Thanks Dad

I thought i'd be appropriate and i feel like i need to thank my Dad.

I was speaking to one of my mates about 2 months into the trip and he asked how things were going with me and my Dad...I said pretty well...he said ahhh your crazy i wouldn't last a week in a car with my Dad.
I lasted five and a half months with mine. That wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for my Dad's easy going nature.
This trip was hard but it could have been a hell of a lot harder.

Dad is the most laid back, understanding, tolerent and open minded bloke i know. This means its literally impossible to have an argument with him.
There were BILLIONS of situtions on the trip where i've been a bit pissed off and said something i shouldn't have, and Dad would be thinking your a bloody idiot. But every time this happened, Dad would always say the right thing and everthing would be sweet. Tiny things like this made it so easy to be around him for a bloody long time...sorry for being an idiot and thank you for letting it slide.

One of the weirdest things on the trip was that Dad now loves half the music i love. Parents are supposed to be telling you to 'turn that crap down'. But i showed him some modern bands that i was a fan off a long the way and to my surprise he says something a long the lines of 'whose this band...their quite good'. Old people aren't supposed to like young people's music.
A very opened minded man.


Dad put a lot of trust in me. He let me drive in crazy traffic in crazy countries with his almost brand new car. Thankfully it paid off...not one strach from my driving...wish i could say the same for you Dad...



It was a pleasure sharing the journey with you Dad.

Thanks mate

ONE VERY BIG THANK YOU by David

On behalf of both Will and I, I want to say a sincere thanks to the following:

First and foremost, to Ros without whose blessing the journey would not have proceeded. Particularly however, I thank her for her tolerance of this indulgence, enormous support during our journey and for suffering almost two years of hearing me talk, plan and breathe the proposed trip, without complaint.
Hamish, who was eager to come with us at one stage, and who put up with the trip planning being in the background for so long.
Martin, who nearly came with us, but helped with the gift of a tool kit (subsequently stolen) and provided an introduction to an upholsterer for car seat enhancement and a unique car addition.
Linton at BSS for generously donating his time for the design and preparation for the signwriter, of our car logo and Melboune to London set of translations, as well as setting up our blog and web mail. Thanks Linton - you’ve been great.
Gary & Gerard for advice re web mail given to someone who didn‘t have a clue about what they were on about at that stage.
Julie, Liz, Gerard and also seasoned traveller Sean for hard earned advice re staying healthy while travelling - it worked! Thanks also, Gary & Julie, for our send off party.
Cathy for loaning us 4WD recovery equipment which, in the end, was left in Melbourne after due consideration of our likely needs.
Helen Mac, for going to great effort, while we were on the road, to collate and email us some very useful information on road, border and travelling conditions in Mongolia, Russia, Kazakhstan, etc..
Vin for helpful advice re the car and supply of periodic service consumables and some useful equipment to assist with potential car problems.
John & Sam at Morello Motors, Essendon, for some essential car spares (wiper blades, fuses, fan belts, light bulbs etc.), further car advice and arranging Roadworthy’s on the Prado and Landrover.
Alasdair & Paul, my partners at BSS for allowing me to take six months away from the company, for nurturing the business in my absence, and keeping it running well, completing a few carry over jobs of mine and for allowing me to purchase on BSS’s behalf “our” sat phone..
Gail L and Jeanette, also at BSS for their special assistance in smoothing BSS payment arrangements in my absence, and providing camera gear (hard to come by connectors, etc.), and instructions, respectively. The camera stuff worked wonderfully, Jeanette - thanks.
David & Mick at Guest’s 4WD, Heidelberg, for helpful advice on car preparation and for preparing the vehicle (steel wheels, new tyres, replacement suspension, dual battery etc.), and also further advice while we were on the road..
Gary C of Harris Freer Toyota, Berwick, for arranging for car valuation for Carnet purposes, which was not able to be obtained from various others I tried.
Ros’s brother Richard for finding us a second-hand cargo barrier in a Brighton car yard..
Peppina S at Australian Automobile Association, Canberra for answering my many questions regarding the Carnet carefully and clearly, and who, at short notice, re-issued the Carnet to pick up Singapore where we might have needed to ship the car to, rather than Malaysia, as planned.
Brent McCunn at Passport Travel, Malvern for bending over backwards to arrange dual entry visas for Russia, arranging Ukraine visas for the family, for getting LOIs for Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan and responding to my endless, sometimes urgent, emails while we were on the road. Thanks Brent for putting up so well with a sometimes anxious client, and for calming my mind, in the light of some simply awful possibilities!
Near neighbours, Russ & Tara T for their patience in witnessing what must have seemed an extraordinary number of passport applications for the family (there were 7!)
Perkins Shipping, Darwin, particularly De Mashman for forbearance in understanding the problems of first time shippers in arranging freighter transport for the car to Dili, Timor Leste.
Dave H, now back in London, for continuing to respond to my many email queries before and during our trip with enormously detailed and helpful answers re aspects of the very adventurous car journey he and his brother Chris made between London and Sydney in 2009 (see their web site Half Way Round). I look forward to meeting you and shouting you a pint or two, Dave, in London!
Jon Faine, who did a broadly similar trip to ours with son Jack in 2008, who also responded with great generosity to my many email queries before and during the journey, and who met me before our leaving to pass on further details of the conditions and difficulties we were likely to encounter. Thanks Jon for sparking my imagination and for starting this whole thing off! From the moment I heard you talking on ABC radio in 2008 about your then proposed overland journey, I knew that was what I wanted to do. I had never experienced such clarity of purpose before.
Viv & Jan H who drove across Russia and Mongolia recently (and who are presently planning a huge road journey from Patagonian to Alaska!) and who met Will & I, then total strangers, over dinner in Lygon Street to also pass on great advice and encouragement for our journey. The copies of their equipment etc. lists and contact details of a New Zealand translator of Russian, Tatyana, for translation of our background for use in Russian police road checks made my preparation work more thorough.
Tatyana (see above) who continued to assist us while were on the road with translation of our letters of support for Kazakhstan (in the end, the part translation of the documents, which were found to be in Kazakh, not the assumed Russian (looked Russian to me!), was done by Tatyana’s Russian friend‘s, brother’s employee working in Kazakhstan, which is where the documents started from!). Amazing!
Abby Z of NAVO in China for always being responsive to my many queries and concerns in the year of so leading up to our departure, and of course to our guide, Michelle, for her work in getting us through the borders and roads of China and her patience on the road - a hard job, spending every waking hour with total strangers, for over three weeks, much in the confines of a car. Thanks Michelle for making China one of the highlights.
Mariaelena of Mototouring, Milan, Italy for responding to my queries and for promptly providing Green Card insurance for Europe, immediately sending off the certificate just as we were about to leave (it arrived after we left and was express posted to Darwin by Ros).
Charlie, Mr Sudri and Mr James of PT Infinity shipping agents for their prompt responses to my queries and giving us such good service in Medan, Sumatra, in arranging car shipping from the port at Belawan, Indonesia to Port Klang, Malaysia. You made this most difficult connection for so many other overlanders, arranging vehicle shipping between Indonesia and the Malay Peninsula (and described by Jon Faine as ‘the missing link’), actually happen, albeit painfully slowly. Despite the delays, the staff of Infinity gave us personal service well beyond our expectations.
To our sometime passengers, Lauren (Will’s girlfriend, three weeks), Ros and Hamish (two special weeks from Kiev, Ukraine) for relieving the loneliness of our travelling, and providing such good company.
And finally to the many family, friends and colleagues who emailed us while we were on the road or who became ‘followers” of our blog - I ached at times for contact from home and every time I got texts or opened our web mail and found your emails it was just wonderful. Your contact, comments in the blog and news provided real pleasure for us who were such a long way from home, for so long. Thank you all.

COUNTING BY TWO… by David

From day one, Will and I counted…ks covered each day, fuel consumption, room costs, times stopped by police, ferry crossings made and the like. Why, I’m not sure, as counting was obviously not why we were travelling, but it seemed like not a bad idea at the time… In addition to counting, good and bad things happened, a diary was kept, receipts retained, and odd ball people were met. The following is a really random listing of my recollections, records, and notes measuring some of the main parameters of our journey, enumerated wherever possible, as well as a few of the more odd ball aspects. We hope you enjoy this collation of quirky, even bizarre, information…

Stuff stolen: sunglasses, sleeping bag, duvet, blankets, snow chains, tent, back up tyre pump, tool kit and various gifts (sorry, your gift was among them…)
Stuff lost or forgotten: good map of Bangkok (I’m not saying who lost it but it was not me, or Lauren…), and one of Mongolia (if not found under now chaotic piles of stuff in the back of the car.); pair of speakers for iPods (purchased on Phi Phi from a 7-11 type shop, left in our hotel, Paris).
Number of sets of visas obtained while on the road: 5 (for Timor Leste, Laos, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan)
Distance covered from Melbourne to London: 34,430 km
Duration of journey, Melbourne to London: 168 days.
Number of different road map versions used to navigate the Gobi in Mongolia: 4
Longest distance covered in any one country: 5,600 km (China)
Longest distance covered in any one day: 837 km (driving to Coober Pedy, Australia)
Best music listened to, by far (no particular order): ‘Stones, ‘Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Foals, Grizzly Bear, Burial (just ’sick’ dubstep music), Leonard Cohen, Chemical Brothers, Angus & Julia Stone, The Cranberries, Tom Waits, Pink Floyd, The Who, Fiest, Dire Straights, Kid Sam, Eddie Vedder (Into the Wild).
What we should have taken with us, but didn’t: more iPod music, to help while away the long hours.
Wheel rotations: executed on the road: 5
Car servicing carried out: 3 (Medan, UB, Kiev)
Mechanical problems occurring with our car: minor vibration in the front end (Thailand - fixed), rubber bushes holding the front stabiliser bar damaged (Kiev - replaced), leaking front shock absorber (Kiev - not replaced).
Fuel consumption: averaged 10.1 l/100km.
Worst hotel suffered: dribble of water only available at wash basin, common shower inoperative (ie no shower), no toilet seat, no toilet cistern lid, cistern unable to be flushed, cistern loudly running continuously through the night, door would not lock (later sorted), beds partially collapsed…(Olgii, Mongolia- we shifted hotels next day).
Most unexpected gift received from a complete stranger: 72 bottles of drinking water, plus nuts and dried fruit (given to us by a man from Dubai, in the car park of our hotel, Shymkent, Kazakhstan).
Coldest morning while camping: minus 11 degrees C (Altai, Mongolia, near border with Russia)
Cost of road toll between Jakarta and Merak: A$3.50 for 80km (Java, Indonesia)
Most expensive toll day: A$49 (China) for 441km
Number of (wonderful, sustaining)) emails received: 453
Number of times attempted to be pick pocketed: 1 (Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
Countries where it snowed: (Kazakhstan; Mongolia, Germany, Switzerland, France)
Number of times stopped by police for document checks, blood alcohol test, or for various alleged driving offences (speeding etc.): Indonesia 2 times, Thailand 1, Russia 7, Kazakhstan 8, Uzbekistan 4, Ukraine 4 (ex-Soviet states, 23; rest of the world, 3).
Number of countries driven through: 19 (includes Kyrgyzstan - I know that’s cheating, but see below)
Longest stay in any one country: 37 days (Indonesia)
Shortest stay in any country: approx. 40 minutes (Kyrgyzstan - nervously transiting without visas, for about 25km, just inside the razor wire of the Kyrgyz/Kazakh border!)
Number of aeroplane flights required: 3 each (Will took more to meet Lauren)
Longest delay: 19 days, while shipping the car from Sumatra to Malaysia.
Number of car ferry crossings required: 6 (inter-island, Indonesia)
Longest car ferry crossing: approx. 16 hours, overnight (Kupang, West Timor to Larantuka, Flores)
Number of times car required to be shipped by freighter: 3 (includes back to Australia)
Number of times car transported by train: 1 (Channel Tunnel, France to UK)
Number of times car keys threatened to be confiscated by police: 1 (Russia)
Number of times threatened to be fined by police: 3
Number of times a bribe was requested by police: 1 (Kazakhstan, by three policemen, in a police car on the road to Almaty)
Number of times “special gifts” requested, or Australian coins, etc. sought by border guards and others: 5
Lowest cost of fuel: 43 cents/litre (Russia)
Highest cost of fuel: A$2.21/litre (UK)
Number of photographs taken: 3,379
Number of haircuts had: 3
Number of times we got sick: 0
Number of different hotels stayed in; 99
Lowest cost of a hotel room: A$7.50/night (Indonesia)
Highest cost of hotel room: A$450/night (Paris - 4 people, includes parking)
Total cost of fuel consumed: A3,427.
Worst roads: Indonesia and Mongolia (tie)
Detailed pre-departure trip preparation time: approx 1.5 years.
Number of people who so generously assisted us with road directions or guidance: numerous.

COME THE DAY (missing photos)

Two photos would not load with the above blog - one now loaded.

COME THE DAY by David

For a few seconds I get caught unawares in a right turn lane; as I quickly indicate, check mirrors and safely merge left into a straight ahead lane, it happens yet again. Will and I try really, really hard in our driving and I have done nothing wrong but now there is a policeman pointing an orange baton at me. As I pull over Ros, next to me laments ‘well, this will cap off the day, nicely…’ I step out and am ‘invited’ into a police car… ‘I’m from Australia and I’m sorry but I do not know what you’re talking about… I don’t know what ‘straff’ means. No, really I don’t even though you repeat the word a lot… That’s a big book of rules you have there but I cannot read a word of it…What do you want 425Hry for? I’ve done nothing wrong…Sorry I don‘t know what you keep saying - I can only speak English…” And so this pantomime, this charade, this farce goes on for some time, as I sit next to this increasingly frustrated Ukrainian policeman.

He finally decides I need to get straightened out by the most senior policeman at the checkpoint and takes me to a group of three other policemen and a fourth person in plain clothes, a hanger-on? He explains the problem, I presume. The senior policeman checks my passport, checks my visa, I confirm I’m Australian; I tell him, by sign language, that I have driven to this point from Australia. He tries to speak a few words in English but fails beyond ‘you speak English‘? He looks exasperated, uncertain, probably tossing around whether to throw the book at me, or let me go. Finally after a long awkward pause, he hands me back my passport. As I get back into our car Ros says lets get out of here before he changes his mind… Off I drive towards the Slovak border. Later, that evening, I check my diary and count the ticks against the ex-Soviet states - today’s police stop was number 23 for this group of now independent countries. Rest of the world: three!

It’s only the second driving day since picking up Ros and Hamish up at Kiev airport, our second last day in Ukraine. Unfortunately we had had our usual trouble by getting lost the previous evening while driving into the UNESCO listed gem of a city, L’viv, and Will had had to engage a taxi to lead us to our hotel. Even more unfortunately, we had followed this the next morning by again getting lost getting out. While these events were now nothing out of the ordinary for Will and I, the uncertainty and spontaneous, unexpected antics used to sort out our navigation problems does not go down well with Ros, who stresses, very fresh from the order, the routine, the ease of Australia, of driving around Melbourne…No wonder.

As we enter the Ukraine border confines, there is a huge colourful line of trucks on the Slovak side, waiting to enter Ukraine. Hamish is told by Ros and I, and multiple times by Will to annoy him, to put his camera away - now is certainly not the time to be seen flashing a camera. Without trouble we pass easily through both Ukraine and Slovakia border controls. At one point however a Slovak Customs officer, unable to speak English, asks a fellow motorist, obviously English speaking, and also going through the border like us, to ask us the usual questions about drugs, guns, knives etc. This he does, speaking directly to us in good English, and in an appropriately stern voice. He then walks back to his own car to resumes his own border processing! Another customs officer, surprisingly, asks us how much fuel we have on board and is highly amused at being told we have 200 litres (there is a limit, apparently, which we exceed….). As I quickly ponder how to get rid of some illegal fuel, it appears the rule is to be ignored. As he waves us on he half smiles and says ‘Welcome to Slovakia‘. We enter the EU! I feel a little like crying, but don’t. I know I feel happy and elated, so relieved…I do feel welcome.

In Slovakia, the police checkpoints have suddenly evaporated. Gone. Disappeared. I am surprisingly uplifted that the heavy police presence is finally done with, and the uncertainty of where each police stop may lead to is now largely behind us. The change is extraordinary after each driving day for over a month being overshadowed by an excessive police presence and, at times, threatening intrusion.

Next day we drive through the Slovakia/Austria border without being halted. Without stopping! I ask the others can we really be in Austria, almost without knowing it? Without showing our papers? Without questions? Without being searched? The answer is yes and now, it seems there are no borders, in effect, to come, as we drive through continental Europe. Amazing! The tension, the uncertainty, the questions and chaos are over.

After making steady progress through parts of Austria, Germany, Switzerland and France, sometimes through neat snow covered rolling hills, and staying for a few great, indulgent days in Paris on the Champs Elysees, (where parking the car costs over four times as much as a hotel was in Indonesia!) we have now reached London. This, after five and a half months of travelling since driving out of our garage in Melbourne, and almost 35,000km on the road. Extraordinary! While here Ros and I look forward to seeing the boys’ cousin, Sally-Ann, and catching up with friends from home. In addition I want to buy a pint or two for a young Australian, Dave now living in London, who, with his brother Chris, drove London to Sydney last year and very generously helped me with much valuable information before and during our journey. I have never met Dave.

While we are eagerly anticipating these special occasions, and other good times in the UK, for Will and I in particular returning home now becomes an increasingly important focus, which I know for Will, at least, cannot come soon enough. Its great to see him laughing and joking and farting around with Hamish, clearly pleased to be in the company of a young person again, even if its his own brother. At the end of our travels alone he was heartily sick of the trip, and probably also had had enough of me. For him, come the day…

At this point Will and Hamish’s departure is still some days away, but already I am starting to feel the parting from Will is close. How can I say how proud of him I am, how extraordinarily grateful I am that he was the one who was with me through so much, through the rough and wearisome, through the good and sometimes uplifting moments. Will, you‘ve been great: you’ve been fun to be with, strong, uncomplaining and so dependable, someone I now know, could not have been a better companion for me in this journey of our lives. Thanks for the memories, Will. Its been a journey which I am certain I will cherish as much for the experience of your company as for the memories of the adventure we‘ve shared for so long together.

For Ros and I, our return home is still a few weeks off as we propose to comfortably spend valuable time together and will travel a bit of the UK again, probably to the Lake District and Scotland, and of course arrange for shipping of our sturdy car back home. Like Will, however, the prospect of returning to a normal life, of work and friends and family and home comforts and ease looms increasingly larger in my mind, as time goes by. Come the day…

[Photos: line of trucks waiting to enter Slovalia; Centre Pompidou, Paris; Father Christmas and Will, Folkstone, UK, after driving off the tunnel train]

[This is our last blog covering daily travels however two further blogs will be posted shortly, one to say an appropriate thank you and the second, to, in a sense, measure an, extraordinary journey - one which I hope you, the reader, have got some vicarious pleasure from reading about, and in a sense, of being a part of. Thank you all. Its been a great ride.]

FAMILY REUNION by David

The road to Kharkiv, Ukraine, is punctuated by police checkpoints in most towns and at some locations between, and we wonder what is different here from Russia and the ‘Stans in this regard. Probably not much... The heavy presence of the police, with their now ubiquitous baton in hand, seems just as unwanted here as in the other ex-Soviet states we‘ve passed through. As a consequence we were again stopped on the road, this time three times in a couple of days…

Early on, on this road, we both were feeling like a cuppa and something to eat so to satisfy these needs, and in a sense to celebrate in a very Australian (for us, at least) way, our entry into Eastern Europe proper (western Russia just doesn’t seen right, somehow, to be included in Eastern Europe) we pulled over, found somewhere to hide ourselves behind now common deciduous hedgerows, and soon got a fire going. What is it that is so satisfying about a fire? Is it the warmth, the timelessness of the primeval flame, or is it something much more personal to Will and I - does it remind us of home, of sitting with good friends around a camp fire, and of course of the bush and one of the great freedoms we enjoy in country Australia, of being able to camp and get a fire going, pretty well anywhere one wants, with relatively few exceptions? Probably all of these…

We are, of course heading for Kiev, and a very special day when Ros and Hamish are to join us for the remainder of our journey to London. After a night in Kharkiv, we arrive in Kiev and soon get lost. Where on earth are we in this large city of about five to six million people? I ask Will to pull over which he does behind a parked car, with someone in the driver’s seat. I approach the driver to ask our location. As keeps on happening, unexpectedly, now so often, this total stranger is helpful beyond expectations. He quickly dismisses our LP map (useless I think he says…), scratches around in the rear of his car and produces an excellent road map of the city. I tell him we’re looking for Hotel St Petersburg which he knows and gives probably a fair appraisal of, offers us his own apartment at a similar rate (which I do not take up) and then gives us the map, gratis!

We drive on into a late afternoon traffic jam. Slowly we grind our way to the selected hotel, which is near the very centre of this large and western style city, the first such type of city for months. As we get closer, cars line the streets, are parked at odd angles on the footpath, and plastic traffic cones or stern looking men guard anywhere a stray car could possibly sneak into, and it seems impossible for us both to leave the car while we check out the prospective hotel. I get out and Will drives on and I mentally wish him luck. Hotel St Petersburg is a large, ex-Soviet era hotel, with friendly staff. I ask for the rate (a budget blowing 360 Hry (about AUD45!)), and about parking, and, for the first time I can remember, don’t even bother to see the room first, before taking it. I was feeling hassled by the inability to stop the car and besides, we have seen so many bad hotels on this journey that, hey, what’s another one matter, if it turns out that way. Will turns up, unexpectedly - it seems the city has a band of parking officers, who not only take your money but, helpfully, also find you a spot - which is what happened. Wonderful!

Our room is huge!, has a balcony and for the first time since Bangkok, has BBC World on the TV; there is even wi fi in the room! We feel like we’ve struck gold! Mind you, it is basic (what’s new!), has shared facilities, is on a very busy street, which is noisy at times, and as everywhere now, is over heated. I book another room for when Ros and Hamish arrive.

We need to get our car serviced - with over, too far over, 10,000km now clocked up since UB and the memorable day of the last service. I ask reception where I can get the car’s oil changed, and am asked if I want to change my car park. Well, no… After a phone call by reception, lots of discussion I cannot understand, of course, Toyota Kiev’s phone number is produced.

The service is done while we wait. Disappointingly they find rubber bushes supporting the front stabiliser bar are damaged and need replacing, and of more concern, a front shock absorber is leaking oil and which they cannot replace. I guess these are the result of tens of thousands of km of bad roads…

While waiting for Ros and Hamish, we roam the local city area - it is a Saturday and the probably normally grid locked main drag, Kreshchatyk St, is now a pedestrian mall. We wander in welcome but fleeting sunshine, absorbing the local scene. Well dressed young people looking much the same as in any western city, stroll. The look however has just a hint of the fast approaching Winter - fur collars, padded jackets, hoods, and coats, etc. The buildings we pass are impressive, and in some cases old and graceful. A rock group has just finished playing at one end of the mall and a final burst of recorded music is played far too loudly to announces the pause. We walk up to St Sophia’s Cathedral, pay our entry to a squeaky voiced woman who seems to take forever to deal with troublesome customers ahead, and enter calming grounds and a sight of soaring gold and green cupolas, green trim, and fresh white painted, rendered masonry walls. We see an extraordinary interior, with 11th century frescoes and an elaborate gold screen in front of the altar. Outside I listen to a minstrel with long, wild white hair, playing a sort of broad, flat bodied guitar, singing some melancholy traditional song. Will says he reminds him of a friend of ours, Earl! I enjoy this place, and its peace.

Wow! They’re here! Being in the car with Ros and Hamish is however extraordinary - there is chatter and movement and a bit of a buzz, which is so very different from the quiet calm in the cabin Will and I have grown used to, along side the incessant rumble of the car on the road and the wonderful iPod outpourings of the likes of Grizzly Bear or Chemical Brothers, which we’ve enjoyed so much. I think I’d better get used to it…

Of course, its great to have them with us and for them to join our little caravan is it heads towards London. We’re off on the road again tomorrow…

[Photos: minstrel, St Sophia’s Cathedral; cupolas, St Michael’s Cathedral; family reunion at Borispol, Kiev, Airport]

‘BACK IN THE USSR‘* by David

Well, Russia, anyway! We entered Russia for the second time at a very cold and bleak border crossing directly north of Uralsk, Kazakhstan. Uralsk is on the Ural River which drains to the Caspian Sea, probably a thousand km directly south (for those following our route, we planned to go to past the Caspian and enter Russia at Asrakhan, but we altered the route just a teensy bit, for various reasons.) As is now increasingly common at borders, our arrival by a car driven from Australia is a subject of amusement and, at times, incredulousness. For people in Central Asia there is, however, some difficulty in their grappling with the word ‘Australia‘ (in Russian, pronounced afstralii), but the mere mention of ‘kangaroo’ (or my hopping up and down in kangaroo pose, with ‘paws’ extended!) brings immediately understanding! Interestingly there is a common enquiry at borders, where passports are examined at many points, as to what the ‘animal’ is on the left side of our coat of arms (the kangaroo is on the right).

The border process, while always somewhat unpredictable, has settled into a broadly repetitious process (described for entry to a country in the following - exiting is not that dissimilar) of firstly a gate check of passports, visas and car registration, and issue of a small paper slip (noting my details, car brand, type, rego, etc.), a wait to allow vehicles ahead to clear, and then opening of the gate to allow entry to the border confines. The guards here (and elsewhere in the processing zone,) are often armed. [While usually close, when leaving Mongolia we found the first Russian gate check was probably 10km from the main border processing area!] After entering the border confines Immigration checks us against our photo ID (after some months Will shaved off his new beard to remove identity as a potential border entry problem for more ‘difficult’ countries ahead), examines and records details of passports and visas, checks a migration card which is completed by us in duplicate, stamps the card or visa, takes our photo (‘look at the camera please’ sort of comes across…), and then we proceed to Customs.

For Will Customs is brief, and requires him to walk through separately from the car. For me, as ‘driver’, it is more involved (we both drive but I gather they mean ‘owner‘). Customs declarations are completed in duplicate by me or for me depending on whether English is included on the form. If done for me, a payment may be required to be made, sometimes in US dollars. The car registration certificate is examined in detail, and usually a request made to point out where the registration number of the car appears on the confusing (for them) form. Chassis (VIN) and engine number are recorded on the form. In China these numbers were actually required by Customs to be shown to them at the appropriate places on the vehicle (ever tried to find the engine number on a car engine? Good luck.) and due to the sensitivity of the process, a separate, specialist company was employed by our Chinese tour organiser, NAVO, specifically to process our vehicle into and out of China! Some countries require a currency declaration also to be completed while others ask what currency we hold. [I need to retain this stamped declaration, any car entry approval produced (and migration card) for presentation at country exit.] At this point our Carnet is processed in some countries.

After all documentation requirements for the vehicle etc. are completed, a search of the vehicle by Customs follows, which varies in depth, and technology used depending on the bent of the group of inspectors. By this stage Will has re-joined me and we are required to open up whatever they want to check. Providing there is no third party insurance to arrange (the norm) we are given the wave and are allowed to drive up to the exit gate, present the paper slip to the border guard, now stamped and initialled at various stages, and then the last bar gate is raised and we can slowly drive through. This process usually takes around two to four hours in total for the two border controls at each border (in the police states (Kaz, etc.), passport registration, which essentially tracks our movement through the country, is a separate, stupid, additional process). While Will, as usual, is nonchalant, I find border crossings serious, and the processing tense and uncertain. Once through, the final step is for Will and I to firmly shake hands and for me at least, to marvel at where we have actually reached! At times this point is almost surreal.

I have digressed. Sorry! Back to Russia. From the Kazakh border we drove north to Samara, got lost, asked a taxi driver to take us to a hotel, any hotel… Please! He helpfully pointed down the road about a km to a hotel, described by sign language. We drove next day to Saratov (again a taxi was used.) This part of our route follows the Volga River south. The Volga is a vast waterway, which, at times is so wide as to make viewing of the other side difficult. There seem to be oil tankers using it. Our third and fourth nights on the Volga are spent at Volgograd, better known to the world as Stalingrad. As is now becoming the pattern, Will approached a taxi to lead us to a hotel - the Hotel Volgograd - which he did, without charge! This hotel was too expensive (Oh, how I pine for the days of $5 hotels!) so two hotels later we finally have a bed for the night. After a long day’s drive, with this on top, I am exhausted…

I know you are thinking our difficulty in finding hotels must be sheer incompetence! You are probably right, but the problem is compounded by the fact that here it is quite rare for the word ‘hotel’ to appear at all in the jumble of Cyrillic characters forming a hotel name…hence our need for taxis. [One of the mistakes I have made in our preparation was not spending money on extensive sat nav software - we have the hardware, and the main roads of our route (Garmin World Map), but not any cities].

Having read Anthony Beevor’s multi award winning book Stalingrad, which is a sobering but fascinating account of the repelling of the Germans from Stalingrad by Russia in World War 2 (which was to be a major turning point in the war), I naturally had an interest in seeing the city now called Volgograd. Will and I wandered slowly along the Volga, in weak but pleasant sunshine, to see a single building, a large brick former flour mill, retained in its ruined form, as it was at war’s end. It is a poignant sight, considering the whole of the city was effectively levelled by the months of bombing. What is seen lining the Volgograd streets now is the consequence of a massive Soviet post war rebuilding program. The many war memorials and museums of the city commemorate the sacrifice of about 1.5 million people, mainly German and Russian soldiers who lost their lives in the extraordinary battle for this city. We looked on at one of these memorials, one with a perpetual flame, in silence…

Next stop Ukraine. Yippee!

*We have enjoyed hearing about Jo Jo and the other girls from Mongolia to the second leg of Russia and wondered if this Beatles track, Back in the USSR, was associated with Beatles concerts in Mongolia and the USSR? Seems unlikely but suggesting this possibility was a quite unexpected and larger than life set of bronze sculptures of the four lads in the middle of UB of all places! Anyone know?

[Photos: Light show, on the road to Volgograd; Mother Russia holding a sword, is an 83m high (!) memorial to war dead on Hill 102 of WW2 infamy (now Mamaev Kurgan, Volgograd); former flour mill ruin, Volgograd]

KAZAKHSTAN: THE WESTERN DESERTS by Will

It was around 2000ks and took about a week. We were driving through desert almost the whole time. We passed road works pretty much every day but a lot of the time in the north we were driving on a brand new road. [Dad: Wonderful!] The old road was pretty bad but we have had a lot worse.

We got stopped by police a lot…most of them then waved us on once they found out we spoke English. Me and dad think a hitchhiker we picked up asked to come to London with us! He didn’t speak English but he had a crappy translator on his phone. He showed it to me and it read ‘I came Englishman’ [Dad: ...I said to Will I think he wants to come with us and become an Englishman! We didn’t really encourage that line of thought and he eventually got out…]

We camped one night in sand dunes, just off the road. We cooked on a fire for the first time (since Australia) because the pump on our stove has broken. That should be the last time we need to camp. [Dad: this camp was memorable - a cheery fire makes such a difference and we also spoke to Ros.]

[Dad: what Will has not mentioned is the environmental disaster of the Aral Sea. Very briefly, what was a large inland sea was devastated some decades ago by Soviet planners when the rivers replenishing it were diverted for irrigating a then new crop - cotton. The Aral Sea retreated for many tens of km and has never recovered. In Aralsk we viewed small ships in the previous Port, now high and dry on blocks, with the sea water long gone. Sixty km away, in desolate and wind blown Zhalangash, ‘a crappy shithouse town in the middle of nowhere’, (Will’s accurate description) we saw water of the slowly replenishing Little Aral (small northern area), way off in the distance. A few km from the town rusting hulks could also be seen where there was once sea, but is now sandy desert. In this same town camels roamed freely - an extraordinary sight for amazed eyes!]

Next stop Russia…

[Photos: two boys on donkeys cart firewood; Will and Kazakh camp fire; camels roam in main street, Zalangash, near Aralsk]

SAMARKAND AND BUKHARA

Kazakhstan Steppe

SAMARKAND AND BUKHARA by David

[This blog loaded in Melbourne, by Ros & Hamish - cannot access Blogger site in KAZ]

Tashkent, Samarkand and Bukhara: they don’t get much more exotic than these legendary Silk Road cities. And Samarkand and Bukhara were the main reason for our being in Uzbekistan.

On the morning of our planned entry into this country we had driven from Shymkent, Kazakhstan, expecting to cross the border directly south, just a dozen or so kilometres from Tashkent. We pulled up outside the large sheet metal clad Kazakh border gates in the midst of the usual chaos of milling groups of people, animals, trucks, cars, taxis, food sellers, money changers, and ‘facilitators‘, etc. People rushed over to Will’s open car window, some saying Sum (money changers), some selling, others simply joining the fun, while a tout knocked persistently on other car windows wanting my attention. Alas, there is no such thing as order, at borders. It turned out (from the tout or facilitator, who wanted to hop in our car to direct us for a fee, of course, and confirmed by a border guard) that this border did not process vehicles. The border crossing for vehicles required a huge U-turn - a 120km detour! Off we went therefore to find the Kazakh/Uzbek vehicle crossing, and to suffer yet another bout of border chaos…

Many hours later, after requisite queuing, border formalities were finalised and our car had been searched yet again, we entered Uzbekistan and headed for Samarkand over more rough roads. We passed through numerous police checkpoints, again got help with navigation from locals along the way, and again lost our way (in Samarkand this time) trying to find something, anything, to tell us where in the city we were (this almost daily frustration of feeling lost, usually late in the day, is quite wearying, even after many months of experiencing it…)

Samarkand’s ancient monuments including The Registan triplet of grand entranced medressas, the cracking and tilting Mosque of Bibi-Khanym and the sobering avenue of mausoleums of Shah-i-Zinda are simply spectacular. We strolled through the huge courtyards located behind the grand entrances of the medressas and mosque, enjoying the symmetry of the arches, niches and spaces and detailing of majolica and azure mosaics, as well as the peace and calm these spaces exude. While restored to a greater or lesser extent, these mainly 14th century structures remain remarkable examples of mediaeval buildings and of turbulent times hard to imagine today.
On the road to Bukhara, we are stopped by police at one of their checkpoints. Along this same road cars queue at two service stations - all the others passed are closed, empty, their driveways blocked by rocks, rope barriers or gates. I am later told that diesel is simply not available, the queuing being for petrol, obviously in short supply. I anxiously check our fuel gauge and mentally calculate diesel use back to Kazakhstan and our next available fuel…We pass many donkeys on the road, mainly drawing small carts but sometimes carrying people. Local men wear skull caps; some wear long coats. Most middle aged women wear long, ankle length, colourful, patterned dresses over sometimes matching long pants, usually complemented with a plain jacket, a headscarf and bright coloured shoes. Younger women wear similar clothing except that the dress is knee length. Will observes the locals are appearing more middle eastern now.
We settle into our Bukhara B&B, after yet again getting lost entering the city. At one point 6 or 8 men and kids try to help but stare blankly at our LP map, unable to say where we are, where they are. What is it about maps? We drive on, try again and finally I am walked the last kilometre or so to our ‘hotel’ by a friendly and helpful young woman, a hairdresser. The B&B manager, Fasli, in turn walks back the same distance with me to Will, patiently waiting in the car for my return, to direct us through a warren of almost too narrow back lanes of the old town, to our car park outside his B&B. It is now common for men to greet each other with their left hand over the heart, making a very slight bow of the upper body. The greeting is gentle and warm and easily responded to. We eat dinner almost alone (it’s low season) next to a tree apparently planted in 1477 and above public baths of a similar age. A medrassa adjacent and the brick and mud walled, shamble of buildings around us suggest somehow that little has changed here in a very long time…
Next day we are again exposed to extraordinary history as we stroll through ancient medrassas, bazaars and mosques, and view soaring tile clad domes and brick minarets. Will and I wander quite randomly, as one after another amazing building emerges around each corner we turn. We see a soaring minaret, pairs of matching azure tiled domes, and huge façades of medressas and enter one of these through a grand arch, step through a white plastered colonnade to a serene inner courtyard, and almost gasp as the next amazing panorama comes into view. Symmetry, tile detail, fabulous arch and dome forms, shadow, light and volume synergise into a built form hard to grasp for two gaping tourists a long way from home. I enjoy the experience enormously; Will is somewhat more reserved as to his thoughts, as always, however no one can deny these buildings are impressive.
Food here has been good - ranging from the non bread (circular, with a raised rim, flat centre and delicious), shaslyk cooked over coals, a rice, fried vegetable and meat pilaf, laghman noodle, meat and vegetable soup, side dishes of tomato and raw onion, and buuz a staple, steamed mutton dumplings. Breakfasts include salami, cheese, rice porridge, tea, coffee, sausage and poached eggs, sometimes watermelon or steamed dumplings, and, of course, non bread.
We are soon to return to Kazakhstan, to head into the vast western desert region to get us back to Russia. The remains of the Aral Sea and other delights, beckon…

[Photos to come later: Registan, Samarkand; Kalon, Mosque and minaret, Bukhara; Will studies our LP, in the courtyard of Mir-i-Arab Medressa]

KAZAKHSTAN: STEPPE BY STEPPE by David

[This blog loaded in Melbourne, by Ros & Hamish - cannot access Blogger site in KAZ]

As soon as we had passed through the last checkpoint and the final bar gate of the Russian and Kazakh border confines had been raised, the steppes (high plains) of Kazakhstan stretched out before us. However it was the near border city of Semey which provided our first real exposure to the Kazakh landscape - urban that is. In a word it was horrible! In most towns/cities we use Lonely Planet (LP) to locate hotels, restaurants, internet cafés and other essentials (LP maps show the heart of most places covered). In Semey we could not find a beating heart or any heart at all. Instead, we found block after drab block, row after depressing row, and avenue after dismal avenue of wind blown and dilapidated Soviet era apartments, and at the end of these, ugly and lifeless industrial areas. What we found was dismaying and left us lost and confused with absolutely no idea as to where we were, let alone how to get to one of the hotels shown on our LP Semey map.

In the end we awkwardly approached, yet again, a random local for assistance. By sign language he indicated a willingness to go with us to direct us to a hotel. While feeling slightly wary, we nevertheless agreed as we had to do something - it was almost dark. We were taken to a relatively new, boutique style hotel which appeared disturbingly empty, apart from the owner who was obviously a friend of our passenger - no one was around outside, no cars were parked, no guest was inside. Creepy. Alarm bells started to quietly ring. The accommodation we were shown however was good, the rate acceptable and despite our initial concerns, it turned out to be a great find. The owner who spoke only a little English used Google Earth to direct us to a local shopping centre which had easy caf food (point and pay!) and ATMs (called Bankomats here in Central Asia). Feeling better, we returned to good night’s sleep after a big day.

With almost no trees to provide shelter from the ever present wind, the Kazakh steppes of exposed grasslands, and broken only by scrappy villages and small towns, were our lot for well over a thousand kilometres of rough driving between Semey in the north and Almaty in the south. Despite being bitumen we rocked, jolted and vibrated our way south, pothole by pothole, wheel rut by wheel rut, and rough repair after rough repair, until we ached for a bit of good road (but which was not to come). We passed through many police checkpoints which are in most towns in Kazakhstan. As we approached Almaty, significant mountain ranges soared above the foothills: probably the Kyrgyz Zailivsky and Kungev Altau Ranges (part of the Tian Shan).

Staying in Almaty in a university dormitory (Will‘s idea!), we welcomed a rest, time to do necessary trip ’business’ and have the chance to get a different view of Kazakh city life from what we had seen in Semey. Cosmopolitan, leafy and full of bustle and life is how we found Almaty. Trams, electric buses, neat parks, good cafés and restaurants, a dramatic mountain backdrop, and some friendly locals welcomed us. What a relief!

We struggled with visa registration at the Migration Police, queuing with grim, anxious looking people clutching sheaves of papers, drank huge cups of coffee at Coffeedelia, ate good Russian food at Traktir Zhili-Byli, used wi fi (after struggling with hopelessly slow internet café computers), got visas for Uzbekistan, and drove out of Almaty through gently falling snow.

At two locations on the road to Shymkent our road takes us into Kyrgyzstan (for a total of about 25km), just inside the razor wire fenced border. While directed this way by Kazakh police (despite our best intentions to stay well clear of the border - we were turned around by the police), and obviously is a locally accepted arrangement, I still feel uneasy as we do not have transit visas for Kyrgyzstan. Will, as usual, is nonchalant! As we drive back into Kazakhstan through the last vehicle sized hole in an otherwise impenetrable looking border fence, I am at once relieved, my imagination no longer running wild, and somewhat bemused at how an international border can simply be breached as it was, for convenience sake.

Winter is clearly just around the corner but the exotic Silk Road cities of Bukhara and Samarkand beckon. Next stop therefore is Uzbekistan, and its gritty capital city of Tashkent, just inside the border…

[Photos to come later: On the road from Almaty to Taraz and Shymkent: through snow covered hills; high mountain backdrop]

ON THE ROAD TO SHAMBHALA* by Will

After our drive up from Olgii, Mongolia and our cold camp just short of the border, it took 4 hours to get out of Mongolia and into Russia. In the end it was a pretty easy and simple border crossing (after much anticipation, and not a little apprehension, on Dad‘s side); the longest parts were driving between the Mongolian border and the Russian border (No-mans land) and doing the customs declaration [Dad adds: which I kept on filling in wrong…(the form was in Russian only) and being told to do it again! After my third go it was accepted.]. To get our passports ‘stamped’ and do the migration stuff for Russia, we needed to drive into the border town of Tashanta, as surprisingly it wasn’t finalised at the actual border itself. We were planning to get insurance for the car but couldn’t find the insurance place, so…

In ‘No-mans land’ the road went from the usual shithouse, on the Mongolian side, to great, on the Russian side. The main roads in Russia were really good…the back roads….well, not so good.

We picked up several hitchhikers. [Dad: There are lots of people hitchhiking in Russia]. On the second day we picked up a young women with her toddler…they both got car sick! When she had finally had enough, or perhaps even, had reached her destination, and got out, another hitchhiker had her hand on our car door handle, ready to open the door and hop in (until warned off by the sick woman, I guess)!

We had brought a map of Russia with us but it was really inadequate [Dad: large scale (1:6,000,000) but more particularly, our map’s town names were in English while names in Russia are in Russian Cyrillic! We had no idea where we were at times, which, come to think of it, is not that unusual for us…] so we searched for a better one in Gorno-Altaisk and Dad ended up finding a really detailed, really good Melways sorta thing on pretty much the exact region of Russia we were driving through to get from Olgii, Mongolia to Semey, Kazakhstan!!! So that made it really easy navigating.

We spent 3 days in Russia. We camped one night in wheat stubble about four Ks off the road. [Dad: we always take pains to be well out of sight of any road when camping.] The first night we stayed in a hotel. We had to open the only widow because the heating was really, really hot, even though it was probably 0 degrees outside. No eating places in that town. Nil. Nix. No dinner.

Even though we had the best map in the world for this part of Russia we still got lost in Rubtsovsk, which is about 30 Ks from the Kazakh border. Dad ended up asking a young couple for directions, then a middle aged man came over to help out so the young couple drifted away slowly. The man tried to give dad directions by drawing on the dirt, then tried to hail a taxi to lead us out (all occupied) but eventually gave up and said why don’t I get in the car and take you to the road u need to be on (in sign language) for about 8 bucks (250 roubles, after a bit of bargaining). Once we got to the road out of town Dad realized he didn’t have the right change. So he and the man tried to change some money at a couple of shops but they were closed. Then Dad decided to top up the car with fuel, got change and gave the agreed amount to the man and off we went to the border. [Dad: the process for getting fuel in Russia is interesting…firstly estimate the amount of fuel you need and enter the figure on a calculator (or scrap of paper) - you can‘t simply fill the tank, take this to the babushka who is hidden behind a small door in a wall of the box forming the service station office. It is quite difficult to know whether these places are open or closed as often no-one is visible. The little door pops open, you indicate which fuel type is required by sign language (diesel is Dt , but in Russian Cyrillic letters), and a slip of paper soon emerges with the amount to pay in Roubles shown. Money is handed to the babushka through a sliding drawer, change given, and then all that is required is to put the nozzle into the tank, and pull the trigger. The flow stops at the volume paid for. No words are spoken. No water, no air, no oil, no maps, no lollies, papers, or milk…no human contact, no nothing, except fuel.]

[Dad: the border process on both sides was fast: 90 minutes saw us through. We had entered Kazakhstan…]

*Lonely Planet, Central Asia, romantically describes a proposed journey between Olgii, Mongolia, and Almaty, Kazakhstan, much as we have just driven, as Journey to Shambhala.

[Photos: Russian evening light; Altai lunch, just after the border crossing. The creek was just starting to freeze with ice forming at its edges.]

THE ALTAI by David

To continue our journey we needed to cross the Altai mountains to the west of the Mongolian Gobi and extending across the Russian (and Chinese) border nearby. The contrast between the barren, dull and Spartan greyness of the Gobi with the scintillating whiteness of the snow covered mountains of the Altai was extraordinary for us, but also unsettling after a couple of weeks spent in the Gobi. Dull grey became dazzling white, flowing streams became still, frozen over, rippling lakes turned to ice and tracks previously ruts in the desert ground became fine ribbons of snow threading across the slopes before us.

While the loneliness of our travelling remained, a tension was added by new uncertainties: travelling in mountain terrain with ice now common, fickle and dramatic changes in weather, now cold days struggling to get much above 4 or 5 degrees C and not the least the approaching Russian border bristling with potential problems but long contemplated and critical as the starting point of probably the last serious and certainly the most exotic leg of our journey, through Central Asia. Oh what a delicious meal of unsettling change and eager anticipation for two boys a long way from home!

We camped many nights across the Gobi but upon entering the Altai this became less attractive with cold mornings the norm, mostly hovering a few degrees below zero C. We spent the last night before crossing into Russia, camped high in the Altai - when we got up it was a very cold minus 11 degrees C. Not much sleep that night. By contrast, most camping evenings in Mongolia, such as one just out of Olgii, were superb - this evening was spent rugged up in crisp, cold air, but in a spot sheltered from the wind behind warm, sun heated rocks; we basked in welcome, low western light, cooked dinner on our faithful MSR and had a beer or two as we looked out across barren grass lands with cattle grazing, a large and alluring lake not yet frozen, and behind, a dramatic backdrop of brooding snow covered mountains. Hard to beat anywhere, let alone in the very foreign land where we were.

Bayan-Olgii airmag (district) is well known for its eagle hunting and holds a festival celebrating the still maintained tradition, in early October each year. While too late for this we did hire a guide, Jupar, for a day to track down an eagle hunter or three, not quite knowing what to expect. While we spent a lot of the day, hunting for even one of the somewhat elusive eagle hunters, calling in to gers, (I can imagine the animated conversation, heard, but not understood: “…seen an eagle hunter, by any chance? No?, well never mind, we‘ll try the next ger…” or “Yes, but he‘s off for the winter…”) getting advice from apparently random people on horseback, motor bike, and on foot and after unexpected hospitality in a ger and later in a very humble family dwelling, we struck gold! Not only were we to view an eagle swooping on a lure and then raw meat, but Will and I became eagle hunters for a few minutes, proudly dressed for the occasion and tentatively holding our eagles in heavily gloved arms! (I gladly handed the gear back after inadvertently letting my eagle loose…!)

After facing a few unsettling problems in Khovd, as we approached the Altai and also issues arising in Olgii itself, we were glad to be finally heading out of Mongolia to face the unknowns of Russia, and what lays beyond…

[Photos: desert & Altai mountains meet; Will, eagle hunter]

GOBI CROSSING…by David

The Mongolian Gobi is a vast and mainly uninhabited desert stretching for probably a few thousand kilometres across the southern two thirds of the country. We have been travelling now for eleven days since our misadventures in UB and have driven through largely empty steppes with scattered ger camps, herds of freely wandering horses, camels, sheep and goats and the occasional wasted and uninviting town with ger dominated housing, dusty dirt and potholed “roads” winding between scrappy and makeshift timber fencing, stray dogs and of course a few locals doing their day to day business. These towns are rough looking, unattractive and bewildering to some extent with almost none of the local business signs having any meaning for us. But for Will and I it is the emptiness of the Gobi that attracted us to come to Mongolia and we are getting that in spades…

For us the Gobi is a vast maze of confusing dirt and rock strewn tracks through featureless terrain with practically no identifying features, and apart from a few of the larger towns, nothing to identify which town you are in, if indeed you have found the town being sought. Four or five days ago we could not initially find the town of Altai, confused and mislead by the only road sign in over 400km. The plains and low hills stretch out to meet a broad, uninterrupted and distant horizon often showing a few dirt tracks wandering away into the distance, mostly going in different directions. Some go to ger camps, some to derelict looking collections of buildings which are hard to tell if abandoned or inhabited; others go who knows where.

To navigate we use four paper maps of Mongolia - but what is shown on some as a strong red line is a collection of rough dirt tracks on the ground. Apart from in UB and the occasional larger town, there are practically no other bitumen roads in Mongolia. There is only part correlation between the maps - some show different tracks, some include small settlements or other features while others omit these. We also use a magnetic compass, a basic sat nav (in our Garmin World Map, UB and Khovd are the only towns or cities named for the whole of Mongolia and we navigate by the shape of now mainly dry lakes shown on the screen in bright blue, but, usefully, also on some of the paper maps), local terrain occasionally and of course the vague hand wave of locals. Put together these are just adequate for navigating our way across almost 2,000 km of featureless, treeless and forbidding terrain.

The tracks are rough and we are vibrated and tossed around for almost the whole driving day as we try to find the least rough track and dodge sharp rocks and less commonly, large wheel destroying boulders. Occasionally we can gather speed and sail across the vibrations but usually this is not possible. A vehicle or motorbike sometimes approaches and can be seen a long way off by a plume of dust in the distance. But other vehicles than ours may be seen only a few times daily and we mostly have the stark and awesome loneliness of the place to ourselves.

There is a surprising amount of bird life with the occasional eagle, water bird or flock of small birds seen. Now and then we have been surprised by little hamster type animals scurrying across the road and a few apparently stray dogs chasing our car or in packs as we approach towns. But mainly it is the herds of larger animals that break up the monotony of the driving day through largely undistinguished countryside. Now and then a herder on horseback tends his animals. Horsemen and other locals we have seen commonly wear a heavy coat - often drab brown in colour but sometimes maroon or blue, long, well below the knee, full, and buttoned to a braided edge with sa few toggle ties on one shoulder and below, under the same arm. A small collar and a colourful, wide waist tie, often bright orange or yellow and an unexpected hat completes the traditional costume.

Now and then, mainly to get closer to the locals and add some colour to the sameness of each day we pick up a hitch hiker, and explain, always by sign language, how far we can take them (usually the next town), and then make room by shifting stuff from our single spare seat (the other back seat is folded up and its space full). On one day a woman wanted a ride and we stopped, only to have four or five men rush across the road to get in also! One look in our car and our single raised finger indicating we could fit only one person reduced this to one - the woman, who we dropped off at the next town. At one lunch stop in the small, scrappy but friendly town of Delgen we were fed by a woman named Enkhboyar, who cut raw meat and mixed, kneaded, rolled and cut noodles from scratch (ie from flour and water) and made a beautiful mutton and noodle broth for us in surprisingly fast time. While we waited, Tserenpuntsag, her husband most likely, invited me into their ger home behind the tiny, one table, two stool restaurant: the circular wall was lined with cabinets, stacked e suitcases, a couple of beds, a cabinet, photos, sofa, TV and other household items. Colourful is the word to describe the interior, by contrast with the sameness of the generally white exterior. In the centre was a couple of metal chests forming low benches and between a cast iron dung burning heater cast its warmth. Outside head high piles of dried dung wait for winter, which is just around the corner. It is now late in the season for our travelling, and very cold each morning. We hasten west to get up and over the Altai mountains…

[Photos: Gobi camels; inside a ger, Delgen; Gobi campsite; Will and hitch hiker]

BAD DAY IN UB… by David

It wasn’t inevitable but it happened. Our car was broken into two nights ago in Ulaanbaatar (UB). A small side window was smashed and we have lost a sleeping bag, duvet (down jacket), tent and snow chains, as well as other smaller items. In a sense we were lucky in that everything else remains and we can continue, troubled by the losses but thankful in other ways. To cap off an already bad day, a group of four men tackled Will as we were walking back to our guesthouse after dinner, trying (unsuccessfully, thankfully) to pinch his wallet. Welcome to UB…

We acted quickly to restore our situation. Within a few hours of the robbery being detected the broken glass had been replaced after the car had received another 10,000km service. Our servicing requirements, by the way, were all communicated by sign language and pointing (none of the mechanics spoke English, and our Mongolian is just a teensy bit rusty…). As before, we supplied necessary oils (sump and differential) and replacement parts (fuel filter, oil filter and air filter). We stood and watched the whole process. As the glass was being replaced, a helpful man in a beret, taking a keen interest in proceedings, told us to be beware of the Russians - there are bad men and they break into cars…While smiling at the irony, we nevertheless have taken full heed of his warning. We have also started to replace, to the extent we can, essential items (sleeping bag, tent…) which were stolen, with new.

On a much brighter note, we received our visas for Kazakhstan today, to our great relief (after an initial scare that the Embassy might be temporarily closed, our Central Asian travel agent in Melbourne, Brent McCunn, acted immediately on our sat phone call and email: he spoke to the Embassy here in UB (the numbers we tried didn’t work) and gave us the current address by email. We went to this address that same afternoon by taxi to lodge our applications complete with passport sized photos). We have been given more liberal travel dates (now start earlier, end later) in the visas than indicated in our letters of introduction (LOIs), which assists significantly with the timing of various legs in Central Asia. Brent has already emailed LOIs for our last visa to be obtained - for Uzbekistan - in Almaty, southern Kazakhstan.

Will has taken on the job of flagging down taxis for various trips we have needed, probably nine in all, in the last few days (to and from the Kazakhstan Embassy, to the Embassy’s bank and back, for car servicing (with Will in the taxi, I followed behind in our car), etc.)) We’ve needed taxis to get to these places, which in the main are well beyond LP territory. None have been “official” taxis, (ie with an illuminated dome on the roof) which are nigh on impossible to find, but are unmarked and probably private cars used by the owner to make a bit of money on the side. No meters, etc. I asked W ill how he picked them to flag down. His response: “I look for small, crappy cars, (sometimes) with an aerial…”. It works! Of course, none of the taxi drivers speak English so we have had to get our guesthouse owner to write the addresses out in Mongolian to show the driver. This also works until the driver cannot find the place and asks us for directions…

So what is UB like, apart from apparently being a den of thieves? UB is unexpected; it is largely western in appearance with a few glass towers, traffic lights, modern cars, and heavy traffic. As in many countries we have driven through the traffic is chaotic at times and needs to be accommodated, but we are well used to doing this by now. There are strange (to our eyes) electric busses with dual poles linking up with power wires above, and there is a small, but noticeable presence of locals wearing colourful traditional costume, as a matter of course. There are numerous restaurants and a lot of bustle and vibrancy on the main streets.

What however characterises UB, once one looks beyond the thin sheen of the main drags is thousands of drab, and mainly poorly maintained Soviet era, walk ups of about three or four stories. In our eyes they are grim places, even now, in bright sunshine, and I shudder to think of what they would have been like in cold war times, in Winter, at night…. They appear concrete walled and all have heavy steel doors facing the street, without portico, porch or entry alcove to provide any sort of perceived welcome or shelter. The same type of steel doors are also used in all the dark and grim stairwells for accessing the apartment or tenement beyond. On closing the doors there is a dull clang of steel on concrete; they do not have handles, only a key lock or set of press buttons. Just inside each steel door is a further door, with lock. The word forbidding comes to mind…

Our first sighting of these types of apartment buildings was while we were driving to UB. Just out of Choyr at the start of the bitumen road is an abandoned Russian air-force base with rows of stripped out shells of similar appearing buildings. The odd abandoned MiG fighter still can be seen but there is mainly rubble and sad, hoarded up remains of lesser buildings. Somehow this place wasn’t as grim as the present backstreets of Soviet era apartment blocks in UB itself are, as this was history, abandoned and left to crumble - a relic of times past. Not so in UB…

We are now eager to be on the (dirt and rocky) road again and leave tomorrow - our heading west (after driving north for months) is significant for us. We are now not heading away from home but towards London, and that, folks, is really something!

[Photos: stripped out shells of abandoned Russian air-force base apartment building, near Choyr, electric bus, Ulaanbaatar, steel door of current Soviet era apartment block, Ulaanbaatar]

ROAD TO ULAANBAATAR - By Will

The night before we entered Mongolia/Grand Final day, our Chinese guide, Michelle, told us that we should be able to start the border crossing process at 10:00am. This would mean we wouldn’t get to listen to the granny on the internet. But the company that Michelle’s company was hiring for border processing stuffed something up in the paper work [Dad: wrong day at first go, and, as Chinese Customs quickly found, wrong engine number on second set of papers albeit with the correct date of exit from China] so we ended up entering Mongolia at about 7:00pm but got to listen to the granny in the end! And we might even get to watch the replay in Ulaanbaatar (capital of Mongolia)!

So by the time we got into Mongolia the sun was setting. The plan had been to drive 250km after entering Mongolia but that wasn’t an option given the hour so we decided to stay in a hotel in the Mongolian border town of Zamyn-Uud, but we didn’t have any Mongolian money. So we drove into the town centre to find a money changer. We stopped at a large car park, that had a few shops which were full of people, that ended up being a car park to a train station. We walked around for a bit and didn’t find anywhere. But as we were walking back to the car I saw 2 men counting huge wads of Chinese money in their car. They were money changers!

Then we found a hotel, which dad thinks was also a brothel [Dad: what, Will, was the 30,000T we were quoted for? - it wasn’t for a hotel room] but I’m not so sure. For dinner and our first meal in Mongolia we had Korean.

Me and dad both found it strange and a bit uncomfortable at first being without a guide, but both enjoyed the freedom.

The next day we got up early and started driving. As soon as we got out of the town the road turned into numerous dirt tracks. But navigation wasn’t a problem because all we had to do was follow the train tracks to Ulaanbaatar. I don’t think we passed one car that day. We drove through several really small towns on the railway, passed herds of camels, cows, sheep and goats. The land was extremely flat and we only saw 2 trees on that whole day. [Dad: the dirt tracks pass both sides of the railway and at one point we needed to cross the tracks but the crossing was blocked by a gate. Will tried to open it unsuccessfully. At this point a man emerged from a ger (these circular, transportable houses with low conical roof, are everywhere in Mongolia) and opened it. A second man indicated by sign language that we were not to proceed further without entering the ger, which I was comfortable enough doing, and interested in seeing the inside of. This turned out to be a “semi-private” toll, and a “receipt” was issued, change given, hands shaken with both men, and we left on good terms… interesting! In Indon, we had, by the way, needed to deal with similar private tolls, semi-official tolls, or other variations for collecting money from passing traffic, minus the ger of course!]

That night we camped about just off the tracks [Dad: finding any sort of seclusion from a passing camel trains, or the modern equivalent if you insist, in such flat and treeless terrain is nigh on impossible but we pulled well off the tracks, and tried to hide ourselves behind a “hill“ which we convinced each other, existed!]. When we got out of the car it was really windy and really cold. We used the car as a poor wind buffer. Once we got the tent up we cooked dinner and ate it in the car…keeping a close eye on everything, making sure it didn’t blow away. [Dad: a tumbleweed rolled in as we watched, and stopped by our tent.] The tent was almost flat on one side because of the wind. When we got up in the morning, it was -2 degrees C. So we skipped brekky and started driving.

On our second day’s driving there was a lot more traffic…many trucks. We stopped for lunch on the side of one of the tracks. Several trucks passed and people in a few of them waved to us, which was good…it made us feel sort of welcome in Mongolia. We are so used to people staring at us all day, everyday. But when we drove past a small town, the people took one glance and got on with their business or don’t even look at all.

About 200ks out of Ulaanbaatar the tracks turned to one bitumen road…a good bitumen road. Driving into Ulaanbaatar we saw snow! We didn’t expect to see snow for a while so this was a surprise. It was raining that morning but didn’t snow.

During the day it’s fairly warm in Ulaanbaatar and pretty much always sunny. But it gets really cold at night. One thing that neither of us expected was traffic in Ulaanbaatar. It sounds really stupid but I didn’t expect Ulaanbaatar to be a ‘city’. I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t think there would be bad traffic. And, for the first time since leaving Aus, there’s not a billion scooters surrounding the car every time we hit the road!

[Photos are back!: camp site; lunch by the tracks; ger at rail crossing]

100 DAYS by David

[Google/Blogger, is blocked in China so this blog has been loaded by Ros & Hamish. We are not able to view it. No photos are possible at present.]

Over 100 days, Will and I have now driven in seven countries, but still have an amazing ten to go. We have clocked up in excess of 18,000km, with over 5,000km of these in China. We have had two short flights (Will more), shipped the car twice over seas where car ferries don‘t exist but used ferries six times where they do, stayed in more ‘cold water’ (basic) hotels than we care to remember, have had too many uninspiring meals (breakfast, lunch and dinner in Indonesia, for weeks on end comprised rice and chicken, because we could see no other) but eaten wonderfully rich and varied meals in China (ever tried wild bees, fried and lightly salted?).

We have travelled in hot, sticky weather for months on end and comfortably lived in a T-shirt, or two but, at last, we have started to notice a change in the air. We have driven through mist and cloud and fog, and carefully negotiated extraordinarily atmospheric thunder storms which have flooded the roads, brought down trees and caused traffic chaos at times. We have been caught out in rain but have mainly suffered the consequential power failures in hotels, internet cafés or roadside restaurants we have used. In northern China we have driven for days on end in a hazy fug of what appears to be bad pollution - visibility even over short distances was affected, both in city and country, and the sun unseen for almost a thousand kilometres…

We have had good roads to drive on but suffered thousands of kilometres of bad roads, some head shakingly bad at times. We have hit numerous unannounced pot holes but are now well beyond feeling regret at every one (just the big ones!) Very occasionally we have seen car swallowing road collapses which we were so very thankful to have avoided. We have laughed at the very bad roads and, at first (in Thailand), expressed disbelief at our fortune with very good ones. We’ve been slowed almost to a stop innumerable times by very slow moving cars, tractors of various hues and overloaded, labouring trucks, but patiently awaited the opportunity to pass, which always comes. We’ve avoided so many farm animals but continue to be wary at their unexpected wanderings. We’ve both been quietly angered by the stupidity of unseeing drivers we have had to pull up alarmingly behind as they lunge into our road space from one side. In Chinese cities and towns we continue to be so careful as vehicles come at us from all directions. We have been amazed by the aggression of Javanese bus drivers (followed closely I might add by Chinese bus and taxi drivers). We have come to accept as normal the suicidal passing techniques of drivers in both countries. We have seen the results of crashes too many times, although considering the distance we have travelled, these have been remarkably few in total. We undoubtedly have become more careful and tolerant drivers.

We have been inspired by breathtaking mountain scenery in Flores and in Guan Lin, here in China, but have been bored for days and weeks on end by the monotony of so many of the roads and villages, particularly in Java and Sumatra that we have fleetingly driven through. We have seen many wonderful fragments of history and stayed in a number of ancient old cities, but none so extraordinary as the old town of Pingyao in the north of China. Much of this UNESCO listed town appears as it would have centuries ago, but remains lived in and vibrant - a wonderful achievement.

We have listened to innumerable hours of great and some not so great music provided by our trusty iPods but at other times have driven for long periods with no music being played and little or nothing being said, or wanting to be said. We have welcomed the routine and reassuring diesel rattle and hum of the car we have come to depend on so much, but have become super sensitive to any change in the way it sounds or feels or smells.

We have had many moments of shared laughter and the occasional tear, at least on my part. We have enjoyed, and been annoyed by each other’s company but truly, have come to trust and become very dependent on each other, more than I, and probably Will, ever considered possible before. We have come to realise that neither of us can make this uncertain journey without the other.

More than anything, however, we have been treated well by so many people in every country we have passed through. Apart from the Indonesian businessman on a ferry crossing between Bali and Java, who twice said he wanted to buy our car, the vast majority of the people we have had cause to speak to, spend time with, or to ask for assistance from, were probably poor in monetary terms but gave freely in other ways. In Indonesia we have been guided on our way by locals in cars and on motorbikes, in Malaysia we were driven to a doctor by Tan, a hotel manager, while in Timor Leste, our real fear of dropping, quite green, into a semi-war zone was displaced by the smiles and welcome provided by two young students, Akito and Oloa, sitting at our waterside concrete table, spending time talking to us, complete strangers. I have however on so many occasions wondered how these same people would be welcomed were they in our shoes, in our city and in our country…

In Indonesia we were frustrated many times by road signage, which, where it existed at all, most often looked only to the next town, and not to the large city beyond which was shown on our maps. We have found more broadly that people themselves tend not to look much beyond their local towns or villages, but we have come to realise that, for us, travelling as we are, the world is not so small but instead grand in scale and it is only the aeroplane and digital communications that make it appear otherwise. While we have used both, the scale and magnitude of our extraordinary journey remains, at times, daunting. Yet, while we still have a very long way to go, as we leave each country and enter the next, we can‘t help smiling at each other and being amazed by where we are what we are doing. Our adventure continues…