Adventures and Misadventures: My 24 Hours in Minsk

Last Tuesday morning, after Natasha and I had fed the chickens ~ actually, Natasha did the work and I trotted along behind, navigating piles of crusty snow and snapping photos ~ just 30 minutes before our planned departure for Minsk airport, Natasha announced that the front door wouldn’t open.

The hen is also wondering: What's with the pile of feathers here on the ground? And two fewer chickens in the coop today? It's a mystery of country life. 

In a typical house, one would simply head to the back door, right? Thing is, Natasha’s house is not typical. There is no back door. If we were to exit, we would need to get through that front door. Or use a window.

Weeks earlier, I had arranged for a 24-hour layover in Minsk and invited myself to Natasha’s new place in the country. I’d wanted a taste of country life adventure. The nearest neighbors were miles away, so it was up to us to solve this.

Natasha fires up the wood-burning stove each morning. So glad I could help her ~ behind the camera.

The two of us could not budge the front door. Seems the door lever had detached from the latch so we would need to take things apart. Natasha found her late husband’s electrical screwdriver and a short-handled Phillips-head screw driver. We managed to get 3 screws removed from the lock plate, but there was that pesky 4^th screw. In desperation, Natasha pressed her chef’s knife into the action. No luck.
              

There she goes: Out zee window! 

On to Plan B, the bedroom window. Natasha stood on the bed in stocking feet and then sitting on the window ledge, had me hand boots to her before she hopped down into the snow. Then she circled around to the front door and tried opening it from outside. Still no luck.

Back inside, we both tried all the door-opening tools one more time. We soon realized that the window would be our only option. We had no time to waste, needing to head to the airport in 10 minutes. But first, we needed to get ourselves and my luggage out the window.

Natasha put a child’s sled under the window to make a step down. She went out again in her stocking feet and eased into her boots. Next to go out was my duffle bag. My upper body strength has its limits but, between the two of us, we managed to hoist that 45 pound bag up and out the window.

Next was getting Yours Truly outside. Being a plus-size person with joint issues and wearing a long, down-filled coat, I was anxious about the gymnastics of getting myself from bed to window ledge to sled to ground. We took it slow. We transferred my oversized purse, boots and carry-on bag. I would be the last out. At least that was the plan. I eased myself to sitting on the window ledge, stocking feet dangling outside. We were so focused on getting outside that I overlooked a critical part of my departure routine, which we discovered shortly.

 I dub Natasha Pioneer Woman of Belarus because she knew how to jimmy-rig the window shut from the outside. She tied the twine around the handle inside, brought it outside and secured it with a nail wedged between the window frame and siding.

As Natasha wrangled the window shut, the wind was whipping around and I dug around for my earmuffs. They weren’t in the purse. They weren’t in the carry-on.

“I can go back in and check.” Natasha said. “It will be easy.”

“Oh, Would You?”

Now That is a Friend.

Natasha pulled herself back inside and eventually found those earmuffs under the living room table. Hoorah!

With the drama of getting ourselves out the window, I had forgotten to stop and look back before leaving. I like to say, “Remember Lot’s wife: Stop and look back.” It’s not the perfect metaphor, of course, but it is a part of my departure routine, one learned the hard way. So after everything’s packed up and at the door, I go back and have a quick look around for anything forgotten. Most often, I come up with a little something ~ the travel alarm, an umbrella, an electrical charger. Or earmuffs.

The front door: It just Looks innocent.

* * * * * 

 Heading to the airport, I assumed the adventures of Belarus were behind me. Imagine then my surprise after smoothly navigating airport check-in and security clearance to get flagged at passport control and then to be pulled into the questioning room for some one-on-one conversation.

“Do you speak Russian?”

“Yes, if you speak slowly and simply.”

They went with the English. (Why Not practice ones English?)

 “So why Don’t you have your boarding pass for yesterday’s Moscow to Minsk flight?”

“Well, it’s in the trash at Natasha’s.”

“So where Were you in the 24 hours you were in Minsk?”

Silly me, I hadn’t managed to scribble down Natasha’s address out there in the sticks north of Minsk. Nor did I manage to document the restaurant where we had lunch. Nor the Soviet-style department store...

With Svetlana and Natasha: We were so busy smiling and posing and wolfing down delicacies that I failed to document the name and location of this fine establishment. It might have come in handy the next day...

While these uniformed young men turned to their computers, producing documents about my trespasses, I practiced deep breathing. I texted Natasha unobserved except, one might assume, by those ever-present video monitor bubble things.

“Will this plane wait for me?”

“We have contacted the airline.” (Translation: Yes.)

In the end, I signed several documents in 25 places promising that I would never, ever again fly from Russia directly to Belarus under penalty of a very big fine.

“And how much will that fine be? Enough to buy you a new car?” (Girlfriend, listen to me. Don’t. Just Don’t.)

“About $150.”

“Oh, that’s how much a visa to Belarus would cost.” (Throw in expenses for a trip to the embassy in Moscow).

Except now visas to Belarus are no longer required for 30 days, or so.

Unless. . .

. . . unless you’re arriving from Russia. Then you do need a visa for Belarus. Or unless you’re arriving on an international airline, not a Russian airline. One could fly, say, to Riga, Lithuania or Warsaw, Poland so as to arrive in the international flights section of the airport and thus get that precious entry stamp in the passport. Arriving from Russia is seamless, for a citizen of Russia or Belarus, that is. For a foreigner such as myself, arriving seamlessly from Russia ~ the big no-no, we now know ~ means time in the questioning room and lots of documents to sign. And possibility of a very, very big fine.

Gotta say, kudos to the passport control officers at the Minsk airport. They were professional, respectful and helpful. One young man escorted me to my plane, pulling my carry-on, while continuing to lecture me, probably for my own good. Ahem.

Once on the plane, one more text to Natasha.

“I’m on the plane.”

“Plane door wouldn’t open. Crawled in through the window.”

Auschwitz: A Look at the Russian Exposition

Soviet troops fought their way into Auschwitz on January 27, 1945. They first learned about the death camp weeks earlier when liberating Krakow, Poland an hour east.

In the 70 years since, the Auschwitz site has been carefully preserved. The memorial and museum are a high-priority visit for travelers to central Europe. I'd been to Auschwitz, myself, in 2004, part of a large conference group and soon realized it was so emotionally intense, I'd need to make another trip: There's a limit to what one person can absorb in an afternoon.

April of 2010, happened that I was in Warsaw waiting for my Russian visa ~ the perfect opportunity to revisit Auschwitz. Dear friends in Warsaw, Lukasz and Nicole led the way. Say, care to join us and see what we saw?

We left Warsaw before dawn that Saturday and headed south on a high-speed train to Krakow. As the sun came up, we were zipping through forested areas of southern Poland.

Deep in thought, fellow traveler in our compartment.(Click to enlarge.)

Zipping through rural areas, heading south from Warsaw.

Several hours later, after a train-to-bus transfer, we arrived in Auschwitz. This time, it was The Russian Exhibition that caught my attention, a work-in-progress at the time of our visit. Since then, it has been finished and dedicated.

Liberation: From RIANOVOSTI, Russian News Service. At the RIANOVOSTI site, a slide show of the exhibition's dedication. (The site is in Russian, but photos are photos!)

But oh, mercy ~  I'm getting ahead of myself. First, at the camp entrance, we meet the orchestra that sent prisoners off to work and then welcomed them home each day.

Imagine playing in the Auschwitz Orchestra. When a trainload of new arrivals pulled in, they were welcomed with folk music from their homeland. The orchestra also performed at the most gruesome times and also on Sundays for the Auschwitz staff and their families.

Under the sign, Work Makes You Free, in German, likely the most photographed site at Auschwitz.

Once inside, fences, barbed wire and barracks.

Well, okay: We won't even think about going there. . .

Auschwitz is near a small town and has a rural feel even now. It's so quiet and peaceful. What a contrast to 70-some years ago when thousands of people were packed together and the air was rank with smoke from the crematoria.

Nowadays, the air at Auschwitz is so fresh, songbirds abound and tiny violets grow.

Insightful video from Rick Steves, Seattle-based travel expert and author.



Billed as America's leading authority on European travel, Rick Steves pretty much wrote the book.

Star of David in wrought iron.

Wall of Execution: In the early days of Auschwitz, it was here that prisoners faced firing squads. But the faces staring back at them so haunted the Nazi solders, that camp switched to mass cremation. 

Visitors to Auschwitz. The gentleman standing, far right intrigues me. Perhaps he's overcome with emotion. Perhaps he's just checking his phone.

Now, on to the Russian Exhibition which opened in 2014. Renovation was in process when we visited in 2010.

Exhibition of the Liberation of Auschwitz. Sponsored by the Russian Federation.

Soviet military leader, V. Sokolovskiy, who planned the Auschwitz liberation.

Precious innocents: Keeping warm in cast-off clothing.

Soviet soldiers visit with Auschwitz prisoners.

Soviet physician examines a prisoner.

Children of Auschwitz: Taken to an orphanage somewhere. . .

Funeral service, attended by Polish church dignitaries and Soviet military leaders.

Yours Truly

Lukasz and Nicole manage an early-morning smile.This dear couple were my hosts. Lukasz made it all happen: He's a Polish national, the ultimate resource on such trip. 

This high-speed train from Warsaw to Krakow.  

Our Auschwitz trip included a side-trip to the nearby Birkenau camp and took a full day. I need to return and take in the Russia Exhibition, completed since my last visit. I'm so grateful to those who liberated the camp. Grateful to those who brought to justice the perpetrators of these horrors. And a bow of deepest respect to those whose lives were shattered by what happened at Auschwitz. May they somehow find strength to move on. May they find peace.

Visa Adventures in L'vov, Ukraine

Greetings from Ternopil, northwest Ukraine and a quick post before I hop back on the train and head back to my beloved Rostov-on-Don. A few favorite sights of the last two weeks. Came to L'vov, Ukraine to renew my Russian visa at the Russian Consulate there. Here are a few quick highlights.

This building warms my heart. It's the Russian Consulate in L'vov.

The Russian flag a little closer. I do love this flag. Actually what's most precious is the many wonderful folks who live under this flag.

Always fun to catch up with dear Larisa in L'vov. We met on the train in September 2008 and have kept in touch. Larisa is a university professor and psycho-therapist. She's a walking encyclopedia about local history and such a lovely person. Larisa's son studies in Canada and so she understands the gypsy life quite well.



Decided to wait a week for my visa, a way to save $$$. Actually, more than that, wanted to spend time in Ivano-Frankovsk with beloved Christian friends there.

Ivano-Frankovsk is 2.5 hours south of L'vov by train. Dear brother Bogdan met me at the station. Bogdan was a priest in the Russian Orthodox church in years gone by. He has a great wife, Lydmila, and three neat teenagers. I appreciate his love for God and his deep love for the little flock he serves in Ivano-Frankivsk.

Oh, here's a familiar face. Time out for a quick photo at the Ivano-Frankovsk station. Oh, it's nippy outside. Glad I'm an Ohio girl ~ so freezing temps were part of childhood!

Apparently, it was walk-your-child-in-the-snow week in Ivano-Frankovsk. People are into getting some exposure to the sunshine, regardless of the temperature. Here's Little Miss Pink with her grandpa. Have to smile at his patience, letting Little Pinkie do her own driving.



A public beating in progress. Heard a whacking sound and saw this fellow was beating his rug in the snow. This is a common way of cleaning a small rug. Guess it works. They say it's more effective than vacuuming. Well, Mr Whacker caught me taking his photo. What could I do but wave ~ and he waved back. Seems folks are more accustomed to being photographed nowadays. Glad for that. . .




But the dearest sights of all, are seeing the faces of beloved Christian brothers and sisters. Here with dear sister Alina Timofeyovna (meaning Alina, daughter of Timothy). Loved being with her because our first names are nearly identical. More than that, she reminds me of my beloved Grandma Bauman.

Sisters in Ivano-Frankovsk were happy to tromp through snow and cold for a ladies' Bible class. So I pulled together a lesson ~ about the value of keeping a prayer journal and the blessings of memorizing scripture ~ and we had a special time together. Dear sweet Larisa, left back, baked this magnificent cake from scratch for the occasion. Larisa also walks 40 minutes to church on Sundays when the buses don't run from her neighborhood. Now that's heroic.



Back to L'vov for 2 nights to pick up my visa and wait for the train back toward Rostov. L'vov has so many historical buildings. Larisa tells me that Nazi invaders spared L'vov during WW2 in an effort to charm the locals into helping as they invaded the former USSR. So, many buildings are hundreds of years old.

Lots of new life in L'vov of course. Including this computer center. In fact, the sign above the door is basically transliterated directly from English into Russian - and says Notebook Center, pronounced almost the same as in English.

The road to Ivano-Frankovsk is that-a-way, as is the road to Ternopil, the next stop on my little trip, two hours s'east of L'vov.

So thankful for an open door to return to Russia. This is the answer to many prayers. There is never a guarantee that my visa will be renewed. That the door has remained open for me is simply the answer to so many prayers.

Back in Rostov, Lots to Celebrate

Switched into gypsy mode on a recent Wednesday morning and headed Dallas to Atlanta and then on to Moscow. Caught an overnight train Moscow to Rostov-on-Don, arriving that Friday afternoon just in time for the Day of the City, Rostov's birthday. Oh, and here are some sights from along the way, especially for you. . .

But first, Happy Birthday Rostov! The city celebrated its 261st birthday that weekend, September 17-18. The bank building above overlooks Theatre Square and often sports the biggest poster in town, 14-some stories high.

Oh, but hold on, hold on. . . let's rewind a bit.

First in Atlanta, encouragement to the troops who pass through that airport. Ah yes, would that every soldier who returns would come home to big hugs and yellow ribbon.

Then there's AT&T who offers the Best coverage worldwide. Say, these teapots are worth a closer look. . .

How clever is that! But pity the hand model. Imagine, going through life with such stubby fingers.

Or. . . not.


I hiked from Terminal A to E versus catching the train and finally, here's it is: the escalator up to heaven. . . or maybe up to the departure level. There's a food court up there. And a bookstore. And an interfaith chapel. I ended up visiting two out of three of those spots. . . Not saying which ones. ;)

Two hours before flight time, there's my Delta 46 getting prepped to head east across the big pond. Watching this plane being fueled and fed, I had no clue as to the surprise awaiting me. . .

But first, time to fill, pandas to shoot. Clever, those nifty little leaves in there. Wonder if these pandas are related to that of Eats, Shoots and Leaves fame?

Back to the gate, waiting with 206 of my closest friends for our 4:15 departure for Moscow. I asked the gate agent for a seat, preferably an aisle seat, preferably row F. He worked on that for several minutes which was kind of him, considering the queue.

Later on the plane, I headed through first class back to steerage and couldn't find my seat, 3F, in coach. That's because ~ and this was an absolute surprise to me ~ the gate agent had upgraded me to first class. I was positively euphoric for hours, probably the least sophisticated passenger in first class - it was old hat to everybody else.

I was so overcome that I didn't manage to photograph a single thing. Not even the fine dining with the cloth tablecloths and tray covers. Not even the fully-reclining seats with 75 or so controls and the big fluffy pillows and cottony comforters. And I certainly didn't get a shot of my traveling companion, the guy between me and the window who was in zombie mode the entire trip. You'll forgive me for that, won't you please? Who knows, maybe ~ just maybe ~ someday I'll have a second chance. ;)

Anyway, after 10-ish hours aloft, we landed at Moscow's Sheremetevo Airport, northwest of that city of 13 million people, last I heard. Next, I needed to get from Moscow to Rostov-on-Don. Not the first time I've done that, for sure. But this time. . .

I decided to try something new for Moscow to Rostov-on-Don leg, 650-miles south. Instead of taking Aeroflot and forking over thousands of rubles for my last minute ticket, for my excess baggage, I took the train. It's a time versus money trade-off. I enjoyed having nearly 24 hours to sleep and read, not to mention saving buckets full of rubles. Aeroflot, my condolences. . . I had this whole wagon nearly to myself. I'm not quite understanding why, especially because they said the 3rd class wagons were packed. Oh well, as for this nice, quiet wagon, I'll take it!

Met this cheery four-some at a stop along the way. Asked the fellow in black where he found his t-shirt (click photo to enlarge). In Holland, he said, and his companions burst into laughter. They had been drinking their way south, I rather suspect.

On the road again. Somehow now my wagon is at the end of the train. Glad somebody else is keeping track of adding and subtracting train cars. Guess it's included in the ticket price.

Heading into southwestern Russia and the distant mounds are signs of coal mining.




Another train station, the shashlik lady. Reckon these two are kin? Chicken shashlik, sounded so good and looked so good that I bought it. It was way too expensive, of course, but the chicken was tasty, what there was of it. Still, they gave me this nice photo.

Then there was the potato lady who scrubbed, peeled and packaged this herself. Later, the guys squatting in the background decided to be friendly, shouting out Hello America, or some such.




Back on the train, the attendant lady ~ I like to call the attendants stewardesses and that makes them laugh ~ brought me this pod-sta-KAN-chik with hot tea. Reminiscent of the era of the Russian czars, nowadays, on long-distance trains, hot drinks are served in these. Podstakanchik means literally, under-the-glass-thingy. Works for me.


Welcome to home to Rostov-on-Don!

Friend Misha is so good about meeting me at the Rostov train station. Here he's bumping down the steps with my biggest bag. Why are we heading down this stairway when we're within two feet of an escalator?


Here's why. . .

Some things tend to be more decorative than functional, such as this escalator. Actually, seems I do recall a time or two when the escalator was working. So come on komrads, let's buck up and head on down. . .

Happy Birthday, dear Rostov. . .

As mentioned earlier, Rostov was in a celebratory mood when I arrived back. Had nothing to do with me, I eventually realized, but rather with the Day of the City, the 261st birthday of our wonderful Rostov-on-Don. I love the philosophy here, that if something's worth doing, it's worth doing on a large scale. There's exhibit #1.

A wider view of the Stella Bank building, set in Theater Square, Rostov-on-Don. Oh, is it ever wonderful to be back in my favorite adopted city. Thank you, dear blog readers for joining me in this journey spanning 9 time zones and thousands of miles.

Credit to whom it's due:

Each time I pass through Passport Kontrol in Moscow, am admitted into Russia and end up here in Rostov-on-Don, I'm mindful of the doors that opened for this to happen. This time, thanks goes to my new best friend, Desiree of FedEx. On the Tuesday before I was scheduled to depart on Wednesday, she delivered my passport and new visa into Russia. Without that visa, there's no even getting on the plane. So thank you FedEx and Desiree!

Seriously, I'm so grateful for the opportunity to live and serve here in Rostov-on-Don. Each time the door opens, I'm thankful for an answer to many prayers.