Ghosts In The Desert? Madam!

Blog posts are like London buses or policemen. You don't see one for two months and when whoosh along come thousands of the swine.

I found myself down the usual wormhole in the Internet the other day and discovered an odd location in a map when I was looking for something else entirely. It caught my eye as I scanned the area and I zoomed in again to check the distinct impression of a strange label flickering on the map.

I'd never seen it before and it was oddly fascinating.

Sure enough, it was there: 'Ghost town'.

I checked it on Google Maps, where it was labelled 'Madam old town'. We went there - to Madam old town or Madam ghost town, depending on which source you believe - today.

Just south of Madam, (I still can't say that without thinking about Frankie Howerd and his 'Ooh, madam!') you turn right off the road and head into the sands. And there you'll find this:

It's all protected by a sort of berm of sand humped up at the village entrance, you have to take something of a leap of faith and just drive up over it. The sand's pretty soft, what with so little rain this winter.

What is it? Why's it there? Was it really Madam before the road brought strip development to this little inhabited area of Sharjah made famous only because it was on the road to Hatta, now blocked to all but Omanis, Emiratis and permit holders? It looks like corpo housing. The sand's reclaimed it in the main. There are neon light fittings but no sign of power or other infrastructure.

All in all very odd. A little mystery...

WooOOooo!

The Liberty Bus

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You know when a day goes to complete ratshit? When you had plans and they gang aft agley? It was that sort of day last Thursday. Scheduled to be in Warqa for festive nibbles with pals, I'm still in the office at six with a drive to Ajman and back ahead of me and every road in Dubai is crimson on Google Maps. The MBZ is just awful, blocked up south of Mirdif.

And so, desperate, I set off to find The Last Snicket, the tiny gap out by the RTA depot in the desert beyond Mizhar that breaches the insane wall of concrete lumps that very transport authority has constructed in the sands that border two parts of the same country.

I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, if I'd sat out the MBZ mess, I'd have been through in 30 minutes. But something in me, the spirit that sets salmon carving their way across the world's oceans to seek a nice, Scottish river to die in, craved freedom. Driving along the sandy track by the barrier in the darkness, I started to doubt myself. Was this really the smart thing to do? Of course it was, I was moving, wasn't I?

The little gap was closed. They've been plugging gaps opening in their barrier daily. And they've gone further out into the remote desert than ever before. You know that feeling when you just have to keep going around the next corner in the wadi to see what's there? Yep, that. I carry on up sandy hill and down bosky dell, finding gap after gap has been plugged with the ground all around churned up by the tractors they've used to pile up great walls of sand to reinforce their barrier. Until I get to The Last Snicket, literally a few hundred yards from the Emirates Road, the E611, in the deep, deep desert.

They've even blocked that, something I discover as I hurl the car over the piles they've made in their blocking frenzy, the Pajero bucking on the rough, soft sand and then lurching down a steep slope into a deep, pitch black bowl. That's when The Fear hit me, the nasty tingle you get when you know something really, really bad's about to happen and you're powerless to stop it. There are two ways out of the bowl, a long slope that appears to have no ending in the darkness and a steep boggy little track out to the right, all churned up and deeply rutted soft sand. I can see very little because my lights are pointed downwards as I slip down the slope. I'm going too slowly, slam my foot down on the throttle and go for the boggy sand, knowing in my heart of hearts I don't have enough speed. Sure enough, half-way up, I dig in and grind to a halt. I reverse to try and regain some momentum to get back up the steep incline I've come down, but it's useless. I stick right there in the cusp of the bowl in the desert blackness.

I say some rude things and then abandon ship. It's too late, too remote and too dark to do anything else. I clamber up the soft dunes and strike out towards the bright lights of the labour camp that sits between the RTA depot and the snaking lights of the 611. Shoes filled with sand, I realise what a spectacle I present when labourers stop to gape at me - a man has walked out of the inky darkness of the desert wearing a blue suit and carrying a laptop bag. I do what any decent Englishman would do and wave, bidding them a cheery 'Good evening'.

I find a gentleman wearing a 'security' uniform. 'Good evening,' I smile. 'Is there any chance I could get a taxi from here?'

He is speechless, but the chap next to him has more presence of mind. 'Where going?' He asks. 'To Sharjah,' I tell him. He grabs my arm and propels me to a nearby bus full of labourers. 'Sharjah, Sharjah, one way!' he shouts at the driver. A jockey seat is put down and patted by a chap in tatty blue overalls. 'Majlis!' he calls out above the coughing engine noise, a broken-toothed grin welcoming me into the fuggy interior. And we set off, some thirty labourers on their way to enjoy a wander around Rolla and me in my blue suit, poker straight and somewhat bewildered, if the truth be told.

We drive up through a track in the darkness, finally breaking out onto the road by the RTA depot and then through Mizhar and Muhaisna. The chaps are nattering away, cheerful and buoyed by the coming weekend. Their chatter is a constant tide of shouts, laughter and tubercular coughing set against the rise and fall of the clanking engine. We hit bad traffic and a moan goes up from the bus, 'Sonapour, Sonapour,' they tut and sigh. It's as if there's nothing good ever to be got from Sonapour, the source of the traffic snarl-up.

They let me off at National Paints and I bid them a cheery, and genuinely thankful, farewell and get a taxi. The taxi driver has clearly never seen a man in a suit get off a labour bus before and it takes me a while before I can get him to listen to where I want to go.

For what it's worth, I eventually made it back down to Warqa only half an hour late.

The next day I went back in the company of pal Derek to see how we could possibly unstick the Paj. It was pretty hopeless, but some tyre letting down and tugging later, we managed to extricate ourselves both from the bowl. And then, because we could, we pootled over the blocked snicket and home to Sharjah.

It's safe to say, though, that my snicketing days are now over. I enjoyed the new experience of the Liberty Bus but honestly don't fancy making a habit of it...

End Of Snickets

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My first short-cut into Dubai from Sharjah was a wee desert track which ran through low dunes and camel camps, snaking its way down into the outskirts of the big city behind the Dubai abbatoir. These days it's called Beirut Street.

My second was a little further out, again a desert track and a fun drive each morning and night, a little dune bash to settle the mind. I've long said, if I had to sit on the Ittihad Road and that jostling, snarling line of cars I couldn't live in Sharjah. But I never have, so we've continued to embrace the joys of the Cultured Emirate. Time and progress eclipsed my second snicket, which is called the Mohammed bin Zayed Road now.

A few years ago, my current snicket was blocked by faceless forces. Well, Dubai's RTA. A running battle developed between JCBs laying an insane barrier of concrete blocks across the desert dividing Dubai and Sharjah. The Orcs were clearly intent on forcing the little band of 4WDs, who daily bumped their way over the short sandy stretch, onto the roads. For a time, to my great amusement, cars would dart around the lumbering yellow earth-movers, blocks would be pulled aside when the baddies weren't looking and we'd continue our merry way across the snicket. This went on for a while and The Man clearly gave up and left us to it.

Quite right.

But, of course, we always find a way to ruin things and word started to leak out about the snicket which slowly developed from a couple of holes in the barrier to great multi-laned super-snickets. We obviously reached Peak Snicket, because the other day, someone in authority clearly decided enough was enough. The JCBs came back in force, great fresh concrete barriers laid right the way along the border, earth-movers piled up huge sandy berms and the forces of Mordor kept at it relentlessly, quickly repairing any breaches that would appear. Their work is complete. The whole thing is now functionally impassable.

That's it. End of snicket.

And so this morning we went to school on the 611, the Emirates Road. It's a nasty, aggressive little high speed drive, the road at times seeming close to capacity and clogging slightly but it moved freely for the most part.

I was highly amused to find it took about the same time to get there as going across the snicket...

They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

Our first Pajero was 'a prize from the camel races in Qatar'. It took us a while to get over the fact that we'd just splurged the best part of twenty grand on a car - back in the UK we'd have been hard pressed to squeeze together two. That car took a huge amount of abuse, among other things it saw me through the endless desert driving and wadi bashing it took to research and put together two issues of the Emirates Weekend Offroad Guide for Khaleej Times. It had a mechanical winch, which was both a blessing and a curse - a curse because you end up winching every damn fool Corolla driver out of sandy parking lots as well as countless cars out of the desert sand. It's one of the nice things about the desert - I've long admired the real camaraderie out there, where people have always stopped to help each other in trouble, Nationals in particular exhibiting sometimes remarkable chivalry.

Our next car was a Pajero, too. And the next. We've seen the marque through five distinct model changes and have had one of each. Right up to the present day - we picked up a new Paj at the weekend. It's a very nice car indeed. This will be our third black Pajero – it’s become something of a trademark now: same car, same colour. The new model is a great deal slicker and more refined than the 2005 model that's just been retired - the engine's more powerful and responsive and  it even has a voice-activated bluetooth phone system that works.

Taking a quick hop through a popular little stretch of desert I use, I got cold feet as the terrain started to get very bouncy indeed. This was, after all, a brand new car and hadn’t even been run in. As it started to slam in the ruts, I pulled my foot off the throttle and in that instant had that nasty, cold sinking feeling you get when you realise you have done something incredibly stupid. One second later, I was nicely bogged down on the flat with stretches of nice deep, soft and flat sand to my front and back.

Super. Out with the sand spade and down with the tyre pressures. A congregation of the mildly curious started to assemble, including a local guy in mufti driving one of those ginormous black GMC thingies with every add-on you can imagine attached and most of the exhaust removed so that you are under no illusion other than this guy has got a really, big powerful mean machine.

Apparently not powerful enough to offer a tow, though...

A Pajero pulled up. Its driver sauntered over and joined GMC man in observing me. ‘You driven in the sand before, have you?’

Oh great. A comedian. Yes, thank you, I have. A lot. I just did something stupid because it’s a brand new car, so why don’t you pop off somewhere and play with some Semtex and a detonator or something…

I smiled at him, my heart black. ‘Haha. Can you give me a push?’

He and GMC man shook their heads. ‘No way. We’ll get sandy.’

I was struck dumb. I’ve spent twenty years helping people out of the sand and now I need some help, I’ve attracted the most precious gang of Priscillas going. In the end we reached a solution. Pajero man drove and I pushed. At least he gave me that much help. GMC man just stood to the side, smoking and occasionally making an unhelpful comment in Arabic.

Last night I drove across that self same stretch of sand. And there was a huge black GMC covered in accessories, irredeemably bogged down in sand up to its running boards and abandoned.

Karma is, indeed, a bitch.

Do UAE Driving Test Reform Ideas Miss The Mark?

Image via Wikipedia

The National's position on the doorstep of the Federal Government has allowed the newspaper to quickly carve a leadership position in the UAE's news scene - it's been consistently breaking stories that other papers aren't within a mile of, frequently scooping them on important moves being made or studied.

One such story today is the report on reforms being considered to the UAE's driving test regulations. Possible changes being suggested by consultants include requiring Brits, Canadians and Australians to pass a local theoretical and practical test before they can drive here, requiring taxi drivers to have two years' experience of driving in the UAE before they can drive a taxi and also allowing people to learn to drive, if they wish, with an unlicensed but experienced driver rather than being forced to go to a driving school.

Two of these reforms I totally agree with. The third is ridiculous and unworkable.

The moves are being bandied about by UK based consultancy Transport Research Laboratory, which is advising the Ministry of Interior. TRL, previously a UK government entity, was privatised in 1996 and offers counsel and services based around transport and logistics.

The reform idea that tickled me enormously was bringing in the UK practice of allowing people to learn to drive without being forced to go to a licensed instruction. In the UK, it's quite common for people to learn to drive with a family member, perhaps having a couple of 'top up' lessons with an instructor before sitting the test. These days, newly qualified drivers have to wear a green 'L' plate for a year after they qualify, as well, which I do think is a good idea.

The driving schools are obviously up in arms about that one, because they'd lose their easy source of revenue from giving a million (or whatever the mandatory number is this week) lessons to hapless learners. The standard of instruction (Sarah took some top-up lessons here and was horrified) here is often cited as being impossibly low and close to useless. I have certainly seen learner cars driven with incredible incompetence both with one and two occupants.

So I think that one would be interesting - and probably see the pass rate increase exponentially.

The Brits need a license idea, I support purely on the basis of fairness. It's not fair that we don't have to take a test while other nationalities do. If we are as superior and wonderful as we all think we are as drivers, we should breeze it. An alternative would be to widen the 'no license' requirement to any country that had professional standards of driving qualification and a similar road sign system to the UAE, but maybe that's just me being silly.

However, while I have no problem with British nationals being required to take a theoretical and practical test in the UAE, I cannot fathom the reasons that TRL's Britta Lang gave to The National - “The knowledge of local road safety requirements is quite incompetent. Many people don’t know the road signs and are not aware of the safety requirements.”

That's an unsustainable assertion (unless it's based on extensive research of the knowledge of local traffic signs among those newly awarded with their first residence visa, which I doubt) and an odd one, to boot. The traffic signs in the UAE are based on British signs, using the same colour coding and shapes for mandatory, advisory and cautionary signs. I can think of no traffic sign (please do prove me wrong) in use here that wouldn't be instantly recognisable to any Western driver, except perhaps the 'mind the camels' sign, which would require at least a passing knowledge of the shape of a one-humped ungulate.

In fact, in order to comply with local safety requirements, I have had to learn a number of new skills, including pulling over when the Nissan Patrol up my arse flashes and beeps at me, watching out for blind maniacs with a death wish crossing six lanes of motorway without signalling, predicting when taxis are about to stop on a sixpence with no warning because they've spotted a fare and the principle that swapping lanes puts you instantly in the wrong no matter what circumstances cause the collision, including willfully driving into you because 'it's my lane'.

In order to survive as a driver in the Middle East over the past 20 years, I have had to unlearn pretty much every rule of driving taught to me in my home country. I have no problem sitting a test here. I have a huge problem being told it's necessary because I don' t understand the traffic signs and safety requirements.

But the daftest proposal, and one that showed how outside consultants with no experience of the local environment can go impossibly wide of the mark, was that of insisting that taxi drivers should have two years' experience of driving in the UAE before they're taken on.

It's surely obvious to the most idiotic, drooling incompetent that only employing taxi drivers with 24 months' experience of driving in the UAE is a completely unworkable proposal and should never have made it past the unwise contribution the lippy intern made to the first working group discussion. And why you would propose safety legislation for taxi drivers when every misbegotten escapee from Tora Bora, Helmand and Swat is currently bombing around the UAE in bald-tyred, battered deathtraps hefting tons of rock, shit and cement, passes me by entirely.

In fact, the most sensible proposal in the whole article was made by a driving school owner, who presumably hadn't been consulted by the consultants. Ehad Esbaita, general manager of Emirates Driving Compan, suggested that professional drivers should have to undergo a more rigorous course of instruction and certification and that this would have an instant effect on road safety in the UAE.

I thought that one idea alone was worth everything the consultants had to say and more.

Yes we can!

Does anyone know who's trying to block the desert stretch between Dubai and Sharjah? It's really most odd that anyone would go to these extremes just to stop a few people in 4WDs taking a short-cut.

As I've mentioned before, there are extensive earthworks out there right now that look more like trench warfare than a few hundred yards of sandy snicket - ditches and high piles of sand interspersed with a huge number of concrete barriers that stretch for kilometres along the Sharjah side of the border. Every day someone finds a new way through, every day the JCB moves in and either piles huge heaps of sand or dumps a few more concrete barrier blocks on it.

But we're still getting through. For now. It's become a source of perverse satisfaction to beat 'em, to tell you the truth...

Blockheads

I have posted a number of times about the sandy snicket that affords relief to intrepid 4WD-owning commuters bypassing the Sharjah-Dubai traffic. Here, for instance. Or here, here and this memorable moment here on the day I caught one of the employees of Dubai's beloved traffic regulator, the RTA (Road and Transport Authority), who regularly use the snicket to escape the chaos they are at least morally partially responsible for.

And then they started to try and block it. Quite who 'they' are remains a mystery. The increasingly insane attempts to block the short cut have meant that this small stretch of inter-Emirate sand is now littered with concrete blocks, barriers, quite extensive sandy berms, trenches and a constant flow of people insisting on crossing anyway. We're a hard lot to stop when we've got an alternative to sitting on the road for 2 hours jostling with every other poor sod on his way to work. (My other alternatives are, BTW, move to Dubai or ship out. I'm not doing the National Paints Shuffle or the Ettihad Road car park every day. No way.)

It's been quite fun, in its way. Seeing the new set of obstacles every night and then finding a way around them really does mix a little fun, a smidgen of winding down after the day adventure and perhaps even a splash of eff-you rebellion.

But it's getting beyond a joke now - the entire stretch is so built-up, blocked off and messed around that people are really damaging their cars trying to get through. The sand's soft, the driving's technical and 9/10 of the border rats are getting stuck. As of today, with the addition of a new set of barriers and impediments, there are only two possible ways through and both are 'difficult' drives.

And I am damned if I will let them win. Whoever 'they' are.

Damned.

Revenge

The sandy snicket that provides daily relief to hundreds of 4WD owners dragging their sorry asses between Sharjah and Dubai was blocked over the weekend. Piles of sand, cones and tape and trenches have been placed across the open areas of sandy hillocks between the two emirates. Many people only found out about it on their way in to work today. And golly, was the result impressive or what!

The whole area was reduced to a scene of the most marvellous chaos you have ever seen in your life. Cars all over the place, more stucks than the Gulf News Fun Run and an incredible, huge collection of frustrated, pissed-off people bashing about in an area of increasingly churned-up, soft sand.

So that's a couple of thousand more cars joining the daily car parking fun on the Ittihad, Emirates and Dubai by-pass roads. I can't see what harm they were doing using the snicket, but who's to question the unseen hands that have decided to cut the short cuts?

There's no chance this had anything to do with me outing the guy from the RTA who uses the snicket is there? No? Oh, OK. Good. I wouldn't want that on my conscience...

Border

It's been almost nine years since the border between the UAE and Oman was agreed between the late Shaikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan and HM Sultan Qaboos bin Said. Detailed negotiations then carried on, resulting in in a detailed and mapped agreement on the border in May 2005, almost six years to the day from the original agreement.

Over the past couple of years, a green fence has started to snake its way along the frontier between the two countries, slicing through the wadi plains and climbing up into the rocky foothills of the Hajjar mountains. The 'rabbit proof fence' is high and topped with razor wire, set into concrete and relatively serious as fences go. And it was built by the UAE, apparently.

It's no easy task, closing this border. Because of the original tribal affiliations of the people living in these areas, there are enclaves of Oman within the main borders of the UAE, including the Northern tip by the Straits of Hormuz, the Musandam Peninsula; a pocket of land inland from Khor Fakkan on the Indian Ocean near the village of Shis and the wadi plains of Vilayat Madha. So you drive from Dubai through Sharjah, Oman and then a little bit of Ajman to get to Hatta, for instance. What's more, if you drive North of Hatta on the road (used to be track, *sigh*) from just beyond the Hatta Fort Hotel to the desert town of Dhaid, which is part of Sharjah, you'll be driving through Ras Al Khaimah to get there.

It's kind of complex, no?

Now they've shut the border between the UAE's desert oasis town of Al Ain and Omani town Buraimi, which have always lived side by side in the desert, sort of semi-morphed into a single town. What's interesting here is that there are now to be two border crossings between the two towns, a move that was hilariously headlined by Gulf News: "Expatriates get separate border crossing at Al Ain" as if it were some kind of benefit to have to drive 15km out of town to cross the border!

The National had an excellent piece on the effects of the move this week, as residents try to manage a border through a community that in many ways had become a single community made up of two adjacent towns in two adjacent countries. A sort of Siamese City.

The other border crossings, including the road through Vilayat Madha to Hatta, remain open. The question is for how long - and how they can be closed. It's hard to find a reason why the border has been so comprehensively locked down, although smuggling and illegal immigration have both been mentioned as the core reasons behind the massive project.

So now you can't just pop over the border to Buraimi and visit the pools at Kitnah or pop over to the Hanging Gardens and then slip up the track from Al Ain to Hatta, perhaps stopping off for a splash around in some of the wadis on the way. It'll be interesting to see how long it'll be before the Hatta Track itself (now blacktop anyway, so no wadi bashing to be had here) is closed off.

Sad times.

The Revenge of the Rose and the Truck Road

One of the many strange and wonderful inventions to come from the mind of Michael Moorcock, one of the great novelists writing in English today, was that of the Gypsy Nation in his fantasy, The Revenge of the Rose. The Gypsy Nation was an enormous caravan of perpetually motive land leviathans that created a world-girdling road of compressed detritus, a huge pathway created from millennia of the caravan's discarded rubbish.

It was the first thing that popped into my head as we travelled down from Dibba to Sharjah: there’s a new road that snakes out through the foothills of the Hajjar mountains behind the Fujairah Cement plant, past the many crushers and quarries that now dot the landscape, and joins the Manama/Ras Al Khaimah road. And its continuation is a truck road, from Manama to just above Umm Al Qawain on the Emirates Road, that runs across the wide, rocky wadi plain and then carries on through the slowly changing landscape until it rises and falls through the red sands of the Northern desert. Dotted along the margins of this lone, straight pencil-line of blacktop is a constant litter of discarded tyres and occasional heaps of rocks that testify to delayed, and dropped, loads. And on the road itself, travelling both ways, is a constant slow-moving procession of heavy vehicles, laden with teetering loads of rock going south and empty (but still lumbering) travelling back north. It’s a nose-to-tail procession that mimics the constant grind of Moorcock’s Gypsy Nation, seemingly unstoppable, slow-moving and perpetual.

This groaning procession is the raw material that’s feeding Dubai’s frenzy of construction: the cement, stone and sand that are being poured together into the dizzying tower blocks and sea-raping palms of Dubai’s Miracle.

Isn’t it strange that they have to level mountains to build skyscrapers and demolish hills to reclaim the sea?

And on the Pedestal These Words Appear: 'Goodyear Inflate to 30psi'

Driving down a desert road the other day, deep into the dunes on a four-lane ribbon of blacktop snaking into the distance, I saw two men sitting by the roadside in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Between them, standing up on its tread, was a large truck tyre. All around, as Samuel Taylor tells us, the sands were boundless and bare. They weren't really lone and level, because it was dune country, but you get the picture.

I’d gone another 100 metres before I realised that I had witnessed a first grade incongruity. What the hell were they doing there? How did they get there? Where were they going? What was with the tyre? I don’t need to emphasise that there was no accompanying truck for miles either way along the roadside.

I started making up explanations for their seemingly inexplicable presence in the middle of nowhere, just to amuse myself.

• They were travelling to deliver a tyre. They were cousins, but being naturally argumentative people, had got into one of those interminable wrangles over something small and daft, like who had fancied the village beauty first. Finally, the driver had had enough of their constant bickering and had ditched them both, then and there.
  
• They’d gone to sleep and had woken up to find that they’d lost a truck. All they had left was the spare tyre. Knowing that they're in big trouble, they decided to wait for the thief to bring the truck back.
  
• They were with Al Qaeda and were waiting to blow something up. This was the best they could manage. All they need now is an air line.
  
• They were members of a strange Kashmiri cargo cult and had wheeled their prize from Sharjah in order to take part in a Gnostic desert tyre-worshipping ceremony. They were consequently trying to look innocent and inconspicuous until the rest of the tyre-worshippers turned up.
  

Whatever my craziest, desert-drive fuelled fantasy was, it probably wasn’t a patch on the truth. And that truth, dear reader, will never be known.

Salik Debate Rages as 4WD Shortcut Blocked

Shock horror! Gulf News today reports widespread negative public voice regarding Dubai's proposed Salik road toll system. Salik (see earlier post) aims to charge users of two of Dubai's busiest roads a little over a dollar each time they pass the RFID scanner. Residents, expatriate and local alike, are more than a little concerned about how the scheme will affect traffic flows as people try and avoid the toll, according to GN's unusually critical report.

Reader polls carried out by GN reflect an overwhelming 'no' vote to the whole scheme. While you'd expect this from people who are about to have to pay money they don't want to pay, over 70% don't think the toll will reduce congestion on the tolled roads although over 70% also said they wouldn't use the tolled roads. And 49% said they won't buy the Salik tags.

Woopsie!

The scheme goes live on the 1st July, so that'll be all very interesting.

Meanwhile my journey to work today was enlivened by the fact that some blockhead has decided to dump a load of huge concrete blocks across the desert tracks that an increasing number of 4WD owners have been using as a short cut to work between Sharjah and Dubai. Why anyone would think that there was any harm or damage being caused by a few intrepid souls slipping over the short stretch of deeply rural sand dunes that separate the Sharjah back road from the Dubai back road is a mystery. Another mystery is why anyone thought that you could block the desert by dumping concrete blocks across a few tracks.

But the consequences this morning were remarkable, to say the least. There must have been at least fifty 4WD vehicles in various states of bogged down out there, ranging from just starting to bog through stuck in a ditch that they hadn't noticed to utterly bogged down and hopelessly stuck. There were people running around, digging and towing other cars out, bouncing trucks flying over sandy humps, their grinding wheels throwing up clouds of sand over everyone on foot and all manner of offroaders trying to circumnavigate the blocked tracks. A massive, fantastic fairground of Hollywood road movie style vehicular insanity. Think Smoky and the Bandit mixed with the Cannonball Run and Lawrence of Arabia and you're starting to get the picture.

I picked my way through it all, as well as past the silly, redundant blocks, hardly able to focus on my path through as I watched the madness all around me, open mouthed and in a state of blissful wonderment.

What you need, chaps, is a Salik station in the desert. That'll sort 'em out...