My other team mate misjudged his speed slightly and, essentially, ran his friend down with the car. In his defense, Matt, was equally stupid, as despite shouting quite clearly ‘uh, this is going to hurt’ he decided that instead of jumping out of the way, he would continue and try to clear it. He jumped too late, caught his knee on a spotlight and rolled gazelle like into the windscreen. Shaun stopped.

To this day it amazes me how something so simple could go so seriously wrong, so quickly. Thankfully the only damage was a nasty cut to Matt’s knee (patched up), a smashed windscreen (duct taped to help the laminate hold) and a feeling of immense stupidity for everyone involved. It could have been a lot worse. The Tigers laughed their heads off. And yes, it’s all on video (feature film coming soon). ☺

With the windscreen (and Matt) repaired, we arrived at a very wide river with the Volvo Ambulance of the Kiwi Vikings on the opposite bank; the kind of river you drive over a bridge for, really. A local guy was guiding people across. I kept it it in second at a steady 20MPH or so, making sure the bow wave stayed below the grille and didn’t stop. Once safely on the other side, I had a chat with the Kiwis.

‘How’s it going guys?’
‘Ahhh, game over mate, we’re totally f***ed!’

He’s a Kiwi though so even delivering this news he seemed incredibly pleased. They showed me a video of his co driver (now out looking for a truck) who had taken the river a bit quick, created a massive bow wave that went to windscreen height and flooded the engine. Then he tried to restart it. The Ambulance was 2 tonnes of dead weight, such a shame. It made it to UB on a truck though!

We said goodbye and headed east, as we had done for some weeks now. With us were two Suzuki Swifts and a Suzuki Vitara from the river crossing, and ahead of us six or seven serpent like sandy trails heading over the hill into the horizon. It’s pretty mad to see – imagine a seven-lane highway of sand, where the lanes aren’t straight and cross over, regularly. Unfortunately pictures were impossible due to the speed and the bumps, but all five cars, taking individual lanes, pretty much ‘raced’ each other that day.

With nobody around, we hit 50-60 quite comfortable, bouncing along those tracks playing an infinite game of catch up – the ‘lead’ was determined by which path you took, and sometimes cars could be 200-300ft apart, side by side. SO much fun. Since it’s service our car was running like a rocket ship, and after so long with a rubbish car, that day, on that track, it felt like a WRX. Honestly.

We drove quite late that night and stopped to camp about 400KM short of Ulaan Baatar. The Tigers decided to push on, as the ‘tarmac’ supposedly started soon. Another cold night, which was in fact to be our last on the road, and we woke up to find our battery entirely flat with no chance of starting it. Shaun and I ran about a kilometer to a Ger on the hill, where we could see a pickup truck, with our jump leads. A wife and children were there, but unfortunately not her husband, and she could not drive. As we sauntered back to our car, a beautiful site – a very loud Felicia in CAT colours coming over the hill with a massive Australian flag flying on it’s roof. Rallyiers! Shaun and I started sprinting.

When we got to our car the Ozzies helped jump her and we exchanged stories. These guys were awesome. Starting out as a five car convoy, they were down to two. One of them was in Khovd, the Felicia we had tried to rebuild – what a coincidence! Since losing three cars, they had piled 5 into this one and 6 into a Hijet van which was somewhere behind them. They had also been a 2 car / 3 motorbike team (the latter purchased on the road) but these had also died and been thrown away! Best of all…they had been in Mongolia 11 days due to some poor navigation…450 miles the wrong way. They had been 70 miles from the Chinese border before it occurred to them they needed to turn around. That Felicica did 900 miles more than any other car on the rally. Legends.

We convoyed together from here with just 400KM to go. Tarmac appeared, but as is the way on this side of the planet, they were building the whole thing at once. So every now and then there would be a huge dirt pile across the whole road, forcing you back onto the old sandy tracks either side. We were just 50KM out when our roof rack decided enough was enough. We had been tightening it up hourly all morning, but after one particularly heavy brake to avoid a ditch, the whole lot slid off the roof, bounced off our bonnet and landed in front of the car.

We stopped and all looked at each other. She’s gotta go. We took what we needed from it and left that roof rack by the roadside, but I am certain someone will have had it within ten minutes! Our car felt so naked without it, but needs must….

It was on the afternoon of August 15th 2009 that The Unprofessionals rolled into Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia…and got promptly lost. Ulaan Baatar is…interesting. Apart from Sukhbaatar Square, which is fairly imposing, UB (as foreigners tend to know it) features plenty of soviet era buildings, open ditches and insane driving. Sadly the Russians demolished most of the history, including anything resembling a temple, so not much remains that isn’t grey or square. Lot’s being built though, as is the case with many of the places we have been. However it was home to the finish line, a beautiful sight!

W332RPC did us proud; nearly 9000 miles across Europe and Asia, never failing us no matter what we threw out it. As mad as it sounds, I will really, really miss that Accent. We signed the car over to the local organizers, where it would benefit the Christina Noble Childrens Foundation along with the money we raised along the way. Mongol Rally cars are fixed up and either donated to the charity for aid purposes or auctioned off, in which case they receive the proceeds. With the volume of Accents in Ulaan Baatar I like to think ours was definitely fixed and is now living a new life. So how to celebrate this epic journey? By shooting at stuff of course ☺

I still can’t quite believe it’s all over; a year of organizing, five weeks of unbelievable experiences and a lifetime of fond memories. To anyone considering it, I’d do it again tomorrow – well, maybe in a few weeks as I could do with a nap…

At the time I was driving and barely even noticed at first – the surface is so violent and so noisy, I simply thought the road had just got even rougher. Then, out of the corner of my eye I noticed the rear bumper (ripped off by the flailing rubber) flapping about wildly in my rear view mirror and decided that something might me amiss.

Tyre replaced, we set up camp about 100KM from Altai and moved out the next morning - along the wrong road. Usually it didn’t matter if you take the left, un-signposted form or the right, un-signposted fork – they will come out together in the end. I guess this one did too, but it took 45KM to do so. In the mean time we were on a much less traveled route, only about the width of the car through the barren step, and it just felt wrong. We were still heading for the gap between two mountains a long way off in the distance, so hopefully it would work out….

This road got very rough, and morals dipped. Every now and then we would have to cross a ditch, usually at diagonals to keep ground clearance to a maximum. Our car was starting to run like crap; the Turkish exhaust welds had come apart so it was loud again, but we had a bigger problem. The check engine light would flash constantly and she would misfire, not wanting to go above 30MPH. Then it would sort itself, the light would stop flashing and we could power up to 50MPH, before it would die again. We assumed we must have bought bad fuel (the stuff we were running was a lot more yellow than it should be) or something more serious.

To make matters worse, our roof rack was starting to give up; 8000 miles had taken its toll on our roof, the weight of the rack crushing in the sides so that the feet of our THULE bars had no where to properly sit. They were spreading slightly and in effect, only the middle clamps were holding it to the car. Brake hard, and the whole lot slid forward, requiring us to get out and tighten it all up. The Siberian Tigers also had problems; a leaking gearbox and a ripped coolant line that kept requiring a patch up - every time we crossed a rough rut or dip, the repair would tear off. For the first time we worried we might not make it. We needed to get to Altai, and soon.

When we caught site of the major ‘road’ again (basically just a wider, more destroyed version of what we were on already) there was a noticeable sense of relief in the car. It was still running like garbage but help was near. We weren’t the only ones suffering…every 20KM or so we would find a rally team by the road side. A Danish team with a Mazda Demio had snapped an axle; a Fiesta with snapped rear springs; a Spanish Clio with a front wing missing two flats. These roads were starting to trash the cars, at least ours was still moving.

Altai appeared on the horizon around 4pm, and we discovered some industrious local garage owner had put up signs - ‘Mongol Rally Servis’. That’ll do me. Once there (along with a few more rally cars nursing wounds) we pointed at the EML and tried to gesture ‘rough running’…fingers crossed, we went to get something to eat.

Its worth mentioning at this point that you will NEVER be dirtier than you are after a week in Mongolia working on cars with no shower. Everything in or on the car is caked in dust or grime too, so after a wash with wet wipes you are instantly dirty again. Thus when we sat down for some ‘Buuz’ (steamed dumpling parcels filled with mystery meat, but pretty amazing) we looked like this.

After food, we found our mechanic. He ushered me around to the engine bay, unplugged what I would call the MAF - it was a sensor on the air box, so I assume that’s what it was - and got us to turn her over. It idled and revved perfectly. With a gesture of his spanner he shouted ‘Kaput’ at the sensor and said to leave it unplugged. He had also welded a bit of steel on where our sump guard had been and charged us $40. I was a very, very happy chappy. I got a puncture repair for a little over a dollar on our remaining spare and The Unprofessionals were back on track!

After setting up camp some way out of Altai and good nights sleep, we hit the road once again. More wide gravel tracks, more nothingness… time for some larking about perhaps?

We started with a drag race between the Skoda and the Accent (we killed them) and filmed a few clips of the car doing donuts, us playing golf in the steppe etc. Then…a final video which would proof one too many…

Next - Destination: Ulaan Baatar…

We reached the Mongolian border and were through in about an hour, only to be sent into the ‘holding pen’, a fenced courtyard already containing about 20 rally cars. It seems some admin issues meant most cars were waiting 24hrs minimum to get the vital customs import form.

There was quite a party atmosphere and a few old faces; the great Balls of Fur fire engine had made it, though the back end had been entirely cut off due to weight issues. Our twin Hyundai was there, as were the Gentlemen of Fortune. They had all been there a day and had basically built a refugee camp, so we settled in for the long haul. We exchanged stories on other teams and discovered the Rolling Cones and the pink ice cream truck had sold it in Tajikistan - the plastic (?) radiator blew and could not be replaced locally. Other teams had had accidents (many cases of falling asleep at the wheel) but thankfully major injuries were low. Still an eye opener though.

A few beers later, tents up and thoroughly relaxed, we suddenly got the call – we could go! Only 7 hours stay for us in the end. Entering Mongolia feels like you have just been transported to the moon. There is nothing as far as the eye can see, and the ‘road’ is a wide, gravel track, meandering off into the distance, often splitting in different directions with no indication of which goes where. There are no trees whatsoever, just rolling hills and the largest deep blue sky I’ve ever seen. It was 4pm or so and for the first time we realised just how little in the way of landmarks we would have here. There was nothing! All you can do is follow the tracks, which are so rough it feels like you are shaking the very bowels of the car to pieces. Can we do 1500KM on this? We’ll find out.

Driving in Mongolia is by far the most fun country of all. There is nobody for hundreds of miles – or at least it feels that way – so car surfing time kicks in. It’s actually quite cold this time of day but the feeling of riding on the roof in convoy is pretty immense. Heading in roughly the right direction (following the power lines, which must go somewhere) us, the Siberian Tigers (white Felicia) and the Kiwi Vikings (Volvo Ambulance) headed for Olgi the first major town. Gravel gave way to rutted sand and back again, and the challenge became keeping the car so it straddled the gap over a truck rut, but you can keep up a surprising turn of speed. 30-40MPH was doable. We also realised when tracks split, usually it’s to get around a big hill and they meet up on the other side.

After 3 hours or so we suddenly hit brand new, perfect tarmac. Have we been conned? What’s this?! Apart from wild horses and the odd cow in the road, we could be driving in Germany….the road took us to Olgi where it did deteriorate again, but it as a sign of changes in Mongolia – they are building a proper road across the breadth of the country, and one day, there will be no Mongol Rally.

Olgi was pitch dark, apparently the Russians had cut the power and there was very little light, but we managed to find fuel and hit the road once again. We were aiming to camp by a nearby lake, but driving on gravel tracks in pitch darkness with no reference points becomes impossible, and we decided to camp just off the road. It’s so dark, you can see nothing – we drove 100ft from the road at 90 degrees to make sure we could find it again tomorrow, and set up camp. It was very, very cold and very windy!

The next morning we awoke to see where we were and it’s a bit of a shock to the system – in the dark it somehow felt nothing like the huge open rolling hills we were now camped on. The Skoda boys had tried to drive a bit further north of our spot and cursed their car for lack of power when it could not climb a slope, but that morning we could see why – two faint tyre tracks where they had tried to climb a mountain slope of about 70 degrees!

We set off at about 30MPH on very rough gravel tracks, and within about 10 kilometres had our first puncture. We had two spares, would this be enough? Before long we were at our first river crossing which went pretty smoothly. The second one…didn’t. It looked deep but ok, the problem we had decided was the boggy sand under the surface. We spent 20 minutes trying to decide what to do, and I thought there might be another route. Rule 5 of the Mongol Rally: Locals cross in certain places for a reason.

I ventured off around the river on my own while the others tried to build a crossing for the Skoda in an attempt to find another way across. It was going well for a while….but soon it turned to soft mud and long grass. Uhho. I crossed a creek and thought I was on the other side, only to see I had just managed to put the car in the middle of about 15 other creeks. Not good, so I turned back, and immediately got stuck trying to drive back up the other side of the creek I just crossed. Rule 6 of the Mongol Rally – Never Do Anything Alone!. I was in deep trouble, and panicking.

The rest of my team were with the Skoda about 1KM away, and I was getting deeper in mud. My only choice was to rev the balls off it and try and get up the slope….I managed it, but ripped off the sump guard and smashed the mounts for the rear bumper in the process! I limped back to where the others were, sump guard dragging, and we were quickly met by another 8 teams who literally drove straight across. It was deep, but the ‘boggy sand’ was pretty stable…how foolish I felt. Lesson learned…

We made Khovd that afternoon, another frontier kind of town with basic shacks, a few places to eat and a wealth of little garages, all seemingly filled with rally cars. This is where the torture we were inflicting on all our cars started to show, with teams dropping like flies. In Khovd we met our car’s twin (Team Herohead) and others along with The Day Trippers, three girls with a dead Felicia. They had cracked the gearbox, and a plan formed to rebuild another Felicia in the graveyard (a drop off point for dead rally cars, including the I Mongol’d Your Mum Corsa - three flats and collapsed suspension!)…

However it seemed this one had been stripped, as half way through swapping over valves, ECU and plugs, we noticed the exhaust, alternator and god knows what else were gone. Game over unfortunately, and they jumped into a mini bus to catch up friends in Altai. We hit the road once again with the Siberian Tigers - onwards into deepest Mongolia!

Next - The Home Straight?

Once through (another free crossing!) we headed straight for a petrol station, where we were surprised to find reasonable roads and 92 still readily available. Kazakhstan is a fairly basic place out here in the sticks; we were headed for Shymkent, but all that was to be found on the way were tiny one horse towns where shops were hard to identify. The signs were all in Cyrillic too so Shaun’s job translating our map using our phrase book.

We ended up finding a nice spot off the main road to set up camp with On Corsa 4 Mongolia. About 20 minutes in with the sun setting, a Daweoo pulled up and three big Kazakhs with gold teeth jumped out. Uhho. They spent about 10 minutes wandering around smiling, shaking our hands and accepting the offer of cigarettes (a good thing to carry for such purposes, even though we don’t smoke). Eventually, with some gesturing and phrase book research,we figured out they wanted us to come with them. We had no idea where it was leading but meh, it’ll all be alright, right?

We packed up both cars and followed the Daewoo into the darkness for about 5KM. Thousands of crickets were on the road and lord knows how many I had killed by the time we pulled up at a small house surrounded by a high wall. You might call it a compound…

Jakah, the lead Kazak, turned out to be the owner of this place and instructed the others to lay these big thick carpets out on the gravel courtyard – were they preparing the killing floor? We were instructed to sit and a feast of local bread, lamb and rice was served, along with the vodka. It ended up a pretty fun night – it’s amazing how much you can discuss using a phrase book. However that night we did receive some bad news; the Londoners, our friends from Istanbul, had had a major road accident near Tashkent. Pulling a U-turn they were broadsided and the Renault flipped. One of the girls was badly injured and air lifted home, but we hear they are recovering well. Our thoughts are with you guys.

As the booze dried up and sleep beckoned, they fashioned the most comfortable bed you can imagine out of more carpets. 6 of us slept out there in the gravel courtyard but it was more comfortable than many hotels I’ve stayed in! We had breakfast with Jakka and his colleagues, who it turns out were customs officers from the border, and were escorted back to the road with promises to stay in touch. Another example of just how decent people can be wherever you are.

We hit Shymkent to pick up Kent Fabian from the train station around 10am. Due to a visa error, he had made it through the border but his team mate – and car - had been turned back, and wouldn’t be in Kazakhstan for 5 days. The plan was to have Kent ride with us to Almaty and hang out for a bit waiting for him to catch up, so we hit the road.

The journey to Almaty was uneventful and on better tarmac than we expected, especially as we got closer to the city. We arrived at night – as always! – and found a great little hotel by a mini replica of the Eiffel Tower. Almaty is a fun city, quite developed with a fair bit of western influence and featuring cash points that accept our cards - bonus. That night we hit the town and had one of the most hilarious nights of the trip. Too much happened, so the highlights:

- Tim and Matt sprinting from a Karaoke bar to ditch two girls interested in their wallets

- Three of us ending up in a Latin club. In Kazakhstan.

- All of us ending up alone, somehow, shouting ‘Eiffel Tower’ at taxi drivers, none of which spoke a word of English. Eventually they would find it and explain here, it’s called the ‘Francerzich Dome’. Riiiiight.

As expected, the following morning we were in no shape to go anywhere and decided to spend another day in Almaty. We also had to kill some time to allow Kent’s team mate to catch up. In the end we spent three days in this fine city and enjoyed it immensely – it was nice to be in civilization again.

We headed off without Kent on the Saturday. In Talldy-Kurgan we bumped into a Danish team with two Suzuki Wagon Rs having some suspension work, and decided to get our cars lifted too. The Corsa got some Vectra springs in about 20 minutes….ours ended up with Nissan Primera springs on the back after an hour of trying various combinations. For $50 the result was fantastic – she now sat higher laden than she had previously been empty! Result.

With our Hyundai Land Cruiser we headed for Semey, stopping to camp in a farmers field about 300KM from our destination. We weren’t sure, but the guys had a feeling the mountain range in the distance was China….either way it was a fantastic place to stop and the light in the early morning was stunning.

Turns out the border guard was right and we were on track for the Russian border within 2 days, well ahead of schedule. The road did turn to absolute trash about 100KM outside Semey though, and driving becoming very tactical. To avoid potholes and sheer cliffs, you simply drive on whichever part of the 50ft wide stretch of road is the smoothest. Everyone does it, so you weave constantly with oncoming traffic at 40MPH or so….quite a lot of fun. As with eastern Turkey, every now and then we would hit a major pot hole, hear an almighty bang and assume game over, but she just kept on going. What a car.

Semey is a dump. End of discussion. Industrial, run down and with beggars everywhere, we decided not to stay and headed straight for the border – about 6 other teams we bumped into seemed to have the same idea. We hit the Kazak exit point around 7pm, where the guard refused to even acknowledge us. 15 or so rally cars were waiting and it was clear (or so we thought) we would all be here for the night, but we eventually got let through around 11pm. Unfortunately, On Corsa 4 Mongolia were three days early for their visas, and there was no getting around it like with Uzbekistan – they would have to go back. Sadly we had to say goodbye to the last of our original convoy.

Russia

We had to wait at the Russian gate for ages listening to the radio for a few hours with a stark choice - suffocate with the windows up, thousands of bugs and mosquitos attacking the outside of our car, or put them down and be eaten alive. We went with the former. Finally at around 1am, Dolph Lungren (or at least his Russian cousin) allowed us through to do our paperwork on the Russian side. Of course by this point we had a flat battery, and we had to push it across the border. Slick.

I then met a stern, soviet lady who stared at both my passport and me for at least 6 minutes, and then my favourite guard of the rally, who clearly loved his job. He decided to make me redo my customs form no less than 3 times because my crosses were not neat enough in the ‘no’ box…all part of the fun of borders right? We made it through at 3am.

We had met the Siberian Tigers in their Felicia (complete with hammocks hanging on both sides) in Semey and hooked up with them for the drive through Russia. We headed for Barnaul and then Brysk, where we hit the local market and stocked up on supplies. After Kazakhstan, this part of Russia felt very developed. The roads were good, houses started to look like houses again, and the stores were filled with modern produce – worlds away from the basic odds and ends of Kazak stores. We could get beef in sealed packets (sans flies), chicken and good beer – time for a BBQ!

The drive from Brysk towards Tashanta felt a lot like British Columbia. We followed the river for a few hundred kilometres and stopped at an idyllic spot just off the road amongst the trees for our BBQ. A quick dip in the (bloody freezing but refreshing) lake as a thunderstorm rolled in was a welcome chance to freshen up…we had not showered since Almaty. After some serious food and beer we set off for the border. In the end we drove till early the next morning, pulling up at the Russian gates around 4am. A few other Mongol cars were there already and we decided to catch a few hours sleep in the car rather than set up camp. We had made it to Mongolia!

Next - Mongolia Beckons…

We managed to get numerous Team America references into a conversation with one passport checking soldier – carrying a very serious looking AK-47 – with no repercussions. Wise? I’m not sure, but it was cool greeting him with ‘Harrow Hans Brix’ and confirming my friends name as ‘Matt Damon’.

Two of our group had visas for Uzbekistan, which had not yet started, and one had lost their Turkmenistan exit card. Both are cardinal sins if you believe the documentation, but both totally solved with a $10 note. These guys can teach us a lot. We were through in about 4 hours, and headed straight for Bhukarra.

Uzbekistan likes two things as far as I can see. Gold teeth and Daewoos. Both are everywhere, the latter being literally the only make of car you see. UZ Daewoo seems to be a subsidiary doing rather well as they have 90% of the market – if you have a car in Uzbekistan, it’s a Matiz or a Nubira.

Bukahra is quite a magical place. It’s was a major Persian settlement from the 6th Century but was apparently established as far back as 500BC, serving as a major hub for trade on the Silk Road. In the main it’s a small series of old market streets, a few traders, and imposing structures like the Mir-I Arab Maddrassah, now restored to it’s full glory. It’s seen Empires come and go for hundreds of years and is one of those places where you wish the walls could talk. It felt to me the way the world may have been 700 years ago.

We found an amazing restaurant by a quiet pond and had some local cuisine and a beer to cool down in the 40C heat. It was a much-needed rest and we could happily have spent the night here, but had plans to move on to Samaqand.

We stopped for a very pleasant lunch in the extreme heat and then hit the road. Uzbekistan is a relatively small country and we reached Samaqand, home to the Bib-Khhanym Mosque and the Rejistan, later that night. The town seemed to be littered with Mongol Rally teams, so most of the hostels were full. We found one willing to let us sleep on their roof terrace and slept beneath the stars.

Samaqand was founded in 700BC and is the second largest city in Uzbekistan, characterised by old soviet style apartment blocks and truly ancient historic buildings. We went for a walk about the next morning and found rehearsals for a world beauty contest at the Rejistan, the historic centre of the city and a truly stunning place. Not a bad start! A lot of municipal work seemed to be taking place here, with electrical work, sewer pipes and new pavements being laid.

Samaqand was a relaxing break but that afternoon we decided to head for the border with On Corsa 4 Mongolia.

We headed for Tashkent, the largest city in Uzbekistan and just across the border from Kazakhstan. Annoyingly the direct route there crosses into Kazkhstan and then out again. We only have single entry visas for Kazakhstan, so we can’t take this one - we need to go around. Brilliantly, once on this road it’s a dual carriage-way with a concrete kerb divider so you can’t pull a U Turn. Along with several other teams we bumped into who had made the same mistake, we formed a plan….following the Spanish Ambulance with it’s sirens on we would backtrack the 7KM or so …on the wrong side of the road. Not really a problem as nobody was coming the other way anyway, plus we are foreign, so it’s ok. Everyone lived.

Our final night in Uzbekistan we decided to camp about 30KM outside Tashkent, rather than head into the city and drive around for an hour looking for accomodation. Once again we struck gold - a little road side eatery run by an old lady and her family who served the most phenomena chai, bread and fried fish. We have no idea what the fish was - it was redish and very large - but it was to die for. She spoke no english but the little old lady served us plate after plate, charged us only $30 for 5, and let us set up camp behind the restaurant. A good day.

We reached Taskent the next morning and headed to the bank for some badly needed US dollars. On the way out of town, our first bribe of the trip - $10 for an illegal right turn. Not too bad. From here we tried to cross the border only to find it closed due to construction. We had to back track 70KM to Cinoz and cross there…by mid afternoon we we were being ushered through customs surprisingly quickly and made the Kazak border around 4pm…

On to Kazakhstan..

What followed was about 6 hours of pure, unadulterated sodomy without consent. No other border required more scraps of paper, more stamps or more money. The place is guarded by conscript soldiers who appear to be about 12 but have guns, so you don’t argue, and overweight, sweaty guys in their late 40s who are only interested in lining their own pockets. Mind you if I had to sit in a bleak, faded magnolia office that literally reeks of the old USSR in the middle of nowhere, maybe I would be the same.

In the end it cost us nearly $400 to get through, 10 times what we were told to expect. Mind you it’s not as bad as those who took the ferry from Baku to Turkmenbashi, which jumped from $150 to $550 this year meaning Turkmenistan cost them the best part of $1000. Clearly Turkmenistan’s borders have caught on to the Mongol Rally.

We had transit visas and were given an official document which featured a map, showing us the only road we were permitted to take out of the country. Deviate from this route and we would be arrested. How welcoming! We were finally allowed through and began the scariest drive of the trip…

We had been told many stories about Turkmenistan. Most centred on it being a toilet, filled with unfriendly people ripping you off, corrupt cops wanting bribes every ten feet, and a general air of foreigners not being welcome. The road from the border to Ashgabat was supposedly bandit country and we should stay in tight formation, watching out for ambushes, for the 30KM to the capital.

It was total rubbish. We reached the outside of Ashgabat without seeing a soul to find a highly modern service station and met a 19 year old guy helping install a satellite system. He spoke perfect English, having studied in New York. We ended up chatting for about an hour (while we had our cars washed – another crazy Turkmenistan myth was it is illegal to have a dirty car in Ashgabat, but more on that place later) sharing all the stories we had heard and how wrong they could be.

Turkmenistan has quite a mad leader, Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow, who took over from a previous, equally mad leader, ‘President for Life’ Saparamurat Nivazov, on his death in 2006. Since then a lot had changed, and a lot has not. Our new friend was embarrassed to hear about our treatment at the border and explained we would have no issues - everyone loves foreigners. He was right too. We were never pulled over once and the people were nothing but friendly, the reception almost rivalling Iran’s.

Ashgabat itself is possibly the strangest place I will ever visit. Nivazov demolished the old city and his vision of a new capital began. It’s essentially a man playing Sim City with the money cheat firmly on. He has built, from scratch, a metropolis of white marble and cut stone, every building more impressive and expensive than the last. The 6 lane highways in every direction include elaborate landscaping and water features, and every municipal building could rival anything in DC. He has an ‘Olympic Stadium’, built some time ago but used, to date, but absolutely nobody at all. There is even a statue of the leader himself, in gold, that points to face the sun during the day.

The sheer amount being spent is hard to grasp, even more so because there is virtually nobody there. About 1/3 of the city is actually in use, and the highways deserted outside the absolute centre. Most Turkmen people cannot afford to live here, yet he still keeps building the ‘perfect’ capital, his image hanging above every bank lobby, hotel desk and public foyer.

We ended up at a 4 star hotel as that is virtually all Ashgabat offers, and headed to reception to ask about a taxi. The hotel district is miles from the centre (good planning there Nivazov) and standard practice is to hail down ‘anybody’. For 5 Manat (£1.20) you can go anywhere. You soon get used to the idea and before long we were in an ‘English Pub’ – full of American confederate flags, baseball shirts, references to Spanish football and other clearly British artefacts – drinking the most expensive beer off the trip, about £8 each.

The cars? Well apparently it’s relatively new to show your ‘wealth’ here, so none Ladas have only started to appear. Like many of the Stans though it’s used German cars (well cared for) that dominate. There are loads and loads of clean E34 BMW 5 Series and Audi 100s kicking about, with the odd E39 5 Series starting to appear. Ashgabat was a fantastic place to see, but the road beckons and soon we are headed for Mary, one of only four places you will ever see on a road sign in Turkmenistan.

The further East we ventured, the more baron it became until it turned to complete desert, with nothing for hundreds of miles, sweeping dunes, camels and a big wide road. The four hours we spent on this road were some of the best; spirits were high and were were with around 10 rally cars, all in convoy heading for Turkmenbat in the fabulous light of a setting sun. Many photos, many videos and many laughs.

We made it to Turkmenbat late that night and again spent the standard hour looking for accommodation. We ended up at a decrepit ex mental hospital – in the soviet style of course, unforgiving and intimidating – now being used as a ‘hostel’ (and I use the word loosely) by a stern, angry lady of not inconsiderable girth. She was VERY firm on every aspect of our visit, from where our rooms were to where we eat.

The place of course was horrendous – it was one up from derelict, but it was indoors and $7 a night, so suited us fine. Another great Turkemnistani fact – gas is entirely free, but matches are expensive. As such, locals leave their gas burning all day and night, and if you turn it off, prepare for a beating! We gave the landlady a box of matches and you would swear she had just been handed the keys to a new Ferrari – we instantly became her new best friends.

Next - Uzbekistan…

The Iranian side was quite intimidating….large black gates, plenty of Police and a huge banner of the Ayatollah glaring down at you. On the wall, ‘Well Come to Iran’ – a nice touch. We were ushered to park in a line on the left and head inside. Our self appointed ‘fixer’ guided us through the process, which was the usual stamps and waiting. 7 hours land $60 for insurance later and we were through!

Once in Iran everything changed. The buildings, the landscape, thee people, the cars…it all felt immediately worlds away from anything we had ever experienced. This was a major waypoint on our route and we were not sure what to expect, but what we had researched held true. The welcome was exceptional – so many people were so pleased to see us, you would think we were celebrities. People from all around would swarm over to say hello, people in traffic would wave, beep and welcome us to Iran. When we stopped for directions, three or four cars would pull up to help. Smiles and warmth wherever we turned – what a place.

Maku, our entry point, seemed to have had some kind of mudslide. The whole community was out clearing muddy flood waters while JCBs shovelled mud and upturned trees aside. The place felt so alive – fairly scruffy and full of character. There was a moment of sheer panic when we saw road signs in Farsi – how the hell are we going to navigate? But then, thankfully, signs in both Farsi and English - phew. We’re a long way from home now Alice…and we drove here

For cars, Iran is like a real life Grand Theft Auto. Outside Tehran, where you will see BMWs, Mercedes etc, everyone drives one of about 6 set vehicles. The Saipa Saba is the small saloon, a modified Mazda 121 and later Kia Pride from the early nineties. There are billions of Peugeot 405s. There’s the Iranian built Samand for the Taxis and a generic 70s style pick up. And that’s it. Brilliant. No wonder we are being welcomed like aliens from another world…

Fuel for locals with a fuel card is 1000 Rials a litre. As there are 10,000 Rials to the USD, that’s pretty stunning, but without a fuel card you pay the tourist rate, 4000 Rials a litre. Petrol attendants seemed shocked you are ok to pay this, but as it’s insanely cheap to us Brits we filled the tank and our Jerry cans immediately! After the £1.33 a litre of Turkey (even more than at home) Iran was a godsend. The roads were also phenomenal – silky smooth, silent tarmac as far as the eye can see.

We made Tabriz around 10pm. City driving was mental…roundabouts with no markings are a free for all, lane discipline or speed pretty irrelevant. It all seems to work though and once you get into it it’s really rather fun! A local ended up helping us find a great little hotel, and Matt headed straight for bed as he had been feeling unwell for a couple of days – time for some much needed sleep. The rest of us were directed by the owner to a local kebab house for some fabulous lamb kofta kebabs - all for $3 a head.

Our convoy left Tabriz with plans to head for Karaj and then the mountain road to the Chalus and the Caspian Sea beyond. The road quality to Karaj was phenomenal, if a little boring at first – standard motorway through fairly featureless terrain. Later that morning we had our first bit of Police related excitement …Ulaan Baatared were pulled for speeding. We were all going a lot faster but they were at the back, so the easiest to pull. The Police demanded….four million Rials. That’s about $400, which Tom and Mike bartered down to $6. I like it here…

We hit Karuj around 4pm and headed north, snaking through the mountains with stunning views and the reservoir below. What a fabulous area. Here Iranians come to relax and holiday, so every bend is littered with local stalls, restaurants, gift shops and more. As with most of Iran it’s a bit of a mess – litter and clutter all over the place – and it’s teaming with people. But that’s its appeal, it feels so many miles from home. The vibe was quite infectious, it felt like one giant wedding with people smiling, cheering and beeping as always for no apparent reason.

We ended up at a fairly comfortable hotel, one of our more expensive stays ($50 a room) but a welcome one after a few days camping. The meal we had that night in the open air of the hotel restaurant was simply stunning – chicken kebabs and lemon and lime rice. No beer, of course, as Iran is a dry country (though this must exclude the whiskey everyone seems to be quietly drinking, everywhere). Our meal for 10 came to 1.2 Million Rial – bargain.

The next morning we continued up the mountain pass in a thick mist, slowly climbing to the summit behind hundreds of other cars and buses. We hit the Caspian see at Chalus around lunch time and headed along the coast. We were a little disappointed; we had heard the coast was where the wealthy of Iran holiday, but it seems we cut in too far down and were greeted with run down industrial towns, mud and a lot of rain…so we grabbed something to eat and some phenomenal local pastries near Sari and pushed on.

The Turkmenistan border was not far now and we made it at7am. The last 80km felt pretty scary – the road felt like something from a Hollywood movie set in Iraq, a desolate baron no mans land of rolling scrub and mountains with the odd abandoned shack and not a soul headed in either direction. It did not feel like a road anybody should be on, but one where aerial drones delivered precision bombings to old Russian trucks…

Next - Turkmenistan…

That day we covered something like 500KM and set up camp for the night a little of the main road. Farmers quietly tended their fields off in the distance but apart from that we were entirely alone. We dined on pasta, sausages and warm beer (no fridge).

We were trying to get as close as we could to Trabzon the following day and set out relatively early along the coast. On Corsa 4 Mongolia spotted a garage for us and we went in to sort our exhaust. They sat us down for tea, identified the problem immediately and welded in a new section for us for about $60 – not bad for instant service and the visual spectacle of a man with no mask or gloves welding under our car with a cigarette between his lips. Our first repair, and the car now seemed virtually silent!

The nearer we got to Trabzon the more it felt like the French Riviera – palm trees, sea side cafes and smart restaurants. Team Canadialand (gold Honda HRV) caught up with us and we became a 4 car convoy that would last all the way to Uzbekistan. More importantly, it brought us Kent Fabian – a man with the worlds coolest name. This was to be highlighted regularly.

We stopped for lunch in either Ordu or Giresun, we weren’t quite sure, a fantastic little town where we were able to pick up some meat for our camp, the first in a while. We set out with a plan to camp by the sea, but our hopes were looking optimistic as the sun began to set – we couldn’t find anywhere to stop…

Then, in the fading light… a little campsite right on the cliff, just off the motorway, with a small restaurant and a bar. PERFECT. As we pulled in a big guy came over to greet us and introduced himself as Murat. Murat struck us as having a hidden past, the kind of guy who spent 20 years in Special Forces before tragically losing his whole squad. Now he was just trying to live the quiet life, running his own small business on the coast. We were sure local gangsters were putting on the pressure and Murat would be forced to do the only thing he could – open his stash of weapons and return to his past to defend what was rightfully his, and maybe save some orphans too. Definitely.

We enjoyed a few beers on the cliff with some beautiful fried fish courtesy of the ex assassins and set up camp. The rain came in the morning and with it thousands of mosquito’s, but Murats was one of our favourite stops. That’s the funny thing about the Mongol Rally – to a tourist, it was a crappy campsite by a motorway with cold showers….to us, it was an oasis of perfection.

We set off along the coast into eastern Turkey, and the further east you go, the more it declines. This is the poorer side of the country, and it becomes quite obvious… neat towns give way to little huts and muddy alleys, and children start to appear, begging by the side of the road. The roads got atrocious, disappearing almost completely and being replaced by rutted, potholed gravel. As darkness closed in we dropped to just 30MPH in an attempt to dodge the potholes…locals sped past at 50MPH and to this day I don’t know how.

Our convoy ended up stopping close to the Iranian border in Dogubayazit, in the shadow of Little Ararat, where Team Taxed and Tested had told us about a neat little camp site. We arrived around 10pm to find about 9 other teams, all heading for Iran in the morning. Only about 25 were going this way, most other southern routers were heading north now to Georgia, Azerbaijan and a ferry across the Caspian.

Next - Iran!

Serbia was our first proper border and all went pretty smoothly – a simple passport check and we were through., except for a rip off 80 Euro ‘insurance’ we needed. 90 days worth of cover for a 36hr stay. Nice. We hooked up here with 40 Days and 40 Nights (red Felicia) and Over the Edge (awesome old Lada Riva Estate) for the drive south. We reached Belgrade late afternoon; the outskirts are pretty sketchy but the centre of the city is very beautiful, and our hostel was on the 6th floor with a large roof terrace. Result. It was 8pm and time for a night on the town…

Mark went back to the car in the multi storey to get his shoes, and found a security guard writing a theft report. Mark asked him what he was doing, and the man explained he was writing the report for all the kit on our roof, which though here now, would certainly not be in the am. His feeling was it would save time to write it now. It was all locked on, but Mark unloaded the roof and stored it inside the cabin just to be safe!

The next morning the plan was to make it to Istanbul in a straight shot, which is a whole country away. On the drive south flat arable land turned to beautiful lush rolling hills, alpine forests and rocky outcrops, with great roads following the meandering rivers and creeks. Temperatures stayed high but on the move with the windows down, we weren’t really missing air conditioning.

As soon as we entered Bulgaria, the roads turned to crap, there were incredibly ‘well travelled’ hookers at the side of the motorway plying truck drivers for business and the place generally felt like a dump. Varna is supposed to be lovely but a long way off course, so we stopped only for 4 cans of Red Bull just outside Sofia and made it to the Turkish border by 10pm without stopping even for fuel.

At the Turkish border we met another team, The Londerners, two guys and two gals in a Renault Kangoo. They were aiming for Istanbul that night too, so we decided to convoy. What a fantastic drive – they had a disco ball mounted to their roof, and we had a couple of drag races to prove the mighty superiority of the Accent (84BHP Can Neva lose). We made Istanbul around midnight and got hopelessly lost.

Rule 3 of the Mongol Rally – Locals Rock. When lost, your best source, regardless of language, is a local. Show him/her your map and after lengthily gesturing, words you don’t understand and some arm waiving you will be on your way. We stopped at a petrol station and were prompted to follow a German registered C Class Mercedes. Seems the German connection is big in Turkey, so my high school Deutsch came in handy. We did start to wonder where the hell we were going when suddenly, signs for our destination, Sultanahmet. Without those locals we would have been totally screwed.

We made it to our hostel around 1am, a fantastic little place titled the ‘Women’s Only Hostel’. Except for the men I guess. We were woken the next morning by the call to prayer, and I think for the first time realised we had just driven to Istanbul…in a £400 car! This place had the most phenomenal roof terrace you can imagine – beautiful sofas under a wicker canopy, with views across the sea and the city in all directions. Mosques dotted the skyline all around. We spent 2 days here exploring the city, checking out the markets and relaxing in the sun.

Ulaan Baatared and Thunderbird 4 caught up on our last night, and a serious night of ‘relaxation’ took place on that roof terrace, one of the best of the trip. Istanbul remains a major highlight for us - definitely a place to revisit, but it was time to hit the road again. Sadly Mark had to fly home today and 4 became 3.

After having some local kids help us load up the car (and ask us to give them pretty much anything and everything we have), we headed off with team Ulaan Baatered for Ankara and then the coast. We had plans to meet up with On Corsa 4 Mongolia on route. Our exhaust was starting to sound pretty mad by now – straight pipes on a 1.3 produces a surprising roar – so a garage would be in order soon.

Next - Istanbul to the Iranian Border…

The dominant favourites are the Skoda Felicia 1.3, Suzuki Swift 1.0 and a smattering of Nissan Micra 1.0s. Suzuki Jimnys are extremely common, and our choice – the Accent – numbers something like 6. There are the comedy entries – Joe and his team the Rolling Cones in a US panel truck converted into an ice cream van…the mad Bat Limo, a Volvo 740 stretch; Russ and Pepe with Thunderbird 4, which is the love child of a Suzuki Jimny, a Reliant Rialto and an angle grinder; the Great Balls of Fur in a 1979 Dennis Fire Truck, entirely covered with fur…and more. This is going to be fun…

Our car looked the business in full racing livery, jerry cans and spare wheels tied down to the roof rack, and far too much weight on board than is probably healthy. We are 4 up until Istanbul, when our friend Mark flies home, so it’s cosy but surprisingly comfortable.

At 2pm we are led out in batches of 20 for a parade lap behind a Rolls Royce EX100 at an insanely slow 10MPH just as the heavens open; to waves and cheers from family and friends, we are off! We immediately take a wrong turn trying to decide on the fastest route to Dover, which bodes well for the next 5 weeks…

We reach Dover along with about 25 other teams booked onto the same ferry and after a swift crossing - including a mad clog race around the ship between a Dutchman (actually wearing clogs, for real) and a member of team Kernow Pirates - we were in France. We promptly decided, as Englishmen, to get across it as quickly as humanely possible.

Rule 1 of the Mongol Rally – ‘The Optimum Convoy’. The answer is 3-4 cars. We learnt quite quickly in France that a 14 car convoy tends to have draw backs, for example, traffic lights. Keeping that many together is even more fun when you all stop at the same service station in Belgium, and another 14 car Mongol Rally convoy pulls in. And you all want fuel. I can report the Belgians do not have much of a sense of humour.

By about 10pm we reached Gent, where 20 teams start driving around the city (regularly losing each other) looking for a festival, the name and content of which nobody was sure on but ‘it’s in Gent, tonight’. After an hour everyone gave up and we set up camp at the local service station. Which sounds weird, but proved quite good in Western Europe. Their services often have modern showers, acafe, and a nice green area to set up camp, where nobody bothers you. Imagine THAT in the UK! The weather was attrocious and most decided to to try and sleep in their cars, with varying success. 4 up, Mark and I decided it wasn’t going to work and set up a tent on the concrete. Listening to the rain outside was surpisingly relaxing in a warm cosy tent.

In the morning we discovered about 30 teams had set up here and parked next to us..team Herohead. You may already know we had been a two car team and prepped two identical Accents, but decided to take one at the 11th hour. The other car was sold to another team, Herohead, who ended up doing virtually nothing to alter it. So throughout the rally, we would bump into our cars twin in random cities, and they would be asked ‘are you the Unprofessionals? I’ve seen your website!’. Many people thought we were just a two car team that didn’t get on - taking different routes and never camping together…

First thing we headed for Germany with Team Slipstream (gold Jimny), I Mongol’d Ya Mum (bronze Corsa) and Team Swifty (red Swift). We discounted the ‘Ring as reports from other teams suggested people had to unload the roof, so headed instead south through Germany via Nuremburg to the Czech border. Czech was the location for the first and only checkpoint on the trip and a massive party at Klenova Castle, a stunning location set in the Czech countryside. Mark, my team mate, drank so much he was bounding around like a Leprechaun until dawn, while Matt was MIA by 8pm. The setting was beautiful, the people hilarious and Gin and Tonic, of all drinks, free. Carnage is the word I would use…

Nursing hangovers as we packed in the am, a sight to behold. A team named the Jersey Boys, two US lads with a Ford Ka, had crashed in the UK on the way to the camp site the night before the start. We had all assessed their car as ‘stuffed’ and felt bad for them, but they had optimistic hopes of repair. No chance, everyone thought quietly. But that morning, across the field, I saw a blue Ka, it’s front end held together with welded steel from a refrigerator, a Fiesta headlamp and duct tape. It was ugly as hell but it was here! Two lads I have major respect for – eternal optimism and they never gave up, well done Rich and Alex. That car made it to just 1000km short of the finish too.

From Czech we hooked up with the Young Offenders (Thunderbird 4) and the Gentleman of Fortune (blue Terios) for a trek down to Hungary. Smooth, sweeping country roads and brilliant sunshine made for a very pleasant drive to the border. We stopped in Ceske Budejovice for lunch in the town square, after which Pepe of Thunderbird 4 thought it amusing to grab our car keys from the ignition while we were at the lights. I tried to stop him and the result was one bent key…and a load of Czechs beeping furiously. It eventually got straightened and we pulled out of the way, only for the Rimny (as Thunderbird 4 was known) to overheat and kick in it’s fuel cut off. Karma’s a bitch guys ☺

We soon got going again and headed through Austria, hoping to see Vienna as we passed through. The Austrians though, in their efficiency have built a bypass tunnel under the whole thing – it was in front of us, then a long tunnel, then it was behind us. I’m sure it’s very nice though! Along the way we bumped into several other rally teams, something you get used to – despite the distances involved, most teams are taking obvious, major routes through countries and though random, you do see cars you saw 4000 miles ago every now and then.

The roads from the border to Budapest blew our minds – perfect tarmac, new signage, good driving. Fantastic! At a service stop we bumped into Ulaan Baatared, Tom and Mike in their red lifted Jimny, and they joined our convoy into Budapest that night. What a city. We did learn Rule 2 of the Mongol Rally – Cities here though. You need to budget a minimum of one hour cruising around lost looking for where you are staying, regardless of any guide book or directions you think you might have…in a comedy of errors we even managed to lose each other and pass Thunderbird 4 going the other way at one point. Brilliant.

Eventually we installed ourselves in a, er, ‘ram shackled’ old hostel and we hit the town…but our night on the beers ground to a hault around 11pm as everything seemed to be closed. Bugger. We woke up to Hungarian parking tickets we could neither read nor figure out how to pay – even if we had wanted to – and had a quick wander around the city (which is beautiful, by the way) before hitting the road. The Hyundai had been rock solid until today, when the exhaust started blowing a bit – sounded awesome but something to keep an eye on.

Next - Serbia, a night in Belgrade and the long drive to Istanbul…