We arrived in Kirkenes Norway (Norwegian border town) in the early evening and once we had got our bearings, headed back out to the campsite we had passed on the way in (there is only one). As we arrived the owner was just opening up the reception to book in another late arriving motorcyclist on a red R1100GS. Having said our hello’s we quickly pitched the tent hoping to eat early and catch an early night. Of course this didn’t happen and we ended up spending much of the night talking to our newly made German friends, Marcos and Mathius. Mathius was the owner of the R1100GS we had spoken to briefly earlier at reception. We finally got to sleep around 1am, still in bright sunshine.

The following morning we headed back into Kirkenes and headed straight to the Tourist Information centre (which we have now become to know very well, read on)!

Kirkenes (contrary to what we heard) is a pleasant place, with modern facilities and people willing to help. Almost all speak good English. Lisa and I had expected to find something more akin to a mid-west frontier town, lawless with the air bristling with distrust and unwanted curiosity. What we found was completely the opposite.

That said, things are now getting serious and we are both more than a little apprehensive about entering Russia and leaving behind us the relative comfort, convenience and security of Europe. We know the language is going to be a major obstacle. We are determined to be as prepared as possible.

Our kit is holding up well and as far as we know all our documentation is in order. We have checked both bikes for the 20th time and after a fair amount of deliberation, decided that Lisa’s Tyres (front and back) weren’t going to make it to Moscow. Our Visa’s start on the 22nd June and we have to leave Russia no later than 22nd July. Looking for tyres would start eating into our Visa time. There is also a huge temptation to lean towards optimisms and convince ourselves in our excitement and eagerness to enter Russia, that her tyres were going to make it and that the horror stories we’d heard about Russian roads up here are exaggerated. However, in the end common sense got the better of us, and we have decided to get new rubber before we tackle Russia.

The hunt begins.

Back at the Tourist Info centre we met Jan who politely asked us (in perfect English) if we had all our papers and Visa’s in order for Russia. We confidently answered “of course”. Do you have the special Motorcycle import stamp? He asked off hand. “The What? “...er, no I don’t think we have one of those, we didn’t know we needed one, and it wasn’t mentioned by our Visa agency in London” I quickly replied. “Oh, I think you need one or else you wont get in”.

Jan’s voice had changed and he was trying to break the news gently as he could obviously see from our reactions, the first signs of doubt and panic were beginning to set in. Lisa and I were thinking alike, both thinking that after all the preparation and miles ridden, were we about to be halted as our World trip was just beginning? It was now 3:30pm and the consulate in Kirkenes was closed. We would have to wait and come back in tomorrow.

The evening passed with an unsteady tension as we could only guess what might happen the following day. Would the consulate even be able to grant us the stamp or was this something we could only get from the Russian Embassy in the UK? What would it cost? Along with a thousand other ‘what if’s’. We simply didn’t know and could only wait and hope.

The next morning we headed back down the now familiar 2Km route into Kirkenes and parked up in front of the tourist information centre to walk the 100 yards to the Russian consulate. We had triple-checked all our documents: Our earlier over-confidence was now in tatters. We brushed ourselves down in a vain attempt to try and make ourselves look respectable. A few hand brushes isn’t going to remove 4 weeks of Norwegian road grime and bad weather.

The buildings exterior is bland but very official and with a few exchanged glances and a deep breath we strode towards the consulate door, it was now 12:05pm. Locked.....the hand written note in Russian on the door said ‘closed at 12pm’. ‘Shit!...you’ve got to be kidding’. Lisa and I looked at the door again in disbelief as if staring at the door would some how open it. It didn’t move. We were quickly resigned to coming back the following day. We tried to turn this negative into a positive and told ourselves that we could use the time to get the new tyres Lisa was going to need.

We set ourselves up at the Tourist Info centre who had been accommodating and who also had on tap complimentary coffee and biscuits. Barbara strode into the Centre, the local female Harley Rider and with a few hasty introductions we were pointed in the direction of the local tyre supplier. 10 minutes later we were heading back to the tourist Info centre as no stock of Lisa’s tyre size was kept. Mmmm, OK this is going to be a little harder than we thought. The rest of the day was spent making phone calls to BMW and Continental in the UK, trying to sort out the fastest and least expensive way of getting the rubber to northern Norway. The importer in Finland managed to get hold of a set of TKC 80’s but our hopes were dashed later after a call telling us that he could not ship them to us as Norway was not part of the EU. This pretty well set the pattern for the rest day.

After a restless night we made our way into Kirkenes and again parked up in our now usual spot. The first order of the day was tackling the Russian Consulate. This time the door opened. We peered inside. No people, one barren room and a lone desk placed squarely in the centre. We edged inside like schoolchildren entering the headmaster’s office. I already wanted to confess to ...everything! We stood in front of the only glass window in the room and smiled politely at the lady behind the counter, expecting a ‘hello’. Nothing. No nod of acknowledgement, no smile, no words, just a dour and disgruntled expression. “What do you want”? She finally demanded. We explained what we thought we needed and hoped for the best. She looked us up and down with suspicion and asked if we had applied for the vehicle import stamp in the UK. “Yes”, we lied, trying not to look guilty. “Give me your passports and Visas”, she demanded. Lisa quickly asked if she wanted to see the vehicle documentation, we were told, “NO”! A large official stamp was placed on the Visa’s and a quick signature added and the passports were handed back. “Is this the stamp we need, we asked”? “YES”!!! came the reply. We made a hasty but polite retreat outside amazed it had been so simple and stunned it had cost us nothing. Hah, brilliant. We’re still waiting for the catch. With our stamp in place we could now make our way into Russia, but not before sorting out the tyre problem.

Finally at 5:30pm we had a result. Stige, the owner of the Norwegian import company (for Continental) had agreed to despatch two tyres to Kirkenes on an overnight special and because of our fund raising efforts and ‘big trip’, he confirmed he would pick up the delivery tab and that they would be delivered to a Continental dealer in the area (who turned out to be the Esso garage). To cap it off, he also agreed to supply the tyres at cost and so we only have to pay £75. Thank you Stige.

Yesterday, in between phone calls, we were also introduced top Olga. Olga is the only Russian working at PasvikTurist AS. The local travel company and her help proved vital in communicating with BMW Mottorad Moscow. Everyone we meet is still warning us about the roads so we figured it was a good idea to at least introduce ourselves to BMW Moscow before pitching up and trying to get the bikes serviced after their ordeal. Kirkenes to Moscow is 1,100 miles away, by which time the 1100GS (Tinkerbell) will also be in need of some new shoes. Olga was a star, making call after call in order to get through to the right person in order to make the appropriate introductions and gather the right information. She has also suggested that we call her 3-4 days before we arrive in Moscow so she can again contact BMW to confirm our arrival. This kind of help is priceless and naturally we wanted to thank her (and her boss for giving her the time and not charging us for all the International phone calls), so a quick visit to the nearest florist saw me returning with a pot plant (flowers are very hard to come by around here) and a card of thanks.

• Turistinformasjon Kirkenes (Tourist Info Centre)
• Jan Erling Saue
• Presteveien, Postboks 145
• N-9915 Kirkenes
• Tel: (+47) 78 99 25 44
• Fax: (+47) 78 99 60 87

• Pasvikturist AS
• Olga
• Postboks 157 – 9915
• Kirkenes
• Tel: (+47) 78 99 50 80
• Fax: (+47) 78 99 50 57
• Email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
• www.pasvikturist.no

The last few days have been frustrating as we wait for tyres. Each day we’re told, “maybe, 12pm, maybe 2pm, maybe 4pm...maybe tomorrow”. Yesterday we had some news on the tyres. Espen, one of the guys at the tourist info centre kindly called the Conti tyre importer in Norway; we were informed that Stig was now on holiday but we were given the parcel delivery number. As it turned out, the tyres hadn’t been sent express as promised but by normal post instead. At least we now know why we’re waiting. A few calls later and we’ve tracked down the tyres to a lorry in Alta about 550Km to the south. They are now due to be here Monday 30th.

Frustrated at watching our expensive Russian Visa being wasted as we wait, there was only one thing to do...spend money we don’t have and treat ourselves to a meal. Who says comfort eating can’t be medicinal?

A quick wash and tidy up and we’re off again riding into Kirkenes, our chosen venue was the horribly expensive ‘Vin & Vilt’, which is ‘Wine and Game’. The first challenge of the evening was opening the huge cast steel door which was made heavier by the fact that it was completely covered, inside and out with small trees. Yes I do mean small trees! In an attempt to make the place stand out, the walls of the entire restaurant had been covered in tree trunks cut in half length ways and then bolted to the walls, including the front door. The restaurant was empty but we were met by the owner with a smile and an offer of hangers for our embarrassingly dirty bike jackets. We were seated and offered aperitifs, shit we thought, this is going to be expensive. Oh well, too late now.

We spent the next 2-hours eating as slowly as we could, savouring every mouthful as if it were the last meal of a condemned pair. Braised tongue of reindeer to start, followed by wild boar for me and reindeer steak for Lisa. Oh God, this is good, we thought to ourselves, as taste buds dulled by weeks of pasta were once again reawakened. Our host offered wine and Lisa decided to push the boat out and enjoyed two glasses of the red stuff. Wine was not something we’d had for a while. However, at £7 a glass, a bottle was definitely more than we could afford. Besides I didn’t drink as I was riding and Norway has a ‘zero tolerance’ policy for drink driving. Even a glass could see you saying bye, bye to your license as you also watch a large chunk of currency leave your pocket for the fine. You have been warned!

Our host had defiantly taken a shine to Lisa, as he jokingly offered to scrap the bill if Lisa would join him upstairs. Lisa smiled and replied that she was too tired to make the stairs. “I will carry you”, quickly came the answer”. “I’m heavier than I look” Lisa remarked, between several darting looks at me. Our host undeterred simply replied with a very rye smile and a glint in his eye, “my dear, I’m stronger than I look”.

All offers of sexual favours declined, bill paid and belly’s full, we said our farewells to Lisa’s admirer and made our way back to our canvas home. We had promised one another that we weren’t going to eat, drink or ride for the next few days to make up for the budget we lost in this single, but wonderful evening.

The following day we received some great news from Lisa's father who’d a found a cheque made out to me a year earlier in one of the pockets of a jacket now being stored. I’d obviously forgotten about it. Alan had kindly called the issuer and a new cheque had been written and deposited in our account. The cheque was only pennies under the bill amount from Vin & Vilt. All the guilt we were feeling for our outrageous extravagance was quickly replaced with smiles of relief – talk about serendipity!

Monday arrived slowly and at 12pm so did Lisa’s tyres. We stripped both wheels off her bike and found a local garage to put on the new rubber. After a little pleading we were only charged £19 to change both tyres and we were once again ready to make a move. Unfortunately, Russia was going to have to wait, it was now 3pm and with lengthy delays expected at the border we were going to have to leave our departure until the following day in order to get to Murmansk the same evening.

Wondering around Kirkenes that evening we bumped into Jan from the tourist info centre who offered to help us while away our last few hours in Norway with a proper tour of Kirkenes. At 7pm Jan pitched up grinning in his shiny 4X4. After almost 2 months on the bikes a car was a novel experience. First port of call was ‘The Norwegian Grand Canyon’ in reality the local mine. The mine – Sydvaranger – opened in 1906 and iron ore and gangue were taken out up until 1996. The mine was an open cask pit and is absolutely bloody huge and is 10 k long!! To give you and idea as to how much earth has been removed in order to reach the ore, here’s an example: enough iron ore and gangue were taken out to build a highway 10 metres wide and 6 metres high from Kirkenes to Oslo which is 2500 km! What was removed in this 90-year period was 488 million tons of rock!! It truly deserves its commercial name as the Grand Canyon of Norway. Jan was a mine of information (sorry, no pun intended) and we began to get a better understanding of the place we had been living in for a week. Kirkenes lies at 30 north and 30 east and is as far east as Istanbul and Cairo and just as far north as Point Barrow in Alaska. Temperatures can drop as low as -52 c in Feb.

Despite this bitter cold we both agreed that to come back when the area has had snowfall would be beautiful. As the evening went on we learnt more about the area and the Sor-varanger municipality....and we were also learning more about Jan, who had become a friend and whose help and patience had proved invaluable over the last week. Only a few days after we were due to leave Jan, at 21 years of age, was going to be made the youngest ever Managing Director of Tourism for the municipality – a fact he proudly mentioned on a couple of occasions. We finished our evening with a couple of burgers washed down with a local cold beer.

Back at the campsite we said our farewells and began to pack up ready to leave the following morning – it really was a lovely way to spend the last few hours of our Scandinavian trip.

Our day started early for a change – our alarm went off at 6:30. Russia here we come!

Lisa and I packed up at a steady pace without too much conversation. Russia, for us, is an unknown quantity and the Russian leg of our trip is going to be our first real test – not only for our bikes and our riding ability, but also for Lisa and I personally trying to make ourselves understood and survive in a country that linguistically and socially is so alien to us. Individually we both realised this and were both dealing with the mixture of excitement anticipation and nerves of what may lie ahead.

We arrived at the Norwegian-Russian border at 8:00 after squeezing as much fuel into our bikes as we could manage. At the Norwegian border our passports and documents were cleared for our exit – 50 metres on Lisa and I crossed the Russian border riding our bikes side by side. Ahead of us was a single red van and as we rolled up and parked behind we noticed we were surrounded by cameras and razor wire. A very stern young lady in full military dress checked our bikes and then promptly disappeared. Several minutes later we realised that we were going to be sat here for quite a long time – so turned our bikes off and made ourselves as comfortable as we could. An hour later our stern young lady returned and we were issued two small passes to enter the visa/passport compound area.

We parked the bikes behind the van again and made our way into the very modern but austere building. Our passports were checked initially at the first glass cubicle where we then passed through to a low desk where another very young but serious stern man checked paperwork of those wishing to enter with the determination and concentration of somebody who believed that the continuation of the Russian way of life depended on it! It was now our turn and the request for our paperwork came in Russian –Lisa quickly – and with the best smile she could muster – handed over all the paperwork we could find. We then waited.

As the minutes passed our concern grew as several other colleagues were called over to look at our paperwork. Finally in stilted English the female senior administrator said to us “ This is no good!” as she thrust the vehicle registration document towards us.

Anybody wishing to ride into Russia as part of a bigger trip may need to take heed of the following: when you leave the UK for more than a year with a vehicle that is registered with the DVLA in the UK– you are legally obliged to inform them that the vehicle is being exported i.e. It will be out of the country for a year of more and the DVLA will then no longer demand that vehicle tax be paid in the UK until you re-register once back in the UK. During my conversations with the DVLA in the UK I had mentioned many times that we were not importing into any one country permanently – however – each time the answer was the same: ”you are exporting and therefore can not use a SORN”

OK – so I had hoped they knew what they were talking about! Note-we were told that ” it is illegal for you to declare a SORN for this period of time”! However, when informing the DVLA of this you also have to return the V5 registration document, which you obviously need when travelling out of the country!? The DVLA do send you another Registration document but it is nothing like the original V5 and looks completely unofficial and it is THIS document that the Russians didn’t like.

It took quite some convincing that this was in fact the legitimate document and was only accepted in tandem with our UK driving licences, passports, Russian visa’s, vehicle permit stamp, that we had just obtained from the consulate in Kirkenes, our IDP’s and our insurance documents. Thank God we’d been prepared!!

Whilst waiting to get our paperwork approved we’d been filling out the appropriate Russian customs declaration form. This is where you have to list every item of value you are taking in to Russia. We’d been warned about the importance of this document, as any items not listed cannot be taken out when you exit the country. To my great concern the official looked at these carefully completed forms and screwed them up and threw them away! However, we did get the most important document of all, which is the official stamped customs entry certificate, which must not be lost under ANY circumstances!!

With a wave of his hand we were dismissed – and unsure as to whether we were being dismissed from the building or simply to another part of the process – we gingerly went outside towards our bikes expecting to be stopped and arrested at any given point!! Around our bikes were now two uniformed and armed guards both intent upon taking a closer look. With their intentions clear we were asked to open all our cases – panniers, bags...everything (aaggh) we were going to be here a while longer! At last with the inspection complete we rode onto the last barrier – our bikes were once again checked and the small piece of paper given upon entry to the compound was now re-checked and returned to us.

The barrier raised – ‘bloody hell’ we thought – they’ve let us in!!

The initial 5 km out of the compound was a poorly tarmacked road surface. We were then faced with our first bit of rough track – several kilometres of the road were being rebuilt and whilst the work is being carried out all that is left is very, very loose sand and rock.

I rode on ahead of Lisa trying to remember all I’d been taught at the BMW off-Road Course. The GS squirmed unhappily beneath me with the front and back tyre having no chance of any real purchase. Only controlled ‘blips’ of the throttle were keeping the GS upright. I tried to stay relaxed on the bike; painfully aware that Lisa was looking at my body language to determine the difficulty of the ride ahead, while she tackled the track I’d just ridden. 4-5Km in, and I watched Lisa in my mirror hit the dirt hard as her front tyre dove into a large pocket of dust and sand, throwing the bike out from underneath her.

Two oncoming lorries stopped as their route was now blocked. Before I was able to get back to Lisa, a young Russian road worker had enthusiastically come to her aid and practically given himself a hernia as he tried to right her heavy machine whilst trying to look as masculine and nonchalant as possible. On the 4th attempt and just prior to his head exploding with all of the effort he succeeded. With thanked him profusely and started up Lisa’s bike and rode on to the next piece of tarmac.

This road, although surfaced, was incredibly bumpy with large potholes thrown in for good measure. That said we didn’t find them as bad as we’d been led to believe, then again perhaps we just have an active imaginations. As we rode on, easily seen on either side of us were the foreboding wooden military towers where armed guards would have patrolled this stretch of no mans land. The high razor wire fences left and right kept us on the straight. The fence now is unkempt and man size holes can be seen here and there and the tall wooden towers are now unmanned and have been so for several years now. All the same, the feeling of being closely watched was never too far away.

In the distance we could see a small roadside hut and a closed red and white striped barrier halting our progress. We were brought to a stop by two armed military guards and for the first time since leaving the border compound we felt a little out of our depth. Time to bring out our best cheesy smile, you know, the one that is meant to read, “...hi, we’re tourists, please don’t shoot us or ask us for money”. Eventually we worked out that these two ‘boys’ (they can’t have been more than 19) wanted us to produce the scrappy bit of paper we’d been issued at the compound. We quickly handed it over and maintained our grins. As the minutes passed the tension lessened as the boys tried hard to maintain their serious pose in spite of their obvious excitement over the bikes.

45 minutes into our ride into Russia, the lush green of Scandinavia gradually began to disappear as we approached the town of Nikel. If a movie director out there wants to shoot a film about an apocalyptic world, including landscapes savaged by man, then Nikel is set up and just waiting for the cameras to roll.

Somehow I don’t think though, that's the kind of PR the Russian government is going to be too keen on. Nikel was described by our ‘Lonely Planet’ Russian guidebook as, “...hell on earth”. They’re not far wrong. Fumes from the factory stung our nostrils and eyes as the wind changed direction and we rode closer. No wild thing lives here. No animals on the ground and, rather spookily, there was not a single bird in the sky. The land is dead for 50Km in all direction. Burnt tree stumps and scorched earth remaining where a rich forest had grown for maybe thousands of years. If you think I’m laying on the literary clichés a bit thick, then you’re right, but more than any place we’ve travelled to before, Nickel deserves all of them. That said, nothing could really prepare you Nikel.

Nikel was founded in the 1930’s when the Finns discovered rich deposits of Nickel. Over the years, strip-mining operations tore up the landscape and enormous amounts of Sulphur Dioxide poured into the environment in all directions killing off everything. Around Nikel are small dirty water pools; we watched in horror and disbelief and locals enthusiastically threw themselves into the cool water, on what was fast becoming a very hot day. Swimming in these horrendously contaminated water holes is beyond our comprehension, but then again, we’re lucky I guess as we’re not the ones who have to live here.

Lisa and I increased our speed in an attempt to distance ourselves from Nikel. The lingering fumes thrown up into our helmets was making us both feel nauseous. As Nikel faded into the background so did the smell and slowly but surely mother nature was making a comeback with the landscape turning from bomb blast brown to a healthy green. For a little while the road got better and we felt able to fill our lungs properly.

An hour further on and a familiar smell once again burnt our nostrils as we passed the Nickel mining town of Zapolyarnye, proud owner of the Worlds deepest hole, which extends 12Km beneath the surface. We didn’t stop to look, as the need to gag was once again predominant. The day was getting hotter still and we still had some way to go to reach Murmansk, where we still had to find somewhere to stay that would be secure for the bikes.

At around 6pm we reached the outskirts of Murmansk. Our brilliant timing fitted in perfectly with ‘rush hour’. A few wrong turns later we finally found the hotel we’d been recommended. Hotel Polyarnye Zory is plush by Russian standards but importantly offers armed security at a price for its guest. The room set us back only £40 per night – and although this was quite a large chuck of our budget, we were ‘happy’ to pay this for peace of mind and the safety aspect for the bikes – this cost and the amount for our bikes was insignificant when compared to our peace of mind.

We couldn’t wait to have a cool shower and collapse – it had been a hard day, not only riding but mentally as well in having to deal with all the paperwork and men with guns- something we have yet to get used to.

We left the hotel late in the morning as we definitely needed a bit of a lie in and, instead of leaving Murmansk straight away, we decided to do some sightseeing.

We headed for the largest monument we (and everyone else in Murmansk) could see, of the unnamed Russian hero soldier. After clambering up to have our pictures taken and taking in the view over Murmansk we tried to find our way out – easier said than done as this city, like most others, has a cunning ‘hotel California’ road system, which means you can come in but you can never leave! Eventually after having to rely solely on the GPS we got out of Murmansk. The road out was extremely long and straight and before long the now familiar potholes had returned to slow our progress further.

It wasn’t long before we had to stop for our first Russian petrol and backside break! After filling up and now with very heavy bikes, we hit the worst stretch of road that I have ever had the ‘pleasure’ in riding. Ahead of us was nothing but large rocks and sand. The Russians strip their roads down to the hard core and don’t bother with contra flows or anything! I approached the rocks first and with horror felt my bike squirm all over the place – it felt alive and that I had absolutely NO control whatsoever! Everything was shaking and rattling – including my teeth – and within the first 10 feet I thought that I was a ‘gonner’. Every time I felt the bike go I increased my speed and it pulled straight again just to loose traction all over again – I screeched, swore did heavy breathing and tried to relax and not grip the handlebars so tightly. I heard not a word from Simon as I was making too much noise for him to be able to get a word in edgeways via the Autocom (or so I thought!) Hurray!! A smooth bit, it’s all over..........Oh NO! Its not I can see it stretching ahead for miles and miles...oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

Exhausted we stopped on the side and took a breather. It was at this point that I found out that Simon wasn’t being ultra cool and not swearing and deep breathing but that in fact our Autocom had come unplugged and he had thought that I was being ultra cool by being silent and concentrating!! Plugged back in we started again, thinking it could not get any worse...we were wrong of course! Another 10 km with lorries coming towards us and kicking up such a wall of grey stone dust that now, we were not only slipping and sliding with no control, we were also riding blind with lorries heading straight towards us – we could hear them but not see anything! It went through my mind – one slip we could land in front of them and they could run over us and not even know it! Concentration was intense and after 15km of this we were both exhausted – but I was terribly impressed (and relieved) that neither of us had had a mishap!!

Passing by Monchegorsk and Polyarnye Zory was another period of hell....this is not an exaggeration....you just cannot believe the amount of pollution in the air.- the sheer stench. The now usual acrid smell of sulphur hit our noses and backs of our throats. The land is damaged forever – it is never going to recover as it is poisoned- there are acres upon acres of deadness – the trees, rivers, lakes – all are dead. There are no birds – one thing that caught my mind as very appropriate was the telegraph poles, all were simple crosses – line upon line of crosses that look like they’d been planted deliberately by someone asking forgiveness.

We stopped for a small break at what should have been a roadside café with a view of a beautiful lake – instead the view was of a dead lake – a lake with grey, green, and purple hue to it. Until this time I’d never known that a lake could look alive or dead – this one had been eaten alive a long time ago and was now decomposing.

After many, many more miles had passed we gradually began to see life again in the tress around us and the birds returned – and so did the mosquitoes ...in their hundreds! We had thought about wild camping tonight but each time we stopped we were covered by millions of mosquitoes within seconds and so changed our minds. Simon seems to be the favourite on the menu for the mozzies- I think they see ‘tough old meat’ when they look at my skin and so pass me up!

In my wisdom I had decided we should head towards Kem – well actually in my defence there was nothing else to head towards! It was now getting quite late and Simon and I were getting a little concerned that there would be nowhere to safely stay. We approached Kem, which is described in the Lonely Planets book as ‘one of European Russian’s most depressing towns’ and had this feeling of dread...there will be nowhere safe here! We passed by a deserted concentration camp, which was set up during WWII and passed the many grey and dilapidated wooden houses, eventually stopping just off the centre of the town and decided to do a u-turn and continue riding. ...But to where? In the middle of turning Simon was approached by a maroon sports car and I could only make out a lot of waving of hands and a hotel mentioned. We had just been given directions to a hotel on the coast another 8Km on...do we go? We were nervous. The road doesn’t look like it goes anywhere.... it could be someone sending us out to the middle of nowhere in order to meet up with his buddies and mug us...all of these things run through your mind!

We arrived at the complex at near enough midnight.... and once again met the guy that had given Simon directions and found out that this was his complex. We checked in and were told that the $40 included breakfast and that they had no problem cooking us dinner! We gingerly went into the café area and a very cheery girl asked us if salad and meat was good. As it was now 1am this sounded great, but did they really want to do this at this time in the morning! ? We were told “no problem – sit”. The meal was fit for a king and all for a total of $7.

With stomachs full we headed for bed. The room was clean and comfortable and we sure the bikes were safe, guarded by 3 ‘bouncers’ who continuously walked the grounds and each wearing there tattoos and black eyes like badges of honour.