Makhachkala and the Caspian sea
Another chapter in the Russian adventure – Makhachkala and Chechnya
Q By Nigel Cooper
3761 miles so far A glance at the map shows a road continuing south to the port of Makhachkala, where there is absolutely no chance that I will miss the Caspian sea. I head off towards it and now in the distance can see a grey shadow forming on the distant horizon. I am nearing the Caucasus Mountains, and a tingle of excitement sends shivers down my back like a cold shower. I reach the port and twist and turn through side roads before reaching an opening in the buildings that leads to the edge of a small harbour and there in front of me is the Caspian Sea. It is gloriously sunny. I park up and walk down to a small beach were some kids are already splashing in the water. I realise that I have lost my trunks that I'd been carrying for just this occasion and don't quite have the confidence to strip down to my skids, so I take off boots and socks and go all Blackpool Sands with a bit of a paddle. It all looks very lovely if not a little incongruous as there are more industrial parts of this town not very far in either direction. I dry off and get back on the bike in search of some food and find a little café that is open for lunch just up from the harbour. I get a chicken salad, the usual mixture of shredded cabbage, egg, chicken, pepper and something like a rind that has lovely flavour, all washed down with a coke and after a short break I'm ready for the next challenge. Just quite what 32
awaits me up the road I'm about to find out. You know how it is with music tracks. There are some that you just want to go on for ever; those favourite tunes that you hear on the radio or have stashed away at home on a CD or playlist somewhere (or maybe vinyl!). The fast, loud ones energise and empower, while the smooth, slower ones wrap you in their emotions and spirit you away to Caribbean midnight bars or Italian coastal roads. But then there are the other music tracks. Those you can't wait to end. Every crescendo and change of tempo you hope will be the finish. Well, if life is like a music track I was waiting to see which sort this bit was going to turn out to be. I'd been pulled over by the police, not the first time it has to be said, but this felt different. There were several unmarked cars parked in the centre of a roundabout – the sort of roundabout that's just white lines and coloured tarmac in the centre of a junction. They'd indicated I join them in the roundabout and I'd risked the traffic to manoeuvre myself to the centre and park-up alongside their cars. I removed my helmet and placed it on the ground on top of my gloves, as is my habit. But now, having done that, they seemed to have lost all interest. They were chatting and joking amongst themselves and watching the afternoon traffic flow past; what was this all about? Then another car pulled over, perhaps this was the senior officer who would let me know what sort of bribe was expected,
