The journey continues
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Last week, we left Roger “Rabbit” Gool at the Jordan/Saudi Arabia border. What does the end of his trip have in store for him?
Words / Images: Roger “Rabbit” Gool Day 9 (Monday)
I’M UP EARLY TO get the satellite tracker taken off the trailer, to get the papers to the agent, and to pay a bit extra in order to get us to the front of the queue, then I get my passport stamped – all this takes about an hour.
We collect the papers from the agent only to find he didn’t get the gate pass, which adds a lot of time to the job, as there are 50 other drivers seeking a gate pass as well. After another hour, we finally get the gate passes, but by now other trucks have started moving around us and we aren’t in a line to edge forward to the small exit gate. Phil’s truck is in front of us, but it’s not moving. Daz goes to see what’s wrong – but Phil isn’t in his cab.
The police tell us Phil’s truck was blocking the road, and they’ve taken him away to fine him. Finally, we get out and drive the 1km through no man’s land to the Saudi side. It’s chaos here. All the trucks are battling for space in the giant parking area. We walk over to passport control, where there is a long line of drivers waiting to be stamped in. Phil phones to say he’s just seen a Jordanian truck take my mirror off! The driver thought he had got away with it.
The driver is still trying to push his way to the front, but we arrange to sort it out at the border.
After hours of pushing and shoving, we get near to the front. We walk over to start the paperwork to get into Haditha on the Saudi border. Again, we are polite to the customs officers and get our papers done quickly and with no fuss, not like the rest who have to queue up and wait for their paperwork.
After a few hours of waiting, we get to the first control, which is all about drivers. The truck and its contents comes later! We have to go to another two windows where we book in and get given a seal for the fifth wheel. As we know most of the customs officers on the route, they don’t even come out to control us, they just stamp the papers while drinking tea in their offices. Haditha is like a prison for trucks – five long open-loading bays called ramps. The place is surrounded by high walls, look-out posts and razor wire. Daz and Phil plod up ramp one, Steve and I get parked up at the back of ramp two. We grab our papers and head for the exit gate to give them to our agent.
All agents are located in one block, just outside the exit gate. Not all drivers are allowed out of Haditha until they are cleared, and are made to stand by the gate and wait for their agents to collect the papers. But nine times out of 10 we can come and go as we please – if we leave some ID at the gate.
There’s a good supermarket and a restaurant just up the road. The restaurant has a great menu – assuming you like chicken and rice that is! Sometimes you get a rare treat... pasta shells and chicken! Leaving our papers with the agent, we head for the restaurant and get the treat – pasta and chicken. We stay there for a few hours relaxing, and then hit the supermarket and gorge ourselves on all the things we shouldn’t eat. Then we walk back to our trucks with shopping bags full of goodies to pig out – once again.
Day 10 (Tuesday)
AT ABOUT FIVE IN the morning I’m woken up by the wailing coming from the local mosque. I nod off again and I’m woken at 6.30am by forklift trucks flying about – the fun starts again. It’s time to open the trailer and off-load part of the cargo for inspection by my appointed customs controller.
I’m carrying crates of valves, so get the forklift to take five or six off and flip the lids so the controller can see the items. This is followed by a quick wash, cup of tea and a wait to pass control. A few hours later my man turns up, inspects the load, has a chat and signs me off. It’s time to put it all back again.
The Jordanian driver who broke my mirror has gone to ground, but I eventually find him. He’s all done and is waiting to leave Haditha. He’s surprised to see me and we have a confrontation because he doesn’t want to pay for my mirror. We go to the police in the border, and they tell us to come back in the afternoon. As we both need to get out and get going, some money eventually comes out of his pocket.
We shake hands and I tell him to look where he’s going next time – I’m sure it went in one ear and out of the other. All four of us get out around the same time. Phil and Daz are tipping at the same place, while Steve is tipping in Qatar and I’m tipping in Dammam (capital of the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia). We split up into pairs, Phil and Daz, Steve and myself.
It’s a long slap across Saudi – about 1,800km of sand. Nearly all the roads are dual carriageways these days, and we agree to meet up down the road. After driving for a few hours, Steve and I stop for fuel. We all have Saudi mobile phones and use them like walkie talkies in these situations, as they are as cheap as chips.
With a brimming tank (500 litres costs me about £25), we set off again. Phil and Daz must have passed us while we were fuelling-up as after 30 minutes of driving Steve and I pass them again. Phil’s truck limiter is set at 82km and he isn’t happy!
Steve and I agree to park up at Hafar Al-Batin, but about 20km before we get there I spot a slow moving car. Overtaking it, I look in my mirror to see it swerve off into the sand. A few minutes later the same car comes past me, lights flashing and trying to get me to stop by swerving and braking in front of me. I’ve seen this before over the years, and I ain’t stopping! I get past him easily and he then stays behind me.
On entering Al-Batin, the police are in the middle of the road at the junction for Kuwait and Mecca. Blue and red flashing lights are coming towards me. They spin around in front of me and I pull up behind them. Steve, who is behind me, pulls up as well.
Steve reckons the car driver had fallen asleep and that I startled him when I overtook him. The car driver, the police and I all stand in the road, and the car driver shouts like a mad man.
We have to go to the police station, trucks and all. We are escorted about 5km into Al-Batin and enter the police station. We have been in these situations before, and they can be a bit worrying. And the car driver is still ranting.
Steve tells the “ol’ Bill” what he saw. The car driver then says I flicked a fag out of the window at him, according to the English-speaking policeman. I tell him I don’t smoke and explain that it would have to have gone over the top of my cab to hit him – that’s it. The police smile at me and the tea comes out. The car driver is asked to leave. After a few minutes, he comes back again, still saying I flicked a fag at him and he gets escorted out.
Having had a quick cup of sweet Saudi tea with several of the officers, we then get a police escort back to the main drag, where we park-up for the night. Phil and Daz are already parked, and are asleep on the desert sand, away from everything.