Berlin to St Petersburg by bike

In the summer 2008 I undertook an eye opening adventure, cycling 2000km from Berlin to St Petersburg.

A Solo unsupported bike ride
cycling over 2000km
in 3 Weeks
through 6 countries
burning 60000 Calories
sleeping 13 nights under the stars
living 12 days in Russia
taking 10 skinny dips
having 0 punktures
and using 1 pair of Crocs.

The Journey

I am enjoying my last piece of bread with marmalade and listening to the melancholic sounds of a talented street artist playing tendering Russian songs. Close by is a Japanese tourist group rushing out of their tour bus to take some photos before returning to their seats and jumping to the next “must see” attraction of St. Petersburg.

While I waited for Lana, a friend from my work in Zurich, I try to gather my thoughts and enjoy the moment. I had crossed the finish line, but it would take hours perhaps days for this to sink in. For the last three weeks I had travelled slowly, and with each push into the pedals, I had been getting closer to St. Petersburg and further away from home. I had experienced life more intense than ever before. Never before had I felt so many emotions, so concentrated and frequent, never before learned so much about me in such a short time.

The scholar Syed Manzurul Islam once classed the traveller into two broad categories, the sedentary and the nomadic. The former would primarily concentrate on reaching their pre-established destination and ignore the ground covered, merely swapping locations. “They might travel in the fastest possible vehicle and cover a thousand miles yet they remain where they are, because they are on a rigid line which keeps them grounded in the enclosure of their home”. For the nomadic traveller however, this rigid line would become subtle and continually shifting. It would be a vivid and bumpy ride across boundaries and cultures, releasing the space between the dots on the map. For the first time in years I started to enjoy the adventure of travelling again.

Three weeks ago I had left home. Thanks to a big breakfast and some last minute equipment shopping (including a cheap camera which broke on day five) it was a slow start. It had taken me weeks to prepare for the trip, buying equipment (including six maps of different countries) and reading up on reports, but soon I realised that I did not even know how to get out of Berlin. So I spent my first half day cruising through parts of the city I had never seen before and enjoying the sunny start of my little expedition. By the evening I had listened to the only thirty songs on my mp3 player and had enough of them for the rest of the trip. I decided to camp for the first night of the trip on German soil.

After a smooth border crossing into Poland by Kostrzyn I hit the pedals hard. I wanted to get as close to Poznan as possible. Here a good friend of mine would be waiting for me with a huge BBQ and a soft cushion for my sore bum. I cycled till sunset and further, but Poznan stayed out of reach and I was forced to pitch my tent in a forest just off the main road. A million mosquitoes and my fear from a mass murdering heavy armed psychopath convince me to have a short dinner in the tent. It took me a few nights before I started enjoying the beauty of a night in the woods by myself and even longer to build up the courage to ask a stranger for a place to sleep.

The next day I reached my first modest target and wasted no time to enjoy the rest of the day at the lake with some friends. The little party in the evening did not really help to get out of bed the next day, however, the big breakfast prepared by Marek’s mum did. I hit the road again and soon realised that I did not have a good enough city map of Poznan. Thirty kilometres later, three of which were on the Autobahn, I finally made it out of the city. My worried friend had kindly booked me a hostel for the night, so I spent the evening on a farm with twelve kids, whose life evolved entirely around horse riding. After some effort to find a working TV, I watched the European Football Championship final, Germany against Spain. I seemed to be the only German supporter, but after a heart breaking defeat I was quite glad I did not postpone my trip to watch the game in Berlin.

Over the next days I swopped my bum pain for knee problems and steadily increased the sizes of my lunch to keep up with burning all those calories. My map reading skills started to improve and I made it to the beautiful city of Torun without any further problems. Here I stayed a night with Iza, a girl I met over couchsurfing, before heading further east.

After I forgot my bike lock in Poznan I became more dependent on the goodwill of people to look after my stuff and I realised how helpful and friendly they were. I decided to overcome my fear and ask as many people as it would take to find a garden to sleep in for the night. It turned out I only had to ask once and for the rest of the trip I was overwhelmed by the kindness and trust of the people hosting me.

Day eight included my first shopping experience on the trip. I ended up in a small garage of a local shop keeper, desperately trying to communicate my shopping list. By the end of the trip I was able to have two hour conversations without even saying a word and my miming skills improved from zero to level one. With full bags and a bad feeling for buying the last fruits of the village I cycled on into the night. On the next day I had my first friendly encouragement from the road site, which was a great feeling, even if not participating in the tour de France. I enjoyed the evening playing volleyball with a few builders, having a couple of beers and a good chat (well, I didn’t get a word but it was funny).

On day ten I met my first biking colleague, Lukas, who sadly rode in the opposite direction. I got to a little village and tried to ask my way through to the library to check my email on the internet. After several attempts I found a four year old girl (well, she found me), who could help me thanks to her English lessons in kindergarten. The further I got into the country site, the more friendly people seemed to get. The last night in Poland I spent with my brother’s girlfriend’s family, who manage a beautiful little camp site in the Masuren.

The next morning I crossed the deserted border to Lithuania without any passport control, and changed some money with a half-asleep exchange officer. From the first moment onwards I fell in love with the country, it’s empty and new roads (thanks to the EU), it’s rural feel, it’s cute colourful houses, the fresh smell of the country side and most of all, its’ people. The meat on the fields was getting scarce, fencing had disappeared and agriculture seemed to be a manual job again. My map appeared less useful than I thought, but with a bit of trust I got where I wanted to go. A few dogs motivated me to ride a little quicker by chasing me down the road. Later on the trip I started to use my water bottle or a little stick to defend myself, but the best solution always seemed to be to cycle faster. The highlight of the day and perhaps the trip so far was my first encounter with a Lithuanian family. When I asked for a place to sleep, I got invited into the house and offered the best bed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I tried to resist but Jürges and Ursa did not rest until I had dinner with them. I felt honoured and fell asleep with a big smile on my face. In the morning I got woken up with a fresh coffee and a glass of milk, which Jürges had gotten from their only cow a mile away. They even warmed up some water over the fire for me to wash myself. After swapping addresses and some big hugs I got back on the dusty road, with tears in my eyes and a small lunch pack in my bag.

My plan to ride a relaxing fifteen kilometres to Kaunas turned out as a little horror. The weather turned against me and I ended up driving past the city on a very busy road, losing all my energy by fighting my way out of the suburbs again. I got forced to use a stretch of Autobahn and for the first time wear my helmet. All signs seemed to show to Kaunas city centre, but I just wanted to get out and back to the country side. In the evening I met the second friendly Lithuanian family. When I asked around for a place to sleep I met Karoline, a young girl visiting her grandfather. She introduced me to her grandparents and I was allowed to sleep in a huge pile of dried grass (and some mice) in their shed. They even served me some delicious dinner and all the troubles of the day were forgotten. In the morning Karoline and I finished at least a kilo of fresh strawberries for breakfast before I hit the road again. On my way out of Lithuania I passed the first ugly city of the country and I decide to buy some biscuits, just so I had spent some Lithuanian money. I crossed my third border and for the third time there where no officers or passport controls, I love the EU.

In Latvia I was again forced to drive a few kilometres on the main road, a real adrenalin rush, and for the first time I got pushed off the road by the wind of a fast passing truck. Latvia seemed a little richer than its neighbour and I found it more difficult to attain a place to sleep for the night. In the end a nice guy let me camp in his garden and offered me some water.

I spent most of day fourteen fighting my way into Riga, but it is all worth it. I treated myself with a day rest and enjoyed my time at the national choir festival, a huge event held every five years. Since 1873, forty five choirs with thirty eight thousand singers from all over the country get together to perform. Singing seemed to be a bit of a national sport (next to ice hockey of course) and I loved the atmosphere. I got to listen to a singing competition in the university and the whole event reminded me of “As It Is in Heaven”, a movie about a choir in a remote Swedish village. I spent the rest of the day with some friends walking around the capital and eating in a traditional Latvian soup canteen. On the camp site in the city centre I met some cyclists coming from Tallinn and we managed to swap some valuable information and maps. On the next morning I slowly made my way out of Riga, enjoying a second breakfast on the beach and cycling along the sea for a few kilometres. My body was refreshed and I was ready to make some good distance.

In the evening of the seventeenth day I was ready to cross into Estonia. Shortly after the border I asked a boy if he knew some place to sleep for the night and he kindly escorted me to his dad’s farm, where I spent a peaceful night. With its beautiful forests, lakes and colourful wooden houses Estonia reminded me much of Scandinavia.

I had heard much about Estonian campsites (apparently they all had a sauna) and the following evening I decided to try one out.  When I started asking locals for directions I got speaking to a worker in a beautiful old castle. It turned out that he was just preparing the ground for a medieval festival the next day and he invited me to spend the night with him. Tucked away under a warm woollen fleece and in the middle of an old castle ruin I enjoyed the crunching of the fire and the clear night sky. We got talking about crossing into Russia and he warned me of all the evil behind the border. If I had learned anything so far, it was that all countries are full of good hearted people and that there is no need to be scared of the unknown.

I spent one more night with an Estonian family before reaching Narva, the gate to Russia. I got myself a room in the cheapest hotel in town and spent most of the night exited and scared about what would be waiting for me on the other site of the river. When I got up at three am it was already light outside, or perhaps still. I cycled to the border, a beautiful bridge between two castles glowing in the golden sunrise. After spending half an hour to find the entrance for bicycles (it seemed they are not allowed to go with the cars, and neither with the walking passengers), I made it to the lady at the passport control. I handed over my Russian visa, which had been valid for four hours, filled in a few documents (which took quite long because I don’t speak Russian) and got my stamp. The morning mist was still hanging in the air and I got going again. The roads had more holes than the Swiss mountains and were by far the worse I had seen, but I cycled quickly and counted down the kilometre to St. Petersburg. Drivers started to become more ruthless and occasionally I passed a burnt car, parked on the side of the road. Before the evening I had reached the outskirts of St. Petersburg and started fighting my way to the city centre.

My last moments on the ride were filled with joy, the memories of the last weeks and the satisfaction to have reached my goal, but also with sadness that I would never be able to fully share my experience with the people I loved.

I stayed for another ten wonderful and exiting days with Lena, trying to get a feel for her city. We visited palaces and museums and I learned much about Russian history and the unbelievable size and variety of this country, but often we would just stroll around the city for hours. I got to meet her grandparents and began to better understand Russian culture. After one month of leaving home I got my bike on the plane (a story which is a story in itself) and in three hours “jumped” back to Berlin.

To sum up the trip would take exactly three weeks. I rebuild my trust in the kindness of the individual (no matter from which geographic location), found new appreciation for the “basics” of life (such as food, a save place to sleep and some friendship) and discovered the adventure of travelling itself. I would especially like to thank Lena for her special hospitality, my family for worrying about me and all the friendly strangers I meet on the road.