Actual Date: 9 August 2012

Location: Samarkand-Tashkent, Uzbekistan

 

While driving towards Ashgabat and admittedly doing a little over the limit we’re pulled over by the police. Mr. Lejfjord, driving at the time, got out of the car with the usual papers and a little wallet prepared with “gifts” (mixed currencies, not too much of any, a few mini-bottles of spirits and Swedish candy) in his pockets. Mr. Lindmarker and Gustav relaxed in the car and waited for Mr. Lejfjord to handle things.

And waited.

…and waited.

Just when we were about to go looking for him, a police car pulled up next to us, Mr. Lejfjord in the passenger seat. He did not look happy. In fact, he looked quite ashen. The police in the drivers seat angrily motioned for us to follow and took off at a speed far above the limit.

 

Desperately trying to follow while at the same time keeping some semblance of legal driving (maybe he’s trying to trick us into driving too fast??), Gustav and Mr. Lindmarker hazard random guesses as to what’s going on. None are particularly optimistic.

 

After weaving the the highway traffic for a while, the police turns off and we assume the police station is up ahead. The car suddenly stops, and we pull to a halt next to the squad car. Just as we stop the police officer, who has been talking to someone, hands Mr. Lejfjord (in the police passenger seat) a package who in turn hands it through his car window to Gustav (driving our Getz). Gustav immediately passes it back to Mr. Lindmarker since the officer has already started driving again and asks

“What is it?”

“…a fish. A smoked fish”. Was the reply, in a tone indicating that Mr. Lindmarkers brain didn’t quite agree with reality. The confusion was complete.

 

After only another 200m or so the officer stopped and got out of the car, the three Swedes following suite. As we fell into step behind him we managed to ask Mr. Lejfjord

“What’s going on? What has he said? Have you told him what we’re doing?”

“I have no idea. I have no idea. No, I haven’t said a word about our project.”

We round a corner and the officer indicates we should sit down in the open air restaurant we just entered. He then proceeds to talk to the proprietor and food starts appearing on the table in large quantitates – all kinds of dishes. 

He joins us at the table, the three of us still a bit unsure as to what’s going on.

Possibly to clarify things, a bottle of vodka is brought in and two shots are poured – one for each of the passengers in our car, none for the driver of course.

We couldn’t get a closer picture of the officer, but here he is with us at the table

He then speaks his first English words: “You eat, drink. I have payed. I must go now. Enjoy”.

We thanked him and said goodbye. He pointed the way to Ashgabat and finished with “80 km per hour”.

To this day we still don’t know how or why any of the above happened. The smoked fish was an extra – we ate it on the road.

Actual date: 7 August 2012

Location: Kiva/Urgench, Uzbekistan

 

We spent an hour or so in the morning with our maps, planning our route to Mongolia’s border and set what we thought would be a good goal for the day’s driving based on our usual performance.

 

After leaving Kiva and driving around 15mins we realize we had taken a bit of a wrong turn and were headed directly towards a Turkmen border.

We turned back, and eventually found our way back to the main road; not so bad – only a 30min detour.

 

While exiting Urgench, the next city ca 30km from Kiva, we saw a mechanic and thought we should get our car checked out – it’s been sounding like a F1 car for a while and from what little we know we might have a couple of holes in the exhaust system.

When the mechanics raised the car, even our extremely limited mechanical knowledge was enough to know we’d messed up. The exhaust pipe had completely broken off just under the engine block and was hanging loose. A part that seemed to have the job of connecting the two ends was more or less torn to shreds.

So, Mr. Lindmarker and Mr. Lejfjord settled down outside the mechanic to cook a bit of lunch while Gustav jumped in a car with two of the mechanics and headed to a nearby auto-parts store to buy a replacement. Honestly the whole thing went quiet smoothy – we got hold of the right part and after some cutting and welding it had been added to the car. Everything looked better than ever, and the price was more than acceptable after offering the mechanics some vodka and serenading them with our guitar.

It did knock 4 hours off the days planned driving though.

 

As soon as we’re out of the city we immediately hit what seems to be the norm – roads made to destroy our car with bumps or, if we manage to dodge those, simply by shaking the car to pieces. After only a few minutes it succeeds.

Some readers might remember how our roof rack is attached – four holders, one of which was replaced with a rock in Turkmenistan. All of these had now fallen off.

 

Resigned to the fact, we started dismounting our four tires from the rack so we can reattach everything and make sure it’ll hold. A new stone is found to replace the old one – luckily the remaining three holders are still hanging onto the rack, and we managed to reattach them to the car, tightening them as much as possible. Since one of the reasons the roof rack is unstable is the weight of the tires, and we still haven’t had need of them, we decide to get rid of two of them. There is only one possible way of doing this.

 

Instantly, we start waving down cars and shouting about the sale of our wonderful Swedish quality tires. Almost every car stops and we spend the next half hour chatting with stopped drivers and trying to sell our tyros. It’s not as much as they’re worth back home, but we do get them sold for an even 100 USD.

 

Our spirits buoyed by the street selling, we jump in the car excited to be on our merry way. We turn the key. Nothing happens. Naturally.

We get out and start pushing the car, but after a few tries Mr. Lindmarker collapses from exhaustion and we instead pull out the starter cables. Luckily, a minibus is quick to stop. Unluckily, it seems quite impossible to gain access to it’s battery so we instead direct our waving to an approaching Jeep.

This time everything works as it should and we get the car started. We’re on our way again.

 

50 metros later we screech to a halt after noticing that a holder has fallen off. We reattach it and weave a net of duct tape around all the holders, making sure that even if they lose their grip, they won’t fall off completely.

 

Another minute of driving and we hear a sound straight out of our nightmares from under the car. We ease to a stop, get out, and check under the car.

Crap.

Something is leaking. We give it a smell.

Shit.

It’s oil. Our oil tank is losing oil from two serious holes.

We start waving down someone to help, and almost immediately a couple of cars pull up, and someone comes running from further down the road. As it turns out, we’ve stopped about 100m from a petrol station so we start by pushing ‘ol Getzy up there. As we’re pushing the people who stopped to help start calling others, and when we reach the petrol station there’s a new man waiting for us. He points to a house just a bit further in from the road, indicating it’s his place.

It turns out he owns a bit of land including the petrol station we standing on, some farmland with crops and animals, and just happens to have a garage for repairs next to his house.

We push the car another 100m or so into the garage and after us and a few others poke around the underbelly investigating the wholes, everyone repeating “sverka” (Russian for welding), a ex-military looking jeep pulls up and a gang of seeming field mechanics jump out – even pulling a makeshift welding kit with them.

 

We retreat a little distance, suspecting the dodgy looking welding kit might explode at any moment (the sounds seemed to indicate it was imminent). It’s getting late by now and the sun is setting, so we start cooking a meal and discussing what we should do tonight- will the car be ready soon? Keep driving? Ask if we can sleep here? It’s illegal to camp, so we’ll have to think of something.

 

Just as we finish cooking, our host joins us and presents us with a homemade dinner – a delicious Palov that we’re more than happy to dig into.

We’re than approached by his wife as well, and the couple welcome us to sleep on their terrace while indicating that we will probably get bitten and/or stung by several nasty things and die if we stay on the ground. We think it seems like a good idea.

 

On the terrace, the evening gets a magnificent ending – the family comes out with carpet to sit on, fun (although halting) conversation through much signing, and sweet melon to eat, after which we join them in giving thanks to Allah.

 

Once the family retreats, we gradually drift to sleep while staring at the brilliant night sky and witnessing maybe a dozen falling stars.

 

A mad day, a great night.

Actual Date: 6 August 2012

Location: Nukus – Kiva, Uzbekistan

Another day, another border. Approaching our exit from Turkmenistan we naturally made bets on how long the process would take ranging from Mr. Lindmarker and Gustav’s 1.5 & 2 hours respectively to Mr. Lejfjords slightly more conservative 7 hours. This fit the pattern of Mr. Lejfjords predictions since we started the project, as he as late as three months ago gave a 12% chance of us even starting the drive.

Exiting Turkminstan was a bit of an affair – there was the standard windows and running back and forth with various papers, chatting with border guards and hoping that this next bit is the last bit. Surprisingly, it was the last bit – the whole process only took about an hour and ended with the three of us waiting in a final room while someone messed around with our passports for about 15mins.

In the room with us was a lone traveller, a European gentleman – solemn and composed looking but quick to laugh as evidenced by his friendliness with both locals passing through the room who he’d open & hold the doors for, and his banter & jokes with the guards in Russian.

 

It turns our Laurent, an Austrian studying Serbo-Croatian history, was traveling through Uzbek & Turkmenistan and had spent quite a bit of time in central Asia among other places. Naturally we offered him a ride, and who can withstand our charisma?

(sometimes it’s even strong enough to cover the overpowering odors our car and everything in it has started to acquire).

Laurent turned out to know more than just Serbo-Croatian history and we had a great time in the car with him, learning quite a bit more about the countries we were visiting, including a bit about the town of Kiva that we previously had not heard of. Kiva is a little town just outside Urgench that in the past was an independent nation, involved quite heavily in the slave trade, and even withstood a Russian invasion.

In the 1800s a force of 4000 Russians had approached Kiva and requested its surrender. Kiva’s leader met with the Russians and said he would oblige, but that his little town could not hold all of the soldiers – instead he offered that they spread our into the surrounding villages and they would be treated hospitably. The Russians agreed, and in the night Kiva sent out its full force – now able to quickly take care of the smaller groups of Russian soldiers.

We made it to Kiva after a full day’s driving and took the evening to check out the old town. Surrounded by walls and towers made of clay and straw, the old town of Kiva is really quite something to wander through. Colourful mosaics on mosques and minarets, people going about their daily business in homes and buildings that seemed to have forgotten the passage of time completely.

 

Most definitely a pleasant change to hours on the road, the evening was finished perfectly with a trip to a little restaurant that serves a very traditional Uzbek dish – Palov; as well as some local dumplings and grilled meats.

 

PS. The bet was, ofcourse won by Gustav – the border crossing took almost exactly 2 hours.

Actual Date: 4 August

Location: The Door to Hell

 

Ashgabat has shown us a great time, and now it was time to head out to something we’ve all been looking forward to. The Door to Hell.

While drilling in 1971, Soviet geologists tapped into a cavern filled with natural gas. The ground beneath the drilling rig collapsed, leaving a large hole, and to avoid poisonous gas discharge it was decided that the best solution was to burn it off. Geologists had hoped the fire would use all the fuel in a matter of days, but trust us when we say it’s still going strong.

 

After several hours of heading north on a classically shoddy Turkmenistan road, we started nearing the region where the crater should be. We’d heard it was a distance into the desert but we were still hoping for an orange glow to light up the day somewhere to the west (according to our map).

We were waved down by a gent with a jeep, one of the guides who hang around here to guide people to the crater and since our car isn’t exactly made for dune bashing we decided to take him up on his offer after much haggling.

Finding a secluded spot behind a dune to park our car, we piled into the jeep and as our guide battled the loose desert sands in a decidedly eastern direction we knew we had made a good call. A roughly 20 minute drive later, we noticed the glow we had been hoping for – darkness was just beginning to fall, yet a part of the skyline in the direction we were headed was significantly lighter and more orangey/red then is should have been.

 

Rounding a dune, it came into sight. It’s massive. 70 metres across, the insides completely wreathed in flame, the crater radiates heat and distorts the air inside. Closer to the crater you can smell the gas being released, and we were strongly recommended to camp away from the crater so as to not be slowly poisoned over the night. I’m happily writing this in past tense.

Standing close to the edge (on the edge is only just bearable for a few seconds due to the heat) and staring into the flames is quite hypnotizing. Your entire view of the world is taken up by the living flames, distorted slightly by the immense heat they produce. I’m reminded of Mordor, and the volcano where the Ring was both made and unmade.

The next day we woke up in time to greet our guide who was ready to take us back to the road north. After saying our goodbyes to the fire pit, we were soon getting out of the jeep and packing our own little car (Getzy had missed us very much).

We performed our morning check:

- roofrack holders checked & tightened

- oil at good level

- air filters clean enough

- engine coolant at good level

- tyres looking good

- car documents in important papers folder

- international drivers licences also there

- passports … passports?

 

No. Oh hell no. Passports… at the hotel in Ashgabat…

We had a civil discussion regarding the intelligence and brain capacity of each team member and eventually came to the sorry conclusion that we had no choice, we just had to drive back to Ashgabat and get them.

To put it in plainly, today we progressed ca 20km along our route after a daylong back-and-forth to Ashgabat.

Actual Date: 3rd August 2012

Location: Ashgabat

 

Ashgabat is city worth seeing. Massive white government buildings with gold and other details, wide streets, and massive statues. According to a couple of Turkmenis we met, the government buildings and ministries are all but empty – mostly facades with maybe a handful of employees.

 

We visited a few sites and did spent most of the day doing some work on the cookbook now that we had some peace and quite, and got in touch with GAC, the shipping company that’s been helping us, again to see if they could point us in the right direction for some traditional Turkmenistan cooking. We called quite late, and hoped at best for a restaurant/chef recommendation or some direct info on the culinary culture. Instead we received the simple instruction: be ready at 19.15.

 

At 19.10 we were ready outside the hotel when our GAC contact arrived – introductions were made with the friendly gentleman and we were off, learning more about Turkmenistan and Ashgabat, both history current and future. Interestingly citizens have free access to both natural gas and water, and bread is mere pennies.

 

After a relatively short ride taking us out of town we arrived at what looked like a group of semi-permanent tents.  Apparently these were imitations of the traditional nomadic homes that could simply be packed up and moved as the tribe moved on, made of straw and carpets.

We gathered inside one of the huts and were soon greeted to a fantastic site – plates covered in all kinds of food from the region. There was different vegetable mixes, a paste with chicken and nut that quickly became a favorite, a soup made from ecological chicken – and an explanation to go with it. Food is very important here, and it’s important for it to be handled/treated well.

Chicken that are not brought up naturally, i.e. are bred to be deformed to produce more meat or forced into small spaces in large numbers are looked down on, and in most places in the ‘stans we can order “George Bush Legs” – drumsticks from these lesser chicken. We must try it.

 

Meat in Turkmenistan should be as fresh and as young as possible and the only preparation should be a little bit of salt. Other spices can be added while grilling or cooking, but the preparation should be as simple as possible and the meat ecological.

We were treated to an understanding of why they did this. After chatting with the head chef we were led to the kitchen and the restaurants grill – a massive contraption fed by special local wood that burns for an extended period of time. After investigating and checking out the different meats available we headed back to our tent accompanied by a sampling.

The best lamb chops we’ve ever had the privilege of tasting entered our lives, and their memory will live on forever.

 

The rest of the evening was spent sampling the various meats, discussing cooking techniques and recipes, and sharing some laughs and stories – ’twas a wonderful night.

Actual Date: 2nd August 2012

Location: Turkmenistan (Turkmenbasi-Ashgabat)

We arose bright and early as the sun was rising, cooked some eggs for a quick breakfast and started packing up our tent and other equipment.

Mr.Lindmarker, barefoot, was in the middle of rolling up the tent when he jumped back – a small scorpion had made its way underneath the tent sometime in the night and came scampering out.

Fortunately no more came of that meeting and no other surprise guests seemed to have shared our warmth, but a new “shoes always” rule was quickly put in place for the desert.

 

Driving down the road from Turkmenbashi toward Ashgabat we discovered roads that we’re pretty sure were built specifically to keep cars away. Veritable trenches and small hills of asphalt pockmarked the road and presented a significant danger to our cars already banged underbelly.

The going was incredibly slow, a test of both our driving and our patience, not made easier by the Turkmeni nationals zooming by at speeds designed to bounce their cars into the nearest junkyard.

The roads soon proved their danger to our car. Suddenly, we heard quite a bit of noise coming from the roof, a sort of bumping sound. Stopping the car, we immediately saw what it was – our roof rack had once again come loose only this time one of the holders was gone. We took a long walk back along the road but couldn’t find anything. It was lost.

One thing we can say for ourselves is that we tend to be good at solving problems; this particular didn’t present much of a challenge and after propping the rack up with a rock from the side of a road and protecting the car roof underneath it with a sponge – also from the side of the road. The construction was secured with lots of duct tape, and we were good to go.

Around halfway to Ashgabat our hunger had occupied most of our minds and a roadside “Kafe” – the first we’d seen of civilization for a while – popped up with perfect timing.

Inside, we had carpets to lie and eat on and there was a small kitchen in the back with lots of interesting smells wafting our way.

Intrigued, we started communicating with the gents running the place and the only other guests – a couple of truck drivers in the middle of polishing off a bottle of vodka.

The food was great – a chicken broth, some fresh vegetables, pickles, homemade bread and more. Apparently it’s a crime to eat without downing some vodka, and our truck driver companions were quick to remedy our conundrum – although luckily our driver wasn’t pushed too hard.

We continued to eat and chat with our new companions and the Kafes “head chef”/owner/cashier/person who showed us the kitchen and gave us food, thoroughly enjoying the laughs they provided.

Upon leaving the Kafe guy followed us out and had a look through our car  when he found something he seemed to like – a bottle of Swedish vodka. This was something he had to have. Nothing is for free though, and after some negotiation we happily swapped our bottle for one of his own local Turkmen vodka.

 

Another 150km or so of the roads from hell and they eventually gave way to something close enough to “flat” for us to push along a little fast, an in no time at all (lots and lots of time, after sunset) we arrived in Ashgabat.

 

We set about finding a hostel to stay the night, something that turned out to be significantly easier said than done. We found a couple of the places marked on our map but were turn away without even getting a look from the receptionist – “full”. A couple of other places didn’t seem to exist anymore. We continued searching and spent a couple of hours driving around the city looking for room but being turned away at every stop. Not a single one was willing to talk to us or point us in the direction of another hotel/hostel, in fact most didn’t even say a word – just waved us away.

 

At almost midnight we finally found a place that would allow us in, and quickly took our chance. Tomorrow – a day in Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan!

Actual Date: 30 July – 1st August 2012

Location: Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan

The ship had been a good time – meeting with a bunch of other rallyers, sharing stories like the ones you might have read here, trading tips for the road and generally having a good time.

Meals were cooked with camping equipment on the roof of the ship, guitars were played, songs were song, dances with Azerbajdjanis where had, the sun was enjoyed (and despised), and everyone seemed to grow a pair of sturdy sea legs.

In the late afternoon we reached Turkmenistan, and anchored the ship outside the harbor to await our turn to dock.

A few hours and much impatience later it had gotten dark but we finally started moving again – it was time to meet Turkmenistan!

We should have learned by now to never speak too soon.

We slowly moved into the harbor, the massive ship being guided by smaller tugboats. As we neared the obvious point in the harbor where we would disembark, even us landlubber rallyers started noticing that something might just be off.

As it turns out, the winds were just a little too rough so we had to turn back and try again in the morning. Worth noting is that, at this point, most all of the rallyers (us including) had more or less run out of food and water for the ferry. It was an interesting night with much rationing and little spending of energy.

 

Interestingly enough, it was a a sign of things to come. Maybe we should be getting used to that?

The next day our ship was able to dock without problems around 9am as the wind had all but died down, so we quickly made our way to the terminal and entrance to Turkmenistan.

Things seemed to be relatively quick and organized at first – “First, those who already have visas will be processed, then those with letters of invitation and embassy letters will be processed”. Simple enough, sounds effective.

For all of us, it was our first date with Soviet bureaucracy. After few hours of waiting outside, trying our best to construct temporary shade in the blistering desert sun and finishing the little remaining water, it was our turn to start the process, so we headed to the little window in the big building and handed in our passports.

In this building and the one next door there were many little booths and offices, seven of which we would be finding and visiting.

Since we left Baku none of us had been able to get any reception on our phones – they simply didn’t work in Turkmenistan. This was particularly unfortunate since we had been given the contact info to some gentlemen at GAC, the global shipping and logistics company, who we were hoping might be able to give some tips or do a bit of translating. Finally, late in the afternoon we managed to borrow one of the guards cell phones and call out to our contact.

 

Around 20 minutes later GAC had sent a representative fluent in Turkmen and English who quickly answered any questions we had and facilitated communication with the border workers. Finally, we had some vague idea of what was going on and how much time was left and we were even given help in getting hold of a local sim card so we could get a phone working.

 

Finally, after 13 hours of border fixing, at around 22.30 we rolled out of the terminal and turned the car towards Ashgabat.

Tired and hungry, we drove just out of town and managed to find a secluded spot in the desert where we quickly made camp and dove in for a sleep.

 

(PS no photos at border crossings so you’ll have to make do with these, us after ca 3 weeks “in the field”)

Actual Date: 29-30th July 2012

Location: Georgia/Azerbaijan border, Baku.

(Quick note: much the the food-related stuff is being left out for the book, so this blog is focusing more on the journey itself – we don’t want to have you reading the same thing again and again!)

(Also due to lack of internet the dates of the events in the blog might not match the date they pop up, but they Are in chronological order and we’ve added an “actual date” at the top if you want to keep track.)

 

Leaving Tbilisi, we quickly made our way to the Georgia/Azerbaijan border after just over an hours drive.

This is round about the time when Mr. Lindmarker started congratulating himself on his brilliance for hiding our “important documents” folder.

Mr. Lejfjord & Gustav had, for some reason, not been informed of this stroke of brilliance.

Approximately three hours later we were back at the border, now with our passports. Mr Lindmarker no longer has access to the “important documents” folder, any wallets, as well as anything else deemed even remotely important by Mr. Lejfjord and Gustav.

 

We are not particularly impressed with Azerbaijan. The border crossing took almost six hours and was followed by a “highway” with speed limits set thusly:

ca 10% was 110km/h

ca 30% was 90km/h

ca 5% was 70km/h

The 70km/h speed limit was after ca 100m always (without fail) followed by a 50km/h sign that makes up the remaining 55% of the route.

For those of you who only know miles per hour, the above means the road was bloody slow for no apparent reason. There was no construction, no diversions, nothing.

The entire route was also completely saturated in police controls. The three of us combined have never seen as many police in our entire lives as we saw on just this road.

On the plus side, we did manage to stop on the way and find some food that tasted absolutely incredible (in the interest of full disclosure, we were starving at the time) – a tomato/cheese/egg paste, a special chicken soup, and some homemade bread along with a tasty juice.

Not finding anywhere to camp, and being informed that “no camping” was apparently a thing here too, we simply drove and slept in shifts until we got to Baku where a hotel was booked (required for visa) for that very night.

We arrived at the hotel at 6am.

 

After waking up the bloke on nightshift by banging on the door for a while, we were sullenly informed that the hotel we had booked and payed for three months ago was full. Awesome.

We were then informed that a room had been booked for us at a neighboring hotel.

The neighboring hotel confirmed our suspicions: they had never heard of this.

Fortunately, they were nice enough to set us up with yet another neighboring hotel that was able to take us in.

After a couple of hours of sleep we rushed off on Monday morning to the Turkmenistan Embassy.

Now, this is an interesting little bit:

 

Entering Turkmenistan requires a visa, which is issued at the Turkmen border after providing a letter of invitation and being given a green light.

To get to Turkmenistan we must take the ferry from Baku (Azerbaijan) to Turkmenbashi (Turkmenistan). The ferry is rumored to be a Soviet vessel from the 50s that has a tendency to stop in the middle of the sea for a few days until “additional fees” are payed.

To board the ferry in Baku it has been decided that we must have a Turkmenistan visa. See the problem here?

The Turkmenistan Embassy in Baku has noted this minor problem and has informed us that they’ll be happy to help by providing us a letter that should clear everything up.

The Turkmenistan Embassy is open on Monday from 10am to 1pm. It is then open again on Friday.

 

Hence the brief sleep and the mad dash to the embassy, the address to which we had found on a Azerbaijani official-looking website that listed all embassies in Baku.

When we arrived at the address we noted the Indian Embassy down the street and no embassy at our address.

Thankfully, the Indian Embassy were able to put us on the right track and we made it to the Turkmen Embassy on the other side of town.

The Turkmen Embassy turned out to be quite helpful and understanding of our time pressure, and quickly provided us with the needed letter while pointing us in the way of the port.

 

Baku is a city that is either in constant construction-mode or just arbitrarily hates us. We spent several hours discovering streets blocked due to construction, streets blocked due to the second of the above theories, one-way streets, too many traffic violations by both locals and police to count, and after a couple of hours: The Marine Passenger Terminal.

Naturally, this was the wrong place but it didn’t take too long from here to navigate the rest of the way to our terminal.

 

It was now time to exit Baku and board the ship!

Guess if exiting Azerbaijan takes roughly as long as entering the country? Of course it does, silly! Only this time we had no AC and it was still over 35 degrees Celsius.

Finally we were allowed to board the vessel around 6-7pm so we jumped in our car and turned the ignition.

Nothing happened.

We turned it again.

Thanks to previous experiences we know we have a moody battery so we jumped out of the car to push-start it on the harbor towards the ship and quickly piled in when she jumped into action.

 

The ship surprised us all.

We had our own room – with a sink and running water.

There were showers, toilets, a bar/café (albeit with no food and overpriced everything else), and a rooftop we could relax on (don’t get too excited, there were no chairs or anything like that though).

All in all, the ship seemed to be a pleasant journey and we were informed by the crew that we would enter the Turkmenbashi port in ca 16 hours. Great!

 

Turkmenistan is apparently more difficult (time consuming) to get access to than North Korea (we’ve heard), so we really look forward to visiting!

 

Actual Date: 27 July 2012

Location: Somewhere in the south of Georgia; between the coast and Tbilisi; Tbilisi

We woke up to the sound of waves crashing on the shore.

We declared how much we love what we’re doing.

We reveled in the awesomeness, fun and relative ease of the rally.

Apparently, this is how you tempt fate.

 

The border was north, so for once we could follow our compass (for some reason it always points north), and the crossing was relatively painless now that we finally had all our papers in order*.

Following the numerous signs towards casinos, which we hear also indicate major cities, we eventually came to a sign

TBILISI: TURN LEFT

Gustav, navigating, saw the sign: “Go straight, it’s a shorter way”.

…

At first, everything seemed ok. According the map (2 years old) this was a shorter path and a highway to boot. According to the map.

Slowly the road started getting worse, and we started climbing.

An hour later we were in the mountains and the road was challenging its permission to be classified as such.

We were now averaging 20km/h and Tbilisi started looking further away.

On the plus side, the landscape was absolutely breathtaking. Mountainous, completely forested, and dotted with houses or minor settlements.

 

We stopped for lunch on the side of the road above a precipitous drop and a fast-running river in the valley below. While cooking we waved to cars who honked their horns in greeting – friendly enough – and an orthodox priest from a nearby monastery stopped for a quick chat.

Feeling refreshed, we got back on the road but some tempers were starting to flare. Mr Lejfjord, excited about reaching Tbilisi was not nearly as enthralled with the slow bumpy ride along winding mountain roads as Gustav, who was as usual practically overjoyed.

 

We turned a corner, and there it was. Or rather, wasn’t. The road was gone. As in “not there” and had been replaced with a digging machine that was shifting dirt as a small crowd looked on.

Apparently there had been some kind of landslide and a team was now working on setting up some semblance of a passageway.

The onlookers said it would take 1 something. 1 unit of time we couldn’t understand – 1 minute, hour, day, week, month, year? Who knows.

So, resigned to the fact that we were well and truly stuck (nope, no way around), we scouted a place to tent for the night (this was around 2pm methinks), got our cooking gear out and Munchkin – a fun little card game we’ve brought along.

We had just settled in and starting dealing out the cards when suddenly there was shouting and a general rush to the few waiting cars – the road was ready!

Hmm, that doesn’t seem right.

 

Yup, definitely not a “road”. But the mounds of dirt piled along the precipice and slowly spilling down seemed to be passable. The first car made it, and that was good enough for us!

We reversed, gathered speed, and careened over the passageway with only a few minor bumps.

Thrilled with out success, we soon realized that we had moved about 20km in the past 2 1/2 hours. Things did not look good.

We grit our teeth and kept moving, trying to balance a good speed with the wellbeing of our little car that could. Or rather – Mr. Lejfjord gritted his teeth, Mr. Lindmarker eyed the booze, and Gustav stared out the window constantly asking for stops to enjoy the sights or take pictures.

 

At the semi-top of one of the mountains, there were a few buildings around the sign that seemed to point us in the right direction – as well as a little store where we could restock some water. After double checking which of the two possible roads the sign was point at, we headed into the store where we were greeted by a gang of military-outfit-wearing rural Georgians and a thrown-together store with a few piles of mystery meat here and there.

Naturally, we couldn’t resist and had a quick meal in the dodgy little shack. The mustard we were given with the bread tasted of paint thinner.

We were soon back on the road, and had driven another hour or so along the insanely rocky almost-road when..

 

BUMP. CRASH. SH*T!

 

The rear mirror showed a part of our car lying on the road. That is Not where it’s supposed to be.

We jumped out of the car and immediately saw what was wrong – the roof rack had collapsed, and one of the pieces fastening it to the car had fallen off.

This time we were lucky – as it’s not part of the engine or otherwise interconnected to any vital parts of the car, we managed to screw everything back together roughly as it was before. Whatever – it seems to be holding.

 

We piled back into the car and turned the ignition.

Nothing happened.

We turned it again.

Literally, no reaction whatsoever from our trusty metal steed. It turns out our battery is starting to have mood swings and will loose all power for no apparent reason sometimes, so we had to jump back out and attempt to push-start it on the rocky rocky mountain path. The decline helped – almost a little too much.

 

A few hours later – something’s missing. What’s that smooth feeling? there’s… OMIGOD WE’RE ON ASPHALT!!!

After many celebratory whoops and high-fives, and a sniff of scotch (no drinking in the car) we were speeding down a real highway headed straight for Tbilisi.

Upon arriving at the hostel in Tbilisi (after a few wrong turns, friendly cab drivers trying to give us directions in Russian, and a few extra rounds in a roundabout – 8 to be precise) we were informed by a couple of guests in the lobby that another gang of Mongol Rallyers had just left for a night on the town.

The result was that we spent ca 45 seconds at the hostel which was just to enough to don our Chef outfits (kudos to Rent a Chef for those).

Rushing to the bar where we thought our fellow rallyers had gone, we marched in as a trio of chefs in full kit unchallenged by anyone who would otherwise bar our way and cheered on by everyone who spotted us – it was exhilarating.

Naturally, this called for a bar-hop where we simply wanted to make appearances and fuel our already oversized egos. We were falling more and more in love with Tbilisi.

The night continued and eventually led us to a more relaxed bar filled with pool tables where we proceeded to demonstrate the Chef-Pool-Dance(™) and play a surprisingly good game of pool or two.

Exhaustion caught up to us soon after sunrise which reminded us of where we woke up 24 hours ago… Our beds received a truly warm and long embrace.

 

Another night at the hostel and it’s time for recipe-hunting!!

 

 

*What’s that? A hint at bonus content for book-owners?

Actual Date: 26 July 2012

Location: Between Giresun and the Turkey/Georgia border, Black Sea coast.

 

After our incredible day in Giresun it took us a while to get going the next day.

We drove for a couple of hours up the coast and, having learned from our previous experiences, asked a police where we might be able to make camp. The friendly chap not only pointed us in the right direction but jumped in the car and guided us there! Perfect.

The campsite was exactly what we had hoped for – on a beach.

 

Here we had one of our more touching experiences. After a dip in the sea we were headed up to our camp to make some food and start winding down for bed, when a couple of Turkish men on a cardboard spread called us over. Wondering what we had done wrong, we approached cautiously.

The two men turned out to be truck drivers who drive between here and Istanbul via Ankara, and they wanted to share their Iftar with us. The meal was quite simple – melons, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, bread, Sprite, and some other bits and pieces; but it was delicious.

No-one could understand a word of what the other party said, but we managed to make each other understood via sign language and guesswork. The guys were incredibly hospitable – a trait seemingly shared by all Turks – and made sure we ate our fill.

Later we slept under the stars, feeling absolutely amazing.

 

Tomorrow we cross the border and head into Georgia, with highway taking us all the way to our next stop: Tbilisi.

PS. unfortunately it was too dark for any good pictures!