Kazakhs are friendly... deserts are not

Afternoon,
We're sitting in an Internet Cafe that is frustratingly devoid of the cafe element in the middle of Aqtobe (Kazakhstan) at the moment. We've been in this city three days now, not including when we first went through it about a week ago. 'But wait,' we hear you cry, 'how come you're back in a city you passed through a week ago?' Well that is a story of danger, adventure and bad Koumiss...

We last left you last when we were poised to burst forth into Kazakhstan and hit the desert like a yellow, seicento-shaped bat out of hell (we were listening to a considerable amount of Meatloaf at this point). We got stuck at the border for a night for forgetting the date, yes, but this was useful as a group of Uzbeki truckers told us to avoid a major (not yet built) motorway we had planned to use. Unfortunately we didn't find out about the later ones from them...

A few K's into Kazakshatn we pulled up alongside a convoy of Rally teams that we parked up. These guys turned out to be pretty cool. A couple of guys in a Corsa from Hereford who we later engaged in a 60+kmph egging war, a couple of fellow Fiaters in a Punto from Wales, a couple of South Africans in a swift, two guys with a fetching red Skoda and a couple of crazy DUtchmen who run their own miniature music festival in Holland who drove a Citeron 2CV. We had some fun times - eating in an English pub called the Guns N Roses in Atyrau, convoying to Uralsk then Aqtobe (first time) and seeing our first scorpion whilst encamped.

Then however, following Aqtobe, they all headed East then north to hit Ulaan Baatar before various work-related dealines for getting home and the like. We decided to head down the motorway to Aral (maybe see the Aral sea) and then onto Kyrgyzstan. Epic mistake. We said our goodbyes and headed off on our own. Before quickly finding a very helpful French team headed the same way.

Now the interesting stuff happened. After a hundred or so clicks of beautiful asphalt the motorway ceased to have been built yet and we were forced onto the rough-hewed sand and dirt tracks to the sides to make our progress. Off roading was fun at first but Seicentos are not built for it. Nor did it help that our thermostat was apparently already broken and our dash lacked a temperature gauge. Our engine overheated and we broke down. The French guys were very helpful in nearly getting it going again and made sure we'd secured a tow back to Aqtobe to get it fixed before they pressed on. Halfway through said tow, truckers decided they were mechanics and to fix our car instead by taking the broken radiator pipe and clamping it off to fix the leak. Confident in their abilities and evident skill, we cheerfully waved them on their way after half an hour of perilous towing and tried again to get to Aral with out newly fixed car.

Then the coolant sytem blew up and our engine's entire capacity for water was spread everywhere beneath the bonnet (so hot it evaporated in about a minute though). And to think, we gave those truckers our hard earned dollars and, vitally, the last of our Kazakh Cognac! Next ensued a period of between one and two hours stranded in the desert with very little water and what was previously a fairly constant traffic flow completely and mysteriously disappeared. It wasn't too bad - we had the shade of the car and I manage to find a nearby river, though it would need heavy Iodine treatment to drink, but all the same we didn't relish the idea of waiting for ages in the desert. Eventually a Kazakh van came by and though they couldn't help us they spotted us a laof of bread and some water. Luckily though, a fairly affluent chap in a huge Mitsubishi turned up. He spoke a little English and also seemed to be a mechanic (it seems to be a prerequisite for full Kazakhstan citizenship). Whilst muttering various things we assume to be expletives in Russian he rearranged various piping to do with the cooling system in the vague hope of fixing it. He gave us Sprite too. It was good to have flavoured liquid again. He couldn't quite get it to go though, and just as we were about to be towed back by him, Nikolai and Nolan turned up in their truck.

Nikolai and Nolan are two of the nicest blokes alive and testament to the kindness Kazakhs are famous for. They were employed by a Canadian oil company and Nikolai spoke good English so things were looking up. They were also mechanics and had a go at the car but again to no avail. They thought it was fixed but it broke down ten minutes later and they ended up towing us. An incident worth mentioning though is that, whilst they looked at the car, I (Chris) got stung by a scorpion. On the arse. The bugger managed to crawl up my trousers without my noticing and suddenly I feel a sharp sting (any innuendo based comments are not likely to be well recieved). Instinctively slapping my hand to the infected area I feel the crunch of an insect. My rough thinking at this point was 'Shit.' I walked around the back of the car to inspect and find a scorpion falls from my dropped trousers. This was not entertaining. Trousers replaced, I made my way to the front of the car and motioned the truckers to come over to the crushed scorpion and give it my attention. At this point, Andrew has later told me (they had already looked at it after my loud exclamation of 'fuck') he thought I was probably dead. The truckers' reaction was different. They laughed. To me, this seems a peculiar reaction but it is then explained to me the offender was just a baby scorpion and that in May or April I might actually be in some danger. This was some relief - they knew about cars - why not scorpions? So we left it and got on with things. I didn't die.

Anywho, they then proceeded to tow us to the nearest desert roadside cafe. This was quite fun. It involved showers from barrels of water over wooden huts, some of the best meat we've ever tasted (why no one eats mutton in Britain is beyond us) and copious amounts of Kazakh Cognac supplied by Nikolai and Nolan. During this night we first discovered the names that would be given to us by every Kazakh we told them to: 'Chreez', 'Andreav', and 'James Bondt'! We offered to pay but they seem to have beat us to it with the drinks, and even our night's stay which was mysteriously settled without our knowledge the next day. It also involved dancing with an old Russian lady. This was not good. Video to follow... Anyhow, after Nikolai's good booze and good conversation including trying to convince us the advantages of having a girl in every city (he was a nice bloke though honestly) we slept in the back room for 300 Tenge (250 being 1 pound) for the night next to a box of kittens listening to what sounded like the family (including grandma) settling down together for a pleasant evening of watching porn in the next room.

Nikolai and Nolan left in the morning leaving us without translator but having sorted out another mechanic for us and apparently settling our bill. During the day, mechanic in a bright yellow hat pottering about the car, we met a convoy of three American teams and one from Dubai, we recommended the food to them and instilled the appropriate fear of the road ahead. It was also during this day that the mechanic offered us the koumiss this post's title refers to. Koumiss, for those wondering, is a drink made from fermenting mare's milk. Jimmy and I sipped, nodded our heads in (incredibly faked) approval and passed it back. Andrew had two cups. Two fatal cups...

After a long day of bodged repairs the mechanic finished and declared confidently it would take us back to Aqtobe tog et it fixed properly and parts replaced. Once again our confidence was misplaced and a few kilometres down the road we discover the car can drive for fifteen minutes before overheating and then required half an hour to cool. Another couple of teams tried to help us (Team Mid-life Crisis and one to do with the Mystery/Mongolia Machine) and another truck towed us briefly. None of this worked though and after a while we adopted the perhaps ill-advised but nonetheless hardcore policy of driving for fifteen until it overheated and then pulling it by rope for half an hour until it cooled. We tried this for a while before yet another truck tried to fix it (see the pattern emerging?) before it broke and they ended up towing us.

The difference with these two was that they towed us about 300km back to Aqtobe, which was terrifying as visibility in the sand at night was zero and the rope snapped no less, but possibly more, than twelve times. Fun times. Eventually, the next morning we arrive in Aqtobe at a friend of theirs' house. Here the Kazakhs exhibited their legendary hospitality as endless chai, melon, bread and soup was put before us and they made very effort to fix our car, including trying unsuccessfully to find new parts and plugging the holes in the radiator with sticks. It was about this time when Andrew's stomach began to churn...

It soon transpires the car was pretty much dead and we decided to try and sell it to them. They jumped at the chance and we were grudgingly willing to let it go cheap so we could continue with the trip. However, the truckers' documents were in Turkistan. A city on the road that had defeated us in the first place. Reluctantly we accepted their offer to tow us there in order to sell the car. Andrew's stomach is now little worse and growls increasingly ominously. As we near the desert it becomes clear Andrew is profoundly ill, dangerously dehydrated and barely aware of what is happening around him. The desert road was no longer an option. We stopped and, along with some teams we met, tried to get a tow back to Aqtobe. The truckers agreed, for a price, but relations turned sour half way there. Other Rally teams pulled over to help but the rest of the tow back was not forthcoming for less than $70. Eventually the truckers, despite Andrew being prostrate on the floor vomiting headed onwards to Turkistan, presumably with a schedule to keep., leaving us with a completely broken car and a completely broken Andrew. Here is a good place to express eternal gratitude to said teams in taking Andrew to hospital, trying to fix the car, staying with us and the car overnight when it transpired it couldn't be fixed and then giving a lift into Aqtobe to find Andrew and the rallier who took him to hospital (also Andrew). The car and Jimmy were eventually towed back too and then followed a couple of days of hospital visits, police visits for visa registration, and finally Internet visits to update the blog. And here we are.

Tomorrow, the task faces us of trying to somehow legally get rid of the car and press on to Monglia via other means, probably bus and/or train. Blondie (the Seicento) looks well and truly dead. To summarise, we would have to replace: the radiator, the thermostate, (probably) the fan, the head gasket, the oil, the oil filter, the water filter, the cracked coolant pipes and the shock absorbers. Also the end of the exhaust was missing and dripping a milky white petrol and water mixture and the handbrake was becoming both inoperable and completely useless. In other news our naked indicator light bulb has thus far survived, huzzah!!!!

RIP Blondie.

Damn Odessa Internet Cafe...

The last time we posted we only managed to get half down before the damn INternet cafe timed us out. As such youall missed our other numerous Ukrainian adventures. Now we're nearly into Kazakhstan and have the various Russian ones to tell too. So this might take a while.
To backtrack to the Ukraine, our night before the one spent in Odessa was spent in a random small town in the Western mountains we can't remember the name of and involved alcoholic fromer economic students and friendly if scary taxi drivers. It began with a nice guy called Roman giving us a hotel recommendation and his phone number to call if it didn't work out so we could sleep on his floor. A couple of hours later we were wishing we called as we found ourselves assailed by every taxi driver and alcohlic in the town, all expressing an unusal interest in our car and sleeping habits. Asit turned out it was genuine curiosity and friendliness but at the time it seemed agressive to the point of worry. We even managed to store the car in a taxi drivers garage for the night (for a price) though there was a brief panic when he overslept and failed to turn up to collect us from the hotel in the morning.
The next night was Odessa where we hung around a bit with a couple of cool Italian Rally teams we met en route (Carface and Yesweekend). Reasnoably nice city. Slept in a car park with the nice security guard's permission, woken up by the not so nice seceruioty guard in the morning. Then we slept the next night in an actual hotel. Smallest rooms ever. Thinest walls too. Andrew and I managed to resist the temptation of the peephole gouged intoour wall but did wake up to the sound of an estimated three or four couples doing some waking up of their own. Not that we woke up in that particular way.
After Odessa and losing the Italians after catastrophic failures in organising our lives we drove straight to Lugansk and the Russian border. Not as bad as Ukrainina border until the very last point where we met angry-moustache-man with no English. Grr.
So, onto Russia! After rolling off the border to the melodies of 'Back in the USSR'' we managed to promptly get stopped by the police. ANd then again. And again. And again.... And again. Six or sevenm times in 1000 clicks. Luckily they don't arrest you, just exthort bribes from you. So we're left poor and tired after driving through the night trying to avoid them. On the plus side though, we've got the routine down now and got away without paying at all this morning. The formula seems to be: don't speak much Russian so they get tired of trying to get you to understand, speak a few little phrases so they think you're making an effort, and shout names of Dostoyevsky books at them. They love it.

Now,onwards to Kazakhstan - the land of deserts and probably very little Internet access. So ta ta for now.

Team Wiki Wiki :)

When it (Uk)raines, it pours...

Shit. Has. Hit. The. Fan.

But now everything's cool again.

We're now in Odessa in Southern Ukraine on the coast of the Black Sea. Since leaving the EU and stepping into this country our journey's thus far have seemd like a pleasant jaunt more than a proper adventure. No more though. This is our third day in the Ukraine and the first without incident (so far).

The first day: Ten minutes after the (two hour) border crossing we somehow lost the folder that had all of our passports and documents in it. Annoying seeing as we never keep them all together usually - we only did so for the border. Don't ask how this happened - we're not sure but probably something to do with the folder being on top of the cfar and us driving away... its not important really. Point is we immediately shit ourselves (though Jimmy found this all pervesely hillarious). We spent about an hour and a half frantically scouring the stretch of road said incident occured on but to no avial. We asked the border guards. No luck. We drove into town, found what we thought was a polcie station but was actually the regional treasury office where a security guard called the police for us. This is how we managed to wangle the reigional secretary of state for the treasury as aour translator!

Not quite Czech'd out...

... as, two days after the party we're still in the Czech Republic. To be fair though, we're in Prague and it is a pretty cool place. Last night we found ourselves in some surreal underground club with deco seemingly inspired by a mixture of industrialism, the Terminator franchise and hallucinogens. Said club had many quaint and charming little nuances such as sex in the corner, cocaine on counter-tops and blood all over one of the toilets. Safe to say it had a certain Je ne sais quoi...

Going a little further back the Czechout Party was pretty good. We started the day with some casual in-car croquet followed by heavy drinking and then a party. The castle itself was quite beautiful, and unlike British ones not full of 'safety' rails that we all know are there to stop anyone having fun - fun which was aided greatly by the imbibing of many beers and a little absinthe (which was nasty - somewhere between petrol and liquorice). Oh, and the free meat was very welcome indeed. Much meat. Free meat. Good meat. The only semi-downside was the weird American who started arguing with us about anything and everything whose standard response was 'I'll stab you in the face' and whose preferred greeting was 'fuck off'. The phrase 'fuck-you-die' has now been added to Team Wiki Wiki's repetoire of favourite phrases.

From here we're going to head down to Odessa in the Ukraine. We'll try to check in when we can but the Internet may well become more sparse. We could shortcut through Moldova and get there quicker but the tales of seperatist rebels have somewhat put a dampner on that particular route.

We'll be back soon and hopefully upload a video or two, perhaps one of car-croquet. In the mean-time we'll try our best not to die too much :)

Lovc,
Team Wiki Wiki

Seicentos are not for sleeping...

Hello all,

We're just checking in after a frantic search for petrol led us off the motorway into a random German city we don't know the name of. Anyway, last night proved to be possibly the most uncomfortable of our lives when we decided to sleep in what was half way between a lay-by and a residential street in Belgium. A thoroughly unexciting place. It transpires that whoever designed the interior of a Seicento did not do so with the weary rallier in mind...

Its been surprisingly eventful for so early in the rally - an American team totalled their Ford Ka before we got past the campsite, an old man and a slightly less old man gave us Max Power car stickers and advice on the intricacies of Russian transport police. We've pushed quite far already and we're looking forward to Czechout.

And a word of assurance for the parents - sleep patterns have been erratic but the driving has not. Driving on the right seems to be going okay...

Speak soon,
Love Team Wiki Wiki :)

The brakes broke...

... but not in the way they're meant to. As in broken. As in, air in the system and the brake fluid nuts are too old and damaged to undo without risking breaking them. Oh well, mechanic's coming tomorrow. C'est la vie. We've got all the lights working and new brake shoes on the rear wheels. Handbrake's tightened up a few notches too, which is good as before my driveway posed a significant challenge to the beast.

On another note we had our little quiz last night. Thanks to everyone who came, and shame on those who promised to but didn't! Shame! Overall we raised about £140 and it was a decent laugh too. We finally got the little steed named too - the winning entry was 'The Custardmobile' from Ellie Aston, allegedly Andrew's wife (and Facebook never lies).

Anywho, must go and panic some more about our impending doom. One week to go though!

Toodles,
Chris

The Beast Awakens!

'And lo, the Seicento did burst forth from the gates of Chris' garage; the engine screaming fury - a peal of thunder; and into the world came a steed coloured a yellow more ferocious than the sun's - the yellow of lightning, or a slightly jaundiced tiger. The heavens wept, and God did tremble.'
-Revelations 4:21*

As of 11:00am this morning the mighty Seicento is officially insured in mine and Jimmy's names. This is momentous news as it means that I've had a chance to drive the thing and see just how dodgy it really is. The brakes are somewhat impotent, the handbrake needs to be pulled skywards with a force greater than the engine's total output to get the thing to stand still on even the slightest incline and it took me about ten minutes to figure out how to turn off the rear windscreen wipers.The last of these things may admittedly be a fault with me rather than the car but nonetheless... this is going to be fun!

When I say this is going to be fun I say it completely sans sarcasm - the spirit of the Mongol Rally is to drive something 'unfit to do your shopping in' and with the introduction of the ten-year-young rule I was worried our car might turn out to be somewhat good. No such misfortune - the Rally spirit will be kept intact even if we won't be.

In other news it's less than two weeks to launch and we still have a decent amount of things left to do. Still, a team did everything in less than a fortnight one year so we should be fine. What's closer than even this impending deadline though is the quiz we'll be hosting at Hemel School this Friday to raise some monies for the lovely charities. We'd really appreciate any support and it would be great if people could get a team of 5-10 together and come down. Its £4 each but that doesn't matter because no one is reading this anyway. We'll also be drawing the car's name out of a hat so that should be fun. Oh well. Hopefully see you there. Please.

Much Wiki Wiki love,
Chris


*Not really.

Blog?

Well, instead of making profitable use of my time and revising, I've set up this little experiment in shameless self-broadcasting on behalf of Team Wiki Wiki. The reasons for this are threefold:

1) The website supplied to us is best described as orange and better described as awful.
2) This thingymajig, if I'm right (which, granted, I seldom am), should allow us to project our attention-seeking collective self right into people's faces on facebook.
3) I'm really very bored at the moment.

The site is newborn and as such may well be subject to change and/or improvement. A logo would be nice, maybe a fiddle with the colour-scheme. Who knows?

So, let's see if this succeeds in either helping things along or at least entertaining us momentarily. Let the experiment begin!

Chris