We stayed in the van for most of 30th September, waiting for nightfall when the plan was to get through the border at midnight, the earliest we would be allowed into Russia. Driving past the 13 miles of trucks, we eventually pushed our way into the line and got through the Kazakh border easily enough. On approaching the Russian border, we were ordered by a Russian border guard to get into the line for cars. Passport control was easy enough, as was customs, where a very young man cast a cursory glance into the van. We were given two small forms at passport control, which we filled in; I went back to the van and the customs man asked “are they stamped?”. I thought he meant the passports and said “yes” so he waved us on. We got stuck in a line of cars to get out of the border, and were told that we needed the white forms stamped. So I ran all the way back to passports control, as frustrated drivers shouted words that I (fortunately) didn’t understand. A border guard stopped me and took me to the head of the queue and got the necessary stamps. We drove away feeling distinctly foolish, although it wasn’t really our fault. We found a nice truckstop at the side of the road and fell asleep at 03.00 to wake at 11.00.
The drive to Samara was glorious with thick bands of trees on either side of the road. Their leaves were turning colour – a mosaic of every shade of yellow and gold, every possible shade of green and some scarlets and crimsons. On reaching Samara we set off round the by-pass and saw a huge building on the left with “Sberbank” written on it. Changing dollars for roubles was no problem, although it took some time as every detail on our passports and the infamous white forms had to be entered on a computer. But w can now pay our way in Russia. Getting to Kazan was tricky. We reached Tolyatti, where a huge factory makes Lada cars, and were stopped by the police going in and again (after we discovered we were going in the wrong direction) on the way out. They were very friendly, and it made a nice change to be told about “Big Ben” rather than Manchester United. We stopped at a truckers caff where I had a bowl of borsh and Russian-style goulash. Jennifer had a cutlet. Delicious.
Our bed for the night
The 13-mile line of trucks trying to get into Russia.
The road to Kazan