8 June 2009 Ukraine

I got up and got on the computer to do some research on border crossings from the Slovak Republic to the Ukraine. It sounded like Monday was a good day to cross between 1:00 and 6:00p.m.: less traffic for some reason. So as I was driving toward the border I drove by a transmission repair shop. I said to myself “I wonder if they will let me change my oil?” The red beauty was coming up on three thousand miles and needed an oil change. I stopped in and tried to communicate with the owner. Nope, not one soul could speak a word of English. The Czech Republic and the Slovak Republic have been the most difficult to travel thru in regards to language. I couldn’t say hello, thank you, no numbers, goodbye or anything. Just a smile and numbers with my fingers. The owner or manager came out to the bike and I tried to use sign language or gestures to indicate I’d like to change oil. He thought I wanted to add a quart of oil. With a lot of head shaking yes and no he began to understand I wanted to change oil. Once inside the mechanics thought I wanted them to change oil and after a little more head shaking they got the idea I wanted to change my oil which was ok with them. They even provided the tools and anticipated I would need an oil rag and funnel. As my oil change progressed, I explained to them that I was an American riding my motorcycle around the world which caught their attention right off. They were amazed anyone would come to the Slovak Republic for any reason. The lady working in the office graciously brought me some sparkling water to drink while I repacked my motorcycle. I then gave the owner/manager my blog card and showed him how to find it on the internet. Within minutes he was online looking at my blog. One of the mechanics showed him how to convert English to the Slovak language. Then the blog made more sense to him. So off I went heading toward the border. I actually bumped into the border before I realized it and turned around and left so I could get my paperwork in order before I entered. I drove back to a wayside rest for truckers and was in the process digging my documents out of the top box when a white Mercedes van/truck pulled up and out jumped a gentleman and his two daughters. They were Yuri, Edita and Renata who were motorcycle riders from the Ukraine. We talked about my Kawasaki and they told me they had Honda sport bikes etc. etc. Between the four of us we could communicate some because both of his daughters speak some English. Before leaving Yuri told me Customs and Immigration would be no problem and gave me his telephone number. He said “give me a call when you get to the Hotel Uzhgorod so we can get together.” He departed in a cloud of dust like he arrived. I completed arranging my paperwork and headed to the border.

At the border I was given a form to fill out the usual information. Name, address, country, what the purpose of your visit, where you are staying and telephone number etc. The lines of traffic were moving pretty slow so I was trying to fill out this form while I was waiting. Well the car ahead of me moved one car length and before I could get moving the guy in the lane alongside me pulled in front of me. I thought that was damn rude. So after that a guard motioned to me to come to the head of the line. I filled out my paperwork, showed him all the documentation on my bike and waited for him to give me back my passport etc. Then one of the guards checked the vehicle identification number and told me to push my bike up to customs. So I waited some more and then I was issued another form to fill out declaring all my electronic equipment etc. etc. After I turned the form in, the customs officials turned up the heat a notch or two wanting to know if I was carrying drugs, excessive amounts of money, firearms, any kind of medications etc. etc. Well then, why don’t you show me what you have in those saddlebags? So I pulled my bags off the bike to let the customs people do their job. When they were finished I got to put everything back in my saddlebags and top box. They gave me all the paperwork and I checked that my passport was stamped and they let me go. Of course I had one guard left to go. He needed a slip of paper that was stamped and guess where it was. In my top box buried under my spare tire. So I had to take everything off again and give it to him. I said goodbye in Russian and left. From there I drove to the Hotel Uzhgorod and purchased a room. It was another day that I had to carry all my gear up to the 2nd floor and it was hot with all my clothes on. I was doing a meltdown and it was a nice hotel. I oiled the chain, put the front disk lock on, locked all the boxes and put my bike cover on and went to bed.