Babak Fakhamzadeh

A scary moment in Yekaterinburg

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 8, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Yekaterinburg » Downtown

The next day, with a book in hand, I had decided to read until it was time for my train to leave (although I finished Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s excellent and scary ‘One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich’ in two hours, I was lucky to have more books on hand). Drinking gin-tonic, I basically waited for the time to pass by. As my train wasn’t leaving until sometime late in the afternoon, and I had to leave my hotel room quite early, I saw Yekaterinburg’s main square (where I had decided to read and wait) get busier as the hours passed.

The outside bar where I was sitting got more and more crowded and, at some point, this long legged, quite nice, Russian girl started flirting with me. Making it apparent that she had an interest in me, but wanting me to make the first move. I thought about it, but had second thoughts almost immediately, expecting not to be able to communicate through a language barrier and me having to leave in several hours anyway.

After some time, she shifted her attention to a bloke that was on another table next to me and, after some time, he took the bait. For some time, they started to have a reasonably lively conversation. They moved to one table and some time later, after each had gone off for several minutes to do something I couldn’t possibly determine, they both left. Together.

As the square got more busy, two drunken youngsters asked me whether they could sit at my table. They both had had their portraits drawn (something Russians are very fond of) and just had to show the drawings to me. Both where quite drunk and incoherent but one of the two was very drunk and also looked a bit more sinister. When he asked whether I was Armenian, I figured it might not be the wisest move to say I originally came from Iran and denied the middle eastern connection. I kept on insisting I was from the Netherlands. That, however, was a bad move.

When I was in Russia, the ‘thing’ with Kosovo and Russians being cheated out of being the strongest fraction in former Yugoslavia by NATO, had just happened and quite a lot of Russians had gotten quite upset about this (its all a macho thing, but touches them right in the soul). So when the sinister guy, Yevgeni, learned I was from the Netherlands, a NATO country, he got quite upset. Luckily, he remained very drunk.

Since he really didn’t speak anything besides Russian (and even that pretty bad, because of the alcohol’s influence on him) I could pretend not understanding a thing he was saying. Then, at some point, he reverted to sign language. He pointed to himself, pointed to me, as if to make a gun with his fingers and then pulled the trigger. Starting to feel to severity of the situation, I friendly pleaded for help in translation from two lovely young girls sitting just a table away.

It took some time, but both turned out to speak a bit of English. And the one with the littlest English knowledge invited me to sit at their table ("You better sit with us"), which I promptly did. Then, they tried, unsuccessfully, to get the two drunks off to someplace else. Meanwhile, some people on the terrace had started to get involved and where complaining against the really drunk guy for his behavior. Meanwhile, Masha, the girl speaking the least English, had written down on a piece of paper: "He is crazy". I had no hard time agreeing.
Then, after some time, she said that it was best for me to come with them. And how can you refuse a fifteen year old virgin?

Small talk

We strolled around the park a bit and struck up a few small conversations with several people the girls knew, before taking a car to a pub close to the train station. Masha had to point out that we were driving in the very first model of the Lada. I showed my mild surprise that she actually knew such a thing, and then she started to point out all the Ladas that drove by and mentioning which model (the 3rd, the 9th, the 5th, etc) they where. When asked why she actually knew this, she just said: "Of course I know this, it is Russian history!"

In the pub, several of their friends had their main meeting point (including both their boyfriends – darn!). With the whole group, about 8 people, we spoke enough English, German and Russian, to talk about movies, Yugoslavia, music, Chechnya (one of them had fought there, him showing us his scars and a tattoo, above his wrist, of his blood type) and life in general, to have a really entertaining afternoon. When the time came up for me to leave, I really felt sorry.

The whole group thought it necessary to walk me to the train and, besides it being very friendly and nice, it was also very useful, since we walked their much faster than I would have by myself, having to find the right platform to leave from for example. When we got to the platform, my train was already leaving!
I quickly jumped on (although the provodnik was heavily cursing me for doing so), waved goodbye and started looking for my cabin.

Finally, books

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 7, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Yekaterinburg » Downtown

Yekaterinburg isn't the most exciting place to be. Still, there is some culture in the city and I decided to take a look at two of the city's museums. Before 12 noon, I had seen both. The fine arts museum has a big collection of massive cast iron works and, although ugly, its quite impressive. In addition they have a large collection of paintings and I wandered where they got the many old Dutch masters. The history museum isn't interesting at all. Even the ladies that work there seem to think so, since, when I was there, all had clustered together in the wardrobe to discuss current events. I basically raced through that museum.

Temperature luckily had picked up again and, although in the morning it had been very chilly, it was now some 25 degrees. As I was enjoying the sun on the steps of the local music academy, a young fellow came up to me, asking for a light. It was soon obvious that I was foreign, and we started a conversation. Sacha, studying to become a singer told me a bit about the city and then sang a song for me which he had composed and written himself. It was quite good, although it reminded me a lot of Take That. Furthermore, I wandered why the English in his song was so much more developed then the English he used in conversation.

To kill time for the rest of the day I read some English books I had picked up at the 'Friendship' bookstore. I now carried quite a couple of translated Russian books and also the collected works of Oscar Wilde! In the bookstore, the owner, an older but still good looking and English speaking woman, tried to, more or less, sell her daughter to me (who was very shy but also very beautiful). When I mentioned that I was already leaving the next day she started considering whether she could change her plans to let me go out with her daughter that same evening, since they had planned to go someplace that same night. I wouldn't have objected in taking her daughter out, but mom figured that in one evening it would be hard for her daughter to install a need with me for her. Alas, I had to spend the night alone, again.

When in Moscow, I had seen the movie Blade on video. One voiceover was doing all the characters and you could still hear the original soundtrack underneath. I figured the same would be the case here, in cinemas so, bored as I was, I went to see Entrapment. The pricing system is really remarkable. In the morning you can get in for under $1. Then, as the day gets older, the entrance fee gets higher. In the evening, a show costs up to $4. Quite a big difference! Anyhow, the movie was dubbed pretty well, all characters having their own voiceover and if it wasn't for me already knowing the plot, it would simply have been impossible to understand what the movie was about.

When walking back to my hotel I took a busy street as to avoid a possible mugging or worse. I'm not sure why I did this, since I do have a feeling that Russia, in relation to petty crime, is safer than any Western country. Not in spite of, but because of Mafia. It is my guess that Mafia wants to control its turf to the max, and that leaves no room for uncontrolled petty crime. If someone needs to be robbed, they decide who, when and where and since the average Russian doesn't have much to have robbed from him, Russia is a reasonably safe place. That is, for all accept business men. Since they definitely do not fall in the 'petty' area but can mean big business. In effect, crime in Russia does take place, but on higher levels mostly, not on the streets. This idea, in addition, is staffed by the fact that, even until late at night, women alone or in small groups still can be found walking through deserted and sometimes dark areas to get home.

It’s no longer Europe, in Yekaterinburg

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 6, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Yekaterinburg » Train station

Lucky me, the Planet had a good tip in store for me this time. A travel agency, Sputnik, was a very good help in getting a place to stay in Yekaterinburg and also in getting a train ticket out of the city as well. Although the Planet stated that Sputnik was a one-man-setup, the place had grown to a reasonably sized office, with 5 very nice girls arranging travel services for a whole bunch of people at the same time.

The girl that helped me spoke perfect English and assisted me in finding a place to stay. She gave me a number of options in several price ranges and after deciding which one I wanted, told me where I could get a train ticket for leaving again. She had to check whether the hotel was available, which gave me time to first get the train ticket. The girl was going to help me in stopping a car in the street to get me to the train ticket office.

Turned out the car that she stopped held a couple that was very good friends with the girl that was helping me out. They too spoke very good English and dropped me off right in front of the ticket office. I said thanks and went inside. Here, it was chaos.

The whole office wasn't really small, but with the 25 or so counters and the long lines of people waiting in front of them, in addition to the hordes of people walking around from one place to the other, I had absolutely no idea where to go to get my ticket. The girl from Sputnik had been so nice as to write down, in Russian, where I would like my next ticket to bring me, Novosibirsk, so I had something to get me going. Question was, where to start.

I decided that a first good guess was to try it with the 'Office manager' and stood in line there. I figured that (with only three people ahead of me) that would be the quickest way in finding out from which counter I was to get my ticket. Turned out, I was lucky.

Although I had the idea the lady at the counter was constantly cursing me and she did walk away almost immediately after I gave her my piece of paper with the text saying where I needed to go, I had a feeling things where going better than I had hoped they would. She was actually arranging my train ticket for me! After a couple of minutes she demanded my passport, visa and some cash and only minutes later again, I walked out with a perfect ticket, entitling me to take a train, two days later, to Novosibirsk.
Back to Sputnik.

The Sputnik girl (who, together with her girlfriend from the car, had visited the Netherlands only months earlier) had checked the hotel, and they had rooms available for two nights. We took the company car, with chauffeur, and drove to the hotel. At the same time, the girl gave me a short tour of Yekaterinburg. Showing me the world trade center (with good hotel, restaurant and international newspapers), the circus and one or two other sights (Yekaterinburg just doesn't have that many sights).

At the hotel, together we looked at the room, she ordered it to be cleaned once more, I paid at the reception of the hotel the amount due and she was off. The room was a really good one, with bathtub, satellite TV, fridge and a very good and very big mattress. Only one drawback though: there was a curfew at twelve o'clock…

Yekaterinburg used to be called Sverdlovsk, after the man who masterminded the killing of the Romanov family (the former Tsars) at the beginning of the century. A big statue in the center of town, still reminds people of this gruesome act. A second memorial isn't to the mastermind himself, but to the ones he had killed. A wooden frame-of-a-church and a small chapel made out of wooden logs have been recently built on the exact spot where the house used to stand in which's basement the Romanovs had been shot.

Afraid of the house becoming something of a memorial during the Soviet regime, Yeltsin, who used to be party head here in Yekaterinburg, had it torn down. They never got round to building something else for it in return and recently it was agreed, a church would be built on the spot. They have long stopped building again. However, now its a real memorial and many people flock to the spot to remember the family.

The first stop of my tour into town led me to the WTC where I spent a couple of hours reading yesterday's Times and drinking expensive tea and coffee. I also managed to place a pricey call back home, which I hadn't managed from my hotel.

In many of the cities I went to, a lot of the streets still carry their old names. Many streets where re-christened after 1991 change, removing names of Soviet greats and replacing these names with their pre-Soviet counterparts. Here in Yekaterinburg, surprisingly, although many streets had changed names, most still carried their old street signs.

Since the Planet was wholy inaccurate (besides the Sputnik travel agency) in relation to Yekaterinburg, I had a hard time finding a place to eat. Just like anywhere else I had been, it was easy to get loads of ice cream or fast food, but finding something of a restaurant was a real task.

I bumped into something of a cafeteria where stale bread was served with watery soup and mushy fries (although I didn't know that until after I ordered), so at least I was able to get a hot meal. The place looked really tacky, with plastic plants everywhere, small rugs on the table, covered with see-through plastic with cigarette holes in it. The walls where covered with Christmas decorations (remember that this was only July) and everything was done in a very unstylish dark brown. To me, this was Soviet. The food definitely was Soviet; among the worst I had had. Anyhow, my tummy was filled again and I was able to wash it down with that Dutch beer of beers, Bavaria.

Feeling that the less then average meal I just had was in need for a supplement, I added a not-so-good slice of Pizza from one of the pizza stands and spent the rest of the evening at a neighboring terrace, enjoying the site of people passing by. As I went back to the hotel some time later, I came across a group of people doing karaoke. On the street.
Without a doubt they where very much enjoying themselves but I wandered what they would do with their equipment if it would start raining. And the sky looked like it was going to rain.

It is remarkable to see that Yekaterinburg is no longer Europe, but Asia. It could be any other city in European Russia. The buildings are the same, the shops are the same and sell the same goods. The people look the same and speak the same language, wear the same clothes and eat the same food. Still, its Asia and no longer Europe.

Again a visa issue

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 5, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Kazan » Train station

Finding my way to the renovated train station wasn’t very difficult, although, after looking at my visa for the first time in a couple of days, taking a look at the stamp the Tatarstan had given me, I was in for a shock. Somewhere, someone had ripped off a page from my visa! I had no idea where that had happened, for as far as I knew, I had seen the visa only with the missing page attached. In Moscow, when at several occasions, police wanted to look at my visa, I had given it to them, with the now missing page attached to it! What had happened?!
Not really panicking, although uncomfortable, I already had visions of having to travel back to the Dutch consulate in Moscow and having to arrange a new visa just there, on the spot. Simultaneously I considered traveling on with this bad visa, hoping to not get caught. I wasn’t going to let them cheat me out of a good vacation!

To make sure what to do, I decided to call up the Dutch consulate in Moscow. I hadn’t taken that phone number with me when I left Holland, but when I was in Moscow, at some point I walked past the English embassy and figured that they might just be able to supply me with the phone number of the Dutch consulate (the phone number in the Lonely Planet already had turned out to be incorrect). They were and, lucky me, I was able to call them now.

I bought two phone cards next to the Kazan train station and started looking for a phone that could call long distance (since not all phones can). I found one and called the Dutch consulate. Turned out that they weren’t sure whether ripping a page from my visa was standard procedure or not. Since so many different types of visa’s are in use, its difficult to keep track of what was necessary to do with which one. Remembering that all police I had met where surprised that my visa wasn’t actually inside my passport, I didn’t have a hard time believing that. Still, I was stuck with half a visa.

They checked as much as they could, but all they could come up with was that it was likely that it was supposed to be ripped. Already deciding I was going to continue my trip, I also called my contact at Procter & Gamble. Happy to hear, she was assuring me of the fact that the visa was supposed to be taken apart when crossing the border. Feeling reassured, I also was surprised, since I was quite certain that I had seen it in one piece after crossing the border.

I gave Nemets a call, him having said that he was going to stop by at the train station to say goodbye. Figuring he would still be in bed I felt like waking him up. Which I did. Of course, I also a woke the girl he had taken home the previous night.

The train ride from Kazan to Yekaterinburg was different in several ways. It was a very long ride, about 18 hours, and it was very cheap, about a mere $8 and I was moved between cabins several times. I hadn’t gotten a seat assigned to me when buying the ticket, so my provodnik had to get me one after boarding the train.

I was put into a cabin with a family of three of which none spoke anything but Russian. That wasn’t the remarkable part. With only three people (a couple and their young son) in the cabin, the cabin itself was completely filed. Not because of them being very fat, but because all compartments in the cabin where used for storing luggage, their luggage. But not just ‘regular’ luggage, no, everywhere pears, berries, lemons, peaches, etc. had been stored. Maybe to sell them at their destination, maybe to have a snack ready on their long train ride to wherever they were going.

After only a couple of minutes though, I was moved to another cabin, which I shared with a fat dark guy, Alek, who smelled like he hadn’t had a bath for weeks on end. Turned out he had been on the train from way before Moscow, so he actually was traveling for quite some time now. Some time later, unlucky me, I missed the pillar at the Europe-Asia border.

Finding a hotel in Kazan

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 4, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Kazan » Hotel Tatarstan

Enjoying my breakfast, deck side, with caviar and all, I had gotten myself a bottle of mineral water. The bottle read: The mineral water you taste is bottled at facilities, developed by joint efforts of the ministry of economic affairs of the Netherlands and the Nizhni Novgorod regional administration, within the technical assistance program. At the same time, music already playing through the boat its speakers, Tarkan was singing in Russian. The train might have been a much faster method, doing the trip by boat was certainly a much more relaxed way of moving from one place to the next.

So I had arrived in Kazan, capital of Tatarstan. The port turned out to be quite a long way from the city center and that, in its turn, turned out to be quite a long way from the place I had decided I wanted to spend the night.

Spending the first couple of hours trying to get train tickets and a place to stay, one of the first things I noticed was that the city was so very well kept. The buildings where all in good shape, the streets very clean and, surprise, the people very friendly. However, the Lonely Planet turned out to be dead wrong in almost all it said. Train tickets and plain tickets where almost impossible to get and several of the hotels the Planet suggested had been closed over time.

One very big, western style, hotel (the Safar) had just sprung up on the outskirts of town, next to where a youth hostel used to be. A big sign outside celebrated ten years of Braunschweig – Kazan. Their prices where a little bit above my budget though, but they forwarded me to the one hotel that was still alive and mentioned by the planet, the hotel Tatarstan. Being almost in the center of town, its location wasn't very inconvenient either. Not in the best of shapes, it did have a good view of Kazan's main street.

All over the lobby of the hotel, stickers where advertising them accepting all sorts of credit cards. When I waved my AmEx in front of the receptionist, however, she friendly refused to accept it. Maybe a picture then, to keep for posterity the typical 70s interior of the hotel? As I grabbed my camera, a guard came over, making it very clear I was NOT allowed to take pictures.

I had to get the key to my room from the 'floorlady' upstairs. My room, I had been told by reception, was on the 7th floor, but when I pushed the appropriate button in the elevator, the thing wouldn't move. I then tried my luck with the other elevator, but there too, the thing just didn't take off. After some careful studying the buttons available, it turned out I first had to push my floor and then had to push the 'up' button. The button for the 7th floor, however, didn't work. So I went up to six and walked the last part. On the 7th, I found out I had to go to the 8th.

My floorlady was busy cleaning rooms, and she made it clear she had ample time to supply me with my keys. Her face lit up a bit when she saw my name. First asking whether I was 'Islam?' then noticing I was alone. A sort of 'wink wink, notch notch' scene was the result, where she seemed to be certain in what I was going to do that very night. But although I had color television and a shower with hot water in my room, the bed, basically a mattress with one big hole in the middle, wasn't inviting to share.

The city apparently has been renovated over the past couple of years and the main shopping street is a very nice place to walk through. Besides that street though, there's nothing much to do in Kazan, so the shopping street is where I spent most of the day. There are no significant museums and the only historically interesting part of town is the city Kremlin, but even that isn't very interesting.

Entertainment

Mid-afternoon, the center started to get more and more crowded, the sunny weather probably helping a lot, and several small groups of people started showing themselves off. Making music, break dancing, flame throwing or doing other kinds of remarkable stuff. I sat down close to a group of people making typical Russian music and, as these things go, after some time, we started to chat.

That didn't go without any trouble at first, since the group really only spoke Russian, until one guy showed up, after some time, who had spent a couple of years in Germany. Him speaking perfect German made our conversations much easier, resulting in me spending the rest of the day (and the night) with 'Nemets' (as he was called by his friends, which means something like 'German boy' in Russian) and a select group of his pals.

At some point, even, one of his friends invited me into singing a song by Metallica together with them. Of course I joined, although it didn't come very easy. I thought singing was much easier than it turned out to be!

Anyhow, Nemets had to stress, a number of times, that I had to experience Russian hospitality and that he just had to arrange a woman for me for the night. Having seen quite a couple of good looking Russian women, but an equal number of bad looking women, I wasn't sure what it meant. Any which way, it seemed the night was going to be an interesting one.

Nemets had spent several years in Germany but was now living in Kazan again. The group of friends studied music at the Kazan university and enjoyed the summer by hanging out, making good music on the streets and earning small cash in doing so.

Already, the evening had given away to the night, and Nemets was getting more and more worried that, still, he hadn't arranged a group of women for him, myself and the three friends that where still left. Several small groups of ladies he kept on asking to join us for the night, in order for everyone to have a good time. Somehow, it seemed he actually knew all the girls he asked out, although I'm not really sure about that.

After some time trying, he finally did convince three girls to join us. The main guitar player was still with us and Nemets had convinced the girls to go skinny dipping in 'mother Volga' (as Nemets called it) with us, so it was going to be an interesting night after all.

All three girls where quite nice. Only one, Lilian, spoke something besides Russian though, and she was destined to be 'mine' for the evening. One major drawback, though, there was. Not that she was ugly or something, since she wasn't (actually, she was very nice looking, dark curly hair, firm breasts, quite long legs, a nice smile and a heavenly ass!), but she just couldn't believe I had come to Russia, of all places, to spent my vacation. I must have been looking for a woman to take back with me, or working on some other ungodly scheme! She just couldn't get it through her mind that I was traveling through Russia (six weeks, gasp!) for pleasure.

The night became older and older and the day started to creep up on us again. Already at 3am the sky was becoming pretty bright and I, although having a very good time, felt like going of to bed. My train was leaving the next day, somewhere in the morning, and I did feel like getting something of sleep before leaving Kazan again.

Some time later, the sun was already shining again, we headed back to town. Nemets, having scored one of the girls, was constantly lagging behind, them stealing kisses from each other, and it took us quite some time to actually get to the center, where my hotel was. Finally getting back to the hotel, I kissed my 'date' goodbye and, some minutes later, slept (by myself) for the remainder of my stay in the hotel. In effect, the people I met in Kazan proved me that Russians can be very hospitable indeed, without necessarily asking money for it at the same time. Then again, the people from Tatarstan are among the most non-Russians in Russia and act like it too. The license plates on the cars in Tatarstan are among the few in Russia that don't show the Russian flag.

Traveling by boat from Nizhni Novgorod to Kazan

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 3, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » On the Volga river

Waiting for the boat to leave, I spent some time reading, in a small park close buy when this guy came up to me, asking for some donation for a church/aids/whatever, in exchange for a set of postcards. The guy stuttered, and when I made it clear I didn't speak Russian, he started to stutter in English.
After he had 15 tries in finishing the word 'donation' I gave him all my change just to get rid of him. I considered his method a good marketing technique and read on.

Just like all cabins on the ship, mine was on the outside. Communication with the purser didn't go very well when he showed me my cabin and he left me wandering still, whether we'd arrive the next day or in three days. Every question I asked him, he answered with a profound 'yes, yes, yes, yes', so after a couple of questions I just held my trap shut. Anyway, the cabin actually had warm water!

The boat had four decks. Of the two restaurants, the one on the front side had a great view. Then there was something of a snack bar on the lowest deck, selling beer and salty snacks and there where two 'lounges', with TV a very small library and some board games. The ship could hold maybe 200 people.

As the boat slowly flowed on, the lives of hundreds really passed me by as we passed small village after small village. Its remarkable what the difference in life standard is, between these villages and the bigger cities. Here, all houses where made out of wood, no exception, and obviously there was no warm water, let alone plumbing. In a lot of cases, there wasn't even electricity. It's weird, so close to a big city, Nizhni Novgorod, and so different.

But more than that. This still was Europe, but so very different at the same time. The villages that floated by proved, beyond a doubt, that although Russia is considered a developed country, it most definitely isn't. Ok, some areas are very much developed and on the same level as cities in the 'West', but so much more areas are very much underdeveloped and wouldn't be misplaced, considering their standard of life, somewhere in, say, the middle of Africa.

Still, everyone is so very much the same. All people look alike, have the same emotions, feel the same feelings. While at the same time they speak wildly different languages, have different values and completely different habits. How remarkable it must have been for all discoverers centuries ago. Meanwhile, I started to develop a hunch that we would actually arrive in Kazan the next day.

The banks of the river where a remarkable site. Generally, there was a very small line of beach, after which a pretty steep hill would start, banking in the river itself. Many people where sunbathing on the beaches. A remarkable feat in itself, since very often this would mean they had to walk long a long distances to actually get to the place they where actually enjoying the sun, since the hills where just too steep to be climbing down -or up- upon. Here and there, stairs actually went up from the water to the top of the hills, even at places where no beach was present. Exactly why, for what purpose, was left open to debate, since no apparent reason seemed to exist. (If it was for people to get to their boats, then where where the boats?)

God

I actually bumped into a couple of American missionaries who were traveling downstream from Nizhni Novgorod by boat too. Howard, a huge American, and one of his sons, Benjamin, where discussing the route the boat would follow. Next to a wall chart covering the whole trip of the boat up to the boarders of the Black Sea, they where considering the cities that would float by and what they could do while lying ashore in those cities.

They actually lived in Nizhni Novgorod and had been trying for several years to 'convert' the locals to their form of Christian religion. Being really nice Americans, I had to say almost everything twice, them not really registering what I was saying but continuously smiling. At least, I learned that the boat actually would arrive already the next day. What's more, they offered help, if I needed some translation done when dealing with locals.
Really friendly, although I didn't really see what problems I could still run into when on the boat.

They had started with 23 missionaries in Nizhni Novgorod a couple of years ago and had grown to more than a hundred. Now, they had established several churches around Russia. One was in Nizhny Novgorod, another one was in Irkutsk and they where going to start a new church in Yekaterinburg before the end of the year. Already, over the years several families had gone home and now only two families where left in Nizhni Novgorod.

Howard had a hard time not going on about how there currently being a need for the Lord in Russia, and assistance and reassurance in general. Really remarkable, although I found it reassuring, in a way, that people are actually able to have, apparently, so much faith in something, anything without, apparently a shadow of a doubt. Even though I couldn't really agree with what Howard was going on about.

Only minutes after saying goodbye to Howard and his son, I discovered there where showers on board! With warm water! The next morning (after spending the evening under the stars, with a disco going on on one of the outside decks) I went for a good shower. The water didn't turn out to be warm, it was steaming hot! Close to unbearable. Although after I found the knob for adding cold water, it started to get mighty comfortable. And the 6 rubles I had to pay, as it turned out afterwards, where very much worth it. Not only that, the soap that was part of the 'first-class-package' on the train from Warsaw to Minsk came in very handy now too.

Different standards in Nizhni Novgorod

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 2, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Nizhni Novgorod » Boat terminal

Having shared my train cabin with three women, one of which spoke French, I arrived at Nizhny Novgorod (the city used to be called Gorky) station quite early. Strangely enough, almost all signs on the train station where bilingual. Russian and English. Having no problem finding the exit of the train station, I did have trouble finding someone to tell me where to go, finding the city center. Not in the least, of course, because actually no-one spoke English. There was, however, a computer terminal where you could get train information for trains traveling across almost the whole of Russia!

The train station in Nizhni Novgorod is pretty far away from the town center and it took some time before I found the right tram that would bring me there, for an astounding $0.01. Just before boarding, I tried to take a picture of an old lady selling berries near the train station. When she saw me taking a picture of her, she started screaming, calling me names, shouting for help and, in the meantime, gesticulating frantically with her hands and throwing some of her berries at me. I got out as soon as I could.

Immediately getting of the tram after crossing the huge Oka river I started walking towards what was supposed to be the city's port. Indeed, in the shape of a ship's hull, the boarding quay soon came up. However, no ships where to be seen. Inside I first tried to understand when boats where leaving in the direction of Kazan. Again, like in Moscow, boats where not leaving as often as was suggested by the Lonely Planet, although there were more here, then in Moscow. The next day a boat would already leave for Kazan. That seemed almost to good to be true. Now I only had to find a place to stay.

I asked the two girls, that helped me out in finding a way out of Nizhni Novgorod, if there was a hotel around. One said there actually was one, right in the same building. Right then, the other girl seemed to say that she couldn't be serious. I couldn't sleep in a hotel like that! The first girl figured I could and pointed me the way.

Funnily enough, the receptionist at the hotel (indeed in the same building, covering the uppermost three floors) also had a hard time agreeing that I could stay in the hotel and at first wanted to send me into town and find a hotel there. Some persistence finally helped and I landed a two-bedded $2 hotel room, overlooking the river. Really cool. Okay, there where no showers, toilets where on the corridor and the glasses to drink from where covered with green moss, but sometimes you need to make concessions.

Shortly after, I managed to get a boat ticket, second class, to Kazan. Third class tickets where no longer available, but at less then $20, I would occupy a two-person cabin by myself. It's was unclear however, how long the journey would take.

With the ticket in my pocket, I started walking towards the city center, which is basically a small area around the city Kremlin. Perched on a hill, overlooking the point where the Volga meets the Oka river the city really is a nice place to go to. The center is really friendly looking and also much more quiet than Moscow. Surprising, since it's Russia's third biggest city, after Moscow and St. Petersburg.

Just too much vodka

The walk from the port to the city center is a really nice one. You can climb the hills that cradle the river, which gives you a really unparalleled view of the area. Shortly after I climbed up, a small bar, with terrace, crossed my path. I went for a Gin-Tonic and enjoyed the scenery.

Almost immediately after sitting down, three men, two about my age and one, who turned to be above 70, invited me to share vodka. Hard to decline the offer, I started of on what turned to be a very bad afternoon, alcohol-wise. They kept on pouring vodka from cheap half-liter bottles into plastic cups. Them, downing their vodka in one gulp, me taking sips. That is, at first. When they made it clear it is considered very bad behavior to sip your vodka, I had to down it too. And after each gulp, the cups where refilled again. Bottles came and went. And kept on coming. They had to, since the custom is to always finish your bottle. But when a bottle is finished, you have to get a new one as well.

Grandpa, who turned out to be Georgian, was also a postman and a good fencer. After he found out I'm part Iranian, he constantly had to drink to Georgian-Iranian friendship. First he actually wanted to fight. Not against me, but with me, against the two younger guys at the table. When It became clear I didn't really feel like fighting and opted for drinking instead. Then, after each gulp, he kept on offering me a piece of sausage on which several people had already been chewing. I think I declined the sausage and he didn't seem to mind; His big belly, in the open because of his unbuttoned shirt kept on shaking with laughter, in sync with the movements of his face that almost continuously showed his lack of almost all his teeth, in an ear to ear grin.

A good Russian custom is to eat a lot while drinking. It soaks up the alcohol and leaves you with less of a headache when waking up (because you always fall asleep eventually when you drink as much as Russians do). One of the things to eat is dried, very salty fish. It's especially good with beer and, although the main course was vodka, I munched a couple down. The biggest problem with these fish is that you have to totally dissect them before you can eat only a little bit of them.

Close before I managed to leave (grandpa had already left some time before, too drunk to remain seated he asked me to come home with him, which I declined), a group of two babes and one chaperone joined us three. Introducing themselves and hoping to catch on with the binge. I'm not sure whether they succeeded. Shortly after, I said my goodbyes and walked on to the city center. Before arriving, however, I decided to take a nap in a field. A really enjoyable break, since the sun was shining, the temperature was good, and I couldn't manage to walk straight anymore. Some time later, I awoke. In the city center, on a bench.

I don't know how I got there but my awakening was very comfortable. Two girls, one very nice looking, the other very friendly but quite fat, tried to explain that it wasn't very wise to sleep on the bench as I was doing. Understanding that I wasn't from around there, they where interested even more and had to tell their friends I was foreign. One of their
friends, a 28-year old guy with a big smile and too many bottles in his hands, immediately came over, told me that he was a good man since he was a lieutenant in the army, showed me his ID and wanted to drink to friendship. I relived my experience of the afternoon and, after explaining what had happened, they liked me even more and, to my surprise, no more drinks where necessary. All that, before 3 o'clock. In the afternoon.

Shortly after, when inside the Kremlin (which means no more than city-fort), I came across the fatter girl, Natasha, again. Still very nice, we tried to talk a bit without much success. She turned out to be studying law or something and was now on some sort of patrol, trying to keep everything under control. Or something. At some point, we where sitting on the river-side of the Kremlin, overlooking the two rivers at sunset, when there was a speedboat passing by at high speed, down below. "Novo-Russki", she said.

I welcomed the night, being able to sleep off the day. In the morning I changed some cash and did some shopping so that I would have something to eat during the boat trip to Kazan. My guess was that the trip would take three days, so I got quite a lot of bread, cucumber, tomatoes, loads of cheese and even some very cheap caviar! Breakfast I had at a Baskin and Robbins, a Haagen-Dazs-like ice parlor. When sitting on its terrace, I realized that a lot of the people on the streets are so very white. Surprising, since summer temperatures generally are 30 degrees-plus for longer periods of time. After one week of Russia, I had already completely blackened.

Culture

Babak Fakhamzadeh on July 1, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Moscow » Kazan station

Maybe Mark’s story of the previous night was more truthful than I suspected. Grandma seemed unlikely cheery this morning and couldn’t stop feeding me breakfast. Russian delicacies came and went and after eating three times as much as I normally do for breakfast I finally could convince her that I had had enough.

When strolling through town, a young man, maybe still a boy, came up to me. About 17, short hair and neatly, although simply, dressed. White shirt and light trousers. He wore a cap. Without much of a reason, when almost passing me by on an almost empty street, he stopped in front of me and, first in Russian, started telling me that he was a soldier and that he had almost no money and if I could spare him some.

Overcome by his sad face and big puppy eyes, I gave him a couple of Rubles. What startled me was that this guy looked really clean and ‘nice’. Maybe a bit undernourished, but healthy and strong. And, apparently, still there was a need to beg.
Very sad.

Sisters

Well, Stalin, a megalomaniac as always, decided he needed something big in his city. Possibly to make the city stand out more from St. Petersburg, who knows.Anyway, he decided that building nine huge neo-gothic apartment blocks would do the trick. You decide. Anywhere you look, in Moscow, you can see one or more of these ‘nine sisters’ as they where called. They’re big and, indeed, in a way, impressive. To top of his requirements, he also had one built in Warsaw. The funny thing is that, from a distance, they all look alike. But when you take a closer look, they are definitely very different.

Museums

It was time to visit some museums in Moscow. Basically, only two are of interest: The Pushkin museum and the Tretyakov gallery. The Pushkin is stuffed with all time classic from East and West and, although their collection is very impressive, it is said that in the basement an even larger collection of supposedly lost-in-war paintings, statues and other art is stored.
Meanwhile Brueghel, Ruysdael, Rembrandt, Jan Steen, Matisse, Cezanne, Gaugin, Picasso, Chagall, Kandinsky, Miro, Michelangelo, DeGoya, Rodin, Monet, Pissaro, Renoir, Manet, Degas, van Gog and others adorn its walls.

The Tretyakov is huge. Okay, not as huge as the Hermitage maybe, but you can stroll around for hours and still discover paintings you haven’t seen before. Here, too, the walls are adorned with Russian and international masters. In high season, it gets so crowded here that you even have to wait in line up to several hours to actually get a ticket to get in!

A third museum that is worth visiting, is the International Roerich center. Roerich was, well, a strange guy who traveled to Tibet and staid there for a large part of his life, painting the Himalayas and other things of his everyday life. Over the years, the International Roerich movement has grown into something of a world peace organization and a lot of his art can be found online at the website of the Roerich museum in New York.

So what are my first impressions of Russia? One is that how Russians do business depends on who they do business with. Is it with a friend, then they will go at lengths to get what their friend needs or wants. Is it with unknowns, they simply don’t care and will try to get away as easy as possible. Likely, this is a left over from communist regime, where no stimulus was obtained by doing your job right, or to the best of your abilities, where as doing your job right, for a friend, would mean a higher status with that friend and, consecutively, more benefit for you in the long run.

Another thing related to the former communist regime is how women tend to dress. In one word: Gorgeous! It seems this is since, during communist regime, it was very much discouraged to be different from others. Basically, if you where too different, you where punished. It’s a fact that teenagers everywhere want to distinguish themselves from their peers and, more importantly, from their elders. For years, here in Russia they didn’t have the possibility and now, they’re back with a vengeance. With success I might add! It is surprising how good Russian girls know how to dress and how good they look. Considering that almost all Russian woman over 35 are ugly as hell, this leaves one wandering.

In addition, when you tried to distinguish yourself from your peers, in the past, you had to do that subtly. Now, with the less-than-subtle way of distinguishing themselves from others, results in Russians always posing for a picture. Not like stiff puppets, but more like fashion models. They are very much aware that this is a small moment in which they can shine, and so they do. That, combined with their awesome dress, makes summer an interesting time to visit Russia!

After visiting the three museums I decided my dose of culture had reached its max for the day and went for an ice cream in the park next to the Kremlin. In addition to the ice cream I had a, what turned out to be lukewarm, Pepsi and minutes after sitting down, two older guys, roughly 65-70, sat down at the same table with me. They where continuously arguing with each other (in Russian). After some time they asked me something and of course it became clear immediately that I was not, in fact, Russian.

We started talking (or actually they tried to get a conversation going), and for some reason to conversation slowly switched to art and money. They worked at the Pushkin museum (where I had been earlier that same day) as restorers and confirmed that so many paintings where still stored away that no one knew of, but for which there was no money to restore them. In addition, because of the current situation, they hadn’t been paid in months and they both had daughters to take care of too! One guy was drinking a beer when joining the table, clearly getting drunk, the other was enjoying a Fanta. The one with the beer had hair that looked like Einstein’s, going off in all directions. He did have a much pointier face, was foaming at the corners of his mouth and was wearing alien-eyes sunglasses. The other one, short hair, glasses, was much more quiet and seemed to be a bit taken back by his friend’s pro-activeness.

The two Russians gave me a set of cards with Paintings from the Pushkin museum. On one of the cards, Einstein wrote something like: “To Dutch-Russian friendship!”, after which the other told me that only one word is the same in Russian as it is in Dutch, the word “stool” (more or less that exact word in English, meaning the exact same thing in Dutch and Russian). Then, as true Russians, having given me something, they wanted something in return. Money. I made it clear that I didn’t feel like giving them money but would be happy to give them something to drink, which they politely declined. After some bickering hence and forth, the guy with the glasses stood up to leave and said his goodbyes. Einstein just kept on going, becoming more and more pushy, where as his friend clearly was becoming embarrassed. I decided to give the guy 100 Rubles and be rid of him, but he just kept on going. Then, when his friend came back to pick him up, saying that Einstein was drunk because, at his age, alcohol is more difficult to take in, Einstein firmly gave him a punch in the face. They left, I laughed, said my goodbyes to Igor and Vasily, and decided I had had quite a nice show and some cards I could use sending a message home with, for only $4.

Something I actually picked up from Vasily was that due to the many regulation changes in Russia over the past years, ‘common’ Russians had a hard time understanding the situation they where currently in, both politically and socially. During Gorbatchev, they had the most freedom they could enjoy. Now, they might have more freedom, they just don’t have the money to express their freedom.

Already, circles of hookers where presenting themselves to the public at around 7pm as I started walking back to Mark’s. There, we said our goodbyes and agreed to mail as soon as Mark would have email. I left and started off for the train station I would leave from.

Show me the money

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 30, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Moscow » Red Square

Yesterday, I had tried to get a ticket for a boat to the next destination on my list, Nizhny Novgorod. According to the planet, boats go in both directions every day and some times even more often at very affordable prices. However, after half a day of going from one place to the next in Moscow, it turned out that, because of the market crash the year before, almost no one had enough money left to go on one of the cruises. Now, boats where still going, but only once or, very occasionaly, sometimes twice a week. Most of the booking offices had closed as well, making it even more difficult to find a place to get tickets. A train seemed to be a better option. Then, maybe, I could take a boat from Nizhny Novgorod to Kazan.

Meanwhile, I figured that registering my visa and getting the required stamps, might be a wise thing to do. Nevertheless, all forces seemed to be against me. I had arranged an invitation letter via Procter & Gamble, where I had worked until I left on holiday. I had been in close contact with someone in Moscow to get everything arranged. So the most obvious thing was to start with her. She told me that registering was in no way necessary and that recently the Russian government had increased the maximum stay without registration from 5 days to two weeks. In addition, I needed her, or her office at P&G HQ in Moscow, to get my visa registered.
After visits to the police station, OVIR (the visa registration bureau) which turned out to be closed, and a palm reader, I gave up my quest and decided to take my contact's word for it. Registration would take an other three days anyhow.

In the past, it had also been necessary to have all the cities you wanted to visit in Russia marked in your visa. According to my contact, even that hadn't been necessary anymore. Well, if she said so, what else could I do? I decided to get my train ticket out of Moscow.

Russia has a remarkable left-over from communist regime. Because traveling wasn't really encouraged then, it was made very difficult to obtain long distance train tickets. One way of doing this, was to put ticket offices all over the city and sometimes miles away from the nearest train station. Since Moscow has about 5 major train stations, just like Paris, each catering for its own region in Russia, there are some 5 different ticket offices scattered over town.

Its not obvious which ticket office you need for what destination and even Russians, when having to buy a ticket, move from one office to the next until they find the right one. Lucky for me, for once, the Lonely Planet had been right and I ended up at the right office right away. For some reason, I had to pay much more than I expected, but taking the upper bunk in stead of the lower bunk saved me some money. Not really understandable, since the lower bunks double as couches during the day, making it near impossible to take a nap when you want, if you're stuck with a lower bunk.

When walking to the ticket office, I had to cross a rather large marketplace. Police stopped me and asked for my papers. Flashbacks already went through my mind but with a smile I handed over my documents. Just like the night before, the officers expected my visa to be on one of the pages of my passport. The extra paper surprised them. After looking through my passport and visa several times and almost turning my camera bag inside out, they friendly told me everything was all right and remarked that they where happily surprised by bumping in to a Dutch guy, in stead of again another person from the Caucasus with no papers. I smiled and, stress falling off of me, walked on.

Coming back home, Chris and Anya where talking. Some time later, Mark came home too. Obviously drunk, he drank some more beers and then started on coffee. Apparently because he still had some work to do. We talked a bit about nothing in particular and some time later in the evening, it became clear that ten years of Russia had taken its toll on Mark. He said that after a heavy night of arguing with his wife and mother-in-law and even throwing his wife out at some point, they had forced him to ask money from me for staying at their place. It was a classic case of Russian behavior. First being friendly, and then expecting something for it in return. And if not receiving, making a very big fuss over it. Mark claimed it wasn't what he wanted, but that 'they' kept on nagging him about it (although the main reason for that, was that he had forgotten to mention to either his wife or his mother in law that I would be coming over at the end of June). I felt like the stupid tourist, taken in by a local. Deciding that there wasn't a real option here and wanting to get rid of the issue, I paid up $80 on top of an earlier $20 I had paid to cover costs. Indeed, as Mark commented, 5 nights (although I only had staid four), for $100, that close to the city center, is a real bargain. How much that sounds like a true thing, I didn't really feel right about it. Oh well, the next day my train would leave for Nizhni Novgorod anyway.

Remarkably, that same evening but a bit earlier, grandma had come in while Mark and I where talking, and she had to draw my portrait and also gave me a brochure with an overview of her work. She had been a rather well known sculptor during the communist regime, and indeed her creations seemed pretty good. In hindsight, you could argue I paid 80 bucks for a picture of myself. Still, a rather expensive souvenir!

The evening had me thinking of my next steps and slowly the rest of my trip was taking shape. I was thinking of traveling overland to the North side of lake Baikal and then, crossing the lake, venture on to Ulan Ude what would be the most Eastern leg of my journey, before I would start moving back again.

Yet another side of Moscow

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 29, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Moscow » Gorky Park

I went to Gorky park today. The movie impressed me quite a lot in the beginning of the 80s and I just had to go there. What an uninteresting place that is! The park is just one big collection of weed. You have to pay to get in, and all there is in there is one small pond and some dated fairground attractions. I felt like puking all over the place.

Next was the Novodevichy Convent. It was closed. But the cemetery was open. Not really impressive, although the place houses the bodies of some very famous Russians. Not close buy but a bit more impressive was the train that shipped the body of Lenin back to Moscow in the 30s. The train is stored in-doors and the building itself used to be fully air-conditioned. Now, it was even hotter inside than it was outside. And it was already pretty hot outside. I wonder why they wanted to put it inside.

The Ostankino Moscow TV tower was also quite interesting. At 540 meters it's quite an impressive structure, rising high above the surface. Close to the tower are a statue of Yuri Gagarin and a memorial commemorating Soviet space flight in general. When coming back from the TV tower I took a bus to the nearest metro station.

You are supposed to buy your bus tickets with the driver. So I tried to get my ticket from her. For some reason, she hadn't any, or at least wasn't willing to sell any to me. I tried for a few stops but gave up as my stop came up. Of course, just then, 6 conductors came in, asking for everyone's tickets. I had none and started a discussion with one of the conductors, making it clear that I had wanted to get a ticket but wasn't allowed one. He made it clear that my bus driver didn't have tickets. I asked him where I should have gotten tickets then. He said: "From bus driver." When I pointed out that I had tried, he said: "No, no, from different bus driver." I paid my $0.50 fine and left.

Coming home, again a very nice meal was waiting for me. A girl called Chris, also Belgian, turned up minutes after me coming home. She had stayed at Mark's place sometime earlier, when studying in Moscow and she now traveled to Moscow regularly on business and occasionally stopped by. All four of us, Mark, Anya, Chris and me went to the Dutch bar I had visited on my first day in Moscow. It was 'Holland night' and the owner had actually obtained a barrel of Dutch herring and jenever; Quite funny. We ordered some drinks and snacks and afterwards, Chris and me decided to go out for another beer someplace else. Mark and his wife went back home. It was about 11.30pm. Not really a time for me to be in bed. Luckily, I had convinced Chris into joining me, although she still had to work the next day.

We decided to walk towards the Kremlin and see where we would end up. Clearly being tourists, a drunken, but fine-looking, Russian asked us for something (in Russian). I made it clear that we didn't speak any Russian, but Chris did, and replied, in Russian. This got him hooked and for some time, he kept walking along with us, saying that today was his birthday, that he wanted money, cigarettes, a lighter and more. When I made it clear we had no intention to give him anything (although Chris was about to consider giving some cash) he started to get mad. Shouting, throwing his (broken) lighter against a wall, kicking against stuff lying on the ground, etc. I decided that giving him a cigarette might pay off. It didn't immediately, but it kept him busy.
We quickly moved away.

Coming on to Red Square, actually only meters away from the place I had had the remarkable experience only a day before, talking with each other in Dutch, we where approached by a police officer who stopped us in our tracks. He wanted to see our papers. Now, when entering Russia, it is required you get a stamp in your visa. Second, when being in any Russian city for longer than 5 days, you need to register your visa in that city too. Only recently had that period been extended from 3 to 5 days. Anyhow, I hadn't registered my visa in Moscow and what's more, since I had crossed the border between Belorus and Russia, and since there is almost no control there, I only had a stamp from Belorus in my visa. A stamp that I received when crossing the Belorus-Poland border. Chris, as it turned out, had no visa nor passport with her at all…

When staying in a more up market hotel, the hotel generally takes care of registering your visa. Chris got out by saying the hotel still had possession of her stuff. She's a nice looking girl, so probably that helped too. Since I don't have a pretty face, at least not for most men, I was in bigger trouble. The officer insisted that I had to have my visa registered, and wasn't swayed by my suggestion that I would register it the very next day. Chris, speaking fluent Russian because of having studied the language, first interpreted between the officer and me, but slowly started to speak for me to the officer. The result being that I, after some minutes had no idea what they where talking about.

What had happened was that the officer wanted my visa to be registered right away. Although legally there was nothing wrong with my visa; it was stamped in Belorus, and I still had time to register it within 5 days. But try convincing a Russian police officer at close to midnight in Moscow. I had to come to the police station and register.
However, since no registration takes place at night, I had to wait till the next morning. And in the mean time wait. In a police cell. Chris, feeling that I wouldn't really be interested in having to spend the night in a Russian police cell, asked what exactly needed to happen. "Well," the guy said, "he has to pay a fine and then he can go." Besides the fact that it seemed that the officer had forgotten about the stamps , required in the first place, Chris asked why we couldn't pay the fine now. The officer looked at us with eyes saying "are you stupid, or what?" and said that we had to receive a receipt for paying the fine.

Then, luckily, perhaps in a moment of clarity, Chris mentioned that we really didn't need a receipt. The officer's face light up and Chris asked how much the fine would be. The officer seemed to have fallen in a dreamy state of consciousness, as if to contemplate his next move and then said: "100 Rubles". Chris handed over the money, the guy told us that he would keep an eye out, making sure that we would be safe for the rest of the evening and left. 100 Rubles is about 4 dollars…

We still had to go out for a beer and so we did. In a western style pizza parlor we talked about Russia, studying Slavic languages, Eastern Europe, sex with animals, and other mildly interesting subjects. She told me that Mark used to beat up his wife and that she herself had left the house on not very friendly terms with Mark, but that she came back occasionally to visit Anya, someone she could get along with very well. We split and agreed to go get a beer after my coming back to La Bruxelles (that's Brussels, if you're wandering).

Inside the Kremlin

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 28, 1999 • Blog

The first department store to sell western goods in the Soviet Union

World » Russia » Moscow » Kremlin

After a good night's rest, I decided to take a tour of Moscow. I soon realized I had forgotten my mobile phone and went back to pick it up. Back in the apartment, grandma just had to give me breakfast (although earlier I already had declined friendly) and showed me a flyer of the Novodevichy Convent in Moscow. The Novodevichy convent has the most interesting cemetery in Moscow, with graves of Kruschchev, Prokofiev, Tupolev, Gogol and a bunch of others. Unfortunately, the whole convent is a bit boring, but that's beside the point. On the front of the flyer grandma was showing me, was a copy of a larger-then-life icon, she claimed it to be an image of her grandfather. I smiled as friendly as I could.

Almost half of the city turned out to be under construction. Whole streets had been opened up to put new piping, wiring and who knows what in the ground. But my first goal was to get into the Kremlin. Surprisingly, I got there too early.
My 'bed' was only a ten minute walk from the Kremlin, but I didn't suspect the place only opened up at 10am. What was more remarkable, was that literally hundreds of soldiers where standing in line outside of the Kremlin entrance to go sightseeing. Most where carrying photo- and film camera's and where already posing for group photo's. I bought a ticket and, without asking, got one at student price. A considerable savings, where a regular ticket costs a whopping $9!

The Kremlin is a really nice place to visit, albeit a little bit too crowded, especially with these soldiers hanging around. The churches and cathedrals are nice, the exhibits mildly interesting and the communist-style parliament plain terrible and therefore great. Unfortunately, you're not allowed to walk on the side of the walls overlooking the Red Square, so I just couldn't do my Chroesjtsjov act.

For the rest of the day, I raced across town to suck in as much of the Moscow as humanly possible. And it's true, Muscovites aren't very friendly. Actually, they're among the most unfriendly people I know. Ask them something (even in Russian) and they'll only growl at you. Unless you offer them money, say when buying something. And even then, they only care as far as your money goes.

There's this Russian joke, that perfectly illustrates the difference between people from Moscow and people from St. Petersburg; This young lad from St. Pete has come over to Moscow and is taking a ride on the metro. It's crowded but with quite some difficulty he managed to find a seat and is now sitting comfortably, looking at the other people on the train. At the next stop, an old lady comes in and, seeing that there are no more seats available, the lad offers his seat to the old lady. The lady sits down, looks at the boy and says: "Why, you must be from St. Petersburg." "Well, yes!", the boy replies, "How did you know?!" The old lady looks again and says: "Here, in Moscow, they never give their seat to someone else." The boy is a bit overtaken by this but keeps on looking at the old lady. After some time, the boy says to the lady: "Then you must be from Moscow", upon which the lady answers that she is. "How did you know?" she says. "Well, " the boy replies, "in St. Petersburg, you say thank you when you get a seat from someone else."

That joke pretty much sums up the differences between Moscow and St. Petersburg.

I got home pretty late, but luckily, a nice, juicy steak and frites had been prepared for me. I ate with quite some satisfaction, having only had some local snacks during the day. I was a bit surprised, considering that not Mark, the Belgian, but his Russian wife had prepared dinner.
Only later I learned they almost always ate Belgian grub.

During dinner, I made it known that I had planned to go out, stroll around town a bit for the rest of the night. I invited Mark to join. He friendly declined, but the most terrible horror stories where thrown over the table. Newly recruited Mafiosi, when entering the 'company' had to shoot an unlucky individual on the streets for themselves to be accepted. Both Marc and Anya had been harassed multiple times and Marc even had to spend a couple of nights in jail once. I seemed to have an interesting night ahead of me. I was now determined to go out.

My first stop was going to be an Irish pub near by. The Planet recommended the place, saying that it was one of the major expat gathering places. It turned out to be empty and, after being able to down one pint, they closed at twelve. I left and went on to Red Square. I figured that somewhere around the Kremlin, there would be some location where youngsters where to hang out.

Directly next to western side of the Kremlin, there is a park. I started at the south side of that park and, gradually moving northwards, the park became more and more crowded. Young couples kissing on benches, youngsters sharing beer. I figured I was going in the right direction. And yes, on the north-western corner, a whole horde of young ones had grouped together. Sitting in small groups, they seemed to just 'hang out' as young people have a tendency to do, especially when the weather is good.

The place was like a small open space, between benches and hedges. People where moving from one group to another and almost everyone was talking, where only some where drinking. I sat down on one of the sides, and to my happy surprise, almost immediately, two girls started talking to me. One was very drunk, which didn't really help the fact that she only spoke Russian. However, when she kept on insisting '50 dollars', I started to get an idea on what was happening. Meanwhile, a very nice looking third girl, with a long white dress and large eyes had started walking small circles just in front of me.

I started talking to the only other man in my surroundings. An older guy from Finland, who had lived and worked in the former Soviet Union for over 20 years. He said he loved it, and then pointed out to me that all woman around us where ladies of the night. By then, I had no problem believing that. But then he went on. He said that tonight wasn't a really 'good' night. If I was lucky, I was going to see something much more interesting.
And just at that moment, indeed, something much more interesting happened.

For some reason, a whole group of some 25 girls had started to form a semi-circle. One of the corners of the square had turned completely empty. In the middle of the circle, two guys and an ugly girl with a money pouch around her waist had settled. The ugly girl was obviously showing off the other girls to the guys. Pointing to each of them, telling something about them and occasionally, apparently when the boys where more interested than average, told them to do something. Some wiggled there hips, others slightly pulled up their skirts and even others showed a breast, baring almost all. The less interesting ones where told to turn around, push out their behind or do something similar for entertainment purposes.
During the meat market, at several occasions, as if having missed the start, girls added themselves to the semi-circle, seemingly feeling stupid for missing the beginning. I was flabbergasted.

The whole process took some ten minutes. Girls where sent away, police walked by, cleaners where cleaning the street, until only a couple of girls remained. Then, picking three girls from the group that was left, one of the guys paid while the second hailed a cab to leave. Somehow I had the idea that it was the second guy's birthday.

The Fin laughed at me for the look on my face and then started to tell me that he didn't really like Moscow. People where to unfriendly and having intercourse with someone was just a matter of paying. No, he said, in Alma-Ata, there, girls really loved you, and getting someone in bed was really romance and free of charge. I just nodded, as he started off on a story that once had happened to him where he paid 200 dollars for a working girl ("the first time he paid") in Berlin, and had the most boring time of his life. Although he did sleep with her four times in one night. Yep, that sounded really boring to me. Anyhow, he had himself tested the week before, and after 20 years of Russia, he was still clean. He seemed to be really proud of that.
Come to think of it, he looked like an actor in a blue movie.

The next morning, during breakfast, I told Mark of my findings of the day before. He wasn't really surprised and told me that the previous summer they almost did the exact same semi-circle trick just behind their house. The difference being that the girls where selected from a car, where the girls had to stand, one by one, in the headlights of the car and then show themselves off. Don't you just love Moscow?

Hosted in Moscow

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 27, 1999 • Blog

World » Russia » Moscow » Red Square

I said farewell to my two room-mates and stepped out of the train, relatively early, around 9am or so. It was even sunnier then when I arrived in Minsk, but I figured the bad weather would catch up with me again anyway, just as it had in Minsk. I didn't have any Russian Rubles, so the first objective was to change some dollars. Luckily, there was an official change office at the Belorus train station, where I had arrived. Unlucky for me, although I only found out later, they also ripped me off. Giving me only some 75% of the official exchange rate. Still, I could get myself some bread, cheese and water and as I was munching away, I discovered that my mobile phone was working again. I called Mark (the Belgian guy I met at the Russian embassy in Brussels) to ask whether he still had a bed left for me. He had, and he was going to pick me up too! I couldn't be happier. While waiting, locals where already asking me for directions. In Russian. Apparently, I blended in perfectly.

Turns out, Mark is living in an unbearably big apartment, less then a ten minutes walk from Red Square. The apartment totals three floors. He's living together with his wife, Anya, an Armenian by birth and his mother in law. Anya speaks Russian and Dutch, his mother in law speaks Russian. She used to be a major Artist during the communist regime and she's the one that a nice picture. For free, as she kept on insisting (while Mark kept on insisting that, as far as he cared, I could throw away the picture immediately after receiving it). How everything really is structured in that family, remained unclear during my whole visit there, but his father in law is still alive, being both an opera singer and photographer. He had married his mum in law several times, after a divorce and a fuck-spree around the country. The house used to be owned by his in-laws too, but somehow, its now registered under his name. He also has a kid running around in the apartment and it turns out he used to be married before, in Belgium. Also having a kid from that marriage, he has no contact with either his ex-wife or his other child. Still, he does like Pink Floyd, so he can't be all bad.

Mark started out as a truck driver, having to drive deep into the former Soviet Union on a large number of occasions, moving everything from cigarettes to furniture, including transporting the occasional illegal shipment of drugs or weapons. Eventually, he ended up in the business of moving people from place to place and had just recently started working for a company called Crown.
He was about to get a computer and email address and he would let me know his email address as soon as he would get it. I'm still waiting…

There was talk of him moving to the new Crown office in St. Petersburg (there's even a story about that office on the Crown site, but last I heard, he was still living in Moscow, although he had managed to get Anya in the company as well. Surprisingly, for someone living in Russia for close to ten years and still living there, Marc had a very negative view on Russia and Russians but kept on living there.

Mark isn't your most average, run of the mill guy. When I met him, he told me he had broken a bone in his hand some days before, by smashing his fist into 'something' out of anger. His boss agreed on him going to the doctor (and Crown paying for it, not a bad deal, at an average price for a doctor's consult of around $200), but Mark didn't want no-one to touch (that is, operate) on his hand. No pills or shots either. It would just have to heal by itself.

At least in one way they are typically an expat couple. They are in no way interested in 'becoming one with local customs'. They'd rather eat at a Dutch restaurant (as we did on my first day there) then try their luck with some Russian fair.
In fact, at home, they only eat Belgian fair, Steak and frites and they drink lots of cola, although Mark had been very sick because of bad cola some weeks before, around the same time the Great Belgian Cola Scare was happening in Europe. They mainly have friends from Western Europe and are living in a community that is quite secluded from everyday Moscow life. In short, nothing what I would fancy. It means that, in order for me to get to know Moscow better, I shouldn't be going out with Mark or Tanya too much.

Then, Mark had a story of something that had happened some weeks before to him. After leaving from a bar (stone drunk), he was harassed by three guys. Before they could do anything (did they actually do anything?), Mark decided that hitting his way out of this situation would be the wisest option. So, he damaged some of the guys, but was later, at home, visited by police. One of the three guys was able to identify him. Mark's wife, three days later, had to buy him out of jail for the small token of $500.

The apartment was almost next to the Cathedral of Christ the Savior. A huge church that was torn down by that good old Stalin. He, always showing a dislike for churches in general, had decided the location of the church to be perfect for the palace of soviets. A huge piece of work that never got of the ground since the construction site, next to the Moscow river, kept filling up with water. After admitting their defeat, they agreed on building a swimming pool instead.
But when that too turned out to be a bad plan, some years ago they decided to rebuilt the original church again. Taking 44 years to build the original one, the scheduled 7 for the new version seems like a breeze.

When going to his apartment, after Mark picked me up at the train station, we stopped at a small cafe. Located basically in the middle of a pedestrian street, operating from a small, temporary building, that the cafe was sharing with two small supermarkets and a store selling all kinds of bags. The bag-store was also selling some of Mark's goods. Bags, that is. Mark was friends with the owner of the Cafe, an Armenian guy, part of the local mob. At some point Mark had helped him out with a couple of problems he had. I didn't dare asking what the nature of the problems was. Meanwhile, I was surprised at the hefty price of the beer; some $5!

The city

The Russian mafia isn't actually Russian. The most dangerous brand of Russian mafia actually is made up of Armenians. Unscrupulously killing, mutilating and rolling over everyone and everything that gets in their way. According to Mark, I won't be harassed too much in the streets. By burglars, that is. Since I look like an Armenian, people will think I'll have mafia connections. They'd rather steer clear than talk to me, risking a knife between the ribs or a bullet in the head. The police, on the other hand will figure that, me probably being mafia, I'll have some money to share with them for protection.

When leaving the apartment in the afternoon of the first day, the three of us, me, Mark and Tanya went for a bite to eat. Grandma was going to take care of Jonathan, the couple's little fella. As mentioned earlier, we went to the only Dutch restaurant in Moscow, run by a small, chubby, bald Dutch guy from Amsterdam who had a permanent bittered look on his face.

We where only allowed to eat on the terrace outside, where we did have some good Dutch grub, although I opted for the Borsch in stead of the Dutch meals on offer. At the back of the terrace, a fat guy with an Aloha shirt and a grubby moustache, was taking short films of petite Russian women with too much make-up and too short skirts to be good for them, sprouting short-stories of the type 'Hi, I am Olga and I want to meet German men. I like sports…'. We couldn't get a table inside because a group of some 25 Americans with name tags sporting the text 'HI MY NAME IS ', where meeting that same group of girls that had their mini-movie shot outside just minutes earlier.

I did manage to get inside the restaurant to use the toilet and overheard an interesting conversation:

Bob: Hi, My name is Bob.
Russian girl: I know, I see your name
Just minutes after arriving at the red square, what I was afraid of since coming into town that morning actually happened: The weather turned bad. Really bad. Some big thunderstorms, heavy rain and strong winds made us decide to enjoy a $4 beer (prices only in $, although its forbidden to quote prices in dollars) until the storm cleared. It did after an hour or so, and we continued up Red Square.

Surprisingly, Red Square and the Kremlin are much smaller than I imagined them to be. In the back of my mind, I had visions of the military parades held here, with the Soviet Union's leaders waving to the populace from on top of the Kremlin walls; soldiers, tanks, trucks and fighter planes passing them by. Still, Red Square, with its remarkable tomb of Lenin (then temporarily closed, I recently heard they plan on closing it for good) is impressive. I just figured it would be much more impressive than it actually turned out to be. But whatever way you look at it, St. Basil's Cathedral, more or less Moscow's trademark, is very much a bummer. Old, shabby, almost falling to pieces and very small.

Moscow's most prominent shopping street is Arbat. Recently renovated, the street and its buildings have a really nice, friendly feel, where palm readers, sketch artists and numerous stalls selling everything from cigarettes to necklaces to paintings try to lure every visitor in parting with some of their cash. All seems quite well regulated, with everyone actually selling something here wearing a blue apron, identifying them as being certified to sell.

We were walking down Arbat, when someone sitting at one of the terraces out on the street started shouting at Mark. An old American guy with quite a belly turned out to be an old friend of Mark and had been out of Moscow for close to a year.
Therefore, celebrations where at hand. Mark decided (although Anya opposed) that two beers never hurt anyone (we eventually had close to ten, always half-a-liter glasses) and we where soon off to integrating with the American guy and his colossal friends. All construction workers, temporarily living in Moscow (and not really enjoying the city accept from two or three American operated bars and the 'Hungry Duck', where Russian girls dance naked on the bar) for some project they where working on.

At some point, Mark started confessing that there exists an underground Moscow, complete with shops, trains, busses, apartments and everything you might wish for, totally run by the mob. No 'normal' people are allowed to enter, but 'everyone' knows about it. Part of this underground city is supposed to be made up of the metro system that doubles as a huge bomb shelter. That last part, at least, is definitely true.

Contact

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 26, 1999 • Blog

World » Belorus » Minsk » Downtown

The next day, my primary focus was to get a train ticket to Moscow. Dragging my bag all over town, I was of to the Belintourist office. Although the lady at the desk spoke only Russian and French, she was very friendly and helpful. I obtained a ticket for the 7:00pm train to Moscow. A bargain at only a couple of million. What struck me most however, was when I walked to the Belintourist office, a small art market where they were selling all sorts of things, included a big, spiked club. I really wanted to have one, but figured that a 3 kilo club wouldn’t go down well with the police checks I would most probably encounter on regular intervals over the next couple of weeks. I hoped to be able to stop by at the end of my journey.

When at the Belintourist office, some guy started talking to me. He turned out to be English and to celebrate our mutual love for strange countries in Eastern Europe, we decided to go for a drink. Patrick was staying in Miiiinsk, visiting someone he met some time ago when he went for a regular holiday to Miiiinsk. The lady he was visiting was so surprised, when he went here for the first time, that people actually came to Miiiinsk out of their own free will, she immediately invited him over.

When walking towards the center of Minsk, we stopped at the Minsk international exposition center.We had to cross a street with no zebra crossings, where two police officers where eying us from the other side. One of them motioned that it was okay for us to cross. After doing so, the other officer came up to us and wanted to give us a fine for jay-walking. The two officers started to get into an argument with each other, while they really couldn’t communicate with us at the same time. We moved on.

The exposition center was big, open and completely empty. In the back of the building some people where working and we tried to get the attention of some semi-official looking people. When they concluded we where stupid foreigners we were told to wait and they started to prepare some plastic bags with goodies. An official ceremony, with the head of the exposition center, an interpreter and a lot of handshaking and welcomes later, we left with a book on Olympic Belorus, a t-shirt and some other minor goodies on the country and its Olympic history.

After a short spree on Russian beer, Patrick was off to a wedding (not his own, although his host was trying to set him up with a nice local girl) and I had decided to take in two museums. The first one was ‘The Museum of the Great Patriotic War’. The Great Patriotic War, by the way, is what ‘we’ generally refer to as the second world war. Considering the number of Russians that died in the second world war, it makes a lot of sense to call it Great.

The museum had explanations in two languages. Russian and Belorussian. The pictures, however, spoke for themselves. Definitely the most disturbing are series of photos where partisans are being executed by not-so-friendly looking but laughing Germans. And there’s a lot of these pictures. Some strange twist of fate eventually did liberate the Belorussians from one reign of terror, only for them to be hurdled in the next one.

The second museum I entertained myself with, was the ‘Belorussian State Art Museum’. Not bad at all, this museum has quite a nice collection of paintings. Some international, but mainly from local painters.

Afterwards, I went strolling around the city. There’s a nice park, right in the middle of the town, around the Svislach river. Actually it’s two parks, filled with kid’s rides, kiosks selling beer and shashlik, promenades to stroll, etc. A nice area to while away the hours, as a lot of the locals do too. I couldn’t help myself and decided to enjoy some of my time, sitting on one of the benches, drinking a beer (they only sell half-liters) and munching some very good shashlik. If you’re wandering what it sounded like, sitting there, click on the logo
to the right!

The shashlik filling my tummy, I hiked back to the train station to get on the train to Moscow. This time, it turned out, I was traveling second class. In my cabin where three more beds. Two at a lower level, doubling as couches during the day, and two higher up. Strangely enough, the higher beds are always cheaper, although they give you more privacy and let you sleep all day long if you would want it.

Anyway, I had two people sharing my compartment. Two big Russian guys that looked like archetypical Russian thugs. Broad shouldered, short-haired, square-faced, they packed large sporting bags. Both wore bad suits and changed, almost immediately after getting on the train, into loose gear; slippers, shorts and sweat shirt. I kindly asked if I should leave the room, for them to change, but no, since we where ‘men among each other’ it was okay, of course. However, would I have been a woman, they would have insisted on me staying.

The more quiet-one took one of the upper bunks and slept almost instantly. The second guy, on the other hand, just couldn’t stop talking. Discussing soccer, basketball, Russian politics and the current social situation in the former Soviet Union, we had to share tea, beer and, of course, vodka. Back then, I was still drinking vodka the wrong way, only small sips at a time. However, as I found out later (only then did I understand the strange looks when people where eying me drinking vodka), you have to drink your glass of vodka in one gulp. Yummy!

The guy that almost couldn’t stop talking had moved to Belorus because of his wife. They where on business and would go on to St. Petersburg the next night. I hesitated to ask what kind of business they where doing in St. Petersburg (them looking like the thugs they seemed, although they where both very friendly), but when I finally did, the guy only replied that they had to convince someone in doing business with them. Hmmmm. However, he turned out not be Russian at all. Originally coming from Turkey, he had lived in Romania before moving to Belorus.

After a couple of vodkas and the obligatory address-swap, I decided that the sheets brought in by the provodnik where just too inviting. I took a nap.

Minsk: The first Russian encounter

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 25, 1999 • Blog

World » Belorus » Minsk » Downtown

When Eastern Europeans (including Russians) say Minsk they put a lot of stress on the 'i'. As a result, apparently, you have to say Miiiinsk, when referring to Minsk. So, I arrived in Miiiinsk at 7:00am. Seconds after leaving the train, a 'friendly' Belorussian already wanted to take care of me. Showed me where I could get an onwards ticket to Moscow and hoped I was going to use his taxi to get to a hotel. Wrong. I friendly declined and walked to Hotel Minsk. Meanwhile, my mobile phone didn't work, again.

It was mighty early and the hotel seemed to be closed. As a matter of fact, what I found out later was, that I was waiting in front of the doors of an office building and that the hotel was around the corner. How could I have known? A very large sign on top of the building said 'Hotel Minsk'. The doors I was waiting in front of, where directly under the large sign. If it was not the Hotel Minsk, why put up the sign? After going in and asking reception, the two guys there both pointed me in opposite directions. I decided to try my luck and just walk around the block, with luck!

I knew the hotel was reasonably expensive. I also knew there was something of a tourist office (actually just two friendly ladies) inside of the hotel, who most probably would be able to direct me to a cheaper place to stay.
Lucky for me, they did. When their first choice turned out to be fully booked, they sent me to a second hotel. When that turned out to be fully booked too, I convinced them into actually calling the next hotel before sending me of, to see whether it was full before I went there. Eventually, after calling three other (fully booked) hotels, they found me a hotel very much in the south of Minsk. Just 45 minutes by bus. Still, not really a bargain at 9000,000 a night.

The hotel was on several floors of a typical communist apartment block. One of many 24 story buildings thrown together on a large plot of land somewhere really in the middle of nowhere, it had no hot or even lukewarm water to ease the traveler in me. Still, I did have a bed for two, to ease my sleep.

Different

Prices and money in general here in Belarus totally warps your sense of cost. For starters, everything is charged in millions. Yes, millions of Belorussian Rubles.

Here, a Big Mac might be about 350,000 Rubles, when a bus ticket is no more than 6000 Rubles. To compare that to western prices, that would be like getting a bus ticket for $0.02 or a Big Mac for $100! Then, of course, Eastern Europe in general, and Belarus specifically is smoker's paradise. Cheap packets of cigarettes, for example Sputniks, at 60,000 a piece would make everyone a nicotine addict. Is that confusing or what?!

When I was taking a break in front of the Sputnik hotel (one of the booked ones I was directed too, by the lovely ladies at hotel Minsk), I had unpacked a cigar, to enjoy the Belorussian sun (some 30 degrees centigrade) to the fullest. I had started repacking some other stuff when, unknown to me, my cigar had rolled, of the bench, on the ground. I hadn't light it yet, so it was still a good cigar.

Just when I noticed it was missing, some guy, with the biggest smile I had ever seen, picked it up from the ground, looked around and asked if it was mine. Of course, I couldn't stop the man in his hour of joy and I made clear it wasn't mine. His smile widened even more and doing a little dance of joy, he walked on.

One thing I noticed when waiting in front of what turned out to be not the hotel Minsk, is that the people, the clean streets, the whole scenery, the atmosphere, reminded me very much of how I experienced Budapest when I arrived there in 1996. I spent a year there studying, and here, in Minsk, the general 'feeling' was very similar to what I experienced there. People are reasonably dressed, there doesn't seem to be much poverty, everything is well kept and there even seems to be a sense of pride in the people.

The people are not being allowed to own Dollars. This is part of a larger scheme, set up by the government, where the country's prime minister, Alexandr Lukashenko, takes pride in not accepting any loans from the West. His philosophy is that Belorus itself should manage to get out of the slump they're currently in. At first, of course, that resulted in major inflation, but it also resulted in the people much more having a sense of having to fix their own problems themselves. A feeling that is very hard to find in Russia, for example, where, when it goes bad, again, they feel the West will help them out anyway with a new set of loans, again. Maybe Mr. Lukashenko did take the right approach in not accepting any loans. The future will tell. At least, as I noticed, the people seem to have a bigger sense of pride in being who they are.

The people

All busses are crowded. Always. So when I took a bus to my hotel, with my backpack strapped on, more people than just me where annoyed at the size of the thing on my back. Bus tickets are little pieces of paper, that you have to put in a puncher, which will validate your ticket for the bus ride. However, only few punchers exist on any bus. Of ourse, as practical as Eastern Europeans always are, when you can't get to a puncher, you just give your ticket to the person next to you. If he can't get to a puncher, he gives his and your ticket to the person next to him. And so on. Until the tickets reach a person next to a puncher. This system works quite well. Until a ticket inspector enters the bus. Then, it turns out, about half of the people on the bus still need to punch their ticket, which of course is a major hassle for about 5 seconds and the couple of people actually next to one of the punchers. It also is a lot of fun.

Remarkably, next to every bus stop, small kiosks exist. Supplemented by small tents from which fruit, P&G and Unilever products, magazines and, oh right, I almost forgot, bus tickets are sold. Funnily enough, no kiosks exist where you can get a hot snack. No burgers, hot dogs or soups. Lots of banana's though, you can get.

So I finally had arrived at my hotel. I unloaded some of stuff and was ready to take a short tour of Miiiinsk. I had left the bad weather behind me in Poland and the 30 degrees outside did invite for some fine strolling around Miiiinsk. When I got back to town, the first thing I saw that struck me was a guy putting air into his car tires. With a bicycle pump.
He didn't seem to notice his work had no real effect on his tires.

Unfortunately, the bad weather did finally catch up with me. It had started pouring. Fortunately, the locals hadn't expected this change of weather either. All girls and young women, almost all dressed in see thru blouses where now trying to cope with the streaming rain pouring down on them. It took several hours for the weather to change again. And although the temperature had dropped several degrees, it still was warm enough to sit outside in any one of the large number of cafes, armed with plastic tables and chairs, functioning as terraces, out on the street.

Already I had noticed the difference in how people here treated me as compared to how they treated locals. Okay, I might have a godly appearance, but besides that, it is very clear that either they respect foreigners a lot or that they know that foreigners pack a lot of money, from which, by being friendly, they might be able to receive just a small portion.

Just before I went to bed, I tried to get a beer from the bar in the hotel. All the beer turned out to have been sold, most probably to the groups of young Belorussians and (funnily enough) Caucasians (that is, people from the Caucasus) hanging out constantly in front of the hotel, and they could only serve me French wine. I took a glass at a hefty 2000,000 and had a very friendly conversation with one of the nice looking ladies behind the counter. That same lady, only seconds later, when talking to some local customers having a (very late) diner at the table next to me, showed the most grumpy face you could imagine. Still, or maybe because of that, she looked very cute!

Not wanting to spend another couple of million on a glass of wine I decided to go out for a late night walk, trying my luck in any one of the other big, ugly communist apartment blocks in the vicinity. Only one 'place' was still open though. A very crowded 'shop', next to the bus terminal, selling everything from raw fish to soft drinks and beer. But again, no warm stuff. People, generally looking pissed (as in drunk) as hell, where forming a queue that started quite a distance from the entrance of the shop. The scene and more specifically the people, somehow reminded me of the images that where beamed into the world, when Lech Walesa was leading his people into Solidarity in Poland in the eighties. Grim, pale looking drunks, willing to fight for any cause, just to kill time. I decided to turn back and go for a nap. Hey, I could even watch Eurosport in my hotel room!

From Amsterdam into Belorus

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 24, 1999 • Blog

World » Netherlands » Amsterdam » Schiphol airport

My mum was so kind as to drop me off at Schiphol airport at 8:30am, mastering all traffic on your regular weekday morning. During the two days prior to my departure, I had been a bit reluctant to go to Russia, not knowing what to expect and considering the large amount of not-so-good travel tales coming out of Russia. I figured I was going to be in for a surprise.

Only days before leaving, I was considering staying home, doing ‘nothing’ with my girlfriend Julia, hanging out with my friends, taking short trips to I don’t know where and so on. But effectively, I knew I wanted to go ‘there’. I basically had no choice. It was meant to be.

So I arrived at Schiphol airport way to early. The plane was set to leave at around 11:00am, but that gave me some time to leave a significant signature. So, with 20kg+ of a backpack, a large camera bag and some more add-ons I headed off for the nearest toilet. With success, I might add. My vacation of a lifetime started out with the shit of a lifetime.

Arrival in Warsaw

The trip from Amsterdam, as always with LOT, went quite well. Staff was friendly, the food was good and on top of it all, the flight was on time. However, when I arrived in Warsaw, it turned out my travelers mattress had been lost.

After spending some time at the luggage claim office, I received $20 in cash to compensate for my loss. Immediately I figured it would have made sense if I would have lost my sleeping bag too! I mean, I hadn’t figured on using it any way, as with the mattress; I had taken them along just-in-case. If I could get $20 for an old mattress, maybe I could get enough for my even older sleeping bag to buy a new one!

I had to go through several offices before, at last, an older and friendly woman helped me to my $20. She was occupying the office where refunds were granted. However, in order to obtain dollars, we both had to go to another office on the other side of the terminal to exchange money. The week before, she had fallen of some stairs, and strained her ankle. As a result, my $20 came to me at a leisurely pace.

While I was talking to her, at the window of her office, a very skinny woman, approaching middle age, dressed with style, completely in white, turned around (she was standing next to me) and started talking to me and the lady behind the counter. She shook the whole time when talking, had a bad alcohol breath, and although she was speaking English, Theresa seemed to be Polish. She made no sense whatsoever. Before turning around, she was standing in a group with three other people. Two men and one woman. They kept on talking Polish with another, and every two minutes or so, the two men tried to persuade Theresa to turn around. After some 10 minutes, they walked over to her, we kissed our goodbyes and she was literally carried away by these two men. I went on to collect my $20.

I had planned to meet a friend of mine, Robert, in Warsaw. I hadn’t announced I was going to come, since I wasn’t sure up to close before leaving, when I would actually arrive. I figured I would just make a call from Warsaw after arriving and then arrange going for dinner and/or a drink. Warsaw has a nice Irish pub, so I figured it would work out just fine. To be able to call Robert, I asked my mobile phone operator to turn on world coverage before I left. Just the month prior to my leaving, the service had become free of charge, so I figured al would go smoothly. Wrong. I tried to make a call, it turned out the world coverage wasn’t turned on. Considering I most likely was going to need the phone a bit more in Russia, I spent close to the rest of the day contacting Mobistar and trying to tell them I needed world coverage and that they hadn’t turned it on. At least, this performance from Mobistar wasn’t much different as compared to the experiences I generally have with the company.

Mobistar have an international help desk number, available from outside of Belgium. Accept, it isn’t available from Poland. So I had to call my mum, and she had to solve my problems. A big thanks to me mum!

Moving on

When I finally was able to place a call to Robert, it turned out he was impossible to reach. I decided to get a train ticket to Minsk, leaving on the same day.
Some months before, with some colleagues of mine, I had taken a train back from Warsaw to Brussels. All airports were closed due to bad weather. Not only did we have a fun trip back (meeting a horse racing jockey of about 1m40 tall), but also did I know now where at the Warsaw train station I could get my international train tickets. Anyway, the 12m long queue standing in front of the tourist information office wasn’t very inviting either.

The train ticket was a little bit more expensive than I figured it would be at about $40. But I suspected they sold me a first class ticket. I didn’t have enough zloty when buying the ticket, so I had to find a cash point to make a withdraw. When returning, the ticket turned out to be some 10% cheaper. Hurray!

The Warsaw train station has several eateries on site. Some, more western-style, located centrally in the main hall. One, definitely what you would expect in a place like this, much more Eastern European. Of course, that’s where I had a zuppa pomodorova for less then $1. With a view on the Marriott hotel I was happily slobbering away my soup and some bread rolls.

I used a voice recorder to make notes on my trip. Already here in Warsaw, locals where eyeing me strangely, probably figuring I was some remnant of their state-controlled past, keeping track of everyone out of the ordinary and passing them on to HQ.

In the train, I had my first encounter with a local. Alex, a Belorussian was sharing my cabin. We started to talk and it turned out he was born on the Asian side of the Ural. During Soviet regime, you could study basically whatever you liked, but for some 6 years after finishing your studies, you had to work where the government wanted you to work. That is, unless you started a family and got children. So that is exactly what Alex’s father did, and he was allowed to go back to his place of birth, Brest. I didn’t really catch what Alex was doing himself. I think he was selling paint to large metal producing companies, or something. He did show me the folders, but my Polish could be much better so I returned his work related statements with a friendly smile.

Alex had a treat that seems to be common in Eastern Europeans. Whenever we where talking and I would say something he didn’t agree on, he would shake his head vigorously (without saying anything) until I would stop. Then he would explain why ‘it’ was not the case, starting of with ‘no, no, no, no, you see….’.

Alex got off in Brest, and I was left alone. Just before I planned to take a nap, someone was tapping the window of my cabin. Some old lady was trying to sell me eggs, bottled milk, chicken and cigarettes. I politely tried to decline, although she kept on offering stuff I didn’t need. Each time I said ‘no’ she tried to look even more sad, pleading for me to buy something off her. I resolutely kept on declining.

It took some two and a half hours to cross the border at Brest/Terespol. Because the Russian rail gauge is wider than the European one, the trains have to be put on different sets of wheels. In the past, travelers had to physically change trains. Now, luckily enough, you can sleep through the procedure as huge cranes carry the wagons from one set of wheels to another. It does however take some ninety minutes.

Then there is border control. The Polish controls where quite fast, although I was surprised by military personnel waiting on Terespol station, machine gun at the ready. The Belorussian control was a little bit more of a pain. I had to fill in a form (in Russian) stating what drugs, guns, etc. I was carrying and I also had to state the amount of money I had with me. The idea is that the (Belo)Russian government wants to avoid money flooding out of the country. If you enter with, say, $1000 and leave with $10,000 you obviously made some money while in the country. The government wants you to spend that money within (Belo)Russia again.
So if you plan on making some money in either Russia or Belarus, it makes sense to suggest you entered the country with even more cash.

So I was carrying $2000. The border-control-with-the-very-large-cap had to count it all. So I emptied my money pouch for the friendly officer and he started counting. Of course, it was all there.

My trip to Russia: 33.000km, 22cities, 250million people, one hell of a time

Babak Fakhamzadeh on June 23, 1999 • Blog

That's one dangerous mofo, and then there's the bear

World » Belgium » Brussels » Boulevard de Diksmuide

Unless you've trekked across Africa from north to south, sailed halfway around the world, or crossed the Arctic on food, you can not begin to imagine the size of Russia.

From June 24 until August 7 1999 I was on holiday, traveling through Poland, Belarus and Russia, I mastered close to 33,000km going places like Murmansk, Sochi, Vladivostok, but of course also Moscow and St. Petersburg. It definitely was a trip of a lifetime and I did have the time of my life. Meeting a bunch interesting people, shooting some 1500 pictures and basically learning a lot about humanity and Russians particularly. In short, it was great.

The one thing I realized during my trip was, that although at first its not easy to see, but that where you are now, just like anywhere else, people live, love, work, play, are inspired, hate, kill, steal, die, just like anywhere else. Although you might not think it, the whole world is one. Different but equal.

Before

My adventure actually started way before I even decided going to Russia. Originally I had planned on taking a holiday at the other side of the globe, the US of A. In April '99, I was still working for Procter & Gamble in Brussels. I already had announced I was going to leave, and I was planning for my 'major' summer holiday, not limited by a certain number of days I was allowed to leave for, according to the rules of slavery.

P&G here in Brussels have their own travel agency, and at that time it was announcing some deal, offered by United Airlines, to go to the States and back, to any destination, for 10,000 BEF (that's $250), including taxes. The ticket would have been valid for 45 days, making it possible for me to fly to, say, New York, then travel over land to San Francisco or LA and then fly back to Europe. Offering myself as a driver to Hertz or any other rent-a-car agency as a drive-back individual would require me to only pay for gas for my overland trip. So, all in all, traveling expenses would be very, very reasonable.

United made their offer public on a Friday morning. Both Sabena and American Airlines met that offer only hours later. I decided to take them up on the offer on Monday, after some planning from my side. All flights where booked up to September. However, not being turned down by this bummer, I tried getting cheap tickets via several low-cost airlines such as Ryan air, Iceland Air, some budget agency at Zaventem airport and others. However, the best I was able to get was a ticket for 17,000BEF excluding airport tax, giving me 37 days in the States. Needless to say, I opted out.

So I decided to go to Russia. Travel expenses are less, hotels and food are cheaper so what else would you want? Okay, the risk might be a little bit higher; Chechens willing to blow your head a part, people bashing your face in for an evening meal, etc. But hey! That's all part of the adventure!

A total of no less then six different types of visa exist for going into Russia. The best type to have is a business visa, since that allows you to go almost anywhere, without having to pre-book your hotels.

Yes, that means that for, say, the tourist visa, you legally have to specify where and when you will be staying in Russia. Before going there. Considering that the process for applying for a visa starts way ahead of your trip; When you need a tourist visa, you need to do some major planning quite a bit in advance.

Lucky for me, I was still working for Procter & Gamble. Since they officially have an office in Moscow, they can issue invitations, so that people working for P&G can visit Russia 'on business'. Some smooth talking with Janna Abdelhag at that agency left me with a loss of $80 and, three weeks later, with an invitation. Next step: The Russian embassy.

Mind you, not that I knew Procter officially had an office there. I knew some Russians working for P&G in Warsaw (I worked closely with some people in Warsaw) and asked them what possibilities existed for visiting Mother Russia. They pointed me to Janna Abdelhag who also arranges visas for them, for leaving the country.

Armed with my valid passport, passport sized photographs, a filled in application form, some cash and a telex number specifying the telex that was sent to the embassy with my details, I was off to the Russian embassy. Of course, they weren't listed in any directory, so I had to call them for the address. I called them, they gave the address, I went, it turned out to be the wrong address.

They had pointed me to a 'rue Robbie Jean', number 78 in the south of Brussels. I couldn't find exactly that street on the map, but did come close to it. Figuring I slightly misunderstood them (or their Russian impaired their ability to speak French), I was off. Only to discover there was no number 78 in the rue Robbie Jean. It went up to 52… Calling again, doing some searches on a map I had in my car, it turned out to be the 'Rue Robert Jones'. I finally arrived and waited some 90 minutes in line to have some babushka tell me I had to come back the next week and bring 4600 BEF ($120) in order for me to get back my passport and a visa. Having no choice, I did just that and yes, a week later (this time only having to wait an hour) I received all essentials and was released from my well-earned dosh.

Already that was a bit of luck, getting a visa there and then. When I handed over the registration papers the week before, I got a glimpse of the papers of someone next to me. On the paper, they ask for nationality and whether you're married or not. However, they mixed up their Dutch wording and, in effect, they ask for your nationality twice. So I filled it in twice (how could I have known?). So when I got a glimpse of the papers of the guy next to me, I noticed that the second time the papers asked for his nationality he had filled in 'married'. It dawned on me I had filled in my papers incorrectly and I was mere seconds away from handing them over to my babushka. Figuring that deciding, at that point, I wasn't going to hand them over would be very conspicuous, I handed them over. Still, I got my visa without any problems. My very first encounter with a typical Russian babushka (over weight, short, glasses, dyed hair, a sack painted with flowers for a dress) and Russian bureaucracy, ended quite okay.

The first time I was at the embassy though, I met a Belgian guy who was living in Moscow. I hadn't filled in the registration papers correctly and had to do it again. Having no pen, I borrowed one from someone else filling in his forms and we started talking. For about 45 minutes we waited in line afterwards, he almost continuously was complaining about Russia and Russian bureaucracy specifically. Point was, he is married to a Russian girl and has a Russian and a Belgian passport. Result is that in Belgium, he is treated as Belgian and has to get a visa for Russia, in Russia he is treated as Russian and he has to get a visa to get out of Russia. He actually told me that Russians have to get a visa too for going, say, from Moscow to St. Petersburg, but from a different, quite reliable source, I learned that that is a load of bullocks.
Mark and I arranged to meet, once I would get to Moscow. Matter of fact, he actually offered a bed. Knowing that Moscow is one of the most expensive cities in the world, I gladly took him up on the offer.

My visa used to be an A4 paper cut in two. Not A5 sized, but the A4 cut in two along the long axis. Twice a passport sized photo was attached to it, with exactly the same information on that part of the visa. As you can see in the picture above, my visa has been reduced in size along the way. When I noticed that, somewhere really in the middle of Russia, it had me scared shitless! Was I to get caught by a daily police check and put in a cozy Russian jail for the rest of my still youthful life?
More about that on the Rostov on Don page.

Arranging the trip

So my next step was to get to Moscow. I had planned to do a stop over in Warsaw, where I would be visiting a friend of mine, so I first thought of using the Eurolines bus service. They where offering ticket sales via the net, which made me happy. Entering the right page, I was told to call them. Suckers. Not being put down by this, I decided to call them. To find out that they didn't take American Express. Additionally, it's impossible to order tickets in Belgium for busses leaving from, say, Holland. Something I did have in mind. Anyway, they weren't as dirt cheap as I expected them to be.

Some surfing led me to a website of a German bus service, that had daily services all the way to Moscow, at lower prices than Eurolines was offering. They must have gone bankrupt, since I'm not able to find them on the web anymore. Anyway, I decided to take that service to Warsaw, stay there for a day and then take a train to Minsk and continue on to Moscow.

I had been trying to rent out my apartment during my stay abroad but without success. On the day before I had planned to leave, me being in Holland, I got a call from someone at P&G. It turned out someone needed a room for three months. So, I had to race back to Brussels, arrange a contract (the guy renting my apartment wasn't in Brussels yet, everything had to be arranged via an in-between) and make room for the guy in my apartment. However, the extra cash made it possible for my to fly to Warsaw and I decided on LOT polish airlines. A good thing was that they offered a ticket with an open return date. I could return from Russia whenever I felt like it. It seemed like the proverbial cat had landed on his feet.

Well almost. During my working for P&G, I had collected enough air miles to buy myself a return trip to Warsaw. Turned out they had neglected to add most of the miles to my total. That is, until after I got back from Russia…

Cost

Traveling in bits and pieces, the total distance traveled was about 32975 kilometers, at a total cost of $744.34.

Diksmuide: city of the dead

Babak Fakhamzadeh on May 17, 1999 • Blog

World » Belgium » Diksmuide

Diksmuide has one tourist attraction; an 84 meter high tower commemorating the dead of the first world war. We missed it completely.

Musing around the friendly city center, fully rebuilt after the city was completely thrashed during the first world war, we only managed to drink an ice coffee and visit one of the nearby war graves.

A second tourist ‘attraction’, that we also missed completely, is the Trench of Death, which, during the Great War, the Belgians where able to hold on to.

Rough and tumble

Totally overpowered by the numerous dead found along the way, mainly in war graves, the four of us decided to get drunk before starting our trip back. Still having in our possession three bottles of Johnny, a tray of beer and four pints of pure alcohol made that a lot easier than you might have thought.

The drive back to Brussels was an adventurous one. It’s only a 90 minute drive from Diksmuide to Brussels, but somehow, we where able to do it in 55 minutes. Strangely enough though, during the whole trip, cars where driving straight towards us, flashing their head lights. We did dial the local version of 911, warning that numerous ‘ghost drivers’ where active on the route to Brussels.

Not so belle Reims

Babak Fakhamzadeh on May 16, 1999 • Blog

World » France » Lille » Fort

Reims has two things going for it. Its the center of the Champagne region and its on the way to Paris.

When we stopped at a map of the city, armed with no more than the address of the youth hostel, we halted an elderly local, apparently just returning from his daily champagne binge, asking for directions.

Of course, the poor man couldn't help us out. But lucky for us, very loudly, he was able to stop a youth strolling by (HEY YOUNG MAN!) who gave us directions. The directions he gave, however, where wrong.

No, Reims is not the most interesting city in France. Industrialist and dirty, the old town of Reims did not survive the first world war. Luckily, (one of) the most famous gothic French cathedrals can be found in Reims, so a visit to Reims, albeit for a few hours, can be worthwhile after all.

Restored after the Great War, the cathedral used to hold the ceremony for crowning the new king of France during the middle ages.

So after taking a peek in the cathedral and a stroll around the square in front of it, you can while away the next couple of hours before your train or bus leaves with enjoying some sparkling champagne, originating from the region.

We spent the first hours following the signs supposedly pointing us to the tourist office. Moving through Reims in a spirally motion, we saw almost everything thrice, before coming across the last sign pointing us to the tourist office, with no tourist office in site.

Resuming our quest after accidentally stumbling into the tourist office, now armed with a map and directions to the local youth hostel, it turned out that all its 42 beds where already taken. Not only that, all low budget hotels where fully booked as well. Bummer. But hey, who would want to stay in Reims anyway?

Lille; night in the city

Founded around 900 AD, Lille got its name from its location. In between the rivers Deule and Leie, the settlement was called 'the Island', or L'isle in French. Later, this was shortened to Lille.

When driving in to town, we where expecting a similar tour as we experienced in Reims in trying to find the youth hostel. So, mere seconds after entering the city and encountering two youth hostel signs and the youth hostel itself, we simply couldn't believe our eyes.

We weren't fully disappointed though. The owner of the hostel repeatedly warned us not to mix with locals. According to him, this dangerous city consisted purely of blowers, junks and criminals. We, of course, happily turned on by the obviously exciting evening laying ahead of us, prepared for a night on the town.

Lille is the industrial center for the North of France and also houses an impressive range of universities and schools and thus a very large number of students.

Because of this, Lille has a myriad of bars and restaurants, also catering for the less wealthy (read: students). For under FF50 you can get a decent meal in one of the many budget restaurants scattered around town. Afterwards you can top it off in any one of the bars or pubs mainly located in the North of the city center.

We had dinner at a Moroccan place, serving good tajins, fine wine and lovely service. Encouraged by the hostel owners frank remarks on the local youths, we had no choice but to vigorously enjoy the challenges posed by the babes on offer. Encouraged by four darlings, constantly looking our way (and us looking their way) in the restaurant, we sought suave contact but where verbally bounced out of any discussion possible. We moved on.

The world famous architect Rem Koolhaas also contributed to the metropolitan atmosphere of the city, by designing the exposition center Euralille. Don't, however, be tempted going to Lille for that. The building is a sight for sore eyes. Not interesting at all.

Undiscovered Metz

Babak Fakhamzadeh on May 15, 1999 • Blog

World » France » Metz » Downtown

Metz is a city you are likely to skip when travelling to France. It's small, and has nothing much going for it. However, it's a nice little town, definitely worth a stopover. Laying on the banks of the river Moselle, the main (there are two of them) city center can be found around the cathedral of Saint-Etienne. A gothic piece of masonry, built from the 13th to the 16th century.

We stopped in Metz for two reasons, the city is on the way to Nancy, and the cathedral was so obviously beckoning us when approaching the city, that, basically, we had no choice but to get a coffee in this capital of the Moselle department. Don't let the fact that the city is a capital mislead you. France is divided in so many districts, that almost every cities with more than 100.000 people is a capital (Metz has about 110.000).

Metz however, is a bit older than you might think. The city had already built up some significance before the Romans conquered France. Not too surprising then, that France's oldest church is situated in Metz, dating from the 7th century.

Doing the obligatory stroll past the city's tourist attractions, on the square in front of the cathedral, we where ushered in to a tent, set up to promote bread. Yes, bread. Our French isn't perfect, and to be honest we didn't listen at all to our guide as he explained all about the 50 or so different types of bread he had on display. After the tour, we thanked him and received, as a token of good luck I guess, a bun. It sucked.

The city has a big and cozy shopping district. In weekends, Germans flock to the city in droves, convinced that goods can be obtained cheaper and that shopping is nicer on the other side of their road.

Nancy: just what you fancy

Nancy, the capital of the French Meurthe-et-Moselle region, lies on the banks of the Meurthe and the Marne-Rhine channel. The first thing you'll notice when driving up to the town, by car or train, is that it doesn't seem to have anything going for it. Fortunately, this is a big misconception.

In Luxembourg, we where able to make a reservation for the hostel in Nancy. Entering Nancy, trying to find a tourist office, from the car, we asked an older babe, where to find the youth hostel. Surprisingly, she knew where to go. The hostel is some 10km from the center of Nancy. Don't think about taking a bus back late at night. You'll have to stay in the city, or take a cab back.

The setting of the hostel is beautiful. Sitting on the side of the hill, the small castle looks into a valley, with a big park all around. Definitely one of the better situated hostels you'll encounter. Just after checking in, we stumbled across a somber looking guy, sitting in front of the hostel, arms crossed, sunglassed, cap, fierce looks. The guy, of course, was Australian. After some good stories of a typical Aussie custom of driving in circles with a truck, towing a small car, trying to top it over, we decided to give the Muppet a ride into town.

The town has quite an impressive range of Art-Nouveau buildings and some nice museums to boot. As specially this year, now that it's 100 years since the start of the 'School of Nancy', 3 major museums run very interesting exhibitions.

When weather permits it, which is quite often, students from one of the universities, the oldest dating from 1572, can be found all around town studying artwork and making sketches of one of the many Art-Nouveau buildings.

The town not only attracts students. When hanging out on the main square, we where not only welcomed by numerous youngsters, trying to flex their verbal muscles in talking English with us (and us not understanding them), but also encountered Sticky. Sticky, as it turned out, was, as they say in France, as old as the highway to Rome and claimed to have served in several armies, ranging from the French, during the war in Angola, all the way back to the Turkish army, when invading Europe in the sixteenth century. In-between jobs, he claimed to survive by driving people around in his double Decker bus. Sticky seemed quite believable. Really.

The people of Nancy enjoy life, and the number of Restaurants and bars prove it. Restaurants are scattered all over town and getting good quality food is not related to the price you pay for it. Sure, the setting might be a bit better, the silverware might be actual silver or the waitresses might be a tad better looking, but in the end, the food is good anywhere you can get it. If you find it on the menu, the 'quiche Loraine' is a definite go!

Encountering a couple of local babes, aged 16 and 17 (we only found that out after they screamed for forgiveness), the friendly young ladies took us to an in-crowd student bar with live artists unable to stop drumming African beats.

When trying to return to the hostel, we discovered that it really is impossible to try and fit seven people and two bicycles in a Mazda 323, so we had no choice but to undress and spray the girls with genuine Champagne (16FF a bottle!) right there in the city center and lick our goodbyes. Dazed, but satisfied we left for our castle.

Nancy is a nice city to stroll through. Featuring a large, friendly park, La Pepiniere, with a free zoo to boot. Other things of interest are the Cathedral and the Notre-Dame de Bon Secours church, from the 18th century, with the mausoleum of Stanislaus Lesczynski, a local hero of the last century.

North of France

Babak Fakhamzadeh on May 14, 1999 • Blog

World » Belgium » Brussels » Boulevard de Diksmuide

This trip's Tasteless Tacky Tourists are Benno Richters, Joost Hofstede, Harm-Jan Meester and Babak Fakhamzadeh.

Four men, united by their Veto, sometimes travel the European continent in search for enlightenment. Mere weeks before going to Luxembourg et al, they enjoyed France so much, having visited the cote d'Azur in the south, they decided to do the north as well. So, in a four day trip in May 1999, this time staying closer to home, the Masters visited Luxembourg, Metz, Nancy, Reims, Lille and Diksmuide.

Off to see the wizard

So there we were. Waiting in Brussels, poised to go. Only minutes away from a four day alcohol binge. This time looking at a mere 1500km drive, covering six cities in the north of France and north of France.

Featuring only one European capital this time Luxembourg, the start of our journey was an unavoidable stop on our way to France. Definitely the most spectacularly situated capital, Luxembourg is a friendly city with friendly people.

Stopping in Metz on our way to Nancy, both cities are proof that the more to the south you go in Europe, the more people like to enjoy life. As specially Nancy, with its large groups of youngsters 'hanging out' is a nice place to while away the hours.

Still, we were also looking for the 'classical' North of France. The industrialist north has never been known for its friendliness. The cities of Reims and Lille prove that very point. Both ugly, industrialist cities, at least Lille offers very interesting night life.

And then there is Diksmuide. This Belgian city was completely wasted during the first world war. Now, surrounded by war memorials, it reminds the visitor of the aggressive European past.

So, where to start? Well, in Luxembourg of course.

Luxembourg

The sleeping capital

The size of an insignificant provincial city, the streets bursting with bigger than life banks and spectacularly located, Luxembourg is one of the more stranger European capitals, providing refuge for a large portion of Belgians and Dutch, trying to evade taxes.

In the gorge between the old city and the new town, we found Luxembourg's youth hostel. Crowded with Canadians, we had a hard time getting through to the reception but we where able to secure a room.

Site seeing is no more than a quick trip around the old town and taking a look at the Casemates, a large underground defense system, where we were able to spent several hours, because of signs not totally agreeing with each other. After that, you can while away the hours in one of the bars in the city center and enjoy the nice and quietness of this European capital.

The start of a good holiday obviously calls for celebration. The four of us and Jack where going for it, until Joost gave out. Refusing his very nice Mexican meal, he opted for praying to the porcelain god during dinner.

The city center and old city, not more than several hundreds of meters across is lively and very friendly by day, the gorge, between the old city and the region around the train station providing for lively scenes by night.

After dinner, while enjoying some nice Bofferding beer in one of the pubs, we enjoyed lap-dances and a real spontaneous striptease by one of the locals. Okay, she was trying to impress her boyfriend, but we had the benefit. Too drunk, he ignored her, and she chose the good Harm-Jan instead. That is, until her boyfriend woke up and started to chase us, pissed and drunk, around the pub. Not being able to catch up with our athletic powers, after some twenty minutes, the nice lady started to go after us as well. She, realizing, that now, her boy was going to be unable to perform during the night.

We walked back to the hostel, being welcomed by the same hordes of Canadians we encountered earlier in the day. This time however, they dwindled down to a couple rapidly and, intoxicated by Jack and too much Bofferding and tired from the physical excersice in the pub earlier on, we where almost witness of a Canadian rape. On our last legs, as real Mounties, I guess, we were able to save the day, slam-dunk the bad guy unconscious and free the babe. She, however, had one of the ugliest faces I have ever seen. Next stop: Metz.