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 The Journey 
by S&H Media

​Hitchhiking
from
Natural Resort Group to Otsuki, but first to Matsuyama and then to Otsuki

 When we had our day of at the NRG in Furusatomura, close by Kumakogen, we wanted to go to the beach.
We decided on the beach in Otsuki, which is 164 km away. And we had no transportation method other than our legs, so we decided to hitchhike! As we had heard that that was easy in Japan.


Thanks to some super friendly Japanese people we got to the beach, and back to NRG.


It took only around 7 hours south, to the beach (Otsuki), and unfortunately around 12-13 + back north to NRG.

Because of the unpredicted amount of time it took to get from A to b, and then B to A, we used most of the 48 hours waiting by the road. But we have heard that the grilled tuna in Otsuki should be legendary, but we didn’t have time to wait for the grill to heat up as we had to get back to NRG. 
Stay posted for:

HOW TO HITCEHEIKU IN JAPAN 1 (video)
Mongolia, 30-day Russian visa and 8479 km
Part One 

1.
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As we were driving a car, and there is no border between Kazakhstan and Mongolia we had to start our 30-day visa in Russia to enter Mongolia. The distance from the starting point of the 30-day visa from Kazakhstan (Semey) into Russia (Rubtsovsk), through Mongolia, until our point of legal escape from Vladivostok was not more than around 8479 km, from 1.08-20.08-2019

This gives us the average of driving a minimum of 300 km a day.


We tried to figure out a solution to being able to do something more than just drive, eat and shit. As the daily average minimum should be around 300 km a day, which meant at least 5 + hours in Murphy no. 1. After weeks of consulting, calculating, estimating and meaningless power point presentations, a genius plan was crafted. We would drive longer distances some days and try to do some more mentally stimulating activities other than driving or being a passenger the following day. 

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(You might think to yourself: Well why didn’t you just do some other activity while being a passenger, or listen to music or audiobooks? Well! We tried. But the circumstances do not really fit any other activity than mentally sound blocking the noise from the car + maybe even the radio which had to be on MAX sound to be able to overpower the noise of the car while driving on roads made uncomfortable to even walk on. This is a small over-exaggeration, but also it is not)

We were satisfied with our master plan solution of driving further in one stretch to have more time doing fun stuff. Happy with how far we already had made it with Murphy no. 1 and excited to enter the land of the nomads and former ruler Genghis Khan, little did we know that what would happen next would have fatal consequences.
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Borders, borders, and again borders before borders after borders.

To start with our “at that moment” main concern; the amount of time it would take to cross the borders - out of Kazakhstan, then into Russia, then out of Russia and into Mongolia. (This was predicted online that it could take several hours.) It is really hard to say why, but the borders of the world seemed to be of no problem for our international Murphy no. 1. Either it must have been the military border control guards´ disgust of everything in the car chaotically spread all-over the floor after the bumpy ride or the fascination of a 1986 campervan driven all the way from Norway? We could never tell, because of the obvious language barrier and people in general hating their jobs and just want the day to pass by easily, of which we were lucky enough to usually end up on the right side.

The border out of Kazakhstan was where Murphy No.1 got his deepest examination, but of course not profound enough to find anything. Of course.
Then the Russian Federation´s guards naturally took it for granted that the Kazakhstan guards had done a thorough examination and let us pass by, as we had nothing to hide. Of course.
A few days later, the next border was then a Russian one, again. On our way to Mongolia. This time we had to bring one bag each from Murphy No.1 to send through an x-ray scanner, or a minimized baggage belt, to get to the passport control. Luckily we brought the right bags! And they let us out of Russia. What a relief.


Mongolia makes the border an interesting subject. First you enter “Mongolia”, after having exited Russia. However, it takes about 10-15 minutes of driving to reach the Mongolian border control. You might be in Mongolia, but you have not entered and you are definitely not in Russia anymore. Can anyone really imagine them giving away any free land after what Lenin did? So, this is where all and nothing come together for the better or worse for the human species. Almost like airports, just less crowded.

The military border control guards were as always respectful, helpful and kind and made our border crossing yet again almost a pleasure (which it is definitely not).


The first thing to occur in Mongolia, right after the barrier gate opened to enter real Mongolia was a miniature remake of the Grand Canyon in the pavement with no way around. If your car doesn’t survive this first obstacle, a tease of the many to come, your car is not suited for the Mongolian Rally roads. Luckily, Murphy No. 1 passed, this first obstacle, with no known damage.
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Off we were now. From the freedom of 10-15 minutes in the land of no man to the wild, paved, some un-paved, nomadic and intriguing Mongolia. After covering some kilometers on the paved road, we got to challenge Murphy No. 1, as he never had been challenged before, at the Mongolian Rally off-road roads, which is the only road to Ulaanbaatar.
PS! This is expected to be the main reason to the main damages of Murphy No. 1 and reason for the car´s ultimate demise.

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It is easy to understand that the Mongolian Rally, any rally really, are enjoyed by those who try.   The landscape, the mountains, the flatter parts of the planet that lets you see to the end of this flat Earth, because it can impossible be more after that. Yet there always is. The feeling of driving a car like it should be a boat on the ocean. Literally choosing any direction you want, going front bumper in the challenge of meeting the uneven terrain, while maintaining speed and balance to continue in the right direction – wherever that takes you, making driving off-road the most fun one can do with a car. Unless you have some weird fetish, which I still think if you do and then tried off-road, you would like off-road the most.
Over to the flip side, the side of driving a 1986 campervan off-road. Where the steep ups and downs, downs and ups, uneven sand, rock or mud roads with some sand being looser, some rocks bigger and some mud rivers, the 1986 Fiat Ducato campervan named Murphy No. 1 was definitely made to do this with Snorri and Harald as first time off-road drivers. Or not. 
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Sidetrack note
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As far as luck goes, we discovered in Kazakhstan, before entering Russia, that the break on our right rear tire had some malfunction, almost leaving the car without breaks. And here is the lucky part, that happened in Kazakhstan, where we got it fixed thanks to the Volvo Truck center in Semey, and not off-road down a hill in Mongolia!
At the Volvo Truck center, we also discovered that the petrol tank was leaking. Not much, or rather not enough to schedule a whole procedure AND invest in repairing it. 

Back to “Or not”

How it happened, no man knows. That it happened we experienced.
After 100-150 km of 300-400 km (first part) off-road, a quick, small hill generated a less than heartwarming sound from metal hitting rock. And the noise from the engine magnified. What could this have been we wondered? We stopped, I checked underneath the car. There I discovered something that made me sweat even more than from the 30 degrees in the shade of Murphy No. 1. Not only had the proximal attachment to the exhaust system completely broken off, the oil tank was leaking bad, and two of the tires where losing air. With still almost 4500 + km left to drive this news made frontal lobe concerns. The exhaust got fastened, not reattached, with a steel wire. The oil and gas tank got painted over with metal paint and tires filled with puncture fix spray from Biltema.


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And off we went !

To be continued
 . . .

In The Middle Of The Night

19/12/2018

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​After spending two nights at a quiet Carrefour parking lot in the Barcelonan suburb of Castelldefels, we decided that we needed to be in closer proximity to the Mediterranean. That way we could smell salty fresh on a daily basis.
 
We packed up, or rather secured everything in their little storage room and overhead bins as per our routinely pre-departure checklist. (Adapted to MurphyNo. 1’s more down-to Earth movements from KLM’s pre-flight checklist.) 
 
This time we decided we did not need to journey far. “Head onto the coastal road and find a nice secluded beachy spot somewhere”, we said. 
 
Up and down, and coming around a few mountains we went. Until we reached our perfect Catalonian prime spot, Coma-Ruga. At this time of year a quiet resort town. 
 
With Murphy perfectly nestled under a light on a small parking lot wedged between an empty hotel and an apartment building, with the beach three meters away, we were satisfied with our choice. 
 
As night quickly crept upon us, and moon shone brightly above the palm trees on the sandy beach, we went to bed with the sounds of the waves hitting the shore in the distance. 
 
Heaven. 
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​Then out of nowhere, in the middle of the darkest hour, suddenly, without a warning a loud banging sound from outside the car. 
 
Half-comatose, eyes were opened inside. 
 
Was it the wind? How could that be the wind? 
 
Not a word spoken inside. 
 
Instincts peaking. 
 
Listening. Sensing. 
 
Eyes trying to adjust to the light. 
 
BOOM!!!! A metallic-like noise was heard outside. This time on the other side of the vehicle. 
 
The sound of something hitting the ground a few times. 
 
This is definitely not the wind. 
 
Two sets of eyes meeting each other in the darkness inside. 
 
Acknowledgement of the siege going on. 
 
Quiet. 
 
Not a sound from inside. 
 
Trying to carefully look through the cracks between the blinds. Nothing is seen. Nothing is heard. 
 
Then another jolt. This louder. And a different spot. On the car. 
 
The door handle. 
 
Ferocious grabbing on the handle from the outside.
 
Shaking the entire car. Like the big bad wolf desperately trying to get in. 
 
Another strike. Like something is being ripped off the car. Violently.
 
In the darkness we wait. In the middle of the night. In the car. With only a few centimeters of 32 year old badly kept plastic exterior separating us from Whomever. 
 
Inside the eggshell that is Murphy, the yolk sits quietly. Listening. Pulse is rising, The alert level is set to above red. Whatever the most critical color is. Is the egg about to be cracked into?
 
A decision. Police must be called. But softly. Is there someone waiting outside? Just for this? For us to venture out? So that we then can be ambushed? 
 
More waiting. Silence. 
 
Just the sound of the waves and the wind gently brushing the palm trees. 
 
Waiting. Silence. Waiting. Silence. 
 
Police responds. For the second time. The first time they didn’t understand English nor the (perceived) need for us to speak softly, almost whispering. This time they do speak English. 
 
After a long chat they inform us that police might, just might, be on their way. They are not sure. 
 
So we wait again. In silence. 
A deafening silence. 
 
This must be a small fraction of the feeling of being in the trenches. Only knowing that the outcome of peeking outside is uncertain. 
 
Yet this is nothing.
But at the moment, it feels like something. 
 
An almost soundless car approaches with blue lights lighting up the inside of Murphy.
 
This is the moment. We’ll storm our own barricade. We’ll crack our own eggshell like a brash chicken ready to face world. 
 
And so we opened the door. 

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 Someone had been vandalizing the car that night. Most likely in a failed attempt to get inside to rob the car. 
 
Perhaps even more likely, this was an aborted attempt, as they might have seen one of us through the window. 
 
Some of the noises heard were from pieces of the security around the back window being broken off. The back window is now broken. 
 
The nice officers informed us to go to the police station the next morning and file a report. After spending an hour waiting for the wheel of bureaucracy to move, the report was filed. 

Luckily this is covered by our insurance. 
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Now we’re preparing. 
 
For even if this was nothing, it will likely not be last time, 
Unfortunately. 
 
For this is how the world is. And you’ve got to be prepared. 
We were somewhat prepared. 
 
Next time we’ll be even more so. 
 
All in all, the beach was nice, though. But it was time to build the house of bricks and move on to another idyllic place. 
 
Hopefully, without the dark character trait. 
 
In the end, there’s nothing to fear but fear itself.
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And garden gnomes. Always fear garden gnomes. They can’t be trusted. ​
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Snorri & Harald - Brewing something devilish

14/12/2018

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A beer at DUVEL.
 
We got invited to spend the better part of the day at the Duvel-Moortgat brewery in Breendonk, Belgium. 
Alain and Joe received us, along with Pascal and Filip that provided some excellent refreshments. We started the day off with the Vedett Extra White. 
 
Refreshing. Crisp. Another one, please. 
 
So what is needed to make a perfect Duvel? Well, Pascal was about to show us. 
 
90% of beer is water. Naturally. 90% of Duvel is water. Perfect water. 
Thus, following this logic, Pascal ensured us that to maintain a perfect balance of liquid in your body, drink beer! Duvel, of course. Should you be 10% short on your water intake, just drink one more. 
 
Over to the hops. Oh, hops. How hoppy you make us feel. Actually, Pascal informed us that a handful of hops under the pillow makes for a calm, relaxing sleep. But don’t bring the male hops into your bed, or onto your field, they produce too much oil, so much so that they ruin the beer and therefore are illegal in Belgium. If you find one male plant in your field, a major area surrounding it must be destroyed. The male hops kill the head of the beer, the virgin female hops enhance it. 
 
But as with everything and anything, all in moderation. 
 
In the beginning, Duvel was given out for free. The (still) family-run brewery wanted to get input from regular pub goers. They loved it! 
 
Today these tanks hold 1 million liter of Duvel each! And there are 28 of them. They rest here for 90 days to give it that perfect Duvel taste, before they are bottled. 50 000 bottles of Duvel are filled every hour. And the enormous dishwasher that clean the bottles can take 70 000 at the time. The one we have at home is definitely slacking off. 
 
After the bottle pass the test by the FBI, the Fill Bottle Inspection, they are packed into crates and shipped off around Belgium and around the world.
 
Just in case, Duvel-Moortgat keeps around 11 million bottles of Duvel in stock, one for each Belgian. We hope they’ll increase this to at least two more, one for each of us. 
 
Make that two. For each of us.
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Filip presents Snorri & Harald with a taste of Duvel's insanely smooth Duvel Barrel Aged.

THANK YOU TO ALAIN, JO, PASCAL, FILIP, CEO MICHEL MOORTGAT AND THE REST OF THE DUVEL-MORTGAT CREW FOR A FANTASTIC VISIT TO THE FACILITY. THE ONLY WAY TO TOP THIS IS AS VISIT TO WILLY WONKA’S FACTORY (DON’T WORRY, WE’RE WORKING ON DIRECTIONS). 
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DAG V: Rapportnotater fra DAG I

5/12/2018

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Status: Alt er bra.
​Distanse dekket: Ca 1000 km + Oslo-Kiel.
Maks. hastighet: 110 km/h (i slak 3 km lamg nedoverbakke).
Gjennomsnittlig hastighet: 80 km/h.
Overnattet: Oslo (fergekaien), Enschede (Nederland), Antwerpen (Belgia), Breendonk (Belgia).
Frivillig stopp: Itzehoe (Tyskland), Oldenburg (Tyskland) Arnhem (Tyskland), Doel (Belgia), Spa (Belgia). 
Nåværende posisjon: La Chouffe (Belgia, i Ardennene nær grensen til Luxembourg).
Ferger: Oslo-Kiel - Schacht-Audorf-Nobiskrug - Gluckstad-Wishhoffen - Bremen-Stedingen. (Prøv å klikk på bildet.) 

Rapport første etappe: Kiel, Tyskland - Enschede, Nederland (460km). Start klokken 10:00, avkjøring av fergen.
​(Vi nevner ikke navn på rederiet da vi ikke har fått betalt for produktplassering fra det fargerike linjerederiet.) 

Murphy stryker seg som en ørn i vinden gjennom Nord-Tyskland til Sør-Nederland (etter ca. en time med usystematisk navigering i Kiel fra analogt kart). Han starter på kommando og holder seg rett under melkesyregrensen. Letter sagt; Han går som ei kule. Skulle nesten tro at han var laget for dette. Hvem skulle tro det?!


Byene som passeres på småveiene i Tyskland, Bredenbekk er en, ser ut som om de er tatt rett ut ifra eventyrboken. Det er landsbyer i varierende størrelse der hver by er mer unik enn den andre. De har et slående unikt preg av samlet strukturert arkitektur som ubevisst gir en behagelig og harmonisk følelse. Alle husene er bygget av murstein og det gror gress og/eller mose på samtlige tak. De glir inn i landskapet som om det skulle vært naturlig at de stod der. Som om de vokstre opp i takt med trærne. Trærne som alle er over 30 meter høye. Står på hver side av veien og skaper en naturlig skogtunell. Og selv om mørket begynte å legge seg så lyste de nylig falte rødoransje høstbladene opp skogen og veien som ingen lys noen sinne kan gjøre. Man kan ikke annet enn å visualisere at her lever de i evig lykkelig harmoni.

(Klikk på bildene for større bilder og, utvalgte steder, bildetekst.)
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Men hva vet vel vi, vi kjører jo bare igjennom.

Etter sikksakk kjøring i de små landsbyene gikk turen radigere. Det ble et kort matstopp i Oldenburg.
Veien ut av Oldenburg var noe mer kronglete. Etter fire forsøk med kart og kompass måtte vi ty til mobilen for å finne veien ut på hovedveien. Det ble et gledelige gjensyn da de brede asfaltveiene endelig kunne skimtes i det fjerne. 

​Noen timer senere ankom vi byen Enschede. En mellomstor by som stryker grensen til Tyskland og ligger i midtøst-Nederland. Vi ankom rundt 22-tiden. Det var søndagskveld og regnet noe, så byen virket ferdig etter helgen og klar for å starte den nye uken neste morgen.
Etter noen timer søvn stod solen opp og skinte noen solstråler på byen. Gatene var bemerkelsesverdig rene, bygninger med en blanding av gammel og moderne arkitektur, fine romslige grønne lunger og usedvanlig høye folk. Fleste menn over 1.90 og kvinner der etter.

​Og det er mulighet for meget fast fast food.

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Meget fast fast-food I Enschede. Vi måtte jo prøve. Godt!
 Neste stopp: Lenger sør og lenger vest. 

​Håper du har det godt, vi koser oss gløgg.

Dank u!
Auf Wiedersehen!
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Das Historische Rathaus, Itzehoe, Germania. Rocky on top of the steps.
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  • INTERNATIONAL
  • About S&H
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