There we were - my wife, two daughters, son and I - luxuriating in the
dazzling blue waters of a palm-fringed lake surrounded by the great, golden
sand dunes of the Sahara. It was the stuff of childhood fantasy. Yes, I
thought, we have pulled this off.
Our problem had been to persuade our three offspring - aged 23, 21 and 18 - to
come on a final family holiday before they grew too old. Cornwall was a
non-starter. A week with the wrinklies in France or Spain no longer enticed
them. It would have to be somewhere very different - somewhere that offered
sun, of course, but also adventure, excitement and bragging rights back at
uni without flying halfway around the world. Which is how we ended up in
Libya, a country with the added cachet of having been, until recently, a
pariah state ruled by an eccentric, terrorist-supporting, WMD-building
dictator.
We had had our doubts. Libya is still essentially a police state. We knew we
would have to be accompanied by a government minder as well as a guide
during our ten-day trip, and that we would be required to arrange our
itinerary, accommodation and transport in advance through a tour agency.
The holiday almost ended at Heathrow when BA refused to let us fly, saying
that we would be denied entry in Tripoli because the Libyan Embassy had made
a technical error in one of our visas. The entire trip had to be postponed
for 24 hours.
Once in Libya we found other drawbacks. The hotels were basic, the food - but
for some surprisingly tasty camel meat - was bland, and alcohol is banned.
The distances were immense - Libya being eight times the size of Britain.
One day we drove across 800km (500 miles) of emptiness, the monotony
interrupted only by occasional herds of camels, police checkpoints and
prayer breaks. Fortunately, petrol costs only 6p a litre.
But these proved trifling inconveniences when set beside the little-known
wonders of a country that began accepting tourists barely a decade ago.
We were greeted at Tripoli airport by our guide, Saeed, 59, who turned out to
be delightful; our minder, Saif, a singularly unmenacing 22-year-old; and
warm sunshine. On our first day we wandered happily around the medina,
Tripoli's charming old town, shopping in the covered souks and watching
weavers, coppersmiths and jewellery-makers practising their crafts in tiny
back-alley workshops. Nobody pestered us. Everyone smiled. We were even
welcomed into an engagement party.
We were not wild about the prospect of visiting three Berber granaries - Qasr
al-Haj, Kabaw and Nalut - on our day-long journey from Tripoli to the town
of Ghadames, but Saeed was adamant. We were duly amazed. The granaries, it
transpired, were built from baked mud in the 12th century, with fortified
outer walls protecting scores of cave-like storage rooms that rose higgledy-
piggledly around open courtyards to a height of four or five storeys. With the
help of protruding tree trunks you can - and we did - climb all over these
extraordinary edifices.
The old walled oasis town of Ghadames, now abandoned, but once a major
stopping point for caravans emerging from the Sahara bearing goods from the
African interior, was even more astonishing.
Ringed by orchards of date palms and citrus trees, it is a labyrinth of
covered passages that wind between traditional baked-clay houses and are
designed to offer shelter from the desert sun. Another network of walkways
criss-crosses the roofs so that - in this deeply traditional Islamic society
- women could move around unveiled.
In the city in Sebha, a full day's drive to the south, our entourage swelled
to embarrassing proportions as we took on three Jeeps with drivers and a
cook for the highlight of the trip - four days camping in the Sahara.
During the first two, we explored the Acacus mountains, a stunning moonscape
that we penetrated by driving up sand-filled wadies flanked by outcrops of
towering black rock in the shape of teetering spires, pyramids and
colonnades. Beneath overhangs, and in caves, we admired 12,000-year-old rock
art depicting life when the region was a lush savannah. Carved or painted on
to the smooth surfaces, as vividly as if completed yesterday, were
pictographs of elephants and hippos, and men hunting, copulating and riding
chariots.
Today in the vast Acacus range you encounter only the primitive straw huts of
a few Tuareg nomads, or the occasional vehicles of other tourists.
Another day our drivers gleefully raced up, down and across the fabulous
sculpted dunes of a veritable sand sea called Wan Caza, our hearts in our
mouths as the vehicles struggled to the top of each crest and then hurtled
down the other side.
The last we spent at the miraculous Ubari lakes - Mavo, Gebraoun and Umm
al-Maa. With their startling blue waters and necklaces of vivid green palms,
they are oases of the sort that appear in mirages to fictional travellers
dying of thirst. Alas, the travellers here would be disappointed. The waters
are so salty that you bob on the surface like corks. As you dry off in the
warm desert air, your body is left encrusted in white powder.
Each evening we stopped and pitched camp on the pristine sand. We would climb
barefoot to the top of the highest dunes to watch the setting sun cast
extraordinary shadows over the curved sand hills stretching away to the
horizon. Then we would run back down to the camp - tumbling, sliding and
laughing like children in a giant sandpit - to dinner laid out on a plastic
table.
Later we would gather round the fire and drink sweet tea, play games with our
Libyan entourage or listen to them singing. Far from being intrusive, they
added greatly to our enjoyment. Ibrahim, Farhat and Hussein, the drivers,
were fun-loving pranksters. Even Saif, the minder, quickly became one of the
gang.
We went to sleep on the sand, watching for shooting stars overhead. When the
Moon rose it was as if someone had turned on a light. There was nothing to
disturb the silence - no planes, no humans, no birds, no grass or vegetation
to rustle in the breeze. It was sublime, though various pawprints in the
morning showed that we were not completely alone.
We flew back to Tripoli for a memorable final day. Leptis Magna, 120km east of
the city, is probably the best-preserved Roman city in the world. For
several entrancing hours Saeed guided us through the streets and triumphal
arches, markets and bathhouses, the forum, amphitheatre and circus of what
was once a thriving metropolis of 100,000 people. My children are hardly
archaeology buffs, but even they were awestruck.
Back in Tripoli, as in every Libyan town, Colonel Gaddafi's suspiciously
youthful face stared down from huge billboards and official portraits in
every shop and restaurant.
But do not let one man put you off, for Libya's greatest asset is probably the
country's six million other inhabitants. They are hospitality personified -
enter the humblest Beduin tent and you'll be offered curdled goat's milk.
When we left, our team plied us with gifts - dishes, shawls, necklaces,
dates, camel-bone boxes. Even our young minder produced neatly wrapped
presents.
“Where next?” our offspring asked as we boarded the flight home.
NEED TO KNOW
The Ultimate Travel Company (020-7386 4646, www.theultimatetravelcompany.co.uk)
arranges tailor-made trips to Libya. A ten-day stay costs from £2,206pp. The
price includes flights, visa, private transfers, guided sightseeing and all
meals. The best times to visit are spring and autumn. Read Libya (Lonely
Planet, £15.99). Libya: From Colony to Independence (Oneworld Short Stories,
£12.99). Libyan General Board of Tourism: www.libyan-tourism.org
Hello
Interesting article, but did you really visit Ghadamis? Surely, your picture of the baked clay houses is more like those in Nalut.
I may be mistaken, but I would like to get your opinion as I didn't see them there.
All the best.
David
David, Southampton,