Dear family and friends,
Remember that Belarussian visa problem I was having? Interesting
story.
I was told by the Belarusian consulate in Washington DC that I could
receive a Belarusian visa at the airport in Minsk. Unfortunately they
did not bother to tell me that I could get this visa only if I arrived
on a flight from a foreign country. It seems the best way to get a
Belarussian visa is outside of Belarus.
Oksana, my Minsk translator, and I took the overnight train to Moscow
arriving early Friday morning at the Belarus consular office. No
problem, said the woman behind the bulletproof glass. Just provide a
tourist voucher or a letter of invitation from a Belarusian company and
you can have it today for $108 US. Fair enough, but I don't have a
tourist voucher or an invitation letter, so off we to the Intourist
center for a voucher.
Intourist is a combination travel agency and general traveler's help
center. Unfortunately they stopped providing tourist vouchers two months
ago. Furthermore, when I leave Belarus for Ukraine, the authorities at
the border will not allow me into Ukraine without a registered
Belarusian visa. My choices are: 1) return to Belarus, lay low, then go
to Ukraine through Russia where I have documents, 2) return to Belarus,
get all the documents, go back to Moscow and get the visa, 3) fly into
Minsk and get my visa at the airport, 4) stay in Russia. I opted for the
flight into Minsk so I purchased a one way ticket at the Intourist
office to depart the next afternoon. I would arrive at 4:00pm Saturday.
Still with enough time to have a dinner with someone - remember my
original purpose for being here? Unfortunately, my translator Oksana had
to leave for Minsk Friday night. Although she is 22 she lives with her
parents who still believe she is 16. Apparently that one additional
night in Moscow was going to be a very big problem.
After checking around I found that the most reasonably priced and
well located hotel is the Hotel Russia just off Red Square. For those of
you who remember my excursion in February, the Hotel Russia played a
very important role in my relationship's demise with Larisa. On checking
in we found that my Russian documents are not exactly in order either.
It is necessary to register your presence in Russia within three working
days of arrival. I had started this trip in Moscow but I departed before
those three working days so I did not bother to register. Of course, I
don't have documentation that shows I've arrived in Belarus so my
Russian documents appear to show that I've been in Russia all along. The
hotel cannot give me a room without the visa registration which now I
can only get at the local Militia office. Yes, the cops.
Around the corner from the Hotel Russia's reception is the unmarked,
locked, double door of the Militia station. Oksana explained the
situation and the glum faced Russian officer (glum faced and Russian officer
is redundant) took my passport and Russian visa. Oksana and I
retired to a nearby bar that had poor air conditioning but cool drinks.
Twenty minutes later, the officer needs to talk with me. In his office.
Now.
As we pass through the security doors and round the corner to the
Militia office, the presence of the holding cell seemed to dominate the
entire room. The only thing else I noticed was the fully automatic Kalashnikov strapped at the second officers' side. At that moment, these
two items were dominating every pore in my body. "Well..." I
thought, "...at least I won't need to pay for a stay at the Hotel
Russia if I'm staying at the Hotel Russian Prison."
The officers were quite understanding of the situation as Oksana
talked faster than the speed of sound. The total cost for my
indiscretion was 150 Russian rubles, or about $5 US. If I had showed up
at the airport without the registration it would have been $150 US. The
officers were even kind enough to allow me the attached photograph. I
could not convince either of them to join me in the shot. Oooooh. Maybe
I should not use the word "shot".
With Oksana gone, I contacted my Moscow translator and driver Katia
and Sergey. Best of all, the woman I find very intriguing,
TatianaInMoscow, was available on Saturday morning. TatianaInMoscow and
I strolled up and down Old Arbat street watching all the street vendors
set up their shops while Katia completed some business at her office.
Although TatianaInMoscow's English speaking skills are limited, she
seems to be able to understand my slowly spoken English fine. I had
brought along my laptop computer so we sat at an outdoor cafe with a
cool drink to chase away the oncoming Moscow heat and looked at the
Hagele Family Website. She found our trip to Boston and Manhattan very
interesting. TatianaInMoscow can read English very well.
A check of my ticket showed that I needed to be off to Sheremetievo
1, Moscow's oldest working commercial airport for my afternoon flight.
After dropping TatianaInMoscow at her flat we made the very long trip to
the airport on the outskirts of town. When we arrived, I found my flight
was not listed on the monitors. In fact, no flight to Minsk was listed
anywhere. Katia checked information and my flight was at Sheremetievo 2,
the driver said this was an hour and a half's drive away. It was one hour before my flight
departed.
If you had wondered why driving in Moscow was as crazy as I described
in my first email, I am sure a major contributor is Americans attempting
to make a flight on the other side of town. Sergey was a model of
insanity and subtlety as he made it thorough traffic on the equivalent
of an American four lane highway. I sang.
Yes, I sang. Katia did not know the words to "Swinging On A
Star" so I did my best to teach her. She almost sang along with the
chorus. Why singing? Have you ever heard of a fatal car crash while
everyone was singing a happy song? Me neither. I figured it was crash
prevention insurance. As long as we were singing, we were going to
survive. We sang. We survived. We did not catch my flight.
Back at the Intourist office where they had written the wrong airport
on my ticket - it was NOT my fault - I was informed that the next flight
was on Monday. Of course they have no one with the authority to provide
me lodging or meal vouchers. Like a ghost, they had heard of such
things, but have never actually seen it. Two more nights at the Hotel
Russia.
If you must get stuck in a city, Moscow would be the one. There is
plenty to do and much to see, but only if you have money. Moscow is
terribly expensive unless you are very careful. Unfortunately I did not
have much money with me or available. Remember way back on Friday? That
was going to be in in the morning, get a visa, out that evening. I took
along enough for a day trip. I had planned to telephone in my bank order
to transfer funds into the account I can access with my bank card when I
returned to Minsk Friday night (Friday morning Sacramento time). I had
not planned on the hotel, driver, and additional translator costs of a
four day stay in Moscow. I also needed to keep all my cash to pay for
the visa when (if) I ever get to the Minsk airport. Also, I only had the
clothes on my back - a dark wool suit, white shirt, tie, and socks.
Let's talk about the shirt.
Moscow is hot and humid in July. It was about 98 degrees with 85%
humidity. A few hours in this heat and I could feel the extra weight
from the moisture in my shirt. There is almost no business with air
conditioning - including my hotel. Why pay for expensive air
conditioning when you can open a window? A window with no screens. If
you ever wanted to get rid of someone, just rent a room on the 6th floor
of the Hotel Russia. There is nothing between the open window and the
ground 60 feet below but hot humid air.
For a fleeting moment I had thought about having the hotel staff
launder my shirt. Nooooooo way. Russian service is an oxymoron. If they
did launder my shirt, it would not be on time and would probably shrink
smaller than Austin at birth. No, if I'm going to do this I must do it
myself. Besides, how hard could it be to borrow the hotel iron and wash
my shirt in the bathroom sink? Well, this is Russia and everything is
more difficult than you would expect or is required. I can use the iron,
but not in my room. They would allow me in the laundry room down the
hallway. So picture this. I'm standing in the laundry room without a
shirt, wearing my dark blue wool suit pants, washing and ironing like
mad before somebody walks in and I'm arrested for whatever they would
call it in Russia. The iron looks like it is from the Soviet era and the
thermostat probably stopped working when Stalin was in power. The second
it touched my wet shirt...it scorched. What did not scorch remained very
wet. I thought about hanging the shirt in the open window overnight to
dry, but visions of it floating out the window and gracefully landing on
the top of a tree so I could not get it from above or below put a stop
to that idea. I had the pleasure to repeat this process three more
times.
Finally Monday arrives and I take my taxi to the correct airport to
get on the correct flight and land in Minsk. Of course the consul
representative says I cannot possibly get my visa without more
documents. Fed up with all of this, I slip into a waiting cab and drive into town, still
without my visa. After a flurry of phone calls by Oksana, a trip to the
Belarusian tourist agency, another trip to the airport, a stop at a
hotel to officially register, and $160 US plus taxi fare and copious
amounts of wasted time, I finally have my Belarusian visa.
Visa. Never leave home without it.
Glenn
