Russia

After a quiet and restful night, we set off. I’m really nervous. I wonder if the Russians will let us into their country just like that? Will our annual visa be OK or will the customs officers search all our equipment? Of course we don’t have anything with us that we can’t own or take across the border, but we’ve been told a lot of horror stories about these people in recent years. Especially about the civil servants, the police and other civil servants who allegedly never miss an opportunity to supplement their low salaries with corrupt actions and who do so. “You definitely need a contact to the Russian mafia, otherwise you will lose your equipment just a few kilometers across the border,” was one of the warnings. Or “If you travel through Russia on a bicycle you will be stabbed, dismembered and buried”, was one of the other crazy statements made by a Russian woman who turned her back on her country. Of course, we don’t throw caution to the wind, but we don’t want to be boxed in by them straight away. Even though some of the recommendations came from people who seemed quite trustworthy to us, it is still important to select them in the end. Tanja and I are of the opinion that if your thoughts take a positive direction, you also radiate positivity and thus reap positive results. The power of thought, so to speak. These positive thoughts are nothing other than positive energy. If you deal with negative energy, you will reap negative things in the long run. It starts with your circle of friends and ends with the environment in which you live or move.

We have been dealing with this world of ideas for years. Every action and deed begins with a thought. I would also describe it as spiritual energy. Then, when the thought has formed and is strong enough, it is formulated and expressed by us humans. The spiritual energy thus changes its form and enters our lives as a sound. Everyone can hear it and do something with it or not. The fact is that the formulated and expressed thought has increased in strength and power. Yes, and now it’s just a small step to put it into practice. The initial spiritual energy has thus been transformed into visible action. Whatever this act is, negative or positive, it has a direct impact on us and our environment. Thus, the very idea has a potential that should not be underestimated under any circumstances.

So it is obvious that a person with a low level of self-confidence, who sees a task that seems insurmountable to him, is more likely to say, “I can’t do that. Impossible, I can’t do that.” He influences himself with negative thoughts. The result is usually that he fails the task or challenge. But you could also say the other way around: “I can do it. I can definitely do this.” The chances of achieving something are certainly much higher with positive self-influence. If only because a person who has a positive charisma is sure of himself. By which I mean, for example, that a confident person is more likely to cross a border without any problems than someone who looks around in complete uncertainty and is waiting to be dismantled by the customs officer at any moment. It is quite possible that it will really be dismantled. Everything that appears weak is suppressed even more. Everything that runs away has a chance of being pursued. It is in the nature of things. It is a law and affects almost all areas of our lives and the life of the animal world. So I motivate myself and try to get rid of my negative thoughts with Tanja’s help.

In fact, it makes me feel better. We pedal our horses through Kerch in search of the passenger port. “Keep going straight and you’ll hit it directly,” we are told. After three kilometers we are unsettled. “Isn’t it possible that the harbor is so far away from Kerch?” I wonder. “Yes, yes, follow the main road. At least another six kilometers,” explains an older Ukrainian with a laugh. Then, after 14 kilometers, we reach the ferry station. It’s 10:30 am. So we just missed the ferry. The next ship leaves the port at 13:30. While Tanja guards our vehicles, I set off in search of the ticket counter. Only a few people are queuing for the next ferry at this time of day. I get two tickets without any difficulty. Our bikes are billed as mopeds. We pay a total of 36 hryvnia per person (6 ?). While the drivers wait in their cars to enter the port and customs area, we sit down for a coffee and enjoy the pleasant warmth of the sun’s rays. Four men are sitting at the next table. They drink beer and vodka. “Come and have a drink with us,” one of them invites us. “No thanks, we still have to cycle”, we kindly decline. “No shit. Only Sto Gramm. Then you’ll drive much better. I hardly drink myself, but one is always good. Get fit,” he recommends and entices. After we continue to refuse, he gets up from his chair and sways over to us at the table. “You have a very pretty wife,” he enthuses with a laugh. “That’s right,” I agree with him, laughing. “I’ve been at sea for the last eleven months. On the Black Sea. Do you understand? I’ve had enough now. My wife will scold me if I’ve been drinking. But what the hell,” he says, still laughing, and makes one last attempt to invite us for a glass of vodka. It doesn’t take long for him to find two young women as victims. He gives them nice compliments and grates a mountain of sweet wood. Just a few moments later, they are giggling at the sailor’s jokes.

The time has finally come. We are allowed to roll onto the harbor grounds with the convoy of cars. A pretty customs officer, with very high-heeled shoes and a very short skirt, waves us through in a friendly manner. Standing in line, we have to hand in our passports like all drivers. A customs officer is interested in our journey. Shaking his head, he leaves us in amazement. After 30 minutes, a senior official hands us our travel documents. “I hope you enjoyed your time in Ukraine,” he says kindly. “Very. The people in her country were courteous and hospitable,” we reply. “So, didn’t they have any problems with our police?” he wants to know. “No. With our bikes, we’re too slow for any speed camera. And they obviously weren’t interested in anything else.” “Well then, have a good trip and good luck,” he wishes us. We push our bikes further towards the harbor basin. Then we are stopped again. First the many people and cars have to leave the ship that has just docked here from Russia. In the meantime, Tanja unpacks a few cookies to satisfy our growing hunger. “Where are you from?” asks a Ukrainian wearing pants that are far too big and a simple necklace made of wooden beads around his neck. He listens to our story in amazement. “And where are you going?” I want to know. “We’re going to Russia to the coastal town of Betta,” he replies, pointing to three other men who are talking animatedly not far from us. “Are you spending your vacation in Betta?” I want to know. “No, no. There’s a Hari Krishna festival there.” “Hari Krishna? That’s interesting. I didn’t even know you existed in Russia.” “Hari Krishna are scattered all over the world. We meet once a year. Always in a different place. This time in Betta. There will be believers from America, Germany, Poland, Ukraine, Bulgaria and other countries. At least 4000. We pray and dance. Listening to music. It is a peaceful gathering. A few spiritual masters will also be there. I myself have been a follower of Hari Krishna for ten years and live in a temple. There are several temples in Ukraine. Why don’t you come there too? I invite you to come. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. After a festival like this, you’re full of positive energy,” he says enthusiastically without giving me a chance to ask any questions.

Suddenly a ship’s officer appears and asks the passengers who don’t have a car to come on board. As soon as the barrier is lifted, people rush onto the loading area of the barge. We also feel like passengers without cars and mingle with the crowd on our bikes. Then the cars and buses follow. It takes another hour for all the formalities to be completed. Some drivers are asked by Ukrainian customs to go ashore again. Something is wrong with the papers. Pure excitement. The ferry finally departs. As we can’t see anything of the sea from the loading area, we climb up an iron staircase like the other passengers. Nobody pays attention to the prohibition signs. Safety is not necessarily a top priority here. Tanja and I are now standing on a narrow gangway at the bow. The wind blows around our noses. “Soon we’ll actually have made it and be in Russia,” says Tanja. “Yes, it took a long time. If you think about it, we were already talking about it in Australia when we crossed the Simpson Desert with our camels.” “When was that again?” “Five years ago,” I say thoughtfully, looking at the rapidly approaching coastline.

Just 20 minutes later, the Kerch Strait, which connects the Azov and Black Seas, lies behind us. As soon as the loading ramp of the ferry is lowered, we see the first Russian officials in green uniforms. As if there were a prize for the first passenger to cross the border, people storm off the ship. We follow them and simply push our bikes behind them. The people all disappear into a building. As we don’t fit in there with our bikes, we turn off and end up at the car checkpoint first. The officers literally open their eyes when they see us. It takes a few seconds for them to realize what is rolling towards them, then the first man in green begins to smile. We are relieved to meet people here too and not the bad men we know from American films. “Where are you going?” asks the border guard. “We come from Germany and want to go to Burma,” we answer truthfully. “What? Can’t be!” he says, almost in awe, and immediately tells his colleagues. General laughter. “Leave your bikes there and please give my colleagues the passports,” we are told. “Please take off your helmet,” says the voice from the control booth to Tanja. Tanja takes off her helmet and goggles and stands in front of the man with her arms hanging down and her shoulders raised in a friendly grin. Laughter emanates from the house. Tanja then gets her stamped passport back. My passport is also checked and stamped within a few minutes. So everything is fine with the visa, I’m pleased to say. “Could you open your box, please?” says an officer in a friendly manner. I open the trailer box and show him a banana, water, the thermos flask, the laptop and the other stuff inside. “All right. You can close it again,” he says. He then goes to his colleague, the customs officer, and tells him about the unspectacular contents of the crate. He also smiles at us in a friendly manner and waves us through without comment. The entire procedure only takes about five minutes. We shake hands with the officers as we say goodbye. “Have a safe journey”, they all wish us as we take our first steps onto Russian soil. I am almost a little speechless. We had been predicted endless difficulties and now… The quickest and easiest border crossing of our entire bike trip so far. Wow! As the officers disappear behind a row of houses, I raise my right arm in the air and shout with joy; “Yes! Yes! Yes! We are in Russia! Hurraaaa!” Tanja cheers just as loudly.

Suddenly, after almost 5,000 kilometers, we find ourselves in the largest country on earth. A state which, with 17,075,200 square kilometers and 143 million inhabitants, including more than 100 different nationalities and languages, unites Eastern Europe and Asia and covers more than one ninth of the earth’s land area. It’s unbelievable how long it will take to cycle these unimaginable distances. From the main ridge of the Caucasus in the south to the Arctic islands in the Arctic Ocean alone, the country stretches for around 4,000 kilometers, and from the Gulf of Finland in the west to Ratmanov Island in the Bering Sea in the east, it stretches for almost 10,000 kilometers. 10,000 kilometers! Breathtaking when I imagine how long it took us to cover the 5,000 kilometers? There is no doubt that we will have to stay here longer than perhaps planned at our speed of travel.

A strong wind blows against us on the lonely road. Haze and low-lying clouds cover the piece of earth we are exploring. Once again, we move onto a very narrow strip of land. Just a few meters to our left is the Sea of Azov again and directly to our right a huge bay of the Black Sea eats into the land. The sound of waves on both sides mixes with the howling of the wind. “We couldn’t even pitch our tent here in an emergency!” I shout, as there is hardly a dry place for it. The straight, well-maintained road ends somewhere on the horizon. Although we feel very lonely and abandoned at this moment, we soon find the unique atmosphere intoxicatingly beautiful. It’s already late and we really need a place to spend the night. Sweaty from the exertion, we start to freeze a little. As it is only mid-November and we are still on the 45th parallel, we don’t need to worry about the Russian cold just yet. Here in the European part of Russia, west of the Urals, it is usually still pleasantly warm at this time of year. The situation is different east of the Urals. Siberia stretches all the way to the Pacific Ocean. It could get bitterly cold there in just a few weeks. We have to start thinking about where we want to set our goal for this stage. We won’t reach the Urals, that’s for sure because of the still great distance. But maybe we can still make it to Saratov. From there, it is only about 700 kilometers as the crow flies to the Urals. Or maybe even Samara. From there, it is only 450 kilometers as the crow flies to the mountain range that marks the border between the continents of Europe and Asia. But why should we worry about it now? Ultimately it depends on the weather, luck and our constitution how far we will get.

Our cranks have been turning against the wind for 45 minutes now. “It looks like a village up ahead!” exclaims Tanja. “Yes, I think I recognize a few houses too!” “Maybe there’s somewhere to stay overnight?” “Would be nice,” I reply, panting. Finally, the straight road winds into its first bend. We spot the first people at a bus stop. “Is there a hostel here?” I ask. “Yes, there is a gastiniza in the village,” we hear, relieved and delighted at the same time. We get directions and bump along the bad roads into the village. A young boy leads us to the aforementioned gastiniza. I follow a gnawed wall front into the open courtyard. Houses marked by time form the boundaries of the square. Rusty metal and other garbage is lying around. A few men are working on a veranda. One of them uses a chainsaw to cut wooden beams in half. “What do you want?” a sturdy, balding man asks me in a friendly manner. “Uh, I wanted to know if there’s somewhere for us to spend the night. We’re here on our bikes and very tired.” “No, I’m sorry. There’s nothing left here.” “Nothing left? Are they fully booked?” “Yes.” “Oh, what are we doing?” I ask a little desperately. The man tries to explain to me where else I can ask in this village. But I don’t understand him. Now he seems a little desperate. “Give me the car keys,” he orders one of the young workers, who is also bald like another of them. He obviously wants to lead me to the place, I think with relief as he stops in mid-stride, turns around and asks how long we want to stay. “One night. We want to continue in the morning,” I say. “All right. You can stay,” I suddenly hear and wonder. Apparently he suddenly decided he had a room free after all. Not asking any further questions and relieved again, I look at a clean room in the run-down house with four freshly made beds. “How much does it cost?” “400 rubles. (12,- ?) Normalna?” (Normal) “Normalna”, I reply and am satisfied with this price, obviously not being ripped off. “The shower is over there. Unfortunately only cold water. You can cook in the kitchen,” explains the man who introduced himself as Sergei. Then he tugs on my sleeve. I follow him to a very run-down hut. He opens the door and switches on the light. I can hardly believe it. Suddenly we are standing in the middle of a cozy sauna. A strong fire flickers in the small stove in the corner. “If you want, you can wash and warm up in the banya (sauna),” says Sergei. “Fantastic”, I reply, because I never thought I would be confronted with one of the famous banjas on my first day in Russia. “Do you have a safe place for our bikes?” I want to know. “Sure,” replies Sergei as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Again I follow our Russian host across the courtyard to a garage. A huge dog sits in front of it. When he hears us coming, he jumps up, bares his teeth and tugs at his iron chain like a madman, barking loudly. “You’ve got a damn good Sobaka (dog) there,” I praise. “Yes. Under no circumstances are you allowed to go to your bikes alone. If you need anything later, let us know. He’ll tear you apart,” he warns.

We stow our bikes in the dusty garage. A large, badly maltreated punching bag hangs from the ceiling and explains why the boys here will soon all have shaved their heads. “Are you boxers?” I ask later. “There, there,” they reply with a grin. Then we stow our equipment in the room. “I’m going to the sauna,” I say to Tanja. “Sure, enjoy it. Take your time.”

It is pleasantly warm in the anteroom. I hang my modest little towel on the hook and sit down in the banya on the heavily used, half-soaked wooden bench. After such a long day, the cold headwind and the poor prospect of accommodation, I now enjoy the warmth that permeates my body. There are a few buckets of hot water on the stove. I take one of them and wash the dirt of the street off my body. Then I leave the hut again. It is already dark. The guard dog notices me and tugs dangerously hard on his chain. I hope it’s not as broken as most of the things here, I think to myself. Tanja has now cooked pasta and prepared a delicious salad in the communal kitchen. I eat it ravenously. We enjoy the evening in the Gastiniza as we remain undisturbed and none of those present pester us with endless questions. “Are such gastinizas common in Russia?” asks Tanja. “Who knows.” “Well, I like the place here. I like cooking for us. At least we know what’s on the plate and we can be sure we won’t be half-poisoned again.” “That’s right. I like it here too. Very simple but somehow very interesting. This way we live among the locals.” “Tell me something. Some of the people here look a bit like Mongolians. Do they come from Asia?” “It’s possible. I’ve read that 18 percent of the total population are non-Russians and the largest minority, 3.8 percent, are Tatars. The next largest population group is the Ukrainians at 3 percent. Then there are Belarusians, Chuvashes, Bashkirs, Mordvinians and Germans, to name just a few of the at least 100 different races and tribes.”

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