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Beijing-Paris, China goodbye: now it's Kazakhstan's turn between tow trucks and crickets. The diary

Beijing-Paris, China goodbye: now it's Kazakhstan's turn between tow trucks and crickets. The diary

HORGHOS – We are in the China-Kazakhstan border town of Horghos, the largest “dry port” in the world, a hub for Eurasian trade. Once a caravan hub on the Silk Road, today - for us - the final stage on Chinese soil of the Beijing-Paris rally. The most important news is the return in the caravan of the American crew who had been stopped for violating a military “red zone”, ignoring the repeated prohibition signs (written in Chinese, of course). And they had done it in a car that - according to unlikely spies - could not have been more eye-catching: all painted white with black stripes, a gigantic skull painted on the hood and a license plate (“ZEBRA”) that could hardly go unnoticed.

Four more cars returned to the convoy, brought by tow trucks: number 1 and the oldest of all (1927), the American La France 14,500 cc; two Porsche 911s and a 1941 Ford super de luxe convertible.

Our Fiat 500 continues to enjoy enormous success: it arouses the greatest curiosity among those who come to watch the men and vehicles of this very strange motor-racing company; and now the participants themselves, as well as the team of official mechanics, are taking a liking to us because we are representing the spirit of this adventure well: arriving in Place Vendôme on June 22nd after having climbed the “Everest of rallies” with the smallest mass-produced car in the world.

Another living being will perhaps share this milestone with us. His name is Casanova and he is a cricket in his cage. He travels aboard a Volvo with the Merlinos, a Swiss/Italian father and son. Young Max bought him in Beijing, feeds him, and wants to take him home as a mascot. For now, Casanova is not fulfilling his role as a lucky charm well, the Volvo is in last place and we are also well ahead in the general classification. I naively tried to stick a finger between the bars of the cage, as if to caress Casanova. “Be careful!”, young Max immediately warned me. “He is a fighting cricket. He bites.”

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