We did not make it all the way to Samsun on the first night, but stopped at a “family pension” in the middle of nowhere along the highway.  The next morning when we awoke, our anti-freeze leakage problem came to a head when we noticed that as soon as we poured in coolant, it would pour right out the bottom.  We were directed to a garage 15 km away in Tosya where we met a wonderful mechanic who installed for us a new water pump in a mere 2 hours – apparently the old one was cracked when the Maestro fixed the head gasket.

With yet another new part in the car, we headed on towards Trabzon and the black sea.  Our first glimpses of the Black Sea were gloriously beautiful and, admiring all the camp grounds we passed on the way, decided not to push to Trabzon but find a beach-side camp site to pass the evening.  We found one just as darkness was setting after winding through a neighborhood outside of Ordu.

We rolled up to the grounds which had a bunch of semi-permanent tent structures and a man greeted us in English.  “Camping?” we asked, and he said “yes, camping.  Come, pick any spot.”  The man introduced himself as Oz or Oz and offered that we could stay for free.  Later as we played doppelkopf in our lovely tent, Oz announced that he was drunk.  “Where’s the door?” he asked, setting down the little child and beer bottle he held.  Slightly worried that he was thinking of joining us, we pointed at the door and unzipped it.  In came Oz’s hand holding some kofte and lavash.  We had all already brushed our teeth, but we reluctantly accepted and smiled and ate our meaty dessert.

The next morning as we were deconstructing the tent and preparing to take off, some loud Turks arrived honking their horns and shouting for Oz and setting up a large tea-making set-up and other breakfast materials.  They invited us to join them for breakfast and informed us that all 150 members of their family were coming to this spot today for a family reunion that they held every year.  After a lovely breakfast with hilarious “Uncle Khamid,” we took our leave, agreeing to come back next year for the full party.

Breakfast with Amca Khamid

We headed first thing in the morning to Sumela Monastery, a serious of buildings barely clinging to the cliffs outside Trabzon.  Pictures do it justice better than our descriptions (pictures to come).

Finally, we headed for the Georgian border, determined to make it to Tbilisi that night.  We were just about through the border when the guards demanded we could not enter until we attached the new plates.  We backed the car up, and suddenly discovered the car had fallen half-way into a stairwell!  Whoops.  This cause much hysterical laughter and elaborate reenactments by the border guards, but the car was easily extracted.  Thank goodness for front-wheel drive and the border guards, who helped us push it out.

Despite our best efforts and the friendly advances of a chatty Georgian border guard named Tango, we could not hammer the rivets into place for the plates, but luckily a kind Turkish trucker happened to have a riveting device and helped us attach them, despite being dragged angrily away at one point by another border guard.

By the Black Sea in Georgia

Finally through the Georgian border, we stopped at the beach, admired the sunset, Anand had a dip in the ocean, and we headed off to what on the map appeared to be a “major connecting highway.”  After about 20 km the road momentarily turned into some pretty even gravel and for a moment we considered turning around, but then the road turned back into pavement.  “Enh, we’re already 20 km in.  If that’s the worst it gets, we’ll be fine.” We assured ourselves.  “It’s only 160 km.”  Never again will we utter such words.

Jessie navigates us onto our first off-roading experience

At about 60 km, definitely the point of no return, we met the real road – a rough, rockslide-covered single lane track that ran between forested hills on one side and steep drop-offs on the other.  We couldn’t really see the bottom of the chasm beside us, as it was pitch black and, at some times, foggy, but we were pretty sure we didn’t want to fall down into it and it sounded as if there was a raging river awaiting us below.

We won’t reenact the entire drive, but the highlight was probably around 1 or 1:30 AM at about km 83 when suddenly before us we saw a full-on river that we were meant to cross, with waters pouring in from a rock-slide on the right and off a steep cliff on the left.  After some hesitation and consideration of turning back around, we forded on and on, through about 3 other streams, a strange mountain-top border patrol, drunken Georgians jumping at us from their cars, and other oddities.  We finally rolled into a hotel in Borjomi around 3:30 or 4 and talked our way into a couple of rooms, which we gladly and blearily fell into.

More soon after we arrive in Turkmenbashi.  About to get on the ferry – wish us luck!

Ready for the party

Klenova castle was full of revellers drinking beer, eating sausages and chicken, and listening to a progression of live bands. The party was sponsored by Hendricks gin, however the gin room was incredibly crowded and it was a push-shove-y process trying to get up to the bar to get some drinks. Sarah and Andrew managed to get a couple drinks for the Group just as the bar ran out of gin. We decided to get out of there before there was a riot. Later, we met some great guys from the Bharat Express team, and Andrew chatted with a fellow Seattlite (driving a 1982 Toyota Starlet with Washington plates).

In the hookah room with Bharat Express

Woman about to backflip-skip a burning rope

Around 1:30 we headed back to our tent and tried to go to sleep. Andrew offered us all earplugs and in the morning we all wish we’d taken him up on his offer. Highlights of the evening include our dutch neighbors staggering back to their car where they spent a lot of time moaning loudly and drunkenly, another group of ralliers wandering around trying to figure out who spray painted their car with black paint. Over the course of about half an hour, they loudly deduced that only the owner of a black car could possibly have black spraypaint. As we were camped next to one of only two black cars, we were prime suspects. The pre-dawn interrogation through the walls of our tent went something like this:

Angry Rallier 1: Hey, hello, is this your black car?
Us: No.
AR1: Which one is yours, the metal one?
Us: Yes.
AR1: You sure it’s not the black one?
Us: Yes.
AR1: Where are the owners of the black one?
Us: Dunno.

Angry rallier 1 is not convinced and attempts to maneuver us into a confession:

AR1: Well, if this black car doesn’t belong to the guys in the tent, I guess they won’t care if we trash it!
AR2: We can’t do th…Oh, riiiight. Yeah, let’s “trash their car”! (then lots of shouting amongst themselves in some unidentifiable language, banging on the black truck). Hey, did you spraypaint our cars?!

And later, realizing that this tightly-meshed web of intrigue has somehow failed to ensnare the culprit:

AR3: Who was it who dicked our car? AAAA! YOU FUCKING DICKERS!!!

Ah, mob justice.

Our neighbors in the aftermath of czeching out

Needless to say, we awoke not exactly refreshed, but certainly motivated to get out of there and get to Vienna. The aftermath of the Czechout party was pretty hilarious. Our Dutch neighbor from the black truck was sprawled across a small mattress next to the truck in his skivvies, looking much the worse for wear. Another guy passed out by the remains of the bonfire 50 meters away with his head resting uncomfortably on a log and his hands resting comfortably in his pants. Good times.

French bakery in Spa

Continuing on to Frankfurt, we were given a warm welcome by Sarah’s friend Marcus and his lovely parents. After a tour of the garden and a pleasant afternoon drinking Marcus’ favorite beer on the porch of the garden house, we headed into the historic town center with Marcus and Corinna for a traditional German meal: sausage, schnitzel, smoked fish, and a regional fresh herb sauce.

Coolest of all was the translucent cheese, which Anand mistook alternately for pineapple chunks and pieces of onion, and which tasted like nothing any of us had ever had before. It was smoky, waxy, pickled and tasted a bit musky, kind of like a mild gouda served with a spritz of cologne. Apparently just unwrapping the cheese is a difficult and failure-prone undertaking, and you still have to let it sit for a while before you can eat it.

Breakfast at Chez Doebrich

In the morning, Sarah and Anand took an ill-fated jog around town early in the morning and wound up in a neighboring village. Marcus had to fetch them, but eventually everyone was delivered to the breakfast table where Marcus’s family had set a rich spread of bread rolls, homemade jam, apple cheesecake, and boiled eggs housed in little crocheted, hen-shaped egg cozies.

CBPG went off to pack its belongings and make some last minute weefee. Before leaving, we went back to say goodbye to Marcus’s parents who said, “Wait, we want to give you some things.” Marcus’s mom had prepared a list of all the counties of Germany and their capitals, so we could learn them on our trip. She gave us a nice bag with Hessen county’s seal on it and some chocolates and throat lozenges inside. Then, best of all, Marcus’s dad brought out a crazy looking quadromonica – like four 8-inch long harmonicas put together in a cross shape – and played us a traditional farewell tune. It was the perfect send-off from Germany, and with that, we were ready to head off to Klatovy, Czech Republic!

At Marcus's

Ah so much! No time!

Spent 3 hours waiting in the prefecture in Bordeaux. They call your number and then print you a carte grise in 30 seconds. No questions asked about my US address or my Australian passport or why Anand’s name was on the bill of sale or anything. 30 euro and I was out of there. All thanks to Camille for figuring that one out!

So then I quickly booked some insurance over the phone to cover the car in Europe, then hit the road. Made it to Calais about 3am for a 4:15 ferry. UK passport control almost made it seem like they weren’t going to let me in after I explained why I was in England and why I had a French car. One of those “please wait here a moment” things that sets my stomach churning.

Grabbed an hour or so of sleep on the ferry. Now it’s 6:15am and I’m god-knows-where along the M20 motorway on my way to Oxford. I’m really hungry but there’s nothing open yet. I am filled with stomach growlie rage!

Those of you who read the Group’s twitter feed will know that I had a great sandwich for lunch. Yes, this is how much I’m grasping for a story today.

I also finished reading Steinbeck’s East of Eden, which was fantastic. I recommend it to anyone. Although finishing now means that I’m carrying this book around as dead weight. If any of my fellow Group members or other Rallyists want it, just let me know and it’s yours.

Uh actually, I’m really tired. I’ll pick this up tomorrow.

Rally Packing, originally uploaded by aocole.

I’m off to France in the morning to pick up the newly-repaired (we hope) car and get the paperwork in order for the Rally. I had a request to blog about what all I’m packing, so here it is. Some of this stuff is getting jettisoned before the rally starts, and there are several things that I’m going to pick up in France once I have the car, but you get the idea. Click through to the image on flickr to see notes on what each thing is.