Khabarovsk to Chita, 3.8.-6.8.2010

Driving through Far Eastern Russia is awesome! It took us 4 days to get from Khabarovsk to Chita and the scenery is fascinating, the population density is decreasing with every day. In the mornings we often stop at local cafes to have blini (pancakes) with custard or we stop for piroshkis (fried turnovers) - Yummy!

One day we met these two guys and their pet snake Jeanette outside a cafe. Both teams exchanged astonished glances: We stared at their spanky new Toyota Tundra (biggest Pickup I've ever seen) and Jeanette, draped nonchalant around their shoulders - they were amazed by our not quite so spanky but nevertheless still impressive vehicle with Australian an registration. After a bit of small talk we both headed our ways.

We drove through many villages of wooden houses, all painted very detailed and ornamented in greens, whites or blues – maybe the odd yellow. The locals sell vegetables and fruit from the roadside and because of the season mushrooms (big stone mushrooms) are sold everywhere. And I mean everywhere: in the middle of nowhere, we found people sitting by the side of the road offering their crops. It was not an unusual sight to see people riding their bicycle through the Taiga or waiting at the roadside for busses – miles away from the next village. We took advantage from being offered so much fresh food and bought some blueberries and carrots on the way.

Sofar, we mainly slept in old quarries a bit off the road – highlight was a lookout from which you could overlook a valley. The road is really good two thirds of the time, but it is also a major construction zone – which makes for the remaining third. There we mostly had gravel just waiting to be paved and only in very few places were there bits which needed more work than paving, these were dominated by huge potholes. We share the road with many of the imported cars coming from VVO, but because they usually have more than 2 passengers and presumably drive longer hours than us we usually only share a day with them (you meet at petrol stations and recognize each other from overtaking). Everybody is always so interested in us and asks about Melville’s age, where we come from and where we are going and the reaction most of the time alternates between ‘Wow, that is a great trip you are doing’ and incredulous stares a la ‘You must be mad’.
Talking of petrol stations: At one point Holger and I were getting a bit nervous because we needed to refill and the number of petrol stations had dwindled dramatically about halfway between Khabarovsk and Chita. While having a nature break, a Russian car stopped and asked if we had any idea whether a petrol station was close – :o). We both made it to the next petrol station a few k’s down the road. In petrol stations in Russia you pay before you fill up. Hence you go to the cashier, usually a lady in a little hut behind bars and a glass and place your ‘order’. Cashiers almost always communicate via yelling, firstly because they don’t understand you, secondly because they don’t believe you (we usually ask for about 100 liter because we have two tanks) and thirdly to let Holger know he can press the lever now to make the gasoline flow. This lady was particularly harsh and that I suddenly screamed, jumped aside and pulled down my pants didn’t help: A bumble-bee had crept up my pants and once it reached the thigh I got out of the car and the bumble-bee did not like it a single bit and stung me, and stung me again, and again, and again… – in the end I counted 10 stings. It took me a few seconds to figure out where the pain was coming from and that’s why I pulled down my pants: the bumble-bee actually happily flew away but I was kinda in pain (for the next hour or so). A few minutes later Holger found out that the nozzles in Russia do not have a stop automatic, the overflowing petrol interrupted Holgi’s flawless interpretation of a kangaroo’s moving pattern he had chosen to explain the tank-guy, presumably the harsh lady’s husband, where we come from. Needless to say that we left the petrol station with slightly blushed cheeks and that this memorable tank stop has now a special place in our memory. Oh, and I did not take up the offer of the said Russian family, who had asked us about the next petrol station earlier and which was now witnessing our conundrum at the petrol station, to apply the cooling ointment here and now but warmly thanked them.