FKK road trip to Croatia - part 2
Continued review http://blogs.turpravda.com/Gobul/64748.html ROAD TO HOME. Attempt number 1. Kilometers of the road ran under the wheels, the car sped cheerfully along the mountain roads, which had not yet had time to warm up from the sun. The mood was excellent, although it was a bit sad to leave the wonderful country of Croatia. We have already passed the Lim Fjord. Our goal is the capital of Croatia, the city of Zagreb, and further - the Hungarian border. Here are the outskirts of Zagreb on the port side. The outskirts of all cities are similar - sleeping areas, typical panel high-rise buildings. The sun rose higher and higher. Mountain roads, tunnels, green meadows and slopes overgrown with dense forest. Here is the Hungarian border. A short wait in front of the barrier - there are a couple of cars ahead of us. Here is our turn - it remains a pure formality. The border guard takes our passports. He studies for a long time, looks puzzled at Svetlana's passport... and returns it back... the barrier remains closed. Border officials come out of the booth, try to explain something to us in Hungarian, then switch to broken English. And here we understand that the road to Hungary is closed, at least for one of us: the two-entry Schengen visa in Sveta's passport has been exhausted - entry into Hungary from Ukraine (once) and entry into Italy (Venice) from Croatia (two). My passport is in order - I have a multi-visa for an unlimited number of arrivals, and I can continue on my way, but Sveta must stay here. And what are we to do now? - Go to Zagreb to get a visa to enter Hungary - that was the answer of the border guards. - But this is impossible: today is Sunday and we will have to hang around in Zagreb until Monday! Where will we spend the night? we tried to argue. - And we are NIIPETS! – such was the general meaning of the answer. We were taken aside and made to wait for a decision. After an hour and a half of waiting, we were given a document stating that such and such a citizen was REFUSED to enter Hungary. The document was written in English, Hungarian and Russian. Svetlana was forced to sign all copies, after which we were turned to Zagreb. ZAGREB IS THE CAPITAL OF CROATIA. Chapter 1. Zagreb and its environs. Having entered the city, we immediately tried to contact the Russian embassy. To be honest, from the very beginning I did not believe that the employees of our embassy would want to provide us with any assistance, so I immediately offered to go to the airport to find out the possibility of buying one air ticket to Moscow. But, nevertheless, we decided to try different options. In order to call on the local network, I had to buy the most inexpensive SIM card from a local mobile operator, and in order to navigate in an unfamiliar area, I had to buy a city map. We managed to find the phone number of the Russian embassy without any problems: the seller of the store where we bought all this kindly helped. The young guy spoke very good English and was very kind and talkative: it was clear that the opportunity to talk with tourists and at least something to help gives him pleasure. However, a call to the embassy did not give us anything: after listening to our story, the man replied that, in fact, such stories had already happened to our tourists, but now he can’t help us with anything, because it’s a day off, come tomorrow, make an appointment, there maybe they will suggest something. We went to the airport - by the time we found it, it was about seven o'clock in the evening and the ticket offices were no longer working (and what you want is not Sheremetyevo for you). The solution of all issues had to be postponed until tomorrow, and now it was necessary to look for a place to sleep. Arriving at a hotel near the airport, we were unpleasantly surprised by the price of the issue - 100 EURO per room for a day. We tried to find some wild place near a river or lake to put up a tent. Again, a bummer: there are settlements around, fields, vegetable gardens, orchards and other agricultural land - every piece of land is private property. Shops are closed - there is nowhere to buy something to eat either. They circled the area for a long time until they completely fell into despair. Finally, we asked a local resident - where can I find a hotel? He gladly volunteered to accompany us. The aborigine got into his car and we went after him. . We wound around the streets for a long time until we finally arrived at a small private two-story hotel. I thanked a local friend by giving him some money. The hotel turned out to be very pleasant and relatively inexpensive - for a decent double room we were asked for 50 EURO. The owners of the hotel are a family: a married couple of retirement age and their sons - two peasants - twin brothers just like in the cartoon "Two from the chest, the same from the face" - tall, strong, round, immense and thick-faced bespectacled men of 30 years old. One of these the peasant spoke English quite well, the other - German, so it was not difficult to ask, find out the necessary information and agree on everything. After all the adventures of the day, when we finally entered the hotel room, we didn’t want anything at all - just take a shower and fall into bed. Getting up in the morning, and going down to the first floor, we saw one of the host brothers. When he saw us, he jumped up from his chair and said “Guten morgen! ”. Yeah, we understood - this is the one that speaks German, which means that I will communicate with him. Then we distinguished them in this way and called each other “German” and “Englishman”. The little man ran, fussed: “What do you want? Cook you breakfast? Please sit down at the table, I'll do everything now. He ran to the kitchen, rattled dishes there and, in a few minutes, we had scrambled eggs, coffee, buns and other goodies on the table (all this was included in the room rate). After finishing breakfast, we started getting ready for the airport. How to go to the airport, where to look for it? Yesterday we wandered around the area for so long that we seem to be completely lost in this country. Getting into the car, I unfolded the map to get my bearings, then looked up… The airport control tower was right in front of me – about 50 meters away from our hotel. Who would have thought that, having left the airport, after all our wanderings, we would return here again? A few minutes later we were sitting at the airport office of the Russian Aeroflot, and talking with the local representative of the company (a nice Croatian man who speaks very good Russian). It turned out that flights to Moscow depart regularly - every day at 14.00, tickets are always available and not too expensive (about 200 EUR). I wanted to immediately send Svetlana home immediately, on today's flight, but she still wanted to try again to talk to representatives of the Russian embassy, go to them - perhaps they can offer a more convenient option. A ticket for tomorrow is still booked - just in case. The representative of Aeroflot explained that if we are already going to the center of Zagreb, we can redeem the booked ticket there: the central office of Aeroflot is located not far from the Russian Embassy. Chapter 2 Directly from the airport, we again called the Russian Embassy, again told our story and asked for advice on what to do. They didn’t talk to us for a particularly long time on the phone, saying that since today is a reception day, come, we’ll figure it out there. Returning to the hotel, we immediately began to gather in Zagreb. I asked the “German brother” how to go to the city center. The guy explained everything in great detail and showed on the map. He advised to get not by car, but by public transport for "Zagreb - ser grosse stadt und der weg ser compliment". I didn't argue: okay, man, if you haven't seen Moscow, let Zagreb be "a very big city" for you. However, he is right about the fact that the path is very difficult: it is better to take a bus in an unfamiliar city. The bus quickly took us from the airport to the central bus station, and then we rode the tram. Here I want to tell a little about the public transport system in the city of Zagreb. A ticket for public transport is bought in the same way as with us - at kiosks. The ticket is valid for one and a half hours. That is, for an hour and a half you can ride one bus, or change from one type of land transport to another (bus-trolleybus-tram) as many times as you like. In principle, an hour and a half is enough time to drive the entire city from end to end. And after this time, you will have to buy a new ticket. In the tram, as expected, they began to ask passengers about whether we were going the right way, how many stops we still had to go, etc. It was amazing - all the passengers showed attention: no one turned away and everyone tried to give advice. In the end, some nun (actually, she was in monastic clothes) said that she lived not far from the street we needed and would see us through. On the way, she told us about the city, about some of her charitable deeds, and so on, in short, she entertained us as best she could. Something Svetlana began to ask her about the fare payment system, to which she replied “a vret card! ”. Here is a joke that is called "translation difficulties". What does the expression "card vret" mean? We thought that she spoke so unflatteringly about the map of the city that we had in our hands (yeah, “tits-masiski” and “fucking sausages”). I could not understand - why is the "map lying"? Everything seems to match - we go as shown on the map. Later, we figured out that it was not a geographical map that was meant - a tram ticket is called a map. A geographical map in Croatian will be "map" - like the English "map", and the word "vret", it actually means like "in a row", that is, like everything is OK, everything is in order. That is, the expression "card in red" meant that our tram ticket was still valid for some time. Well, that's it, we reached the Russian embassy for conversations. Since the street is very long and crooked, there are many houses on it, then our guide here herself was not very well oriented, but the kind residents of the city, who met us along the way, were happy to show us the right direction. Having reached the gates of the embassy, we thanked our guide for a long time and ardently, she answered all thanks, “Oh, this is not up to me, this is Praise to God. ” We have the most pleasant impression - a wonderful city, friendly people. *** The first thing we heard when we rang the bell of the embassy of our Motherland was: - Nnn. . . what's wrong? ! - We came to you. - So what? Who are we? - Here, we called, talked with you (we again retold our story). You said to come. - Well, what do you need? But we are still in a strange city in a foreign country. It seems to us that in the Motherland this is not how they should receive their citizens. Especially since it's starting to rain. Maybe you can still let us inside? Outside, it started to rain heavily. - Well, okay... Come in... We entered the embassy. There was a table and several chairs in the hall. . The embassy workers were sitting in an "aquarium" fenced off from visitors, and the whole conversation went through the glass. There were three workers - two aunts, who during the entire time of our stay did not even deign to look at us, and a man who looked at us with an expression on his face: “when will you leave here, why are you bastards interfering with work? ”. We started again, for the umpteenth time, telling us about our adventures. After listening to our story with a bored look, the worker asked: - Well, what do you want from me? - Help us. - How? - Well, at least tell me - how should we be now? - Well. . . Go through Romania. - Is that all? Yes, what else do you want? Well, in short - it makes no sense to retell everything here: the conversation went in the style of “what you need - you don’t see: I’m busy! ”. I will only tell you what we managed to find out as a result: 1 - our case is not the first: our tourists from time to time get into such stories; 2 - to apply for a new visa, we need to contact the Hungarian embassy; 3 - however, you will have to wait at least a week for a visa, and there is no guarantee that it will still be given; 4 - no, the Russian embassy cannot provide assistance in this matter; 5 - however, we can leave via Romania - there is no need for a Schengen visa; 6 - however, the roads in Romania are very bad and it will be very difficult and very long to drive; 7 - fortunately, in our case there is another way out - one person can fly by plane, and the one who has a multivisa and the right to own a car will go, as planned - through Hungary. Moreover, points 6 and 7 are information that we received not from this embassy fucker (sorry - there are no decent words), but from a visitor who happened to be in the embassy (also, by the way, a Croat). In this regard, I have a few questions for the employees of the diplomatic corps (if they read this text): - why is it that we received more information and help from strangers, to whom we are nobody, than from those who are obliged to help us on duty? Just don’t tell me, bastards, that “I don’t owe you anything” - you owe it because we support you on our taxes. - how can you be a patriot if, when you come to your homeland (and an embassy is a piece of your homeland in a foreign country), you first of all hear “Nnn… what the hell?! ”? - couldn't you just listen to us on the phone and give advice? Moreover, as it turned out, our case is far from the first. Why, for the sake of a short conversation through glass, did we have to go to the city center, waste time and money? - Is it possible that our most thieving university, MGIMO, has raised a generation of bastards who consider themselves the “upper class”, and all the rest unworthy cattle? In short, a very unpleasant aftertaste was left from communicating with these "workers". I always assumed that not the most kind and sympathetic people work in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (and I said this very gently), I heard different stories from other people, but I never thought that everything was really so bad. Citizens tourists, if you find yourself in problem situations abroad, never turn to these geeks - you will not receive any help from them, but only waste your nerves and time. In short, we went to the central office of Aeroflot, bought the booked ticket and went to see the sights of the city of Zagreb. We liked the city itself - very pleasant. The entire center has been preserved as it was at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries: beautiful buildings, Catholic churches, green parks with fountains and monuments. There is no fuss or haste. We wandered, took pictures, went to a local pub (nice, tasty and inexpensive). But there was no strength for long walks - apparently the nervous tension of the last day had an effect. At about 17:00 we returned to the hotel and paid for another day. The last evening was spent in idleness - bought in a grocery store opposite the hotel, beer, some chips, fruit juices and indulged in gluttony. THE ROAD TO THE HOUSE. Attempt number 2 (successful). In the morning we were not particularly in a hurry - before a long journey it was necessary to get enough sleep. We had breakfast with what the owner had prepared for us (today the “brother Englishman” was on duty). We even managed to hand over beer bottles to the store (yes, there is a glass container reception there). On foot, I accompanied Svetlana to the airport and sent her to the landing. She didn’t take any things with her - only documents and money, everything else was left in my car. We said goodbye and I returned to the hotel. There, he asked the owners about the road, once again thanked them heartily for their hospitality and set off. The road to the Hungarian border was already familiar to me (of course - over the past two days I managed to ride it back and forth), so I reached the border quickly. Passed the border control just as quickly, and, having swept five hundred meters across the Hungarian land, called the Russian embassy again and told these bastards everything I think about them. I know that this is not a very bold act, but I really wanted to “blow off steam”. After that, I wanted to throw the Croatian SIM card on the road, and then crush it with a wheel (that's so beautiful - like in a movie). However, after thinking, I decided that it was not worth it - but what if it would come in handy someday. I put it in the "glove box" - and it still lies there. At the nearest Hungarian gas station, I filled up a full tank, bought a road map for driving along the autobahn and a map of the city of Budapest (so as not to get lost in it again). I paid for everything with a bank card, so as not to bother with currency exchange. Further went without incident. Again, no one checked the road map. The map of Budapest did not come in handy - from the western side I very successfully drove onto the bypass road, marked with the sign "UA", that is, "Ukraine". A full tank was enough to cross the whole of Hungary from end to end, only on the last kilometers I added 5 liters to the tank - just in case, and reached the border already when the sun had set. The procedure for crossing the border was quite fast - in about half an hour I was already driving on Ukrainian soil. I found the hotel quite quickly - a very pleasant hotel-restaurant-bar-boarding house, set in the form of an American ranch, off the road. In the morning, after having breakfast (breakfast was included in the price of the room), we continued our way towards Kyiv. The whole next day was taken by the road from the border of Ukraine to its capital. On the way, I didn’t stray anywhere and didn’t even look at the map - the road is very informative - at each fork and turn there are direction signs to Kyiv, so everything went according to the planned schedule. In Kyiv itself, again, I had to drive a little through the streets and squares - for some reason I didn’t get on the bypass road, so I had to go through the city center. However, even here he managed without any maps and hints: since the sun was already setting (that is, to the west), he was guided by it, trying to maintain the direction to the northeast. Thus, I went to the Kyiv-Chernigov-Gomel highway, on which, about 10 km from Kyiv, I found another hotel for an overnight stay. The hotel is very cheerful: as I understand it, this is actually not a hotel, but a brothel. The hostess asked me five or six times: “Are you EXACTLY just an overnight stay? ”, And, it seems, she was very disappointed that I really didn’t need anything other than an overnight stay. I think that if I had arrived there on Saturday or Friday evening, I would not have found a free room (without sex services): I would either have to take a “room with a young lady” or look for another hotel. Anyway. The next morning again the kilometers ran briskly under the wheels of the car. On the road Kyiv-Chernihiv, however, I missed the turn to the city of Glukhov, but, looking at the map, I quickly corrected my mistake - I did not have time to go too far. Then there was a rather long road to the border - for probably 200 km, not a single gas station. The control light was not yet on, but the needle of the fuel gauge was quickly approaching the red zone, and I already began to fear that I would get up on this road before reaching Russia. When these sad thoughts had completely overcome me, a frontier post finally appeared on the horizon. The queue was not too long, but still there was. The Ukrainian comrade, who was sitting in the booth at the barrier, began to ask me in great detail about my journey, a casual and confidential conversation ensued, and then the border guard suddenly asked the main question: - Well, what, Alexey Vitalievich, can you give us something for cava? - Eh. . . well. . . this one.... - I was a little confused, but quickly pulled myself together, - Yes, it’s not a question - now I’ll just run to the typewriter, take the documents... I ran to the car, quickly snatched 500 Russian rubles from the glove compartment, and, putting them in my passport, returned to the booth . - Oh how! - said the border guard, opening my passport, - Yes, everything is in order with you - both documents and everything else... Get into the car at once, and we will fill it all up. I got behind the wheel and with amazement began to observe the fuss that rose at the post. Border guards briskly ran from one booth to another. Cheerful footsteps, slamming doors, my passport fluttered merrily from hand to hand. Someone stuck his head in my window and told me to drive to the barrier, bypassing the queue. A minute later, a nice young lady in a booth handed me my passport with all the seals and, wishing you “a happy journey and come to us again - we will be happy”, opened the barrier. I entered my homeland. On Russian territory, 50 meters from the border checkpoint, there was a gas station - finally. As soon as I drove up to her, squeaked the sound signal of the fuel indicator, the control lamp lit up - just in time! Refueling again - a full tank of our Russian gasoline and again on the road. Pointers with such a native word "Moscow" led me forward: I no longer looked at the map. This, of course, is in vain - because of this, I went a longer road - through Oryol and Tula (E93 highway). Here I did not understand - when did I miss the left turn and drove off the M3 highway? Moreover, this turn was not so far from the border post - I now see this when looking at the Google map. Apparently he was too sure that the M3, being the main track, should be straight - without such sharp turns. In short, the extra 150... 200 kilometers had to be brushed aside because of this mistake. Then again, after Zheleznogorsk, I mixed up the direction a little: having left the E93 highway to E95, I turned not to the north (to the left), but to the right and drove 15 kilometers to the south, beyond Trosna. But then, by the shadows from the trees, I realized that I was going in the wrong direction - if I was going north, then the shadows should be in the other direction. He also did not have time to go too far - he turned around, correcting the mistake. And passing by Tula, I turned not to Moscow, but to Aleksin, but this already affected fatigue. I had to go back and take the right direction again. Well, it’s not so important anymore - anyway, the road went to the house, and I painted all this in detail here, so that other travelers would not repeat my mistakes. Well, the journey ended in my garage around half past eleven at night.
