August 2012

26^th August – Ulan-Ude

(above: Bypasses in Siberia. A “good” street. A mud-loving kids dream… which I am not.)

Stuck in Ulan-Ude might sound like the title of a pretty weird story but it isn’t. Pierre and I separated a few days ago as he was keen to do some off-road riding and so headed to Olkhon, a peninsula on the eastern side of the Baikal. After a few days of heavy rain it hit me that the road off the Olkhon peninsula is flooded, but he hopes to re-connect tomorrow or the day after.

We travel to learn, and this is what I have learned over the last few days_

-          Don’t trust a Siberian when it comes to the quality of the roads. A stretch of rubble becomes “good” and even a hint of tarmac is classed “very good.”

-          I am a whiner. Whilst I have my thoughts firmly set on a warm shower after six or seven hours of rain and temperatures of around ten degrees, I see locals with no tops on selling berries by the side of the road in a Mediterranean mood.

-          Great equipment pays off! I will never accept the evil jokes from my mates when buying the latest functional second layer or comparable (even if there are already another three in my closet). Staying warm and dry in these road conditions is a prerequisite to reach Vladivostok in one piece… at least, for a spoiled German postwar kid like myself.

-          I am vain (some of you might have guessed). Riding the bike into cities like Ulan-Ude after three or four days on Siberian roads comes second only to Caesars return to Rome after beating the Barbarians. Cars and buses slow down, the honking starts, trolley bus passengers rush to the window, phone cameras galore and you know what? I love it. “From Berlin? On THAT???” These questions never fail to make me happy.

-          Buryatis are nice people but lousy drivers. The Italians of Russia, so to speak…

We are not far from the Mongolian border and here Russia has an Asian face. Buddhist temples and shrines can be seen along the roads, and there is a more accessible and less tight atmosphere. Europe feels ever further away.

29^th August – Chita

(above: Siberia.)

Nothing prepared me for this land. How often have I read about the near mystical place it holds in the poetry, literature, music of Siberians? Even the word “Siberia” had a special sound, a dimension that goes beyond a local title. As a child I envisioned Siberia as a harsh, rough remote corner of the world, hostile to human life, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

This land is completely and utterly overwhelming. For days and days every ascent, every hill, is opening up vistas onto a land of biblical dimensions. Hundreds of rivers on their natural beds disappearing at a far, far horizon, between seemingly untouched forests and fields. It does not have the intimidating spectacle of – for example – the Grand Canyon or Victoria Falls, but it puts everything in its place by its sheer dimensions and the harmonious, paradise-like composition of its landscapes, free from any human involvement, as if in an act of justified modesty, since nothing man made could cope.

My Russian born friends back home always suffered under the extreme tightness of Europe, and despite the seemingly better life, were homesick in a way. At times it seemed overly romantic, but I understand them now. There is a liberating tranquillity in this land, and a way to breathe that must be with you, and missed dearly, wherever your life might take you.

I had a few difficult days in Irkutsk and Ulan-Ude. Tough riding, exhaustion, the constant rain, and being stuck in Ulan-Ude, which is not exactly Pisa, all added to a little travel blues .It disappeared the moment of getting out of the city and into the land. Riding a motorcycle on a mild summer evening, with the sun setting over this land, must be one of the most touching things one person can do in life.

30^th August – Chita

(above: he earned his medals fighting my forefathers… no bad feelings and lots of laughter with that German kid.)

We are leaving Chita tomorrow for the long ride to Chabarovsk, 2,500km along the Baikal-Amur-Magistrale. This is the remotest part of our journey, and we will have find places to sleep along the route. Petrol also becomes a topic, as the distances between stations are too large for Pierre’s KTM and so canisters are needed. The quality drops and the prices rise. But speaking to some truckers and an Italian couple who have been travelling by bike for eleven years (!), the road conditions are better than expected and so it might only take five days, and not the ten or twelve we had reserved. So maybe there will be some time for a side-trip into China, or to the north. We will see…

- Andreas

Andreas from the Circus and Pierre from the Eastseven are on their way to Japan… by motorbike. Andreas is sending us regular updates and you can find the whole archive of the trip here.

22^nd August – Taischet, 700 km to Irkutsk

(above: On the road there are thousands of them. This guy was a thirty-year-old trucker, and although 3,000km from home there were fresh flowers…)

We passed by two prison camps today, set into the big Siberian wilderness and evocative of pictures I have only ever seen in history books and old movies. The camps are made of the simplest wooden structure, with watchtowers over the barracks and barbed wire fences. The prisoners were working outside in blue overalls and they waved and shouted enthusiastically when they saw us. I can only imagine what type of things they felt as they spotted the bikes and the riders.

It reminded me that this is the land of the Gulag. Prisoners and labour camps have been long been built here, far away from the big cities, and millions have been deported to the region including many Volga-Germans. I guess that the fact that this was a homeland forced on many people contributes to the feel of decay in the villages and smaller cities around, as well as the obvious lack of identification.

Another companion during recent days has been the Trans-Siberian Railway. We are often riding alongside the tracks, and the sound of the train horns – deep and seemingly endless – sends shivers down my spine. There has also been first longer stretches of dirt roads, and my beloved BMW – although a little fat around the hips – has done remarkably well. The elephant can swing…

As the streets get worse, the villages more spread out, the accommodation ever more Spartan and the petrol stations increasingly rare, it is fascinating to see the infrastructure and civilisation thinning out the further east we get. It is like the echo of a disappearing sound.

(above: Russia can be pretty direct…)

25^th August – Irkutsk

(above: The attention it deserves in Irkutsk)

We reached Irkutsk after some of the most difficult riding days so far. The temperatures kept dropping down to 11/12 degrees, there was non-stop rain, massive roadworks with long stretches of stone, sand and rubble, and the distances are starting to take their toll with some good old well-deserved physical exhaustion. My neck, shoulders and upper legs from standing whilst riding remind me of every gym hour I have missed.

Irkutsk, with its Kirov Place that shows that the Soviets had their Speers too, is a fuelling stop, with some good food, a nice bed and, as usual, some loving attention for the bike before we head off to Lake Baikal which is 70 km away. For me and my aching self it is time for the Banya again, and I have already found one… lovely. Just like the Japanese Sento, these simple public bath houses serve not only as a place to take care of your body, but also as a community focal point. People talk politics and family, and take a break from the stresses of life outside. My banya looks like a naked United Nations with Kirgis, Uzbek, Mongol, Buryat, Turkmeni and Aserbaidschani around… and now a German.

Here, take a look:

I am invited into this brotherhood of working class muschiks – entry is €2 and it shows – because of the bike tour, and the truckers, builders and shopkeepers are so heavily impressed I had to bring the bike as proof. There is always someone happy to beat the weird German up with birch branches, and it’s a great way to get into a new city…

(above: the Russian mafia…)

19^th August – Novosibirsk

(above: Dima, my mechanic in Novosibirsk)

We are discovering a city that on the first glimpse appears to have nothing to discover. The guidebook deals with the city in literally two lines, saying that basically if you have no real reason to be here then don’t bother.

I had a long a rewarding talk today with the local LGBT activist who loves his rights as much as his country, and I got invited by a friend I made – Dmitrij, or Dima – to a Russian house party. Somewhere beneath those thick layers of tiredness and sometimes resignation, forced upon people by disastrous political, social and economic circumstance, and behind the seemingly grim faces, you will find wonderful people with a deep understanding of all that is human, passionate and rich, people who are sensitive and who have an inspiring will to give access to their hearts…

20^th August – Novosibirsk

Bikers race down Lenin Prospekt on their back wheel. Pale-skinned boys in ill-fitting suits carry their violins to the opera. Noisy SUV-driving Muschiks pay three thousand euros for a Belstaff jacket… in cash of course. Big ladies in their 60s smoke a fag whilst manoeuvring black-fumed ancient buses through the dense traffic. Girls in black silk dresses that would not disappoint at the Oscars invite me to dance…

Half the men are wearing fake Adidas tracksuits. Toothless old folks hang out of the windows of derelict housing blocks and give us a wave and a smile. Young Tatars with pride in their eyes grab my hand and invite me for lunch at the river. Young kids in a minibus stare as if I am an alien. I say “boo” and the whole bus bursts into laughter…

Russia has come alive for me in Novosibirsk and like so many before I am beginning to understand why it is hard not to love it. Hopefully the work on our bikes will be done today, and then we will head in the direction of Lake Baikal and Irkutsk. It should take four days, maybe five.

20^th August – At night, on the road to Irkutsk

(above: On the Siberian roadside with two Italian riders on their way home from a Trans-Asia trip)

We are back to the world of fields and forests and the greyish belt that runs between them, a place where truck drivers flash their lights, the occasional police car honks their horn, and the children give us the thumbs up as we pass. A place where street signs say “Irkutsk – 1,784km” or “Chita – 2,972km” and it seems completely appropriate.

Girls sit in rundown bus stops dozens of kilometres from any human settlement. Elderly ladies sleep by the street with a pot of potatoes and two glasses of honey in front of them. By now I am totally at ease with the riding, the distances, and the level of isolation that comes with it. Vladivostok is around seven thousand kilometres from here but seventeen would make no difference. I am in the flow…

- Andreas

Andreas from the Circus and Pierre from the Eastseven are on their way to Japan… by motorbike. Andreas is sending us regular updates and you can find the whole archive of the trip here.

15^th August – The Road to Omsk

We had a great last night in Yekaterinburg, taken to an underground club by some wild Azerbaijanis, drank a few glasses of Scotch and rocked the dance floor to some evil Rihanna tunes. A short night of sleep.

But we were still awake enough the next day to sense the beauty of eagles circling above crystal rivers and rays of sunlight breaking through the forests and onto the street. The land masses ahead have ceased to be a job to be done and have become something of a promise… A promise of interesting stories, great people and a beautiful land.

16^th August – Near Omsk

(above: great smile, even better soup…)

Riding into Siberia we entered Trucker-Land… the men seem to be all truckers or mechanics, the few women serve on patrol stations or are prostitutes. This is not exactly my normal habitat.

We arrive at the truck stops at night for petrol, some food, a bed and maybe a shower. We get many distanced and sometimes even hostile looks… at least until we make use of our irresistible charm that works – at least – on the ladies at the cash register. Sometimes it feels as if you have wandered into a sports bar in Newcastle wearing your pink drag queen outfit. Or in the Australian outback.

17^th August – Tatarsk

The stage has been set for the next few weeks and it looks good… Yellows and sand-tones for the grasses and the corn, light green for the bushes and high grass, darker greens for the forests, and a light baby-blue for the sky that reaches from Moscow to Ulan Bator at least. Sometimes we travel 100km and see no buildings. The temperatures are mild, between 13 and 20 degrees, and there is much less traffic. Also, the further east we travel the better the roads… things are looking too good to be true.

And added to that we should get into Novosibirsk today, which means we are even a day ahead of schedule.

17^th August – Novosibirsk

We have reached Novosibirsk after 8,500 km and it is a sense of achievement, although we have arrived to a couple of smaller problems. The tires we had sent here have not been picked up by our local contacts, and the mechanic has already gone for the weekend. This means we will be hanging around in this sexy place for a few days. We have found a nice small hotel and met some good people. We will also check out the Novosibirsk nightlife. Stay tuned; news from the dance floor will break any minute…

Andreas from the Circus and Pierre from the Eastseven are on their way to Japan… by motorbike. Andreas is sending us regular updates and you can find the whole archive of the trip here. Below you can watch a couple of videos filmed in the past week from the Ural Motorcycles factory and museum. Andreas would like me to make clear that of course he knows it is Anthony Hopkins… just a small brain freeze moment J

Short film from Ural Motorcycles Factory…

…and from the Ural Motorcycles Museum