On the eve of our final attempt to placate the Russian officials we felt excited and dubious, all in the same breath. It was to be make or break. A word of warning sent to Konrad complicated the issue, was my passport stamped as having a bike in my possession, would it create a problem to leave the country without it. And sure enough there it was, an inoffensive, barely noticeable, stamp with 'MOTO' scrawled on the dotted line. Shit, we'd supposedly covered all bases! Already stating categorically that monday was the final day of reckoning, I nearly gave up hope. But no, my comrade was persistent, we can do this he insisted, we've done so much already. I had to agree, mainly due to the fact I refuse to be beat by petty minded officials. So despite drinking a hearty goodbye on sunday night to our Japanese friend Tack, who shares our Ger, an early start was planned. Bugger me if we didn't manage to get away by 9.30 am, but it was due to be a long drawn out process. The powers that be enjoy making life as difficult as possible, well at least the Russians do, boy are they arrogant in the extreme, at least the embassy staff. (Photo: Re-installing the front wheel - Gana's Guesthouse, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
The process had been dictated by the visa clerk last Monday, we must obtain a stamp from the Notary at the Mongolian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, then another from the Notary of the Russian Embassy, and then Konrad could make his application for a transit visa, giving him only ten days to cross Russia. Fair enough, it isn't a long time, but I made it in 14 days, and took three days rest on the way. He's 17 years younger than me, and German to boot, so he should manage this with ease; he's riding a BMW for god's sake! Anyway, we arrive at the Ministry before ten o'clock to be first in line, only to find we're fourth in line. However, the Mongolian officials actually try to be helpful, rather than making us wait until the afternoon they'd make an exception, we only had to wait 30 minutes, in the mean time we could make the appropriate payment at the Bank opposite. Or we could have done if the cashier had not insisted we go to a different bank, which one we needed was unclear. From her flippant gesture I assumed it was very close, though there was no sign. It turned out it was the right bank, though why she had said it wasn't possible is a mystery. On our return another cashier took the payment without any problem at all. Let's face it, we were the problem, our inability to communicate effectively in Mongolian. I can only assume the teller failed to understand our request so dismissed us out of hand. (Photo: Like long lost friends - Gana's Guesthouse, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
News from Foreign Affairs wasn't good regarding my exit without the bike, it's illegal was repeated again and again. However insistent the response was the same, but they did give me a phone number, who for I had no idea. The immediate need was to procure the stamp of the Russian embassy notary, having the stamp from the Mongolians made this quick and easy to get as well; things were definitely looking better, but I was still worried about exiting the country. Phoning the mystery number got us an invitation to visit their office, but not who they were, I had to get a waitress to write down the address. It turned out to be the Border control office, at which point I felt hope for the first time. Time was getting tight, Konrad had to hand in his application for a visa into the Russian embassy at 2 pm, we had to get to the Border Control office before three. It didn't help when a different clerk sat behind the visa desk, and he wanted to make us sweat. In short he was a complete arse, a little person with enough power to make our life difficult. I don't understand it, why do they put this type of person in such positions? I hate to say it, but it's probably because the Russian government want to make life hard for visitors. Considering the behaviour of American and British Immigration officials, it isn't really a unique situation is it? Time was running out fast, city traffic was gridlocked and we had to reach the other side of the city. (Photo: Raring to go - Konrade, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
We done it by the skin of our teeth, and it was worth the effort. "This is no problem," they informed us, " we will enter this on the computer". But of course there was still customs to consider! Shit, would it never end? Another dash, back across the city, another office, more officials. Yet again the Mongolian officials made it all plain sailing. Once establishing that the bike would leave the country two days before me, there wasn't a problem. A clearance officer gave us her phone number, once Konrad clears customs at the border with Russia she'll clear the bike from the computer leaving me free to leave the country at the Chinese border. And it was as simple as that, we achieved more through various Mongolian offices in one day than we had done in ten days with the Russian embassy. Every one was understanding, helpful and willing to ease our path through the bureaucracy. We were jubilant, high fiving each other and laughing all the way to the pub. We'd done it, we'd arranged everything for Konrad to ride my bike back to Europe. I'd pick it up whenever returning home, probably flying to Germany and riding home from there. (Photo: Konrad on his first ride - Gana's Guesthouse, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
But if I thought that was it I was sorely mistaken! Watching Konrad packing his stuff into my luggage proved hard to watch, reassurances that he'd take care with my stuff, didn't improve my subdued mood. I found it hard to, kept wandering what the hell am I doing, doubting the wisdom of the arrangement. Not for one minute was it a lack of trust, I've every confidence the bike will be ridden to Germany and will be there waiting for me when I want it again. I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I feel weird about it, it's made me withdraw into myself, and it shows. I don't want to lessen his excitement, but there's little I can do. We've had a great couple of weeks since we met and I don't want to throw a downer on it, not at this late stage. The decision has been made, the hard work done, I'm just on a general downer. (Photo: Getting his first tattoo - Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
On the eve of our final attempt to placate the Russian officials we felt excited and dubious, all in the same breath. It was to be make or break. A word of warning sent to Konrad complicated the issue, was my passport stamped as having a bike in my possession, would it create a problem to leave the country without it. And sure enough there it was, an inoffensive, barely noticeable, stamp with 'MOTO' scrawled on the dotted line. Shit, we'd supposedly covered all bases! Already stating categorically that monday was the final day of reckoning, I nearly gave up hope. But no, my comrade was persistent, we can do this he insisted, we've done so much already. I had to agree, mainly due to the fact I refuse to be beat by petty minded officials. So despite drinking a hearty goodbye on sunday night to our Japanese friend Tack, who shares our Ger, an early start was planned. Bugger me if we didn't manage to get away by 9.30 am, but it was due to be a long drawn out process. The powers that be enjoy making life as difficult as possible, well at least the Russians do, boy are they arrogant in the extreme, at least the embassy staff. (Photo: Re-installing the front wheel - Gana's Guesthouse, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
The process had been dictated by the visa clerk last Monday, we must obtain a stamp from the Notary at the Mongolian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, then another from the Notary of the Russian Embassy, and then Konrad could make his application for a transit visa, giving him only ten days to cross Russia. Fair enough, it isn't a long time, but I made it in 14 days, and took three days rest on the way. He's 17 years younger than me, and German to boot, so he should manage this with ease; he's riding a BMW for god's sake! Anyway, we arrive at the Ministry before ten o'clock to be first in line, only to find we're fourth in line. However, the Mongolian officials actually try to be helpful, rather than making us wait until the afternoon they'd make an exception, we only had to wait 30 minutes, in the mean time we could make the appropriate payment at the Bank opposite. Or we could have done if the cashier had not insisted we go to a different bank, which one we needed was unclear. From her flippant gesture I assumed it was very close, though there was no sign. It turned out it was the right bank, though why she had said it wasn't possible is a mystery. On our return another cashier took the payment without any problem at all. Let's face it, we were the problem, our inability to communicate effectively in Mongolian. I can only assume the teller failed to understand our request so dismissed us out of hand. (Photo: Like long lost friends - Gana's Guesthouse, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
News from Foreign Affairs wasn't good regarding my exit without the bike, it's illegal was repeated again and again. However insistent the response was the same, but they did give me a phone number, who for I had no idea. The immediate need was to procure the stamp of the Russian embassy notary, having the stamp from the Mongolians made this quick and easy to get as well; things were definitely looking better, but I was still worried about exiting the country. Phoning the mystery number got us an invitation to visit their office, but not who they were, I had to get a waitress to write down the address. It turned out to be the Border control office, at which point I felt hope for the first time. Time was getting tight, Konrad had to hand in his application for a visa into the Russian embassy at 2 pm, we had to get to the Border Control office before three. It didn't help when a different clerk sat behind the visa desk, and he wanted to make us sweat. In short he was a complete arse, a little person with enough power to make our life difficult. I don't understand it, why do they put this type of person in such positions? I hate to say it, but it's probably because the Russian government want to make life hard for visitors. Considering the behaviour of American and British Immigration officials, it isn't really a unique situation is it? Time was running out fast, city traffic was gridlocked and we had to reach the other side of the city. (Photo: Raring to go - Konrade, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
We done it by the skin of our teeth, and it was worth the effort. "This is no problem," they informed us, " we will enter this on the computer". But of course there was still customs to consider! Shit, would it never end? Another dash, back across the city, another office, more officials. Yet again the Mongolian officials made it all plain sailing. Once establishing that the bike would leave the country two days before me, there wasn't a problem. A clearance officer gave us her phone number, once Konrad clears customs at the border with Russia she'll clear the bike from the computer leaving me free to leave the country at the Chinese border. And it was as simple as that, we achieved more through various Mongolian offices in one day than we had done in ten days with the Russian embassy. Every one was understanding, helpful and willing to ease our path through the bureaucracy. We were jubilant, high fiving each other and laughing all the way to the pub. We'd done it, we'd arranged everything for Konrad to ride my bike back to Europe. I'd pick it up whenever returning home, probably flying to Germany and riding home from there. (Photo: Konrad on his first ride - Gana's Guesthouse, Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
But if I thought that was it I was sorely mistaken! Watching Konrad packing his stuff into my luggage proved hard to watch, reassurances that he'd take care with my stuff, didn't improve my subdued mood. I found it hard to, kept wandering what the hell am I doing, doubting the wisdom of the arrangement. Not for one minute was it a lack of trust, I've every confidence the bike will be ridden to Germany and will be there waiting for me when I want it again. I can't put my finger on it exactly, but I feel weird about it, it's made me withdraw into myself, and it shows. I don't want to lessen his excitement, but there's little I can do. We've had a great couple of weeks since we met and I don't want to throw a downer on it, not at this late stage. The decision has been made, the hard work done, I'm just on a general downer. (Photo: Getting his first tattoo - Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia)
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