Don’t like the radio silence

Amman, Jordan

15 August 2013

Early flight to Cairo today. Or that was the plan. Arrive Aqaba airport after a 10min journey into the desert. Much smaller than Tromso airport. It’s the full security shakedown. Watches off, boots off, belts off, computers out. Stupidly though, the liquids, the bottles of water and whisky are OK to take on the flight no problem.

Present passports for check in. There’s a problem with obtaining boarding passes. Clerk says, “There’s a stop on yours.” Great. Now what?! He needs to see the credit card I used to pay for the tickets. Hand him my business credit card and he goes to a back office. It’s not the right one. I remember that my business credit card was replaced a few months ago after I’d bought these tickets due to fraudulent activity being detected on it. Given that I’d been using it for all sorts of payments in all sorts of countries you’d have thought the fraudulent activity would be somewhere in Africa. But no. It was John Lewis.

Fortunately, I’ve brought the expired credit card with me just in case of such circumstances. Clerk takes passport and two credit cards to the back office. We’re going nowhere. Returns. It’s not the right one. Hand my personal credit card over. And back he goes. At this point I see a child walk around the check in desks and also go to the back office behind the conveyors. Well if he can do it, so can I. Enter and met with a pall of cigarette smoke and a few airport workers puffing away. Clerk with credit card is talking on the phone. Seeing me he shakes his head in that “This isn’t the credit card either.” Hand over my business debit card. Hooray. That’s the one. We’re good to go. He explains the process is to protect me against fraud.

Flight routing is Aqaba-Amman-Cairo but we don’t want to do the Cairo leg and to just stop in Amman. Bags have to be checked in as aircraft is too small. Ensure the bags won’t end up in Cairo whilst we hop off in Amman. Sit next to a American Chinese man who is the grown up version of Data off The Goonies.

Unscheduled return to the hotel in Amman. Reception advise the nightly rate is X including all government taxes. Great. That’s quite a good deal. Sign on the dotted line. He then realises his mistake. It’s X plus all government taxes. The toss is argued and the manager is called over. Manager says the difference will have to come out of his pocket. “Fine” I retort. Early mornings, dodgy guts and lack of sleep make me one grumpy ogre. Agree with manager a “discount”.

Spend the afternoon checking flights and options. Realise why I’ve not heard from the travel agent in Khartoum. It’s under water. Seems like Sudan has suffered severe flooding. Reports of 200,000 displaced people, aid flights bringing supplies and parts of Khartoum flooded. With more flooding forecast. Travel agent is usually prompt at replying to emails but having not heard from him for over a week assume he’s been washed away. The fly in the ointment being that he was to arrange an entry visa. Bit of a sticky situation. Have no entry visa. Don’t even have permission to fly as there are no visas on arrival. Hmmm. See how bad the floods are on Al-Jazeera. Now is not the time to go Sudan. Decide to put the kibosh on Sudan. FCO also advise there’s a high risk of kidnap, “The FCO believes terrorists are planning to kidnap westerners in Sudan, probably in Khartoum.” Yeah, well – can do without that interrupting my gin & tonic.

WAMC & I discuss the options. There are further killings in Cairo today and a “day of rage” is planned by the Muslim Brotherhood for tomorrow after Friday Prayers. Prime concern is if we can actually reach Luxor to meet up with the Nile cruise. Original intention was to take the day train from Cairo to Luxor on Sunday (notwithstanding existing government restrictions on foreigners using the day train). If we were prevented from boarding the day train then contingency was the overnight train (which apparently has security on board for foreigners). However, we learn the entire Egyptian rail network has been shut down. Flying it is.

Speak on the telephone with an Egyptair representative. They advise that Luxor and Aswan airports are closed. Only Cairo, Sharm and Alexandria are operating. Well that solves that problem then – we can’t even get to Luxor. But…..check on the internet and find live departures/arrivals for Luxor which suggests it’s operating as usual. Conflicting information.

Further discussions. What we don’t need is for us to actually make Luxor, jump on the Nile cruise and find ourselves in Aswan with the airport shut, the rail network closed and no means of getting out of Egypt. As WAMC jokes, “It might be a longer Nile cruise than we anticipated.” Quite. We’re also not insured. Both agree to cancel the Nile cruise – the risks aren’t worth it. Common sense prevails.

With that in mind there’s no point staying in Amman any longer. WAMC is to fly home to Jo’burg. I now have two weeks to kill. Look at map and wonder where I could go for two weeks before resuming trip in Addis Ababa that 1) is of interest, 2) is somewhere I’ve not been before, and, 3) doesn’t require a visa. Struggle to find somewhere suitable. Then a brainwave. What every great Cape to Cape trip must have. A pit-stop in Nottingham. Shall fly home. It’s only 5hrs away.

It’s now 1645hrs. Thursday afternoon. The equivalent of our Friday afternoon. When everyone is closing for the weekend. We have flights to re-arrange. Pronto. Speak with the Egyptair rep in Amman by telephone to re-arrange WAMC’s flight to Jo’burg. He doesn’t speak English. Have to wait until they find someone in the office that speaks English and are to ring back in 5mins. It is possible to fly out tomorrow. Amman-Cairo-Jo’burg but with 10hr layover in Cairo airport as it’s an overnight flight to Jo’burg.

It’s about 1715hrs when the flights are booked over the telephone. All WAMC has to do now is pay by credit card to confirm the booking. Easy peasy. Er no. They physically need the credit card to process payment and passport. Oh for flip’s sake. Really? Why didn’t you say that earlier? They shut at 1730hrs. Told it’s “only” 10mins by taxi. You know where this is going don’t you? Rush hour traffic. The evening when everyone is going home for the Arab weekend. We have the slowest taxi driver.

He’s been instructed by hotel where to take us. We’ve been told the Egyptair office is really easy to find as it’s opposite Zara and everyone will know it. Yep. Taxi pulls up at a semi-pedestrianised street and tells us that’s the street. It’s a long street. Not wanting to walk all the way down looking for needles in haystacks he’s made to drive down. He’s asking natives where the Egyptair office is. There’s a lot of shrugging of shoulders. Crawl down the street. More shrugging. At the far end we spot Zara (it’s a clothes shop). More “Do you know where the Egyptair office is?” in Arabic. More shrugging. It’s not going well.

Finally, the Egyptair sign is spotted. It’s a travel agency. Phew. WAMC confirms his flight details and obtains ticket. As it’s a travel agency it makes sense for me to organise my flight here rather than doing it online when I return to the hotel. There are no flights available tomorrow. BA & Royal Jordanian fully booked. Not wanting to fly via Cairo or depart Amman at 0300hrs to Rome/Paris/Amsterdam/Frankfurt. BA have seats available on the 0900hrs flight on Saturday. A much more civilised hour.

Glad to jump in bed after a busy day. Friend texts to say “Don’t like the radio silence. Are you OK?”…….where do I start……

I was scared

Aqaba, Aqaba, Jordan

14 August 2013 The observant amongst you will note there’s been no blog for a few days which has caused some to worry about my welfare. All is well and all will become clear. Back to Aqaba…… Breakfast is extremely busy and noisy with Arabs shouting and screaming over their hummus. It’s not exactly a peaceful start to the day but then someone walks into the restaurant, claps their hands and shouts something in Arabic and all of a sudden they all disappear. Assume it’s a day trip to Petra departing. Peace once again. Which is more than can be said for Cairo. Start seeing news footage of the Pro-Morsi protest camps being bulldozed (including a comical scene where an Egyptian is thrashing a heavily armoured bulldozer with a stick, John Cleese like in Fawlty Towers thrashing his car with a branch).
Speed hump
Speed hump
 
Arrange car and driver and a 4×4 jeep for jaunt to Wadi Rum, 40mins north of Aqaba. Swap from cramped clapped out taxi to cramped clapped out jeep. The local Bedouin now running the show and trying to flog a longer trip. An hour and a half is sufficient in a clapped out jeep thank you very much. An “18 year old” (so he says) drives us through the clapped out village of Rum. Not much to yo ho ho and a bottle of to cheer about though. Short drive to Lawrence’s Spring. The boy tells us we can climb up the rocks to it. Doesn’t look far as there is no sense of scale until two specks of human are seen halfway, clambering up. That looks hard work in this heat and a photo will suffice, me thinks. The course of the spring water down the moutain charted by the green trees clinging to the steep sides. The boy explains that when he saw me, “I was scared” on account of height, width and that crushing handshake.
Enroute
Enroute
 
Another 15mins rumble across the desert valley to Khazali Canyon. Surrounded by mountains sprouting up out of the desert floor vertically. Another jeep in the distance is our only sense of scale. It’s only that that makes you realise the majesty of the moutains. Their epic scale. Truly awesome views. Reminiscent of Monument Valley in USA. Arriving at Khazali Canyon, the boy jumps out, points in the general direction of a mountain, simply says, “It’s over there by the tree” and promptly wanders off for a brew in the Bedouin tent flogging the usual tourist tat. He’s not exactly endearing himself to a tip. Canyon further than first thought because of no sense of scale but it’s an amazing canyon that you can walk some way into. Wind rushing through the vertical sides quite refreshing. Florence of Arabia and Omar Good Grief scramble out.
Lawrence's Spring - note people in red & white
Lawrence’s Spring – note people in red & white
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Another short drive to a “sand dune”. Told it’s a great view from the top. Proceed up the steep hill of sand. One step forward. Slide back. One step forward. Slide back. Equals. Hard work. Like climbing brother-in-law’s grain store except no pesky nieces chucking wheat at you or trying to push you over. Puffing and panting. Half way up is sufficient. Can see the same view from half way up as from the top. Logic you see. Wow. Wow. Wow. What an incredible vista. Simply stunning. Desert beneath with mountains in the mid distance accentuated by hazy silhouettes of more mountains in the far distance. Absolutely no sense of scale. Awesome. This is why I work. Return to Aqaba. Much, much hotter than Wadi Rum. 43C hot. With a hint of humidity. Ouch. In need of a quick trim visit the Golden Anchor Hair Saloon. I know how to treat myself. Great not to have the usual mundane chat of a hairdresser “Are you on your lunch break?” (No I’m having breakfast). “Where you going for your holidays this year?” (Not Ibiza like you). “What you doing this weekend?” (Not going clubbing, drinking myself silly and getting “frisky” every night with a different lad (applies to both male and female hairdressers)). Through the course of limited conversation barber misunderstands and thinks I’m currently working in Irbid.
Wadi Rum from Lawrence's Spring
Wadi Rum from Lawrence’s Spring
 
When asked how much it is, he says,”Whatever you pay in Irbid”. Johnny Ball Think of A Number time and 3 pops into my head. And that’s what is paid. See further news footage of what is turning into a massacre in Cairo. Guess where we should be flying tomorrow!? Nile cruise confirm it’s operating. Cairo hotel confirm the airport transfer tomorrow. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. Then Egyptian authorities declare a countrywide state of emergency. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. Then Egyptian authorities declare a Cairo curfew. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmmm. There’s only one thing to do. Retire to the bar for a beer and a conflab. Arab women playing in the hotel swimming pool fully clothed in black. Next to them skimpily clad blonde girl. The contrast is bizarre. Beer in bar.
Wadi Rum
Wadi Rum
 
Outcome of discussion is. Cancel Cairo. Hold in Amman until Sunday. Further decision on Nile Cruise on Sunday depending on how it pans out. FCO advise against all but essential travel to Egypt so not insured. Would’ve been minimal risk had the situation been stable as per last few weeks but the dynamic has now changed. Dinner outside under starry sky overlooking the Red Sea, Israel & Egypt. Saudi Arabia 30 klicks south. German management trainees are on duty in this German branded hotel (we’re staying elsewhere though). Ze tall Aryan chats with the tall Taurean about the “local” guests who are incredibly noisy, running around shouting and screaming. Eyebrows are raised in that “yes, they are a complete pain and we struggle with their attitude – the Europeans are much better behaved and easier to deal with” (all that with a raised eyebrow!). Quite amusing. Jordanian wine exceeds expectations. Second glass required. Have thoroughly enjoyed re-visiting Jordan after working here for 3 months in 2002. If there’s one country you really should visit its Jordan. Safe. Friendly. Interesting. Great food and wine. Only 5hrs from England. Put it on your bucket list now!

Rocket intercepted over Eilat

Aqaba, Jordan

13 August 2013

First conversation of the day with a native. 12 year old postcard seller, “Where you from?”. England. “Luvly jubbly”, he replies. Walk down the path to the entrance of Petra’s Siq. Accosted by every single tout with a horse, “You wanna horse?”. No. If I want a horse I’d have asked for one by now. Pass rock formations that could be the home of the Flintstones. Coolish breeze as we enter the Siq but it’s only 0800hrs and the temperature will increase. Siq is as stunning as I remember. 50 something European man is trailing us. He’s holding hands with his teenage Asian rent boy. Not a pretty sight.

The showstopper though is glimpsing the Treasury for the first time between the walls of the Siq.
I'm a firestarter...
I’m a firestarter…
 
At this time in the morning though, only the top half is drenched in sunlight making photos difficult with the contrast. Change in animal now. It’s “You wanna donkey?”. Horses stop at the Siq. Donkeys take over. Flea ridden, manky things. Every single time a donkey rider passes, “You wanna donkey?”, No. Have an aversion to donkeys ever since my school teacher volunteered me to represent 1JSe class at the school Donkey Derby in 1982 (those were the days). We’re all on the start line raring to go. Everybody gallops off apart from my donkey. It takes a quick start then suddenly stops dead. It’s neck reaching down to chew on the playing field grass. My momentum carries me forward and I slide down its neck head first. Promptly deposited in a heap on the floor. Not ridden a donkey since. These donkeys here are the Skegness cast offs. You can imagine the state they’re in. Petra’s been modernised since I last came.
All I want is a room somewhere....
All I want is a room somewhere….
 
Gone are the manky Bedouin tent eateries and latrines. Now there are clean and wholseome restaurants and public toilets that are far cleaner than most public toilets in the UK – not that I frequent public toilets you understand. Not particularly keen on climbing 800 steps for 2-3hrs in the heat or wanting a flea ridden donkey ride, so give the Monastery a miss. Retreat back to the Treasury and the sun is now illuminating the entire facade for that Kodak moment. Surprised by the number of tourists now. Earlier they’d been few and far between but now the coach loads are arriving from Amman & Aqaba. Not seen this many tourists since Istanbul which seems an age away. On the return, see the 12 year old postcard seller so jokingly say to him, “Luvly jubly”, to which he instantly retorts, “Cheap as chips”.
First glimpse
First glimpse
 
He’s been watching too much TV that lad! Sedate drive (compared to yesterday) to Aqaba along the Kings Highway via Taybe. Simply stunning mountain scenery but too hazy for any good photos. Nearing Aqaba we’re stopped at a customs checkpoint (bit like entering California) with a machine gun mounted on top of the Toyota Hilux. Arrive Aqaba. It’s a Red Sea resort. Eilat in Israel is a couple of miles away. Egypt a couple of miles further on from that. It’s all that close. They’re all having their fill of Red Sea resorts. Receive an email from the FCO Travel Advice line for Israel and Palestine. It states, “On 13 August [today] a rocket was intercepted by an Iron Dome anti-missile battery over Eilat.” That’ll be the Eilat a couple of miles away. That’ll be the Eilat I can see if I poke my head out of bedroom window. Bloody hell.

When 30C feels chilly

Petra, Jordan

12 August 2013

Same driver today as yesterday. He’s good for a laugh and head through the suburbs of Amman to Madaba. St George’s church houses the 2000 year old mosaic depicting the Dead Sea, Jerusalem et al. Much smaller than I remember but now there’s an interesting information centre describing the mosaic.

A mosaic factory on the outskirts trains disabled people in the art of mosaics. The “positive” side is placed face down so you only see the negative side whilst work in progress. Then filled with cement and turned the right way up to show the smooth, finished article. Mt Nebo is a short drive away. It’s where Moses ascended to view the Promised Land.
My car had better not look like that!
My car had better not look like that!
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Sadly for him, if he came on a day like today he’d only see a lot of haze. Can just make out the Dead Sea but are told that on a good day Jerusalem can be seen. It’s a stunning view nevertheless. Race down the mountainside along twisting roads. Driver has to takes us to Petra then return to Amman. He’s clearly not wantng to be late back. It must be a 4,000ft drop as the Dead Sea is about 1,400ft BELOW sea level. It’s the lowest land based point on earth. Stopped at a checkpoint near the Israeli/Palestine border but as we’re British/South African we don’t pose a security threat so pass by the tank and wave to the bored looking soldiers – who wave back. It’s the highlight of their day. Driver explains that if we’d been female and good looking then we would have been stopped just so the soldiers could have a look. We’re neither. Race along the Dead Sea highway at 80-100mph.
Madaba mosaic
Madaba mosaic
 
Hardly any traffic so it’s minimal risk. Stop at a view point and told the rock pillar above is Lot’s wife who was turned into a pillar of salt. Not convinced by this but at least we have a leg stretch and we’re not flying at Mach 1 for a few minutes. It’s now 40C but as it’s dry air and not humid it’s bearable. This morning in Madaba it was 30C and it felt chilly. That’s acclimatisation for you. Reminds me of working in the tropics of Brasil where it got to the stage to thinking of putting on jumpers at night because it felt chilly….until we realised it was still 25C and what a bunch of wusses we were being. Turn off the Dead Sea highway to climb up into the mountains again. Climb. And climb. And climb. For a good hour as we ascend what must be 4,000ft. Stop at a cafe some way up for superb, but hazy, views across the valley and into Israel/Palestine. Driver refuses to say the word Israel and always refers to it as Palestine.
Street seller
Street seller
 
Soon racing at breakneck speed across the plateau before dropping down to Petra. It’s as though we’ve been driving a Grand Prix and thankful to arrive in one piece. Petra is much more developed now and not how I remember it. The park entrance is a brand new stone building rather than the wooden shack and smelly stables that used to pervade the welcome to Petra park. Much needed beer on the rooftop bar and a pretty decent glass of Jordanian wine watching the red hues of sunset colour Petra town as the muezzin bounces around the valley from minaret to minaret. The lights of houses forming like fireflies swarming the hillside whilst the crescent moon shines bright like a diamond in the sky. It’s all rather pleasant up here……but a bit chilly…..even at 30C.

I don’t know whether to suck or blow

Amman, Jordan

11 August 2013

Travel the route from Amman to Irbid that I used to take whilst working here and it’s as I remember. Arrive Irbid and see the hospital to the east which was the construction project we worked on for three months. The driver enters Irbid and follows the route he thinks is right – he’s not been here for three years and we have no satnav. After a while we pass a row of butchers that I distinctly remember. The only reason being that in the morning on the way to work there were lots of goats and sheep bleating away, tethered outside. On the way back in the evening they were all hanging up, skinless but head still on ready for the grill. We drive towards the hospital. It’s the road to Iraq. We’re not particularly interested in going to Iraq. Realise we’re going the wrong way. “Is this the right way?” I enquire. Driver confesses he’s not sure so we do a U-ey and ask a police patrol parked up nearby. We’re not. Return to Irbid and promptly get lost again. The last time I did the trip to Um Quais from where we were staying in a zero star fleapit in Irbid, our English, alcoholic, colleague, who’d been living in Irbid far too long and had gone a bit native, picked us up. He’d clearly had a whisky. On that occasion we stopped on a deserted road to ask for directions and interrupted a drug deal. The next group of people we stopped to ask directions got out of their car weilding rifles. This was of the utmost concern. Until we realised they were only hunting. Um Quais is a Roman town and overlooks the Sea of Galilee and the Golan Heights.
Downtown Amman
Downtown Amman
 
Israel to my left. Syria in front of me. Literally across the valley. No gunshots though. One of my main memories of Jordan was watching the sunset over the Sea of Galilee but today it’s very hazy and we can only just see the Sea. On entering am given a cactus fruit to try. Like watermelon with lots of pips. Return to Jerash having decided to scrub a visit to Ajlun Castle as we’re running out of time. Jerash, for those that watched the Top Gear Middle East Christmas special, is where they drifted around an oblong “race track”. Well that’s the Hippodrome. In the ampitheatre a couple of musicians are playing drums and……bagpipes. Yes – Jordan’s native musical instrument. Entertained by famous Jordanian musical compositions namely, Scotland the Brave & Frere Jacques. I kid you not. But. I’ve been spoilt. I’ve been fortunate enough to visit Leptis Magna and Sabratha in Libya.
Sea of Galilee & Golan Heights from Um Quais
Sea of Galilee & Golan Heights from Um Quais
 
Once you’ve visited them Jerash pales into insignificance. Dinner at my favourite restaurant in Amman – Reem al Bawadi. We were regular visitors here in 2002 and it hasn’t changed. The inside hall is closed as it’s summer and everyone is seated outside either in open sided Bedouin tents or under the starry sky with a newly crescent moon. Huge tables laden with various meze, flatbreads and grilled meats. The man wandering about with a pewter jug of cardamon tea who announces his presence by clicking the little glass cups. Men with tins of charcoal to feed the hubbly bubbly smoking pipes. Back then, in 2002, the quote of the assignment has to go to my female colleague (and I know you’re reading this!) who, upon trying a hubbly bubbly pipe for the first time, innocently remarked, “I don’t know whether to suck or blow.”…………..then realised what she’d said……much male mirth.

It’s really nice

Amman, Jordan

10 August 2013

Transfer to airport and in terminal building without being kidnapped. Yay. Queue for passport control. It. Takes. Ages. The officer is taking his time. Sloooowwww ggggooooiiinng. My turn and he wants to know where the pink exit slip is. I have no pink exit slip. He points in the direction of table yonder full of pink exit slips. Sod it. Fill in form and queue again. It. Takes. Ages. Two families of parents, grandparents, children each with passports and pink slips to check. It. Takes. Ages. Come on hurry up. One bloke behind me is tutting away. He’s impatient and jumps in front of a queue to my right to the disgust of those queuing for that booth. Cheeky sod.

 

A blue Red Sea

A blue Red Sea

 

Eventually. My passport is checked. Every. Single. Page. The Santa stamp comes in for extra scrutiny but nothing compared to the scrutiny of the North Cape sticker. It’s nothing official. Merely a silver sticker used by the souvenir shop to seal paper bags of souvenirs. It says, “This product is bought at the North Cape”. Stuck it in passport as a souvenir sticker. He brushes it with his fingers, admiringly, saying, “Is this an entry stamp?”……Er…….er……..ponder……..yes. “It’s really nice” admiring it again that fraction of a second too long and stroking it with his fingers again to suggest an entry stamp fetish. He’s weird.

Board flight and there’s a secondary bag search on the air bridge by Jordanian security who is the spitting image of the gay nurse off Corrie (you know….Sean’s boyfriend…..well he was the last time I watched). There are two air marshalls on board. My day sack is searched but he fails to spot the rather large holdall behind my back.

Sinai

Sinai

 

Incidentally, a bottle of water doesn’t pose a threat that I’ve brought in from landside……but it does in the UK and elsewhere. The last time I was on a Royal Jordanian flight the air marshalls signed in/out a firearm for the flight but I see no such thing today.

Take off and assume it’ll be a quick 30min hop over Syria. Oh no. We go from A to B – or should that be B(eirut) to A(mman) – via C, D, E, F & G. It takes an hour and a half avoiding Syrian and Israeli airspace. Fly down the coast to Sinai and turn over the Red Sea before travelling north to Amman. Green cedars of Lebanon morphing into brown, dusty, desert.

Obtain visa at the border and passport is stamped with “Contact the nearest police station within one month”. Ask if I really need to do this as I’m only here a few days. Am told no – only if here for longer than one month.

A to B via C, D, E, F & G

A to B via C, D, E, F & G

 

Then why doesn’t it say that? Remember having this problem when working here in 2002. A colleague was fined on exit for not having a police stamp in her passport. Had to promptly pop down the local police station for a stamp and entered a hell hole full of scallywags. Clearly there for something other than murder, rape or buggery, the Sergeant sat me down in his office (after all the scallywags were told to make way for the white man) and started saying “Beekam…..beekam…..” Thinking this was Arabic for something I shrugged away. He actually meant Beckham who had just broken his foot before the World Cup. Oh yes, I could write a brand new blog about my time in Jordan….the country….not the model…..obviously.

Am in Amman to meet a man. WAMC is joining me on the Jordan and Egypt sector. We’d met on the Trans Siberian a few years ago and has just flown in from Jo’burg. His wife’s not fancying this much of an adventure so shall see her when I reach Jo’burg.

Inshallah.

If they want you they’ll kidnap you in the hotel

Beirut, Lebanon

9 August 2013

Boom, boom, boom. Went the beat of the bass. Room is under the 6th floor rooftop bar. It’s gone midnight. Victor Meldrew rings reception to complain about the noise as he has to be up early. Another room upgrade on top of the upgrade given at check-in. Shift my gear with the Night Manager who rings the new room’s doorbell, “Just to make sure”. Reminds me of the time when working on a hotel project in Frankfurt. The Hotel Technician had a Martini pass (anytime, any place, anywhere…for younger readers born after 1985) and showing us different room types. Ringing bell on each occasion just to make sure reception had given him vacant room numbers. We all piled into one room after no response from the door bell. The Hotel Technician. The Architect. The Structural Engineer. The M&E Engineer. Me. And quickly made a quick exit as we interrupted a couple getting acquainted on the bed. The schoolboy in us all left giggling at the Hotel Technician’s error. Woken at 0600hrs by the hotel alarm clock.
The only photo I could take at Jeita Grotto
The only photo I could take at Jeita Grotto
 
It’s unplugged sharpish to shut it up. It continues. It has to be the only hotel in the world that’s inserted back-up batteries. They’re prised out. Silence. Day trip to the “countryside” north of Beirut. Told the tower blocks along the mountainside and sea stretch all the way from Israel to Syria. There’s no separation between cities, towns and suburbs. It all blends into one continuous strip of shops, restaurants, hotels, tower blocks. Only 25mins to Jeita Grotto as we turn off the main dual carriageway that slinks snake like along the coast all the way to Syria. Once above the tower block line head into the interior. Like Cyprus’ Troodos Mountains as we climb up. Deep gorges with Cedar trees clinging to the sides. Driving around hair pin bends is pot luck as to whether we have a head on collision or not. Jeita surprisingly busy at this early hour – mainly buses of Bangladeshi blokes.
Teleferique to Our Lady
Teleferique to Our Lady
 
Cable car to the Upper Grotto is abnormal in that it doesn’t follow a loop. Instead it goes one way. Then reverses. In a gondola with a Nun and her Mum. There are two caverns. Upper is the first stop and there’s a big fuss about no photos and having to leave cameras and phones in lockers. When challenged tell security I have neither. I have big pockets. Full of concealed technology I enter. Wow, wow, wow. Not often is my breath taken away but this is spectacular. Flabbergasted by the enormity and scale of it. Super sized space larger than anything I’ve witnessed before. All carefully lit, it’s a photographer’s paradise. Except you can’t take photos. More voluminous than any cathedral. A walkway wends its way through the vast hall. Plenty of large scale stalagmites and stalagtites and associated formations. It’s like tripe dripping Dali-esque over the rocks in places.
Teleferique to Harissa - right to the top
Teleferique to Harissa – right to the top
 
One column looks like jellyfish in a vertical synchronised swim. Words cannot describe what I see. You’ll have to add to your bucket list. Climbing a good few flights of stairs to reach an upper level I feel I’ve not gained any height it’s that vast. Quite, quite spectacular. A road train takes you to the Lower grotto – the sort kids get at Skegness. Totally different experience. There’s an underground lake and an electric boat glides silently through the ice cold water. Uplit with blue and amber light (202 & 135 by the looks of things fellow lighting designers). The blue lights are in the water, projecting shimmering onto the cavern’s roof. Seem to glide effortlessly for quite some way before returning to the landing stage. Short drive to Harissa. Take the Teleferique to the top along with a short funicular ride to see Our Lady of Lebanon that sits atop a mountain about 2,000ft up.
Still going up
Still going up
 
Cracking views of the coast line and you realise how much development there is stretching from Israel to Syria. An interesting winery tour that lasts 2hrs culminating in the requisite wine tasting. Shown where they are also producing Arak. An aniseed firewater that a colleague and I once over indulged in whilst working in Jordan. I know you’re reading this and my thoughts are with you…..how bad we felt for the next two days! Their cellars date back to the 1930s and they retain 500 bottles of each vintage behind a locked door laden with spiders’ webs. It’s like something you would see off the Pirates of the Caribbean. Taste seven wines. I’ve drunk better and the oldest vintage we try is 1977 – which reminds me of the Del-boy Trotter scene along the lines of…….”I’ll have the Beaujolais…….er…..the ’77 vintage…” Receive a text telling that two Turkish Airline pilots have just been kidnapped in Beirut…..
Our Lady
Our Lady
 
Driver confirms it’s Hizbollah and goes on to say that they’ve only done it as the Turks will have detained a Hizbollah person and they want a swap. He explains that Hizbollah know where people are and that if they want you they’ll kidnap you in your hotel. Jolly good. Well that’s another sleepless night sorted then. Dropped off at the ancient town of Byblos and agree to meet driver on the other side. It’s a small port protected by a Crusader castle. It’s a nice place and wish I had slightly more time to explore and that it wasn’t quite so hot even in the late afternoon sun. The St John the Baptist church has a gang of lads preparing the church for a wedding with PA, lighting and flowers down the aisle. Must be the first church I’ve been in that’s air-conditioned. Slow going on the return to Beirut in Friday night traffic and receive two texts. One from the Ministry of Tourism and one from the British Embassy “Welcome to Lebanon. British national? In emergency call +961 1 960 800”. Quite how they got my number I’ll never know. Do Hizbollah have it as well??

Kids with guns

Beirut, Lebanon

8 August 2013

It’s 1100hrs as I walk into central Beirut but something is wrong. Am the only Joe Public about. Do have company though. Every few hundred yards are a mix of private security personnel and armed military. Do they know something I don’t? Ramadan finished yesterday – someone had rung the “New Crescent Moon” hotline (there really is such a hotline as I read in the local paper) saying they’d spotted the new crescent moon. It seems a good wheeze – I bet they were just hungry. Eid starts and last night was party, party, party.

So, all of Beirut is hungover and haven’t got up yet or there’s going to be a terrorist attack that I haven’t been warned of. It’s like a scene from Vanilla Sky.
City streets
City streets
 
It’s eery. Could have a picnic on the main road through Beirut it’s that empty. Continue walking to the marina. Security on practically every street corner. Roads cordoned off with barriers and barbed wire. Stop at one military post to ask for directions. The soldier is very welcoming and speaks a little English and we have the craic. He tells me his name. I tell him mine. He introduces me to his fellow soldier. We’re all mates now. He shakes my hand as I leave and regrets it as it’s quite a strong handshake. A colleague calls me Crusher ‘cos of it. He laughs and makes me shake hands with his chum. They’re both laughing as I wave goodbye. Finding the marina, glad to discover people without assault rifles and a bit of normality. There’s a “beach club” adjacent – outdoor swimming pool, bars, music and sunloungers. One of many. Recommended to walk along the corniche to the Pigeon Rocks. It won’t take long I’m told. That’s as may be but in the heat and humidity it’s a long, hot, sweaty walk. Sea breeze takes the edge off the heat. Plenty of fisherman again and lads diving off the rocks. One brave soul actually dives from the corniche’s promenade to the sea some 30ft below narrowly avoiding the concrete foundations. A lone lad, about 10 years old, turns away from me to look at the sea.
Star's Square
Star’s Square
 
Shoved down the back of his shorts is a pistol. Real or fake? You never know in this city. This walk to the Pigeon Rocks is a lot further than had been made out and after an hour’s walk in the sizzling heat need to stop for food and water. Continue along the corniche and it’s clear I’m straying from the upmarlet end of Beirut and heading into the tower blocked suburbs – the sort you would see Hamas firing rockets from on the 6 o’clock news. More military vehicles patrolling the area – open sided jeeps, soldiers relaxing with rifles. Young family walk towards me. The three young lads have pistols. They’re toy pistols and ask Dad if they’ll have their photo taken. He willingly allows me to shoot…..at least it’s me shooting them and not the other way around. It’s not the best city in the world to have kids brandishing toy guns is it.
He's only just bigger than that rifle
He’s only just bigger than that rifle
 
Call me old fashioned…..but it isn’t…is it?! Pigeon Rocks are like a detached Durdle Door, Dorset. They’re just off the headland and a popular local sight. Men with Polaroids patrol the promenade printing people’s photos. Hail a taxi. Wanting to travel across the city to the National Museum and Hippodrome. Driver speaks no English but it’s OK I have a map. He’ll suss it out, surely. What is it with these foreigners and maps. I point where I want to go. Point where we are now. SImple. It’s like a foreigner turning up at Nottingham Market Square and pointing to Trent Bridge on the map. It’s all too difficult so a young couple are called over. They speak no English and they too can’t read a map of their city. Another bloke is called over. I’m pointing a major tourist attraction on the map. In the city centre. The man says, “Ah….Baalbeck.” Driver says, “Ah….Baalbeck?”. Baalbeck is miles away. It’s near Syria. It really is kidnap central. It’s not where I want to go. We try again. Eventually. They spout off in Arabic. Both acknowledging they’ve got it sussed. Jolly good. They look at me for confirmation. How the flip do I know – I don’t speak Arabic. Take my chance and give the thumbs up and off we go. Drive through the suburbs seeing tanks at road junctions.
Like a scene out of Vanilla Sky
Like a scene out of Vanilla Sky
 
Is this how it always is or just for Eid or just because of the current Middle East terror alert? Assume a combination of all three. Taxi drops me off outside the National Museum and buzzes off. Except the National Museum is closed for Eid (despite being told it would be open). Quick waltz around the block and find an armed soldier who delights is repeating the same directions in his limited English ad nauseum. Put the topic down and step away. Return to city centre in a clapped out Renault. It’s door won’t shut because the side bin fell off when I opened it to get out. Running repair required. Pass the military post I’d been chatting with earlier this morning. The soldier calls out and waves me over. He shakes my hand again. He’s loving it. Calls two other new soldiers over and waffles on in Arabic along the lines of “This is who I was telling you about”. We’re introduced and am now on first name terms. He motions that I’ve to shake hands with his new chums. Deliberately giving that little extra squeeze they nurse their hands when done. He’s laughing at them as it’s exactly what he did when we shook the first time. We’re all laughing and joking. I have new mates. See yet another kid with a toy rifle strapped across his back whilst riding his bike. It would look very real in the shadows of night time. What is it with this city and kids with guns?

You’ve come from the other side

Beirut, Lebanon

7 August 2013

It’s roasting hot even at 1000hrs as I walk to the observatory tower in the heart of Nicosia. It’s actually the top floor of Debenhams. Great 360 views of Nicosia and surrounds. The mountains rise in the Turkish north with arid plains to the south. Those pesky Turks have painted a huge crescent flag on the mountain side just to rub it in. The old city of Nicosia is bounded by ancient walls forming a circular defence with arrow shaped battlements every 100m or so. Despite the height advantage of being 11 floors up you can’t see the division between north and south like you could between east and west in Berlin. Further investigation required.

Head to the Ledra Street crossing.

Those pesky Turks with a giant flag

Those pesky Turks with a giant flag

 

The Greeks just let you walk out along the flowerpotted no man’s land. The Turks take your details and stamp that white slip of paper (the one with the John Bull printing). I’m now in the Turkish north. 100m separating two pints of lager and a packet of crisps from mosques and minarets – the cultural change is noticeable. Wanting to walk the border line and explore. See sights of general decay and derelict buildings. It’s quite staggering walking along silent streets. It’s like the Mary Celeste. Deliberately find dead ends where I find concrete walls and barbed wire between buildings. Just like Berlin.

Everwhere are decaying buildings, derelict beyond repair. The only noise being the cicadas clicking away in the searing lunchtime heat. Mad dogs and Englishmen. Barbed wire, concrete walls and oil drums pop up sporadically between the empty buildings to prevent ingress/egress.

Nicosia looking south

Nicosia looking south

 

Come across a children’s play park. It’s desolate and bounded by chain link fence. Barbed wire atop. At the end of the deserted street is a green painted camoflage concrete machine gun outpost – it sticks out like a sore thumb in this brown and dusty environment. Cough as I approach so as not to surprise. Two soldiers pop up. Think they’re glad for company. Ask if it’s OK to enter the playground on account of all the signage saying it’s a military zone. They consent. Walk the perimeter chain link fence and barbed wire. I’m on top of one of the arrowheads of the old walled city. Below is Greek Cyprus and across the road, metres away, is a seemingly disused Greek concrete machine gun outpost. The proximity of it all reminds me of Vimy Ridge (WW1 battle ground in France).

A disused UN watchtower sits behind goal on a disused and decaying football pitch.

The old walled city of Nicosia

The old walled city of Nicosia

 

Brings a whole new meaning to “He shoots and he scores”. I’m frequently using the terms decay and disused for good reason. It’s what I see. Return to the Turkish soldiers to have a bit of craic and hand them my Greek map. The Turkish part of Nicosia is blank and says “Under Turkish occupation since 1974” but even so I have a rough idea of where I am. They take the map. It’s like watching the Chuckle Brothers. They haven’t a clue. They turn away from me such that I’m now looking over the soldiers’ shoulders. Wish I’d taken a photo it was so comical. They can’t even determine where they are let alone where the Ledra Palace crossing is – even though I’ve sort of sussed it…..Scout training you see. The map is the wrong way up – everyone knows maps are north at the top…..don’t they?

Pulling camera out in this no photographs zone pointing at them and saying “Can I take a photo?” but at the same time clicking away before they say no.

Flowerpot diplomacy

Flowerpot diplomacy

 

Determination…..opportunity…..

Find my way to the Ledra Palace crossing (as opposed to Ledra Street). No one about. I could just walk through the Turkish border unnoticed. But I’m not like that…..Find the border control having lunch. One has to stop eating to stamp me out. Ledra Palace Crossing is a vehicle crossing and probably the widest point of the UN Buffer Zone at about 200m. Halfway across is, bizarrely, a cafe. So there I am. Having a Coke in a UN Buffer Zone. In no man’s land. I am countryless.

Walk the remaining 100m to the Greek border. At last. My passport is checked. Well he takes it. Flicks through it. Suspicious of the Santa stamp from the Arctic Circle. Clearly too hot to query. Hands it back.

Take a service taxi to Larnaca airport picking up people through the suburbs of Nicosia splashed with bougainvillea colour.

Turkish Cyprus border

Turkish Cyprus border

 

Do the reverse when in Larnaca and eventually dropped off at the airport.

Go through the usual conversion of rucksack to holdall and daysack and check in for Beirut flight. Hand passport over. Have you any bags to check in. No. The width of my body hiding the 18kg bag behind my back. She flicks through the passport, “Have you been to Israel?”. No. Here’s your boarding pass. Just about to turn to leave when…..”Wait….wait……give me your passport.”. Hand passport over. She flicks. The Santa stamp isn’t of concern. It’s the northern Turkish Cyprus stamp that is.

“You’ve come from the other side.” she states. Yes…..and….?? You can’t fly to Beirut with this stamp. WTF?!??!?!?! FCO never said anything about that! Muppets. A superior is called over. Passport momentarily confiscated. Oh hells bells. This isn’t in the script.

Turkish Cyprus - decaying and derelict buildings

Turkish Cyprus – decaying and derelict buildings

 

She says he needs to ring someone. A phone call ensues. Travel to Beirut in jeopardy. Contingency plan kicks in. Will have to bypass and fly direct to Amman – there’s a flight twice a week from memory. Bugger. Was looking forward to Beirut. Heart pounding.

Suddenly. Hear “OK….OK…..OK….” from superior. Check in girl smiles. Things are looking up. Phone call finished. A quick conversation in a foreign language…..it’s all Greek to me. It’s OK. I’m not Syrian. The restriction only applies to Syrians. Sighs of relief are heaved. Getting too old for all this. Passport returned.

Considering we’re in the EU am expecting the full liquids in a bag rigmarole. But. No. Rucksack full of electronics and liquids pass through no problem and meet them the other side of X-ray. As I’m collecting my belongings hear the security interrogating the person next to me saying she has a wine opener (corkscrew) and liquids in her bag. She’s denying it. She has no such thing. Suddenly realise that he’s actually describing what’s in my bag and that he’s got the wrong bag to search. Time for a sharp exit and buzz off.

Board flight and find myself sitting next to some Lebanese lads who’ve obviously been partying in Aya Napa. One looks like Boris Becker and his mate is a fat Arabic George Michael. The contrast is surreal. Boris Becker has a whistle that he keeps whistling whilst on the aircraft. He’ll find it rammed down his throat by the time we land in Beirut.

Greeted by hotel transfer. He’s European looking. Ask if he’s actually Lebanese. He is. But his ancestors must be European. No. They’re from Egypt.

Have decided on a hotel transfer purely for safety reasons. Didn’t particularly want a local taxi that was going to take me to Kidnap Central.

Get me to the Greek

Nicosia, Cyprus 

6 August 2013

Despite the train bed being nicely firm and comfortable, there’s just one problem. It’s 2ft too short. Have to sleep in the foetal position all night. Or rather, I have to rest in the foetal position as sleep is not something that really happens. Text from a friend in the early hours saying she can’t sleep – I know the feeling!

Seem to be racing along and the cabin is a lot quieter and smoother than the Russian trains. Train scheduled to arrive Adana 0725hrs. At 0720hrs we’ve been stationary in the middle of nowhere for 5mins so assume waiting fo signals to enter Adana. Find location on Google Maps and realise that Adana is some way away. Far away in fact.

Enroute to Adana

Enroute to Adana

Search for a guard and told “Big problem, big problem….may be ten….half ten”. What?!? I have a flight to catch. Eventually arrive an hour and a half late into Adana. Taxi driver looks like an extra from Planet of the Apes as we drive to the airport.

Actually have 2.5hrs to wait for flight so settle down for a decent omelette and bread and catching up on diary (remember I’m running two books!).

Rucksack converted to holdall and day sack and think I’ve managed to hide holdall behind my back as I check in. Told the maximum limit for cabin bag is 8kg. Yeah, yeah. Boarding pass collected, turn and walk a few yards when there’s a “Stop, stop”. He’s seen the holdall. My holdall is too big. It weighs 17-18kg and he laughs that I’ve tried to walk on with it. Relieved of holdall, wait for passport control and then enter the departure hall.

Adana - local transport

Adana – local transport

It’s exactly like Simferopol (come on, keep up).

Flight is one of those that as soon as you’ve taken off you start the descent. Land at Ercan in Turkish Cyprus. Taxi to Ledra Street crossing. The driver is the sort to accelerate, then brake….accelerate…..brake…..accelerate….brake….all the soddin’ way to Nicosia.

The FCO warn that as I’ve entered the island of Cyprus from northern Turkish Cyprus then southern Greek Cyprus could treat me as illegally entering and prevent me or fine me as I cross from the north into the southern sector of Nicosia. I’d emailed the British Embassy in Nicosia to ask for clarification, to be told, “Should be OK”.

Chosen the Ledra Street Crossing as being the one nearest the hotel the other side. Fill in a white piece of paper that the Turks have obviously been using their John Bull printing set on – name, nationality, passport number.

Busy airport, Adana

Busy airport, Adana

Join the queue of tourists and hand over passport and white piece of paper. The paper is stamped and I walk along the UN Buffer Zone that is no man’s land. Which is actually a street with flowerpots down the middle. It’s about 50-100 yards to Greek Cyprus. Getting ready to be arrested as an illegal immirant, getting ready with all those arguments, getting ready with EU freedom of movement treaties etc etc. Getting ready with “I’m a British Citizen”. Yes, getting ready. I have my passport ready to hand over. But am waved on by the Greek passport control with not so much as a look inside. IS THAT IT?! All the fuss the FCO were suggesting. A simple wave is all it takes to cross the border. How utterly boring. Disappointing even. Huh.

Walk the 10mins to the hotel through the back streets. It’s hot. Oh yes. It’s very hot. 38C even. Thankful for a nice cold air-conditioned room. And promptly fall asleep for a few hours. You’ll have realised by now, there’s a direct correlation between an overnight train and a good old afternoon nap. I have been travelling for 18hrs on little sleep…..that’s my excuse….what’s yours?