‘How I stopped being a control freak and was forced to just enjoy the ride’
This is a story about being stubborn, not giving up and not leaving any stone unturned in order to achieve an impossible aim. A story that would not have been possible without the one and only, incredible Randy Williams a.k.a. ‘Sultan’ of Slowjamastan to whom I am eternally thankful.
Libya on NomadMania
NomadMania currently divides Libya into four regions (which is probably too little). While visiting Tripoli is now relatively easy, the other regions are more challenging and none more so than the south-eastern desert where Kufra district is located – an area larger than Sweden, Uzbekistan or Paraguay. While on the map it may look like there’s not much there, much of the country’s oil riches lie in the area, which in its southeastern end forms the border with Chad, Sudan and Egypt.
This was NomadMania’s least visited region before our visit, with only 21 people claiming to have gone there – some surely in error. We are quite sure no groups of western travellers have been there since 2011. The area is part of the Eastern Libyan government based in Benghazi, itself not the easiest place to visit.
Preparations
In December 2024, following the contact that Randy gave me, I made a trip to Benghazi (which I had not visited before) specifically to investigate whether an adventure to Kufra is possible. My hosts, owners of a fairly decent hotel, were very emphatic that it absolutely was, no problem at all. I had my doubts, but then again, you never know unless you try. A NomadMania trip was proposed, which filled up within a day of being announced.
The eventual cast of travellers included the two highest ranking Americans on NomadMania and UN Masters, 38-year old Dustin Pfundheller and 81-year old Frank Rainer, neither of who had been to Eastern Libya at all. Per Besson was the other UN Master joining the crew and three more Americans included Christian, Paul and prolific NomadMania trip aficionado Daniel. The youngest in the group was 25-year old German adventurer Mark Fischer and there was obviously me trying desperately to organise things.
With an emphasis on ‘trying’. Libya is perhaps the most ‘last minute’ culture I have ever encountered. Attempting to plan anything in advance seems pointless. Things may, or may not, come together at the very last minute. What is agreed is a vague blueprint compared to what actually happens. This was incredibly difficult for my highly controlled nature, but I suppose it’s never too late to learn lessons in being laissez-faire. As the trip progressed, any aspirations to professionalism were blown away in the howling desert wind.
First impressions and disappointment
We arrived in Benghazi which is a huge surprise and plays out like a gigantic building site. Its core centre was once taken over and totally destroyed by ISIS, but Benghazi is now reinventing itself and it is clear the aim is to make it a jewel on the Mediterranean riviera.
There are already shopping malls, fancy car showrooms and a brand-new stadium that was inaugurated during our visit with a friendly game played by some somewhat rusty, but never forgotten, football legends like Roberto Carlos and Luis Figo. There is Dubai street and Venice street with multiple culinary options and a huge Geant hypermarket.
Yet, despite all this development, women are almost nowhere to be seen – this appears to be an extremely conservative society and it is most certainly a man’s world, where the ‘family section’ of eateries is generally tucked away out of sight.
We were extremely excited to be going south to Kufra on day 2 of our stay though I was expecting the unexpected. And that happened at 9 pm when we were told that there is a ‘slight problem’ and so we would not be able to go to Kufra the following day.
‘You will first go to the East and then Kufra. We are just waiting for the permits.’ Why had these permits not yet been received when it was so ‘easy’ for a trip that had been in planning for two months?
The next few days were sheer agony for me, desperately holding onto a semblance of a ‘programme’ while my main contact decided he would not join us and instead we got young, cheerful but totally inexperienced Ali to be our main leader. His English was level A2 at best, and that was also his only qualification for having been given this job. All this led to predictable moments of hilarity, unsophistication and exasperation with miscommunication galore.
Eastern Libya – Part I
Eastern Libya is a treasure cove for those who like archaeology, all with the beautiful backdrop of the always appealing Mediterranean Sea. While the moody weather in February took even me by surprise, the ruins do not disappoint. A five-hour drive (with inevitable stopping without clear explanations) leads to Cyrenaica, a UNESCO World Heritage Site with a temple of Zeus, one of the longest colonnades around and some of the best-preserved mosaics. What makes this site special, apart from the obvious absence of any other visitors, is the authenticity of it. There are barely any obvious preservation efforts or signage. The local football squad trains in the courtyard of the temple…
Apollonia, right by the sea a few minutes away, is the other choice site and here it is the sea that complements the scant ruins to conjure images of a time long gone. From there we headed to our accommodation which was in a resort of sorts, replete with a (now empty) pool and slides for the children. Frank said that the meal we had that evening, brought to us from miles away as there was nothing suitable anywhere close, was the worst in his whole travel career of 50+ years.
Eastern Libya – Part II
The next morning we passed Derna, severely destroyed first by ISIS and more recently, in mid-2023, by storm Daniel, during which 60,000 people, a quarter of the city, were killed. Once again, this is now a building site and it was good to see how quickly new buildings have been erected. Bridges are being reconstructed and it looks like the place, also gifted with a beautiful coastline – with my native Greece only 300 kms away – will be given a new lease on life.
It got rainy as we reached Tobruk, and the brooding atmosphere matched the sights we were going to visit, which I would say are a must-see for anyone with an interest in war history. We first headed to the French cemetery, which is modest in size but no less touching than the nearby allied cemetery. In both, the story of how the allies held off the Germans for 8 months in 1941, before finally surrendering during a second German attack in June 1942, is vividly told.
Tombstones of fallen Australians – the majority force – British, Poles, Czechs and some others invited us all to reflect on what the world is facing today. Further away, in a castle-like structure built in 1955, lies the German cemetery which is more of an ossuary. This is also very bleak, the names of more than 6,000 fallen Germans engraved on the walls.
Tobruk does have a brighter side. Its centre, which is quite obviously Italian-inspired, features a quite lovely piazza flanked by some shops and the former church which is now a museum that can only possibly be included in NomadMania’s ‘Bizzarium’ Series with a collection of bric-a-brac of all kinds put together under one once-sacred roof. A hyper-mall is so well stocked that I found my favourite Thai ‘Mogu Mogu’ drink in all flavours. The evening was completed at ‘Domino’s’ (not to be confused with the well-known western brand) where some did opt for the pizza, but others had kebab. En route earlier, we had all tried coffee at a ‘Starbucks’ – once again, not to be confused with the well-known brand…
The day of the return to base involved a rather long drive of our convoy of three vehicles, delayed because an on-time departure is generally mission impossible in Libya, and the lingering question of ‘will we or won’t we’ go to Kufra. The inland road to Benghazi took us through the southern side of the pretty ‘green mountains’, which are indeed very green. Being a Friday, the road was emptier than usual. Ali was eager to get back early in anticipation of a very long drive the following day. When I was sent the copy of the permit, which we hastily translated on our phones, we became more confident that things would go well. Kufra was in sight.
No script possible
Until this point, there was still a slight semblance of a ‘tour’, with sights, a more-or-less agreed programme and some understanding of what would come next. The following four days would prove to be heavenly for people like Mark and Daniel, who love unscripted adventure and not having a clue what is going on. The control freak in me just suffered in silence. The experience of driving the 1,000 kiloneters to Kufra and embracing – because we had no other choice – the local way of doing things was possibly the greatest mental wall I have ever been required to smash. If you think Libya is dangerous, think different – I would argue that the biggest danger is to your mental health.
Apparently, two vehicles had come from Kufra with locals who ‘knew the road’. Ali was the third driver to join what were vehicles filled with all sorts of equipment and primarily gas cannisters to refill when needed. We left the glitz of Benghazi behind us heading southwest initially, close to the coast, until the town of Ajdabiya.
Here, the main road continues west to Sirte and then eventually to Tripoli, crossing the invisible border to another government. We, however, would turn south and have more than 800 kilometers of pure desert ahead. We had lunch in the town of Awjila by which time we had already been driving more than 6 hours. The anticipation of that moment when we would cross the line of Kufra district was killing me but just 20 minutes away we had to make an extended stop – the last petrol-station had an endless queue of lorries waiting for the newly arrived shipment of the precious liquid that is the lifeline of the Libyan economy – and costs only 2 cents per litre.
We crossed the line in the darkness. The wind was so strong that we had to hold the NomadMania banner from all sides so that it didn’t fly away. But we had done it, though technically the visit wouldn’t fulfill NomadMania rules of a visit until we saw something. Paul certainly had a very meaningful experience when he was almost run over by a reversing truck filled with camels as we were taking his photo.
He would have died smiling had the truck been any faster. The pit-stop in the darkness was our first tangible experience in this area. It was already 9 pm and we still had more than 250 kms to drive. We realised we wouldn’t be arriving any time soon – and we had no idea where we would be sleeping anyway – attempts to get clearer information were unsuccessful.
At 1.30 am, half-asleep and confused, we reached Kufra, heading straight to a compound – called ‘villa’ by Ali. It was relatively modern, with shiny tiling and two rooms, with mattresses and blankets laid out across the area. So, this was where we would sleep, 3 in one-room and 4 in the other. While our instincts were to just crash, this was not going to happen – we hadn’t eaten dinner and there was no way our hosts would have us go to bed hungry. Plate-loads of chicken were served in the dead of night. We finally turned the lights off after 3 a.m. with a scheduled start of next day’s activities at 10 a.m.
The next day would prove to be the most frustrating. We got a decent brunch, replete with tuna, cream cheese, olives and then even Danish pastry along with a choice of coffee or tea, a first in Libya! We were excited to go and explore. Mark tried to leave the compound and go for a walk and was instantly discovered and required to return. Attempts to discover what was going on were met with vague ‘the car is broken’ excuses, and Ali was as clueless as ever.
Luckily throughout the trip we had Starlink – which was a lifeline to us – and my efforts at animation of the crowd were to show them the episode of the documentary ‘Baekeland’ which inevitably ended up in long discussions about the case. Legendary Frank, who had been on that infamous Bouvet trip in 2015, instantly produced photo albums from that trip and our crossing of the Equator as well as poses of infamous William Baekeland.
The hours passed with no developments. Lunch was coming, then ten minutes later was not coming. Ali was and was not there. People were coming and going but not giving us attention. We all got fidgety, coming so far but not having seen anything yet, stuck in a compound. Eventually, Ali agreed to take three of us around Kufra for a quick drive in the one car that seemed to still work – Frank, Mark and Per drew the winning lots. Dustin was as usual working on his laptop. After a while, with no cars yet ready and no lunch to be found, Ali returned and took the rest of us into Kufra as well.
Kufra
Given its isolation from the world, about 800 kilometers from the nearest major town and nothing much around it, this is a true desert city and a crossroads, as most border towns are. Nondescript architecture but at the same time supermarkets, services, some modern shops took us by surprise. At a supermarket where we stopped mainly in order to linger as much as possible, a man spoke to me in French: he said he was from Morocco.
There were plenty of Sudanese flags and rugged men happy to hear we noticed the flag of Sudan. When we went to a nearby mosque where I started taking photographs, three vehicles cornered us from all sides, much to my horror. A posse of men came out and this is where Ali’s role would prove crucial. His winning smile and non-threatening demeanour explained to the locals who we were and what we were doing. Their initial apprehension turned into the predictable selfies and even Instagram friendship requests!
There was a plan: we were going to sleep in the desert and by the time we finally left the compound it was almost dusk. As we drove south we saw a bit more of the town and its huge airport, where all sorts of dealings we want to know nothing about probably take place. The first desert mountains appeared as darkness fell, and soon we were at a checkpoint which is one of the most fascinating places I have ever been to.
This was apparently the exit border of Libya, 200 miles before the actual border to Sudan or Chad – but with nothing there, this is where formalities took place. For two hours, while awaiting permission to proceed which never came, we were treated to a host of filled trucks, many loaded to the brim with people. Security checks, camels protruding from their enclosures and other livestock… if only we could have taken photos.
The border guards eventually invited us to join them for dinner where we tried our best to communicate our aims. Friendliness abounded and this is what made our trip the ultimate success that it was. Though it was frustrating that we were not allowed to continue beyond this point, whereby my mind started tripping and sensing danger where there was one. This was not helped by Daniel wondering if our compound had a second exit ‘in case of need.’
The perfect day
‘We will leave at 7, breakfast at 6 and we will then drive to Benghazi,’ Ali said, exhausted as we all were after a day of seeing very little. Right. No chance. By this time, even I was going to add at least an hour extra to the timings. Little did we know in our disappointment that the next day would actually prove to be exceptional. Of course, without us knowing in advance what we were going to see and do, though I did insist on ‘the cemetery’ which is the one sight I knew existed.
The Battle of Kufra took place in 1931 between the Italians and the locals – the grandfather of one of our drivers had fought in it. A forgotten-looking tank made for a good group photo. We then had a true desert adventure, stopping to observe an underground well to water a couple of lone palm trees in the middle of nowhere. And then, we were taken to a truly bizarre place– a propeller airplane that serves as a wind marker. The guides claimed that the Italians had wanted to build an airport there – clearly it never materialised.
A couple of hours more brought us to a truly exquisite place – the area around the Bezima Salt Lake. Around it lie the ruins of a village from which the father of one of our drivers was expelled in 1970 once Khadafi decided he wanted to gentrify Libya – all the villagers were made to move to Kufra; he showed us inside what used to be the family home, now only stones and sand.
The view from a hill above, replete with lake, palms and ruins was truly spectacular as the day came to an end. And after all the exasperation of waiting, not knowing where we are being taken and not having had a shower for days, the idea that we were here, in the middle of nowhere, in a place most likely not visited by anybody like us in years, made it all click. We were in a truly amazing place.
It was more than obvious as the hours passed that we would not be returning to Benghazi a day earlier than scheduled, as we had thought when we woke up. Of course, the locals had their own plan, one that they weren’t telling Ali and for sure nobody was communicating to us.
Per and I joked that NomadMania would split Kufra region into East and West as we arrived in Tazirbu, the second largest settlement of the area, about 250 kilometers northwest of Kufra. This was our hardest night. The only somewhat suitable place remotely available, which the drivers struggled to find as we drove in the dark backroads, was a government guest-house obviously unused, and uncleaned, for quite a while.
There were no sheets but at least there were mattresses and some of us even got our own rooms but it was so cold during the night I don’t know who managed to actually sleep. Ali and I headed to the centre of this godforsaken place at 10 pm to find some sustenance – ‘Grill Time’, located next to ‘Coffee Time’, made a pizza that was not the worst in the world – flanked by shops all around including some cool furniture and clothing offerings. The place looked quite good at night with the wrinkles unseen… The group crashed early. For once we knew what we were doing the following day – we would be enduring the long ride back to Benghazi.
A final surprise
But even the return had a final frisson for us. The town of Awjila, where we had had lunch on the way down, sports what is apparently the oldest mosque in the Sahara, originating in the 8th century. This obviously renovated structure is reminiscent of the mosques in Djenne or Bobo Dioulasso far further southwest.
We were back in tour mode as we even explored an open museum of sorts, opened back in 2004 as the Awjila Heritage Park. Ali’s family originated from this town and his cousin, who spoke decent English, had received a dentistry degree from the university of Dnipro in Ukraine – so Dustin and he had dentistry to discuss, while an elder local gentleman had lived in Germany and spoke to Mark about his joy of seeing foreigners in town after so long.
We stopped in Adjabiya at ‘Happy Chicken’ for some fast food – an urban ambience, a world away from Kufra. A group of Malaysian expats entered shortly after us, extremely surprised to see us. And one of the local patrons stopped us and said in his simple English ‘Welcome to Libya’. That short interaction was enough to melt my heart.
The people are truly kind in this place which was so difficult for me to handle. But I had learned my lesson – just let go, let things happen. We ultimately saw everything that had been promised and in a bizarre way, it all worked as it should have. It’s just fascinating how huge the cultural gap is in a country that shares the same sea as my own…
Next NomadMania Trip and Webinar
NomadMania is planning another trip on similar lines between April 5-15. To participate in this trip, it is compulsory to attend our webinar on Eastern Libya. Or you can attend just to have some fun hearing about this epic trip first-hand.
Those on the trip have to say…
This trip is not for the faint of heart. Not for those overly dependent on clear, predictable schedules and creature comforts. Those daring to embark on this epic journey will be rewarded by entry to one of the most remote regions of one of the least accessible countries in the world.
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Dusty oasis towns, fascinating ruins and artifacts evidencing history both ancient and modern, achingly beautiful desert landscapes, touching Libyan warmth and hospitality and that special feeling of being oh so far away from the outside world. Amazing camaraderie and shared memories for a lifetime with a select group of travelers curious and intrepid enough to explore the back of beyond.
– Per Besson, US
I was really impressed by how NomadMania was able to get us to visit the least visited region in the world. Considering how difficult it is to visit – I was surprised by a few things. I always felt safe. We ate normal meals. We slept in beds. When I travel solo to remote places, I often have many problems and have to really “rough” it.
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As a group, I didn’t have to worry and for the most part we didn’t have any major hiccups. It was neat to meet so many other travelers. I was especially grateful to be able to meet the legend Frank and hear about his many adventures around the world and his numerous road trips in the US.
– Dustin Pfundheller, US
Benghazi is a city of punishing traffic, blown deadlines, and revival. Intrepid motorists climb over medians, ignore traffic police, and reverse through roundabouts to capture lost time. There is no schedule and nothing dare require punctuality, other than prayer call, perhaps. Hammering and soldering carries on into the small hours. Everything, the new bridges, the children begging on freeway speed bumps, the cats lazing under cafe tables, the dipping cranes crowding the skyline, moves toward a uniform dun color.
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The men have converted to soccer. Occasionally, women are sighted performing domestic labor, but they are migrants or refugees from neighboring countries. Libyan women remain a rumor, cloistered far away from the busy city streets.
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There are plenty of checkpoints and shiny road signs of General Haftar saluting, keeping a reserved watch from behind his tinted glasses. It may be the safest time in this part of the world since before the people rose up and thrust a bayonet into Gaddafi’s ass and erased his name. There is infectious optimism and entrepreneurs abound. Oil money is trickling down to bankroll a facelift of this ancient metropolis.
Christian Miller, U.S.
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