http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/The life and times of an ESP teacher in Libya.en-UKhttp://backend.userland.com/rss092http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/bb/2f37a39e21ddbb2bfd25c5ba3a09e2_160x200.jpg <p>Here's a pic of me in the New Forest about an hour away from where I live at the moment. It was a cold and rainy day, but it was Heaven.</p> <p>Such a  difference from Libya.</p> <p>Oh, how I'm torn.</p> <p>The two trees between which I'm standing are physically joined by a branch:<br> <a title="New Forest" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/830/3011830_8eafa23486_m.jpeg" alt="New Forest" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>I was there with a wonderful friend, and we walked, walked, and walked through the New Forest. It was gorgeous - we kicked leaves like children, smelled leaves like innocents, and fell, exhausted, finally, into a hotel in the heart of the forest. It was the England of my childhood.</p> <p>It was great being reintroduced to a part of England which I'd forgotten existed. And what a perfect time of year to go walking.</p> <p>I heard on the radio today that you can tell which way north lies, apparently, by looking at the moss on the tree when in a forest - it's on the northern side. In England, anyway. Let's hope. So there you are. And another thing. If you rub the leaves of a Douglas Fir, it smells like oranges - and, astonishingly, it does: I've tried it!! Today!!!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/23/well-not-quite-5093976/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/23/well-not-quite-5093976/Sun, 23 Nov 2008 22:58:35 +0100 <p>The fateful day eventually arrived, and I'm now back in Britain. Rajab and Mohamed took me to Benina at 5.00 am - and it's a good job that they were so punctual. Although the time of my flight was ticketed as 07.15, that was just Afriqiyah's little joke - the actual time for departure was 06.00.</p> <p>The flight was fine and I was at Burj el Fatah by 8.00, waiting outside the BA offices. I had tried to find a hotel for the evening but <strong><em>all</em></strong> rooms were taken - there was a conference on in town - so I decided to fly a day early.</p> <p>BA were happy to change my reservation, and there was no fee, so my flight out was booked for the afternnon. I met up with Khaled for drinks and a bite to eat, and we had an introductory lesson on email in an Internet cafe. Then he took me to the airport.</p> <p>Having queued at the check-in for a while, I was then told I wasn't booked on the flight - BA had accidentally booked me in for the 17th <em>October</em>, not <em>November</em>, and the gate was about to shut.</p> <p>Arrrgh - panic.</p> <p>I quickly rearranged my booking, and slipped through emigration with seconds to spare.</p> <p><a title="DSC01289" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/688/2997688_f4603c3208_m.jpg" alt="DSC01289" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>Then I got on the plane and there was a big notice on my allocated seat saying 'Not to be occupied'.</p> <p>Bummer.</p> <p>So they upgraded me to First. Lovely. Champagne, caviare, china, the works. I think this will be how I always travel in future.</p> <p>We flew over the Alps as the sun was setting - they were unbelievably beautiful. Ski-ing on Christmas Day? Yes, a definite possibility.</p> <p>After a hugely expensive taxi trip home, it was into the comfort of Mother's home.</p> <p>It's great to be back, but I shall miss Libya terribly. I have made more friends over my year there than I thought possible, and I am seriously thinking of returning at some point. There have been several offers of work in both Benghazi and Tripoli, so I shall have to consider my options.</p> <p>My time, my photographs, my life in Libya, are safe in my mind, and on my computer. Now I need to share my experiences with other people, so I'm going to start presenting Talks to people near High Wycombe to encourage them to visit the Libya that I have fallen in love with. <br><span><strong><em><span><br>Here endeth the blog</span></em></strong></span></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/18/ecce-peregrino-5059008/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/18/ecce-peregrino-5059008/Tue, 18 Nov 2008 19:14:50 +0100 <p><a title="DSC_0535" href="javascript:window.open("> </a></p> <p>On Tuesday, I was invited round to Moftah's house to meet his wife and children, and for lunch. It was a lovely afternoon, and a pleasure to be invited out again by one of my students.</p> <p>Last night, I was invited round to Salem's to eat, and, as always, the food was delicious and the hospitality was wonderful. Whoever wrote in the Lonely Planet that the food in Libya was nothing to write home about couldn't have been more wrong. Whilst the food on the street tends to be a bit repetitive, it is perfectly adequate. The food in the homes is just gorgeous - without exception.</p> <p>After visiting Salem's stationery shop, we went to his home and I met his family - all of them.The average size of a family here is 6.8, and Salem's is 7 so he's done his bit to keep the numbers high. All of his shildren speak English, most of which has been learned from TV, so their accents are American. Salem himself studied at Aston, although our paths didn't quite cross - I was there a few years before him.</p> <p>Here we are relaxing after the meal:<a title="DSC_0535" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/196/2984196_6fb625ef77_m.jpeg" alt="DSC_0535" hspace="5" vspace="5"><br></a>We had some interesting discussions about the place of Italians in Libyan history. It was very useful hearing a different perspective. Apparently it was only once Mussolini arrived on the scene that things went badly downhill; up until that point the occupation had been benign, and almost accepted. There was certainly no mass murder. In fact, many Italians stayed on in Libya after the War, and only left, under duress, in 1971 when the situation became more fraught for foreigners - Brits, and Americans included.</p> <p>Today has been very exciting. It was meant to be a study/tutorial day, so I told the class that I'd be in the office if they wanted to drop in with any particular questions. Well, they did, in large numbers, but not to ask questions - more to fete me with presents and a party:<a title="DSC_0535" href="javascript:window.open("><br></a><a title="DSC01265" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/197/2984197_21bff712bf_m.jpeg" alt="DSC01265" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a title="IMG_9993" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/198/2984198_fe47413309_m.jpeg" alt="IMG_9993" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/199/2984199_09308fabf5_m.jpeg" alt="IMG_9999" hspace="5" vspace="5"><br>It has been a lovely day. I felt like a film star - cameras flashing all over the place, people asking to stand beside me whilst our photograph was taken. Such generosity and kindness. This really is a very special place. If a vacancy comes up for a leading position, I think I might apply - I think I've got the appropriate oratorial pose, don't you:<br><a title="IMG_9986_1" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/221/2984221_65c6a9a371_m.jpeg" alt="IMG_9986_1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Well, my agent's calling me for a press conference, so I'd better jump into my limo, dodge the paparrazi, and head off into the sunset for endless rounds of champagne and interviews. We media types lead very busy lives, donchaknow.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/13/a-most-unusual-thursday-5029289/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/13/a-most-unusual-thursday-5029289/Thu, 13 Nov 2008 13:31:13 +0100 <p>I'm sitting in the office having just returned from an enormous repast at the home of Muftah where I was able to regale his wife and children with my encyclopaedic knowledge of Arabic, causing no small amount of adulation I might say, and I'm now winding down. All reports are finished, all procedures have been handed over to James and Salem (I think), all necessary emails have been sent, and I'm feeling very content.</p> <p>The icing on the cake is that I now have a bit of spare time to write this over a fast link which allows me to add some photographs of my weekend. Be still, my beating heart, I hear you cry. Nay, nay, and thrice nay - here they are.</p> <p>First of all, the infamous beach where Rajab was attacked. There's no sign of the blood here, and you'd hardly believe that such a vicious attack could have happened on such a deserted beach, but happen it did. Even paradise has its ugly side. If I had my way, dogs would be illegal - and I suspect Rajab would go along with that.<br><a title="1" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/040/2979040_ac0b9b3503_m.jpeg" alt="1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Can you believe the sea? It was such a beautiful spot. And this beach continues for a thousand kilometres until you get to Tripoli.</p> <p>As I was swimming, I noticed a carvan going past - no, not the type with wheels, but a real caravan, so I rushed out of the water and managed to catch this timeless picture:<br><a title="2" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/041/2979041_4e66b4699e_m.jpeg" alt="2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>I know it's not the best picture ever seen, but you try holding your camera still when you've just rushed breathlessly from the freezing sea.</p> <p>On Saturday, I had a last wander around Benghazi, and caught as many memories as I could on camera. Here's a photograph of the infamous Graziani's house where he lived during the Italian subjugation and occupation of this glorious country. It was in the news again recently when Berlosconi visited to apologise for past Italian behaviour, and to meet the son of the leader executed by his countrymen, Omar Mukhtar:<br><a title="3" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/042/2979042_f206a7089c_m.jpeg" alt="3" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>I really am in two minds about leaving. I have been made to feel so welcome, at every turn. I was told this morning that not only will the School miss me, but also the community at large. I am a well-known person round these parts, and have really been taken to this country's bosom. I feel so privileged to have spent the past year here; it was a leap into the unknown, but what a fantastic journey it's been.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/11/a-few-moments-to-spare-5018813/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/11/a-few-moments-to-spare-5018813/Tue, 11 Nov 2008 17:13:28 +0100 <p>I spent part of my last weekend here on the beach, with Mohamed and Rajab, at a place about 50kms south of Benghazi called Gimenes. We were the only people on the beach - the locals think it's too cold at this time of year. We've been very lucky though - the temperatures are still in the eighties. The water doesn't reflect the air temperature - it was really quite chilly. However, being made of stern stuff, I went swimming until I got a headache at which point I knew I'd been in long enough.</p> <p>Mohamed and Rajab continued filling me in on the finer points of Libyan culture. One area we covered was women, as you do. Their oldest sister is getting married next month - to a man she's never seen, not even in a photograph. He's been checked out by the male members of the family, and because they're happy, she's happy. I asked what the divorce rate was when marriages were arranged like this; apparently they're quite rare, and certainly lower than the rates we experience in the UK.</p> <p>Whilst we were lounging on the beach, a dog (Egyptian, of course) ran up and attacked Rajab. Mohamed just laughed. He said that if the dog had killed Rajab, he'd have been happy - he'd be able to move into Rajab's bedroom!</p> <p>Exams have started, and nerves are stretched to breaking point. A fair amount of 'helping' is taking place, but not to such an extent that I'm fooled. Speaking and writing are difficult to copy, fortunately. </p> <p>The rest of my week is going to be filled with writing reports, building spreadsheets, and handing the final bits over to James. I've automated as much as possible, so he should be able to cope, as should whoever comes to replace me. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/10/beached-for-the-final-time-5013872/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/10/beached-for-the-final-time-5013872/Mon, 10 Nov 2008 18:06:30 +0100 <p>It's the last practice test tomorrow, and spirits are high. We've been practising like mad, and all looks good as they focus on the 15th. They're a jolly crowd as you can see:<br><a title="1" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/703/2960703_69a2667c3a_m.jpeg" alt="1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>A great deal of preparation work has been carried out in the Staff Room - photocopying, talking, thinking, planning - and as if that wasn't enough, a student at the local university, studying for her Masters in Linquistics, has been asking for support and guidance...every day! So, a busy time. I shall look forward to seeing her completed dissertation. Perhaps I'll be able to refer to it when I do mine next year.<br><a title="2" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/704/2960704_6cea235e4a_m.jpeg" alt="2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>The sale of the car has gone through, mainly as a result of in-car advertising giving Mohamed's phone number as the primary contact, but I shall take the credit for writing the advert in my best Arabic. It says "For Sale", so not too complicated, but I was very pleased with my mastering of the keyboard.<br><a title="3" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/870/2960870_bec03839b1_m.jpeg" alt="3" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>There was considerable interest, even outside the bank, but in the end I sold it to one of my neighbours.<br><a title="4" href="javascript:window.open("><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/706/2960706_aca24b83c9_m.jpeg" alt="4" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Payment was in cash, of course, and so that had to be converted into sterling. Mohamed and Rajab took me to the gold souk to see one of their friends there - he gave me a good rate of exchange. I've never seen so much gold in my life. In the course of the discussions, he told me that he expected the price of gold to go down if Obama is elected, and he should know. I think I'll hold back on converting my assets into metal for a day or so.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/04/and-as-they-race-to-the-finish-4983988/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/04/and-as-they-race-to-the-finish-4983988/Tue, 04 Nov 2008 19:17:51 +0100 <p>The teaching is becoming ever more demanding as we approach the final exam on the 15th. The students are coping very well, and we have frequent progress tests which are all showing positive progress. They also help me to identify the areas to focus on. The students' writing and listening skills in particular are very pleasing.</p> <p>I shall be very sorry to leave, and frequently wonder whether I'm doing the right thing. I have been made to feel a valued member of not only the school community, but also the community as a whole. I couldn't have hoped for a more special country to teach in.</p> <p>One of my students is very keen for me to become a Muslim - she doesn't want me to spend eternity burning in Hell. She has given me several CDs on Islam, and books, to help me see the errors of my ways. I was nearly in tears when she was explaining how much better off I would be as a person, now and in the afterlife, if I converted. Islam is not a proselytising faith - she is just trying to help me.</p> <p>I'm in the process of selling my car, and am enjoying an embarrassment of interest. I put posters in the rear windows, in Arabic of course, giving a student's phone number to ring, and he has been inundated with calls. It's a choice now between selling to one of my neighbours, or one of his friends, so I suppose it'll have to be Kalashnikovs at dawn to determine the lucky winner. Having the car, and being able to drive the vast distances which I've managed whilst here, have given me such great opportunities to explore, on and off the beaten track.</p> <p>There's been a bit of a leak through my bedroom ceiling (via the light fitting - a little worrying) over the past ten days or so, and sorting it out has not been straightforward. The water appears to be coming from the sixth floor; I live on the first. </p> <p>Initially I spoke to the Egyptian concierge - it turns out he lives in a hut on the roof, just like in the Yakoubian Building, not under the stairs as I had thought - but he isn't really terribly influential, so nothing happened for a while. Eventually I called my estate agent friend who spoke to some of the other occupants, and a meeting was convened in my flat to discuss what was to be done. Ownership of the block seems to be a little grey - it's technically owned by the state - yes, it's a council flat - but people have sold their rights to live here to other people, so now nobody takes overall responsibility. </p> <p>Nothing was firmly resolved at the meeting - many suggestions, but no acceptances of actions - and so now the owner of my flat has decided to sell - this'll be the second time I've been made homeless from the same place in six months! He says that the people who live here aren't very good people because they won't help each other, so he wants to find somewhere else. I've always found everyone here perfectly delightful, but then I expect I receive special treatment.</p> <p>A number of people have suggested I open up my own language school here in Benghazi. With a native English speaker as principal, students would be queuing round the block, I'm told. Well, it's a thought, but I won't rush into it just yet, tempting though the money would certainly be. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/01/hamburger-to-go-4965927/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/11/01/hamburger-to-go-4965927/Sat, 01 Nov 2008 14:04:40 +0100<p>I'm certainly back in the swing of things here, and it's great. I've got 16 students who are all very focused on their final exam, so they're very demanding and hungry. It's such fun teaching students in this frame of mind - I get a massive buzz every day, learning as much from them as I'm teaching. I love it.</p> <p>In order to maintain a modicum of sanity in the class, I've brought the Snickers technique forward from my previous class - any minor misdemeanours are punished by a black mark in my Liber Miscreantis. These can range from turning up late, through talking Arabic, to allowing a mobile phone to ring. Last week I was the worst culprit (for my speaking too much Arabic so I don't feel too bad) so I had to fork out for a catering-size box of chocolate.</p> <p>There was one moment where there was a danger of complete anarchy breaking out: we were talking about insurance, premiums, types, and so on, and one student told the class that we needed to discuss underwear. I asked him to repeat what he'd just said, so he did: underwear. I asked if he was sure that that was the right word. Yes, he was sure. By this time the class was in serious disarray. It turned out that he was talking about underwriters.</p> <p>The weather's perfect here at this time of year - crisp mornings, sunny days, and balmy evenings. Just wonderful. I wish it was like this all the time!</p> <p>The only cloud on the horizon is over the Isle of Man - where I've been salting all my savings from my work. Kaupthing went belly-up the day I flew out of the UK, and there's still no clear picture on what's going to happen. Ex-pats aren't allowed UK bank accounts, so are obliged to save off-shore. But the UK Govenment offers no protection to off-shore savers because these islands aren't part of the UK. However, UK banks can raid their off-shore subsidiaries to prop up their mainland operations - as they have done. Yes, I'm very cross about the situation.</p><p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/10/20/adorer-of-the-ruin-comforter-and-only-healer-when-the-heart-hath-bled-4899093/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/10/20/adorer-of-the-ruin-comforter-and-only-healer-when-the-heart-hath-bled-4899093/Mon, 20 Oct 2008 09:19:45 +0200 <p>It's been a long time since I last posted to the blog, but I'm back in Benghazi now so normal service will be resumed.</p> <p>Three weeks in England was a special treat - initially it was only meant to be a fortnight, but the extra week was most welcome. It was good to see some rain, the green fields, the beginning of autumn; to smell the beautiful English air; and to see all my friends and family. I hadn't realised how much I missed them all. It was also good to go out in mixed company, to have a few (or more) drinks, and to drive at sedate speeds visiting all the people I miss so much.</p> <p>But then it was good to get back to Libya too. I spent a few days in Tripoli seeing friends and revisiting old haunts, staying with an old colleague, and tasting food outdoors, in the sun, again.</p> <p>Flying to Benghazi this morning was a delight - the plane was full, and there was incessant chatter throughout the journey. Conversation is a major characteristic of Libyan life, and is emblematic of the friendliness of the people here. On arriving back at my flat, I was welcomed like a missing brother - people were hanging out of their windows and running out of their houses to welcome me back. It was wonderful.</p> <p>I'm in the middle of Stephen Fry's Moab is my Washpot. I was almost in tears, and not only from laughter, particularly in the parts relating to his time at prep school. For example: the apartheid evident in the colour of trunks being used to differentiate between swimmers and non-swimmers, and the humiliation handed out when an unknown rule was broken. He could almost be talking about Beech Hall. It brought back masses of forgotten memories, few of which were pleasant!</p> <p>The next month is going to be very busy, leading up to the BEC in mid-November. It promises to be a very busy and exciting time. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/10/11/back-in-benghazi-4855482/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/10/11/back-in-benghazi-4855482/Sat, 11 Oct 2008 17:10:04 +0200 <p>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:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Level 6"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/189/2819189_93fcb49b8e_m.jpeg" alt="Level 6" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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.</p> <p>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!</p> <p>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:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="1"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/948/2817948_75bae928b5_m.jpeg" alt="1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="2"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/949/2817949_afa3067d22_m.jpeg" alt="2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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.</p> <p>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.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="3"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/950/2817950_99bf2cbb0e_m.jpeg" alt="3" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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.</p> <p>Getting back to Benghazi in time for Break Fast, I passed this signpost:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="4"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/951/2817951_ed76264628_m.jpeg" alt="4" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>You can just make out the Roman script beneath the paint!</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/16/east-of-sousa-4736705/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/16/east-of-sousa-4736705/Tue, 16 Sep 2008 19:00:35 +0200 <p>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:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Town Hall"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/604/2809604_6806db7baf_m.jpeg" alt="Town Hall" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Old Town Hall"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/605/2809605_a5c0b2aebe_m.jpeg" alt="Old Town Hall" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>and to refresh your memory, here's what the square looks like now:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Italian town hall"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/545/2789545_1cfcbe2124_m.jpeg" alt="Italian town hall" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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 <em>dropping like a stone</em>, <em>crashing</em>, <em>collapsing</em> - all very useful terms these days, at least in mainstream economies. Luckily I can use terms like <em>boom, soar, and grow</em> as well when talking about Libya.</p> <p>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!</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/14/hit-the-road-jack-4724816/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/14/hit-the-road-jack-4724816/Sun, 14 Sep 2008 08:58:58 +0200 <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/08/ramadan-in-action-4700070/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/08/ramadan-in-action-4700070/Mon, 08 Sep 2008 19:38:15 +0200 <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Sheep heads"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/544/2789544_432c983e72_m.jpeg" alt="Sheep heads" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Ramadan is a time when families get together even more than normal, so big meals are the order of the day. Nothing is wasted.</p> <p>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.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Italian town hall"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/545/2789545_1cfcbe2124_m.jpeg" alt="Italian town hall" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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.</p> <p>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.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Stripped building"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/546/2789546_d84c797e0a_m.jpeg" alt="Stripped building" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="No Roman 1"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/547/2789547_0a885a2ba0_m.jpeg" alt="No Roman 1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="No Roman 2"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/548/2789548_c97b5ab19e_m.jpeg" alt="No Roman 2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/06/hopeless-and-forlorn-4690662/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/06/hopeless-and-forlorn-4690662/Sat, 06 Sep 2008 17:52:47 +0200 <p>I'm afraid it was bound to happen - I've made mincemeat of my hamburger.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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. <br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Just after the crash"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/907/2783907_19f8ad42d2_m.jpeg" alt="Just after the crash" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>The car is now in the garage being repaired.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="At the garage"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/908/2783908_00aaf1c691_m.jpeg" alt="At the garage" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>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!</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/04/hambuggered-4680670/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/04/hambuggered-4680670/Thu, 04 Sep 2008 11:59:32 +0200 <p>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: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Pipelines"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/458/2777458_1645035733_m.jpeg" alt="Pipelines" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> 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: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Turf"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/459/2777459_d30d3514fd_m.jpeg" alt="Turf" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> 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: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Beach"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/460/2777460_0eb9c54255_m.jpeg" alt="Beach" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Pamela"></a> 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: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Pamela"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/461/2777461_6942eef2ac_m.jpeg" alt="Pamela" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Old city"></a> 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: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Old city"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/462/2777462_b176d81602_m.jpeg" alt="Old city" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Desert"></a> 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: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Desert"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/463/2777463_8a94e9f5e7_m.jpeg" alt="Desert" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/01/long-live-the-revolution-4668157/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/09/01/long-live-the-revolution-4668157/Mon, 01 Sep 2008 19:22:06 +0200 Rushing to beat the onset of Ramadan, we had a little party at the Institute last week to celebrate my birthday. My students gave me loads of presents, several of which will serve to remind me of my very happy days here when I'm old and wrinkly - some way away yet, I hasten to add. <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Classroom"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/728/2771728_b97607fd45_m.jpeg" alt="Classroom" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> On Friday, Mohamed and Rajab took me out to Tocra - I'd been telling them about the ruined town and lovely beaches, and they'd never been, so I was their guide for the day. First stop was the necropolis just outside the town - I seem to be developing a fixation with necropoleis; it's probably to do with a very bad event in my childhood which I've blocked from my mind. In the picture below you can just make out some lettering in a mixture of Greek and Roman script. Roman was born out of Greek, so this tomb would have been originally excavated at the time of the mutation.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Necropolis"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/729/2771729_b539d6f4a1_m.jpeg" alt="Necropolis" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Out in the city itself, there was more Greek writing - they were supplanted by the Romans, then the Byzantines, then the Arabs, Turks, and Italians in that order. The Arabs finally took control only as recently as 1943, or 1952 if you count the British/French United Nations Mandate period as an occupation. On this block of stone you can clearly see the Greek inscription: TOCRA TORKA ISAR:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Greek evidence"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/730/2771730_9664f5560a_m.jpeg" alt="Greek evidence" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>We met up with Abdul (in the middle below) at the site. He remembered me from my last visit, and decided that we deserved a personal tour of the site - there wasn't another soul in the whole city. He took us to places I'd missed on my earlier visit, and gave a detailed commentary on the highlights, such as the Byzantine church below:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="The Boys"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/731/2771731_a2c180e88a_m.jpeg" alt="The Boys" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>and this mosaic which needs conserving, but money for this is in short supply. Archaeology students from Benghazi do come out to Tocra on field trips, but there is no large scale digging going on at the moment.  Part of the charm of this place is that it (and Tolmeita up the coast a little) have been largely untouched by conservators; there must be so many secrets waiting to be unlocked. I feel such a thrill in being able to just wander round these places at leisure, untroubled by hoards of tourists (there's an interesting, and mainly truthful, article here on tourism in Libya:  <a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/travel/destinations/middle_east/article4627298.ece"><a href="http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/travel/destinations/middle_east/article4627298.ece).">http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/travel/destinations/middle_east/article4627298.ece).</a><br></a> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Mosaic"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/732/2771732_2f1ff42596_m.jpeg" alt="Mosaic" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> Yet again I tried to press some money on Abdul, but he reminded me that I was now a Libyan, and Libyans don't pay to see their own heritage. We stayed and chatted a while after the tour, and it transpired that Abdul knew Mohamed and Rajab's father - as most people do, I think: he used to be captain of the national Libyan football team! We spent the remainder of the day on the beach near Tolmeita - Mohamed and Rajab hadn't discovered this hidden haven before - swimming, chatting, eating, and getting cooked. Mohamed told me that my problem was I didn't have enough melanin. How right he was - and the sun block wasn't as waterproof as I thought either, with cerise redefinition creeping up on my exposed torso over the afternoon. The large structure I mentioned, and pictured, in an earlier blog is a monument to the Revolution. It was around here that the Leader and his select band of representatives of the people built their plans for the 1969 coup, and the grateful population erected the structure to show their appreciation. The house below (away from which I was guided last week) was where many of the meetings were held, and it is still used as a sort of dacha. This is why I was shooed away.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Cottage"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/733/2771733_278eb47cfe_m.jpeg" alt="Cottage" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/30/title-4659418/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/30/title-4659418/Sat, 30 Aug 2008 21:36:48 +0200 <p>Before I set out for my normal weekend jaunt, I instructed my dutiful workforce to get stuck in to painting the kerbstones throughout Benghazi. I don't want the place looking tatty on September 1st. So, as you can see, they set out the cones in accordance with the new Health and Safety instructions I have instituted, and got stuck in. By the time I returned to my flat in the afternoon, they had done both sides of this road, so Benghazi as a whole shouldn't be impossible in the timescale:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Lick of paint"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/440/2753440_d6b6ea80b8_m.jpeg" alt="Lick of paint" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>I drove out past Tocra to find somewhere to walk, and initially went off down a gravel lane towards this monument, but, having cut through one or two gates, and eventually got to a large building guarded by people with serious faces, and guns slung around their shoulders, I was advised that this route wasn't open to the public. So I drove a little further down the coast, went back off road, and parked on the beach by some construction machinery. Undefeated by my earlier meeting, I walked back along the coast to the monument - I've no idea what it commemorates or signifies, although it's reminiscent of the closing scene of Planet of the Apes, as Charlton Heston sees the fallen Satue of Liberty rising out of the sand, and says something memorable, which I can't remember offhand.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Planet of the Apes"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/441/2753441_dc4f9532db_m.jpeg" alt="Planet of the Apes" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>The sand was pristine, soft, warm, and welcoming. There was hardly anyone on the beach on this, a beautiful, sunny, Friday at the height of the summer holidays. The water was cool and clear, the wind was gentle, it was gorgeous.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Empty beach"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/442/2753442_dda3395dca_m.jpeg" alt="Empty beach" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>I was about twenty miles from Tocra, and five miles from Tolmeitha, so not terribly close to either of the old cities, but evidence of previous occupation is all around you here. This bit of wall had been exposed by the gently lapping sea where I was walking - who knows, perhaps I am the first Brit to have seen it. This country is an archaeologist's paradise.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Roman city"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/443/2753443_b11728a7a8_m.jpeg" alt="Roman city" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Driving in to Tolmeitha for a bite to eat, I decided to stay off road, so wound through the tracks and lanes by the coast. On the outskirts of Tolmeitha I came across this interesting site - a necropolis being used as farmyard:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Necropolis"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/444/2753444_3fc56413bf_m.jpeg" alt="Necropolis" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>I gave my class a test on Thursday, and felt rather discomfited by the results. It was obvious that some of the students were not doing any work outside of class, apart from the bare minimum. One student only managed 4 out of 48 in the vocab/definition part of the exercise, yet he's capable of so much better. Fortunately this was only a test for my benefit; tomorrow, they have their mid-term test, and that affects whether they are put forward for the BEC next term. Hopefully Thursday's showing will focus their minds. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/23/take-only-photos-leave-only-footprints-4628072/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/23/take-only-photos-leave-only-footprints-4628072/Sat, 23 Aug 2008 20:35:50 +0200 <p>It's 35 years to the day since I first visited Benghazi, and the harbour is the exact site of my first experience of this city. I went for a bit of a wander around whilst tracking down a Western Union office to pick up some money to pay some bills. When I came here last time, photography within the environs of the docks was banned, so I have no pictures of that time. Things are much more relaxed these days:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Benghazi Harbour"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/449/2736449_d087492f23_m.jpeg" alt="Benghazi Harbour" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> The city is being spruced up in readiness for my birthday. All the trees are being trimmed of their scrappy cuttings, and the buildings are being given a lick of paint:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Tree trimming"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/450/2736450_f7f0f4730a_m.jpeg" alt="Tree trimming" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> By coincidence, there is also a minor celebration happening alongside my own festivities, and new posters are being erected to celebrate the people's revolution. This poster shows, at the top, a confrontation between what look like Egyptian forces, and their Libyan counterparts, with the Leader leading from the front. Underneath, the Leader shares the successful conclusion to the earlier debate with his people:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Revolutionary poster"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/451/2736451_be6edb8f02_m.jpeg" alt="Revolutionary poster" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> In the course of the revolution, the people of this country have been guided on the way forward by the Green Book, some extracts of which adorn the lobby of the Tibesti Hotel where I stayed when I started this part of my contract:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Green Book"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/452/2736452_1c42c39443_m.jpeg" alt="Green Book" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> It's 39 years since the king was overthrown in the bloodless revolution - he was out of the country at the time, and the time seemed right. It's Benghazi's turn to hold the prime festivities this year; next year, who knows, but they should be fun. Best to book a hotel now to get a ringside seat:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Another revolutionary poster"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/453/2736453_4000d9475e_m.jpeg" alt="Another revolutionary poster" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> All the untidy bits of land are being tidied up with coatings of new sand and soil, so as I drive around the city on 1st September in my open-top car, well, with the sun roof open, all will be pristine. I expect I'll give all the students the day off so they can share in the fun but since Ramadan starts around then, it may all be a little muted:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Fresh soil"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/454/2736454_7bae48ed6d_m.jpeg" alt="Fresh soil" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/16/revolution-in-action-4596466/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/16/revolution-in-action-4596466/Sat, 16 Aug 2008 14:30:06 +0200 <p>Having been driving past and through Tocra (formerly Arsinoe - stifle that snort please) ever since I arrived in Benghazi, I thought I'd better spend a little time here. It's the fourth of the Pentapolis cities that I've visited (Cyrene, Benghazi, Tolmeita being the others, leaving Barce, or al Marj, outstanding). The caretaker spoke good English, so gave me a good rundown of the history of the place - there's not very much in the Lonely Planet. I asked how much the entry fee was, but he said we'd discuss this on my way out. Most visitors come in the winter, he said, and usually from a cruise ship moored in Benghazi for a day trip. It was unusual to see people on a hot day in the summer, and I had the place to myself.</p> <p>It's a sort of boutique city, less excavated even than Tolmeita, and short on significant identifiable buildings, so not terribly interesting at the moment. Some excavation was done during the Italian occupation (in the photograph, you can see the railway tracks used to remove the debris, as in Lubda), and during the Sixties there were a number of British expeditions. During the Turkish and  Italian occupations, a part of the site was built as a fortress using stones from the Graeco-Roman city:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Tocra fortress"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/033/2735033_ae33fd1c5c_m.jpeg" alt="Tocra fortress" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> In the early part of the invasion, there were inevitable clashes with the locals, and, very unusually, there is a memorial on the wall of the fortress to the Italian soldiers who died here. Most other war reminders of this period have been removed:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Italian memorial"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/034/2735034_a28992c694_m.jpeg" alt="Italian memorial" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> The city was built with only three walls, the fourth being the coast. It's off the beaten track a little, and there were no visitors apart from me, unlike most stretches of coast on a Friday, so maybe this is the bolt hole I've been looking for to get out of the hurly burly of Benghazi after a busy day at work:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Tocra coast"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/035/2735035_4907b72c06_m.jpeg" alt="Tocra coast" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> After I'd finished my exploration, I went back to the gate to pay. I was waved to a seat in the shade, and stayed for a while chatting about Libya, the heat, Britain, work, and so on. Broaching the subject of the entry fee, I was told: "No charge. You're a Libyan citizen now." I think being a teacher in Libya must be one of the most appreciated jobs in the world.</p> <p>On my way home - I'm being sensible about distances travelled now - I saw this piece of roadside debris. It's the first time I've seen a cow, with its back legs still hobbled; sheep, goats, even camels are quite common, and all are left for nature to take its course. I didn't stay very close for long - it looked like it was about to explode.<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Roadside debris"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/036/2735036_7a1ee970ea_m.jpeg" alt="Roadside debris" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> It's been an exhausting week at work. I've instituted mini-exams on Thursdays now to prepare the students for the rigorous exam conditions they will be subjected to in November. We're doing three short tests with strict timings - comprehension, writing, and another skill at random. Before we started, I repeated the rules and ran through the techniques: no talking, no phones, no 'helping', and always answer all the questions, even if you need to guess. Half the class did OK, but there are still some students who miss questions out, spend too long on others, and don't follow the instructions. We've got about eight teaching weeks before the BEC exam, but only four weeks to the end of term exam, so the practices will be very valuable. Those who don't make the grade this term will not go forward to the BEC.</p> <p>James, the new teacher, is settling in well. He is well-travelled, and has a genuine interest in Libya's culture and people. He seems very knowledgeable about Islam and Arab history, and has gelled with his students. My students refer to his class as the Irish Class. We have a few minutes each day to exchange news and ideas, and our approaches are quite similar - laid back, happy to go off on tangents whilst keeping to the core topics, and interested in English culturally and linguistically. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/15/tick-tocra-4593917/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/15/tick-tocra-4593917/Fri, 15 Aug 2008 20:55:06 +0200 <p>I've been back at work now for a week, and it's so good to be teaching again. The students were all pleased to see me (I think), and the teacher who has been covering for me, Jamila, was probably pleased that her workload was reverting to only one, rather than two classes. Jamila is a local teacher who had planned to cover only the one class due to be taught by a new teacher from Manchester, so covering two was a bit of a shock.</p> <p>There was a wonderful surprise at the end of the week - we now have the Internet! This means that once all PCs are connected up, the lessons can broaden out. What a step forward.</p> <p>I flew off to Tripoli on Thursday to collect my car - it's been languishing in Salem's back yard since I returned from Tunisia, and has been sorely missed in Benghazi. I felt so isolated without it, so was most keen to recover it as soon as possible. On Friday I spent the day on the beach - only the second visit since I arrived, so I shall have to remedy that - with Salem and Nasser:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Salem and Nasser"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/669/2722669_646683a14b_m.jpeg" alt="Salem and Nasser" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Other friends turned up later, the sun shone, we had a barbeque, and I spent about three hours in the water. Don't I know it now though - the coolness of the water masked the heat of the sun with inevitable results. Still, a very enjoyable day. My plan now, once the pain has subsided a little, is to drive out along the coast after work to prep my next day on the beach under a tree, and to have supper looking out over the crystal clear waters of this part of the Med. Pretty close to idyllic, I'd say.</p> <p>On Saturday I collected my deposit from The Libyan Auto Club, and started on the long drive back to Benghazi, intending to stop frequently, and to take it slowly. My autopilot is still not configured for North Africa, so I headed west initially, until I realised what I'd done. Once I'd rebooted my compass, all went smoothly - I began to recognise some landmarks such as this bridge:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Bridge"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/670/2722670_748ddc7c80_m.jpeg" alt="Bridge" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>It looks like an old railway bridge to me. There are no railways in Libya at the moment, although in the past it was possible to get from Tunisia to Egypt by train. There are plans to rebuild this line, with some spurs going south into the desert, and on to South Africa, so watch this space.</p> <p>I got to Benghazi in good time, all in one piece, and with no additional pain. My little car is absolutely wonderful - apparently very few people drive across Libya because a) it's a long way, b) a flight isn't very expensive, c) it's dangerous, and d) cars are not terribly reliable in the heat. Well, I have been extremely lucky, but twice is enough. I'll stay a little more local for a while.</p> <p>One of my neighbours always writes on my back windscreen when it's a bit dusty; these are some of the likely culprits:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Englishman"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/752/2722752_3eff1c2eac_m.jpeg" alt="Englishman" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Fortunately it's never offensive - usually "English man". I'm tempted to help them with their English - they're obviously keen.</p> <p>The new teacher arrived today - at last. There have been many false starts, but he, James, is actually in situ, and has his first day at the chalkface tomorrow. He's spent eight years in Saudi Arabia, so he'll be in clover here. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/10/back-in-the-saddle-4567816/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/08/10/back-in-the-saddle-4567816/Sun, 10 Aug 2008 18:39:58 +0200 <p>Having spent seven out of the last eight days in hospital, it's a pleasure to be back under my own roof.</p> <p>There's some doubt now as to whether I actually had a DVT, and the consensus seems to be in favour of a pulled muscle, but my blood is replete with thinners now so either way, both angles are covered.</p> <p>The two clinics were very different. Tripoli was on a building site (Beirut of blogs passim):<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Clinic 11"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/923/2698923_600f6a8a4d_m.jpeg" alt="Clinic 11" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>and Benghazi was directly opposite my flat:</p> <p><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Clinic 21"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/924/2698924_2c751bd31e_m.jpeg" alt="Clinic 21" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>The care here has been excellent - frequent scans, blood tests, consultations. The same can't be said for the food, but it has been regular, if not entirely to my taste. The Libyan diet is heavily dosed with sugar, and as an inactive bed-bound idler, I didn't need the energy bursts. I think I've probably put on a stone over the past week.</p> <p>Thank you to all who've sent messages of support and advice - very much appreciated. It can be very isolating being in hospital in a foreign country, so contact with home has been really welcome. Not that I've been short of visitors - my students have been very attentive, even to the point of bringing me beer! Non-alcoholic, of course, but a lovely thought.</p> <p>Here in Benghazi the nurses are very cheeky - one blew me a kiss yesterday, and another smiled tauntingly as she wiped the scanner lubricant from my groin. What teases.</p> <p>Ah well, back to work on Sunday. I shall be glad to get stuck back in, and it's going to be a heavy term - being lenient with the marking last term means that some of the students have some serious consolidation to achieve. Each time they've been in to visit, I've emphasised the need to speak English at every opportunity, at work as well as play, so we'll see if they follow my advice. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/31/home-sweet-home-4523246/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/31/home-sweet-home-4523246/Thu, 31 Jul 2008 08:05:51 +0200 <p>Having flown back from Tripoli as suggested by the Tripoli doctors, rather than driven, I nipped in to a local clinic here in Benghazi to make arrangements for ongoing out-patient treatment. Ten minutes later, I had been booked in as an in-patient.</p> <p>It would seem that I had been released from hospital in Tripoli because I had indicated that I wanted to get back to Benghazi whereas I should really have stayed a few more days. Leaving when I did meant that my leg swelled up again on the journey home. No harm done though. Happily, having had another scan, the clot has dispersed, and the muscle is calming down.</p> <p>The staff here in Benghazi is almost exclusively local, and predominantly mono-lingual in Arabic, although the doctors all speak English; Tripoli was staffed by locals, Indians, Filipinas, and Europeans, and nearly everyone spoke English.</p> <p>I am certainly not suffering from a shortage of visitors. In Tripoli, Khalid, Mustafa, and Salem came to see me, and I met up with ex-colleagues whilst there. In Benghazi, within minutes of being admitted, two current students, one future student, and the wife of a current student had been in. I am exceptionally privileged to have been visited by Tawfik's wife, especially in conservative Benghazi. Mohamed was less than effusive with his sympathy: "We told you not to do all that driving."</p> <p>Whilst being taken to be scanned, the nurse referred to me as Haj. This is a term normally reserved for those men who have been to Mecca, are advanced in years, or are figures of authority. I hope she didn't think I was knocking on a bit.</p> <p>I'll be in for about three days so the effects of the drugs can be monitored, but everything is under control, and there shouldn't be any long-term repercussions, although I might have to take blood thinners for a few months to be on the safe side. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/28/back-in-das-krankenhaus-4509298/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/28/back-in-das-krankenhaus-4509298/Mon, 28 Jul 2008 07:46:17 +0200 <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Return 11"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/427/2689427_d542f62531_m.jpeg" alt="Return 11" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> 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:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Return 21"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/460/2689460_ca5dc1dd4a_m.jpeg" alt="Return 21" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> 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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>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.</p> <p>I was given a Doppler ultrasound scan: <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Return 41"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/476/2689476_45d55889f6_m.jpeg" alt="Return 41" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a> which confirmed the suspicion, and spent the next two days being declotted and rested. Chatting to the doctor who did the scan, it turned out that he was a keen traveller, and was thinking of setting up his own blog, so I gave him the address of this one. I shall look forward to reading his when he gets it started.</p> <p>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. Luckily, here in Benghazi, I live opposite a clinic, so they can give the necessary injections for the next fortnight, and I can rearrange work to fit in with the changed circumstances. It's good to be home. In future, I'll drive in shorter bursts - non-stop driving for 10 or more hours is what caused the DVT - just as long flights can. <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/26/the-end-of-the-affair-4502414/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/26/the-end-of-the-affair-4502414/Sat, 26 Jul 2008 16:51:42 +0200 <p>The BBC World News told me today that it's stormy in the Balkans. Yes, and it's stormy in the leg too. I daren't wear shorts, despite the heat. My leg is in a shocking state - red, black, blue - you name it. Too much walking probably.</p> <p>Anyway, Sidi bou Said was lovely, and, at the same time, dreadful. Lovely because it was beautiful;dreadful because it was full of tat. Not surprising - it's a tourist hot spot.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Sidi 1"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/978/2677978_ae675e3268_m.jpg" alt="Sidi 1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Sidi 2"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/979/2677979_b297019249_m.jpg" alt="Sidi 2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>All the doors and window frames are painted blue to repel the flies, just like in Cyprus.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Sidi 3"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/980/2677980_533ec7dcfc_m.jpg" alt="Sidi 3" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>It's a great place to have a marina - close to France, sheltered, and lovely climate.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Sidi 4"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/981/2677981_853ac65ab1_m.jpg" alt="Sidi 4" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>It was so hilly - Dartmouth in the sun. A gorgeous location. It's about two kms from Carthage on the same trainline. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/21/sidi-bou-said-4479671/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/21/sidi-bou-said-4479671/Mon, 21 Jul 2008 18:29:35 +0200 <p>I spent yesterday in Tunis just having a general wander round. Inevitably I met some very helpful people, but I managed to fight them off until finally a doorman from the hotel recognised me, and offered to give me a tour of the medina. Well, I thought he'd be trustworthy, so we headed straight for his friend's carpet store. I explained I had enough carpets already, even government approved ones, so I wouldn't be buying any more, not even a small one. I did go up on the roof of the building, though, to see a panorama of Tunis:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Tunis 2"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/616/2673616_ed0c02af2e_m.jpeg" alt="Tunis 2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>After leaving the carpet shop, my guide just wanted to visit his father - who happened to own a perfume shop. I was totally lost by this time so went along and ended up buying a specially discounted bottle of jasmine oil from my new brother. Deal done, I made my apologies, and fought my way back to the mean streets of downtown Tunis.</p> <p>Today, I've been to Carthage, Hannibal's home town, and it's gorgeous. It's quiet, well kept, clean, and there's loads to see. I caught the suburban train - it's about 10 miles away. Because it was a hot day, the locals jammed the doors open to provide a through-breeze when the train's moving:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Carthage 6"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/622/2673622_d7e066366a_m.jpeg" alt="Carthage 6" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>The Goths and the Vandals destroyed most of the the city when they arrived, but they left the foundations behind, so you can see the scale of some of the buildings, and also the settings. The Antonine baths were in a fantastic spot, right on the coast. The president liked the position so much, he built his palace next door. No pictures of that I'm afraid; the machinegun-toting soldiers weren't too keen.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Carthage 1"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/617/2673617_07c5834365_m.jpeg" alt="Carthage 1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Then I climbed the hill which was where the town was first estabished, in about 800 BC. As you can see, it's quite lush, and is a really gorgeous place. I might buy a house here - it's bound to become a popular place to visit.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Carthage 2"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/618/2673618_d82a13ef93_m.jpeg" alt="Carthage 2" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Off into the museum, which was well organised, but the signs were only in French and Arabic, so took a little time to take in. Great mosaics. Most of the excavations have only been done since the 1950s.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Carthage 5"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/621/2673621_4bf6b7f0c1_m.jpeg" alt="Carthage 5" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Finally I blagged my way into the Roman theatre. There was a festival being set up, so it was really closed, but they said it was OK for me to have a quick look. Imagine: there have been gigs happening on this very spot for the last 2000 years.<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Carthage 3"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/619/2673619_34697081b4_m.jpeg" alt="Carthage 3" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>My leg is agony, so I'm having a slower day tomorrow - Sidi Bou Said is a haven for artists, apparently, so it's a must-see place to visit, and there's a good beach at La Marsa just up the coast a little. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/20/carthage-in-a-day-4474635/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/20/carthage-in-a-day-4474635/Sun, 20 Jul 2008 17:37:03 +0200 <p>It's been a busy few days. Exams finished on Monday, marking was completed Monday night, ratification of results was done on Tuesday, and that was the end of term chores put to bed.</p> <p>So, my marathon journey started a day ahead of schedule on Wednesday. I managed to do Benghazi to Tripoli in about 10 hours, so that was an average speed of about 110 kph. Very satisfying. Once there I met up with an old colleague, and my replacement, for a bite to eat near where I used to live in Ben Ashur. It was like going back home. Later on I met up with a couple of my old students, Khalid and Salem, and they brought me up to date with all the gossip, all of which is too boring to relate, but quickly made me settle back into Tripolitanian mood. I'm glad I met them because they told me what documentation I'd need to be able to take my car into Tunisia.</p> <p>That night I stayed in Annette's flat - she's in England - and quite a shock it was when I got there. It'd been gutted - no beds, no furniture, no bathroom. So I ended up on a mattress on the floor. Luckily I was knackered, so slept well enough, ready for the next stage. </p> <p>First of all, though, I had to get my paperwork sorted. Khalid met me in the morning, and we trawled round various places getting bits and pieces. By the time we were finished, I had insurance for going abroad, lifetime membership of the National Automobile Club of Libya, and loads of other bits of paper, all duly stamped with the inevitable green ink. Khalid went off to meet his lawyer (he's getting divorced; "I'll be like you, John," he said!) and I went off to Tunisia. Not before, however, pulling a muscle in my calf whilst dodging a particularly speedy driver in Tripoli. It felt like I'd been shot, and continues to be very uncomfortable. I'm thinking of buying a stick to help me in my shuffling. </p> <p>Getting to the border was the easy bit. Getting over it needed the help of Steve McQueen. It's a good job I'd got all the right bits of paper: the guards on the Libyan side went through everything. Car, papers, my reasons for travelling, how long was I staying - you name it. It took two hours, and I was so relieved to get to Tunisia. When I crossed over, I said to the Tunisian guard: "Am I in Tunisia yet?" He beamed at me and said: "Yes. Welcome." Since getting here I haven't been stopped once despite there being checkpoints every thirty or so kilometres.</p> <p>By the time I actually hit the Tunisian tarmac it was getting quite late, so I thought I'd aim for Sfax rather than Tunis. However, when I stopped for petrol in Gabes, an unforeseen problem reared its ugly head - money. I had American Express, Visa, Mastercard, British pounds, Egyptian pounds, and Libyan dinars. They wanted euros, Tunisian dinars, or dollars. And I couldn't take any cash out of an ATM because I'd already reached my limit for the day in Libya buying bits of paper and paying deposits for various things. And the banks were shut.</p> <p>So, I found a hotel which took plastic, and stayed where I was. It was a bit of a one horse town, but the hotel was comfortable and cool, the food was great, and the people were friendly. One of the waiters asked if I would like to go to a party he was having at the weekend. Of course I couldn't, but what a friendly gesture. Obviously I'm still in the Magreb, and I was reading a book about Islam and Mecca over dinner which always goes down well.</p> <p>All along the roads here there are stalls selling fruit, hats, etc, and bottles of something which I haven't worked out yet:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Bottles"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/459/2669459_5ff504d00f_m.jpg" alt="Bottles" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>At first I thought it was petrol - petrol here is over five times the price of Libya - but it may well be olive oil. I'll make some enquiries.</p> <p>Up and out early this morning, I managed to get some local cash, so I hit the road again. The roads here are excellent - no potholes, plenty of signposts, and signs in Roman script as well as Arabic. Almost everyone speaks French, so conversation is a little easier too.</p> <p>On getting to Sfax, there was a wonderful surprise waiting for me - a motorway. It was practically empty, almost new, and went all the way to Tunis. What bliss. The central reservation is planted with flowers, and I also saw what I think was a giant aloe with enormous sprouting shoots which you can see on the rise:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Aloe"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/461/2669461_92eb6bb261_m.jpg" alt="Aloe" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>Almost prehistoric.</p> <p>From Sfax to Tunis, about 250 kms, I drove through thousands of acres of olive bushes, for as far as the eye could see:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Olives 1"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/460/2669460_7cdf027fae_m.jpg" alt="Olives 1" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>and my journey was unimpeded, for the most part, by other cars. Driving here is so different from Libya; I was a little apprehensive at first, but it's just like being in France. I'm having to unlearn some of my bad Libyan habits, particularly on roundabouts - they operate something called 'right of way' here, and I keep forgetting who has it.</p> <p>When I eventually arrived in Tunis, I was so happy - it's a long way from Benghazi. It's a small place, and the motorway took me almost to the centre. I did have a map, but didn't need it; my hotel is right in the centre, on the main street, on a wide boulevard:<br><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Tunis"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/463/2669463_dd49083722_m.jpg" alt="Tunis" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br>There's hardly a headscarf in sight (the President thought they were insulting to women so banned them many years ago), the atmosphere is very French, and the people are helpful and friendly. Despite my current disability, I shall be out flaneuring tomorrow - there's a lot to see, and it's all quite close by. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/18/tunis-sandwich-to-go-4465006/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/18/tunis-sandwich-to-go-4465006/Fri, 18 Jul 2008 14:01:00 +0200 <p>Having finished setting the exams, I was able to have a slightly extended weekend, so my plan to visit Egypt (or Masr in the vernacular) finally took flight.</p> <p>My first way point was Derna which I reached in a comfortable 3.5 hours. From here, I was into uncharted territory, never having driven this far east before. Next stop: Tobruk. The roads were remarkably good, apart from when they were being rebuilt as happens all over the place in Libya:</p> <p><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Derna to Tobruk"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/886/2655886_7bbe904f9a_m.jpeg" alt="Derna to Tobruk" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>The land was flat - this was an extension of the Jebel Akhtar plateau which stretches into Egypt. There was very little vegetation, and very few villages. As I got closer to Tobruk, signposts started to appear in English - doubly unusual, a) signposts, and b) English, so when I finally got there after about 5 hours it was more in expectation than hope - a very pleasant change.</p> <p>Tobruk itself is quite a modern city, and a fair size, so it took a little while to find the road to the frontier, but a couple of chaps I asked for directions jumped in the car and personally guided me to the outskirts of town, pointing towards Alexandria.</p> <p>A couple of hours later, I arrived in Imsaad, the last town on the Libyan side of the border. Following advice from my students, I left my car here in the hands of a hotel receptionist who promised, for a small fee, to look after it as though it was his own. Hmmm.</p> <p>I took a taxi to the border, about five kilometres away. There I was met by the usual friendly faces of the border guards, but emigration didn't happen very fast. I hadn't bothered to get an Egyptian visa before leaving because I knew I could deal with that once I got into Egypt, but this plan didn't gel too well with my Libyan hosts. They seemed to be concerned that the plan wouldn't work. At this particular crossing, people normally turn up with visas already in place, with their own transport, in a party of more than one, and not British, so they had a lot to think about.</p> <p>In the end, following various phone calls and walkie talkie conversations with the other side, I was driven to the edge of Egypt, and directed to the appropriate office across the border.</p> <p>After a cursory flick through my passport, and a brief exchange of pleasantries, I walked the few yards into Egypt, and the next set of officials, one of whom was carrying a big stick, greeted me. I introduced myself in my best Arabic, impressed them, and was promoted to doctor after I told them I was a teacher. One of the party appointed himself my security detail, and he took me to the immigration hall. It was teeming with people, but with a few sharp slaps from my bodyguard's hand, people melted away to give me a clear path to the desk. The official there told me that I'd need a visa, so we then went off to buy one, returned, again with much slapping, had it stuck in my passport, stamped, and that was that. My minder then took me out into the yard, pointed at some gates, and said: "There, Egypt. Welcome" in English.</p> <p>Once through the gates, I was adopted by an Egyptian who could see I looked rather fazed by my arrival, and he said he'd sort me out whatever I wanted. So, a number of us piled into a taxi, we went down a long winding road into Saloum (the first town on the Egyptian side of the border), and all decanted there. The town looked very attractive as we glided down the mountainside - a long sweeping bay lit by street lights and a bustling town looking out onto a calm sea lapping against a sandy foreshore. It looked very different close up.</p> <p>My agent booked me into a hotel just beside the bus station so it would be convenient for my early morning bus to Alexandria, and he bade me farewell. I asked him if he'd like to stay for a coffee, but no, he had to get home. And off he went.</p> <p>The hotel was out of this world - I didn't know places like this existed. It was disgusting from the front steps to the back offices. It's at the back right below:</p> <p><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Saloum - el Jazeera"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/887/2655887_05aa46cdc4_m.jpeg" alt="Saloum - el Jazeera" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>I suppose for £2.50 I shouldn't have expected a palace, but a towel and some sheets would have been pleasant. I made a quick journey into town to get some beer - the town was dry, so no luck there; I looked for somewhere to eat, but felt sick at the thought of sharing my plate with the wildlife; so I read for a while, and then, unable to put off sleep any longer, I gritted my teeth, and went to bed. More accurately, I lay on the bed, fully clothed, waiting for morning, and the bus out of this dump.</p> <p>Come 5 o'clock, I was ready to go, so I went for a quick stride around town, and then back to catch the 6 o'clock bus - except Egypt is an hour ahead of Libya, and it was actually 6.45 already, so the bus had gone. The next bus was at 9.00.</p> <p>Great, I thought, I've got time to have a proper look around. I didn't think that really, as I'm sure you can guess. But I did make good use of my time. I walked all around the town, and spent time in the war cemetery thinking how lucky I was that I only had a bus timetable to worry about:</p> <p><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Saloum - Cemetery"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/888/2655888_149b4b91d8_m.jpeg" alt="Saloum - Cemetery" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>I spent an hour or so wandering around the graves - British, Australian, Indian, Kiwi, and many others. So sad. Most of the dead were younger than my own children. Really very upsetting.</p> <p>Come 9 o'clock, I boarded the bus for Alex, a seven hour drive away. I thought we'd probably make good time and do it in less. Fat chance. Despite it being a Friday and there being little traffic, we kept stopping for extended breaks at service stations along the road:</p> <p><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Road to Alex"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/889/2655889_4b5fdc50a1_m.jpeg" alt="Road to Alex" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>We passed through el Alamein and the cemeteries of the German, Italian and British war dead, but I'll have to visit another time. After nine hours, we reached Alex, or more accurately, the centre. It actually starts about 50 kms before then with tourist villages, business parks, and retail outlets. Very different from Libya - most of these developments are finished or are being actively worked on. Perhaps The Leader and The President should get together to discuss project management styles.</p> <p>I wasn't expecting to hear hits from the Sixties on the sound system of the bus, but I didn't feel very comfortable listening to someone ranting about jihad, Afghanistan, and Iraq. These diatribes were interspersed with prayers, and occasional light music, but every hour or so, the rant came back. I had visions of Daniel Pearl going through my head, and started imagining if I would still be alive after my throat was cut, and for how long. Since you're reading this, obviously I arrived in Alex in one piece.</p> <p>As was to be expected, I got ripped off by a taxi driver taking me to the hotel, but I was past caring and just wanted a wash and some food - I hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day through fear of what might be served up. The doorman at the hotel helped me sort out the contretemps with the taxi, and he then plied me with a beer - ice cold in Alex:</p> <p><a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Ice cold in Alex"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/890/2655890_8c1d239b07_m.jpeg" alt="Ice cold in Alex" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>I'm sure it's changed a lot since John Mills and Sylvia Syms fought their way there from the desert. I don't think I'd fight my way there again - it's crowded, smelly, noisy, expensive, and just not very pleasant. Pretty much as I'd expected, but then I didn't spend much time there, so perhaps I'm being unfair. With a bit more time to spare, I'd have a chance to look around. However, my return bus was due to leave early the following morning, so I drank my beer, ate some food, and went to bed - in sheets, in air conditioned comfort.</p> <p>The return journey was uneventful until I got to the border at 6.00 pm. My passport was checked eight times: twice in Egypt, and the remainder in Libya. On four occasions, my passport was taken away for 'further investigation'. I don't know what it was all about, but the final check was cut short when I pulled my Libyan driving licence out, and showed that to them. We all had a laugh about my car - a hamburger - and I showed them photographs on my camera which went down well. When I said I thought Libya was meea meea (100%), it was handshakes all round, and back into the country.</p> <p>All the delays at the border meant that it was dusk when I started driving home:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Dusk"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/453/2656453_e18530f169_m.jpeg" alt="Dusk" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p>The hotel receptionist had been true to his word, and my car was ready and waiting for me. I eventually got into my flat at 3.00 am on Sunday morning, and was up again at 6.30, with exams starting at 9.00. I don't really like travelling in the dark because of the risks from other drivers, wildlife, and the state of the roads, but there wasn't really any alternative. I kept myself awake by singing - well, it would keep anyone awake, wouldn't it? Tonight, Matthew, I was Bob Dylan, singing Hey Mr Tambourine Man.</p> <p>It was an interesting weekend, and distances here are certainly very different from in the UK - a four hour trip to Harrogate is an afternoon jaunt in Libya, but a planned journey in Britain. Tunisia next weekend - 1600 kms each way? I'll have to have a think. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/13/ice-cold-in-alex-4441797/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/13/ice-cold-in-alex-4441797/Sun, 13 Jul 2008 13:45:14 +0200 <p>Mother has been an unwitting resource provider this week: I was teaching paragraphs, so I used one of her emails as an example of how not to do it - one long stream of consciousness is not ideal when it comes to creative writing. Not only are all the students masters of paragraphs now, they also know a lot about my family, and the culture of England. And they may well contact my mother to thank her for her help.</p> <p>Despite my thinking that my car had escaped unscathed from last weekend's adventure, there was a niggling noise from the brakes, so one of my students took me round to a garage to have it checked out. Part of the brake housing had broken loose, and was rattling around, so this was fixed, and all was right as rain. No charge of course - all part of the service of being friendly to foreigners. </p> <p>I thought I might as well get the handbrake fixed as well (it hasn't worked since I bought the car), so arranged to take the car back this morning. In Libya, you go to one garage for electrics, another for engines, and another for bodywork, and you take the parts you want replacing with you from another place. I arrived with no parts, so the proprietor drove me to various places in town to get the bits, and then fixed the car. Whilst I waited, I sat in the morning sun, being fed sweet, mint tea at regular intervals. Two hours labour: 6 pounds. Parts: 6 pounds. Happiness: Priceless.</p> <p>On a roll, I thought I might as well get a new windscreen wiper (one of mine had mysteriously disappeared during the week), and I really need a jack in case I have a puncture on one of my long excursions, so I went round the shops getting these.</p> <p>All of the discussions were conducted in Arabic (and sign language), so I am feely pretty chipper.</p> <p>Whilst waiting for the car to be fixed, I reflected on all the time I used to spend with oily hands, mending my old cars, and I began to feel guilty sitting watching, rather than doing. Looking back, I quite enjoyed messing with engines and things. I also remembered emptying my house ready to come to Libya, and throwing away all my nuts, screws, bits of wire, old tools, switches, and so on which I'd accumulated over the years, including some bits of my 1957 Bantam motorbike, and my Mini Moke - I'd held on to them for 35 years 'just in case they come in handy'.</p> <p>Yesterday, I finally made it to Apollonia. When I got to Susa, I decided to treat myself to a proper meal, the first since I've been in the east of the country. I went to the best hotel in town, and settled down for a full Sunday lunch, Libyan-style, and it was lovely. Four courses, and delicious. Then I was ready for the afternoon's exertions.</p> <p>As I'm sure you'll guess, the site was stunning - right by the sea, under the Jebel Akhtar:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="DSC010285"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/535/2639535_d961893c26_m.jpg" alt="DSC010285" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> There had been an enormous earthquake in the 4th Century, affecting the entire north coast of Libya, including Sabratha and Leptis Magna, and the harbour of the city had been dragged below the sea. The outer harbour wall was surmounted by a lighthouse on top of the island to the right of the picture above.</p> <p>The city itself had been established about 7000 years ago by the Greeks, but was then absorbed by the Romans, and finally the Byzantines who were in residence at the time of its demise. It was the port for Cyrene, higher up in the mountains, so its destruction precipitated the end of Cyrene.</p> <p>It was a major ecclesiastical base for the area, and one of the largest churches in North Africa was sited here:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="DSC010311"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/536/2639536_e362032f8e_m.jpg" alt="DSC010311" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> Although the churches have long ceased to function, prayer still takes place here. In the picture below, on the beach, there are two chaps doing one of their five daily prayer sessions. When I've been out with students, wherever we are, they always stop to pray, the oldest member of the party leading the 'service'. I used to find it mildly embarassing, but now recognise that it's a way of life here. On one occasion in Tripoli, I was out with Khalid and Mustafa in a shopping centre, and suddenly they decided that they needed to pray; just round a corner was a carpet laid out for that express purpose, so off they went.<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="DSC010403"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/539/2639539_990d7a4042_m.jpg" alt="DSC010403" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> The Greeks seem to have always been able to find idyllic spots for their theatres, and Apollonia is no exception:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="DSC010434"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/540/2639540_0f99e60583_m.jpg" alt="DSC010434" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> On my way back to the car, I met an Iraqi who was over working on setting up electricity stations for the Libyan government. Perfect English. He bemoaned the pillaging of historic sites by the Italians in Libya, and then said the same has happened in Iraq, but in Iraq's case it has been done by the Iraqis themselves. Syria is a major centre for the transhipment of ancient relics, so I'm beginning to have some ideas on where my travels might take me next. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/05/homage-to-apollonia-4407254/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/07/05/homage-to-apollonia-4407254/Sat, 05 Jul 2008 14:58:28 +0200 <p>The day started well as I awoke to a sea mist covering the city:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Sea mist 01"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/585/2622585_116b5631b7_m.jpeg" alt="Sea mist 01" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> This boded well for my planned day out because it was cool as I started my trek out to Tolmeita (the Greek city Ptolemeis), and Apollonia, and I planned to be out in the open for most of the time. I had my trusty Google map with me, so I knew that, even though the locals said the coast road was not continuous, there was a thick yellow line on the page showing this belief to be false. I reached Tocra without incident, and managed to slip off the main road onto a little-used minor road which did indeed hug the coast. You can see the mountains to the right, and the sea to the left, so a lovely drive:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Road to Tolmeita 02"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/586/2622586_211fdfdd72_m.jpeg" alt="Road to Tolmeita 02" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> Once I got near to Tolmeita, I asked for precise directions at a police station (it's becoming a bit of a habit), and not only did they give me directions, but two of them also jumped into my car to make sure I didn't get lost. Even I couldn't have managed that - it was straight ahead with no turn-offs.</p> <p>We drove past beautiful beaches, empty of people, and blessed with fine white sand. What a beautiful place it would be to share some time with someone special, I thought to myself, nobody else who spoke English being to hand.</p> <p>When we got there, I thought it looked very well kept, and there were people still living in the ancient houses, but it turned out that this was the new town.<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Tolmeita 03"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/587/2622587_4f956b2f03_m.jpeg" alt="Tolmeita 03" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> My personal guides urged me onwards, and there was a collectiion of statues, and a few huts, one of which was the ticket office and museum - it was shut. Undaunted, I asked where the ruins were, and a local chap waved his hand in a generally southerly direction, saying: "Over there." So I went 'over there', to find yet more run-down huts, this time inhabited by animals. On further inspection though, I saw some rather older pieces of stonework up the hill a bit, so, Lonely Planet open at the appropriate page, I trekked the short distance to the old town. It was gorgeous, and I had the whole place to myself - no gates, no people, no fences....and no guides. It didn't matter, because it is an ancient Graeco-Roman site in miniature - only a very small proportion has been excavated, so it is all very accessible and discoverable.</p> <p>A particularly interesting spot was the cistern (yes, I knew you'd be fascinated):<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Cistern 04"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/588/2622588_0ee44e6e77_m.jpeg" alt="Cistern 04" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> Underneath that flat piece of ground you can see is a honeycomb of water storage chambers, originally fed by springs supplied from the Jebel Akhtar. I dropped a stone down one of the vents, and waited for it to hit the ground - it wasn't likely that anyone would be down there, I thought. Then curiosity got the better of me and I looked for a broken vent which would let me have a closer look. Fantastic - I found one which even had steps leading down into the darkness. As I reached the bottom I remember thinking: "I'd better remember where I came in or I could be down here some time." As you can see, with the help of the flash on my wonderful Sony Cybershot digital camera, available at all good camera shops, it was great. What a wonderful place to hold a masquerade party, I thought, as I wandered from chamber to chamber, progressively losing all bearings. It was so quiet, as, indeed, was the whole site. It was also cool which was welcome because by the time I reached here, the sun was well and truly up. After some time spent exploring, I thought I'd better retrace my steps. Well, not a chance! I was like Hansel in the woods, without even a bread trail to follow. I did keep calm though, and eventually managed to find an egress, although not the same one as I had used for access, but I really didn't mind.<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Cistern 05"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/589/2622589_06824fd26e_m.jpeg" alt="Cistern 05" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> Back in the open, I continued my tour, next finding this lovely little odeon (not the original, I suspect, of cinema fame):<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Odeon 06"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/590/2622590_1b8e406207_m.jpeg" alt="Odeon 06" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> and then this villa, overlooking the sea, centred on a swimming pool. Oh, what I'd have given for a dip in that:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Villa 07"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/591/2622591_c93106891e_m.jpeg" alt="Villa 07" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> Tour completed, I returned to the museum which was now open, and paid my fee. By chance, the guide mentioned in the Lonely Planet book was there - he saw my rather dirty and crumpled bible in my hands. I should have asked him to sign it!</p> <p>Right, I thought, I'll carry on now to Apollonia. All I need to do is carry on along the coast road, and I'll eventually pitch up there. How wrong could I be. There was a road, of sorts, out of Tolmeita, but it was a track for 4WD vehicles really. I thought it's bound to improve, so I pressed on. After a few kilometres of heavy going, I saw what looked like a Great Man Made River site, so I carried on towards that. Well, it wasn't the GMMR, it was a new road in the making, some of it metalled, and some of it still gravel, but it was flat, and straight, and it was following the coast, so on I went. Other than one of two diversions to get past washed-away stretches, it was pretty good, and I made good progress for probably about 10 kms. There were no other cars, of course, and the setting was perfect:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="After Tolmeita 08"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/593/2622593_e116ba275b_m.jpeg" alt="After Tolmeita 08" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a><br> Then it stopped, and reverted back to the rough track I'd started on. I wasn't too bothered - a decent stretch of road would come along any minute. It didn't - it went from bad to worse. Eventually I was going along rocky wadis, down sheep and goat paths, amongst thorn bushes, worrying all the time that I'd punch a hole in the sump and be stranded miles from anywhere with my only hope of help being a mountain climb away. On top of which, my petrol reserves were running low from all the revving and skidding, so things were not feeling too good. Nevertheless, I was sure I'd get to a better stretch soon.</p> <p>When I reached a sheer cliff at the end of a particularly difficult stretch, after a steep downhill patch, my optimism was finally beaten: I was, quite literally, at the end of the road. I couldn't go on, so I had to go back - all the way back to Tolmeita, about 20 kms or more. Uphill, for the worst parts. And then I smelt petrol.</p> <p>It's a good job I was on my own, I thought, because tempers would have been frayed otherwise. I had only myself to blame, and there was only one realistic solution to my predicament - turn round, and get on with it.</p> <p>With the petrol gauge reading empty, I span the car round (reversing wasn't an option), and started back, by now shaking with....I don't know what....fear, stupidity, apprehension? Still, I just had to press on.</p> <p>At one steep, rocky, and rutted point, the tyres would just not get a grip, and I threw up clouds of dust as I tried everything to manoeuvre the car over the boulders, knowing that if I made a mistake, I could fly off the side onto the rocks below. This really was the low point of my day, and I was beginning to think I was in real trouble.</p> <p>However, after skilfully using my supreme driving skills together with my in-depth knowledge of tyre mechanics and momentum, I negotiated this obstacle, after which the remainder of the journey seemed almost relaxing. The petrol gauge corrected itself, the smell of petrol went away, the oil pressure light didn't come on, and my shaking stopped. I got back to the unmade road, and cruised into Tolmeita a much wiser and thoughtful person. The car survived remarkably well - a few scratches from thorn bushes, and a few dents to the exhaust but otherwise, nothing - apart from a thick layer of red dust inside and out.</p> <p>Lessons? Don't trust Google maps, always believe the locals, keep the petrol tank full, and always drive a Mazda.</p> <p>Apollonia? Well, I did start off in that direction via more conventional roads, but after a while, turned round and went home - I'd had enough excitement for the day. It'll wait for me - it's waited over 2000 years already; another week won't make any difference. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/06/28/the-end-of-the-road-4376715/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/06/28/the-end-of-the-road-4376715/Sat, 28 Jun 2008 17:42:16 +0200 <p>I had a bit of a bum day yesterday - one of my students walked out of my lesson. This has never happened before, so I felt pretty bad - and she wasn't very happy either; she didn't come in today.</p> <p>The trouble was that I had questioned her on the sources of some of her answers to an exercise we were doing in class - her exam results were poor, but in class she seemed to shine, and I wanted to know why. It didn't go down very well.</p> <p>On a more positive note, I found the attached article on the Internet. It's good to see Imogen's keeping busy in York:<br> <a href="javascript:window.open(" title="Imogen in York"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/478/2617478_75794e57f7_m.jpeg" alt="Imogen in York" hspace="5" vspace="5"></a></p> <p> <small> <a href="http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/06/25/who-d-be-a-teacher-4363890/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>http://johncoker.blog.co.uk/2008/06/25/who-d-be-a-teacher-4363890/Wed, 25 Jun 2008 20:24:30 +0200