Jenga

Exams are over, and all marked. Unfortunately the results were not quite what I would have liked, and some students will not be proceeding to the next level at this point - which is probably just as well, because there are now going to be 17 students in the next class. Quite enough for a course of this intensity. The BEC (Cambridge University Business English Certificate - the external exam) is set for mid-November, so the pressure's really on. Judging from their faces, my class wasn't very happy once we reached this stage of the term; only Tawfik could manage a smile:

Once I'd completed all the paperwork, and passed it to Head Office, I found I had some free time, so, having my car back, I determined to make good use of it. The day started with a little issue to be resolved - a flat tyre. Fortunately it had enough air in it to get to a garage, so I hot wheeled it there at crack of dawn, and waited for two hours for the garage to open. It was a lovely morning, so I enjoyed the peace and quiet of the bird song whilst sunning myself. Somehow a piece of metal had pierced the sidewall of the tyre, and when I removed it, the tyre went completely flat. My man at the garage, when he arrived, smiled, jabbed a sharp implement into the hole, pulled it out again, and that was that - fixed! I was amazed! He refused payment, but I insisted - I was so happy.

So, off I went. Salem from the Institute had told me about a cave east of Sousa which had some Neolithic cave paintings, and I'd been planning to see them for some time. Today was the day. It was a fair drive - about four hours - but it was good to be on the open road again, and out of town as well. On passing through al Bayda (where they get snow in the winter) I was encouraged off the road by some blokes in a pickup. I thought I'd done something wrong, but in fact they wanted to buy my car! We did carry out some speculative negotiations, but couldn't agree a price - LD4000 for such a fine car as mine? I don't think so!

After Bayda, I headed towards Cyrene, and drove through the necropolis again. It really is an astonishing place. To the left as you go down the hill towards Apollonia is Cyrene, one of the largest Roman cities ever built, and to the right is this enormous city of the dead:

Eventually I reached Sousa, and then the cave. It's used as a goat holding pen now, and is surrounded by razor wire and camel thorn brush, so I couldn't get in close, but it is reputed to be the largest cave in North Africa:

I think this is my favourite area in Libya - almost verdant in a rather Spartan fashion, sparsely populated, with beautiful seascapes and historical sites going back thousands of years, yet with a sense of promise for the future as desalination plants and new/widened roads are established.

Driving back from Sousa to Cyrene, I passed this Italian war memorial, sadly stripped of its plaques. This is most unusual in this country - there is generally great reverence for past conflicts. Certainly the British are held in very high regard following the Second World War.

In front of the memorial, in a bus shelter (there are no buses, but the shelters are very useful) there was a stall selling prickly pear fruit. I'd never tasted them so 'bought' a few to take to England. The vendor spoke excellent English, and when I asked how much, he said: "No charge. They're on the house." People in Libya generally earn very little, but their generosity, as you will know from this blog, knows no bounds.

Getting back to Benghazi in time for Break Fast, I passed this signpost:

You can just make out the Roman script beneath the paint!

Breaking my fast, I made myself a delicious cheese and tomato roll. Biting into the soft bread, I suddenly felt something hard. Mmmm, that's not right, I thought - it was one of my teeth! Or, more accurately, a crown. Off I went to find a dentist. An hour later, everything was back to normal. Such efficiency. I've booked an appointment for a more thorough checkup when I get back.

I'm at the airport now, having slipped through all the formalities like a camel through the desert - effortlessly and no commotion. Oh how I wish Terminal 5 could be like this.

Salem, the Institute director, gave me some photographs of old Benghazi this week. The differences with today's city are quite startling, mainly because the state of repair has been in a generally reverse direction. Here are a couple of pics of the Ottoman (not Italian as I thought) Town Hall:


and to refresh your memory, here's what the square looks like now:

It's been a very busy weekend, getting ready for the end of term exams. Well, photocopying anyway. I've drawn up some rather smart graphs to test their knowledge of City jargon like dropping like a stone, crashing, collapsing - all very useful terms these days, at least in mainstream economies. Luckily I can use terms like boom, soar, and grow as well when talking about Libya.

On Friday I was invited round to Mohamed and Rajab's house for dinner - or break fast as it's called during Ramadhan. It was a very entertaining evening. Their father used to play in goal for the Libyan national football team, and was also captain, so inevitably the conversation turned to football. Father brought out his photograph albums of his playing years, showing many players whom I recognised, plus heads of state, and other luminaries. At one time the coach was an English chap called Bradley who, during Ramadan, derided the team's preferred training schedule, but, to see what was possible, he agreed to live with M&J's father and follow the same dietary and exercise routine. After experiencing this first hand, he modified the schedule - much like we've done at the Institute. Long periods without sustenance quickly slow the body down!

I was pleasantly surprised that my encyclopaedic knowledge of British football players didn't let me down - George Best, Bobby Charlton, Peter Shilton, Gordon Banks, Bobby Moore. I know them all.

The conversation moved on, as always, to politics - American, British, Middle Eastern, and local. Very enlightening. Hearing perspectives other than those relayed by the Western media are very interesting, particularly when you hear the views of people directly involved.

The following evening, I was invited to Akram's again. Another interesting evening, talking to his father about the Italian invasian, and, again, local politics. There's no shortage of opinions on Libya's place in the world, or its future direction. The British seem to have a special place in Libyan hearts as a result of freeing them from the Italian occupation.

Mohamed brought my car back in the early hours of Saturday morning - his clock is very different from mine - and it's perfect. I'll be out and about in the afternoons again before my break in England later this week.

As I sit here watching a documentary on Greek television about Churchill (it's the only channel I can get which has anything apart from news), I've been reflecting on my foray out onto the streets just now to get my supper.

At the start of my outing, the streets were heaving; it was about 6.45, and a few shops were open selling food for the break of the fast at about 7.10. People were very ebullient, and there were cars doing handbrake turns in the street - like Christmas Eve every night for a month. A lot of people were taking the air - no smoking or coffee of course. I went into one shop to get butter, not a very common commodity here. Another customer pointed out that it was an animal product, and was it what I really wanted. Very helpful, I thought. Then off I went to get some bread. No charge, of course. And finally I collected some fruit. Whilst completing this transaction, the vendor asked me where I was eating this evening, so I told him I'd be in my flat. Would I like to share a meal with him and his family, he asked. I'd never met him before! I declined, but was so touched.

By the time I reached home, all the hullabaloo had died down as though a cloak had been thrown over the town. Hardly a car moved, barely a child played, and the only sound was that of deliciously pungent food sizzling in a thousand kitchens.

Whilst I wait for my car to be repaired, it's Shanks's pony for me, at least at the weekend. I live about three miles outside the city centre, so it's not a long walk if the temperature is friendly, so, on Thursday night, I walked in to meet James, the other teacher, for dinner. We met up at the Tibesti at about 8, thinking that this was well after the fast had broken, but we arrived just as they were closing. As usuual here though, persuasion worked, and we had a very fine and extended repast. The city really wakes up in the late evening during Ramadan, so the streets were buzzing when I went home close to midnight.

The following day, I repeated the journey, but this time in the heat of the mid-morning - a very different experience. I think this is the hottest I've experienced it, so by 10.00 am it was really quite warm. By midday, it's too hot to hang around outside for more than a few minutes. There aren't many taxis in Benghazi, and very little public transport other than mini-buses which follow routes and stopping points known only to the locals, so an alternative has developed - everyone is a taxi. If someone is seen walking, hopeless and forlorn in the words of St Bob, every other car toots and slows, asking if you want a lift. Because petrol is so cheap, even if they're going in the opposite direction, a quick diversion is easily accommodated to get you to your destination. There's rarely any discussion about cost - get in, travel, and agree a price on arrival. I always give 2 dinars, and it seems to work OK.

Not having a car at the weekend has turned out to be a bit of an opportunity - I've walked roads I've never seen before, got lost, found myself again, and generally done the hot shoe shuffle. Walking allows you to see things which fly past when you're driving:

Ramadan is a time when families get together even more than normal, so big meals are the order of the day. Nothing is wasted.

I ventured into the old part of the city today, past this old building which looks like it is well down the list for renovation. I think it's probably from the short Italian era when so much building took place, and I would guess it's the town hall, but I'll check this with someone.

Beyond this square is the oldest part of the town, and it hasn't changed since I was here 35 years ago. It was very different from the parts of town being renovated now. I felt it would be intrusive to take photographs, but maybe I'll make another visit at a quieter time.

Here's a picture of a typical buiding - so many are having their outer cladding stripped off, either by hand or electriic hammers. In a couple of years this city will look so different.

And finally, some signs of the times. Although Roman script is no longer illegal (it was legitimised about five years ago), there is still a recognition that some people in positions of high authority would rather not have it thrust in their faces when they're in town, so many signs have had the Western words temporarily papered over.

I'm afraid it was bound to happen - I've made mincemeat of my hamburger.

Nothing dramatic, and my own stupid fault unfortunately. A car stopped suddenly, the one in front of me stopped, and I did - but only after I had gently coalesced the front of my car with the back of hers. It wasn't a high speed collision - I was driving too close, and the road was polished with use, so my tyres didn't grip as much as I had expected.

Luckily we were just outside a hospital - the one of AIDS fame where Sarkozy's previous wife was so helpful in getting the Bulgarian and Palestinian medics freed. Had treatment been needed, it would have been very convenient, but there was no blood let.

We both pulled to the side of the road, I wandered around in a daze for a while, not knowing what to do, and eventually I went to the woman, Wanisa, whose car I had damaged to check she was OK. Fortunately she spoke very good English, and all the concerned bystanders just wanted to make sure we weren't hurt. Some waited around for the police to arrive which they did in due course, but everything was remarkably calm. It turned out that Wanisa knew me, by reputation, not sight. She was the Director of Training for one of the banks which sends students to my courses, Wahda. I've often thought that Libya is like a very large village - everyone I meet knows someone who knows me, even in the middle of nowhere.

I rang Mohamed and Rajab, and they turned up at the same time as the police, so between us all we sorted out the legal details. Everything was in order; the police wanted to know if I wanted to make a complaint about anyone (hardly - I was in the wrong!), and that was that. Wanisa and I exchanged phone numbers, but she said she would probably just sort out her car herself; I needn't worry about anything.

M & R rang a cousin who arranged for a couple of people to look at the car, and they chose the better price for me - Rajab masqueraded as the owner in order to get a Libyan quote, and selected a Libyan garage over an Egyptian one! After another phone call to the uncle of the cousin, a tow rope arrived, and I was taken away from the scene of the crime.

The car is now in the garage being repaired.

They told me that Wanisa is from a good family, so I won't hear any more from her. She was cross that the person who had caused her to brake had 'run off', and she didn't hold me responsible!

I don't know the cost yet, but it'll be less than the value of the car, so that's a relief - I'd hate to lose my trusty wheels after all we've been through together.

As I was wrapping up my day today, I dropped in to see Salem, the Director, and who should be on the phone to him - Wanisa! So she saved me the job of telling my sorry tale myself.

Well, the day finally arrived - my birthday, that is. And the anniversary of the Revolution of course. I received many emails and messages from friends and family, so thank you all for those; they made me feel quite homesick. I wanted everyone to be able to share my day on the beach, so you were with me in spirit if not in body.

One of my students asked me last week when we celebrated our Independence Day. Made me think - independent from whom? Rome? Normandy? Scotland? Saxony? Answers on a postcard, please.

We're now well in to Ramadan, so the working day is much shorter for everyone. Today was a Bank Holiday, and as quiet as the grave - maybe it'll get noisy as the day cools down. There have been a couple of high profile visitors to Benghazi over the past few days: Berlosconi, apologising for the 1911 invasion and offering reparations, Evo Morales from Bolivia on his way to Iran, and Condi Rice is coming over later in the week, so it's not surprising that so much effort has gone in to sprucing the town up.

There are new posters up all over the city, mostly extolling the successes of the past 39 years - the Great Man-Made River Project, revolutionary thought, peace, and the oil industry:

Turf has been getting laid over the past days, and watered continuously to prevent it drying out in the intense heat. It's laid on a bed of 'gatherings' from farmyards, so is a little whiffy, but the place does look good:

As my birthday treat, I decided to drive west from Benghazi to see what beaches awaited my fevered splashings. I had been told that some of the beaches close to the city harboured some nasty bugs, so I drove about 40kms along the coast to a point which I thought looked fairly remote, and therefore relatively untouched. Then I went off-road, somewhat trepidatiously given my track record, but determined nevertheless to make good use of the day. I was rewarded at the end of a long rocky and pitted route with a vacant beach looking out over a cerulean sea. The sand was bouncy - the beach was covered with slivers of masticated palm leaves:

Very unusually there was a lifeguard station built a little way back from the water's edge. I'm in luck, I thought. There's bound to be a buxom blonde babe waiting with tensed muscles to run into the sea to save me. I thrashed, I shouted, I sank, and rose spluttering, but Pamela either didn't see me, or thought she'd leave me to my fate:

After that little episode, I drove off into the outback a little. I came across this area of rock which looked to me like an undiscovered ancient city. I'd have got out to have a proper look around, but there were some vicious wild dogs patrolling the area, so I remained car bound. If you look carefully in the picture, I'm sure you'll see the outlines of buildings and streets - or perhaps I was getting dehydrated. See what you think:

The sun was well up by this time, and, when in Rome etc, it being Ramadan, I wasn't drinking - I'm told fasting clears the soul and mind, and thought I'd give it a try - so I headed home across the billiard table which makes up the coast around here. Never liking to retrace my tracks, I chose a new route back to Ben, and relied on my supreme navigational skills to get me there - quite an achievement in these signpost-free areas. The tyre tracks did help me a little: