Motorhome Trip to Russia

August-September 2009
Preface
We hope that this account of our trip may be of interest and use to others considering the same thing
or something similar. Because there is very little information on the net from previous motorhome
trippers in eastern Europe we thought it would be a way of putting something back in return for all the
snippets of information we have picked up from others experiences at different times and different
places.
For general information and possible tips the first ten pages are best. The later day to day journal is
more useful for the flavour of the trip and if you want an insight into our interests and views!
We hope you enjoy and perhaps learn something useful.

Introduction
The idea of visiting Russia in our motorhome had been germinating in my (HP) mind for some time. I
had last visited back in 1971 when I led a youth group to visit Riga, Leningrad and Moscow. My

memories of that visit were dim and I knew, like everyone else, that big changes had happened since! I
was curious to see how new Russia was shaping.
Jill had nodded agreement to the idea when first mooted a couple of years ago but then in the autumn
of 2008 she became quite enthusiastic and we agreed we would go for it in 2009.
That decision led to a huge amount of planning. There were the practical questions of the
roadworthiness of the vehicle and how we would survive without any organised campsites. What
would we do about water, waste disposal, night-time stopovers, etc.? How would the vehicle stand up
to the notoriously bad roads? What arrangements could be possible for breakdowns and road traffic
accidents? Finally, how would we deal with the bureaucracy and the police without having any
Russian?
Research, inevitably nowadays, began with the internet and here a number of sources came into play:
Motorhome Facts, a brilliant site with thousands of motorhome users always ready to help; Way To
Russia and Real Russia, both of which provide access to all sorts of information and advice; and
general searching about for oddments of information this even included clips on YouTube, found by
typing in Russian Police.
Finally, there was the question of language. The Cyrillic alphabet is the biggest obstacle but I had had
some sort of preparation for this not only from an abortive attempt forty years ago but also from more
recent attempts to pick up some Greek. The biggest stroke of luck was that an evening class in
Russian was being put on in the local college at Enderby, in early 2009, led by a Russian woman, Irina
Penter. This course attracted half a dozen of us with various reasons for wanting to learn a bit of
Russian two mad bikers doing a world tour, a charity organiser working with orphans in Ukraine, an
executive who needed it for his work and a chap who wanted to be able to converse more easily with
the family of his Ukrainian wife.
This was augmented with the purchase of a Beginners Russian course and a BBC phrase book which
allowed the acquisition of a few essential phrases and the ability to read signs.
Attendance on this course ran parallel with all the other preparation that needed to be done and for
many months, it seemed, there was little spare time as I squeezed all this in alongside various other
commitments. Jill was preoccupied with her part-time job and voluntary commitments.
Although, in retrospect, it seems that we had covered most angles it has to be said that there were still
one or two uncertainties when we finally set off on Thursday 13th August 2009.

First, though, more on the planning stage.

The Vehicle
We acquired our Hymer B564 in January 2006 as a substitute for buying a second home on a Greek
island. That plan fell through after several years of looking, the last part of which we actually did in a
three-week trip to Evvia in a hired motorhome. That was a story in itself, and, in hindsight, was a little
bold on our part. While I had driven a VW camper to Italy back in 1980, Jill had only experienced the
joys of camping under canvas. Despite one or two minor mishaps on that trip we fell in love with the
motorhoming way of life and abandoned the idea of a Greek island second home for a mobile one.
By pure chance we had rented the ideal (for us) motorhome solution the Hymer B564. This is
relatively small, just slightly over 6 metres long, 3 metres high and 2.25 metres wide, allowing you to
go to most places that an ordinary car can. It is also fully self-contained with kitchenette, toilet and
shower. It has provision for two smallish double beds we have one each and they are both very
comfortable. When we started looking to buy we found one almost straightaway only two years old, a
left-hand drive private import. We added a solar panel immediately to provide a constant charge for the
leisure battery and got rid of a motorbike carrier from the back. So equipped, we are able to go for
three days and nights without needing to refill the fresh water tank or empty the wastes. This allows for
wild camping.
The gas compartment is big enough for two 11kg propane tanks and these provide enough gas for six
to eight weeks as long as you dont use it to provide central heating i.e. just for moderate cooking,
and heating water. Despite warnings about Russias early winters we actually found that we had almost
continuous warm sunny weather throughout the trip meeting only a few thunderstorms and, later in
the trip, coldish nights coming back through Europe.
Over the three years following our buying the Hymer, we toured Ireland, Morocco, Norway and
Sweden, Scotland and the Outer Hebrides, and Italy. Each of these trips took place over three-week
spells, languages were never a serious problem and there was often a campsite to provide the
essentials but we also got used to stopping over on beaches, farm tracks and any other scrap of
waste land we could find, free of charge. When added to our trip to Greece all this provided us with
confidence in the vehicle and a realisation that we could solve most problems as they arose.

Russia was a different kettle of fish, being planned to last six to seven weeks, over very bad roads and
without the back-up of campsite facilities. Few had apparently preceded us so there werent many
travellers tales to draw on. The few who had done it had generally gone with groups, in convoy, and
with interpreters and masses of spares and back-up. We were going alone and so had to have worked
out how to cope with the most common problems on our own or with anything we could put in place.
For short we will refer to the Hymer as the van (we actually call her Trudi but this might confuse the
casual reader!).
The van has been regularly serviced and is relatively low mileage currently just 56,000km (the
speedo is in kilometres and so are distances on the continent, so that is what we will stick with). But
we decided to pre-empt common problems by putting two new tyres on the front end and replacing the
fan belt and timing belts. The fifth gear (a notorious problem with Fiat Ducato-based motorhomes) had
been replaced the previous year, in Italy, and the engine battery was replaced in 2008.
We then acquired a heavy-duty tow rope and heavy-duty jump leads.
As far as spares went we had the usual spare lamp kit, a spare fuel filter (on advice that diesel in
Russia was not well refined though now we realise that only refers to the cheap truck diesel which we
avoided), the spare fan belt and one of the old tyres in addition to the spare wheel.
Our garden spade was also taken to dig holes for the toilet waste and to dig us out of soft ground, if
necessary. Other tools included a fairly comprehensive kit of spanners and most things needed to
maintain a house on wheels!
Our annual van insurance with Safeguard (through Swinton) provides roadside recovery from the AA,
working in partnership with other motoring organisations on the continent. However, this does not
extend to Ukraine or Russia so we had to hunt down some breakdown cover for those countries.
Fortunately we were able to do so, with the RAC, but this came with caveats that the cover applies
only west of the Urals and that it might not be able to respond effectively even there. It is also limited to
vehicles of maximum permissible gross weight of 3.5 tonnes.
But what would happen if we broke down in some remote place and couldnt get any help through the
RAC cover? Our back-up system was to be twofold, a 3G mobile phone and a laptop computer with a
BT mobile internet dongle. In theory this would allow us to post a help request on the Motorhome Facts
forum where moderators and willing helpers are on line almost 24/7. In the event neither was used
and there was only 3G cover available around Moscow, St Petersburg and Volgograd and the BT

dongle didnt work outside the UK because Id forgotten about roaming restrictions! The consolation
was that there are a huge number of vehicle breakdowns in western Russia and consequently a
huge number of vehicle repair shops. We were never far from a source of help that could be accessed
with only a few words of Russian.
As a result of all this planning we thought that as far as the van was concerned we had most angles
covered as best we could for a solo trip. We also put our faith in the reliability of the Fiat Ducato
chassis. We dont think we were mistaken despite the awful roads encountered, especially in
Ukraine, the van just kept plugging along, rocked, rolled and shaken, but never stopped. This was no
mean feat when we were passing everyday literally dozens of broken down vehicles ranging from
Mercedes, through articulated Volvo HGVs to Ladas. The most common breakdowns seemed to be
wheel, tyre and suspension related punctures, broken suspensions, wheels parting company with
the vehicle, etc. In one case we even saw the wheel bogie from a trailer truck completely separated
from the trailer, with that lying in a ditch by the side of the road and the driver sitting on the roadside
holding his head.

The Paperwork
The EU is a wonderful thing. It allows EU citizens to travel throughout the United States of Europe
without ever having to obtain a visa or show a passport. Russia is different! They have an extensive
system of monitoring of peoples movements into, out of and around the country.
You need a visa to get in but in order to get one you need an invitation from someone in Russia.
Nowadays the invitations are easily obtained by paying a fee to an agency. This is what we did with
Real Russia. They then process the visa application, again for a fee, and return the passports with
visas inside.
But visas are restrictive in that the ordinary tourist visa is limited to 30 days. I had calculated that to do
the trip we wanted all the way to Yekaterinburg just over the Urals we would need every one of
those days with no time to spare. Just one breakdown or bureaucratic hold-up and we would be done
for. The worst thing, we kept being told, was to overstay your visa, for then the full force of Russian
immigration controls comes down on your head. Another common tip was to expect everything to take
longer in Russia than you would normally expect in western Europe roads are slower, the
bureaucracy slower and more complex, queues to get into tourist attractions are longer, it takes longer
to understand what signs are saying, etc., etc.

One solution would be a business visa that provides entry for three months but for that you need a
business invitation or proof that you are on an employers business. We tried to get two motorhome
journals to commission a free tour report from us so that we could justify a business application
without risk of being tripped up again by the bureaucrats but both refused (thanks for nothing Camping
and Caravanning magazine and Caravan Club magazine, subscriptions not renewed). While some say
the risk of being caught out is small it had to be added to the risk of having a breakdown just out of
reach of the RAC cover, beyond the Urals. This made us opt for the simpler solution a 30-day tourist
visa and a shorter trip, not going to Yekaterinburg or seeing the Urals. A disappointment at the time but
in retrospect probably the sensible solution.
This decided, we paid for the visa and also for its registration. Oh, didnt I mention that? When you get
to Russia you have to register your visa with your place of accommodation (hotel, friends, or business)
within three days of arrival. What is more, if you move around and stay anywhere else for more than
three working days then you have to reregister in your new location! Once again, Real Russia came to
the rescue another fee was paid and we were able to get the visas registered at their St Petersburg
office soon after our arrival. Now as we were planning to move around a lot and not stay anywhere
else for more than three nights we wondered about the three-day rule. It turns out that there is this
loophole in the system as nobody ever tours Russia in a motorhome they havent yet worked out how
to keep tabs on those few who do. There are pros as well cons of being the pioneers! When we finally
left Russia three weeks after arriving the emigration officer examined our passports and registration
slip and was puzzled why we had registered in Pete (St Petersburg) yet were exiting to Crimea from
Kavkaz in southeast Russia. Jill had cleverly pre-empted the questions by drawing up a complete
schedule of where we had been and where we stayed in the interim with nowheshowing more than
three nights. He seemed most impressed with our efficiency and foresight!
There are two more pieces of paperwork for the motorhomer (or anyone else taking a vehicle in). The
first is that you need a temporary import certificate for the vehicle. Prior research had indicated that
these certificates (another fee, paid at the border) were only valid for ten days and that you had to
extend it at another office in Pete or Moscow before the ten days were up. However, a special plea to
the customs officer at the FinnishRussian border got us a certificate valid for two months!
The final piece of the jigsaw was insurance. British motor insurers do not yet provide green card cover
for Russia or Ukraine (or Belorussia or Moldova) and third party cover is a compulsory requirement, so
you have to buy that at the borders too (15 days minimum). We had to wait half an hour for the
salesperson to attend to us at the booth but it was asimple enough process costing around 40 (once

we had scouted around for a money changer it is a myth that you can pay for virtually anything in
dollars in Russia!). However, we were keenly aware throughout the non-EU countries that we had only
bought third party cover. Any damage to the van and we would have to pay our own costs. If
comprehensive cover is available we never found out how to get it and fortunately never needed it.
(Interestingly, in buying the insurance we were not asked what type of vehicle it was, only the engine
power in kW, so a motorhome pays the same rate as a big-engine saloon car.)
Just one further point on paperwork. We had been warned many times to have plenty of it and to take
photocopies too so we set up a ring binder with clear plastic envelopes in it and into this went all the
documents we would need along with several that might have been needed, e.g. copies of marriage
certificate, birth certificates, inoculation certificates, etc. This really paid off the investment of time
beforehand and was much admired by others queuing up with us at customs and immigration
counters as they shuffled through their bundles of loose papers! One thing though we never got
away with handing over photocopies of documents, even very convincing colour copies. The originals
were always demanded. The photocopies would have been useful, however, at British embassies in an
emergency.
By the way, we also registered our trip to Russia with the British embassy in Moscow through the FCO
website so they had basic information on file if ever we needed help.

The Route and Navigation

We have several times driven to the continent and found that an afternoon drive down to Dover for an
evening ferry works well. We stop for a fish and chip supper in a car park near the Dover terminal
before an 8pm departure and disembark around 10.30pm in Calais. From there we can get in one or
two hours driving (100-150km) before stopping at an aire for the first night. France and Germany are
wonderful countries with the good sense to provide on motorways in particular free provision for
overnight stops for any road users. You can do this at service areas or at aires de repo which are just
wooded parking areas set back from the roads with basic toilet facilities, drinking water and picnic
tables. They are ideal for motorhomers and long-distance lorry drivers as it is often possible to park far
enough away from the road that with earplugs inserted you can get a good nights sleep without
problems or hassles and completely free. We have to say that we are almost ashamed of the UK in
this respect that services on our motorways are few and far between, and they charge 7-10 for

overnight parking, with no services. Our rest areas are normally lay-bys where it is impossible to rest
as they are so close to the carriageways that the van rocks in the bow-waves of passing HGVs.
From Calais we took a route through bits of France, Belgium and the Netherlands to Berlin and then
northerly through Poland, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia. From there we got a ferry to Helsinki in
Finland and then drove into Russia from the Finnish side. In Russia we went from Pete to Moscow via
Novgorod, then south to Volgograd zigzagging via Suzdal and Tula. From Volgograd (our most easterly
point) we went across to Rostov on Don and Krasnodar before heading south to the Black Sea coast
and then west again to the Kavkaz promontory which sits between the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov.
From Kavkaz we went across the Kerch straits into Crimea (Ukraine), then north-west through
Moldova, back into Ukraine, cutting eastward through Poland to the Slovak and Czech Republics
before entering Germany once again, retracing our steps somewhat to get us back to Calais. It was,
therefore, something of a circular tour.
After having one satnav stolen in Leicester we had invested in a new one from Garmin on the basis
that Garmin was the only provider offering maps of Russia. However, the cost of these was around
100 so we decided to rely on hard-copy map books alone. These were of varying quality and at
several points did not reflect the situation on the ground at all. Although signage in Russia was
reasonably good we were thrown a couple of times by spellings that were different from the Russian in
the maps we had and the Russian practice of signing just the road name rather than where it leads to.
The satnav was fine and even showed some major routes in Poland, the Baltic States and parts of
Russia. However, these latter areas seemed often to be beta releases as the vehicle marker would
often appear moving parallel to the road which was shown as being half a kilometre away! We (Jill!)
only made one serious navigating error (in Crimea) when we were heading for about 45 minutes
towards a town with a name similar to the one we should have been heading for, but werent when
other indicators (position of sun, compass reading, missing landmarks, etc.) told us something was
wrong. Once or twice elsewhere we took the wrong road when signs had been missing or hidden by
foliage or passing HGVs, but nothing to complain of. On two occasions, I think, we drove into one-way
streets the wrong way being preoccupied with looking for direction signs. One just has to be quickwitted and bold, to get out of these situations as they occur (e.g. pulling off a rapid U-turn as three
lanes of traffic stream towards you!).

Stopover spots

Ive already mentioned the French aires which are brilliant and appear about every 20km on French
motorways. These have counterparts in Germany called Rastplatzen and something similar appears
also in other western European countries. Once into the former Soviet bloc states it is a different story.
There are very few campsites but mapmakers have adopted the deceptive practice of placing an
occasional campsite sign (the little wigwam symbol) on their maps when all they mainly indicate is lowcost budget accommodation in run-down huts or absolutely nothing at all. Some former campsites
for internal holidaymaking and formerly owned by trade unions or state enterprises have closed and
are derelict. The (very rare) Motel Camping sign may have indicated camping for tents, and on
reflection we could probably have negotiated overnight stays in these motel car parks.
This means that beyond the Polish border it is largely a matter of wild camping on any patch of land
that looks unused or likely to cause nobody any offence. Obviously, this is only possible with a selfcontained van and a bit of bravado. We only came unstuck once and had a couple of minor skirmishes
with individuals of some apparent authority. In the main our wild camping was very successful and
generally at nil cost, several times in plum locations that even paid campsites wouldnt be able to
match.

Water, Waste & Fuel

Without proper campsites one faces the problems of acquiring fresh water for washing and how to
dispose of both toilet waste and grey water. Bottled water is widely available everywhere in 5 litre
bottles and we used this exclusively for cooking and tea-making. With a full fresh water tank and empty
waste tanks it is possible, in our van, to go for at least three days and nights without worry.
In western Europe, the Baltic States and northern Russia we obtained almost all of our fresh water
from garages (fuel stations) where hosepipes or taps are often visible on the forecourts. Moving south
through Russia and in Ukraine we found this was less often the case and so we had to eke out
supplies once or twice until we made an obvious connection carwashes. It is my guess that after
the traffic police (who are everywhere) carwashes provide the biggest employment sector in eastern
Europe. There are thousands of them. I dont know why there are so many but the one thing they all
have in common is a plentiful supply of fresh water and we soon got the hang of explaining what we
were after and being given it without problems. A few roubles and a gift of fruit tea bags or a can of
beer was all that was required.

As regards toilet waste there were several solutions. One method was to tip it down the toilet in
garages or at aires (best late at night). The other main method was to dig a hole in the ground,
normally in a wood and away from watercourses, and dump it in to be buried with the soil removed
from the hole. This method was preferred. We use a biodegradable fluid so there is no harmful
chemical component.
Often the most problematic was the grey water tank as even with the use of a tank freshener the waste
does tend to smell absolutely foul after a few days of brewing up in the tank. Remember this is only
washing-up water and shower water but it produces a pungent pong nevertheless. After a few goes we
realised the best approach was to dump this little and often to shorten the brewing period and
minimise the time taken and smell left hanging around. Disposal sites included car park drains,
roadside verges and field edges. To get maximum evacuation it is necessary, in our van, to park
pointing slightly uphill and leaning to the left. But once the tank is emptied, and with less than a full
tank of water and fuel, the van becomes easier to drive as there is less wallowing with the weight and
shifting load.

Fuel
Our van is a diesel. One or two comments on websites had made us fear that we might find ourselves
running short of fuel when miles away from a fuel station, especially in Russia, so we had bought three
fuel containers that we filled up before leaving. This meant we drove almost the whole trip with three
fuel containers (20-litre, 10-litre and 5litre) full of diesel in the hold. And it was totally unnecessary.
While many of them appear new (so website information may have been more accurate five years
ago), there is now an abundance of petrol stations in Russia and elsewhere in eastern Europe. When
roads got particularly bad in Russia we adopted the practice of only taking on half a tank as this made
driving easier with less weight hitting the bumps. We knew there would always be a fuel station a few
kilometres down the road and the only time this began to look questionable was on the Black Sea
coast where they are further apart.
Nevertheless, we did not actually use the on-board fuel reserves until towards the end of the trip to
lighten the load for the return home. I would say it is more important to carry spare fuel in the UK
especially on our poorly serviced motorways, than it is in eastern Europe.
In Russia there are often two grades of diesel available at fuel stops. The cheaper one of these is a
truck diesel that many HGVs use, spewing out thick black smoke as a result, especially under load.
Even the more expensive one costs only 35p a litre so there is no need to use the dirty one.

One quirky thing about much of Russia (less so in the north nowadays) is that you pay for your fuel
before the pump can start up. This obviously reduces the risk of people doing a runner without paying
but it does mean you need to have a good idea of the capacity left in your tank before buying. We
knew of the system ahead of going and so had prepared a series of photos of the fuel gauge as a
guide though the warning we were given, that the pumps keep going until the amount bought is fully
delivered regardless of whether it is overflowing on the forecourt, seems to have been a leg-pull! You
can control the flow just as you do here.
One disconcerting thing about many eastern European fuel stops is that you cannot go into the shop to
pay but have to do so through a little flap on the front of the kiosk. When this is combined, as it often
is, with mirror glazing that prevents you seeing the cashier it is difficult to see whether the place is
open at all and difficult to communicate with someone you cannot see especially when your Russian
is not that good and you might be hoping to use a bit of sign language and facial expression to get
your message across. On one occasion, with apparently dead pumps and nobody else on the
forecourt, I was turning to get back into the van to leave when somebody tapped on the window to
alert me to their presence.

Security
One of the things you will be assailed with, if you tell people you are going to Russia (especially in a
motorhome), is warnings about security. We were told to beware of muggers, scammers and gypsies
with dozens of marauding children, of corrupt police and bent border officials. Consequently we took a
number of steps to protect ourselves, including hiding cash in several places around the van, buying
money-belts, having dummy wallets and purses (to hand over to muggers), dummy passports (old
ones placed in covers to look new), a panic alarm and a chair leg cosh in the wardrobe!
In practice we found that we felt absolutely no fear when walking around in any of the cities we visited.
Only in Moscow, near the hotel where we parked up, did there seem to be a number of characters of
the streetlife variety, drinking and being loud. But there are huge numbers of people in uniform in
Russia traffic cops, militsia, OMON security, private security, building security staff, soldiers, etc. You
never seem to be far from someone in uniform so this must be quite a disincentive to muggers. We
never saw any gypsies with or without kids in tow and the only scammers we saw were on the
roadside Ill mention that later. We did come across dodgy traffic cops and bent border guards but
not in Russia. More on those later.

Wild camping, wherever you do it, has an element of anxiety attached as you could be a soft target for
thieves, carjackers and rapists. It does not offer the psychological comfort of being inside an organised
campsite with security barriers, etc. But then neither does it have the restrictions on where exactly you
park up, no limitations on orientation of your van, no serried ranks of motorhome and caravan
neighbours to spoil the view and no fees to pay. On balance, and after getting used to it and having
very few difficult moments and plenty of exceptional spots, weve come to prefer it. And when there is
no alternative, as in most of Russia and eastern Europe, it is definitely the best thing to do!

Food & Weather

We took enough food for 25 of the 45 evening meals we would need. This was all food that we could
prepare on the gas hob: knowing that we were unlikely to find more than the odd campsite with
electricity we took the microwave out of the van before we left to reduce weight and increase storage.
Planned meals were fry-ups, pasta with salmon, tuna or Bolognese sauce, and a lamb casserole with
rice. We were expecting unrealistically as it turned out to eat out half the time. In the event, with so
much wild camping and overnight stays in car parks, we only had six or seven meals out. With
hindsight it would have been better to take food for at least 35 meals, and more cheese and ham for
sandwiches. It was easy enough to pick up bread, milk (fresh, UHT or sterilised), pasta, fruit and
vegetables; impossible to find fresh or unsweetened cream (soured cream, smetana, only), breakfast
cereals, baked beans, and British-style ham and sausages; and difficult to find cheddar-type cheese
and bacon.

Weather
Our trip lasted from mid-August to the end of September 2009, about six-and-a-half weeks. We
checked out guidebooks and the internet about weather patterns and listened to the advice of friends
and acquaintances. As a result we anticipated all sorts of weather but with a particular concern for the
alleged early onset of autumn/winter in Russia, with cold and frosts. We took a full range of clothing!
Were we just lucky or were these suggestions just based on prejudices and faint memories of the
outcomes of Napoleons and Hitlers adventures?
The fact is that we enjoyed incredibly good weather throughout most of the trip. Most days were sunny,
warm and bright. Some were cloudy but still mild and just a few consisted of rain. Two or three days
included summer storms of heavy rain but these soon passed and the sun was out again. We found

that a cagoule and an umbrella were useful precautions against getting caught out but never needed
the heavy-duty protection of waterproof anoraks and thick jumpers.
When setting off for a days city sightseeing in the cool of the morning we would be wearing jumpers
and jackets but generally a few hours later these would be stowed in backpacks, and teeshirts and
summer tops were all that was needed. Likewise when driving.
Only towards the end of the trip, coming back through Europe, did we put the central heating on for
short periods in mornings and evenings.

The Journey Day By Day

Wed not done it systematically before but this time we decided to make a determined effort to make
notes of each days events so as to be able to write up this journal afterwards. The remaining pages
are the result.

Day 1: Thursday 13th August

Left Desford at 1.30pm, half an hour later than our planned time, but with a fairly easy run and fair
weather even the usual congestion at the Dartford bridge crossing didnt delay us very much so we
arrived at our usual Dover car park in good time for our fish and chip supper. Then to the terminal on
time for checking in. Seemed everyone else did the same and the ferry was able to depart at 7.30pm,
15 minutes ahead of schedule. An easy crossing and disembarked at 9.45pm French time. By
10.35pm we had entered Belgium and reached the Jabbeke services on the A10/E40 for our first
overnight stop at 11.05pm. Earplugs were needed but with these we got a good nights sleep. (NB. On
our 2010 trip to Turkey we stopped again at Jabbeke but were subject, along with two other vans, to
break-in attempts during the night.)

Day 2: Friday 14th August

By morning the toilet facilities at Jabbeke were showing the effects of the multinational force of
truckers that passes through every night! Good job we have on-board facilities. Our usual breakfast of
cereal, tea, bread and jam and were on our way by 8.25am for a good long day of driving. Lunch on
board of sandwiches and tea, followed by a snooze for the driver (12.40-14.00). We ran into
congestion on the A2 a road to be avoided in future if possible. But other than this, plain sailing into

Germany and a rest stop about 100km short of Berlin. Plenty of motorhomes on the roads but only one
GB plate seen so far (a Hymer Camp) and they didnt stop to chat.
Weve passed thousands of hectares of maize/sweetcorn growing in Belgium with this gradually giving
way to wheat in Germany. The landscape is similar to much of England but with more trees. Two
overtakers gave us blasts on their horns, presumably due to the GB plate. Weve had this a few times
before on the continent, especially in Italy, and never know whether it is a sign of friendship or hostility.
Checks around the vehicle at subsequent stops show they werent hooting to warn us of bits falling off!
The rastplatz stopover was good and dark, giving us a good view of the night sky complete with the
Milky Way and a prominent shooting star fantastic!
And so to bed or not! Turned on a tap and all the lights went out, with the leisure battery warning light
illuminated on the instrument panel! Now that should not have happened the battery had been
charging for days through the solar panel on the roof and we hadnt used much electricity. We turn to
torches to get us through the night.

Day 3: Saturday 15th August

By morning, another sunny one, the battery is back up to strength. Nevertheless, I try to get at it (under
the passenger seat) but find the Allen bolts securing the seat have been worn round, probably by the
solar panel fitter at A. B. Butts three years before! Id like to change the battery just in case but as I
cant shift the bolts we resolve just to be careful about using leccy when the engine isnt running and
when the sun is down. (We have no more trouble from it for the duration, phew!)
We set off at 09.10 and get to Berlin about an hour later, and seek out the campsite indicated by one of
our site books. The satnav takes us on a tortuous suburban route and then down a narrow windy lane
and sure enough we find a campsite but it has none of the trappings of a commercial touring site. The
caravans inside all look very well established and there is no reception in sight. People entering and
leaving the site show no interest in us. As were blocking the road we drive for another kilometre and
find derelict campsite buildings and an open park area the real (former) campsite. Although its
tempting to just pull in there were not too sure about the security aspects and so instead drive back
towards the built-up area to look for a parking spot near to a U-Bahn station. We find one about 20
minutes later and park up asking a couple of locals if well be alright there for the day. This confirmed
we get ready for a whistle-stop tour of Berlin. The U-Bahn station is nearby (it turns out to be

Wannsee, the location of the Nazi final solution conference in 1942) and it isnt long before we
emerge in the centre of things at the famous Friedrichstrasse station close to the line of the old wall.
From here we are soon on Unter den Linden amidst throngs of people there to see a walking race
based around the Brandenburg Gate.

A stop in a bookshop is interesting as there are a number of books in English as well as a little gem in
several languages that tells the story of the famous photo of Soviet Red Army soldiers erecting the
hammer and sickle over the Reichstag in 1945. It was not all it seemed as there are several versions
of the photo in circulation and a murky story of image-doctoring and re-enactments much like the
story of the US flag-raising on Okinawa.
Its a wonderful summer atmosphere with crowds, street vendors and odd people all out to have a
good time. The mood of the area is cosmopolitan more French than German, relaxed and
welcoming. Its a great time to see Unter den Linden, though when we near the Brandenburg Gate we
realise the race barriers prevent free access.
Nevertheless we take some photos and then join the queues at an outside caf selling Berliner
sausages and the like. Two of these bought, with chips, and a couple of demis from the adjacent bar
and we enjoy a hearty lunch on the picnic tables round the back. Brilliant start to the holiday proper.
After lunch its a five-minute walk to the Reichstag for more photos (we decide against queuing to see
Norman Fosters glass dome from the inside) and then we potter off to the Pergamon Museum. The
Collection of Classical Antiquities is not to be missed. The Pergamon Altar is a wonder, amazing both
in size and artistry. Further on are exceptional examples of statues and other artefacts, including a
beautiful, ornate sarcophagus, evidence of the opulence of the classical era. Then the vast Gate of
Miletus (2nd century AD, Roman); and finally into the Museum of Near Eastern Antiquities and the
stunning cobalt blue and ochre of the Ishtar Gate, a huge entrance with processional way (Babylon,
reign of Nebuchadnezzar II, 604-562 BC).

From the museum we drift down a nearby street market full of tourist tat and GDR memorabilia. We
buy nothing. By this time we have decided there is not much more to see in Berlin and as we didnt find
a suitable place to stay over anyway decide we will leave Berlin that evening and find a rest stop on the
road. So we did Berlin to our satisfaction in one afternoon! (Yes, we know there must be more to it
mustnt there?)
We overrule Sally Satnav and take a northerly route away from Berlin on the A10, finding another
services rest area for the overnight stop. It has to be repeated: what a superb idea these rest areas are
on French and German motorways compared to pathetic UK service areas that are few and far
between, intensively used and run by monopolies for profit, even charging for noisy overnight stops.
Why oh why did Labour surrender to the Thatcherite nonsense that the profit making private sector
must be the provider of public services? We need public goods provided through taxation starting
with decent motorway rest areas without petrol stations or McDonalds!
As usual we end the day with Scrabble, some wine and nibbles and a few CDs. Tonights lullabies are
sung by Norah Jones.

Day 4: Sunday 16th August

We are up early and resolve that well make an early start. No fresh water point to fill up but grey water
dumped down a drain on the service area and were on the road at 08.12! Its not that far to the Polish
border but were in for a bit of a surprise, and a foretaste of what is to come, when were about 40km
from Szecin. The surface on our carriageway of the 10/E28 suddenly deteriorates (the other side has
recently been resurfaced) and we are given a bone-shaking juddering ride for about 4km over a
surface that seems just like very badly laid concrete. Have to slow right down to make it bearable but
even so it is very, very bad, the whole van shakes and vibrates violently.
Its another beautiful sunny day and by lunchtime its baking hot at 29 degrees. Were over the border
and into Poland now and while the trunk roads are in reasonable condition the roads in the first two
towns we pass through are very rough, with big ruts and potholes. The countryside is attractive with
pine forests and fields but its not like the south that we saw a lot of a couple of years ago. Whereas
there you find the countryside dotted with farmsteads, here the farming seems on a bigger scale with
large fields and houses collected together in villages. Perhaps this area was collectivised or subject to
state farming before the fall? The fields are large and generally put to wheat with beetroot, sweetcorn
and other vegetables in between. There are gentle hills and a few lakes along the way.

We manage to pick up some water at a BP petrol station on the A10 between Starygard and
Bydgoszcz. Its a relief because we were on our last few drops. At Bydgoszcz we try to shop in a Netto
store but they take only cash and we have no zlotys. The cash machine outside isnt working so we
move on to a Polo market in the next town it accepts plastic so we stock up a bit.
Progress is limited today not so much by bad roads as by speed limits (90 kph max), numerous
villages (40 kph max) and cameras all along the way. You just get up a decent speed and then you
have to change down again very tiring. East of Szezecin the road is single carriageway and a heavy
traffic stream has built up.
Around 6.30pm we turn off the E261 just before Grudziad and look for a stopover spot. We find a rarely
used track under some apple trees between some recently harvested wheat fields just outside the
village of Gruczno. The stubble is illuminated gold as the sun goes down fabulous! After a tuna and
pasta dinner we walk into the nearby village to have a look round. There are a few teenagers strolling
the main street and then we find a bar called Night Club. Jill is reluctant (just washed her hair and its
gone frizzy) but after persuasion she agrees we should try for a beer if they take euros as we have
no zlotys.

Inside a dozen men appear well oiled and we arouse some interest
as we go in. Theres a woman behind the bar who we try to communicate with but it proves impossible.
She indicates to us to hold on and she disappears to return with Bob a few minutes later. Bob is a
Pole but he speaks reasonably good English which is not surprising as he is a motor mechanic just
home for a few weeks from his workplace in Burton on Trent! We explain our problem to him, that we
want two beers but have no zlotys, and he promptly orders the beers. We assume theyll be on him but
when the woman produces the beer Bob looks to us to pay! We again show we have only euros and
both now express surprise! Bob tells her we have no zlotys and I tell her to take 5 euros, about twice
what the beers would cost, and she does so though still bemused. At least everyone seems happy and
we chat for over an hour with Bob about everything under the sun including Poles, English, Pakistanis,
Muslims and Russians. At one point a young man joins us and declares himself a Man U supporter
and I say I support Liverpool. We have a laugh about the prospects of each team in the coming
season with the player changes that have affected Man U and the absence of any new big names at

Liverpool. Bob warns us about Russia its a wild country he says, before admitting that he has never
been but his brother has and he has told him all about it.
Several times we are interrupted by drunken elderly Poles who insist on shaking hands. One of these
refuses to loosen his grip, appearing to need my support to stay upright. Finally he lets go and then
staggers backwards in a daze and at an angle before being saved from crashing into the stairs by
another drunk who catches him as he falls.
At the end of the evening Bob asks for our address and as he seems like a decent chap we hand it
over enthusing at seeing him again once we get back. He compliments Jill on her youthful looks, not
believing she is 63, and then, after prompting, says the same about me! We stroll back to the van
under the stars, enjoying the warmth of a pleasant evening followed by a restful night.

Day 5: Monday 17th August

After a hazy start with a little cloud around we have another

beautiful sunny morning. We get on the road early again, at 08.20.
East of Grudziadz the road deteriorates and our speed is limited to 50 kph. They are working on it in
patches. We stop for a break on a patch of rough ground in front of a couple of shops. As we arrive I
notice a glass fibre model of a stork in a nest atop a telegraph pole by the car park. I chuckle at the
local humour and think no more of it until a few minutes later when it takes flight and I realise that it
had been a live one all along! Good photo opportunity missed.
After the break we pass through the seaside resort of Ilawa, with its pink wedding cake town hall and a
useful Lidl supermarket. Alcohol is processed through a separate till but they take cards so were OK.
A new bypass has been built around the next town, Olsztyn, and the satnav map does not yet have it
the maps have had less relevance for some time to what is actually present on the ground. We take
the scenic route by mistake. East of Olsztyn theres a stretch of new road all too brief and then
back to the rough surface we are becoming used to.

At Mikstajki, on the 16, we enter the lake district of northern Poland grand hotels, signs to what
appear to be posh campsites and a bright and colourful resort with the streets thronged with families
on their hols.

The next 300km of route 16 is a succession of good and bad

surfaces about one-third bad, some of it very bad, bumpy and narrow too. Elk is a pleasant spacious
town on a pretty river of the same name and is one of several resort towns on the 16 with campsites
(that we have no intention of using), lakes, boating and water sports. During this part of the trip we
pass around ten motorhomes, German and Polish, with most giving the wave.
Beyond Elk we look for a place to stay, turning off the main road and driving a few km into the
countryside. We find an open field, recently harvested, and pull in. There are some farmhouses in the
distance but theres no way of knowing if this is their field so we just settle in and hope for the best.
Then I spot a chap wandering aimlessly around the next field so go and have a word. It turns out he is
searching for frogs. No shared language but with gestures and sign language I make myself

understood that we want to stay for eine Nacht and he nods and we shake hands.

suggest he accept a beer from us and he agrees. This seals the deal and we are left in peace and
again in great surroundings. A short while later we notice a stork in the field and take far too many
photos of it as it wanders closer and closer to us this one too looking for frogs to eat. Apparently
these small frogs eventually grow into giants and that explains the farmers interest. The bird book tells
us that storks are not particularly wary of humans and commonly breed close to human habitations
(unlike the forest dwelling black stork).
Were five nights in and have not yet paid any campsite fees!

Day 6: Tuesday 18th August

The run of good weather has broken at last as we awake to clouds and a downpour. Its a shame but
you have to take the rough with the smooth. Another early start, 08.00. We dump the grey water down
the bank alongside the country road not far from where we camped no harm to anyone.
In Kalinovo, a small town on the 16 in Poland, we find a small petrol station with a water tap on show
and we stop and ask if we can fill up. The Polish proprietor is very friendly and moves other vehicles
out of our way. The find was lucky as we had used three quarters of the previous tank-full in just two
days. We give the bloke in the petrol station a beer and a pack of fruit tea as thanks smiles and
farewells.
We lose the time advantage as we enter a new time zone in Lithuania. We drive straight through the
booths and worry that we should have bought a vignette - but live dangerously is our motto on this trip!
Not far into Lithuania and we stop at a petrol station to see if there are signs about vignettes none
spotted. It has a huge parking area at the rear and I take the opportunity to sneak down a grassy
wooded slope at the back end to dig a hole and dump the cassette waste. Others had been there
before me using a slightly more natural process of waste disposal! Were the toilets just too far away?
(Or were they as grim as many in this part of the world squatters and rarely cleaned?)

The weather brightens as the morning progresses and we

move further east but the day is punctuated by heavy showers. We decide to have a break from driving
and pull off the main road into a small village with an old church and a village green populated by large
recently carved wooden totem poles though these are of religious figures.
Lithuania seems generally poorer than Poland. Houses and villages along the way are not as well
tended, presenting a grey hotchpotch of single-storey dwellings with steep corrugated iron roofs.
Occasionally a roof will be painted bright red to cheer things up. Trees and crosses everywhere. The
roads are not too bad but are spoilt by ruts much of the time. A strong westerly wind affects us a bit as
we cross the plains towards Latvia and we cross the border without noticing it.

About 100km east of Riga we pick up a young Finnish hitchhiker on his way home at the end of a
round-Europe tour. He has good English and we share experiences. He aims to be a graphic designer
and is to start college to gain a qualification. We drop him at the turn for the beach resort of Jurmala,
about 25km short of Riga, at a big intersection so he should be OK.
As we enter Jurmala we are going too fast to understand what all the signs and pay-booths are for on
the side of the road. They seem to be selling passes. Before you know it we are driving past no-entry
signs with something else written in Latvian but theres plenty of traffic going through so we just follow
on. We guess later that it must have been a car tax that everyone entering the area is required to pay
and the no-entry signs may have been for HGVs as there are none on the roads now. There are no
signs in English to explain and there cant be that many British tourists that speak Latvian!
We can find no sign of a Jurmala resort centre nor the sea, which is separated from us by dense
woods, but we follow signs for a campsite that we eventually locate in the trees near the beach. We
investigate but with full and empty tanks we feel no compulsion to use the site. A restaurant proves to
have little of interest and instead we pootle around a bit until we find a street in Ragaciems that takes
us down to an undeveloped part of the beach with a nice sloping hard standing just behind some
trees right on the back of the beach. Thats lucky and by this time it is dusk so we decide to make it
do. A slope is always good, as long as not too steep, as it obviates the need to use our ramps to level
the van up and that allows for a quick getaway should that prove necessary!
HP cooks: tinned salmon with fried onions, courgettes, tagliatelle and double cream. A glass of Pinot
Grigio and all is well with the world until theres a knock on the door, that is! Its 11pm and were
halfway through Scrabble. Its a chap in a navy blue jumper with some sort of insignia on it. He
conveys to us that it is nie parkeren where we are and we must move on. H tries a few words of
Russian but it is to no avail although at one point it does seem to be hinted that a payment of 50 lats
(70) would solve the problem. I explain we have no lats so he says that we must go which we do,
after packing things away. Good job we were not yet in our beds! We guess that a local near the beach
must have made a phone call or is this a regular stopover that he checks every night?
We retrace our tracks back down the main road but in the rain and darkness we can now see no sign
(literally) of the campsite we looked at earlier. Perhaps we can park behind the shop at the petrol
station? Yes, of course, says the woman on counter duty so thats it, problem solved and we get
quite a good nights sleep too. Still no campsite fees paid!

Day 7: Wednesday 19th August

Come the cool grey morning we feel no desire to search any longer for the fabulous beaches that are
supposed to be on this coast we must get on to Riga and do some proper tourism. On getting to the
city centre we pass over a modern bridge and find ourselves immediately in the old town. Thats
handy, parking spaces right by all the sights except that they charge 5 lats for the first hour (7) and
8 lats per hour thereafter! Clearly a premium spot for all the government officials that visit these parts.
A local advises us to drive out of the centre by about ten blocks and get a bus back in. This we do,
ending up parking on the main bus route back into town. A bus arrives at the stop just as we do and
charges just 0.8 lats for the trip (about 1). We get off as we near the centre of the old town and stop
at a cafe for a coffee and to plan our day. Although the sky still has much cloud the rain holds off for
the rest of the day and we are able to do our sightseeing in relative comfort.
The city is much like many of the older cities across Europe but with the eastern twist of the onion
spires on churches. Its cosmopolitan and welcoming without being pushy. We follow the only pocket
guidebook we have and do bits of a walking tour around the old city. Riga Castle has a lovely setting
on the river. The Dome Cathedral is worth paying to go into to see the fine interior, especially the organ
and pulpit; and the cloisters, full of interesting and historic artefacts (dont miss the pagan idol head).

The Mentzendorff House Museum is a beautifully restored merchants

house built at the end of the seventeenth century and furnished in period style. Jacobs Barracks, built
in the eighteenth century, runs the whole length of one of the main streets. We decide we dont have
the motivation to visit the Museum of the Russian Occupation.
As with all tourist traps there are a handful of buskers and vendors hanging around but they are no
trouble and only add to the relaxed charm of the place. (After we return to the UK we discover that it
was only a couple of weeks previously that two Englishmen on a stag trip were arrested for murder in
one of these local bars. They remained in jail during the time of our visit.)

Late afternoon and we feel ready to get back on the road we

have to get out of the city and find a stopover before dark. A No. 3 bus again arrives at the bus stop
just as we do. Our anxiety about the bus deviating from the route is thankfully unfounded we have no
map of the city with us and soon we are back at the vans location. By chance a small motor factor is
close by and we are able to pick up a few spare 15amp fuses for the van. When language fails a quick
sketch of what we want is enough to secure them!
We are soon out of the city and after a couple of hours driving through dense pine, birch and cedar
woods we are close to the Baltic coast, of which we catch attractive glimpses, before we stop at a
picnic spot just off the road. We are tempted to make it do but fortune favours the brave and instead
we set off along a narrow track to seek out the campsite shown on the huge map at the picnic stop.
After travelling back down the coast for a couple of kilometres we still havent found anything more
than derelict lodges and an occasional house, but then the woods open up to reveal a stop that was
among the best of the whole trip an old ladys front garden lawn next to her timber-clad house and
right on the back of the beach. Superb! A mixture of Russian, German and English makes me(HP)
understood and the stopover is negotiated. I hand over our last few lats and another pack of M&S fruit
tea as a token of our appreciation. Her dog yelps at us for a little while but his bark is worse than his
bite and we are soon settled in to watch the sun setting in a clear sky over the Gulf of Riga. Fabulous.
After our usual evenings entertainment we turn in for a good nights sleep, lulled by the gentle lapping
of the waves on the shore a few metres away magic.

Day 8: Thursday 20th August

We continue north along the coast (E67) through the Limbazu region, seeing a number of picnic spots
which could have served as night stops. There appeared to be a proper campsite off to the right a few
kilometres on from where we rejoined the road, just before Szciemins, then Salacrivaou. Then into
Estonia where the kiosks at the border are now derelict. You pass imperceptibly from one Baltic State
to another and the regulations seem to be the same throughout they seem to operate as a group,

witness the three languages on the milk cartons. The road deteriorated towards the border but has
now improved. This section of the road, from Riga along the coast towards Parnu, is lovely, through the
trees, blue sky, sunshine dappling the tree trunks very calming.
We arrive at Tallinns dockside without stopping to see any of the city just in time for the 2pm sailing
to Helsinki. Tallinks booking agent miscalculates the charge in euros (450!) and that makes me look
for a cheaper alternative but a combination of an information counter handout and a bureau de change
gives a different story and I return to the Tallink counter a rerun of the conversation now produces a
charge of just 150 thats 50 less than pre-booking over the web would have cost! Everything just
seems to be going so well on this trip!
We are soon on board and on our way, just getting a few shots of Tallinns skyline from the ferry. Looks
pretty enough but probably little different from Riga? We spent less than an hour in Tallinn is that a
record? Theres a cool wind blowing but we get in the lee of it on the sundeck and have our prepacked lunch along with a shared beer. Simple moments but highly enjoyable! An hour-and-a-half later
we get ready to disembark.
Arrival in Helsinki requires no customs or immigration procedure and we join the heavy stream of traffic
offloading and snaking slowly around the cobbled dockside. We are heading for a pukka campsite for a
change and this one must be the best signposted campsite in the whole of Europe, or Scandinavia.
There is no risk of missing it at all and we are soon booking in. Its obviously very well run and has
many facilities, though not cheap at 29 per night though thats inclusive of leccy, showers and
wireless internet.
Tent campers do particularly well on this site with plenty of facilities for cooking, dining and washing
up.
We look forward to a meal in the on-site restaurant and get spruced up. But, without warning his boss,
the chef has decided to have a night off and so we cook, once again, on board.

Day 9: Friday 21st August

Another good thing about the campsite is that it is right next door to Rastila metro station so no hassle
trying to drive in and park the van for sightseeing. We buy 6.80 tourist tickets for the citys transport
system but barely use them, doing the city centre on foot apart from a ferry trip over to the
Suomenlinna Fortress in the bay.

Ferries for the Suomenlinna Fortress (World Heritage Site) go every 20 minutes from near the Market
Square. The fortress was built in the eighteenth century on six islands and is well worth a visit, both for
the buildings and ambience and for the excellent museum at the Visitor Centre including a film tracing
the history of the place. Descriptions in the museum are translated into English.

Then back to Helsinki and a walk around the historic centre looking at the
architecture which is very fine (the same nineteenth-century architects designed buildings in both
Helsinki and in St Petersburg). In the very centre is Senate Square housing the magnificent Helsinki
Cathedral neoclassical style, though relatively plain inside owing to its Lutheran tradition. By contrast
the Uspenski Cathedral, the other side of the Market Square, is sumptuous both inside and out; its
said to be the largest Orthodox church in Western Europe. The third church we visit is a little way out
of the city centre the Temppeliaukio Church (Evangelical), quarried out of the natural bedrock in the
1960s (?) again, well worth seeing. Other buildings we see and admire include Helsinki City Hall
(originally built as a very grand hotel), Sederholm House (the oldest surviving stone building in the
city centre, at one corner of Senate Square), Finlandia Hall and the famous quirkily designed Central
Railway Station.
Theres a cultural festival on today and the big square in front of the cathedral is being readied for an
evening rock concert. Around the town there are other activities going on, including more performance
stages. Another is a horde of students parading in fancy dress through the city centre. In the modern
town hall foyer a group are preparing a big flower display.
Now to find a meal. Helsinki is expensive: our meal (one course only, the cheapest on the menu
sardine-like fish + liver/bacon and one glass of wine + tap water) costs 20 each. No tip!
Helsinki is geared to tourists, clearly trying to be welcoming and easy as a city to visit, but we felt it
lacked warmth. Like the Norwegians, people in Helsinki avoid eye contact and are reserved for
example, at no point did we see the waiters and waitresses exchanging smiles, looks, or words. This
appears to be the Scandinavian temperament, and it does affect the tourist experience.

Day 10: Saturday 22nd August

Waste dumped and fresh tank filled and we are ready to leave the campsite and head east.

A pleasant run on the 170 (avoiding the motorway) from the Helsinki
campsite to Porvoo, the second oldest town in Finland. Porvoo looks like an overdone tourist spot in
the advertising but it turns out to be delightful, not least because as we walk along the road by the river
from our parking spot the local Bad Ass Brass Band, a scruffy, eccentric-looking group of musicians
but could they play jazz! are parading along the road as they play. Everyone happy, appreciative and
taking photos.
The old town of Porvoo is mostly timber-clad houses, especially sheds painted the distinctive red ochre
of Scandinavia; lots of lovely buildings but some modest ones too (including a Sally Army charity
shop!). Perhaps because it is Saturday (or this particular Saturday) there is an air of carnival, table-top
sales going on at house entrances, flower sculpture at the church, and a stand with live music
(promising a series of gigs).
On leaving Porvoo we are unable to use two different cards at Shell Express automatic pumps. It says
cards only presumably Finnish cards only?
Then on the road again, this time via the E18 (with elk warning signs from time to time there had
been deer signs in the Baltic States). At around 5pm and not far from the Russian border we find a big
rest stop where we decide to stay over, leaving any bureaucratic hold up entering Russia till the next
morning. In the event this proved a wise decision.
The stop has a toilet block but it is dire, a brick hut divided into male and female sides but both exactly
the same empty bare brick rooms with a wooden platform and a hole in the seat and a smell from
hell itself. The building is overlooked by a CCTV camera and as we are not sure whether overnight
stops are permitted we move the van so it wont appear on any remote monitoring screen. The
downside of this would be that they wouldnt be able to see us being robbed either!
We go over the maps of the run into Pete and try again to pin down where the campsite is but it is still
not certain. As I have printed an aerial shot of it from Google Earth and there is something marked on
the map (in the sea) we believe it will be impossible to miss.

At this point I realise we have driven a couple of thousand miles across northern Europe and not seen
a single mountain. The scenery has been pleasant enough, with rivers, woods, lakes, Baltic coast, etc.
but there has been no breathtaking vista, nothing even to stop the van for a photo. The realisation
comes as a real surprise. The generally warm sunny weather has made it all much more pleasant than
it would have appeared in cloud and rain, thats for sure.

Day 11: Sunday 23rd August

Were all geared up and on the road by 08.30 and reach the Russian border thirty minutes later. First
we have to exit Finland and we assume this will be no more difficult than entering it. We approach an
open barrier surrounded by stop signs and next to a large mirror-glazed building. There are no
instructions nor any sign of officials or guards so after hesitating for a minute or so we do what we
have done right across Europe drive through. Whoops! As we pass the end of the building a Finnish
officer comes racing out alongside, shouting at us and smacking his hands together -STOP! I have to
chuckle at this display of feigned anger. It turns out they want us to go into the building and present
passports, etc. Why not put a sign up to say so? The guy on the desk is stern but friendly but when I
explain that we have travelled all the way from Calais without showing our passports anywhere he
immediately says This is the Finnish-Russian border as if no other explanation was needed. I begin to
respond with well you didnt know we were in Finland in the first place so what difference does it make
if you dont know weve left it? but his frown tells me to stop before I get halfway! After a few minutes
of the usual scanning and checking we are released to go through. As soon as we pass into Russia
the road begins to deteriorate but all we pass is a lone young female Russian officer who takes one
look at us and twitches her wand to send us through. Can it really be that easy? No, it cant.
Five minutes further down the road, after strict observance of the 5 kph and STOP signs placed along
the way, we get to the real border post extensive buildings and queues of vehicles. Good job we
timed it for a Sunday or the queues would probably stretch a lot further back. We pull down to the first
kiosk and are directed to park up out of the through lane. This looks like they expect it to take a while.
There are a couple of short queues and with a mixture of pidgin Russian and pidgin English and the
voluntary help of a Russian woman with fluent English we are able to negotiate the system. People in
the queue are impressed with our ring binder full of documents. After a few words with the customs
woman she gives us an import certificate for the van for two months another stroke of luck that will
pre-empt the need to find a customs office in Pete to extend what is normally a much shorter permit.

She also looks at our green card and seems satisfied with it -though it does not cover Russia. I ask
about this and she directs us into the building to buy OSAGO cover.
After weve waited the best part of half an hour at the insurance booth, and asked several Russians if it
is open, a woman turns up and we buy the insurance but our plastic cards are refused, as are the
fabled dollars, and we have to wait another fifteen minutes for another woman to attend at the nearby
bureau de change -where she only accepts crisp new dollar notes. The charge is around 40 for a
month for third party cover. We no longer have comprehensive.
It takes a total of four hours to do everything so its early afternoon when we get past it all and are on
the road in Russia for the first time.
It is not long before the reality of Russian roads and Russian driving hit home. Single carriageway
roads with surfaces varying from reasonable to appalling, traffic police (DPS) checkpoints every few
kilometres, speed cameras, and yet, still, crazy driving. Most main roads are single carriageway with a
dirt hard shoulder. About half the cars on the road are 4x4s, the other half a mix of new and ageing
Ladas and various Western makes like Mercs, BMWs and Audis. There are enormous numbers of
HGVs, many showing their age with dirt and rust and pumping out black smoke from the cheaper
grade of diesel. Traffic is often congested and even on clear roads it moves like a convoy controlled by
its slowest member. This leads to often reckless overtaking on both sides. Sometimes an HGV will
move over on to the hard shoulder to let faster traffic pass. Other times, when HGVs stay on the
tarmac, the 4x4s will undertake on the dirt hard shoulder sending up a plume of dust behind them.
This is not at all uncommon. Occasionally we are hooted at for a minor error but in general the mood
of lorry drivers seems OK and they use their indicators responsibly. There is little general sounding of
horns in protest at examples of madness and cheek. When fast cars and 4x4s overtake in stupid
places, e.g. on a blind bend, and then try to pull in as traffic comes the other way, the drivers in the
stream just accept it and make room for them no fist-shaking, finger-wagging or hooting. I am still not
sure if this is due to deference (the overtaking vehicle often being a great deal larger, faster and more
expensive) or a resigned acceptance that this is the only way to make decent progress through the
congestion and you would do the same yourself if you had a faster vehicle.
Whatever the reasons, you have to keep your wits about you all the time. It is impossible to relax and
consequently there is a need for regular rest and recuperation.

A more visible consequence is the frequent occurrence of RTAs. Although

we were travelling long distances, and might expect to see more accidents as a result, it was
surprising that we were coming across at least one RTA each day and usually very soon after they had
occurred. Signs of earlier accidents seem to be cleared away very quickly as all the ones we saw had
occurred within the previous hour or so.
Additionally, owing to the poor roads or possibly a lack of proper maintenance, there are enormous
numbers of breakdowns. These often involve punctures, fallen suspensions or even, in several cases,
wheels having parted company with vehicles. We would see literally dozens of such breakdowns on
each day we drove any sort of distance. One of these was a bus losing a wheel and another involved a
truck losing the whole of the rear wheel set from its large trailer which then ended up in the roadside
ditch!
The breakdowns are a source of a significant sector of economic activity with repair shops in every
town and village paradoxically alongside a huge number of carwashes. My car may be a wreck but it
will be a clean wreck seems to be the motto.
It was quite common to see a driver with his bonnet up (very few women drivers) staring at the engine.
On one occasion the driver was accompanied by a bride in full white wedding dress also staring into
the entrails of the car hope they made it in time!

The M10 we use to get to Pete is variable, sometimes uneven yet a smooth ride, other times its
uneven and very bumpy. There are only occasional potholes but the uneven joins at bridges are
invariably a source of a big phwump.
Along the roadside are numerous smallholders selling their produce ubiquitous yellow mushrooms
(which we never try as were unsure how to cook them), blackcurrants, redcurrants, potatoes, gherkins
and carrots. Few vehicles seem to stop (there are risks attached to pulling in and out of the traffic
stream) and there seems to be a huge oversupply of all this produce. This is the pattern we find
throughout the Russia we experience.

Throughout our journey so far we have had no trouble finding radio stations playing English pop and
standards, though not English commentary or news between. We havent had any news of the outside
world since we left England and were not really bothered.
We saw one sign for Motel Camping 46km into Russia. Place names are transliterated on road signs
but there are no road numbers to confirm you are on the right road.
We arrive at the outskirts of Pete without seeing signs for our turn or even a junction that might have
been what we wanted. The Motel Camping found on the internet proves elusive. We need to find the
old M10 that runs along the coast, not the newer road we are now on. We ask a traffic cop and he
directs us back and off towards the coast. We pass through a lengthy resort area close to the beach,
there is no room for an alternative road, and so we must be within spitting distance of the place we are
looking for but there is no sign of it as up and down we go nor of the road shown on the Russian
map that is supposed to go across to Krondstat. This would have been an excellent landmark but we
cant find it. I make a mobile phone call and get to speak to a person at the motel but her English is as
bad as my Russian and I have to give up on it. We drive towards Pete and decide to look for an
ordinary hotel that might accommodate us in their car park and one not too far from a metro or rail
station. This is where good fortune again comes our way right on the St Pete city boundary we see
the Hotel Olgino with a huge car park in front of it and a railway track across the road ideal.
Fortunately the woman on reception has good English and we explain what we want. She turns out to
be an anglophile, having recently befriended a lady receptionist from London, and hopes to visit her
there one day. She cant help us enough, which is touching. She makes a phone call to the boss and
then tells us that they actually have a campsite at the back of the hotel where we can stay over, without
using their services, for R350 per night (about 7). With services it would be R1450 (29). We book in
for three nights which we hope will be enough to do Pete. The receptionist says theres no need to
register our visas with the hotel though we dont know whether this is because were only there for
three nights or because we are only parking in the campsite. One of our cards works in the ATM in the
lobby and we have some roubles to pay with and to keep us going until we get to a bank to change the
dollars. Once again we find that dollars are not acceptable at the hotel counter. The receptionist tells
us all about the busses and the metro stop to head for to get into the centre. When shown the road
map she also tells us that the road across to Krondstat does not exist! Later, when I return to ask about
the hotel restaurant she does that thing that must be quite common in Russia as it comes up in one of
my language tapes. The receptionist is busy with something else but she registers your arrival at the
counter and without raising her head says Im listening. (In Russian slooshayoo vas.)

The campsite is semi-derelict with abandoned houses and disused lodges dotted around. Presumably
it was better used during the Soviet era when school parties and Pioneer groups would have made use
of it as a base for visiting Pete. But there is a small recently built toilet and (communal) shower block
and a water supply. We dont actually make use of their services except to empty the cassette down a
toilet and to fill up with fresh water
Pete is warmer than Helsinki, though its cloudy and theres a bit of rain in the air.

Day 12: Monday 24th August

Its eleven days in so I can turn my mattress to give a clean sheet. Ive brought two mattress covers,
home-made on the principles of a pillow-case thats forty-four nights and a couple.
But now for St Pete a highlight of the trip so must prepare carefully. We implement all our security
measures body-belts for the dollars; dummy wallet; dummy passport; wheel clamp; alarm; steering
wheel lock. All documentation in hand for registering and changing money. Phrase book, maps,
guidebook. Its showery so the cagoule and cap go into the backpack but Jill thinks the umbrella
unnecessary. (It showers for the rest of the day)
We go to the bus stop and wait alongside the wide dual carriageway, soon realising that the traffic is
moving fast and its not so easy to spot bus numbers far enough away to raise an arm to stop them in
time! But we manage it just! It is pretty full and we pay our fare (R20 40p each) and squeeze into
seats. Its comforting to notice a Hymer dealer on the main road as we head into town, a mere 5km
from the hotel!
I try to follow the route on our map but the driver is taking rat-runs to bypass heavy congestion and so
it isnt that easy. An enquiry of two women passengers reveals were OK and theyre getting off at the
same stop. It turns out everyone gets off at the same stop as the metro station, Chernaya Rechka, is a
key hub for accessing the city from the north.
We queue at the ticket counter and pay R20 (40p) per person for a token to get into the system this
allows you to travel anywhere on the metro. We are uncertain of routes and destinations but another
enquiry and we are pointed in the right direction. We calculate one stop, change, then four stops but
one of the stations is closed for major repairs so there is an element of doubt. Luckily the name
Nevsky Prospekt is easy enough to decipher and to hear in the muffled announcement over the
trains PA system. We come out into rain.

Our compass establishes which direction along Nevsky to head to get to Alliance Travel (on
Sovetskaya Ulitsa) where we are to register. Even here the staff member seems a little abrupt (as all
shop assistants have been so far) and she asks how much we paid in London to secure this
registration service. I show her the invoice from Real Russia that has the service as part of an overall
fee (glad we brought all the docs or she might have extracted a further fee for it!) and we are told to
return the next day to collect the stamped registration forms.
All this done and it is almost time for, and we are ready for, lunch. Sovetskaya Ulitsa is at the wrong
end of Nevsky Prospekt, which is a couple of kilometres long, and with rain now holding off we walk
along it and look out for a bank and a caf in that order.
We pass a couple of bureaux de change with big hard-sell signs in the windows but the rate offered is
not as good as we got at the border so we pass on to a rather conservative looking bank a little way
along. Another stroke of luck the rate is better even than that at the border, she takes all our older
dollar notes, refused by the money-changer at the border, and after what now appears to be the
routine slowness of getting anything done in Russia (she checks the notes individually and through the
machine three times), we are clear to eat.
Luckily again, theres a decent looking establishment with all the pre-cooked food on show and no
need to struggle with Russian menus. The place is empty but the counter assistant presses us to
make quick decisions as if there were a hundred queuing behind us. They have their own style, these
shop assistants and waitresses in Russia. You are made to feel they are doing you a favour in even
considering you worthy of buying their wares. But we make good choices (cheese-topped pork cutlet,
wedges and a Russian salad for me) and it is served piping hot presumably after microwaving. Its
worth 20 in anybodys money but we have to pay only two-thirds of that and this on the main drag of
the premier tourist city in Russia.
The sun is now out and we decide to eat it on the pavement tables outside. Quite the tourists, arent
we pavement-dining on Nevsky Prospekt with the stylishly dressed denizens of St Petersburg
parading before us. It is only the second time we have eaten out on the whole trip and its an excellent
introduction to St Petersburg. At the end of our fully satisfactory meal we decide not to finish our
Russian beers (though they are fine) but to get on our way. As we leave the dining area, with our halfempty glasses of beer still sitting on the table, a passing itinerant spots the opportunity and empties
both glasses down his throat almost without breaking stride!

Dodging showers, we amble down the rest of Nevsky to locate the

Hermitage. On the way we are impressed by the size, style and solidity of the buildings lining the
street. The rivers and canals cutting across the street, with similar banks of apparently nineteenthcentury buildings lining them, create an air of Venetian splendour: canals, style, wealth and resilience.
In a recent TV programme David Dimbleby calls all this a confection, designed by Peter the Great and
his successors to outshine Paris, Rome and London. Good for them, I say.
As we knew, the Hermitage is closed for the day and we wander around it taking photos. A teenage girl
asks me to take a photo of her and her friends which I agree to do but her battery is flat. I offer to
take photos on my camera and email addresses are exchanged. We are now friends on Facebook!
Then two pretty Russian girls approach wearing mock 19th century infantry uniforms and another
photo is taken with them costing a pound but well worth it! After this we then go over the river to see
the Aurora battleship (that fired the shot that launched the October revolution). The ship too is closed
today and at this point the rain closes in again and after a brief look at the trippery on the stalls lining
the dock we beat a retreat past the rough-hewn rock memorial to the victims of communism, through
the Peter and Paul fortress, past Peter and Paul cathedral and Peters disproportioned bronze statue,
back across another bridge to pick up the metro and back to Olgino.

Day 13: Tuesday 25th August

A very early start 7.50am to get to the Hermitage Museum early and be two of the first in the
queue. The journey the previous morning took 1 hour 20 minutes; todays journey is shorter and we
get there with one-and-a-half hours to wait for the museums opening at 10.30. (The alternative to
queuing for an hour-and-a-half or more is to pre-book on the internet which on reflection would have
been preferable as you go to the front of the queue with your voucher. This was happening, alongside
some shameless queue-jumping too a very common phenomenon in Russia!)

But we are among the first in. The Winter Palace, which houses the
main part of the museum, is unbelievably vast over 1,000 rooms and sumptuously decorated and
furnished. The State Rooms and Palace Interiors are fabulous and well worth a lingering visit in their
own right; add to this the huge number of paintings, artefacts, jewels, archaeological finds from
ancient Egypt to the twentieth century and you would need a good three days to do justice to it all.
Its a pity they dont offer two-and three-day tickets in addition to the one-day only ones (R350 each).
Through a misunderstanding we have bought tickets to Peter the Greats Winter Palace too and go
along there in hopes of finding out more about him. It is a let-down and not worth even the mere R60 it
cost. The building has been restored so far as possible to its original state but there is no history of
Peter or of his use of the building. And it is quite peculiar in that the concierge and various helpers
seem almost to resent the presence of visitors! The one thing we did learn (from a brief visit to the
Peter and Paul Fortress and the Lonely Planet book) is that Peter I was called Peter the Great not for
his greatness but for his height he stood 7 feet 4 inches tall. It didnt take long to do his Winter
Palace, allowing us time to pick up the visa registration before a nice meal at the other end of Nevsky
Prospekt and so back to the van after another exhausting touristy day.
While walking along crowded Nevsky today a young woman cut in on me to peer at the image on
someones compact digital as they took a photo. I laughed at the temerity of it and she immediately
engaged me in conversation explaining that she was a professional graphic artist and photographer
and had a bee in her bonnet about the poor quality of most peoples photos. (Still, a bit cheeky, I
thought, perhaps she was an agent for a Russian bride scam and I was seen as a potential punter?)
She kept up our conversation in fluent English until we got to the metro where we bade farewell.

Day 14: Wednesday 26th August

We learned the previous day that there is no easy road to

Petrodvorets (Peterhof) and a different receptionist this time gives us directions again to go via
Chernaya Rechka. We get off at Avtovo and are put on the wrong bus by a fellow traveller but the
driver points us across the road for a bus going in the opposite direction! We take the last two seats
and the driver sets off immediately for a much longer run than we expect. By the time we arrive its a
nice warm day again with the gold onion domes shining and the ornamental fountains shimmering in
the sun.
Petrodvorets, on the Gulf of Finland, deserves a visit as the Russian Versailles the white and gold
buildings and the cascade of fountains look stunning in the morning sunshine. But its a bit of a swizz
because its mostly a reconstruction: the Germans trashed it during World War II, but before that Stalin
ordered it to be bombed to prevent Hitler holding a victory party in the palace. The furniture, artworks
and chandeliers in the grand palace are, however, original as they were removed by the Russians
before the bombing raids. We were further frustrated because we happened to visit during the last
week of the month when each building is closed in turn for cleaning in addition to the usual day off a
week! Jill wanted to see inside Monplaisir, Peter the Greats sea-facing villa, but it was closed. (He built
it on the site and then developed the grand buildings and fountains because he liked the location so
much.)
The palace is fairly crowded and we decide against queuing for the interior it cannot better the
Hermitage and we just admire the fountains and well-maintained gardens. A visit to the yacht
museum lacks only one thing a yacht, royal or otherwise. A sign points us towards the caf with a
claim that their Service is Fast and Preventative. I order a pizza and pints for lunch but the brusque
exchange with the counter assistant makes me think the sign should have read service is fast and
peremptory. The pizza is a bit plasticky but it is cheap.
Theres not a great deal more to see here so we decide to go back into the city to take in the political
museum but its now 1.30pm and it closes at 5. Unfortunately we miss a private bus and get on a
municipal one that stops at every stop and wont break the speed limit. It takes twice as long as the
outward journey and its only the fact that it is more spacious and comfortable than the private ones
that makes it bearable. Stupidly we then catch the metro to a station that we already know is closed for

refurbishment, getting off at a stop that leaves us with a two kilometre walk back to the museum. We
eventually arrive, knackered, with about one hour to see it all but then lady luck steps in again and the
receptionist tells us that it doesnt actually close until 5.45pm. Its just enough time.

Its a fascinating place. The curator has declared the aim of giving a
balanced objective view of the Soviet era but we guess from the demeanour of the assistants that it is
probably run by Party faithful. They are certainly more human, more helpful and more friendly than any
other customer assistants we have come across before in Russia. Theres loads of material you wont
have seen anywhere else. The building is the actual one used by Lenin and the Bolsheviks until July
1917 when they were evicted by pro-Kerensky troops.
The exhibits deal also with the Stalin era and through the fifties to 1990. The Gorbachev era, we are
told, is in preparation.
On our return to Olgino we find that a bunch of Germans have set up their tents around the water
point, obstructing anyone else who wants to get to it. Cheeky or just plain stupid?

Day 15: Thursday 27th August

It has rained a little during the night and then we get downpours. But the ground is well drained and we
will be able to get out. First, though, I go across to the Germans to explain well be coming into the
centre of their little encampment to draw water. They suddenly realise what theyve done and start
moving vehicles away from the point. As were filling up a guy from the hotel turns up and starts
complaining to me about the obstruction of the water tap by the tents he assumes its our group! I
point to the German youth leaders and he tells them theyll have to move their tents away. I fill to
overflowing. Now to dump grey water.
We had noticed a group of about ten German motorhomes in the outer car park and assumed there
must be a dump point somewhere over there. If there was I couldnt find it (or any other form of
drainage in the car park apart from surface run off) and so it was a matter of lining the van up to hide
the outlet and then dumping it into the verge on the edge. I had no intention of trying to drive the next

stage over bumpy roads while being top heavy. It had already been wallowing uncomfortably as we
drove out of the campsite. Not nice but there was little choice. It soon flowed back on to the car park
surface but it was in a remote spot and so would likely not even be noticed but as we were still within
the exit control barrier we would have been stymied if anyone had noticed!
We have worked out a short cut to the ring road to get out and then back in to the siege memorial on
the other side of town. Amazingly we take no wrong turns (they come later) as we zigzag through back
streets. The Russians have a peculiar habit of rarely putting on urban road signs the destinations that
the junctions might take you to. Instead they give the name of the road itself and even this does not
always coincide with our maps! Fine if youre a local but for the visitor it is a nightmare. But the ring
road is of high quality and if there were no traffic on it you would be able to make rapid progress.
(Another quirky thing is the Russian habit of putting up signs showing a coming bend in the road as if it
is a junction turning off the road. Slowed down quite a few times for those!)
We think were on the wrong road but then come across the siege memorial on an island in the middle
of the road and pull into the free car park across the way and walk across. Most impressive. Socialist
realist statues of heroic figures for whom the memorial has been created surround the site. As you go
down the steps funereal music gently engulfs you from hidden speakers and an air of reverence is
unavoidably imposed amidst the inscribed granite monuments and the marble staircase down into the
underground museum.

Here banners hang down from the ceiling, a newsreel loop plays on a big
screen and a couple of groups of visitors are being guided around. Mosaic murals decorate the walls
and large books with cast bronze pages sit on a plinth on the side. Each day a page is turned to
report the events of that day during the Nazi siege, which lasted 900 days, from 8th September 1941
to 27th January 1944. It was a hellish period of immense suffering and loss. People were reduced to
absolutely any means possible to stay alive under constant bombardment by the Germans. Horses,
dogs, cats and other pets disappeared into the cooking pot as did any wild animal that strayed by. Only
the Russian winter came to their aid as it made life almost as difficult for the Germans and froze Lake
Ladoga to the east that allowed some supplies to be ferried in over the ice. The downside was that the
frozen ground could not be dug for the thousands of graves that were needed. Frozen dead bodies

were stacked up in the open air until the spring thaws came. It is estimated that one million lives were
lost.
From one extreme to another we leave the memorial and cross the road to seek out a caf for an
early lunch before starting our journey to Novgorod. We find a Pizza Hut! The Russian waitresses have
this time been trained in the Western mode of customer care and we are made to feel welcome and
valued. We have a salad lunch and then get on our way. According to the map the road out from the
memorial ought to put us right on to the M10 that we need but no, it takes us towards Pskov and it
takes two back-tracks to find the correct route, and then we have 100km of broken rutted road and
heavy traffic to Novgorod.
During this part of the journey I realise that the purchase of a 4x4 may owe more to good sense than
mere status seeking. The things are powerful for rapid overtaking, have stronger suspensions for the
ruts and potholes, four-wheel drive for those hard-shoulder undertaking manoeuvres, and bigger
wheels to carry the vehicle over the rough surfaces in relative comfort.
We arrive in Novgorod, park up and seek out a mini-market in which we are able to pick up a few
basic supplies including some frozen salmon and a couple of courgettes. Then we go hunting for yet
another non-existent campsite marked on the map. Having failed at this we turn off the main road,
drive for a couple of kilometres and then fall back on our old friend the village tip or so it appears. A
derelict farm building, a concrete hard standing being reclaimed by Mother Nature and piles of rubbish
tipped around the edges. Nobody will bother us here.

Day 16: Friday 28th August

After breakfast I dump the grey water where we are standing it soon
soaks in -and then take the spade and the cassette and bury the brown stuff about thirty metres away,
in the tall weeds that have taken over the fields behind. We get ready to go and then double doors in
the derelict building open up and a woman and a vehicle come towards us! Astonishingly the site is still
in use and we are parked on the ramp that leads up to the village weighbridge! The slope was useful!
It only takes a minute and we are out of everyones way, with smiles and thumbs up, and back towards
Novgorod to inspect the kremlin. On the way through the village we stop to take photos of a couple of

traditional houses and some passing locals stop their car to ask if everything is OK and do we need
any help? We smile and thank them for their concern.

On the main road we stop to inspect the tank on a

plinth, with memorial to those who fell defending Novgorod against the Nazis.
I park first of all outside the town hall but soon realise that wont do. Just up the road is the proper car
park for the kremlin, the entrance of which stumps us completely until the attendant turns up and
explains how we get in and that we will be charged as we leave.
It is still damp and grey with light showers from time to time so we wrap up for the walk around. The
grounds are being given a major overhaul with cobbled paths being relaid all over. The church bells are
ringing and a trickle of worshippers are straggling through the roadworks to get to the morning service.
We study the elaborate statue assembly in the grounds, Catherine again, along with Potemkin and all
her other ministers. Then wander over to the church and curiosity takes us inside. It is crowded and
the service is in full flow. Theres a heavenly choir hidden away somewhere, or a recording of same,
and several queues of people waiting to confess(?) to a priest, of which there are three at the front,
plus a chap actually reading out the lesson. The air is heavy with incense and there is much bowing
and crossing going on as people follow the service. In corners people are animated in saying their own
individual prayers.
A young priest at the front is having a long conversation with a girl of 12 or 13. He is bending slightly
forward and she is listening carefully and occasionally nodding in agreement. At the end of this, after
five or ten minutes, he places an embroidered tea towel on her bowed head, rests his hand on it and
says a further prayer. She skips off and the next steps forward.
There is a counter selling religious bric a brac and icons. The smallest are around 5 and the largest
(8 x 10) for 70.

All in all we have seen a display of devoutness which certainly puts that of English Christians into the
shade. As atheists we puzzle over these practices, of course.
We potter around the area a little longer after coming out of the church its clearly a big resort with
the wide river, boats and a sandy beach. As we head back to the car park we each buy a matryushka
doll for our two granddaughters. Then I have a quick look in the tourist information office at the car
park and its very Russian female manager heavy make-up, breathtaking cleavage, plenty of thigh
and fishnet tights had to leave quickly before my ticker gave out (HP)!
Novgorod is described in the Lonely Planet guide as a gem of a city, and its certainly doing its best to
welcome tourists including us English-speaking ones. On our way in we had parked outside a
bookshop which had a window display devoted to learning English the fun way. The kremlin has been
totally reconstructed since the World War II bombings and now the detail is being seen to, even down
to the renewal of worn cobblestones. The tourist office advertises itself as having English-speakers
able to give advice and arrange English-language tours tourist offices just dont seem to exist
elsewhere in Russia, let alone English-speaking ones. The roads into and out of Novgorod are superb.
As we leave after our visit we see women employed to sweep stones off the road bridge marking our
exit from the city. Witches brooms of twigs are standard issue for road-sweepers in Russia.
Beyond the city boundary the alternating stretches of good and bad road are frustrating to drive, and
we have steady rain for the first four hours making overtaking trucks doubly dodgy. The surface
includes ruts, bumps, cracks, potholes and bad bridge joins. But after the rain comes sunshine again
and the road soon dries out a chance to make up time. We achieve 400km at an average 80-110
kph. Stopping to buy some apples at the side of the road proves impossible. Apart from the language
problems it seems that they all want to sell them by the bucket-load, at R250 (5) a time. The
mysterious yellow mushrooms are even more costly at R300 for a shoebox-full. No matter what
signage I use nobody can get my question, how do you cook them?
We pass yet another wedding party having photos done by a T34 tank memorial. Both white weddings
and the photos by statues and memorials are daily activities here. We assume it must be out of
respect for those who gave their lives so that Russia (not necessarily the USSR) could survive without
submission. The voters of Leningrad may have opted to restore the citys name to Tsarist times but
Lenin and the Party live on in the thousands of statues, emblems and war memorials. Stalin, though, is
almost totally absent. Perhaps all demolished after the twentieth congress of the CPSU in 1956?
Occasionally there is a broken stump of a statue without a clue as to who it was.

Passed a motorway services area Russian style today! At

least 50 stalls/kiosks strung along the side of the road serving tchai from samovars on the boil. Quite a
sight to see all the wisps of steam rising into the cool air with dozens of trucks stopped alongside
must have been 2km long.
With all the modernisation theres still a huge amount of tradition in this country the samovars,
wedding parties, war memorials, churches, peasants in their thousands selling stuff at the roadside.
As in the Baltic States there is a huge amount of road building going on but here presumably financed
by oil revenues not the EU.

Almost every settlement along the way has the same pattern
ribbon development strung out one house deep along the road only a few metres back from a
carriageway carrying thousands of HGVs every day. The houses are ancient wooden clapboard
structures often with a fancy design and carved detailing. Some have collapsed and are abandoned,
others appear derelict and are still occupied. A few are really well maintained and painted in bright
primary colours sometimes with climbers around the door. Later we realise these must be the
renowned dachas, though for the middle classes now rather than the country retreats of the
nomenklatura.
When its time to pitch up for the night we pull off on to a side road and seek a quiet spot. its not far,
and couldnt be much quieter right next to a village cemetery! Were able to squeeze up a rarely used
side track in long grass with a thick hedgerow between us and the road almost out of sight. Theres
no church and were able to mooch about the cemetery for a while without upsetting anybody.

Fascinating grave culture each one in its own little fenced enclosure with plastic flowers, pictures of
the deceased and an orthodox cross.

Day 17: Saturday 29th August

Weve had a quiet night no ghostly visitations. The thick hedgerow and rarely used lane provide the
opportunity to dump both grey water and the toilet cassette buried beneath the trees. Were soon off
to get diesel and water. The fourth garage appears well organised (as they are closer to Moscow) but
an exchange with staff is not very fruitful basically telling us not to park where weve stopped as they
are inspecting the fuel tanks. I look around the building and find the liquid gold an outside tap with
plenty of pressure. At least the cashier was friendly when paying for diesel. When pulling into these
Russian garages I always watch what others are doing before me to work out the system. This one is
a pre-pay one but others close to Moscow and Pete have been on the western European model of
pump then pay.
The road is good all the way, apart from some roadworks of course, then it widens in parts to five lanes
in each direction. Crazy driving continues even here though not as bad as on the single carriageway
roads!
We reach Moscow and find it to be a rather big place! We follow the motorway in towards the city
centre and are able to note on the map the major landmarks we pass but the location were heading
for proves elusive forwards, U turn, backwards, try again! We take a stab at a turning off and enquire
at a kiosk she says its in the next street, which just happens to be Hotel Street. Its just off the edge
of our Moscow city road map classic!
Around the corner and there it is the Gastinitsa Sherston -though it looks a bit of a rundown area. We
find the English-speaking reception and were soon accepted and paid and in the secure car park.
The request to stay over in the car park seems perfectly routine and the fee of R350 per night is the
same as in Pete.
After parking up we start to explore the area down to the metro which is a 15 minute walk away. The
last few hundred metres are through a dense clothes market selling the same sort of stuff you see in
Leicester market only hundreds of stalls selling the same gear: counterfeit designer gear, teeshirts,
jeans, bags, hats, tights, shoes, etc. Retracing our steps we buy some fresh fruit and veg before
settling back in the van for some rest and reading.

The car park is not large about 50m square but it has a guard and a watchtower, a hut on stilts that
is. We wonder if he sleeps there or if he goes home at night. It may be that the secure aspect of it is
only during the day for the gate is always open and the guard disappears at night (he cant actually live
in that hut on stilts can he?). Thankfully we are in the van overnight when the guard is off duty.
Its a quiet spot behind the hotel though the trains can be heard especially when they sound their
klaxons so enthusiastically.
A brief but very heavy shower passed over us and after that the evening turns out to be quite pleasant
and sunny.

Day 18: Sunday 30th August

Weve slept well. Trains and noise ceased around 11pm and didnt start again till about 05.30.
Its Sunday, the sky is clear and we prepare for our assault on Moscow, getting away at around 08.00!
The haste had a downside in that I forgot the phrasebook so I return for that, losing only ten minutes in
the process. Even at this time theres a queue for metro tickets so we buy 2 x 10 goes on a magnetic
strip card to avoid the same problem again. As you swipe it at the barrier the readout tells you how
many credits remain.
We emerge close to the Bolshoi Theatre and make that our first target only to find the entire building
wrapped up for refurbishment. Fortunately, as throughout continental Europe where building work is
being undertaken, the buildings image has been reproduced on the covers so if you half-close your
eyes you can just imagine what it should really look like!

We wander around the streets and then over to Red Square to join
the queue for Lenins mausoleum. As were about an hour early we are quite near the front. No bags
or cameras are allowed inside but the left-luggage office is not yet open. As everywhere in Russia
there are queue jumpers to contend with but it makes little odds as we are let through the barrier in
small groups (after depositing the bags) and then are overseen by a string of guards who watch our

every step and maintain order and respect. Its still free entry evidently the government has not yet
succumbed to the tourist trap philosophy. Many in the queue are Russian holidaymakers but the two
young men in front of us in the queue are baffling. We strain to hear where their accents are from
speaking a form of broken English with a heavy foreign accent. Are they Norwegian, or possibly
Finnish we wonder, but after about ten minutes it dawns on us that they are actually Scousers!
The mausoleum is very dark and the steps down into the tomb are of black marble. Dim lighting barely
illuminates the route into the inner sanctum but once inside the light from Lenins glass case sheds a
soft glow across the path. We pause to have a better look but are immediately awoken from our
concentration by the loud snap of fingers by one of the guards. No stopping allowed. Then it is up the
steps on the other side and out into the sunshine again to walk along the outer Kremlin wall where the
remains of all the great leaders of party and state are deposited along with other notable Soviet figures
like Yuri Gagarin.

Its time for a coffee so we amble over to the former GUM department store,
which has now been converted into hundreds of expensive designer outlets. It remains a distinctive
piece of architecture with its three identical parallel concourses with curved glazed roofs along the
entire length. The coffee and a piece of cheesecake are not cheap but we enjoy the temporary luxury
of the Illy caf.
Back outside and the crowds are building up. The square is partially closed off as preparations for a
forthcoming multinational tattoo go on. One of the posters shows the contingent of Scots pipers
scheduled to appear. The barriers make it difficult to get a good shot of the mausoleum. We then
wander down past St Basils colourful onion domes, taking dozens of pictures on the way, then across
the bridge to get a good shot of the Kremlin wall from the riverside aspect. The bridge is at least 100
metres wide as we cross to the other side to walk back, then circumnavigating the Kremlin to find the
entrance gate and ticket office. We pass it on the wrong path and have to backtrack. Theres a queue,
of course, with the usual queue jumpers and then the security checks. I am sent away to deposit my

professional camera (Canon 450D) at another left-luggage office while everyone else with their
compact digitals go sailing through unmolested. At least its a relief to have the weight off my back.
Inside there are a number of buildings of varying vintage along with half a dozen Orthodox churches.
These look very similar inside, full of icons, but we have to see each one just to confirm this. Outside a
huge historic bell lies broken on a plinth it is 450mm thick at the rim! and a cannon weighing 40
tons. In one church we catch five minutes of some choral singing and I buy the CD for Jill as she is so
impressed with the sound.
After this we find the metro and take a short trip down to Tolstoys suburban residence, a fairly simple
place kept now as a museum. The tube train is crowded with Spartak Moscow supporters but theyre
all very good-natured.
As we return to the metro an itinerant womans dog snaps at my heels and when I look at her for an
apology she is red-faced, but only with drink not embarrassment. Her possessions are kept in a
shopping trolley and she is halfway through another beer.
Then back to base without difficulties. During the day we have seen a further two white-wedding
parties in Red Square. It is clearly a tradition that is very much alive to have photos done at some
memorial or other to signify gratitude to the suffering and achievements of those who went before, to
Mother Russia and a confirmation of patriotism that they will continue into the future.

A huge number of people are in uniform: soldiers, OMON, militsia, traffic

police (DPS), private security guards, museum officials, etc. Apart from a small amount of street
drinking we have seen no sign whatsoever of any threats, no signs yet of wild Russia. Tourists are all
carrying their backpacks and cameras in full view. There are no gangs or muggings in sight and no
gypsies either. Here and there we find buskers and beggars but wed say there is more to be
concerned about in Leicester city centre than in Pete or Moscow. Neither have we been approached by
money-changers or hassled by police for our papers. And there is little evidence of overcharging of
tourists except, perhaps, by Illy!

Day 19: Monday 31st August

We wake up to rain and a cold wind. Just as my book Stalingrad warned like the Germans in 1941
we are surprised by the sudden change in the weather at the end of August!

But the weather didnt matter too much as we had set aside the
day to do a proper tour of the metros classic stations. Its fabulous stuff: artistry, socialist realism,
political correctness and the manifestation of the official high ideals of the late thirties just as Stalin
continued to eliminate the Bolshevik old guard through the purges and show trials.
We havent eaten out much in Russia and when we have its been a struggle understanding the
menu. But we chance our arm in a modernish caf and as soon as we start talking the waitress trips
off and returns with an English menu. I had a delicious crepe with chicken livers, saut potatoes and
sour cream, washed down with green tea a nice one without any of the bitter aftertaste that it
sometimes has.

Next up we go to see the International Exhibition Centre a great

example, in its day, of socialist exuberance, with a distinctive pavilion for every one of the fifteen
republics in the old Soviet Union. In their prime they were showcases for the achievements of
socialism in each republic but now, despite their carefully preserved outward appearance, inside they
are rather miserable affairs each one containing dozens of partitioned concessions selling everything
from mobile phones to wedding dresses. There are lots of camera shops but the expert on lenses, to
whom we are taken by another camera shop owner, is unable to offer a fix for my stuck zoom lens.
Most of the electronics shops are run by men of Asian appearance. Clothes and CD shops are also
plentiful. A Soviet old-timer might well slash his wrists if he could see what is going on here now.
Next we go across the road to the space flight monument a soaring construction of stainless steel
glinting in the sunshine. Alongside there is an array of busts of the space flight pioneers, both

scientists and cosmonauts. Great photos but the museum is closed for the day and we resolve to
return tomorrow before we leave Moscow.
On the way back to base we find a supermarket and buy in some provisions. Shortly afterwards Jill
goes headlong on the path as she hits an (not unusual) uneven bit. Just a graze, thankfully.
During our travels on the metro we had come across a pregnant young woman begging. She holds up
a sign (in Russian) Help, I have no husband. But she has no collecting tin or hat so not sure how she
expects help to be given.
During the evening I manage to get the laptop partially charged in the hotel lobby and to dump the
waste water down a street drain. A night guard from a car park comes over to see what I am doing but
is satisfied when I assure him that it is not foul water and that it is hygienic to dump it. No choice really.

Day 20: Tuesday 1st September

Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits. Weve had our fair share of luck so far so why risk losing it by failing to
observe a superstitious ritual? Nothing can go wrong now.

Up at 6.45am. Its cloudy and cool. Our last metro credits will take us back to the
space museum. The metro is packed and we arrive just after 10.00 which the guidebook tells us is
opening time its locked. We go off to find a caf and eventually find one after a long walk back into
the international expo park. The chap isnt really open but they are glad of the early custom and we
have coffees and me another crepe with sour cream. Very tasty again. We get back to the museum
for 11.00 but the closed sign is still up and when we walk past it to enquire whats occurrin we are told
it is closed for the day, dammit!! It is closed every Monday and Tuesday. Damned guidebooks and
damned rabbits! But we laugh it off and head to the monorail that takes us on a leisurely trip across
town to one metro stop from our own. The guidebook map shows the monorail terminating at a totally
different station!

We waste no time in getting moving and head for the ring road as the simple route out but it isnt.
The road divides into two and we are unable to follow the route we came in on. Then it twists and turns
for a bit, we must have missed a sign and before you know it were totally lost and our Moscow map
does not extend this far out. After scratching our heads for a while I am able to get some directions in
Russian at a petrol station and its not too long before we find the ring road albeit a junction back
from the one we really wanted and at least half an hour of valuable time wasted. Damned rabbits!!
After fifteen minutes on the ring road I manage to misunderstand Jills instructions and we miss our
turn on to the M7. We go off at the next junction (M8) straight into very heavy congestion and a further
half an hour is lost getting to a turning point and returning through more congestion. (Would it have
been worth buying the detailed maps of Moscow for the satnav at 100?)

Once on the M7 we find it is clogged up and with frequent traffic lights

and speed controls progress is very slow. We dont make Suzdal until after 18.00 but soon find a real
overnighting car park (right turn just before the main kremlin) where we pull in next to another
motorhome French. We exchange bon soirs but engage in no further conversation.
After our meal we amble into the village and take a few piccies as the sun sets over the various
churches and kremlins that the place is famous for. Most of the churches are, in fact, abandoned.
Lenin also has a statue in front of the town hall.
Groups of youths gather in places around the village and theres a militsia presence in the most
popular spot behind the trading centre, now mainly closed for the evening.
Its a quiet mild evening and below us on the bend of the river there are a couple messing about in a
pedalo boat. Their voices carry up to us through the still air as the sun sets behind the distant woods.
Very nice.
The sun is now down so we turn for home, walking past the shops and bars in the trade centre, then
across to see the eternal flame at the village war memorial. Theres an off licence on the way back and
we stop to buy some wine including Russian wine that turns out to be undrinkable.

Day 21: Wednesday 2nd September

Weve done a detour to Suzdal as the most accessible and perhaps the
most attractive of the Golden Ring towns and villages to the north-east of Moscow. This is the
birthplace of ancient Rus, and Suzdal is a former capital established in the eleventh century. Its now
well preserved with federally protected status. The term Golden Ring refers to the wealth of
architectural and artistic riches found in this historic area.
Our plan is to visit the kremlin early and then get on the road for our next stop, Tolstoys country estate
south of Moscow. The kremlin is a small but fine set of buildings and we stroll peacefully through it
until a tourist official on a bike turns up to tell us to get out as the museum doesnt open till 9am!
Another example of the rule-bound nature of Russia, the country that likes to say no! Fortunately
weve taken a few photos before his arrival so we exit and have another brief look at the village, this
time in daylight, before getting on the road again, having achieved our object of seeing the architecture
of Suzdal in its beautiful rural setting.
Its been a heavy days driving today with roads about 50/50 good and bad including the worst of the
motorways weve so far encountered (M2 and A108). The bad surface produces a sort of rocking
motion along with bumps from cracks and potholes. Still crazy driving by others and lots of HGVs.
There seem to be many level crossings that slow the traffic down to 5 kph as you have to slow right
down to pass over huge gaps between rails and tarmac at different levels. Trucks rock violently from
side to side. Tolstoys estate, at the end of it, had better be worth it!
We have lunch in a parking area of a garage but when I try to buy diesel the girl on the counter just
laughs at my attempts at Russian so I say spasiba and go on to the next garage. Theyre never far
apart. No problem in making myself understood at the next one.
After getting directions from some locals we turn off for Yasnaya Polyana too soon and pass along a
poor road through the village before we reach the car park. We study the tourist signs at the gate and
note that it is not possible to see the houses after 18.00 but we can walk around the gardens until
19.00. The armed gatekeeper has other ideas and refuses us entry until I take him to look at the sign.

This changes his mind and he allows us to pass so we have a quick walk up to the house, seeing a
couple of small black snakes on the way back.

After reviewing our situation we decide to settle for the car

park as our stopover place, later regretting that Ive chosen to park right next to four smelly waste bins.
The village beside the estate has something of the flavour of an African township but with slightly
better-quality housing. Each single-storey and often wooden house sits on its own fenced plot, though
the fences are not that well maintained. A couple of fruit trees and a small vegetable plot in the front
garden and various bits of amateurish home improvements are visible and various stages of
dilapidation. Some, though, have had money spent on them and stand out as desirable residences.
We view the work of local artists and are quite impressed (compared to the often pathetic efforts of
seaside artists in the UK) so we decide to return in the morning when weve changed more dollars.
Since the early battery scare we seem to be managing them OK. We havent been plugged in to a
power source since Helsinki so we are relying entirely on engine and solar panel and being moderate
in our demands during the evenings. Voltage readings start at around 13.5 when we stop for the
evening, declining to around 12.5 or 12 by the time we go to bed. I guess it must have been evening
use of the water pump that drew so much power in the first few days. The voltage gauge certainly
drops a lot when a tap is used.
We thought we had smelled gas today, going over the bumpy roads, and that connections might have
loosened or, worse still, a pipe fractured. However, all connections check out all right and there is no
smell of gas when were stationary so there cant be a fracture. Could be that the gas we smelled
came from a garages LPG tank.
I also check out the reservoir for the power steering hydraulics. A thin film of the fluid has been forming
over the reservoir and again I wonder if the bumps have caused some leakage. However, after a big
and failed effort to open the tightly turned reservoir cap I think little could have been lost so I stop
worrying.
Mind you, if your vehicle has any weakness Im sure these roads will find it out.

Day 22: Thursday 3rd September

Another good nights sleep in the quiet of wild Russia. Were ready in good time and go seeking the
Spermbank (as we have come to call one of the national banks that is actually called Sperbank). We
want to change the rest of our dollars as they have proved useless in day-to-day transactions. The sign
says it is 400m back up into the village so we walk through in the warm sunshine. Somehow, owing to
the sign being obscured by trees and the building set back from the road, we manage to walk right by it
and get to the edge of the village before realising we must have misunderstood something. Turning
back and round the first corner there it is staring us in the face!
Changing the money takes forever: first the inevitable triple checking that the notes are genuine, but
then ten minutes or more on the phone apparently to clarify the status of Jills visa and registration
document (it is over a week since we obtained the registrations, in St Petersburg perhaps the place
of registration was the problem). Eventually she gets the green light from her boss at the other end and
money changes hands, at the usual exchange rate.
The woman at the estate cash desk doesnt have any English (and is busy chewing on sunflower
seeds) nor do the six or seven local worthy ladies guarding the house. Nothing to be seen on the
ground floor, apparently. Upstairs we have to wait while an over-large group of Russian tourists benefit
from an over-long lecture in the main living room of the house which we are eventually allowed to
see once the doors have been opened and they have filed out and squeezed into the adjacent rooms
where weve been whiling away the time. Next the library, but not before Harry has been shooed out
once while the coven finish the dusting. And then no more rooms to be seen, at least not by us. The
favoured Russians are coming out of a series of rooms across the landing but the door is firmly locked
behind them and despite Harrys requests we get a firm nyet. Nothing for it but to head downstairs,
take off the protective slippers, pick up the backpack and then wander round the rest of the estate. It
was for all the world like being foreigners in Britain shown round Shakespeares house by members of
the local WI, and xenophobic ones at that. Wonder if the eager little group of young Japanese we
passed at the gate fared any better?
After doing the Tolstoy estate we set off for another long and bumpy ride across to the M6 but weve
got on to the P136 by following the Razan signs and its pretty poor. The only good thing about this
stretch is that the countryside has begun to change with some hills and wooded valleys complete with

rivers a pleasant change from the rather plain views further north. When we do eventually hit the M6
it is no better and I fear this is a sign of things to come for the rest of the trip.

Perhaps it is appropriate here to mention that the

designation M does not equate to our use of M for motorways. The Russians use it as a designation
for trunk roads but I dont know what it stands for in Russian its certainly not motorway! Theyre
only single carriageway and have dozens of police checkpoints, HGVs and slow movers to hold you
back. At the boundary of each oblast (local authority) there is a major police post that pulls in vehicles
for a thorough examination. The resulting congestion appears to bother nobody. At one point we pass
an articulated HGV that has lost its trailer into a ditch, with the wheels on the trailer having completely
separated from the rest of it. The driver was sitting by the truck looking dazed but the state of the
vehicle suggests he ought to have expected something like this to happen.
There are good stretches too, well-tarmaced dual carriageways, and speeds can increase occasionally
to between 80 kph and 110 kph. On one of these a chap decides to stop and do a U turn right in front
of us!!! Brake hard and swerve into the nearside lane, phew!
Another oddity of Russia is the roadside vending that goes on. Not unusual, you might think, but the
strange thing about Russia is the way that vendors selling identical goods gather together in their
dozens. One often sees stall after stall selling the same farm produce melons, mushrooms,
potatoes, tomatoes, apples, etc., and weve also seen stalls selling tchai and snacks but now weve
come across stalls selling garden gnomes! Dozens of stalls side by side selling thousands of gnomes
and other garden ornaments! How do they see the economics of this? Do they think punters will be
attracted by the sheer scale of the displays? Or is it a cultural way of preventing price undercutting
everyone on show together? One would think theyd be better off having sales areas every few
kilometres with a variety of stalls selling different produce and goods, wouldnt they?
As we move further south the countryside changes again with gently billowing hills and wide open
plains, largely put to wheat, with copses dotted around. This must be black earth country for the soil
is a rich dark colour with a fine tilth. Many combine harvesters are at work three in formation going at

it in one huge field. The temperature hits 30 degrees today and its a great pleasure to drive through
this countryside in this weather with the windows open and air rushing in to keep us cool.
We pass Micurinsk before 7pm and look for a stopover spot. Usual form pull off the road and potter
along looking for a likely piece of land. Were not far from the junction when we see an apparently
unused field with some factories and houses about 250m away. We drive through the nearby village
first to see if theres anything better but there isnt and we seem to be attracting a bit of attention, not
surprisingly, so we turn back as the road deteriorates badly and return to carefully roll down the steep
and rutted slope into the field, pulling up under some trees, taking advantage of the slope.
To remove some of the anxiety I hail down a passing neighbour and in pidgin Russian ask if it is OK to
stop here for the night they say yes, no problem.
After dinner a child cycles up to visit. He asks to look inside so we invite him in and his eyes widen
its beautiful he says (krassy in Russian) and he chatters away with us able to catch a few words
here and there. We explain we are staying one night and he says what about the militsia? I say its
OK, no problem!
We expect him to return with some pals but he doesnt so we settle down for our usual routine
Scrabble and cards, music and a glass of beer.

Day 23: Friday 4th September

We have a long run in front of us today so its a very early start at 6am, after a good nights sleep. We
get on our way at around 7am, dumping grey water into the ditch along the side of the road it smelled
bad and we felt ashamed of ourselves as many folk from the village passed this way to the bus stop
and they had done us no harm. Trouble was that there was a stretch of bad road ahead of us and I
wanted to get rid of the weight before we got on to it. On the main roads in this region there are few
chances for pulling off into woods or sheltered areas to dump stuff.
In fact, despite the rough roads we make good progress as Ive become blas about the bumps and
now try to skim over them at 90-100 kph. I have a distinct fear that the cupboard units will part
company with the sides but the rocking is worse at low speeds so the skimming tactic seems the better
approach.

When stopping for lunch we find a nice quiet little pull-in, up a

track under some trees. On exploring the area I find it is being used to dump sheep carcasses from a
local abattoir. Skulls and ribs protrude from the mass of rotting wool and bodily remains. The smell
brings back that of the glue we used to use in school woodwork lessons back in the late 1950s. And
were worrying about the pong of a bit of grey water!
Insane driving continues on the single-track stretches with 4x4s undertaking on the hard shoulder.
Overtakers on the correct side will just force their way back in when traffic appears from the other
direction. One of our overtakers is a truck with trailer for which I have to brake hard to create the space
for him to come back in. He gets a blast on the horn in return. A few kilometres down the road and we
see one result of this driving an RTA with a mangled Lada and a chap laid out on the verge covered
in blood and looking pretty lifeless. We feel certain he is dead as none of those who have stopped to
help are paying him any attention.
In one 25km stretch we came across three groups of men, all of Asian appearance, trying to pull
scams. Im not sure how this works but we had been warned about this type of tactic before we left.
Each group had one man with a map or bunch of papers in his hand who would try to flag down
passing motorists apparently for assistance. But once youve stopped the scam goes into operation.
99% of drivers go straight by but, amazingly, we did see one or two Russians slowing down to help. It
could be that victims are persuaded to part with cash, or exchange currency for forged notes, or to buy
fake goods of some description. At worst a driver might be persuaded to leave his car (with the keys in
the ignition) and another member of the gang jumps in and drives off. Those left behind would swear
the thief had nothing to do with them. The thing is that the roads are so crammed with few
opportunities for overtaking that once a vehicle has been stolen and driven off it would be very hard for
anyone else to catch up with it even the police.
We make it into Volgograd at around 5.30pm, seeing another amber gambler RTA as we enter the
city. We decide to seek out the war memorial first to locate ourselves and then look for somewhere to
stay over. After a couple of wrong turns we stop to ask a DPS guy at a roundabout. He is very helpful,
gives us the directions and then stops the traffic to let us turn back across the roundabout for the right
exit. We see the statue in the distance and almost at the same time start seeing signs to Hotel Tourist,

which we know is close to the Mamaev Kurgan site! We find it and ask at reception about stopping
over in the car park. The receptionist makes a phone call and then the grounds manager, Igor, arrives
and explains the form no problem, he says, just pay me R150 per night, straight to me, not through
reception. Great stuff, so we park up and then go for a wander to find a restaurant just below the
monument. Good menu, all in Russian(!), but by this time we have learned what the Russian is for
shashlik pork and lamb with fries and salad. Only 20 or so, with the beers.
The buildings in front of the hotel are student halls by the look of them and a produkty beneath
provides a source of milk. When we get back we find there are lads showing off in the car park so
move the van closer to the hotel but the noise stops around 11pm as we turn in for the night. We are
woken early, though, at 3.30am when three men outside have a loud conversation before their morning
shift, and probably without realising we were sleeping a few feet away. Earplugs back in for another
couple of hours sleep.
When moving the van I discovered a broken headlamp bulb, I guess because of having them on all the
time and the bumpy roads. Changing headlamp bulbs on this model of Hymer is a nightmare so it is
left till after we have done the touristy activities the next day.
One of our low-fat milks turns out to be soured milk.

Day 24: Saturday 5th September

Its not till later we discover that we went forward one hour
unnecessarily, so we have a very early start at the Mamaev Kurgan monument. Its a stupendous sight
massively dominating the whole area, a concrete 84m Mother Russia, sword in hand and concrete
cloak billowing behind in the wind. Its on a hill raised specially to look out over the bend in the Volga
where supplies were ferried in over the ice during the Nazi siege. The approach is lined with red flags,
more statuary of battle scenes, gold lettering and marble steps. Towards the top of the approach the
war memorial itself is located, with sombre funereal music, a circular building with dome above, lined
with the names of the fallen. In the centre is an eternal flame guarded 24/7 by two Russian soldiers

changed every hour on the hour. They have to stand stock still for their hour before goose-stepping
away from their plinths for their replacements to take their places.
There is an overwhelmingly patriotic and respectful atmosphere. Flower sellers outside offer bouquets
for placing on the monuments but we dont cotton-on to their purpose until we are already well past so
we miss the opportunity to pay our proper respects and to put our roubles to work.
Many Russian tourists are already present at 8.30am, buying flowers for the memorial, taking photos
of their kids in military caps, photos of girlfriends and families. It would have been some comfort for
those who died if they had known they would still be remembered in this way over sixty years later.

After the Mamaev Kurgan we catch a tram to the Stalingrad Resistance

Museum a little way into town. The helpful conductress puts us off at the right stop, Ploshad Lenin, and
we make our way through to the museum. At first it defeats us there seems no way in, though we
can see people inside through the windows. We almost give up but wander around the outside exhibits
to see if we can find another way. Sure enough, its on the level below. While looking around we come
across a group of veterans being photographed and interviewed by local media in front of the derelict
flour mill, one of the few buildings that were centres of resistance in the siege and the only one still
standing. It is preserved as a monument.
Within the museum the presentation is flawless, comparing favourably with the private Battle of Britain
museum we visited in Folkestone though the exhibits of weaponry, photographs, medals and stories
are all on similar lines. A solidarity telegram from the people of Coventry is on display and Stalin is
very much in evidence including a full-length portrait in Napoleonic pose shame he didnt have the
wit to see it coming even after repeated warnings from his intelligence people.

The guidebook is misleading again access to the panoramic

reconstruction of the battle scene is free and unregulated, contrary to the guided groups account in
the book. This panorama is extremely well done, conveying the reality of the battle on the ground with
a seamless transition between the actual artefacts and reconstruction in the foreground and the
painted vista as the background.
After the museum we walk along the tree-lined central reservation of the main drag Volgograds own
Unter den Linden and find a posh caf for lunch. Its nicely presented but the tuna in my salad is
not a fraction of the chicken Jill gets in her Caesar. Afterwards we find a supermarket and buy muchneeded provisions but on our return to the hotel car park I am caught unawares as I am charged 3
each for bags of onions and potatoes probably ten times their cost and it was just me mishearing the
Russian numbers. The vendors, Kyrgyzstanis, converse with me in broken English and my pidgin
Russian. She says that she too is a tourist and reels off a list of a dozen countries she visits on her
travels including Iran and Iraq. She praises Sakashvili of Georgia and I give the thumbs down. Not
surprisingly she was very friendly but didnt bother to correct my calculations!
Another white wedding crosses our path this time in the hotel ballroom, and there is music and
dancing till quite late.
Both yesterday and today in Volgograd have been warm and sunny last night was like a Greek island
evening. So much for all the warnings of the early onset of winter in Russia or is it global warming?

Day 25: Sunday 6th September

Our visit to Volgograd has been a good one. People are welcoming to visitors and much more friendly
and laid back than those in Moscow the helpful traffic cop, the waitresses, Igor the grounds manager
at the hotel. The further south we go, the less Russian the country becomes.
Hundreds of police are on duty along the roadside as we drive through the centre of Volgograd. Must
be some event occurring today though were unsure what it might be.

Between Volgograd and the River Don the landscape is steppe wide open plains recently harvested
and under the plough, with little shelter. This is what the Germans faced when they were marooned
here in the winter of 1941/2, especially when their supply lines were cut by Zhukovs encirclement. He
planned the offensive not to attack the encircling troops directly but to give them a wide berth to the
west and then gradually pulled the drawstring tighter and tighter until in the end, and against Hitlers
explicit orders, they were forced to surrender.
We fill up with water at a truck stop before the Don where there is another produkty. The young girl
behind the window is friendly and we show our appreciation for the water and service by buying some
Russian cheese and bottled water. She has every single item in the display cabinets clearly priced a
very impressive and untypical concern for the customer.
Then we dump grey water alongside the road away from habitations and stopping places.
Its a good road in these parts and we make good progress towards Rostov. Much of the road has
been resurfaced recently and is without markings for tens of kilometres. Then were flagged down at a
DPS checkpoint and shown an image of ourselves on a laptop, caught on speed camera doing 103
kph in a 40 kph zone! The latter must have been an area of road works where the signage is
ambiguous you are told when you must drop your speed but not when it has cleared so never know
when the road work area has ended and some of these go on for kilometres without any sign of
activity.
I feign complete ignorance of the language and just keep repeating no comprendi or words to that
effect (ya ne panamayo). I return twice to the van to fetch dokumenti they were not satisfied with
photocopies of the International Driving Permit. Once handed over this is clipped to some paperwork
and thrown on a shelf at the back as if to say, huh, now you have a long wait ahead of you. I repeat
my requests that they explain what is happening pa Angliski. After ten minutes of beating around the
bush and with more victims of the same camera coming through the door he finally sees that progress
with us is going to be time-consuming and very difficult so pulls the licence back off the shelf and
hands it to me. I hesitate and ask if that is it, all clear, and he again points to the door. Phew. All credit,
though, there was no talk of fines, cheques, banks, or thumb and forefinger rubbing, or anything else,
so perhaps they were playing it with a straight bat after all.
The better roads seem to have led to an improvement in driving standards as there is no need for mad
overtaking or dirt shoulder undertaking.
There was a camping sign at about 1040km from Moscow but no site to be found.

Beyond the Don there are hills in the distance and as we cross it the bridge is undergoing repairs
and possibly strengthening. Its hundreds of feet above the river and bounces underneath us as we go
across most unnerving!
We make Rostov by 5pm much earlier than expected and Jill says theres nothing much to see here
so we bypass it and continue on towards Krasnodar but immediately start to look for an overnight spot.
Off the road again and after passing a couple of field entrances blocked with logs we soon find a partly
concreted entrance track to another field, by some trees. Were about 20 metres back from the road
which seems fairly quiet and we have sunflowers on one side and a ploughed field on the other. No
reason for anyone to bother us here.
Its been another glorious summers day, sunny from start to finish, and we watch the sunset over the
fields. Beautiful. Perhaps were now far enough south to benefit from Mediterranean weather? Only
drawback is flies, plenty of them and with very quick reactions!

Day 26: Monday 7th September

Another bright sunny Mediterranean morning. Bury

the waste under the trees in the dark soil so rich I decide we should bring some home with us a
Tupperware box full! Then a shower and get ready to pull forward to empty the waste tank on the field
edge when who should turn up but the farmer on his tractor. Hes gesticulating at us to move out and I
assume he wants to get back on to his field so we oblige almost straightaway. However, hes showing
no friendliness at all so Im curious as to what hes really going to do and I pull up on the road to watch.
Next thing hes driven down the ramp on which we had parked and started ploughing up the area
behind apparently in an attempt to stop any more campers or the locals who evidently use it as a
spot for fly-tipping, fornication and drinking! He must have been responsible for blocking the other field
entrances off from local lovers but his actions at this spot wouldnt have stopped us anyway. No words
are exchanged between us but its a little sad that hes being unfriendly though this seems the
prerogative of farmers the world over the most territorial of our species. We could still return and park
in the same place on the concrete slipway if we wanted to

The road down to Krasnodar is variable Euro-standard motorway in places and the old Russian
standard in others. We are pulled in for a DPS check but soon released.
Krasnodar has a cosmopolitan air to it, and marks the beginning of the holiday resort area along and
to the north of the Black Sea coast. There is a sign in English Welcome to Krasnodar and some of the
street names are transliterated. Still little English spoken, however, judging by the supermarket staff
who are helpful but unable to help. (The supermarket and necessary street parking took some finding
in this big town heaving with traffic. Had we known we could have done our shopping later at a
shopping centre including an IKEA on the way out of town!)
Every town and big village we pass through has a war memorial, tank or artillery piece on its
boundary.
The journey between Krasnodar and Anapa on the coast is slow with bad roads and frequent
checkpoints holding things up. (Sochi is a no-go with a population of 329,000 according to Lonely
Planet!) South of Krasnodar we see mountains for the first time in our whole journey cant find a
place to stop for photos though. But it makes a nice change from the endless steppe of grass,
sunflowers and corn.
Anapa does not prove to be the little seaside resort we had expected. It is big and full of Russian
holidaymakers. It looks just like a resort in the Peloponnese, only bigger. Its nice for its type, with
plenty of public gardens, but not our type. We take a look at the sandy bay and decide to move on
further round the coast to find a stopover spot which we soon do down a track across waste land
near an army training area. The track is very rough but we find a spot hidden away behind some trees
again with evidence that it is a destination for local romantics. The sun is setting fast so we have
found it just in time nothing worse than being stuck in a strange place after dark without somewhere
to stay.
The cicadas are noisy but that shows we are in the country!

Day 27: Tuesday 8th September

I (HP) had woken early again but this time because of very strong gusts of wind buffeting the van
even in our sheltered spot surrounded by trees. But the sun is shining again! No farmer to turn us off
this waste land and Russia is so big it seems you can always find somewhere that nobody is too
bothered about.

We decide to go first into Novorossiysk to research the ferry shown on the Euro Map as plying its trade
between Novorossiysk and Kerch in Crimea. After a bit of random cruising around the city we have
found no signs to a port or radom but spot the sea and head downhill towards it and in a couple of
minutes were at the port. Its a huge place but again, no signs for ferries. We park up and wander
down to the dock where we find some police parked up close to a grey Russian navy cruiser with
bunting flying. I enquire of them about a ferry to Kerch and he says nyet not for years apparently. He
mentions Anapa but weve already been there and seen no sign of anything.
We decide that logistically, bearing in mind distances and roads, wed be as well off going down the
coast towards Sochi as trying to finalise the ferry question. We can return after a few days and check
out Kavkaz and if that is a blank we will still have time to take a land route into Ukraine from the north.
The road south-east out of Novorossiysk rises dramatically above the port so I am able to look back
and confirm with binoculars that there are no ferries of any description going in or out of the port
huge though it is. There are plenty of freighters though.
Our first detour in search of a small, Greek island style beach is to Kabardinke. Theres a sort of
campsite there, with cabins and what appears to be hard standing for motorhomes. No obvious way
down to the beach, though, and it isnt particularly appealing.
Gelendzic is the next one along a similar size to Anapa but much quieter and less developed. The
2006 Lonely Planet guide says: The beach is pebbly but the calm sea is clear and inviting. Theres a
campsite marked on the map but (again) we dont see any sign of it. (Gelendzic is a sizeable town,
surely bigger than the 50,000 population quoted by the book.)
Next we take a right turn to Devnomorskoe just after the Gelendzic boundary and this eventually
proves to be third time lucky. A few kilometres along we turn off right, following a sign to the Golubaya
Besdna campsite, but soon turn back as the road becomes more and more winding and difficult
probably OK for a 4x4 but definitely not for us and we could see it was going to be a hell of a long
way down to the sea. Then the village of Devnomorskoe which is small but heaving (whatever are
these places like in the height of summer?). Finally on to Moorbaza which with its laid-back and
undeveloped air could be in Greece (apart from the pebbly beach since Anapa has the only
substantial sandy beach on the Russian Black Sea coast no wonder its so over-popular).

The road goes down to a dead-end at the curved bay of the beach
pebbly, with a small pier and a few restaurants dotted around a public square. We are able to park
quite close to it just on the side of the road which becomes our spot for the night! The place is being
used by about two hundred Russians and is very relaxed and informal though there are lifeguards on
duty. The sea is calm and clear.
We walk back up the road to a taverna-type restaurant under the trees and have shashlik, fries and
salad again, washed down by Russian beer. This, by the way, is as good as any youll find in Europe,
unlike their wine. Then we get togged up for the beach and settle on the pebbles for a couple of hours
sunbathing, snoozing and reading and of course, our first swim in the Black Sea its cool and clear
if a bit tricky to negotiate the large stones at the waters edge. The locals make suggestions as we slip
and trip our way in go down on all fours and get swimming as early as possible is the message. That
was really enjoyable and again very Greece-like. Folk on the beach are a real mixture of Russian
families and couples. Only one is properly obese, the rest just a bit podgy. But I must revise earlier
comments about clothes in Russia. In Pete peoples clothes, apart from the fashionistas on Nevsky
Prospekt, seemed dated and worn. Generally, though, youll see the same sort of cross-section of old
and new, fashionable and dated, cheap and pricey, as in Leicester. The majority of women take great
care and girls are straight out of fashion mags. Here at the seaside the styles are casual, as youd
expect, and even the sarong and straw hat solutions are very much present just as in Spain and
Greece.
By late evening the road down to the beach has emptied of cars and so our fears of late revellers
subsides.

Day 28: Wednesday 9th September

For some reason I was knackered last night and after having my fatigue taken advantage of at
Scrabble we turned in for an early night at about 10.30pm. There was still a little external noise but
earplugs solved it and after reading till 11pm it was lights out and I slept very well, waking at about

6.30am. Jill was not so lucky, being disturbed by music from somewhere late into the night and early
morning.
The weather has broken, its cloudy and cool, so there is no question that wed spend any time on the
beach today. We are desperate for fresh water anyway and so have to move on to fill up. Back up to
the M4. The road deteriorates as we head east along the coast and the distance between garages
increases. We now need water and fuel though we have plenty of the latter in reserve if needed. The
road is really very quiet for a major riviera trunk road but eventually we find a large modern garage with
a toilet block that has a washbasin just inside the door. Cheekily, but necessarily, I connect the hose
and start filling without asking permission. Its a slow flow and not much has gone in by the time I am
approached by a garage hand a few minutes later. He says I cant use it but when I look puzzled he
loses interest and lets me continue. It takes the best part of twenty-five minutes to fill and I have to take
the connector off several times to allow customers to wash their hands. Still, if you dont push your luck
in Russia youll never get anything. After filling we also fill with diesel. The cash desk is behind mirror
glass so it is impossible to make eye contact with the cashier and to offer a payment for the water. Hey
ho.
A few kilometres on from Dzubga at Lermontovo there is an informal campsite where cars appear to
be parking for a nightly fee, but the beach is rocky and the water not clear; further along the road
tents are to be seen at intervals next to a straight stretch of pebbly beach and waves difficult for
swimming. Past Lermontovo theres a stretch of sand and pebble beach with a calmer sea and smaller
waves, but the car park (R300 a night) isnt suitable for motorhomes.
Finally we find what appears to be a genuine campsite entrance gates, reception booth and
hundreds of camping vehicles and tents spread out along the beach. The gate guys are impressed
with the van though we still get a good rate R120 per night, no power. Thats less than 5.
An exploration reveals there are toilet blocks squat toilets without doors traditional Russian style,
and stinking to high heaven. There are also showers with solar panels above (hot water?) but we dont
venture into them. At least there is an outdoor fresh water source the sinks outside the toilet block
so we have a result. I can also dump the cassette in the squat toilets. Just grey water remains a
problem.
Theres been a steady inshore wind since we arrived but we brave it out, hauling our loungers and kit
down to the beach. Its a big expanse, wide and deep, but is really heavily littered and just looks dirty.
Wrapping ourselves up against the cool wind we manage to survive for two hours before calling it a

day as the first drops of rain begin to fall. After a retreat to the van for a cuppa the wind grows even
stronger and all around we observe makeshift tents and covers being whipped away by the wind.
Valiant struggles go on across the campsite to hold things down but within a few hours the unequal
fight has led to dozens abandoning their pitches and heading for shelter. I should explain that out of
hundreds of campers we have the only purpose-built vehicle on the site. Most people are in cars with
tents but a fair number are in vans of one description or another, sometimes part converted to house
mini-kitchens and sleeping quarters. These often have a tarpaulin attached with rope or string and tied
to another vehicle parked alongside or staked down to the ground. No doubt many have looked across
at our luxury home and cursed the foreigners who have it so easy.
After the wind and rain subsides we wander along the 200m avenue of kiosks full of tourist tat, alcohol
and fast food but can find nothing to buy. You can get any kind of spirit or beer you want but not a
bottle of wine. There are also childrens amusements and a rifle range.
A couple stop me and ask where we are from. Theyre Muscovites and have themselves made a long
journey by road down to the Black Sea coast but they are most impressed to learn that we have
travelled all the way from Vellico Bretannia. The common denominator is football here, as in many
places. He supports Spartak Moscow but respects my allegiance to Liverpool.
Jills cold is in full flow shes rather poorly but is putting on a brave face perhaps Ill have the
beating of her at Scrabble tonight. She wants to move on tomorrow regardless though Id be happy to
stay a day if the weather is good. I think she finds the site a little depressing as it is run down and
shoddy (and thronged with Russian plebs).
A couple of flies have somehow managed to find their way into the gap between the two leaves of the
side window. They must have crawled in through a small hole that has lost its sealing plug but why?
There could have been no scent to follow. I cant figure out how to get them out. Perhaps theyll just
break up in time, to be eaten by bacteria and turn to dust?
On the wireless further north we could get quite a few FM stations but down here all we can raise is
Radio Kavkaz on long wave. Wikipedia says Radio Kavkaz is the station of the Chechen resistance but
all we can hear is the music. Driving in this area I have to keep reminding myself we are still in Russia.
It is so reminiscent of western Europe with alpine scenery, twisting mountain roads and hairpin bends,
sunshine and blue sea. What a burden of cold-war imagery we carry for Russia (grey, drab, poor)
even those of us who were once sympathetic to Soviet ideals.

Day 29: Thursday 10th September

Four weeks in!
A windy night with two thunderstorms that woke me though Jill only heard a little rain on the roof. The
morning is slightly better but the sky is not clear and some wind persists. So its moving-on day again
but not down the coast to Sochi the distance is too far, the roads not good and the destination almost
certainly not worth it. So its back along the coast to Kavkaz to check out the ferry situation there. Does
it exist or not? I had previously looked on Google Earth and had not seen any ferries or ferry port on
either side of the straits. But I had come across a photo of the traffic queuing for the ferry. Only one
way to pin it down.
First I empty the cassette in the squat toilets. Then we get all packed up and pull over adjacent to the
washbasins. I wait my turn, hosepipe in hand, and someone soon realises what I want to do a chap
who has spent about ten minutes scrubbing away obsessively at a plastic bottle. He moves along so
that I can get to the nearest tap. Then its going in at a fair rate. There are a couple of power points
too, being monopolised by teenagers charging their phones and MP3 players.
As we pull out of the site the lads on the gate take the opportunity to practise their English again you
like?, goodbye, good journey. We laugh, thank them in Russian and wave goodbye.
Shes a bit heavy now with a full tank of fresh and three-quarters full of grey water so she waddles a bit
as we pull out. We find a spot to dump about an hour later thats better!
Theres a pull-in with a group of shops where we pick up some milk it was described as fresh by the
proprietor but turns out to be sterilised. What she meant, we think, is that it was still in date. A few
doors along theres another shop and we manage to get some real fresh milk though as everywhere
in these parts it is sold in a plastic bag that presumes you will cut a corner off and pour it into a jug. We
decant ours into a water bottle.
We reach Kavkaz at about 4.30pm, first stab is down the wrong approach road and we are on the far
side. A friendly local tells us to backtrack and turn off. In doing so we note a bit of beach and a dirt car
park. When we get to the ferry terminal more helpful locals point us to the terminal building. Theres a
queue of vehicles waiting and people in the terminal. Lots of information notices but none in English
we observe the process and then join a queue. The counter clerk does not speak English and so we
are stuck for a minute or so after trying to explain we want tickets for tomorrow. A bystander says you
can only buy tickets on the day, not in advance, so we need to come back on the day of sailing with all

the documents and cash. A further enquiry of a member of a Russian Hare Krishna (!) group confirms
we are getting the right idea. Then another Russian leads me to his English-speaking daughter sitting
in a car outside. She confirms they sell OSAGA insurance here as shes seen the sign.
We then observe what happens outside buy ferry ticket, do emigration, get van and queue for
customs
We drive back out of the port to the beach entrance we had seen earlier and pull in. Its a lovely spot
but there are a few other cars in the best pitches. But within half an hour or so they have all moved on
and so we are able to take the choice spot at the back of the beach, sheltered from wind and road by
trees and with dining room window facing the sea (which is the Kerch Straits of the Sea of Azov)
perfect! We chuckle at our good fortune: beautiful weather, prime spot, migrating birds overhead,
shipping traffic through the straits for interest, calm sea, sandy beach. Fantastic.

One downside is the railway marshalling yard behind us that

produces an occasional train rumble and Thomas the Tank Engine whistle, oh, and the rubbish lying
around. People here just have no concept of keeping the environment clean and tidy so I spend half an
hour going round our little pitch picking up all the rubbish and then putting it with a bigger pile under
some trees. Perhaps the municipality occasionally clears it? Anyway, now its looking even nicer and
we can relax for our usual evening, plus a stroll down the deserted beach that stretches for miles into
the distance. Scrabble, cards, beer, a look at the fabulously clear night sky and then for bed lulled to
sleep by the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore until 3.30am when Thomas wakes us
with a cheery whistle!

Day 30: Friday 11th September

Jills cold has not improved much and we agree that another night or two here would be a good idea all
round not only is it a brilliant spot but it will give her a chance to recuperate in the sun and sand.

After breakfast I do more litter-picking from the more difficult spots under the trees while enjoying the
early warmth of the sun.
There are six to eight freighters anchored in the straits. At first I think they must be parked up waiting
for work but they have their lights on at night so must have engines running, and closer observation
during the day reveals that the group is constantly changing. The area must just be an anchorage used
while they wait to get clearance to proceed to Mariupol, Taganrog and Rostov to the north-east.
We set up the loungers and windbreak on the foreshore and enjoy the peace and quiet reading,
snoozing, pottering along the beach, etc.
The sea is a cloudy greeny-brown colour, a bit like the North Sea, possibly from sand disturbed by the
waves or pollution from the ships and rivers feeding it. We discover later that the Sea of Azov is the
shallowest sea in the world, at only 34 metres, and as a result is also one of the most polluted highly
saline and with lots of other poisons from industrial, farming and shipping waste being dropped into it.
A handful of visitors stop by the beach for short periods. Some swim and Jill sticks a toe in just to test
it. I restrain myself.

The shells on the beach arouse much interest with all the
visitors and us too. There are billions of them and it is easy to see the different layers of shells and
sand where the sea has created a miniscule cliff edge and one gets a cross-section of the mini-strata
forming in the beach. How can Creationists not see how the Earths stratified structure has evolved
through these processes over the millennia? The shells can be very tiny but all are brittle and crunch
into pieces underfoot. It seems a shame to destroy them in this way but the waves have been doing it
continuously for ages past.
A lovely relaxing day of sun and sand, snoozing and strolling well earned after all the hectic travelling
and touristic activities of the past month.

Day 31: Saturday 12th September

First thing it seems a little cooler but less windy. Both have changed by 11am the sun is warm again
and the wind is even stronger than yesterday. Still, the loungers come out and the windbreak is up
tied down with washing line and stakes.

Another day of relaxation on the beach. Its great to

enjoy this unplanned and unexpected bonus on the trip. This spot is a real find nobody troubles us at
all.
During the day a big camper conversion pulls into the parking area (only our fourth in the whole of
Russia) and I go over for a chat German plates. The thing is huge high up off the ground, fourwheel drive, massive tyres, fully kitted out. The driver is travelling alone. He has good English and so
we are able to chat easily. Hes been testing the vehicle out for a round the world trip next year with his
partner. His testing has taken him into Asia and on to rough roads where he says hes been down to
20 kph for hundreds of kilometres at a time. But the vehicle has held up OK. Im not surprised it is
built like a tank and all brand new. It hasnt endeared him to Russian traffic police though. He says he
has been stopped half a dozen times, three times on this day alone, and always a bribe is indicated.
He has never paid anything and just sits it out, the longest taking four hours before release. This is bad
compared to our experience and apart from the unusual character of the vehicle I can only put it down
to lingering anti-German prejudice. He advises that Ukraine is even worse
He too was uncertain whether there is a ferry from Kavkaz but I am able to reassure him on that point
and he is on his way after about an hour.
We are just about to sit down to our evening meal of bread, sausages, bacon and beans when theres
a knock on the door. Its a Russian bloke, in his thirties, who explains with sign language and a bit of
English and Russian that his vehicle is stuck in the sand down the beach hes asking for help. I
explain we are about to have our meal but will be along in fifteen minutes or so. We scoff our food and
then walk down the beach about 200 metres.

Its a Lada 1600 saloon and it is stuck. The back end (rear-wheel drive) has burrowed its way down
into the soft sand until its belly is firmly grounded. The whole thing is at an angle of about 30 degrees
and it is clear what has happened: he has been revving the engine to try to get out and the wheels
have just dug deeper and deeper in. Hes with his wife and theyve tried digging and putting branches
under wheels but it has just got worse. We decide its too risky to bring the van down to tow it out but
our spade and ramps might help so we go back to the van to fetch them. As we get back Vladimir (for
that is his name) shouts the Russian equivalent of yes! and grabs the spade and starts digging.
Valentina (wife) also starts digging the sand out again. This begins a struggle of epic proportions!
We try slipping the ramps under the rear wheels but the angle is steep and when Vlad revs it up the
wheels just spin on them, gaining no purchase. Vlad is fit, and Valentina too, but no amount of pushing
and pulling will get the thing to move up the ramps. Several attempts backwards and forwards come to
nothing except scorch marks on our ramps. Then I have an idea to jack the vehicle up, slide the
ramps under the wheels at a flatter angle and try again. This is accepted by Vlad and I get a flat stone
from the back of the beach as a rest for the jack, using one of the ramps for the other one. Its not the
final solution but we do get the car to move forwards a foot or two so we gain some hope. Then we do
it again. Vlad wants to turn the car as it moves forwards but this just takes it off the ramps too soon
and back into the sand. Hes still not realised that fast revving just spins the wheels and digs them in
deeper. We set it up again and he puts Valentina in the driving seat and we try again with him pushing
from behind. More movement, in a straight line this time -were on the right track. Then again and
again, moving a foot or two forwards each time, gradually getting out from the couch grass and on to
the flatter foreshore though it is still soft. The sun is about to set and the tide is coming in (though the
Azov does not have a huge tidal rise) so we cant afford to relax.
Then Vlad asks me to take the wheel while he and the others push. I think this a good idea apart
from the fact my weak heart prevents me from exerting myself too much in pushing Im sure I will also
have a better idea of controlling the engine and driving wheels. So, ramps under again, and at first
attempt we move forwards about five metres. Then another five and we are in sight of a firmer part of
the original track along the back of the beach. Just a bit of a bump to cross and that should be it.
Everything set and I get in again and carefully bring the revs up and slowly let the clutch out, and with
the other three pushing from behind it starts moving forwards. I keep the revs down and then were
there, on the track, and I keep it moving all the way down to the car parking area hooray! Sighs of
relief all round!

We invite Vlad and Valentina in for a cup of tea but they say they want to get their tent up first, while
there is still some light in the sky. They pitch up right next to us and come in about half an hour later,
with a bag full of fresh fish to be eaten raw -and a couple of Russian non-alcoholic beers.
We give Vlad a cutting board and he goes to work on the fish with a panga and a hunting knife! Our
guests tuck in with their fingers but Jill declines the offer. I try a salty mouthful but am more put off by
the bones, the guts and the smell than by it being raw. It turns out that Vlad can only drink nonalcoholic beer due to a war wound he got in Chechnya he still has a chunk of shrapnel lodged in his
skull and alcohol affects him badly.
They are married but have no kids. His parents were both in the army and he was brought up on
various military bases around the old Soviet Union. He too had done his stint in the forces, again in
various places in addition to Chechnya. I show them that Ive been reading Stalingrad and The Angel
of Grozny and try to express my appreciation for the role of the Red Army in the former and the
questionable conduct of OMON in the latter.
Vlads grandfather was killed at Stalingrad. He seems a sound sort of bloke a bit gung-ho, from his
performance over the stuck Lada, but intelligent and concerned. Valentina is a merchandiser in a
shop but as she has no English at all it is hard to find out more.
They are both strongly patriotic and support Putins United Russia.

Day 32: Sunday 13th September

By the time were awake the Russian couple have upped stakes and moved (without the car) back
down the beach. They had planned the weekend as a hiking visit in Crimea but getting stuck in the
sand has torpedoed that idea. Looks as if theyve settled on spending the rest of their time here on the
beach. Good decision.
I bury the cassette waste in the copse behind the beach and then we dump grey water on the side of
the road by the railway sidings nobody can complain at that, can they? Anyway, we have learned to
dump little and often so the nuisance is minimised.
Were first in the vehicle queue at the terminal but too early for the kassa. I check out an OSAGA agent
in a kiosk 50m back from the terminal. As Ive already completed another companys application form I
decide not to buy his.

While we wait, more punters arrive and the Russian disdain for queuing etiquette is all too apparent.
About the tenth person through the door promptly plonks his bag right under the counter window,
thereby announcing Im going first! Oh no youre not baby, sez I and I go and stand at the head of the
queue. By chance that is just when the counter clerk opens up so I am actually first in!
First thing she does is to throw our OSAGA application form straight back at me, no word of
explanation. She goes through the other forms and issues the tickets, no conversation until she asks
for R1600 about 32. Fine.
Then we go over to the other OSAGA agent to buy insurance for Ukraine (R530 about 11 -for the
minimum 15 days). Were now third in a queue and I curse not buying it earlier when nobody was
there. Its 45 minutes before were clear for emigration.
Back in the queue, then through the gate to customs but we are a special vehicle so we have to go
round the side. Another desk clerk goes through the papers. Then we are able to join the customs
queue proper a full inspection follows with mirrors underneath, storage hatches opened, internal
inspection, etc. Theres great interest in the van how much? we are asked. Sharp intake of breath
when I tell him.
Passport control is an unusually lengthy process too, a very thorough scrutiny of passports, visas and
registration. Harry is asked where we stayed. (If we had stayed more than three nights in any one
place we would have had to re-register the visa each time and the Lonely Planet guide said the more
registration stamps the better when leaving Russia.) So we were ready with a list of places stayed
in/camped near over the 21 days and handed that over. The guy smiles at Jills innovation and returns
the passports, keeping the registration slip.

After this we join the boarding queue and here, yet again,
we are faced with the usual Russian rush to get to the front. People sneak up on either side to try to
get ahead. The security gates remain closed and then just one is opened on the far side of the
approach road, so we have to sidle across and end up being the penultimate vehicle on. On the other
side the process is repeated until the Ukrainian customs place us last in the queue!

Its lucky we bought the car insurance in Russia rather than leaving it till we reached Kerch the
kiosks there are closed, presumably because its Sunday, and we would have been stuck till Mondays
opening hours.
Eventually were through into Crimea, or Krym, as its called locally. We pass through a rural area that
is light years behind the urban modernity of southern Russian cities. There are real peasants here and
real hovels in the villages. We struggle to find any sort of supermarket until we see a good-sized one
that appears well stocked in the first town of any size. Weird thing, though, outside on the roadsides
there is all sorts of fresh fruit and veg available, but here there are piles of the same stuff rotting on the
display shelves. Its as if the place is being boycotted. Nobody in their right mind would buy the stuff,
we certainly dont, but why doesnt the manager simply have a good clear out? Perhaps locals know
full well they can fresher stuff and cheaper on the roadside.
Everything else looks OK, though, so we buy a cooked chicken and a roast potato salad and a green
salad. Later these prove to have been a first-class buy, delicious.
We still need fresh water but cant find any in the garages we try though one lad really tried to find a
source we could get close to. Then a brainwave a car wash. There are hundreds of the things and
we are soon installed in one with the lads willingly helping us to fill up and offering a car wash at the
same time. This I decline as it would soon get covered in flies again and, in any case, the dirty state is
part of our tactics for making the vehicle appear less worth stealing.

I reward the lads kindness with 10 hryvnia (grivna),

equivalent to only 76p I realise later, and a packet of tea.
Now we try to find the campsite shown on the map down a side road towards the sea. Yet again this
proves elusive so we end up on a cliff car park on the edge of a resort beneath bare clay hills but with
a beautiful view out across the bay. We eat our delicious chicken dinner as the sun sets across the
bay. Struck it lucky again!

Day 33: Monday 14th September

An early buffeting from the wind after we retire to bed but this soon dropped away and the caf nearby
closed by 11pm so we were undisturbed for another good nights sleep. Woke to sunshine again and
as I peek through the window a brown shape flies by and settles on the clay cliff. Binoculars out, have
a closer look its a Little Owl perched now outside its nest in the cliff face, surveying the scene with
his 360-degree swivelling head.
Then something else catches my eye first one, then two, three, five, eight, fifteen partridge-like
birds skipping along the ground and coming close enough to the van to allow identification as chukas
later heard on the cliff making just that noise.
We explore the immediate area after breakfast a beautiful view across the bay to the mountains on
the far side, down to the typical east European jumble of houses in the village below: modern
executive detached alongside dilapidated apartment blocks and broken down houses with hundreds of
lock-up garages.
On top of the cliff we find another example of a strange custom in this part of the world a small tree
bedecked with ribbons, bits of material and coloured cellophane, etc. We havent a clue what its about
or how it started. Later we realise its a rag or wishing tree similar to ones weve seen in Greece.
Back to the van and the first task is to return to Feodosia to the car wash. Harry has realised the
superfluous rubber washer with the filling hose must have come from the tap at the car wash. The lad
is very appreciative when it is handed over. It wasted an hour but was the right thing to do.
Then south-west along the coast road. Its slow but very pretty as we pass sandy beach resorts, clifftop churches and views of mountains and sea. We have lunch on a grassy knoll looking across a
valley to mountains in the distance. Up here the weather is changeable with wind, cloud and a
spattering of rain. We have seen two motorhomes on the road from Feodosiya, to add to the tally of
only three we saw in Russia on the long road from St Petersburg to the Black Sea coast pioneering
stuff indeed!
We reach Yalta by late afternoon. The traffic is horrendous and parking restrictions enforced and one
car is clamped as a warning. We park just outside the restricted zone in bright sunshine and rush to
see the sights without taking cameras, umbrellas, hats, or waterproofs. We change our roubles into
grivna at a bank on the way and as we emerge it is obvious we were too hasty in leaving the van as
clouds gather above. Just as we reach Lenin Ploshad it starts to spit. Then its raining properly and we

pass Lenin with a cursory glance up, on the way to a caf at the edge of the square where we have
fruit teas and a piece of cake. The rain seems to have passed over so we come out to complete our
sightseeing only to observe a massive dark grey cloudbank heading our way. Although we can see the
rain advancing across the hillside its too late to do anything but take shelter under the canopy of the
local McDonalds, along with fifty or so others. Its a real downpour that turns the roads and pavements
into raging torrents after just a few minutes. A quarter of an hour later we decide its not going to stop
soon enough for us to finish our sightseeing so we decide to tough it out and make our way back to the
van. By the time we get there we are thoroughly soaked to the skin, every stitch from head to toe,
literally and without exaggeration.
Its good to have our little haven full of clean dry towels and clothes! By now the rain has stopped and
the sun is down. We drive out of town and up the main road to seek a stopover spot as the darkness
takes hold the worst scenario. There are few options but luckily the first we try delivers its a local
fly-tipping spot again but it suits us fine in the circumstances as we manoeuvre to get close into the
bank and on the right sort of slope.
Once stopped its straight into dinner with the chicken and salad leftovers. Buying that was a really
good idea. Then Scrabble, cards and bed but why is there traffic still coming up this cul de sac every
hour or so through the evening?

Day 34: Tuesday 15th September

Our night is punctuated at regular intervals with the noise of passing trucks. Why? Because its a
landfill! We find when we get up that the detritus around us is a diverse mixture of stuff patches of
black bags just dumped but lots of individual bits, from household waste to several pairs of pink
knickers, just dropped on the roadside. But there are people living nearby when Harry goes off to
look for a place in the trees to bury the cassette waste he finds himself a few metres from someone
digging his garden. Nifty footwork and a quiet spade needed there!
By contrast the road from Yalta to Sevastopol is beautiful stark bare mountains fronted by tree-clad
hills. Yesterdays road was lovely too, but more deciduous trees and autumn colours. Both days we
see the country at its best in hot, mostly clear summer weather. As lovely as anything weve seen in
Greece.

And so into Balaclava, which is (true to the guidebook) on a stunningly beautiful little bay. Our first
posh resort too, with some very swish private yachts moored alongside the humbler boats taking
passengers out to nearby sandy beaches. There are lots of stalls selling up-market nautical tat, and
postcards too. (Evidently Russia doesnt do postcards so we havent sent any, and with a maximum of
two weeks to go we decide not to bother buying any now.)

We climb up to a headland beyond the three Genoese

towers which mark the remains of an earlier fortress and admire the view out to sea and back to the
town. But not the litter why dont they all get together, these sellers of wares, and clean the place up?
It would certainly make it qualitatively more attractive. Maybe if youve got so much natural beauty
around you dont notice the litter in built-up areas.
After our walk around the headland we stop for an espresso and fruit tea. We want to see the
submarine museum but the directions we get from the waitress are impossible to understand so we
just go in the general direction she indicates. Then we see it across the inlet but how to get there?
There seems to be no bridge so we figure you have to go out of Balaclava, round the end of the valley
and then back in on the other side. But no, we try that several ways before we realise there MUST be a
simpler way. Back into town and a resolve to try each turning starting from the centre outwards. The
first one is the right one signed to the yacht club marina! Another half-hour wasted.

Its 25 grivna apiece and we are into an amazing place.

An arc of a tunnel hundreds of metres long opening out into a space where Soviet submarines were
serviced and repaired. There are odd bits of navy equipment lying around and a big mural showing the

good old days. Its fascinating stuff with many cold-war reminders. The displays showing the history of
the port are all in Ukrainian, why are they all so nationalistic now? Then some recent images of the
Ukrainian navy on manoeuvres with NATO forces. Russian tourists must seethe.
At one end of the tunnel a big room has been leased to a businessman for the creation of a museum
of the Crimean War. This is a must for any visitor to Balaclava (as is the submarine base) as the
exhibits are of a high quality, well presented and with many labels in English. A guide shows us around
for free. He is practising his English on us, which is not too bad, but we refrain from tipping as it
doesnt seem right.
He is an archaeologist by profession and still goes on many digs for new artefacts building up his
own collection on the side. New finds are regularly made.
The war was an interesting business by all accounts. The aim of the British and French was to stop
Russian expansion into Crimea and the Balkans and in this they had an unusual common interest with
the Ottoman Turks. Religious affiliations took second place behind realpolitik but a telling painting of
soldiers of the three nations show them looking away from each other. The war lasted three years
(1854-6) and included Lord Cardigans charge of his Light Brigade.
We had been wondering how we would find the diorama sited out of town and looking over the
famous Valley of Death and the guide gave us clear directions. The first thing we came across was a
memorial to the Russian soldiers killed in the war and from there we could see the diorama building up
on top of a hill. It took us a little by surprise when we discovered that the whole diorama complex was
a war memorial to the heroes of the Sevastopol/Balaclava resistance to the Nazis in WW2, not the

Crimean War at all.

Nevertheless it was interesting in

its own right, with another of those (semi) circular recreations of the battle scene with reconstructed
foreground and painted background we had seen in Volgograd, and lots of military equipment on
display. Much of this was still in its original position on the hill overlooking the valley. It was easy, then,
to imagine the Crimean War scene a century earlier as the Light Brigade made its suicidal attack up
the rising valley, defended on three sides by Russian artillery. The museum in Balaclava, and a booklet

we purchased, explains in some detail how the fatal attack came about, with misheard orders and lack
of clarity on objectives. The fog of war.
As we circled the Russian war memorials eternal flame a young boy approached and spat into the
flames. His father looked on without reprimanding him. Was this an example of Russian standards
slipping or of Ukrainian nationalism?
From here we drive along to Sevastopol but find it impossible to find our way around so we leave town
to seek a night spot. The first attempt appears to be OK, out on some farmers field. A chap who
seems to be on duty to protect the farmers grape harvest approaches us and we have a few words
and things seem fine. But as were mulling over whether this is a good spot or not (as this chap and
another appear to be sleeping in a tiny hut just a few metres away) the other chap comes across for a
chat. He is plainly paralytic and his attempts at conversation are impossibly incoherent. It doesnt take
long for us to decide wed feel safer elsewhere anywhere!

Just down the road theres a mini-bus terminal on

the edge of woodlands. Theres a track leading from the back of the bus park into the woods. I
investigate and find a superb spot under the trees in what appears to be a park set aside specifically
for people to camp at their leisure. There are a few houses about 200 metres away and another group
or two camping at about the same distance. It is ideal and we settle in for the night without traffic
noise, aircraft taking off, barking dogs, or train whistles We discover the next day that we have gone
full circle from the diorama and its entrance is only 250 metres along the road!
Its been a lovely warm summers day again today and my sandals have dried out from the previous
days soaking. Not so my jeans, though.
Jill bought some Russian fruit tea bags today for health reasons. Well see how long that lasts.

Day 35: Wednesday 16th September

A beautiful morning for visiting Sevastopol bright, sunny, Greek-style weather, and very warm. On the
way we stop at a stall near the diorama to buy a map of Sevastopol which should have prevented our
getting our orientation in the city all wrong but it didnt. However, through our mistakes we do see all
we want to see, including South Bay where the Russian Black Sea Fleet is still stationed though
theyre not welcome and the lease runs out in 2017 (though the elections six months later returned the
pro-Russian candidate who promptly agreed a 40 year extension to the lease). No big ships there,
though they must be out on manoeuvre.

Sevastopol is a lovely, clean city, very spacious and pleasant

to wander around, especially on a hot summer day. But the pack of a dozen stray dogs cruising around
the gardens is a bit unnerving. Close to Artillery Bay we come across one of several theatres, this one
offering a performance tonight of what? Its certainly a Tchaikovsky ballet but Harrys recollection of
the many Russian words he learned doesnt run to a translation. The tickets cost the equivalent of
2.30 each, and whatever it is will be performed by the Moscow Ballet.
Back to our camping place in the woodland for a spot of clothes washing to keep Harry going, and a
snack, before setting off again for the city and an unaccustomed bit of culture. En route we stop at a
petrol station with car wash to fill up with water and tip the equivalent of 1.40.
The ballet production it turns out to be Sleeping Beauty was promoted by the Sevastopol Russian
Dramatic Academy, according to the tickets. What an unusual experience! First the theatre itself, with
its classic style, chandeliers, red seats, and gold-and silver-embroidered curtains all of which have
been well used and now look decidedly shabby. There is an orchestra pit but its clearly unoccupied
the performance is to be accompanied by piped music, a tape which could be stopped and started to
allow for applause of which there are four or five bursts before the curtain goes up, presumably to
welcome local dignitaries arriving to join the audience. It is all very Russian (not Ukrainian) and very
provincial! After the event we realised that it was very much the preserve of the local ballet school

lots of young children in the audience, no doubt the budding ballerinas of the future, with ballet
mummies and grandmas, as well as many of the local Russian-Ukrainian community supporting the
Moscow troupe. One particularly dour babushka plonked her bag on the empty seat beside us and
scowled throughout the evening.
It is by no means a perfect performance perhaps the B team playing, or even the C but there are
one or two future stars among the tights and tutus. The young man with star-dusted hair playing the
part of the Prince is remarkably ill-favoured in appearance but he certainly can dance. Favourites
among the audience are the female lead, Princess Aurora, very young and perhaps dancing her first
leading role, but more especially three dancers with cameo parts every now and then who get more
than their fair share of ovation at the end of each solo bit. They must have been graduates of the
Sevastopol Academy coming back to local acclaim, each presented at the end with a bunch of flowers
by small children in the audience (including one little girl who classically wiped Princess Auroras kiss
off her cheek as she left the stage!).
All in all it was an interesting experience of a bit of local cultural life, and its good to take in a ballet
every few decades or so ... Wonder what Sleeping Beauty is like, though, when its not punctuated by
quite so many rounds of applause.
Then on to the nearby caf where wed had lunch to charge up the laptop and get on line. (There is
handy free parking close to the sights in Sevastopol.) A spot of supper too (blini pancakes with jam
and soured cream, very nice) but the laptop freezes twice, probably through somebody usurping the
bandwidth, so Harry gives up and just gets 45 minutes charge. Its midnight before we are back in the
woods and tucked up in bed.

Day 36: Thursday 17th September

We awake to another perfect sunny morning (and the sun stays with us all day). Our fresh water fill-up
last night allows us to have full showers this morning. Then we return to the car wash to finish off
where we left off. Its fortunate that we do so as Harry had left the tap adapter attached to the spout at
the garage! One of the forecourt attendants explains that they got told off by the proprietor for letting us
have water (but they dont care as they expect another tip). We hand over another 10 grivna, some
sweets and a packet of fruit tea.

On our way out of town we follow the same route and dump grey water in the same place at the edge
of a wood by a field track nobody would be inconvenienced by it.
Simferopol is bigger than we expected and its hard to navigate through it. We follow some signs,
apparently erected to steer people away from the centre, but the roads are diabolical and progress is
slow. Then we miss the sign to Cherson and are on a road signposted for Nikolajev, hundreds of
kilometres to the north but actually on our route. Something is amiss but we continue for 45 minutes
before stopping to consult the compass, the maps and the sun. We are heading west when we should
be heading north. A closer inspection of the signs and the map shows our mistake we have been
heading for Nikolajevka, a small town on the Crimean coast! We do a U-turn and head back to
Simferopol, spotting our mistake as we retrace our steps out of the town centre. The sign had been
partly hidden by foliage. An hour wasted. The inner ring road is, in fact, a series of back streets linked
together to divert traffic and the surfaces are very poor. Even when we eventually get on to the M24
heading for Cherson we find it little better lumps, bumps, holes, craters all the way. Progress is slow.
Ukraine is obviously short of cash.

There are fewer police checkpoints than in Russia and we

have not yet been stopped. We saw another motorhome on the road to Cherson, only the sixth in our
long journey from St Petersburg. Along the way out of Crimea the countryside flattens out to something
more like black earth steppe and the roadside stalls increase in number with the usual water melons,
and veg, but now also with zillions of flat red onions, pale yellow peppers and odd handicrafts. A few
kilometres beyond Cherson, on the Odessa road, we pull off on a side road and look for a stopover
spot. Theres an open field and a word with a couple of farm labourers seems to secure the OK. But
this is more than a farm track dozens of vehicles are using it to get somewhere beyond our horizon
is it a village, a canning plant, or what?
Later we see the clearest night sky yet there is something to be said for a collapsed economy.

Day 37: Friday 18th September

Early mist over the fields is soon clearing and were on our way to Odessa. Traffic police have a greater
presence now and we are stopped near Nikolajev for a minor infringement. A peculiar road design
requires people joining a dual carriageway from a T junction (as we did) to cross one carriageway and
then join a slip lane in the centre of the road before merging into the fast lane. Theres no traffic about
so I move straight across into the nearside lane, ignoring the slip lane in the middle of the road. Its
obviously a common practice as the local police have a car and two scammers waiting a hundred
metres down the road. We are pulled in. The older guy explains my error. I apologise and explain it to
Jill, pointing out the slip lane. I thank the guy for pointing it out and turn to go when he says to fetch the
dokumenti. I comply and they are handed over to the young guy sitting in the car. The older guy
returns to his position at the roadside waiting for the next victim, who doesnt take long to appear an
artic lorry who would have no chance whatsoever of turning into the slip lane even if he thought it a
good idea! Hes hailed down too.
Meanwhile the young bloke in the car appears to be completing a form for his previous victim. I notice
that the form is strangely already filled in its a photocopy but hes scribbling across it as if it was
fresh.
I hand over a photocopy of my IDP and he asks for the original. I return with it and he puts it on the
seat beside him. He prattles on about having to complete the forms the protocol I nod and wait for
him to get started. He then explains that when he fills it out I will have to take it to a bank and pay over
a cheque for the fine before the offence is cleared. I nod again and say OK. He doesnt start but just
repeats again what he has to do. I realise that what he wants is for me to suggest a simpler solution
whereby we just give him some cash instead. I dont make any such offer because I realise he is
struggling with us foreigners who will be difficult to bring in. For my own satisfaction I tell him in English
to get on with the protocol so we can get to the bank and then I say after that I will phone the British
Embassy and find out how to appeal. He wouldnt have understood any of this except perhaps the
hand-sign that I would be making a phone call.
The older guy is now arguing with the artic driver who must be challenging the stupid rule they are
ostensibly enforcing. I also argue with him, raising my voice a little and saying how stupid it is to fine
people for such a minor offence.

The young cop and I go round the exchange a couple more times with me declaring several times that
I dont understand and to get on with the protocol, but still he shows no inclination to start completing
it. Could it be that he knows full well that it would be laughed out of court?
Twenty minutes on and he tires of the game and simply hands my IDP back to me waving us to go.
We get in the van, give a whoop of victory, and get on our way. Next time we will be ready for them and
I think of taking photos of the crime scene too, to make it clear there will be a follow-up -and good for
posting on YouTube.

Odessa is jam packed with traffic and there are no signs to

the docks where the famed Odessa Steps are located. But guesswork gets us close and Jills
navigation and my Ukrainian driving skills (barge your way in) find us the best parking spot in the city
on a cliff overlooking the docks. We were worried about being turned away as we overhang the bay but
the parking attendant is most helpful.
But luck is not wholly on our side and the rain starts to fall just as we arrive at the steps. A few quick
photos, a climb up the steps and then we dive for cover into a cellar bar where we have some coffee
and wait out the storm. Half an hour later we come out for a quick look at Catherine the Greats statue
erected recently despite opposition from Ukrainian nationalists. On our way back to the van we pass
a wedding palace with neoclassical columns placed for photographs and then cross the betrotheds
bridge of locks where newly-weds swear their loyalty by signing locks, attaching them to the steel
railings of the bridge and then throwing away the keys.
Then we plunge back into the traffic jams and follow the compass north and west without any idea of
where were going. Eventually the tactic works and we are inching along the route out towards Moldova
though the city names being used for its major towns are not the same as those shown on our maps!
We are in the outer one of two solid queues of traffic inching forward while more adventurous souls are
overtaking us at speed on the wrong side of the road to get further up in the queue before diving in.

About 20km outside Odessa we turn off the main road again and find a field track that looks OK for the
night, though not ideal. It turns out to be quite busy as cars, vans and trucks are clearly once again
using it to get to places unseen.
After dinner, at about 8.30pm, theres a knock on our door. Its dark by now and I shine a torch through
the window to see who it is. An ID card is shown militsia so I open the door and we explain who we
are and what were doing passports examined. I say were here for one night only adin nocha,
leaving zaftra outram tomorrow morning at 9am, all accompanied with sign language. He eventually
says its OK and leaves us in peace.
Two more RTAs seen today they are a daily occurrence throughout this part of the continent and
the carnage of cats and especially dogs on the roads continues.

Day 38: Saturday 19th September

Its much colder this morning, not helped by being parked in a bit of a shady hollow. Ive had a decent
nights sleep, about 5.5 hours but early hours workers arriving have prevented a snoozy lie-in. Either
a train or a combine harvester went by very close and very loudly at about 6.30am.
By 8.30am were on the move and dump grey water along the roadside. My fingers are numb is that
the cold or poor circulation? But its far from freezing and once the sun is up we are in for another
beautiful sunny day as we drive to Moldova, very soon hitting a busy border settlement that does not
appear on the map. A stop in a produkty with helpful English-speaking staff provides all that we need
including fresh salmon, milk, beers, bread and chocolate cakes. Then its down to the border crossing.
It first takes 45 minutes to leave Ukraine. Then on to the Moldova control where we complete
immigration and emigration cards and during which we are taken into a room by two of the border
guards. The whole interview is surreal, starting with these two uniformed men giggling like schoolboys
after one of them sneezes and says Excuse me in English. They have a good laugh at my name, and
then indicate a payment of 200 grivna is needed to speed things up. Its about 15 and they say that
once paid we can go straight through. I ask for a receipt and one guy starts to scribble something on a
piece of paper -we pay and the cash is placed loose in the desk drawer. No receipt is handed over.
Our papers are returned and we move on to the next booth customs and here we are told to take
the van around the back to another building for customs duties to be paid. We begin to fume at this
point, having been conned by the earlier guards. Once in the customs building we show the dokumenti

and are then told we will have to pay 28 to import the vehicle. I express my displeasure at this, having
already paid the circa 18 earlier on. An Italian guy also being charged helps with some translation.
Hes with a professional cycling team (Lance Armstrongs I think) and says the 28 we are being asked
for will be the last fee we pay. He says to call him if we need any help. A passing official asks what the
problem is and I protest also to him about the money paid over to the immigration officers. He
expresses his anger at this and storms off though whether he will do anything about it we dont know.
Then we pay at the cash desk and we are released to go through. In total then we have paid over 40
to get into Moldova for one night!
But are we really through? We pass one gate and are then confronted by another called Boundary
Control. Passports are checked again. Then theres a military checkpoint camouflage kits and guns
but were waved through after stopping at the first sign. At last were clear and having a good chuckle
at the bureaucracy when 100 metres down the road another control set-up comes into view!
Here we are questioned again but when the guy realises we are English he goes off and calls his
senior a young man with fluent English who quickly does the checks. I ask him why there are so
many checks in such a short distance and he explains that we have not been in Moldova at all but in
Transdniestra a break-away country that they had a war with in 1992 after the Soviet collapse. (The
bulk of Moldova aligns itself with Romania on its western border but on the east side of the Dniester
they connect more with Ukraine and Russia.)
We still havent quite got our heads around who we paid all that money to and whether the two border
controls have a tacit agreement to work together when, half an hour later, there is yet another border
control near Tiraspol and the emigration card is collected from us!
Moldova is a lovely country to drive through, certainly at this time of year with the trees turning, but
pleasant too with its smaller fields, rolling hills and more interesting landscapes. It feels more Westernthan Eastern-leaning. The capital, Chisinau, turns out to be a bit chaotic, with huge markets in the
centre and crazy driving, but lively and welcoming. Once we had left Transdniestra (which does seem
more like Ukraine than Moldova and perhaps naturally belongs to it) the country felt very welcoming
the English-speaking policeman at the border, the lad at the garage giggling at being given Euro
coins, a car that went by hooting and giving the thumbs up = welcome to the crazy Brits? Good wine
too after the execrable Ukrainian stuff.
We saw a Camping sign at a motel about 25 km south of Chisinau, with tents visible but had no need
of it.

Beyond Tiraspol, near Balti, we find a perfect field for our stopover 200 metres from the road (which
is in any case very quiet) and with a clear view of the fields around. Another wonderfully starry night,
the best to date, but also our first cold night.

Day 39: Sunday 20th September

A lovely bright morning and our overnight stopping place was peaceful and beautiful this is what wild
camping is all about. We have about 120km to drive to reach the Moldova-Ukraine border.

Moldova north of Balti is just lovely, with clean and cared for
villages, some beauty spots and a general feeling of rural peace. Many people, the further north you
go, get around in horse-drawn carts or on bikes (which we have discovered in 2010 is very Romanian).
We come across wells at regular intervals (in some villages each house has its own well) and people
can be seen carrying their morning pail of water back home. We fill up one 5-litre bottle with water from
a communal well, not without some difficulty you have to control the reeling of the wire otherwise the
bucket gets buckled on its way back up a steep learning curve.
Then on to the border crossing at Mamalyga. Leaving Moldova is quite quick and simple but entering
Ukraine is another matter. How many kiosks does it take to get a motorhome into Ukraine? Five, or is it
six? It is at the third one that we come unstuck. A very polite, relatively pleasant uniformed man tells
us (a) the insurance we bought at Port Kavkaz isnt valid for Ukraine, only for Russia which is wrong
there had been no problem at Kerch; and (b) that we should have two Moldova stamps on our
passports for entering and leaving Moldova, and, true, they are conspicuous by their absence. In the
end, after much altercation, at one point aided by a car driver with some English, he simply gives us
one Moldova stamp each and passes us through. The official at the next kiosk smiles at the pragmatic
solution. On reflection they must have had to do that often enough before, otherwise why would they
have a stamp that doesnt belong to them?!

As we passed through the Moldova/Ukraine border there was a convoy of about ten German
motorhomes going through in the opposite direction. Fraternal waves exchanged.
The roads in Moldova were not perfect but were generally of a higher standard than Russia. Ukrainian
roads in this eastern part of the country are even worse than elsewhere. Shake, rattle and roll are not
fun terms to use but very accurate descriptions of the experience.
The so-called by-pass around Ternopol is a disgrace with speeds down to 5-10 kph and buses, trucks
and cars weaving from side to side of the wide road in attempts to avoid the worst of the holes, cracks
and huge ridges. A short while later having picked up speed on a relatively good stretch we sustain
our worst damage of the trip, hitting a double bump at around 20 kph, sending a Nivea sun cream
bottle up out of the rack to land top-end first on the laminated counter, the hard plastic lid making a
half-inch hole in the laminate as it found a weak spot in the honeycomb beneath.
We see a Camping sign 3 km south of Czernovcy, but it is unclear where/what it relates to.

We are clearly not going to get close to Lviv

today and so, with the sun blindingly low in the sky directly in front of us, we seek out our next stopover
spot. This we find by pulling off the road and stopping between a clutch of houses and some kind of
factory on an open field about 300 metres across.
I feel quite tense and stressed after todays driving over such bad roads and latterly into the setting sun
but we have a pleasant evening and see another beautiful clear night sky absolutely splendid, the
very best of the holiday with the Milky Way clearly visible.

Day 40: Monday 21st September

Its a nice morning again as over breakfast we observe the locals emerging for the working day. The
factory behind us is not disused but opens up at about 8am. A grandmother carries out her traditional
duty by taking the family cow to its days grazing along the way somewhere.

Then back to the crap road to Lviv which we reach at 11am. Our luck is in once again as we find a
prime parking spot just metres from the citys own Unter den Linden central avenue. Funniest thing
here is that the parking attendant has a hi-viz jacket on emblazoned with the logo of Kettering Borough
Council just down the road from where we live!!!

Its a pleasant city and in the bright sunshine appears a nice place to
visit. There are many people around this central avenue and various activities going on. Lviv is at the
centre of the small Catholic enclave in the otherwise Orthodox Ukraine (taken from Poland by Stalin as
part of the Yalta agreement) and there are several Catholic crucifixes, statues and shrines along the
way that numerous locals pause in front of to cross themselves and utter a silent prayer. I look on
bemused. Around the corner is the old town hall square where a lion painting competition is being
judged by passers-by. The lion is Lvivs city emblem. Its all very central European with five -storey
buildings, cobbles, museums and coffee shops and many people sitting in the sunshine and chatting
on the benches around the square.
Then we investigate the tourist trap churches lots more crossing going on and have our lunch at a
pavement caf. Caesar salad for Jill, potato and mince cakes for me, with mushroom sauce.

Next stop, the famous city cemetery. Lychakivske Cemetery is the

Pre Lachaise of Eastern Europe and its beautiful in the sunshine. Lots of famous people are buried
here (it is huge) and several of the graves are spectacular, none of them ordinary. It has a gothic air to
it but its not in the least bit mystical or impersonal many of the more recent statues/headstones have
photos attached, there are masses of flowers around, real and artificial, and people can be seen
bringing their offerings to their family graves. All in all it feels like a celebration of peoples lives, and
maybe that theyve passed to better things, which after all is the basic Christian belief. A statue of
Jesus stands at the front, looking after them all.
Then on to find the border, which eventually we do by taking the same road out to the ring road as we
came in on. It takes an hour and three-quarters to cross the border, the first 12 minutes to leave
Ukraine, the rest mostly just waiting to enter Slovakia. As an entry point into the EU presumably they
are obliged to be rigorous or rather to be seen to be, taking the form of several people looking at
passports and vehicle documents, two people making very cursory checks of the van, and a sniffer
dog being led around the cars (without any apparent finds).
By now the light is fading so we quickly find a place to stop, in a small copse near a field.

Day 41: Tuesday 22nd September

A reasonably good night under the trees just over the Polish border near Przemysl. With three-quarters
of a tank of fresh water still left from the Lviv car wash we treat ourselves to showers.
The satnav is showing maps again and so navigation is simplified. We decide to take a southerly route
to the Slovak Republic (aka Slovensko) as weve seen this part of Poland before, but from the map we

didnt realise the chosen route is through alpine country and virtually all behind slow-moving HGVs.
But its yet another sunny day and the views are great so its no hardship to move slowly through the
foothills of the Tatras. Pine-clad hills, grazing meadows, castles and chateaux. In the afternoon we hit
a real motorway and are able to make good progress at around 100-120 kph reducing the
outstanding distance to Prague to one days driving.
Were waved through the Poland-Czech border but then it takes twenty minutes to change our grivna
to euros and the rate does not seem that good. It all works out OK when I query it but to be honest we
never did figure out what exactly what grivna were worth. On checking it now its about 13 to the
pound.
The motorway is fast and we get great views of the Tatras but nowhere to stop for photos until it is
too late. Around 6pm we see some lakes from the motorway so we come off and try to find a lakeside
stopover spot. No luck there and so we try on the other side of the motorway and up in the hills. Here
we find a superb spot in the curve of a horseshoe valley. After pondering for a while we decide to drive
the van up the hill to a tiny level area near trees. She does it easily and we are presented with a
delightful view of the valley and surrounding hills. The sun is setting behind us now but this will make a
great photo in the morning.
Later, while we are admiring the night sky, a local with a shotgun under his arm comes over to tell us,
in a rather officious tone, and in Russian, that well be all right for one night but any longer and hell call
the police. I thank him and we rest easily. Jill wonders whether we are parking illegally in a National
Park but we put that out of our minds as we continue to admire a fantastic Milky Way display
including another clear shooting star.

Day 42: Wednesday 23rd September

I woke early and watched the sky lighten before dawn,

promising myself that Ill take a picture of the fab view as soon as the sun came up. Not to be almost
as soon as it appeared above the trees the whole scene was blotted out by a rising mist. Damn!

Were soon on our way but the fog persists on and off for most of the morning. The roads are mixed
with some fast and some single carriageway behind slow HGVs. The countryside continues to be
beautiful pine trees and mountains in the background the whole length of the Tatra range, and we
now have a river running alongside the road to add to the appeal. Slovenskos Tatra region is much
more beautiful, extensive and presumably lucrative with its tourism (climbing and skiing) than what we
saw of Polands Tatras in 2006.
We saw an Autocamping sign on the way to Zilina (near the Czech border) a first!
The Czech border is no problem, simply a sign on the side of the road, and before long were on a
fairly good motorway to Brno and Prague. I realise that since we crossed the border there have been
few RTAs or breakdowns by the side of the road. This must be put down to better road surfaces (and
EU MOT regulation?) but even so theyre not ideal much of it concrete slabs with depressed joins
like the old arterial A127, Southend Road. A regular bumpity bump, bumpity bump. Far fewer roadkill
too.
Slovensko was poorer in appearance (houses and cars older and less well cared for) and Czecho is
only a small improvement. Far fewer 4x4s than Poland or Russia. We get to Prague around 4pm and
join the traffic queue for the city centre. Once again were pretty lost though Jill has a destination in
mind and then a hunch that we should turn off just past the main railway station. Hey presto! We are
on a suburban street close to rail and metro. No hotels with car parks but a back street car park that
looks like an ideal stopping place. (Its Pernerova Car Park on Pernerova Street, 5 minutes from
Krizikova metro station and about 10 minutes from Florenc metro station.) A word with the attendant
and we book for three nights for 25 about 7 per night. There are no services to speak of but a
portaloo proves handy for dumping the cassette waste before we leave. We go off for a recce in the
area as soon as we stop. Its a student sort of area with lots of mini-markets, reasonable restaurants
and bars. Ideal.
When we get back to the car park a new attendant, rather fierce, makes us move to a more remote
spot, on a concrete plinth! Thats ok as it means we will be less disturbed by vehicles moving in and
out.
After sprucing up a bit we go out for a meal stroganoff for Jill and pork with cheese topping for me,
washed down with the local red, which was fine. But Jill is not well, running a temperature and with
other flu symptoms.

Day 43: Thursday 24th September

The night has been quieter than anticipated no noise from the metro, which is just behind and above
us, nor from traffic on the adjacent road. Nevertheless I did wake at 4am which is really 5am as
weve had to turn the clocks back.
Theres a lot to see in Prague so we make an early start at the metro station before 9am. I press the
button for a 100 koruna ticket each, not realising till later that weve wasted about 160 koruna on them
(over 5). Thing is, when all the sights you want to see are within walking distance, and in an
interesting city, then you dont want to ride, youre happy to walk. We then waste even more money
big money this time by paying for the longer tour with audio guide for Prague Castle, and in euros.
Around 55 in all! Unless you are a Prague history fanatic or have a lot of time to kill then it is just not
worth paying for the longer tour and the detail in the audio guide is far more than the average tourist
needs.
This waste is compounded yet further by having lunch within one of the castles pricier, yet rather cold
and uninteresting, cafs. My stroganoff is tough not cooked anywhere near long enough. Has our
luck run out? The waiter advises us to pay in koruna rather than euros because the exchange rate is
unfavourable, and we realise too late that we paid over the odds to get into the castle by using euros.
The castle and town are thronged with tourists Prague is a real tourist trap. Thousands, of souvenir
shops and attractions its hardly a real capital city at all. The old Charles Bridge, key tourist
attraction, is undergoing major repairs. How often have we had this on our travels?

Between the two the castle and Charles Bridge we visit the
Franz Kafka Museum which is very quirky but excellent in giving an idea of the mans life and psyche.
Its well worth a visit, not least because much of the information has been translated into good English.
Then were lucky enough to be in Town Hall Square at 6pm on the way home to see the famous
astronomical clock do its bit.
After the high temperatures of yesterday (30, even 32 degrees) we have had a much cooler day. We
find a restaurant which is more like a pub with food (and football on the box) and fortunately we find we

can pay by card we have gone through almost all the koruna we got out, on top of the euros we used
to get into the castle.
Jill is feeling very poorly again so we cut back to the van early 9pm just in time to beat the rain
thats starting and allowing me to empty the cassette in to the car park portaloo. Has the weather
finally broken? Another sign that our luck has ended?

Day 44: Friday 25th September

A disturbed night for both of us Jill with a sweaty fever and me just waking early and not being able
to get back off first hints of a cold plus minor noises from outside.
But were out and about early again in time to use our 24 hour metro ticket again to get in to
Wenceslas Square and the statue at the top end. Its still pretty cold in the shade but the sun is up and
the sky clear. We continue to be impressed by Pragues ever-changing street scene the buildings are
so varied, unlike St Petersburg with its impressive but almost monostyle splendour. But what a shame
it is flooded with tour groups and all that comes in train shop after shop full of tacky souvenirs, nonstop food joints, designer outlets and views obstructed by too many people like us.

After Wenceslas we wind our way through the streets to the

Museum of Czech Cubism quite well presented and housed in a cubist building too known as the
Black Madonna after a small statue on the outside of the building. By lunchtime weve seen all we
want to and Plan B comes into effect return to the van for lunch and then make tracks. The holiday
part of the trip is over.
Its still pretty warm, 27 degrees, as we drive through the afternoon. One hundred kilometres down the
road and we decide to stop over on a motorway services after an abortive search for a quiet country
hideaway. Weve found water on another motorway stop so are well set for the night as long as the
gas holds out now that we are having to use it in the mornings to warm the place up.

Day 45: Saturday 26th September

Its hit me (HP). Ive had a lousy night woke at 3am and not been back to sleep since cold
symptoms really coming out now. We have showers with our new abundance of water but it provides
only temporary relief from the fatigue and yuckiness. After just forty-five minutes driving Im ready for a
snooze so we stop and again an hour later and again another hour later. Weve crossed into
Germany and I just feel very washed out and incapable of keeping my eyes open and concentration
sharp and now busy autobahns. Theyre doing a lot of road-widening and stops and slow-downs are
frequent very tedious.
After lunch Im beginning to pick up a bit but traffic is still heavy. Then it happens. We are in a contraflow and have taken the middle lane of three as the outside lane is restricted to 2m maximum width.
HGVs are in the nearside lane but we are within our allotted space when WHACK, a German whitevan-man whizzes by in the outside lane, forcing our wing-mirror back round against the body. He
stops, having little choice, and apologises. I dont have the wit to point out that he should not be in the
outside lane as his total width with mirrors must exceed 2 metres. And nothing seems broken apart,
perhaps, from a bit of plastic. As were holding up the traffic and there is nowhere to pull off to the side
I omit to study the bits that fell on to the road and later regret this as on examination everything is ok
except that a plastic plug is missing from the top of the mounting. We make a note of his number and
his firms email address from the side of the van with the intention of later sending them a complaint
and a bill but never get round to it.
Right through this episode my main concern is about running out of diesel in the middle of the jam.
Although we have stocks on board it would not please anyone if we had to refill in the middle of the
road! Fortunately the traffic eases and we are able to find a lay-by where the operation can be
performed. And performed is the operative word what a performance! The 20-litre plastic jerry-can
weighs a ton and despite having a nozzle the diesel just does not flow freely something to do with
the position of the air vent in the filler nozzle. It must have taken about twenty minutes to complete the
transfer but Jill is a star in assisting me with it.
A short while later we find an acceptable rest stop for the night. Just a little traffic noise but
opportunities to dump grey in a drain and green in the toilet block.

We really dont seem to have seen or achieved much today.

Day 46: Sunday 27th September

Not a great nights sleep for either of us what with the nose-blowing and coughing, with traffic noise in
the background. The road is busy right into the early hours of Sunday morning.
We have a long days driving back through a series of countries Germany, Netherlands, Belgium,
France, but the kilometres gradually clock up and the return of warm sunny weather compensates for
our both feeling so crap.

We get to Calais at around 5.30pm, first investigating where

we might stop over there are a couple of free aires including one on the ferry port itself. However,
that looks likely to be noisy with night sailings pulling people out while were trying to sleep. (By 2010
the aires are no longer free.)
We first seek out a supermarket theyre all closed but we do find a boulangerie/ patisserie with a few
loaves still on the shelf. The woman is very friendly.
Then back to the search for a resting place. We find an ideal spot but it seems impossible to reach as
the road is closed. But we can see motorhomes parked on it! A detour past an asylum seekers (sanspapiers) support project brings us back on track. There is a crowd of 150-200 sans-papiers outside
one building that looks like a nightshelter and an anarchist slogan graffitied on a wall nearby
solidarit avec les sans -papiers.
We find the way round grabbing almost the last available of 25-odd pitches right on the edge of the
dock with views over the marina and the sun setting to the side our luck returns!
We have our final evening meal on board and our last game of Scrabble which leaves the
tournament inconclusive we will have to have a play-off game when we get home.

After that its still early so we wrap up a bit and take a stroll through Calais. There are dozens of
restaurants and bars most of them largely empty.

Day 47: Monday 28th September

A couple in a motorhome to whom we spoke yesterday evening said they

had tried to bring their ferry booking forward by 12 hours but they would have had to pay an extra 60.
We had wondered about arriving a few days early in Calais and doing just that too so were pleased we
hadnt.
The ferry leaves at about 11.30am French time, reaching Dover at 12 noon local time. Then back to
Desford!
We arrive back home around 4.45pm, having clocked up 11,056 km (6,901 miles) over six-and-a-half
weeks. We heave a massive sigh of relief, take a photo of ourselves with the van and start thinking
about our next trip
Club Motorhome note...
We are very grateful to Harry and Jill Perry for allowing us to publish the account of their trip here. It
really is a most fascinating and inspiring read. Thank you!