A guest blog from James's Dad:

It only Hertz when you laugh.....

I've just returned home after a few days in Russia visiting James and doing a bit of tourism. We decided to hire a car and James came out to meet me at the airport where I had arranged to pick the car up from Hertz who, amazingly for the world's largest car hire company, only had a single desk on the end of a row of desks run by car hire companies I'd never heard of. And the Hertz desk was locked and empty! Still, after a while Olga turned up and we started the simple process of doing the paperwork. This involved the writing of copious documents by Olga interspersed with her having to run off across the concourse at regular intervals saying "back in 5 minutes". After several of these interludes we reached the point where I'd signed more autographs than Beckham but we had a car key. Off we went to the car park to find the Renault that had been allocated, only to find it wasn't there. The four of us (James, Julia, Olga and myself) wandered around the miles of tarmac for some time before Olga went off for "5 minutes" and returned 15 minutes later with another key.

Now, I'd quite fancied getting a Volga or, at the very least, a Lada. The end result was that we got 60% of a Volga - a Volvo. And very nice it was too, and for the time being in pretty good condition.

To cut a long story short, off we went to James's flat which involved driving round the Moscow ring road. I'd heard lots of horror stories about Russian drivers but I have to say that 99% of them were fine. The other 1% were as daft as a bottle of crisps but, overall it was better than driving in Minchinhampton - where I live - where a pensioner in a Nissan Micra can strike fear into the bravest of men whilst attempting to park vertically up the war memorial.

The following morning James and I went off to visit the Golden Ring - a series of historical towns north of Moscow. And very nice it was too. Visited a couple of towns on the first day and stayed overnight in a great hotel.

Three Wheels on my Wagon......

The following morning we took the wrong road. No worries, as we worked out that we could continue the way we were going and meet the right road further along. Yeah, right.
As we got into more rural countryside the quality of the roads got worse. And worse. Avoiding the potholes was akin to doing the Giant Slalom at the Winter Olympics and in the end they got us.

Entering a small town it was impossible to avoid the potholes as there was one giant one that went across the whole road. Flat front tyre. Damaged wheel rim, and a temporary spare wheel which would last about 5 minutes. James spoke to a taxi driver who gave us directions to a tyre place. We couldn't find it but another guy showed us the way.

The tyre place was a shed run by a 12 year old boy who had perfected the sharp intake of breath but did his best to help us. He bashed the rim about with a large hammer and found a second hand tyre which fitted. Cost? About £8. Good stuff and off we went again.

After another 30-odd miles we reached the city of Ivanovo. Whatever you do, don't go there. It is, without doubt, the most depressing place I've ever been to - actually through, because we didn't stop. It's rumoured that the sale of razor blades and rope have been banned there to help reduce the suicide rate.

Having got through Ivanavo we decided to stop for something to eat. We found a large restaurant (total seating of about 250 people) in the middle of nowhere and the staff of several dozen served us. We were the only people in there. The downside at this point was that the tyre had gone flat again and we were now on Plan G, which we hadn't yet formulated.

The people who ran the restaurant took it on themselves to help us - great people - and the owner instructed a guy who had been delivering soft drinks to take the wheel off and go and get it repaired. Off he went, leaving us sitting in a restaurant with only a full sized stuffed bear for company (oh, and a giant live hawk who lived on a perch outside the front door) and our car up on a jack outside.

Half an hour later the drinks delivery man returned with the wheel fixed and put it back on. The wheel had been balanced and it all looked hunky dory, although the second hand tyre from the kid in the shed was still in use. Total cost was 850 roubles, about £17.

Anyway, we then went back to Moscow - a short trip of about 250 miles - and returned the car to Hertz. Well, sort of. The security man at the car park entrance had never heard of Hertz so James went into the airport while I hovered around tidying up the boot to make it look like nothing had happened. The missing wheel trim was a bit of a giveaway but you never know what you can get away with unless you try.

James returned some time later and said that Olga would be "5 minutes" which was a real surprise and when she turned up we finally got rid of the car although she couldn't get it OUT of the car park. At this point we made our excuses and left.

The upshot is that, so far, Hertz have not charged me anything at all. My guess is that it will either stay that way or my credit card will be debited for the rental, a new wheel and a new tyre. Only time will tell.