By car from Prague to Libya and back

We wanted to drive across Africa from West to East. But since the situation was pretty dicey in several countries there, we decided to at least do Libya properly. Back then it was dead calm there....

The original plan was, as the map shows in yellow, to drive around all of North Africa from west to east, which meant about 3-4 months, a bunch of lunatics and at least two jeeps (I'm deliberately writing it with a small j, because they could just as well be Landcruisers, Patrols, Pajeros or Landrovers). Unfortunately, Algeria is a totally impenetrable country, so the backup route was Paris-Dakar. But there the visas for Western Sahara and Senegal were uncertain. So at the last minute the plans got cut down to a mere month and Tunisia with Libya. But getting into Libya is a pretty tough nut too, so in the end that was almost enough. We did cross the route of last year's Paris-Dakar after all...

At last the invitation came from Libya by fax from Esam El Hadji of the local travel agency Iram travel &Tourism co. (If you want to go to Libya, don't be afraid to mail them for an invitation at iram@mail.link.net.mt, they're very helpful). I faxed the invitation to Prague so Káča could take care of the visas. Unfortunately it didn't dawn on me that my passport had to be there too, so at 22:30, when Káča told me over the phone, I jumped into the Patrol and hammered to Prague and back. At 00:30 back again, right as rain.

We've got Libyan visas for CZK 20,000 (for four..), because we needed them express.

It wasn't until 14:30 that I got the licence plate (ULK-35-17 sum 8-8) for the Patrol. Pretty risky considering we've already bought the tickets for the Trapani – Tunis ferry …… CZK 22,000 gives us some sort of chance that we'll make it to Trapani by 9:00 on Monday.

So the last preparations before departure (pack food for a month, borrow and fit the coffin, fix a flat tyre and a busted rim, drive over for the Tunisian visas, get a new stove etc.).
WE'RE OFF! Line-up: Me, Nissan Patrol (1988, 3.3 TD, power steering, everything almost after an overhaul, turbo out of a Renault 25, tyres nothing to write home about), Káča, whose relationship with me isn't clear to me to this day, Markéta Mazurová known as Walrus and Ilja (not Muromets, but Markéta's lad from the club, 17 years old, today I'm seeing him for the first time!). Aren't I a madman, setting off by car to Libya with this squad? Kuzma couldn't come because of school and Andrej because of “business matters”. What am I supposed to do?! So I'm going like this, God's will be done.
Starting odometer reading in UL 188 877. At the Kraut border they went through us straight away, found 20 l of diesel I'd denied and of course slapped duty on it (23 DM for 25 l).
When I'd had driving up to my eyeballs, I let Káča drive and Markéta navigate. When I woke up (around 3:00 in the morning) we were 200 km east of the road we were supposed to be on!! And on top of that we'd paid 21 DM for a stupid tunnel! I took some side road heading west (towards Libya!!!) until I was completely wrecked. I pulled into a forest and around 4:30 in the morning we bedded down under the stars.

All day we're hammering south through Italy. First on the side roads, but the rate of progress was pitiful, so we jumped on the motorway.
In the evening I let Káča drive again and she was supposed to just keep going south on the motorway. I woke up in the centre of Naples!!! Furiously I raced back to the motorway, the Neapolitans were probably amazed that someone can drive even more like a pig than they do. A bit south of Rome we paid 71 DM for the motorway.
Oh yeah, and we also forked out 1900 ITL for driving into Naples!
At 4:30 we pulled into a peach orchard to sleep.
__A little cultural insert: Kačenka drives like a champ. Those two minor slip-ups in the direction of travel were caused by…who knows. The first time a kind gentleman (whom Walrus and I had to drag out of a visit to a brothel) advised us to head for Villach. And so we drove and Honzík slept blissfully until we got almost to Villach. Honzík woke up and surprisingly he wasn't the least bit pleased. Well, he wasn't about Naples either. He behaved worse than when his bile plays up. And all I did was take one wrong turn! The rotter didn't mention at all that I hadn't crashed even once (not even a little bit!). A bit much! And if he thumps me for this cultural insert, then he's a right old bore! Note: everything written in italics are Káča's notes written into my diary.__

Again we're hammering south towards Regio di Calaga, diesel running low, no lira at all and looking for an open exchange office on a Saturday in this southern wilderness is like looking for a camel in Bangladesh. I turned off to some petrol station where they wanted to change marks at about 13, so we told them where to shove it.
The girls at least wheedled directions to a bank out of them, which is supposedly in the next village off the motorway. ( I was nicely surprised that the girls are willing to pitch in anytime in finding out anything from the locals, which is a pleasant change from last year! Well, I guess I've got better at picking them J ).
On the way to that definitely closed bank (if it even existed) we ran out of diesel L . Ilja and I set off with a jerrycan to a little petrol station we'd passed a moment before. It was about 250 m, which is a stroke of luck. Without lira he might not have given us any either, so first we filled up and only then told the poor old man that we only had marks. He settled for a 1:1 rate, which was better than at the bank. The diesel lasted to the next petrol station (only just…) There we talked them into a full tank for $50 and Kačenka nearly bought a little Fiat, which is her dream car.
For lunch, for a change, meatloaf again. There was about 2 kg of it, we've been eating it for the third day now alternating with sausages, both the colour of a faded army shirt. Can't wait for it to run out. The fridge works perfectly, when it's 42°C in the car it's a mere 29°C in the fridge, so the butter has taken the shape of the radiator fins it's lying next to.
We probably never made it to Reggio de Calaga, because and since we came across a ferry heading for Sicily in some village before it. We hopped on it for 31,000 lira (the girls managed to change 70 DM, a miracle on Earth on Saturday 19:40!) 20 min. later on Sicosh, as we affectionately christened it.
Along the way we're merrily texting Andrej, who's watching our progress closely and is amazed at our speed. Well, we've got no other choice, the ferry to Tunis doesn't wait.
On Sicosh I'd had driving and the heat up to my eyeballs, so I let Kačka drive. I sat up front and within an hour went grey by 100 years!!
We were driving on a road above a cliff and under a rock face along the coast (something like Route No.1 in California), which twisted and went up hill and down dale through villages on the coast. Tons of Italian lunatics were driving and parking there and Kačenka drove with the calm of a sixty-year-old bus driver in the middle of the Mexican savanna. She had no idea how close to the parked cars she was squeezing!!
After the usual palaver with finding a sleeping spot we ended up, as usual, in an orchard.

In the morning we set off pretty early, because at night it bucketed down! Walrus and Ilja came running to our tent begging for the keys since they'd been sleeping under the stars. Káča and I had the tent pitched originally, I guess, against fennec foxes, then against the puritans (Walrus and Ilja) and finally against the rain.
The morning was muggy - scorching, we had the usual choco-cornflakes for breakfast (yum yum) and set off for Palermo. We wanted to be there in time, but we came across a beautiful stony beach with a shower, where we brutally dawdled and it was pretty chill (apart from those sausages L !!). We all gave each other a report on the state of our stools, which is becoming a disgusting accompanying habit of this trip.
We got to Palermo around 18:00 and had a look at the centre in stages (the girls and then Ilja and me). I didn't want to leave the car unattended right here…
The centre of Palermo is pretty similar to Naples, one big market on the seafront, tons of cars and old dirty buildings with narrow lanes. In the evening Kačka drove the rest of the way to Trapani and five horny Italians in a Punto showed us the dock for our ferry. The thing is: I stuck silver sun-shade foil on the back part of the Patrol and you can't see inside, so whenever the girls sit up front, it looks like they're off on a trip on their own and the Italians start hitting on them straight away J . It's a laugh watching them through that one-way foil.
We slept in the car in the car park, I still didn't feel like it, so I went for a solo night walk. It was 1:30 in the morning and shops and pubs open everywhere - Italian night life....

We got up at 5:30, even though the ferry wasn't leaving until 9:00. In the end it turned out to be lucky. We joined the queue for the maw, but soon a sailor sent us off somewhere. Not exactly where you're thinking, but somewhere Italian, supposedly because of customs or something. It was about 2 km, we turned round twice before we found it. There was a queue of about 60 Tunisian smuggler cars, of which the least loaded one exceeded the payload by only 5 times. E.g. a Kadett estate, on the roof a bundle exactly the size of the car itself. Everyone's shocks bottomed out on the ground, people sat in the cars sandwich-style! Mostly they smuggled washing machines, bikes, carpets etc. I'd never have believed that a Renault 5 could carry on its roof a washing machine, a fridge, 3 mountain bikes, 2 kids' bikes, a door from a Citroen AX stuck on the rear door, inside the car a bundle of rags for a medium-sized hospital, 2 people and up front a bundle + the driver, who couldn't change gear for all the stuff!
They gave us the queue number for the ferry ahead of all the smugglers and said that was it. From the maw they sent us back again, in the crowd of Arabs we still had to wait for a stamp in the passport. Unfortunately in the narrow queue for the ferry I left the ignition on, so several Arabs then obligingly push-started us.
On the ferry it was pretty boring, as always. It took 8 hours, we left with a 2.5 hour delay, up top of course sunstroke and wind, down below screaming Arab brats, fairly comfy armchairs for sleeping and a few cops with pistols guarding a couple of terrorists, smoking with them in friendly conversation and flicking the butts onto the lino. The further south, the bigger pigs.
We gloriously arrived on the Tunisian coast around 20:30 CE time, 19:30 local. We went through a 5-stage check (what's that compared to the 8 stages into Russia!), drove along the local seafront boulevard and had dinner on the beach. Smoked chicken legs = a welcome change after the meatloaf and sausages, which were deposited into the rubbish box and travelled with us for another 3 days.
Then came hell with finding a place to sleep. Somewhere behind some palace we finally found a sandy beach full of rubbish. We parked by a wall, figuring we'd sleep in the car. We took out the rear seats and piled all our stuff in a mess in the back. A fakir certainly wouldn't have turned his nose up at a bed made of the necks of water bottles and crates.
By morning we'd all sweated out 2 l of blood, suffocated 3 times, rearranged all our joints and vertebrae, someone stole the inner part of one tent, some food, a few rags (out of the open!! coffin) and the gas bottle with the burner that had been left outside. Simply a great first night in Africa. Everyone had been telling us beforehand that in Africa nobody steals. It's probably true, but not on the Tunisian coast, which is just an outpost of European-American seaside commerce, including all the original phenomena (thieves, prostitution etc.). I hope the African interior will be more interesting, this really isn't what I was looking for...
E.g. in Sudan you can leave your backpack in the middle of town and go off to the mountains for two days without anyone touching the backpacks. Because there they still chop off your right hand for the slightest theft...

In the morning we said goodbye not only to the stolen stuff, but also to the hard-won order in our things that we'd achieved over (that one slipped, because Kačka took off furiously at the crossroads. She thinks she's a road hog now, so a crash is bound to come sooner or later. I hope we survive it :-)). Note: That was just a diary remark about the scribble…

So anyway, we did the tidying up in the middle of some town on the Sicoška, because there was a road closure for 20 min. It took 2 hrs and cost 1 pack of cigs. (Everything out, gawking locals (cigs) and then everything back in, including the spaghetti cooked for dinner, and off we went!)).
We set off for the city of Tunis and hunting for a Nissan dealer (we need a spare V-belt) took us about 3 hrs and some 5 solid Stadtrundfahrts. We didn't find Nissan L , but we nearly lost Káča when she went off for a pee in the most central of all centres.
So we headed south, towards Libya. For 2 hrs we played rich-slob tourists on a gorgeous beach straight off a billboard. The water was (and is) super warm, even I wallowed in it to hallelujah! Blue jellyfish and an itchy-bum (for the girls itchy-fanny) spoiled the impression a bit (+ heaps of rubbish on the way to the beach).

Next stop Sousse.

A beautiful medieval (?) little town surrounded by walls. We parked right behind the walls and set off to have a look around. We were instantly sucked into an alley full of traders selling everything imaginable (gold, silver, wicker junk, wood carvings, rags, etc.).
The traders pulled us by the hands, yelled \"one minute, only one minute\" and tried every language going. Most of them got as far as Czech or Polish. Ilja and I fought a bloody battle over a carved olive-wood chess set and from the original 50 dinars or so we shouted it down to 12! I don't know what I'll do with that chess set, but it was really good fun. Then I also let myself be talked into a Nirvana for 2 dinars (54 CZK :-))).
In Sousse we were originally looking for the Ribat (something between a monastery and barracks) and some temple. The Ribat cost 2.1 TD (DS, so only the girls went in and the temple was closed (only until 14:30). Even so the little town was pretty interesting, no modern stuff anywhere, just single-storey stone houses. And of course pushy little traders everywhere, with everything, including the Vietnamese shit-assortment.
On the way back one more \"bandit\" foisted a piece of Turkish almond honey on us, where the almonds were only on top and inside were peanuts :-((
Ilja and I got back to the car earlier and we were surrounded by gorgeous local kids who messed about with us for a while and climbed into the car.
Looking for a place to sleep we drove about 5 km through a deserted orchard, stole a dried-up melon and found a beach. Despite the crew's protests I drove right onto the sand, because it looked firm and dry. I already know that feeling when the car sinks in up to its belly! It's like slamming on the brakes... Front wheels in black sticky mud (the sand was only a dry crust on the surface). First we tried to push the Patrol out, but some 2700 kg lying on its belly in mud can't possibly be pushed out by 2 young ladies (the cargo) + Ilja, with me at the wheel. Of course night fell, the mud around the car got nicely churned up and we had no shovel.
We found some planks and tried to dig a way out. After 2 hrs of effort, mud up to our thighs and shoulders, sandals torn to bits, the Patrol hadn't moved an inch.
For another hour we jacked it up, which in mud as deep as a medium-deep well is real fun.
At midnight we gave up, 1/2 of us slept in the car (because of the filth, exceptionally not touching each other), the rest in the tent (not only because of the filth, as usual not touching each other).

In the morning a retarded Tunisian of about 30 turned up, then his disgustingly filthy mother in a headscarf and a deaf-mute old ploughman with a donkey. They were desperate to help us, smelling money.
The deaf-mute helped us best, with shrieks he showed us the direction where we'd find a tractor (he acted it out). Káča and Ilja went for the tractor, Markéta and I had breakfast and then I jacked up the whole front end. My sandals were kaput, so I squelched around in that mud in white socks (I've still got them stashed away) – yuck.
In an unbelievably short time the tractor came roaring up and pulling us out didn't even take a minute. We handed out five packs of cigs and 10 TD (300 CZK), packed up our worldly goods, headed out through the orchard to the road and, to make up for it, we found a gorgeous beach with waves, a shower and sunshades. For about 3 hours we got rid of the mud and the bad mood there, talked to one rather affectionate Tunisian and enjoyed a rich-slob holiday. As I later found out, he wasn't being so affectionate because of the girls, like the Italians, but because of me and Ilja. It's apparently quite normal here for the blokes to be more matey with each other…
From the beach, where everyone (except me, that is) got sunburnt, we drove straight to the Amphitheatre. The entrance was 4.2 TD per person, but in the end it was worth it. Ilja and I climbed barefoot right up to the highest wall, then crawled through the underground, watched the preparations for a concert for a while and then moved on.
On the way from the Amphitheatre we decided to splash out and bought a huge melon. It cost a whole single buck, 1 TD, that's about 30 CZK! It was excellent.
Looking for a place to sleep we first came across a bunch of Tunisians boozing over cards on a plain by the sea, then on yesterday's mud and finally on two adorable French girls with backpacks. At first they were scared of us, but when they realised we weren't horny Arabs, they jumped into our car and directed us, using their French guidebook, to some well-known local beach. There we also picked up a beach cop (7 people, 3 nations, backpacks for 6 for a month! and the Patrol drove like it was empty. (For now L )). We got to a camp where several hundred Tunisians move for the summer and live in tents by the sea. We set up camp there and ate – Chinese soup, the girls French rice with olives. Luckily they started talking in English, which they'd refused to do at first. I got on with them really well chatting, but that apparently bugged the rest of the crew (mainly Káča, who, as Markéta told me later, was fuming nicely (jealous? ). In the end Káča went to sleep, then Ilja (who'd built a shelter from the flysheet that was left of Káča's tent after the first night in Tunisia) and finally Mrož too (after the melon). I stayed behind in friendly conversation with Elena and Irene. They were great fun, a bit nuts, which is nice. We went off to look for some local folklore and so we sat down in a little group around a propane-butane lamp and a mandolin-guitar. Given the amazing openness and friendliness of the Tunisians + the fact that all parties involved spoke French (except me, that is), it was pretty easy. We chatted with them, sang, drank tea and left them at about half past two in the morning. We had another laugh by the tent and then went to sleep. Kačka was still awake and didn't even look that angry, which does her credit. – Lucky you.

In the morning I was woken __(mně + mě – like tebe – accusative! – note from the dumb teacher)__ by insane heat and light. The sea was dirty, no toilets anywhere (try having a pee in the middle of a sandy plain full of tents and people…) stench, shouting and rubbish. Tunisian folklore, basically. The radio had stayed on overnight (probably me), so the battery was kaput again. Push-starting 2.7 t on sand is pretty ridiculous. Luckily a tractor came by collecting rubbish and they willingly towed us. On the 1st attempt our rope snapped, on the second theirs got us turning over in reverse. Luckily the Patrol fires up excellently even without the glow plugs.
I swapped addresses with the French girls (I intend to make use of them when I go to Paris…) and off we went again. We went back to that famous Tunisian beach where we'd picked up the cop yesterday and what was waiting for us? Filth, scabies and pox, rubbish, but we had a swim anyway. In the dust and sand we had a horrible breakfast of muesli with powdered milk (the good cornflakes have run out) and told the old geezer who wanted parking money where to shove it.
In terrible heat (how surprising in Africa) we drove through desert and villages. It's pretty dry here now, trees only along the road, and along the road they sell all sorts. In one village everyone sells fruit (melons, cactus-apricots, grapes), in the next slaughterhouses (a row of blue little buildings and a skinned sheep on a hook in front of each one), and before the Libyan border money changers were waving wads of cash again.
In the bigger towns it was quite lively, cars everywhere, donkey carts, gangs of blokes sitting on the steps in front of the houses, smoking and boozing, cheerfully shouting at us and laughing.
For lunch we stopped under a tree by the road and had excellent pasta spirals with poultry goulash.
According to the Tunisian guidebook we shouldn't miss the little town of Mahatma ?, where you can see the original dwellings of the desert people, carved into the rock. Judging by the loads of buses coming the other way, we reckoned we were on the right track. The road signs here aren't exactly ideal, but at least they're not only in Arabic.
We turned off inland and you could tell. Civilisation gradually thinned out and the road got worse. Asphalt so far, we didn't know what was coming.
Suddenly on the left a herd of camels, buses and some buildings. Although Kačka isn't a specialist in fast manoeuvres with the car, this time she managed to turn off in time -:) .
Surprisingly they only wanted 5 TD a head for a camel ride. We only had 15 TD, one I saved for a melon and surprisingly it was enough. Riding a camel is quite an interesting experience, but those 10 minutes there and 10 minutes back were enough. We had a look at the dwelling in the rock where 3 adults and about 8 children lived and paid our last remaining dinar. So much for the melon.
We also stopped in the town of Matmata?, dry, low little houses, building work everywhere (generally in Tunisia). Building probably takes a long time, they don't need to get it under a roof before winter…
We set off towards the coast – Medenine. A while after Matmata? the asphalt road turned into gravel and potholes. We found out we didn't have much diesel and, above all, the turbo started making awful grinding noises. It'll probably seize any minute. Desert, gravel road at about 20 km/h, civilisation nowhere in sight and a map of the whole of North Africa. Even so the mood wasn't bad, we kept winding each other up. Ilja and I ganged up against the girls and the insults were already flying back and forth. Luckily still in a fairly humorous tone J .
We drove through absolutely stunning countryside, hills, a road carved into the rock, locals raising sheep who see a car once a year came sprinting out of their shacks and caves and yelled after us, we even discovered a medieval stone town you drive down to from a high hill, where a few people still live in the ruins. They stared at us like we were an apparition and all it took was to stop for a moment and we were surrounded by gorgeous curly-haired kids.
In the end we happily reached civilisation, managed to fill up for $10 and got to about 10 km before the Libyan border. Ilja put up the tent in the sand by the road, I chased away the bile that had come on from hunger and we crawled off to sleep. (The girls in the car.)
__PS: We had the car washed. As the mud fell off – the turbo broke! – suspicious!__

We got up at 7:00 (the meeting with the Libyan Esam at the border was set for 8:00) and at 7:30 we were at the Tunisian-Libyan border. That's 3700 km from home! In 7 days!! On the Tunisian side they let us through pretty smoothly, it was worse on the Libyan one. We got there around 8:30 and a young guy with a badge but no uniform took our passports. He helped us fill in forms written only in Arabic (Gaddafi's revenge on the Americans for the bombing in sixty-eight – nothing is in the Latin alphabet!!).
Then we waited quite a long time for the passports, one Libyan remembered Poborský and Nedvěd, one slimy black guy in a wreck of a pick-up smiled a Bravo biscuit out of the girls and I was writing my diary.
Then a likeable young Arab strode briskly over from the Libyan side and with a smile of \"Hello Mr. John\" he held out his hand to me. The rep from Iram Travel co. Great thing, now he'll help us with the passports. In a while Esam himself turned up, the one I'd been dealing with beforehand and who arranged the invitation for us. We got the passports quickly, but then came the sad story :(.
To get into Libya we have to buy their licence plates, their registration papers and their insurance, all in all 270 dollars :-((( On top of that the travel agency that invited us is responsible for us the whole time and mustn't let us out of their sight. So no sleeping in the car, no own food and no own programme, but booked hotels, guides and a programme for tourist groups :(( I've only got 800 DM left, 500 of that borrowed, and 50 dollars. The others only have the money they want to bring back home. The turbo is screwing up more and more.
Luckily Esam is incredibly obliging and brushes off any mention of money with \"Don't worry about it, everything can be solved\". He pays for the diesel on the way to Tripoli out of his own pocket, it's 7 TD, at the official rate 700 CZK, at the black market rate 70 CZK, so diesel at 95 hellers a litre.
They took us to a hotel in Tripoli, luxury at first sight, and at second sight too. Reception, lobby, 14 floors, air-con, bathroom, room service etc. We're dreading what it costs and who's paying for it, but we joyfully dive into the bathrooms and a week's worth of sweat, dirt and sand can't drain away fast enough.
After 5 hours of wallowing we set off on a very short walk around the town. Tripoli is a town of contrasts. Alongside loads of new Galants and Nexias (those are Mitsubishi and Daewoo cars) that Gaddafi bought, there are insane wrecks driving around.
Next to newly built, architecturally horrendous buildings, heaps of rubble and rubbish lie about in the streets.
We wander into a district where we're total freaks, especially the girls and blond Ilja in his T-shirt. Everywhere mostly black people, Esam is black too, his driver Ali is an Arab.
After scurrying back to the hotel we wait 40 minutes in the lobby. Esam was supposed to pick us up at 19:00, it's 19:40 when I ring his office to ask whether he didn't mean 7:00 in the morning. He apologises for the delay, says he's on his way.
We get into the cars and head out of town to the farm of their general manager. At first it looks pretty awful, but in the end we admit it's nice. We sit outside on mattresses, sip tea and eat the offered bowl full of pieces of 2 kinds of melon (about 8 kg). I feel a bit awkward talking business with Esam and the general in front of everyone, but there's nothing to be done about it. Esam smooths everything over with light conversation with the girls. So far I don't have a very good feeling about it (the business), but otherwise it's a really nice evening. Casual conversation about the geopolitical-world-scale situation (the influence and meaning of money here and in the world), cool air, melon and chilling out. Esam explains our itinerary to us, what he's prepared for us, saying we'll only pay for personal expenses (entry fees etc.) and the services of his agency (guides, cars etc.) he'll provide as promotion. The hotel hasn't been mentioned yet, we'll see.
Around 23:00 we leave the farm, the turbo is already screaming its last. Unfortunately, even though they have a workshop, 8 Landcruisers and 4 mechanics, all the engines are petrol. The sad story of the turbo goes on. We park the Patrol in their garages in the centre and Ali drives us in one of the new Nexias from Gaddafi (for 4000 LD = 40000 CZK) to the hotel.
Since Esam assured us we can happily order food at the hotel and it costs practically nothing, we give it a try.
We order 4 sandwiches with tuna and cheese by phone. They brought them for 11 LD, which is a great price, but we only have dollars and marks. They want something between the official rate and the black market. First Markéta broke a sweat negotiating at reception, then I informed them by phone that we'll pay tomorrow then. Cheek gets you furthest...
We split into the rooms in pairs for the night (naturally), we got into bed around 00:30, Kačenka and I went to sleep just before five ... – we were playing chess, you see. Yeah, the olive-wood one I haggled for in Tunisia for 12 TD :-))

This morning, after a very hearty hotel breakfast (I resisted the freshly sliced tomatoes because of diseases), a new guide came for us. His name is Mohamed, he's Ali's cousin and speaks almost as well as Esam. He took us to a museum, didn't tell us much about it, but on the other hand I grilled him about Gaddafi and the regime here.
He disappointed me quite a lot, because he believes in Gaddafi more than in Allah. He considers the UN sanctions imposed on Libya (and not just him, as it later turned out Esam too) unjust and unwarranted. Gaddafi is their dad and they are his children. Everywhere (really everywhere) they have his pictures in all colours, poses and always larger than life, and everywhere celebratory arches for the 28th anniversary of the revolution. It reminds me of something :-)) (For those who've already forgotten, I mean Lenin&co....)
Well, we walked around with Mohouš (as we renamed him) until it hurt, for lunch we went somewhere out in the sticks (see the Russia diary :-)) about 10 km, but it was really good and for 5 people I paid 26 LD for food, drinks and salad (about 280 CZK, cheaper than in Prague !!!) We spent some time looking for sandals for me, because mine died in the mud in Tunisia. Luckily they've got it excellently sorted here, all the shops of one kind are always concentrated in one place, street, district. Unfortunately in the whole district, even though they had lovely and even branded sandals, they didn't have my size. Quite a shame, because for example Calvin Klein or Adidas for 35 LD (360 CZK) would have come in handy.
Mohouš showed us the local market (dirt, narrow lanes and loads of people), a metalworking workshop, the main entrance gate to the city walls (half ruined, filthy), an arch from the times of Marcus Aurelius (3 m below the current level of the town, accessible and surrounded by rubbish) and a fairly interesting pipe sculpture: In front of the Grand Hotel (the best in town) there are several painted pipes about 3 m in diameter on a little square. Mohamed explained to us that these pipes bring water 1000 km from the Sahara to Tripoli and the other towns. Quite a mega-construction.
Crossing a 12-lane road is suicide anywhere in the world, here it's a doddle. The girls kept prying about what the hotel would cost and who'd be paying for it, so I asked Mohamed about prices. He said ours is the second best in town and won't cost more than 30 LD (330 CZK) per room per night. That's 30x less than a similar hotel anywhere in the world!! In Istanbul a *** hotel cost $470 a night per room, here $12...
By chance we found a nice mosque next to Marcus Aurelius and went inside. A monk (or whoever it was) gave us an explanation, it was quite lovely in there. Carpets on the floor, with lines of insulating tape on them so that they pray in neat rows, and walls and ceilings decorated with oriental paintings. In the entrance hall a long trough and taps, where everyone has to wash their feet before praying. (Given that they have to pray 5x a day, Allah rather looks after their cleanliness :-))
We stopped by to look at the Patrol, which is parked in the yard in front of their office. Not only has the food in the fridge given up its fight with the heat (we had to switch the fridge off because of the battery), but loads of oil has leaked out of the turbo, which means it's given up on us and died :((. Ali drove us to the hotel and came back for me at eleven so I could fix the turbo, because tomorrow we're heading off into the desert first thing. All I found out was that the turbo is a write-off and I have to get a new one. Where air is supposed to flow, oil was gushing. It didn't last long :((((
Ali drove me to the hotel around one, my hands covered in oil up to the shoulders, so they didn't even want to let me in.
After a shower there was nothing left but to go to sleep...

Ali drove me to the car district, they didn't have a turbo for a diesel anywhere, because nobody here needs to drive on diesel when a litre of petrol costs 95 hellers.
So we set off to Zania, a town with the biggest scrapyard I've ever seen. Several kilometres of road and heaps of cars all around, from the newest BMW 750i to the oldest wrecks. There were about 40-50 Renault 25s, the one I needed the turbo from. No diesel, no turbo for me. In the end I took the same one but older, from a Peugeot 505. It didn't fit. The rest of the day, until 1 in the morning, I spent converting the Patrol into a diesel without a turbo. We went to sleep again somewhere around 4 in the morning, even though I got back to the hotel just after one.....

In the morning we of course overslept, Ali waited an hour in the lobby. We set off to return the turbo, we bought 8 melons of 10 kg each, our three cost 8 LD (88 CZK). In insane heat we covered the 650 km from Tripoli to Ghadames, the whole way pissed off from the heat to the point of aggression. The mood was only improved by a stop at a hotel by one stone town. Before they brought us roast chicken and tomato salad (doctor: whatever you do, don't eat vegetable salads!!). Esam bought that hotel. It's about 2/3 of the way from Tripoli to Ghadames, where all the tourist groups go to look at the desert and the old town of Ghadames. From the hotel there's a view across the valley of the original stone-and-mud town, so it's really lovely there. With one stop for a melon we made it through that insane desert heat to Ghadames. The road is pretty decent, only now and then a tongue of a dune reaches onto it. The roads here were built by our lot from SSŽ, so they're solid. You could do 160 the whole way, but the Patrol without the turbo is like a rose without water, so with the throttle flat out and plenty of smoke behind us it won't do more than 100, sometimes it fancies 120, but sometimes 80 too. Depending on its mood, I guess.
It was already dark when we reached the Iram Travel office in Ghadames, there we lounged around on the carpets Arab-style for a while, then they drove us to the local hostel. It looked better than you'd expect. The shower of course only hot, like everywhere, the toilets don't flush, but otherwise clean and cosy. We were there on our own, rooms 2x2 m for two, but we all slept on the balcony.

We got up pretty late in awful heat, we waited in the office for some guy who was supposed to take our passports to the local office for a stamp that we'd entered the country, or something. By the way, there are police checkpoints with a barrier on the roads quite often, something like in Russia. Once they even wanted to see the passports.
Around noon a guide who spoke good English showed up and took us to Old Ghadames, which is probably the most amazing structure I've ever seen anywhere in the world __(oh, come on…)__. Because it's hot here all the time and forever, this little town is built on three levels throughout. The houses are built out of mud bricks in such a way that the lanes between them are covered by a ceiling, so you walk through the whole town in catacombs, even though you're above ground. Below ground there are water channels, just for distributing water.
On the ground floor of a house there's one room that works as a tool store. On the first floor there's a living room and kitchen in one, decorated up to the ceiling with copper cups and handmade ornaments from palm leaves. All of it in red. On the same floor there are two bedrooms and a small room, 1 x 2 m, used only for the deflowering after the wedding and for laying out the dead before the funeral L
One floor up there's also a workshop and the way out onto the roof terrace, where people sleep all summer. From there you can also get onto the network of merchants across the rooftops, which only women and boys up to 15 are allowed to walk on. On the roofs of the houses the women used to meet for gossip (something like “balcony gossip”). Women were only allowed into the lanes below at a set time in the morning and in the evening, so they could carry water. The whole town supposedly measures 10 x 10 km, although according to the map in the museum it's much smaller. This entire amazing complex (down in the lanes it's like being in an air-conditioned room) is fed by channels supplied from a single well. The town also includes gardens, where mainly date palms and some vegetables grow.
Every house and every garden gets several dozen minutes a day when it can turn the water on. The time is measured out on the square by dripping water.
For light and ventilation of the lanes below there's a shaft up to the roof every 15 m or so, some 7 – 8 m high. The town grew gradually, the first mosque is from the year 67 AD! The growth of the town was ensured by a simple rule, namely that every man has to build a new house before the wedding, into which he can bring his bride, if both sets of parents agree. He also has to have the money for the complete decoration of the house (about 100 kg of copper J ). All the neighbours help him build the house.
The tour of the town wore us out quite a bit, so we welcomed lounging around on the carpets in the office. Ali – driver – cook – singer cooked us a local tradition – Kus-Kus. The main component is probably millet, then a sort of potato-melon, lamb and sauce, all of it in a bowl 60 cm across for everybody, with melon in pieces on top. When the next day the millet was swapped for rice, it was a great meal.
In the evening they dressed us up in Tuareg robes (the boys in super-wide trousers and a super-wide nightshirt, on the head a turban made from a 6 m long sheet, the girls without trousers and instead of a turban a big shiny scarf). We jumped into the cars and set off for a Tuareg wedding.
Just like with the Arabs, a Tuareg also has to meet conditions before the wedding. In the days of wandering the desert he had to have his own shelter (woven from sheep and camel hair, propped up with poles and secured with stones, built so that the wind blows through it) and of course properly decorated and equipped. Today the same applies, only with a house. Most Tuaregs now live in towns, but they still don't feel at home there and they're not exactly in love with the Arabs.
So if a young Tuareg has enough property including camels, he can ask the head of the family (father, mother, eldest brother) to enquire in the bride's family. The bride's family presents its own or the bride's demands, and if everybody agrees, they announce the date of the wedding.
On the wedding day in the evening the mother brings the bride to the new house, where the groom is already waiting, proud of his property like a lion. Then the wedding party leaves and the couple spend the first night together. For the next 6 days they don't leave the new house even for a second, relatives bring them food and drink.
Meanwhile every evening the whole village gathers on a plain in the desert, everybody dressed up in Tuareg robes and turbans, the most important men of the tribe veiled on decorated camels. The women strictly separate themselves from the men and form a circle around the drums. They sing and dance special Tuareg dances to slow rhythmic melodies. Meanwhile the men ride around on camels, taking turns regularly at certain spots as if on guard.
When it starts to get dark, the men on camels begin to ride in ever tighter circles around the dancing cluster of women. At this time the women are very playful and barely veiled, whereas the men, apart from a narrow slit for the eyes (in the black cloth) and bare feet, are completely covered, which is in stark contrast to the Arabs.
The camel riding keeps getting faster until it forces the women to sit down. Until nightfall (which here takes about 15 min) the women still sing sitting down, and the camel ride (mostly snow-white camels in contrast with the black robes of the Tuaregs) slowly disperses homewards.
With the coming of darkness the celebration is dissolved, it will continue tomorrow afternoon and so on for all six days. The ritual of the celebrations differs slightly from day to day, so a Tuareg arriving late can easily tell which day of the wedding is going on. The whole time the tribe celebrates without ever seeing the bride and groom.
The last, seventh day of the wedding is the biggest and longest celebration, and the young newlyweds take part in it too.
Among real Tuaregs we felt a bit awkward in their clothes, all the more so because we were a bigger attraction for them, and especially for their kids, than they were for us. Luckily they really like being photographed, so we have more photos than we probably even wanted. A bit of a problem arose when I tried to take a picture of a gorgeous little black girl (how else, here J ). During the wedding men aren't allowed to communicate with women, let alone photograph them.
After the wedding we went to the local pub ( it's funny calling it a pub when the only alcohol in the whole of Ghadames is in our coffin :) ). We had Arab tea (an oversweetened madness with a mint leaf). With Esam we talked business a bit again, we're starting to find opportunities.

In the morning a Mitschubischi L 200 arrived with three Tuaregs in it. Together with Ali they loaded the pick-up until it was bursting with water and other stuff for camping in the desert, we filled up the tank and set off.
First about 10 km of stony desert in first gear at idle, until I almost grew 8.5 cm. Then they showed me they could overtake me. I set off full speed ahead, until everything in the car got thoroughly rearranged. We were heading for some hill, or rather a rock, which I tried to drive up at the end. This time not only did the girls screech as usual – fakir N but even Esam claimed it was dangerous. Chicken …J Ü That rock was a former fortress, taken by digging a tunnel to the well and letting them croak of thirst.
The girls – the bitches – shamelessly stole __(for about 15 min., which >> › we vain vain ones couldn't stomach)__ the turbans we'd begged off the Tuaregs (Ali and Mohamed) and on top of that shamelessly had them tied by them, even though that's strongly against local morals !!! __›but they looked good on us!__ So the mood as we drove into the Saharan sands was excellent
Some clever piece of advice from Káča about driving or not driving on the dunes wound me up so much that I slammed on the brake and roared in a deep voice: “Then get out!!!”.
__At this moment Jan behaved like an adolescent brat, horny (for dunes), who thinks he can do everything best!__
Of course with that manoeuvre we got stuck and the dear Tuaregs immediately rushed to help in their robes and barefoot. I got back out onto the stony plain fairly easily, we drove to our destination and the Tuaregs put up a tent of sheep and camel hair. We unloaded everything from the car into a pile and, in the line-up of me, Ilja and Mohamed (in blue and with an irresistible smile) as adviser, we set off 400 kg lighter
It was brilliant, only the sand was still too hot and a Patrol without a turbo doesn't have much power. We also let a lot of air out of the tyres and then it went quite well. On the umpteenth attempt we got up a dune where Ilja and I had been on foot before, and which looked absolutely insurmountable by car. On the edge of the dune we sank in right up to the belly.
Ilja and I saw it as pretty hopeless, because the last time we were stuck on the belly we were pulled out by a tractor, which would never have got up here. But the little black guy kept smiling and kept saying “No problem, John, no problem” and started digging the sand out from under the belly. So we joined in and in a while we were really hurtling straight down the dune. Adrenaline was bubbling nicely in the blood and when we came off the foot of the dune on all four wheels, we howled with joy.
Back at camp Ali cooked a Tuareg speciality on our stove (about 1 h of cooking on both burners), something like kus-kus, but with rice. It disappeared in a flash. Then they borrowed our empty jerrycan and started a concert. They drummed on the jerrycan and sang Tuareg and Arab songs like crazy. Then we sang for them, well the girls sang and I banged on the jerrycan like a born cannibal drummer. Ali – driver – cook sings like Karel Gott. A pleasant breeze blows through the tent, so although 5 minutes in the sun = certain death, we felt pretty fine.
Then we had a nap, the black lads farted like three Richards, good thing there's a permanent wind in the desert.
When a few specimens woke up, we set off onto the dunes again, this time with Ali Baba junior. He guided me onto a dune about 7 times longer than that deathtrap before and maybe even steeper. He kept stressing that I had to hold the wheel tight, go straight down and under no circumstances turn, otherwise I'd 100 % flip onto the roof box (onto the coffin, how fitting). Then they got out …:)
Ilja and I buckled up and set off. Halfway down the dune (about 50 m) it started to sink in more, so the car began to turn left. My driver's instinct! told me to break their advice and straighten the ride out, which turned out to be the right manoeuvre!
Then Ali directed us into a valley, where, as I'd predicted, we got stuck. Only letting more air out of the tyres helped, and that already at a point when I was considering how much a helicopter rescue costs
We took the girls for a ride on the dunes too, who of course didn't find it so amazing, they just don't get it…
In the evening we were supposed to go and see a Ghadames wedding, but somehow there was no time. We moved from the dunes to a different part of the desert closer to the town, because we were in the immediate vicinity of the Algerian border, we could even see an Algerian machine-gun nest and a guard box on the horizon. Even while we were tearing around the dunes Ali told me don't drive onto that one, that's already Algeria. Considering the borders into Algeria are hermetically sealed and nobody knows who is fighting there and why, we were pretty close…
In the evening we set up camp by a palm grove, desert foxes scared the girls before bedtime and we had to force Káča to stay awake. It was her birthday yesterday and because I'd secretly told Esam about it, he prepared a party. He sent us for a walk into the desert (the girls squealing with fear of the foxes and jerboas) and meanwhile he prepared a cake (with 4 candles !?), pastries and juice. They sang “Happy Birthday” to Kačenka and then unanimously wished her “Happy New Year” J

In the morning we drove to the IRAM office, where we hung about until lunch. This time our girls did the cooking and the black lads went at it like mad. Then they ordered watermelon and tea as well, which we granted them. The tea must have been weak stuff for them, since they drink a brew that's sweetened six times over.
After some more loafing around we had a look at the boring little local museum and at a village 3 km away.
For the evening Esam got hold of a little lamb L . It had been running around the yard behind the office all day, it had a brown head and was terribly cute. We unloaded the Patrol, loaded up wood, water etc. and set off for a lake in the middle of the desert. First about 40 km from Ghadames along the highway, then some 10 km across stony desert, and there was a green hill in sight. Mrož said something about a little lake, at which I snapped at her, ”A lake, and on a hill?!”. A moment later I had to add: ”If there's a lake, then it's definitely on a hill”. Because it was inside a crater sticking up above the plain, overgrown with greenery, two circles joined by a channel and supposedly over 70 km deep. The water was salty, but clean and 100% bilharzia-free (Bilharzia – a topic very often discussed during the expedition, it occurs in dirty fresh water and mud, the little worm burrows under your skin and swims to your liver, which it eats through…L )
The lake – gorgeous, we jumped straight in, sweaty and dust-covered from the desert, and wallowed there for maybe an hour. Ali and Kačka only dipped their feet, Ali because he can't swim and Kačka for another reason. Esam and Ali II stayed completely dry. They can't swim… Mohamed swam with a beautiful smile on his face, his teeth chattering in textbook fashion and with goosebumps so bad that Mrož got fits of laughter from it. So they trod water next to each other and roared with laughter.
Meanwhile Káča photographed Ali slaughtering the lamb (it had arrived in the boot of Esam's Daewoo) and then came running in tears that they'd cut off the head of that lovely little sheep.
They made a goulash out of the innards and then roasted the meat over a fire lit with diesel. They gave each of us a whole leg!, which in the end wasn't all that much meat.
We set off back in complete darkness, the drive to the highway took 50 min in first gear (a Nexia is no jeep :)). We slept at the hostel.

Ali was supposed to pick us up at 9:00 in the morning, and because they'd waited for us to sleep in so many times, this time we got up on time. They didn't come, so we drove to the office ourselves. It sounds unbelievable, but those two kilometres were the first in Libya that we drove without an escort. Otherwise Ali even went with us for water to a shop 700 m away. Under the local laws they're responsible for us, but they overdo it a bit. Every trip around Libya has to be approved by the authorities, and there's a police station every 50 km on the roads where they check the papers. A police state, much like in Russia.
We waited at the office until about 11:00 and then we set off towards Leptis (i.e. the northern coast). Leptis, also called Al-Khums.
Saying goodbye to the Tuareg lads was heartbreaking, especially Mrož, who with a heavy heart left behind her favourite, blue-robed Mohamed.
The trip north was just as exhausting as the drive to Ghadames, a dead straight road through the desert without a single bit of greenery, except perhaps the green wrecks along the road. The carcasses of tyres on the verge are pretty depressing too, roughly one every 20 m .
The worst thing is that the Patrol without a turbo only does around 100 km/h, even though the road would take 160–200 km/h.
On the way we stopped at a stone village in the rocks, the stone-and-mud huts were only abandoned in the 70s, after oil was found in Libya. You get there along a stony path that's barely a path, a good way downhill (uphill on the way back :), which floored all the non-athletes (i.e. everyone except me and Ilja : ), because the temperature here definitely reaches three-digit figures in the decimal system : )
The next stop was at a green oasis with a spring, palm trees and even green grass! (the first in Africa), and we really didn't want to leave. Then we drove down some beautiful hairpins and there Ali flashed his lights at me to stop. It was worth it. At the foot of the hill the road went slightly uphill and yet the 2.5 tonne colossus (the Patrol), with the brakes off, started rolling upwards!! A bottle of water rolled uphill against the wind, the water flowed upwards!!! Some confused gravity or something.
On the next gentle flat stretch the Patrol rolled in neutral up to 70 km/h! A pretty interesting phenomenon…
Before we reached the sea (after dark), we managed to restock on watermelons. They cost about 2–3 CZK/kg here and are considerably better than back home, so we eat 3 of them, 9–12 kg each, a day. A litre of water costs about 15 CZK (diesel 1 CZK/l), so it's better to drink watermelon. At the same time we broke probably the last rule of African hygiene and ate unwashed grapes and dates. Everyone kept scaring us with diarrhoea and nobody's getting it, quite the opposite in my case…
After a long search we found in the evening (well, Esam and Ali found it, we wouldn't have found jack, because Gaddafi banned all signs in the Latin alphabet) some sort of campsite where they rented us a whole little house (4 rooms plus kitchen with air-conditioning). Kačka and I grabbed the best little room so we'd have somewhere to snuggle up…J
The best surprise was that cold water ran in the shower, which is quite a rarity here and a real treat. The grime poured off us…

In the morning, after coffee at the hotel with a sea view, we arrived at Leptis, which is the remains of a city from the times of Carthage and ancient Rome. All beautifully preserved, the city dates back to the 5th century BC, everything complete except the ceilings, because the city was dug out of the sand not long ago (70 % still remains uncovered). The magnificent atmosphere of ancient Rome swept over us, we crawled all over the enormous baths, the theatre, the courts, the town hall, the temples, marble of all colours from all corners of the planet everywhere (Italy, Greece, Egypt) and above all we were alone in the whole city!!! Our guide was pretty wound up by Káča, who kept dawdling 2 km behind us because she was taking photos. We'll see what comes of it…
The whole city is far better preserved than any monument from this period anywhere in Europe, including Rome itself. Simply amazing!
Then they wanted to drag us to some museum, which luckily was closed! I'm starting to loathe all museums, I can't even remember an interesting one any more. Maybe the Hermitage.
Instead of the museum we bought pie-like bread (about 3 x 30 x 50 cm) and the so-called Green Books written by Gaddafi. Something like Lenin's writings, a beautiful green theory, a dry tree of life in practice.
From Leptis we rattled on to a hideous dirty beach full of rubbish and Arabs, for the privilege of visiting which we paid 20 LD (220 CZK!!!)
Because we didn't feel like going back to the ”expensive” hotel (360 CZK for a room for 12 people, heat, filth, cockroaches, mosquitoes and other vermin (mainly terribly pushy Arabs)). The night was full of passion (a gangbang with female mosquitoes, sweat as lubricant and the stench of repellent). The morning was better already J.... Y .

Esam was supposed to come at ten, we rushed to be ready. Ali came just before twelve. On the phone we agreed that we owe him $450 and that we therefore can't afford the trip to Gabroun Lake for $300. So Esam offered to knock $100 off as advertising costs. After a long debate and all sorts of calculations we agreed that 300 dollars won't wreck the 112,000 CZK it has already cost us all that much. So Esam promised that Ali would pick us up at 13:00. He came at seven in the evening. We spent the whole time in the shade on the pavement in front of the hostel, taking turns going into the hostel to the toilet. The first day when we all went for a pee more than once or twice, because we weren't sweating. Normally each of us drinks about 2 l of water and 6–8 kg of watermelon and sweats it all out again.
The biggest commotion came when a boy of about 14 came over to us as we lounged around the car, from the villa across the road, carrying a bowl full of couscous and 4 forks on a silver tray. In decent English he announced that it was a gift from their family and wished us bon appétit. We were really in shock, we didn't know what to do, whether he wanted money or what… In the end we took it with thanks and ate what we could. The rest we tipped into our pot. Unfortunately we'd just eaten salami hauled 4000 km from Prague…
As the lad was carrying the tray away, Ilja remarked that some dessert would be nice. In a moment the lad brought a full tray of honey pastries… In an unguarded moment Káča scoffed the lot – __sorry, I thought nobody wanted them…__, just like yesterday with my emergency reserve in case of imminent death by bile poisoning, namely a bar of Besipky (Mrož helped her with that one, Ilja and I were asleep) :] !
At about that 13:00 Ali drove us to the beach and on the way bought us ice cream to make up for it. The beach was a pretty European resort with European leftovers, with table tennis and a pub. The water full of stones and seaweed.
For the night we wanted a hotel, whereupon Alibaba drove off to arrange it. He left us over coffee in the pub above the beach, where Arab music was blaring. Then he came back, took us to a hotel where it was full (so what had he been arranging before?…)
He found us another hotel, for 20 LD/night/room. Kačenka and I didn't get much sleep again…:) This time we played cards!

At about 9:00 M. and I. woke us up, saying we had to hurry to breakfast. It was supposed to be included, it wasn't. For 2 rolls with honey, juice, tea and an egg, 22 LD altogether (240 CZK). Four big baguettes at the bakery cost 1/4 LD here (2.50 CZK) L L
At 12 Ali drove us to another stony, seaweedy beach. On top of that the waves were pretty big, so we all have grazes from the sharp rocks.
The only interesting episode was when Ilja and I wanted to rent a jet ski and a nice local bloke spoke to us. He invited us to his table and I had a great chat with him. He's a fighter pilot and lived in Missouri for 5 years.
At about seven, hungry, thirsty, broke and – apart from me – pretty edgy, we were picked up by Ali and Esam, this time in a Landcruiser (Toyota Landcruiser 80, 4.5l petrol engine, year 89, on tall narrow 16” wheels), 8 jerrycans and 2 spare wheels on the roof, simply a desert special.
We bought food for three days, picked up the cook and off we went. At about 1:00 in the morning we bedded down on a dusty plain by a truckers' stop in the desert. The torch, which has been playing up for a while now (after the wire shorted out with the turbo), is now completely fucked! (sorry)

An excellent breakfast was waiting for us in the morning. A cook is a cook. On the table 3 kinds of bread, coffee, tea, milk, strawberry jam, Laughing Cow, biscuits, just great.
After breakfast and the battery-resuscitation attempts (the operation succeeded, the patient died and the Patrol got push-started) we headed on through the desert. The Patrol as usual moody, sometimes 120, sometimes 80. Yesterday I found a piece of rag sucked into the filter, unfortunately taking it out didn't help much.
The Landcruiser first got a puncture on the right rear wheel, which had been wobbling from the start, then the left rear blew from the heat. Markéta and Ilja are riding in the Landcruiser, M. had a solid shock from the blowout. With the help of my jack we managed to get the wheel with the shredded tyre off and we added the tyre to the other decorations on the roadside. There were certainly another 10-20 of them in sight, mostly from trucks or jeeps :) .
I immediately tried out whether their wheel wrench fits the Patrol, because mine (borrowed) got stolen from us in Tunis. I've still got the cross wrench, but there's no 21 on it, that's a Japanese speciality.
The next stop was already for lunch by an irrigated corn field. Cookie (he travels with us, doesn't speak a word of English, so he's pretty dull…) roasted a great chicken over the fire + tomato salad and Arabic bread.
After the meal I tested which of our two batteries is knackered and swapped it with the Landcruiser. If it doesn't charge up over the 70 km to some town, we'll have to buy a new one L
Kačenka's driving now and she feels like she's terribly good at it… Two hours straight in fifth on a super straight highway, sure, but when it comes to some manoeuvring off the road… That's not TRUE at all!! I drive like a devil!
I've finally caught up with real time in the diary for the first time, so I can write down even some unimportant details. Mrož, being a blonde by local standards (in Prague more like light brown…) is under a constant barrage of attention here, which Káča openly envies her. __You perv!__ She doesn't get that attention (from strangers) partly because of me (as the tour leader they even address me as Mr. John, i.e. sir John :] and partly because of her locally usual black hair. Well, luckily I prefer the black. __Exactly!__ Back to Mrož (i.e. Markéta, in case it's still unclear). At the moment she's got a voice like a boozed-up village barmaid, a cough and a sore throat, and on top of all that she's the number one candidate for the anti-diarrhoea cure. Today we all tasted water from the "goat", which is a gazelle skin tied to the side of the Landcruiser full of water. I hope we survive it…
During lunch the suicidal Ilja let Káča cut his hair :] I haven't examined him yet, hopefully he's still got both ears :].
One more thing about that gazelle, the water from it is unbelievably cold, because it seeps through the skin and evaporates! But when we poured it into a bottle (you pour through the neck) there was a lot of solid filth floating in it. At home I definitely wouldn't even wash my feet in that, in the desert I drink it…
The worst thing is that we've just run out of the disinfectant vodka Franc Josef 40 %, which is cruelly forbidden here, but nobody caught us at it. Esam even knocked one back with us once.
Now I spotted irrigation sprinklers out of the window and I was overcome by an irresistible urge to jump into cold water… Unfortunately in the middle of the Sahara a man has to swallow even the unswallowable L
I've also just taken the biggest risk of my life, comparable maybe only to how in the Swiss Alps I left Andrej at the Kadett and during the climb up to 4000 m I climbed a roughly 20 m high rock along a waterfall. First a bit of an introduction. Esam, in his never-ending cheerful conversation with Mrož, picked up a few Czech words. The first was "polzadila", which is Mrož's current nickname. Then "hovínko", "bacha" and the latest so far is "zmrzlina", which Ali the driver took a particular liking to. He liked it so much that he found an ice cream machine in the town of SABA and bought us soft ice cream in a cup. We all suicidally wolfed it down and now we're expecting an early sh… and subsequent death in convulsions. These are the last lines of this diary, because salmonella shows up within six hours of contamination and I've still got 40 km of driving in the dunes through the desert to Gabrun Lake ahead of me. I hope it won't be in convulsions, because I know no better fun than jumping down off dunes (well, I do know one, but only one…)
So now our girls have wounded little hearts! They saw their darling Alibaba walking along with his hands interlaced with that ugly old cook's :).
Considering we've seen it a few times here and considering the general puritanism of this country, I definitely wouldn't regard it as a display of homosexuality. Our girls cause quite a stir here with their clothing, Káča braless especially, plus our mutual affection, lightly displayed in public, all that stops traffic in the streets and crowds of guys stare in disbelief with their mouths open. And the girls behave pretty "obligingly" towards them, so we're not short of attention.
I've got a current incident, I've just lost one of my two spares. The Landcruiser blew a tyre again, so they had to use mine. Luckily, even though I run 265 R 15, as a spare I have (had :) ), a 205 R 16, which is that tall narrow bitch they run. So that's the third puncture today, we've got about 1000 km left to civilisation, about 10 of that over dunes, and then another 3000 km home, and for two cars we have one bare spare!
With no further punctures we made it to some little town (New Gabrún), where we filled up the tank and both jerrycans. Ahead of us is a 140 km crossing of the desert over dunes. I hope a supply of 110 l of diesel will be enough…
While looking for a desert expert who'd come with us, a gang of brats showered us with a hail of stones. Naturally they hit the freshly sprayed mudguard and chipped a hole in it.
We agreed (well, Esam did) that the Expert will come to us at 5:00 in the morning and we'll set off. On the edge of the desert, on the first dune, we made camp. Sand is a fairly comfortable bed, but when the wind starts blowing at night and buries your head in sand, it's no picnic.

In the morning, although we were supposed to leave at five, the sun woke us up before nine and we set off for the dunes after nine. The very first dune was a test one, about as high as a three-storey block of flats (no exaggeration), almost vertical in the final stage. The Landcruiser, with a big sweeping run-up, jumped up the dune on the second attempt. The Patrol wasn't able to, even though all the cargo had been transferred to the Landcruiser yesterday. After about ten futile attempts (mine) Ali climbed behind the wheel (it kinda hurt my feelings) and after five attempts he found out the same thing as me, namely that without the turbo it hasn't got the power. I was already pretty furious, because the idea of this torment for 140 km in the desert, when normally people only drive it in winter and we're the first to cross it this year. In the end our desert expert climbed behind the wheel, a great cross-eyed bloke in red sweatpants. He took a run-up from somewhere else and after several attempts he hopped over the edge of the dune and we pushed the rest of the way.
The desert expert is a super lunatic, he yells like a madman, does somersaults at the stops, sings while driving over the dunes and makes noises like a whole bushman orchestra, and at every jump down off a dune he screams like a virgin on a rollercoaster at Fučíkárna J . He's real fun and besides that he knows the desert brilliantly.
After 45 km of fun driving over the dunes, jumps down, driving along the crest, demanding climbs, all that with the furiously smoking Patrol (without the turbo there are clouds of smoke from unburnt diesel behind us) we reached Gabrun Lake, which is a village of reed huts by a salt lake and under a huge dune, about 100 m high and 400 m long.
We parked under a straw shelter and, all heated up, jumped into the lake. It stank and was cruelly salty, but still better than the heat outside. You could hardly swim in the lake, because the salt concentration is close to a saturated solution and so you can't submerge. It's so buoyant that you can sit with your hands folded on your knees or stick your head, arms, belly and legs out and lie on the surface like on a bed.
We enjoyed the water, which made getting out all the worse. Not only did the feeling of heat come back after 10 seconds, but within a minute the water dried and left white deposits of salt which cracked with every movement. On top of that we each got one sandwich for lunch, which was about 1/4 of our hunger. The girls kept whining that we have too little water, because all of it was hidden in one of the huts. The mood only improved when Ali showed us a well with water where we washed. ++ bathed naked on the plain in the middle of the village, so if anyone saw them (apart from me), his eyeballs definitely popped out.
One of the locals gave us some sort of brainteaser, and it made Káča terribly cross that we were laughing at her for not knowing how to use equations with 8 unknowns to solve it.
Then we just lounged all day on a mat under the palm shelter and chased flies.
Towards evening we tried with Ali to drive up that huge dune (in vain), then Ilja and I tried to run up it (in vain), so in the end we crawled up it. Up on top Kačka and I waited for the starry spectacle (the stars really are brilliantly visible here, the Milky Way within arm's reach across the whole sky, the Big Dipper above the horizon and above all no source of light anywhere in sight all around!. (Unlike anywhere in Europe.) › At our camp it was pitch dark too!
When we rolled back down, they gave us couscous, water and then we hopped in the cars and drove off into the desert to sleep away from the mosquitoes.
Everyone except me played cards into the night and hollered like maniacs. I stared at the stars for a while (they're falling like crazy, so now all my wishes will come true J ) and then I fell asleep . Káča was smoking with Esam, so I decided to ban her from my bed, but then I kinda went soft…

Right now I'm sitting in an oasis in the middle of the Sahara __don't exaggerate, hotshot!__ , we set off in the morning (around 10:00) heading for the deep desert. Originally we were supposed to go back from Gabrún Lake to the road, because
1. a Patrol without a turbo is weak
2. some spots are dangerous even for experienced desert drivers. When we got to Gabrún Lake in the evening, the desert expert (desert = poušť) declared in his usual bellowing style that not only does the Patrol have enough power, but that I'm fine too. I hope that wasn't just flattery for a paying tourist, because otherwise we'll get stranded somewhere out here for good. Like that German who drove in with a diesel Mercedes and then they towed him for a week using 6 Landcruisers. Or like that Italian who torched his jeep out of rage and let it burn in the desert (we saw the wreck!!).
Esam was reassuring me that if need be there's no problem calling in helicopters… He said the same ”no problem” when I worked out our fuel consumption yesterday. We did 45 km in the dunes and it ate half the tank (about 35 l), which is a consumption of some 77 l/100 km!!! And the odometer showed 93 km, that's how much we were spinning. So for 140 km of desert we need about 120 l of diesel and we took on 110.
Today the driving was considerably better right from the morning, the Patrol wasn't sinking in so much, so hopefully it'll be better. Otherwise we'll be waiting here for them to bring us diesel in a Landcruiser, which would mean jeopardising Monday's ferry departure from Tunis.
Today we have a new guide, he's also driving a Landcruiser (like everyone here), only the pick-up type. I'd never seen one before, but here they make up 70 %. Just like Amara yesterday, he's got completely slick tyres, i.e. no tread at all, and he gets through everything. I had no problems anywhere today, even though the terrain is absolutely stunning and finding a way through the dunes is a huge amount of fun for me.
Esam is driving the Landcruiser and he's not too good at it. He goes up to the top of a dune too slowly because he's afraid of the jump (as he told me yesterday). I, on the other hand, jumped one sharp and fairly tough dune so hard that all the wheels really were in the air, and when 2.5 t came back down onto the sand the coffin box on the roof rack properly bent the drip rails on the roof, so now the passenger door won't open. I banged my knees and my head (lightly) and all the junk in the boot got shuffled around (heavily). We've now got a stew in there consisting of: pasta, water, cassettes, panapr (PAper for the ARse), pills from the first-aid kit and all my rags. Doggie and Pussycat would be delighted.
After my hint-dropping episode yesterday, when I told Esam that in America they nicknamed us ”eating machines”, the food ration at today's lunch went up considerably. By a salty little lake in the oasis the cook (nicknamed Grandpa) served us an excellent vegetable salad, spicy seasoned rice, a roll and a jerrycan of water. Excellent!
Now we're lounging here in the shade of the cars and waiting for the sand in the desert to firm up again.

__Dear Honzík's African diary!__
__Know that my diary is outrageously jealous of you, because it – poor thing – is a week behind. So it's furious now, seeing that on its lap I'm slipping an insert into You. We've just finished a three-day desert expedition and we're heading back to Tripoli so that we can (God willing) set off at cockcrow tomorrow through Tunisia to the ferry. Like proper Sahara wolves, we've got sand absolutely EVERYWHERE. In our hair, noses, ears … and in other bodily openings too (I have to note that the biggest hardship of our trip was caused by the total lack of pens that write. Someone around here must be eating them : ) A while ago we stopped at a petrol station to pump up the tyres, since the sand had been replaced by a road. What happened there simply can't be described! Within a minute our car was literally swarmed by native lads, men and old men who gawked at us completely openly and without blushing as if at an apparition. The cook came over and started covering up my knees peeking out of my hitched-up floor-length dress.__
__In that huge crammed marketplace, of which the petrol station was a part, I spotted maybe just 2 women among hundreds of men, and of course they were veiled till it hurt. And so it happened that I – filthy beyond words, crumpled › AB-SO-LU-TE-LY crumpled, tousled (like a witch – that's how Honza put it), with exposed ankles, forearms and hair – caught the attention of countless Arabs, many of them drooling with excitement.__
__Esam – seeing the crowd – was pretty uneasy, especially after I again put my little CANON into action, which hasn't had much rest here, because with this I've started my 11th roll of film!), whereupon he made it clear to me that I should slip into the car immediately and preferably put on a spacesuit…__
__I should start attending to my own poor little sulker (meaning my diary). So just a mention of the cook, called ”GRANDPA” for working purposes (because in Arabic a cook is ”KUCH”, which is rather treacherous), or rather of his little toenails. So: Grandpa's toenails really ARE UNPARALLELED! They're long and dirty enough to make your heart clench. I think brushing your skin against one of those claws – blood poisoning guaranteed N . And this Grandpa, generally regarded as the least popular member of the desert expedition, is now riding with me and Honzík in the Nissan. The others – the wimps – fled to Esam and Ali. Grandpa's snoozing, his claws nicely sticking out. Poor Grandpa.__
__Apparently I'm not supposed to write overly intimate things (who knows who's going to read this!!!), so I can't write a single thing about Honzík…Haha__
__Bye, Kačenka__

So the normal entry ended in an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. Around six we all gathered ourselves up, packed away the sunshade and headed off towards more dunes. The Patrol was already handling all the traps brilliantly, the biggest problem is always judging the run-up speed to the top of a dune. If it's rounded, then it doesn't really matter, but if it has a sharp edge, high speed means a hop and a jump, everything inside flies around and the roof rack tears at the roof. Low speed, on the other hand, means getting bellied out on the edge and at least half an hour of furious digging and digging underneath.
Given that no shots were taken of my previous accidental jump, I decided to stage one. I sent Kača ahead with the camera, got the Patrol going full steam ahead and jumped. The landing behind the dune was somewhat deeper than I'd expected, so it nearly tore my body apart. Luckily it occurred to me to buckle up. Unfortunately it didn't occur to me to take the roof rack off beforehand, so it took itself off. It ripped the drip rails off the roof and tore away. Veeery nice. That photo would have to win Czech Press Photo for it to be worth it. After that I didn't jump any more, once I even got stuck out of inattention. That was almost the end of the desert and the town was glowing in the distance. The cook made a fire (our gas bottle had run out on him…!!) and cooked spaghetti with ketchup. We slept pretty well, because in the desert a fresh wind blows and it's nowhere near as hot as elsewhere.

In the morning we pumped up the tyres, deflated for driving in the desert, and took on diesel. Although at first it looked grim with the diesel shortage, in the end we didn't even have to pour any from the jerrycans. We'll use those maybe in Italy, where diesel is 25 x, in words twenty-five times, more expensive. We were pumping in the middle of some marketplace, where ++, and especially of course Káča in her see-through dress, caused a hellish commotion and a gathering of primitive locals. Esam got pretty worked up (he could barely control himself) and ordered me to drive the girls into the car and not let them out at all.
After that we just drove and drove and drove all day. Another 850 km in the worst heat along a scorching road through the steppe.
After dark we reached Tripoli, to the hotel where we'd slept last time. After a shower Forketa insisted on a farewell party, so Ali drove us to a seaside restaurant where Esam and Iram's gen. manager were already waiting. We had a super dinner (sea critters and grilled chicken, which they really know how to do here, each of us got 1/2 a chicken!!). Esoš and I sorted out the directions of possible further cooperation, which of course bored everyone else.
We didn't get back to the hotel until around 2:00 in the morning, and I'd be surprised if Kačka and I went to sleep any earlier than 5:00 …

In the morning at about 10:00 (the plan was 9:00) Ali picked us up, hellishly short on sleep. He drove us to Esam's office, where we settled everything up (we gave him 700 $ all in for the whole stay + we'd spent another 200 DM).
On the way we actually also stopped at the Czech embassy, where we were very warmly received by the young, likeable CharchairD\'Affair (or however the hell you spell it :-) ) Petr Hladík. He asked us all about our stay and advised us on how to arrange a visa for Esam to the Czech Republic. He let slip that he knows him and that he's a Sudanese living in Libya. Esam hadn't bragged about that to us. He also warned us (me) about the unreliability of local businessmen, and above all that Libya has a special visa arrangement with the Czech Republic. That is, whoever invites a Libyan covers any medical care for him and transport back to Libya in case of an attempted emigration. A little worm of doubt started gnawing at me, which weakened my trust in Esam.
Ali then escorted us to the border with Tunisia, bought us some food for the road, 3 kg of wine and forgot to have our gas bottle filled.

Driving back through Tunisia and Italy was a mad rush, because on Thursday I had to be at the wedding of my dearest cousin Bára and so I had neither the time nor the mood to write the diary. In the end we made it, but it was a drama. Getting from Libya to Prague in under four days by car without a turbo and with a buggered alternator (that's the thing that makes sure your battery doesn't go flat when you've got the lights on :-))) was quite a feat.