Archives September 2010

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.