September 21We arrived in Omsk 2 weeks ago last Thursday and yes we are still here! If it wasn't for the sluggishness of Fedex I think that the locals dastardly "Molochina" concoction would have done the same thing!
After reviewing all the local hotels prices we found the only suitable one was of a 'Russian only' kind, not having any identities to borrow this time and not knowing how long we were to be staying we had to make alternative arrangements. We pestered the kindest hotel receptionist we had found until she arranged some suitably priced accommodation for us, it turned out to be here mates 'spare' flat for about 42quid a week.
So to this date we have been living as Russians in a tenement block a short 20min bus ride form the town centre. Everyone on the estate knows we are there but only a few have plucked up the courage to say hello, it's quite nice to have some peace and quiet for a change! Someone that is only too friendly is our landlord, this man finds any excuse to pop round and does sometimes with some embarrassing consequences!
Last Friday we had a bit of a house-party and about 15 of our new friends came round for a bit of a knees up, after we got back form the club at 3am we were quite tired and went to bed! The landlord was not pleased to find 7 comatose bodies littering his flat! So along with trying to get $100 off us for a leak he caused in the bathroom our relationship with the boss man is not too good.
For a while we were looking into staying in this city over the long Siberian winter and leaving to complete our trip in the spring, the Chip Shop idea never really got off the ground so we resigned ourselves to having the best time we could until the time came to go. Highlights of our stay in Omsk have been playing football in the Dynamo Omsk (now bankrupt) stadium, giving a lecture to forty 20year old students of English at the local university, seeing a jazz rehearsal in the city hall, two girls - Regina and Natasha and Christ's birthday party.
The later was a horribly raucous event held in Gambrino's pub, we footed the small bill for 14 Russian friends and our selves to get really drunk and dance around with very little on, It was a great event but some of the behaviour of that night made for at least one sorry person the following day . . .
Unfortunately my replacement hub eventually arrived and we were doomed to leave, with a lack of any kind of bike shop worth mentioning in the city I had to build the wheel by hand and true it by eye! There's a first time for everything and I think for this one I had a lot of beginners luck!
So big up to all the 'Navigator' crew and of course our two lady friends Regina and Natasha, thanks a lot for a wicked wait in Omsk.
We left on Wednesday the 25th in varying degrees of sobriety to return to the road, it was a cool autumn day and the leaves were falling from the trees as we got incredibly lost trying to find our way out of the vast sprawling city.
September 22 . . . . . HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRIST ! ! ! ! ! ! . . . 24 today ! ! ! !
October 1st Eventually we found the 660km of dead straight road that lead to Novosibirsk and decided we had best be getting on with it! There was a howling gale coming from the west so progress was fast, rain halted play on the first day after 62 miles. We found a nice piece of Siberian grassland behind one of the numerous birch copses and bedded down for a chilly night.
It's frickin' freezing out here Mr. Bigglesworth! The following day we covered a further 70 miles and hit the hay once more in a Siberian field, we were very glad of the woolly hats that we were presented in Omsk, apparently they're the height of style, they're also quite good at keeping you head warm.
My ankles were not digging the sudden return to the bikes and started complaining, after strapping one of the offenders up we got back on the M51. A slow start and lack of wind assistance didn't help and that day we managed a lame 30miles before stopping at a cafe.
Cafes line all the roads we have so far passed down, they vary from big service station affairs every few hundred ks to little tin huts that have difficulty seating more than about 4 punters at a time. The Menu is usually limited and never has much to offer for the vegetarians amongst us, I usually make do with fried eggs and mashed potatoes followed by pancakes, which is suitable easy on my delicate biosystem! Christ washes everything down with "sibirski corona" these days, although I have yet to see him brush his teeth with the stuff!
Due to my injury and our fondness of waking up in the mornings (apparently you cannot freeze to death in your sleep -you wake up first!) we decided to hitch a lift to the nearest motel. We asked all the drivers of suitably sized vehicles that pulled up, One of the drivers almost knocked us out with his breath alone, he had seen the sun past the yard-arm about breakfast time I reckon and was verging on drunk and incapable! He sported a hip holster (with firearm) and was very keen to give us a lift - we politely refused. He and his friend both produced strange id badges that were apparently to free us of any suspicions we had about them, not sure what they were exactly, but even a letter from the Queen wouldn't have pardoned those two! We were pretty happy when they pissed off but left quite bemused as they had given us a note, they insisted it free us of any problems we encountered with the law!
The note may have come in quite handy had we kept it because the lift we eventually got was off a couple of very shifty Armenians. We spent 30kms in their company down the road to a cafe-cum-motel, there they rendezvoused with a number of cronies who took over our dinner table. Our room that night had no key so I forwent a well needed 'banya' to go and sleep on our valuables, Christ stayed up a little longer but was eventually asked to leave. The talk had turned to Cocaine, "Gashish" and "Geroin" (there's no H in Russia!) and numerous place names that they were keen for him not to know about!
We left that criminal den the next morning for a spot more cycling, there was a big motel complex we had heard about 70 kms away and we thought it would be a good place to pick up a longer ride - to Beijing maybe!
The landscape is unchanging, vast open planes followed by fields followed by birch copses followed by more open planes, no good for the agoraphobic! Passing one of the small farming settlements by the road we pulled into a cafe for lunch, there I felt that hub-breaking pang again; this time it wasn't a wheel but my gears.
A loose bungee had got caught up in the wheel and ripped off the cable tensioner that controls the rear mech. Bugger. After a feed we continued on the flat road to our chosen stopping place, if there had been any hills I would have been in trouble!
Now we are Krasnayarsk waiting for the 12:20am train to Irkutsk. We had some very good luck concerning a lift, at the motel that night we got drinking with two drivers headed for Irkutsk, they were only too happy for us to join them and their consignment of pig feed. I was Andréa's mate and Christ Vladimir's, we travelled over many Siberian miles together (with little conversation), were all greatly amused by the sight of snow in the hills and all upset at the unreliability of Andréa's lorry (now I know how to change the trye on a 16 wheeler!). The winning team would have continued on to their Biakal destination had Andreij not found some good roadside loving last night!
Vladimir left with out him leaving Christ and I in the lurch. Andréa was understandably tired and slept in until midday. When he eventually got up we helped him change his flattened tire (It had been fine the previous day on the potholed/unmade up roads but it just could not cope with the rigors of the night!).
So this morning we found ourselves stranded in the only motel in Krasnyarsk. Since cycling into town we have our train tickets and are now limbering up for the heavy 19hr. journey to Irkutsk. The Cycling theme has been stifled for the time being but we are hoping that it will flare up again (without injury problems) when we get to Ulan-Ude. Our accelerated trans-Siberian travel should get us out of any trouble with the weather, we hope! ! !
October 24th Train ride to Baikal. The third class section of the Tran Siberian railway is a crowded affair, getting on the train you can't help but notice the smell of a hundred sweaty armpits, it's pretty ripe! Everyone is provided with beds far too small and far too close to each other; the confined environment is the perfect breeding ground for germs. And arguments!
After nearly missing our train we were unhappy to be woken at 3 in the morning to move our bikes from the vestibule to the non-existent baggage waggon -and back again!. Tempers were frayed and our over inquisitive fellow travellers didn't help the situation. With little to look at out of the window, (Siberia is very grey and brown at this time of year) we decided to have a 'heated debate' about our future travel plans. I insisted that mountains were going to be problem, as were the Baltic weather conditions, but Christ was very keen to see the lakeside of Baikal. He won me over and we jumped off the train in Irkutsk with a mind to see the shore of the biggest lake in the world, after a day off in the cosmopolitan city.
Unfortunately my steely constitution was soon to be breached - by a piece of microwave pizza of all things - and I spent the next day in bed. Christ trotted off into town to put the finishing touches to his 'winter collection' and left me in our hotel room to deal with my unfortunate triple exit scenario. The following day I was well enough to walk round town and we both went off to find a garage where we were able to fabricate a replacement part for my knackered derailleur.
That night the incredible poodle rocking Scorpions were playing the football stadium as part of their Russian tour, I had had quite enough of 'the winds of change' recently and we decided to give our glance back at Europe a miss. We had left our bikes at the station once again and returned to collect them, after our unscheduled two-day stay. Amazingly our bogus-Shimano-botch-job did the business and we left the town and all the station folk behind to go and have a squizz at Baikal.
The region is a world-recognised place of outstanding natural beauty; unfortunately most of the magnificence of the scenery is derived from some bloody great big hills! The road to the lake incorporated some heinous 12% climbs and it was a mixture of these and the low temperatures that had me relapsing to bad health.
We stopped in a roadside cafe (owned by a taxidermist judging by the number of strange creatures that adorned the walls) 23 miles out of town. Christ had a beer and I had a kip. We were picked up by very cool lorry driver called Sergai - who drove us the rest of the 80kms to the lakes shore and a little town called 'Slyudyanka'. The scenery was spectacular and included a great set of snow capped mountains (The eastern Alti range) which we enjoyed, until we realised that they probably separated us from Mongolia! The stomach churning road was taken at breakneck speed by our kind courier and we both left head imprints on his cab roof, fortunately I managed to avoid being sick in it and saved that for the pavement out side our hotel.
I took a welcome 14 hours in the sack and Christ went out to sample the local night life, It consisted of a single roomed discothèque and lots of unsolicited female attention; so it was no wonder he came in stinking like a brewery at 4 in the morning! We stayed in the town for another unscheduled rest day, which gave us a chance to get a bit of washing done and have a lesson in ethics from a deeply religious German called Dieter.
Our ill health continued shortly after leaving the town as Christ's Mancunian seat post self-destructed once more! Glad of the chance to spend another night in the warmth of a hotel we stopped a few clicks down the road in the Skiing resort of Baikalsk. The town carries the hallmark of all Russian beauty spots, a great big factory complete with great plumes of acrid smoke, it was at there we managed to get Christ's seat post Ali-welded back together again.
Keen to speed my recovery we decided now was the best time to go visit the lake; near the out flow of the factory. Folklore says if you touch the waters of Baikal you are absolutely 100% guaranteed to return to Russia. Not being ones for taking chances we got naked and went for a swim, it was mighty chillsome! We warmed up on the road again and did 50km over hills round the lake.
The night was spent in the comfort of our tents in a wood just off the road; there we met a really nice bloke called Yenna who apparently spends most of his time wandering the shores of Baikal with a large sack of wood and an axe! He came to join our campfire out of the night about 8pm and disappeared off a couple of hours later; only to return and join us for breakfast at 6am, where he slept we will never know. When he returned it was pouring with rain, he managed to light a fire none the less and got his head down for a few more Zs. A very skilled woodsman indeed!
The road continued on it's hilly course round the lake, why the accursed civil engineer didn't take it along side the railway I would dearly like to know! It certainly impaired my enjoyment of the scenery! We stayed that night in a strange one storey wooden cabin of a hotel; the rates were very reasonable but unfortunately included the up-keep of their resident mouse who tucked into our supplies!
We woke up in the morning to find a rapidly thickening blanket of snow outside, brilliant. That day was not our most pleasant! We both put on all the socks we could find and dressed up in many layers of varying stench, the main problem wasn't the traction or the visibility but the water from the road, our bikes are a great design for getting yourself drenched to the bone! And once off the road the water turned to ice which made for quite a few extra kgs on our pannier bags. A frozen derailleur only gave us the use of 2 gears, so progress was mighty slow.
Some thing that got a laugh from half of the members of our party was a big gust of wind that blew Christ's unmanned bike off the road and into a ditch full of icy water! It snapped his flag off, soaked his feet and the seat of his bike came free from the post, but you just can't put a price on comedy like that! Fortunately it was only 10 or so more Ks to the cafe we had earmarked for hitching. So nothing was life threatening.
As luck would have it we arrived there at the same time as a wedding party, they took one look at our sorry selves and poured a load of vodka down our necks! After a bit of dancing on the porch and some photos with the happy couple we got an invite back to the reception! Unfortunately it was 30km away and their Ladas weren't the bike carrying kind. We resigned ourselves to another bottle of vodka and the hope of a lift from a lorry . . .
I returned to my senses again when we found ourselves locked in the pitch black back of a beer freight truck, they said that they would be stopping off in the same town as our reception, so it seemed silly to refuse!
The party was vodka fuelled, as to be expected, both Christ and I gave a speech and raised a small 50grams to many a toast! We woke up in the middle of the dancehall/lounge the following morning (With vague recollections of getting some Acid house on the sound system!).
Russian homebrew vodka is called 'Samagon' and makes for a great breakfast after a Russian wedding - or so our hosts persuaded us! We left for the road about midday dazed and confused with about half of our belongings! We got the local helicopter fanatic to let us have a sit in one of his machines, I was beginning to sober up by this time and thought it prudent return and collect some of my more essential possessions. I left Christ tending to his damaged bike and brain and did the 12km round trip back to fetch my kite.
Christ's bike remained in a bad state as we hobbled into the local train station, one days ride from Ulan-Ude. It was there we got to meet a very peculiar homosexual jailbird with 8 fingers! Christ asked him if he could buy his jacket off him (ever keen to keep his 'winter collection' en-vogue) and the man came out with the immortal line "never mind the Jacket, when I was inside I was shagging the captain!" or that's how we translated it anyway!
On the train we met our first Mongolian. The international piss-artist took it upon himself to give us our first lesson in the Mongolian language, he taught us such essentials as Bow - Nom, Arrow - Som and Stirrup - which escapes me.
Looking forward to some wild-west style action across the boarder we got into the unsavoury city of Ulan-Ude. Fortunately we didn't have to brave the dark streets because there was somewhere to stay at the station. There was a bit of an aggressive vibe about the place, which we hadn't encountered before, but the town still looked quite pretty on the hillside and had a notably more Asian air about it than any of our previous stopovers.
Christ had a trip to the Ballet there, which kept him out of trouble that night! Our carefully planned-to-the-minute schedule for leaving went all pear-shaped when Christ hit the snooze button on our alarm. We left the town about 1pm. The scenery had changed once more and now we really felt like we were in Mongolia, arid landscapes and big mountain shaped hills lined the road.
The road to Ulan Bator is supposed to be quite good, so we were quite cheered by the idea of getting some real progress southward and out of the chill. Some evil hills laughed in our face once more!
Sleeping in a waddi that night my second sleeping bag came into play as the temperatures hit an new low of -5 degrees C. These temperatures are toe threatening on our recumbent bikes and Christ often stops for a little Irish jig by the roadside to get the blood going again.
This is Shamanist territory and we passed some interesting sites that day, non-more interesting though than the bank van that eventually stopped to pick us up. The two guards inside were concerned that we didn't know where we were. They said that there were no more settlements until the boarder, which was at that time 100km away. After the usual 5 second wrestle with our cycling consciousnesses we jumped in the back and flicked the Vs at the hills all the way to Kyakta!
There we stayed with blind Babushka who was glad to hear of our charitable endeavour. (R.N.I.B.- please give generously) We also met two unfortunate individuals from the U.K. who had had their Land rover impounded at customs! Very pleased to see some Brits again we joined them for a few vodkas at the bar that night and heard all about their adventures in Northern Siberia. Apparently the inefficiency of the Russians bureaucracy has led them to believe they are now in possession of a brand new 40,000 pound machine rather than the collectable but less expensive 1973 model!
We said Dos-Vi-daniya to that very cool country the following day with more laughs than problems. There was just one last piece of paper work to complete before we were free to leave . . .
Back in the Soviet era there was a little thing called a 'Protocol' that people were literally dying to sign. This was the chit to sign if you fancied a little life long stretch in the 'goulag'. It still exists today in its original form - as an admission of guilt for 'crimes against the state'!
We had arrived one day late for the likes of the head-honcho at the boarder gate, he insisted our visas were out of date and wanted to fine us 1000 roubles (about 20 quid) each! Christ's sharp lawyers tongue soon cut him down to size and after half an hour of waiting in the freezing cold he let us get away with a quick autograph on one of his protocols! The FSB (New title for the KGB) kept a watchful eye us as we were sent to the exit gate.
The Mongolians didn't seem quite so bothered with such formalities and after a couple of photos at their welcoming border post they waved us through.
Once in Mongolia we were reduced to gibbering idiots once more as our vocabulary returned to the farmyard animal impression kind again. I gibbered particularly idiotically after lunch when I realised that I had left my money belt including remaining hard currency and visa card under a pillow in Russia!
Worse things happen at sea, but this was a pretty magnificent blunder on my part! I stopped as many returning Russians as I could just before they returned home in the hope that one of them would be able to rescue me from my plight. My guardian angel this time rolled up in a turquoise Lada Sport, I have come to expect nothing less! She was the head teacher at a local Mongolian school and understood exactly why it would be impossible for me to return to collect my valuables, even though they were only a stones throw away! She sorted us out with a friend of her's to stay at in the nearby town of "Sucre bator" and even gave us a couple of pounds cash to be getting on with! Wow!
Unable to phone the hotel we had used in Kyakta (no-one knew the number) we were completely at the mercy of our newfound friend. We cycled off in a daze of helplessness to the town.
Our latest country was very pleasant and the mountains seemed to have eased off for the time being. We stayed with two Russian teachers that night; they seemed to be friends away from home, now that everyone was speaking Mongolian to us. The following day they left us locked in their house as they went to school! Will we ever be free again?! Eventually we got out and Christ wandered off to the shop to spend our scarce Togrog resources on some food, unfortunately his deranged fermenting brain was rapidly nearing the point of needing a top up, he came back from the shop with some cans of beer and some dried pasta!
Back in the real world we were invited down to the school where we gave some English lessons and marked some home work. Unfortunately the kids were a little too young to be taught any of the more interesting profanities! That night I met a woman in a trench coat by one of the crumbling apartment blocks in the town and she handed over the 'documents'. Yes! We can get going again! We said some fond good byes to our hosts the following morning and got our bikes back on the road.
It was there we found that Christ's pannier rack had spontaneously disintegrated once more! We met our first Mongolian rogue for the welders gallery, his expertise called for the redefining of the word 'useless' but they got us far enough to wave good bye and we soon got to a place out of site where we implemented a mechanical fix.
It was 350km to U.B. from there and we had an ever ambitious 3 day plan for the ride, a few things got in our way as ever . . .
We spent that night on the Mongolian steppe under canvas near a road side hut, the only source of wood for miles around! Some near-wild dogs pestered us during our dinner and an impromptu lorry rally held on our doorstep provided us with a 3am wake up call from a Mongolian rozza. Apart from that it was just another night in the cold. When we got up at 7 it was -6. We didn't really need much more encouragement than that to get back pedalling, the ever climbing hills were in our favour for the first time. After 100km we had had it with hills and had it with freezing out toes off, we were very glad to find a hotel to hole up in.
The Mongolians we have met to date have been very friendly and trustworthy but some of them are tainted by quite an avaricious streak, which isn't so nice. Christ practised some of his best Irish 'Feck off's to the repeated knocks on our door asking for more money!
The following day we were planning to get within striking distance of U.B. but ended up a mere 32km down the road with two friendly Mongol fellers called 'Warrior' and 'Lord'. We had pulled into eat at their cafe which turned out to still be in the building stage, they asked us in for cup of cha anyway. They were Ger (Mongolian canvas houses) sitting for their brother and his wife who had just nipped off to china for a couple of weeks to pick up some cheap gear to kick-start their family venture with. One cup of T turned into a bottle of vodka and we stayed shooting the breeze with them all afternoon. By tea-time we were all pretty hungry, as they seemed to live on cigs alone I offered to go to the shop with "Warrior". He rode my bike and I rode Christ's. Some of the expressions he pulled on his near death misses with lorries were priceless!
The Ger shop was what can only be described as wack. We returned very cold almost empty handed apart from some more cigarettes and a loaf of bread. We left our few remaining English trinkets behind with our hosts the next day and decided to make a push for Ulan Bator. It was 120kms and the hill theme was one set to continue.
After hitting the snow line at about 2000m I was seriously doubting our chances of making it - and getting ready for a night in a snow hole! We stopped at the top of a hill 50km out of town to have a heavy swearing session as we looked at the thermometer reading -9! We were soon to be encouraged by the news that there were few hills left and this psychological boost got us to within site of the City. The batteries in my camera, like my fingers, weren't working so I was unable to take a picture; it was sight and a half that was for sure! Now we are sitting in the warmth of the town the thought of the Gobi dessert seems far away. It is soon to be tackled however; Mondays never were our favourite day!