Delay and Frustration in the big cityUlan-Ude, capital of Buryatiya and a place to catch up with my riding partner-to-be Bill.
I contacted Sergey, the recipient of my tyres sent from Khabarovsk and the local centre of motorcycles in this part of Russia. His partner Ira soon arrived and escorted me to their dacha. I had never grasped the concept of the dacha. These are small plots of land that had originally been owned by the state and with independence had been sold to the sitting tenants for a small sum. There are literally thousands of them forming the suburbs of most cities. Each contains the original dwelling and outhouses, the rest being intensively cultivated with potatoes, tomatoes, onions, cabbages, lettuces, gherkins and a multitude of berry fruits. They are the kitchen garden of English literature. The original dwelling is usually of the traditional style, that is a small log-cabin, shuttered and heavily insulated with a lean-to closed-in porch running the length of one side. The porch was the original summer extension, being glazed, it was too poorly insulated for winter use. The dacha are now often used as summer retreats. They are close enough to the city to live in all summer rather than the weekend bach that Kiwis favour. Apartment-owners shut up their apartments in summer and shut up their dacha in winter. Life at the dacha is relaxed, informal and simple. There is seldom running water, just a pump in the yard and maybe some water tanks. There is often power but of an unreliable nature. There is no town gas or sanitary services. Nothing is discarded at the dacha, just put aside for when an old this or that is required to be beaten into shape to mend the other. The dacha has the flavour of the kiwi bach before we all went mad and built sea-side palaces. I guess most Russians are, by Soviet-inspired necessity, closer to their pioneering roots than kiwis. A balmy summer evening drinking cold beer and eating fresh gherkins and tomatoes is as close to heaven as a sea-side barbie.
I am given the "summer-house" for my use, a comfortable single-room construction near the main house and Yasha (the dog's) kennel. Sergey is a real petrol-head, owning a jet-ski (currently being rebuilt), a 1300cc drag bike and a 250cc trail-bike. When I said that Sergey was the local centre, I meant it. They recently had 12 biker guests to stay.
Sergey is currently out of town on business but I am made welcome and my tyres given to me. I have a banya (Russian sauna) and unwind. The banya is very welcome, it has been some days since my last wash and sweating the dirt out from the inside is possibly the only workable method of getting clean.
Just a couple of days and my parts should arrive. Bill is due any day and then we will be on our way again.

Minor maintenance on my jacket and shirt and then we are off to the auto shops to buy oil and rags in preparation for the coming work. I also find an electronic pressure gauge for sale. It is small (about the size of a USB flash drive), light and reads the same each time I try it! I buy it despite it being almost NZ$40. We then head off to the zoo. It is independence day in Buryatiya so the roads are busy. The zoo is a combination of culture park and zoo. It is quiet, leafy and relatively cool. The zoo is of the old style, small cages with animals stir-crazy. The begging bears are a sorry sight but at least they are physically healthy.
We then head off to the Buddhist monastery on a hill overlooking Ulan-Ude. It is not the famous Involginsk monastery on a plain 30km from Ulan-Ude. This is a modern monastery with triple-glazing and air-conditioning. It has a certain tranquility but is very new and clean. Whatever it's faults, it is pleasant to be in the cool breeze outside. We eat traditional Buryat food at the attached restaurant before heading back to the dacha.
I washed the bike at a local carwash before changing oil and replacing the rear tyre. Another banya tonight and in bed by 9:30. Sleep eluded me because of the heat and Avagadro's number running through my head! That's a science geek for you. Not women, not dirt-bikes, Avagadro's number.

I set to in the morning (Monday 2nd July) and retrieve my new fork seals from DHL. They have come from England via Poland, England, Moscow, Irkutsk and finally Ulan-Ude. I set to and replace the front tyre, exhaust deflector and fork seals. I also install the permanent fork-skins (You don't need to tell me more than twice).
Sergey and I also work on his FJR1300 which won't idle slowly. It has a set of flat-slide racing Mikuni carburettors, two of which are not sealing when closed. Despite discovering a great many parts, we are unsuccessful.

The next day (3rd July) is Bill's expected arrival day. I have the sat-phone on awaiting his e-mail. In the meantime I strip down the front end in anticipation of the arrival of parts. Another salutary lesson. When I bought the bike, I replaced every bearing in the chassis because of corrosion EXCEPT the steering head bearing. Why did I expect the steering head bearings to be OK when faced with the weight of contradictory evidence? While they felt OK in use, they were pitted with corrosion and one set were frozen onto the shaft. The choice became break the bearing (which I should be able to get locally) or wreck the specialised seal to possibly get the corroded bearing off? Breaking the bearing was the work of a few moments.
Got the expected e-mail from Bill and put him in contact with Sergey. By the time I have finished clearing up, I hear the unmistakable sound of a big 4-stroke and it is with great relief that I meet Bill for the first time. We are soon deep in conversation, both of us suffering from English withdrawal. Sergey says he will look up the bearing on the internet and I will search the local parts shops.
In the evening we all go to a small lake west of town and jet-ski until dark. The jet-ski is a stand-up slalom boat and is quite difficult to ride. I have fun riding it kneeling down but the penalty for falling off is losing my pants. I never brought shorts or swimming attire with me to Russia. Then it is off for pizza and beer before bed at 1:30am.

Wednesday 4th July, I scour the auto-shops for the bearing but no luck. This is where our shops differ. In Russia, if it isn't in a Lada car or Kamaz truck, then it's not available. There don't appear to be any specialist wholesalers (bearing or otherwise). Sergey has had similar luck so I order the parts from Leigh, my good Kiwi friend in England. The fork yokes have not been shipped yet and so they will all come as one package. The parts thing has now impacted our plans so I must get a new Mongolian visa. It is possible to get same-day service on Mongolian visas although it is best to use a travel agent because the Mongolian embassy has no English-speakers.
While at the travel agency they ask me about registration. I registered in Khabarovsk but have not specifically registered again. I have stayed in hotels for 4 nights and the police were certainly aware of my presence because they interviewed me about the missing New Zealand guy. The agency warned me of "trouble at the border" but when questioned, they couldn't be specific. I ask for and am given the address of the immigration department for Buryatiya but when I ask to be shown it on the map, the street is not shown. So let me get this straight, I must catch a bus to an outlying suburb of Ulan-Ude, to a street not shown on my map to avoid unspecified trouble when leaving Russia. I think not however I nod and escape.
Jet-skiing again tonight, this type with a 900cc boat-style item. It is easy to drive and soon I am trying to bury it, there is not much else to do on a small flat lake.
Another banya tonight but this time the real McCoy. We get to wear the felted wool hats that keep the brain cool. Sergey has the flying helmet and goggles, I get the yeomans hat with the red star and Bill gets the 1920's flapper hat with the big violet flower. We all look pretty comical with no clothes on considering our various ages and physical statures (not to mention any other religious or physical differences).
We also get the swatting with birch leaves treatment. Since the leaves have been saturated with water and steam-heated, it is not the percussion that affects you, rather it is the sudden heat from the leaves themselves and from the forced circulation of hot air. The soles of the feet are especially tender, I can see why cunning torturers beat them.
July 5th is Bill's big maintenance day. He has the 5000 mile maintenance schedule from the manual and is dutifully ticking off the items
Lubricate switches!
Adjust steering head bearings!
I fix my self-inflating airbed which has been leaking since the first day in Vladivostok. It made nights on the permafrost pretty chilly I can tell you. It was such a slow leak that I needed access to water, a sunny day and free time to dry and patch it (and the inclination). We also replace Bill's tyres with the one he had sent to Chita. My parts have not been dispatched so we plan to train to Lake Baikal for the weekend. With 5 working days delivery, it will be at least the 12th before the parts arrive.
On Friday 6th July, I finally receive news of my parts. They have left Birmingham airport. Leigh had hand-delivered them to the depot at 6:30pm the previous evening so the clock was now ticking. Great relief now that the end of our wait is in sight. We take Sergey and Ira to 'Modern Nomads', a trendy (and cool) Mongolian restaurant. The food is good, well presented and tasty. Not your normal mutton and rice affair at all.
We are all going to Lake Baikal on Saturday. It is Sergey's friend's birthday and there will be camping en-masse on the lake shore. The scheduled 2pm start does not eventuate as we have a flat tyre that Sergey fixes with a plug. All standard stuff for Russian motoring, a tyre plug and compressor.
We set off via the cash and carry and buy bulk food. There may be a flood or famine anticipated, I'm not sure. The next part gets scary. Sergey starts driving like I did when I was a young man of 32. 160km/hr weaving in and out of cars, 140km/hr swerve to miss a cat, all on Russian roads where horses and cattle are unfenced and where we back-seat passengers have no seat belts. Eventually Bill requests Sergey to slow down. Phew!
Arriving at Lake Baikal, everybody is standing around, there is a problem with the accommodation. People are despatched and within a couple of hours an alternative is found. This is no mean feat considering how many people are camping, staying, sleeping-out on the lake shore. Our accommodation is in a compound of cabins and a large two-story dormitory building. It is a bit like a New Zealand motor camp with it's kitchen block but there is no ablutions block. We all eat a huge combined meal. There are at least 16 people including kids so we monopolise the place. There is vodka, wine and beer in abundance. I have developed an allergy to vodka but the wine is nice. I escape before the serious drinking finishes.
The next morning (Sunday 8th July) I am up early and explore the nearby estuary and disused tourist camp. It was certainly some affair with huge dormitories, bakery kitchens, coal-fired central heating, two diesel generators, theatre, dance-hall and staff accommodation. All is abandoned now with floors removed and the buildings leaning. Some parts are open the weather but still look like they were just abandoned as they were, not dismantled or packed-up in any way. A great photo opportunity anyway. Breakfast of ukha (the fish soup) at 11am and then down to the lake shore for some serious picnicing, jetskiing and boating. Vitali has all the aquatic toys and everybody has wetsuits except the travellers. Bill is not keen to try the slalom jet-ski because of trail-riders knees (like I had before reconstructive surgery). The water is surprisingly warm because the lake is very shallow here. Apparently the lake outflow was dammed and the lake level raised which flooded some low-lying areas. There are some small islands a few kilometres away defining the edge of the shallow bit. In the short chop of the lake, jet-skiing is more difficult than the small lake but I persevere and at least become more relaxed standing up, if less stable.
Shashlyk (barbequed marinated pork) is prepared and a great lunch set out on huge tarpaulins on the tall grass. It is an ideal spot, the cool lake breeze shielded by the lake-edge grass. Sleep overcomes many who are not jet-skiing. The inflatable boat is employed towing the doughnut around. People with cast-iron insides can be pounded around the lake until eventually ejected by G-forces or abnormally large waves. I decline the invitation.
The threatening rain sends us all scurrying on two occasions but never comes to anything. It is 9pm before the last round of shashlyk is eaten and we pack up and head back to the accommodation. The lake shore tries to retain us but Vitali's mighty Dodge Ram 2500 breaks us free.
A light dinner and then we head back towards Ulan-Ude more sedately that the trip from Ulan-Ude and with both back-seat passenger firmly belted in. Bill's makeshift sleeping bag/airbag is not required!
On Monday 9th July we arise late and then head into town to check e-mails and the DHL office. The parts are in Moscow so they will be here possibly tomorrow or most probably Wednesday. We stroll the shopping district for lunch and some broad-spectrum antibiotics. We eventually track down Indian-made Siprofloxin for 10R for 10x250mg tablets. Bill buys 4 packs, that's US$100 worth of third-generation antibiotics for about 2 bucks. No wonder US drug companies are upset. I am inclined to buy 2 pack as well "just in case". I didn't even consider antibiotics before and now I have some. I can't help feeling like there is something wrong with my reasons for purchase.
I visited the museum of Buryatiya while Bill continued e-mailing. A quaint little museum with a live fish, animal and bird collection on the ground floor. Most of the animals (guinea-pig, rabbit) and birds (budgies, love-birds, canaries, cockatiel) we had owned at some time.
The upstairs halls were initially very soviet-era glorifying the scientists of the day. The displays were like 3D drawings from books recreated using cardboard, plastic and glue. The later halls were full of stuffed birds and animals native to the region and quite interesting. I felt that I needed to go to at least one museum in Russia and this one was quite small.
As time goes on, I am having to think exactly what it was I came to see and do on the trip because we may only have time to do those things. Later in the evening, Bill and I discuss plans again and I suggest that Bill go on ahead to Ulaan Baatar to begin resolving his Russian visa problem. He was not able to get a 6-month multiple-entry visa and his multiple tourist visas no longer line up with our expected dates.
Tuesday 10th July and Bill is on his way to Ulaan Baatar. The DHL office disappoints although the parts have left Moscow so I head back into town to buy presents for Sergey and Ira in anticipation of my departure later tomorrow. They have been unbelievable kind, friendly and welcoming to someone who arrived unannounced, invited a friend, stayed for 12 days and used all their gear. I feel that I should leave despite their entreaties for me to stay.

Wednesday 11th, I am up and keen. There is some confusion with Sergey & Ira when I give them presents as they thought that I would be leaving the following day. Did a last tidy-up in preparation for the parts arrival and bus into town. Yes the parts have left Moscow but are now in Novosibirsk. They will be in Ulan-Ude by 16th July. WHAT? I am rendered almost speechless and it is some time before am prepared to speak civilly. Novosibirsk is rung and I am told that the parts have been assessed for customs and a letter of guarantee is required. The amount is R3000. I ring off and attempt to pay in advance but that is not possible. The local people are saying no letter of guarantee. Novosibirsk is rung again and this is confirmed.
On my muttering, fuming walk back to town I resolve to go to Ulaan Baatar to burn some time and get out of Sergey & Ira's way. This will involve another Mongolian visa and some travel but I need to get away. Another 5 days in Ulan-Ude is too much. Bookings are made and all relevant parties informed.
On my way home, not far from the dacha, I notice two businessmen in the bushes by the side of the road, one with a clipboard, the other with a suitcase. They are evidently plain-clothes policemen inspecting the body of a young woman slightly down the bank by the river. She is casually dressed with no obvious signs of injury and is opposite a bus-stop. In my life in NZ I have never seen a body except at a funeral and now I have seen two. When I mention the body to Ira, she seems unconcerned. Her lack of concern is perhaps more disconcerting than the body itself. Is death so ever-present that it is no longer a matter of notice or care? Will it even be reported in the local papers?

Thursday 12th July and I am boarding the morning (and only) bus to Ulaan Baatar. It is good to confirm the route out of town but the heat of the bus and lack of reading material soon claim me and I sleep fitfully with the jolting of the 'good' road to the border.
Border formalities are tedious with the Russian pre-check, Russian immigration, Russian post-check, Mongolian immigration, Mongolian customs and Mongolian post-check. The unspecified trouble alluded to by the travel agent turned out to be some questioning about why I had not registered and concern at my lack of tickets or receipts. When it was explained that I was travelling by motorcycle, the way cleared. The most frightening part was some very intense cross-checking of my passport photo and asking me my name several times (just in case I had forgotten). I was too clever for them, I remembered my name correctly for a full ten minutes!
Arrived in Ulaan Baatar at about 7:30pm and accepted the offer of Sasha & Valerie for help finding a guest house. Ended up staying at the Nassan guest-house where there was space available despite it being the festival of Naadam. I strolled the streets and had dinner at a Mongolian fast food joint. It had fast-food decor but with table service (at a slightly higher price) or takeaway. The servings were huge and pre-smothered in tomato sauce. I barely ate a quarter of the serving still feeling unwell from a pre-trip stomach upset that I had been nursing all day. Back to the stifling top bunk and sleep.