July 19th, 2010

Dispatch from the Road: Rally London-Mongolia, Part 5

Drive Like A Woman Editor-in-Chief, Michele Shapiro is setting off on a rally from London to Mongolia. She will be driving with Parag Khanna, Mikhail Zeldovich and Jen Mueller. Jen will be starting with the team in London and Michele will be meeting the team in Moscow and will switch places with Jen. The team will be driving a 1991 Land Rover Defender ambulance. Upon arrival in Mongolia the team will donate the ambulance to a local hospital. Drive Like A Woman will be posting dispatches from the journey.

Click here to read Part 1.

Latvia:
-Written by Jen Mueller

“Misha, time check!”

“It is . . . “ he looked at his phone, “. . . 9:52.”

“And what does Googlemaps say?”

Out came the Blackberry.  “You’ve shaved another few minutes off our arrival time.  But we’re still not going to get there by 11.”

I stretched my shoulders and looked at the speedometer.  “Yes, we will.”

A little more gas, and the Land Rover shot down the country highway.

It’s amazing what the promise of a sit-down dinner with other people can do to a person.  My last one had been a week earlier, and now I was craving the restorative powers of conversation, laughter, and food.

And if that conversation should tackle the world’s problems and the food be classic eastern European game dishes and the laughter ring out in a fifteenth century stone cellar, all the better.

We needed a little restoration; that seemed to be the tacit understanding as we stumbled to the ambulance at 6:45 and went in search of a mechanic for the second morning in a row.  It was an easy drive to the Land Rover dealer and, as the dealer also happens to specialize in Jaguars and Aston Martins, a very comfortable wait for a service technician.

This time we were at sea linguistically.  A round-faced man in green overalls was eventually produced from the shop to serve as our translator.  They would take a look at the engine—yes, at the electrical too—and try to have an update for us in a few hours.

We left our phone number and took a cab back to the hotel.  At some point over the next four hours, we each found time to get some more sleep, hit the gym, do some work (including posting our first two blog entries), and indulge in the delicious Club Level breakfast (note to self:  look into becoming Starwood premiere member).  Thanks to our late checkout (ditto), we did not leave until around 1pm, when the dealer reported that they were finished looking things over.

We were anxious as we awaited the verdict (and the bill).  Finally a mechanic came out to where the ambulance sat incongruously parked in front of the showroom window and motioned for us to pop the hood.

“Was it a lot of work?”

“Yes,” he replied in thickly accented English.  “It was more than we thought.”

Uh oh.  We looked at each other.

“And did you find something?”

“There is cable, down there,” he pointed.  “Not one of top cables.  We gave you new one.”

We waited.  He looked at us.  We looked at him.

“And that’s it?”

“Yes, that is everything.”

So maybe it really had been the electrical system?  We were so used to bad news and failed theories that we weren’t sure what to think.  Relief?  Doubt?  Gratitude?  Even (dare we?) hope?

There was only one way to find out.  With profuse thanks, we paid the bill (not as bad as it could have been), collected a list of parts that they recommended we try to find in Moscow, had one last bubbly water in the air conditioned waiting room, and were on our way.

Parag drove us out of town.

“Moscow or bust, baby!”

Would the team make it to Moscow? Click Read More to find out…

It was Tuesday morning.  Mikhail had to be in Moscow for work by Thursday afternoon.  He had hoped to get to the Latvian-Russian border, 650 km from Moscow, by Wednesday morning, so that if we met with any difficulties he could call on friends in relevant offices during business hours to intervene.

Given our late start, this schedule would mean driving through the night, and by-passing the Lithuanian castle that Mikhail had hoped to show us.  Trakai Castle, just outside the capital city Vilnius, dates back to the 14th Century and was for a brief period one of the centers of European power.

We cruised into northeastern Poland and a refreshing rain.  As I drove us through scenic pine forests and past large nests full of storks (who knew?), Misha and I reconsidered the plan.  We decided to stop at Vilnius for the night, check out the castle briefly in the morning, and hope to hit the Russian border by mid-afternoon.  If we were held up a long time at the border crossing (and we were pretty sure we would be), we could still drive through the night and be in Moscow before Thursday morning rush hour.

“I haven’t been in Vilnius in years,” Misha reminisced.  “There used to be this great restaurant in the old town where you could eat old-world game in a kind of catacombs.  I wonder if it’s still there.”

“Oh my God, I’ve been to that restaurant!” Parag called out from the back of the ambulance.  “It is awesome!  The Bear, right?”

It was quickly established that it was in fact The Bear, that it did still exist, that it was indeed awesome, and that my first trip to Vilnius would not be complete without dining there.

There was just one problem:  we had lost an hour crossing into Lithuania.  It was now just about 9, and we had more than 200 km to go on a two-lane country highway that wound unevenly through towns along the way.  Mikhail called; the kitchen closed at 11.  He entered the address into his GPS and shook his head.

“According to this, we won’t get there until 11:26.”

I gripped the steering wheel.  A real dinner was only a couple hundred clicks away?

“We can do it,” I said and bore down on the accelerator.

Misha was doubtful.  “Jen, to even get close you’re going to have to cut at least a sixth off our estimated travel time.”

“I want me some bear!” Parag sang out from the back.

“You’re going to get some!” I called, and we sped forward.

The next few hours literally raced by.  Misha gave frequent updates on our changing arrival time.  Parag checked for area hotels.  Misha called ahead and told the restaurant that we were coming and might be a few minutes late.  He piled it on:  we were three weary Americans traveling a long way, some of us had eaten there before and had fond memories of the place, we were coming to Vilnius, really, just to see them.  Would they keep the kitchen open for us?  They agreed, but asked us to hurry.

We stopped our Land Rover on the narrow cobblestone street before The Bear at (whoosh) 10:56.

Ha.

We were all looking forward to this dinner.  “Parag, I can’t go fast with this foot. Can you let them know we’re here?”  Misha asked as we slowed.  Parag was already moving.  He flung open the ambulance doors and ran inside, emerging a minute later with an incredulous-looking woman to direct us to parking.

Military officers must have nights like this on their campaigns, nights of good food and revelry even when they know there is hard work to come.  There was game (I had boar, the guys venison) and salads and Lithuanian liquors and wine and chocolate and stories of people and places far away.

Afterwards we climbed back up the narrow twisting tunnel of a staircase and wandered to where the ambulance sat parked in the middle of Vilnius’ old town square.  A few last groups laughed at outdoor cafes while waiters stacked chairs for the next day.

I dozed in the back of the ambulance and Misha and Parag navigated to Trakai and our hotel for the night, an improbable Soviet-style sanatorium.  We had work to do, but we also knew we needed sleep.

The next day would be the Russian border, and the likely all-night drive to reach Moscow.