Driving to Moscow: The second time - mid-1990's

The sounds of Led Zeppelin were blaring out of the 1985 Volkswagen Passat as we cruised through Poland at speed, heading in a beeline to the NorthEast. The weather was horrible; gray skies and incessant Autumn rain, but we kept going - Moscow beckoned. 

The two of us were an unlikely pair. Myself, an American and my Russian friend Igor, a Led Zeppelin fan and owner of the car.

Igor is studying in southern Germany, and that's where we started our near 2,000 mile journey from. Besides studying advanced physics (what else would a Russian named Igor study?), he makes good use of his time in Germany, bringing Western goods home to mother Russia at every opportunity. This time he was bringing back his 2nd car! The first is being saved for him, but this VW is a gift for his father, who has sold the family Lada in anticipation.

I've also taken advantage of the opportunities. A practically free ride to Russia, avoiding all normal tourist package deals, in return for helping Igor with the driving.

The road repairs and the rain in the former East Germany slowed us down most of the first day, and after the Polish border we tried to make up time. The roads were better, but the rain wasn't. Even Led Zeppelin didn't motivate us to drive any further than Wroclaw that first night. We pulled into town, and found a hotel in the center.

But a small problem was upon us; it didn't have parking facilities. Igor is continually worried about his car being dented or stolen. 

But in Eastern Europe car theft is a genuine concern. We drove into a 'secure' parking lot near the train station and balked at the price of an overnight stay. Around the equivalent of $6.00; expensive we thought for Eastern Europe. The attendant told us while pulling back his jacket revealing a holstered pistol, "Your car is safe here."

We gave him the money and slept well.

The road to Warsaw the next morning was fine and free flowing; the only snarl was actually in Warsaw, having to go through the center as there is no ring road. After a quick lunch at the golden arches of McDonalds, we headed for the breakaway republic of Belarus, arriving at the border a few hours later.
It wasn't a terribly congested border because there were only cars at this crossing; the trucks had their own border a few miles north. But the line was still long enough, roughly about a quarter of a mile. 

As soon as we joined the wait behind the last car and turned the engine off, a shady looking man came over to talk to us. He told Igor that the wait was nearly eight hours and that he had people holding places in the line up at the front. And for $50 we could go to the front. Igor told him he'd think about it... But we decided to wait after Igor spoke to a few other drivers and found the wait was a more realistic two to three hours.