Osijek to Uzghorod
If we were going to sample the brief delights of the Ukraine, we'd better shake a legski. But, as has been consistent throughout this trip, one wasn't going to 'knock one's pipe out' with all of that preparation stuff.
The drive North out of Osijek is straight forward, and half an hour in we're into Hungary with no fuss. We've resigned ourselves to the fact we're going to need to cover some miles today, so Motorway will be a fair amount. Over the border we stop at a truckstop for a Vignette. It's a piece of till-roll, but it is personally tailored to your registration. I have some Fiorint and it just covers the two vignettes and a cheese roll. We decide to change our international currency description from 'groat' to 'klopek'.
I've been criticised for looking miserable in picture of my on board footage on Facebook and here (Micky) so ner, and this is for you
Hitting the M6 towards Budapest and the going is very, very quiet. The Hungarian road is excellently organised and the surfaces first class. We must have seen just a few other cars and rattle along nicely at 130kmh, stopping short of Budapest at a 'Mol' Petrol station. A very good place to stop- free internet and folks who are pleased to see us. We run into a Slovakian lad and his mate on a Suzuki Burgmann who are on the way back to Bratislava and chat for a while.
It's toasty hot- still 35 degrees indicated and my eyes are drying out very quickly in the heat. Quite wearing.
The Motorway takes you in to Budapest with little choice for a ring road style detour, so we get to see Budapest and have a ride along the river. We don't find much traffic and pop out the otherside on to the M3. There are stops for water on the Motorways- very wise in the heat. We stop. A biking pal once gave me a good tip- if you wet your neck scarf then it is cooling when you ride. I've extended this in the heat on this trip to my gloves, the inside of my lid, a sweat band, and finally now to tipping the water all over myself. It does really work though.
We stop at another petrol station. I've been carrying Dave's jacket, and my own, and plus other things hitched to the load. As we're heading off we're distracted by some total dick who decides to park right against me, in the middle of the petrol station blocking the exit to the pump. It flusters me for a moment. I inform the inhabitants of the car that the driver is 'a fucking idiot' who stare blankly back. I head out. Little did I know I forgot to tie back the straps in and as I pull on to the Motorway I lose Ortlieb bag and my camelbak thingy to the Tarmac. I don't know it- back up to 80mph and look in the mirror, Dave is not there. I sort of get something is wrong and turn around, and there is a blank pannier with fortunately with my inner jacket still loose on having not blown away. I stop on the hard shoulder and curse a lot
Who's the idiot now then
Dave rolls up about 5 mins later, cleverly balancing my bag stuff on his lap, motorcycling equivalent of seal with a beach ball. That's a real result.
We noticed that at a water stop earlier, these folks don't seem engaged in organised parking.
Our own personal motorway again. Scrabble in Hungarian must be a riot.
What self respecting 1200 owner hasn't been on a trip to Tescos then?
We cross into Slovakia. It's an open border. Garmin is again on some sort of crazy one. Despite looking for the fastest route out to Uzghorod, it takes us on bendy roads, through gypsy villages (very odd) off down single lane tracks, goodness knows what. It's quite entertaining but not I fear the fastest route.
We reach the Ukraine border at around 7.30 and there's a huge queue. We're a bit miffed and conversation is prickly. Natural I suppose. I have a wander up to the front and find a second queue. Not to be put off, we just fire on up. That's better, we must have knocked an hour off in that single jump. Getting out of Slovakia is just as painful as getting in to Ukraine. A nice lady from customs comes and goes over the bike, wanting to know how much Petrol we have in the tank, mileage of the bike. I have, of course, no idea what the hell she wants re: the Petrol, so she brings over another guard who politely puts me right.
After about 20 minutes there we get to Passport Control on the Slovakian side. A very sweet border guard apologises- 'you should have come yesterday' she said 'we're just very busy tonight'.
We get through now to the Ukraine side. A military checkpoint and a guy gives us a sort of raffle ticket with the registration number of the bike on it. We move forward to customs, and there's a tall stick like fellow, looking like fido dido from the old 7-up adverts waving a paddle.
He moves us about a bit. We wait. And wait some more. He then comes to look at the bike and wants to see in the top box. He finds my medical kit. He looks carefully at what is within and looks at me suspiciously. I don't understand what he wants. I say 'Paracetomol'. He keeps looking at the packaging and pointing and I don't have the language, granted, but Jesus, this bloke is totally bloody gormless.
Eventually he summons his boss. Olegski saunters over, takes a look and says 'It's Paracetomol'. Fido replaces everything and throws it in the top box. He looks some more, using the words 'lekky lekky lekky', I have no idea what he wants. I am trying desperately not to laugh. Dave catches my eye and it gets worse. I can only imagine I am wearing some sort of painful contorted face, a bit like the stroke advert.
Finally after Passport control, where next Olegski is a whole lot more jolly, and says 'Biker club?', we get sent to a final military checkpoint where the guy gestures for us to go in to the distance and pull a wheelie. Ah, the friendlier side of Ukraine
So we're here, behind the corrugated curtain.
Uzghorod is right on the border, so we've no trouble getting in to town, apart from Garmin's continued acid trip. I decide to navigate manually and the hotel is easily found. Secure parking, a reasonably nice room aside from zany carpet, but the mandatory shower where the housing is broken (I think the last five hotels have all had the same thing).
With the border taking an hour plus, and the faffing, plus losing an hour it is now 10.30pm.
Not to be deterred we set off in the murk of the town for beer and hopefully food. We find a pizza place that still serves and we get food and beers. Our waitress is getting a hard time from another waitress; she's working her cods off and is trying so hard poor thing. We give her the US 20 dollar bill we'd been reserving for the bribing of Mr Plod, should it have been required.
Weird. Every bloke in the place is totally pissed. The girls all look bored, no wonder.
Not wanting to give up now we ask the manager of the place for somewhere else to drink that is open. She gets us a taxi and instructs the driver. We're taken across the dim pot holed streets in a dingy Hyundai with no clutch. That was luxury. We have beers. The return journey is in a Lada Estate car to which the term 'totally knackered' is understatement of the century. The driver smiles though.
I also post the Ukraine pic of the bike by the sign on my Facebook status. Among the responses to my epic global travels is this little gem. Stuff my old boots
My left eye is now getting super painful.
The Ukraine is getting two very pissed thumbs up