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Day 11 - Mother Russia

We all woke early from our makeshift campsite, after quite possibly the worst nights sleep to date. Not able to find my tent poles meant I had the back seat of the car for a consecutive night, with absolutely minimal leg room and the thought of being able to stretch my legs out straight was nothing but a pipe dream. Will and Mackey had their tents set up quite fast, spurred on by the ever growing army of flying insects attracted to the foreigners in their field. 

I woke up to the same 5 mosquitoes I shared my bedroom with, and the war wounds to prove it. Will and Mackey had an equal amount of fun with their flying friends. With light now upon us, we could survey the land on which we temporarily lived; and it sucked. More of a swamp than a campsite, the slightly marshy ground obviously held home to all manner of nasty bastards, dying to eat us alive.

It was a hot night, both in the car and in the tent, and we got up even more sweaty and dirty as the night before. We had a quick bottled shower, once again nothing more than a litre of water and standing in some small clearing, free for the world to see and the mosquitoes to bite. The shower didn't help at all - we might have smelt that little bit nicer, but deep down we were hobo like.

We repacked the car, jumped in, and I began the perilous 500 meters out of the wasteland and back on to the main road. We probably did 3 meters before realising the front right tire was completely flat - our first puncture. Not bad after 3,100 miles or so, but still a bit of a heartbreak and didn't help our already rock-bottom moods.

Mackey and Will set about changing it rather quickly - it was already 32 degrees at 8.30am. Once set, we bolted the ruptured tyre onto the bottom (part of our weight saving exercise), and hit the short drive to Volgograd. 

Volgograd is a bit city - comparable to Rostov, the hell hole. We were half dreading the city, just in case it shared similar bad attributes to it's border brother. Our spirits couldn't take another big fine or police attention. Not that we were arguing amongst ourselves though, the shared hatred of Rostov still keeping the peace within Pete the Saxo, but the drive was a quiet one, interrupted only by the exhaust rattling in a vain attempt to break the awkward silence.

This city holds Mother Russia - an absolutely prodigious statue of a sword wielding woman, symbolising the power of Russia. Most definitely on our list of things to see, we entered the city with trepidation - always ensuring we were well within the speed limit, even if it did accord us angry horns from the locals.

We had a rough idea where the big lady stood, so we moved through the main 4 lane road moving up through the city. Half way up, with all our eyes scanning the landscape to try and see something, Mackey spotted her. A couple of miles away, but she looked ridiculously large, the adjoining buildings reaching her ankles. Now we knew where to head, we followed the tip of the sword, and eventually came to the car park.

After paying 50 Roubles to park (and have the car watched, a necessity when it's filled with our precious belongings), we were already in awe of her - standing on the highest hill in the city, looking out over the country, a strange expression on her face and holding her mighty sword up high. We strolled up the pedestrian path, and we think right past the ticket hut. Mainly due to not knowing if it was a ticket hut or not, damn Cyrillic. Either way, we had no angry Russian ticket ladies chasing after us, so on we went.

It was late morning by this time, and it was hot. It reached 40 degrees today, and when you're walking around and only able to carry a very limited amount of water (which always reaches bath water temperature after a few minutes), we were in no real rush. Especially as the walk was uphill.

We reached the foot of the Mother, standing on a single story plinth. Looking up gave you that dizzy feeling, forcing you to take a step back. Mackey was the size of one of her toes. We questioned how she was ever built, she looked amazing. Seriously impressed. We walked around, took lots of video and lots of pictures, including the typical tourist poses. A particularly special one of Mackey breaking out the motivating pose, imaginary sword held high and attracting many a disgusted glance from the locals who'd come to pay their respects to the Soviet empire.

As well as Mother Russia, there was also a fantastic memorial to World War 2 and it's Russian victims - a mausoleum with a 30 foot stone hand in the centre holding an ever burning flame, a winding ramp around the edges leading you to the bottom of it - huge, open, and it's walls adorned with the names of thousands upon thousands of soldiers who lost their lives. The names, and the walls around, were made from millions of pieces of shiny minerals I dare not try to identify.Flanking the flame were two soldiers, who like our own, never moved an inch whilst staring forward at the other in the 35 degree heat. While we were there, we also had the pleasure of watching a changing of the guards ceremony - very cool and very foreign. We filmed it all.

There were lots of tacky tourist venders lining the wishing pool outside - i'd love to have brought home some genuine Russian dolls for my nan, but Pete the Saxo is already full to bursting point. We had a cold drink in the far too hot sun, admired the 20 foot statues of motivational communist war scenes - a soldier dragging the wounded, another charging into the face of battle, and soldier throwing a huge snake. Yeah, we didn't get the last one either. 

Once we'd done our bits, we headed to a supermarket nearby, to grab a few things we needed - a replacement Rally Phone, water and enough materials to bodge job a repair on the rattling exhaust. The phone was a simple enough affair - the lone shop girl loved the English accent, and giggled profusely as she went about fulfilling my needs. My phone needs. We then trawled the aisles of the supermarket, eventually finding the DIY section. We came out with a new tyre iron and some oven gloves. The plan, to wrap the oven gloves around the exhaust as a heat shield,and bungee/cable tie to a bracket above. We'll let you know how it turns out…

On driving through Volgograd, we random passed a Citroen dealer with workshop - had the last few days of anguish been worth it, and fate had finally dealt us a good hand?? We pulled into the car park, filthy Pete the Saxo standing so very out of place amongst the brand new cars, and headed inside. First thing we noticed, was the abundance of beautiful women working there - literally more inside one car showroom than we'd seen our entire time in Rostov. Second thing, was it was 16 degrees C. Air conditioned heaven. Third thing, a cafe with cold drinks. Fourth thing, free wifi in said cafe. And fifth thing, a service manager who understood our need for a torsion bar and shock absorber bolt. Surely this was the yin to the last few days yang?

Thanks to the wifi and the laptop, Google Translate once again helped us explain the problems. We straight away had the same problem as the Ukraine - they pointed out that this was a Citroen only garage. We pointed out again that it was a Citroen - but he'd never heard of a Saxo. He actually had to look it up before he believed us! Eventually he did though, and got to work. Before long, the service manager had printed out in detail diagrams of the rear axle and we highlighted the parts we needed. By this time, a large queue of impatient locals had formed behind us, but we cared not - we'd finally sort out the car.

That was, of course, until the Russian informed us that the parts we needed we not available in Russia, we couldn't order them, and they wouldn't even look at the car. Heart break. We retired to the cold comfort of the wifi cafe, and re-evaluated our options. We explained to Jo what was going on via Facebook, and she gave our wonder mechanic, who we miss dearly, a call and acted as the internet -> phone translator.

We further explained the problem to Mr Shiles - the cause, the effect, the symptoms etc. After a long typing session, he came back with the opinion that it wasn't the torsion bar at all. Rather, i'd just bent the entire car hitting the Ukrainian pot hole. All things considered, this was great news!

Once that was done, it was time to visit a proper mechanics - we still had the issue of our dangling shock absorber to address. Volgograd, as with any other Russia city, is home to millions of mechanics - all very much required due to a) the rubbish roads throughout Asia b) they all drive Ladas.

We pulled in to the first one we found, this like all the others having ABTOMEKIC or something equally strong and prominent. We got strange looks as a French car they'd never heard of pulled in front of their open double doors, already with a car on the ramp. A few finger points and signals later, we got the point they'd be done in 10 minutes and we'd have their full attention. Before too long in the raging sun, we had the car lift to ourselves, and we said hello to our hopeful saviours - Nikolas Shiles & Alexis Kristofer.

At the Citroen garage beforehand, we'd thought a bit ahead and translated our woes into Russian. At the new garage, we opened the laptop and showed them. They looked impressed, not because we'd had our problems written in darn Cyrillic, but probably because it was the first Mac they'd ever seen. A few nods, and the car was lifted. 

Straight away, the two guys called everyone else in the vicinity over - a few laughs, a few open mouths, and much shaking of heads. They were great though - understanding exactly what we were after, and set about finding the bolt needed. Only when testing the length of some against the now in place shock absorber, they noticed something else - the bloody Ukrainian garage (aka Mike and the Mechanics) had actually forgotten to put a bolt back in - one of 4 that holds the rear wheels on. So since the Ukraine, since Mike and his incompetence, we'd been driving with the rear left shock absorber hanging loose, and one of the right main chassis mount bolts missing completely.

"F****** Ukrainians", said Mackey, was the first thing our new garage friends understood.

They didn't have the right sized bolts in stock. Of course they didn't, that would have been far too easy. But surprising us all, Nikolas just jumped in his car and disappeared - to buy the correct one. We were impressed and sanguine, even more so when he returned a couple of minutes later. Once again though, mocking fate ensured that the bolt didn't fit - it was too wide. Once again though, our new best friend just grabbed his angle grinder, and made it the right size. Fantastic.

Shock absorber reattached and the missing main bolt replaced, we were jubilant. Straight away, the car seemed happier - not bouncing all over the place and subconsciously we knew it was now not too likely for the back wheels to fall off. We asked him for the bill - 300 Roubles, or £6. We were so happy we gave him a tenner. Best tenner we've ever spent!

With the car fixed, and our tourist needs done for the day, we then went to find a very much needed hotel. We started looking at about 6.30pm - for once, touring the city in daylight and with a better hope of finding one. I'll cut a long story short though - despite checking a few, even having some great German/Russian chaps leaving their dinners and making phone calls for us, it turns out there was a big show of some sort in town. As a result, everywhere would be full.

We were hot, we were hungry, we were thirsty, we were dirty, we were tired. We hadn't had a proper night sleep in a long time - no more than 6 hours in a night since we started the actual rally. Now to be told that we had little hope of finding a bed, either 5 star or a shed, was nearly enough to bring us to tears. It was that bad.

We decided to hit the road, head out of the main city, and attempt to find an out of town hotel. By this time, it was dark and we knew we would struggle - but what other choice did we have. As we drove through the city centre, no banter thrown around by any of us, I was sure I glanced across the words HOTEL on a building. 95% confident of this, we drove around the back of the building to be greeted with a car park, towered over by an enormous Soviet style building - uniform windows and curtains, air conditioners and colours. Surely this hand to be a hotel? Then, we spotted something that made us very happy - another Mongol Rally vehicle! If only his place had a room, then our spirits would be soaring.

We walked in, Will and I looking like we were veteran hobos, and enquired. They had rooms. After we'd paid, grabbed our bags, made our way up to the rooms and lay on the bed, we agreed that this was the happiest we'd felt the entire rally. Certainly not the best experience, or the best moment - but to contrast how we'd felt an hour ago, we were literally now polar opposites away from the gloom.

We had a shower (I won't explain to you how good this was, you'd have no idea how happy it made us. And they were separate showers, just incase my wording suggested otherwise) and headed downstairs to the 24 hour bar for some food. The menu was all in Cyrillic, of course, and we were just about to play a game of menu roulette (point at a menu item, not able to comprehend a single ingredient, and ask for that) when a lovely receptionist came over. She spoke English, realised we would struggle, and asked us what we'd like. Steak please. With potatoes and a salad. Despite being presented as an upmarket portion size, it wasn't overly good quality, but still tasted incredible. We had a beer, 11.30pm came, and we all retired to our air conditioned beds.

Volgograd, so far, had been incredibly good to us - no police stops at all, the locals seem friendlier, we're getting lots of beeps and waves, we (eventually) found a hotel, Pete the Saxo had been fixed and we'd found other rally teams. Russia had redeemed itself.