulsating in our blood, we found hidden energy and hastily shuffled our stuff together and abandoned the cat litter campsite behind us as the sun began to rise.

Silence….

Where normally the scenery and world around us would spark conversations and happy banter, we rode in silence which was only broken to confirm if the other was okay.  The approach to the border itself is a bit of a blur.  I think I was so tired, all my energy was focussed on riding safely and staying energised.  I do remember wondering why some fella was running at me with a wodge of money in one of the small villages… I had thought it was a very generous gesture in my sleepiness… it hadn’t occurred to me it was black market exchange money for Libya!

The border itself is in the middle of no where.  We had seen various cars and trucks coming the other way when approaching, some of which were flashing their lights at us for reasons we still don’t know but either way added to our already tetchy nerves.  We had spoken about the border before and agreed that Sam would do all the negotiations and so after crossing one set of passport checking officials, I dismounted and stood to the side, hair and face covered and awaited nervously as Sam sorted our Carnets.

A short time later Sam returned a bit pale faced saying how we have been told to open up and keep going to Tripoli, stopping for no one.  Apparently the border guard had suggested people who have stopped had not come out the other end of it too well (or at all).  Another border guard came over and spoke with us, Khalil.  He was full of smiles and welcomes, extremely lovely!  Born in Tunis he tells us of his family and desire to return to work as a Police Officer as opposed to being so far away as a Border Guard.  He also confirmed to keep on the move once past the border but tells us not to worry too much.  Khalil then took Sam to the border entrance to help him do some black market money dealing (in all our stress and hastiness we had forgotten that it was Friday – their day of rest – meaning no banks or ATM’s were open).  Absolutely mega chap, so kind and lovely!

Libyan Border…

Next was the Libyan Border.  We approached still nervous but were welcomed with smiles and intrigue.  After striking up a conversation with a couple of guards, Mohammed and Osma, they decided to stay with us through the rest of the process.  There was a fair bit of too-ing and fro-ing and due to prayers we had to hang fire for a while but all in all everything was going super smooth!  The guards offered us tea, a lush court yard to chill out in, chairs and generally cheery conversation… this was completely against everything we expected!  At one point, we were told we needed to pay for some number plates which we didn’t have the monies for.  Initially Mohammed invited us to stay with him over night (his Brother does motocross so he was all for bikers!) until the banks were open and we could pay for the plates but then they decided to save us the time and just give us the plates without payment!  Really not something to expect at all!

After the paperwork was completed we asked where the nearest petrol station was and within moments both Mohammed and Osma were getting us to follow them in their car.  A kilometer up the road we stop off at a HUGE complex (it’s unbelievable it was a petrol station… more like a palace) where Mohammed and Osma insisted on helping us fill up our bikes.  Slightly flabberghasted at the kindness of the guards and the fact we were only required to pay less than £1 to fill up nearly 60 litres worth of fuel, we go to ride off only to be waved down by Mohammed and Osma.  Thinking maybe we had paid the incorrect amount we stop and watch them both leap out of their car and go foraging in their back seats telling us to wait wait wait.  After a moment or two they both jump back and reveal two packs of food (hot cous cous, beef and peppers), a bag of oranges and fanta and ask us to eat with them!

Seriously, how cool?!!  Having realised we had not eaten for the whole day we sat in the sun and devoured the delicious yummy food within minutes, smiling and joking and slightly bewildered at the kindness and generosity of the local Libyan Guards.  This was the best border crossing EVER!

Photographs later, full to the brim and smiling we are then waved off cheerily on our way!

Sam and I just cannot express how amazing they were, it was a delightful crossing!  Our nerves had been calmed and expectations taken by surprise… all we had to do now was get to Tripoli safely…. :)

Having to fight and grapple against the winds we were relieved when we spotted an abandoned hut on the road  and took pleasure in stopping in its shelter for a snack of baguette and soft cheese with halva to finish.  We contemplated taking the bikes for a spin on the dried lake surface but after a mini trek on foot the surrounding land seemed to part collapsed and then sink rapidly under our weighty Sidi Crossfire boots!  The sensation was comparable to stomping down on a couple of foot of prawn crackers!  This caused me much amusement and jaunting along I spent ages having a huge crispy stomping session :D With our bikes fully loaded we realised the chances of them getting stuck would probably be quite high and considering we had another 350km to cover due to time pressures of our Libya visas it wouldn’t be the wisest of choices!

After miles more of clinging onto the road we finally left the salt pans behind us and entered into the small village of Qibili.  It is through these areas we began to understand how much of an impact they must of had on George Lucas and his depiction of set designs, characters and communities in Star Wars.  With curved stone buildings, constant bartering, stalls, the colossal deserts rolling out beyond with dusty mountains in the distance and even sign posts for a place named “Jeddi”, when you saw a bustling crowd of Berber jackets wondering towards you we kind of expected one of them to whip out a light saber!  Or at least for a distant silhouette of a line of Banthas being ridden over a dune along to an angry outcry from the sand people!  Disappointingly this did not happen!

For the next few hundred kilometers the villages we rode through were barren due to an  impending sand storm on the horizons.  We ended up hitting it straight on.  Despite being better prepared than our last encounter with these storms, it took it out of us after riding for a good few hours against gusts of winds.

Eventually we entered into Gabes and after chasing through the streets after excited local kiddies they directed us to what we think was a sports ground where we set up camp for the night.  We had read up about this campsite a few nights before and were quite looking forward to its “haven of beauty” and a “night under palm trees and stars” but in reality it was a playground for hundreds of mangy cats and mud with a group of disconcerting men lingering around.  We thus retreated to the safety of our tent and sleeping bags and snuggled down.

Despite being completely exhausted from our exhilarating and yet muscular aching days ride Sam and I laid there quietly, eyes wide open, listening to the uncomfortably close activities of the cats fighting or mating, caterwauling in to the night and pondered the next days ride…. crossing the Libyan border.

We couldn’t sleep.  We had done everything we could possibly do to prepare for Libya and remain safe when entering the war-torn country.   Although we were in contact with a fellow travel who was currently comfortably making his way across it did little to calm our conscious.  The current hostage situation in Algeria would be less than 200km away from the border – that was less than what we had travelled earlier that day.  Having heard that militants a few days prior had taken a dislike for a local Tunisian killing him and his partner and taking his vehicle… we were feeling a lot of pressure.

It was about two hours later of staring into the dark, questioning each other whether we were doing the right thing and whether should we just get me up the duff so we had a good excuse to return home when Sam’s phone suddenly began to ring.  After fumbling around in the dark he answered it only to hear panic:  “Don’t go to Libya…. *static*… all *static static* bad… *static* hostage…. *static*…. Benghazi major outbreaks and *static*… News flash just *static* don’t *static* Libya… *static* people evacuated…”.

It was Sam’s family.  After a few more phonecalls and repositioning of ourselves to gain better reception we learned of how within the past hour all hell had broken loose in Benghazi.  British and Westerners had been evacuated due to the imminent threat of Al-Qaeda attacks and hostage situations.  It was all over the news.  Needless to say, Sam and I cacked ourselves.  After a few prolonged silences, some discussions and confusion, more awful reception phonecalls, we managed to contact Sam’s family friend in Tripoli who we asked for advice.  We were reassured by Mohammed that we would be absolutely fine up to Tripoli and to come but to drive straight from the border, do not pass go, do not collect £200… we would only get unwanted attention if we stopped.  From there on in he said he had devised a plan… to load our bikes onto a Libyan truck and travel us across to Egypt.  With this in mind we made the decision to continue to Tripoli.  If all was to go to pot we could always fly out to Egypt from there or turn back.

Minds spinning and feeling slightly frenzied we did all we could to return to the night and grab some zee’s in preparation for a break of dawn start… it was a looong looong night indeed!