Now then, where was I?
If we could just rewind a little (I know, I know – amateur).
Whilst finding the Polish place in the woods to camp, we had a little breather and after realising that we surprisingly had a mobile phone signal, Guy decided to give his wife a call. I sat a polite distance away to give a little privacy to the (presumed) "Love you, miss you, love you, miss you" call. Having nothing to do with my hands for 5 minutes I played with a new App on my Phone. Here is the result (click on it, it aint on Youtube)
Guy's beloved wife was a little worried and concerned for our (or more specifically, Guy's) welfare as she knew that bears reside in Russia. (Ok, we weren't yet in Russia yet but that was by the by) She was concerned therefore that we were going to get munched as she knew we were wild camping.
After Guy finished the call he asked what the giggling was about. I showed him the fruits of my labour and mentioned that we should send it to his wife with the title 'It aint the bears you need to worry about'. Whilst I found this highly titter-worthy I didn't really think it appropriate. Guy did! And so, whilst giggling like a pair of pre-pubescent schoolgirls and a mild sense of apprehension I hit the 'send' button. Apparently it was received better than I anticipated and I didn't get my legs slapped on our return.
Righto...to the border.
One thing I did notice whilst riding through Latvia and getting close to the Russian border is that there was no mention on the road signs of Russia. This was not exactly a problem as even I would struggle to miss the world's largest country if travelling in a generally easterly direction. Apparently they won't put it on road signs because they don't get on. Now, I don't know the history between Latvia and Russia (except they used to be as one) but to not mark the border on road signs just smacks of an attitude like a petulant teenager and I was left with a feeling of "My God, these are the people in charge, what hope is there!"
We arrived at the border quite early in the morning to attempt to beat the queues. We had read before going on the trip that if on a motorcycle it is the done thing and expected to go straight to the front. This we did, even if it did jingle jangle slightly with my British sense of fair play. My arrogant sense of "Don't they know we're British" won though – hurrah!
When applying for the visa before going, you realise quite how paranoid the powers that be still are. Firstly, you need an invite from somebody inside Russia. The travel company handling your Visa has a contact on the inside who handles that (for a fee, of course). You also need to fill in a document asking the ins and outs of your family history and your job history etc. They need to know whether you or your family have been in the military or terrorist organisations etc etc. Tempting as it was to mention my great uncle – Colonel Pilkington-Smyth-Chumbly–Clusterbumfuck, I resisted. I did lie through my teeth on some parts due to not being arsed to find out dates etc relating to employment history etc –rebel that I am.
Still, armed with our necessary papers, you then go to a number of huts, one hut at a time when ushered forward and fill in form after form. A time efficient system it is not and if you make a mistake on the form you cannot cross it out and correct it, you need to ask for another form and start again. Mistakes vill not be tolerated!
We got chatting to a Russian chap that spoke English whilst waiting at the final hut. He mentioned that nowadays we should fine be travelling through Russia but 10-15 years ago would have been dangerous for us. He mentioned that nowadays the criminals had moved into more cyber based crime.
Onto the final hut and a lady with a very large hat (Russian officials, they love a large hat). We had to fill in forms outlying where we were going and each town we would be staying in on our trip. We had looked at a map beforehand and drawn a straight line to our destination and just written down the names of towns on the way. The reality was we had absolutely no idea. The lady had no idea where Irbit was so we mentioned the next largest place – being Yekaterinburg. Her eyes widened and said "on bikes?" disbelievingly. She even smiled. The steely-tough Russian demeanour disappearing in an instant. She then started enquiring about our trip as an interested person rather than an an emotionless official. This was more like it. She then handed our paperwork back and with a big smile said "Welcome to Russia".
All told, as far as I can remember it took us approx 3 hours to get through. No photos of the border, due to the prevalence of teenagers with shooters – never a good mix in my opinion.
Here was the first problem:
What the? No-one told us about this. Sign writers on drugs!
We then pulled into the first petrol station up the road to sort out insurance, which was a little tricky with neither of us able to speak one word of each others language but at least we were legal even if I doubt the insurance would be very much help to us in the event of an accident.
Whilst there this chap pulled up on a Ural outfit.
We got chatting as best we could given the language barrier. We were all fascinated with each others bikes etc. Much hand shaking ensued. He pointed this out on his rear wheel:
Apparently the original spokes were too weak so he replaced them with these struts himself, great stuff. He was looking at our old Airheads in awe like they were the latest and greatest from a world he has most likely never seen (or maybe that is me being condescending, I have no idea). He eventually left amidst more hand shaking and whilst waving throughout his departure. Marvellous stuff, this is what it is all about. Lovely chap.
We hit the road for the afternoon heading east to get a few miles underneath our belts before finding accommodation. Therein lies the first hurdle. On the visa type bureaucratical paperwork you have a form and on that form you should get the hotel owners to stamp it so that your movements could be traced. The first night we thought was probably wise to comply so looked for a hotel. After that we soon got bored of it and generally didn't bother!!
Everything being in the Cyrillic alphabet (so named in honour of Saint Cyril – I shit thee not) was proving taxing. I must admit, I did foolishly think 'Hotel' was pretty universal. Not in Russia, surprisingly (to me, doh!)
I had put the Russian maps on the sat nav before we left and tried to use this to find some hotels. It was having a hard time of it and sending us to some pretty dodgy looking places with no real likelihood of a hotel nearby. It sent us to one place where it looked like it may be some type of holiday camp (Gulag anybody?). I stopped at the gated security type hut and tried to ask about accommodation. The young chap with the mouthful of gold teeth was struggling to help and mentioned to ask the taxi driver that was parked up.
Eventually he said he would take us to a hotel and we could follow. With a certain amount of trepidation we followed for what seemed an eternity. We went to one place where, thank Christ they had no places available. The place looked like a rundown halfway house for criminals that were all off their chops on God knows what. Maybe I was being paranoid. The taxi driver was doing his best though and motioned to us 'no good, follow me'. We eventually found a nice hotel and he went in and kindly spoke to the lady at reception for us. A little confusion ensued as he thought we would need him to come back in the morning to guide us to the airport so we could fly home. It took an absolute age to explain to the receptionist (who spoke some English) that no, we were travelling and needed his services no further, thank you. She wanted to know where we were going and then looked at me wide eyed like I was some kind of lunatic when I told her. This was a common reaction. It is not that far but I guess it is not something common to do in Russia. We paid the taxi driver the fee asked, thanked him and he left. There was a moment of unease when asking the cost but it was a fair price. We probably got stiffed compared to a local but that is not too unreasonable. My fears were unfounded. First night sorted, official stamp sorted. Time for a beer methinks.
Be right back after the break!
If we could just rewind a little (I know, I know – amateur).
Whilst finding the Polish place in the woods to camp, we had a little breather and after realising that we surprisingly had a mobile phone signal, Guy decided to give his wife a call. I sat a polite distance away to give a little privacy to the (presumed) "Love you, miss you, love you, miss you" call. Having nothing to do with my hands for 5 minutes I played with a new App on my Phone. Here is the result (click on it, it aint on Youtube)
Guy's beloved wife was a little worried and concerned for our (or more specifically, Guy's) welfare as she knew that bears reside in Russia. (Ok, we weren't yet in Russia yet but that was by the by) She was concerned therefore that we were going to get munched as she knew we were wild camping.
After Guy finished the call he asked what the giggling was about. I showed him the fruits of my labour and mentioned that we should send it to his wife with the title 'It aint the bears you need to worry about'. Whilst I found this highly titter-worthy I didn't really think it appropriate. Guy did! And so, whilst giggling like a pair of pre-pubescent schoolgirls and a mild sense of apprehension I hit the 'send' button. Apparently it was received better than I anticipated and I didn't get my legs slapped on our return.
Righto...to the border.
One thing I did notice whilst riding through Latvia and getting close to the Russian border is that there was no mention on the road signs of Russia. This was not exactly a problem as even I would struggle to miss the world's largest country if travelling in a generally easterly direction. Apparently they won't put it on road signs because they don't get on. Now, I don't know the history between Latvia and Russia (except they used to be as one) but to not mark the border on road signs just smacks of an attitude like a petulant teenager and I was left with a feeling of "My God, these are the people in charge, what hope is there!"
We arrived at the border quite early in the morning to attempt to beat the queues. We had read before going on the trip that if on a motorcycle it is the done thing and expected to go straight to the front. This we did, even if it did jingle jangle slightly with my British sense of fair play. My arrogant sense of "Don't they know we're British" won though – hurrah!
When applying for the visa before going, you realise quite how paranoid the powers that be still are. Firstly, you need an invite from somebody inside Russia. The travel company handling your Visa has a contact on the inside who handles that (for a fee, of course). You also need to fill in a document asking the ins and outs of your family history and your job history etc. They need to know whether you or your family have been in the military or terrorist organisations etc etc. Tempting as it was to mention my great uncle – Colonel Pilkington-Smyth-Chumbly–Clusterbumfuck, I resisted. I did lie through my teeth on some parts due to not being arsed to find out dates etc relating to employment history etc –rebel that I am.
Still, armed with our necessary papers, you then go to a number of huts, one hut at a time when ushered forward and fill in form after form. A time efficient system it is not and if you make a mistake on the form you cannot cross it out and correct it, you need to ask for another form and start again. Mistakes vill not be tolerated!
We got chatting to a Russian chap that spoke English whilst waiting at the final hut. He mentioned that nowadays we should fine be travelling through Russia but 10-15 years ago would have been dangerous for us. He mentioned that nowadays the criminals had moved into more cyber based crime.
Onto the final hut and a lady with a very large hat (Russian officials, they love a large hat). We had to fill in forms outlying where we were going and each town we would be staying in on our trip. We had looked at a map beforehand and drawn a straight line to our destination and just written down the names of towns on the way. The reality was we had absolutely no idea. The lady had no idea where Irbit was so we mentioned the next largest place – being Yekaterinburg. Her eyes widened and said "on bikes?" disbelievingly. She even smiled. The steely-tough Russian demeanour disappearing in an instant. She then started enquiring about our trip as an interested person rather than an an emotionless official. This was more like it. She then handed our paperwork back and with a big smile said "Welcome to Russia".
All told, as far as I can remember it took us approx 3 hours to get through. No photos of the border, due to the prevalence of teenagers with shooters – never a good mix in my opinion.
Here was the first problem:
What the? No-one told us about this. Sign writers on drugs!
We then pulled into the first petrol station up the road to sort out insurance, which was a little tricky with neither of us able to speak one word of each others language but at least we were legal even if I doubt the insurance would be very much help to us in the event of an accident.
Whilst there this chap pulled up on a Ural outfit.
We got chatting as best we could given the language barrier. We were all fascinated with each others bikes etc. Much hand shaking ensued. He pointed this out on his rear wheel:
Apparently the original spokes were too weak so he replaced them with these struts himself, great stuff. He was looking at our old Airheads in awe like they were the latest and greatest from a world he has most likely never seen (or maybe that is me being condescending, I have no idea). He eventually left amidst more hand shaking and whilst waving throughout his departure. Marvellous stuff, this is what it is all about. Lovely chap.
We hit the road for the afternoon heading east to get a few miles underneath our belts before finding accommodation. Therein lies the first hurdle. On the visa type bureaucratical paperwork you have a form and on that form you should get the hotel owners to stamp it so that your movements could be traced. The first night we thought was probably wise to comply so looked for a hotel. After that we soon got bored of it and generally didn't bother!!
Everything being in the Cyrillic alphabet (so named in honour of Saint Cyril – I shit thee not) was proving taxing. I must admit, I did foolishly think 'Hotel' was pretty universal. Not in Russia, surprisingly (to me, doh!)
I had put the Russian maps on the sat nav before we left and tried to use this to find some hotels. It was having a hard time of it and sending us to some pretty dodgy looking places with no real likelihood of a hotel nearby. It sent us to one place where it looked like it may be some type of holiday camp (Gulag anybody?). I stopped at the gated security type hut and tried to ask about accommodation. The young chap with the mouthful of gold teeth was struggling to help and mentioned to ask the taxi driver that was parked up.
Eventually he said he would take us to a hotel and we could follow. With a certain amount of trepidation we followed for what seemed an eternity. We went to one place where, thank Christ they had no places available. The place looked like a rundown halfway house for criminals that were all off their chops on God knows what. Maybe I was being paranoid. The taxi driver was doing his best though and motioned to us 'no good, follow me'. We eventually found a nice hotel and he went in and kindly spoke to the lady at reception for us. A little confusion ensued as he thought we would need him to come back in the morning to guide us to the airport so we could fly home. It took an absolute age to explain to the receptionist (who spoke some English) that no, we were travelling and needed his services no further, thank you. She wanted to know where we were going and then looked at me wide eyed like I was some kind of lunatic when I told her. This was a common reaction. It is not that far but I guess it is not something common to do in Russia. We paid the taxi driver the fee asked, thanked him and he left. There was a moment of unease when asking the cost but it was a fair price. We probably got stiffed compared to a local but that is not too unreasonable. My fears were unfounded. First night sorted, official stamp sorted. Time for a beer methinks.
Be right back after the break!