24^th July, Poland – Ukraine – Russia

We woke to our fourth day of travelling and for once at a civilised time, with the sun already in the sky. After a wash and breakfast we headed off, soon clearing Krakow, we were well on our way to the border when we stopped for lunch. Pulling out from a service station, we nigh on broadsided ‘The Austrian Team’. In hot pursuit of their 25 year old Suzuki we span out from the forecourt and tailed them. Within a moment someone was hanging precariously out of their window with a video camera. We drew up alongside them and they held up their map, the letters, ‘L’Viv’, our next destination, scratched into the surface with a biro. And so began our journey with the canny Herwig Marx and Jacob Friess from Graz, Austria.

We were soon at the Poland-Ukraine border which we passed through in about thirty minutes, thanks mainly to our shameless pushing in and the playful attitude of the Ukrainian border guards. While I was away talking to a Spanish Rally team that turned up at the border just after us, but who were half a kilometre further down the queue, the cars began to move. Jonno decided to drive on, leaving me behind in Poland. Fortunately I had my passport in my pocket and not in the car. I tried running past the barrier waving my passport and pointing at our car disappearing into the emigration control. Herwig had informed the guard in Russian that someone might be left behind so he did not reach for his gun but he did wave me back. After a quick inspection he let me through with a look of bemusement.

At immigration control a pair of male guards stood tall in official dress quite filled by their barrel chests. They were particularly expressionless and rude but two sweet female officials flirted, giving us tips on how to fill in the forms. The prettiest slapped her colleague in the guts, calling him a fat bully. This was the first occasion that our car received any serious attention. The guard insisted that we lift the bonnet and we showed him the convertible roof and let him blow the horn. By the time we left, even the sterner official had warmed to us. He gave us a big grin and wished us good luck. We were entering the 2nd World, a world defined by the Cyrillic alphabet, flat vastness, broken roads, Russian vehicles and people of a distinctly different stock. We revelled in its otherness.

Our new companions were a little older than us but we were all so giddy and excited our ages were forgotten. They had left Austria alone and we were the first Rally team they had met. Herwig turned out to be a fellow architect and Jacob had been studying for years to be an engineer. Both were very handy with mechanics, having rebuilt several cars together and they also had about ten languages between them.

I would come to be increasingly thankful for our encounter when two years later Herwig found me work at an architect’s office in Graz. I spent six months in Austria being treated as a younger brother, enjoying days in the mountains with Herwig and a wine fuelled tour through vine country with Jacob.

With the sun still high we drove for miles through an Arcadian paradise. Large arable farms were interspersed by kitchen gardens spilling over with courgettes, beans and corn.

Entering L’Viv, just as the streets began to fill with the evening crowds, we were at once taken by her. It was the first great discovery of the trip – one of the most beautiful cities I have visited, with a very European feel. It had once been the capital of the Polish province of Ruthenia and had been the last city of the Hapsburg Empire in the nineteenth century. Even so, it has a strong history of independence and cultural output.

We decided to share a meal somewhere posh as it would be our first opportunity to eat markedly cheaper and the last chance to get anything very refined. Off the cobbled main street, under an arch into a church square, we found the fanciest looking Irish bar I had seen and took a table on the pavement. Two stunningly beautiful Ukrainian girls were eating next to us with their boyfriends. One of the pair was really the pride of the Ukraine, natural blonde, buxom and trussed up in an elegant white corset dress all folds and fine fabric. Despite myself, I was so distracted I could hardly chew my food.
A little way into the evening a large, black, Germanic car pulled up just behind where I was sitting. I looked over my shoulder, a little put out. Resigning myself to a course of non-intervention, I watched a huge and vulgar man climb out with his equally unattractive partner. He looked around and having seen the grace of the table opposite us, jeered something and got back in his car. Reversing it back to encroach on his fellow Ukrainians’ evening, I did not get the impression he was motivated by respect for our party and I barely dared look at the newcomer. One of the diners raised a futile complaint but was smugly ignored. The subtlety of the setting had been shattered and replaced with turbulent undercurrents of power mixed with jealousy and bitterness. I let it wash over my head.

The Austrians had been sponsored by Austrian Airlines who had arranged accommodation for them along their route. In L’Viv they were booked into the swankiest hotel in town, The Grand. It was a strange place full of expensive ornamentation, all luxury and no austerity. Everything was brass or red and several stained glass panels displaying nubile maidens, derivative of Mucha, lent the place the orientally inspired glamour of a gothic horror film set. Jonno and I decided to find alternative accommodation.

In the morning, Wednesday 25th, we headed for Kiev but started a little late as the Austrians were being interviewed with their sponsors for national television. It was a long drive to Kiev and we got to our destination late. Driving across the city after an exhausting day was the final straw for me. Again the Austrians had accommodation arranged by their sponsors. It was expensive but I was tired enough not to care. There did not seem to be any viable alternatives. The receptionist kindly rang around in an attempt to find us cheaper lodgings but everywhere was shut or nearly as expensive. However, at Jonno’s insistence we walked around the town for hours until we found a cheaper place which was dour and miserable. Any savings made were soon depleted when I had to leave the hotel in search of drinking water which I found at nearly the cost of the hotel room.

The next day, Thursday 26th, was long and gruelling. Our plan, to cross the border into Russia and arrive at Kursk by the evening, would prove demanding. By dusk we had reached the border but the crossing was not to be straight forward. We had a small bribe extorted for leaving the Ukraine at the wrong crossing and our cars were searched. The guards took little interest in the disorganised mess in our car but the Austrians were found in possession of some pepper spray. Herwig insisted it was for putting on food items but the weapon was confiscated despite another guard having laughed at our folly, for we were carrying neither a pistol nor a Kalashnikov.

Crossing into Russia it was already dark with not a star in the sky. We were overtaken by a fit of excitement, rolled the roof back and raced through the night. Herwig turned off his lights. We followed suit. All around there was neither a slit nor a dot of light besides a thin strip of violet tinted clouds, cut by the silhouette of distant hills. Making it into Kursk pretty late, Herwig asked a taxi driver to show us to a hotel. In convoy we passed an outdoor disco. It was raw and distinctly odd. A mass of Russian youths jumped around – reaching for the lasers – to the sound of hard techno. It looked exciting and we considered dumping our bags and going to join the fun but by the time we had checked in I was overwhelmed by fatigue. We retreated to our rooms where the noise of the disco began to sound more and more inane and unwelcome and I lay awake, waiting for the morning.

Rising/Falling – Always Hoping -can be bought online at Amazon.co.uk, - ordered by your local bookshop for just £8.74 (the price the team’s car was auctioned for at the end of the rally) Just note the ISBN:9780956196613 - or bought direct from the suppliers @ £10.99 (£8.74 plus £2.25 p&p) Address Cheques to Craig Chamberlain, Glovers Cottage, Lazonby, Penrith, CA10 1AJ