The 80’s Coming Back
March 31, 2010 by admin
Filed under Linger Longer
Linger Longer: Driving the Trans-Siberian
Chapter 9: The 80′s Coming Back
My fingers smell of fish. The inside of the Sierra smells of
fish, my T-shirt smells of fish and as I swing my legs out
of the car I nearly step on a charred frying pan full of …
uh … fish. Fish is everywhere! It’s up my nose, it’s in my
hair and as I sit up I hear a low growl in my stomach and
fear it’s the fish taking their revenge. Si is nowhere to be
seen; only his sleeping bag lies unzipped on the passenger
seat. Grabbing a tissue from the glove box, I blow my nose
really hard and scan the area for any traces of his whereabouts.
He doesn’t seem to be anywhere insight. He’s most
probably gone for a long walk to get rid of the smell of
fish, or he was dragged out of the car last night by mummy
fish and eaten alive, hmm … maybe not.
‘Chris!’
I look over my shoulder and see Si walking from behind
a bush close to the edge of the lake, with his shorts on and
top off. I wave back and watch as he makes his way over
to the car clutching a toilet roll in his hand.
‘Are you all right?’ he grins.
‘Yeah, apart from the disgusting smell of fish,’ I grumble,
forcing a tissue up my left nostril.
Si slaps a hand on my back. ‘Got off with this girl once
who smelt of fish.’
I throw him a look of disgust.
‘What’s the matter with you, you grumpy fuck? Can’t
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hack the smell of fish?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Si … please! My stomach feels like it’s
about to explode. Are you sure we cooked them properly?
The last thing I need on the road is to feel like I’m going
to throw up after every mile.’
Si leans against the car and folds his arms. ‘John
Wiseman said you don’t need to gut fish under five centimeters
long, remember? Well, the fish we caught were
about two centimeters long so don’t panic.’
Waving goodbye to Lake Wigry, we head further north past
the town of Suwalki and up to the Polish-Lithuanian border.
It’s such a relief to smell fresh air again. I stick my
head out of the sunroof and make a promise to myself that
I will never smell of fish again.
Reaching the Polish border at Budzisko, we cross with
ease into the Lithuanian town of Kalvarija and continue
north along a brand new stretch of highway that carries us
towards the city of Kaunus.
‘Hey, Si, did you know the Lithuanian forests played an
important role in regional folk tales?’
Without taking his eyes off the road, Si grabs a mint off
the dashboard.
‘Did they?’ he nods.
‘Uh-huh. According to this guidebook, during times of
war the forests were a safe haven for those in danger. The
oak tree was worshipped during pre-Christian times and
today represents longevity and strength. Lithuanians often
plant oak trees to mark important occasions. Pretty interesting
stuff, don’t you think?’
Si ignores me and continues to stare at the road.
‘Also, in Lithuania until May 2002, the Soviet-era rules
required women to undergo gynecological examinations
to qualify for a driving license.’
He stops sucking on his mint and turns to me. ‘You
what?’
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Suddenly, a horse and cart veers across the road in front
of us, forcing Si to brake sharply and swerve to the left.
‘Shit!’ he cries, narrowly avoiding the back wheels of
the cart.
The old couple driving this ancient mode of transport
bounce up and down in their seats as they hang on for
dear life. The guy wearing a flat cap thrashes the horse
with a whip while the old gal, who has a face like a
slapped arse, looks sternly at us.
‘Fucking idiots!’ Si shouts, blasting the horn.
‘They’re gonna get themselves killed!’
Dropping down a gear, he composes himself and picks
up speed. The horse and cart veers off the highway and
flies down a steep embankment before disappearing
through the gateway to a field.
‘Idiots!’ Si spits. ‘What the hell are they doing trying to
cross a motorway on that?’
‘I suppose it used to be just farmland around here, until
they plonked this bloody great big motorway right in the
middle of it.’
‘Well, somebody’s going to get killed. They need to build
a frigging bridge!’
Heading for the Baltic Sea, we turn west onto the A1 and
cross the Nemunas River. Reaching the industrial city of
Kaunas, we avoid the centre and continue on, hurtling
past a large industrial power station that bellows thick
black smoke into the atmosphere from towering red and
white-stripped chimneys. There’s little to capture the
imagination, and after a few hours we reach the outskirts
of Klaipeda on the Baltic coast.
Si pulls into a petrol station adjacent to a large industrial
estate.
‘What a shit hole,’ he mutters. ‘We’re not staying the
night here, are we?’
‘No way! How about we go to that sandy spit.’
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Si frowns. ‘Sandy spit?’
‘Uh-huh. It’s near some lagoon. There’s a load of giant
sand dunes, apparently.’
‘Umm … I’m sure it’s beautiful, but the last thing I want
to do right now is spend the night on a sandy spit.’
‘Actually, neither do I. In fact, I’m hungry.’
‘Me too! Hey, Chris, why don’t you grab something from
the shop.’
I glance out of the window at the uninviting petrol station
forecourt outside. ‘Can’t you go?’
Si pauses for a moment, then sighs. ‘Oh … OK, you lazy
fuck.’
As Si scurries off across the tarmac it begins to rain.
Adjusting my seat, I make myself comfortable and pass
the time by observing the local Lithuanians outside.
Suddenly, just as I’m about to drum a tune on the dashboard,
a huge truck, minus its load, roars into the car park
and screeches to a halt opposite the Sierra. I watch with
intrigue as a man wearing a blue pinstriped suit, white
shirt and grey tie jumps out of the driver’s cab clutching a
briefcase. He races across the car park and disappears
inside a brand new BMW X5 with blacked out windows.
Surprised to see someone so well dressed behind the
wheel of a lorry, I eye him suspiciously.
Si quickly leaps back into the car and passes me a can of
Coke and a dumpling, which is an unhealthy yellowish
colour.
‘Sorry, that’s all they had.’
‘What is it?’
‘A Lithuanian dumpling,’ he smiles. ‘It’s got meat inside.
Might as well try the local dish.’
‘Yeah, but not from a smeggy petrol station.’
‘Food’s food, fat boy.’
I keep my eye on the BMW.
‘Fucking weather,’ Si grumbles, as he picks at his
dumpling.
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‘Hey, you see that lorry over there?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Some bloke in a pinstriped suit just jumped out of it
holding a briefcase.’
Si shrugs. ‘So?’
‘Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?’
‘Why, because a lorry driver is wearing a pinstriped
suit?’
‘Uh … yeah!’
‘Maybe he’s on his way to a wedding.’
‘In a great big dirty lorry?’
‘He could be,’ Si nods. ‘They might do that around these
parts.’
‘Open your frigging eyes, will ya! There’s definitely something
going on. He looked suspicious. I wonder what’s
inside the briefcase?’
‘Who knows, Inspector Columbo. Probably his sandwiches,
a calculator and a photograph of his wife.’
‘Si, don’t be a dick, I’ll bet it’s full of money. He’s probably
involved in smuggling cigarettes, or some other
dodgy shit.’
‘Cigarettes?’
‘Yeah, cigarette smuggling is big business around these
parts. Those cheap boxes of two hundred we were getting
from the Kurdish guys in the freezer were probably from
here.’
‘Nah, they were coming from Romania.’
‘Well, he’s definitely up to something. These guys make
millions selling contraband on the black market. Look,
he’s getting out.’
The black 4×4’s passenger door swings open. The guy in
the suit immerges without the briefcase this time. He races
back to the lorry with a concerned look on his face and
climbs quickly into the driver’s cab. Striking the engine,
he accelerates at great speed out of the car park. Through
a gap in the window of the 4×4, I notice a man of Middle
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Eastern appearance starring suspiciously in our direction.
Looking down at our crotches and in any other direction
but his, Si nervously stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray.
‘This place is fucking dodgy,’ he mutters.
This time the driver’s door swings open, and we watch
as his shiny black leather shoes step down onto the tarmac.
We see this as our signal to leave.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ I grin, spinning the car out onto
the main road.
‘Good plan,’ Si replies. ‘The sooner we get to Estonia the
better. We’ll be nice and close to Russia, and we can relax
a little before…’
‘Before what?’
‘Before the real journey begins!’
Peering out of the window, I scan the horizon in the hope
of catching a glimpse of the Baltic Sea. On the map we
appear so close, but looking out of the window it’s nowhere
to be seen.
‘Where the hell is it?’ I cry.
‘Where’s what?’ Si frowns.
‘The ocean, you fool. It should be within pissing distance.’
‘Maybe it’s behind those trees on the horizon.’
‘Si, it’s not a glass of water we’re talking about here …
it’s the Baltic Sea! Seventy-two percent of the Earth’s surface
is covered by water. Where the fuck is it?’
Feeling irritable, I turn up the music on the radio and
listen to an orchestra belt out what I think might be
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, although, I could be wrong.
‘This classical music malarkey is pretty good, isn’t it?’ I
smile.
‘I guess it is pretty relaxing,’ Si replies. ‘The music goes
with the countryside. It makes it look more beautiful. In
fact, I’m glad the tape player doesn’t work.’
‘Why?’
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‘Because I’d have to listen to your Guns N’ Roses tape all
of the time.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with ‘Guns N’ Roses’, pal. Those
boys know how to rock!’
‘Yeah, but it’s so bizarre you’ve only just discovered them.’
‘Come on, Si, you know I’ve never been very up on my
music.’
‘You came to see a few bands at the Roadmender when
we were at school, didn’t ya?’
‘Nah, I drove you and that weird friend of yours to see a
few bands, then me and my girlfriend, Lucy, would go to
the cinema or have a pizza.’
‘Oh yeah, you were like a married couple at the age of
seventeen, weren’t you! Bloody hell, Chris in love! It’s
hard to imagine now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you were so different back then.’
‘Was I?’
Si nods. ‘Uh-huh, you were so … sensible. What happened?’
‘Dunno? I was young and in love. I’m probably a bit
more cynical about the whole cabuddles these days. I’ve
learnt a lot since then.’
‘From watching daytime television?’ Si smiles.
‘No, from life.’
‘Cynical you say? Why?’
‘I’ve had some pretty messy relationships. Oh … I don’t
know. Maybe it’s because I haven’t met the right girl, or
I’m having too much fun to settle down and become
involved in something serious right now.’
‘Or maybe you’re just afraid of getting hurt again?’
‘Fuck off, Si! Are we talking about you or me here?
You’re the one who’s afraid of getting hurt again after
Emily. Anyway, the whole relationship process just seems
a bit false to me at this moment in time. Unless you’re
ready to fully commit, what’s the point? You’re living a lie.’
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‘Yeah, I guess at the end of the day if your hearts not in
it, it can only end in disaster.’
It’s surprisingly quiet as we approach the Latvian border.
Si pulls up at customs control and a round, jolly gentleman
with rosy cheeks appears from a booth. He looks a bit
like the laughing policeman, only he’s dressed in a tight
green uniform. He beams a smile and gestures for us to
drive on.
It begins to get dark as we push on into the evening. We
head directly for the capital city of Riga, which is close to
the border with Estonia and is where this year’s 2003
European Song Contest is to be held tomorrow night.
‘You can’t beat a good old fashioned European Song
Contest,’ Si smiles.
‘Yeah, maybe one day we’ll find someone with a bit of
talent, who might actually win a point.’
‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
‘Maybe we should try and get a couple of tickets?’
Si shakes his head. ‘Nah, I’d rather watch it on the telly.’
‘OK, let’s wait until we get to Estonia. We’ll book into a
hotel and make a night of it.’
The city lights of Riga twinkle in the distance, as we
cross an impressive suspension bridge that carries us over
the river Daugava. Surrounded by grand architecture with
examples of all styles from Middle Ages to modern times,
Si sticks his camera out of the window and attempts to
grab a few shots of the city, which I predict will be blurry
images of … uh … the passing traffic. Even though the
idea of necking a couple of the local Latvian Aldaris Zelta
beer sounds tempting, we try to stay focused and leave
Riga in a bid to move closer to Estonia.
After what feels like an eternity, we eventually find our
way out of the city and onto the motorway via a very confusing
diversion. Seeing a service station up ahead, I
realise that I’m starting to lose concentration, so turning
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off the motorway I find an empty space behind the petrol
station and we immediately collapse into a deep sleep.
* * *
I’m rudely awoken by the fantastic smell of freshly cooked
bacon. Leaping out of the car, I find Chris hunched over
the frying pan and flipping greasy rashers with his penknife.
‘Morning!’ he cheerfully sings. ‘Yesterday Latvia, today
Estonia!’
‘Good lad, where did you get the pig?’
‘From the petrol station, these Latvians love their meat.’
‘Smells delicious, I’m starving! I could eat a horse and
chase the jockey.’
‘Patience, dear boy, you can’t rush a man when he’s
cooking bacon.’
‘Very true! Hey, Chris, I can’t wait to check out the girls
in Estonia. According to the legend, they’re supposed to
be the hottest honeys on the planet.’
‘Where did you hear that?’ he replies flicking a rasher of
bacon onto a plate.
‘On the wind.’
Chris frowns. ‘On the wind?’
‘Yeah, you know, on the grapevine.’
‘Oh, I thought Venezuela had the hottest girls in the
world. I’m sure they’ve won Miss World four times.’
‘Who cares! Maybe it’s a folklore that has been passed
down through generations from father to son, or a sailors
tale that has been whispered in taverns and spread across
oceans.’
‘Bollocks,’ Chris laughs. ‘You saw a program about the
country on the Travel Channel, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes, that might be true, but this time we’re going
to see it for ourselves. The program I saw focused on a
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university in Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, and boy-ohboy
from the girls I saw in the program are we in for a
treat!’
Before we know it, we’re back on the road and heading
along the A2 towards the city of Valmiera. Passing through
the Gauja National Park, I whistle a tune as Chris merrily
steers the car towards the small town of Valka. The warm
morning sunshine streams through my window and I
smile as we pass through another border control, which
takes us into the northern Baltic State of Estonia.
Chris whacks the Sierra into fifth gear. ‘Right, where
shall we head first?’
‘To the ocean!’ I smile. ‘There’s a small seaside town in
the south west called Parnu.’
‘Parnu? It doesn’t sound very exotic, does it?’
‘Nope, but it’s where the party’s going down.’
‘All righty, then, Parnu it is!’
Heading west across the country, we weave quickly
through the pretty little towns and villages of southern
Estonia. We stop for lunch along the way, and devour a
mean burger from a bar-cum-restaurant with a ship theme.
The gaunt skinny girl behind the counter is dressed in a
navy blue sailor suit and white naval cap. Trying not to
laugh as she slides the menu over the counter, which is
shaped like a ship’s wheel, we begin to feel like we’ve
finally arrived on our holidays.
We reach the outskirts of Parnu in the early afternoon and
pass billboards advertising campsites, restaurants, bars and
an endless list of holiday activities.
‘This place is great!’ Chris smiles. ‘It’s so…’
‘Tacky.’
‘Yeah, tacky.’
Finding a cheap hotel in the centre of town, we park the
Sierra in the car park around the back and head up the
stairs to the reception desk. Pushing through the heavy
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glass doors, I smile at the attractive woman sitting behind
the counter. She is of Scandinavian appearance with blonde
shoulder length hair and beautiful blue eyes. In my finest
Estonian I ask her for the price of a room. The woman
doesn’t appear to understand, so I resort to pointing to a
sentence in the phrasebook. She nods and calmly makes
her way around the reception desk. As she fiddles with a
large bunch of keys, I’m surprised by how tall she is. I
nudge Chris and he grins in recognition. Following her
down the corridor, she unlocks one of the doors and
swings it open.
‘We pay now?’ Chris asks, showing her his wallet.
She shrugs her shoulders and smiles sweetly. With her
hair practically brushing against the ceiling, she turns and
heads back to reception. Throwing our bags into the room
we immediately celebrate our arrival, and crack open the
bottle of red wine that has been rolling around in the car
since we left England.
I spark up a cigarette.
‘Si, you can’t smoke in here!’
‘Why not?’
‘There’s a no smoking sign on the door.’
‘OK, I’ll have it out of the window.’
‘You’ll set the smoke alarm off.’
‘Chill out, will ya!’
Kneeling on the bed, Chris joins me and we both lean as
far out of the window as possible.
‘We made it!’ Chris smiles, peering down at the cars on
the busy main road. ‘Estonia! Think how far north we are
now. We’re right near Finland, aren’t we?’
‘Yep, not far, Helsinki is just across the water from
Tallinn.’
‘Not bad for a three hundred pound Ford Sierra. It’ll get
us to Vladivostok no problem!’
I snatch the bottle of wine out of Chris’s hand. ‘I wouldn’t
count your chickens. We’re not even sure if the highway in
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Siberia is passable yet.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Did it say on the internet when the road would be finished?’
‘Yeah, sometime in 2005, but I don’t reckon it’ll be one
hundred percent complete until the year 2008.’
I frown. ‘2008?’
‘Yep.’
‘But that’s in five years time.’
‘Don’t panic,’ Chris smiles. ‘I read on this official road
website that they only have a three hundred and fifty kilometre
stretch of highway left to complete, between the
Siberian cities of Chita and Khabarovsk.’
‘Have they started building it? I mean, is there actually
a road?’
Chris shrugs. ‘Dunno. I guess that’s what we’re gonna
find out.’
Taking a well-earned shower in the communal bathroom,
I return to the room looking as soft and pink as a newborn
baby. Fishing out my finest glad rags, I quickly get dressed
while Chris scurries off to disinfect himself. Peering out of
the window, I look past the road and over the small park
behind the hotel. A group of lads in baseball caps congregate
around a skate ramp beneath the bright blue sky. It
feels like the middle of the afternoon, but guessing that it
must be closer to nine o’clock in the evening, I’m suddenly
made aware of how far north we are.
Bursting through the door with a towel wrapped around
his waist, Chris races across the room and switches on the
TV.
‘The Eurovision Song Contest is on!’ he cries.
Glancing over my shoulder, I take a swig from the bottle
of wine and watch Marie Naumova and Renars Kaupers
present the 2003 Eurovision Song Contest live from Riga.
‘Three cheers to Terry Wogan!’ Chris sings, as he wres-
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tles to pull his boxer shorts on beneath his towel.
‘Wogan won’t be commentating on this channel, you
dumb ass. He only does it for British TV.’
‘Bollocks! It’s Terry’s armchair wisecracks that make it
funny.’
Watching the titles, I can see that it promises to be a night
of the usual cheese with dance numbers, power ballads and
weird entries that involve attractive dancers removing their
clothes. A group of lads dressed in black suits and colourful
chunky knotted ties march across the stage.
Chris falls onto the bed. ‘Which country is this?’
‘I dunno?’
The four-piece band burst into song, which surprisingly
breaks all Eurovision traditions by providing virtually all
instrumentation, as they perform a Britpop-style number
called ‘The 80’s coming back’. I find myself tapping my
fingertips on the windowsill.
‘They’ve got to win!’ Chris smiles.
‘Do you reckon?’
‘Definitely… “I’ve got a feeling the eighties are coming
back”,’ he sings, grabbing his jeans off the bed. ‘…Hey, Si,
do you think he’s singing about your hair?’
‘Fuck off!’
Giving my bouffant a quick flick, I draw my hair back in
a ponytail.
‘It’ll never win,’ I mutter aloud.
Chris frowns. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s not cheesy enough.’
‘Hey, it’s Estonia’s entry,’ he suddenly cries, applauding excitedly. ‘Come on Estonia!’
‘My God, they’ll be a party in town tonight if they win.’
‘Chrissy boy, they’ll be a party in town tonight if they
don’t.’
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