The Lada Legend: The Colonel Goes West - Part Two

I must preface the rest of this story with the following fact: throughout the entire time the car was in motion, a steady stream of heat blasted the feet of both the driver and the passenger in the front seat. We joked at one time that the only way to drive in sandals was to put an oven mitt over your right foot.

I should also mention that the Colonel is NOT equipped with any of the following luxuries:

• Proper seatbelts (there are none in the back seat)
• Radio/CD player
• Air conditioning
• Side mirrors
• Low beams
• Cup holders
• Front doors that opened properly from the inside

It is, however, equipped with a ton of street cred. We hoped that would be enough to get us across borders.

I'll pick up the story in the morning of the 16th. We had just spent the night with Amy's former host family in a regional town two hours outside Baku. Dinner was marked by a feast fit for a former guest who is leaving the country for good, morning by an all-out assault on six chickens running around the yard. There is nothing quite like watching four older ladies plucking fresh killed chickens while gossiping about the goings-on in the neighbourhood.

Alas, the time came for us to depart. It was an emotional farewell for all involved, and no doubt a few thoughts of, "I still can't believe you're trying to get to Croatia in that thing." The Colonel, as if sensing the importance of the situation, started without a problem. It was time to settle in, roll down the windows, and do what the Colonel does best: drive.

Our goal for the day was the Georgian capital, Tbilisi. About 450km away across the hot Azerbaijani plain. Other than a stop in Ganja for lunch, nothing eventful happened. Well, there was that one time when an oncoming bus decided to overtake a car forcing Amy to swerve onto the shoulder, but that's to be expected. We all the excitement would begin at the border.

The Red Bridge. A 17th century red-tinted stone bridge. It is the site of the Azerbaijani-Georgian border crossing. As we pulled up, the fortress-like Azerbaijani complex towered over the huge line that had formed. Twenty or thirty cars, at least ten trucks, and a middle lane that was completely empty. This being the country it is, there was no reason why that middle lane should be empty. It didn't take long for a couple of cars to try their luck, so I followed suit. And why not? We could always claim to be helpless foreigners.

Unfortunately, we soon realized that we were not supposed to be in the middle lane. Amy had ventured forth to see what was going on. She even tried dropping a couple of names at the Embassy (who had apparently called ahead and notified the border of our arrival). No luck. The guard started waving everyone back and told us to join the ever-increasing line to our left. Then someone miraculous happened. We were the third car in line and as we were backing up, the guard inexplicably let the first car through the gate (into the area where the cars are actually checked). Once I saw this, I put the car back into first and moved ahead. Within five minutes I was through the gate and onto the next phase. Amy and Sarah had to go through the walking border.

The inspection/customs/immigration area allowed space for six or seven cars. Each had to go through the following process:

1. Give your documents to a guy at the first window and receive a bar code sticker
2. Get your passport stamped at the second window
3. Move your car forward to the actual inspection area
4. Have your car inspected
5. Drop off a small piece of paper at the exit gate

Sounds simple enough. Instead, you end up running back and forth between the window and the line because the cars ahead of you keep moving forward. I must've done so five times. People kept yelling at me to move my car. Eventually, I made it to a point where I could get in line and not have anyone yell at me.

The guard at the first window found it all rather amusing. A foreigner, a thirty-year-old Zhiguli, a trip outside the country. Surprisingly, he processed everything without any fuss, handed me my barcode, and told me to go to the second window. That passed without any problems as well. Things were looking good. The inspection consisted of a wave of the hand and a "Yaxşı yol" (have a nice trip). I was halfway to Georgia.

Amy and Sarah had made it through to no man's land successfully and were waiting for me. We marvelled at the Red Bridge and then continued to the Georgian complex, where they once again disembarked and went through the pedestrian section. Things on the Georgian side were much calmer for vehicles. There was no line, so I pulled up to one of the booths (the Georgian complex had the standard border complex system). I handed over the documents to the young lady. She looked incredulous at first, then smiled, and finished with a giggle. She was thrilled to be able to speak English, so she started asking questions. Where are you going? Is that car going to make it? What is it like in Canda? Then other border patrol people approached and asked the same questions. Everyone was laughing, including me. The customs lady then stamped my passport, returned my documents, and wished me well. Then I asked the all-important question answered. The answer: yes, I could leave Georgia without the car. I thanked her profusely and moved to the inspection area.

One of the guys that had been laughing turned out to be the head of inspections. He complimented the car once more, looked briefly in the trunk, and wished me a good trip. The last hurdle of our first ever border crossing had been crossed. The adrenalin was pumping, my heart racing. We had made it to Georgia!

At dinner in Tbilisi later that night, feasting on all that Georgia has to offer, we decided to continue on and try to get into Turkey. If it was half as exciting as today's action, it would all be worth it.