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]
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