The main attraction in Lithuania was the Curonian Spit (Kurische Nehrung), a unique 98-kilometer long sand strip in the Baltic Sea. The rare land formation is on Unesco’s world heritage list. Even better, there is a small winding road along the whole length of it. The hitch is that the Spit ends far into the Russian enclave Kaliningrad, and few drive the whole length due to visa regulations. Thus my double entry visa obtained in Helsinki had yet another stamping spot, and the Ingostrakh from the St.Petersburg roundtrip was still valid.The main attraction in Lithuania was the Curonian Spit (Kurische Nehrung), a unique 98-kilometer long sand strip in the Baltic Sea. The rare land formation is on Unesco’s world heritage list. Even better, there is a small winding road along the whole length of it. The hitch is that the Spit ends far into the Russian enclave Kaliningrad, and few drive the whole length due to visa regulations. Thus my double entry visa obtained in Helsinki had yet another stamping spot, and the Ingostrakh from the St.Petersburg roundtrip was still valid. The Curonian’s northern tip is only ten minutes by ferry from Klaipeda harbor The Curonian drive was very entertaining and scenic and nice except for the flies that gathered in clouds not visible at a distance. Driving into one of these balls of organic dust (usually found under brushwood hanging over the road) was as if someone blew a mouthful of cereal onto the face of the helmet. Instinctly I wiped the visor with my left thumb making an unfortunate thick film of gutter and amputated wings. Everything became a blur. The rest of the flies got sucked into my open jacket which I quickly zipped to the neck to avoid further intrusions. But the damage was done; I could feel them thriving in my underwear. In Nida camping was forbidden, and every B&B was full. The only offer was the expensive hotel, an option not tailored to my budget. The prospects for the night seemed discomforting with the first rumbling sound from above. In next to no time it was poring down from an open sky and I ran for shelter in a nearby café. To my surprise Ingo the Raumfahrer whom I met in Estonia sat by one of the tables. He had hitchhiked all the way with two hippies in a Volkswagen bus saying they were from space though I’m quite sure they were from Vilnius. They were discussing a mechanical problem and questioning if the bus would last home. Somehow I managed to fix the problem with my bike tools, and in gratitude the aliens called a friend who had a friend who had a friend etc., and within the hour Ingo and I could camp in a privately owned apartment. Then drinks, all in a few hours friendship. In Nida you can watch people without a Russian visa turn around and go back The Kaliningrad border was just a few kilometers away. The officer in the tiny blue lit booth didn’t have a clue where to register the bike in the computer program. Allegedly he never met my kind, though I suspect that the Commodore sixtyfour lookalike likely found by an archeologist and donated to the border guys was the real problem. Programming took a lot of time, but I was patient and he was friendly. An admission fee was to be paid and I did not have any rubles left, something that caused a little commotion with the lady in charge of admission fee collection. My biggest concert was that I did not have a Kaliningrad map, meaning that I had to improvise. First I tailgated a bus from the border to the main station in Kaliningrad City. From there I used a compass to get out on the other side. Despite its modest size the enclave exhibited three very different faces. The northeastern part was typical Siberian with thick vegetation. At no time did I see the ocean that in fact was just behind the trees on both sides of the road. Then the scenery becomes more urban with worn villages and an ugly wall of concrete being the capital. The traffic was chaotic, orientation was zero, and every corner seemed unsafe to leave a motorbike weighed down with valuables. Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps it was safe, but it felt like not. The whole city just oozed pollution and mafia. With these first impressions I was into quite a shock when roaring out on the other side. Who would have guessed – the southwestern part was clean and fresh with islands of green bushes and trees on endless fields of beautiful yellow flowers. Indeed it was the end of the Baltics and the beginning of something new. Kaliningrad main station: These young soldiers that just arrived from duty in Chechnya tore their unit tag off a uniform and insisted I sew in onto my motorcycle jacket.