Archives 2010

It is an amazing thing to meet up with one’s parents in the middle of nowhere. We met my folks in Tashkent for a week of R&R at little more than the half-way point of the Mongol Rally. In previous years of traveling we’ve met them in several other odd places around the world and always we’ve had great adventures and a lot of fun. This time, in Tashkent, we stayed at a lovely place with an indoor pool, dart board, ping-pong table and in-house cinema. My folks provided copious amounts of beer and booze , as well as amazing Western food, and we provided a horrifyingly bad aroma from our dirty clothing and dusty car.

We started off by washing everything, the car included and scrubbing our skin. We all thought we had tans but it turned out that after a few showers the darker skin went down the drain, must have been dirt so ingrained into our pores it became part of us. That first night we stayed up until 3am talking, playing games and catching up. My sister made an amazing Mexican-inspired meal, and the three of us disgusted everyone by digging into the food like starving animals.

We were wined and dined in real style with American food and snacks, something we hadn’t seen since we left the States more than two months ago. We even had Doritos and Bill and Mike split a box of Mac & Cheese. My folks even went through the trouble of locating Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels in the middle of Ramadan in Uzbekistan to have it ready for our arrival. My sister made a chocolate cake that mysteriously disappeared when she left it alone in the kitchen.

Later in the week, my dad hired a local man to make plov, a national dish of rice, carrots, lamb and spices, and kebabs of lamb and chicken in local spices. They arrived, set up a wood fire and cooked everything in the yard over the course of a few short hours. We sat outside on the traditional Uzbek tables (it looks like a wooden bed with a small coffee table in the middle, you sit crossed legged under it to eat) and watched the sun go down as we ate. Later, we had a dart tournament (Dad won, naturally) and tried out the in-house cinema. I jumped in the indoor pool daily. It had been so hot and so muggy the last several days that any chance to feel cool and clean was a welcomed treat.

It was extremely difficult to leave after only a week seeing my family. We had an amazing time going to bazaars in Tashkent, out to dinner and drinks, and just spending time playing games and talking. Our final night arrived and my parents took us to the best steak joint this side of New York. City Grill, in Tashkent, is a place I’ve raved about before, but this time was even better. My filet mignon was perfectly cooked, and the side dishes we so good that it was a shame to actually eat them. We had a great time, and the taste of that steak kept us happy for several days afterward, just thinking about it.

They drove with us to the Kazakh border and watched as we crossed into no-man’s land between Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. It was hard to say goodbye, as it always is, but we had an unbelievable week of stress-free relaxation and great food and drink that literally was an oasis in the middle of our Mongol Rally journey.

As with all good things, it was time for our little convoy of three cars to end. The Abandon the Cube team had visas and plans to head into Uzbekistan, while the FaceRace and Schumacher teams would head straight across Kazakhstan. As we neared the border with Kazakhstan, we decided to make the most of our remaining time together. After crossing the Russian-Kazakh border (we’ve become pros at border crossings, recently) we camped inside Kazakhstan just outside of Aterau. The road conditions were decent, but were the worst we had seen thus far on the rally. Pot holes would appear out of nowhere that were the size of small cows. More dangerously though were the ripples made by trucks on the roads so that the pavement was not flat, but consisted of two ridges in each lane. Small cars like ours had to drive on top of the ridges or else risk ripping apart the undercarriage. Because of this, the going was a bit slow. Add to this the fact that camels abounded in the area and, at night, camels venture onto the black pavement roads to soak up the heat of the dark cement.

We pulled off the road. It was entirely a flat region so there was no cover for our tents and cars. We decided to camp anyway, and after a bit of roof riding by Lauren, and a bit of football playing by the Brits, we pulled our cars into a flat area and began to set up our tents. We wanted our last evening together to be fun, so talk of a campfire raged through the camp. But, as we were setting up we noticed ants all over the area. We traced them back to hives all around the flats. There was nowhere to go to escape them. While we were investigating the strange ants, the mosquitoes emerged. I don’t expect there are many people on the planet who like mosquitoes, but this was ridiculous. If you pointed your flashlight above someone’s head you could literally see a grey, moving cloud of humming mosquitoes, diving in for the kill. Only Bill and Mike were able to stay outside their tents long enough to cook some quick noodles. Everyone else huddled in their tents, scratching their bites and watching for ants. It was like a bad Indiana Jones movie, with strange insects closing in on us from all sides.

Despite the annoyance of the bugs and the extreme, lung-halting heat, we managed to get a few hours of sleep. In the morning, we pushed on to Aterau and arrived fairly early. We found a bank and quickly changed money, then decided to have a group lunch together before we split up. Parked outside a shopping center, another rally team pulled up consisting of two middle-aged men who worked as deep-sea exploratory oil divers. We all went to the town’s Irish pub. Apparently there were hundreds of Americans and Aussies in Aterau working in the oil and gas business. Who would have guessed? We had a beer and pizza and, back in the parking lot, took a final convoy picture and said our goodbyes.

Bill, Mike and I nestled into our tiny Saxo and pointed it due south to Uzbekistan. The rest of our tiny convoy pulled out their maps and began plotting a route East and then North towards Russia. It was a sad goodbye, and it was lonely to be a solo rally car.

Stalingrad Warrior

Seemingly small from a distance, the Battle of Stalingrad monument is absolutely massive.  It takes a few minutes to realize the tiny dots walking around the base are people.  The long stretch of stairs heading towards the statue are surrounded by battle scene frescoes, memorial plaques, and even sounds and music.  Each step up, sets the mood and almost brings you back to to the battle.  By the time we reached the eternal flame, we were all covered in sweat as it was mid-July.  Everyone was complaining and walking through the sprinklers that happened to be running at noon.

Russian Volgograd Guards

Once we reached the flame room however, everyone’s face straightened in awe at the size of the room.  There were two guards standing in front of the flame – a fist wrapped around a torch.  As you spiral around the room counter-clockwise, the walls next to you are covered with the names of all the officers who died in the Battle for Stalingrad. By the time we reached the top of the stairs, no one was complaining about the heat anymore as there were two more guards standing at the exit, unmoving, as a blanket of sunlight enveloped them.  Beads of sweat were rolling down the guard’s face as he stood silently in his Class As.  The lead guard made his rounds and upon seeing his fellow comrade sweating profusely, we walked over to him, removed his cap, and slowly wiped the sweat from his brow.  I managed to snap a few photos of this as it happened, but we also got a lot of video – which we haven’t converted electronically yet.

The next section of the monument was covered with gardens and more officer monuments as we approached ‘The Lady of Stalingrad.’  From the top of the hill, the lady looks down at the Volga River where the Germans and Russians clashed and dug in for nearly seven months as the battle raged.  Stalingrad was vital to both sides, not only because it was a main transport hub on the Volga River for coal and oil to fuel Stalin’s Armies, but it would also be an ideological victory for the Germans to take a city with the Soviet leader’s name and provided access to the Caucuses via the Caspian Sea.

Stalingrad Eternal Flame

The Stalingrad War Memorial in Volgograd was one of the best Communist War memorials I have seen.  I am glad we took a 500 KM detour, along with several other ralliers, to make the trip to see it as I can’t imagine to many more opportunities in my life to be that close to the city.  After the memorial, we quickly headed out of town to drive to Kazakhstan.  Our convoy would be ending soon as we turned South for Uzbekistan and the rest went due East across the whole of Kazakhstan.

Imagine you have just jumped out of a hot shower on an extremely hot day, and then you plug in the hair dryer on high heat and point it right at your face. This is the closest parallel I can think of to explain the unending and abusive heat we felt on the road to Volgograd from inside the Russian border. Perhaps, once your hair is dry, turn the oven on max and pull a chair up and open the door. Waves of heat so powerful they make your eyes water (well, until you run out of eye moisture that is) spilled into our tiny cars. Naturally, we had no air conditioning and having the windows open only made the heat pour in more quickly. We closed the windows and sat in our mini car sauna as we sped along roads that were literally melting from the heat.

Eventually, and it did feel at some points like we might not make it through the waves of heat, we arrived in Volgograd. Having spent several previous evenings in other towns running around lost in the city looking for a cheap hostel or hotel, we decided not to deal with the hassle this time. Mike, Bill and I left the hostel finding up to our trusty convoy mates, and we three purchased ice cold beers and sat outside on a park bench, playing the ukulele (no one threw money in my Mongol Rally fund for the free music, I’ll add) and hanging out. Over the next several hours we consumed a few more ice beers and with every passing hour more ralliers joined our park bench party. By late evening, we had roughly fifteen ralliers from several convoys. It was a relaxing and pleasant evening, but we still had no place to stay. Mike jogged off in search of a hostel and came back with news of a hotel for $45 a room. Not cheap, by any means, but we took it, showered and cleaned up from so many days on the road and all met at the bench an hour later for dinner.

If you happen to look at a map you’ll notice we went out of our way to get to Volgograd. Once there, however, we found it a bit of an irritating place to travel. The roads are congested and of poor quality. The people are not especially helpful, but are a bit appreciative of our attempts at speaking in Russian. We discovered we needed to register within three days of entering Russia at a hotel. This, we found out, was not easy to do if you decided not to stay at a hotel. Bill slept on the floor in another team’s hotel room, so in the morning we had a bit of a run around trying to get a hotel to ‘register’ him without him paying. Eventually our hotel did it because they confused Bill with me as the second person in the room. Jackpot.

That morning we all went to the fancy hotel where the other rally teams were staying and ate at their continental breakfast. They didn’t catch on that we hadn’t paid to stay there. We used the internet to send our families messages of arriving in Russia, and then jointly decided that since we were in Volgograd, a trip to the Stalingrad monument was in order.

This morning we got word via email from The Adventurists (the organizing body for the Mongol Rally) that one of our fellow ralliers had died in a car crash the previous day, the 7th of August. There were three people in the car when they crashed, two are in critical condition and, devastatingly the third died from injuries received in the accident.

The Adventurists have decided not to reveal the identity of those in the car until their family members decide they want that information made public. In the meantime, the sobering information has hit our convoy of cars quite severely. It was shocking information and it made us realize the seriousness of the undertaking that we had, so far, treated very light heartedly. With messages flowing in from our parents and friends, we’ve adopted a more defensive driving style, we’re going slower and driving only until dusk.

We don’t know who the rallier was, but we’re sure he was a friend and he’ll be missed. His like-minded sense of adventure and willingness to travel to new places makes him someone we count as our own, and the loss of any such daring a person is a tragedy.

Our condolences to the family, and to all of his friends. Tonight we make a toast in his honor around the camp fire. From our team, the Face Race team, and the Mongol Schumachers.

(as an update and means of explanation about the delay in posting this blog: we write our blogs when events happen but we schedule them to post at a two week lag so we have time to edit and add pictures, and to ensure we never have large gaps in blog posts, etc. We wrote this post the morning we heard, which was the 8th of August. We have since learned the identity of the rallier who perished, and his team mates. His family has not made that information public, so we won’t either. Needless to say, the loss it still devastating some two weeks after the accident. Our thoughts are with their families.)

We anticipated a bit of hassle crossing the Ukrainian border into Russia, but we in no way were prepared for the events that transpired when we finally reached the Ukrainian departure point and the Russian entry border. It was 6:30pm when we pulled into a line of cars to exit Ukraine, the line stretched from the gates ahead of us which were barely visible, to well behind us only minutes after our arrival. We got out of the car, as did members of the Mongol Schumachers and the Face Race team. When we needed to move forward in line we all pushed our cars in neutral—making quite a scene for the bored Ukrainians milling about drinking beer and waiting their turn in line.

Finally reaching the front, we were given the royal treatment. Out three cars were pulled over to a special spot while we filled out our customs forms. Bugs were out in full force and it was still over 90 degrees. We were all drenched in sweat, and, having not found a shower for the past three days we were not exactly an eye-pleasing sight. It was no wonder, then, that the border guards gave us wary looks as we scribbled our information down and collapsed on the hood of the car. We got our passports stamped and, headed to the next window. Three guards asked me for a present. I said I didn’t understand and flashed my best ‘don’t I look like Drew Berrymore’ smile. They smiled back and said, “You know, Thomas Jefferson is my friend. All the presidents are my friend.” I smiled and said they were my friends too. What a creative way to ask for money, really. I wasn’t unimpressed. The guard held up a small Ukrainian coin and said “Thomas Mark, you have?” Bill and Mike, having come up behind me, interpreted this to mean he was a coin collector. Someone rushed to the car and found a nikle that had been rolling around the back seat for the past two weeks. The guard took it, laughing, and then asked for a coin from the British team behind us. Perhaps he really was a coin collector. So, after about 2 hours, we were officially out of Ukraine! Does a nickel count as a bribe? I’m going to say no on that.

We drove off, it was dark now so we rounded a corner and were confronted with an unwelcoming sight. The line for the Russian border was as long as the Ukrainian one had been. We got out of our cars and snacked on food found in the truck or between seat cushions. We played games, told stories and all the while we pushed our car down the line. Finally at the front, we got stamped into Russia and we piled back into our car, shocked at how easy the crossing was. We had heard it would be the hardest border yet, and one that no one could make it through without paying a bribe. As we sped the car up we exchanged smiles and then, when a customs official jumped in front of the car with a waving flashlight, we watched each other’s smiles turn into straight lines.

We were instructed to pull the car into a dark parking lot with no cameras or lighting. A dog was in a nearby cage barking at the stray cats that strolled by tauntingly. Bill, who has the car in his name, was sent to talk with the guards alone. We waited….and waited….. we played with the cats and dogs, we counted stars, we exchanged life stories with members from the other two rally cars, and we even got to the point of collapsing on the hood of our cars again, preparing to nap. Finally, Bill returned having paid no bribe but having purchased our auto insurance for Russia. Two guards accompanied him to the car with flashlights. “Here it comes.” I thought. I knew we have booze in the trunk (what respectable rallier doesn’t?) as well as a few strange items like a hatchet and pocket knives which I was concerned might raise questions. But, the guards were our age and very jovial. They asked if we had a present for them, and we said we didn’t. They asked for a small bottle of booze, so we offered them cigarettes, which they didn’t want. They saw a bottle of beer we had picked up in Romania for free, and the younger of the two officers stuck it in his pocket and said, “this is gift for me.” Since it was a skunky beer that had been in a heated trunk for 4 days we were happy to have it disposed of, and smiled as we shook hands and said our farewells. Does a beer count as a bribe?

We rolled into Odessa quite late in the evening, having been held up at the border a bit longer than anticipated. Odessa came highly recommended by our Ukrainian friends in Minnesota, as well as by a friend whose father lives in the Crimea. Apparently during the cold war, Odessa was infamous for its webs of spies from both sides fighting for information and control. I was intrigued and when doing the initial route planning from the States we simply could not imagine going any other way but through Odessa.

We spent the first hour and a half driving around looking for a place to spend the night. We checked several hostels found on hostel world only to discover they were abandoned apartment complexes or simply a field or parking lot. Eventually we found a cheap hotel, but the advertised prices were off by a dozen Euro so we simply didn’t want to pay it. We asked at the hotel if we could park our cars in their protected parking area for a Euro, they said “sure!” so we positioned are cars near several other rally cars in the parking lot and decided to sleep in the cars to save money. But first, it was time to meet the other ralliers and find out what the latest gossip was.

We found a nearby pub and, not surprisingly, about twenty ralliers. They had been in a caravan of eight cars, which meant extremely slow progress. Nevertheless, they had beat us there, which doesn’t say a lot for our speed. We introduced ourselves and soon were engulfed in great conversations with amazing people from all over the world.

As the night wore on people began to drift off to find a place to sleep. We all moved our cars towards the water a bit and several teams through up their tents right by the side of the road. Mike and I slept in the Face Race car while Bill reclined in our ATC car. The Face Race crew have an instant pop-up tent so they threw that up near the road. Surprisingly, the police did not kick us out.

In the morning we all felt a bit gross having spent the night drinking and then sleeping in hot, disgusting-smelling cars. Mike, Bill and I walked down to the Black Sea to take a quick dip. I decided not to get in, but once we had walked all the way down the hill to the water I changed my mind and jumped in fully clothed. It was the closest thing to a shower in several days, and it was wonderful. We swam out a ways and just enjoyed the feeling of being cool for a change rather than dripping sweat. When we had been in long enough, we walked back to the cars and brushed our teeth and got cleaned up (as well as one can on the side of the road).

Everyone was milling about, so we made plans to head to the Steps of Odessa, a famous and beautiful area a bit north of our current position. We set off, the Face Race team in tow, and a new car joined our mini convoy, the Mongol Schumachers. We hit the steps within the hour, and found all manner of strange sights before us.

One man had a pet alligator and parrot, another had an owl and a monkey. For a few bucks you could play with the exotic creatures and have your picture taken. We opted against it for sanitation reasons, and bounded up the steps to do the happy dance from Rocky. Classic.

Back at the cars, I met an amazing gentlemen who is friends with Charlie Boreman (who rides with Ewan McGregor and co-wrote Long Way Round, and several other books). This guy was extremely interesting, and was going on yet another round-the-world bike trip. You never know who you’ll meet in strange places, but you can guarantee they will be much more interesting than the folks you meet back home.

We chatted with the bikers for a while before hitting the road. The goal was to make it to the Russian border, but as the goal was entirely unrealistic we thought we’d see how far we could get.

Crossing any protected border is a bit of a pain. Over the past few years we’ve had our fair share of problems at various border crossings. In China, we were told we had swine flu at one border and nearly quarantined. In Turkey we were stuck in no-man’s land trying to buy a visa. In Turkmenistan we were held for over a day trying to catch the border-ferry out. In Azerbaijan we were lectured about the evils of their neighbors and forced to promise never to visit Armenia. So, when we came to the Ukrainian border we were not that worried. No matter what problems arise, you always find a way through them.

We had already waited several hours to go through the exit procedures for Moldova. We drove through no-man’s land and waited in a huge line to enter Ukraine. The line inched forward slowly, and rather than waste gas we simply put the cars in neutral and pushed them. This drew the strangest compilation of stares from other motorists and, of course, the Ukrainian border guards. We’ve since learned that these gentlemen don’t have a sense of humor.

Round one is the maze. Basically, you run from window to window trying to figure out what they want and how to deliver it. One window wants your passport, one wants the car registration, one insurance, one just wants to look at you and whisper to their fellow guards, and one window has no purpose at all. While we were jostling for space at the windows another rally team walked up and introduced themselves. They drove an ambulance and had been held at the border for the past four hours since their V5 form was missing. In case you don’t know, it is required that you mail in your V5 form in the UK before exiting the country, so of course no one has the form! This was impossible to explain. The other team was waiting for someone from the embassy to call back and explain this to the guards.

We stayed in line and eventually a guard came around the window and took Bill into a back room. We assumed this had something to do with either asking for a bribe or demanding we find our V5 form. After twenty minutes Bill emerged and said the guard just wanted to chat, practice his English. We finally got our passports stamped and our registration returned to us. Since I had not driven in quite a while I hoped in the driver’s seat and edged us out of the border area and into the straight away.

The feeling of finally being out of the border area was so overwhelming that I wasn’t entirely surprised when I came flying over a hill and saw the police. A huge smile washed over the officer’s face when he aimed the radar gun. It was already too late. I slammed on the breaks but the gun was already coming down to his side and his other arm was waving me over. Bill and Mike had done most of the driving, I drive for five minutes and I’m pulled over in Ukraine.

The cop came up to the window (confused at first as to why the steering wheel was on the wrong side) and showed me the radar gun. 76 in a 60. Not bad! I smiled and said I was sorry, but he walked back to his cruiser, waving me with him. I followed him up the hill (it had taken me a while to stop due to the speed/incline) and he started writing me a ticket. I told him I had no money and didn’t know that I was speeding. I explained that I thought the speed limit was 80, so in all actuality I was actually under the limit. He laughed and kept writing the ticket. I started to look desperate and told the other officer to help me explain the situation to the man writing the ticket. He never took the radar gun off the hill and every time someone swept by under the limit he would shrug and smile and look dejected. The ticket-man was explaining to Mike, who had joined us on the hill, that I owed 250 rubles. I said I had no rubles and started to shift my weight from foot to foot, looking lost. I was about to play the ‘cry on command’ card when the ticket man finally looked up and said ‘go.” I repeated this back to him and then smiled. I wanted to hug them both but thought better of it at the last moment and shook their hands instead. Mike ran down the hill and I followed. Despite the small fiasco I decided to keep driving. This time, under the limit a few notches.

Rumors are not always proven true, and that was the case for us in Moldova. We had heard it was the most corrupt and difficult place to travel in, and many other rally teams were stopped and forced to pay bribes at the Moldovan border. Nevertheless, we wanted to see the countryside and the vineyards that are so famous in Moldova, and decided to risk the hassle to see the sights.

Moldova was the first real border crossing for us on the rally thus far. Most EU countries don’t even stop, let alone slow down the cars when they cross the borders. Romania pulled us aside for a few moments to stamp our passports and look in the back windows, but only in Moldova had we encountered any real hassle or search. Pulling into the border area we immediately began hiding our expensive gear and money in case they decided to search the car thoroughly. Our team decided that Lauren should carry the money and do the talking, as people are less likely to try to extort from a woman. This theory proved correct. Lauren walked into the office with a smile and handed over the passports and car registration. The guards demanded something and stuck their palms out. She smiled and eventually they moved their chair over and asked her to sit down. They even turned on the air conditioning and asked if she wanted anything to drink. She typed their information into the computer system (which was entirely in English) and registered us herself, the border guards having so much trouble reading our documents in English that it ended up saving precious hours.

Next, a guard approached the car, but with Bill and Mike still seated inside it gave the impression there was no room for anything else in the car, which is in fact mostly true. Eventually they tired of our tireless smiles and waved us through the border. We waited out of the line of sight for the Face Race team to catch up with us. They had to purchase road insurance at the border, while our European insurance covered us.

Moldova, in the southern separatist region we visited, was entirely countryside. We drove through two small towns, stopping once to ask directions. Everyone was friendly and calm, and waved at our silly cars as we passed through their remote townships. The countryside itself was entirely filled with vineyards and rolling green hills. The roads were decent quality, and someone had planted trees along the main routes for shade.

Reaching the opposite southern border crossing into Ukraine, we were decidedly tired of dealing with customs officials. Despite our tired looks and exhausted expressions the guards managed to do a once-over on the car and of course check our passports and car registration yet again. We had signed into the country on computer three hours earlier and now signed ourselves out of Moldova, problem and bribe free. Great success! Now let’s see how Ukraine goes….

Driving up to Dracula’s castle in a rally car takes away some of the Transylvania mystique that we so associate with the place. We did learn, sadly, that Bran Castle is not actually Dracula’s, as Dracula is a fictional character. He is based off of an actual regional tyrant named Vlad the Impailer, so called because he liked to punish people by impaling them on a sharp stake so that it took them days to die, very publicly and painfully. We learned, also to our dismay, that Vlad only used Bran Castle once on a short vacation, so the actual reason Bran Castle is so famous eludes us. Nevertheless, we ventured forward.

Pulling into Bran, we discovered no screaming people run through with sharp sticks, instead we found a tourist trap of epic proportions. There was every manner of vampire merchandise (save for the horrid Twilight Saga stuff). T-shirts with blood dripping off of them, wigs, fangs, crosses, and strangely, lots of lace. We perused the small tourist shops watching groups of Japanese tourists in matching tour hats scoop up Dracula souvenirs.

Eventually we tired of the balking tourists and screaming merchants so we snapped a few pictures of the outside of Bran Castle and jumped back in our trusty Citroen Saxo. Another castle was perched on a hillside a few miles back down the road, so we decided to visit the less busy, less touristy castle and actually climb up inside it.

We had split off from our convoy earlier that day, with the Face Race team heading to Bucharest, Romania to drop off a team mate. We had a few hours to kill before we caught up with them that evening near the border with Moldova, so we decided that we had plenty of time to see another castle. One hardly ever tires of castles, I’ve found.

Finding parking was easy, so we walked up the hill to Rasnov Castle, which was apparently past business hours at six in the afternoon. We walked through the main gates and up into the chambers of the castle. Much of Rasnov is in ruins, but a panoramic view from the top of what must have been a look-out tower or platform gave us one of the best views in Romania. We walked around admiring the old structures (many of which were under construction) and finally walked back down to the car. We had a lot of miles to cover that night before re-uniting with our convoy and heading into Moldova.

If you haven’t seen the British TV show “Top Gear” then you probably aren’t alone. I haven’t seen it either. But, apparently everyone on the rally is in love with the show, which features a few men who take on auto-related challenges around the globe in seemingly anything with an engine and a few wheels.

All the Brits were raving about a special road featured in Top Gear and was made famous from car commercials and other car-related things. This road was called The Transfagaran Pass, so we stuck the nose of our car in that direction. It was not far from the camp ground but we still managed to get lost, a daily occurrence for our tiny convoy. Eventually we found the right road and discovered it was a winding narrow road up the side of a mountain. Motorcycles were buzzing past us and faster cars passed us as if we were not on an incline at all. We stayed in first gear the whole time. Finally, we reached the part of the road that made it famous, a hillside with switchbacks going all the way to the summit, where a small lake awaits. We gunned it at an insane 20 mph, finally reaching the top without having anyone puke in the car. The view was breathtaking, and well worth the drive. We drove on through a tunnel, where our convoy began honking at one another, and all the locals joined in filling the tunnel with honking and cheering.

It began to rain, and since our tires are as smooth as a baby’s bottom we decided t head down rather than take the road the entire length towards Bucharest. Oly and Oli had to drop Rikki off at the airport, as he had to fly back to the UK for work. We said our goodbyes on top of the mountain and waved as they went back through the tunnel and we headed down the hill towards Bran.

Gypsies, it turns out, do not have a very good reputation in Romania. Having driven from Budapest, we were exhausted by the time we reached the border. The scenery was beautiful, with mountains speckled throughout the landscape that our tiny car wound up and down and small speeds. Oradea was the first town across the border and we arrived on schedule around noon. Finding parking was easy, but the safety of our cars was definitely in question. The aforementioned gypsies flocked around the park nearby and asked for money from our small group at tedium. We took everything off the roof rack and put it into the car before setting off to view Oradea’s sights.

Two main plazas sit in central Oradea, one on either side of the river that bisects the town. We walked in the mid-day heat to the first and snapped a few pictures but because of the extreme temperatures no one was really in the mood to stare at more architecture. Several people were holding their stomachs in hunger while everyone else dashed into every passing quick-mart to buy a drink.  Hydration was key. We crept slowly across the river and halted for ice cream at a street-side vendor before exploring the opposing square and city center. For a small town on the border, Oradea is surprisingly beautiful and with a wealth of cafes, restaurants and bars. A long pedestrian street lay ahead, so we walked down it, enjoying the city and the rich atmosphere.

We had heard somewhere that there was a vegetarian restaurant in town that made celery schnitzel. When you hear a menu item like that you simply have to go check it out in person. Apparently it is the only vegetarian place in Romania, which made the allure all the greater. We spent quite a bit of time looking for it and finally discovered it was near our parked cars (which were still there, thankfully!). We sat inside, enjoying the air conditioning for several minutes while examining the menu. A curious thing happens in Eastern Europe, Central Asia and Asia. When a menu item runs out, they simply put an X in -front of  it. This menu was entirely composed of Xs, with only a few remaining items. We waited….and waited….and waited. Eventually we lost interest in waiting and decided to leave, having regained some humanity thanks to the air conditioners. We strolled across the street and had gyros for a fraction of the price.

Climbing back into the hot cars went against every natural survival instinct, but that’s exactly what we did. We hit the road going fast, anything to cool down the cars. In the back seat, Mike was dripping sweat as he looked out the window. Bill was wiping his face with a cloth and I was blinking rapidly to stop the burning heat from drying my eyes. We didn’t have far to go to reach our next destination, so we all set our jaws and forged ahead.

Budapest has received a lot of fan fare in recent years for its bohemian settings and casual expat culture. We got to experience a bit of this for the few brief days we were in Budapest. First, the city is divided in half and together Buda and Pest comprise the metropolis of Budapest, the river dividing them neatly in half. Beautiful bridges connect the two townships, making them one.

The older part of town and, incidentally, the side most tourists visit is Buda. In Buda you’ll find the old town citadel and the famous labyrinths that run beneath it. A sign informed us that the catacomb labyrinths beneath us were one of the seven underground wonders of the world. God knows what the other six are. We toured around the cathedral and admired the view from atop the hill in Buda, looking over the river and the steady development in Pest. Strolling around, Buda could be any beautiful city in Europe, with fashionably clad women and business-minded men briskly going about their day.

Budapest boasts one of the oldest metro systems in Europe. We decided to take the subway to check it out. Leather straps dangled from metal plates inside the cabins on the subway, while real glass windows let passengers look out into the beautifully crafted subway platforms of tile and mosaic. It was extremely impressive, and efficient. The subway connects travelers with bus and above ground train stations so that mobility in the city is easy.

Pest, where the city’s modernity begins to shine through, is where we stayed. Naturally, prices are cheaper in the peak season in Pest, and our campground was only a few Euro a night and nestled neatly into the middle of a public park. We jumped on the tram heading north to take a tour of the Budapest Torture Museum. Obviously not my idea, but I was along for the ride. I’m glad we ended up going, as I learned a great deal and someone has invested a large amount in the facility, making it one of the most in-depth museums I’ve ever visited. It happened to be free for people under 26 the day we arrived, so I got in for free while Mike, having forgotten his ID, decided to wait outside. Bill paid for his ticket (old man!) and we made our way up a flight of stairs to view a real Soviet tank in a small room that was comprised entirely of pictures of deceased Hungarians. The tour would only become more sobering as we went on. In all, we saw the cells where prisoners lived, the gallows where they died, the torture chambers, and several videos made from victims who calmly explained what went on in the building. Finally, we emerged from the building into the sunlight with a lot of information about the Soviet invasion of Hungary, and what that meant for the people of Budapest. I’d highly recommend the museum, but plan to be shocked. There is no “politically correct” concept when it comes to displaying text and images.

Back at the campground we managed to do a bit of laundry, stringing a line from the car to a nearby fence. We cleaned out the car (which was much in need of attention) and Bill did a once-over on the car checking the wheels, engine and poking his head around under the belly of the beast. All was in order, so we set off the following morning for Romania.

Needless to say, the entire convoy of people were now desperate for a shower and a few days to rest. We saw signs for Budapest and drove into the center of town. No hostels came up on Hostel World that were affordable and had safe parking, so just as we were debating jumping in the river with a bar of soap we got a text message from the Back flips and Summersaults team that had left the convoy in Czech. They had found a campground. We headed towards the park in the middle of town where the campground was. Taking a wrong turn into a parking lot, we made a three-point turn to get back on the main road. In front of us, the Face Race team was doing likewise. For some reason I saw the front left of the hood dip down and then Oly and Oli jumped out of the car and stuck their faces under the body of the car.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and had a drink of water. I strolled over to see what was up. I could not have imagined how terrible the accident was. Making a three-point turn isn’t something I consider a hazard to a car, but apparently to theirs’ it was. As I rounded the corner I could see that the entire front left wheel had snapped off at the arm. Corroded medal was flaking off from the weight of the car. “Jack it up so it doesn’t snap the other side.” I yelled, and ran to the trunk and helped them unload their gear. Oli jacked up the car as Rikki and the other Oly got in a huddle and decided on their next move. I suggested that we take all of their gear and head to the campground so that their car was empty when the tow truck arrived. We loaded down our car and after some careful maneuvering with Bill at the wheel and Mike and I navigating, we got our car past the broken down one without damaging anything in the parking lot. It was as we were ready to pull out that the next problem occurred.

A man and his wife and presumably one of their mothers exited the apartment building and got in their car…. Which was trapped behind the Face Race car. Because we could not move the car, and because these strangers drove an SUV, there was nothing we could do to help them. They called a tow truck and as Mike and I set off for the camp ground on foot, Bill drove the full car to the campground while Oli and Oly waited with the car.

We checked into the camp ground and met two other rally teams. I set up our tent and we set up the Face Race tent as well, filling it with their stuff from our car. Two hours later they returned in their car, having told us that the mechanic charged them 400 dollars to fix the wheel on the spot in the parking lot. At least they were back on the road and still in the rally. We all celebrated that fact with a toast and, since they were not in the mood to party after their 400$ repair, we retired early.

We arrived in Bratislava that evening after leaving Vienna. We heard it would be cheaper in Slovakia than Austria, but a quick consultation with Hostel World proved otherwise. We did manage to discover that there was a large camp ground near the city. We asked for directions and followed them….almost. Somehow we overshot the campground by over 30km! We turned around and headed back towards Bratislava. Before we could get far at all, however, angry clouds to the south started to swirl and bark. Having grown up in the Midwest, Mike recognized all the signs of a tornado about to touch down. Cool and warm wind whipped the side of the car and our pirate flag was whipping so wildly we thought it would rip right off and fly up into the black clouds. Slowly, a funnel formed from the largest cloud and it arched its way down to earth.  Our cars were racing along the highway back towards town but the sky was growing dark so fast and so suddenly that many of the locals were pulling off the road to wait it out. Recognizing that waiting in the path of a tornado was a bad idea, we forged on at full speed.

I pulled out the video camera and started filming just as the rain started to fall hard against the car. There is no sound on earth quite like heavy rain on metal, it comes down like bullets and lands with a thud for each drop. I yelled into the camera but the rain and wind was too much to be heard. I turned the camera around to the car behind us and although I knew it was right behind us, it was not visible.

Everyone was pulling over. Our radio walki-talkie buzzed and the Face Race team said they were pulling over. We kept on ahead for several more minutes, eying the clouds. The funnel had touched earth and played around in the field as if just interested in picking sunflowers and swallowing them whole. Not being a meteorologist, I’m not sure why the tornado retracted back into the cloud when it did, but we watched it retract its fingers full of flowers and disappear. The rain continued for several more minutes and then abruptly stopped. Once it was clear again we easily saw the sign for the campground (we had zoomed right past it!)

We bought one bungalow for all 6 of us and then we all headed towards the showers. There are few things more wonderful than a shower after a long stint of camping. My joy was cut short as the water was ice cold and lasted less than one minute. With shampoo in my hair, I pushed the button and nothing happened. I kept pushing it and eventually a small stream of water trickled out. I rinsed off as best I could then went back to announce the lack of water to the group. Groans went up from the masses of angry, dirty ralliers so we grabbed a few coins and headed to the bar. At one Euro a beer, these were the cheapest prices we’d seen yet. We grabbed a few drinks and a meal on the camping compound and it turned out to be a very nice evening.

In the morning, we packed up and headed east towards Budapest. But on the way out of town we saw something that caused our two car convoy to screech to a halt. A giant wooden chair sat on the side of the road, no signage or explanation. We, of course, tried to climb on it and failed. In case you were ever wondering, we think Bratislava holds the record for world’s largest chair.

With our small caravan, we made progress slowly. Having stopped for food, for water and for gas and bathroom breaks (all at separate times for some reason) we eventually lost one of the cars in our convoy, the Back flips and Summersaults team, which had farther to go that evening and wanted to make haste. That left our team and the Face Race team, which sped things up a bit. We reached Austria as it was growing dark and decided to pull over and camp.

We were on a major highway with sunflower fields on either side as far as the eye could see. A dirt road up ahead was all we needed, and at the first sign of one we jumped off the road and drove several kilometers away, weaving around fields as we went. Eventually we settled on a place that was on a hill, but relatively lower than the high ground around us. We set up our tents and pulled the cars into the field. The Face Race team, being British, pulled out a soccer ball and set about in a small game which we eagerly joined in on. We cooked dinner and hung out into the evening. The day before in Prague another team had given me a strange toy. It was a piano with a drum set mounted on it and a techno beat player. We set that up and took turns playing DJ on the strange device. It took up so much room in the car, but it was too funny not to keep.

In the morning, we packed up and had a light breakfast before hitting the highway towards Vienna. We easily found the center of town and paid for parking. Walking off into the labyrinth that is Vienna, we quickly stumbled into the center square with the cathedral. It had been a while since our last Breakfast Beer, so we ordered up a round and sat outside the church watching horse-drawn carriages pull tourists around the city as they snapped pictures and consulted their guide books. We enjoyed the respite and although the waitress eyed our dusty group with a wary eye we all paid and walked off to find food.

The hunt for food turned out to be epic. Finally, King Rikki (so called because of his love for fine things) found us an affordable place to have schnitzel and fries. I hadn’t had that since my youth, so it was a nice treat. We walked around town a bit more before heading back to our cars. A wave of relief hit us as we turned the corner to find our cars still there, everything on the roof rack still in place. Another day without any major problems! Perfect. The two Olis and Rikki boarded their car and we did likewise, pointing it east to Bratislava.

The Bone Church is roughly an hour outside of Prague to the east, which was great for us since east is the general direction of Mongolia. The caravan now had about five cars, and once we finally reached the Bone Church we found a few other rally cars already parked outside. We paid our minimal sum to get in and then all stopped as our jaws dropped open.

The bone church was erected prior to the black death (plague). As people were dying off at an extremely quick rate the general feeling towards death was altered to be a casual and inevitable occurrence. People started to think about their own deaths and what they wanted done with their bodies. Its all a bit morbid, really. Cemeteries were filling up quickly and there simply wasn’t room or time to deal with everyone. People paid to have their bodies kept in crypts under the churches, essentially mass graves in dark cellars.

Long after the actual plague ended, a private family bought the church and discovered the crypt full of human bones. They hired a designer and allowed him to renovate the church using human bones as decoration. From the center of the room dangles a chandelier that the artist boasts has every bone in the human body. The family crest hangs on wall, made entirely of bones as well. Strings of bones, like one would make with popcorn for the Christmas tree, hung from the ceiling in all directions and in all four corners of the room stood huge piles of human skulls that were about nine feet tall and ten feet wide, and not hallow.

The ralliers filled the church and started walking around quietly at first. Eventually, people just get used to being around strange things regardless of what they be.  A room full of bones becomes simply the room you happen to be standing in at that moment and ralliers gathered in small groups to talk about their routes, or tell stories about what had happened to far to them on the trip. At one point I watched a young woman not associated with the rally put her finger into an eye socket while her friend took her picture. Later, one of the ralliers said it was hard for him to imagine they were ever real people, which explained why he could take pictures of himself smiling in front of a pile of skulls. Humans are a strange animal.

After the bone church we stopped at a local supermarket to fill up the trunk with food for the long haul ahead. One of my favorite things about traveling is shopping for food in foreign countries. Whole chicken heads in a jar, or even boiled eggs mixed with mostly-developed chicken fetus line the shelves in some places we’ve shopped. Czech had fairly normal food, but it was still fun to look around. I bought a tub of meat paste which ended up being gross (who knew?) while most people bought ramen, soda and water. It was a strange thing for the teller to see a whole row of dusty, disgusting ralliers holding food like precious cargo.

We set off with two other cars in convoy to Vienna, having said our goodbyes to the Aussies and a few others.

If you are going to get hopelessly lost driving in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language and can hardly read the signs, then Prague isn’t a bad option. We managed to join a small convoy heading into Prague from the Czech-Out Party and, after purchasing the required highway road-tax sticker we headed into the city. We also managed to lose the entire convoy and get ourselves so far off track that we found ourselves being laughed at by locals in the gas station who shook their heads and finally, in a great show of pity, showed us on the map how far off course we were.

We finally reached our destination—an elementary school that is used as a youth hostel in the summer to raise extra money. They had a secure car park (hence why we picked that hostel) and were central enough to be convenient for seeing the town. We unloaded our stuff into holding cages for security which prompted the even more valid question as to why an elementary school would have cages on hand. Afterward, we ran out to meet the folks who we lost in convoy. They never made it to the hostel, instead they pulled over at the first place they found for beer and the problem solved itself when it ended up being a hostel.

We went out to see Prague in the fading light and caught a tram to the center of town where amazing European architecture greeted us, and throngs of people milled about trying to sell various objects or lure our large group into their restaurants. Fireworks were going off in the background for several minutes so we watched them erupt over the steeples of the central cathedral. Dinner was a quiet affair for Mike and I; we had passed a Chinese restaurant that looked authentic so we ate there while the rest of the group had western food at a rather expensive restaurant on the square. We rejoined them for a beer and then walked around the square, under the arching towers and around fantastic structures. Finally, we caught the tram back to the hostel and slept well, our first real beds in a long time. I guess I don’t need to say how much the showers were needed and enjoyed after several days camping.

In the morning we packed up and ate breakfast at the hostel. Three young men in another rally car were packing up so we introduced ourselves. They turned out to be the Face Race team composed of Oly, Oli and King Rikki all from the UK. We discovered we were doing a similar route all the way until Kazakhstan so we decided to convoy. Before heading out, though, we had heard a rumor of a strange church composed of human bones. We decided to call the other convoy and caravan to the church.

It was early evening when we finally pulled into Klenova Castle’s mighty camping area. It was not an easy sight to miss because the rolling green hills surrounding the castle were covered in rally cars with tents set up between them. Sprinkled throughout were ralliers dressed up to match the theme of the party—Jules Verne, the ultimate adventurer.

We parked our tiny red car near the Aussies, whom we’d met at Goodwood and the rally launch, and quickly set up camp. Before the tents were even up we had people tossing booze around and a great huff went up to find a bottle opener for the wine. We finished setting up camp and put on our costumes– which consisted of British boiler hats and scarves. We’re not that imaginative, it turns out.

The gates opened at 7pm, so we headed up to the castle to see what treats beheld us there. Already a woman on stilts was amusing people with her hoola-hoop, and a giant was ushering people over for pictures. Another entertainer was a flame thrower and juggler, and they walked around the tents impressing people (amazingly, no tents caught fire!).

At the gates of the castle we were met with an even stranger sight, two men dressed as soldiers barred the gates. “No booze inside.” This suddenly explained the huge throng of people milling about with beers. We opened our wine and set up near a tree to finish our drinks and head inside. We were slightly above the entrance on a hill and from that vantage point could see everyone as they came up the hill. There were mostly men at the party (mostly men in the rally, also) and they came up the hill in drag. Almost every male in the area was in a bikini for some reason, although a few had more inspired costumes. I snapped pictures (no one here will ever be able to run for office, that’s for sure) and eventually a small group had converged with us to watch the party unfold. Two Canadians, an Aussie and a few Brits milled around with us, drinking merrily and talking about the upcoming adventure. Spirits were high and everyone was jovial, it was going to be a fun night.

Eventually, we headed inside. A line  near the entrance indicated free food, so we jumped in. Free lamb, kielbasa, salad, bread and all manner of other delicacies awaited us. It was delicious and the most food we’d eaten since our friend in London took us out to a fancy Lebanese dinner. Free gin was provided, and we learned Brits have cucumber instead of lime in theirs Gin Tonics. Odd people, those Brits.

Music kicked in, and we found chambers of parties all around us. One den in the castle for hip hop, one for blues, one for rap, for dance music, etc. We watched the main stage for awhile– three women dressed as sailors singing Russian pop songs– and then chatted with people around us, including Mario and Luigi look-alikes and a group of people in Borat neon-green thongs. Don’t ask. I found the dance tent and set about showing those Brits how it was really done. Mike, who never dances, even joined the party as we did the robot as a group and then salsa dancing to Eminem rap. It was completely dark when we left the dance tent.

Back at the campground we found a nearly nude man laying in the field. He couldn’t see so we helped him to his tent. “do you know which one is your tent?” I asked. “it’s the green one” he said. I pointed at a few green tents with a flashlight and eventually he crawled in one. Satisfied, I headed to my tent only to see him come back out of the tent some ten minutes later saying “I don’t think that’s my tent!”

In the morning, I unzipped my tent to find a disaster area. People had bottles everywhere, trash was in piles, people had made camp fires near their cars, and some still smoldered. Whatever genius organized the rally had only two porta-potties for all of us (200+ people) so they were not usable, and the water tanks had long since emptied. The castle was closed. We packed up, cleaned up our area and hit the road with a few other teams heading to Prague. It had been an amazing party in the hills of Czech, and certainly renting out a castle gives you mad street cred.

Having spent a great deal of my youth in Germany, my ten year absence made me wonder what would have changed since I graduated high school there at the beginning of the millennium. What made it all the more exciting was that this time around I was old enough to drive! We set a course for Heidelberg, and drove through the countryside in relative silence looking out the window. Stores I recognized passed by the window, and once again street signs in a language I could read were a real comfort having left France and Belgium in our wake. Nostalgia floated in and I daydreamed about the six years I spent in Germany. We set up camp in Heidelberg that night at a campground directly on the Danube. Somewhere in the hills behind us, church bells rang and the hills on either side of the river displayed proud, traditional German homes. The air was clean and easy to breathe.

We awoke early and had to get a move on in order to make it to the party in the Czech Republic that night. We strapped everything to the roof and set off to Nurnberg, only a few hours away. Having driven little on the trip thus far I decided I really wanted to drive the autobahn as we ventured towards my old stomping grounds. I am still learning to drive stick, so it is a bit more involved than simply putting on a seat belt and pointing the engine end forward. I got the hang of it after a few minutes and enjoyed the drive, Audi and BMW cars zipped past me with annoyed looks, but I wasn’t phased. Even if I’d wanted to go faster, our little Citroen Saxo can’t muster more than 60. That’s why they have the slow lane.

Nurnberg is a beautiful city, one I used to visit on the train from Parsberg. This time, coming in via road, it was totally different and I was disoriented. Nevertheless, we found an ATM and in the distance I spotted something of extreme value and interest. I wasn’t sure I’d seen this mirage correctly, so I paced quickly ahead. I let out a wild scream and turned around to see Mike and Bill standing shocked behind me on the pavement. “Weinerwald!” I yelled, and they agreed to have lunch at one of the best German chain restaurants in the country. We ran in, and I videotaped and took pictures of the food, then ordered and waited giddily for my food. What a treat, and I’d heard all the Weinerwald shops had been closed since we left ten years ago.

From there, we set off on a detour to Britenbrunn, my old town. We found Parsberg and I noticed how much larger it has become. Britenbrun was no different. The old military families were no longer there and a civilian German owned our old house. She was there so I talked to her briefly, but she wasn’t amused to find a car full of Americans, covered in stickers and flying a pirate flag, in her driveway. I took a few snapshots and told Mike and Bill about my time in the house and in the neighborhood while they looked out the window at the town.

But, with time running short, we had to jump back aboard and head to the Czech Republic, flag flying high and flapping in the wind at 50mph on the autobahn as sports cars zoomed past.

Crossing into Luxembourg was an exciting experience, and the car filled with wild cheering and hollering as we officially left Belgium. Few places inspire you to exit more hastily than Belgium…. Perhaps Belarus, from what I hear.

Anyway, there was an instant change when we entered Luxembourg. There were tall, handsome evergreen trees lining the road, which was black tarred and without imperfections. The first town we came to looked like a movie set, with perfectly matching paint and trim on every house, so that it looked almost pre-planned. The hedges were groomed perfectly, and there were signs clearly marking the way. An earthly utopia might closely resemble Luxembourg.

Meanwhile, the people were highly intelligent, friendly and eager to chat. Having decided to look for a relatives of Mike’s gravestone, we headed into Mersch. A quick stop at the gas station (immaculate, by the way) proved Luxembourg deserves the hype. I whipped out some German I hadn’t used since High School and in complete style I smoothly asked how to get to the cemetery. The woman behind the counter blinked at me, not understanding and in the background a small peep made me turn to see a girl stocking the shelves. I walked over and she introduced herself in English, without even the slighted accent. She could have been from Pennsylvania, which in fact was somewhat true since she had done a study abroad there in her youth. Her English was perfect and she helped us pick out food, microwaved it for us in the gas station kitchen (yes, you read right… it was THAT nice a place). I asked her how to get to the cemetery (the town being so small there being only one) she gave us directions that added to the charm of Luxembourg. “You go down the road to the left, past a strange dragon and a castle on the right, and then the church will be behind that.” I was eager to see this strange dragon and castle, so we finished our lunch and said goodbye.

At the church, we easily found the cemetery and walked between the tombstones looking for the family name. It was not to be found. We were looking for someone in the late 1700s but all the markers were new. I asked where an older cemetery might be, but no one knew. This was puzzling, and we never did find an answer. Perhaps they simply build atop older graves? Disturbing thought. More likely there was an older church elsewhere with its own cemetery, but with limited time in Luxembourg we decided not to drive around the hillside looking for it.

Sadly, we had to make hast to the Czech Out Party, so we didn’t linger in the graveyard once it started to rain. Instead, we jumped in the car and discussed what could have happened to the older graves.

Luxembourg is a small country, but not without extreme charm and excitement. Of all the places we’ve been I’m most eager to return to Luxembourg and Bosnia & Herzegovina. We drove on through wooded streets and immaculate highways until we eventually entered Germany. Only a country like Luxembourg could make Germany seem disorganized in contrast.

After the official launch party and race around the Goodwood track, we set off toward Dover to catch the ferry to France. We made a few wrong turns here and there and eventually made it to the ferry a mere ten minutes before they loaded up the car, along with a few other rally teams and their modes of transportation. The ferry ride was short but sweet, and we were eager to put some miles on the car once we hit land. There was no passport check or customs in France (we had heard there would be) so we drove right out of the bay and easily found the highway. Having bought a European atlas on the ferry we were now prepared to see what Europe had to offer us.

Our original plans called for a trip to Paris, but with limited time until the Czech Out Party, we decided to book it east and see Brussels instead. First mistake. Here I will insert a brief note about Belgium. When I was in high school we had an away sports game in Belgium which I had been anticipating with excitement for weeks. When we finally got there, we lodged in Formula One, the cheapest hotel I’ve ever been in. I’ve stayed in some real dive hostels and hotels in my day but nothing has ever seemed as vile as the F1 hotel in Belgium. From the carpeted hallway you step up into a closet full of water. Your weight forces the floor down a goof half a foot and the water drains. That is the shower…. A hallway closet that only drains if you stand on it. Essentially you step into someone else’s used water. In the morning we had Belgian waffles, which were disgusting and soggy like wet cake. Belgian beer was no better and Belgian chocolate was also crackly and flakey. Everything we tried to do in Belgium sucked, and since that failure of a trip in 1999 I have always been firmly against another Belgian exploration. But, since neither Bill nor Mike had been we decided it was the best option.

Here is how Belgium still sucks. We got into the country and immediately a smell struck that was like rotting carcasses. We could find nowhere to change money. We eventually found a camp ground and discovered that it was where poor folks lived rather than an actual hospice. We were too tired to care, and in the morning random strangers walked past our tent to get a good look and put in a scowl. We set off into Brussels and got massively lost. Suggestion Belgium, street signs! We got so turned around that eventually we decided to just forget it and get the hell out of Brussels. Good move. Our brief visit to Waterloo hours later was more interesting. We saw the fateful battleground and even the Lion’s Butte mountain. We toured the Waterloo museum and the nearby memorial church with stones thanking and commemorating foreign soldiers for fighting in the battle of Waterloo. We were lost a few more times before we hit Luxembourg, and once we officially crossed out of Belgium we let out a collective sigh of relief.

The Mongol Rally launched on July 24th from the Goodwood race track where the Festival of Speed is held annually to the great glee of the British public. To slow things down a bit, the Mongol Rally rented the race track for the 24th and lined up all of the rally cars. There was a fire truck, 55 ambulances, an ice cream truck, a Rolls Royce, and several jeeps. There were service vehicles galore as well as the standard 1.2 liter miniature car like our own little Citroen Saxo. We adored the little car and, with only one short hour of driving stick shift under our belts, we knew this adventure was going to be something special.

The launch was meant to be a party, and the Adventurists provided live music on stage and a celebrity announcer (Buddy, from Lonely Planet). Gypsy singers and dancers played as they walked around the parking lot while we clothed our car in stickers and did our final packing. A good friend from London rented a car and drove the four hours down to Goodwood to see us of, which brought us all comfort and made us feel like we had our own little cheering fan club (of one) in the stands somewhere. The rally organizers also hired three actresses to run from car to car in wedding dresses asking if anyone had an American or British visa for her (did I mention they were Russian?). The joke being that the route will have gypsies, as well as women willing to marry anyone to get out of some of the places they live.

To get the festival of slow in the mood for a snail-paced rally the Dandies were hired to race their ancient wooden bikes down the track. The Dandies were all in their 80s, and were a fun pack of gentlemen dressed in traditional attire. They managed to go faster than some of the cars. Before the official launch, one car had already broken down.

The launch was finally announced at 2pm. We piled into the car and revved the engine. With wild cheers, screams, honking and waving we set off on our pre-victory lap around the Goodwood race track. The ol’ Saxo managed to make it around some extremely tight curves. A good sign, considering the road ahead of us! Finally, we finished our lap and took off down the highway…. In the wrong direction. The Mongol Rally begins!!!

Prior to the Mongol Rally’s official launch, several dozen teams met the night before at the Goodwood Estates camp ground. To amuse the eager rally goers, a soccer game was set up. A full 20+ ralliers participated in the round-robin tournament. The goal was a bit of a boot camp training session for the real game, which will take place in Mongolia against the Mongolian national team in six weeks. This boot camp was not for the weak of heart of faint of spirit, for it began with the sergeant of the camp pulling two giant buckets of ice out of the back of a van and piling in roughly 100 beers. Now the ralliers had incentive. The winning team gets double the beer. We signed up.

Everyone broke off into teams of five or six to play five minute games against one another. As we were all standing together, the Abandon the Cube team of Lauren, Mike and Bill were lumped in with a random Canadian and an unfortunate Dane. We chose to call ourselves the ‘Colonials.’ Our team was up second. We pulled on our white jerseys and ran into the field. Having broken into the beer early, each jarring step while running made for an interesting sensation. It wasn’t since the Hash House Harriers of Beijing that I’d been drinking and jogging simultaneously. We doubted we’d even survive the first round.

Game one was a loss. We played poorly but everyone on the team displayed a bit of hope. Lauren dove in front of the goal to block a hard kick by the opposing team. Mike was knocked off his feet and rolled through the grass and back on his feet in a matter of seconds. Bill charged at everyone with such speed they often simply left the ball and ran the other way. The Canadian seemed fearless, and the Dan was the only one with any real soccer skills on the tiny Colonial team.

Game two was a tie. That was better anyways, and midway through the game Lauren tackled another player and earned the nick name ‘tank.’ Game three was a win, and an epic one at that with Bill scoring in overtime. Game four was another win and then the championship game went into overtime and we scored first. Take that, you overly serious Brits! And for the rest of the rally what you call ‘football’ shall hence forward be known properly as soccer. Your welcome, Goodwood, and we’ll see you in Mongolia when the Colonials take on the Mongols.

With only days until the launch of the 2010 Mongol Rally, Bill, Mike and I are busy outfitting the car, working on last minute paperwork, begging for expedited visas and enjoying a bit of what London has to offer.

For the most part, things are coming together smoothly. We dropped off our applications at the Uzbekistan consulate in London last Friday. There was quite a long line, and there are (we were told) no guarantees that your visa will be returned in 5 working days. Nevertheless, we leave on Saturday the 24th and have no word from the consulate yet. No pressure! We also managed to apply for our Kazakhstan visas in a very last-minute manner. They were extremely helpful and quick and assured us we could pick them up well before the launch of the rally, which we managed to do after only a three day wait.

In terms of acquiring last minute items, as I type Mike and Bill are out scouring the city for a roof rack for our tiny red beast, as well as gas cans, spare tires, a tire jack and a few items like new wind shield wipers and a tool kit. We went and looked at the car for the first time last evening. It is much bigger than I originally thought it would be. In fact, there is even room for a fourth person should we meet someone who already has a barrage of visas and a pocket full of cash (unlikely). We’re extremely pleased with the car and the condition it is in. If it makes it to Mongolia, we’ll be even more ecstatic! Bill has changed the oil and has done a once-over on the engine to secure back-up parts. We’ve managed to acquire camping equipment that borders on the extreme, meaning we’ll be one of the most outfitted teams in the rally. Yes, we have our car insurance, we have our travel insurance, we have a massive first aid kit, a roadside kit, a triangle, orange vests and a jack. We’re really ready….. I hope!

The launch itself is at Goodwood Estates, which is apparently a race track in West Sussex. Events kick off the night before on Friday at 4:00pm when the Adventurists cater in free beer and provide us with a camping spot so we can test our gear, get to know fellow ralliers and even partake in a massive soccer game. Sounds fun! The following morning at 11:00am cars that are registered begin to take off for Mongolia with a pre-victory lap around the race track before gunning it to a full 30 mph before heading to the tunnel or ferry. We’re hopping on a ferry and have plans to make it all the way to Paris by the end of Saturday night. Fingers crossed on that, since it is a bit of a drive.

When next we write we should be in Paris, and I’ll hopefully have quite the story to tell about the launch, the ferry, France and its most cherished city Paris.