One week to drive 1800km in our slow, steady beast? We'd just about managed to convince ourselves it was possible by the time we reached the Libyan border, despite an occasional splutter from the exhaust and a rising temperature gauge as we neared the border gates.
The heat outside had risen steadily as we'd driven southwards the day before. We were now cruising through searing 40 degree heat, no air con, melting inside and out. It almost hurt to breathe in, the air was so hot and thick, so it was little wonder the engine was struggling. But we'd been assured that this was a ghibli, a temporary heatwave, and that the coast road of Libya would have a Mediterranean sea breeze. We could do this, no problem. Or so we thought.
We crossed the border into Libya last Friday without the stress or full vehicle search we'd expected, spending 250 dinars (approximately £120) on border fees and 115 dinars (100 of which we've been assured will be reimbursed on our exit) on a temporary number plate. My old student Mohammed, now a police Lieutenant Colonel, met us there and helped things move smoothly. It helps having friends in high places - as we were made more and more acutely aware of over the coming days.
It was a joy to see him again: his easy charm and cynical intelligence, and his patience, which until that day I'd never had cause to see. It had taken him just over an hour to drive 170km from Tripoli to meet us but it took us six to get back, plodding along at our steady pace, with regular stops to cool down. Not just the truck - us too - driving with the engine cover off to let her breathe meant that we were sweltering.
Just 30 clicks outside the city, she spluttered, gasped and gave up. Huw's foot was full on the throttle but we were losing power. Three attempts to keep going and a call to Martin, our angel back in the UK who by now must be considering deleting us from his contacts list, and we realised, devastated, that we had to give up for the night. Sunset was fast approaching and Mohammed's family were throwing us a BBQ which we were already late for and which, incidentally, was a wonderful al fresco affair lasting until 2am.
While our sick 'Bug' (as Mohammed calls her) has sat patiently in the garage, having her carbs, thermostat, spark plugs, radiator and distributor all adjusted, fixed or replaced, the past few days have passed for us in a hazy blur of insanely generous hospitality.
Mohammed, Marwa, Musab and their friends and families have shown us the very best of Tripoli and the Libyan people. We have a place call home - a 'farm' on the outskirts of town belonging to Ismail, Mohammed's best friend. We have eaten far too much delicious ("le-theed", my Arabic learning continues) food. We have been welcomed into breathtakingly exquisite homes, and delightfully air-conditioned offices to use the internet, and explored the Green Square and the old city. And we have barely been allowed to reach into our wallets: this is the Libyan way.
Apart from the obvious mechanical issues - and the mounting garage costs - we had another major concern. Our seven allocated days were vanishing before our eyes (albeit in a very pleasant manner) and we had to accept the very real possibility that we wouldn't make it to Egypt. Our options seemed bleak, but overstaying our visa was simply not an option.
On Tuesday afternoon, less than 48 hours before we violated our visas (possibly risking Libyan prison, with the truck and all our belongings impounded forever) we had a call from Musab. His cousin, who happens to work in the immigration office, had, after much investigation and string-pulling, managed to extend our transit visas by another week. It seems that Mohammed's mantra "everything is possible in Libya" is bit by bit coming true for us.
Route, photos and more at www.thelongandwinding.co.uk
Mohammed, Huw and Musab strolling through Tripoli:
