Reportage: from Russia to Germany and back - Part II

"Bye-Bye, Europe!"

I ran out of the bus, found the officer and tried to explain what had happened. He could not understand why I came from the bus, and yet my passport was not stamped. But after a while he started laughing and finally stamped my passport. I could read on his face that he thought that all Russians were crazy. Maybe I was not the first Russian this had happened to


By CHRISTINA DEMENSHINA (christina.demenshina@wavemagazine.net)
from Yekaterinburg, RUSSIA


The first thing I noticed in Europe was restrooms that charged a fee. Do not laugh; there are many of them in Mother Russia, too. But Russians do not like to pay for such a natural thing as peeing. They are raised from childhood with the idea (better to say a communist one) that if you do not want to pay for a restroom, just go to a bush. Do not be confused with Mr. Bush, but in this particular case it does not matter.

In Europe it is unusual to see someone hiding in the trees and quickly pulling up his pants because strangers are approaching from the side. People prefer to relax in special buildings on the road marked with the letters WC and filled with white napkins and toilet paper. But for all this luxury you are supposed to pay 50 cents. We immediately counted how much that would be in rubles and decided: "No, too expensive." Every time we stopped we found a bush, did our business there, and continued driving.

The second thing was European showers. It is a rule: if you want to be fresh and clean, you go take a shower. It was not a big deal for us to pay for it; the problem was that the showers at the parking lot had warm water for only five minutes. So we had two choices: to be very quick or to wash ourselves with cold water like penguins.

Cool and sexy, but too expensive

We drove through Poland the whole day. It is a very beautiful country with a lot of delicious food. At night we stopped at a place where trucks from all over Europe were parked. After taking a shower our drivers went to a bar. Drinking beer and telling weird stories all evening: how could it be different? Hoping to avoid boredom, I decided to join them and to listen what they were talking about.

One driver told me how he had met a small fox on the road and given it some cookies. The other one described his journey to Italy. Suddenly we looked at the TV screen and saw that a beauty contest was on. The drivers started discussing Polish girls, how cool and sexy they were, and how they could probably find one for the night. The driver who had tried to find a prostitute in Belarus was very excited about this idea. He went up to an old Polish man who was working at the bar to ask about prices, but soon came back. Disappointed, the driver explained that Polish girls were too expensive for him. Instead he drank more and more, and then went gambling.

I woke up early in the morning. I thought I would be the first one up, but to my surprise all the truckers were ready to drive on. There was absolutely no sign of how they had spent the previous night.

Our goal was a German town called Spalt, somewhere in Bayern, 4000 kilometers away from my home city of Yekaterinburg. We just needed to find a small factory and unload the copper powder we had in our trucks. And as we like to say: the game would be over.

Freaks, young people and interesting buddies

So the truck drivers went to the factory and we finished shooting our movie. The next day the drivers went to pick up a new load, and my cameraman and I left them with no regrets. No hugs or kisses; just a simple "Good bye." We also wished them luck with further travelling. Our next step was to go to the train station and meet some German guys that I had found on the internet. They were going to Berlin by car and had promised to pick us up. The cameraman was very nervous; he had never used such a system before. He complained and complained, until I could barely stand it.

We had been walking for about thirty minutes to the train station with all of our luggage in our hands. But, finally, we found it. The three German guys came twenty minutes after that. All together we set off for Berlin, talking about Russian and German culture, laughing and joking. When we arrived, the guys wished us luck with our movie and a good time in the capital.

Berlin was amazing: full of freaks, young people and interesting buddies. But we had to go home. This time we decided to use a different type of transportation. No trucks, no vodka, no crazy stories. The cameraman chose a train and I chose a bus: from Berlin to Minsk and from Minsk to Moscow. It seemed to me that this would be the easiest way to return to Russia.

Run Christina, run!

But on my way to the bus station I got lost in the Berlin subway. I struggled to find out which train I needed to take and then realized that I was almost out of time: my bus would be leaving in a few minutes. I decided to run. A lot of German people gave me strange looks, because they had never seen such a crazy person running with a big bag in one hand and a sleeping bag in the other. But I was lucky, and my bus was running an hour late.

I sat at the bus station trying to understand why all the troubles in the world happen to me. It was already midnight when my bus finally came. I could have jumped to the sky, I was so full of happiness imagining that I would relax and soon fall asleep. But my dream did not come true. I got a seat on the first floor near the restroom, so I could smell all of the odors from the toilet. Not only that, my seat was broken so that it was uncomfortable to sit and impossible to sleep.

Early in the morning we arrived in Poland, where I changed buses. One more border crossing, and then "Bye-Bye, Europe!" As I sat in the bus, the driver asked us to prepare our passports. I got my passport out and waited. Twenty minutes passed, then thirty... nothing happened. I looked through the window, trying to understand what the Polish officers were doing and why they were taking so long. Then the bus gave a jolt and began to leave. I saw the second driver going around giving the other passengers their passports back. I jumped up to him:

- Why are you giving them back? - I said in a hurry.

- They are already stamped. - The driver answered.

- Really? You did not take mine. - I was totally surprised.

- Yours? What? - He screamed.

- No... I was waiting for you to come and take my passport. - I tried to explain.

- No... You must go back to the officer and get your passport stamped. If not, you will never come to Europe again. - The driver was angry.

I ran out of the bus, found the officer and tried to explain what had happened. He could not understand why I came from the bus, and yet my passport was not stamped. But after a while he started laughing and finally stamped my passport. I could read on his face that he thought that all Russians were crazy. Maybe I was not the first Russian this had happened to. When the problem was solved, I got back on the bus and, relaxed, headed back to Russia.


(Published: 11.11.2009.)