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We went to Marsa Matrouh, Siwa, Bahiriya, Farafra, Dakhla, Karga, Luxor, Aswan, various places in the Nile Valley, Alexandria, Cairo and finally Sinai.
Getting into Egypt was disappointingly easy. We took just 2 1/4 hours to clear Egyptian customs with the vehicle and we only had to go to 10 windows…they could certainly have used some Business Process Re-Engineering, but I was a bit disappointed after seeing this (this video not made by me):-
Also met a pleasant Tunisian delivery driver from Sfax, who chatted away to Amanda in French. Apparently there’s a bit of a living to be made from shipping cars into Egypt and driving them along the coast of North Africa to import into Tunisia. Protectionist Tunisian import duties were also responsible for the stories we heard about Tunisians coming to Libya for clothes shopping, although Tunisia does at least make clothes. But with a lot of African or Caribbean countries, swingeing import duties might make more sense if there’s actually a domestic industry to protect. Tunisian/Jamaican-made cars, anyone?
Lovely sweeping road down to the cove of Salloumi, the first coastal place west of Umm Saad. Nice people.
Our first proper stop in Egypt was Marsa Matrouh, where we kicked back for a few days. After the stresses of the Libya trip, we needed time to ‘decompress’. I remember our sense of wonderment after the culinary wasteland that was Libya to find good, cheap Arabic food at one of the many eateries in the centre. First night I tried to find beer – ended up walking all the way along the beach from our cheap hotel to a posh hotel I had been told about – sure enough, there it was and it was a really pleasant, contemplative couple of hours sitting outside the restaurant with just me, a bottle or 5 of Saqqara, the stars winking in the dark sky and the gentle whoosh of the waves on the beach.
The hotel Beau Site was actually quite nice so I brought A there the next day – splashing out is OK once in a while. 1 night became 2, 2 became 3 and before we knew it we’d been there a week. The day we arrived I was perturbed to see someone approaching our car and having a good nose around it – so I photographed him. This was our first introduction to Tourist Police – there were 2 stationed there and the one in uniform immediately pointed out that the chap who’d been looking at the car was his plain-clothes sidekick. Funny old place, Marsah Matrouh. When I went there in 1998, it was briefly and just to change buses. But it seemed to have gone through a period of massive development since then and the entire seafront seemed to consist of huge vistas of empty high-rise hotels (closed for the winter of course) and massive mosaic murals which must have cost a lot to do. Quite where the clientele came from I don’t know. There was nothing the place didn’t offer that you couldn’t have got in Sinai (far closer for international airports and not out on a limb like MM) – a sort of harder-to-reach Costa Del Sol of Egypt. But the hotel people swore blind they got a healthy mixture of Egyptian and European tourists and the hotel clearly made a living from somewhere.
One of the things which I don’t think come out properly in a purely literary/pictorial account of the trip is the music you hear being played. These days, in the Middle East, as in so many other places, a lot of what you hear isn’t played via radios but via TV. And naturally not just any TV but satellite TV, which in the Middle East means Egypt for anything raunchy. Curiously, this particular one that caught my eye (probably because it was played so often) was ‘Stop – Ta’ala Bas’ by Maria, a Lebanese singer. I don’t know why all the videos of it anywhere in the internet seem to include the unrelated stuff at the beginning but, if you fast forward to the 2 minute stage you’ll see what I saw time and time again during our time in North Africa.
People-watching formed part of our stay at Beau Site. A polygamist stayed there for a couple of nights – from Jordan apparently. Wife and set of children no 1 on the 2nd floor and wife and set of children no 3 on the 3rd floor. All seemed to work smoothly. We also met a sweet diddy elderly couple from Cairo – Mary and John Garbouchian. They were Armenian originally, and had driven all the way to the UK in a MG in the 1950s for their honeymoon. Another attraction of this hotel was the Belly Man, apparently a Norwegian filmmaker in his 60s (this much we gleaned from his Dom Joly-style mobile phone conversations) who loved his morning slow-motion perambulations around the hotel courtyard, with his belly bulging forward and the rest of his body bringing up the rear.
It was one morning outside this hotel that I found the car had a flat tyre, the first of only 2 on the entire trip (!) It was my fault – the night before I’d driven over a wooden fruit box and one of the flat bits had got nailed to the tyre. Oh well – just annoying it happened 2 days after I’d had the tyres rotated. Tyre repair shop chap highly amused to hear my repertoire of Arabic swearwords. Imagine my surprise also to see an Austin Metro parked on the sea front.
After a day in MM, I did discover a beer shop. Beer in Egypt can be bought in hotels, but it can also be bought in very discreet, low-key off-licences – IF you know where to find them. It was entertaining, smuggling bottles of beer into the hotel and the empties out again – the bar was 3x the off-licence price!
Then we continued to Luxor but with a difference, taking the desert route via the ring of oases from Siwa, Bahiriya, Farafra, Dakhla and Kharga.
For some reason, we didn’t really explore that much of Siwa. I remembered it fondly from 1998, so had pushed it pretty strongly to A as a destination to visit. But I was ill the night we were there and, at night with the noises from all the animals, the place sounded like something out of Old Macdonald – ‘with a cock-a-doodle-do here and a Eeyore there’ etc etc…..minus the oink oink of course.
And here too was our first introduction to the Curse Of The Convoys – the fairground ride you can’t get off! We had wanted to drive onwards to Bahariya, the 2nd in the chain of Oases, so had a chat with Siwa Tourist Information. He told us a foreigner had been killed in an accident a few days before (the Egyptian driver had kept driving through a sandstorm and the car had left the road and turned over apparently) so the local Mukhabarat (military intelligence), in ‘something must be (seen to be) done’ mode had just decided that all foreigners had to apply for a permit to join a convoy for this 600KM journey. With the aid of the Tourist Information chap translating over the phone for us, we were told to report there the following morning at 8AM to tag along with a little group of French tourists doing the same trip with an Egyptian tour guide. So far so good.
The following morning, we were introduced to the Egyptian propensity to sing from different hymnsheets, as well as to not only fail, but to try and cover it up by arguing back. We were just about to have breakfast when a call came at 7.30 from someone I’d never heard of, who didn’t bother introducing himself, asking “where the hell?” we were and telling us they’d all been waiting for us since 7. When we arrived at the Mukhabarat HQ, the owner of the voice turned out to be the Egyptian tour guide, strutting around in his mullet hairstyle and mirror sunglasses like an extra from Baywatch and clearly fancying himself as God’s Gift. When I tried to explain we’d been told to get there at 8AM and not 7, he told us at the top of his voice it was our fault and pretended to not to know who the Tourist Information chap was, before accusing me, to a symphony of sycophantic tut-tuts from the watching entourage, of “littering this beautiful country” (I had wiped the headlights with a piece of tissue and dropped it on the ground with all the other litter in the flyblown, filthy Mukhabarat carpark.)
This, and my entirely understandable reaction, set the scene for the rest of the day and after all that, compared to Libya the drive wasn’t that scenic anyway. This arrangement was a sort of forced marriage, for God’s Gift had the paperwork with our details and without it we wouldn’t have got past the (frequent) checkpoints.
Bahariya itself proved to be not at all a bad place, with numerous Pharaonic sites and an enjoyable drive and walk up Black Mountain, a hill with deep red sand interspersed with volcanic rock reminiscent of Western Australia (or Wadi Matkandoush in Libya). The campsite in Bawiti was OK as well. A guide turned up with a petrol Landcruiser 80 series very similar to the one in Libya, which he was preparing for a trip to the desert with some UK diplomats apparently. His opening remark was “my engine’s bigger than yours” but a very friendly chap……I just hope he didn’t put his bigger engine to too much of a test in the desert, for he was busily strapping 30 (thirty) jerrycans onto the ROOFRACK! I pointed this out, but the punters were paying a lot of money for their trip – something about wanting an English Patient-style experience…and there wasn’t enough space in the car with all the camping equipment. Don’t ask why the cans couldn’t have gone in the car and the equipment on the roof!
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| Egypt – Libya border to the oases |
The road to Farafra was quite good, seemingly with very little traffic and the ever changing scenery was unreal. First the Black Desert scattered with small dark rocks and large cone mountains, then the White Desert of chalk with odd mushroom and column shapes rising from the desert floor and then, atop a ridge, a huge sand sea stretching to the horizon. Then more desert, past steep sandy dunes and oasis towns full of palm groves, people harvesting hay fields and cows eating green grass, on to Dakhla the same day, stopping on the way to eat an incredibly messy and tasty watermelon off the bonnet of the car in the beating sun.
General footage of the desert roads in Egypt, between Kharga and Luxor.
Dakhla provided us with an interesting hotel experience. We had wanted to stay in The Desert Lodge, a newly-built hotel raved about by the Lonely Planet and so arrived about mid-evening, parked outside this hotel and went in to see about a room. The place was atop a hill, and looked just as stunning as the review. But there was nobody there! We walked around the entire complex, calling out and looking in all the offices. ‘The lights are on but nobody’s at home’……it was like the Hotel Marie Celeste. But that stunning architecture we had admired from a distance became the crumbling facades of a jerry-built white elephant when viewed closer.
So, mystified and disappointed, we found another place – the Abu-Mohamed. Got chatting to Mahmoud the owner, who had followed the pretty typical Egyptian/S. Asian route of working overseas to save up, before retiring home and setting up a business – this guest house. Seems the owner of the ghost hotel had a bit of a reputation in the area for being a Jack-The-Lad. He apparently wasn’t very rich, but had borrowed money from all and sundry to pay for the place, then started strutting around Dakhla like king of the castle because he suddenly owned a hotel, but hadn’t thought to actually run the place properly. So it hadn’t lasted that long and people who’d lent him money – even taken out loans on his behalf – had found themselves holding the baby.
Not only that, Mahmoud told us about another English guest he’d had – who was called Stephen something-or other. This young guy apparently had stayed there twice, for 6 months each time, spending all his time stoned on a couch in the restaurant. It had dented Mahmoud’s trade with locals, for they had got a bit fed up coming there to eat with this weird foreigner sleeping in the background. Imagine the chagrin of Mahmoud, when at the end of the 2nd 6-month stint, his English ‘guest’ announced that he was ‘waiting for the money to come through from mummy to the bank in Cairo’ so Mahmoud had to ride with him for x-hours to Cairo to get 6 months worth of board and lodging. Never again, as Mahmoud said!
15 May 2007. Once again I kick myself for breaking the ‘never go out without a camera in a foreign country’ rule. I had nipped out for 5 minutes to the nearest shop to get a drink but as I walked towards the centre of Dakhla I sensed that something was going on, as the roads were cordoned off and lined with many people and police. I didn’t bother asking anyone what was happening, but just as I was in the shop there was a commotion outside and the shopkeeper shouted “Mubarak!” Sure enough, I rushed out to see the President of Egypt gliding by, in his limo. This is my 3rd trip to Egypt and on my first trip in 1998 I saw Mubarak also, this time in Alexandra. At least in Alex I had got a picture of the presidential Hand waving from the window of the car, but here I was cameraless. The shambolic motorcade following Mubarak reminded me strongly of the warm-up lap of a banger race – about 20 beaten up old cars and vans jockeying for position 6 inches behind the rear bumper of a shiny new Mercedes S600.
Entering Kharga, the next and last oasis town, we stopped at a police checkpoint and gave our details. Nothing was said to us and we drove off again as normal. I didn’t really pay attention at the time, but I noticed a group of police getting into a car and following us for some time after the checkpoint. Only when we got lost and did a U-turn did it dawn on us that these police were supposed to be our escorts, for they turned when we did, with quizzical looks on their faces. Might have helped if we had been told what was going on. Just as well all we wanted to do in Kharga was find an ATM and get some chai, for even these simple tasks proved to be a nightmare of sign language and gesticulation, with neither of us understanding what the other was doing in their company. But then, if we had wanted to see any kind of sights it probably would have been easier as we could have simply shown them the Arabic name in the Lonely Planet.
From Kharga, on to Luxor. Thought about following the desert road south to Abu Simbel. The road down the eastern bank of the Nile was the main one, while the western road did exist but was for 4x4s only, and required not just a permit but also prior permission from the Ministry Of The Interior. After reaching the checkpoint nearest the turnoff, it looked very clear at the subsequent fork that we could easily have turned right and not left and just done the road anyway, but risk-aversity stopped us – as always. Well, that and us not knowing the exact route, not having a few jerrycans of reserve diesel, and the knowledge that we’d probably have been turned back at the first checkpoint we encountered on the western road.
And so, on to Luxor. Towering concrete buildings and horse-drawn caleches. Museums and ruins, tourists and hotels, bars and restaurants in marked contrast to the sandiness we had left behind. But extremely comfortable for all the usual tourist stuff and we did enjoy relaxing here for a couple of days. There was a lovely floating restaurant we happened across on The Corniche and we passed a couple of evening sessions in there, reading back issues of National Geographic and watching the sun set over a beer. Highly civilised.
At one point, a British Asian woman from Bradford introduced herself to us in the street outside the hotel we were staying in. She was married to an Egyptian, who wanted to ask about the carnet for the car. So one evening he came to see me in the floating restaurant to pick my brains. Turns out he had a Rolls-Royce in the UK, and wanted to know about how to get a carnet to bring it to Egypt. It also transpired he had a hot-air balloon company in Luxor, and I did vaguely toy with the idea of asking him for a free trip in return for the carnet help, but didn’t bother for some reason. But lucky I didn’t – http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/africaandindianocean/egypt/5263572/British-tourists-tell-of-their-terror-in-hot-air-balloon-crash.html
We also met the English Complainers – an upper-middle couple in their 50s who had obviously decided to go backpacking, but hadn’t bargained on the nitty-gritty discomforts. So we sat down at one restaurant in Luxor, which was also a hotel, just in time to overhear our first angry tirade from Mr Complainer at the reception desk, about the number of steps they’d had to climb to their room and how it wasn’t what they’d been told.
Rather than drive south to Aswan, we chose instead to leave the car in the carpark of the government-run, Victorian Old Winter Palace hotel and let someone else do the driving. Nice to do a train ride for a change. Aswan was almost as civilised as Luxor, but Luxor probably had the edge, and A got mightily fed up with the over-zealous tourist police following her all over the place when she went on a tour of the sights. I hadn’t gone myself as I’d seen them before, just as with Luxor.
While in Aswan, we also took a 600km return minibus trip to Abu Simbel. Once again, the Complainers popped up. This time the issue appeared to be that they’d been promised a full-size coach rather than a minibus. Probably true, but goes with the territory in a place like Egypt unfortunately.
Pics of Luxor, Aswan and Abu Simbel
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| Egypt – Luxor and Aswan |
Once back in Luxor, we decided to drive up the Nile Valley rather than follow the Western or Eastern Desert highways, thinking we could stop at the various sites. Bad move (convoy problem again) – a cavalcade of minivans, cars and coaches like something from ‘The Wacky Races’. When we’d joined the convoy that morning in Luxor, we’d been told we’d only have to stay in it until Qena and could then continue north on our own. Had we known what was coming…..
Qena came and went, and we stopped along with the rest of the convoy in Dendara. Having looked at the temple, in we went to an internet café, blissfully unaware of what was coming. Suddenly, a middle-aged man came in and started telling me off for ‘holding everyone up’. Me – “Sorry – who are you and what is your problem?” Obviously I was suddenly expected to become a mind-reader, but he turned out to be the leader of a tour group that was carrying on up the Nile to Minya with a police escort ie a convoy. My protestations that we’d been told we wouldn’t need to stay in the convoy fell on stony ground and, like it or not, we were along for the ride.
We had traveled constantly through the entire afternoon and evening, following the Nile through small towns of fruit stalls, builders hauling cement and brick up rickety wooden scaffolding and kids diving into the river. Having been given wrong information about the convoy, I hadn’t thought to fill up before leaving Dendara because I didn’t think it would be any kind of issue to stop and fill up when needed.
How wrong I was – when I ran low on diesel 100 or so kms later, I had to stop to fill up. Egyptian vehicles obviously have a different way of propelling themselves than ones anywhere else, for there followed a tense 10-minute standoff consisting of the police escort trying to stop me from filling up, oblivious to my pointing out that if I didn’t fill up, then I would conk out by the side of the road and delay the convoy still further!
Not surprised to hear that this part of the Nile Valley was the hotbed of anti-Egyptian government sedition, for here there were more pictures of Mubarak than anywhere else in Egypt. Hossein’s Iran hypothesis…..’the number of portraits of a politician is inversely proportional to their degree of popularity’
Even though the journey apparently should have taken 3 hours, it ended up taking more like 6 or 7. I don’t know what went wrong, but all I know is I did nothing to delay anybody (we caught up after the filling station), and neither did anybody else in the convoy, for it was moving constantly. The tour group themselves, who I think were from Germany or France, seemed very laid-back about the whole thing and did not seem to blame their tour guide for getting to the Beni Hasan tomb site so late they had to use torches.
Having broken away finally from the dreaded convoy, we decided to stay the night and explore a little bit of the same Minya that we had seen the evening before. Minya is not too bad a place at all, with no tourists and a pleasant Nile-side strolling promenade. The cemetery near Beni Hasan was truly incredible. The dead really did outnumber the living – this is the same anywhere in the world, but I have never seen it so obvious as here. While we were walking along the road, as a van approached I saw a cow running towards the road on a collision course with it, with bulging eyes and a child chasing in vain. I could see that the driver couldn’t see this cow because it was shrouded by a wall, but before I could even raise my arm to warn him the cow ran straight into his path and he had to screech to a halt to avoid hitting it. All he did was laugh, but how utterly irresponsible to put a child in charge of something like a cow.
Pics of trip up Nile Valley.
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| Egypt – Nile Valley |
Worried about driving in Cairo, so following the main El Ahram street into Cairo from the south-west and stayed at this hotel immediately next to Giza Metro Station, figuring that we could use the Metro to get around Cairo without having to worry about driving. I don’t remember the name, but it’s exactly in the middle of this map (or at the junction of El Ahram and Ramseis, if Google Maps plays up).
http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=giza+pyramids&sll=30.029272,31.174822&sspn=0.042505,0.066004&ie=UTF8&hq=Pyramids+of+Giza&hnear=Pyramids+of+Giza,+Egypt&t=h&ll=30.011083,31.206107&spn=0.002657,0.004125&z=18
The car was parked on the street, but right outside the front door and we bunged the security guards at the entrance some baksheesh to keep an eye on it for us. It was weird and rough, but cheap and nobody did us any harm.
There was a seedy bar on the ground floor which doubled as some sort of disco at night, and a couple of times we went into the bar thinking about having a drink. It seemed to be decorated with hideous fibreglass ‘grotto’ designs, and the staff would converge on us, anxious to assist these aliens who had landed on their planet.
I’d been to Cairo before in 1998, so made the mistake of not really bothering to see that much of it. But it’s a bit like Delhi in being underrated as a place to see and do things rather than just pass through. We made contact with Mary and John from the Beau Site hotel and Mary was ill but the well-connected John was a member of the Gezira Club and took us there for the afternoon. Café Riche, a former drinking spot of Cairo’s literati and intelligentsia, was a highly atmospheric place to stop and read books over food and drink.
One day I was sick, so Mandy went out on a tour of Cairo. Amusing to look out at the block of flats opposite the hotel. People on upper floors would constantly lower baskets on lengths of string, with a shopping list and some money, from their windows to the shop at street level before hauling their groceries back up again.
Another day was spent taking a tour of pyramids in desert south of Cairo. Most people think there’s just the big ones at Giza, but these are just the newest and biggest. There are actually close to 70 of them, stretching in an arc across the desert ending at Giza. Saqqara had an excellent museum, with of course the Step-Pyramid of Zoser that forms the logo for Saqqara beer. The ubiquitous tourist police were in full force at Saqqara, for once demanding basksheesh not to allow the tourists to take photos indoors, but for the tourists to take pictures of THEM (!) While we were walking around outside at Saqqara, a little sand twister came blowing through – just enough time for me to shout “shut your eyes and cover your cameras!”
Heading back, we passed Dahshur and would have stopped in, but we’d spent pretty much most of the day at Saqqara and Dahshur was shut for restoration.
Little day trip by train from Cairo to Alexandria – not as good as in 1998. Like Iran, I ‘d sold it too hard to Mandy but at least race wasn’t an issue. Alandria Library had been built since the last time I was there, but this was more impressive from the outside, to our eyes at least. Pleasant juice shop seller who worked as an English teacher in term time and taught us some Arabic words for different fruits.
….and here’s Cairo, with a quick day-trip to Alex thrown in
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| Egypt – Cairo and Alexandria |
Sinai was the end of our time in Egypt. We crossed first through Suez, with huge cargo ships passing through the canal. As the books say, they do indeed look as if they are sailing through the desert – which of course they are, but you can’t see the water until you’re right next to the canal. Had my hair cut in Suez, by someone who then proceeded to thread my hairy ears. Any Indian women reading this will know what threading is, but for everyone else’s benefit threading consists of 2 threads twisted around each other and pulled into a 2-foot length. The ‘threader’ grips 1 end in his/her mouth, then stretches the thread tight and pulls the ends apart to form a sort of triangle, while holding the twisting bit close to the relevant part of the victim’s body. Result – all the hairs get pulled out by their roots. I well remember clenching my teeth and gripping the arms of the chair, and my ears felt like they were on fire afterwards. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.
It probably wouldn’t have hurt to go up Mt Sinai, but I had been there before, so we then passed down the West side of Sinai to the bottom tip, through Sharm-el-Sheikh.
Just near Sharm is a little peninsula forming Ras Mohamed National Park. Most divers will know it as a place to dive off, but the actual park itself isn’t too bad to visit at all. We did it as a day trip, but could and should have camped overnight. During the day, we stopped at a little bay near the jetty for the boats belonging to the park staff. A number of them were swimming, diving and snorkelling in the bay so I strapped on my snorkel and paddled out to see what they were looking at. Beneath the water, about 10 feet below the surface at its shallowest point, was a sunken fishing boat – quite interesting to be able to look at it without having to use scuba gear. I was dimly aware of a man standing on the shore shouting, but couldn’t understand him and didn’t think it was directed at me as there were other people nearby doing exactly what I was doing. But when I got back to the shore, it was some jumped-up minor official having a go at me (not anybody else, me) for swimming in the bay. Twat.
And thence to Dahab. Good place to chill and do a bit of diving. One morning in the hostel in Dahab, we were rudely awoken by a screeching sound that I can only liken to foxes fighting (or mating). Opening the door, we encountered a little ginger kitten, doing its nut in a confrontation with an adult cat. The funny thing was, the adult cat was just sitting there and didn’t seem to care less and yet scrappy kitty was 1 step away from heart failure, its eyes bulging with rage.
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| Egypt – Sinai |
Nuweiba was our last stop in Egypt, where the ferry was to take us to Aqaba in Jordan. We stayed at Soft Beach Camp, a place we’d been recommended which is run by Kammal al-Deep, an Egyptian and Christina from Germany – http://softbeachcamp.com/pageID_7007079.html
Nuweiba itself was as tranquil a place as Dahab and we were fortunate to be there when there was a lovely full moon shimmering on the sea -
More cat stuff – anyone staying at Soft Beach must be vigilant against the swipey kitties, who, when they aren’t busy swiping food off guests’ plates are knocking spots off each other. Check out this wonderful cat fight at Soft Beach -
On our (intended) last day in Egypt, we wanted to see the Coloured Canyon. We went up there with a French couple who were also staying at Soft Beach, who had been cycling across Asia on their tandem. It was getting late in the day, and I was hurrying to get there before sunset. I noticed the car beginning to get more and more like a bouncy castle but of course by that point the damage was done. This is what happens to your shocks if you drive too fast on a bumpy road:-
The next day – lots of emails and texts to Paul at Footloose 4×4. Leaving Egypt through Nuweiba port was a bigger problem than getting in. We hadn’t appreciated how long it would take to get cleared through Customs so inadvertently turned up with only 3 hours to spare and got told we wouldn’t have enough time to get the ferry. As this was also the last day of the customs clearance, we-or rather I – also had to then spend half the evening getting a 1 day customs extension sorted out.
The next and last day – another parting gift from Egyptian bureaucracy, this time when it came to buying the ticket and trying to deal with a useless & obstructive ferry port official who in India would have been labeled a ‘babu’ and who, in the UK, all those signs warning benefit claimants / bus passengers / NHS patients etc of dire consequences if they physically/verbally assault the staff are designed to protect. Dear sweet idealistic young American tourist who turned up right at the end and hadn’t heard the background – “if you keep talking to him like that, he won’t help you at all.” Me – “would we be able to tell the difference?”
Having finally escaped the leaden clutches of Customs, we joined the queue to get on the ferry. Enter Ali, a Jordanian truck driver we got chatting to – “Egyptians dirty and stupid but the women are the most beautiful in the world ‘but only for fuck1ng”.
