Stuck

The following day, we set off along the Red Sea coast, with Martin and Rosanna enthusiastically assuring us they knew of an incredible spot for us to set up camp later that afternoon. It was apparently in the sand dunes… and close to the Red Sea for swimming.

Why anyone would want to swim in the Red Sea is beyond me… but to each their own…

*we shall chat more about the Red Sea later though.

This enthusiasm for “site unseen” should have been our first sign that things weren’t going to go according to plan.

Before long, we left the main highway behind and found ourselves navigating our way through some flat, dry and sandy farmland. 

I think it was farmland anyway… 

The landscape was sparse… with just a few scattered structures. As our big, foreign orange truck barrelled in, we started to attract attention. One farmer stopped what he was doing to watch us, in complete bewilderment… then jumped into his pickup truck to guide/follow us back to the main road. Clearly not wanting us there, he pointing the truck towards what he claimed was a better place… way down the road… and off his property.

A better place…

That should have been our second sign.

We drove on for several kilometers before veering off the highway again. This time, our path led us further ‘coastal inland’… if there is such a thing. It was sandy barren land, but much closer to the sea. The ground definitely shifted beneath us, becoming soft and somewhat boggy… but we pressed on. Martin eventually stopped to deflate the tires for better traction. The ground was far from firm, but it seemed stable enough to hold the weight of Marianna… and all of us.

There were camels everywhere, so we were all quite happy with the stop. They staggered along, followed by egrets, who were either nibbling at the bugs left behind in the dirt… or riding along on their humps. The dunes, the scattered trees and the sea nearby made it seem like a decent place to set up for the night. It was picturesque and peaceful. We all approved.

But… nope…

Martin and Rosanna had other plans. After some air had been removed from all the tires, we moved on.

That should have been the third sign.

Yes, the ground was dangerously soft… but instead of heading back closer to the main highway, Martin pushed deeper into the sandy desert of coastal Saudi Arabia. The further we went, the worse the terrain became. The ground got muckier… and looser… and boggier.

It was only a matter of time before… uh oh…

We got stuck.

Really stuck.

Everyone piled out of the truck.  Again, Martin tried to maneuver it free, but the wheels only sank deeper with every attempt.

Shit.

Double shit.

Rosanna opened the back equipment container and we all began to grab shovels. It was “dig” time…

When I say “we all began to grab shovels,” I actually only mean FOUR of us grabbed shovels. Out of 15 passengers, only FOUR grabbed shovels: myself, Persnickety, Mr. Meat, and Stormin’ Norm.

The rest? They didn’t want to get dirty… so they watched.

If you don’t include Rosanna and Martin, there are 15 of us. There are 8 men… and 7 women. Only 2 men and 2 women jumped in to dig.

The rest of the men seriously just stood there. Harold, the Geisha and Warren (the youngest of the group at early 40-something) did absolutely nothing. Lutz and Graham, in their 80s, had a reasonable excuse of old age… but the rest of them?

Shameful.

Disgusting.

The four of us got to work to the best of our ability. Persnickety, Mr. Meat and I tackled the front left tire while Stormin’ Norm, Rosanna and Martin focused on the rear. We dug until the tires were flat to the ground and Martin was able to place sand mats on either side of each tire.

Persnickety moaned more than she dug… and she moaned and moaned and moaned. She didn’t stop once. The entire time we were digging, she provided a relentless running commentary about how we were the only ones working. For once, I agreed with her, though her play-by-play wasn’t exactly motivating. Her voice grated on me so much, it actually made me work harder to try and get out of there faster.

Just. Shut. Up.

Mr. Meat did the bare minimum to help while making sure not to get sweaty or dirty… Persnickety chipped in enough to be somewhat noticed and to give herself the right to complain about everyone else.  I, however, ended up on my stomach, practically under the truck, stabbing at the sand with my shovel like a spear and pulling out muck with my bare hands.

By the end of it, I was covered head to toe.

For the longest time, even Sue even sat there watching us all struggle. It was shocking, especially considering how frequently she boasts about how active and helpful she is. That day, her actions… or should I say lack thereof… spoke louder than her words.

Despite our heroic efforts, the situation worsened. Every time we dug, the truck sank lower.

Shovel… sink… repeat.

It was a losing battle and Martin’s frustration escalated with each passing moment. The sand mats did nothing to help the situation. It all just seemed like a lost cause.

Vic and Mickey walked toward the highway in hopes of flagging down a big, tough vehicle to pull us out… or at least find someone who might be able to help. Sue and Tania started cooking, as we all figured we’d probably still be there come dinner time. The sun was going down, the truck was sinking further… and so far, no help was in sight.

Karen, to her credit, jumped in soon after and began shoveling beneath the truck, to alleviate some stress on some of the important mechanical bits. She was tossing the discarded muck backwards onto a tarp. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to be in… nor the most glamorous work to be doing, but she didn’t complain. Eventually, the Geisha and Warren were practically forced to help by emptying the tarp each time she’d filled it up. All they had to do was pull the tarp out from under the truck, lean it upwards and let the muck slide off. Their reluctance to even do this simple task was obvious. They avoided getting dirty at all costs and contributed the absolute bare minimum possible.

I was ashamed of them.

I was ashamed for them.

Ya… I’ve made it quite clear that I’m not really a fan of either of them… but this blatant indifference and sad display of teamwork was a disappointing show of true character.

Harold was the worst. His bright white T-shirt was as spotless as when we’d first gotten stuck. He contributed nothing. Nothing. At one point, he came over to me in full theatrics… huffing dramatically, pointing with his twitchy fingers and throwing exaggerated shrugs in every direction. Then he started waving a pair of speedos in my face. I had no idea what was happening or why I was suddenly part of this bizarre performance…

He was angry because he had wanted to go swimming.

Swimming?

Seriously? I could hardly believe it. Here we were, knee-deep in sand and dirt and muck… and Harold was pouting because his day wasn’t going according to plan.

These people…

We needed help.

Badly.

We are all hoping that Vic and Mickey might find somebody to come and help us out. Cell reception was touch and go… sometimes… and mostly extremely limited at best. At one point, Mickey managed to get through to me… she needed to speak to Rebeka. As soon as I would put Rebeka on, the call would die. They had found a few Bangladeshi guys and needed Rebeka to translate.

Vic and Mickey didn’t make it back until after dark. At one point, as the sun was starting to set, I made the offer to set up Mickey’s tent to help her out. Martin and Rosanna told me to just leave it, as she’d probably just want to do it herself.

No problem.

Everyone seemed resigned to the idea that we’d be stuck there for the night. Most of us were ready to start setting up our tents, but Rosanna and Martin had wandered off to discuss something privately… and out of respect… no one wanted to start setting up camp without their approval.

That’s when Mr. Meat lost the plot.

He was adamant we should set the tents up NOW. He started ranting that we should just go ahead, with or without permission, since it was obvious we weren’t going anywhere. When the group insisted on waiting for Rosanna’s call, he exploded, accusing all of us of having no “common sense” and calling us “stupid” for not acting immediately.

All the camping equipment was locked away… and without someone to climb up onto the side of the truck, unlock the compartment… and start unloading it, Mr. Meat was out of luck… and pretty much forced to follow our lead, wrong or right. Regardless of his “bench press” boasting, he could hardly carry his own pack… let alone hoist himself up onto the side of the truck and throw everyone’s gear down.

But… he turned his incompetence and weakness into our “lack of common sense.”

Not long after, Rosanna returned and gave us the green light to set up the tents. Mr. Meat couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to gloat… loudly proclaiming that he had been right all along… and again, that we were all “stupid”… and no one on the tour had any “common sense.”

Just him.

I shot back, “Funny… seems like everyone with common sense has clean clothes on.”

This… from the same guy who earlier had been grumbling because no one was helping him search for the sugar for his coffee, while we were digging.

It was all too much.

But… this entire tour is…

Then I overheard Rosanna saying to Mickey, “Ya… Joanna kept on offering to put up your tent, but we kept telling her no.”

Kept on offering?

I felt obliged to jump in to defend myself. “You mean that I offered once, right?” I corrected. Rosanna turned around, startled to see me right there behind her… and quickly backpedaled. “Oh, ya, you did. You offered once, and we said Mickey would probably want to do it herself.”

So instead of gratitude for a kind offer from someone who not only hates tenting… but hates putting up tents altogether, I was met with criticism. Mickey snapped at me that “if I’d put up her tent, I’d probably have placed it too close to people…and she doesn’t like being close to people.”

Well, excuse me for trying to be helpful. My resolution to be kind and tolerant was getting closer and closer to being tossed by the wayside…

This girl.

Seriously.

She’s going to make a tremendous guide. God help everyone…

At least dinner that night was pleasant. We all sat together under the stars, surrounded by a bunch of useless… albeit clean, passengers… looking at our decrepit truck… leaning over, stuck in the muck…

Sue, Vic and Tania had been on cook crew… and as soon as Vic arrived back at stuck-truck-camp, it became painfully obvious that Sue had an enormous crush on him. Sure… they’re both birders… but Sue’s desperate need for attention has reached new heights… and has grown more over-the-top, all in an attempt to get Vic to notice her.

It was Tania who first pointed this out to me… and once she did, I can’t unsee it. Or unhear it. Suddenly, everything made sense… her frantic flailing around the truck, her random outbursts, her wild dancing in awkward (and often inappropriate) situations… and the fact that she can’t get Tania’s name right… after six weeks. She keeps calling her “Tonya.”

The next morning, Harold walked over to my tent and asked me where Mickey’s tent was. I pointed him toward it… and went about continuing to do my own thing. A few minutes later, he was back and interrogating me.

“Where’s Mickey? Do you know where she is?”

I didn’t.

“Maybe in Dubai,” was my only answer, but the sarcasm was lost on him.

He’d spotted some people off in the distance and wanted Mickey to go talk to them because she had Google Translate on her phone. I informed him that most of us had Google Translate on our phones… and he hardly needed Mickey for that. I suggested that he go over there himself.  It was about time he did something to help. He stuck out his big lips, planted his hands on his hips, gave a big clueless shrug… his usual Mr. Bean impression of simply not knowing what to do with my answer.

“I don’t have translate on my phone,” he complained.

“Then take pictures of the truck and show them,” I snapped.

Why is no one here resourceful?

Why?

Why?

Why?

He stood there, still fishing for someone else to do the work he was avoiding. I wasn’t budging. I’d done enough and I still had more work to do. So… off he finally went in the direction of the strangers.

It led nowhere, but at least he did something.

Where was Mickey?

Well… Rosanna and Martin were convinced she’d already made her way to the highway to look for help. They were so proud of how proactive and helpful she was. Gushing…

Meanwhile, Sue was fluttering around like she had some grand secret, claiming she knew exactly where Mickey was… but refusing to say. Her cryptic little games are starting to wear thin.

As it turned out, Mickey wasn’t anywhere near the highway… nor was she getting help for anyone.

She’d gone to the beach.

After breakfast, Rosanna initially planned to send just a couple of people to the highway again to look for help, but Vic managed to talk her out of that. He pointed out that staying out by the truck in the heat, with limited water, wasn’t realistic for the crew. His suggestion was for the entire group to head to the nearby gas station on the highway… and wait there until our next move was determined. It was approximately 2km away.

In short, we all needed to leave the truck.

I offered to stay behind, considering I was the only one who had been shovelling… and the only one who would shovel.

It made sense.

Martin, in his usual blunt way, told me he had nothing for me to do… and he was only going to be doing “some tinkering” and definitely did not need my help.

Ok… I’ll go…

As the others began preparing to leave, Mickey surprised me by grabbing a shovel and started to dig near one of the spots where the truck’s underside was jammed against the muck. I changed out of my dress, threw on my dirty work clothes and jumped back in to help.

That was it. I was officially staying.

For the first time, this trip felt like a real, genuine adventure. For some reason, totally unbeknownst to me, I was the only one who wanted to be part of it.

Just me.

Why not embrace adventure like this? This is the kind of stuff you remember… and the kind of stuff people actually want to hear about. No one cares about forts or museums or mosques… or endless bus rides surrounded by drab, exhausting people.

I wanted adventure… and if that meant being stuck under a dangerously slanted truck, clawing at clumps of muck with my bare hands, so be it.

Mickey later claimed she would have preferred to stay at the truck and help shovel… but… let’s be perfectly clear… no one forced her to leave. No one told her to walk to the gas station or asked her to accompany the group there. She made the choice not to stay and help.

She had been shoveling… and she’d put the shovel down and walked away.

I could tell Martin wasn’t very happy with my decision to stay… but he got over that quickly. He needed help.

For hours, Martin, Rosanna and I worked relentlessly… digging and leveling and strategizing. We did everything we could think of to try and free the truck. Martin came up with the idea of lifting the back left tire to create enough clearance for traction. Somehow, we managed to raise it just enough for us to slide a sand mat underneath. We reinforced it with all the logs we had, hoping it would give the wheel enough grip to move. It wasn’t foolproof… but at this point, we had no other options.

Once everything was in place, Martin climbed into the truck to start the engine. Rosanna and I closed our eyes, crossed our fingers… and prayed. We had to stand off to the side, because by this time, the truck was leaning so much that it seemed like it could tip over at any moment. We kept our distance… just in case.

There were definitely a few frightening moments.

Martin started the engine and then, ever so slightly, tried to edge forward. The wheels spun wildly, flinging all the logs out and dislodging the jack and some other random pieces of wood that had been holding up the back tire. The truck shifted again, smacked down further into the muck and tilted even further.

That was it.

We were not only exhausted and exasperated… but completely out of ideas… and completely stuck. There was nothing else for us to do. We needed help…

By this point, we were dangerously low on water. I had none left… and because the truck was on such a tilt, we couldn’t get any from the tank. Rosanna and I agreed the best plan of action was to head to the gas station, update the others, and figure out our next move.

Leaving Martin and the truck behind was frustrating and disheartening, but we had no other option. I could sense Rosanna wasn’t ready to leave Martin just yet, so I offered to make the trek alone, thinking she would probably refuse that offer.

But… she jumped on the suggestion immediately… and asked me to bring all the crew some “morale.”

I knew that no amount of “morale” I could muster would make up for her absence. I knew the others were probably sitting at the station… hot, bored and growing increasingly impatient. They wouldn’t be thrilled to see she hadn’t come along with me.

As the leader, Rosanna should have stepped up to get the group moving toward Jeddah while Martin stayed to manage the truck. But… as I’ve said before… and I’ll likely say again… this is far from your standard tour.

Just as I was changing and getting ready to start the 2km trek across the barren desert land, a car approached us. About 50m away, it came to a halt and a man stepped out to take a photo of us. We waved, unsure of his intentions… but hoping he might be our chance at a rescue. After he got his photo, he got back in the car and it appeared he was about to drive away and leave us stranded… but then he made his way closer.

He got out of his car and explained, in very broken English, that he was the manager of the gas station where the rest of the group was waiting. He let us know that he had been in touch with the local sheriff and someone was coming with a large tractor to pull us out.

Yay!!!!

We were being saved!!!

He had even negotiated a price of 500 Saudi riyals, which was super reasonable.

Finally, some good news.

When I asked him if I could get a ride back to the gas station, his response was; “That’s a problem, which not a problem.” So I had no idea if it was a problem… or not a problem… but I climbed in anyway… he drove me back.

Guess it wasn’t a problem…

When I arrived, I updated everyone on the situation and explained what was happening. As expected, everyone wanted to know where Rosanna was and when she’d be arriving. I didn’t have an answer.

The news of the big tractor coming to rescue Marianne sparked some excitement. It gave that much appreciated glimmer of hope… and seemed to make the endless waiting in the heat a little more tolerable.

I headed straight for the bathroom to clean myself up. After hours and hours of lying in dirt and digging in muck, it felt incredible to finally wash it all off.

The only person who was outright rude to me was Persnickety.

As I passed her, she refused to acknowledge me and deliberately looked away.

“Oh… we’re not saying hi anymore?” I inquired. I was thrilled with the silent treatment decision… I just needed to know the rules of the game.

After I had cleaned up and had something to drink in the gas station, I had to walk past her again. She suddenly yelled out, “HI, JO!” in the most sarcastic, condescending tone possible.

This woman in 70 years of age.

SEVENTY.

I walked past her without a word… completely ignoring her. I’ve reached my limit with this nasty woman. I can’t handle her toxic attitude, her constant self-pity, her endless moaning, her petty behaviour, that grating voice, her gaunt face, her stringy bangs or her ridiculous shoes… absolutely everything about her just sets me on edge.

I’m done.

It’s over.

It has all been so incredibly draining. The brief thrill of the adventure earlier had been the only bright spot in weeks… and now I was back in the company of this toxic crew.

Draining…

We all sat there for what felt like hours, watching as one big tractor went out to the truck, only to return without success. Then another tractor attempted to reach Marianna… but thought better of the entire situation and turned around.

At one point, Warren came running toward a group of us, announcing that the man heading out to help wanted him to go along. I turned to whoever was next to me and said, “Well, I hope they don’t expect him to actually do any work.”

I guess it’s important for people to feel important… as long as no one gets dirty.

No one could help.

Another tractor ended up making it all the way in to where Marianna was… but got equally as stuck in the muck, trying to pull her out.

Hope was gone. All that was left was…

TikTok.

Yep…

If I couldn’t get the truck out with my digging, I sure as hell could try with some of my social media connections. It  was definitely worth a shot.

No?

I thought so.

In record time, I threw together a “cry for help” video and posted it on TikTok, tagging everything I could think of to reach the right audience, including where I thought we might be located. To be honest… I wasn’t entirely sure. My goal was simple… if just one person with a big truck saw it and decided to help… all the effort would be worth it.

This was it…

To be continued…