A Road Less Travelled By...

PICTURES! And damn good ones at that...

2007-08-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

APPARENTLY, I CAN ONLY POST 5 PICTURES AT A TIME...

THE LONG WAY HOME

2007-08-17T07:40:00.001-07:00

OK, GET READY FOR A POSTING VERGING ON THE EDGE OF ABSURDITY...

Well, for all of you who care, I have finally made it home...safely. It's a bittersweet arrival. For one, everything seems to be back to normal — I don't have to convert prices in my head, people queue properly and finally people have started to speak English again. On the other foot, however, I had to turn home only 1000 kilometers from Ulaanbaatar and I'm truly upset about it. Let me tell you why...

PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES
So, it seemed like a small victory on my part after getting through to the Russians that I was not a smuggler or spy and that they would finally grant me access into their country. I had met a nice couple from Denmark, Peter and Mia (Mya? I'm sorry if I didn't get that right) at the Russian Embassy who had been travelling for two months all over Europe and Asia. They had been standing in the visa line with me hoping to get their own to catch the rail to Moscow. Anyway, we split a cab to the station where a very nice, elderly, Kazakh woman helped me grab a ticket from the clerk right before she closed her window for the night. The plan was: Train to Petroslova, connect to Irkutsk, connect to Ulaanbaatar via the Trans Siberian. Sounded simple enough. And as she handed me that thin paper ticket, I had physical assurance that I was going to be able to finally leave Kazakhstan for the first time in more than a week. I was excited to say the least.

So there I was, waiting hopefully, pass in hand, anticipating the arrival of my train when I was approached by a man from Turkey who had overheard me asking directions to my platform in English. He came over and asked "Been alone long?" Yes, yes, I replied and gave him the annotated version of my adventures. He thought it was the most amazing thing he's ever heard, and even more amazing to see a sole American to be sitting alone in Kazakhstan. "There's a reason they don't have a tourist welcome center here," he exclaims with a hearty laugh. I knew exactly what he had meant.

Astana, Kazakhstan is a big city with a small-town mentality. That's the most comprehensive way I can put it. The big fish (gangsters, rich businessmen) think they're in the ocean, rather than a bowl. And they're not used to tourists to boot. They are a little apprehensive about outsiders to say the least...

Anyway, the Turkish man took my picture and wished me luck, and in passing, breathes out "By the way, Petroslova is THAT way." I had been standing on the wrong side of the tracks. I couldn't thank him enough. 10 minutes come and go and finally an enormous, forest green locamotive comes charging into the station, hundreds of faces poking out the windows to get a good look at the station. Bags in hand, I step up the grated steps thinking I had finally said goodbye to Kazakhstan the last time...

There I was, sitting in my third class seat, which was reasonably comfortable FYI, reading Palanhiuk's "Fight Club" for the upteenth time (I had failed to find a single copy of the new Harry Potter to my dismay). With a loud bang, I look up to see a uniformed police officer stumble through the reinforced cabin door. It could of been the swaying of the giant train bending itself on the tracks, but the glassy look in his eyes led me to believe his inbalance was from the good ol' Voda Russkiie. He sees me from the long end of the cabin, wearing a bright green Red Sox jersey, alone, American. "You pa-Americanskiie?" he wonders in broken, clumsy English. "Yes," I say. What to do about it? "Pasapart," he says, a little more pointedly. I show him my passport. "Ahhh, Americanskiie." Yes, I repeat to him. "You de, uhh, fraahm Nuuw York Ciiity?" We're all from New York City, Americans, the same way that all Kazakhs look like Borat (I've had to remind numerous aggitated locals that Sacha is ENGLISH). "Teeket, teeket," he says now. I look around. Suddenly everyone seems to be immersed in some fascinating literature of some kind or another. I produce my ticket stub and hand it to him, a little apprehensive now that he is holding both my ticket and passport. And then with a come hitherto motion with his other hand, he mumbles "Money, money," without even looking up from my stub. No, I say. I've been shaken down enough. He looks up now. "Money!" He says, frustrated. "How much?" he mumbles something I can't understand. I take out pen and paper and have him right the figure down. He scratches down a 1 on the paper, followed by three 0's. "Thengay? I only have 500." "No, no!" He says, pressing his finger on the paper. "Americanskiie!" You've got to be kidding me... I tell him I want to talk to the conductor. He tells me to sit back down and that I'm not to leave the cabin. After denying him the obscene pay off multiple times, he pulls his radio from his belt and splurts something in Kazakh into the mic. He signals me to come with him. Finally, I can actually talk to someone in charge. He points to my bags. "Take, take." I grab them and he stands me by the door. He rattles off some more into his radio. Suddenly I feel the train start to slow. You've got to be kidding me... As soon as the train hits around 10 mph, he forces me off 7 feet down into a ravine with my bags, a good six or seven miles from anything in either direction. Entirely pissed off and cursing the heavens, I throw on my shoes and trek back to the station. I arrive about three hours later, tired and angry. I have had enough. I go to the nearest taxi and tell them "Aeroport, now."

The scene at Astana's airport wasn't much brighter. No flights for two weeks. "You've got to be kidding me! This is the country's capital! How can you not have a flight? I refuse to believe that. Connect me through another carrier, something." The ticket-booker woman shakes her head, repeatedly saying "Nyet, nyet." Behind me, a monster of a man (at least 6'5") in a cowboy hat approaches me, having heard my tirade of swears in English. He introduces himself as Jerry(weird), a cattle shipper from Alberta. He tells me if I pay the airport directly for an "Insured Utility Ticket" ($450 airport fee) from the airport, I could fly with him and his cattle on a gutted 747 back to Moscow. So there I go with 300 head of cattle on possibly a quite illegal journey to Moscow. He tells me in the loud, cramped seating section of the plane between the cockpit and steerage that when we land, I need to hop of quickly and immerse myself in another flight's crowd. That's the only way I'm going to get off the tarmac without spending the next few weeks in a Russian interrogation room. When we land, I pack all my things tightly to my body and am happy to see that the platform down to the runway was facing away from the aiport terminal. I walk down the steps, strolling casually past the workers pushing up the mobile stairs with my face buried in a bunch of printed pages. I take a quick walk to the back of the plane, still flipping through pages of my MONGOL RALLY MANIFEST, pretending to inspect the flight numbers. As soon as I was out of view of the workers, I crunched myself down behind one of the plane's massive tires, waiting for another flight to arrive. Soon enough, an Aerflot 737 lands right next to the plane and starts to unboard. Once again, I bury my face in the papers and walk non-chalant over to the group of people, say hi to a couple of people, and board the bus with them to the terminal. Alex Switzer, secret agent extraordinaire. I had literally just penetrated the Iron Curtain with 50 cents worth of copy paper. In Moscow, the flights came easier. I had to book a flight on Aerflot (I seriously advise against this unless absolutely necessary) the following morning. I roll out my sleeping bag on the terminal floor and lay back, still basking in successfully growing the biggest pair of huevos I have ever attempted.

The next morning came in a flash, and I was soon on my way to London, happy to finally hear English being blared in a muffled baritone over the loud speaker. Aerflot — big, blue, orange, and straight out of the 70's. When the plane landed safely, everyone started applauding. I got the feeling this was a common occurence...

Once in London, I sought my way to the Virgin Atlantic ticket counter and was helped by a real delightful woman who decided to knock some money off my flight when I told her what I had just been through. The deep, violently bright red of the plane's cabin was a beautiful sight — back in English speaking, proper queueing land. I had also bolted to the first bookstore I could find in Heathrow and finally got my hands on "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" (wahoo!). After seamless flight and a small connection in Newark, I was finally home, greeted by my family and unexpectedly seeing Kevin and Jeremy Lawyer from CHC (the REAL CHC).

I'm safe. I'm home. And still, deep down in my gut, there is a hole of vain, having travelled all that way and meeting so many amazing people only to be turned around because of a crooked cop's greed. I feel very left out, not being able to go to the party, and highly disappointed in myself after promising everyone that some way, some how, I would make it to Ulaanbaatar. Chris and Ross, Tim and Fudge, Ali, Himi, Deebs, and Muzzy; I hope our paths cross again, you have all made my journey unforgettable. P.S. Tim and Fudge, Tommy and I are going to visit you in Wales and turn the scale waaaay up.

Tommy and Joya, even, I never know when I'll see them again. Tommy is moving to Los Angeles and Joya possibly to Vietnam. I hope our friendships can traverse that vast difference that will be between all of us. For now though, I'm going to try and get my life and career back on track because it seems a lifetime ago that I stepped off onto the unbeaten path, the road less travelled by...

P.S.S. I think I'll keep up with this blog thing, I enjoy it immensely. Also, when I get all my photos digitized, I'll put them up on here ASAP.

Love, Alex aka "More Proud To Be An American Than Ever" ;)

I'VE UPDATED, BUT NOT LIKE MIKE DOUGLAS MARRYING CATHERINE ZETA JONES...

2007-08-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

UPDATE: I started playing wargames: me and the American (hoorah!) Embassy vs. the Russian Embassy and I won. So now I have visas and all that stuff. Turns out I didn't even need the invitation letter (No, no, thank you www.visatorussia.com!). So hopefully I'll be able to get on a train tonight to Irkutsk and then on to Ulaanbaatar (Mongolia) tomorrow. I just hope I make it in time for the party on Sunday. I have the feeling the other guys are expecting never to see me again so it should be quite a surprise when they show up and I'm hosting the damn thing. Wish me luck!

Alex "The Bourne Fed-up'ness" Switzer

ONE DONE

2007-08-13T05:21:00.000-07:00

OK, updating, I just got my invitation letter right before I was about to give up and go home. Let's see if I make it the rest of the way...

IN BRIEF, IN BRIEFS

2007-08-13T02:40:00.000-07:00

ALL VISA'ED OUT: PART 2
I've been trying to get an invitation letter for the better part of a week now from www.visatorussia.com. Apparently, they don't want to give me one. They keep e-mailing me, asking for specific dates of entry and exit into Russia and I have repeatedly replied (alliteration or assonance?) that I am being as specific AS POSSIBLE (i.e. if I get my visa today, I will be on a train to Russia tonight). I also keep telling them that everything is dependent on when I get into Russia and know when I can book a train to Ulaanbaatar. This ceases to subside (again?) their inquiries. I have my passport photos and I know exactly where the Russian Embassy is, so I am once again at the mercy of a Internet-run visa company (DEJA VU). I don't have a cell phone to call them so I'm going to have to sit in this Internet "Kафе" all day long. Woohoo.

YOU DON'T KNOW JACK
An interesting part of the trip that I've neglected to share with everyone until now: This year's Mongol Rally has been of unprecedent scale (although precedent only amounts to about 5 years) because of a series of reasons. 1) Entries this year were a hot item, with the first 150 spots filling up within a matter of seconds. This is almost 3 times the amount of participating teams from last year. The last 50 had to be auctioned off because the sprawl to get an official spot crashed The Adventurists' servers. 2) There are three camera crews in the rally this year, all going separate routes and filming just about all the crazy and unforseen things that happen to people on the Rally. 3) And there is the presence of a celebrity seemingly as hell-bent on making it as the rest of us - Jack Osbourne, celebutante and son of notorious front linner of Black Sabbath, Ozzy. We were all worried that his participation was going to cheapen the experience by creating such a media presence when in fact he has taken all of this in stride and subtlety quite well. I saw him at Hyde Park, keeping a low profile and spending a lot of time in the back of his filmmakers' vehicle which had tinted windows. Inevitably there were some press there and his sister Kelly showed up for the event. Since then though, I have met him randomly (and actually spent multiple hours with him and his crew on the Russian border) and did not feel any spotlight glare. It's sort of comforting to know you can stand side by side with Hollywood for three and half hours and both be equally harrassed by Russian border guards.

Update:
Still waiting on that invitation letter...

A QUICK UPDATE

2007-08-12T01:52:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody. I'm writing to you from an Internet cafe in Astana, Kazakhstan(Astana became the new capital - the old being Almaty - in 1998 when the country wanted to make a more Northern entrance into the country). I'm sort of stranded at the moment. The Russian embassy people screwed up my invitation letter/visa so I was not able to leave yesterday with the rest of the teams. However, I am going to go to the Russian Embassy here in Astana tomorrow morning and hopefully get everything sorted out. For a while, I thought it wouldn't be worth it to make the trek alone and just go home from here but apparently I can't fly from here to London for less than $3000 so I've had to get creative. Here's the plan (supposing my Russian is good enough and I don't inadvertently get myself shipped off to Moscow): I'm going to get my visa sorted out by Monday afternoon/evening and hopefully hop a train to Irkutsk, Russia by midnight. From there, I am going to get on the Trans Siberian railway to Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, and hopefully get there before Sunday. Sunday is the big finale and party in Ulaanbaatar for all the ralliers who made it. I can't say I know exactly what's going to happen but that's the general plan. Then hopefully to get home a little more cheaply, I will fly out of Beijing and head East to Los Angeles. Wish me luck! I'll let you know if I made it.

Your random hero,
Alex

P.S. I've been scouring Astana for a bookstore because I'm dying to read the new Harry Potter but apparently literature is hard to come by around here...

LOTS OF THINGS

2007-08-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

OK, big news first and foremost: Diana (our gray Fiat) is dead. She started making weird noises as we entered Kazakhstan and soon our oil light came on. We took her to an automechanic who stared at it for 5 seconds and told us to dish out $1000 for a new engine - apparently the problem was that severe. We decided to get a second opinion by taking it to a Volswagen dealership in Atyru and the mechanic there said he could fix it. Unfortunately, we had to leave prematurely because one of our convoy buddies didn't have a great night the previous evening.

THE PREVIOUS EVENING...
We had been covered in mud and sweat for four days driving along what can only be described as "the worst roads in existence." Four 900 Km, our little Fiat, followed by a convoy of two other cars, traversed 4-foot-deep potholes, 2-foot-deep mud and a long expedition through miles of silica dust that made our lungs feel heavy despite repeated efforts to cover our noses and mouths with t-shirts. So, when we finally landed in Atyru, the first major sign of life we had seen since leaving Russia, we were all feeling a little bit antsy. We arrived in the early morning, everyone delirious from pulling 12-hour shifts, and decided to stop at a small hotel for proper food. Once there, we became instant celebrities: people wanted to take pictures of themselves and even the local newspapers came out for our arrival (I'm the center of the picture of the front page, wahoo!). We also met some photographers from a German auto magazine so we'll be in there with our car as well (yep, FAMOUS). After lunch we drove a few more miles and eventually landed in the main part of the city. There, we got a hotel and decided to go out for a nice dinner. What none of us had realized is that heavy vodka drinking is mandatory for all visitors to the city. Four bottles later, we decided to go to a dance club. So naive of us to follow complete strangers to a club that ended up being a local Kazakh mafia hang out...

TWICE IN THREE DAYS
Before I get to what happened at the club, I need to clarify how we received somewhat of a baptism by fire when driving through Kazakhstan. Two evenings prior, we had stopped at a gas station at 3 in the morning to fill up after a 24-hour stretch of driving through unforgiving terrain. The 11 of us sat there, exhausted with our hnds on the gas pumps when a beaten down Toyota with dark, tinted windows pulled into our station. A guy steps out, who has certainly been through his rounds: an elaborate foreign tattoo on his arm and a 4-inch scar leading away from his eye signified that this man has lived a rough life. He staggers up to us, as he has obviously has been drinking, and starts making small talk with some of my other convoy mates. Meanwhile, I am feet away pumping gas into our now diminished car. Suddenly I hear strained voices, and as I move closer, I realize this man has taken HIMI's (one of the guys from team Dzogchen out of Manchester, England) cell phone and put it in his pocket. As he began to move away, I realized this was a mugging in process. People stood there, looking stunned and frustrated (especially Himi) about what to do about this situation. Finally, I walk up to him and say: "I don't want trouble and I'm sure you don't but if you try to walk out of here with that phone, there will be plenty of it." He didn't understand my English words but by the way I said it, he understood well enough. Realizing I'd be a threat, he head-butted me in the face and then followed with two right hooks. He was surprised to find me completely unfazed by his attack (he wasn't expecting me to be a boxer and have an iron chin). I stared him straight in the eye and demanded the phone back, which he complied with, but by that time the gas station owner arrived with a machine gun so we decided it to be a good time to make an exit.

So back to the night in discussion, I am sitting in this club, watching everyone dancing and having a good time and laughing at the Kiwi's making attempts to dance with some of the local girls. Before I know it, I'm pulled in back by the club's manager telling me that the girls in the club were off-limits. To put it as crudely as he did: "The girls 'belonged' to a table of guys at the club. I wasn't stuid enough not to get that these girls were arm candy for the Kazakh gangsters sitting in the back of the room and glaring at us. Not to be intimidated however, I told the manager that it was not my responsibility to tell my friends not to dance. The only suggestion he had is that we not be there when the club closed. I warned everyone it was probably best just to go home but some of the guys still had vodka running through them, making them more brave than they should be. When I finally got everyone rounded up and moving downstairs out of the bar, one big, baldheaded Kazakh kicked me in the back as I was heading down. I fell about four steps, and completely pissed off and confused, replied to his hostility with a right-hand hook. Similar to the man at the gas station, he was not aware that I might have been trained in college by a man who fought two wars and was Navy boxing champion for 10 straight years. It felt like a perfect golf drive, and before he knew what happened, this giant Kazakh was rolling past me down the stairs entirely unconcious. His friends started making hand signals that we could all recognize: "we're going to get our guns." Once again, I thought it prudent that we leave ASAP... so we did.

A DISTRESS CALL
So there's Tom and I, sitting at the Volkswagen garage the next day waiting for someone to look at our car when JOYA, our third teammate gets a call saying something has happened to Himi and DEEBS (his teammate). We rush back to the hotel to find out they had strayed from the group the previous evening and had gotten lost. Unfortunately, both were mugged of wallet and cell phone. By the grace of God, neither were injured and made it back to the hotel safely.

MY CONCLUSION
For some reason, I don't think the Kazakhs like us, and from the unprovoked treatment we've been receiving, I don't think I like them very much either. Fortunately, we have three other very cool teams who are going to pack our things into their cars and hike us back into Russia. We're currently in Astana, Kazakhstan's capital, and only about 600 Km from the border. Diana had a hose leak from the oil pump to the engine, so although the fix was as easy as a new $20 hose(and not a new engine), we didn't figure it out until the damage was irreversible. So we're going to give her a final resting place here in Kazakhstan, which I personally think is a shame; she deserves much better.

Diana 1994-2007

I'll update again whenever possible, but who knows when that'll be.

GREETINGS FROM WHO KNOWS WHERE

2007-07-29T10:15:00.000-07:00

SLOW-VAKIA
Well, it has been quite and adventure since I've written last, I will try to get through it all as efficiently as possible...

10:30 at night on a dark endless highway in Slovakia, with cars and 18-wheelers blasting by, I found myself ironically and a little humorously reenacting a scene out of "Little Miss Sunshine." There I was, pushing a silent car down the highway, hoping to gain enough speed in the cars second gear to get her going on her own. Our battery was dead, we expected an even more doom-filled diagnosis, that our car's alternator had gone KAPUT but we were able to get DIANA (our car's name) to push a couple extra miles in the dark to a gas station where CHRIS and ROSS, our convoying friends from Kiwi land were waiting for us. They are pretty proficient with a car engine as well, and regretfully, came to the same conclusion. That or the celluloid.

BLESSING IN DISGUISE
The next day, a wreck driver came and took our car away with Joya and I in tow, leaving Tommy alongside the highway at the gas station without a clue of how we were going to reconnect. Over an hour later, we stopped not at a professional garage, but at a small house in a beautiful yet deserted area with no clue where we were. Out came a monster of a man, taller than 6 feet and quite broad at the shoulders, dressed humbly it what seemed to be a childhood tee shirt and a hand-me-down bathing suit. Meet: Slovakian mechanic extraordinaire. We didn't speak the same language but we were all thinking the same thing, our beloved little Fiat was a pile of garbage. But with no words spoken, he put our little dumpster-with-wheels confidently up on a lift in his garage, went elbow-deep into her underbelly and immediately pulled out a specific, small piece that resembled an enlarged version of an American electrical plug. He pointed at this and then said the two most beautiful American words I've heard the entire trip: "I fix." And to think only hours earlier I had thought our journey was over and we were headed home with $700 in unused visas. But here was this giant of a man, telling me we were teetering on a small, obscure piece of metal. His parents, who live in the house with him, lead us out back to a garden that I could tell immediately has been lived in, that our friendly giant probably grew up playing in. Lush green grass, cut with care pooled a small courtyard and stable, filled with dried sweet corn and seemingly Beersteins from every origin. They smiled at us, gave us coffee, and put their hands out in front of them in a non-threatening manner that Joya and I could tell meant, "stay here." For fourty euros, we were back on the road, hopeful once again.

ROMANIACS
We flew after that, to make up time, hoping to catch up with the other teams in Odessa but first we had a lot of terrain to cover. Romania was an entirely other world. Horse and buggy was the primary travel of means, and the people lived simple lives. Huts made of mud, rock and recycled brick lined the mountain winding road for miles yet were oddly contrasted by numerous DIGI satellites for their televisions (At least they knew how the world passed them by). And none of them seemed to care as BMW's and $100,000 Mercedes' flew through their small villages like it was the Auto Bahn, they kept working, kept their faces to the earth and never onced pulled over their horse-drawn carriage for some hasty European tourist.

DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO DECLARE? "YEAH, DON'T GO TO MOLDOVA."
Everything seemed to be rolling out in front of us in our favor, that is, until we got to Moldova. It was a small country, filled with minor cities seemingly cut off from the world filled with deli cases displaying nothing more than vacuum-packed, non-perishable junk food. I immediately felt a sense of gray over me, like a common depression all the people felt had seeped into my blood. I was, in all intensive purposes, at the end of the world. Everything I touched was dusty and hot from the blazing sun, and the people who lived there seemed to match their surroundings. It was quick, to get to the other side of Moldova, because a military coup had split the country into two only a few months before. And here were were, being searched and our bags torn through by an army not recognized by the UN, NATO, or the EU (European Union). When they couldn't find any drugs, produce or weapons on us (interesting how a watermelon is a dangerous in its weight as a pile of plastic explosive...), they became frustrated to come up with ideas on what to tax us on (take our money). They pulled me into a decrepit trailer home, and started asking me questions like if I was military, and playfully holding up a pair of Joya's underwear that they had stolen, one particularly undesirable "officer" asked me: "Are these yours?" He spun them around his fat, sweaty, sausage-like fingers as a pervert would, and smelled them. So after taking our one-way radio, the only thing they could remotely label as suspicious, they took from us a $3 ecological tax and sent us on our way. Only a few feet down the road, they had another, military checkpoint stationed with men a little more keen to take our money. We held out as long as possible, but these uniformed thieves were not going to let us through without payment. I smiled at him as I gave him $40 and called him everything I could think of to his face. I'm pretty sure he thought I was some dumb American, unaware of what all this "taxing" was, and was telling him thank you for letting us through (I wonder if his mother knows what he does for a living...). The Ukraine border, although more legitimate, was no easier a task. We needed a "green card," of which we didn't have and when they noticed it was my brother's the name on the registration and not mine, they came out with the seemingly practiced phrase: "Problem, problem."

TILL THE SUN COMES UP
After two hours of pleading with everyone in a place where no one spoke English, they let us through. Then last night, we searched the sea side city of Odessa, wondering why it was called the "Miami" of the Iron Curtain and we soon found out why. Down in the cradle of the Black Sea (only five minutes away from main Odessa in a death cab), there is a unique place called Arcadia. To me, the only way I could relate to it in my head is if Las Vegas had invaded the Champlain Valley fair. People were swarming the fair games, shooting pellets at old beer cans and revelling in the bumper car arena with an alcoholic drink in hand. Then next to them were these giant clubs, their massive sound systems shaking the dirt beneath us with bass. We went into a club called Itaka, and I was spellbound. Literally hundreds of people were dancing to deep, throaty techno music... on the stairs, on the tables, and on a giant platform backdropped with old Greek ruins. The women were young and beautiful, and the men were Ukranian mafia. Hours later, I realized that the sun had come up and nothing could be seen past the massive, white, Greek pillars but sky and water. Tomorrow we head off again, hoping to pass the rest of the Ukraine successfully, but we're worried how many more miles we Diana has in her. But hey, I guess that's the point...

From The Road...

2007-07-23T17:31:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, sorry about the hiatus, but it's a little difficult to get my hands on a computer from the road sometimes.

IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS HYDE PARK
People, cameras, news reporters and more cameras, and about 130 rally cars loaded the expansive parking lot at Hyde Park in London. Even more cameras because Jack Osbourne, son of the (in)famous OZZY was there with his sister KELLY talking to cameras about how he was going to participate in the rally. I saw him in person but it was brief and hadn't seen him since. A lot of people kept asking me one of two questions: What is all this about? And if | told them, they would ask, Why the hell would you do that? For the adventure I would say. A scoff and a couple of laughs would be my reply. After we all met, shook hands, spoke to the cameras and said our goodbyes, the massive caravan took off amidst a cloud of smoke from a flare someone lit as a joke to pretend their car had broken down before they even left the parking lot. I was just happy to get out of London. Scott was there to send me off, I miss him already.

INTO THE NIGHT
So we headed of to DOVER, pretty much a giant airport for boats. And giant it was. We met a couple of amicable teams from London: The MITCHELLS BROTHERS, they drove a Suzuki JS with a rebuilt engine that sounded like a tank; TOM and ANDY were also in the original four, and they drove a Nissan Micra that goes so fast, they had to worry about speeding tickets (they actually did get pulled over but they called the CZECH COP'S bluff and they caught him red-handed trying to extort money); and finally, THE FUSE BROTHERS, a couple good chaps from North London yet their Suzuki JS didn't fair as well as some others - they literally burnt up more oil than petrol and eventually had to repack their car so the top-heaviness wouldn't throw them into a ditch. TEAM IRONSIDES is getting along pretty well, and I'm happy to see we're in the paper (also congrats to Springfield for winning the election). We landed in Calais, buzzed off the big boat and tried to get into Czech Republic in time. However, there's quite a distance and we ended up camping at a truck stop in the middle of the night in Belgium. Along the way we met a film crew, their headlining attraction being BUDDY, a whacked yet fun Brit who needs more sleep.

AND IT BEGINS
So we've made it to Prague, a beautiful and actually quite haunting and peculiar city. We went to a part at a cafe to meet other teams and see who would be headed our way. The cafe stayed open until four AM and we met a KIwi and an Irishman who will be headed our direction. The first night was rough, I slept on the floor of a parking garage but we eventually found a hotel. Tomorrow we will be heading off with them into Slovakia to see a Church made out of human bones (ironically). The car runs great, we're having fun, but I miss everyone back home. Hopefully I can write again soon but I have to go, these people are either charging me 70 Kyronies (35 cents) a minute or they're going to send 70 cronies after me (I'm not sure which one yet).

England is wet, we left two days after the huge storm and the rain blocked the sun from the sky. We may be cursed.

Someone told me the Russians would be trouble...

The Danish ARE trouble.

Gotta go, love you all.

PS Jess you might have to visit me because | don't think I'll drive again when I'm done with all this.

Never Fear, We Is Here

2007-07-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

Well hello there again. Sorry about the couple day delay there but we've just been having way too much dang fun in LONDON, ENGLAND. Did you know there are parts of London where the animals play freely? We didn't think so either. I thought "the city" was all double-decker buses and throngs of tourists going "which rail do we get on?!" But there is! It's called Richmond, and its in the far corner of London and this little village hugs the Thames river, upon which our newly acquired friend/rally mate NETTIE competes in "canoe" races (a.k.a) kayaks. She and her friend Kim will be taking almost the same route as us, except for a few countries here and there (UZBEKISTAN). Today, they will have participated in rally pre-event, where all the cars (if by choice) drive over all 21 bridges in London. More on that soon...

INTERNATIONAL FLAIR
So, if there were one place in the United States where you feel as though you've already left the country, it's the internation terminal at Boston's Logan airport. It's Noah's Ark of humanity, with almost every country being represented somewhere in the long lines of bag dragging, baby soothing, quite confused and frustrated people. And yes, it is frustrating — for us, because we're doing everything right, and for the internationals, who tend to do just about everything wrong...

Where's the BBQ?
So we were standing there in line at the Virgin Atlantic terminal when suddenly a "compliance officer" (a.k.a the man who tells you you've got too much crap) starts trying to interact with a family of seven from Uganda(?). He tells them their carry-on luggage cannot weigh more than 8 kilos (13 pounds) and to all of our dismay, they begin rearranging their things. Stilleto heels are shoved into purses, t-shirts are stuffed into an already exploding suitcase of junk. Once again, they show their bag to THE MAN (cause he really is the ultimate say in this junction of your life) and he shakes his head in disappointment. "Too much" says the worker in the fire engine red vest. So they go at it again, defying physics and pounding more slop into their engine-block size suitcases like a Japanese man being pressed intimately onto four strangers on a subway in Tokyo. This time, however, that giant trunk holding their material lives will not close. "Too much" says the fire engine red suitcase. They even throw their BIG (about 200 kilos) sister on top to press it down and seal that iron-clad zipper. No dice. "What can we leave behind?" I imagine the patriarch of this disheveled family says in whatever language it is he speaks. And out it comes... the oddest travel item I have ever seen. This putrid yellow, plastic trophy — a Costco-sized, 2 gallon tub of deli mustard. Why, out of all things, would you pack this? What motivates a person, justifies inside their head, to let them imagine that this is OK? The partiarch yells back, as sweat rolls down his brow, that the mustard is so important that one of his boys consider it their duty to keep this thing as a carry-on. Of course the MAN brings them down and says not only is this a ridiculous idea, it is an unacceptable one due to post-9/11 TSA rules and regulations. They seemed disappointed, and even began to argue publicly and openly while Tommy and I watched on in amazement, standing right behind them. It was all in vain in a few moments, however, when the son "accidentally" dropped the container, spilling the liquid gold allover the marble floor (I would've done the same thing). Sorry janitor. "You're not your fucking khakis," Tyler Durden would say.

WITHOUT A HOME...FAR FROM HOME
I guess the whole point of this rally is to shoot from the hip and make it by the seat of our pants, anyway. And truly sometimes my pants are the only things sheltering me these days. Nettie (visit micragolia.com, her website, and show her the love... in cash) and her very hip mom were kind enough to put us up in their house in Richmond for a couple days but we left before we overstayed our welcome. Since then, we haven't slept in the same place twice. I see "colleagues" of mine, their hair in dark, entangled dreads and their whole lives on their back, sleeping on heat grates and I feel as though I have found myself in an Alex Garland novel (sorry for the name drop). But it's OK, everything happens for a reason and THE STREAK hasn't failed us yet. The streak has put us on buses at the right time, liasoned us with people at the last possible moment, and has ultimately put a roof over our heads each night. It even put us through customs without a hitch, despite our one-way ticket status, which gave us some suspicious glares at New York and Logan. And get who I saw, far down the line? BIG SIS, still covered in spicy mustard.

A Small Connection
I did feel more at home, however, when Tommy, Joya and I finally met up with my brother Scott, who treated us to an excellent Indian meal. We talked sights and sites (his job) and movies, of course. And he seems to have this London thing down pat. And Joya met up with her old friend from USA, a spunky little girl who just happens to have a Harvard degree under her belt.

I have taken a bunch of pictures but we're still working on uploading them, it'll be soon. In the meantime, look out for a story about us in the Burlington Free Press, thanks Hannah. I'll update soon.

Cheers

STD Posterboy

2007-07-09T17:17:00.000-07:00

OK OK, just for clarification people, I do not have a mysterious rash. That was my twisted humor trying to add a little pizzazz to my post. I'm not too worried about rumors spreading but if I hear another "How's it hanging or has it already fallen off?", I might have to go jump off a bridge or something else dramatic. Thanks.

—Alex (aka Free and Clear)

Techno-Glide

2007-07-08T14:41:00.001-07:00

A Thing Of Beauty

OK, so I've finally pooled together all my equipment to chronicle this trip. This includes my old/authentic Minolta Maxxum 7000 WHICH TAKES FILM (I'm a purist when it comes to photos) and my Canon XR 98 digital camcorder. Put simply, I'm gonna have my hands clenched to that bag no matter where I go (cost me mucho dinero). I will take some digital photos as well from the road and upload them onto this site.

A Little Worry...
Well, my passport is going to be stamped by Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgystan, Peru, and ISRAEL (I was about 8-years-old I think). Now combine that with my ONE-WAY ticket to LONDON (terrorists medical professionals everywhere). Let's just say Tommy and I will be "randomized" at each airport we go to. Shit...

OINK OINK!

The 4th Team Member...

2007-07-07T13:40:00.000-07:00

(This isn't THE car, but pretty much an exact replica of the one we bought)

From Badcolonies:

Oh, hello everyone, this is your captain speaking (aka Alex Switzer).
We recently acquired a new teammate from the belly of London, UK and his name is Uno... Fiat Uno. We purchased him from an orphanage for 220 pounds = $430. He is gray and small, but has a lot of heart, about 1000 cc's worth. We're very excited to see how far his humble wheel base will take us across the wretched terrain that is Eastern Europe/Asia. This all comes at the pinnacle of a very stressful time for all of us - we couldn't find a car, for starters, unforseen money problems plagued our spirits and I have a rash that I hope clears up before I party with all the little hotties participating in this year's rally. But things are OK now, we will prevail because we are IRONsides, obviously. Strong, resolute...American, yes we are! Haha. Anywho, Tommy and I are basking in our glory at the present moment after just giving my credit card number to a complete stranger who's about 2000 miles away. We'll keep you all posted with any new updates, and whether or not this thing I have will need prescription ointment...

Cheers! Alex Switzer

Check Out the Sites!

2007-07-07T13:13:00.000-07:00

Go to www.mongolrally.com for information, routes, pictures, etc.

Go to our team website, www.badcolonies.org/ironsides for more information about our team.

All Visa-ed Out!

2007-07-07T12:51:00.000-07:00

Wow, OK. Well, this is my first official blog (of any kind). But why not start off with a bang. In only a couple of days, I will be headed off on a real adventure. Into the unknown in an already entirely-mapped world. I am headed out with two of my best friends, Tom Heitkamp and Joya Taft-Dick. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't even have known about the Mongol Rally...

Mongol Rally - This is an annual car rally for charity where 200 teams must traverse 10,000 miles across the largest populated continent, England to Mongolia. Whether or not you make it, that's for the road and your shoot-from-the-hip automechanic skills to decide. (www.Mongolrally.com)

For a minute there, I didn't even think I was going to make my flight with Tom to London on the 10th. There have been some... issues... with the visa process and I almost wasn't going to have my passport for my flight. Anyway, now I'm getting by with skin of my teeth because my passport will show up back in Burlington, VT the morning of the day I leave (hopefully).

I went through an online service (www.VisaHq.com) to try and get my visas for Russia, Kazakhstan and Kyrgystan on time but like with everything else in Washington, there were some unforseen snafus. But we're good now... I think.

Ok, so in other recent news we just bought our car, a little Fiat Uno, did I mention it was small? Haha. It's like a gray circus clown car and I cannot wait to have to sit in for over a month with two other people. We're still trying to figure out the space issue...

And the food issue... We are ironsided, not iron-stomached so we're planning to improvise. I suggested MRE's (Meals Ready To Eat) that the army uses. Or maybe we could eat space food, or ketchup packets.

We're going to be in London from the 11th until the 21st when the race begins and I am very excited to hang out in such a cool city and to see my brother, which is about a once-a-year opportunity. I will also update my blog daily there because I'm not sure how many Internet cafes are around the base of the Himalayas. I will take a lot of pictures and video, however, and upload them whenever I can.

OK, well I'm off for now, I'll update later with any news.