45. Escaping

Belarus is an animal unto itself. The only remaining dictatorship in Europe, going to Belarus is definitely for bragging rights. And man, do you pay for those bragging rights. The Visa for Belarus is lovely, a full page sticker into the passport that has a hologram and everything, but it is expensive. For the Australians on the journey, the cost is $70 per person; for the English and Canadians, the cost is $140; for the Americans on the journey, the cost is $180; for the Brazilians on the journey, the cost is $0. Apparently corrupt countries give a pass to other corrupt countries. You see, Belarus is still super tight with Russia, so whatever policies and political views Russia has, Belarus also has. And you may have noticed that I gave you those Visa prices in nice round US Dollar amounts. That is because the Belarusian Ruble is so unreliable and generally sketchy that even the Belarusian government would just as soon do business in good ol’ reliable American money. #winning

But how does one actually acquire said Visa? In the most nerve-rattling way possible. As we pulled up to the hotel in Moscow, Mike collected our passports in a plastic trash bag. That’s reassuring enough, but it gets even more sketchy. You see, when in Russia, as in Italy, one’s tour company must contract all business through the respective mafia and their associates. And so our passports were going to be given to a package boy to be taken to the mafia’s Belarus visa processing center to then be processed and then (hopefully) returned to us before we try to escape Russia. Unlike my preconceived notions provided by Rocco in The Boondock Saints, our Russian package boy rolled up on his skateboard, faceplanted on the asphalt, and then skated away with 20 western passports. He was probably only 12.

But everything worked out okay! Major plus side? We only paid for the actual Visa, unlike other places where you pay for the visa as well as agency fees and God knows what else.

Minsk, being the capital of Belarus, was a breath of fresh air. People actually spoke English! The streets were clean! The people were friendly and seemed to be enjoying their existence! We went on a walking tour of the city center, which was great. I love walking tours. You get to see everything of significance, ask questions of a local, and go for a stroll in a lovely new place without getting lost or mistakenly taking a wrong turn down a dark alley and being murdered. See? Awesome! After the walking tour, we hit up the local scene and found a floating bar. Love those. We were joking and drinking and having a good time and then I noticed that all of the lights were being turned off and every other patron of the establishment was gone.

Me: Guys, I think it might be time to go.

My Friends: {Blank stares}

Me: Everyone else is gone and the lights are turned off and the staff looks nervous.

Mike: Skull. Let’s go! {To the waitress} Is there a next bar that you would recommend?

Waitress {Looking around, surreptitiously} : You should really go back to your hotel now. Thank you for coming in. Have a good sleep.

Mike: Ah. Thank you! Good night!

What we were not informed of was that Minsk has an unspoken curfew. All of the bars close at 11:30 to give the staff enough time to clear the city center by midnight. And we were just leaving at midnight. Whoops. But that’s okay. I’m sure that our tale could have vouched for the wait staff. I think they were afraid to kick us out, because that would be rude, but didn't know how to express that it was time to go.

The hotel bar was close when we got home, so we gave up and went on to drinking in our rooms or going to bed. At least, most of us did. Our walking tour guide came back in the morning to see us off and make sure that we were all good, except maybe that was all a cover for her proximity and intimate knowledge of our doings. She walked right up to Mike in the morning and asked him why one of the boys had gone to a strip club the night before. And why he had left for the strip club all alone. And so late at night (2am was when he left the hotel). Why was this American behaving this way? It is very strange.

Total. Mind. Blown. Not only did she know that it was one of our group, and what time, and where he had gone, but she also knew who it was. Creep-tastic. Of course, Belarus is the only dictatorship remaining in Europe and apparently the man is a bit...off his rocker. He is the only head of state that is also the representative for the Olympic committee. The man is obsessed with ice hockey to the point that every parent tries to make their little darling into the next star because they will have a good life if they can play well. We were warned not to make any passing remarks against the dictator--in fact, better to not use that word in Belarus--and to mind our manners about other things, like the neighbors to the east. And not to say anything negative about Minsk. Basically, keep your thoughts to yourselves because shh, we'll talk about it more in Poland.

Mom: Maybe skip this bit.

The border getting out of Minsk was more stressful and antagonistic than getting into Russia. And when I alluded to the fact that Russia and Belarus are as thick as thieves, all suspicions were confirmed at the border. Because the border of Belarus and Poland is staffed by Russian guards. Because this border is truly the border between the West and the East. This is the border between the West and Russia. And so we waited for no apparent reason for hours. And hours. There was no other coach and finally we all got out and sat on the curb and then got told to get back into the baking hot coach. But the real problem was the fact that they just. Kept. Toying with my emotions. The first guy to come out apparently didn’t like Mike and Emilio and so we were meant to wait. And so someone else would come up and start asking for passports, but then the first guy would come out and say something in Russian and then shoo the nice border guards away. Now, Mike is fluent in Czech, so he could get the gist of what they were saying, much like I can understand the gist of Spanish even though I've never taken it in school.

The really scary part at the border was when they started going on and on about a fine that we had to pay because the toll system that they gave Emilio at the Finnish/Russian border was out of date and could not be processed at the Belarussian/Polish border. The fine was €600. And then they hauled Mike and Emilio off by gunpoint.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The longest half hour EVER. Luckily, I know how to use the doors on the coach.

They finally let us out of Belarus. And then we just got waved into Poland. It really seems odd to me that the Russian border guards are super uptight about you getting out and then Western Europe just waves you in.

From there it was clear sailing. Except when we all freaked out about an hour into Poland after a rest stop when we saw a sign that said “Minsk 350 km” and told Emilio that he was going to wrong way and that we did not, in fact, want to go back there. Of course, there is a smaller, lesser known Minsk in Poland. Good times.