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Day 6 - The second half of a very long day

Following on from the previous blog…

So we reached the Moldovan border at about 6am (having blindly followed a lorry with a Russian sticker on the back, in the hope it was going home) and the place was pretty much deserted. We'd been studying our map of Europe a great deal over the past few days, trying in advance to develop a nice efficient route through out target countries. Crossing from Romania to Ukraine looks like a relatively simple affair - they both share a border with Moldova, and from our 1:3,000,000 scale map, it looked as if you could wave to the Moldovan guards at their stations as you simply drive to the Ukrainian front door.

How wrong we were. It turns out, you need to leave Romania and enter Moldova before even glancing in the direction of the Ukraine. And for some reason, you had to enter Moldova twice. There were actually two stop border controls, one after the other.  Both would ask the same questions as the first, which confused me - surely you wouldn't be chatting to the second bunch of power tripping fools if you didn't have a passport in the first place?

Anyway, so we approached the border, and I think it was the second time we'd had our passports out in this little trip - not bad going really. But, then it got interesting; a young guard, power tripping on his own baton and stupid hat, came over to us and starting talking rubbish (probably Moldovan with hindsight). He just about conveyed the need for our passports, which he took a great deal of time over. Stare at the photo, stare at us. Stare at the photo, stare at us. This went on for a good 5 minutes. OK, so I might have a little more hair than in my photo, and Mackey might be a little more rotund and haggard, but it was still us. Eventually he was happy, and then started asking for a green card.

Green card? What on earth is this green card? It's not like we're moving to the US of A and get jobs. We'd never heard of this before, and it dawned on us. This would be our first bribing experience! The little extortionate 12 year old started saying "Euros, Euros…", but i'd thought ahead and we hid all of my Euros about myself and Mackey. Never ask where. That way, I could then get my wallet out and show him that I only had 5 Euros left in there, and any extortionate demands of his would fail immediately! Ha, I was so proud of myself.

Until that is, he asked for just 15 Euros. Fifteen?! What sort of a terrible extortionist are you? Or perhaps playing it very clever, and keeping the price low to increase successful bribery results? Who knows, but the guy was adamant he was to have 15, or we weren't going through. It was the latter part of that conversation which then made me regret stuffing the notes. For an extra £6 or something, we would be able to continue our journey and progress to our 9th country. But having already told him we had no more, what was I to do?

That was then he came up with a rather interesting plan, but more of an order than a voluntary idea. A gun wielding, stupid hat wearing colleague of 12 year old's got into Pete the Saxo and beckoned Will to get in the drivers seat. Before Mackey and I could ask any concerned questions, Will was ordered to drive through the border into countries anew, leaving us sat next to the now empty border points. We weren't told much (that we could understand, anyway) and just told to sit down and shut up. We bumped into another Mongol Rally team on the border, and explained the situation - advising them to hide notes, but keep about 15 Euros around.

About 10 minutes later, Pete the Saxo was seen emerging from the peak of the distant hill that was Ukraine. As it turns out, he'd been taken to a cash point machine, to withdraw the money. And as it turns out, he wasn't able to get any out. And as it turns out, the gun wielding master of young William had actually offered to make up the difference from his own money. What?!

It was about now that we bumped into a local who could speak English as they casually made their way towards borders. The guy was beckoned over by the rather OTT group of border warriors, and he quickly explained - the 15 Euros was to buy a "green card" - basically car insurance. The insurance we'd taken out on the mainland only covered us up to the windy roads of Romania - from here on out, we were to buy insurance (aka green cards) at every border.

As good as the local stranger's word, the guard came back armed this time with a smile and a green card. I felt terrible, assuming the worst and expecting him to try and fleece us, whereas it seems he had more patience with us than most would! Card in hand, waved towards the gate soldier as we stormed on through and into Moldova, about 150 meters up the road we reached another check point. This time however, it was the Ukraine side.

So that was Moldova. We think we travelled enough through it, all 5 minutes of it, to claim that they have way too much paperwork, but the people are nice, and i'd quite like to revisit someday. And quite possibly visit a different stretch of the country.
Now we had a little more of an understanding of the customs and passport control procedures, we went to enter the third country that morning. It only took an hour or two for Moldova, and we were expecting/hoping the same. Stupid assumption. We've learnt to assume the worst (and it's been working, but that's another blog story). We joined the queue, got to the front of the queue, and then told to get back of the queue to fill in paperwork. We fill in paperwork, join the queue, get to the front of the queue, and get told we've filled it in wrong. Upon asking how we fill it in correctly, we were simply told to get to the back of the queue. Very frustrating, and wasted a couple of hours, doing nothing but sitting there and slowly inching our way forward towards our goal.

Once we finally had some little green slip of paper in hand, which I think means our passport photos looked liked us and we weren't on any Interpol lists, we only had a single control left to do - Customs. We all knew full well that we had nothing to declare, and nothing to hide. The most questionable thing I think i've brought is a hat from the Czech Republic, which is so bad it probably would be classed as contraband. We were dismayed of the idea of emptying the car though, and we knew that had to be done as soon as we were told to pull in to a searching area, and a team of 5 very bored soldiers came to make our morning a misery.

They went through EVERYTHING - questioned what filter tips were, wanted to open the sealed water containers, went through it all with a fine tooth comb. And they weren't going to be happy until they'd profited from our tribulation, and set about starting to shake us down for money. It seems I, with my limited knowledge of Ukrainian border proceedings, didn't realise you had to declare anything of any remote value on a sheet of paper (despite only having 5 fields to fill in, our laptop and cameras were happy to fill these spaces). When questioned about giving him so Euros, I said no - I didn't have a lot on me. His eyes lit up like a child at Chrismas - "You have Euro? You not declare these. Show me now". Of course, I had no choice but to pull my wallet out, and once again he looked like a very happy man. Out of about 200 Euros, he wanted, 100 - else the whole lot was to be officially confiscated, no doubt being pumped back into the Ukrainian economy. HA. I got the beggar down to 50, and grudgingly paid for my beginners guide to getting fleeced.
Oh yeah, they also wanted 2 packs of cigarettes. Not the end of the world when cigarettes cost £5 for 200…

We were out. We made it to the Ukraine, and we sped away from the border by a very eager Pete the Saxo, dying to get back on the open roads and unleash the 1,124cc's of pure might.

This lasted about 20 seconds; followed by the worst road you have ever, ever seen in your life. For you Tresco readers, we'd rather have driven across the North End in every direction imaginable than this road. A very wide road, with but a single lane for each opposing direction, but the width was needed. To traverse these pot holes (nay, pot mines), took a lot of patience, a touch of skill, a sprinkling of judgement and a whole dose of 1st gear. It took a very long time to finish this road, and most of which spend going down the central reservation markings in the middle of the road. Despite temporarily commanding a broad piece of road, the size of 2 or 3 UK lanes, it was never enough - unless you had full use of both directions to navigate these monster holes with their jaggedy edges, lying in wait to puncture every poor sap that made the mistake of finding the road, you were doomed. Doomed I say! Although spirits were raised when Mackey got out of the relative comfort/safety of the car to take a photo, and ended up getting chased 100 metres down the road by a rabid dog. I've never seen Mackey move so fast. Will was in tears.

Our first Ukrainian target was Odessa - I'm sure many of you have heard of Odessa before, as had we, and were curious to see what it was like. We made our way through A roads, B roads and C roads - all of which were rubbish, full of enormous pot holes that even the locals danced around with practiced ability. By this time though, it was about 2pm - and remember, this was the day after we woke up at 7am. By 2pm, we'd been up and driving for 33 hours without stopping; the only sleep being a brief 5 minutes doze in between piloting our fine craft, or trying work out where were in a Cyrillic filled country.

The scenery  on the way East was fantastic - we skirted along the Black Sea on a hot summers day, slowly moving away from countries that see the glorious Saxo on a daily basis and therefore receiving waves and head turns from many.  Before long, we were just 30 km outside of Odessa, in a large town/small city called Illishevz (or something similar). I was driving, and casually headed down a very long straight A road, considerably busier from the previous day's driving but everyone content in moving together at a leisurely 80kph (50mph to you old fashioned British folk). I was cruising along behind a large 18 wheeler, when we heard a loud bang - i'd hit a pot hole, as we had been doing all day - the main roads were so littered with them, you couldn't believe it. But, unlike all of the others that we'd glanced the previous 6 hours, we could tell straight away this one was more serious - a constant rubbing from the arches could be heard. This was not a good sign.

We pulled over to the hard shoulder, and Mackey (our most qualified mechanic) began to get to work to try and establish the cause of the problem. First things first; we changed the wheel, in case it had been bent out of shape during the "incident". But, 10 minutes later and with the spare wheel firmly and happily on, the rubbing still went on. We worked out that with 2 people in, it was fine. 3 however, and we'd be going through a tire every 20 miles or so, and as we were only carrying two spares, this didn't seem like the most efficient use of our resources!

We decided to get off the busy road, as straight as an arrow, as the pot holes littering the surface could quite easily cause another "incident" and we were quite vulnerable, barely a meter separating us from the other traffic. We pulled into the first side street we could fine - again, the road strewn with holes and strange tarmac mountains that rise up to a foot about the surface. It was a light industrious area, chain link fences and locked gates were sparsely dotted around us, but gave us plenty of space to investigate some more.

We tried everything we could, with what our limited knowledge and limited resources could afford us. Pete the Saxo was jacked up, the wheel was once again removed, and Mackey set about trying to determine the cause of the rubbing.

About 5 minutes later, a taxi pulled up, having emerged from deep within the eerie industrious area for no visible apparent reason. The taxi driver opened his window, and enquired in his nicest Ukrainian what was wrong with the car (this part is purely a guess. He most likely was just random shouting at us. Although, with hindsight, we know that man to be stoned much of the time, and so he probably assumed we were unicorns or something). I'm sure I was grateful for the stop though, even though he couldn't really help us. Having absolutely no way to communicate with him, to explain our predicament, to beg for assistance, we resigned ourselves to him unable to help us, and solemnly returned to Pete the Saxo's rear arch in a futile attempt to fix it.

That is, of course, until the taxi's passenger got out, and said "Hello, what is the problem?" in the most beautiful English you've ever heard (well, more so because it was the first English we'd heard other than the junk spouted by our own three mouths in a while!). I think that second, just as the gentleman said that, was an incredible feeling - here we had our first tangible way of communicating with the locals and really get our quandary explained to them.

The gentleman's name was Rusi (my apologies if i've spelt that wrong), who looked more Brazilian gigolo than Ukrainian bloke. Well dressed, spoke English, and then got about providing more assistance over the next few days than we thought possible. Straight away, he dropped whatever he was doing (or just had done..) and had a look at the car, dropping to the filthy road to look under the arches despite wearing some very smart clothes. Who'd do that for you in England? By now, it was 10pm - the sky was darkening, and but 10 minutes ago, we were a bit stranded. Now though, we had some hope!

Rusi got on the phone and spoke to a few people, to find a garage that was open at such a late ungodly hour. From what we made out from over hearing the Ukrainian shouting on the phone, not many mechanics liked to stay around at their work place long into the night, but Rusi made it happen. It was about 5 minutes later when we were escorted through the streets of our first Ukrainian city, until we found a mechanics shop that were opening up - seemingly, just for us (well, Rusi, the guy is a hero). A quick look and a few shakes of the head, which again sent our spirits plummeting - had we messed up and just this second left Europe? We were about 20% through our total milage target, just a scratch on what the rally was to offer and had to bring. Surely we couldn't be out already? These were the types of thoughts that went through our minds as the crew of greasy Ukrainian locals chatted amongst themselves in a very negative tone.

It came to light that a vehicle lift was needed to investigate the underside of Pete the Saxo - a piece of equipment these guys did not own, much to our dismay. Fear not though - Rusi once again got on his phone, looking incredibly out of place in the current situation. I mean, us three, looking rough after driving for a week. A half dozen locals, each wearing only shorts, flip flops and a thin layer of engine oil. And Rusi - looking dressed to the nines, more suited for a cocktail event as some bar in New York that helping 3 stinking blokes and their Citroen Saxo. After a couple of minutes, we were on the road again; this time with Mackey riding with the mysterious Rusi and his strange taxi driver, to lighten the load on poor Pete's arches.

The second garage was slightly out of the city, a mile or two further towards Odessa, and once again looked very shut when we arrived. The basic workshop was closed, there seemed to be no house attached or behind, so we wondered where the mechanics would emerge from. A knock on the door of the nearby Transit van though, and 4 of the finest mechanics we'd ever seen stepped out. Very strange, it looked like they were having a party in there. Rusi now provided a translation service, and the mechanics set about the car, but told us to come back tomorrow - they open at 9am, but they will start on the car at 6am, and we should be there. Which presented the next probable - where to stay? How to get there? All of our tents and bags were in the car, and we were hungry, not eating properly in a good day or two, but now stranded outside of a city. Once again, enter Rusi. It might seem like we big Rusi up a lot - that's because we do. 

With the car in the greasy, but safe, hands of the second garage, our own well beings were next to be addressed. We jumped in the taxi that had magically appeared out of no where, and were taken to a hotel back in the city. Language barriers are a very hard thing to address - pointing and shouting does help to some extent, but the further we seem to get from home, the more difficult it becomes. The beautiful roman alphabet, those 26 letters which make up the greatest literary works the world has ever seen (this blog included), was never something we'd taken for granted before. But oh my god. Enter a world where Cyrillic rules, where they use strange letters such as the number 3, a backwards N, and many more that I can't find on a keyboard, and your chance of guessing the translation of a word using Latin origins just becomes impossible. Map reading is an affair that takes three times as long - instead of looking for the place name, we now spot the combinations of symbols.

We turn up at the hotel, Rusi informing Mackey and Will to grab the bags while myself and he go into the hotel. We walk into a very nice establishment, more suited to be nestled amongst the funky boutique hotels of London than the Ukraine, and the receptionist warmly greets him. I wonder perhaps whether he's on commission, and will get a nice pay cheque if you stay and spend (this trip is making me so cynical!). Unfortunately though, there were no rooms, so he just tells me we'll find another. On returning to the car park and my comrades, we went through the wrong door and ended up in the hotel kitchen. Rather than turn around though, Rusi carried on going through and with me in tow, watched how everyone would stop working and try and shake Rusi's hand and say hello. Who was this guy?!

It was the same at the second hotel, our godsend for the night - Rusi was a known chap, very recognised, and sorted out the stay  - even persuading the hotel kitchen to cook us up some food, despite being about 10.30pm. Before we hit our air conditioned beds and showers though, the thought of which were salivating in our minds, we were told to be up at 5am. Rusi would meet us at 5.30am, and escort us to the garage for an early morning mechanical meet. Who wakes up so early to help strangers? Does he really have no other motive other than to help 3 stranded foreigners?

Food was much needed - we were the only ones in the restaurant, merely accompanied by a single chef and a single waitress. When asked what we wanted, it was more of the same language barrier. We resorted to the universal "anything/I don't know", a shrug of the shoulders with hands held high. It must have worked, as 20 minutes later we were graced with plates of don't know, something red and mashed potato. 

We thanked Rusi profusely as he set off, and we marvelled at what lay before us - rooms at 16 degrees centigrade, clean beds, showers etc…I won't go on about how good this was. You people are spoilt in your ways with what you have to hand. Perhaps we'll come back all New Worldy and full of traveller mantras, and appreciate how good we have it at home.

Our first few hours in the Ukraine weren't good - bribes, "incident", many miles driven. But on the plus side, it's quite cheap, and the Ukranian women are astonishing. Of course, there are beauties in every country - every European country does hold a collection of stunningly beautiful women. Ukraine is different though - driving through the city, 80% of them are turn your head and gasp in awe. We're looking into how we'd go about getting a visa to live here.

I realise we're a few days behind on the blog, for that I apologise. Driving has been an almost constant 24 hour affair, now with a damaged car, and the few hours we're granted off a day is used by sleeping uncomfortably in the back seat of a Saxo! That, and wireless connections are few and far between - where as a 10 minute drive around a European city would allow us to piggy back someone's unlocked network, this has resorted to an hours of driving for the same result. 

Oh, and some bad news - the rally phone is currently out of order. We'll let you know as soon as it's back...