Jenga

Despite my number plates having not yet arrived, the planned Sabratha trip went ahead, and it was an absolutely amazing experience. Very different from Leptis Magna, both in scale and form; it was stunning, not least because we were able to visit whilst all the flowers and ground cover were in full bloom. It's only about 70 kms away, so quite a bit closer than Lubda, and because of its proximity to Tripoli (and the more pleasant weather at this time of year) there were more people there, but not so many that it was at all crowded. Our guide - far better than a guide book - spoke wonderful English, despite never having left Libya, and I benefited from two versions of the commentary: English directly, and English via Arabic from Salem, my student, the same one that took me to Lubda. Of course I took masses of photographs, both still and video (my new video camera is small and perfectly formed, so ideal for sightseeing), so here is a selection. The first one is a signpost to the nearest brothel, not something in which I was particularly interested....

Here is a mosaic of Neptune/Poseidon (the Greeks and Romans, as well as the Phoenicians and Egyptians are all represented here) with, I think, Aphrodite. The mosaics were so detailed and perfectly preserved, not only in the museum on site, but also out in the elements.

Look at the view! And look at the foliage! In the summer, this will be sand all the way to the sea:

Here's one for those amongst you interested in Christianity - a Byzantine full-immersion cruciform font:

I did ask if I could go for a quick dip in the sea, but was advised against it: "It's an archeological site."

Here is Salem, on the left, inspecting his, ahem, well, I needn't say. Mohammed is helping him decide whether it was satisfactory. Apparently prostitutes were allowed to share these facilities with the men, but not the 'nice' women:

This is a carving of a teacher stroking his chin whilst considering a question asked of him by a student. Very appropriate, I thought:

And finally, the theatre - re-opened in 1937 by Mussolini. Performances are still held here, so I've left my phone number with Mohammed so he can tell me when the next one is scheduled:

Now that I've got wheels, I want to use them, but navigation here is not easy. First of all those street names which exist are in Arabic, as if that doesn't cause me enough difficulty, but also only the major streets have names at all. So, I'm going to build my own road atlas:

If you click on the map, it'll take you into Google Maps, and you can then wander around at will, zooming in and out as the mood takes you. I'll add names and places as I discover them, so this is going to be quite interesting. The number plates are due to arrive tomorrow, and I'm being 'taken' - I'll be driving, but under instruction from at least one of my students - to Sabratha, the smaller Roman city west of Tripoli, on Friday.

Having blown up at one of my classes yesterday because they were talking, being inattentive, giggling, and generally behaving like children, and I told them so, they have been absolute angels today. They said thank you for my lesson, they asked if I was happy, and they were just perfect in every way. I've had a super day.

Mustafa came round this evening out of the blue with a surprise for me:

Yes, it's my driving licence at last! All I need now are the plates for my car and it'll be head down, face mask on, and full speed ahead to....well, I haven't decided yet, but I think the semi-desert out past the south of the city will probably figure at some point. The licence is valid for 10 years, so that's welcome - it's taken so long to get hold of, I wouldn't want to have to repeat the exercise.

I wonder if it's valid anywhere else in the world? Chad, perhaps, or Sudan. I'll have to see.

After a very full time flying around Europe, teaching has become the main focus again. As a quick aside though, here are a couple of links to BBC World about programs on this week: Fast Track (20.30 GMT tonight, Monday), and Around the World in 80 Treasures (07.10 GMT Saturday). I'm sure they'll be well worth watching if you can track them down - both about Libya from different perspectives:

http://www.bbcworld.com/Pages/ProgrammeFeature.aspx?id=53&FeatureID=485

and

http://www.bbcworld.com/Pages/ProgrammeFeature.aspx?id=165&FeatureID=653

Got back to Trip on Saturday in good time, leaving the snow behind at Heathrow, and arriving in beautiful sunshine, but here are a few pics of Slovenia for the record, first the Three Bridges square in the centre of Ljubljana, with the Julian Alps in the mist behind:

Below is a view of the ski slopes just outside Maribor - it snowed whilst I was there, and I was tempted to take a trip up, but never got round to it:

On to Ptuj and a view from the castle over the town and the Drava River and Ptuj Lake beyond

and finally a display at the castle of images representing the 27 members of the EEC - if you click on the picture it'll become clearer:

All fascinating stuff, I'm sure you'll agree.

Several students have been asked to leave the Instutute, amongst them one of my special students - they just didn't score highly enough in the end of term exams. Some wonm't come back, but others will return to repeat the segment, if their banks permit it. It's all very stressful for them.

I heard last night that my services have already been offered to the Institute in Benghazi (about 600 kms away) - before terms have been agreed! And starting next week!!!! I think some detailed discussions need to be held quite urgently.

This means Hello, rather Russian in its pronuniciation. The lovely thing about Slovenian is that it's spoken as it's written - just like Hungarian as I remember from my TESOL days at EBC. C sounds like ts, č sounds like ch, s sounds like s, and š sounds like sh - all very sensible. Much easier to learn than Arabic. Or English, come to that.

This is such a beautiful country - woods, forests, alpine slopes in the north-west, lower slopes in the north-east, and wide rivers feeding into some of the great rivers of Europe like the Danube. It snowed last night on the hills outside Maribor, and I'm sure that this would be a great place to live and work.

A couple of days ago I went to Ptuj (pronounced Pitooee, but the Lonely Planet guide says it sounds like spit) and had a bit of a ramble around. Very attractive town, but not a place to live. Yesterday I went to Ljubljana by train - long journey through the forests and mountains. Beautiful city, but very expensive. Well worth a visit nevertheless. Big castle (grad), and a very cool city.

Everywhere I go, I keep coming back in my thoughts to buying somewhere in or near Maribor - it's close to Austria, Hungary, and Croatia, has skiing within a ten minute drive of the town centre, walks, a beautiful river, culture (opera, university, restaurants, art centres...you name it). The difficult thing is deciding whether to buy somewhere to live, or to rent out. Oh, agonies of agonies. And sterling is in free-fall against the euro, just to compund the decision making process. What's an ex-pat to do?

The people here are absolutely brilliant - friendly, English- and if not that, German-speaking. I accidentally lapse into Arabic occasionally and get some weird looks, but generally my German holds up pretty well. I dropped in to the Berlitz School earlier today to ask about the demand for TEFL, TOESL, ESL, etc etc, and the response was ultra-positive - there's a permanent shortage.

Plenty of time to think about options when I get back to Trip, and then possibly move on to Benghazi as a Senior Teacher, a job which is on offer since last week.

In my spare time I'm reading a book by Tim Butcher called Blood River - well worth a read, and it'll be available on the Tripolibrary website as soon as I get 'home'.

For those of you who don't enjoy fluency in Slovenian, hvala means thank you. And I've used the word endlessly over the past couple of days. What a country!

There were some issues with one of my teacher colleagues leaving Libya to meet her daughter in Egypt last Thursday. Caroline, the teacher, had neglected to get a valid visa following finishing her previous job and starting working with Berlitz, so she was an illegal immigrant. When she got to the airport, the officials wouldn't let her go through emigration because she wasn't officicially in the country. Big problem, as one of my students put it - it's a government point, and rules were not going to be bent easily. I got a lift to the airport with one of my students who has contacts in the right places, and we worked together on sorting Caroline's visa out, in the course of which I had to go behind the barrier to do some translation - yes, I know, my Arabic isn't great, but it is improving. Money, in large measures, was offered.

In the end, Caroline didn't catch her flight, and she is now planning to leave not only her job, but also Libya. This is a massive shame - she's a good teacher, has the students in her hand, and gets results. I hope she changes her mind.

My flight, on the other hand, was perfect. At emigration, the Inspector looked at my visa, saw 'Teacher', and bowed down before me. Well, not quite, but teachers here are certainly highly valued. I had no hassles.

Getting on the plane almost brought me to tears. It was November last year when I was last in a totally British environment, and waiting in the Departure Lounge with loads of ex-pats initially got on my nerves - superior attitudes, game playing, smugness: all the things I hate . But then once I got on the plane, I felt so at home - all the smug bastards became considerate, all the game players made sure that everyone they knew was OK, and it just turned into a little village, all on its own. It was so lovely.

Also, the stewardesses smiled and spoke in such a friendly manner - they actually meant what they said. For example, when I wondered if it was OK to imbibe alcohol, I asked the person sitting next to me if it was true (it's been a long time) that I could take the wicked liquid legally. "Of course", she said. "That's all we do until we land." Moments later, an angel arrived offering meals to us all. Of course I took one. Then Circe said, "What would you like to drink?" I said that a glass of red wine would go down very well. She told me that I looked as though I needed a couple of bottles, and, smiling, and making me fall in love with her, she handed over the essence twice over.

I'm rambling, so I'll cut it short. 3.5 hours Tripoli to Heathrow. 3.0 hours Heathrow to High Wycombe. Pathetic is not a word that says enough about how I felt.

Anyway, having been picked up by Mother (she's over 21, and I'm over 50 this year), and having been provided with PORK once she got me home, and WINE to accompany the PORK, I was dragged out to the pub for deep and meaningful discussions - by Mother. I blame the parents, of course. We eventually got home at about midnight. And then tried to sort out issues with her computer - great timing.

The following day, Tim and Grania (brother and wife) came over. It was so good to see them. Whilst I've been away I've begun to realise how important family and friends are. We Brits aren't renowned for overt lovey dovey stuff, but we do tend to pitch in when backs are against walls. I'm very lucky - my parental family has always been fantastic.

So to Slough, or, more accurately, Iver. Debbie, Pam, and Andy and I met up for a very enjoyable lunch..

Great fun seeing them all. Pam gave me a pack of stuff - edits I'd made of my PGCE thesis. Debbie brought in the voice recorder from Woody.... nuff sed. And Andy was there on top form. Fantastic meal.

Off to Maribor. Well, I withdraw any comments I've made in the past about Ryanair - it was all I hoped for - especially for a quid. The parking arrangements at the Pink Elephant site organised via Ryan, the transport to the terminal (why terminal, not terminus?) information on flight arrivals and delays. All really good. And all the other passengers were really lovely too.

Maribor. Would you live here? Well, yes, I could.

Here's an article from the Guardian last weekend - it doesn't describe the Libya I know:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/2008/mar/15/libya.culturaltrips

Yesterday, whilst negotiating with people to get the computers up and running, one of the managers said to me: "Are you feeling lucky?" I had visions of Dirty Harry leap into my mind! It turned out I was, because the appropriate technician arrived later in the day and most of the issues were sorted out. When the teccy guy arrived, I asked him what his English was like, and he told me that it wasn't bad but his fuck you library was a bit weak! It took me a little while to work out that he was talking about his vocabulary, so we had a brief lesson on pronunciation - and I explained what he had inadvertently said! Arabic speakers struggle with unvoiced consonants.

Arriving early at work this morning to prepare for the last real day of work and to make sure that everything was ready for the final exam for about 40 students, I found myself locked out - the police guard on the gate, this being a government building, was still asleep in his hut, so I hung around outside in the post-dawn sunlight:

Not the most attractive builiding in the world, I think you'll agree, and the tattered bunting circa 2000 doesn't really improve its look. I'm not quite sure why it's been dressed up.

It was a late night last night getting my select group fully prepared for the exams today, and as you can see from this picture, they look quite relaxed:

 
That had all changed by the morning. Those who work for one bank in the process of being privatised have been told that if they score poorly in the exams, they will lose their jobs. That's bad enough in itself, but finding a job in Libya is not easy - networks are all, and many people's networks are centred around the banks, so moving outside these can be very difficult. It's odd that in a society where the individuals are so considerate of eachother, businesses are so Dickensian. One student told me that if she had a day off sick, she was docked 7 days pay - so far this year she has had two days of sick. She has a Master's in Economics and has looked for alternative work, but so far without success.

After all the written exams had been completed, the students were taken for the speaking exam in threes. In order to avoid collusion, all the other students are coralled into one room, and drawn off from that pool as their turn arrives. For those left behind, it was left to me to keep them occupied. I employed Hangman to start with (last term I was a little hesitant, given recent events in Iraq, but it didn't seem to matter), and that was OK for an hour or so. Then I thought I'd try Charades - well, having done my impression of Jaws to a stunned and silent audience, we moved on to naming countries and geographical features (one student mentioned Israel, but that was disallowed), and that kept them all engaged till the end of the day. Here's a pic of Osama doing his Hangman - if you look carefully you will be able to see a very detailed hanging man:

The word was Transporter by the way, a film about a contract killer. Very appropriate.

I've been out this morning to the other end of Ben Ashur where all the demolished buildings sit, and went down some of the back streets. There are some of the best-kept buildings down here that I have seen since I've been here:

There are masses of embassies round here. I live almost opposite the old French Embassy, the Czech is almost next door, and the Romanian is across the way. Today I found the Belorussian - I only went up close because I didn't recognise the flag:

Having toured the better parts, I returned to Beirut, and found this safe in a basement just waiting to be cracked:

We had exams again this week, and have more next week, the last week of term. The students find them particularly stressful - their future careers, and the respect they receive at work, depend on the results. My  own special students, those paying me for extra time, are asking for more and more support, and now my weekend has been sacrificed. But only till the end of term - next term we'll have to reagree a more realistic timetable. I got a bit short with them a couple of evenings ago - tired, I expect - because they weren't listening, and when you're paying for something, you really should pay attention, I thought. I've also warned another class that at the start of next term they're going to learn a new word: Autocracy. One of them said that I was incapable of being autocratic (his vocab is very good), but I said: "Just you wait."

Following on from a discussion I had with one of them, I now have a double CD on 'Islamic Teachings'. I am genuinely interested, but do have other calls on my time, so this might be a tricky one to handle.

I still haven't got permission to drive despite having given blood, fingerprints, photographs, and my unreserved dedication to the Revolution. This week, inshallah.

I've made some suggestions to the senior teacher on possible changes to the course - schemes of work so the students know what's covered, screening so we can identify strengths and weaknesses before they start the course, split shifts to work according to the Libyan, rather than British, day, and day release so students don't lose touch with work, can practise at work, and have at least a little flexibility with holidays and family time. It'll be interesting to see what happens. I've also been asked to provide some training on the use of interactive white boards, and interactive IT packages in a computer suite we've just been given access to.

I travelled to Tunisia by bus after work last Thursday, a journey of about 200km, which took about four hours, and cost just over a quid. On arrival in Ras al Jedir, the Libyan side, I just ambled across the border, and then spent a few minutes completing paperwork on the Tunisian side. I then looked for a bank to change some money and was helped in this endeavour by a chap who gave my crotch a good solid grope to ensure I was ..... well, I'm not sure what. Having escaped from him, I took a taxi to the hotel, arriving at about 10.00pm, so quite a long journey. On arrival I was issued with a special bracelet which indicated that I was entitled to free breakfast, dinner, and wine for the duration of my stay:

I inadvertently strayed into the First Class Lounge for a cocktail when I arrived, but my band was the wrong colour - red bands only - so I mixed with the grockels, both of them, for a glass of the local rocket fuel.

The next day, it was up bright and early to fight my way to the beach (or bitch as my students keep saying):

The water was passably warm, and so I had a short swim, but with no company it's not great fun, so I removed myself to the beachside bar where I drank coffee and took this rather artistic shot of someone looking out to sea:

Then I settled down to a lazy day by the pools, dipping in and out as the mood took me, doing some marking, and reading. I finished my book (A Farewell to Arms), and was forced to buy old newspapers to feed my habit - no English language books were available on this French- and German-speaking island.

I was almost tempted to have a go in the Thalasso spa, but withstood the sales pressure after having been shown around. A massage with melted chocolate was also on offer, but I wasn't allowed in to take photographs - apparently it's popular with women for some reason. I had to make do with the jacuzzi:

The following day I had a wander around Midoun, the nearest town, and then retired to the beach for the remainder of my stay. There was a bit of sailing, but no wind, so I gave it a miss - maybe next time, with company ideally:

And with that, it was the long trek back to Tripoli, and back to work the following day. An enjoyable break, and long enough, but I'll drive next time, and branch out into the desert. My students are full of ideas for my next jaunt, many of which seem to involve paying for sex, so I may have to be careful in choosing my safari colleagues.