After a hearty breakfast freshly prepared for us, we set off. I suggested to Kit that we save the Lion Bars in case we needed them later. Little did we suspect of the adventures ahead of us but needless to say we did eventually need and were thankful for the Lion Bars.
I felt progressively more tense on our way to Russia. I've held a hope that I would do this for too many years and to fail having got so close would have been a disaster. We approached the border on a posh dual-carriageway that had obviously recently been built. It led to a different border crossing to the one we intended to use but the road was so pleasant and straight forward we decided to follow it. When we got to the border it was deserted. At the first set of barriers a man emerged from a hut and told us in broken Polish and Russian that the border was closed and we would have to cross at Gronowo where we had intended to in the first place. So we back-tracked and reverted to plan A. We stopped in Gronowo and at a petrol station in search of insurance for the car but without luck. I had read that 3rd party insurance is readily available in petrol stations either side of the border but is cheaper in Poland. Quite quickly all signs of life disappeared and we found ourselves driving along a tree-lined avenue which felt distinctly like the final stretch of our road to Russia.
We drove on and without warning the border appeared. The Polish border guard interviewed us for around 5 minutes and also searched the car before letting us through. I told him we had no insurance and he said the Russians had let a Polish car through that morning without any. This posed something of a dilemma. I knew 3rd party insurance was a legal requirement in Russia and driving in Russia was risky but dare I do it without insurance?We were then waved on to the Russian side. A young man wearing a hat 2 sizes too big for his head approached us and after a short almost friendly interview, waved us through. We thought it too good to be true and it was. The road led to another barrier where we were interviewed at greater length and our car and papers were checked thoroughly. Last year Kit and I visited Berlin and had our passports stamped in a souvenir shop at the Berlin wall with replicas of passport stamps from when the city was divided. We paid 2 Euros for 4 stamps including a Russian one. The guard asked me where I had got it from and when I told him he referred us onto his superior officer who interviewed us at greater length about the souvenir stamp. He told us it was illegal and he went away with our passports. Kit and I wondered if we were going to be turned away for the sake of a joke with the benefit of hindsight we maybe should not have taken part in. After a while the guard came back and gave his colleague permission to allow us through. He asked us where we were going and taking a deep breath I told him. I had also read, only a few days before our departure, that the Russians frown on foreigners touring around the border area and we needed special permission but I had also read that others had done it without any such thing. I told him we were looking for my mother's birthplace and she was born in a place called Domnovo. 'Do you know it?' I asked. 'No, where is it?' he replied. 'Oh, south of Kaliningrad,' I answered, vaguely. The answer was accepted and we were waved on. I felt the officer understood what we were doing and was respectful of the effort we had made to get this far. His colleague on the other hand clearly thought we should not be let through because of the joke stamps and questioned the decision to let us on our way before bad-temperedly stamping our passports.
We then progressed to the next window where we completed some customs documents including an application for temporary importation of my car. The legal documents required to take your own car into Russia are a passport, international driving permit, your car's registration document (called an 'autopass' in Russia) and 3rd party insurance. Having said that, the only document that was actually inspected by Russian customs was the car's registration document. This part of the process took around 45 minutes. It could have been quicker, I suppose, but I was given new documents to complete in duplicate when I made a mistake. During the process the guard asked us if we had green card insurance? I told him we didn't and would have to buy it at the border. He acknowledge what I had said but without further comment and went away. When he returned he furnished us with immigration cards and a temporary import document for my car. We sat in the car for a further 10 minutes waiting for more questions about insurance but the process was over and we were waved on into Russia. 'What about the green card insurance?' I asked. He said 'Oil, benzin,' and waved us on. I took this to mean we needed to buy the insurance at a petrol station once we were through the border just as I had read on the internet. Negotiating the border crossing had taken around 2 hours. We drove on a little way to yet another barrier but this time it was lifted and we were waved on into Russia.
After around 500m we approached a small shanty town of wooden huts most of which were closed. We attempted to ask a guy selling car accessories but he spoke only Russian, however, a little sign language and sight of my pile of documents elicited a wave of his hands we thought indicated we should drive further on. The whole thing was becoming somewhat disconcerting. We could easily have progressed without buying insurance, or our only other choice appeared to be to turn back. At this point a German car pulled up at the side of us heading in the opposite direction. An expensively dressed guy and his very lovely partner climbed out of the car and Kit and I agreed that they looked like the kind of people who would know. After a pleasant conversation in German which included a genuine interest in what we were up to, they directed us another 500m up the road to a petrol station where a woman sat in another wooden hut selling 3rd party car insurance to foreigners. 500m up the road, sure enough, there she was. A very pleasant woman, who spoke a little German but mostly Russian, copied details from my documents and furnished me with the necessary insurance including a form to complete at the scene of an accident should we be unfortunate enough to be involved in one. She was full of apologies for the expensive price of the insurance which added up to around £40 in roubles. I read that it is possible to pay in Euros but Roubles appeared to be the more welcome currency.
As our sat nav was now useless, we then proceeded on our way using Google maps and satellite photos as our only guide. This was a surprisingly efficient method and we made good progress. We were heading for Domnovo, which was called Domnau in German times and the local town for my mother's family. The condition of the roads was atrocious but our destination was somewhat rural and the roads were in better condition than some of the horror stories I read on the internet. We drove through small hamlets and along winding roads bordering pine forests and scrubland. Every few miles or so some of the scrubland was on fire and this added to an atmosphere of mystery and tension in the car. We supposed there was some agricultural reason for the burning scrubland but never saw a single human being tending to the fires. We also passed a couple of signs proclaiming 'Border Territory. Passes Only' in several languages. I knew what the signs meant but pressed on and hoped we would not be stopped.
We eventually came upon a town and had no idea how to progress. I had no choice but to draw attention to ourselves and ask someone for directions. I climbed out of the car and surveyed the passing people for a likely candidate. As I did an army truck passed by but paid us no attention. I eventually stopped two passing guys who both had a whiff of vodka about them. One of them clearly didn't want to talk to us but his mate who was clearly drunk was much more open and friendly. I think I used all the languages I know and our guide replied with sign language and Russian. His description of driving over cobble stones was quite comic but it was clear what he meant. Between us we worked out the right road to take although, at the time I had no idea it was the right road. I offered him my hand and he returned the gesture with a manly handshake, his friend kept his hands firmly in his pocket so, not to be defeated in my diplomatic effort, I gave him a friendly pat on the back before getting back into the car.
We attracted quite a number of curious glances in the town and all along the rest of the route but no attention from anyone official. I kept expecting to be stopped by the police or the army but all we witnessed was people going about their ordinary lives. We passed through a number of small hamlets with children arriving home from school on public transport. Quite a lot of buildings were in a state of disrepair but occasionally we passed something opulent and obviously the result of wealth such as a brand new Russian Orthodox church with golden topped towers.
Arriving in Domnovo was an electric experience. The first buildings we saw were what appeared to be ancient army barracks partially in ruin. I wondered if they were German or Russian but 'no entry' signs are obvious in any language and I chose not to stop to take any photos. However, my camera finger was itching and I stopped and took a photo of the next building along the road.
Metres later we entered the town. I'd studied the satellite pictures numerous times before but here it was in real life. My grandparents walked these streets, traded goods, talked with friends and attended church. My mother took some of her earliest steps here and I felt as if I was walking in her footsteps. Ghosts in history and not a single sign of them left in the town. I believe the church is the original German church and, of course, many of the buildings are original but Domnovo doesn't feel German anymore. It is Russian and its people are Russian. Everything German has gone. The town has been ethnically cleansed. Since entering Poland we had seen storks nesting all along the route. There was a stork that used to nest on top of the town hall in Hitzacker, the German town where my mother lived after the war. Like a mirror of Hitzacker there is a stork in Domnovo and I imagined that my German family where probably reminded of home each time they saw the Hitzacker stork. 
After taking a few photographs (I don't think the statue of Lenin was there in my mother's time) we began to look for Guwöhnen, my mother's birthplace and home until the age of 4 or 5. It lay a little more than 2km to the north west of where we were. The road out of Domnovo was treacherous with enormous potholes and we crawled along in first gear trying to avoid grounding the car. After a short while we came to a dead end at which point a dirt track headed in the direction of Guwöhnen. There was no way I could have got the car down it. I felt we couldn't leave the car and walk so we turned back and returned to Domnovo. We may have been only 2km from my mother's birthplace but it might as well have been 200km. I was crushed and Kit suggested we walk but I said no. I told him not to worry. I felt we had achieved something by getting this far and I felt good. If we failed to actually see the house it didn't matter. We had already seen and achieved something remarkable. Anyway, I had a plan B.
A few days before we departed I checked the satellite images on Google maps and the resolution had improved sufficiently to reveal a route to Guwöhnen from the west. The 'road' started in a hamlet called Berezkova to the north west of Domnovo and Guwöhnen lay to the east between the two towns. I told Kit we would drive back the way we came and use the compass on the Sat Nav to guess the location of the town. All we needed to do was keep driving in a northwesterly direction for around 2 or 3 km. I gave him the satellite image and we set off. Astonishingly, this worked. Without realising, we entered Berezovka and Kit recognised the buildings at the entrance to the road leading to Guwöhnen from the Google satellite picture. 'Dad, I think that was it,' he said as we passed a junction. I stopped the car and took a look at the satellite image with Kit. Sure enough the buildings around us matched the buildings on the image. We were in the right place! The importance of the Google pictures cannot be overemphasised as there was no Latin alphabet in use in the entire Kaliningrad area on street and town signs. We may have been in Berezovka but we had no idea from looking at the signs going in and out of the town. It was only the Google maps that told us we were in the right place.
I reversed the car and turned onto the road that we were pretty sure led to Guwöhnen. The initial few hundred metres of the road was laid with tarmac but this soon became a dirt track and then loose stones. At least it was passable. We drove past two guys, who appeared to be a little worse for wear from drink, walking towards Berezovka but otherwise we didn't see a soul. After little more than 5 minutes we reached a junction and I knew from its shape that we were in the place that used to be known as Guwöhnen.
My German grandfather was a farmer and lived in a farmhouse on a plot of land with apple trees in the garden and a stream at the bottom. There were maybe five or six houses in the hamlet and I'd studied satellite images of them all on Google maps. I turned right expecting my mother's old house to be on my right but all that was there was an old dilapidated barn and more importantly no apple trees and no stream. I was puzzled. Maybe the house had been taken down? Then I noticed another house further down the road that I hadn't studied on Google Maps. The land went downhill a little to what was likely to be a river. The house was surrounded by what appeared to be apple trees. I suggested to Kit we go and look but I already knew it was the right place. I pulled off the road onto a grass bank next to the house and was about to get out of the car when I noticed an enormous dog looking at us curiously from the grounds of the house. I wanted a closer look but thought better of it and inspected the house from inside the car. As I checked off each item on my mental list, apple trees, small pond, stream at the bottom of the garden my heart began to pound inside my chest. This was it. This was definitely the place.
The idea was to get out of the car and walk in my mother's footsteps a little way down the road she would have taken when she became a refugee and began the long walk to Sweden where she was held in a concentration camp before being repatriated to West Germany but with an enormous dog now peering over the fence at us we drove a safe distance from the house before getting out. It was a little windy out in the open but we took some photographs and then I played my song 'Homeland' before we left. I felt particularly electrified to be singing 'Wo ist meine Heimat? (Where is my homeland)' out aloud in German, the language that has disappeared from this place. I half expected the ghosts of my mother and Ursal to appear. Homeland
When I was a boy I dreamt of riches
And beautiful women by firesides
And songs that make the whole world sing
I know that dreams are lost
But I don't know how we lose them
Chorus
Where is my homeland?
Heartland?
Hinterland?
Where did my mother walk as a child?
Where is my homeland?
Heartland?
Hinterland?
Where was I born? Where will I die?
When I was a boy I made memories
Impossible to retrieve
Hinted at in photographs and tears
I know that memories are lost
But I don't know how we lose them
I don't want the answers
I just want these questions to leave me
I don't want these ghosts
I just want these ghosts to leave me
Wo is meine Heimat?
I then took some photos of the other buildings in Guwöhnen and said to Kit it was time to move on. On the way back to Berezovka the two guys we had past earlier stood in the road and stopped us. They were very polite but assertive and I told Kit to wind down his window a few inches so we could talk. In a hybrid Russian-German-English they told us they had been watching us and were curious about what we were up to. They later told me they had used a satellite link on a mobile phone to watch our movements closely. Partly in German, I told them that my mother was born in the area and we have been visiting the birthplace of my ancestors. One of the guys was interested and asked why we had stopped at the one house and then again further up the road, so I told him our tale of visiting Europe and singing a song in each place. This led to much amusement, the swapping of names (Yuri and Samson), the shaking of hands through the car window and to a request for the web address so they could look at the blog. Yuri said he was interested in my tale because he had just bought the house we stopped by. 'What, the one with the big dog?' I asked. 'Yes,' they replied and laughed. 'But that is the house my mother was born in. That was my family's house!' Yuri was overjoyed and passed his mobile phone through the car window to show us a video of the house in the summer. 'It is beautiful in the summer,' he said. It was time to drop our guard and I told Kit I was getting out of the car to talk to them but he was to stay put just in case. As I rounded the car I was hugged joyfully and after shaking my hand, Yuri invited us to return to the house to look at it more closely, drink with them and celebrate.
We declined the offer of alcohol but eventually accepted the offer of a coffee and a request to sing the song again. As Yuri and Samson climbed into the backseat of the car Kit said 'This is really risky,' and I replied 'Yes, I know but sometimes in life you have to take a risk to achieve an experience.' We had driven over a thousand miles to to cast our eyes on my mother's birthplace and now we were being invited into the house. It would have been silly to have continued to say 'no'. 
Once back at the house we sat in the garden in some lovely Spring sunshine. Yuri prepared the coffee and brought out various items of food to eat including Easter cake, pickles and the remains of a pig he had slaughtered on the previous day and barbecued. He brought out a tea for Kit that looked like a strange flowering herb in a cafetiere. We were assured it was delicious but after our wary glances Yuri brought out a more conventional teabag. The pork was delicious as was the juice from the jar of pickles we were encouraged to try. We talked for an hour and discussed our journey to Russia. I showed them our hometown in an atlas and the route we had taken to Russia. Yuri told us he is Armenian and came to Russia because of his country's war with Azerbaijan. He lives and works in Moscow but his sister lives in Berezkowa. Last summer he came to visit her, saw my mother's house and bought it. He said I must come to visit him again and my family and I have a permanent invite to Russia to visit my mother's birthplace. Then we could get drunk together and celebrate finding it properly.
Yuri and Samson celebrated my singing them my song with a large cognac from a newly opened bottle. We spent another hour sitting in the garden talking and eating before we had to leave. I had warned Kit not to eat too much because we intended to eat a meal in Kaliningrad. How I wish, with the benefit of hindsight, we had filled our boots and stayed even longer. In fact the better plan would have been to have stayed, got drunk and slept in the car. I told Yuri we had to get to Kalinigrad before dark and as sorry as were to go, we had to leave. Yuri said he wanted a photo of us together in front of the car with the GB sticker because nobody would believe him when he told them two Englishmen had been to visit his house.
Yuri gave us the easter cake to take with us and insisted we visit his sister in Berezovka first. After doing so and further goodbye hugs. Kit and I left for Kaliningrad trying to take in what had just happened.We arrived in Kaliningrad without problem but it soon became absolutely obvious how inadequate the same Google maps, that had helped find my mother's birthplace, were in a city. We were immediately hopelessly lost. There was no chance of us even being able to read a street sign in the Russian alphabet never mind find our way to the hotel. We drove around in circles for an hour attempting to think straight as we avoided colliding with other traffic and the numerous scary potholes in Kaliningrad's roads. I'm not talking about little potholes that you might damage a wheel on but dirty great big things that would swallow up a whole car. Every so often the car in front would suddenly swerve to avoid one and I had no option but to follow suit and do the same, driving into head on traffic at fifty miles per hour. The Russian roads were appalling and our nerves were shattered by the experience. I told Kit we would drive out of the city and try to follow the Google route one more time before giving up and heading back to Poland.
I eventually found a road out of Kaliningrad and we drove into a petrol station to see if they had any detailed maps of Kaliningrad.
The lady and gentleman inside spoke only Russian and didn't understand anything we said. We couldn't see a map but in desperation I said 'Kaliningrad?' and gave a Gallic shrug. The lady said 'Ah! Kaliningrad!' and pointed out the shelf behind us which had a large scale street map of the city. I tried to pay for the map but my money was refused. My initial excitement at the find soon turned into disappointment when we looked at the map. It was in the Cyrillic Russian alphabet and impossible to read. We had a map but we were still hopelessly lost.The man in the garage found the street of our hotel(Pavlova) for us but could see we weren't going to make it and generously offered to drive there and for us to follow him. He took us on a drive into the centre of Kaliningrad. This meant following him through rush hour traffic in a city with third world roads.
We arrived at Pavlova Street but something was clearly wrong. We were in a rough part of town which didn't meet the internet description of our hotel and Pavlova Street was split in two by the construction of a road bridge. Kit and the man went to look at the other side of the road bridge while I stayed with the cars. It was only after they had gone that I realised I had let my son walk away from me with a stranger in a strange land. When they came back Kit told me the other side of the bridge was an even worse area with a burnt out car for decoration. Only thern did it occur to me that I had the hotel's phone number with me. I rang the hotel and luckily my German was again useful. I explained to the hotelier what was happening and gave the phone to our Russian guide. After they spoke we took another drive to a completely different part of town at least half an hour away. And so began a process of wandering up and down dimly lit streets that were mostly worse than dirt tracks with enormous potholes to avoid. Please understand these descriptions are literal and not dramatic. After another 45 minutes or so later and several questions of passers by we arrived at our hotel. Kit observed we had already driven past it once. It had taken between 2 and 3 hours to find the hotel but our Russian guide never gave up on us for a second. There is no way we would have found the hotel without his remarkable help.The hotel was a very impressive building but its location on a third world road was entirely incongruous. Checking in took somewhat longer than other hotels as yet more documentation had to be filled in. My wallet was also stung by another 40 Euros as I was billed 20 Euros each for the invitations to Russia the hotel had organised for the purposes of our visa applications. Russia was the most expensive destination of the trip. I paid the hotel bill including the extras half in Euros and half in Roubles which I had carried for the shopping in Kaliningrad that we never did. We had intended to head out into the city for our evening meal but our nerves were so frayed neither of us were in the mood. We hated the little we saw of the city and wanted no more than to sleep and leave. In our room, Kit flicked through the Russian TV channels while I wrote some blog and rather amusingly the main news item was about the state of Russian roads. Our room was reasonable enough and we ate an evening meal of peanuts and the Lion Bars we'd saved from breakfast before crashing out exhausted by the days exploits. Actually, Kit doesn't like peanuts so he raided our chocolate supply for extra nourishment. Oh yes, I really should mention that I still haven't got any shoes and did all of the above in my slippers but now the Easter holiday is over I have high hopes of getting a pair of shoes on our way through Poland tomorrow.
HOTEL INFO -
Klavdia Guesthouse
Pavlova Str. 21
Kaliningrad 236009
Tel - +74012584351
This hotel is not easy to find especially if you are driving. There are 2 Pavlova Streets in Kaliningrad and all street signs are in the cyrillic alphabet. Make sure you are well prepared with maps and I advise you carry the hotel's phone number with you. We got lost but the hotel staff speak German and were able to guide us. The roads in Kaliningrad are pretty bad and driving there is more or less treacherous. There are enormous potholes everywhere and Russian drivers do not appear to observe the speed limit. The hotel is located away from the city centre on the other side of the main highway in a quiet residential area. It's not particularly well lit and is easily missed in the dark. We drove past it first time. It has a small private carpark behind a locked gate but the hotel is located on a third world road with enormous potholes and dips in it.
Once inside it's a completely different story with lovely decor. We arrived late and didn't get to see much of the hotel's other facilities. Our room was large and spacious with a good bathroom and comfortable beds. There was also a seating area, TV, free wifi and a refrigerator. Breakfast was included in the price and was substantial with some Russian touches such as blinis and salad.
The hotel will organise the invitations needed for your visa applications for you but this will cost an extra 20 Euros per head on top of the visa fees. This is a charge for the invitations that is made locally at the hotel. We were lucky that we had enough money with us to pay the bills but only because the hotel accepted both Roubles and Euros.
Cost - 1700 Roubles
Score - 8/10 (but really I don't recommend driving in Kaliningrad or to this hotel)
