To the Black Sea!

We would like to apologise to all of our 29 followers on Twitter and whoever else may be taking the time to check out our stories. We have run into, as Lemony Snicket would say, 'An Unfortunate Series of Events', but before I got into more detail, let me take you back to a happier time of exotic Turkish adventure.

We pick up our story from where we left off - a day of sightseeing and R&R in the Turkish city of Istanbul. After a morning spent checking out the sights like the beautiful museum of Aya Sofia and the impressive Blue Mosque, in temperatures upwards of 40 celsius, we headed to the Grand Bazaar to do a spot of shopping. The decision was made to do a sort of secret santa, and we were each nominated a person to buy a present for, following the guidelines that the gift must be adaquately useless and comic. Jack bought Guy an authentic vomit-yellow suade cowboy hat which sported all the masculinity of a George Michael walk in the park. He coupled this with a beautiful snow globe of the city, famed for it's bleak, snowy winters, which Guy instantly smashed as he tried to take it out of the bag, much to the anger of the market traders. In turn, Guy purchased Nick an arabic headdress/tea towel and a pair of technicolour dream shoes to match, which Nick wore with the pride of a small child with a new bike, until sadly, unsuited to pushing a car through a desert, they bit the dust (quite literally). Next up, Nick got a full arabic dress (apparently called a jellabiya) for Sam, which he put on in the market place and stuck out as a tourist, instantly attracting a hoard of enthusiastic street traders (and, as we found out later, offending a load of other locals). Finally, Sam found for Jack a large replica sword, assured by the 'salesman' of being a genuine prop, used by Arnold Schwarzeneggeк in the film 'Conan the Barbarian'. Big, inpractical, and as we have subsequently found out, a hassle at borders. 

We finished the day reclined on large cushioned sofas smoking Turkish shisha and drinking apple tea, gearing up to leave Istanbul that evening after the traffic had died down (N.B. the traffic NEVER dies down, and Turks are always shocking drivers). 

We hit the road at about 8 o-clock that evening, and having done our standard thing of getting horribly lost in cities and driving around the Besiktas stadium three times, we headed out of the city. At about 11 o-clock we decided to pull over for dinner, the only appropriate road side establishment open being the golden arches of the American embassy. Coincidentally, we met two more rally teams in the 'restaurant', and one mega mac later (yes, four pieces of meat), we were back on the road with Timo & Ton, a team of dutch guys with fluent English in impeccable Eastend accents, and Andrew and Tony, from deepest darkest Scotland. They led us to what would be our night spot that night: a building site behind a motorway layby. Having set up the tents to the glorious back drop of rolling hills and tarmac, we sat around a camp fire passing round a bottle of whisky until the roar of the road was a mere buzz in the back of our minds (not really, we didn't drink that much and the road was still bloody loud all night).

Woken up at 9am by the burning of the sun already at 45 celsius, we packed up camp and got on the road to Samsun on the Black Sea coast. Sam drove the 7 hour drive while Nick and Jack suffered in the back in what I can only describe as sitting in a sauna wearing a strait jacket. As the roads merged between tarmac and gravel, we had a big of a hairy moment when a stone thrown up by a truck hit a windscreen, forming an enourmous crack. The integrity of this crack was later questioned when Nick rubbed it off with a bit of spit and a tissue.

Having suffered so much in the car that day, it was only fair to check ourselves into a luxury 2 star hotel, have a swim in the sea, have a shower and get a good night's sleep. Rejected from three hotels on the grounds of being dirty/English, we finally found a place suiting our description and after a long old swim, bedded down for the night. 

The next morning, we parted company with our convoy who were headed towards Iran and pottered down the coast to the ferry port of Trabzon from where we were to catch a boat to Russia. Stopping at a reputable (and empty) road side cafe, in the spirit of adventurism we ordered Turkish pizzas. These are just like pizza you might find in England, except the base is folded over. Oh, and they contain dog. Or dog food. Or something really really rank that upset Nick to the point of him genuinely losing his temper. Needless to say, we made a swift departure and drove into Trabzon where we found the local Hotel Kent much to our liking and booked two rooms. 

Trabzon was a fascinating place, in a way. As we drove through, big crowds had lined the streets to watch an open air concert, but by the time we had checked into our hotel and come back out, they were gone and all that remained was a lot of police tape around the next door building that hadn't been there when we arrived, and a lot of distressed locals (armed robbery was our guess). Nevertheless, we headed out for a kebab and some beers, and it being a Muslim town, found only two appropriate places, one of which was a brothel. With the imminent closure of the other, we had no choice. Thankfully the establishment was charming, though we only stayed for one drink (I think we were the wrong kind of clientelle). Whether or not this had anything to do with waking up to prostitutes knocking on our hotel room door asking for 'sexy sexy', we will never know. Amusing as it was, we had sleeping to do and sent them to seek custom elsewhere. 

The next day it was time to get our boat and leave behind the choatic charm of Turkey, and this is a good ending point for this chapter of the blog, because that boat trip is another story.

**Over and out,**

**The Boys in Blue (Jack Wills shorts) **

 

Goıng East

Rıght, tıme to fıll you ın on our last few days of adventurıng whıch has seen us go from the awful place that ıs Bratıslava all the way to a hostel ın Istanbul sıttıng under the walls of the Blue Mosque. But fırst, one more thıng about Slovakıa...

As you can see from our last blog update, we really hated Bratıslava, the cıty that turned off ıt's lıghts durıng the week to conserve electrıcıty. We couldn't have been more keen to leave, so the next mornıng, wıthout breakfast, we hopped ın the car to Budapest. But as ıf Slovakıa hadn't screwed us enough, we were pulled over on the border and asked to pay a €60 fıne for not havıng a vıgnette. On demand of a receıpt for the money, we subsequently found out that the actual prıce was meant to be €20 and the border guard was tryıng to con us. We paıd our €20 straıght ınto hıs pocket and got the hell out of there ınto Hungary.

Drıvıng to Budapest, we got a tıp off from Jack's cousın (who lıves there) about a lovely town on the banks of Lake Balaton called Sıofok. It dıdn't take long to detour there where we decıded to stay for a nıght. I could only descrıbe ıt as Hungary's answer to Magaluf: a long strıp of bars sellıng drınks at rıdıculous prıces and a brothel that gave out souvenır t-shırts. The only dıfferences was that the place was thankfully lackıng typıcal 'Brıts abroad', seemıngly replaced by Germans ın tıght glıttery t-shırts and handlebar moustaches.

We all woke up the next mornıng feelıng fresh as a daısy and made the brıllıant decısıon to drıve for 24 solıd hours to Istanbul, decıdıng that everythıng ınbetween would be awful. Havıng been ın the car for a long tıme, we thought ıt would be a good ıdea to head ınto Belgrade ın Serbıa for a bıt of supper. Gettıng stuck ın a huge traffıc jam of cars wıth red scarves and flags, ıt dıdn,t take us long to deduce that Red Star Belgrade were playıng that evenıng, and we made an ımpulse decısıon to go to the match. We parked up the car on a grass verge ın the mıddle of a dual carrıageway outsıde the stadıum and went to fınd some tıckets. Fındıng we had no currency, we had to walk ınto the mıddle of Belgrade and change money for the tıckets at a casıno. 5 mınutes later we were watchıng Red Star Belgrade ın the best seats ın the house. The prıce - a cool 2 quıd each. The Serbıan fans were absolutely crazy, lıke nothıng you would ever see ın England. The home team went 2-1 down and a full scale rıot kıcked off. Flaırs were goıng off everywhere and people were rıppıng up seats and throwıng them. As the rıot polıce came ın, we decıded that ıt was tıme to leave and ran back to our car, not wıthout grabbıng a photo wıth about 30 rıot squad. 

Guy and Sam took over the drıvıng shortly afterwards and drove through the nıght ınto Bulgarıa gettıng closer and closer to the Turkısh border. However, all the pro plus ın the world couldn't keep them up that long after a late nıght ın Balaton, so at about 7am, Nıck and Jack resumed drıvıng dutıes and Sam and Guy slept ın the back. All was goıng swımmıngly untıl Nıck rashly fılled up a tank of petrol wıthout anyone actually havıng the money to pay for ıt. Turns out back street petrol statıons ın Bulgarıa don't take vısa, and not beıng able to fınd a cash machıne nearby, a strange man called Gregor put Nıck ın hıs car and drove hım to a backwards town ın the mıddle of no where to fınd the nearest ATM, whıle the others, fearıng for hıs safety, taled them ın the Jımny not laughıng hysterıcally at all...

In the end we got to Turkey and Sam drove ınto Istanbul. It dıdn't take long to realıse why Turkey ıs the second most dangerous country to drıve ın wıth a fatalıty rate on second to South Korea. Pretty soon we learned that ındıcators meant nothıng and ıf you wanted to change lane ıt was a game of chıcken and you just turn ın beepıng the horn as loudly as possıble. It was mıraculous that we avoıded a crash, wıth most Turkısh drıvers drıvıng on the wrong sıde of the road, ıgnorıng traffıc sıgnals, and pushıng ınto gaps that just weren't there.

Fınally we made ıt, and were brıbed ınto a hostel wıth a round of free beers. Exhausted after a 27 hour journey sınce Hungary, we went to the local hamman to be rubbed down and washed by a fat Turkısh man who look lıke Felıpe Scoları as he mıaowed lıke a cat. Thıs ıs no joke. We emerged from the bath house feelıng refreshed (and vıolated) a found a local Turkısh restaurant servıng a 3 course meal for 2 quıd.

A good nıght's sleep ın Turkey brıngs us up to thıs very moment where we are about to go out and see the old mosques and churches before gettıng back ınto the Jımny and journeyıng to the unknown.

Untıl next tıme,

You know you love us

 

xoxo Gossıp Gırl

(Ulaan Bızarre)

 

 

 

The First Update

Sorry we haven't updated this properly yet, but between driving and sleeping, there hasn't been that much time for internet. Therefore, condensed into one super blog is a little round up of the last four days. Soooooooooo where to begin?

 

After the launch at Goodwood, we got on our ferry from Dover to Calaisand ended up driving off the boat leading a convoy of four cars stupid enough to follow us. Our first stop was Leuven in Belgium, home of Stella Artois lager. With Guy and Nick asleep in the back and Jack riding shotgun on map duty, Sam managed to lead the convoy around the full circumference of the Brussels ring road twice before finally getting to Leuven two hours late. Thankfully on arrival in Leuven at around 2am everything was still open so we had a couple of local beers and may have ended up spray painting silly words on the side of our car at 5am before sleeping on the roof of an ambulance and waking up an hour later to help an unnamed med-student rallyer attach himself to an IV drip to clear his blood alcohol.

 

Setting of an hour later, we made our way the whole way across Germany into Prague (700 miles), where we so were tired we had a quick dinner overlooking the river (where Guy got attacked by a caterpillar) and Czech'd ourselves (geddit?) into a hotel for a good nights sleep.

 

The next morning was spent seeing the sights and then it was back in the car to go to the Czech Out party in a castle in Klenova. Great night and everyone camped in a field nearby. Woke up in the morning to find a penis drawn meticulously on the windscreen of every single car in shaving foam. Some people had gone joy riding round the camp after the party and had woken up to find their car adorned over every window, door and panel, with the word 'twat'.

After two hours, a few tears and a ratchet strap later, we managed to pack up our car and headed to Bratislava, capital of Slovakia where we were promised a 'Steak and Strip Show', 'Firing an AK47' and 'Mud Wrestling' - and not just as a spectator. It turned out we were the only people here, the city is a concrete jungle, there was no where to eat, no 'special' clubs, and during the week they turn of the electricity and don't bother lighting the streets to save money.

 

That is where we are now, and it is really, really, really shit. A poor man's Prague. Do not be roped in by movies like Eurotrip - it doesn't happen. Although, there is a chance that we'll get human-centipeded tonight - I know only a certain  few of you will get that reference, but I'm sure you'll appreciate it.

 

Over and out,

 

Jimny Car-ter

1 thing left to get

Our motto is not "Always be prepared."

 If that were our motto we probably would have been prepared a long time ago.

Our motto is, in fact "Brute force and ignorance" and consequently the only item left on our menu of accessories is a book on how to fix cars.  Even with the best intentions, we didn't manage to organise a mechanics course.  Luckily, Guy says he knows how to change a wheel.... Or to be more precise, he says he thinks he knows how to change a wheel.

  

Party at Punk Tonight!

Last act of revelry before we pack our bags and leave home

Mongol Rally Launch Saturday... This Saturday

With the help of Jack Wills, we have set up Team Ulaan Bizarre to tackle to the **MONGOL RALLY**.  A 10,000 mile drive through Europe, Russia, Kazakhstan and Mongolia, crossing too many countries to count, several mountain ranges and a couple of rivers (just to make it a bit more difficult) - all in the name of charity

**OUR GOAL?** 

1) To Reach Ulaan Bataar (Mongolia's capital) in one piece 

2) To reach our charitable target of **£10,000**

**...?** 

The world is just a little bit too safe. Gone are the days where the edge of the map called you forth to discover what lay beyond - satellite maps and GPS have it laid out before you leave the armchair. What if you want things to go wrong? What if you want a bit of unknown in a world full health and safety measures? What if the words "adventure travel" conjure images of old ladies on a guided tour to Everest base camp with all the danger and real adventure neatly removed? 

Now imagine yourself in the middle of the gargantuan Kazakh desert, your car slowly being shredded by the dirt track your map says is a motorway, completely lost hundreds of miles from civilisation with no back up crew to rescue you. Just you, your wits, your increasingly brown pants, a car that the laws of physics say shouldn't have got you past Peckham Rye and a slightly angry looking man with a gun.

This is the Mongol Rally - a drive from London to Ulaan Bataar, capital of Mongolia, in a car with an engine capacity smaller than your average bottle of milk.  A crazy blend of danger and excitement, all in the name of charity. 

 

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