Leon Logothetis's Blog, page 19
August 11, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 28: Welcome to Mongolia
“If you’re robbing a bank, and your pants suddenly fall down, I think it’s OK to laugh, and to let the hostages laugh too, because come on, life is funny.” –Jack Handey
Today I have good news and I have bad news. Ever the optimist, I will begin with the good news. After waiting overnight we finally made it through to the Mongolian side of the border. So we have officially arrived in Mongolia, completing a 10,000-mile trek from London. If the blog ended at this moment everyone, including me, would be filled with joy. The blog doesn’t end here and that is the problem.
Here is the bad news.
As we crossed into Mongolia we saw about 20 Mongol Rally cars sitting in a pen to the side of the border crossing. This was not good. We spent about 30 minutes going through customs, getting our passports checked and double-checked. Then we were ushered into a small room. It was here that a mild-mannered Mongolian chap took my passport and the car registration documents. He neatly placed them on a large pile of other passports and said “you go outside.” I went outside and found myself herded like a cow into a pen with my fellow ralliers. It turns out that some of these chaps have been waiting here for more than 24 hours. No one knows why.
But wait. It gets worse. Rumors flying around are that the border closes for the weekend. If these rumors prove to be true I will be sitting in a Mongolian cow pen for a minimum of 72 hours. As a rather unfortunate side note, our video camera was confiscated by an irate Mongolian border guard. We haven’t seen it since.
Mongolia, why have you forsaken me?
August 10, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 27: On the edge of Mongolia
“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.” –Aristotle.
We had everything meticulously planned. Wake up at 5 a.m. Drive 400 miles. Arrive in Mongolia. Unfortunately our meticulous planning failed us miserably. As I write, I am sitting in the car looking at the Mongolian border. We have indeed arrived. But the border is closed. The bloody border is closed! This means that we are looking at Mongolia from Russia. I don’t want to be in Russia. I want to be in Mongolia.
It also means that I will be looking at the border for the next 15 hours. From Russia. Border watching is not a fun pastime. In fact it is not a pastime at all. Our new plan is as follows. We will be setting up camp 50 feet from this border. We will not be moved by anyone. This includes Russian soldiers with Kalashnikovs or Russian soldiers with tanks. We are staying right here. Tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. sharp we will cross into Mongolia. We have waited more than a year for this moment and nothing is going to take it away from us. Nothing.
My friend Steve will cook us some food. Because Steve knows how to cook. Barely. We will eat that food and then we will stare at the border. We will continue to stare at the border until it opens. When that border opens, we will have achieved what some said was impossible and most, foolhardy. We will have arrived in Mongolia, just over a year after our misadventure with a Romanian car. We will then be less than 1,000 miles from Ulaanbaatar, the holy grail.
When that border opens. We will cross it.
August 9, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 26: Friends to the end
“A good friend is a connection to life – a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.” –Lois Wyse
Many people have questioned the sanity of driving from London to Mongolia, especially after last year’s near-fatal car crash in a Romanian village. “Don’t do it Leon.” “It’s too dangerous.” “Its nuts what your doing.” I must say I totally agree with the nuts part. But what people don’t understand is that Steve and I have this insane urge to find our way to Mongolia. Nothing will stop us.
We are doing it for the adventure. For the crazy Russian border guards who scream at us because we are English. For the Kazakhstani truck drivers who try to run us over. For the friendship we have formed.
We have driven nearly 7,500 miles together on this trip. Yet throughout this journey we have stayed as one. We have worked together. We have battled through the setbacks and marveled at the successes. We have grown. Above all we have kept our friendship intact. And this is no mean feat under the stresses of this crazy rally.
We are constantly under pressure. We are constantly making decisions that could be the end of us. Yet, we stay together. Our common goal of reaching Mongolia keeps our friendship intact. I couldn’t imagine doing this rally with anyone else. Here’s to Steve. And to friendship.
August 8, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 25: Siberian crime bait
Sure, Siberia’s pretty now. But try getting lost there. (Leon Legothetis / August 8, 2012)
“I never make stupid mistakes. Only very, very clever ones.” –John Peel
I have skills. Navigating around Siberia is evidently not one of them. Today we drove from the eastern Kazakhstani city of Karaganda to somewhere in Siberia. I say somewhere because I currently have no idea where we are. And this, my friends, is entirely my fault.
During our long trip from Britain, Steve has been the designated navigator. There is very good reason for this. He trained to be a scientist (now he is a cameraman) and his brain is very large. I am navigationally challenged. Always have been. Always will be. I guess this means that my brain is slightly smaller than Steve’s.
Well, on Day 25 of the 10,000-mile Mongol Rally, we decided that I would do some navigation. Why, I am not entirely sure. What I am sure about is that we are lost in the Siberian wilderness and it is my fault. Steve uses his trusty GPS to navigate. I use good old fashion maps. This strategy led us into a field, far away from civilization. The road we went down ended. It is now pitch black. Even Steve’s GPS refuses to help.
Steve also decided that now would be a good time to read the following from his beloved Lonely Planet travel guide book.
“The Altai Republic has the second highest crime levels in Russia. As a retired regional police chief (now forced to work as a taxi driver to make a living) told us, ‘Its easier to get away with stuff when you are so far from civilization’…it pays to be aware that this is the real ‘Wild East’ territory.”
Goodbye!
August 7, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 24: Lure of the open road
“I think that travel comes from some deep urge to see the world, like the urge that brings up a worm in an Irish bog to see the moon when it is full.” –Lord Dunsany
I like to call myself a reformed desk dweller. Life used to be spent behind a slab of wood. My spirit was yearning for more. Much more.
My adventure across the vastness of one-thirdof the world’s surface is another small way of reminding myself of what the world has to offer. By swapping my desk for a life of adventure I wanted to make a statement. I wanted to live outside the box. I wanted to live freely. I wanted to do it my way.
Well, doing it my way brings with it some interesting sideshows, particularly during this 10,000-mile car rally. I get to stay in Stalinist era hotels. I reflect on life whilst sitting in traffic jams due to the grazing habits of stray cows. I meet inspiring people who show me that my way is not always the only way. I get stuck at border crossings for hours on end and learn that waiting in line for a Starbucks isn’t so bad after all. I get to live outside the box.
I always wanted to see the world. I always wanted to be a part of the fabric of humanity. Sitting behind a desk, wasn’t for me. Sitting behind a cow jam may not be for you. But what I know for sure is that as I inch towards Mongolia, I am exactly where I want to be. Free.
August 6, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 23: No stars for this hotel
The posters are about the only happy thing about this hotel. (Leon Legothetis)
You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm. –Colette
Well into the third week of the 10,000-mile Mongol Rally, I arrived in the eastern Kazakhstani town of Balkesh. The sun was no more. Steve and I had driven about 12 hours and were looking forward to relaxing before we headed off toward Russia in the morning. We bumped into a few other ralliers who were getting ready to camp for the night. They invited us along but we decided to go to the local hotel instead.
That was a bad mistake.
Hotel Balkesh is not a welcoming place.
As I entered, I felt a powerful and disturbing energy consume me. I am convinced the hotel used to be an asylum of some sort. The mental kind. Or a former Soviet interrogation center. The energy is morbid. The room practically uninhabitable. I felt like I was standing in a Stalinist propaganda poster, but without the manufactured charm.
Posters of beautiful mountains and happy joyous people adorn the walls. Let me assure you, there is no joy in this room. There is something very wrong with Room 23.
The lady who works at the reception (if that is what you can call it) is particularly unfriendly and rather rude. Maybe she knows something that I am glad I don’t…
The only bright spot is that so far I haven’t seen any cockroaches. But the night is still young. I will be sleeping with all my clothes on, and if I make it through this night, I will consider myself lucky.
August 4, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 22: Inspiring moments
Pete added a bit of perspective to the journey. He was making the 10,000-mile trip in a wheelchair. (Leon Legothetis / August 4, 2012)
I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders. –Jewish proverb
The drive from Uzbekistan to Kazakhstan was abruptly curtailed when I arrived at the wrong border crossing. The crossing was closed for repairs and there was supposedly another one about 60 miles away. The only sticking point: I had no idea how to get there. Fortunately for me, an Uzbekistan stranger did. However, he wanted to be paid for his services. 200,000 som to be precise. I didn’t have 200,000 som (about $100). I only had 45,000 and two packs of cigarettes. It was a take-it-or-leave-it moment. He took it and drove me to the correct border. Normal service was resumed.
As I waited for the Uzbekistan border guards to finish lunch, I met a few other teams that seemingly wanted to spend part of their summer in Kazakhstan as well. One of these teams stood out like a shining light. Pete, Jan and Rich were competing in the rally, but with a difference. All three of them are paraplegics.
Traveling 10,000 miles in a wheelchair for the Mongol Rally was truly astonishing. I spoke with Pete and his story was one of pure inspiration. He had been in the wheelchair for six years and quietly made a decision not to let his circumstances dictate his life.
“Other people put limitations on me and themselves, but I want to show them that there are no limitations,” he said.
His zest for life and his capacity to look beyond tragedy was inspiring. He recounted a story about how he had traveled from Bangladesh to London using only public transport. All done in a wheelchair. This was a journey of 15,000 miles as he weaved his way across vast swaths of the world over a six-month period.
Meeting Pete reminded me why I travel. To see the world. To learn from others. To experience life. Pete showed me that there is much, much more to learn.
August 3, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 21: Life is what happens when plans are made
In Uzbekistan, it’s easy to get money exchanged, even when the banks are closed. But it may not be the recommended way to do so. (Leon Logothetis)
When you jump for joy, beware that no one moves the ground from beneath your feet. –Stanislaw Lec
Friday was supposed to be my day of calmness. I am in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, and my hotel room was going to be my sanctuary; the small restaurant downstairs my only detour from bed. On Saturday, we’ll be back on the road to Ulan Bator, the destination for all of us who are participating in the Mongol Rally, 10,000 miles of automotive mayhem.
As the day began, everything was going according to plan. I ate four bowls of cereal, six croissants, three plates of fruit and a jug of orange juice. That’s what happens when you survive on almonds and bread and melons, which is what we’ve been doing the last few days.
After my feast, I planned to sleep all day. But it wasn’t to be. Steve Priovolos, my co-driver, told me there seemed to be a leak under the car. This meant our third trip to the mechanic was imminent. The leak was coming from the transmission fluid box under the car — and that wasn’t the only problem the mechanic found. In fact, his last advice to us was this: “Car is old. Get new one.” Unfortunately not an option.
Once we left the garage, it was time for a wild goose chase for gas. The city is having a gas shortage. We found a station with gas, but we didn’t have Uzbekistani money, and they didn’t take dollars, although we’d been assured they would. The banks were closed. What to do? Go rogue. We went to an illegal money trader in the bazaar and returned to the station flush with cash.
We finally arrived back at the hotel about 10 p.m. On Saturday, we’ll cross yet another border, known for corruption, irregularity and delays. That’s on a good day. More later.
Mongol Rally, Days 18, 19 and 20: problems, perseverance and pals
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all. –Helen Keller
Who drives across a third of the world’s surface on a 10,000-mile road trip and doesn’t know how to change a tire? If you guessed Steve Priovolos and Leon Logothetis, the team driving from Britain to Ulan Bator, Mongolia, on the Mongol Rally, you have guessed correctly.
When things go wrong with our car we are always in the unenviable position of having no idea what to do. None.
Tuesday would have been a good day to know what we were doing.
While driving through Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan, the front right wheel started to make terrible noises again. Our pothole misadventures of the previous days had caught up with us.
Driving to Uzbekistan was going to be impossible. We needed a mechanic. Pronto. The problem? No one spoke English, and we don’t speak Russian.
I returned to the hotel where we had stayed the previous night and pleaded with the bellman to take us to a mechanic. After some arm tugging he obliged. We eventually found the world’s worst mechanic. No way was I going to let this man touch the car.
The bellman took us to another named Vapa. He was first rate, and the car seemed to me to be in safe hands. The next challenge was explaining exactly what the noises were. Here came the stroke of genius.
In Ukraine, we met a man named Eugeny. He had given me his number; he could speak Russian to the mechanic and explain what was wrong with the car. I took out my trusty satellite phone and prayed he would pick up. He did.
After catching up with Eugeny I passed him over to the mechanic who now understood the problem. He fixed the car and even refused payment. I insisted on giving him something, so I took one of the bottles of vodka I had purchased to bribe Russian police (I hadn’t needed to) and gave it to him instead. His smile told a thousand words.
Finally we could continue our journey. Or so we thought. Thirty-five miles outside of the capital and about 500 miles from Uzbekistan another more worrisome sound began. This time we were on our own. Being on your own when you don’t know what to do is—how shall I say this?—unfortunate.Day 18
There are times in life when you meet people who inspire with their boldness. This was one of those days. We had been downcast these last few days and wondered whether we should quit the rally. As I was pulling up to the Uzbekistani border I noticed a European-looking chap sitting in the scorching heat, next to a bicycle. I was intrigued.
His story was stunning. His name is Francois, and he’s French. He quit his job as a software engineer in Paris and decided to ride his bicycle to India. He had been on the road for 91 weeks.
But why? He was fed up with spending life in a cubicle and wanted to free himself from the material world.
His perseverance was astonishing. From facing near deportation in Serbia to riding through the deserts of Uzbekistan without water, this man was unstoppable. He reminded me that humans can achieve whatever they put their minds to.
Driving 10,000 miles across two continents, as we are doing in this Mongol Rally, is an achievement. But riding a bicycle for nearly two years is a tour de force. Francois, if you are reading this, keep riding, my friend.
Day 19
As the sun disappeared over the horizon, Steve and I were about to be saved. Our angel for the night was an Uzbekistani man named Sunat. We were trying to drive to the city of Samarkand, home of the Registan, which was the center of the ancient city. It was said to be so beautiful that Alexander the Great stopped his pillaging to marvel at its charms.
We never made it to Samarkand.
The roads stopped us again, and we had no choice but to look for a field where we could camp. Setting up a tent on land that belongs to someone else without asking might cause a problem. I got out of the car and started to speak to random Uzbekistani men. It was more like sign language really. My mission was to find someone to let us sleep in their field. I finally found someone willing to help.
Sunat came to our rescue. His hospitality was exceptional. He and his family operated a roadside melon business, so he fed us melons. Within a few minutes of our arrival word had gotten out, and about 20 of the villagers joined in the festivities. After our melon feast he insisted we set up camp next to his stables.
All in all a successful evening of bonding with half an Uzbekistani village. The screeching trucks on the highway didn’t enhance our night’s sleep, but it was all forgotten in the morning when he made us breakfast. (More melons.)
It was a magnificent experience.
July 30, 2012
Mongol Rally, Day 17: In Turkmenistan, we ask: Is it time to quit?
On the road in Turkmenistan–but calling it a road dignifies it. (Leon Logothetis / July 30, 2012)
On Monday morning, I was awakened by a dog chasing a camel. I got up and exited my tent to see what the commotion was and then the camel started chasing me.
Welcome to Turkmenistan.
It was soon time to say goodbye to the friends I had made Sunday in this village and head off toward the capital Ashkebad, a seven-hour drive, or so I was told.
I wasn’t expecting (but probably should have been) how terrible the roads were and how many military checkpoints we would encounter. The soldiers were friendly, though. Once I showed them my papers they waved me on with a grin and a mock salute.
What was not so endearing was the actual drive. My co-driver, Steve Priovolos, and I were in the car for more than 15 hours on roads that can be described generously as horrendous. They were so terrible that the condition of the roads, coupled with the sheer monotony of the drive tested my desire to be in the Mongol Rally at all.
I always knew things would be tough. It’s 10,000 miles through 18 countries in uncertain and dangerous conditions. Last year on Day 8 Steve and I were broadsided by a driver in a 4X4; we were in Nissan Micra. It was destroyed, but not our desire for a replay, which is how we found ourselves at the starting line again. On July 14, we and hundreds of other ralliers left on the adventure.
And now, here we were, driving hundreds of miles in 104-degree heat. The potholes were endless. So were the overzealous drivers, who came at us from both directions. I began to question why I was doing this in this dinky, crummy little car (which is what the rules call for — dinky anyway, crummy not specified).
In that moment of weakness I had no answers. Just fatigue and frazzled nerves. When we finally arrived in the capital, we settled into a hotel overlooking the presidential palace. I decided to sleep on my thoughts. Maybe Tuesday will bring with it a renewed vigor. Maybe it will not.
