To hell and back

To Hell And Back

"I've got to send you to Istanbul" said my boss with an air of
fatality. My heart skipped a beat, the gateway to Asia; for years I'd
wanted to do this, but I'd never been farther than Budapest. The only
problem now was telling my wife. "I'm going to Istanbul!" I said
"-tomorrow."
Tactful, no, sincere, maybe, but honest-yes!
The Lady Godiva was my favourite workhorses 2448 Mercedes with EPS
gearbox, twin stacks, chromed of course, alloy wheels, and snow chains
draped over her chassis, to me she really did look the part, and now I
was taking her to Istanbul.
I took a look at the wallboard in the office, Big Andy
Was in Poland, Alan was in Budapest, Dean in Malta, Sandy Italy and the
rest of the team spread across Europe. The chart looked impressive,
maybe we were going to get out of our rut.
"Here's your papers, there's only ?700 so you'll have to be
careful!"
I headed towards Abingdon-solo; my trailer was already they're being
loaded. En route I made some calculations. Istanbul was at least 3
days, 3 borders and 3 lots of fees farther than Budapest, which we were
struggling to do with ?500.0ur company had gone bust the year before
and we were all desperately short of cash, all that kept us going was
the need to provide for our families, and even that was losing
perspective.
At the abattoir, my trailer was almost ready. Sheep skins fresh from
the carcass and rubbed with salt. Blood and gore dripped everywhere and
I wondered about the risk of infection should I come into contact with
it. Once loaded my big adventure was now under way, along the M25 I
smiled to myself that I was going somewhere that most people only ever
dream about, but I wasn't too sure I was coming back, moneywise, I was
on a one way --ticket.
At Dover, I cleared customs' Vet and cough-and-drop formalities before
embarking for Dunkerque. In the drivers' restaurant I shared a table
with 3 other drivers, headed for Holland, Germany and Italy.
"Rather you than me kid!" Said one" last time I went there was 10 years
ago and I'll never go back"
"Things have changed" I said, "Anyway, it's not so bad".
I spent the first night at Aachen on the Belgian-German border. The
next day I transited Germany, and stopped at the Shell truck stop
outside Marktredwitz; Although Geiselwind was the favourite stopover, I
had to push on to Budapest, in order to get a Turkish visa. I crossed
the border at Schirnding the next morning, and was now in the Czech
Republic .As always, the German border was fairly quick, but I queued
for hours on No-mans land, but once through, I pushed on past the
prostitutes and. gypsies around Cheb, through Karlovv Vary then Prague
and eventually to Brno,and then Kuty.Before reaching the border, or to
be more accurate-the Portacabins dropped in the middle of the motorway
during the partition of Slovakia from the Czech Republic, I
would-always stop to freshen up at the Shell garage before joining the
queue into Slovakia.Here I would shower,eat and rethink my
strategy.Previously I had carried frozen Beef through here into Hungary
and so would have the fridge running allowing me to jump the queue
straight up to the control points,carrying Sheep skins however,gave me
no priority. I decided to by-pass the main queue and then pull in to
join the next lot at the border.It must be difficult for anyone that
hasn't been through these places to try and imagine3-4 kilometers of
trucks queueing against the centre barrier of a motorway just to
transit into the next country.
When I eventually passed through the border into Slovakia I headed to
Bratislava and spent the night at a garage on the outskirts of town.The
following morning I left for the Hungarian border at Raijka,here I lost
some of my precious currency for being slightly overweight on one
axle.What with customs and Vet fee's,I was beginning to get a picture
of what lay ahead.
I reached the Buda-park,a truckstop on the outskirts of Budapest,around
lunchtime.the truck was safe here,moreso than at the"containers" on
route 5 near Dabas.I called a taxi and headed off to the Turkish
embassy in Buda-vary, the old part of the city,overlooking the
Parliament building and the river Danube.The embassy was open but I was
too late and would have to return the following morning,it felt strange
to be gesticulating through a slit in the door,to a pair of dark brown
eyes,that I needed a visa,standing on the old cobble stoned street of a
former East European/Communist city,almost like something out of a
no4'el.
"Tomorrow 10 viza 2!" I was bluntly informed.I hailed a cab and climbed
insider had lost a day and this was going to cost me dear.Along the
road I realized that my driver had taken a wrong turn,we were now on
the M7 heading to the MO. This was definitely not part of the
script,the counter was rising and we were going the wrong way.I
exchanged a few choice words but the driver claimed he didn't know the
way I directed him back to the park where his counter had reached 2400
florints,the journey into town had been 850fl.I refused to pay and
called the owner of the truckstop out to intervene. We reached a
compromise of 1000florints and the taxi left.
The following morning I returned to the Embassy,the visa
would cost me $39 and no other currency would be accepted. Having been
unable to acquire USDollars on the ferry I now had another problem to
deal with.Back at the Buda-park,my new friend agreed to purchase some
currency for me in the town. By the time I was reunited with my
passport, I'd knocked up quite a few expenses,this was not good.
I left Budapest behind me and set off towards the Romanian border at
Gyula,Varsand.Her I spent the night on the side of the road just
insight of the border.Here I was able to buy Romanian Lei at the
correct rate and the notes were genuine too-always be aware of
counterfeit currency in Eastern Europe,it's all too easy to buy dud
notes.Next morning I set off, following a small road, the 79-A from
Varsand to Chisnieu Cris, Ineu,Brad and Deva where I picked up the 7
(E68) to Sebes,Sibiu and then Pitesti, where I took the motorway-if you
can call it that,to Bucharest. The 79A was mostly dirt track winding
through villages where Pigs and hens roamed freely, this was not for
the faint hearted.Every village seemed to ooze suffering and
depravation through every crack in every wall, the people-grey and
toothless would watch as I passed by in my safe European truck. At Deva
the road improved but was potholed,as only an east european road could
be, and the poverty continued relentlessly. There was little grip on
the road surfaces, especially the cobbled motorway beyond Pitesti, and
sliding out of control could be a very real danger especially in poor
weather. Where the cobbles ended, huge lengths of concrete replaced
them. Over time these had sunken into the mud beneath and now lay like
a long row of speed bumps and dips, there were no lights and the horses
and carts that crawled along even the motorway,showed no reflectors,a
pair of Iranian trucks having mown into one family group,bore witness
to the dangers these carts presented.
European maps show Bucharest as having a ring road,do not
be fooled into believing this is so. The road is all but unmarked and
resembles an old airfield more than a major transit route. If you have
trouble' negotiating the M25 or the Peripherique around Paris, then
this road will be beyond your scope.
I picked up the 5 at Jilava and headed to Ciurgiu and the Bulgarian
border at Ruse. No-mans land here is a very long dirt track winding
through dusty fields and becomes a bog in wet weather. Once I'd
finished my formalities here, including the sheep dip wheel wash
designed to stop the spread of foot and mouth disease between the two
countries, I was into Bulgaria. Tired from a long day of discovery and
hard concentration, I pulled in to the truck stop beside the Bulgarian
border post. The road bridge over the Danube, now behind me, was a
stark and chilling reminder that I was a long way from home.
I pulled my curtains and prepared some supper before settling into
bed.Just as I dozed there was a bang on the door.I - i_gnored_ the
knocks until the door handles were pulled several times, whereupon I
leaped out of bed and threw back the curtain. Outside was a young girl
of aboutl6-17 years of age,obviously a prostitute trying to get in to
my cab.I told her to clear off out of my sight and that I wasn't
interested.Her pleas grew more irritating up to the point that I opened
my window to make sure she understood what I was saying.Before I had a
chance to realize my mistake she had jumped up onto the step pushing
her arm expertly through the gap,released the door lever.I jumped down
from the cab wearing just my shorts, and screaming profanities at
her-how dare she open my door without my permission?She was undeterred
and was joined by a man appearing from nowhere,I continued to voice my
complaint especially when he informed me that I had to pay 6ODM for not
having sex with her when she could be earning in another truck.Stooping
down he picked up a rock and threatened to break my
windscreen,realizing that things were now completely out of hand I
grabbed a steel bar from behind my seat and struck him about the
head,the whore ran off and the pimp picked himself up off the floor
motioning that he would return he then retreated into the shadows.I
knew now that I was in serious danger and that I had to get out of
Ruse.I drove for about an hour and then went back to bed. Shortly I was
awoken by another knock on the door, it was 7am,and I was obstructing
the pitch of yet another prostitute, it was time to move on.
I eventually reached the Turkish border at Kapikule
later that day.The system here seemed to be almost ludicrous. Evervbody
wanted money,even the main bossman,without his permission,I would not
be allowed into his country.Yet he was not the end of it,I still had to
convince the Vet that he should give me the privilege of entry into
this great and just land.It was Thursday,10 past 3 in the afternoon and
he should have finished.at 3pm.This was going to cost.Once alone in his
little office he made some stretching gestures and yawned to indicate
that today had been a very long day. "I want to go home to my very good
wife and children" he explained,he was after all very tired.2ODm later
and my papers were stamped. I could go now,but only as far as the

barrier.
"English,you have for me magazine?" The barrier would not be lifted
until I handed over some porno mags.I lent behind the passenger seat
and pulled out a Sunday times colour supplement,it was all I had to
offer and until he opened it to see he would not know the difference
anyway.The mag disappeared out of sight and the barrier raised,I was
now in Turkey and would soon be in Istanbul.
It was Friday morning when I reached the Londra camp, a truck stop near
the airport, not too far from the city itself. I telephoned my agent
and took a cab to his office. Once I'd handed over my papers I went to
the police HQ to register my truck, and myself promising not to sell
the vehicle to anyone in Turkey before I left. Back at the Londra camp
I made a call to our office back home, stressing my financial trouble
and that I'd need as much money again to get home. I was told that
something would be arranged and that it would be done for next week. It
was Friday 23rd September 1994.
I spent the weekend alone in Errenkoy TIR park.Apart from a Slovakian
wagon and drag,mine was the only foreign vehicle in sight. Here I was
in one of the most exotic and beautiful cities in the world and yet I
couldn't,do anything about it. My money was now gone and I had barely
enough currency to make it back into Bulgaria.I called home and said
that I'd call again once I'd received some money.It was a very long
weekend and monday seemed to want to stay as far away as it
could.
When I cleared customs on monday afternoon I was told to go to a
phonebox near to my destintion and call a number I had been given.Soon
a young man arriv'ed to escort me to the new warehouse I was to deliver
to.The lads' hands and feet were scarred badly, cigarette burns he
informed me,apparently a favourite PKK torture.The sheep skins were
off-loaded by __.and and when eventually this was finished I gave the
labourers a bottle of beer each and then headed back to the Londra
camp. Crossing back over the Bosporous bridge,I said farewell to
Asia,it was a brief visit,but I'd be back-maybe. Tuesday morning I woke
up and began to cook some food for myself. As I did this a familiar
face came walking by my truck. It was Paul, an owner-driver I'd met at
Schirnding on my last trip to Hungary. He'd been to Turkey and was
going home but had run out of money.

We began talking and I explained that I'd met him before and why it was
that I couldn't help him out, I didn't mention the position I was now
in because I believed that help was forthcoming.
I took the truck over to the jet wash and had it cleaned inside and
out, although it was quite cheap, I could ill-afford to pay for the
welding needed to secure the airtanks that had broken on the way down
through Romania.It had to be done though and anyway, I would get some
money soon.
I called the office again and was told to go to BulgariaI said I could
get into the country but needed money once I was there to get back
again, I was told not to worry and that help was on it's way. I headed
back to the border stopping only for diesel and one last look at the
Mosques and funny looking highly decorated Taxis on the way back.
In my calculations I'd made the dreadful mistake of thinking that my
return visa through Bulgaria would cost the same and that I could
exchange all the different currencies to pay for it. This proved not to
be the case, and now that I'd left Turkey I found myself in No-mans
land unable to go either forwards or back for the sake of a few
pennies. There seemed no way out of this one and having expected some
financial help to arrive in Turkey, I'd eaten the last of my food. All
that I had left was a tub of margarine. This I would save for-when
things got really desperate. I tried to sleep after calling home to
inform my boss of my predicament, but having not been able to reach him
I left it in the hands of my wife to contact him and arrange for
something to be done, what exactly I did not know.
For 18 hours I sat there not knowing how when or even if I was ever
going to get out of this situation. Hunger and panic were beginning to
get to me as I watched the other trucks passing through, I envied their
ability to just keep going when I was stranded, embarrassed too that
I'd allowed this to happen to me. Then suddenly Pauls truck pulled up
to the customs area and I leapt out of my cab. He would, after our
earlier meeting at Schirnding, have been well within his rights to
refuse to help me, but instead he gave me 10ODM and his business card
so that I could return the money to him (which I did) when I got home.
Once again I was free to go, thanks to the help of a fellow
countryman.I headed off towards Sofia and Kostenetz, my loading point.
There was only one way into the cold store and that involved a lokm
detour through narrow lanes to by-pass a low bridge 500m from the
coldstore. When I finally got into the store I called my boss and
explained briefly what had been happening. Another driver was coming up
from Macedonia, and would meet me at the TIR customs park in Sofia. He
couldn't say when he'd arrive only that he'd be there. This was a great
relief but I still needed to get by until he arrived.
I couldn't load that night but was assured that we would be loading the
next morning. That night I was taken to a hotel by the owner of the
coldstore,here I spent the night after-having eaten a 3 course meal
with himself, his wife and son, courtesy of the coldstore. Life had
taken an unexpected turn for the better.I lay in that room after my
meal watching Bulgarian TV and trying not to think of the wait that lay
ahead of me.
After loading up I was handed my documents and wished a safe and
pleasant journey home. One of the workers came with me to Sofia to
direct me to the TIR park and customs area. Anyone that has visited
this pitiful part of the world will understand when I 89'y that to be
stuck here for any amount of time, for whatever reason, you need to be
built of stern stuff, especially if you need to use the "Toil-et" in
the TIR park. A deep hole leading to nowhere, covered by a slab of
concrete hidden behind a thin fly infested brick wall,this is a more
accurate description than a "toilet".
Customs' formalities were finished fairly quickly and I received my
papers back from the agent within a couple of hours but was unable to
leave until the other vehicle arrived. I soon spent the rest of the
money Paul had given me on food, faxes cigarettes and soft drinks, now
I had only to wait. I was still waiting the following afternoon when I,
after much hassling, received a fax saying I had to meet the other
driver further up the road near Pleven. I was given 50 dm by my agent
to pay for my parking and see me through until I met up with
whoever
it was coming up from Macedonia.'
'At the gate I was set upon whilst trying to pay to leave, I managed to
keep hold of the note but suffered a split lip, battered face and
briused ego. The attackers didn't get money but I was beginning to get
really fed up with this and just wanted to get home. I made it to the
rendevous point and waited and waited. The following day, Saturday, I
made my last call back to my boss, I had no more money and my last
meal, the remains of a tub of margarine had been eaten. All that
remained was a few litres of water, I had to get'help soon, and decided
the best place would be at Ruse where I could be found very
easily by anyone coming in or out.
There were still no Brits at Ruse, it was Saturday and I would have a
long wait. I kept an eye on the queue, going home and on the other
trucks coming into Bulgaria but no sign of hope. I was hungry, very
hungry, eventually, on Sunday, 2 Brits arrived and offered to take me
home. I was desperate and would have gone too, but for the fear of
ditching the wagon there and never working again. They bought me a meal
and paid for a fax to my boss. In it I said that I would be leaving the
following morning if I have no news from him. A short time later a fax
arrived and I was promised that the agent in Sofia would arrive the
next day with some money; I said goodbye to my new friends that night
and prayed I d
made the right decision.
It was Tuesday lunchtime and the agent finally arrived, I was given an
envelope containing money. My initial joy turned to panic when I
realized the value of these notes. I'd been given 2300 dm approx ?1000
consisting of 3xlOO dm notes and 2x 1000 dm. I needed to pay my way
into Romania, eat and buy diesel without showing anyone a 1000 dm note
because of the dangers it would invite. (10OOdm = ?400 or 2 years wages
locally). These notes could get me killed.
I pulled round into the queue after a quick meal and a drink. I bought
some bread from a street trader and chatted for a while, he had hardly
any teeth, and seemed as rough as they come but after a while he gave
me his wooden pipe as a gift, I felt humble and confused, I was
surrounded by desperate people, pimps, gangsters, beggars, whores and
yet here was a gentle giant giving me a gift.
I decided I had to use one of the notes,1000 Dm,to pay the bridge
toll-7ODm,it was the only way I could use a note of such value this
side of Germany. I slid the note through the window of the
portacabin,and collected my change and receipt. The cashiers aid had
exited by the back door as I left to go to the customs and passport
controls. At the passport window my passport was confiscated and I
found myself between two border guards. Sensing the inevitable, I
waited and then the punches started, right in my kidneys. I bounced
between the two thugs until I was able to step back and ask how much of
a problem there was. They demanded 20ODm,and I agreed as long as they
stopped hitting me. When they backed off I placed 10ODm on the counter
and began to make a fuss. The note was whisked out of sight and a
slanging match ensued, until the passport was thrown out of the window
to the floor in a show of macho disgust. I was free to go.
I wasn't bothered by the necessity to bribe, but the indignity and
shame of the punches, of being unable to fight back because of the
consequences that would entail, really gnawed at me, anger welled up
inside me at the thought of those moments. Being stranded alone and
with no food, money or visible way out, a failing marriage at home and
nobody I could turn to, here I was taking a beating and being unable to
do anything about it without making matters worse. If they'd asked I
would have given, there was no need to insult me like this on top of
everything else, but then maybe that was for their own benefit to help
them sleep better at night, maybe.
In Bucharest I was fined for not stopping for a policeman after he had
already waved me through. I demanded a receipt and was left to pick up
the bits I could after he tore it to shreds and threw it into the
air.
"There's your receipt" he screamed. I was beginning to believe that a
British driver was a meal ticket for anyone in uniform in these parts.
By the time I reached the containers, back at Budapest, I'd had to pay
2 further fines, one for speeding- I was doing 40kmh in a 50kmh area
but as I had a British truck my disc was obviously wrong and I had to
pay 2ODm.The other fine was equally ludicrous but again I had to pay up
because I was a British driver, and as such had far too much money to
be allowed to go my way unhindered. I drank a couple of beers and slept
soundly for the first time since leaving Hungary on my way down.
Back at Dover I cleared customs on Sunday morning and shared my sorry
tale with a few old friends, it was beginning feel as if the whole
thing was a bad dream and now here I was back in blighty away from it
all. But at least, whether anyone else could understand what I'd been
through or not, I knew that I had completed my duties and brought my
truck home, at least I could be proud of that.