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Published: August 13th 2018
Belarus 2018
A few years ago I decided to blog about my trip to, what was then quite a foreign land.
Belarus has now become a second home to me and I truly appreciate the hospitality and the friendships that I have made in the past several years of visiting this vibrant and welcoming country.
I have decided to write now again for a couple of reasons: to capture the changes that I have experienced since my last visit and to give myself something to do whilst my wife and her native family talk in the local language, of which I am slightly guilty of not having picked up and learnt.
So please join me on a very British view of my wife’s native home of Belarus.
Day one:
The usual pre holiday scramble transpired with kids packing their last absolute needed toys and gadgets in the 5 minutes before the taxi arrived to take us to the airport. We, yuliya and myself having packed the couple of days before sat drinking our coffees whilst listing the obvious pre holiday checklist. Passports: check. Money:check. Tickets:check.
We felt like seasoned travellers now. We had managed, not
only to fill 3 suitcases under the maximum 23kg, but also an additional suitcase stuffed full of presents for the Belarusian family. Gone were the nervous check in worries of opening cases and stuffing underpants and toys into hand luggage to negate the strict rules of trans European air travel. We’d fucking done it. It only took 10 years for my wife Yuliya to realise but we had finally achieved travels first gold standard.
With a beep of my mobile phone ( gone were the days of an early morning car toot alarm for the neighbours) the taxi had arrived. Bags thrown in the boot and kids strapped in we headed for the airport. I sat there wondering if I could survive the entire trip without saying the immortal line of “have you been busy”. I deliberately asked our driver anything other. How are the wife and family doing? Which was met by a curious, “pardon?”. Panicked I trawled my brain trying to find other conversations. “Is this a hybrid? Get many miles to the gallon?”. Our driver looked at me with suspicion and wondered if he had picked up a mentally disturbed person and should he contact the
local authorities. I sensed some unease and sat quietly for the remainder of the journey. In my panic upon arriving at the airport I gave him a £5 tip and carried the children and the cases in a rushed sprint away from our inquisitive new friend.
In the past few years, upon entering the airport, we have been faced with a frantic and chaotic scramble to check in. This time we arrived at out gate and were pleasantly surprised to only have a couple of passengers ahead of us. Within a couple of minutes we had checked in our cases. Now at this point I should tell you about our 5th item of luggage. Yuliya had decided that during our trip to Belarus we should have a tent. This would come in handy for several reasons, the main one being that her brother and his family would also be staying at the same time and living space would therefore be at a premium. We had therefore bought, a couple of weeks prior to our departure, a three man pop up tent. On this occasion we had no problem checking it in, but I had the feeling that taking such
a a item would lead to problems. We checked the tent into “over sized luggage” and made our merry way to passport control.
After the inevitable drug search of my bag (this happens every time, and I count myself lucky that I haven’t had a burly security guard stick a finger up my arse hole) we made our way through duty free to the nearest bar to have a large draft beer before our departure.
Things were going amazingly well. Checked in, booze bought, breakfast and a beer and we still had an hour til departure. The kids had there brains engrossed in their kindles and for the first time I relaxed and enjoyed the first day of my holiday. The call came for us to board and we made our way to the plane. Now in the past we have flown on planes that would have been new in the time of the USSR but Belavia had evidently purchased a new fleet of plane and we boarded into a new 737 and were delighted that we had the 2 front rows of seats . Yuliya and the kids had the front row and I was sat next to a couple of children from the Chernobyl survivors charity. We have seen several parties of these kids whilst travelling to Belarus and I have always been pleased that they always have the correct number of eyes and don’t look like extras from the Walking Dead. The 2 girls I was sat next to appeared kind, courteous and well behaved.
The plane taxied out and hit full velocity and we headed skyward on time and into a bright and cloudless sky. I sat back and pulled my phone out to play some games and noticed the girl next to me was becoming more and more intrigued. Every time I started a new game she leant against my shoulder and watched with increasing wonder at my phone. She got that close that the hairs on my arm was rustling with her breath. Not wanting to look like a peado I chose to listen to an audiobook and put my phone into my pocket and she became bored and targeted maia and Jamie in front with her attention.
Service on Belavia has always intrigued me. The air hostesses always appeared to be a relic of the ex soviet female Russian shot-putting team with harsh sounding names like Olga or Svatl. To crack a smile always seemed to be an imposition. The food they served was handed to you as if they were forced to under duress, this consisted of a slice of meat (origin unknown) a pickle and a cracker. Knowing this we had purchased sandwiches at the shops to ensure that the kids didn’t look like they were going through a “I’m a celebrity” eating challenge. Now this time we were greeted with Olga and a smile. A genuine smile! Either she had stopped the testosterone treatment or she had been given some hospitality training. We were then given a choice of pasta and sausages or Belarusian meatball and stewed wheat grain. I chose the latter. Honestly a delicious meal which prided itself in its countries cuisine.
When Jamie appeared in pain due to the air pressure the stewardess hurried to get boiled sweets for him to suck on to relieve the pressure. I was very impressed. One of the best services in the air of my life.
The plane touched down in Minsk to cheers from the Chernobyl children (who appeared like that they had survived another possible disaster). We were hurried off the plane with courteous smiles and words from Olga and the crew. Boarded a bus and were hurried to the main terminal for the next adventure which was getting me ( a westerner) through border control.
Each booth is manned by military personnel who always make you feel as if you are potential terrorist. Normally asking for birth certificates and marriage licences as proof of relationships between all party members. Again none of these were asked for and within seconds passports were stamped and with a smile and a “happy holiday” we were through to the final stage…the luggage collection.
In past we were met with a wait of hours for our cases to arrive in the cramped and un-air conditioned terminal building. I shouldered myself into a spot by the conveyor and began my wait. To my surprise the first bag from our flight was grabbed within minutes and I was relieved that this could be a very different experience. Alas the Belarusian ground crew ensured that we knew that training had not been given to all personnel and embarked on a timely 1 bag every 5 minute exercise. The kids from the Chernobyl group, growing bored from the wait, showed that they may have indeed been adversely affected by radiation and proceeded to lie on the conveyor belt and passed in front of us like a bizarre “Generation game” flashback. There appeared to be very little control by their chaperones. One by one the crowd diminished until there were a hand full of passengers. I looked at yuliya and with raised eye brows attempted to figure why we had been discriminated against. Then the realisation dawned on me…… the pop up tent. We then laughed upon imagining a curious ground crew member pulling out the tent…. Next minute it exploding into a 3 by 2 metre shelter like something from Harry Potter. The realisation of “I may have fucked up” dawning on the man, before the entire ground crew trying to figure out how to defy laws of physics and bend the tent back into its small bag. A couple of minutes later our bags arrived (the tent bag looking untouched), I guess we had just been unlucky but I would have liked to imagine a scene of chaos backstage.
Getting through the airport had taken almost as much time as the flight but we were warmly greeted my Victor (Yuliya’s father) and Vladick his best friend, neighbour and hired van driver. Bags packed on board the white transit we settled into the van for our long three hour journey to Beroza. I was handed a beer and lay back listening to music. The kids succumbed to their tiredness and slept for the majority of the trip. The unchanged country cascaded past the window as the setting sun cast a dreamlike hue across the landscape. Harvesting tractors kicked up dust giving the view a mystical feeling. I was home.
The stresses of home and work melted away with the passing minutes and I drifted into a
beer induced snooze. Twilight gave way to the darkness of night and we arrived at the farm shortly before 10pm. Tania (Yuliya’s mother) greeted us with a deluge of hugs and kisses. We were hurried into the farm and after a warming bowl of borsch settled ourselves into our much changed accommodation (more about that tomorrow). We drifted into sleep in the knowledge that we had 2 weeks of life away from the stresses of Stockport and it’s problems. We of course would encounter differing and foreign worries but we should take these one by one stumbling with language and cultural differences.
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