Mongol Rally 2007 - Windmill Giants official blog

We posted the first few days of antics to the web, packed/repacked the car, and many hugs and kisses later, turned Rusty South and East towards Turkey.  Rather uneventful driving apart from appreciating the scenery of Bulgaria’s beautiful countryside and noting the much-improved condition of the roads since the last time we drove here. As we approached Turkey, we “shared” (read: fought for every inch of) the road with dozens of luxury cars registered in Germany as much of that country’s large Turkish population returned home for the summer.  We spotted our first Mongol Rally cars since Prague, and shared these teams frustration with the fiasco that is the Bulgarian-Turkish border crossing.  To be fair, the four-hour delay of crossing the border was not a result of the terribly inefficient bureaucracy that would plague us later in the journey.  The process of crossing into Turkey was by all means straightforward and to the point.  The twisted mess that set us back can be blamed entirely on the utter lack of reason in 99% of those people crossing the border that day.  It was a mad scrum across eight lanes, shoulders and grass as people jockeyed for position in the four open lanes that were processing cars.  Anywhere there is traffic, there’s always that one jerk that thinks he is too smart or too good to wait in line like everybody else.  Crossing into Turkey, it was like that jerk was driving every single car. 

We rolled into Istanbul, notorious as one of the world’s most challenging driving cities, with no real road map.  It was after 1am, and we were hours behind schedule as usual.  We had contacted our CouchSurfing host, Eser, to say that we would get to town late and likely just find a hostel, but he assured us that he would be up late anyway and we wouldn’t be an inconvenience (little did he know).   The plan was to find a landmark in our host’s neighborhood of Besiktas and set up a place to meet.  Armed only with a Lonely Planet map showing the general layout of the city, Illiana guided us through the chaos to Dolmabahce Palace like she had lived in the city all her life.

 We met with Eser by a massive bridge spanning two continents and followed him to his apartment.  It turns out Eser was an All-American guy from Buffalo, exploring his Turkish heritage and teaching English.  We enjoyed a plate of fried cheese and talked a bit about the trip and life in general.  Eser and a friend of his helped us to work out the logistics of the next day, which would involve a trip to the embassy of Turkmenistan, far to the South West of the city before crossing into Asia and continuing East.  Rather than spend endless hours battling Istanbul traffic, we were strongly encouraged to take the car to the Asian side of the city first thing in the morning and move between such distant neighborhoods by ferry.  Our gracious host stood by us until 5am, working out the buses and ferries, and then offered to ride with David the next day while Illiana set off in search of the Turkmenistan embassy to secure the visa.

We woke up to the favored Bulgarian breakfast of banitza, before starting to cross things off the long “To Do” list of things that we had kept putting off with the plan to take care of them with our “down time” in Bulgaria.  Ha!  Georgi took Rusty in to be fit with four new all-terrain tires, plus a second spare that would likely be needed along the way.  David got his head shaved rather than risk a bad hair day or look the fool applying hair products in the desert.  A stop in the super-store Metro produced a tent, pillows and other domestic comforts along with a full pantry of campfire goodies.   After diner with the family, our next stop was to one of Sofia’s best kept secrets -  The bar “Hambara” (The Barn) to catch up with old circles of friends.  A narrow dark alley leads to the unmarked door of an old barn that once housed a printing press for subversive political publications.  Now, the space is awash with flickering light from stumpy candles ad features high energy fiddling and other performances when its artistic patrons are so inspired.  Good times were had and we still managed to get to bed at a decent hour in preparation for the next day’s drive to Turkey.

We started the day with a coffee and treats from a local bakery, said goodbye to our CS host, and set out for the nearby Serbian border. Illiana’s nerves were on edge crossing this border, but they waived us through without delay. 

Driving styles were notably different in Serbia, where it’s kind of understood that people pass on the center line, riding in both lanes while cars heading in opposite directions part to the shoulder to let people through. It was a bit unnerving at first, but before long, we found it was more comfortable than driving in Western Europe where people don’t give and inch of road and seem to speed up when you try to pass them in a Skoda. Roads in Serbia were surprising smooth, largely because they charge foreigners the highest road tolls we have seen so far. 

The temperature climbed as we drove towards Belgrade, topping 110 degrees Fahrenheit on the hottest day in the country’s recorded history. The Skoda doesn’t have Air Conditioning (the Mongol Rally isn’t about comfort after all), and rolling down the windows only seemed to make the car hotter. What’s more, the car’s engine temperature was rising, so we needed to turn on the heat to keep Rusty from overheating! After six hours of zipping down the road in 100+ degree temperatures, with hot air scorching us like a convection oven from both the outside air and the heat vents, we felt like dried beef jerky. We crossed into the mountains, which brought some relief from the direct sun cooled the air a bit. 

Ultimately we reached the Bulgarian border, passed through without incident and made our way towards our homecoming in Sofia. Rustinante had made the round trip with only minor issues. We had seen the oil light come on twice, and responded by adding more oil; this will likely be the routine through much of the trip.Though we were clearly disgusting from our drive through hell with the heat on, Illiana’s family greeted us with big hugs anyway. After a shower, a bit of rakia (Bulgarian brandy), a few beers and a good meal, we were feeling close to human again. There’s nothing like a trip home to refresh before setting out on the more challenging stretch of the Mongol Rally.

We fought traffic (and each other a bit) as we made our way out of Prague for a detour to Kutna Hora before heading south toward Hungary. While sitting in the long line of cars heading out of town, we got good news from the Turkmenistan embassy in Vienna that our transit visa had been approved and we could pick it up in Istanbul! Happiness is not having to drive through Chechnya as a back-up plan.

Despite a lack of any detailed Czech maps, Illiana (with the help of a cab driver) managed to put us on the right path to Kutna Hora, where we visited a church decorated with the bones of some 40,000 people!  It was like the necromancers lair from a fantasy fiction novel – pyramids of bones and skulls more than 10 feet tall, an intricate jawbone chandelier, and a massive coat of arms made with real arms! 

Leaving Kutna Hora, we knew we were to drive for hours along one road, but it was hours before we realized we were on the wrong road! We don’t know if we were just road weary, or maybe David is just a crappy navigator, but we got about 100 km off course and another 2 hours behind schedule (and we were already running late). Because we had left later than planned, got stuck in traffic, got lost, and underestimated the time needed to travel some of the non-highway roads, we were way behind schedule.

We called our Couchsurfing host Gabriella Kiss in Szeged, Hungary to say we would arrive after 11pm, and she was very understanding of the challenges of the road. It was hard to drive past Budapest without stopping to see this gorgeous city on the Danube, but we promised ourselves that we would come back another time. We met Gabriella near Szeged’s main and were given a quick took of this charming and lively university town. We regret not being able to spend more time with Gabriella, but we were exhausted from the day’s driving and eager to get some rest.

Just a long day of driving, really. We crossed into Germany fairly early in the day and left speed limits behind. The Germans make 200mph look easy, and we thought we would take the opportunity to put Rustinante to the test to see how fast our little heap could go. The target was 160 km/h (about 100 mph), which we fell short of on several attempts. Finally, while heading downhill with no other cars around and just a long straight stretch of road ahead of us, we managed to eek 160 out of our humble engine. 

The scenery was tranquil, rustic, and after a few hours really a snore. More of the same in the Czech Republic until we reached Prague (about 3 hours behind schedule). Between 5 maps, Illiana was able to navigate our way to the home of our Couchsurfing.com host in Prague, Mark Rutland. Mark set us up with a futon and didn’t seem to mind us taking over his living space with our gear for the night. The three of us went out to the last organized Mongol Rally event outside of Mongolia, drank Pilsner from tall glasses and shot the general breeze about Prague, the Mongol Rally, Couchsurfing, and world travels. We didn’t come out of the party with any caravan plans as we had hoped, but we can work this out as we move along.

Today we rolled out of bed and started driving to Mongolia. The first sticker to go on our car was from the London parking authorities, which read “Authorized for Removal”, as we could not resist the temptation to park conveniently and illegally just outside the hotel. After packing, repacking, and agreeing to repack the car again later, we set out for Hyde Park to join the horde of Rally cars. 

As we pulled in to take our place, a person of distinctive cheez-doodle complexion stood out from the crowd.  Thanks for being there to send us off, Erich! 

We registered Rusty, picked up our launch pack (pretty much t-shirts and a can of fix-a-flat) and set about stickering our ride in appreciation of our generous sponsors. We took our place along the line of cars and gaped in wonder at some of the utter crap-mobiles that people would try to pilot to Mongolia. The Citroen 2 CV was the clear underdog with a 660 ml engine, while the Suzuki SJ owners looked like they wished they could just skip the paved roads already and blaze trails through the desert. Demon-spawn Jack Osbourne lent a little celebrity fan-fare to the launch, stealing thunder from the little guys by some accounts but ultimately raising the tide on which all Mongol Rally boats float. We took the scenic route out of London; meaning of course that we got hopelessly lost. We asked directions from people who spoke something like English, but I understood maybe about half of what they said. Being lost and driving on the left-hand side of the road messed with our heads, and we were pretty relieved to get out of the city and on our way to Dover to catch the ferry. 

We had initially planned to book the car ferry to France in advance, but decided against because we weren’t sure the car would make it to London, or what time we would make it to Dover. We figured that the cost of the ferry would be more expensive if booked from the gate, but charging more than double the internet price was outright criminal. After being so heinously violated, it was hard to enjoy the short ride across the English Channel in what essentially amounts to a giant floating mall.

After getting our wheels on solid ground again, it was a relatively uneventful trip through a bit of France and Belgium as we made our way to the Netherlands. Illiana got to talking with someone at a rest stop and may have connected us with a director in Mongolia; goes to show you never know who knows who. After that, it was pretty smooth driving to Maastricht, in the Netherlands where we stayed at Dessi and Iliya’s house and also shared the place with Anni, Andreas, and their new baby Vincent. The comforts of home did a lot of good at the end of the road, and helped recharge us for another long day of driving.

Take a look at our launch video!

The Anglo Rally has reached it’s end; let the Mongol Rally begin. George and Gaspi arrived at the hotel about 2 seconds after we did, delivering Rustinante in one piece. The four day trek from Sofia to London gave the car a thorough road test with no problems at all. We passed a couple of hours walking the Thames, taking in the sights, and making our way to the Old Truman Brewery on Brick Lane for the Mongol Rally pre-launch party. We talked shop with some of the other teams for a bit, but cut out early without getting too banged up (partly because we had to buy our own beers, but mostly because we hadn’t slept much the past week). One doesn’t just roll out of bed and drive to Mongolia, after all!

In Bulgaria, they eat Red Tape for breakfast (with feta cheese).  Illiana’s years behind the Iron Curtain proved useful as she navigated the bureaucratic minefield of our visa applications without breaking a sweat.  We have successfully connected the dots between London and Ulaanbataar, allowing us to cross all borders (more or less) along our preferred route.  So you might say we have the “ways” of getting to Mongolia, while the “means” will always carry that level of break-down-any-minute-now uncertainty. 

While we might have quite a few pages of our passports dedicated to granting us passage through many-a-‘stan, one ‘stan has eluded us and has proven to be the bane of rational thinking.  Turkmenistan not only has made lip-synching illegal by presidential decree and banished car radios from their land (I’m not making this up), but they have created such a tangle of their visa application process that it’s quite the convoluted hoop that we must jump through to visit in our own jalopy of a car.   

Without getting into the mind-numbing specifics – we can’t get a tourist visa without a letter of invitation which requires us to book services that won’t allow us to drive our own car.  Transit visas also require a letter of invitation when arranging them from the Turkmen consulate in the US, but rumor on the street has it that the Turkmen consulate in its neighboring countries can provide a transit visa without the letter of invitation.     

That said, the plan is to drive to Baku, Azerbaijan and try our luck for a transit visa with the Turkmen consulate there.  If this can be arranged in a reasonably short enough time for us to catch the sporadically scheduled ferry that leaves Baku for Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan, then we’re in business.  Otherwise we’ll just have to give up and quit the Mongol Rally. 

Fooled you there for a second!  Like we’d drop out over a measly border crossing.  If Turkmenistan is too cool for us, we’ll just head North around the Caspian Sea and put our double entry visas for Russia and Kazakhstan to use before crossing into Uzbekistan.  As eager as we are to verify Turkmenistan’s claim of having the most beautiful horse in the world, we know where we’re not wanted and can take the hint.  So be it.

With a nod to Don Quixote’s noble nag Rosinante, we welcome our trusty steed Rustinante to team Windmill Giants.  “Rusty” is a 1995ish Skoda Felicia that hitherto fore braved the perilous potholes of Sofia, Bulgaria in service to the kin of one “Sir Gaspi” Yorukov.  “Sir Gaspi” and “Don Georgi” Ivanov, father to the fair maiden Illiana, will see to it that the vehicle is roadworthy in something of an “Anglo Rally” of their own.  The car will be put to the test, as the pair drives some 1500 miles from Sofia to London to deliver the car to Windmill Giants at the starting line.   

Rusty is a something of a suped-up workhorse by Mongol Rally standards, with 1.3 liters of engine practically busting forth from under the hood.  Because we have “cheated” by taking such a high-performance piece of machinery, the charities will benefit from an additional £100 per 0.1 liters above the 1.0 liter limit imposed for our own good.  So, we’ll need to raise at least another $600 for charity, and hope to blow this so far out of the water that we could take a Hummer if we wanted to.