Have I told you there's no one above you
Fill my heart with gladness, take away my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Van Morrison....for Marianne
One Wrong Move
We're holed up in the Camel hotel in Astrakhan at the top of the Caspian sea. Ron is on the other bed snoring away and I'm contemplating my list of options. I've had a bit of a buster. My ribs and shoulder hurt, I've got skin off my knee and elbow and major swelling and bruising on my hip. We been here a couple of days and have time in hand to recover but not much is happening. Do I ring the travel insurance and go to the hospital, do I wait it out a bit longer see if there's signs of mend.....is the trip finished if they find something major? Will I have regrets if so? The last ones easy, absolutely not, an adventure's an adventure and if this one ends sooner the sooner the next one starts.....What should a smart fifty four year old do......ring Marianne and let her know I'm good and not to worry and go to the doctor.....Hmm bugger
Now ladies this is male multitasking. I'm taking a photo,whilst holding my shorts correctly and making sure no spuds fall out.....you try it.....
so ya wanna ride motorcycles ehhhh.....
The longest Day
We cross into Russia remarkably easily. All our paperwork is correct and the officials are helpful and polite although none speak English.What does annoy me though is the rudeness of many males here who have no problem pushing in and are just plain rude to female officials. We are staggered at how time and time again they ignore queues and express impatience if forced to line up. From the moment we ride
away from the border we struggle. We attempt twice to buy insurance but just find disinterest in foreigners at the roadside outlets. Within a couple of hours we run into our first police road block and have to dismount and go into an office and show all our papers. We skirt Vladikavkaz experiencing the now regular crazy driving and head into Grozny.We need money desperately but cant find any atm's. It's hot, busy, and we are tired and hungry and getting nowhere. We stop and search around some shops and get split up. A cabby offers to show me to the nearest ATM and I jump in thinking "it's only gonna take five minutes".......Ron doesn't know I'm gone and of course over an hour, and four banks later, I arrive back with six thousand rubles (around one hundred and eighty dollars) to a relieved Ron. The cabby accepts no payment.....we constantly find grassroots working Russians the epitome of generosity. Apparently while I have been gone the military have closed the roads with armed soldiers and APC's while several generals had been driven past. Ron crapped himself thinking he was in the middle of some sort of uprising! We hit the road again looking for accommodation but find nothing around Grozny and keep going and going out into the country on extremely rough roads. After passing through two more road blocks we finally hit a town called Kizlyar and I grab a hotel off the GPS. There are the military and police everywhere in this town.... oh dear what have we here. We park up outside an old decrepit Russian hotel and spend a good half hour gesticulating to the robust Russian concierge to establish a price and room. We are totally exhausted.....but wait! Outside the hotel a group of people are yelling (Russians are loud) and miming stuff around the bikes we just don't get. A cab driver offers to take Ron to what we think is a better hotel so he jumps in and disappears for an hour or so. When he returns he tells me "don't ask mate but we have to leave the bikes with the police overnight". Whaaat" So off we go on the bikes behind the taxi to the police compound. The Russian police seem a kind of paramilitary unit and we are on the edge of Dagestan next to the Chechen republic, apparently a bit of a hot spot and they are running AK47's and other serious hardware. The police chief decides to take us in to his office for questioning.... great...we're totally knackered, we're being questioned, there's a machine gun next to the table, only one guy seems to speak bad English, we're not sure if we're going back to the hotel, ever, and Ron seriously looks like he's gonna have a heart attack. We wade through the questions, just where we've been and are we criminals etc, lock up the bikes, shake lots of hands and the cab driver takes us back to the hotel.....all for free. Ron is a mess and I worry for him.....I'm an idiot and find it an experience but he's smarter and is totally stressed out. It's been a huge day, we find some rubbishy food in the park across the street and crash in the stifling hotel which pongs of smoke and the communist sixties. The next morning we grab another cab and pick the bikes up. We are quite the celebrities and have multiple photos takes with the guards and the police before we go. We decide we hate this part of Russia and vow to get to Astrakhan asap and well away.
away from the border we struggle. We attempt twice to buy insurance but just find disinterest in foreigners at the roadside outlets. Within a couple of hours we run into our first police road block and have to dismount and go into an office and show all our papers. We skirt Vladikavkaz experiencing the now regular crazy driving and head into Grozny.We need money desperately but cant find any atm's. It's hot, busy, and we are tired and hungry and getting nowhere. We stop and search around some shops and get split up. A cabby offers to show me to the nearest ATM and I jump in thinking "it's only gonna take five minutes".......Ron doesn't know I'm gone and of course over an hour, and four banks later, I arrive back with six thousand rubles (around one hundred and eighty dollars) to a relieved Ron. The cabby accepts no payment.....we constantly find grassroots working Russians the epitome of generosity. Apparently while I have been gone the military have closed the roads with armed soldiers and APC's while several generals had been driven past. Ron crapped himself thinking he was in the middle of some sort of uprising! We hit the road again looking for accommodation but find nothing around Grozny and keep going and going out into the country on extremely rough roads. After passing through two more road blocks we finally hit a town called Kizlyar and I grab a hotel off the GPS. There are the military and police everywhere in this town.... oh dear what have we here. We park up outside an old decrepit Russian hotel and spend a good half hour gesticulating to the robust Russian concierge to establish a price and room. We are totally exhausted.....but wait! Outside the hotel a group of people are yelling (Russians are loud) and miming stuff around the bikes we just don't get. A cab driver offers to take Ron to what we think is a better hotel so he jumps in and disappears for an hour or so. When he returns he tells me "don't ask mate but we have to leave the bikes with the police overnight". Whaaat" So off we go on the bikes behind the taxi to the police compound. The Russian police seem a kind of paramilitary unit and we are on the edge of Dagestan next to the Chechen republic, apparently a bit of a hot spot and they are running AK47's and other serious hardware. The police chief decides to take us in to his office for questioning.... great...we're totally knackered, we're being questioned, there's a machine gun next to the table, only one guy seems to speak bad English, we're not sure if we're going back to the hotel, ever, and Ron seriously looks like he's gonna have a heart attack. We wade through the questions, just where we've been and are we criminals etc, lock up the bikes, shake lots of hands and the cab driver takes us back to the hotel.....all for free. Ron is a mess and I worry for him.....I'm an idiot and find it an experience but he's smarter and is totally stressed out. It's been a huge day, we find some rubbishy food in the park across the street and crash in the stifling hotel which pongs of smoke and the communist sixties. The next morning we grab another cab and pick the bikes up. We are quite the celebrities and have multiple photos takes with the guards and the police before we go. We decide we hate this part of Russia and vow to get to Astrakhan asap and well away.
Ouch....
I set the GPS for Astrakhan and off we go.....through two more road blocks, hundreds of k's of rough bitumen and absolute nothingness and then....lost. The GPS takes us finally to a little rough track which is supposed to be the main road to Astrakhan...it looks wrong so we stay on the bitumen and ask some locals and keep going. We are on roads not on our maps and once again tired and hungry and it's getting late. Another cab driver offers to show us back to the main roads, warns us of the bad road ahead and off we go. It's a really rough loose gravel road with some rocky sections and sand drifts, the taxi has disappeared. I'm doing about ninety K's and a bit in front of Ron. I hit a big soft drift all wrong and 'precious' with road tyre on the rear, an average rider, overloaded with spares tyre and camping gear throws a monster set of tank slappers before hitting an even softer patch and digging in the front wheel and doing a monster cartwheel. I come to rest eating sand and lay still doing the usual checks.....legs ok.....hand and wrists ok...bloody sore hip and ribs as usual but serviceable. We get the bike up and its ok, everything on the handles bars and front is scraped and bent up big time and the carrier at the back is bent from when it flipped but still good to go. I ride the following hundred and seventy K's to Astrakhan and I know underneath there is serious battery. We grab the first motel, the Silk Way, which is in an industrial area but is new and cheap and I crash for the second time that day with a fair bit of shock. My hip is swollen massively I've got a seriously sore shoulder and ribs but I'll mend. The worst is the Sena blue tooth is crunched, the GPS is scraped up but working, my new helmet is scraped up and I've lost my watch.....bugger.
Nothinsville.....
"Precious" repacked and battered after gaining a nine point five for a half flick and full cart wheel. Half point lost as rider left only ninety percent bruised.......ouch!
"Dean there's some sticks over there and I think you should get a shot"........"Wow got it"
Mumma, put my guns in the ground
I cant shoot them anymore
that long black cloud is comin down
I feel I'm knockin on heaven's door
Bob Dylan
I cant shoot them anymore
that long black cloud is comin down
I feel I'm knockin on heaven's door
Bob Dylan
On Russians...Just Looking...Not Really Knowing
We've had a bad run so far (our fault). The countryside is like Port Wakefield with Ladas and the camera (which lives after the prang!) is growing rust. But most of the people we have come in contact with, cab drivers, police, soldiers, local truckers and shop people, the owner of the hotel (a great guy), street people in Grozny, a young fella that spoke english in the nearby bank, have been polite, love to give a wave, extremely curious of Australia, say "that is cool" in their Russian way, and are generous with their time and patience. This is just an unbiased observation, right, ok, but there are more beautiful women per kilometre (BWK's) in Russia than anywhere on earth that I have been, erm, end of subject, no further comment, ah ah not goin there again. The Russians are the first to admit there's rough edges here.....and seem to bear a cheerful acceptance of stuff most Australians would throw in the towel over. "Be very careful here on motorbike, Russian truck driver no see motorbike". (No shit!) There are pot holes here you drive in and out of, this would be called a joke in Australia but tonight as I rode towards the bridge over the Volga the front wheel of the DR actually only started leaving as the rear wheel dropped in! When potholes are fixed there seems to be no levelling only sealing the shape of the hole or repair so the entire road is like the moon only sealed! As I limped up to the centre of the bridge to get a photo it shook constantly .....I mean serious movement! The bitumen on the bridge, particularly the right lane, seems to be a constantly changing motocross track. On each side of the bridge are little beaches on the Volga where families swam and relaxed.... could have been on the Murray somewhere! This evening in central Astrakhan we wandered about a huge shopping centre that would rival Marion or Tea Tree Plaza for quality of goods and huge crowds of middle class Russians. Credit cards were being flashed everywhere and the supermarket looked identical to Coles. Flipside were the health services I visited and desperate hovels, unit blocks, and shops near the pharmacy and public hospital not far from where we stayed. If you ever doubt the value of government campaigns to eradicate littering visit the last three countries we have travelled through. The litter is staggering. We have been watching a work team next door building a multi story building who work all day, dawn to dusk in the heat and live in rusty old containers on the site at night. The work is as rough as with no or minimal reinforcing mesh in the concrete, little proper measuring with levels and bulging form work. Within two days they have built the walls up to our second floor level out of rough looking besser blocks with everything standing unreinforced or unpropped looking desperately unsafe. There are mongrel stray dogs all around the site and nearby markets, and lines of trucks and wind whip up grey curtains of dust that coat everything in a cement camouflage.
No opinions here just a few things we saw in a short time.
The motocross bridge over the Volga
Shall we get the 38 the 44 or maybe that big black automatic?
Could be a shopping centre in the USA or Russia huh.
This shopping centre in Astrakhan could have been anywhere in Aussie suburbia.
Ron takes the motel cleaner for a spin......or is he saving on fees by going direct to the distributor instead of the through the Russian Bridal net....watch this space!
No opinions here just a few things we saw in a short time.
The Volga at dusk. Earlier jet skis and families relaxed on little beaches around the bridge....serious mossies though.
Could be a shopping centre in the USA or Russia huh.
I Learn Some Appreciation.
After three crap nights with no pain killers my ribs and hip are getting more painful. We decide to hit the hospital early as we have no idea what to expect. We get the hotel lady to ring for a cab and try and explain hospital. Fifteen minutes later a battered Lada with peeling window tint rolls up and Ron sits in the front and I ease into the back. The driver is seriously pissed. As we fly off he begins a one way conversation shouting at Ron and staring at him while dodging potholes and speeding. His eyes are like dinner plates and he puts on "english music for you" which is some sort of crap dance music at maximum decibels. His speed increases with the music and Ron sits bolt upright grasping for the sound knob watching the road as the driver watches him curiously while attempting to organise a smoke and yelling "torma torma you go torma". He takes us to what looks to be an overgrown huge old disused hospital complex and we throw a hundred and fifty rubles at him and bail. At first we cant find anyone and the place is totally sixties and is overgrown and in disrepair. We find a woman who takes us in to see a sixties looking doctor in regulation white dust coat whom I think she has woken up. This seems to be some kind of emergency place but there is no actual hospital or facility, just two very tired people and it's kind of creepy. Neither speak english and after taking one look at my hip, signal they have rang an ambulance and shoo us into what looks like a police holding room. Oh oh this is getting out of hand. Fifteen minutes later a modernish ambulance arrives complete with attractive female medic and sidekick. We climb into the ambulance and take a thirty minute bone shattering ride into a rough area and into a largish old hospital. "Ok maybe we're getting somewhere". We drive past some more impressive buildings at the front down the back to the rundown sixties theme again, "oh dear". I struggle to be opinionated as its what they have but our eyes bulged with the lack of care and hygiene. No one spoke English but they got the idea and took me to an xray room. I sat next to the table and yep, there it was, an xray table with fresh blood on it. .....aaaaah hah. A nurse (I think as everybody only wears a cursory nod to a uniform) breezes in with a spray bottle and makes a half hearted attempt to clean it and I scan the table to stay away from bits she's missed! The Xray guy arrives (he's been watching telly in the other room) then gets me to lie flat on the table and motions he doesn't know where to xray me......"whaaaat". I point to all the hurting bits and he takes two shots from the one angle, leaves me flat on the steel table for twenty minutes and then comes with two blurry xrays motioning that all is good. Hmmmm by now I know I'm wasting my time and have the shits on but now it's off to the medical officer. An orderly takes me into a room tells me to drop my pants, sits me on a filthy bed and the medical guy, eyeing off my bulging hip, starts getting sharp stuff out asking if I'm allergic to anything on a smart phone interpreter. I indicate that this isn't happening so they give up and we all retire into another room for a round of questions using an orderly who can read English better than he can speak. So there we are in a room full of medics, orderlies, and students all yelling and carrying on. I'm writing stuff down for the "cant speak can read" guy, another medic is shouting into his phone with google interpreting and shoving that in my face, Ron is watching a dodgey cat wandering around and someone else is saying "sorry we make joke yes". The head medic writes out a complicated looking script and the google guy brings up "pharmacist" and we nod and grab a cab out of there as fast as we can.
I will never, ever, let anybody tell me the Australian medical system is less than superb........ever!
When we get back the hotel owner, who is a great guy, takes Ron to the pharmacist to fill the script. I entails two sorts of anti inflammatory cream aaaand wait for it
a bottle of vodka to be used as some kind of poultice!
Needless to say I`m keeping that script to frame! All the while I'm getting nowhere and I'm still in serious pain.
I'm pretty sure that number one on this is a vodka poultice....lucky the bottlo was next to the pharmacy!
"Mate this stuff ain't working...are you sure poultice in Russian means mix with Fanta?"
Nyet Nyet you must fill the first part of this prescription at the Bottlo!
Anyone familiar with Allparts on Pulteney Street in the sixties and seventies will be familiar here but.....
"Da only parts for Russki bikes"
The MacDonald's restaurant in Astrakhan was packed at all times,
"build it and they will come"......and wear bigger clothes.....
Astrakhan is on the mighty Volga river. Stop here for a shot on the bridge and you will be killed .
The Silk Way Motel.The owner is a good guy, it's clean and new and for twelve hundred rubles a night or about thirty three dollars its not bad for a recovery ward! There is a building being constructed right behind where the guys work dawn to dusk in the heat and live in rusty containers at night dumped next to the site....I've just read about the problems with the Adelaide Hospital site and um.........
They took all the trees, and put them in a tree museum
Then they charged the people, a dollar and half just to see em
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone
They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.
Joni Mitchell
Reality Check
After leaving the border I got a bad churning in my stomach, you know like a piece of four by two turning endways that makes you clench your teeth and say "nope cant happen now". As everyone knows this cant be denied eventually and during this already difficult day Mr four by two gets more persistent. I seriously thought I was gonna crap myself in the cab looking for the ATM but willpower and serious puckering prevailed. A short time later on the way out of Grozny it was gonna happen....."oh oh". I skid into a seedy servo, point to my bottom to a couple mystified women who point me toward the other end of the building. I bolt down down there as the navigator orders bomb doors open and find....nothing. They wave me further so I bolt through their filthy living quarters out the back and spy a tin shanty fifty metres back. I lose my backpack, jacket and gloves in record time as I throw the flimsy door open and "oh f!@# (flaming heck) its a hole in the floor...uuuuum I try to drop my draggin jeans but I've got boots on and the jeans jam above my knees locking my knees almost together negating a squat um....um...um.... land crab position! I do the land crab and hope I hit the hole and its all over...phew. I take a breather on backwards fours and scope the place....."oh oh no paper....what's wrong with these people". I know I've got a stash in my backpack but erm, that's outside! I'll spare you the next ten minutes of ingenious dexterity and playing the memory game of which limb you used for what task but er you get my drift!
Next we put our shiny new Stan visas to the test and look who's just arrived !
a bottle of vodka to be used as some kind of poultice!
Needless to say I`m keeping that script to frame! All the while I'm getting nowhere and I'm still in serious pain.
"Da only parts for Russki bikes"
"build it and they will come"......and wear bigger clothes.....
They took all the trees, and put them in a tree museum
Then they charged the people, a dollar and half just to see em
Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone
They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.
Joni Mitchell
Reality Check
After leaving the border I got a bad churning in my stomach, you know like a piece of four by two turning endways that makes you clench your teeth and say "nope cant happen now". As everyone knows this cant be denied eventually and during this already difficult day Mr four by two gets more persistent. I seriously thought I was gonna crap myself in the cab looking for the ATM but willpower and serious puckering prevailed. A short time later on the way out of Grozny it was gonna happen....."oh oh". I skid into a seedy servo, point to my bottom to a couple mystified women who point me toward the other end of the building. I bolt down down there as the navigator orders bomb doors open and find....nothing. They wave me further so I bolt through their filthy living quarters out the back and spy a tin shanty fifty metres back. I lose my backpack, jacket and gloves in record time as I throw the flimsy door open and "oh f!@# (flaming heck) its a hole in the floor...uuuuum I try to drop my draggin jeans but I've got boots on and the jeans jam above my knees locking my knees almost together negating a squat um....um...um.... land crab position! I do the land crab and hope I hit the hole and its all over...phew. I take a breather on backwards fours and scope the place....."oh oh no paper....what's wrong with these people". I know I've got a stash in my backpack but erm, that's outside! I'll spare you the next ten minutes of ingenious dexterity and playing the memory game of which limb you used for what task but er you get my drift!
Next we put our shiny new Stan visas to the test and look who's just arrived !
This is Sophie Grace Hillyard my second grandchild who's just arrived. She weighed in at seven pound two for the facts and figures types and gave her mum a bit of a hard time apparently. As you can see she's demonstrating attitude already poking her tongue out and no doubt will join the rest of the female clan in our family stating the obvious and wondering why males don't do it! Congratulations and well done Jess and Chris and see you all in September. Sophie, as I said to your new cousin Harry
life is for living...... go to it!