The hotel we had checked into last night included breakfast, but when we went to reception to ask there were flashbacks to the previous evening. Luckily this confusion didn't result from or include responses in the form of riddles. The woman at check-in just didn't have a clue what we wanted despite us pointing at the breakfast tickets sitting on her desk, eventually she opened her eyes and handed over a few tickets. In the cafe there was a huge selection of choices, you could have egg or you could have porridge. Needless to say our one fried egg didn't completely fill us, so we suggested going for a second breakfast as a treat. The rest of the convoy agreed, either because they thought it was a good idea or out of fear of what we might do if we don't get our way. We led the convoy out of the city hoping to find a nice spot for breakfast as we went, the main problem was we didn't have a map or know where we were going. Luckily the Mongoliers knew where they were going, or at least were pretending to. They drove behind us pointing thier hands out the windows to direct us towards nothing for half an hour. Eventually Wanger, who actually had a map of the city, took over directing and led through back streets and building sites. There was one thing we didn't see as we left the city, the inside of a cafe that might serve breakfast - even if we did drive past the outside of lots them. 

 

Apart from second breakfast there was something else missing from our morning in Kazakhstan, we had never actually found the rest of the convoy in Semey. The three of us set off towards the Russian border in the assumption that they would also be there eagerly waiting for our arrival. The road between Semey and the Russian border was short and paved so it didn't take too long before we arrived at the border. At the border we found two teams waiting, but neither of them had a lion strapped to the roof which meant they were worthless to us. We stood chatting while the border gaurds debated whether they wanted to open the border or not. Eventually the shedmen burst into action like they had been waiting all their lives for this moment to shine, and then when the moment came they couldn't be bothered. Each of the registered owners slowly filled out paperwork in one of the sheds and then went back to their cars. The man controlling the opening and closing of the gate must have been getting impatient, he let the first thre cars go through the gate then closed it before I got back to our car. We sat in the car and watched as they drove into the border area and turned right down a small path. A few minutes later they would swing back onto the main path and take another right behind a building, which they would instantly reappear from moments later. When the gate-man finally decided we had stewed long enough we were allowed into the crossing. I pointed the way the previous teams had driven and was told not to go that way, we were told to drive straight to the gate on the other side. Stupidly we believed the man who worked here and quickly found out we should have gone the same way as the other teams, it's hard to leave a country without an exit stamp. Inside the building we waited in line for the passport control desk and could hear a family talking about us. The mother was clearly trying to learn some basic English from her young son mostly along the lines of "Where are you from?". By the time we reached the desk she still hadn't plucked up the courage to confront the tourists. We completed the paperwork and got our stamp, the man said "good luck" like he was trying to trick us into reveiling we were british. I've seen The Great Escape so I wasn't falling for his games, but unfortunately I don't speak Russian either and he had already seen my passport. 

 

Before we were free to leave Kazahkstan we had to wait at another gate where the family arrived, who were now fully able to communicate in English. Well the mother had used her time to master the phrase "Where are you from?", which is impressive apart from she didn't understand the response. We stood by the gate with another team, a Spanish couple who were doing the rally as their honeymoon, and talked to the family for awhile. The two children spoke basic English and the father had a smartphone to translate, we all crowded around the smart phone discussing how to solve world hunger. We never really got round to world hunger but we did say there was mountains and desert in Kazakhstan and the problems it had caused our cars. After the landscape of Kazakhstan had been summarised we talked about work, both of the Spanish couple turned out to be civil engineers, and the father worked as a manager of a vodka company. When we suddenly all looked interested at the mention of alcohol he went back to his Land Cruiser and plucked out a massive bottle of his vodka and gave it over as a present. We didn't have much to give back in return, but luckily the Spanish couple had a set of sticker books in their car - I'm not sure why they gave it to the children when it was the father who had the vodka, and I'm sure he never gets given sticker books anymore. The Russian side of the border was straight forward, especially with the Kazakh family guiding us through like lost sheep. The officer at passport control took a double look at our passports and us, especially since my passport is from 2010 and hardly looks like me anymore. 

 

After a few countries of poor roads, the Russian roads were a tar-macy dream. Barnaul was a long drive away so Chris struggled to battle his need, his need for speed. The entire convoy sped the along the road, using the excuse there were no speed signs visible. We left the Mongoliers behind in their big slow 4x4, and passed a police car going the other way. I commented on how he looked to have definitely noticed us speeding, but the lights never materialised in the rear view mirror. On the outskirts of Barnaul we pulled over to let the convoy catch up, the Mongoliers pulled up along side and told us how they had been pulled over by the police car. The officer had leaned in their window said "speeeed" and then waived them on. The rumours of McDonald's had resurfaced while enroute to Barnaul, so eyes were peeled as we tried to find a hotel. Eventually we found a hotel with enough space for all of us and checked in. Wanger had been outside with the cars when a couple of locals approached him and started talking, apparently there was no McDonald's but there was a KFC or a Papa John's. The two Russian fellows ended up following us to the pizza place, I'm not too sure if they were invited but they were there. We had an alright attempt at pizza and then moved back to the hotel for a few pints.