Hello, Russia!

I was about to cross into Russia, and it dawned on me that I had only ever crossed without apprehension between EU countries.This was a new kind of border and I was nervous.

The border official, who had the obligatory fear-inducing expression and tone of voice, asked for my documents. She inspected them as if she were a detective at a murder scene, and as she did, the possibility of getting turned away arose.

With a look on her face which said ‘you got lucky this time’, I crossed into my 30th country. I did not have a good first impression of this new land – barbed wire fences held my excitement in, as did the defeated looks on people’s faces.

I was met once again by the abundance of nature apparent in Estonia, but here, it was darker. It felt dangerous, not delightful and it certainly wasn’t as magical. The roads were now laden with potholes and the vehicles were beaten up, scratched and dented.


The first man to pick me up had such a car. He spoke not one word of English, as I would come to realize was the case in almost all of Russia – They do have the biggest country in the world, after all.

I listened to the indecipherable streams of sound flowing from his mouth, but could understand not one word. A few years back, being in a country and not being able to communicate would have petrified me, but now it actually excited me.

When he left me, he gave me a look to say ‘best of luck, you will need it!’.

The next car  took me to St. Petersburg, where I would stay with my next host for three nights. It was a suspiciously new and shiny white Lexus, which stood out from every other vehicle on the road. The immaculate interior of his car stood out to me too, because there was no personality to it, as if it wasn’t his. The man driving it was different, too – There was something about his eyes; he was using them to interrogate me with aggressive curiosity.

After a lot of hitchhiking, you begin to realize that safe people will seem a bit excited and often a bit lonely. When you get in, they ask the same kind of questions: ‘how old are you?’, ‘what’s your name?’, etc. I know that if anyone breaks these patterns, then I should start to worry.

This man asked me what I was doing in Russia, what was in my backpack, why I was alone, etc. He even asked if I knew about MI6.

I got warned by a Royal Marine back in the UK that I’d be on their radar as soon as I crossed, being a British man travelling alone without flights or a tour group. After an hour’s ride though, he took me to the city, as he said he would, and I never saw him again; that’s not to say he never saw me again.

St. Petersburg on the outskirts seemed a lot like London – smoggy, grey, rainy and full of depressed-looking people. I must have aroused further suspicion by walking the sixteen kilometers into the center.

Once there, I sat in a McDonald’s for three hours while I waited for my host to finish work, during which time a man in his fifties was sitting at the other end of the restaurant to me, with no food. He was looking in my direction, but not directly at me. I managed to catch his eyes after an hour and he got up and left before coming back five minutes later and sitting somewhere else to resume his surveillance. Luckily, I had nothing to feel nervous about.

Just before midnight, Alexander met me outside his apartment. He was a friendly Russian who spoke English well enough. He looked like a body guard. Maybe he was, secretly? He showed me to the living room sofa-bed and asked if I was tired, to which I couldn’t lie. Without room for argument, he told me to sleep and I didn’t put up a struggle…



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