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peking to paris
September 10th - October 16th 2010
The Royds Brothers drove from Peking to Paris in 2010 and on the way raised money for the KCAC film club, which will now be called the ‘SILVER GHOST FILM CLUB’
DRIVERS’ BLOG
6th September 2010 The car has already been shipped to Beijing and today the Royds Brothers fly out to join it.
BLOG 1 - Thursday 9th September 2010
Greetings from Beijing, where the sun never shines. This is because most of the 22 million inhabitants have decided that the pinnacle of human existence can only be reached whilst sitting in a car, in the inevitable traffic jam. The smog burns your eyes and attacks the throat. Perfect for those of us in open topped classic cars.
Tomorrow is the opening day of the 2010 Peking-Paris rally. 220 mad men and women are attempting it. The field is split between wiry, fit, rich car fanatics and the somewhat larger genteel folk who thought it was a nice idea at the time of booking but are now ****ting themselves. Luckily the Beijing diet can bring about the same effect so most of us are pretending that the nasty feeling in the pit of ones stomach is due to last night's plate of duck tongues. Or was it the jellyfish salad?
But tomorrow the 'you know what' hits the fan and at 8am the whole shebang will leave a site near the Great Wall and bear North West towards Mongolia. More on that when we get there, but it will be a relief to get going.
The Royds vehicle is a 1921 Rolls Royce silver ghost. In many peoples' opinion the perfect car for the rally, but those people are wrong. We are the only silver ghost out of 110 cars. Now there's a clue. Furthermore, ours is now light of two rear shock absorbers. These fell off after a hundred yards. It is going to be bouncy this trip. But the car does imbue one with a sense of importance. You sit up high and feel imperious. Even when you have broken down. And driving in this wonderful thing are two brothers, Anthony and Jumbo Royds. There is only one other brotherly duet in the rally, which probably means that doing the rally with your brother is akin to doing it in a Silver ghost. We will see.
Now I could go on, but the car is not ready, the hour is late and we have to get up at 4am tomorrow. So goodnight all. Fingers crossed for tomorrow please..
Blog 2 - 14th September 2010.
Mongolia. Ulaan Bataar. Hotel Chinggis Khaan.
Apologies for the irregularity of the blogs. This is due to the lack of communications devices and because one is so dog tired at the end of each day the only option is to collapse and think of England.
Since Blog One we have travelled over 1400 kilometres. Through some of the most inhospitable ground that you can imagine. This is a trip for masochists or car haters, or preferably both.
But before we deal with the geography let's deal with the people. First there is my navigator/co driver Anthony (Tony) Royds. I cannot think of anyone less suited to the task. He is infatuated with personal hygiene, safety and is deeply suspicious of foreign people. He does not have a mechanical bent, and his eyesight is failing. Navigation is not his forte. This trip is not quite up his street, but a better companion could not be had. There are quite a few husband and wife teams, the Bishops, Hunts and Manners to name but a few. Harmony resides at the moment, except when Charlie Bishop insisted that Nellie threw out her large shampoo bottle as it was so heavy, and we were about to tackle the roughest roads on the trip (more on that later). I will let you guess who won the day.
Probably the best way to segregate the competitors is to sort them out by car type. First, of course, we have the Rolls Royce ragamuffins. After that there are a gaggle of Bentley boys and bitches (anything for aliteration), Vauxhall vamps, Lagonda lushes, Ford frenzies.....the list goes on and I will deal with the American influence in later blogs. Suffice to say that we have a Stutz, Dodges, Chevvies, Studabakers and Packards....I think those drivers will porcupines.
So back to the action....
Day One. Up at 5am so as to be out of Beijing and up near the Great Wall in time for the 8am gala start. The Ghost almost did not make it. Power loss. Farting like Jabba the Hut. Got saved by the mechanics so we have forgiven them for their inability to treat the mechanically inept with humour. Start delayed by one hour thank God. Off we went, northwards. Lovely country. Lots of bits of NotsoGreat wall. Glorious day, but long, so long. Got to Daihai at 7pm. 12 hours on the road! Strange spa hotel. No spa. But clean with very hard beds.
Day Two. Up at 4.30am. Cleaning car. Adding oil. Pumping tyres. Busily looking into engine bay and looking concerned - it's the done thing. Wondering why we, despite having the largest car, are incapable of fitting our luggage in. Lots of chat about fuel pumps - our béte noire of the trip. Off at 7am towards the Mongolian border. Only 250 miles or so in a car that struggles to exceed 45mph. Lovely country. Trouble at filling station. Are we putting in diesel or petrol (the petrol here comes out of red nozzles). No lunch. Move inexorably northwards and the land gets drier and drier. China appears to have swapped rice for maize.....discuss? Chinese drivers amazingly erratic. No respect for road laws, which is a bit galling because in Beijing we were given a good talking to by the top traffic official before he handed out the driving permits. Respect out Laws! Especially those of you in Rolls Royces! Arrive Erenhot on the border with Mongolia. More hard beds. Food NFFHC. Awful lot of construction going on.
Day Three. Up early again. Need time to cross the border. Forms, waiting around, long queues. Customs officials deeply suspicious. Some quite pretty though...no talking whilst waiting in line - affects concentration of officials !! "Yes, we know that we agreed to check just a sample of ten cars but now we have decided to check all 110!" And then same again on the Mongolian side. Hey ho. And then.......no roads. The Mongolians haven't got round to this. Or maybe it is their English channel? So 120 miles of track that you would not even ask a mountain goat to attempt. The Ghost was marvellous, despite the pesky fuel pumps and no rear shocks. Bundled her way across ridiculous terrain with disdain. Finished the day in mid field, then got lost on the way to camp site. Two hours to find it. Luckily camp site had food and lots of booze. First night in tent. Mongolian stars very bright.
Day Four. Up with the dawn. Ghost a bit sad. Changed fuel pump. This delayed our start. But at 8am off we went into the Gobi Desert again. Tracks better but Ghost not. Jabba returned and by 1am we were at a standstill. In the middle of nowhere. Oh dear oh dear. Vultures (imaginary) appeared. All was lost. And then the Mechs arrived. Phew! Three hours of work and still no solution. But car could move slowly but not for long. Completed 180kms and eventually got onto a Tarmac road. Getting dark and 220kms to go to Ulaan Bataar. Refuelled. No better. But the ghost has ears and pride. When threatened with the tow rope she recovered. Drove like a dream all the way to the Mongolian Capital. Arrived Chinggis Khaan hotel at 10pm. Tired, dirty but happy. Soft beds. Smiles. Rest day tomorrow.......
So here I still, resplendent in a room, blog in one hand, imodium in the other, and wait to call Alan Glew, the Rolls expert. We have seven days of open country ahead and camping only. The ballsie part of the trip. Am full of trepidation. Hopefully next blog will be from the Belokurikha Resort in Russia and Tony and I will be cavorting with Julie Christie and Omar will be playing the Sitar, the cherry trees will be blooming exceptionally late and Abramovitz will drop in with some of his nieces. Until then, as before, this is RO, captain of the Rolls Royce Ghost, signing off from the outer rim.....
Blog 3 - 22nd September 2010
Blog 3 comes from a tent in westernmost Mongolia, in a high but shallow valley with snow tinged peaks. A river runs through it. Happily that no longer applies to me. 2500 meters and absolutely f***** freezing at 10 pm. I am worried for the Ghost. Will her radiator explode as the temp falls to brass monkey levels? For the first time I sit in the sleeping bag with jeans on. It's a bad thing to get up at 6am with the temperature at minus 10 degrees C and have to put on frozen trousers.
The road we have travelled is one of greatness; the Creator had a good day when he bent his mind upon Mongolia. One of the last great wildernesses and soooo big darling! I know you know this but it is truly amazing....not "oh dooo look!" but more Lord of the Rings-amazing. Vast plains of grass turning into desert scrub, towering icy peaks and deep valleys interspersed with brilliant blue glacial lakes. And there is wildlife, lots of wild horses, and thousands of goats, all marvellously healthy and fat, tended by very bored kids, or men on horseback carrying very long whips, or sticks - which explains the dearth of pigs. And huge birds of prey who eat the the delicious Hyrax.....rather cute little squirrel like mammals who live in holes in the ground 'cos there ain't no trees. Enough of this Attenborough guff, but if you get the chance please do make the passage we have done from Ulaan Bataar west to Russia. But dilly dally not. Once the Tarmac is put in it will be diminished for the traveller. You will no longer be an adventurer, just a passer by. You have about three years before the magic fades, depending on World Bank largesse.
So onto rally matters. Days one & two out of UB were the worst. The organisers were shamefaced. The new but unfinished roads were as holey as Swiss cheese. There is not a worse surface to travel on and it was torture. And for the Ghost every bump and hollow is felt in the core...things fall off. For us it was the running boards, the hub caps, the dash, the headlights..... the everything. We can't even fly the spirit of ecstasy....she has bad knees. My poor ghost, but the engine is now strong and those of us with very little mechanical knowledge are feeling optimistic..and we made it through without needing assistance from the mirthless mechanics. Day three was just brilliant. Smooth sandy tracks through a vast wilderness. Like the wild west. The best day so far by far. Day four..nearly as good...after which we had a rest day in a camp. That is spent staring at engines again or lying under cars trying to avoid the oil drops. A set of very dirty overalls is de rigour is this company. Tony and I have brand new ones, say no more! The evening was spent in the local disco, much to everyone's surprise. One very sensible merchant banker tried to persuade us not to go. We cannot forgive him just yet.
People and cars.
Richard Cunningham has returned having been on the bus of shame (what you go on when your car is put on a trailer). The Bentley boys are actually Bores because they are so quick and the Vamps are having a ding dong battle at the front of the field. Micky and Andy in the Stutz are definitely Stalwarts. Their car sounds like a cement mixer and is about as fast. But it just keeps going. Those in Dodges are Dandies. Lennox, a Canadian who was due to drive in a behemoth called a La France but could not because he was let down by his brother on the preparations - has hitched a lift as navigator for Rudi in an Alvis.
The Mongolian/Russian border took five hours to navigate. We then had to go 700kms to another Spa hotel, without Spa, but with ballroom dancing. All very strange and far too tiring to worry about. The Russians have been the most welcoming and the most enthusiastic bunch so far.
So, signing off. In Belokurikha Resort, Myasnikova Street, Russia. Three beers and a bed for the first time in six nights. The sound of ballroom dancing ringing in my ears.... Only problem is that tomorrow we have the Russian/Kazakhstan border 450kms away and 150kms after that we get to Semey. Just another 14 hour day behind the wheel to look forward to. Cannot recommend it highly enough.
Blog 4 – 27th September 2010
Blog 4 finds me in a mild panic in Almaty, Kazakhstan. A large and prosperous town in the Lea of some dramatic mountains with the inevitable smog blanket and loads of high class Karaoke bars. The rally group has been here for three nights and for most it has been a time of relaxation and recharging of human batteries. Not for team Ghost. The time has been spent in garages welding bits back on, throwing even more things away and staring at the engine. Kazaks are rather like us rally sados, they too love looking at engines. Even the girls look, and they take pictures of themselves next to the car.
The Ghost is in a huff and until about an hour ago we had resigned ourselves to not being able to start tomorrow, such was the parlous state of her engine. But having adjusted the points I feel a little more confident for tomorrow. Why the mechanics did not adjust the points escapes me (possibly 'cos they don’t speak English) but, fingers crossed we will be off again at 6 am. And yes, until an hour and a half ago I had no idea as to where the points were and what they do. It is a voyage of discovery.
The original plan was to go to Kyrgyzstan from here but the Kyrgs are a bit shirty at the moment so we are all slipping round the back and giving them a miss. Ant is especially relieved because in the end he did not fork out for the bullet proof vest so he would have felt horribly vulnerable. In two days we should be in Uzbekistan, which is probably just as volatile. And yes, Ant is still very much alive and kicking, but he did contract pneumonia which threatened to turn into Malaria (a first), which then miraculously turned into a light cold. I was very sympathetic.
Looking back, over the last few days it has been as eventful as ever. In Belourika we got in at 9.30pm (fifth!)...others rolled in a 4am because, for the higher numbered cars the border crossing was even more painful than ever and then they had to drive 700kms only to find that their rooms had been sold on to Russians, which is just what you want after 20 hours in the car - some competitors opened up their anger vents fully at this point. What I forgot to say in Blog 3 was that the first 200kms of the journey was along one of the greatest roads of all, and one perfect for biking. So attention all bikers. It is a must!
In Semey half the rally stayed in the Tourist Hotel, which was by all accounts was the worst hotel by far so far, but some stayed in the Nomad hotel which was the best so far. Some people have all the luck! And then we had 540kms along iffy roads to Almaty, which is where this blog began. And as it is midnight and I have to rise at 5am for a 6am start and I have yet to pack, pay, plan ahead or develop pneumonia, this blog is going to be ended prematurely and without proper revision. Sorry and more later when the Ghost has recovered her equilibrium.
Blog 5 - Tashkent. Uzbekistan - 30th September 2010
Like the man stranded in the desert who stumbles across an oasis, such was the feeling when we left the dark and broody Kazakhstan and entered Uzbekistan. Almaty has a ominous feeling to it, money and oil and old mafia habits contrive to make it an unsettled place. Leaving it you run to the north of the ****** mountains across a dry arid land of sand and desiccation. And then, as if by Tommy Cooper, you cross the border into Uz and the land is green and fertile, the people happy and welcoming. Depressingly it is probably just a matter of time before the gold rich Uz economy is warped into something similar to that of their neighbour, but for the moment one can take delight in the huge cotton fields populated by brightly clad cotton pickers and the many pony and traps carrying watermelons and other such fare which cohabit the tarmac.
Even the roads are better, but probably because there are so few trucks, until that is, you get into Tashkent, which is a lovely city, wide open spaces, sheep grazing in the centre, spice markets and bazaars with a welcoming feel to it. One oddity though, all the cars are white, and there are only three models. Chevrolet seems to be the one of choice, so Uncle Sam must be busy somewhere and maybe the antithesis of Henry Ford chose the colour, who knows, but being all white one feels anonymous - and the Tashkent drivers take full advantage, they are by a long chalk the fastest drivers of the trip. This is made worse for the visitor as the taxis are the smallest cars made. All rather mad.
The other bonkers thing is the money. The Cym is it and the largest note is 1000 Cym. Equivalent to 40p. And they don't like credit cards, or dollars. So $300 turns into a stack of money a foot high. One feels immensely rich and self important....we are off to dinner with it in a sack, father Christmas like....
As for the rally, the carnage continues. The poor Stutz is no more, the cement set and the thingmebob jumped out of the whatchemecallit and there isn't one of those within a thousand miles. A replacement car is due to arrive in Greece, meanwhile, Micky and Andy (and many others) are hitching with other cars until then. A Spirit of the rally award goes to Daniel Ward and David Ingleby. They are Number 4 in a Lancia Theta and so far their front wheels have snapped off no less than six times. There are a number of wicked people who have suggested that this may have something to do with the pressure exerted on the car by these two, who are definitely some of the larger bodied ralliers........so the last thing they need is a hitcher! It has put the rest of us to shame.
The Tatra has had it's side sliced off, another car is burnt out.... the list goes on. Even Isabelle, a wonderful Dodge owned by Jeff Robinson is struggling. Jeff is a Gold Coast Aussie and he and Rob hit the stoppers in Semey after a hairy drive, but are back fighting. The latest problem is the wooden wheels. It's been so dry that they have shrunk and now rattle alarmingly against the steel rim. The solution appears to be to immerse them in water for a day or so.....so they are to be found in the water feature of the hotel reception.
Just had dinner with a couple in a Model A Ford. Their problems started in Mongolia. Gearbox gave up. And this is what they have had to do to stay in the Rally: in Mong they wait five hours for the truck, which then takes 10 hours to get to the camp, at 2am on the brass monkey night when the temperature hit -15c. Then into another truck for 12 hours to Mong border, and as the trucks cannot cross borders they have to be towed over the border (28kms) onto a Russian truck with only one seat and which goes the wrong way for three hours. Arrive Belakourika at 4am, put into brothel as hotel full, off again at 7am in new truck - 16 hours to kaz border which they take seven hours to get through. New truck to Semey and another 16 hours arriving wee hours again...then told the passage to Almaty would take 28 hours, so chartered a plane and waited for new gearbox there...which arrived late and they then left Almaty 8 hours late.......I think we may have had it easy!
Finally, thanks to Stephen Clarke for bringing all the kit to Almaty - he has made many new friends. Thanks to Ant for continuing to just contain his well honed road rage, and thanks to the bazaar man for selling me the silk dressing gown that looks and feels just like rayon....and thanks to the Ghost, for still soldiering along....
Blog 6 - Turkmenistan.
Travelling across Turkmenistan was a soul destroying task. An endless desert populated with nothing but bad roads, hot skies and policemen. It is a police state. The entry procedure involved 13 officials and over twenty stamps. They appear to be hanging onto the old soviet structure of not allowing any one person to have meaningful responsibility. So every stamp and signature has to be re checked and re signed. In one room you could bask in the glory of their great leader, with photo collages of his daring does in fighter jets, on race horses, with foreign digs, talking to children and down in deep mines. We then had a police escort to the hotel during which the lead car forced every oncoming car off the road, despite it being wide enough for three! And at the first checkpoint (there are many) they took away the forms that we had been entreated not to give away!
On to Ashkebad. Which is without doubt one of the most incredible and ridiculous building projects that there has ever been. I mean ever. The big Turkman set down a master plan for a new city of marble to be the biggest and best in the world and they have done it! Trouble is that there are no people to populate it, and few who then want to live in fear of the police. Like all grandiose projects, the third incumbent will probably reap the benefits.
Time for some tech methinks. The Ghost. Originally suffered from insufficient fuel supply, then a sticking air valve and then misaligned points. We did not spot the points because the magneto was working so well, but when the magneto failed it became apparent. So we fixed the points and jerry-fixed the magneto and hey presto, something else is wrong. The car could be reasonably compared to an old Ukranian tractor. Maybe not as smooth though and definitely not as reliable. So gloom and doom again. And we have 4000 miles to go with no rest days. And as we are in Iran for four days......no booze!!
We are at the Iranian border and I am taking a low profile for fear of being associated with my navigator who is now fully exasperated. I wonder whether we will be the last to get our passports back?........
Blog 7 - Iran.... my dear. Oh dear!
Border crossing on a religious holiday. Not something to be attempted by the lone traveller, let alone a group of 210 western fatties with delusions of self importance. Result, seven hours at the border and having left the border we climb to the heavens on a mountain pass and the Ghost gives up her namesake, cos she knows that we have 500 kms to go the hotel, with two hours of daylight left and one headlight. As if by magic a member of the Iranian Automobile club arrives and says that his brother has a truck which will take us and our vehicle to the hotel. Excitedly we climb back into the Ghost and she picks up her skirts as we rush to the nearby town where the truck and salvation awaits.
In Iran things don't often work out as expected. The truck was not there, nor was the next, and the next was smaller than Noddy's. Stranded we were, but once again the member of the Iranian automobile club came to the rescue - as the town was without hotel. Would we like to stay the night with him? So off we went to a small flat in Quchan with Xmas decorations and strange furniture covered in thick clear plastic. We were fed and watered and slept on the kids bedroom floor. The shower was wet and the loo impossible to perform in. The food good and breakfast different. They could not have been more accommodating. An interesting intro into Iran. The early morning truck failed to appear. This prompted a trip in car to truck agency. The member of the automobile club fancied his car control skills. All Iranians fancy such skills. They must be destruction darby champions. A truck was found but it was a long way away. Cash only. Wads. Bereft of choice, we agreed.
Asraf appears in his new Merc truck. Asraf is young, full of beans (hyper actually), perfect for driving 22 hours non-stop across Iran. Which he does awfully well. Then charges too much and steals my lovely pair of serengetis. But he gets us back on the rally so he is almost forgiven.
Meanwhile, the main rally is having some fun too. The hotel in Gorgon (the first stop city in Iran) has been sequestered by the revolutionary guard as president Armageddonman has turned up unannounced. Sorry, no rooms. Riot. Imperialist pigs not happy. Sit down protest. Result. 16 rooms for 200 people and the rest can camp on the roof, which they do. Those who still have tents (we burned ours in a glorious ceremony after the frozen boll*cks night in Mong).
Wonderful start for all on the Iranian odyssey. Also, young Iranians enjoy throwing very large rocks at windscreens, and Iranian bikers not nice at all. Iranians generally very inquisitive and friendly, but very loud and to be fair, a bit aggressive. All the young'uns want to leave. Not a good sign eh.
We rejoin the rally in Tabriz, near the Turkish border. Many can't wait to leave Iran, but wait, the vice president of Iran is coming to honour us at a banquet, so off we truck, salivating at the thought of an Iranian freebie and some good grub. See above. Things in Iran......
No banquet. No VP. Just an hour and a half of speeches on how brilliant the Iranians have been in staging the Iran stage of the rally. Hoho. Can't wait to get to Turkey and mobile reception!
Blog 8 - Istanbul. The Bosporus, Turkey.
A nice hotel, big bed, the sound of traffic outside and a mild hangover after too much wine the night before. It feels just like home.
We are in Istanbul because about a week ago a decision was made to get ahead of the rally and try and fix the Ghost 'proper-like' before the long European runs and the Alps. So when we went through the Iranian border a truck was waiting which whisked the car 1400kms to Istanbul via Erzurum, a ski resort town in Eastern Turkey, from where we flew....in a plane of shame.
Allan Glew (the silver Ghost guru) and his wife Sue have come out from Moreton in Marsh to operate, which is just great and so good of them to drop everything and come to the rescue of us hapless duo.
But let's get back to truck drivers. The last one was Asraf, this one is Hasan. He wears a suit, chain smokes and has a rasping cough that strips wallpaper. He is not in a hurry, except when entering a corner. He has not a single word of English but this does not stop him from talking to us. When we stare back with uncomprehending looks he repeats himself, but louder, much louder, as if the meaning will somehow bludgeon its way into our thick monoglot skulls.
And then there is the majestic palaver of getting a three ton Silver Ghost onto a cattle truck. In this part of the world there seems to be a consistent modus operandus when undertaking any procedure more complicated than making tea. It involves lots of shouting, action not thinking, no listening and most importantly, delay...lots of it. To begin with one tries to help, making sensible suggestions in a quiet and measured way, but anything other than a home-brew guttural explosion is simply ignored. To begin with one gets extremely exasperated (cue Tony the navigator) but in the end the only thing to do is stand back and pretend that you are watching a delightful West End farce. And then it is bearable. Just.
Hasan has brought his cattle truck and Ismail his low loader. The idea is to put the Ghost onto the low loader and then transfer it from there onto the six foot high platform of the cattle truck. The loader can only reach up three feet so the truck has to go and find a low place, ie: a pit. These two gents have been waiting for us to cross the border for four hours, so maybe they might have found a suitable place? No. Only when the Ghost is on the loader does the search begin. For half an hour the two trucks perform a sort of mating dance round the desert floor, never daring to get too close. And all the while Ismail and Hasan just scream at the top of their voices. I could go on but the memory is too painful. Suffice to say they do it.
Next on the agenda; how does one stop the car from moving around on the truck and being damaged? Normally one straps the axles securely to the floor. This truck has no anchor points (you don't strap sheep) so we are going to have to be inventive. This is when we spot Hasan wandering about the desert picking up pebbles. He returns, sporting a tar stained grin, and proudly shows off his prized pebbles, which he has decided to wedge under the tyres. Turkey is obviously ahead of the UK in the dumbing down of exams and no doubt Hasan was a straight A student, but he ain't got no common sense. I gave him my most withering John McEnroe - you've got to be kidding - look and just started securing the car with our own straps. Erzurum is 300 kms away. About four hours for the ghost. The palaver with the lorries takes two hours, then Hasan stops for a chat, contraband fuel, and dinner. In total it takes eight hours for us to get there....plus ca change.
So now we wait to see whether Dr Glew can place his hands on the Ghost and fix her.....fingers crossed..meanwhile Tony can do some sightseeing and eat some western food, so all will be well in the Navigator's seat.
Blog 9 - Greece
The Doctor worked his magic and the Ghost is moving again on her own steam. He thinks we were under lubricating her, which is a schoolboy error, isn't it ladies!
We left Istanbul and pottered west towards yet another Spa hotel, this time with spa, and nice renaissance architecture. My bath was so old that it could have been the one responsible for displacement theory, but at least the water was hot and plentiful. The Turkish automobile club treated us to a drinks party and then we had dinner in the dining room which was the same temperature as a turkish bath, but it is a spa hotel after all. Next morning, bright and early, it was off to the last of the daft border crossings (the Turks are a little better than the Stans, but much better than Iran) and into Greece, the land of early retirees and my good friend, Melita Koffeefilteropolis. Fantastic hotel in Thessolonika and good smooth roads, courtesy of the EU methinks. Nice to get some use from our generous subsidies eh.
The rally has now split into two groups, those who are still going for medals and glory and therefore do what they are told by the organizers, and the rest, who are only interested in doing one thing, which is to get to Paris. We are part of the latter group, and we are by no means alone. So today, rather than travel 400kms over the mountains on windy roads, we took the motorway. Which means that we have time for lunch and a siesta....why oh why did we not break ranks earlier! But we must have upset the Gods because as we got near to Mt Olympus it started to rain, which was our first of the trip. Or maybe they were crying over the loss of the EU gravy train. I thought incontinence had set in as I looked down at my sodden trousers, but actually the ghost is a sieve. Water pours in from everywhere. She has also decided that windscreens wipers are beneath her, a common trait of such cars I'm told, but it did mean that the last 200kms were navigated through an unwiped screen, which is hard.....
Tonight we travel by ferry to Ancona in Italy. There is talk of a big party and drinking the boat dry. Time will tell. And some are beginning to talk about what to wear in Paris on Saturday night....I would surely be able to smell the croissants if the Alps did not stand in our way. But Hannibal did it, and he had elephants.
Blog 10 - 19th October 2010
The ferry (owned by a car nut so he pushed the boat out for us......) got to Ancona and from there, after an inevitable Italian traffic jam we traversed the Roman spine to Viareggio, a seaside resort near Florence where pizza and pasta was eaten and civilized genes started to flow back into our bodies, along with Chianti. Next day we conquered the Alps and made it to Aix les Bains, another bloody spa place, where we prepared ourselves to be greeted with gradational Gallic disdain and snottiness. As it turned out they could not have be more civil or enthusiastic, so we started to enthuse about Paris and made no mention of Sarkozy or the Maginot line. The evening was one of steak frites and copious volume of Bordeaux. The restaurant had a very good stock of old claret, but it does not now, such was the pent up demand for a drop of the good stuff.. And then a relatively short run (220kms) on charming back roads to Paris, where we met French bureaucracy and a general strike. Plus ca change! So we sat for two hours in the Bois de Boulogne avoiding the lady boys whilst Paris prepared for our glorious re-enaction of Prince Borghese's 1907 feat. The Ghost manoeuvred herself directly behind the beflagged French car, hoping for a better reception, and work it did, we cruised up the Champs Elysées, then to Place de la Concorde, eventually arrived at Place Vendome to hundreds of well wishers and bemused Americans and where I, with a gallon of relief and a drop of regret, turned off the Ghost for the last time on foreign soil (She is going on a transporter to Allan Glew for spa therapy and a re-build).
The gala dinner awaited, and it dished up all the best and worst qualities of the rally itself. The table plan was a debacle, the prize giving too long (always the case when you are not getting one) and the speeches not very good. But the room was impressive and the food delicious and the enthusiasm unbridled so a good time was had. A comfy bed in an outrageously overpriced Paris hotel finished things off and one woke knowing that it was not a driving day.....a great feeling I can assure you.
So to the Epiblog... Many people went into this rally with their eyes open. They had done it before, their cars were suitable for it and were well prepared. They knew what to expect and had the confidence and experience to deal With almost any crisis. When asked about their points they did not reach for the pencil sharpener. So for them there might have been more time to dwell on the deeper things of life as the roads succumbed to the remorseless tread of the Michelins and Dunlops..maybe they were able to cogitate on the silk road and the travellers who had plied their trade upon it for so long, or the parlous state of Iran. But for team Ghost and many others the first weeks were made of playing catch-up as we fell foul to the rally rules, and suffered from our lack of preparation and experience, and after that lived in fear of another calamity and a bus, truck plane of shame!
But nothing will obscure the wonder of the event as a whole, from the majesty of Mongolia the madness of the Stans. And the glory of the open road with nothing to worry about except the next car-eating pothole. And the smiles and enthusiasm of the people as we passed by. In the rally group itself, friendships were made, hurdles hurdled, frailties exposed, relationships strained, cars broken. And all such things were or will be repaired. Six weeks with everything in it. It took us outside our comfort zones, challenged preconceptions, affirmed life. An endurance rally no less, not a nine week saunter across the worlds largest land mass, but a five-week no holds barred dash across it, with hardly a moment to spare.
Well done to the proper medal winners, they deserve their gongs, as do everyone who competed. Well done to the organisers.. Well done the Navigators! Well done to the cars. Man and machine conquering more than miles. I loved almost every minute of it. For those with a well prepared car, a spirit of adventure, dogged determination and a lust for life - do it.
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