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Post by lola on Jun 6, 2011 13:20:06 GMT
Riveting!
Kevin would have been your man when it was time to form a flying wedge, but you wonder why someone like him would consider such a trip. You have to be so gregarious to enjoy it. Were there loner types who only wanted the physical support of a group?
The extra holes were for maintenance later, then. You'd lose less water to evaporation than with an aqueduct. Clever. So the community pitches in on the project, and everyone benefits?
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Post by bjd on Jun 6, 2011 13:22:08 GMT
I think it hit a low point in the 1960s and 1970s when the shipyards were closing and there was a lot of unemployment and rough times. Even in the 1980s I heard some idiot justifying the vandalism and poverty by talking about the poor social conditions. However, although it is still not the most yuppified area of Britain, it has improved and lot and quite a few areas have been cleaned up.
A bit of Glasgow for you, Mark.
Carry on. Back to your stories.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 6, 2011 16:22:51 GMT
Very good story teller is Mr Connolly. Yep.
Why Kevin came on the trip I can't remember. I'm not even sure I bothered to find out. Especially as later on in the trip he got into a fight with another male member who I'd taken to the hospital in Turkey to pass a gall stone and brought back to the camp somewhat in pain. Kevin objected to being held up and I told him not only was his attitude to women unacceptable, getting into a fight was the very last warning. Any more problems and I'd throw him off the trip. Which I would have done if he'd not isolated himself completely from everyone else so as to 'behave'.
He told us one night of a game he and his rugby mates used to play. They all masturbated onto a piece of bread - the last one to come had to eat it. I'm sure that was too much information but it illustrates what type of person he was.
Quite how the underground water system is funded, I have no idea. But it does benefit a number of people. It's not until I've gone back over this that I've realised that I have a form of qanat on my land at my house in southern Spain. I saw an entrance when I bought the property but didn't go down it until later. The tunnel is exactly shaped like ones I've seen illustrated and as the Moors were very active............. Unfortunately I'm not on my home computer otherwise I'd have a photo of it.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 6, 2011 16:37:38 GMT
Aha, I put it on photobucket - I don't know what is reflecting in the first photo. Note the gravel and smooth stones on the floor. A sure sign of the passage of water.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2011 17:16:49 GMT
Interesting to see it from the inside. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your telling this story, Mark, because I thought that when this site started people would be full of travel tales -- after all, you don't have to go to the ends of the earth to have an interesting story to tell. Often just a weekend at Fawlty Towers would provide a million tales to tell. However, when I look at this branch and see how few people have told their travel tales and who just couldn't keep his fingers off the keyboards, it is embarrassing.
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Post by lola on Jun 6, 2011 17:31:21 GMT
Hmph, Kerouac.
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Post by lola on Jun 7, 2011 1:23:59 GMT
The reflections look like veins of quartz.
My most amusing travel stories involve people closely related by blood, marriage, or selfhood being annoying or otherwise wrongheaded. I'm reluctant to expose us in nonfiction form. Anyway, V.S. Naipul says women can't write.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 7, 2011 8:20:35 GMT
Someone misheard him and it was quoted out of context. In reference to when the two sexes are arguing, he actually said 'women can't be right'.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 7, 2011 8:33:21 GMT
The last major town in the south east of Iran from the border with Pakistan is called Zahedan. It was the same town that I'd had to obtain the visa for Katrina. Staying there once was enough, the whole area felt very threatening. I would normally bypass the town on the main road, which swung around the south west side in a lazy half circle. At the junction of the side road allowing traffic in to the town centre is a police checkpoint.
As it was close to the border nearly all the vehicles had to stop to verify they and the occupants had the correct papers. In the interval between the last time I had passed and my latest journey there had been a new type of permit brought into effect for foreign vehicles. This I had been informed about but also that it was not needed for tourist purposes, only for goods carrying vehicles. For some reason the police at this checkpoint didn’t know of this exemption.
I arrived around 5pm and duly stopped. I presented my papers to the duty officer who then took them inside the nearby concrete building. My plan was for us to drive for another hour into the hills and find a secluded spot to camp for the night. After around half an hour of waiting I went to the building and found the same officer. He was making a telephone call with quick glances at my paperwork he was holding in his other hand.
Warning bells started to ring in my head as I waited for him to finish. With some of the writing being in Farsi, a totally unreadable script to me, I could never be sure all the details were right. Eventually he put the phone down and gestured for me to follow him. We went through a number of offices before we stopped at the desk of what was clearly a supervisory officer. You could tell he was because the portable air conditioning unit was at the side of him, no one else could get near it.
Words were then spoken, papers looked at, I was giving my friendliest smile, the one that I had cultivated to say, “I’m sorry if I am causing you problems but please forgive me for whatever it is because I am just a simple tourist and very stupid.” This time it didn’t seem to work.
The superior officer pulled out of his desk a blank form, which I recognised to be a copy of a foreign vehicle travel permit. The one he knew I didn’t have. I tried to make him understand that as tourists we didn’t need one. He was adamant we did. During this exchange a further male appeared at the side of me. He wasn’t in a uniform but I could tell he had some authority here. I found he actually spoke a little English. The situation was explained as best as we could and he said that the right answer would be found from the relevant official in Tehran.
I learned that the first officer who I had seen on the phone had been trying to do that but the official had gone home at the end of his work day. He would be back tomorrow I was told. There was nothing for it but to spend the night the best we could at the checkpoint, the police retaining my passport for safe keeping. Early the next morning two heavily built men in suits came to me and in a very unfriendly manner directed me to a waiting pickup.
They pushed me into the front seat, one getting into the driving seat, the other squeezing in at the side of me. I hadn’t a clue what was happening but I quickly told one of my group that if I was not back that night then to contact my office and my Embassy. We then drove into the town where I was placed in a small room in a decrepit building with three other men. I had tried asking what was happening but got no reply. One man in the room was from Pakistan and spoke English quite well.
He asked me what I had done and told me that he knew my two “escorts” to be the Iranian version of what he called “secret police.” To say I was rather perturbed was to put it mildly. After what was only an hour, but felt like ten, the men appeared and gestured me back out to their car. One was then trying to say in fractured English, “No problem, you go.” I presumed he had made the necessary phone calls and checks and decided that we didn’t present a threat to national security.
We resumed our seats in the pickup and began to travel back. On the way I could smell some form of excrement, the other two could as well but had what looked like smug smiles on their faces. Perhaps they thought that they had made me so scared I had crapped my pants. I knew I hadn’t, as you would, but the smell got stronger and stronger.
Eventually they had to open the windows and gasp one breath outside before putting their heads back in. I was crammed in place between them and couldn’t move. After numerous breaths out of the open windows we arrived back at the checkpoint. As we stopped I was told to go and I quickly got out of the car. As I did so I saw that on the floor by my feet was a large lump of brown “doggy doos” which in my moving around to get comfortable I had rubbed well in to the carpet. I must have stepped in it when leaving the town.
The smug looks on the faces of the police turned to that of disgust as they spotted it too. Before they could react I shot off across the car park, jumped into my truck and drove away. No doubt they had a lasting reminder for many days of my visit to their country!
Anthony asked, “Have you ever run out of water?”
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Post by bjd on Jun 7, 2011 9:09:09 GMT
Good story. When you had to spend a night at a checkpoint like this, did everyone just have to sit in the truck?
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Post by onlymark on Jun 7, 2011 13:45:31 GMT
The trip was a majority camping trip, so we had with us all the kit needed. We just went into the ground at the back of the police post and pitched camp. we had all the food and cooking stuff etc, so we were well set apart from a bit of traffic noise.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 7, 2011 13:53:05 GMT
Forgiver me bjd, but you have seen the photos on this web page and the previous one? overlanding101.weebly.com/gallery-2.htmlThe picture above the very last one (several tents and a truck in the wilderness) was taken the night after the one at the checkpoint.
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Post by bjd on Jun 7, 2011 14:11:10 GMT
Yes, I had seen them. It certainly doesn't look as though there was anything official nearby.
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Post by lola on Jun 7, 2011 19:44:38 GMT
That photo brings me right up to the edge of thinking I'd like to do that. Even though you all seem to be camping in the middle of a road.
(I don't take it personally, don't read Naipul so we're even.)
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2011 20:00:20 GMT
My own question would be "did you ever think you were being taken away to be shot in the desert"
I would have to confess that this thought has passed through my mind twice in the past -- both times in totally innocuous Jordan, of all places.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 7, 2011 20:08:10 GMT
I did read of your adventure(s) in Jordan recently. But no, not shot in the desert. Shot in Baluchistan, yes. In CAR, yes, in DR Congo, yes.
Lola, the track we camped on/at the side of could well have been there several hundred years. I had hoped the odds were no-one would want to drive down in the few hours we were there, especially as I'd made sure we were well away from anything at all. What would tip you over the edge? A different photo? What appeals to you? Desert? Jungle?
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Post by bjd on Jun 8, 2011 7:39:46 GMT
Just looking through your photos again, I guess the moustache was de rigueur in some of those countries? Where is CAR? (x Arab Republic?) As much as I don't like the idea of group travel, I think I would have liked to go on one of those overlanding trips.
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Post by bixaorellana on Jun 8, 2011 15:30:37 GMT
I presumed he had made the necessary phone calls and checks... This is always my big paranoia -- that some minor functionary will take it into his/her head to interpret the law without making the necessary phone calls & checks. I knew I hadn’t, as you would, As much as I don't like the idea of group travel, I think I would have liked to go on one of those overlanding trips. What she said!
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Post by onlymark on Jun 8, 2011 20:29:03 GMT
CAR = Central African Republic. I actually dislike it when people use abbreviations that aren't common, but I was in a bit of a rush. My apologies.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 8, 2011 20:51:50 GMT
Sarah was probably the most “intelligent” person I had ever met. Intelligent in the way that she was a real life Brain Surgeon. She was from Canada, of Asian extraction, and had studied for many years to specialise in the brain. She was 33years old, tall and slim with a honey coloured skin and was a bit of an eye turner. She seemed to embody all that is good about the human species, she was good looking and clever, attributes not commonly found together, (unless you are me) It was difficult to imagine her spending hours and hours sitting in a library studying, eating junk food at the computer and generally being a swot. On first meeting her it was easy to understand the problems she would have had to overcome to get to the position she was in.
She was in a male dominated world, she would not have been taken seriously because of this and the fact that she was attractive, and also that she was obviously not a native of her home country. She was single due to, she says, not having any time for romantic involvement and had decided to go away for several weeks to see a little more of the world.
She was to be one of a group I was to take from Egypt through Syria and Jordan, into Turkey and then back through Europe to England. She seemed to be the ideal sort of person who would benefit from doing something like that. The ancient history of the region would appeal to her as would spending time out relaxing on along the coastline. There was one thing though that she was sadly lacking, common sense.
It didn’t take too long to find this out. Each and every member of the group would be given something that they would be responsible for, be it to check that all the locks were closed when leaving the truck, checking the stores of food or even to obtain wood when available. One of the more responsible things was to monitor the water we carried. It was crucial that due to the areas of desert that we were to cross then we wanted to be safe and sure with the volume of water needed to keep a group of twenty people happy. This was what Sarah had to do.
It was her chore to keep an eye on how much water we had so that I could find somewhere to fill up in plenty of time. The truck I was using had two tanks each could carry about 100 litres, plus another six Jerry cans of 20 litres each. I showed her how to check the cans by just trying to move them, if they were empty then they would move easily. Also to keep one tank locked until the other was empty, when this happened then to tell me so we still had a reasonably supply and I knew that I should find more.
Always at the beginning of a trip I would double check what the group were supposed to do but then I would leave it to them as otherwise it would seem as though I was treating them like children and not trusting them with the most simple of tasks. After several days I told Sarah we were going to fill up with water as after that it would be difficult to obtain for a while due to the desert environment.
No problems occurred for a day or two then until one of the group came to me and said that both water tanks were empty. I checked and they were, but I knew we still had some in the Jerry cans. I went to Sarah and asked her if she had been watching the water, “No” she said, “I forgot.” I told her how obviously important it was and then had to explain to the group that we had to make a short detour to get more.
We filled up again and continued on our journey after advising the group that water was in short supply and to try not to waste it, we had seemed to use up more than normal. A few days later the same thing happened. A group member told me that it seemed as though both of the tanks were nearly empty. I saw that they were but still we had the Jerry cans to fall back on.
Again we had to spend time going in the wrong direction to re-fill the tanks. Again I asked Sarah why she had not told me we were running low, again she said, “I forgot to check.” I decided that as well as everything else I was doing then I had better keep my own eye on the water as not only as we were seeming to use more than anticipated and had experienced before, I couldn’t work out how we were using water from the tank that was locked by Sarah. I found out two nights later.
Normally when we were camping in the desert and there was plenty of room the group would spread out away from the truck to sleep, some for privacy and some so that they could sleep under the stars without the lights from the truck interfering. I would normally take my camp bed some yards away from the front of the truck and lie out of the light but with my feet facing the cab so that I could keep an eye on it.
The water tanks were out of my sight down the side. But that night I had lain looking up at the stars until everyone had gone to bed and then moved over and closer to the truck so that I could see the water tanks. Nothing happened so I drifted off to sleep. Sometime in the early hours I woke up to the sound of water quietly running but in my thoughts it was just as though one of the group were going to the toilet, this being a regular thing in the night as there were no toilets out in the desert. I didn’t want to move so as not to embarrass whoever it was. But the gentle trickle went on and on. So I opened my eyes and saw who I recognised by the figure and hair to be Sarah.
She was bending towards one of the water tanks with one of the large washing up bowls. She lifted it away from close to the tap and obviously being very careful as it looked heavy and full, walked away into the darkness. She returned several minutes later with an empty bowl, carrying it in one hand, and filled it up again. Again to walk off into the dark.
This happened twice more, she had a total of four large bowls of water each holding about ten litres. I couldn’t believe it, she could only be going each night or every other night, to have a full wash in the drinking water. I surmised she was also using the tank that only she had access to, apart from myself. She couldn’t seem to wait the time out between campsites like everyone else had to where you could get a proper shower.
I lay awake trying to think of what would be the best way to resolve this but I must have fallen asleep, the next thing I knew it was morning. I couldn’t resist though when I first saw her at breakfast saying, “ How do you always manage to look so fresh in a morning? It’s as though you ride off in the night to the nearest hotel for a wash and brush up.” She replied, “ Those wet tissues work wonders.”
The best and quietest way around this problem was something I thought about all day. There were a number of solutions, ranging from confronting her in front of the group, to having a quiet word with her to tell her what I had seen. I felt the best way, without leaving any ill feeling, was to just change the responsibilities around. The reason I gave for this to the whole group was to give them an idea of what it took to run the trip and they would get chance to do a couple of things or more themselves.
I put this to the group that evening and it was well received. I engineered it so that Sarah had the simple task of looking after the first aid kits and to let me know if someone had used some eye wash or antiseptic cream and so on. Not so strangely enough we never seemed to have water problems after that though at the end of the trip I did realise we had in fact run out of plasters.
That was not the end of her story though. I couldn’t help but keep out a special eye on Sarah after that, not that being attractive had anything to do with it I hasten to add. But I noticed that she never went out into the sun if she could avoid it, also very often rubbing moisturising cream into her hands, arms and legs. I thought it was just to preserve her skin. She also was routinely blowing her nose, more so than most in the dusty environment.
The trip though went on and on without incident all the way until we had just reached Turkey. Sarah then came to me as we were camping outside a town and told me she was going to leave the next day. I naturally asked why and she told me that the rest of the trip doesn’t interest her. I said that now was the time to relax on the beaches for a couple of weeks as we were going around the coast.
She said, “It was a mistake from the beginning. I have allergy to the dust and sand in a desert, I have a skin complaint that means I can’t go out in the sun and also it means that I can’t stand salt water.” I said, “It’s a strange choice of trip you made from the brochure then. We spend the first half of the trip going through the deserts of Egypt, Jordan and Syria then most of the second half working our way from beach to beach up the coast of Turkey swimming and sunbathing.” “Yes” she said, “I didn’t think it would be like that.” “What did you think it would be like?” “I didn’t really think about it.” She said.
The next morning myself and a couple of the group waved her off as she rode into the sunset (actually sunrise) never to be seen again.
“Are there many accidents with the trucks?” asked Anthony.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2011 20:55:41 GMT
Have you kept track of the continued existence of these tours? I know that due to various wars, everything was pretty much suspended for awhile, because the 'alternate route' through all of those ex-Soviet republics to the north did not appeal as much as the mystique of Afghanistan, etc., but then I read some time ago that some company had started again with 'London to India' bus trips and that everything was fully booked for months.
However, I can imagine the novelty wearing off quickly due to cheap air fares and the fact that a lot of the roads have become either too easy (no adventure) or too dangerous (I don't want to die).
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Post by Deleted on Jun 8, 2011 21:02:22 GMT
I was posting while you posted that last bit -- I remember the story about Sarah that you told elsewhere once. I confess that I am not sure that I could remain as calm as you did, but of course you had a lot of experience from past trips. I would just want to do the verbal equivalent of slapping the shit out of somebody who would do such a thing.
People are amazing.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 8, 2011 21:56:33 GMT
I've certainly kept track of the trips, partly because of the TT, partly out of interest and partly out of professional interest. The routes taken are obviously important due to unrest in certain parts of the world. Sometimes a trip has to stop at the border of a country, overfly it and then start again. This happened with Iran for example at one time. Also routes through Africa are often changing and change sometimes because of the seasons. Travelling north to south (or v.v.) throws up permutations depending not only on where you want to end up but also there is an easier and a harder side (west harder than east).
The UK to India/Nepal trips have actually rarely stopped. Originally the route was through Afghanistan but changed to further south. Currently it's a bit of a pain to get through Pakistan and has been so for a year or two. It is now that a Police escort is common.
The roads are better paved than they used to be in some areas, but the 'adventure' is still there - as well as the danger in some places. However, there are roads that have just become worse as well.
By the way, I do have a gold medal in biting my tongue.
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Post by bixaorellana on Jun 8, 2011 22:32:56 GMT
If you managed not to say what you were thinking to Sarah, You must have been biting down on that gold medal, along with your tongue. Due to the fact that the type face on the forum is sans serif, I read this sentence: "But that night I had lain looking up at the stars until everyone had gone to bed ..." as "But that night I had Iain looking up at the stars until everyone had gone to bed..."What's he doing in the story? Did Mark mention him earlier & I missed it. And why are they monitoring the stars, anyway -- they're not at sea. About the fourth re-reading of the sentence, light dawned.
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Post by mossie on Jun 9, 2011 19:19:51 GMT
Just found this excellent thread. Mark, you have to have rhinocerus skin as well as being very resourceful. Me, I'm just a coward.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 9, 2011 20:28:47 GMT
Absolute respect for your management methods.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 9, 2011 21:04:47 GMT
Unfortunately it was my lack of rhinoceros skin that was contributory to my ending the work as soon as the opportunity arose. I saw over the time that the group members moved attitude generally from being on an adventure to being on holiday. As such their expectations began to differ quite a lot from the reality. This I found difficult to cope with in that I became very short tempered with their, what I saw as, whinging.
One of the worst group members was a girl who had won a completely free trip but moaned all the way through. We went to camp in the desert of Egypt the night after a night at a hotel and demanded, as we pitched camp, that I take her back to the hotel, or at least find another one. Even then I was conciliatory and told her that if all the group, without exception, wanted the same, then I'd drive several hours back. But she had to ask everyone.
She came back to me ten minutes or so later and said only she and her friend wanted to go. I told her that the road was about half a mile away, she could go herself, but needed to be back in the camp at 7am when we left. Needless to say she didn't. But she did ferment dissent at every opportunity. I was glad to get rid of her.
One man who I brought through the Middle East and all the way back to Europe made a complaint about me. Our route through Europe skirted Brussels, he decided he wanted to get off there to see some friends. We were running just about on time for a ferry across to the UK but just 'to go the extra mile' I drove to near the city centre to drop him off. This I did and we just caught the ferry. However, as I was back in the London office (a few days later) I was handed a letter from the same man and asked to comment on it.
He'd complained that one day in Europe (I think we were in Vienna) we had most of a day there and to ensure the group could see as much as possible (as the focus wasn't on Europe but most time was spent in the Middle East) instead of the cooks for the day, of which he was one, having to spend time buying and cooking for us all, I'd do the shopping and cooking for the night. I saw him later in a supermarket near to the camp where I was shopping and he saw me buy all the food and as a last minute thing bought myself a Mars Bar at the checkout.
His letter related this incident and accused me of stealing trip funds to spend on myself. The Director asked me if I had any comments. I said, "Yes. He's a twat". The Director said he thought so too and screwed the letter up and put it in the bin.
One further thing. There were also several incidents where I didn't get the backing of the management, they had to bend over backwards sometimes in appeasement for whatever reason, but it ended up I got the shit end of the stick. I wasn't going to stand that for long.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 9, 2011 21:09:11 GMT
Just looking through your photos again, I guess the moustache was de rigueur in some of those countries? I also would grow a beard at times. It garnered a bit of respect with bureaucracy in some countries, especially when it started getting grey bits in it.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 9, 2011 21:16:11 GMT
Were there loner types who only wanted the physical support of a group? There were all sorts, loners amongst them. As the majority in a group were female (oh dear, what a shame, thought I) it provided a useful tool for travelling through a number of countries in relative safety. I tended to let them see is was an introduction into a country or area and they could become familiar enough with it to return at a later date by themselves to explore more in depth.
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Post by onlymark on Jun 10, 2011 17:21:23 GMT
Over the years I would be called upon to train some of the new leaders over a period of several months. After the initial period in England they would be sent out to work with an experienced leader and from there to running the trips on their own. One of the most important aspects of the training was to ensure they were a safe driver as the conditions in some countries were very dangerous.
Andy was a trainee who first joined a trip with another leader in India. The trip was in its last month or so before ending in Nepal. Andy had done some of the driving but it was clear that the group didn’t trust him too much. The last section up to Kathmandu was up a winding road called the Raj Path. I was told later that the group went to the leader and asked that Andy not drive along there as they didn’t feel so safe with him. When the trip ended Andy was passed on to me to sort out this weakness.
At the beginning of our trip, from Nepal to finish in Cairo, Andy was driving very carefully, he knew what was at stake and was trying hard. Usually when I felt I could trust the driving of the trainee then I would often go and sit with the group. Knowing that driving in India was very taxing and still not being too confident of Andy’s level of skill I tended to stay in the cab with him until one day after we got to Pakistan.
Up until that time nothing major had happened, a few small mistakes but generally no real problem. We were to begin travelling to the north up the Karakoram highway to the mountains. The first couple of days were to be easy driving along a good road with not many hazards, so I decided to give Andy some confidence and sit in the back. We set off quite slowly but as the road opened up he started to overtake one or two of the local trucks. We were driving for a couple of hours when he pulled out to overtake again, what I didn’t know was that there was another truck coming towards us, I couldn’t see it from where I was sitting.
As the rear of our truck cleared the one he was overtaking Andy had to pull in to avoid the oncoming vehicle. Somehow he had either forgotten about our trailer or misjudged it and as he pulled over the trailer hit the front of the truck to our side and ripped off the front bumper and damaged all the front wing. The trailer was also damaged but not too badly. Everything came to a stop and we all jumped out.
The local driver was obviously not very happy and to sort it out we had to pay him for the damage, even though we had Pakistani issued insurance it really was not worth the paper it was written on and it was clearly Andy’s fault anyway. I banned him from driving from then on until I could contact the office in London in several days time after returning from the mountains. I knew that further on the road was small and somewhat tortuous with large drops and cliffs. I drove from then on until we arrived in Peshawar where I telephoned London to let them know what had happened.
I was quite harsh and said that he should be sacked and sent home, the office decided that he should be given another chance and I was to sit with him again all the time. The group were quite happy for us to do this and after a good talking to Andy was happy also, after all he didn’t want to go home in disgrace. I then drove all the tough sections through Pakistan and let him do it all when we arrived in Iran. The roads in Iran are all good tarmac, nice and wide with not much traffic so I felt it was quite safe for him to do so, as long as I was with him.
Gradually his confidence built back up and he was driving fairly well, but then again it wasn’t very demanding. We crossed into Turkey and a day or two later Andy was driving as we headed towards a town called Erzincan. The road was a little greasy but wide and smooth and we were doing around 60km/hr when we saw an Army base to our right. The entrance to the base was at the side of the road and there was a soldier nearby. The soldier saw us and took a step onto the road and put a hand up for us to stop, for what reason we never found out.
Andy immediately stamped on the brake and all the wheels locked up. Due to the camber of the road we began to skid off towards the soldier. I had a clear view of the look of fright on his face as we headed directly for him and he ran as fast as he could out of the way. All this was happening in a split second. I shouted to Andy to come off the brakes to stop skidding and try and regain control, I knew that the first thing you do when getting into a skid is to stop braking and allow the front wheels to be able to get enough grip to steer. Andy didn’t.
I clearly remember the horror on his face as he turned to look at me as I again shouted for him to stop braking. He didn’t though as he was frozen. We seemed to lose no speed at all as we slid off the road and headed towards the gravel bank surrounding the army base. The thought that went through my head was, “This is going to hurt.”
We hit the bank sideways on and the side of the truck became buried in it. The impact threw me forward to the windscreen, which didn’t break, but after a second or two to make sure I was in one piece I jumped out to make sure there were no injuries to the group, luckily apart from a bruise or two there wasn’t.
The soldier had managed to run off to the side and we had missed him. I checked Andy wasn’t injured and then began to check the damage to the truck. Apart from a broken power steering pipe it seemed to have survived but I couldn’t tell for sure until it was free from the bank. Many of the soldiers at the base came out to us and began to help us dig out the truck but it was very heavily stuck, I couldn’t drive it forwards or backwards. After a while we had a rest and I then heard the sound of a large powerful engine from inside the base.
A minute or two later a tank came out of the gate and reversed up to the rear of the truck! Two of the soldiers coupled up the tow rope and told me to get in to my truck and they would pull me out. This happened very quickly and we were soon back on firm ground. After a final check of everything we said our thanks and drove away. Or rather I drove away, I had again banned Andy from driving and I made sure, after telephoning the office that he got on a plane back to England, never to be seen again.
Anthony asked, “What happens when someone can’t cook?”
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