Minsk, Belarus

My first trip to the former Soviet Union

22 January 1997 London to Minsk, Belarus

11:15 a.m. We left late for the Victoria Station Gatwick Express. Tanya went looking for postcards while I sorted through my bags. I left the hand warmer behind. Figures. I ended up leaving a lot behind at the house, I guess that I was in too much of a rush.

Victoria Station was quiet, a few travelers and gypsies selling flowers. I stood there practicing my Russian face. A frown, and a far off gaze. This was what I imagined it would be like. A few hours later, I realized that I was right.

While we were on the train to Gatwick, I sewed up my luggage. This was an attempt to foil the thieves that run wild in Belarus. Tanya helped, and showed me the tricks of sewing a bag. Of course, I diligently sewed up the wrong zip and had to use my razor to undo it. (You see. It works!!) As she looked out at England as it was passing before us, it was as if Tanya was saying good-bye. Each moment as the train advanced its journey to the airport, England was just as quickly pulled away from her. I have noticed that travel seems so much faster when you are not alone, and when you feel as though you have left something behind.

It was fate that our plane was next to a Virgin Atlantic flight to Boston. Tanya offered to jump ship, but I hitched my bag on my shoulder, took a deep breath, and prepared to go to Belarus.

As we walked through the airport to the international departures, we missed customs. After finally clearing passport control, (I had a man who was busy tracing his family tree.) Tanya had a woman questioning her that I needed to reassure. (Tanya was NOT an illegal alien working under the table.) (She has a Mink Coat for Christ's Sake!!!) Well . . . I smiled inside. Tanya had to wait to see a customs officer, to get the VAT back on her coat, and I was off to change some money and do some last minute shopping.

The time passed very quickly, like everything else. I forced Tanya to leave the shopping area and catch our flight. We bought sandwiches for the train ride from Gomel to Minsk, and after a quick phone call to London and Scotland, and a dash to the loo, we were seated on the flight to Minsk.

As usual, I fell asleep on the flight. There were twelve of us on an old Aeroflot jet. Some were Russian "Businessmen" passing a bottle of vodka between themselves, and two young British Doctors carrying a piece of medical equipment. And a couple of lone Russian tourists, (one who had been to Hamley's (buying toys for the youngsters back home??)) and that was the flight. I was impressed with the jet. Although it was at least 20 years old, it was in good condition, and the seats were roomy. Much better that I would expect in the States. When we landed at Minsk Airport, it was deserted. There were bays for at least 50 planes, yet there were only three Belavia planes at the airport.

Minsk Belarus

I was greeted by the ghosts of Russia past as I stepped onto the gangway that led to the terminal. There were five uniformed soldiers standing in the doorway. I tilted my gaze to the floor, hid my smile in my pocket, and walked through to the terminal. Everywhere I looked, there were people in uniform. From security, to Airport personnel, No one smiled. Our first section to see was the Visa Section. As I already had a visa, it was merely a formality. There was an aged apparatchek who insisted that my visa was in error, as it was missing the number 7 after 199 in the date. He was hesitant in filling it in, but finally he did (at no cost to me!), and Tanya and I were off to the next checkpoint. Meanwhile, the two doctors who did not have visas were left behind in bureaucratic hell.

Our next stop was to pick up our (hopefully not rifled) luggage, and pass through Passport control and Customs. As we were filling out our declaration forms in Russian, (there were no sheets in English or even French for that matter), Tanya was surprised to see that her Brother had come to pick us up. He had another man with him and a bottle of Coca-Cola in his hand. I laughed. "Have a coke and a smile" has even made it past the now thoroughly rusted Iron Curtain. Tanya has three brothers, this tall one in a black leather jacket was the first that I was to meet. So, instead of a train ride, we were to have the luxury of a Taxi ride to Gomel.

The men quickly grabbed our bags, and we were off to find our taxi. I use the word Taxi in its loosest form. The car was a seventeen year old Lada that was parked in a row with some other cars. The owner of our "taxi" was a driver for Tanya's gangster brother, who, I was surprised to find out was not the tall apparition in leather that greeted us. I was to meet "Sasha" another time. (For the record. After Tanya read this, she corrected me. Sasha is not a gangster. He simply uses Gangster money, for which he pays to illegally exchange money on he black market. He also has to pay the police, so in the future, when I refer to him as a Gangster, please understand that it is all tongue in cheek. For in truth, he is as stated above, simply using gangster money, and gangster habits. But categorically, per his sister, he is NOT a gangster.)

I was amazed as we walked out of the airport. Above us, there was a full moon, and a starry sky. Thoughts of home were in my mind, and then I listened passively a Tanya started to speak her native language. I noticed that her English was quickly deteriorating, and according to her brother and the driver, her Russian was pretty ragged too. It is tough when you are stuck between two languages. I just listened and watched out the window, as we searched for a Gas Station. The men were in the front, and Tanya' brother, put on Western (well, kinda western Rock and Roll,) In the four hours that we were in the car, I recognized two songs. (Where is perestroika when you need it? And why didn' t I bring the car adapter for the walkman???)