Tag Border Crossing

Our road trip began in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Why does Michigan own the U.P? We don’t know. It borders Wisconsin- but they can’t have it, and it borders Canada- but they can’t have it. Alternatively it doesn’t touch Michigan at all and they had to construct a giant bridge to even get over to the U.P—but they can and do have it. Odd. I bet there is an interesting story there.

We drove along the length of the U.P heading east and stopped along Lake Michigan for fresh air and a wee leg stretch. Our tiny tot Gwen was eager to watch the waves and of course vomited profusely on herself when she was returned to her car seat.

From the U.P we drove to this magical connection bridge. In Michigan everyone who lives south of the bridge is called a “Troll,” while everyone who lives above the bridge is called a” Yooper.” Residents of both areas take an odd portion of pride in this. After crossing the bridge and paying the troll our $4.00 toll we found ourselves in surprisingly dull territory.

The scenery looked almost identical to the mind-numbing drabness that is the American Midwest. Dead fields, dead trees and a sprinkling of depressing farm houses facing mega highways and signs for fireworks and casions. The bridge into Canada from Michigan boasts one of the single most depressing views of a lake I’ve ever seen. Dozens of factories lined Lake St. Clare spewing foam, smoke and foul aromas into the air and sea. Not a good billboard for tourism to either area.

Entering Ontario was east. It’s always easier to get into Canada than out. Drivers in Canada must really fear the Mounties, because they don’t speed. It’s odd because I doubt a horse with a burly Canadian on it’s back could catch my car, especially the way I drive.

We learned that the Canadians are not the most creative town namers. We hit London, Paris, St. Thomas and Waterloo, and that’s just in the tiny peninsula of Ontario between Michigan and New York. And while I’m on the topic, Buffalo isn’t the most creative city name, either. Eh, Canada?

Some of the major highways in Canada close for construction at night. That means major detours for lost Americans whose GPS systems don’t have Canadian maps. Yup, that was us. We were detoured more than an hour out of the way, with ill-marked signs and of course following the world’s slowest truckers. Still, at least the detour wasn’t for a major accident, and that’s always a plus.

Niagra Falls is a unique city. It’s both the name of the falls and the city on the Canadian side, and it’s situated in a cozy and industrially convenient location. More on Niagra Falls later. For now, we leave you with this advice: Don’t travel in Canada at night. Who knows when the roads shut down for the evening.

It wasn’t that late when the army arrived. Five men in camouflage must have heard the guards were being treated like kings and wanted a piece of the action. They had large rifles over their shoulders, fingers on the hilt. They did not look amused. To entertain the guards and make the holding pen bearable teams had purchased vodka. The army guards rounded up all the bottles and put them in the trunk of a car and told the ralliers not to drink. They turned off the music and said we needed to keep it quiet. A little drunk already, the ralliers thought they could charm the army guards the same way they thought they were charming the border guards. One of the army men pulled his rifle in front of him, cocked the weapon and leveled it at a young British kid in a purple scarf. The kid’s eyes widened but he didn’t move of yell. He just stared straight ahead with his hands in his pockets. I was out of my tent and standing near the boy in the scarf. The guard eventually lowered his rifle, and the kid nearly crumbled to the ground, he was in shock, I think. In the background I saw another army guard with his rifle pressed against a rallier’s back, bending him over the hood of a van. Everyone was silent, mouths agape. The man pushed his gun hard into the rallier’s back one more time then they withdrew and told the ralliers to be silent.

After they left a new emotion settled on the group. It wasn’t anger this time, but pure defiance. Someone turned back on the music and someone else got out the vodka. After a while of drinking a third person had the bright idea to drag race the cars across the holding pen. They lined up several cars. I was in my tent reading again and heard the idea as it was shouted out. Knowing no one was sober enough to drive out there, I got out of my tent. I didn’t want to be run over and wrapped up in tent fabric. I jumped out, video-camera in hand, and filmed the cars reaching the end line. Next came e-brake contests trying to spin the cars. They came dangerously close to the tents, people sleeping inside. Next came the idea to race the ambulances. They were lined up and reeving their engines. Some moron turned on the sirens and as they cleared a bigger race area the army guards reappeared. This time, I couldn’t really blame them. Ralliers were drunk and drag racing ON government property after being warned to be quiet. I turned on the video-camera and caught the guards harassing ralliers, pushing them with their weapons and then, stealing everyone’s cameras. They didn’t get mine as I snuck back in my tent and filmed through the tent fabric.

In the morning, I marched into the border guard office and demanded to use a phone to call the American embassy. I wanted out of this situation. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine how last night could have gotten out of hand if the ralliers had thought it a good idea to fight back against the guards, or if the guards had lost it, or god forbid, if someone had brought a local girl back to the holding pen or something. I wanted out right now, and I wanted the American embassy to know what was going on to file a complaint against the Mongolian government. I demanded a phone (politely at first). They turned white, shook a little and took me to a phone. Since it was long distance, they said I couldn’t call and tried hard to keep me off the phone. I knew there was a phone in town at the post office. I turned on my heel to go call from there but I heard in the background the guard picking up the phone and very quickly issuing a new command. At the post office, to no shock at all, we found the door bolted. Locals around the post office said it was strange and should be opened. Obviously they had called ahead to have it closed. The post office clerk was probably watching us through the peep hole. A sympathetic local pointed to the top of a nearby hill. ‘Emergency phone’ she said. It was a good 2 hour hike up the hill, and yesterday when ralliers had tried to fly a kite on the hill they had been held in a separate room and questioned for a while. We couldn’t reach that phone without being seen. No cell phone reception in the valley so we were literally stuck and back to square one. I went back and told the guards I’d be reporting them in UlaanBataar. They promised we would all get out that day, Saturday, as the place would be closed Sunday and they didn’t want to babysit us another night.

It was not surprising when they cleared every car in the pen by 5:00pm. We were out at 3:30pm, having been forced to pay yet another bribe. $10 USD directly into the guards pocked that everyone was kissing up to the night before. I’m glad we didn’t participate in the sucking up process. I took a picture of the head guard stuffing money into his pockets, and we sped off down the road.

We had been held for two days, no food or water provided, no heat or comfort, no explanation, no phones or way to contact anyone, and no help from the guards or the Adventurists. Everyone came out of the holding pen speeding. A small booth selling insurance demanded everyone pay, our car stuck out middle fingers and didn’t slow down. No more bribes from us, that’s final! We pushed the car as fast as it would go on the gravel road out of town. We rounded the second bend and came to a screeching halt. The Belfast boys car was ahead of us in the ditch. Before the car had halted we were running down into the ditch. The boys were not there, the van was totaled and the windshield broken. Glass was everywhere, but half the insides of the van were gone. All of their bags, everything. They had left maybe 2 hours ahead of us. There was no blood inside the car. We packed up as much of their stuff as we could gather and fit in our trunk then set off towards UlaanBataar, hoping we’d find news along the way of the Belfast boys and return some of their stuff. We slowed down our car and drove carefully again.

What a harrowing two days, the worst of the rally. The Adventurists did not help us at all, what was the registration fee for? They had one job, one job in the entire rally and that was to make sure we imported the cars legally and quickly and they had failed. As a result, guns were pulled the night before on what could have been a horrible incident, and today the Belfast boys had crashed, probably doing just what we had done- sped out of the holding pen. It was unacceptable, and the Adventurists would be hearing about everyone’s anger and the danger they had put us in. Already one rallier had died, and they could have easily had several more deaths at the border and right outside it because no one cared that we were being held there, treated like animals, and robbed.

From the previous post you learned we had trouble getting through the various windows to get through Mongolian customs and border control. In fact, they were holding us (and about 20 other teams) in a cement and metal pen off to the side of the compound. We walked around asking what was going on and the other ralliers in the pen were livid and dripping with anger. The anger was raw and bubbling to the surface the longer the ralliers were held there. Everyone was lying to them and keeping them against their will in an inhumane pen, when all they wanted to do was get to UlaanBataar to donate their car and the money they had raised for charity. It was a classic case of doing good and being punished for it, they felt. I walked around talking to various teams for several hours. The consensus was that we were not getting out any time soon and that there was nothing to do but wait since we had literally no idea, as a group, what the problem was. Some teams had already called the Adventurists and reported that the adventurists had to pay a $900.00 fee per car to import them legally into Mongolia. The Adventurists said their bank account was not sufficient to pay for all of the cars at once, and indeed could only pay for a handful of cars each day. Another team heard a similar story but that they were drawing the money out of an account that had a withdraw limit per day, thus only a few cars a day could go through. The border guards refused to let the ralliers go on good faith, assuming the Adventurists would pay eventually. Meanwhile, the Adventurists distrusted the guards and refused to pay for teams that had not yet arrived since they thought the guards would keep the money and hold the ralliers. It was a catch 22. Apparently the Adventurists thought this arrangement was acceptable. The ralliers being held in a cement pen disagreed.

The first day, we arrived in the pen around 11:00am and once we figured out we’d be there a while we set up our tents to get out of the harsh summer sun. At night, we were told, it would drop to well below zero. Mike did not have a sleeping pad, so we dumped all of our clothes on the floor of the tent to make a bed to keep him off the cement. I ripped the back seat out of the car as my sleeping pad. We set up, expecting a freeze that night but sweating profusely during the hot daytime hours. Card games were played in the shade of the cars and another team had a poker game going. Someone had a guitar, and music was played until his fingers were sore, then the Belfast boys put on their Ipod and aimed the speakers at the compound.

We learned that we could leave but the cars couldn’t. Technically, then, they were not holding us against our will. We left the car in the holding pen and walked into the small border town. Not surprisingly, the locals took their cue from the guards and tried to rip us off. They charged triple the actual cost for anything we needed, knowing we were being held in the pen and needed food and water. Teams paid ridiculous prices for sustenance. I was too stubborn, so Mike and I cooked on our tniy stove in the holding pen and ate ramen.

That night, it did get cold, but not as cold as the previous night. The border guards came into the holding pen and several ralliers fell into their palms like sheep. They were obviously looking for hand-outs in exchange for supposed favor in the morning’s car pick (remember, only so many cars can go through a day). Ralliers fell over themselves sucking up to the guards, and put them in the limited camp chairs, stuffed American cigarettes in their mouths and poured them shots of good vodka. Mike and I didn’t participate, knowing they would leave and laugh and not give any favor in the morning to anyone who had given them money or gifts tonight. It was sick to watch the people who were the angriest and meanest in the pen, now sweetly talking to the guards and handing them coloring books for their children. At one point, the guards offered to bring in several Mongolian women if the ralliers were bored. Did I mention I was one of only two women in the holding pen? I was sickened by the whole show and went into my tent to read.

We waited in line with the Belfast Boys who had arrived at the Mongolian border before us until 9:00am. As the gates were ready to open, a local came up and told us we needed to move our cars out of the front of the line, go back 300 yards down the road, and register our passports with the authorities in the unmarked building down the way. We ignored them, since they had been trying to edge their cars around ours in line all night. Then, when a guard came up with the same instructions, we nearly lost it. “Why didn’t you tell us this at 5:00am, when we arrived?!” We soon found out why. The registration office opened at 9:00am, the gates opened at 9:00am, so no one in line had registered but the catch was Mongolians didn’t need to, nor did the Russians—so we were the only ones in line still jumping through hoops. We ran to the office then sat outside waiting until it officially ticked 9:01am. We quickly registered, jumped in the cars and… the guards motioned the Mongolians behind us through first. This wasn’t going to be an easy day, we could tell already.

We ended up through the gates by 10:00am. The Russians checked our passports, again the guards did not think the childish and somewhat chubby face on Mike’s passport picture was actually him—the dirty, bearded, thin man standing before them. It didn’t help that he was exhausted and looked older than he was. Eventually they let him through, but not after calling over every guard in the establishment to weigh in on their opinion. Bill and Lauren made it through easily and waited in the car while the Russians searched through the trunk. The head man was on site that morning, so the guards did a great job of looking without touching or taking, which made it the easiest Russian border crossing yet. Thanks, boss man!

We started driving through no-man’s land. This is usually a 1-3k empty area, a demilitarized zone agreed to by both parties. This no-man’s land was much more. We drove for ten minutes through barren hills covered and re-covered in barbed wire. The roads were the only passable part of the area so that nothing could drive across except on the roads. Guards (from which country, we don’t know) were laying more barbed wire, as if there were not enough deterrents already. A mid-way station revealed that we get a slip of paper showing we drove through legally. A friendly Russian and friendlier Mongolian both signed the car with our Sharpi marker, and waved us cheerily on.

A few minutes down the road we arrived at the Mongolian border. It consisted of a long line of cars waiting outside a fenced-in compound. This was odd since not that many cars had passed us at the Russian border, some of these cars came from elsewhere or from the day before. At 10:30 I met Betty, a Mongolian border guard who speaks decent English. We chatted for half an hour about her family, my family, and life in Mongolia. I introduced her to the team, and the Belfast boys. Meanwhile, a man had some up to the team and demanded money for driving the cars through the ‘disinfectant pool’ which was apparently a huge puddle of dirty, feces-filled water behind us. We refused to pay, as it was so ludicrous it was actually laughable but as Bill had showed him our car registration the man had grabbed it and run off into his office. He would return the registration for a small fee. Let me stop here. On the entire Mongol Rally we’ve avoided paying any bribes, any pay-outs or favors. This would be a first. I went into the office and slammed my hand on the desk and demanded it back, I ran after Betty and she advised us just to pay, as it was a small amount. I returned to the crap-pool and told the guard it made our car dirty and the fee was equal to the fee he demanded for dirtying our car. None of this worked and eventually Bill and Mike demanded I just pay the small bribe, so I pulled out one $USD and slammed it on the table in a small pile of food and fly gut residue. He was irate but I snatched the registration and walked away. So much for a bribe-free trip, and for a disinfectant wash that is probably corroding the bottom of the car?

We eventually made it through the gate Betty was guarding, and were instructed to park in front of the customs building. Once inside, you’ll never guess what happened. I’ll tell you, but I think you already know. They handed us a form called an ‘official health declaration’ which we filled out claiming we were healthy and sane. They wanted $5 USD to accept the form. You can’t process a visa without it and they wouldn’t accept it without the money. Yet another fake fee. The old woman smiled and knew she was going to get the money eventually. Yet again I yelled and smashed my hand on various desks. “Where here for charity, we raised money to help Mongolia, we’re donating our car to you to help raise more money for charity and yet you steal from us?” It was greeted with a lame, semi-toothless smile. She understood me.

Next in line was a lady who would stamp your visas and passport. Americans don’t need a visa for Mongolia (we donate huge sums of money in the form of aid) so we just got a stamp while the Brits and Irish had their visas checked. There was no fee here, which was a welcomed change, but we had one more window to go, so I wasn’t reforming my opinions about the Mongolian border guards just yet.

The final window was to register the car as being imported into Mongolia. There was a fee here… a $900.00 one! Since we had signed up with the rally we gave the Adventurists, (the body that organized the entire Mongol Rally) a deposit to pay this fee for us, and then when the car is sold they make that money back. However, this was the part that ended up costing us a bit of sanity and several days of our lives. Either the Adventurists refused to pay until they had already sold some of the cars in UlaanBataar, or the guards where holding out for a massive bribe. There was no way to know, even after calling the Adventurists we got the feeling we were being played by them as well. We were told to move our cars into the holding pen down the road. We checked this out. It was a cement platform with a cage around it. Two out houses 150yards away were the only facilities on hand. There was no water, no access to food in the compound, and nowhere to go. We pulled our cars into the pen, joining roughly twenty other cars that had been parked there for quite a while. Tents were assembled around the cars so that very little room was left. People walked around discussing what to do, some had their camp chairs out and were cooking breakfast, others played soccer against the fence or worked on their cars. Some people looked to have been there a long while. I walked around and asked what the deal was. Here was the raw deal we got in exchange for raising money for the Mongolians:

We were to wait in the pen until the border guards issued a form saying we could legally import the car into Mongolia. The guards claimed the Adventurists refused to pay the car import fee of $900.00, while the Adventurists insisted they were paying for 10 -20 cars a day (which would still leave several teams stranded for multiple days). There is no way to know the truth since it turned out the Adventurists were as corrupt as the guards. What happened over the next two days while we were held in this pen on the Steppe will shock you, so I’ve set it into another post entirely. Prepare yourselves to be shocked!

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?

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.

Border Crossing

Having always loved Latin music, food, clothing and culture, my first trip to Mexico was dreamt about for years before it actually occurred. Last week I was able to live that dream when we crossed into Progreso from Texas. This was supposed to be a time of intense joy as a lifelong dream of visiting Mexico was finally achieved. However, the experience was sorely spoiled by the government on our side of the border. Here’s why:

I’ve crossed some 20 borders in my day, and not one of them has required me to pay for the privilege of exiting and re-entering the country. But, believe it or not, this is exactly what happens when you cross the land border between Texas and Mexico. In order to pass you must deposit a shiny quarter into the waiting mouth of a machine before it will grant passage into Mexico. Roughly 19,750 million American visit Mexico each year. This number times .25 = $4,937,500. That’s four million bucks the US government makes on American cross-border transportation. While I completely understand that the US-Mexico border needs funds in order to operate, I have a small problem understanding why this is the only border in the world that requires this payment. Side note: the Mexican side charges .35 cents to each person exiting the country for America. They make over 6 million a year.

Many people, Texans mostly, travel to Mexico to buy cheap goods. Cheaper liquor is one such item folks will traverse the borders in search of. While in Mexico we did what many other gringos around us were doing– we shopped, ate enchiladas, had a few margaritas and then bought a bottle of booze to carry across the border to America. While in 2009 the laws stipulated that each citizen could bring back a bottle a month, untaxed, something has changed. We were stopped by rude and rough border guards who demanded $1.25 per liter of liquor. There was no explanation, just a demanding voice, a gloved palm reaching through bars and a continued barking of the order to pay up. There was no willingness to explain, no literature on why the tax was suddenly applies to each bottle entering the country. Sigh.

I don’t want it to seem like the trip to Mexico wasn’t amazing—because it was! A small mariachi band played while we sat on a balcony overlooking the main street having margaritas, children rode their bikes up and down the main drag while adults sold a sundry of baskets, rugs and other items to passing tourists. The food was good, the people were friendly and not pushy, and despite being within spiting distance of the USA, the culture was unique to Mexico and very vibrant. Hotel Del Arco Los Cabos is a great place to stay while traveling through the Cabo San Lucas area.

The Minibus

Having crossed several borders, with shady officials and legitimate ones, we have now crossed the easiest border on the planet between the Republic of Georgia and Turkey.

Georgia has no visa requirements, but welcomes everyone to their country. Turkey sells visas for $20 a pop at the border crossing, a simple sticker and a quick scanned copy of our passports was all that was needed. They did not check our bags, or fingerprint us, or ask if we had the swine flu, or rob us, or tell us their political views. It was as if we were going from one friendly place to another, which is exactly what we were doing.

We left the beach in Georgia in the morning and caught a simple, 1 GEL bus to the Sarpi border. From there we simply walked across the Georgian side with a wave and an exit stamp, and we were in Turkey! A friendly border guard pointed us to the visa purchasing office, and we bought the required stickers and got the required stamps without hassle.
Once outside the barbed-wire fence we sat around waiting for a bus. Without any Turkish language ability we were SOL for a while before someone came up and offered to take us to Hopa for 4 TL a person, which seemed reasonable. Once in Hopa we watched everyone else pay 2 TL a person and had to grin a bit. Less than twenty minutes in the country and we were swindled. Typical, but we’re not in Georgia anymore, are we! And there was something special about Georgia, perhaps the shared religion, that made the people honest and kind and unable to cheat.

From Hopa we found a nice family who helped us onto another bus to Artvin. Here is where the world proved itself to be a great leveling device. Because the other bus driver had charged us double (and we had agreed in advance) we did not have enough money for the bus to Artvin. The driver took the money we did have, which was 4 less than the correct amount, and drove us all the way to Artvin without complaint. Hence, we ended up getting there for 2 TL less than a local would have. Ironic.

Once in Artvin we had to wait an hour for my stomach to stop hurling from the motion sickness. Hopa to Artvin was a winding, mountainous road that followed a raging river. We hurtled through the mountains without a care to the deathly drop-offs next to the bus, and without worrying about oncoming traffic or rocks in the road, or cows. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit just from looking over the edge of the cliff as we whizzed past. While we waited, our driver got in his minivan and put it in reverse and then floored it! His minivan was aiming right at Mike and I as we sat on a bench catching our breath. Everyone yelled and I propped by feet up on the bench hoping the metal frame would stop the van before it crushed me. Luckily the screaming worked and the driver got out of his minivan and looked at Mike and I (and a local sharing the bench). We still had our feet up, but thanks to the nausea we were more focused on not vomiting than not being hit by crazed, lunatic drivers.

Finally, we boarded the bus to Yusufeli, which was to be our destination for the night. We got in the mini bus (meant to hold 12, but now holding 18) and settled in for a long drive. Midway the road was closed due to an avalanche, so we all got out to throw stones at the river below us. A passenger got in the driver’s seat and put the car in reverse while trying to impress two female passengers. He rammed the minibus directly into a parked truck, rocking both vehicles precariously close to the drop off. Our driver came running, full of curses and wild hand gestures, to the passenger and berated him in front of the ladies—the opposite of his aim. We watched the whole event from the river bank, wondering how we’d fish out our belongings from the river if the car had slid in. Finally, as night approached, we made it to Yusufeli, having left Georgia that morning and taken 4 buses in the course of the day and witnessing two car accidents.

We arrived in Baku at 1:00am and disembarked from the ferry with a sigh, it had been an amazing trip, and although it was over 30 hours from boarding to alighting, we were sad that the ‘cruise’ was over. By the time we got through the ridiculously lengthily customs and border check at the sea port it was around 3:00am. Being thrifty, “a penny saved is a penny earned,” we decided that spending $20 each on a hostel that night was a waste of money since we’d only get to sleep a few hours. After a short debate we decided it would be humorous to stay awake all night and watch the sunrise. We heard a rumor that there was a McDonald’s in town, and we were determined to be there for the Mc-Awesome-Breakfast. We strolled along Baku’s main boulevard along the Caspian shore-front, a magnificently redesigned and renovated walkway that parallels main European fairways.

At one point along the walkway Mike rested himself upon a bench and I walked down to see if there was anywhere in the cover of trees to pitch our tent for a few hours of rest. As I was walking alone looking for a spot, a man approached me and was so persistently asking for something and winking so devilishly that when he came close and attempted to reach out at me I was forced to yell for him to desist and put my hand on the knife I always carry. He continued to pester me and I had to pull the knife out and glare grumpily. All the while I was walking (trying to appear calm) towards Mike, and when I was within earshot I called out to Mike and the creepy stranger sauntered off into the trees and disappeared. Having pulled my knife on someone within an hour of landing in a country we decided that all night walk-abouts were perhaps best carried out on lighted streets.

We cut into downtown Baku and were amazed at the beauty and architecture of the city. The entire place is being renovated and upgraded as Azerbaijan is in the midst of a very profitable oil boom. New facades of shaped sandstone with wooden balconies are going up all over the main parkways in the city, giving the entire city a facelift. We walked around in bafflement at how European the city appeared. Having found that the McDonald’s was not a 24 hour establishment in Azerbaijan, we walked to a nearby Turkish donar booth and purchased a few beers. This was the earliest breakfast beer of my life at 4:30 in the morning, but we toasted our much-anticipated arrival in Baku as the sun rose above the sandstone buildings around fountain park.

The rest of the day, including two long walks through no-mans-land between customs in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan seemed easy after dealing with the cab driver mentioned previously. Walking a few kilometers in the middle of the desert in June with backpacking gear on was tough, but actually enjoyable after dealing with the Uzbekistan cab drivers. We passed several truckers waiting for customs clearance at the boarder and approached two smiling Uzbek guards at the customs fence. They were very friendly and we completely unaware at what had just happened at the barbed wire fence just 20 minutes earlier. After some idle talk about America where we were from, enough for them to practice their English, they let us through the gate. I think that this was related directly to their liking of Lauren as I had heard horror stories about people waiting at the gate in the sun for hours before being allowed through. Luckily they really liked Lauren and opened the gates right away. We matched up our customs forms from when we entered, walked to another building, did a simple baggage check with another guard and were on our way down the pedestrian walk out of Uzbekistan.

The last Uzbek guard checked our passports and visas and opened another gate that led down a dirt road to nowhere. There was an unending line of trucks carrying shipping containers waiting to get through Uzbek customs and into Uzbekistan. This walk was even longer than the first. There were several women with young children walking down the road as well so we followed them. After about 20 minutes and a liter of water weight later, we arrived at a wooden guard tower with two Turkmen guards at the bottom. They checked out documents and on we went to Turkmen customs – which consisted of a simple concrete building with an exposed exterior hallway. This crossing was surprisingly easy. We basically walked right through after some minor paperwork and buying our registration cards ($10 for the card and $2 for the banking fee). This is real, as we needed them later to register at our friends house in Ashgabat. We negotiated a shared cab for $5 to Turkmenabat which took about 30 minutes and were then dropped of at the train station.

We had been told that there was a 4:00 PM train to Ashgabat from Turkmenibat daily. This was true when we arrived, but were told that familiar Central Asian (Russian) phase that tickets were HET or Finish. We were also told that we could not purchase train tickets for tomorrows train until 9:00 AM the next day. It was only 1:00 so if train tickets were already HET for the day, we figured they would be HET for tomorrow too after a $50 a night hotel stay. Instead, after a little bit of negotiation, we found a car to drive us to Ashgabat in 8 hours for $18 a person. This seemed much better than paying for a hotel in the off chance that we would actually get tickets the next day. The shared taxi was a very nice Accura with leather seats and air conditioning. We were a little shocked and thought that perhaps we overpaid. However, upon arrival in the outskirts of Ashgabat only 7 hours later, the other man who shared the cab ride with us paid close to the same fare. Even better, he spoke a little English and agreed to help us find where we needed to go.

There is not much to say about the car ride to Ashgabat as the back windows were tinted. Lauren got a lot of sleep and I read a book. I will say, that Turkmen hospitality and friendlyness has been amazing so far. This was a much needed releif after our month in Uzbekistan. There were no hidden fees or any scams, we simply exchanged money with the driver, shook hands with our left hand over our hearts (a Central Asia custom I’ve noticed so far) and said Rackmet (sp) which means thank you from Kashgar to Ashgabat apparently. Our friend’s place was easy to find as our jaws were dropped driving through Ashgabat, Turkmentistan – also called Absurdistan by many who visit – and it does not take long to understand why. White marbel palaces, streets filled with countless fountains, and absolutly ridiculous monuments erected by the notorious Turkmenbashi and his predecessors. Navigating by famous landmarks like 40 legs, the Ruhnama Monument – a monument in the image of the book which Turmenbashi wrote, and independence square. Needless to say, we showed up on our friends doorstep about 12 hours earlier than expected and were welcomed by surprised faces.

Strange sign

After recovering the cell phone in Bukhara, we decided it was time to move on as we had been in Uzbekistan for almost 25 days and in Bukhara for 7. We checked out of our hotel and we were not surprised when they tried to add on several different expenses that we had never agreed upon. After renegotiating what had already previously been negotiated and saying a farewell to Bukhara, we strapped on our packs and headed for the local bazaar to catch a marshutka (shared mini-bus) to Alat and then from Alat, to Farap – the border crossing into Turkmenistan.

We were immediately hassled by several taxi drivers saying they would take us all the way to Farap for 30, 40, and 50 USD. Eventually we found someone who offered 3000 SUM per person, which is what the cost should be for a shared cab. (This is equivalent to about 2 USD per person.) Multiple guide books confirmed this, as well as personal experiences earlier. To clarify we asked the driver to write it down and re-stated that this was for each person all the way to the border crossing. He nodded his head and wrote down 3000 SUM. This was a fair price for this ride as we paid the same for a ride to the bus station in Urgench from Khiva and the ride lasted the same amount of time. After about a half hour, we approached a road block with several soldiers sporting machine guns and a barbed wire blocking the way. Our driver crossed his arms together in the air making a giant “X” and said HET, pronounced “Knee-Yet”, which means no.

Immediately as we got out a huge group of people surrounded us trying to get us to take their cab for God knows what reason because it is a 1 km walk through the desert to get to the customs center from that location and cars are not allowed through. I handed the driver the 6000 SUM for the two of us and, just like I had expected – then came the scam.

Now before I go any further, I want to mentioned that I really enjoyed the sights and traveling in Uzbekistan. We have tried not to use our blog as a means of complaining or grumbling about the difficulties of travel. However, it is also necessary to give a fair account of our impressions as well. That said, Uzbekistan is one of the few places I have been in which I would recommend going with a tour group for one reason: money. Everything you do, comes down to it and it is exhausting to deal with in this country. You literally have to go through an entire menu, if they have one, and ask the price of everything before you order. Otherwise the bill will be outrageous. If you forget to ask the price of, lets say peanuts, you will have a bill that states 3 dollars for the meal and $10 peanuts. Moreover, you shake hands on a deal at a certain price and then get in the car 5 miles up the road the driver will ask for more money and then insinuate that if you don’t agree he will kick you out in the middle of nowhere. After 25 days of this bickering over every meal and ticket, I was a little burnt out and was not in the mood.

So as I handed the 6000 SUM to the driver, a puppy dog look came over his eyes, which was speaking, “Oh, no! What a terrible mistake has been made. I meant 30,000 not 3,000 sorry I left off a zero. Moreover, I mean 30,000 per person.” My patience was 100% gone. In a barrage of madness, in front of border security guards with automatic weapons, I threw down my bag and pulled out the notebook in which the driver had scribbled 3,000 SUM. He grabbed it out of my hands before the circle of other taxi drivers could see what he had written, took the pen, and added a zero to the end. After about 5 minutes of him yelling and kicking in the sand that he wanted 60,000 SUM. We grabbed our bags and headed for the border guards – who do not get involved in these sorts of squabbles. They visibly did not know what to do. Only about 18 years old, the guards looked at Lauren’s visa and passport and completely forgot to look at mine. Then we walked through the crossing.

By now, the mod of taxi drivers had dissipated but our cab driver pushed through the guards and followed us through the crossing. He started pulling at my pack to hold me back and yelling and screaming. I took out the rest of the SUM I had in my pocket, which I shouldn’t have, and offered him the remaining 12,000. At first he refused, but then he took it. Now, still grossly overpaid for the ride, he continued to follow us. He even stepped in front of me, glared, and then pushed me in the chest as hard as he could. I flew back a few feet, as I had about 80 pounds of gear strapped to my back. That was it. I turned around, stared at him. Unclipped my bag and let it drop to the ground. I walked right up to him nose to nose and treating him like an infant, pointed back to the barbed wire fence. As I stood there staring him in the face, three of the boarder guards raised their weapons and yelled at the man. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away laughing.

After sleeping in the Almaty-1 train station we boarded our first Kazakh train at 5:12am bound for Tashkent, Uzbekistan. The train arrived a bit early and no one knew which car or cabin we were meant to be in, and in our limited (ok, non-existent) Russian we had a bit of trouble finding our births. Once situated in car number 9 we discovered we were meant to be in bunks 13 and 16. A very old, very sickly man who was thinner than a pencil and paler than paper was sleeping fitfully in my bunk while a giant, fecal-covered bag was resting on Mike’s bunk. The train attendant/scariest looking man on the planet approached us and heaved the heavy bag up over his head and threw it atop the birth above ours and ordered us up into two bunks. He came back five minutes later and demanded 700T from us to buy sheets for the bunks. I doubt anyone else paid but seeing as he was the largest shirtless Russian we’d ever seen we forked over the money (we later learned everyone did indeed pay for their sheets).

I’ll pause here to describe the train. Once in car 9 we were met with the most pungent aroma of vomit, human sweat, excrement and burnt hair. The smell was so string it made the skin around my eyes itch. The interior was paneled in fake wooden siding with bunks 2 high with a third bunk for baggage. Nowhere were there safety rails or hand grips. The tiny isle held additional bunks which doubled as benches. The bathroom was a tiny room with a stainless steel western toilet that was so stained and textured from years of use that it looked like a rusty old ship port hole.

Somehow, and probably because we had not really slept in the train station the night before, we fell asleep in our tiny bunks (so thin in width that you had to lay on your side or you’d roll onto the floor and get hepatitis. Throughout the night we made long stops in the middle of nowhere, literally the train would stop in a field and then, at random, take off again. By 8am the lights were flicked on and we rolled into a station for a brief stop only to discover that we had only gone about 20 miles down the tracks. Amazed, Mike set off to ask someone when we arrived in Tashkent. We had heard that it was a 12 hour ride, but that turned out only to have been true several years ago. Instead of arriving 12 hours later at 5pm we found out we would arrive 24 hours later at 4am the next day. We had no food, only a little bit of money in Tenge and the smell of vomit was making us nauseous.

Around late morning we made a stop and watched as everyone looking out the window panicked and dashed into their bunks. Even the sick old man pretended to be asleep. Several guards in elaborate uniforms got on board and talked briefly with the giant train attendant/giant before marching straight up to us. “Passport! Declaration.” We showed him our passports and he forcibly took mine out of my death grip on it and rushed down the isle. We could not both chase after him and leave all our bags, so Mike followed him. What ensued turns out to be a common occurrence on Kazakh trains. The man took Mike into the giant’s cabin and closed the door. He then patted Mike down and took all the money in his pockets, which turned out to be about $2 USD. Luckily the bribe-seeking Kazakh did not find the money belt containing hundreds of RMB. Mike took the event in stride and laughed about what a crappy bribe the guy got away with as he snatched my passport back from the cop and quickly returned to our cabin. From there after, at every stop we would watch for guards and, if we spotted any, we jumped into our bunks like everyone else and pretended to be asleep.

Around 10pm the giant (he had acquired a shirt now, but had it unbuttoned) gave us declaration forms. He found a translator who asked us if we had any money, any at all. Obviously after the bribe incident we lied and said no. This turned out to be a brilliant idea. They said we had to write something so we listed the guitar and computer (after he asked several times if we had one). We later found out the “translator” was a guard who was trying to get close to us to find out how much money we had left, as well as what other valuables.

When we approached the border of Uzbekistan, Kazakh officials border the train and again asked if we had money. Again we said we didn’t. Having not slept or eaten in almost 24 hours our sense of humor was weaning. They made us open our bags (but did not notice three of our 5 bags so did not search them and only ended up looking in the most boring bag full of clothing). They did a swine flu check and inquired again if we had any money or valuables. We kept saying no, insisting that we were planning on using our credit card (I had a deactivated card to show them just in case they stole the card). After a ridiculously long search of everyone’s bags on the train minus those of ours hidden on the top bunk, we saw a young Russian boy of about 17 taken into the back room and frisked. He lost several hundred T. We saw another man walk right up to the Kazakh guard and put a wad of bills into his hand and then point at his bag and walk away. The guards did not search his bag. We saw the old man from our bunk hide a box under his bunk and a boy of about 20 kick a black bag out of site while being searched. As we rolled away from the Kazakh border I had the feeling that everyone was transporting something illegal except us.

Fifteen minutes later it was 4am and we were rolling into the Uzbek guard station. The people on the train seemed less stressed and said the Uzbeks were not as hard to get through. Everyone stashed their secret packages and the old man revealed, mid-stretch, that he had stuff taped across his entire midriff. The Uzbeks had a nurse come take our temperatures and check our passports while a drug dog went around and terrified everyone. This was the first drug dog of the trip. The Uzbeks were friendly and efficient but again only searched one of our bags. They took no bribes and did not intimidate anyone. After we rolled away from the border we arrived in Tashkent thirty minutes later.

We took the 11:58pm train from Urumqi to Almaty, a 36 hour adventure across the Chinese border to Kazakhstan. Arriving early (as is my custom) we waiting outside a bit before being allowed into the terminal. You can only bring 36kg on board the train, and everyone’s bags were weighed, X-rayed and probed at the station. Once on board (car 5, room 6, bunks 23 and 24) we discovered that this was the nicest train we’d ever been on in China. The bunks actually left enough room for you to sit up straight and the hooks were facing up, instead of down and the toilet actually flushed! We fell asleep almost immediately and slept well because the rooms have doors (another improvement)!

At 7:00am I awoke knowing I should get up before we got to the border. I must have fallen back asleep because promptly at 9:00am a Chinese military official swung open the door to our room and motioned me off my bed. Thirty seconds later, when I was still blinking away sleep he came back and motioned again, a bit less humored than before. A second uniformed set of officers came in after the military cleared out. These men (in blue) collected our passports and put them in a metal briefcase and then sauntered off to a nearby building. After a moment, a third string of officials came through. These I did not recognize.

A Chinese official in white and blue walked up to Mike and held a small, white machine up to his forehead. It displayed a red dot directly above and between his eyes. Another official did the same thing to the woman across from Mike in her bunk. No one seemed perturbed by this. I was a bit terrified though, and when the guy came at me with the mystery devise I jerked back until he started laughing and pulled a thermometer out of the inside of the machine to demonstrate that he was only taking my temperature. Apparently (and, my guess would be from fear and paranoia) my temperature was a bit high. No kidding, officer?! He saw that we were American and then began to freak out a bit, he pulled out extra thermometers and made us stick them under our arms. The lady in our cabin motioned for us to remove them when he turned his back, so we did. When they came back they were at 36 and 37 degrees and then, suddenly, the officer spoke. I responded in Chinese and he nervously laughed, “I didn’t know you understood!” after a pause he added, “Excuse me, do you have the swine flu?” We said no, and a group of five officers showed up to listen to our story. We explained that we had been living in China since December and thus had not been in proximity to Mexico.

I’m impressed, honestly, with the way the government organized for mass border health checks including training the officers and explaining the origins of the flu. They did it professionally and quickly, and targeted the correct people for further inspection. I applaud. Its no small thing to halt a pandemic, and the government does away with PC measures to get stuff done.

After the swine flu check we had a baggage check. Here, I give a one thumb up, one thumb down. The Chinese guards only searched our bags and no one else’s. They made a big show of making us unpack every item in our bags. I suppose it is their job, but while we were showing them how an electronic toothbrush works the lady in our cabin was subtly kicking a duct-tapped bag under her bed. Whatever she was transporting was not 100% legit.

We finally chugged along only to stop five minutes later while they changed the wheels. Apparently Russian tracks are not the same distance apart as Chinese tracks, and this means all the wheels have to be replaced when entering Kazakhstan (also true with Russia and Mongolia).

Now to go through Kazakh customs. While the Chinese side had been entirely large, intimidating but finely groomed males the Kazakh customs officials were petite, gorgeous women in fish-net stocking, mini skirts and fluffy white blouses. A brunette came directly to our cabin and batted her big brown eyes, “You are American?” she asked. Mike nearly fell over himself as his jaw dropped and I responded, “yes.” She told us to give up our passports and show our bags to her friend, a red-head in a shorter skirt and more elaborate fish-net stockings. Mike responded with, “whatever you say!” and they walked away. However, after two hours of waiting, much to Mike’s disappointment they never came back. A burley alcoholic-smelling man came to return our passports and, after picking up new Kazakhs we headed on towards Almaty after one very successful and ultimately hassle free border crossing.