Read some of our brave travellers final thoughts on Russia as the 4x4 and drivers make it to Kazakhstan, yet another border crossing to chalk up, despite Russian bureaucracy! Find out what happens once they start running out of petrol on their way to Aktobe.
Steve Dew-Jones:
Nomansland, Russia/Kazakhstan border:
Another day, another border. This time it’s the Kazakh one, and we’ve already been here for two hours. To be fair to the Kazakhs, those hours are entirely the fault of the Russians, who insisted upon checking and re-checking our passports, baggage, and any other miscellaneous documents that they could get their hands upon. Now we just sit and wait on the other side of a red and white barrier in barren stretches of green that appear to go on forever. With any luck, we will have passed through the Kazakh checks and have arrived in Uralsk before the sun sets...
Aktobe
It seems like such a long time ago that we were in Moscow. I suppose that the small matter of 1650 kilometres might have something to do with it… From the 600 down to Penza (a non-descript Russian city, in which the most exciting events involved eating pizza and finding somewhere to set up camp), the 350 on to Samara (a slightly more interesting city on the banks of the Volga, in which we witnessed the madness of a Russian city on Victory Day), another 250 to Ural (with a three-hour border crossing thrown in), and today’s 450 to Aktobe, in which you find us.
Nomansland, Russia/Kazakhstan border:
Another day, another border. This time it’s the Kazakh one, and we’ve already been here for two hours. To be fair to the Kazakhs, those hours are entirely the fault of the Russians, who insisted upon checking and re-checking our passports, baggage, and any other miscellaneous documents that they could get their hands upon. Now we just sit and wait on the other side of a red and white barrier in barren stretches of green that appear to go on forever. With any luck, we will have passed through the Kazakh checks and have arrived in Uralsk before the sun sets...
Aktobe
It seems like such a long time ago that we were in Moscow. I suppose that the small matter of 1650 kilometres might have something to do with it… From the 600 down to Penza (a non-descript Russian city, in which the most exciting events involved eating pizza and finding somewhere to set up camp), the 350 on to Samara (a slightly more interesting city on the banks of the Volga, in which we witnessed the madness of a Russian city on Victory Day), another 250 to Ural (with a three-hour border crossing thrown in), and today’s 450 to Aktobe, in which you find us.
The drive today deserves more of an explanation because it was far less straightforward than one measly sentence might suggest.
I think it must have been about twenty kilometres in when Bryn noticed that the fuel gauge was dangling precariously close to the “E”, meaning empty. No matter, we thought; a short stop at the next petrol station and all would be well.
Sure enough, there she stood, not much more than a couple of kilometres down the line. The only problem was that she simply would not accept Visa cards as payment.
Pulling together all the cash we could muster, we had about two thousand Tenge (the equivalent of about ten pounds) – enough to half fill the tank. Hopefully, a little further along down the way and we could find a Visa-accepting petrol station, and rest easy.
And so we started driving, and after an hour or so spotted two more petrol stations, popped into both, but found them similarly unwilling. Not to worry; there was still a quarter of a tank’s worth of fuel and Aktobe was… oh, another three hundred kilometres.
Well, we had little choice but to continue, and to hope for the best. And so we kept on driving, and driving some more. I think it must have been a good hour later when Bryn again noticed our fuel gauge drooping and we hadn’t seen a single petrol station. The time was 12.30pm and I was more concerned about having some lunch, but no; every ounce of fuel was valuable and we could ill afford to waste any on stopping and starting the engine. And so we continued…
If only we had filled up that Jerry can of ours. Tell me, what use is there in possessing one of those things if one isn’t even going to put anything in it?
Another hour dragged by, the petrol light popped on, and we estimated that we had a maximum of 50 miles left in us. Aktobe was still more than 150km away and we were never going to make it.
Just at the moment when all thoughts had been directed towards Plan B (something involving one or other of the boys hitching a ride to who knows where, and picking up some fuel with who knows what money, before returning to save the day), and we spotted a lonely petrol station on the horizon.
Elated, little regard was paid to our lack of Tenge. Upon arrival, Bryn and I turned on the charm and managed to persuade a kind Kazakh man into exchanging 1000 Russian Roubles for enough precious fuel to get us here to Aktobe, and to the Elak Hotel, which we were kindly shown to by our first hitcher, a young chap called Mijet.
The journey goes on, and luck is still on our side.
Jo Dew-Jones:
New country, quick recap:
Day fourteen: Fun day in Moscow. Exploring; sushi for lunch; emailing/blogging afternoon; enjoying the busking on ul. Arbat early evening; dinner at Italian/ Japanese fusion restaurant; cards.
Day fifteen: Drive drive drive drive Moscow -> Penza (600km). 11 hours. Dinner in Penza. Camp.
Day sixteen: Drive drive drive Penza -> Samara. Little nap; sit on hill overlooking VE day celebrations; dinner in outdoor café in park; sleep @ Hotel Volga.
Day seventeen: Drive to border; 3 hours; exit; arrive, spend time finding hotel; eat at café in hotel; find ice cream for dessert; et voila!
And so it is that we enter another vast nation, and yet another on the list that I have not been to before. Russia has seemed to go by in a flash, and I liked it a lot; Moscow was probably my favourite city so far, and it was a lot of fun to stumble upon the buzzing ul. Arbat on Friday evening as it suddenly came alive with street artists of all kinds. Penza was less interesting – indeed, we only spent enough time to eat a meal, before heading out to find a camping spot – but Samara, again, was full of life. That may have been due to coinciding with the VE celebrations, and with our hotel right on the River Volga we were in the centre of things. When the fireworks began we dashed to the end of the corridor and had a prime view of three simultaneous displays. It was epic and thoroughly impressive. Further, a highlight of the trip was born as we attempted to navigate back to the hotel car park after dinner through the numerous cordons and diversions, past vigilant but generally sympathetic policemen, until we ended up the only car on the river front surrounded by throngs of drunken Russians. It was a wonderful sight.
Reading up on the countries we’ve been passing through has been at once fascinating and eye-opening. There have been horrific human actions in each, nearly always interlinked with the actions of neighbouring nations. The Aral Sea disaster particularly struck me today as I’ve not heard of it before – what an unmitigated disaster of human creation*.
Today’s border crossing was a breeze (well, in effort terms at least) and there was really no need for nerves this time as we picked up our official documents this morning. It still takes us three times as long as everyone else, but that is predominantly a Cyrillic/Latin alphabet issue, which has brought about interesting meal choices in the past! Steve’s knowledge of Russian, however scanty, is extremely useful and gets him gold stars from whoever we interact with. I’m getting there with the alphabet, at least!
The car in front is (almost certainly) a Lada
Check out that Lada!
- Souped-up Lada with your spoilers and go-faster stripes
(Do you know they won’t actually make you go faster?);
- Police-car Lada, crouching cruelly in the mirage dip.
You make us suspicious of all distant Lada-shaped vehicles.
- Hybrid Lada – part one Lada, part another.
- Lada that we’re fairly sure is a Lada
Although it has been somewhat reshaped
Through a series of unfortunate mishaps.
- Smartie Ladas: red – blue – brown – yellow!
- Mobile home Lada
(Your movement defies scientific laws);
- 4x4 Lada – hmm, a little too cool.
Give us clapped-out Lada attempting the same roads any day.
We love you Ladas, you bastions of engineering genius.
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