August 18th, 2010

Dispatch from the road: Rally London-Mongolia, Part 14

We wake up and it’s all feeling a bit too familiar. We know we’ll have the same breakfast, we’ll use the internet in the lobby, and yet again we’ll wait anxiously for a call from Land Rover.

But this morning feels a bit different. This is it, it will either be the end of the road or we will begin again. If the car is not ready we will not have enough time to reach Mongolia by car.

We all begin to think of an exit strategy. Parag looks for flights out to Mongolia. I debate asking my new husband if he wants to accompany me on a trip to Kazakhstan. Mikhail just looks worried – he has committed to get this car to Mongolia one way or another, and it is in his name. He decides he’d have to leave the car here temporarily and when a part came in, he’d have Land Rover fix it and then it would be ready to go to Mongolia. The only problem is that there will be no one to drive it.

The call comes in and they say the car is good to go. We’ve been down this road before and although none of us say this to each other we’re all rather sceptical.  For all of us, our exit strategies linger in the back of our minds.

Andrey greets us at the dealership and tells us the car is ready. But he insists we go for a comprehensive test drive first. I can tell that this is not just about fixing a car and handing us a bill, this is a personal source of pride for them to fix the car correctly and get us to our destination.

Parag does a test drive with Andrey that includes going off-road.

“Dudes, seriously I think the car is better than before.” Well, that’s a good sign. They just need to wait for the car to cool down and then we’re off.

Vladimir arrives, again on his day off, to make sure everything goes smoothly. The first thing he does is ask me if I’d like a coffee. He makes it for me personally and gives me chocolates—he most certainly knows what makes me happy.

The boys decide they want to go for lunch at a Chinese restaurant across the street but I decide to relax at the dealership. Before leaving, Mikhail comes over with a translation.

“Vladimir wants to know if you want to drive a soviet car.” He points outside to a Lada. I accept the challenge.

I’m used to these sorts of challenges as it often happens to me in foreign countries; guys find great humor in getting me to perform typically masculine tasks. I’ve ridden a donkey in a little village in Mexico, practiced blowing poison darts in the Amazon (it’s really hard) and swam with a dolphin in the wild in the Red Sea.

Vladimir, Andrey and I get in the car and I take it pretty easy. I have no need to show off and given everything I do not want do any harm minutes prior to taking off. Even driving at a normal pace around the block, they find it quite hilarious and I’m happy to oblige. We get back and Vladimir points to the Land Rover.

“Alright, I guess it would be fun to take a modern Land Rover around the block.” The two of us get in and off we go. It’s strange driving this car. I look for the clutch but don’t find one, it’s automatic. I hit the brakes hard and nearly throw us through the window because our brakes are extremely heavy and in the modern Rover my foot only has to graze the brakes and it comes to a screeching halt.

He leads me through the city and in broken English gives me a tour: the local hospital, the university, the city tram, his military academy. There’s a lot of traffic as we head back. I’ve still been driving conservatively but the traffic is beginning to irritate me. I decide to overtake a car after a red light.

“That’s my boss.” Vladimir informs me.

“Oh, sorry.” I say and smile. He smiles back.

When we arrive back at the dealership they say the car is ready. My heart drops and suddenly I’m actually quite sad to be leaving. Even though we don’t speak the same language I feel like these guys have become friends. I tell the boys, thinking they feel the same way, and of course Parag never misses an opportunity to make fun of me.

In a fake Russian accent he says, “You are going to miss your new Russian husband.” And then he laughs to himself hysterically.

Vladimir hands me a bottle of water. Then a minute later he hands me two more. I hand them to Parag.

“This is for the car?” Parag inquires.

To which Vladimir and I respond in unison, “No this is for the people!”

Vladimir leaves and returns again, this time with three more bottles of vodka.

“For the police…and for you.”

Parag looks at me. “You know what, I really am kind of sad to leave this place.”

“Mikhail, can you ask them to bring out all the guys so we can thank them.” I desperately want to convey how thankful I am and am very frustrated not to speak the language.

“Already asked, they’re all coming out right now.”

All the mechanics come out and we thank them and take photos with them in front of the car.

I take a photo with Andrey and Vladimir and there is definitely a part of me that has grown used to Chelyabinsk, our hotel, the fried potatoes and chicken in a light mushroom cream sauce, my new friends at Land Rover, my new (very polite) husband, his mother’s cooking and the banya.

I try to linger and stall the inevitable departure.

“Mikhail, can you ask them that if I decide to leave New York will they give me a job here.” Vladimir smiles and shakes his head, a definitive yes.

“That’s it! Let’s get the show on the road.” Yells Parag.

I look at Andrey and kiss him on both cheeks. I look at Vladimir and he just hugs me goodbye.

He tells Andrey to lead us out of town and that we should call him when we get to our next stop. He is still looking after us.

Parag’s at the wheel, Mikhail in the co-driver’s seat and I jump in back. I have terrible separation anxiety and I want to stay behind.

The team runs into yet more problems, click Read More to find out what happens next…

At the edge of town, Andrey rolls down his window to say goodbye and hands us a cd, Russian rock music. We put it in and it sounds like the Red Hot Chili Peppers “Give-it-away, give-it-away-now” song. Mikhail starts laughing.

“It’s not a cover song. It’s Russian and it translates into ‘fuck the police.’”

We’re back into our rhythm; Parag drives the first half in the morning and I drive the second half in the afternoon.

We get a late start and as I begin to drive the sun is beginning to go down. This is my favourite time to drive. Once in the driver’s seat my sadness disappears and the excitement of the long roads ahead comes to the forefront again.

The sun sets and we turn onto the unpaved road Allen had warned us about. No problem, it is a bit bumpy but nothing I hadn’t driven before. Honestly, I am loving a little off-road action.

The car and I are as happy as can be travelling at a steady pace when suddenly it starts to cough and buck.

“Uh, Mikhail. The car’s not happy.”

The car seems to lose all power and I pull it over as much as I can given there is no shoulder and on both sides of us there is a drop off.

“All of a sudden, she just lost power.” I tell them.

“Dude, it sounds like the problem we first had in Europe.”

We get out and inspect the car. The guys try spraying it with the can they were given in TK and we try re-starting it. Nothing. We are in a precarious position—it’s midnight, it’s dark, we’re on a dirt road, there are no lights, there is a ton of dust from the construction, there are trucks passing—we need to move the car.  Mikhail keeps trying to flag down passing trucks but no one has a towing hook. We think about having a truck tow us out when a guy in an SUV stops. He looks under the hood, poking and prodding and miraculously, it starts!

“Guys, get in! Let’s go!”

At this point it’s about 2 am and we’re exhausted, so we cross our fingers and hope to make it to the next town so we can sleep for the night.

The town of Ishim is close by and it’s small so we reason that there must be one hotel in the center of town and it will be easy to find.

I drive down the main road and see an old man on a bike. Then, we pass some drunk guys in the middle of the street. Then we pass a couple on the left and a group of kids on the right. There are people everywhere. What in the world are all these people doing up at 2:30 am? It’s busier here than most of the towns we’ve passed during the day.

“Hey, why don’t you ask the taxi driver?” I tell Mikhail.

“Which one?”

Sure enough there are taxis all over the place. The taxis are coming from the other direction, they’re behind me, and they’re stopped on the side of the road; it looks like the streets of New York.

“Guys, this is like some odd Fellini town.”

We ask some people who tell us the hotel is on the main street. Only the main street is blocked off from both ends for no apparent reason. Who blocks off the entire main street in town? We don’t want to walk because Mikhail’s foot is hurt, we have all our bags and we’re exhausted.

Mikhail then stops and asks a taxi driver who says he’ll help take us to another hotel. We follow him and he pulls over so we pull over. Another taxi swoops in and they begin fighting. Although we’d only driven a few meters it seems as if the taxi driver has roamed into the other taxi driver’s territory. Who has territories in a small village?

Parag jumps in the driver’s seat as I have been driving since 4 pm, I’m beyond tired and cannot deal with the strange Fellini town. The taxi driver takes us to the hotel but the guys don’t like it.

“Let’s drive to the next town.” Parag suggests.

“No guys, it’s already 2:30 and we need rest.” But I am overruled.

Parag drives on and I believe it’s a bad decision to drive all day, only get 4 hours of sleep, and expect to drive another long day; especially after already having a bad crash.

At the next town we find a truck stop motel, park, and stop for the night. We sleep in a large room with 6 single beds. It’s pretty terrible but given how tired we are we all fall asleep quickly.