Reporting from a curry shop somewhere in West Yorkshire. Probably, Sheffield, Wellerton, or Halifax. It is getting towards sunset. You might think we are worried. "Have they booked a room for the dark English night?", you must be thinking with worry.

"What is the nature of your visit, sir?"

The passport control had a friendly English accent. The type that required a candid answer. "I'm doing the Mongol Rally," I blurted out, before I had time to remember the traveler's mantra of only using one-word answers with border guards. "Pleasure."

Huh? What?

It has come to my attention that our dear readers may be confused as to why team Gobi or Go Home is split between two islands in the Atlantic ocean.

Team Correspondence:

2 Days Ago

My tuxedo lay crumpled in a corner of my tent, a silk ascot thrown to one side. Outside the tent, which had gotten quiet barely five hours before came alive with music and voices.

The launch party was over, but the effects of the night continued to plague the camp.

Note:This is part one of a three part blog arc. Make sure to start here!

Three years ago I was in Iceland. At that time I had escaped with the only one brave enough to go with me at the time. My mom.

Note:This is part one of a two part series, make sure to read them from the beginning of part one.

There might have been some foreshadowing that all was not right. Viking omens and whatnot. For one, we ended up having to leave the rental car behind. Even showing up 3 hours early to an empty ferry station we ended up being 11th on the wait list.

Note:This is part three of a three part story. Make sure to read them from the beginning of part one!

So the stench.

The Westman Islands, like much of Iceland, has pool centers filled with all manner of hot pools. This is where you can see Icelanders undergo a most significant transformation.

Iceland Ghost Horror (or how to lose $200 due to poor decision making)

Much like reality tv we got voted off the island. The rancid waves of stink set forth a parliament meeting in which it was decided that we needed to leave a day early. I grudgingly agreed although I looked back towards, wistful for my own chance to pet the puffin.

Here are some pics taken from Google Earth of Iceland and the Westman Islands. The last one shows where we hiked, the location of the Eldfell Volcano, and the extent of lava flow from the Eruption in 1973. You can see where it ran over the town in the north and how close it came to closing off the harbor. Enjoy!

Alright, we have reached our goal and then some. Nonetheless, we are continuing our fundraiser to help our charities even further.

Here is your chance to win a souvenir from our trip by playing "You've got to be kidding Iceland"

Forgive me. I wasn't correct when I said everything in Iceland is expensive. In fact, for about $1.50 you can buy all the shark meat you could ever eat and then some.

This shark meat, comes from a Greenland shark that is buried for 9 months until it is rancid, smells like stale urine in sweaty socks, and can be bought at the local flea market on Saturdays.

London Town Navigation

Getting off the underground carrying just under a ton in baggage I looked around for the third member of our team. Normally looking for a smug man in a v-neck t-shirt is enough. Unfortunately, there were about 6 such men and wearing tight shorts to boot. "Oh London, as a cultural beacon of humanity you could do better."

I should write a blog about the difficulties of driving on the left side of the road. But I'm rather good at it. Unless you count me drifting towards the far left. Hans spends a good deal of time leaning to the right as we pass by hedges, road barriers, and old ladies and their corgis.

*Note: Hans said he would do the blog from Prague to Vienna to Budapest. While we wait with baited breath for the blogs I will carry you into the country of Romania. From The golden hills of Transylvania to the post apocalyptic world of Bucharest and onto the party on the Black Sea.

A great many companies have come together and sponsored Team Gobi or Go Home. Although we laude them on our sponsor page, there is another group of companies that, until now, we haven't really mentioned. These are the companies that we give money to in our quest to drive to Mongolia.

"I feel like your father," Shane said to Roberta, while the good Doctor Freud punched the air in his grave.

Well, I've been set in the back seat. Relegated to ignominious position of rear-seat captain. An employment scarce better than that of the luggage of which I share my space.

Do you know what the difference between Istanbul and Constantinople is?

Constantinople* didn't have a red FIAT Panda covered in rally decals barreling down the cobblestone streets.

Rally Day 1 - 2

I've woken at a truck stop in Germany. Hans is asleep next to me in the passenger seat, Roberta in the back. There is enough condensation on the windows to fill a couple German beer steins. You'd like to know how we got here I imagine but it is 530 in the morning so it is going to take me a second myself...

Klenova castle is scary. Built in 1291 it predates the Bodiam Castle by about 100 years but differs in one significant way. While Bodiam was built to protect against French invaders Klenova looks like it was built to protect from Witches, Werewolves, Succubi, and anything else that is haunting the dark gloomy forest just outside the castle walls.

Romania is a gem of Eastern Europe. The countryside is pastoral, the roads winding and epic, the women beautiful, and the beer mostly free. The accommodations are amenable though confusing.

Well. I say accommodations. Team Gobi or Go Home has spent the last couple nights sleeping rough, in a legal grey area. (This should come as no delight our parents, hopefully none of whom read this blog, lest they think all we do is drive around Europe drinking beer and dancing.)

Bucharest.

We've already lost Bucharest to the zombie plague. The apartments have been abandoned for months and the sooty buildings stretch on forever. Trash wafts across the road and the sidewalks are roamed by angry hordes of downtrodden beings. Even the nuclear plant at the center of the city is a bit under the weather.

That was quick. A week and a bit into the rally, and we already were ready for a break. Not surprising. Look at the adventure map. Jokers have dropped out. Teams have been torn asunder by police corruption. Handguns have been brandished in Russia, and a couple teams have prudently headed westward, retreating to the basecamp of Europe before making a final push eastwards. Like a climber on Everest, acclimating to the clime.

But we have taken a different tactic. We drove into Turkey and are on our third night in a posh little cave hotel. We are living up to the high standards which British explorers became known for while expanding the Commonwealth.

Shane had dodged back to the hotel in Istanbul to put on jeans so he could avoid wearing a scrubs-blue skirt to get into the Blue Mosque. Roberta and I had dressed more appropriately. So, by the time Shane rocked up, we had spent an hour in the mosque, chatting about the nature of free will, looking at the granite columns, and reading the pamphlet on Islam.

When Shane got back, I told my companions I would meet them in the courtyard after they had seen the mosque. What with taking off shoes, seeing the mosque, and putting back on shoes, I figured I had ten minutes to wander.

Shane Bolinger reporting live from Vladikavkaz, Russia.

After surviving the drive through northern Georgia (The country, not the state; we aren’t that lost) which includes dodging landslides and rockfalls, flooding tunnels, tortuous switchbacks, decayed bridges, border crossing interrogations, and the odd cow in the road, it looks like Team Gobi or Go Home has been killed by Russian hospitality.

This blog tends to be nonchalant about the future. The revelries, action, and chaos of the past and present doesn't leave much time for blogging about the unknown and ethereal future.

However, on occasion the future gives you gives you a gift of foresight, generally in the form of a relativistic turd.

If you've followed our satellite tracking map, you might have noticed that our last few days have been spent in Cappadocia, the warm heart of Turkey. The decision to stay multiple days in this adventure wonderland, a Dr. Seuss world of ancient cave houses in tall pillars of rock, has put us at the back of the rally pack but at the top of adventure.

While our parents worry that we will run into trouble in the country of Georgia, we have been pinned in tiny holes in the ceilings of thousand year old cave houses as our feet hang below us scrabbling for a purchase in thin air.

The Mongol Rally is a sampler pack of Eurasia, you get a little flavor of everything. Some things that should impress don't, and some things that weren't expected to impress do.

Georgia is probably the best example.