Crossing the border

Leaving Alexandria

I'm now in an internet cafe in Bugibba in Malta. I met up with my brother and co. a few days ago and we're going over to the sister island of Gozo in a few days to stay in an old farmhouse. My week in Libya between finishing my course in Alexandria and flying out from Tripoli to Malta was stunning and I'll tell that story in my next blog. For now, I want to write about the journey from Alexandria to the Libyan border.



A week ago on Thursday - I can't believe it was such a short time away - I completed my TEFL certificate after 4 intensive weeks. I had booked a car for 2.00pm to drive me the 6 hours along the desert road that runs along the Mediterranean coast to the Libyan border. It is quite complicated getting into Libya and I had to be invited by a Libyan travel company in order to get my visa but I had completed the arab translation of my passport and done all the necessary things before I left Australia.



My car arrived on time but I was still racing to get my apartment packed up. My laundry had been delayed the day before so I had to walk through the sandy streets in the hottest part of the day hoping that my clothes had turned up. In addition, the telebanker down the road wasn't working so I had to walk a further half hour down the main street to the bank where there was a huge queue at the one telebanker that was working. I needed money to pay the driver when we got to the Libyan/Egyptian border.



In the end, we were only half a hour late getting started. Most of the others who had completed the course with me that morning went off in a minibus for a leisurely farewell lunch and I waved them off with a few doubts in my mind about my decision to travel through to Libya immediately after the course ended. But now I was committed.



So I was saying goodbye to the apartment campus guard and the cleaner when Shaun came strolling down the road with a plastic bag of groceries. Shaun is one of two Texans on the course - a lean young man with a classic laconic Texan style. He hadn't gone to lunch because like me he was leaving later in the afternoon to fly to Greece. Most of the others were hanging around for a few more days and going on a Cairo tour the following day.



Getting out of Alexandria was the usual chaotic, stop/go battle until we were heading West on the desert road. For the first hour, we drove past massive resort developments, most of them unfinished but with huge elaborate entry gates. The rows upon rows of stylish apartment blocks appeared to be designed mainly for Egyptian holiday-makers.



As the resorts petered out, we began to catch glimpses of the sea in strips of calm turqoise and deep blue. We drove for another two hours with flat stony desert to the left and pink/red sand dunes to the right. Occasional square farmhouses dotted the landscape with the dove roosts I have become familiar with on the Alexandria/Cairo desert road.



At Marsa Matruh - 'Half-way' announced the driver - we did a U-turn on the highway so that we could take a left fork in the road. Then more desert country for another three hours. Somewhere off to the left towards the Libyan border is Siwa, an oasis village that people in Egypt had mentioned as a good place to visit and I also heard more about it when I got to Libya. My dive brochure mentioned the 'Jesus Lacks' and 'putrified forest'. Nathan, anther colleague on the course who was from Washington, DC, was trying to find a way to get there during the few days he was staying on in Alexandria prior to returning to his teaching job in America. I hope he got there, and if I return to Egypt, Siwa will be on my itinerary.



We, however, drove straight through with occasional stops to refuel and use the toilets. Most were pretty evil-smelling squat toilets, but at one place where women were praying in a tiled area on the way in, the toilets were fine once I worked out the queuing system which had fewer rules than Alexandria roads!



I'm running out of time on my cafe access so will post this and finish the story tomorrow.

At the border

At about 8.00pm Egyptian time, we climbed the range of hills just before the Libyan border. The driver had clearly never driven such hairpin bends before (Egypt is predominantly a flat country) and kept trying to take photos on his mobile phone as we overtook on frightening curves. Since the sun was sinking, we were heading west and there were several large lorries also trying to negotiate the steep hill, this worried me a lot!

We made it to the top, but before we came to the first checkpoint, the driver said I should get out the money to pay him since he wouldn't be able to come any further with me. I had already sorted out the agreed money for the company and some for the driver so that was the easy part. What concerned me was that I was suddenly going to find myself totally alone, without any Arabic, knowing nothing about the procedures and with a large suitcase, a backpack and a laptop to negotiate. I had given the driver a large tip so he was very helpful and arranged a lift for me with one of the guards down to the next checkpoint. There I gathered, from observing what other people were doing and from the gesturing, that I had to go into a large, echoing hall with people queueing at glass-fronted booths manned by the white uniforms of Egyptian militia. Someone thrust a pink card into my hand and told me to fill it out and go through one of the gates where a few Muslim women were gathered. The pink was gender specific!

When I got to the booth with form completed, a fat stern-looking man in uniform indicated that I needed to get a stamp and pointed to three more men in uniform at the other end of the hall. So I dutifully trundled my case, backpack and laptop across the echoing hall and had a green stamp affixed to my pink card at a cost of two Egyptian pounds. Back to the booth where my passport was taken off me and passed into a back office with a great pile of other assorted passports.

The fat man indicated a suitable place for me to stand and wait away from the milling crowd of waiting men and again I dutifully took up the proferred advice. After about ten minutes of anxious waiting, the fat guard muttered 'Australian - OK' and pointed me through. I trundled my trolley through the waiting men hoping to see a man from my travel company holding up a sign with my name on it. There was no-one. I stood on the steps trying to avoid panicking and think calmly about what I could do in a strange country with no language skills, no transport and no Libyan money. After a while, a man who didn't look like a thug or a slave trader asked me in English if I was waiting for someone. I said I was expecting someone from the travel company to meet me and curiously he said 'Don't worry.' Foolishly I blurted out 'Is this Libya?' and he looked surprised and said 'No, no,' and pointed down the road to another checkpoint some distance away.

There was nothing for it but to start trundling my case etc down the road. There had been phone calls from the fat guard after I had given him the name of the travel company who were supposed to me meeting me with a Libyan visa. The call must have been to the next checkpoint because I was waved on without too much fuss. But again, the dilemma of where to go next and still no sign of someone comfortingly waving my name at me. So once again I dithered, fighting off the panic attack and muttering as I looked anxiously up the road to what looked like yet another checkpoint.

At that point, the man who had spoken to me in English, pulled up in a car and offered me a lift. 'But I don't know you,' I said pathetically, thinking he was offering me a lift to somewhere in Libya.

'I'm only taking you to the next checkpoint where your tour guide will be.' What could I do? I trustingly got in. The car drove down the potholed road and was directed to drive down a pit full of water, presumably to disinfect the wheels. Just before he drove in, I was directed to get out of the car and go and stand at the side of the road next to a man in a grey robe. Once again, I dutifully trundled my case around the potholes and puddles of disinfectant and stood by a large man in a flowing robe who shouted something to two other men that I could glimpse through a window. They appeared to be praying. At that point the fogging machine went by.

At regular points in the evening in Alexandria, a truck would drive down the road belching out evil-smelling smoke to kill the mosquitoes. Evidently they did the same on the Libyan border. But in my fragile state, the scene was like a war zone - night, heavy smoke fogging out the lights, puddles of oily water in the potholed streets. At least now the uniforms had changed to the blue-grey of what I presumed was the Libyan militia.

After another five minutes of anxious waiting, the two praying men came out and introduced themselves as my tour guide and my driver. I felt overwhelmingly grateful and relieved to see them, but there were more anxious moment as they took my passport and wandered off. After a while, they returned with a smart mini bus and again I was flooded with relief only to have my anxiety levels soar again as we got stopped by more guards and the tour guide went off to negotiate them picking all sorts of official looking documents from his briefcase.

This time we were directed to a mini bus waiting area and I spent the next half hour anxiously watching several Bedouin men in their distinctively tied red and white head gear buying soft drinks and take-away food from a booth that looked very similar to the checkpoints.

Eventually we made it through and drove the two hours to Tobruk to a basic hotel where I was to spend the next two nights. I hadn't wanted to spend two nights in Tobruk but the next day was Friday, the Muslim holy day, and they couldn't find a driver to take me on to Selena. I'll write about Tobruk in my next post. I have so many photos but will be unable to put any up for a while.