Jake and Dave pause in Moldova to speak to Hoot Car InsuranceI'm writing this sat in the passenger seat of our trusty old Volkswagen Polo, bumping along the road with the sun disappearing over the horizon. We're in Moldova, supposedly one of the poorest countries in Europe and exactly the sort of place that you'd never think of coming to. And that's a shame because this really is one beautiful little place. Right now we're winding our through the rolling hills, fields of sunflowers stretching as far as the eye can see and lush green forests disappearing into the distance. The people in this country are the most friendly we've come across in the last week, waving and smiling and being so nice when we've stopped to ask for directions. And in a country with seemingly no road signs, that's been quite a regular thing. But it's taken a week to get here and what a week it's been! Saying Goodbye
Over 150 cars, all as old, rusty, broken, weighed down and equally unsuitable as ours for a 10,000-mile drive across the world, coughed and chugged their way out of Hyde Park last Saturday lunchtime.  The crowds lining the park drives clapped and cheered, no doubt there were mothers weeping as their slightly idiotic offspring bid farewell, and the London tourists stared in bemusement at the convoy of clapped-out old wrecks that spluttered their way through the English drizzle. Onto the ferry at Dover we drove and then sailed across the Channel, leaving Blighty behind as the white cliffs disappeared astern. So onto foreign soil and, after months of preparation, we were finally on our way.
France and Belgium disappeared in a matter of hours, despite almost running out of petrol (already!) and getting lost in Brussels in the failing light, and on we cracked into Germany. Our tiny-engined VW did honourably well along the Autobahns and we pulled over into a service station car park somewhere near Cologne to spend our first night under the stars. We probably should've thought about sleeping arrangements before setting off on a four-week road trip but, what with buying tons of noodles and Haribo, it just seemed to slip our minds. And so we ended up with Dave curled up on the parcel shelf and me across the front seats. And that's how it's been most nights since, although we've taken it in turns to be the one wedged up against the rear windscreen with a football for a pillow and an axle stand for a mattress. Into Eastern Europe
Through Germany we sped, cruising along with two lads in a red Polo just like ours, then up into the mountains as we headed for the Czech Republic. A horrible rainstorm left us aquaplaning down the hills, completely out of control and thankful that we had our car insurance documents with us. But a few hours later we arrived safely in Prague, circumnavigated the city lost and confused (which I imagine is going to become a regular thing as we get further and further from home) before parking up for the night. The next morning, after a well deserved beer and a sleep in a real bed, we got back into our trusty steed and headed off south-east. Next came Slovakia, with a night spent in a terrifying beast-ridden, haunted forest somewhere close to Bratislava, and then on through the heat and humidity of Hungary's endlessly straight motorways. The instant we crossed the border into Romania that things started to change. No longer were we in wealthy western Europe but it was now obvious by the run down apartment blocks and rusty Ladas that people didn't have as much.  I reckon this is going to be the way of things for the rest of our journey and it really does make you realise how lucky you are. Romania was beautiful. Big and green and mountainous, horse and carts pulling piles of hay and little old ladies in headscarves; just like stepping back fifty years. Up through Dracula's homeland of Transylvania we drove, learning the act of suicidal overtaking on windy mountain roads (once again glad that we'd invested in motor insurance), before spending our nights parked up on the hard shoulder or dossing down in the tent among the huge spiders. Apparently the spiders in Kazakhstan are the size of dinner plates, oh and deadly too. Dave, who it's fair to say has got something of a fear of spiders, is going to love that! Bribes and Corruption
Anyway, this morning we finally reached the eastern border of Romania, queued up for an hour or so and crossed into Moldova. Now when I said Moldovans are lovely people, I meant everybody apart from the border guards. That's probably not fair, I'm sure they're not all fascist, power-crazed jobsworths; just the gent on duty that day. So through Moldovan passport control we drove, getting our passports stamped. Job done we thought. But maybe not. Customs weren't having any of us, took an instant disliking to us, with the officer in charge questioning every piece of documentation we had before demanding something that we didn't have and that probably didn't even exist. We asked if there was a "fine" for failing to possess whatever piece of paper he was after, but even a fistful of dollars couldn't tempt him. So out of Moldova we were booted, back into Romania and past the chuckling border guards that had bid us good luck on our journey only half an hour before. 
Now it was decision time. Do we head north for a few hundred miles, up into the Ukraine and take a big diversion to avoid having to go through Moldova, or do we simply try again? Refusing to be beaten by the evil customs man, we decided to go for the latter. We headed north for a few hours under the sweltering afternoon sun, running parallel with the Romanian/Moldovan frontier, until we reached another border crossing. This time they demanded another piece of fictional paperwork which, surprise surprise, we didn't have. However, being less fascist and more corrupt, the guy in charge (identifiable by the fact that he was wearing the biggest hat) decided we could pay a small contribution to his beer fund in return for overlooking our lack of non-existent paperwork. So we did and he did and on into Moldova we went, our money stash a few dollars lighter but a new nation's flag proudly adorning our paintwork. One Week Down, Three to Go
Whilst I've been writing this we've covered a fair whack of Moldovan countryside and the sun's almost gone now, fading away to set over a clump of trees to the west. We've pulled up in a little copse just off the road, next to a cornfield and we're going to get our heads down in a bit and have some kip. Tomorrow we're going to hit the Ukraine border but before that we've got to somehow avoid the breakaway state of Transnistria, a notoriously dangerous place that's still got Russian soldiers stationed in it and is said to be a nightmare for having to pay bribes. But I guess we'll see. Tonight I'm forgetting all about that though and instead I'm going to crack open a bottle of the 25p plonk that I bought in Romania, munch on some chocolate and then I'm going to climb into my makeshift bed in the boot. And whilst I'm there, trying to get comfy amongst the toolboxes and the spare tyres, I'm going to drift off to sleep thinking about what an amazing week we've just had. Oh, and not wishing to tempt fate or anything, but the car's holding up like a trooper. No breakdowns yet, not even a flat tyre. Only about 7,500miles to go; don't go anywhere…
Week two diary
|
