me: “I need to just pop back into Russia”
wife: “You need to just pop back into Russia”
me: To get Brian some hand cleaner”
wife: “To get Brian some hand cleaner”
me: “Why are you repeating what I’m saying back to me?”
wife: “I’m hoping you’ll see how stupid that sounds if I say it back to you”
me: “You’re hoping I’ll see how stupid that sounds if you say it back to me”
wife: “I see what you did there Why the actual fuck do you want to take all that risk and spend all that time at the border just to ‘pop’ back in to Russia. That would be like going to the moon for a piss”
me: “Well, I really do need a wee, and, I’ve never been to the moon”
wife: “Whatever. I give up”
Submission. Permission. Same thing right? I’m riding right past the door of Kaliningrad, and I need to achieve at least one of my trip goals. It would be a regret if I didn’t and my wife clearly stated that if I came home with any of those then there will be problems. This is my “get out the garage free” card. I’m going in.
Many of the borders to Kaliningrad are currently closed. There is, I think, one open with Poland and one with Lithuania. I tried the Poland one and that didn’t would out. I went on the web last night and booked a slot at the Kybartai crossing. If there are queues like Poland my hair trigger patience will expire and I’ll just go home in a sulk.
But first breakfast. I saw somewhere last night. I’m there early for when it opens. Along with a dozen others. That’s always a good sign. Doors open, and in we go. “Yebisah” by Mark Night is playing loud on the speakers. Forget what I said about tools, milk and nana cakes, Anywhere paying dance music at 7:30am surrounded by the scent of warm pasty and coffee. I’m buying a yearly pass.
You buy cakes by weight. Point and bag. “Two of those please, one of those and one of those”. She puts two of everything in the bag. I could correct her, but that would be rude. And I’m never rude.
Don’t fuck about. Go here. Bring your appetite and your dancing shoes. I’ll see you there.
The music coffee pastry combo completely recharges my smiles and I end up leaving very happy, but late. It’s about 130 miles and it’s a fractious ride, slipping and sliding about, the turtles head bobbing in and out with every near death experience. The Bitch is feeling major twitchy, like she’s pulled a muscle or something. She’s not happy about something for sure. That’s all I need.
Get to Kybartai and it’s cleared up a bit at least. I wouldn’t want to wait for hours in the pissing rain. Eventually find the “waiting area”. I’m a bit early. Maybe it will fill up later.
Or not. What exactly am I waiting for? 2050? A woman comes out a shed and just says “go”. I ride back up the road to the border barriers. There’s nobody in the hut. It all looks shut. There isn’t anyone else here. Then I see a small sign. Apparently you have to buzz yourself out of Lithuania now. Press the button, a remote voice says “I will open” and up goes the barrier. Never seen that before.
Ride round to the controls. I’m the only one there.
Jump start the nana behind the desk and I’m out in 10 minutes and through to the Russian side. It’s quite an eerie experience to be honest. Like a dream with nobody else in it.
Sometimes, like now, realty jumps right out in front of me and smacks me hard in the face with a bat. I’m here alone in no man’s land going back into Russia, poking the bear once more. Why am I here? I’m definitely not brave. Maybe I’m stupid. Or maybe it’s a coping mechanism. I know without any doubt that the world could happily cope without me, but I couldn’t cope with the world without moments like these. They’re my mental escape capsules. Places I can run and hide when I’m struggling with the reality in front of me. When the voices are in danger of breaking free and tearing into the tedious tosspot boring my bollocks off. . When a colleague is telling me he’s worried about his pet fish because it seems to be opening and closing its mouth more often. When someone is just wasting my life. I need to come back here, look around and breathe. I’m not unique. We all do it. I might have a few more capsules than most, and some might have some odd names on the doors, but it’s a basic human necessity.
Get to the Russian border. There is only one other car here. A Ukrainian/German/Russian who is currently being fined for trying to bring in too much cat food. It’s not even his cat. It’s his girlfriends. Yes really.
Passport. 5 minutes. Bike search. 5 minutes. Customs. 30 minutes. Done. Gone. I’m definitely dreaming. But I’m back.
Kaliningrad really is tiny. Maybe not much over 100 miles long and there aren’t many towns along the way. Pick another random place. An old building on the edge of town. Smells like your grandads house. Nice dirty. And you’re unlikely to get a room like this anywhere outside Russia.
I’m not sure if I can sleep in that bed though. The pillowcases don’t match the duvets. That’s like having a girlfriend with mismatched collar and cuffs.
Judging by the constant noise of what sounds like very big jets leaving, despite not having an airport, and having a big fuck off train yard, I presume this place has close associations with the Russian military machine. Parts of the town look like they’ve been used for bombing practice too
Still. It feels safe, and a long way from my reality, which is exactly what I need.
And.. these aren’t planes leaving every few minutes. They’re missiles. Probably cruise from the sounds of it, or big drones. They flare and make a LOT of noise for a few seconds then they’re gone and you hear them disappear on the wind. They’ve been going all day and they’ve got more frequent now it’s dark.
Took a while to get to sleep last night. The missiles were coming from somewhere close by. They had the intensity of airliner engines if you’re staying at an airport hotel next to the runway. I should have got on the bike to ride about for a look. I’m guessing they were on mobile platforms because yesterday the GPS was as accurate as a Trump financial forecast but today it’s back to normal. But I could easily be wrong. I have no idea what they have based here, and it could have been a drill or a training exercise I guess.
Go down to breakfast expecting a few dog biscuits, last week”s bread, instant coffee and powered milk but no, the resident cooking Nana wearing a big white hat is having none of that. Proper lovely breakfast and all the better for being a surprise.
I was being unfair to this place last night. There are a lot of lovely old buildings that were built with proper craftsmanship. Beautiful ornate ironwork, huge, thick wooden doors, proper style and presence. Both impressive and imposing. But when it’s shit, its proper shit. The other night I went into a big supermarket in Lithuania and just had to leave. The choices were too much. It’s totally insane. Going back into an average small town Russian supermarket puts the inequality into stark relief. Anyway, got my helmet tickled by two ladies used to handling small tools in another porn shop and out I go on the road to Kaliningrad.
