During a sandstorm on Thursday, 21 February, at 9:45 local time (GMT+3), I was involved in a chain accident 220 km north of Jeddah that involved ten trucks and two saloon cars. The trip is therefore over.
There were no casualties and no heavily wounded. The arrogance they show here towards foreigners was manifested already on the first day when, after the police had left, the towing service towed away almost all of the trucks and left me by the road (after they wanted to charge me EUR 40 for a 20-metre tow).
Today, on Saturday, I was finally towed to Jeddah. My truck is not in driving condition, the driver’s compartment is smashed, the gearshift lever is stuck somewhere in sixth gear, the steering column is twisted, and I can’t find the brake and the gas pedals under the smashed metal. During the tow today, we burnt the right rear brake, as I released the brake cylinders myself, while the towing service guy did his best on the trumpet with a lengthener, by tightening the screw which then fell off after fifty kilometres, and closed the brake cylinder.
Things here have been strange; some look on gloomily, others are smiling. As, for example, the director of the cement company whose trailer I crashed into. They will not be claiming damages (I didn’t need to take out insurance in Saudi Arabia either), they have kindly received me at the company’s parking lot where I’ve been camping for several hours. The smiles, my sixth’s sense tells me, will some day issue an invoice. My knowledge of Arabic is not good enough for the current situation, and few people here speak English. If Oman was the best place, this one is the worst. The black clouds are approaching, my room for manoeuvring is getting narrower and I can feel the rope around my neck tightening. I hope I don’t get to the point where all I care about is getting myself out of the country. I don’t know anyone, I don’t know whom I can trust. Even those I trusted yesterday are coming to me today with unbelievable information. That I cannot leave the country without my truck and that the truck cannot be taken out if it’s not in driving condition. It is parked powerless on the front yard of the people whose trailer I hit. I can’t tell who is with whom, what, who and where, all I know is that the towing service has already ripped me off for 50%.
At five in the morning, I am headed 150 km towards the north in the cement truck to a police station in Rabigh to get the report and the documentation explaining why I am still in the Kingdom despite my visa having expired, and to get my certificate of registration that is, fortunately, my only document in their possession at the moment.
Conclusion. Not a hair on my head has been harmed; if I had turned 20 cm further to the right, I might have lost my right leg. Ever since the accident in Masqat, everything (you are not aware of many things because they are of a confidential nature and a business secret) has been leading towards my not guiding the group this time. But I was ready to put my head through the wall. Everything serves a purpose. I’m sorry to say that I crashed my car just as I was about to put down my watch and the calendar and start enjoying myself in Egypt to which I was looking forward so much. My options on Thursday: to have my car repaired in Jeddah, but I’ve found out that everybody will try to rip me off. A 1000-kilometre trip to Aqaba where my people are and where I can arrive without any problems. Travelling back to Slovenia to have my truck repaired peacefully at home. I’m waiting to find out the transport prices and I hope to be able to afford them. Because, all I want right now is to get my vehicle and myself out of here as quickly as possible. And to get it ready at home for the next trip. Aigner is already looking for a new cabin.
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