“It won’t start”, Dom tells him. And as if possessed the man sets to work. Bonnet up, car jacked, problem diagnosed – the exhaust has become disconnected. It must have happened when the sump guard was welded on just two days before. It has actually been dislodged so much that it is blocking the exhaust vent from the engine, causing it to stall. It needs to be disconnected, banged back into place and tightened.
It stands to reason that the only thing that the organisers would get to run smoothly would be the launch, and within just half an hour of attempting to resolve the issue we are being told that we are due to leave within the hour.
Since we couldn’t actually reach any of the parts we were fixing – due to the sump guard welded onto the bottom of the car – this was ambitious, and as expected an hour later we were still at it – on the second attempt by now – but we had it in our stride now and just as the first cars were leaving the lot we were ready, car fixed, and starting – we couldn’t control our glee.
Ciaran, the legend helping us, ran back to his car with all his tools and we jumped in the car to join the convoy leaving Hyde Park. We had made it out – we had started our 9,000 mile trip, and already we were feeling the stress!
Fixing the car at Hyde Park
Europe in 3 days?
Swimming in the resevoir, Bratislavia
Time was short, Turkmenistan, almost the half way point, had to be just 8 short days away, and we had a whole lot of ground to cover by then. Helpfully, Mike had forgotten to bring most of his stuff, so with just a quick detour to Brighton, we got our train to France by 8pm that evening.
From here it was easy street – good roads, a fast car running in her prime, and four very happy guys. First stop Holland, where we were to meet up with Ciaran in his mini, and continue together in Prague.
We met them by the early hours and continued to Prague across the German Autobahns – unfortunately unable to take advantage of the lack of speed limit in our little cars – and arrived some 12 hours later, having had no sleep. We found the meeting place and promptly settled into a good afternoons drinking with any other ralliers who had made it so far. We were the fifth car into Prague, but more came in short order.
The party in Prague was very cool – filled with drunken chat with the many many other ralliers who had made it that far (many had already faltered, much as we nearly did), but when morning came we knew we had ground to make so we set off early.
Next stop was Bratislava, Slovakia, where we had lunch, enjoyed the view (very much), and went for a dip in their colossal reservoirs. By 8pm we were well on our way to Budapest, Hungary. We camped just shy of the Romanian border at about 3am, set up camp, ate rabbit liver stew (it was supposed to be a whole rabbit, but we couldn’t read Hungarian).
In the morning we headed out into Romania – a very strange, very poor country. It was really the first time we had hit bad roads and the going got very tough. It took us two days to cross Romania, having had to spend a night lost in the forest-covered mountains of Transylvania, scared, frankly, shitless, of the wolves we could hear. When the day came and we could see our track again things got a little easier and we headed for straight for Bulgaria, and through, into Turkey. We made Istanbul on the 26th, 5 days after leaving London.
First Camp, just outside the Romanian border
Welcome to Asia
Outside the 12 lane toll bridge into Asia, Istanbul
We tried hard to blitz through Turkey – the roads were mostly ok, and we drove along the Black Sea, often stopping for a dip to cool down in the 50*C sun. We had Eleanor’s suspension altered in the east of Turkey so that would wouldn’t keep hitting the floor on each bump as we were starting to get worried we’d wear right through the petrol tank!
Three days later we were at the Georgian border, but had run out of time already and so had no time to stop – the same went for Azerbaijan, both of which we got through within 24 hours. Not bad given we were waiting at the border of Azerbaijan for around 8 full hours, while they did nothing but keep us waiting, take all our money, and levy charges on us and the 3 or 4 other teams who were also waiting.
Azerbaijan got no better. The people were a lot less friendly than those of anywhere else we’d stopped, and the officials were clearly spawned from the devil himself. Corrupt doesn’t even cover it. We actually watched as one of these guys hit another rallier on the arm, repeatedly, until they gave him $10. He then went to the next car and just took a bottle of Vodka they had left on the back seat.
He never came to our car. There was something to do with the four of us being in that one car – officials rarely gave us much trouble – which was most welcome.
As if that wasn’t enough, Azerbaijan actually got a lot worse. We arrived in Baku, the port town that offered ferries to our next destination, Turkmenistan, at around 3am. The ferry was due to leave at 4am – a result! We could get on the ferry and be in Turkmenistan on time!
However this was never to be, not for us, and not for the other 6 teams that had got in a full 24 hours earlier. The ferry never happened, but we were reliably informed there would be another at 11am. We got some sleep and woke in time to get tickets and board the ferry – a ferry that, this time, actually existed.
Us & the Mini, North coast of Turkey
Finally on the Ferry to Turkmenbashi
However once more we were thwarted – the captain of this particular ferry not wanting the hassle of taking cars on board! We got some of our finest vodka, cigarettes and dollar bills together and attempted to “negotiate” – however it was to no avail and the ferry left without us. Some 24 hours after we had arrived another ferry was promised – once again, we had acquired the extremely expensive tickets and were ready to board, when exactly the same threat was issued!
We felt lucky that this time our negotiations succeeded, but we shouldn’t have – we were about to board the single most corrupt boat of all time.
You know how they say in the sea; it is the captain who is the law? Well, imagine that captain being an Azerbaijani. Awful things were afoot.
It took another 6 hours or so for the ferry to leave, but when it did it set good pace, and it had a bar, and we were happy. There were some 18 ralliers on the ferry and we finally felt we may make some progress – for some – the first in 3 days.
12 short hours later we can see Turkmenbashi, our port in Turkmenistan, but the ferry won’t come into dock. Assuming there is a queuing system we bide our time, but nothing happens. It took another 12 hours to dock, just sitting there, watching our visas expire.
The highlight of this little wait was clearly when some of the crew came into the bar where we had set up camp and declared via a translator they had found that one of our cars was leaking petrol all over the floor of the hold they were in – and that charges were to be levied to pay for the clean-up. Simply astounded, since it had been only a few hours since we were last down there, we asked them if we could go down and see for ourselves – we were not allowed to venture down without an escort.
The declined, it would not be a problem, they informed us – we are their friends, and they will sort it out. Interesting then that just 10 short minutes later they were back, inviting us to come see! The unfortunate owners of the victim-car followed on, and sure enough petrol was gushing out! The petrol line had been severed. Just one more $180 fine, and then they docked.
Turkmenistan was always going to be an issue – its borders are practically closed – it was tough to get a visa, and the ones we got were “transit” visas, allowing us only 5 days to travel through, and forcing us into a specific route. We knew there would be plenty of “fees” and “taxes” to pay, and we were right – however it was conducted professionally and, I think, even legitimately, and 9 short hours later we were through. It was morning now and we headed straight for the Capital, Ashgabat, having run out of time to actually see the country. We got in late-afternoon and found a hotel with a swimming pool and went for a quick dip before heading into Ashgabat for some food. A most ludicrous place, built almost entirely with imported Italian marble, and littered (bare in mind we are now smack bang in the middle of a desert) with hundreds of fountains! The ruler is clearly insane, but he knows how to build a city at the expense of everyone else.
On the ferry, docked just outside Turkmenbashi
On of the more non-descript building in Ashgabat
The car, AT (After Truck)
We were late to leave Turkmenistan, having woken up late from the frivolity the evening before. In a rush, Dom decided not to wait for the truck that had parked itself across a main road, but to drive directly into it.
An interesting choice, I’m sure you’ll agree, however it didn’t work out all that badly.
- It gave us a good excuse for being late to the border, one which, it seems, they were most sympathetic towards.
- It was fixed using an ingenious method of tying the car to the truck (the same one we hit) and driving the truck in the other direction until the chassis was stretched out enough again that it would drive.
- The car now looked really cool!
After that the car did, kind of, go, but we lost some power, a head light, and we had to hard-wire the fan. However we made it to the border of Uzbekistan a few hours later, where even our now-expired visas couldn’t stop us.
We went straight to one of the larger cities called Bukhara in Uzbekistan, to get some of the damage caused by sliding Eleanor into a truck reversed. We pulled over to a policeman who very kindly ordered a taxi to take us to the local garage. As it happened, a rather large, almost European style, Daewoo garage, run by two brothers – Laziz and Ruzbek – two greater men you have never met.
We left the car with the mechanics and enjoyed lunch, a view of the city, and all the vodka it was possible to drink with the brothers and got back some 8 hours later to a car that looked almost new – and all for $100.
That night, after going to dinner again with the brothers, who seemed to enjoy a special status within Bukhara, allowing them many extravagances, we headed for Tashkent, the capital city.
One of the ancient temples in Bukhara
The Home Run
Riding one of the locals horses, West Entrance to Mongolia
We spent a full day in Tashkent – a City unrivalled for onions – after which we headed straight through Kazakhstan for Russia, and eventually, Mongolia. Our target was within our sights, and it spurred us on to new levels of dedication.
Kazakhstan and Russia were really just a blur of colour and darkness as we drove without stop for some 3 or 4 days. Mongolia on the horizon, we made it through the border on (roughly) the 9th of August. It was ok for a while. There were no roads – but that was fine – there weren’t craters and the car was coping. Until petrol got low.
We asked some locals (hard to find!) where we may find some “benzene” – the Russian for petrol, and one word – perhaps the only one – we managed to learn the entire trip – and we were directed to a town not far away. Upon arriving, however, it had to be noted that for a town that could easily house several thousand – finding only four inhabitants was a bit of a shock. And a locked petrol pump. The four inhabitants were never keen to say much more than “benzene… no”, and occasionally “no benzene”. After several hours of this conversation we had had enough and asked for a map to the nearest one. 70km away. Great. We had a smattering of petrol but it may be enough.
Through truly cold and vile nights on the open steppe, over non-existent roads, and having gouged two fairly sizable holes in the petrol tank – we made it to the petrol station. If you can call it that. It seems that how the Mongolians distribute petrol is to drive tanks around and leave the tank section wherever they think people may need it. They then set up a “ger” – their portable homes – nearby, from whom you can purchase the petrol – which is hand cracked from the tank. Genius really.
Our tank and Gerry Can full we continued, but it was not to last – the diversion we had to take for the petrol had taken us too far into the wilderness and the hills beyond finished the old girl off. The clutch burning, the tyres flat, the petrol tank barely recognisable, it was time to turn back. And so we did – heading for the first flat-bed truck that could be bought, to transport the poor girl home.
It was lucky that we got all that petrol, in retrospect, because the truck we found to take us to the nearly city ran out, half way there.
We arrived at said city, Ulaangom, a couple of days later; across ludicrous terrain we were most grateful to have avoided ourselves. From here we found out there were no flights available, but that we could get another truck that would take just two days to get to Ulaanbaatar.
The decision was made – and not two but four days later we were dropped, a few hundred kilometres from the target – once the roads had improved.
We drove the end ourselves, and were glad of it. The car was a wreck from riding on the trucks – the exhaust was gone, the headlight, replaced in Uzbekistan, had been smashed again – but it was morning, and it ran – and it had some petrol left – and we made it just a few hours later – 27th car into Ulaanbaatar.
A view of the road, Mongolia