Ulaanbataar, Mongolia
That's it. It's done. The Spirit of Lovetown got me to Ulaanbaatar at about 6pm on 5 September.
After my "full steam ahead!" last blog things of course did not run quite so smoothly. It was dark before the mechanics finally handed me back the keys and the border, which was about 3hrs drive away, closes at 6pm so I accepted an offer to have dinner with with Sacha, Nata and Olecja, (fellow Russian breakdown-ees from the car yard) after which I planned a short nap before getting up at 4am in order to reach the border early.
Filled with excitement about being able to start the car with a key I drove the girls to a supermarket (where, I must add, I was overjoyed to be able to buy a new packet of Pampers wet wipes). And once we had finished shopping the old girl wouldn't start. A minor anticlimax to say the least. I was back to clambering about in the dirt with a head torch and randomly joining all the various loose cables dangling from the engine which eventually got us going again.
By the time we had finished eating it was almost 2am, so I pushed back my intended start time to 6. It was just getting light when I snuck out of the single room log cabin, careful not to wake anyone, and fired up the ambo. She went first time but the roar from the muffler-less exhaust was so loud against the silence of the sleeping village that I immediately turned her off. Then just to make sure, I fired her up one more time. Perfect. I turned her off gain and went inside to say my goodbyes as promised. My three sleepy hosts stumbled outside, said bleary goodbyes, opened the gates, stood back and - the battery was flat. There is no AA in Ulan Ude. We all went back inside for a nap.
I finally got going about 10am with a jump start from a neighbours' van. The drive to the border was uneventful though unexpectedly emotional. Siberia is such a remote and unpopulated place and being by myself magnified the sense of isolation to the point that it felt almost Spiritual (yes, yes, I know - I felt Spiritual). I can only imagine just how Spiritual it would have felt if I had not had a muffler-less 3.3L petrol engine roaring beneath me, so loud that I could barely hear the stereo, and so unreliable that I didn't dare turn it off!
The Russian side of the border was notable for the 3 long queues of vehicles, mainly Mongolian, waiting to get through. And the firmly closed gates. And also
Tashkent, Uzbekistan
I was floating on my back in the deserted pool of a 4* hotel in Bukhara, the cool water soothing away the boiling heat, grime, exhaustion and frustrations of the past week. A flutter by my face stirred me from my daydream and I opened my eyes to see a huge insect preparing to land on my nose. I swiped at it with my hand, knocking it into the water where it floundered. It was the most enourmous and really quite beautiful dragon fly. Feeling guilty I made several attempts to launch it into the air and finally it lifted out of the water and hovered momentarily above me, its wet wings glistening in the sunshine. Then came a 'Swoosh' and a crunch as a bird found its lunch and I was alone again to ruminate on how like my dragon fly friend's short life are our travels. You get into shit, then someone helps you out of the shit only so you can jump straight into another steaming pile.
Samarqand, Uzbekistan
When we did eventually find the Uzbek border it had closed and would open in 14hrs so we provided full Emergency Disco Relief to some unimpressed Russian truckers, three dogs and a couple of small horses and, having barely eaten for 2 days, feasted on emergency rations.
In the morning the Uzbek border control requested just 50c to disinfect the ambo tyres. When our generous offering of 500 Croatian Forrints found in amongst a pile of maps was rejected Tom remebered that he had sewn 100US into the lining of his shoe. Suddenly we hd cash and, so long as we had enough fuel to get to a petrol station, we were home and dry.
Except that things are never that simple. Because not only were we running on vapourand the tales of cash machnies mythical but Uzbekistan has run out of fuel. Occassionally supplies arrive and are dished out in 20L rations - enough to carry us about 90km. Temperatures had reached 45C and we sweated in a line of cars 100 long for several hours, rolling The Spirit of Lovetown as the queue inched forward. And when we reached the front it ran out. Next delivery? "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week." The only option was the black market. Lots of bartering down dodgy alleys, sign language, even dodier car rides and an attempt by the middleman to thieve back the fuel we had bought later we had 30L and limped on toBukara along deserted rpads.
Ashgabat, Turkmenistan
imagine Silverstone and Brands Hatch race tracks were linked by an enormous roundabout. And several races were staged at once. And the 159 bus dropped spectators on the track itself every minute or two. And throw in a generous handful of pizza delivery bikes, dogs and street vendors. And you are still nowhere close to the chaos of Iranian roads. And then imagine that amid the chaos a spaceship from planet Disco appears and everyone is trying to pull up next to the ship, hanging out the window and shouting "Welcome" and even offering small gifts. All without slowing down and accompanied by a cacaphony of horns. Arriving in Tabriz was overwhelming to say the least. In a traffic jam ten lanes wide we met Medhi and his friends who guided us through this impenetrable city, insisted on buying us dinner, put us up for the night, gave us a tour of the ancient bazar and even took us to meet his family who sent us on our way with a 5 course meal (despite not being able to join us because they were fasting). We have twice been waved through toll booths because another car has paid for us, offered meals, accomodation, bought drinks and befriended throughout Iran. There is a strong awareness of how they are perceived abroad and a desire to let you know that the politics we see on tv does not represent the man on the street. The facade of the regime hides a huge variety of cultures, beliefs and opinions. If you get the chance, visit Iran.
Gorgan, Iran
And for those of you missing our charming smiles there should be a few photos on our gallery page from the Hungary - Montenegro leg. Cheers Jo!
Gorgan, Iran
in case you are wondering at our slow progress through Iran it would appear that our GPS texts are not getting through.Turkmenistan tomorrow.
Tehran, Iran
Persian signage is quite squiggly to the uninitiated. Not that there are many signs out here in the middle of nowhere anyway. Our solution was to stop at every junction and flag down the next car or bike which would always stop and more often than not point us back in the direction we had just come. This may sound like a pain in the arse but we have come to enjoy Getting Lost. Especially when it in quite such an awe inspiring location. Just as we were beginning to think that it would take us a month to find Tabriz 2 chaps pulled over in a 4x4. Not only could they speak a little English but they knew a 100km short cut and offered to guide us. Half an hour later the Sun was setting they pulled over and opened the boot. One of the gents produced a huge serrated hunting knife. A heart stopping moment later the other produced a watermelon. It is Ramadan here and they had not eaten or drunk anything since sunrise. So we all ate and got back on the road. Which soon turned into another narrow and vertiginous track for which the ambo was probably not designed. Despite our failing brakes, candle power head lamps and red hot engine the adrenaline factor was nothing compared to what lay ahead.
Tehran, Iran
Persian signage is quite squiggly to the uninitiated. Not that there are many signs out here in the middle of nowhere anyway. Our solut ** some text is missing **
Tabriz, Iran
The approach to the Iranian border could not have been much more menacing. Dark serrated cliffs reminiscent of Lord of the Rings, watch towers and barbed wire characterised the Armenian side where we went through the usual tedious form filling, random tax paying and gruff shunting from one seemingly pointless window to another. Before finaly crossing the river into Iran three burly Russian military types climbed in and filled the back of the ambo, pulled doors shut, pointed at things they wanted opened and generally said "marijuana. Good" a lot whilst miming toking on a spliff. We all held our best fixed and innocent smiles until they got bored and waved us through to the Iranian side. The first checkpoint just waved us through. The next greeted up with "Welcome", quickly checked our vehicle docs and waved us on with a smile. We asked if we should change into trousers but they said no, prompting a small protest from an Armenian woman who was unhappy about having to wear a scarf. Passport control was fairly quick apart from Jonno's disappearing for 5 minutes into a room marked Presidential Institution. I anticipate being implicated in an international assassination some time soon. The Spirit of Lovetown was then given a chlorine shower, customs took one look in Dean's bag, recoiled at the sight of his well worn duds and waved us through with another smiling "Welcome". One more flash of paperwork and another friendly "Welcome" and we were in Iran. The first thing we did was Get Lost.
Agarak, Armenia
our first attempt to cross into Iran was not successful. This was mainly because it was not the border we had unwittingly found but ** some text is missing **
