As planned, I left Tunis after the allotted time, not really sorry to be leaving because my dodgy leg had rather limited my activity, and one town is pretty much like another from a pavement cafe, although it was good to spend time people-watching different people from those I could watch in Benghazi.
On the way to the border, I thought I had run a police checkpoint, so stopped and reversed to take my punishment. Actually, it was just a policeman asking for a lift - 150 kms. Too late to refuse his request, he climbed aboard and I modified my driving behaviour in deference to his no doubt finely-tuned observation skills. Gradually, my speed picked up, and my overtaking became more Libyan - I knew when I was pushing the envelope when I heard sharp intakes of breath from my right. I'd remodify my driving, and it would decline again, ad infinitum till we got to Ben Guerdane.
We did have the opportunity for rather staccato discussions, and I asked about the big bottles of liquid for sale along the roads in Tunisia. It is indeed petrol, for sale at a discounted rate, 'smuggled' in from Libya. More of this in a moment.
Getting to the border was OK. Getting through it took 3 hours - searches, paperwork, searches, stamps, passport checks, stamps - it went on and on, but eventually I was through. Stopping off to fill up at the first garage in Libya, I saw the smugglers loading up their gear. In the first pic, the bloke is filling up a big tank in his boot from which he will siphon petrol when back in Tunisia; this is the 'subtle' method:
In the second pic, the overt method is used - fill bottles of all sorts of sizes, materials, and suitabilities, chuck them in the boot, and sell prepackaged volumes to your clients:
The flammability of petrol is not a worry in this commercial enterprise, so people carry out their trade regardless of any ignition considerations. I was glad when I was back on the open road.
I eventually made it to Tripoli after 13 hours. The next day I checked my email. Well, there was a rather direct message from my mother instructing me to go to hospital, do not pass Go, do not collect .... and so on, so, as I always do, I did what she said. She had contacted various members of the family who are rather more aware of medical matters than myself (doctors of various specialties), and they had said I should get my leg checked out immediately.
Well, thank goodness for email. I went to a clinic I know in Tripoli, and they told me to stop moving about, start resting my leg, and start thinking about replanning my next few days - it wasn't a torn muscle, it was probably a deep vein thrombosis, and could, if dislodged, give me either a heart attack, a stroke, or a pulmonary embolism, any one of which sounded like something best avoided, so I was booked in there and then.
I was given a Doppler ultrasound scan:
Everyone was so efficient, I knew I was in safe hands, but I did have plenty of time to think about what might have happened if I had stayed with my self-diagnosis. I think the possibility of a stroke worried me the most, particularly because of what I have heard through my family. All rather scary.
