A Taste of Russia

Now then, where was I?

If we could just rewind a little (I know, I know – amateur).

Whilst finding the Polish place in the woods to camp, we had a little breather and after realising that we surprisingly had a mobile phone signal, Guy decided to give his wife a call. I sat a polite distance away to give a little privacy to the (presumed) "Love you, miss you, love you, miss you" call. Having nothing to do with my hands for 5 minutes I played with a new App on my Phone. Here is the result (click on it, it aint on Youtube)



Guy's beloved wife was a little worried and concerned for our (or more specifically, Guy's) welfare as she knew that bears reside in Russia. (Ok, we weren't yet in Russia yet but that was by the by) She was concerned therefore that we were going to get munched as she knew we were wild camping.

After Guy finished the call he asked what the giggling was about. I showed him the fruits of my labour and mentioned that we should send it to his wife with the title 'It aint the bears you need to worry about'. Whilst I found this highly titter-worthy I didn't really think it appropriate. Guy did! And so, whilst giggling like a pair of pre-pubescent schoolgirls and a mild sense of apprehension I hit the 'send' button. Apparently it was received better than I anticipated and I didn't get my legs slapped on our return.

Righto...to the border.

One thing I did notice whilst riding through Latvia and getting close to the Russian border is that there was no mention on the road signs of Russia. This was not exactly a problem as even I would struggle to miss the world's largest country if travelling in a generally easterly direction. Apparently they won't put it on road signs because they don't get on. Now, I don't know the history between Latvia and Russia (except they used to be as one) but to not mark the border on road signs just smacks of an attitude like a petulant teenager and I was left with a feeling of "My God, these are the people in charge, what hope is there!"

We arrived at the border quite early in the morning to attempt to beat the queues. We had read before going on the trip that if on a motorcycle it is the done thing and expected to go straight to the front. This we did, even if it did jingle jangle slightly with my British sense of fair play. My arrogant sense of "Don't they know we're British" won though – hurrah!

When applying for the visa before going, you realise quite how paranoid the powers that be still are. Firstly, you need an invite from somebody inside Russia. The travel company handling your Visa has a contact on the inside who handles that (for a fee, of course). You also need to fill in a document asking the ins and outs of your family history and your job history etc. They need to know whether you or your family have been in the military or terrorist organisations etc etc. Tempting as it was to mention my great uncle – Colonel Pilkington-Smyth-Chumbly–Clusterbumfuck, I resisted. I did lie through my teeth on some parts due to not being arsed to find out dates etc relating to employment history etc –rebel that I am.

Still, armed with our necessary papers, you then go to a number of huts, one hut at a time when ushered forward and fill in form after form. A time efficient system it is not and if you make a mistake on the form you cannot cross it out and correct it, you need to ask for another form and start again. Mistakes vill not be tolerated!

We got chatting to a Russian chap that spoke English whilst waiting at the final hut. He mentioned that nowadays we should fine be travelling through Russia but 10-15 years ago would have been dangerous for us. He mentioned that nowadays the criminals had moved into more cyber based crime.

Onto the final hut and a lady with a very large hat (Russian officials, they love a large hat). We had to fill in forms outlying where we were going and each town we would be staying in on our trip. We had looked at a map beforehand and drawn a straight line to our destination and just written down the names of towns on the way. The reality was we had absolutely no idea. The lady had no idea where Irbit was so we mentioned the next largest place – being Yekaterinburg. Her eyes widened and said "on bikes?" disbelievingly. She even smiled. The steely-tough Russian demeanour disappearing in an instant. She then started enquiring about our trip as an interested person rather than an an emotionless official. This was more like it. She then handed our paperwork back and with a big smile said "Welcome to Russia".

All told, as far as I can remember it took us approx 3 hours to get through. No photos of the border, due to the prevalence of teenagers with shooters – never a good mix in my opinion.

Here was the first problem:



What the? No-one told us about this. Sign writers on drugs!

We then pulled into the first petrol station up the road to sort out insurance, which was a little tricky with neither of us able to speak one word of each others language but at least we were legal even if I doubt the insurance would be very much help to us in the event of an accident.

Whilst there this chap pulled up on a Ural outfit.



We got chatting as best we could given the language barrier. We were all fascinated with each others bikes etc. Much hand shaking ensued. He pointed this out on his rear wheel:



Apparently the original spokes were too weak so he replaced them with these struts himself, great stuff. He was looking at our old Airheads in awe like they were the latest and greatest from a world he has most likely never seen (or maybe that is me being condescending, I have no idea). He eventually left amidst more hand shaking and whilst waving throughout his departure. Marvellous stuff, this is what it is all about. Lovely chap.

We hit the road for the afternoon heading east to get a few miles underneath our belts before finding accommodation. Therein lies the first hurdle. On the visa type bureaucratical paperwork you have a form and on that form you should get the hotel owners to stamp it so that your movements could be traced. The first night we thought was probably wise to comply so looked for a hotel. After that we soon got bored of it and generally didn't bother!!

Everything being in the Cyrillic alphabet (so named in honour of Saint Cyril – I shit thee not) was proving taxing. I must admit, I did foolishly think 'Hotel' was pretty universal. Not in Russia, surprisingly (to me, doh!)

I had put the Russian maps on the sat nav before we left and tried to use this to find some hotels. It was having a hard time of it and sending us to some pretty dodgy looking places with no real likelihood of a hotel nearby. It sent us to one place where it looked like it may be some type of holiday camp (Gulag anybody?). I stopped at the gated security type hut and tried to ask about accommodation. The young chap with the mouthful of gold teeth was struggling to help and mentioned to ask the taxi driver that was parked up.

Eventually he said he would take us to a hotel and we could follow. With a certain amount of trepidation we followed for what seemed an eternity. We went to one place where, thank Christ they had no places available. The place looked like a rundown halfway house for criminals that were all off their chops on God knows what. Maybe I was being paranoid. The taxi driver was doing his best though and motioned to us 'no good, follow me'. We eventually found a nice hotel and he went in and kindly spoke to the lady at reception for us. A little confusion ensued as he thought we would need him to come back in the morning to guide us to the airport so we could fly home. It took an absolute age to explain to the receptionist (who spoke some English) that no, we were travelling and needed his services no further, thank you. She wanted to know where we were going and then looked at me wide eyed like I was some kind of lunatic when I told her. This was a common reaction. It is not that far but I guess it is not something common to do in Russia. We paid the taxi driver the fee asked, thanked him and he left. There was a moment of unease when asking the cost but it was a fair price. We probably got stiffed compared to a local but that is not too unreasonable. My fears were unfounded. First night sorted, official stamp sorted. Time for a beer methinks.

Be right back after the break!
 
:popcorn: Wow, a bike with a tonne of personality and so is the writer of course
 
Great read, thanks for posting it....oh, and get on with it, we want the rest
 
I normally speed read and skim .... :rolleyes:

But I'm reading every word Melch! Bravo .... carry on .... :thumb2
 
C'mon on then get on with it - great reading. :)
 
Just found this thread and must say what great Saturday night reading it's been so far. Please pull ya finger out and give us some more.
 
We started pushing on across Russia. As in most countries the road network takes you to the big cities and to deviate can be tricky. We headed for Moscow. Many things we would normally take for granted were quite tricky here for us such as (as previously mentioned) accommodation. We soon twigged what the Russian for Hotel was but finding one was often not easy. I guess tourism is not such a big thing in Russia bar places like Moscow and St. Petersburg. A number of times we ended up staying at road side hotels that the truckers would use, or at least they would stop at them and sleep in their trucks nearby whilst getting serviced by the many prostitutes that seemed to arrive in the evenings. The quality is about what you would expect – adequate, but they were comparatively cheap and clean enough. Sometimes these truck stop places would have cafes attached as well and we would invariably have lunch in them. I say 'lunch', that would invariably be this (and indeed, quite often breakfast and dinner):



Borsht (cabbage, paprika and a smattering of unidentified meat with a dollop of sour cream and chives) Now, I like purple soup as much as the next man and as tasty as it was, it is possible to get just a little fed up of it. Problem being that in our ignorance it was all we knew how to ask for. The other problem was that we found that the people working there were just not used to serving foreigners and would not have any clue how to help you out when you are obviously struggling with the language and would stare at you blankly until you had told them exactly what you wanted. The food was not on show so you could not point either. With a heavy sigh we would end up asking for the old favourite.

Places of culinary excellence these were not and it became a bit of a joke with us that whenever we heard the 'ding' of the microwave we would pucker up expectantly and sure enough a few seconds later out it comes. After a couple of weeks of this Guy was really making an effort with the phrasebook when ordering but we found if the food was not 'dingable' it was a big fat 'Niet'. It was easy to think that Russian food was pretty bad but then I thought to myself (on the long days riding whilst pondering life, the universe etc) that I am probably being a little unfair as it is like comparing the best of British cuisine to the delights of a 'Little Chef'.

Going into towns to eat was not something we had cracked either. Shops and restaurants in Russia do not seem to display their wares in a window but rather just have doorways with a small sign above so we had absolutely no way of knowing what lay behind. By the time we were leaving Russia we were getting better at it though and had sussed what 'Supermarket' was in Cyrillic.

Here's a few random shots of places passed through and sights seen.



No idea about this place but a lot of work had gone into it and no doubt some pretty mind-altering drugs consumed during the planing stage.



We saw a number of these churches with the old onions on top. One thing I did notice that was that you would have these sometimes beautiful buildings but they would happily plonk awful concrete monstrosities all around. I guess 'aesthetics' are all well and good if it is a luxury that can be afforded.



Something else of note was that when buying petrol you had to pay before filling up. Eventually you got used to it and learnt how much you needed. The pump would cut out once the amount payed for was pumped. Crime is obviously high here and many times, especially in the more remote places the pay point was just a slot cut into the till window that you passed your money through. The places with a shop in that you could go into invariably had an armed security guard present.

Driving standards were interesting, especially when in towns when any way to get through was acceptable. Motorways have not found their way to Russia yet it would seem and the main routes tended to be all single lane roads with oncoming traffic in the opposing lane. If another vehicle wished to overtake another that happened to be approaching you, they tend to just go for it. This could mean a pair of trucks bearing down on you with a closing speed of over 100mph. This at first led to many 'Holy Fuck!' brown trouser moments but after you get your head round it you kind of get into the swing of it and just move over to allow them through. That being said though as in many European places, people coming towards you will get out of your way too to allow an overtake.

If you got off the main drag you would be on dirt tracks (and sometimes the main drag would turn to dirt). This meant that the roads were pretty heavily used by trucks and as such would be in pretty atrocious condition, huge pot holes and rucked up tarmac that you had to hit with a big swerve to avoid getting high sided over them.

We approached Moscow unfortunately during their rush hour. This was a sight to behold and quite an eye opener. We got on the infamous Moscow ring road. I have never experienced driving like it. Even worse than Italy IMO. Most vehicles in Russia (aside from the trucks) tended to be either old beat up Lada's, some kind of old style sedan or new 4x4s. In Moscow there was obviously a huge amount of money flying about with OTT vehicles to match. The gulf between the haves and have nots seemed huge. Guy came up with a good description of the driving style. I quote: "They are like a bunch of teenagers whose parents have gone away for the first time and have left them alone with the keys to the Porsche". This was spot on. Suicidal doesn't begin to explain it. You would have 4-5 lanes (at one point the road markings ran out to add just a little more lawless excitement to the mix!). Getting past everyone was the prime objective of everybody on the road. This meant not only using the hard shoulder but the banked verge next to the hard shoulder at speed and then swerving back on amidst a swirl of gravel and dust.

At one point whilst frantically just trying to avoid people swerving across all 4 lanes we saw a chap on (I think) a V-Max. He had on the back a young lady dressed in shorts and t-shirt. He must have been doing well over a ton whilst racing someone in a black Audi that was swerving through the traffic anyway he could at the same speed. V-Max chappie was on the bit of road approx. 2 feet wide between the armco and fast lane that was full of rubbish and gravel. He came past us and looked back and gave a big cheery wave to us. Marvellous – we watched open mouthed.

All this time I was trying to follow the sat nav that was in English whilst converting that to Cyrillic on the road signs to find the route off the ring road. We got onto our route past Moscow with a sigh of "Oh my good gawd!"

Photos? You're 'avin a laugh!
 
".....whilst getting serviced by the many prostitutes that seemed to arrive in the evenings. The quality is about what you would expect – adequate, but they were comparatively cheap and clean enough. "

Heh :D
 
".....whilst getting serviced by the many prostitutes that seemed to arrive in the evenings. The quality is about what you would expect – adequate, but they were comparatively cheap and clean enough. "

Heh :D

I thought that too haha
 
Distance per day

So how many miles per day did you do on average. When I mentioned something along these lines to a few people, I got negative feedback that you couldn't ride many miles per day on their roads.......:mad:
 


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