tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59343877147757141572024-03-14T11:48:49.927-07:004 Guys in a CarThis is the story of Eilidh, Ben, Tom and Tom’s overland journey from Melbourne, Australia to Appin, Scotland. We drove 56,650km over 1,080.5 hours, crossed 43 countries and took 339 days, and we want to share our experience with you. Find us on facebook at facebook.com/4guysinacar .Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12827571599253684694noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-73762198481292971912015-01-29T21:51:00.000-08:002015-01-29T21:52:12.801-08:00Young Pioneer Tours to Turkmenistan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If you enjoyed the stories of 4 Guys in a Car, and would like to experience part of what made us fall in love with the world yourself, you're in luck. Having partnered with <a href="http://www.youngpioneertours.com/" target="_blank">Young Pioneer Tours</a>, we have started running our own tours to Central Asia. The first of our group tours is to Turkmenistan over <a href="http://www.youngpioneertours.com/tour/turkmenistan-independence-day-tour/" target="_blank">Turkmen Independence Day</a> in October 2015, and we can organise <a href="http://www.youngpioneertours.com/turkmenistan-independent" target="_blank">independent tours</a> at any time, customised on a case to case basis. <br />
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If this isn't the adventure for you, we'll have more tours to other Central Asian countries to come, and in the mean time, maybe you'd just like to have a look at what we're doing. And of course, please spread the word: Young Pioneer Tours is going to Turkmenistan!<br />
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<a href="http://www.youngpioneertours.com/tour/turkmenistan-independence-day-tour/" target="_blank">http://www.youngpioneertours.com/tour/turkmenistan-independence-day-tour/</a><br />
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Eilidhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08153517637897565761noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-87600015914626449862014-07-26T00:26:00.002-07:002014-07-26T00:28:31.264-07:002 Guys in North Korea: Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">If you've read <i>2
Guys in North Korea: Part 1</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
you'll know that we absolutely loved our little jaunt to this largely
unknown and feared country. What I didn't delve into though was one
of the most important factors that made it so successful. I don't
want to take away from the country and the experience of being there
in itself, but I have to give a huge amount of credit for just how
amazing our trip was to Young Pioneer Tours (YPT).</span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">As
always we did a lot of research before we went to North Korea, and it
became clear to us pretty quickly that there were two tour companies
to choose from. Before going any further I should explain: it is a
requirement of the North Korean government that foreigners be booked
onto an organised tour which is accompanied by a Korean guide
employed by the KITC (Korean International Travel Company). The KITC
is the only travel company in North Korea, and is owned and run by
the government. No matter which company you book your tour through,
it's the KITC that will provide your Korean guide, but you won't be
communicating directly with them until you get there. So the
non-Korean company that you book your tour with is sort of like a
compulsory middle man. Well that's what we assumed. We realised
though that while that's the minimum, YPT takes it much much further
than that, and that's what makes them so incredible.</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="background: none; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">There are umpteen companies claiming to run tours in North Korea,
some of which are real, some of which aren't. However, the feature
that sets aside the two leading organisations is that, apart from
just a general level of knowledge, experience, care, and
professionalism, they send their own guides into North Korea with
their tours. A lot of the issues we hear about where an individual
has stepped out of line and been arrested/<span style="background: none;">detained</span>
was either because of a simple misunderstanding, the foreigner not
really understanding what was and wasn't acceptable, or a
Korean getting the wrong end of the stick and acting rashly. This is
much less likely to happen if there's a western guide there looking
after the group who knows and understands the Korean cultures,
traditions and laws, and has the trust of many locals. And in fact,
YPT has never had any issues like these on their tours.</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">So
there were two companies for us to choose from – “how did we
choose between them then?” you might be asking. Well it's very
simple - price. On surface level, according to the basic information
on their websites and the majority of reviews, they offer mostly the
same stuff. YPT though was offering a 9 day tour for 1245, as opposed
to the best option for us from the other guys being a 5 day tour for
1490. Honestly we hummed and hawed a lot because we knew much more
about the other company as they'd been around for a lot longer, but
we just couldn't get past the price difference. So after much
deliberation we went with YPT, and I can't possibly explain just what
a fantastic decision that was to make.</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">From
the moment we met Troy, Shan, Rowan, Chris and Julian at the pre-tour
meeting in Beijing, we were thrilled. They had everything completely
under control and were incredibly helpful with all the little bits
and pieces that people still had to organise, including a lot of
pretty complicated logistical arrangements between the four back to
back tours that we were doing. We got a detailed and relevant brief
about the dos and don'ts and some specifics of what we'd be upto, and
best of all – they were all soooo cool! And from then on we fell
more and more in love with YPT. The more we found out, the more we
liked.</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">Troy
was our main guide for the longest part of our time there, but we
also had Rowan, Chris and Julian for various parts, and it was so
fantastic to have guides who genuinely wanted each member of their
tour to have the best possible time that they could, going completely
out of their way at every turn to ensure that each of us was getting
as much from the tour as possible, including but not limited to
always being the first to buy a round of beers.
</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">This
is a company run and staffed by people who have a deep interest in
North Korea and North Koreans, and a passion for showing it to the
world in a light that we usually don't see it in. Something we
couldn't help but notice was the relationships between our western
guides and the locals (guides, staff at the hotels and restaurants,
policemen, border guards, and other locals we met along the way) –
these guys had clearly done their time, proven themselves, and come
out the other side with the utmost respect from some of Pyongyang's
most elite. Not only are these well established relationships an
admirable achievement, but this really makes all the difference in
exceeding the expectations of their customers and providing
outstanding tours. To have that level of trust from the locals is
invaluable.</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"></span><br />
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">I
try not to throw around my praise too lightly, but I must say: hats
off to Young Pioneer Tours. And thanks for a fantastic time!</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"> </span></div>
Eilidhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08153517637897565761noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-2951398004906727482014-07-08T22:03:00.000-07:002014-07-08T22:05:13.461-07:002 Guys in North Korea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
So once again, I have to apologise for the
long time between posts. The reason is that our travels are briefly
on hold while we live somewhat normal lives in Melbourne and prepare
ourselves for our next extravaganza, so assuming that you're not
particularly interested in hearing about what we bought at the
supermarket or which television shows we watched, I decided to keep
quiet for a bit. <br />
</div>
<div class="western">
"4 Guys in a Car: The Book" is still on
its way, but as is often the case with these things I guess,
it's taking longer than hoped, but it is still very much in the
pipelines. And don't worry, I will certainly let you know when that
happens. However in the mean time we have had one small
adventure that might intrigue some of you.<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
From quite a while back, Ben and I had been
developing an ambition, a craving even, to visit North Korea, or DPRK
(Democratic People's Republic of Korea) as it is formally
known, and referred to as inside the country. As such we decided to
get married so we could go there on our honeymoon. And in a nutshell:
it was truly fantastic. (Even though we didn't get to drive our own
car.)</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
To be honest, we did have our reservations about
going there. We're pretty gung-ho, but we're not completely fearless,
and we've seen all the same media as everyone else. This person
arrested for that, that person arrested for this, nuclear weapons
being tested here, there and everywhere, and a whole country of
people who are completely brainwashed and will do whatever they're
told and believe everything they hear. No communications with the
rest of the world, no foreign consular services, and no straying from
your tour guide for the whole time you're there. There would be no
looking at this, no looking at that, no going over there, no speaking
to these people or talking about that subject. No internet, no
phones. This of course didn't deter us in the slightest from wanting
to go there, it just made us think we'd have to be careful. We were
expecting it all to be very exciting, but frankly we were prepared to
be exhausted.<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
As is the case with many things though, the
impression that we'd built up over years of gleaming
snippets from other people's experiences, was really nothing
like the reality that we found. The stories of empty restaurants
being set up only for us, only being taken to a very small handful of
things that we're "allowed to see", and everything seeming
contrived, as if it was put there just for show, was absolute bogus.
Obviously we were on a tour, and like with tours in any country, that
meant we had an itinerary organised for us every day, and we were
following around a group and a guide the whole time. It was a bit
tighter than most tours in that our free time was within a certain
location and we weren't able to leave the hotel by ourselves,
but we barely even noticed because there was so much fun and cool
stuff to do and see.</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
No, of course they didn't take us on a tour of the
slums, or go on and on about any heinous crimes to humanity that
their leaders may or may not have committed, but really, would you
get that anywhere? Yes, ghost tours and tours of the underworld and
such like are becoming pretty trendy in the western world, but in a
very romanticised and dramatised fashion. You don't go on a tour of
Melbourne and sit on the bus to have a guide tell you about a
policeman shooting and killing a young man, or a security guard
knocking out a drunk girl, or the woman who was raped just over
there; they'll tell you about pioneers who have roads, buildings,
suburbs and schools named after them, and all the amazing and unique
events held in the city every year, and how we produce this and
invented that and the world can thank us for this other thing. The
outstanding difference, which I admit is quite an important one, is
that 99% of what was told/shown to us in North Korea was about one of
the three Leaders. But of course they were going to take us to see
the interesting and admirable things and show off about their
country.</div>
<div class="western">
</div>
<div class="western">
Our itinerary involved trips to several cool bars
and a microbrewery, a waterpark and leisure centre, a bowling alley,
a sports complex and a hot spa resort, just to name a few. In
amongst our organised itinerary though we also had the opportunity to
go a bit out of the way and explore some places that would have been
impossible to find without our amazing western guides (more about
them to follow). One day for example we were disembarking from the
bus to walk through Kim Il Sung Square to the foreign language
bookshop (an absolutely fantastic place to buy souvenirs by the way),
when our Kiwi guide, Troy, mentioned that there was a nice little
cafe in the drab looking, non-descript grey building just in front of
us. Assuming we wouldn't be able to go there, we asked him a bit
about it, and then much to our surprise, he suggested we check it
out. He went and asked our local guide (even the western guides
aren't really supposed to be unaccompanied) who had no hesitation in
letting us wander there by ourselves, and so in we went. It looked
like a pretty normal cafe, a bit less hipster and trendy than we've
become accustomed to over the last few years, at least here in
Melbourne, but there was one local guy sitting there sipping on
something and it was very much a real cafe. A couple of us ordered
coffees which were made on their surprisingly up-to-date espresso
machine, and we paid at the hard currency desk*. That was an
experience we certainly weren't expecting to get in North Korea!<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
I could go on and on about all the really
unexpected and incredible experiences and conversations we had, but
I'd probably use up the whole capacity of the internet. There was the
walk in the park on the national holiday to commemorate the late
President Kim Il Sung's 102<sup>nd</sup> birthday, which turned into
Ben and I joining in an impromptu dancing and singing show with some
locals; the time we witnessed a mass dance and were urged to join in
(we obviously did, and magnificently so if I do say so myself); we
were at a firework show where we became completely separated from our
group and guides, and were pushed side to side by a mosh pit of
partying Koreans, all using phones to text, make calls, and take
pictures; there was the conversation with one of our Korean guides
about the unification of Ireland and the other guide who couldn't
stop telling dirty jokes.<br />
</div>
<div class="western">
Having said all that though, I can't completely
gloss over what you're all wondering: yes we did see some of the
stuff that you'd be expecting. We were given a couple of heinously
contrived tours of cooperative farms; we were taken to a few schools
and kindergartens, including the famous Children's Palace, where we
were given matching shows of disturbingly perfect songs and dances,
all of which told the same story of the revolution; we bowed in front
of statues, pictures and even the embalmed bodies of the revered
President Kim Il Sung and General Kim Jong Il; and we had to of
course be extremely careful not to say anything negative, or even not
completely positive, about any of the Leaders.<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I should say that I am
not in any way claiming that the atrocities that the Leaders are
alleged to having committed are or aren't true, and I'm certainly not
supporting the regime in any way. All I'm telling you about is the
experience that we had there as tourists, and pointing out that I
think we usually only get one picture painted for us about North
Korea, and it seems that most people go there with the resolution
that it will be like this and they will take the pictures and tell
the stories that support the image we have of this insane,
brainwashed country. There is actually more to it than youtube clips
of 1000's of Koreans dancing in perfect unison, pictures of rows and
rows of uniformed military marching in time to a horrible recording
of an eerie revolutionary song and rules about where and when to bow.
It is, in fact, a country full of real people with families, careers,
hobbies, ambitions, ideas and personalities. And it is a damn fine place to go for a fun and interesting holiday.</div>
</div>
Eilidhhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08153517637897565761noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-65054323715138796742013-09-06T00:39:00.000-07:002013-09-06T00:39:14.468-07:00Update<br />
So that last entry was a jump back a few months, completely disrupting the chronology of the blog, so thought I should just clarify:<br />
<br />
We're back in Melbourne and have been for some time now and I've been dedicating my time since then to writing "4 Guys in a Car: The Book" (working title). I've just started back at work this week, but the book's still a work in progress which I'm hopefully nearing completion on. Not having ever attempted to write and publish a book before I don't really have an ETA, but keep your eyes and ears open for updates.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-27867936287161982922013-08-05T23:23:00.000-07:002013-08-05T23:30:16.456-07:00Day 299 – Transnistria Part 2: The last bastion of the Soviet Union, by Ben Crowley.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Apologies for the lateness of this chapter of the story. We were actually in Transnistria over seven months ago to put this in context for you, but we decided that just because it wasn't on time didn't mean we should skip this fascinating part of our trip.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On arriving in
Tiraspol, the Capital of this small breakaway nation, we struggled to find
anything resembling accommodation. While staying in Chisinau we had seen an
advertisement at our hostel for the apparently only backpackers in town, but
alas had not taken note of the address (not that it would have mattered we
later found). As we often did, we drove around looking for an unlocked internet
connection and upon finding one we searched the address and made a beeline for
it. We found a dark street with strange looking figures disappearing into the
darkness and crumbling bus stops, but no accommodation. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Back we went
to see if there was a phone number, there was! So we rang and an American
answered, agreed to meet us at a bowling alley (apparently the coolest place in
town) and then take us to the new site, a two room shack on the outskirts of
town. Apparently business hadn’t been so kind to this man. He took us to a room
with the smallest bed we had ever encountered, no internet connection, no real
facilities what so ever, just a rather cold miserable place and worst of all he
wanted $20 each! Per night! More than we would be happy to pay in London or
Paris let alone Tiraspol but it was getting late and we really had little
option, so our last question as always was “and what about the car?” to which
he suggested we just park it on the street. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We explained
we didn’t feel comfortable which such an arrangement, regardless of how low the
likelihood of a break in or theft was, we just didn’t want to take such a
chance and ruin our trip. He dismissed our concerns in a manner to which we
were all too used to. We didn’t know what we were talking about, we were
ignorant of realities and probably hadn’t been to many countries before and
shouldn’t apply our stupid Australian values of security to Transnistria, the
sorts of comments “maybe in Australia is dangerous but not here” was one of the
few things that made our blood boil. This was the deal breaker, we understood
he didn’t have parking but this was out of line and just plain rude. We told
him so and left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We continued
driving and found the only 5 star hotel in the country, probably only in
existence for friends and cronies of the president of the day to stay and play
at, but they were extremely friendly and due to our budget suggested a place we
hadn’t otherwise stumbled across. We went there and it was great! It was
everything we could have hoped for in our wildest dreams! The Hotel Aist was
built in the 1950s and had everything one would want from a Soviet era hotel:
floor ladies, temperamental water pressure and temperature, prostitutes,
extremely scary lifts, crumbling balconies, and we were going to get proper
rooms with televisions (didn’t work) and showers (didn’t work well) for $20 per
double or $10 each! And better yet an old Russian man watched our car for an
extra $2,50 per night. Why would someone coming to Transnistria want to stay
anywhere else? This was a living breathing museum of what travel and accommodation
was like in days gone past.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> After
unpacking and revelling in the excitement of everything finally falling into
place, we decided it was probably dinner time, but of course we didn’t have any
local money. In Transnistria they have their own currency, call the
Transnistria Ruble, which is used for small purchases, but electronics, cars
etc must be paid with US dollars, Euros or Russian Rubles. With all the
exchange shops closed we decided to inquire inside one of the casinos who
gladly changed our US dollars. This is something we did multiple times in
multiple casinos, always without hassle and always at the proper rate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The
next day all we wanted to do was drive, drive and see everything we could,
every back street, every shop, every school, every police check. Despite the
shops still selling snickers and coca-cola, we just had to explore everything.
The museums were amazing; the Supreme Soviet (as their Government building is
still called) was grand with its Lenin bust front and centre. One museum of
particular note is that dedicated to Moldovan-born Grigory Kotovsky. Kotovsky
began his career as a scoundrel and gang leader involved in bank robbery, raids
and arson, which led to a chain of arrests and prison escapes and eventually
resulted in him being sentenced to death by hanging. He managed to escape his
sentence when the Russian Revolution kicked off, siding with the Communists of
Tiraspol. Kotovsky became a member of the Bolshevik Party and lived out the
rest of his days as an active member of the Moldovian Autonomous SSR in
Transnistria. Current day Transnistria holds his memory on a pedestal,
considering his work to be surmount to the independence of their country. The
ladies manning this museum were lovely; they let us wear his hats, shoot his
guns, sit at his desk and they took many photos for us, then as a parting gift
gave us some Soviet Badges for free. Now I’m not sure if this is a trick,
because we then asked if they had more and we spent a lot of Rubles buying the
rest of those that they had. One of the few let downs was the Kvint Factory.
Apparently known around the world as one of the great Brandies this attraction
was advertised everywhere, and it was one of the few things people told us of
before we got there. You must go to Kvint we were told, alas it was literally
just an alcohol shop, selling cheap drinks, and as none of us particularly
cared for Brandy, it was a short and brief stop.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> While
exploring one of the suburbs we were stopped to look around an old park with
broken down, unused amusement rides. Across from where we parked was a bakery.
Throughout our planning and travels everyone would warn us of the risks of
taking the wrong photo. In Australia we even have advertising on television telling
people to be careful taking pictures overseas as it could land one in “hot
water”. Never were less true words spoken in regards to our experiences: missiles
in Iran, no problem, pictures of border crossings, no problem, taking a picture
of an old Soviet bakery in Tiraspol, problem. Within moments of taking the
picture and then walking off to explore elsewhere, two men were after me, asking
me why I had taken a photo. I told them I had taken a photo of my car, and luckily
of course the car was in the photo, albeit to the side and only partially, and
only due to my bad photo taking skills. Had someone else taken the photo (with
the exception of Tom) the car probably would not have been in it. I deleted the
photos regardless so that they would leave and allow us to continue. The
question of course arises, was it really loaves of bread being produced at this
bakery?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> On
the third day, we decided to take a drive north through the country. As anyone
will know who has seen a map of Transnistria, there isn’t much in the way of
east or west. It is an extreme thin long nation, less than 50km’s across at its
widest point, while being several hundreds of kilometres long. We headed north
towards Grigoriopol and Dubasari. The roads were as expected, more pot holes than
solid tarmac, but we were surprised by the distinct lack of highway police or
road blocks. We approached one and slowed to a cautionary speed but continued
through as the officers barely gave us a look. Another disappointment of which
there were few was the lack of traditional restaurants. One can only assume
they eat traditional food at home and on the rare occasion they eat out want
something a bit exotic, one of the most popular restaurants in Tiraspol being <i>Andy’s Pizza</i>. Another night we ate at a
restaurant <i>7 Fridays, </i>specialising is
Pizza and Sushi mainly<i>.</i> It was this
night we realised that maybe the locals were not cold but in fact quite unsure
of themselves and somewhat on the shy side. We pulled up out the front and
walked in, and there is no doubt we were different in this setting. After we
had left we got on the internet and found that the people sitting next to us
sent us a message via out website suggesting we chat. If only they had
suggested this in person rather than assuming we would be accessing the
internet while enjoying out meal!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The day we left we headed to the border with
Ukraine, this time a very well established border post with rather modern nice
buildings, they looked at our passports and waved us through almost
immediately, therefore ending our odyssey in a country that never was, or never
is, or one day will be? We’re not really sure, but regardless, those of you who
are Sovietphiles need not look any further than a holiday in Transnistria,
which were it not for Disneyland could be described as the happiest place on
earth (once again, only for those who really love Soviet Architecture and
Statues of Lenin and Russia Tanks patrolling the countryside.) </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-82864609627153818162013-07-31T15:42:00.001-07:002013-07-31T15:42:20.580-07:00Another guest appearance.<br />
And here's the link to the next of my articles:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.wesaidgotravel.com/contraband-kyrgyzstan-kazakhstan">http://www.wesaidgotravel.com/contraband-kyrgyzstan-kazakhstan</a><br />
<br />
Hope you enjoy reading it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-26879328906675492322013-07-20T23:05:00.000-07:002013-07-20T23:05:18.529-07:00A guest appearance.<br />
In the midst of compiling "4 Guys in a Car: The Book" (working title) I decided to enter a couple of our stories in a writing contest. Each entry gets posted separately over several weeks, and the first one of mine went up this morning. <a href="http://www.wesaidgotravel.com/turkmenistan-the-gates-of-hell" target="_blank">Click here to have a look.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-41568464819477038702013-05-21T05:12:00.003-07:002013-05-21T05:12:44.178-07:00Starting the ball of bureaucracy rolling.<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Having made the decision to ship Trevor home at the end of
the trip, we’ve spent the last couple of months waiting in anticipation for his
scheduled arrival date of the 22<sup>nd</sup> of May. Over the last few days Ben’s
been making some enquiries as to what we’d have to do to actually retrieve him,
so having emailed through copies of a few things such as our Carnet and copies
of our Bill of Lading, the next step was for Ben and I to make the trip out to
Customs House at Tullamarine to start the ball of bureaucracy rolling. We made
the trip out there this afternoon (May 21<sup>st</sup>) and after waiting at
one end of the room to have our Carnet stamped back into Australia, we took a
numbered ticket and queued up at the Department of Agriculture, Fisheries and
Forestry down the other end of the room. It seemed a little odd to be sent to
such a department about the shipment of a car, but apparently their services
extend to all quarantine matters. We’d come prepared with copies of our
passports (Ben’s and mine as the names on the shipping documents and Denner’s
as the named owner of the car), our original Carnet, the originals and copies
of our Bill of Lading and various unnecessary car documents such as
registration, just in case. We sat twiddling our thumbs while someone took our
documents away for a while, after which we were asked for the arrival date and
the port of entry so a quarantine inspection booking could be organised, for
which we had to pay $105. A pile of papers including our own original documents
were slid across the desk to us and we were sent on our way.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Tomorrow Ben will visit the Maersk office (the company we’ve
shipped with) to drop of our Bill of Lading which is the document issued at the
port of exit with the details of the shipment and where/whom the cargo should
be unloaded to (us). When that’s taken care of all we have to do is wait for
our quarantine inspection and unless we missed some dirt on the body of the
car, or something else that will require a hold up and of course some extra
fees, we should be free to drive off.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We found out this afternoon that the ship Trevor’s on has
already been to Perth. It’s hard to imagine that he’s actually already been to
Australia and that hopefully within a few days will be in our possession.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-67100807787990322642013-05-09T17:18:00.004-07:002013-05-09T17:18:46.223-07:00One Car on a Ship.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Now
that we're back in Melbourne (except Denner who decided to stay in London for a
while), settling back into life as somewhat normal people, obviously there
isn't much more to report on here. The only thing still left is the arrival of
Trevor, our trusty and much-loved Toyota 4Runner who is currently on a ship
somewhere in the Indian Ocean, scheduled to arrive in Melbourne on the 22nd of
May. You can find details about the cost of this on the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/p/trip-costs.html"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Trip Costs</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">page if you're interested, which will be up-dated when he
arrives to include whatever costs we have to pay on this end, and of course any
stories about the process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">We’ve
had a lot of enquiries about whether “4 Guys in a Car: The Book” might be
written, so I’m happy to report that my project for the next while is in fact
writing it. We’ll keep everyone updated on any progress on that as it goes, but
hopefully in a few months it will be lining book shelves for everyone to enjoy.</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-51570318573753752042013-04-25T05:43:00.001-07:002013-04-25T05:43:30.323-07:00Whose Country is it anyway? by Ben Crowley.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Firstly let me apologise for the lateness of this blog.
After arriving home in Melbourne and being inundated with admirers and fans, I
found it difficult to find the time to complete the quality product that those
following our blog have become accustomed to. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Excited
by this frozen in time glimpse at the former Soviet Union, I traversed the
potholed highway signposted to Tiraspol, considered just a regional outpost in
Moldova, but the capital city to the 550,000 people who call Transnistria home.
Flying along one of the better roads (ease of military movement assured) that
Eastern Europe had to offer, I was brought to a sudden stop by a large Russian
tank sitting in the middle of the road. At this point 3 or 4 soldiers came
running towards the car, pointing their rifles in a rather aggressive nature
towards our vehicle. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Otkuda
vy?” yelled the light infantryman with the clearly visible Russian flag sewn to
his shoulder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Privet,
Avstraliya,” Tom Unkles sitting in the passenger seat replied.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Ah
Avstraliya! Sydaney! Melbon! Kangaroo!” they laughed and joked as the Russian
soldier continued to interrogate. “Mashina otkuda?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Avstraliya”
Tom replied once again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Mashina
Avstraliya!” at this point they were almost on the ground with laughter, “kuda?
<span class="st">Ukrayina?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="st"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Tiraspol,”
Tom told the man. “Turizm.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Ah
Tiraspol,” he then continued to (we assume) tell us that we certainly weren’t
getting through this way and that we’d need to turn around and take our first
left in order to cross at the only legal crossing, located in the town Bendery.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Transnistria, also known as Trans-Dniestr, Transdniestria or to make matters even more confusing, Pridnistrovie in
Russian (literally left bank of the river Dniester), gained its quasi-pseudo-de facto
independence in 1992, two years of full scale war after they declared
themselves separate from Moldova. However since then, only other “non-states”
such as South Ossetia (Blog <i>Day
220 – Revolutionary Ideas</i>),
Abkhazia and Nagorno-Karabakh (Blog <i>Travelling
to Nagorno Karabkh, by Ben Crowley</i>) have recognised its autonomy. Even
Russia, who as its protector has its 14<sup>th</sup> Army stationed there as a
buffer against Moldovan aggression, has yet to recognise Transnistria’s
sovereignty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once we got to what appeared to be the only border crossing, situated in
the town of Bendery, we found ourselves faced with numerous contradictions, the
sort that we had become used to in the former Soviet Union. From the onset it
appeared nothing more than a shambolic police check, the usual cones,
barricades, crudely written стоп (Stop) signs and some portable buildings;
nothing permanent except maybe a flag pole. However, the immigration/customs process
seemed very permanent and ran in a surprisingly efficient manner, still of
course bearing the usual Sovietesque qualities. Unlike our previous encounters,
these were Transnistria’s own forces and they appeared to take their task quite
seriously. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was originally in charge of this particular border crossing (we usually
took turns), but they wanted nothing of me. The guards dealing with customs
were insistent that the legal owner of the vehicle was to deal with the
paperwork, something we had not particularly come across in the past. So we
gave them what they wanted, what most people want, Tom Denner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Like an Englishman defending his nation’s culinary pedigree, we struggled
through the temporary import documents, all printed only in Russian and
Moldovan (Romanian) and found ourselves not getting very far. We were relieved
to enlist the help of a local who spoke quite proficient English but still
struggled to explain the automotive jargon. Whilst having our completed
paperwork examined I was lucky enough to have this man whose name is now
forgotten in history explain his thoughts on the question of his nation’s
sovereignty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Things are very difficult in Transnistria, the rest of the world doesn’t
accept our wishes and it makes it very difficult. The Moldovans make it very
hard, we just want to live peacefully with them,” he stated, expounding the
same sort of rhetoric we had heard all over the world. I asked him why he was
travelling from Moldova. “I need to work in Chisinau as there is no work in
Tiraspol. I think most people will leave for Moldova or Russia.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Even though you fought against Moldova?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“We were once brothers and sisters, but they went crazy when the Soviet
Union fell. I don’t hate them, I just don’t understand why they won’t respect
our wishes to be independent, why they discriminate against us and make things
so hard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I asked him whether it was safe in Transnistria and what there was to see,
to which he proudly told me that Tiraspol is probably safer than anywhere in
Western Europe. There might be organised crime but not crime against
individuals. He also noted that Tiraspol has some interesting architecture, in
particular and he was quite adamant about this, from the exact years 1954 and
1976, which having spent a lot of time in the former Soviet Bloc I found hard
to believe, let alone from years so specific.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Before we left there was one line that he did say quite forcefully
considering how calm and well natured he was, “To Transnistrians our
independence is not disputed. It is fact.” Finally the car paperwork was
completed and then all we had left was the extremely simple process (please
note sarcasm) of crossing the road to the passport office, completing more
forms (in Russian/Moldovan), and receiving temporary (24 hour) immigration
cards which we had to go into Tiraspol the next day to get a 24 hour extension for
because the Registration of Foreign Aliens Department of the police force were
on holidays. Finally on the third day we went to the Registration of Foreign
Aliens Department to be given full registration as tourists to stay in
Transnistria. During this process we only needed to visit five different
offices multiple times over the three days and spend many hours of our short
stay. I don’t think it’s possible to make a process much easier than that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The first thing we noticed when driving from Bendery to Tiraspol was how
dark it was. At this point night had fallen and there was a distinct lack of
street lighting and light pollution from buildings. That and the Soviet era
apartment blocks, trolley buses, Lada Nivas, Russian tanks and Sovietesque billboards
and signs depicting enough hammer and sickles to bring any card carrying
communist to their knees with ecstasy. All those things and how dark it was. We
made the small drive to Tiraspol and then began our search for accommodation. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-46767021452973812672013-04-22T18:33:00.001-07:002013-04-22T18:33:33.355-07:00Day 339 – Wine fizzing for beginners. (Scotland)<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Leading up to the end of the trip I had been somewhat
concerned about what the actual finish line would entail. We had chosen Appin
as our destination because as the village where I went to primary school and
consider myself to be “from”, it was a significant end point conveniently
located on the other side of the world. Throughout the trip it was this far
away place that we were heading ambiguously in the direction of, but as it
became closer and began seeming a bit more realistic we had to stop leaving it
for Future Eilidh, Ben, Tom and Tom to worry about. I had an image of us
driving up to the pier or the shop, stopping the car, probably not being able
to see anything through the rain, but me assuring everyone that it was very
pretty, then saying “ok well, this is Appin. We made it,” and turning around
and leaving. Having moved away at the age of 12 I’ve kept in contact with a
couple of people, but I had no hopes or intentions of organising any sort of
welcoming party. To make our arrival seem a bit more poignant I asked my
grandparents if they wouldn’t mind making the two hour drive up to Appin to
greet us when we arrived and I knew two of my mum’s sisters and one of my
cousins were planning to come. At the last minute a Kiwi friend of Ben’s and
mine who we lived with in Port Douglas three years ago and is currently living
in Edinburgh decided to hitch a ride with my grandparents too, so we’d have a
small welcoming party. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">There are two ways to drive from Glasgow, where we stayed
for a couple of days with my grandparents, to Appin, and we chose to take the
slightly longer but more spectacular route. The road wiggles around Loch Lomond
and slices through Glencoe and is surely one of the most stunning drives in the
world. You might think I’d be biased, and maybe I would be, but I appreciated
this drive more this time than I ever had before. We had a 1pm deadline to be
at the car park opposite the Church in Appin to meet a journalist and
photographer from the Oban Times, so we left in plenty of time so we could
enjoy the drive and stop a couple of times along the way if we felt so
inclined. Unfortunately it took us a bit longer than expected to find the
hidden away LPG station (LPG is available in Scotland, but not readily at most
petrol stations and there very well not have been anywhere north of Glasgow
that would sell it), but we still had time to pause for our last shisha overlooking
the Black Mount and Loch Tulla. By the time we chatted to some other folks
stopped there, finished our shisha and stopped for a couple of photos in front
of the “Appin” sign we were running a little late for our 1pm date with the
Oban Times, but nothing had us prepared for what was coming next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As we drove into Appin, the sun shining on us through a perfectly
blue sky as it had been the whole way up, I was busy pointing out to my
companions, “there’s Lettershuna, and that’s where the Salvarlis lived. Those
houses are new, and that view point thing was put up after we left. That’s
Kinlochlaich where we’ll stay tonight with the Hutchisons, that’s the school
and a bunch of new houses, and Shelia Lawrie’s house and the hair dresser’s.
There’s Gunn’s Garage, Kirkton, and oooh what’s that fancy new car park opposite
the Church? And what are all those people standing around in the car park for...?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">And then the FINISH sign strung on a ribbon across the entrance to
the car park came into view and I spotted my grandparents and the others I was
expecting and realised that this group were all waving at us. This group of 20
or 30 was our welcoming party! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Is this for us? Oh wow! Oh wow!” We turned into the car park and
we were caught so unawares we didn’t know what to do. “Do we just stop? Do we
drive through the sign? What do we do?” We drove through the “finish” line as
directed and stopped amidst our supporters. There aren’t many times I can look
back on throughout my life and honestly say I was speechless, but at this point
I really was, literally, speechless. Unable to wipe the grin from my face and
still just staring around completely flabbergasted by the whole situation I was
re-united with so many people from my childhood memories. We were introduced to
Euan from the Oban Times who set us up for an arrival celebration photo shoot
which went on to provide much hilarity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He had Tom and Tom climb on top of the car, and Ben and I were to
perch on the bonnet – the others were all fine with this, but climbing onto the
bonnet with my long legs and natural athletic prowess (for those who don’t know
me this is sarcastic, I have neither long legs nor any sort of natural athletic
prowess) was not an easy feat and Ben kept having to push me up as I slid off
whilst trying to rearrange myself. Eventually I got arranged and Euan handed me
a bottle of bubbly and showed me how to make it fizz up. Then he decided it
would be better if I was standing in front of the car with the bubbly – great,
just wish he’d thought of that before the entire village had laughed at me scrambling
up the front of my car! Well the hilarity was far from over. As it turns out
fizzing up bottles of sparkling wine to make them spray everywhere in the
celebratory fashion that we’re accustomed to isn’t all that simple. At first it
just sort of dribbled out over my arms as I was shaking it up, and then when I
thrust the bottle forward for the spray, nothing happened. I tried several
times, and each time I was sure I was going to get it, and each time everyone
held their breath as I thrust the bottle for the spray, and each time was only
more ridiculous than the last. When the bottle was empty Susie Hutchison who
was the brains and hands behind the “FINISH” sign and who we would stay with
that night pulled another bottle from her boot and we tried again. Eventually I
managed to get one half decent spray, and needless to say that’s the photo that
made it to the newspaper, but not after having everyone in fits at my sub-par
sparkling wine spraying skills. I don’t know how these celebrities manage to do
it so easily all the time. Do they also have several takes for each wine
fizzing? Or is it something one gets taught in celebrity school?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We were taken into the Church hall where a fantastic spread of
sandwiches, cakes and drinks were waiting for us. Amidst interviewing with Euan
we all continued to be touched and amazed by how closely all these people that
I assumed would have forgotten me by now and were complete strangers to the
others had followed the blog and our photos and how much they cared about us.
All my concerns about the anti-climax of finishing the trip were gone, and we
could not have asked for a better, more special end point. My image of driving
down to the pier and looking around in the rain while I assured the others that
it really was very pretty, then turning around and leaving, couldn’t have been
further from the reality. Thanks Appin!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-6618505372715900362013-04-18T20:40:00.002-07:002013-04-19T06:08:54.098-07:00Day 335 – A long drive. (England, Scotland)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">On our way from Dover to Grady’s house boat we were jammed
up on London’s motorways (although the traffic situation in London is really
just not as bad as everyone would like to believe and we get quite frustrated
with such complaints), when we spotted a maroon Nissan Patrol in a neighbouring
lane trying to get a good look at our vehicle. They were doing that dance thing
where they hang back so we could catch up, then move in directly next to us and
let us go ahead a little so they can see the back of the car, staring sideways
at us as we pass. We know this manoeuvre as it’s been made on us many a time
before, and it’s not as if we’ve never used it ourselves. In fact once we
realised what they were up to we began doing the same thing to them, as there
was something on the cover of their spare wheel mounted on the back door that
caught our attention. The number plate was from the UK, but the wheel cover
read “DUNCAN NISSAN, AUSTRALIA’S BIGGEST PATROL DEALERS, VICTORIA PARK, 9262
5111”. Was it an Australian vehicle that had been driven there and
re-registered? Or shipped over? Or was the wheel itself imported for some
reason and it was just a coincidence? Or maybe it was just a cover they’d
acquired and we were reading too much into it. But they had been staring at us
first! It seemed a bit coincidental that the one other car on the road that was
particularly interested in us had the details of an Australian car dealership
on their back if it wasn’t related. We wound down our window and tried to call
out to each other over the noise of the traffic, but all we managed to ask was
where they were from, to which they responded in a perfect London accent “Uzbekistan”.
We still have no idea what their story is or why they had advertising for
Duncan Nissan from Victoria Park on their spare wheel, or even what it was that
they were particularly interested in about us.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we left London we were heading straight to Glasgow,
leaving early in the morning and intending on arriving that evening. Ideally we
would have had at least a few days to meander through England and Wales, not to
mention the chance to visit some of my family, and earlier in the trip we’d
even toyed with the idea of detouring to Ireland if we had time. We’d prioritised
our time elsewhere though and now unfortunately we only had seven days until Ben
was flying out of Glasgow so we really didn’t have any time to spare. <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">However we decided to make one short stop
on the way up to visit the RAF Base in Benson, near Oxford. My great
grandfather was a photo reconnaissance pilot in WWII and he was declared
missing, assumed to have been shot down in September 1944. But it wasn’t until
1992 that remains of his spitfire were discovered near Oldenburg (Bremen) in
northern Germany and my family, most notably my grandmother, his daughter, were
filled in with more of the story and able to find out a lot more of what
actually happened to him. In 2011 a replica of the spitfire was mounted at the
entrance to the RAF Base as a memorial to my great grandfather and others in
the Photographic Reconnaissance Unit (PRU) who were killed flying solo and
unarmed in their Spitfires over enemy territory. My family were all invited as
guests of honour to the opening ceremony in 2011, but living on the other side
of the world doesn’t lend itself so well to attending such events so it was
very special for me to be able to pay my respects. For more on this visit my grandmother's website: <a href="http://www.cuckoo57.co.uk/duncans-story/">http://www.cuckoo57.co.uk/duncans-story/</a></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The drive from London to Glasgow which is about 700km was
one of the longest drives we’d tackled in one day on the whole trip. The only
other places where we would have travelled further in a single day were
Australia when we had to make a dash for the pushed forward shipping date (Blog
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/04/day-10-dessert-outback-and-tropics.html">Day 10 - The desert, the outback and thetropics</a></i>), and China where our plans were turned topsy turvey because of the
badly timed closure of Tibet, meaning we had to drive 6,715 km in two weeks
instead of the 3,400 or so we were supposed to travel in three weeks (Blogs <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/day-87-kazakhstan-or-tibet.html">Day 87</a></i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/day-95-next-stage-in-kazakhstan.html">Day 93</a></i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/day-94-tibet-closed-again.html">Day 94</a></i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/day-117-incompetency-of-navo-part-1.html">Day 117</a></i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/day-118-incompetency-of-navo-part-2-our.html">Day 118</a></i>). Although we covered a lot of distance over the whole
journey, we did do it over a year for the point of not being in a rush and to
be able to stop in places and not drive 1000’s of kilometres every day. For the
majority of the trip we also didn’t have the opportunity to cover these sorts
of distances on a daily basis, as the quality of a lot of roads we travelled on
meant that even when we drove for eight or ten hours, we’d only cover a couple
hundred kilometres anyway.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">This was one of the few days on which we took turns driving,
the only other times being when we had extra people in the car, whether wanted
or unwanted, so it was less comfortable for the passengers such as when we had
Lui in China (un-wanted: Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/day-118-incompetency-of-navo-part-2-our.html">Day 118 -The Incompetency of NAVO: Part 2 - Our sub-par tour guide</a></i>), or Josje and
Remco in Kazakhstan (yes, that means we had six in the car so we really needed
to switch seats often, but they were definitely wanted: Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/day-138-how-afternoon-searching-for_11.html">Day 138 – How an afternoon searching forflamingos became six days in the desert with some hitch hikers</a></i>). The reason
we switched around on this drive was different though: it was so that we could
all share in the drive that would take us to Scotland. We got off the M6 for
the border so we could stop and take a photo or two, though unfortunately it
was dark by the time we got there and all of our cameras were beginning to
struggle under the workload they’ve been given this year, so our photos at the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=343188755791248&set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3&theater">“SCOTLAND welcomes you”</a> sign in Gretna Green aren’t brilliant, but we can see where we
are and that’s the main thing.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Gretna Green is a village on the Scottish side of the border
which was made famous when Lord Hardwicke’s Marriage Act was brought into play
in England and Wales in 1754. Under the act it was necessary for brides and
grooms to have parental permission under the age of 21, whilst in Scotland it
was still permissible for boys to get married at 14 and girls at 12 without
their parents’ consent. As a result there was a swell in young English and
Welsh couples fleeing to Scotland to tie the knot, and as the first village
accessible from England Gretna Green was a convenient place for these “runaway
marriages” to take place. Since that time the laws in Scotland, England and
Wales have changed many times causing rises and falls in the trends, but to
this day Gretna Green is a very popular place for weddings, especially for
English couples. Directly opposite the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=343188755791248&set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3&theater">“SCOTLAND welcomes you”</a> sign is the
cottage which historically was used for these ceremonies and the facts are
proudly painted on the stone walls. The side of the building facing Scotland reads
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=343188762457914&set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3&theater">“last house in Scotland marriage room”</a> and the wall which faces England reads <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=343188762457914&set=a.343188725791251.1073741828.191591277617664&type=3&theater">“first house in Scotland marriage room</a>”. Another sign boasts that over 10,000
marriages have been performed in that marriage room.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Our next stop, and the last one before Glasgow, was for
dinner in the village of Moffat. Glad to be in Scotland and desperate to
experience Scottish cuisine at its finest we found a chippie (a chippie being fish
and chip shop, not a carpenter as any Australian readers might think) and
indulged ourselves in a haggis supper and Irn Bru each. Scotland at its finest.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-16200185931126448692013-04-18T00:41:00.002-07:002013-04-18T20:51:48.645-07:00Day 334 – The White Cliffs of Dover. (France, England, crossing the English Channel)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We successfully managed so many border crossings and visa
applications earlier in the trip, and struggled through police checks and
corruption, but now that we were casually jaunting our way through Western
Europe, visiting friends and having a nice time, things were pretty simple and
straight forward. The last thing that we needed to organise though was the
ferry crossing from the Continental Europe to the UK. Having taken vehicles
across the English Channel umpteen times before on previous trips, Ben and I
knew that Dunkirk to Dover on Norfolk Lines would be the best option and we
were pretty comfortable that it would be cheap and simple to book. The problem
is though that we left it until only a couple of days in advance, at which
point none of our credit cards worked on the website. Stupidly we
procrastinated asking Josje and Remco who we were staying with in Gent to help
us out, and by the time we did it was less than 24 hours before the time of
departure and all the prices had gone up. As expected Norfolk Lines had been
the cheapest when we were trying to book it a couple of days in advance, the
price from Dunkirk to Dover being <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">£</span>29. Now that all the prices had shot
up though, much to our disdain the cheapest option was now from Calais on Sea
France and it would cost about <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">£</span>50. It was very frustrating, but in
the scheme of things really not the end of the world. We just hoped that France
wouldn’t decide to go on strike that day.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Our time in France was brief, in fact all we did was drive
to Calais, spend our last Euros in Subway, and head to the ferry port. The
Customs and Immigration process to leave France was simple with just a regular
passport check, a few questions about the nature of our trip (the same type of
questions we received when entering Poland: Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/04/day-312-third-time-lucky-our-final.html">Day 312 – Third time lucky: our final entrance to the EU</a></i>), and a
form to tell them that we didn’t have any drugs or weapons on us. We were given
a card to hang from our rear-view mirror that had the number 122 on it – the
number of the lane we were to queue up in to board the ship from.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">This was it. We were about to be in the UK, days from our
destination, and this was farewell to, well, the trip really. I’ve mentioned
before various points along the way that have felt a bit like end points (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/04/day-312-third-time-lucky-our-final.html">Day 312 – Third time lucky: our final entrance to the EU</a></i>), and this was certainly a pretty major one. Arriving in
Scotland would be another, getting to Glasgow, and of course making it to our
destination of Appin, but crossing the Channel was big. It was all a bit
surreal as we waited to board the ship, then stood on the deck looking out over
France and imagining all the places that we’ve been through on our journey to
get there. Watching as the White Cliffs of Dover become closer was a landmark
we’d been looking forward to, but unfortunately we couldn’t have chosen a
foggier day. Everywhere we looked was a sheet of white, and although we stared
and squinted, we didn’t catch a glimpse of the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.342400309203426.1073741826.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=342400735870050&set=a.342400309203426.1073741826.191591277617664&type=3&theater">White Cliffs</a> until we were already
docked in Dover.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Driving on the left for the first time since Thailand was
peculiar, and having gotten so used to driving on the right hand side with a
right-hand drive car, we now had to get re-used to having the wheel on the
correct side. We stopped at a rest stop on the motorway to buy some food and
use a toilet, and realised just how used to constantly working through a
language barrier we have become. Instead of saying “Bankomat?” we could now
just approach anyone and address them with “hi, excuse me, could you tell me if
there’s an ATM nearby please?” No one looked at us strangely and even our car
blended in a bit more. We had become so accustomed to communication with
strangers being a task and always sticking out like a sore thumb everywhere we went,
it sounds ridiculous but it took several weeks for me to stop thinking twice
about how to greet people. “It’s fine, they speak the same language as you,” I
had to tell myself over and over again.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The last stop on our tour of people we met when travelling
was Grady, the guy who we met at the Kazakh Embassy in Urumqi, China, the
person who was with us while we battled NAVO (Nature Adventure Voyage Overland)
as they used all their force and resources to try and blackmail us (Blog <em><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/day-117-incompetency-of-navo-part-1.html">Day 117 - The incompetency of NAVO Part 1 -Kazakh visa troubles</a></em> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/day-118-incompetency-of-navo-part-2-our.html">Day 118 -The incompetency of NAVO Part 2</a></i>). At the time he was in the middle of
hitch-hiking from Perth, Australia to London to raise money for Chi Line, and
after leaving Urumqi we spent a week or so together in Almaty, Kazakhstan. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Grady isn’t just a fun and interesting person, he also
happens to reside in the much sought-after fashion of on a houseboat, currently
moored in the centre of London. Utilising the nearby Sainsbury’s car park we
had the unique pleasure of enjoying London from the riverside, an experience
that most people, locals and tourists alike, will never truly have. The mooring
was extremely private, with the back of the Kensal Green Cemetery (where
Freddie Mercury and countless other celebrities and persons of note rest in
peace) on one side, the river on the other, behind which was a small walking
track and then a high wall. Our first meal in London was sausages and burgers
grilled over a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.342400309203426.1073741826.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=342400769203380&set=a.342400309203426.1073741826.191591277617664&type=3&theater">campfire</a> with some fellow river dwellers, and our time in London
was spent cruising the canals, and relaxing at the waterside. There are a fair
few house boats on London’s canals, and screeds of people walk and cycle along
the paths running alongside the water every day, yet as we navigated our way
around we were continuously met with looks of amusement and curiosity. If I saw
a houseboat in Melbourne I’d probably stare, take a photo and tell everyone
about it, but I would have thought they’d be used to it in a city where such a
thing is so prolific. Yet we were still obviously a novelty and I even managed
to snap a photo of <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.342400309203426.1073741826.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=342400802536710&set=a.342400309203426.1073741826.191591277617664&type=3&theater">someone taking a photo of us</a>.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-59982629406965944872013-04-17T17:51:00.001-07:002013-04-18T20:54:45.856-07:00Day 318 – The third wheel. (Germany)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Trevor had really done so well for so long and even after
all the horrible fuel we fed him with and the constant harshness of the roads
for so much of this trip we so almost made it all the way with our original set
of tyres. Perhaps if we hadn’t taken so many little detours such as the 2,500
km round trip to take in Astana when we were in Kazakhstan, or the extra 2,000
km we drove to see Shiraz and Esfahan in Iran, or the huge amount of doubling
back we did in Europe by making it to Germany then backtracking all the way
through Romania, Moldova and Ukraine, then we could have completed the trip
without needing any new tyres. But if we use that logic then we could have just
flown the whole way and then we wouldn’t even have needed a car.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">When we had the problems with our tyres in Romania (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/01/day-289-threatening-to-spontaneously.html">Day 289 – Threatening to spontaneouslycombust</a></i>) we took a gamble and decided just to buy two new tyres costing us <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>220
as opposed to four for <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>360, hoping that two of our remaining three would hold up
for the remainder of the journey. Well they survived the many potholed and
unmade roads that we traversed through Romania, Moldova, Transnistria, Ukraine
and Poland but decided, minutes after reaching Germany and getting on the
perfectly made, impeccably maintained, void of speed limits but incredibly
controlled in terms of other safety precautions, autobahn, the familiar clunk
and wobble resounded from Trevor’s back side. Fortunately we were on the 200 m
stretch between two tunnels so we hobbled onto the emergency lane and hastily
removed the shredded old tyre and replaced it with the completely bald spare
tyre. Knowing that part of the beauty of the autobahn is how controlled they
are, making it possible to drive at insane speeds for minimal danger, and we
didn’t have any of the things that made changing a tyre on the emergency lane
legal. We didn’t have that reflective hazard triangle thing, or reflective
vests, or road worthy tyres, or any of the safety kit that’s compulsory for
driving on German roads. All we could do was hope that the tyre change would
happen before we were spotted by anyone who cared, and fortunately we displayed
exceptional team work and were back on the road less than 10 minutes after the
tyre blew. (Thanks Denner.)</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The spare which we were now driving on was beyond un-road worthy,
it was only there as an absolute emergency and there was no way we could make
it to Scotland on it. We had our doubts actually that we’d make it to Berlin
without it wearing away, and then we really would be stuck. So we exited the
autobahn at the next opportunity in an attempt to begin the search for new
tyres, but very quickly realised that it was in fact Sunday and not a single
thing was open. Well we’d just have to drive very carefully for now and take care
of it during our stay in Berlin.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Edgar pointed us in the direction of some mechanics and car
yards so we used that as a starting point. The first shop we found was able to
get us a tyre, but it would be ordered in especially for us so would take a couple
of days and cost almost <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>200. We were glad to have an option, but desperately hoped
that we would find somewhere that could beat the price and preferably give it
to us straight away. There were several other places on the same block, a lot
of them selling second hand tyres, but there aren’t many cars on European roads
with Trevor’s specifications so the ones that were able to get it (most of them
couldn’t) were all ordering it in so it was the same story with the price and
the wait.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Someone gave us directions to a shop that would surely have
our tyre, so filled with both hope and dread we set off to find this place. On
the way we stopped in a couple more car yards and second hand tyre shops and
were given more directions to this other place. We weren’t exactly sure what we
were looking for, but as soon as we got there we knew that was it. We had been
sent to a large complex with service centres, a car park and a sizeable shop,
all of which was obviously part of a chain called <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Auto Teile Unger (ATV)</span>. Inside
the shop there was an entire display of shiny new tyres, but despite searching
through each one, we couldn’t find Trevor’s size. We were very impressed with
the outstanding service we received when we asked at the counter though, and
the friendly young gentleman offered to ring their other stores in Berlin and
find out if anyone else had a tyre for us. While he waited on the phone we
assuaged his curiosity by describing our trip to him, making him all the more
determined to find us a tyre. With great excitement and much to our relief he
jotted down some details and gave us the good news that another Berlin branch
had two tyres that would fit Trevor’s needs. He’d asked for them both to be set
aside for us, even though we only wanted one, though to be honest it did seem
fairly unlikely that the one other guy in the whole of Europe that had a
vehicle with this size tyre would attempt to purchase it in the next half hour
or so. The shop assistant kindly printed us a map, wrote down the address, gave
us verbal directions and wished us well as we went on our way.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It was about half past three by now and we had a booking to
see the Reichstag Building at quarter past five, so we considered whether we
had time to do this right now, but decided just to hurry up and get on with it.
Denner began driving in the general direction while I looked up the address on
the map of Berlin that Denner had on his phone, but I realised pretty quickly
that the map the very helpful shop assistant had printed out didn’t match up
with the map I was looking at. We tried looking for nearby streets and
searching for landmarks, but nothing was matching up so we exited the autobahn to
try and figure out what was going on. Realising that we weren’t far from
Edgar’s house we decided just to go home and check the internet, at which point
we discovered that whilst his intentions were pure and his effort surmount ,
our friend at the shop had printed us a map for a Bismarckstra<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ß</span> in
a different city. Fortunately his verbal directions had been correct so we had
been heading the right way, and with a new map in hand we found the place
easily.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The tyres were sitting there waiting for us when we arrived
and we waited the 20 minutes or so it took to have <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=337747336335390&set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3&theater">our ancient, mangled tyre</a> replaced
by the crisp, clean new one. <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>159.25 later and we still had enough
time to drive into town and see the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=337747349668722&set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Reichstag Building</a> at our allotted time.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">For any mathematicians out there you may have realised our
folly: had we just paid <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>360 to begin with we would have had four new, matching
tyres, but by trying to save a bit of money we not only cost ourselves a lot of
extra effort, but ended up spending <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>379.25 – an extra <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>19.25
– on one less tyre. Well that’s the benefit of hindsight isn’t it, and were we
to do it all again we’d do it the same anyway.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-91182990928078708212013-04-16T18:14:00.002-07:002013-04-19T03:41:46.468-07:00Day 316-332 – Solidifying friendships. (Poland, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium)<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We didn’t realise it at the time, but our last night in
Poland was also the last night we would camp on this trip. We found a good spot
in a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=335016623275128&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">pine plantation</a> which had become one of our favourite camping locations as
they usually have all the prerequisites of a perfect spot: a good network of
tracks to drive on, the ground will be relatively flat, always plenty of
firewood, and other than a couple of trucks every couple of months, no traffic
whatsoever. It was a bit bitter sweet crossing the border to Germany, passing
the old buildings that are now empty but not so long ago would have been writhe
with guards and officials, police and military. On one hand it was a relief knowing
we wouldn’t have to worry about the bureaucracy involved in border crossings
again, but actually we have greatly enjoyed the challenge of playing the game that
these crossings are, and knowing that we had none more between us and Scotland
brought home the feeling of the end of the trip.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We got straight on the autobahn heading to Berlin where we
would stay with Edgar, who along with his friend Andreas, we had met many
months ago now in Uzbekistan. We spent a small amount of time one evening with
Edgar in Samarqand, but it was amongst a group, and it wasn’t until we stumbled
across each other in Tashkent a couple of weeks later that we got to know them
much better and realised that these were blokes we definitely wanted to be
friends with. We hadn’t made very specific plans before arriving in Berlin, but
Edgar knew we were coming and we had his phone number. Unfortunately we just
didn’t have a phone to contact him on, so our first hour or possibly more after
arriving in Berlin was spent trying to get in touch with him. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">First of all we searched for wi-fi, hoping to get in touch
with him via the internet, but after wasting a bunch of time trying to log on
to various servers, and waiting whilst horribly slow connections ate into our
afternoon, we decided just to bite the bullet and look for a pay phone. We were
pretty cynical about the chances of just stumbling across one, but fortunately
we passed a couple just after deciding to look. We rang Edgar, really unsure of
whether this was going to work out, and in the two minutes of conversation
before the <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">€</span>12
we’d scrounged together in coins had run out and we were cut off, he gave us an
address, but we didn’t manage to establish anything else. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went straight there with no idea of when he
might come to meet us but hoping it would be soonish, and couldn’t believe it
when he was already there. After all the hoo-ha and our concern for lack of
planning it all worked out perfectly. Andreas wasn’t able to host us, but
between Edgar and his friend who lived around the corner, they were able to put
us up and we couldn’t have had a better time with them.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The thing about meeting people when travelling is that
whilst you may get on like a house on fire, you might see eye to eye on every
subject you can think of, you never want to stop talking to them and you
consider them to be good friends, it is much different to getting to know
people when they are amidst their real lives. The reason we used our short time
in Europe as a chance to visit a few of the people we’d met on this trip wasn’t
for free accommodation or because they were necessarily on our way, or even for
the reasons that we like to use Couch Surfing. Our purpose for visiting these
people several months after having met them in various “exotic” countries was
to solidify the friendships and move them from the category of “some cool
people we met travelling” to “really good friends”. The peculiar thing about
this was that whilst they had been home and had resumed their lives several
months ago, we were still a group of rogue travellers who had been on the road
ever since. This was funny to think of from both our point of view and theirs. Another
interesting thing is that whilst we have now witnessed their regular lives and
seen how they go about their day to day business, their impression of us still
doesn’t include that aspect of who we are.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">After Edgar and Andreas in Berlin we headed to Nurnberg to
stay with <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=338050039638453&set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Chrissie and Daniel</a> who we met in Cambodia (Blog</span><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/05/day-59-seven-guys-in-car.html"><span style="font-size: large;"> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Day 59 - Seven guys in a car</i></span></a><span style="font-size: large;">). From there we shot through to
Amsterdam, stopping in Aachen on the way to have lunch with <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.337747049668752.68487.191591277617664&type=3">Farnas</a>, an Iranian
girl who we met at the bazaar in Shiraz. In Amsterdam we stayed with <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.339872869456170.68774.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=339872932789497&set=a.339872869456170.68774.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Priscillia</a>
who oddly enough had never met Trevor before as we met her in the Philippines
whilst he was being shipping to Malaysia. During our days in Amsterdam, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.317596078350516.65710.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=317596668350457&set=a.317596078350516.65710.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Sven</a>
who we met in Belgrade, bumped into on the streets of Budapest and spent New
Year in Prague with (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/day-281-you-dont-always-get-what-you.html">Day 281 – Youdon’t always get what you pay for</a></i>), made the journey from his nearby
hometown to spend an afternoon with us in the city. Our next stop was Gent in
Belgium to visit <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.341746689268788.1073741825.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=341747382602052&set=a.341746689268788.1073741825.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Josje and Remco</a> who we picked up in a remote village in
Kazakhstan, travelled through the desert for a week with (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/day-138-how-afternoon-searching-for_11.html">Day 138 – How an afternoon searching forflamingos became six days in the desert with some hitch hikers</a></i>), and met up
with again a couple of weeks later so we could explore Kyrgyzstan together
(Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/08/day-148-beer-and-shashliks-on-beach.html">Day 148 – Beer and shashliks on thebeach gone wrong</a></i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Day</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/09/day-152-life-as-nomad.html">152 - Life as a nomad</a></i>). </span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-73728136512474872132013-04-16T05:11:00.000-07:002013-04-19T03:44:07.294-07:00Day 312 – Third time lucky: our final entrance to the EU. (Border crossing Ukraine to Poland)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">On crossing the border from Ukraine to Poland we would be
entering the EU for the third and final time on this trip. I’ve mentioned
before some of the various “end points” of this grand expedition; arriving in
geographical Europe (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/12/day-246-breakfast-in-asia-europe-for.html">Day 246 –Breakfast in Asia, Europe for lunch, and back to Asia for dinner</a></i>), entering
the EU for the first time (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/12/day-251-bad-cop-turned-good.html">Day 251 –Bad cops turned good</a></i>), making it to a country which is on the Euro
(Greece), entering the EU again (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/day-273-from-melbourne-to-eu-border.html">Day273 – From Melbourne to the EU</a></i>), and many more. Entering the EU for the
last time though did bring with it a certain sense of finality – after arriving
in Poland we would remain in the EU all the way to the end of the trip. With
less than four weeks to go, we really were on the home stretch now.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We made an informed decision about which post we would cross
the border at, having been warned by several people that the main one near Lviv
can involve waiting in excruciatingly long queues taking nine or ten hours in
some cases. Usually we’re relatively dismissive of advice we get from locals
because the situation is always so different for us anyway. We seriously
considered avoiding this one though and taking a detour to the smaller border
post because amongst the people that warned us was the Polish EU guard who we
spoke to when entering Ukraine (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/day-300-friends-with-eu-babysitters.html">Day300 – Friends with the EU Babysitters</a></i>).</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The border post was a monstrosity of stainless steel and
reinforced concrete, towering over the horizon. As we approached the entrance
to the intimidating complex a blond-haired muscular Russian-looking man in army
uniform waved at us to stop, at which point he asked us a series of questions
all of which were answered with various types of shrugs. After peering through
our windows, Muscley Blond Guard handed us a slip displaying a number and
gestured for us to proceed through the gates and down the left hand lane. Several
hundred metres later we found ourselves at the back of a queue of cars where we
waited for a while until a portly guard worked his way back to us. We handed Portly
Guard our numbered slip, at which point he turned his nose up at us, asked for
our passports and car documents which we handed him and thrust a new slip of
paper in the window. Turning away from us, Portly Guard waved dismissively back
towards the gates we’d just gained access through. Well this was a pain. We
called out as Portly Guard sauntered off and thankfully we managed to catch his
attention. Our requests for some sort of explanation or more specific
instructions, along with our insistence that we were in fact a car, as notated
on our numbered slip and demonstrated by the hard evidence that we were, in
fact, a car, therefore meaning that we were in the correct queue and shouldn’t
be removed to the other one which was clearly for lorries, were ignored. Our
indignation was met with passive disdain so we bit our tongues and returned to
Muscley Blond Guard on the other side of the gate. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Muscly Blond Guard didn’t take much interest in us this time;
I suppose his curiosity wasn’t strong enough to outweigh the amount of work
that was required in looking after us. The very young looking guard standing
nearby took us on though and ushered us to a booth where we were met by a very
surly guard. Young Guard hung back but remained in view, watching us out the
corner of his eye while Surly Guard stared at our new slip.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Passport? Document?”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“The guy in the car queue has them. He told us to come here
and go in the truck queue.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Passport. Document.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Over there. We need to go in this queue. Look at the slip.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“Passport! Document!”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“We don’t have them! We were told to go in this queue!”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">He stared at us, made a few phone calls and eventually
instructed us to return to the car queue. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">“We. Were. Told. To. Go. In. This. Queue.” </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Some more phone calls were made and eventually we were
allowed to proceed into the truck queue. Hopefully our documents would be
waiting for us up ahead somewhere and we wouldn’t just be directed to yet
another queue.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We waited in the car while our documents were passed around
between various offices and it wasn’t too long before we were sent on towards
Poland. Relieved to be through the Ukrainian part of the process we drove
onwards only to be pulled over at the usual passport checkpoint before no man’s
land. The jolly guard asked us for our passports and a particular document
which we handed him, only to discover that it hadn’t been stamped by the correct
authority in the correct place. Denner followed Jolly Guard’s directions back
to one of the many offices and received the necessary stamp, and with a smile Jolly
Guard allowed us to proceed.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">With that part completed and now on the Polish side, we had
to start from square one again, choosing a queue to join the end of. Worlds
away from their post-Soviet, excessively bureaucratic and highly disorganised
counterpart, Polish Customs and Immigration were highly professional and the pinnacle
of efficiency. A charming female guard was making her way through the queue of
cars, moving people through as quickly as possible. Friendly and approachable,
Charming Lady Guard was a far cry from the burly, intimidating Ukrainian guards
we’d just left and we happily answered her questions and waited patiently while
she did a cursory search of the car. The questions she asked were the type of
ones you get when entering Australia or Britain, where they’re subtly digging
in a very friendly way, attempting to decipher whether you’re suspicious or
not, and you can’t quite decide whether they really are a little bit interested
in who you are and what you’re doing, or if the curiosity is entirely feigned and
purely business. Either way I always end up enjoying speaking to them, and in
this case I choose to believe that she really was intrigued by the concept of our
trip. When Charming Lady Guard was satisfied with us and our answers she
disappeared with our documents and promptly returned to give us the all clear.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The next and final stage of the border crossing was to have
the car ripped apart at the searching station. A dainty but formidable female
guard approached and we gathered that she was here to take care of us. Formidable
Lady Guard completely ransacked our vehicle, taking torches and screw drivers
to every nook and cranny, searching the entirety of each bag and box, the backs
of the chairs, the underside of the engine, the door panels, inside the trim
and linings, underneath the carpet in the boot etc. As well as unpacking every
item she even tore the lining of my laptop bag just to check I wasn’t smuggling
anything through in there. (I wasn’t.) There were other cars nearby that were
much emptier than ours and were being scrutinised even more thoroughly, with
wheels being removed and entire panels taken away. Eventually, and much to our
relief, we were dismissed as non-smugglers and granted entry to Poland. We
quickly threw everything back into the car, all of our belongings tossed
haphazardly on top of each other, unpacked from their bags and boxes making
retrieving anything later on more of a challenge than usual. On we went and we
were finally in Poland, and back in the EU where we would now remain for the
remainder of the trip.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It did cross our mind that although there were dogs sniffing
around the general vicinity earlier on in the border crossing, they didn’t seem
to be thoroughly searching and there certainly weren’t any around at this point.
So although we couldn’t have hidden a toenail clipping inside the car, our
luggage or the lining of my laptop bag, I could have had anything I liked in my
pockets and nobody would have noticed. It is odd how the focus is entirely on
the possessions in this situation and not even remotely on the person. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-31041534487941290972013-04-15T17:16:00.003-07:002013-04-19T03:56:46.898-07:00Day 313 – Chandeliers and Cauliflowers. (Poland)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">With less than four weeks to go until we planned to reach
our destination of Appin in Scotland, we were planning the rest of our route
around visiting people that we had met along the previous parts of our travels.
As the only people for us to visit in Poland were on a skiing holiday at the
time we were there we decided just to spend a couple of days in Krakow and head
straight to Germany where we would begin our tour of visitations. Having really
succeeded with Couch Surfing in Ukraine (every single night we were there we
Couch Surfed) we decided to stay in a hostel in Krakow. Couch Surfing is
amazing because of the opportunity it gives to meet locals and glean a little
bit of how people live in different places, but it is also great to meet other
travellers and hostels are a fantastic way to do that. And sure enough, as soon
as we arrived at the hostel we met the friends that we would spend our days in
Krakow with: Laura from Australia who happened to walk up the 82 stairs to the
hostel entrance at the same time as us, causing much confusion for herself and
the receptionist, and Patrick from England who was fascinated by our trip and caused
us much amusement over the following days.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We had heard from several people in the last few weeks that Wieliczka
Salt Mine is a must see, and being only 13 km from Krakow is an easy day trip. Despite
the fact that three of us had already been to Krakow on previous trips, we
hadn’t visited the salt mine before so decided to prioritise that in our
agenda. The tour of the salt mine began with a descent down <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334051680038289&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">378 wooden stairs</a>,
dropping to 64 m below ground level. Not only were the stairs steep and deep,
but there were only half a dozen steps between each landing, each of which lead
to the stairs turning back 180<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span> on themselves, so by the time we
reached the bottom we all felt a bit dizzy, not only from the depth, but also from
the constant spinning around. Built in the 13<sup>th</sup> Century, Wieliczka
Salt Mine was still functioning until 2007, making it one of the world’s oldest
operating salt mines. Although the mine reaches a depth of 327 m and spans a
distance of over 287 km, the 3.5 km section tourists are taken to only descends
to a depth of 135 m and much to our disappointment only covers about 3.5 of the
287 km.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We became severely disorientated as our guide, Katherine
(the ticket price includes a guided tour) led the way through a maze of <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334052056704918&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">narrowcorridors</a> which opened out into vast chambers and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334051726704951&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">intricate chapels</a>, past
<span style="background-color: white;">informative displays, spooky monuments and even an underground lake. Parts of
the walls are <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334052246704899&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">reinforced with wood</a>, but other parts are left open, displaying
the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334051670038290&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">stunning swirling patterns</a> of the salt as it oozes out of the land. <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">Some of the wood had been so
saturated by the salt that it had begun to look like rock</span></span>, and in some
parts the salt crystals have congealed into little bunches referred to as
“<a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334051840038273&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">cauliflowers</a>”, because of their visual resemblance to the vegetable. In some
places the walls are rough, but in parts where thousands of people run their
hands across it every day, the rock and the salt have become smooth and shiny,
almost like marble. Some of the statues that were carved into the salt were
understated and we almost didn’t notice them,</span><span style="background-color: white;"> but some were bold and brash.
There was one scene depicting a group of miners at work, and another mining
scene, this one fictional and involving gnomes, which was built to spark the
interest</span> of children. Many of the statues were constructed by miners to pass
time, so there were life sized sculptures of ancient legends and fairytales.
Inside the chapels there were all the usual icons and monuments, carved out of
the salty rock though, and even the spectacular chandeliers were made
completely of salt. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The crème de la crème of this incredible complex though is
the exquisite <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334052186704905&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Chapel of St. Kinga</a>, which at 101 m below ground level is the
world’s lowest church. The entrance to the magnificent hall brings you out at a
mezzanine level giving a breath-taking panoramic view of the entire church. As
you make your way down the sweeping staircase to the main level it is hard not
to feel like royalty. An altar, pulpit and crucifix mark the front of the
church, whilst unbelievable carvings surround you. Amongst others, a full-size
scale version of the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=334052040038253&set=a.334051540038303.68006.191591277617664&type=3&theater">“Last Supper”</a> by Da Vinci is embedded into the salt walls.
In the centre another salt chandelier hangs, this one all the more monstrous in
size and grandeur. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">During the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">three hour tour</span></span> we had followed Katherine from 64 m below ground
level to 135 m and we wondered about how we were to get back up. Fortunately
the ticket price and guided tour includes a ride back up in a lift, so after
enjoying a fine cafeteria meal in the lovely underground restaurant, we became
part of the large group of visitors making their way to the lift. It was quite
a process, this bit of the tour, and I can’t even imagine what it might be like
in peak season when the place sees around <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">7,000 visitors per day</span></span>. Katherine handed her 6
person tour (us and our new friends from the hostel) to a stern man with long
grey hair who led the now huge group through a few more corridors, another
chapel, and past a reception hall to a small dingy alcove. The first 20 or so
people were ushered up a small staircase where they entered the top floor of
the elevator, and the next 20 or so were allowed to enter the bottom floor of
the elevator. Unfortunately I had hung back to take a photo of the corridor and
the others had gone on, so I made the elevator ride on the bottom, whilst the
rest of my companions were on the top. 135 m is a substantial distance for a
lift to travel, and this one was no state of the art piece of machinery. We had
become pretty used to clunky and shaky Soviet lifts after our extensive time
spent in formerly Russian occupied countries, but usually there weren’t 40
people crammed into one. As I stood in the middle of a group of Japanese
tourists for the several minutes it took for the rickety, unlit elevator to
reach the top, I could hear the rest of my group centimetres above me joking
and laughing about the ride. Surrounded by nervous giggling from my Japanese
compartment buddies, I stood quietly and listened to my comrades discussing the
odds of whether the lift might collapse and the fact that this was more
dangerous than any rollercoaster. But fortunately we made it to the top and
have ticked yet another Soviet lift off our “done” list.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-3437178955260086402013-04-05T20:10:00.002-07:002013-04-19T04:10:06.403-07:00Day 311 – Cold cars and quirky cafes. (Ukraine)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As I’ve previously mentioned we were becoming pretty used to
being cold by this point in the trip. Two or three pairs of socks was a general
minimum, hat, scarf and gloves was a must, and huddling up inside our clothes
had become second nature. Usually though we’d get in the car, run it on petrol
(as we learned the hard way: Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/day-291-when-trevor-got-cold-romania.html">Day 290– When Trevor got cold</a></i>) and after a bit of time we’d be able to
switch the heaters on and warm up Trevor’s insides, even if only a little bit
and not until several hours into the journey. The day on which we drove from
Kiev to Lviv though was cold beyond any cold that we had yet experienced. As we
chose a vehicle that is 20 years old and doesn’t have lots of extra electronics
such as a temperature gauge we can’t be sure what the exact temperature was,
but what we know is that we had experienced our fair share of -20<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C,
and this was well beyond that. Not only did the engine not heat up enough to
unfreeze the LPG tank, the windscreen washing water, or the air blowing out of
the vents (all of which were somewhat regular occurrences), but the entire
inside of the car became frozen. At first we thought a layer of ice was forming
on the outside of the windows and doors, then we realised that the ice was in
fact <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329738080469649&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">condensation on the inside of the car which had frozen</a>. And this wasn’t
just a little layer of frost; this was a thick sheet of solid ice. Visibility
became essentially non-existent through the solid coating that stuck to every
window, and Denner who was driving on this occasion struggled to peer out of
the small gap of windscreen that we managed to de-ice by blowing all the vents
on it. Being surrounded by a car of ice didn’t do much for our personal body
warmth either. I’ve always thought that the difference between -15<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C
and -30<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C
probably isn’t that noticeable; there’s a certain point it gets past, as with when
it’s really hot on the other end of the spectrum, that the body just can’t tell
the difference. But after this day in the car I can tell you that the body
definitely does know the difference between these low temperatures. We have
never been so relieved to reach our destination and be welcomed into the warm
home of our host and her family, where we were showered with hot soup and
delicious snacks.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Anyone who has travelled at all will know that there are
certain things you come to miss when being away from home for an extended
period of time: your own bed, sitting on a couch watching tellie, time spent
with family and friends, and the longing for a home cooked meal. We had some
great experiences through Couch Surfing where we had the opportunity to be part
of a home and participate in activities such as eating or making home cooking,
but Lviv was the only place other than Canakkale, Turkey (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2012/12/day-246-breakfast-in-asia-europe-for.html">Day 246 – Breakfast in Asia, Europe for lunch,and back to Asia for dinner</a></i>) where we stayed with a family. It was lovely
being part of a family and being treated to things like a packed lunch, and the
fact that we couldn’t communicate in Ukrainian with our host’s parents didn’t
take away from how hospitably we were accepted into their family.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Our host in Lviv was fantastic, not only welcoming us into
her home, but taking us on an extensive custom tour of the city, giving us a
fantastic snapshot of her home town. We climbed to the top of the clock tower,
a tough ascent up 305 narrow and uncomfortably worn steps (even after the
4-storey elevator ride) which gave us a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=330266287083495&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">spectacular 360<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span> view of snow-covered Lviv</a>. We
stopped by the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=332471543529636&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Chapel of Boims</a> on the corner of Market Square (the central
square) on which rests one of the only two statues in the world depicting
Christ sitting down. Although it is a small, relatively un-impressive building,
apparently the inside is decorated glamorously with murals and the dome is
covered in tiny mirrors, producing a bizarre optical illusion causing the
church to look much larger from the inside. We tried on several occasions to go
inside the church but even at times within the prescribed opening hours, disappointingly
it always seemed to be closed. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We were also taken to a shop which our host/guide assured us
we would love. We were a little apprehensive about this as none of us are
hugely into shopping and were quite anxious about being taken to some sort of expensive
speciality store where we’d feel like uncomfortable and awkward cheapskates.
But we realised just how well our host had done at assessing our likes and
wants when we were shown into a small boutique store selling a range of very
unusual clothes and accessories that had been designed by unknown Ukrainian
designers. Not only were the clothes really different and exciting, but the
girls working in the shop were so happy to have us there, treating us like
guests and humouring us as we tried on various hats and coats and what not. And
the great thing about the designs was that each one had its own story. One
particularly splendid hat for example was based on an ancient Ukrainian military
uniform.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Lviv is known for its very active range of restaurants, bars
and cafes. The streets are oozing with cool places to eat and drink and meet
people, regardless of what you might consider to be cool. One aspect of this
that stands out though is the quirky cafe culture that has emerged and Lviv is now
home to a range of uniquely themed coffee shops and cafes. We by no means
visited them all, but we made an effort to check out the ones that particularly
grabbed our fancy. There’s the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=330679633708827&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Trabant Cafe</a> which is tall and skinny. There are
only three or four tables on each floor and each one has a different theme such
as space or dinosaurs. On the roof though is the cafe’s namesake and main
attraction: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=330674483709342&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">a genuine Trabant mounted at the side of the roof</a>. You can sit
inside the car and with nothing directly below you it appears that the vehicle
is suspended in midair, offering a great view over the rooftops. Their other
claim to fame is a man sitting on top of a chimney on the roof of this cafe, which
is the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=330674437042680&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">highest statue in Lviv</a>.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We went searching for the Mason’s Cafe, but like the club
that the cafe is depicting it is difficult to find, so we gave up and ate at a
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=333634726746651&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">bakery</a> which specialises in strudels, both savoury and sweet. What makes this
place stand out though, aside from its traditional bakery decor, is the huge
pots of delicious homemade sauces which the customer is allowed to ladle onto
his/her plate ad lib. <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=330679687042155&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">The Mining Cafe</a> was our favourite out of the ones we went
to. The ground level is a lovely coffee shop and gift shop, but down in the
basement it is set up to look and feel like a mine. On arrival a man will hand
you a hard hat, one of which per group will have a torch attached, and then you
are asked to follow the corridor as it weaves through various mining scenes.
Unfortunately we didn’t have time to check out the one where you need a
password to get in, the cafe that is Harry Potter themed, the Masoch Cafe, or
the dozens of other unique establishments. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-78194069548832472642013-04-04T18:15:00.000-07:002013-04-19T04:18:44.790-07:00Day 307 – Sculptures and ski slopes. (Ukraine)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Kiev is a fascinating city and it was quite a task to narrow
down the list of possible activities to squeeze into the three days that we had
allocated to Kiev. One of the must-sees that we decided on though was <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329735663803224&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">FashionPark</a> on Landscape Alley. Our host told us about it and showed us some
photographs and the project looked fascinating. Kiev Fashion Park is the first
project in a movement to install Ukrainian designed works of modern art in
various locations around the city, including sculptures, benches, and play
equipment. The park is located at the top of a hill but fortunately there is a
funicular which we were able to catch on the way up, and the main street of
souvenir shops runs down the other side of the hill. We struggled at first to
find the park, but because we’d seen photos of the sculptures we knew what we
were looking for. The first item that caught our attention was an amusing statue
of a dozen pillows stacked precariously on top of each other; an angel blowing
a trumpet perched at the top. When we spotted this we knew we were on the right
track so followed the path and sure enough there were several more angels atop
wobbly piles of cushions. An entire wall was covered in blue and white mosaic
which at first we just thought was a nice pattern, but having walked the length
of it we realised that there was a cat face at the end of it, the mouth of
which was open and big enough for a person to stand inside, and it dawned on us
that the whole wall was in fact a long blue cat with dozens of legs. The heads
of a cat, a rabbit and an elephant of the same style were placed near this
wall, each of which had an open mouth which doubled as a humorous novelty
bench. We walked the length of Landscape Alley, passing a play park
representing Alice in Wonderland, a bench with sculptures of a blanket and
pillow sprawled on it as if it was used as a bed, a bench in the design of
sunglasses and various other amusing works of art. And everything was covered
in snow which not only made the whole experience more exciting visually, but
added an extra dimension of fun when sliding down the Alice in Wonderland slide
and posing for photos on the benches.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The great thing about staying with locals, which is why we
used Couch Surfing as much as possible (we stayed with a Couch Surfer every
single night in Ukraine), is that they can give you advice that you wouldn’t be
able to get from a guide book or a website, and often they can show you places
that wouldn’t even feature on any sort of tourist trail. Our hosts in Kiev were
a perfect example of this: they took us to the Obolon brewery (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/04/day-306-bomb-shelter-and-brewery-ukraine.html">Day 306 – A bomb shelter and a brewery</a></i>),
told us about Fashion Park, helped our decision making regarding visiting
Chernobyl (also Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/04/day-306-bomb-shelter-and-brewery-ukraine.html">Day 306 – A bomb shelterand a brewery</a></i>) and gave us advice on skiing options (below). In fact most
of what we did in Kiev was on the back of suggestions from them, but they took
us to one place that even most locals wouldn’t know about. Very close to a very
beautiful section of waterfront there is a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329737453803045&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">huge concrete tunnel</a> which was built
above ground during WWII and was intended to be used as storage for food,
weapons and people. Unfortunately they didn’t get around to it quick enough and
the project was dismissed at the end of the war, leaving this incomplete
concrete eye sore in what is now quite a desirable area of the city. There is
nothing set up there suggesting that it is of any significance and its current
use is as a hang out spot for teenagers, junkies and the homeless who have left
mounds of litter all through the interior.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Whilst staying in Kiev we went <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329737470469710&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">skiing at Vyshgorod</a> which was
our second and unfortunately last time on this trip. The first time was in
Bosnia Herzegovina (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/01/day-268-sarajevo-siege-and-1984-winter.html">Day 268 – TheSarajevo Siege and the 1984 Winter Olympics</a></i>) where we went to a
particularly difficult mountain and had an exhausting day tackling the runs
which held the Winter Olympics in 1984. The slopes around Kiev are very small
and basic, catering solely to beginners, so our two experiences of skiing on
this trip were completely opposite from each other. Whilst a challenge is good
and we really enjoyed our day in Sarajevo, it was kind of nice to have a
relaxing day of easy skiing where we could focus on more than just making it
down the hill alive. The great thing about skiing at Vyshgorod is that it only
took half an hour to drive there from our hosts’ house in Kiev so we were able
to fit it into just an afternoon, which was plenty seeing there was only one
slope. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-73017284848678592222013-04-03T19:43:00.002-07:002013-04-19T04:24:14.454-07:00Day 306 – A bomb shelter and a brewery. (Ukraine)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Leaving Cherkasy and heading towards Kiev we could feel the
temperature dropping well past the -2<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C or so that we’d become accustomed to
in the last couple of weeks, and by the time we got to Kiev it would have been
closer to -10<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C. It is funny how the body becomes accustomed to its
surroundings though; when it drops to 15<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C in the evenings in Melbourne we put
on jumpers, trousers and even – yes it sounds ridiculous, but honestly – jackets;
in Scotland when spring sets in after winter and it starts reaching 12<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C in
the afternoon we strip off down to t-shirts; and we became accustomed in the same
way to these desperately low temperatures and found ourselves considering anything
higher than -5<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">°</span>C to be warm and it had to be well into the negative teens
to be “chilly”. There had been a few days of uncharacteristic warmth (as in
only a couple of degrees below 0) in Kiev just before we arrived and it hadn’t
snowed for a little while, meaning everything on the ground had solidified and
turned into very slippery ice, stuck to the ground in lumpy piles. This of
course causes much amusement as long as you can either stay on your feet or
keep your car on the road depending whether you’re walking or driving, but
poses quite a hazard for those who struggle to do those things. Fortunately the
drought was broken the night we arrived so everything was covered in a much more
manageable layer of fresh powdery snow, but sadly that soon turned back into
packed down mounds of slippery ice.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The Kiev metro is a textbook example of the Soviet style, of
which we have seen so many on this trip. The stations are <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329735553803235&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">ornately decorated</a>
and highly policed and are typically built very low underground (especially the
central ones), doubling as potential bomb shelters. In fact <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329735207136603&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Arsenalna station</a>
which is one of the more centrally located ones in Kiev is 105.5m underground, claiming
the title of world’s deepest train station. 100m might not seem like a lot when
it’s running flat on top of the ground but catching the escalator from one of
these deep train stations to the surface of Kiev demonstrates just how far it
is. The escalators aren’t slow, in fact they are much faster than the ones I’m
used to, and they still take several minutes to take you to the top. A few
times we came across a broken escalator, but fortunately they switched them
around so that you had to walk down but could still catch the escalator up.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We had planned to visit Chernobyl, about 140km from Kiev. To
visit the still highly unstable exclusion zone you have to travel with a guide
and tours must be organised with a minimum of 10 working days notice in order
to receive all the necessary permits and paperwork. We did organise our tour in
time, but unfortunately the company we had gone through pulled out with only a
few days to spare and no one else would/could take us on at that short notice.
We considered driving out ourselves anyway, seeing if we could see anything at
all, or maybe we could try and follow on with another group once we got close.
We realised that this was a pretty stupid idea though, considering just how
dangerously toxic the whole area is and the fact that without a guide we would
have had no idea what to look at anyway and would probably just end up driving
around in circles, endangering ourselves and not even seeing anything anyway. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">On the bright side, this gave us the opportunity to go on a
tour of the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329736763803114&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Obolon brewery</a> which our hosts were attending on the day on which
we had planned to visit Chernobyl. Visible from our hosts’ apartment and only a
five minute walk away, the Obolon brewery is Europe’s largest brewing facility,
producing not only beer but also other alcoholic drinks, soft drinks and
natural mineral water. We donned the fine looking <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329736407136483&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">disposable lab coats</a> and hair
nets that we were presented with for sanitary purposes (you know, the ones made
out of the white papery/meshy material) and followed the group of 25 or so into
a classroom where we were shown a very exciting and informative video about the
brewery. Well it was probably informative. If you can understand Ukrainian. We
signed some documents which we were assured by our host were ok to sign and
followed on as we were marched through the corridors of the brewery. Our host
translated some things, but regardless of the language barrier the massive
scale brewing process was fascinating. The scale was just so huge and every
process was completed in huge motorised <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=329736640469793&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">production lines</a> which snaked around
the rooms on several levels. We kept getting left behind because we were so
enthralled by each intricate stage in the procedure and as we couldn’t
understand the words being said to us would just stand there, mesmerised, and
forget to follow the group. On conclusion of the tour – which was free by the
way – we were given goody bags of their produce and merchandise, including calendars,
pens, posters, other various bits and pieces and even some beverages. We were
disappointed though that we weren’t given any beer to try. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-70410889665665293672013-04-01T05:56:00.003-07:002013-04-01T05:56:29.732-07:00Day 303 – “Honey, you’re in the wrong home.” (Ukraine)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Cherkasy isn’t a location that seemed especially desirable
to visit; it’s not famous for anything or particularly note worthy and there’s
not much there, if anything at all, for tourists to occupy themselves with. It’s
about 500km from Odessa (our previous destination) and Kiev (our next
destination after Odessa) though, so we thought we’d try and make the most of
our couch surfing prowess and look for a host somewhere between the two
locations. We’ve found before that this is a fantastic way to plan a route as
it encourages you to visit places you wouldn’t otherwise think of stopping in,
and gives a unique incentive to experience towns that really are off the
tourist trail. So we searched for hosts anywhere between Odessa and Kiev, and when
a host accepted us in Cherkasy, a town of 250,000 residents located about 200
km South of Kiev, we jumped on the opportunity and made the arrangements.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Our hosts were laid back, very cool and impressively
artistic, joining us in the evenings to have exciting conversations about all
sorts of subjects, but leaving us to take care of ourselves during the day. We
only stayed there two nights, so we had one full day to explore. We had noticed
on our way into Cherkasy the previous evening, and we could clearly see from
the grey blanket of apartment blocks surrounding the one we were staying in,
that this town was a classic example of the Soviet style. As we drove from our
hosts’ apartment to the centre of town we wondered how we would ever find our
way back. Our directions were something like “turn right at the Soviet
apartment block, then keep going past the Soviet apartment blocks until you get
to a Soviet apartment block where you should take a left...” And how do people
remember which building they live in? We did hear a few amusing stories during
our extensive time in ex-Soviet countries about people arriving at the wrong
apartment, unlocking the door with their key, entering the apartment and
continuing on with things like watching television or cooking dinner, and not
realising they were in the wrong apartment until someone else came home. The
same jokes are made about China. It is an amusing image, but in actual fact it
is such a sad reflection on the effects of communism. If we didn’t laugh about
it, it would probably make us cry.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">So as far as we could tell our impressions of Cherkasy were
true – there really is nothing of great interest there, for an outsider anyway.
During our day of exploring we saw a lot of Soviet apartment blocks and not a
whole lot else. There were a handful of older, more beautiful buildings in the
city centre, but other than a couple of cafes there wasn’t a whole lot to keep a
tourist occupied. It is such an important part of travelling though – and one
of the main reasons to do it by car – to see these places that you wouldn’t
usually go to unless you had to; to witness how people live in all sorts of
localities including those that aren’t picturesque, exciting, historically
important or home to someone or something famous.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-17885834020097301842013-03-31T06:07:00.002-07:002013-04-19T04:36:32.601-07:00Day 301 – A discotheque and a film set. (Ukraine)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">We had a couch surfing host in Odessa lined up, but before we
could go and meet her we had to find someone who could align Trevor’s wheels.
When we’d bought two new tyres in Romania (Blog <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://4guysinacar.blogspot.com.au/2013/01/day-289-threatening-to-spontaneously.html">Day 289 – Threatening to spontaneously combust</a></i>), now almost two
weeks <span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">and about 1,500 km ago, we’d been advised to get
the wheels aligned after driving about 300 – 500 km</span>. Having
spent €210 on the tyres, we felt we owed it to ourselves not to wreck them by
driving around on them wobbly for too much longer so it really needed to be
done sooner rather than later, and it was really starting to get later. We
price checked a couple of places on our way into Odessa and ended up returning
to the first one where we had been quoted 180 Hryvna ($21) for the full
caboodle. While we waited for the job to be done another guy who we assumed worked
in the yard, but actually we have no idea who he was, came in to see what our
story was. He was very excited by our trip, studying all the stickers on the
car and asking questions about individual countries and flags. He was so
enthusiastic about helping us out and was adamant that he could surely offer us
some sort of assistance, so when he found out where we were headed (towards
Scotland) he insisted on giving us the phone number of an acquaintance of his
called Alex who lives in London. He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d last seen Alex
and was a bit vague as to how they knew each other but he suggested that perhaps
we could go and stay with him. Of course we gratefully accepted the scrap of
paper on which he wrote the name and phone number, but we were just imagining
rocking up in London and ringing this fellow: “Hi, is this Alex? Um, we met a
friend of yours in Odessa a couple of months ago who said maybe you could put
us up. No sorry, we didn’t ask his name. No sorry, I’m not really sure how you
know him...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Odessa is Ukraine’s city of beach resorts, where tourists go to
get sun tans and drink cocktails on the sand, and we’d heard a lot of glowing
reports about it being a beautiful and exciting place. This couldn’t have been
further from our first impression of the place though. The buildings were <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=325810920862365&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">greyand drab</a>, the roads were potholed and the traffic noisy, and everything was
dirty and crowded. It probably didn’t help that it was raining – something that
supposedly only happens four or so times every year, but the suburb where we
stayed was one of the grottiest of all the ex-Soviet suburbs we’ve seen. The
grey cement walls were covered in graffiti and any paint that had been applied
to any trim was peeling off. The “lawns” and “gardens” were squelchy patches of
mud and the uneven road surface was covered in deep brown puddles, litter
floating on the surface. It was very difficult to imagine this being the
desired destination for holiday-makers in summertime, but we are aware that the
suburbs aren’t exactly where they aim for.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we arrived at our host’s house she was out somewhere so we
were greeted by her boyfriend who asked us if we wanted to go to the party that
his girlfriend was already at. Other than eventually managing to get out of him
that it was a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=325810707529053&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">“tourist club”</a> we couldn’t glean any information on what this
event was or whether or not we wanted to go. So we decided to go. We walked a
bit then caught a bus and walked a bit more and found ourselves at some sort of
community hall. Still we had no idea what we were actually going to – we were
really struggling to get any information about anything whatsoever from our
male host. So in we went and met our host for the first time, who made me look
like a giant! (For anyone who doesn’t know me, I’m barely 5 foot and generally
shorter than anyone over the age of about 11.) The room we entered reminded us
of a late primary school/early high school “disco”; there was a DJ in the
corner, a line of trestle tables set up with crisps, chocolate and soft drinks,
and a group of about a dozen people around our age letting loose and dancing
energetically to a selection of pop music. Still not exactly sure what the
point of this event was we threw ourselves into the mix, making the most of it
and enjoying the simple fun. It was only after we’d been dancing for a while
that we eventually spoke to our host, the one who had invited us through the
couch surfing website, and found out that the group was some sort of uni club
dedicated to tourism and travellers and that this event was just for the sake
of fun, loosely celebrating New Year. It was nice to have finally found out
what it was that we were gate-crashing!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">We spent the following day exploring the old centre of the city
and we discovered that this part of town was actually quite magnificent with
its <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=325811544195636&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Renaissance architecture</a>, wide boulevards separated by sprawling squares
sporting classical statues, trendy cafes and classy restaurants, shadowy residential
lanes, views over the port and bits and pieces of quirky modern art dotted
along the streets. The main landmark of note was the famous <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3#!/photo.php?fbid=325812014195589&set=a.325810670862390.67120.191591277617664&type=3&theater">Potemkin Stairs</a> (more
commonly known by Ukrainians as their Soviet name – the Primorsky Stairs) which
were made famous in 1925 by Sergei Eisenstein’s silent movie “The Battleship
Potemkin”, and have since been featured in other works of art. We were
intrigued when we arrived at the top of the magnificent set of steps to find that
parts were closed off by work tape and cones guarding piles of rubble, scrappy
wooden structures, canvas mats, shards of metal, sandbags and rusty cannons.
The vantage point at the top of the stairs allows you to clearly see a large
section of the port, and watching the view whilst noting the unusual items laid
all over the stairs, we descended the 200 steps. We realised that this must be
a film set and as we reached the bottom of the flight this was confirmed. A
lovely parkland area runs adjacent to the staircase and this was filled with actors
dressed as soldiers, all sorts of war-time vehicles, directors and cameramen
arranging furniture and tents and fake snow and elaborate settlements and
buildings. Having made our way back up the 200 steps we watched on for a while,
intrigued by the action, but still completely unaware of what the movie might
be that the filming was for. We found out later on that the director is a
famous Russian director and that this, his latest work, was quite high profile
in the area.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-30194957040052287482013-03-27T20:58:00.002-07:002013-03-31T22:31:05.928-07:00Day 300 – Friends with the EU Babysitters. (Border crossing Transnistria to Ukraine)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Exiting Transnistria was disturbingly simple. We’d been
expecting all sorts of questions, searches and requests for bribes, but all we
got was a quick passport check and a surly farewell wave. The Ukrainian side of
the crossing was a bit more serious though. It was quite clean and the
buildings were modern and functional. When we arrived, there were about a dozen
vehicles lined up in queues waiting to cross, and a female officer was working
her way through the cars looking inside the boots and backseats and taking
paperwork from the drivers to one of the booths up ahead. As we watched and
waited we noticed a burly stern-looking bald fellow in a navy uniform who
seemed to be overseeing the operations, casually but purposefully meandering
around the cars, subtly observing from a polite distance. When he turned away
from us we saw that the back of his jacket had the EU logo on it and we made
the assumption that he was probably part of some anti-corruption supervision project.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">He didn’t pay any attention to us until it was our turn to
be processed and we were directed to drive up to the front of the queue, at
which point he focused his attentions on us. As it turns out he was German and
we were correct about what he was doing there. He was surprised to hear that
we’d had no problems leaving Transnistria as that’s usually a pretty lawless
border post and he’s heard some horrific stories from other Western Europeans
making the crossing. His Polish colleague and an EU appointed Russian
translator joined him to find out what this group of funny foreigners in their
eccentric vehicle was up to. We found out a bit about what their jobs entailed
and they were very interested in our trip, asking loads of questions about
various aspects of it, specifically but not limited to other borders. The
Polish guy advised us about the crossings between Ukraine and Poland: the main
one near Lviv is apparently horribly busy and often involves hours and hours of
waiting in queues, but there’s a much smaller one close by that’s usually much
quicker and simpler. This was great advice which we took on board, even though
when it came time to do that crossing we didn’t actually follow his advice.
I’ll explain that when we get to it.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We stood around the car chatting to these EU officials while
our paperwork (passports, Carnet, insurance etc) was being handled by the
Ukrainians. They didn’t interfere at all with the process but just the EU
presence was obviously enough to keep them in order, whether legitimately so or
not. We weren’t asked for anything unseemly, or anything at all in fact, and even
though they were really confused by us our documents were moved through
promptly. I’m fairly certain that we weren’t actually processed; they just
moved us through as quickly as possible so as not to cause problems for us –
the friends of the EU babysitters. That in itself doesn’t feel like it’s in
keeping with the nature of an anti-corruption project, but we weren’t about to
kick up a stink and get up on our moral high horse about how it’s unfair that
we got special treatment. Being different has worked against us in many
situations, but every now and then it acts as a blessing.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The odd thing about the way we planned our route, going
through Moldova to Transnistria and then Ukraine, is that according to our
passports we never left Moldova; we have stamps for entering Moldova, and then
stamps for entering Ukraine, but as Transnistria didn’t stamp us in or out there
is no record of anything in between.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-32374435063606540822013-03-24T15:27:00.002-07:002013-03-24T15:27:38.591-07:00Day 295 – Chisinau. (Moldova)<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The overwhelming image we got of Chisinau was how ex-Soviet
everything seemed. The buildings were a collection of matching grey concrete
blocks, the roads were beautifully laid out but had not been maintained for 50
years, the piping was all overground, and there was a general sense of grey
blandness. This is in no way an attack on the Moldovan people, or even my
impression of them; it’s just a result of Communism’s harsh hand laid on the
country for such an extensive period of time.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The first item on the agenda for our self-tour of Chisinau
was the Chisinau Brewery, brewer of “Bere Chisinau” and owned by Efes. Our
directions were vague but we found our way, hoping we’d be able to land one of
the guided tours that we had heard existed. As we pulled up in the car park we
noticed that everything looked very closed up, but when the two sets of
automatic doors at the front entrance opened as we approached, we thought “oh,
maybe it is open after all”. A smiley grey-haired lady and a sturdy balding man
sat behind a desk in the foyer, behind which hung a huge map with the location
of each Efes brewery in the world lit up with a small globe. We asked about
having a guided tour but without a word of English it was made quite apparent
that this would not be possible. At first we thought they were being dismissive
and rude, but the lady then went on to explain why it would not be possible.
First she pointed at the next few days on the calendar, crossing her arms in
front of her chest in the universal sign for “no” at each day. Then visibly
impressed at herself for having such a brain wave she scuttled around the edge
of the desk and gestured at a pot plant. By crouching down, then raising her
arms and standing up straight she imitated the plant growing, and by opening
her hands and waving her fingers she acted out the sun beating down on the
plant. We realised that she was saying that in summer the tours run, and when
she showed the plant dying she was telling us that in winter the tours don’t
run. We were thoroughly impressed by this show of common sense and her
insistence at doing everything within her power to communicate with us. All too
often we try to communicate with people and with only a little will on their
part we would manage, but so many people are not interested in making the
slightest bit of effort. This lady was the perfect example of how anyone can
speak to anyone else; convey a basic message, with a little bit of thought and
effort.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We went searching for the National Museum, this time with an
exact address which matched up with the map we had. At this address though was
a small boarded up brick building, the type of building that in most places
you’d assume hadn’t been in use for several decades, but in this ex-Soviet
setting could easily still be home to a museum. We did a block around it to see
if we could find an entrance but no, this building really was completely
dilapidated and out of use. We were just going to drive down the street
assuming that we’d probably been given the wrong street number and hopefully
the street name was correct, but then we realised that just across the road was
a very National Museum looking building. We parked on the icy pavement outside
and approached the stately pre-Soviet stone structure.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It was a surprisingly informative and extensive museum
housing an unusual variety of artefacts. There was a lot of Soviet propaganda –
both pro and anti, some of it was specific to Moldova or Chisinau, some was relevant
to the entire region. There was a huge selection of personal items that had
been owned throughout the past few centuries; everything ranging from furniture
to razors, paintbrushes and books to car accessories. A wide variety of
different styles and periods of artwork led onto a room dedicated to fine china
and ceramics. Even a tee-pee was set up as part of a display about various war
uniforms, weapons, tactics and stories. Probably the most impressive part
though was the very detailed 10 or so metre wide war diorama depicting WWII.
That we could have spent hours looking at, observing all the tiny details that
together told the grand story.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">The Moldovan national monument, a structure that closely
resembles the Arch de Triumph only on a much small scale, is opposite the Government
building, separated by a wide boulevard designed for military marches and
displays. As it was mid January most of Europe’s Christmas markets had closed
down weeks ago, but Chisinau’s one was still running at full pelt on this wide
expanse of road. Queues of families waited to have their photos taken in one of
the Christmas/Santa/winter scenes that were set up in a line of booths. Several
Mr and Mrs Clauses meandered around the market speaking with children and
handing out goodies. One Mr and Mrs Clause were even running a miniature train
on wheels. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">We had lunch in a fine example of a Russian/Eastern European
canteen, which like so many places we found completely by accident. This style
of eatery is part of the culture of this region that we have really grown to
love and enjoy. They tend to be very basic and relatively cheap (although not
necessarily the absolute cheapest option), but the food is tasty and filling
and much more varied than what you’ll find at a lot of other cheap restaurants.
This type of eating probably isn’t for everyone – it’s certainly not very
luxurious, but the down-to-earth comfort and anonymity that we found became
something we really appreciated.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934387714775714157.post-24538063443990602382013-03-24T05:44:00.001-07:002013-03-24T05:44:08.775-07:00Getting famous.Our latest media appearance:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thescottishsun.co.uk/scotsol/homepage/scotlandfeatures/article4857145.ece">http://www.thescottishsun.co.uk/scotsol/homepage/scotlandfeatures/article4857145.ece</a><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0