Breathing in the air of Glasnost and other stories from within the Ural mountain range

The time after exams was marked with a concluding travel in the northern regions of Russia. Our wanderlust had long been waiting for the escape from university and academic responsibilities, as neither me nor Ludwig had had any break in studying for the last 8 or 9 months (not including shorter holidays like Christmas or the madness around 9th may). Despite the failure of our initial plans of renting a car and comfortably cruising through Ural mountains with the eager desire to visit outstanding Russian cities like Asbest or Nizhny Tagil, we embarked on a journey that would have us wonder at the other, brighter sides of Russia that I myself had only experienced to a minimal amount. If you are by now wondering why you have never heard head of these cities, don’t trouble your mind for it was the purest coincidence that let us to Nizhny Tagil – it was but a meme that I found on the Internet before coming to Russia.

Russia is that big of a country, that when it’s 10am in Moscow, everything is still 1994 in Nizhny Tagil.

Right after the disgraceful ending of our academic semester in Kazan, we met up with the other exchange students for a beer, then took the night train to Ekaterinburg where we had the great privilege of staying at a Russian friend’s place for our time there. Ekaterinburg… the city where we initially wanted to do our exchange; the city that surprised us as soon as we arrived; the city that had held us in awe as long as were there; a city full of pleasant surprises. In fact, the place often felt somewhat related to a Western city, as it offered a rather free choice to the inhabitant when it comes to overcoming usual social restrictions that were always sensible in Kazan.
It, furthermore, is considered the Ural capitol of Rock music. After long strolls through EKB we stumbled upon a park surrounding a pedestrian lane around a embedded rivulet. From there a small tunnel underneath a main road in the centre led to a greater basin of that same rivulet. The tunnel was insofar remarkable and astonishing as it was the so-called “Виктор Цой Туннель” (Viktor Tsoi Tunnel): all of the walls were covered in paintings and graffitis of the deceased, but still illustrious singer/song-writer that carries the nickname “the Last Soviet Hero”. In the middle of it always stands an Asian-looking singer (Asian, but not Indian… it was rather the East-Asian looking type), replaying greatest Tsoi hits, while exploiting his own appearance to earn large amounts of money.

Besides many other memorable places one building in particular struck us as unbelievable: right there, in the middle of a Russian city, stood a perfect example of an Armenian church in red bricks. A Barevzez to the priest paved the way for a guided tour through the church and over the premises. After a few explanations our surprise and disbelief vanished as effectively as Vampires when they see sunshine for the first time; the amount of Armenians living on Russian ground is significantly higher than the population of the originating country itself. After providing us with knowledge he recommended us to visit an Armenian restaurant in town – after the painful acclimatisation that was the almost tasteless and meat-heavy Russian kitchen,  every bite of indubitably authentic Armenian cuisine made my taste buds shiver from excitement.

Before you continue, you should look up some pictures of Nizhny Tagil (Нижний Тагил) and let the view have a first impression on you. This is what we did. And everyone with whom we talk to about our idea of seeing this lovely Soviet industrial horror was in turn looking at us with a face of a Teletubby. And, indeed, arriving in the city and seeing it with our own eyes confirmed all of our wildest imaginations. That is: Thick clouds of smokes escaping the many factories intestines, all indicating a different intensity of danger to the health; Soviet buildings all over the place; stray dogs roaming the roads; and drunk men squatting in the parks.
All in all a promising start!
Not even ten minutes after our arrival, a few drunkards saw us two strangers walking around with photo material and immediately insisted on posing for a portrait of them, that we immediately printed out for them (one exemplary I used as a postcard and it should already circulate somewhere in Europe).

Sitting in a Vienna-styled café and Pirogi restaurant, we checked the Internet for places to stay and eventually decided to book an Airbnb for little money close to the central city. However, there appeared to have been a misunderstanding between the unfortunate owner of the apartment and a money-grubbing office behind, that were not even aware, that the place was for rent online (one phone call had already cleared our path, whereas the following one undermined the slightest possibility of the existence of that same place). As the payment had already been completed, we insisted on moving into the flat for the time our stay, and eventually ended up sitting in the office with the employees waiting for their unpleasant boss to show up. About four hours, a couple of teas and the additional payment of another 1000roubles caused the temporary evacuation of the mistreated owner and her two children. Right after sundown he headed out again to further explore the city, despite the unlucky star it seamed to stand under. While moving around aimlessly, Ludwig and I stopped in a wonderful backyard to take in all of the architectural details and the invigorating harmony of buildings and nature. A car stopped. The driver and his wife noticed me and Ludwig taking pictures. A few words were exchanged. More inhabitants appeared out of thin air and joined us. And before long we found ourselves in a car on its way to a bar that is being provided with local beer – beer brewed by a Mexican guy who studied the magic of brewery in Berlin! A beer that was truly excellent in taste and design of the bottles. I can only heartily recommend any friend of the hop brew to pilgrimage to Nizhny Tagil and support the local brewing art!

A great beer! Really! Trust me! Mexicans can create amazing beer – legally!

Random people desperately trying to understand what we were doing in their city

The initial idea of our trip to Nizhny Tagil was, however, a completely different one: we wanted pictures, pictures of industry! Of the raw, polluting power of the purest of all Russian factories. In fact, we wanted to capture the whole scale of monstrosities that is the patriotic Russian tank industry (Tagil is fond over its tanks. The local souvenir industry is making a large split between showing the beauty of Tagil and, on the other hand, showing the full potential of its factory output).
Little did we know that on the next day the city was engulfed with genuine patriotic sentiments over a marine battle that was won by Imperial Russia over a 100 years ago. As the only logical result, by midday all the men in the city had already consumed a dangerous amount of alcoholic beverages and strayed around the city, waving flags of the Флот (fleet). This, of course, meant some beautiful motives for Ludwig. After turning down a few invitations to vodka we made our ascend to Лисья Гора [Lisya Gora] from where me made some incredible shots of the dimly lighted, terrifyingly polluting factories that would make every climate activist go on a rampage.

The strange beauty of pollution at night time

After shivering for easily 3 hours in the cold wind that had been continuously harassing our position, we decided to pack our stuff and leave, though without being perfectly satisfied. As the night started descending upon us, the flame ceased a little, and the steam escaping the factory on a regular basis served as the main motive. The minute our stuff was packed away, the flame rose up to an height, yet unknown to us while another white cloud was spit out of the deepest intestines of the urban nightmare. The mixture created the effect of what looked like an enormous explosion over the factories.
Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to capture it. It was stunning. Simply breathtaking. The hours of exhausting waiting for the perfect moment would have been absolutely worth it, but our patience had left us five minutes too early.

On the following days, we said goodbye to EKB by drinking beers and hearing about locals expressing their concerns towards either immigration to Europe or homosexuals in general… big country, same absurd fear everywhere. They, however, provided us with an unexpected gift that had us rejoicing for many hours and carried us through the city on eagle’s wings. The reputation of the city, i.e. rock capitol of the Ural, loudly resounded through the evening streets. With the coda harmoniously ebbing away, we split from our friends in EKB and prepared for the trip back the next day.
At the train station, an unexpected sight caught our sight. A souvenir that is a fine addition to my collection of small presents from Russia.

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For more pictures, access Ludwig Schubert Photo’s Instagram Profile: https://500px.com/ludwig94
or: https://500px.com/ludwig94

Ein Angebot, das wir nicht ablehnen konnten: Wodka mit der lokalen Mafia

Nachdem wir in diesem absurden Russland angekommen sind und die erste Woche ohne Frostbeulen oder Erfrierungen überstanden haben, haben wir erste Kontakte mit der lokalen Mafia geschlossen. Ja.

Ein Spaziergang durch unbekannte Orte führt oft dazu, dass man seinen eignen Horizont permanent dehnt. Obwohl man sich an einem solchen Ort zur gleichen Zeit unsicher und angreifbar fühlt, da einem die möglichen Gefahren noch unbekannt sind, so sind sie gleichermaßen komisch attraktiv, weil sie Geheimnisse besitzen, die jenen vorbehalten sind, die sich aus ihrer „Komfortzone“ herauswagen. Könnte man sich vorstellen, eine unbedeutende und altmodisch aussehende Bar zu seinen Favoriten zu zählen oder neue und interessante Leute im routinierten Alltagsleben auf der Straße anzuquatschen? Kaum, denn es besteht ja an sich kein Grund dazu. Allerdings führt das zu einem Austrocknen der Inputs zum Gehirn, was wiederum in einem allmählichen Desinteresse an der Welt und an ihren zahllosen versteckten Wundern resultiert.

Nehmen wir dieses (zufällige) Wirtshaus zum Beispiel! 

Bar NEO sucht nach Trinity

Eine ganz klassische Bar für Einheimische in einem der Randbezirke Kazans. Von Außen begrüßt sie kaum Passanten. In ihrem 90s/post-Sowjet Stil hat sie eine Zahl an Alkoholikern aufgenommen und geschaffen, die vermutlich vergleichbar ist mit der Anzahl an Geburten in diesem Bezirk innerhalb der letzten 30 Jahre. Obwohl das Äußere etwas anderes vermuten lässt, so soll der Wert von diesem besonderen Ort zu keinem Zeitpunkt unterschätzt werden. Die plötzliche Einführung eines fremden Elementes kann sehr unterschiedliche Reaktionen bewirken: Eine davon könnte die spontane Entscheidung sein, den Fremden die persönliche Perspektive auf die Heimat zu zeigen.

Da Ludwig und ich uns bereits aus unser Komfortzone herausbewegt haben und uns mit neuen Lebensbedingungen auseinandergesetzt haben, versuchen wir zudem immerzu, unseren eigenen Horizont zu verschieben – viele Projekte wurden schon ansatzweise angeschnitten, Reisen geplant, Zusammenarbeiten mit neuen Freunden und ortsansässigen „Partnern“ ausgedacht. Um uns besser mit unserer Gegend vertraut zu machen, haben wir beschlossen, uns zusammen mit der italienischen Studentin die schicksalsträchtige Bar NEO anzuschauen (aus Anonymitätsgründen werden wir sie von nun an Maria nennen). Warum ausgerechnet NEO? Zum einen deshalb, weil die Bedeutung des Wortes auf etwas Neues hindeutet, auf den Anfang einer wahrhaft russischen Erfahrung, die mancherlei Stereotype erfüllt hat. Auf der anderen Seite könnte man eine Referenz auf den Filmcharakter Neo aus Matrix vermuten; er hat sich aus einer angenehmen Illusion verabschiedet, um, nach einer Phase des Schocks und Terrors, die Realität zu akzeptieren und letztlich seinen Platz darin einzunehmen (die Schwellenphase, oder auch Liminalität, hat ihn die Wahrheit erkennen lassen). Nachdem wir eine halbe Flasche Wodka im Wohnheim geleert hatten, haben wir uns sogleich eine weitere in der Bar bestellt. Die zunächst argwöhnischen Blicke haben sich in wohlwollende verwandelt, sobald wir angefangen haben auf Russisch zu reden.

So sah die Bar von innen aus: Die Dekoration war überaus überschaubar. An den Wänden hingen einige klassische russische Gemälde, leider in schlechter gedruckt in schlechter Qualität. Die Preise waren vergleichbar mit jenen im Supermarkt (i.e. ungefähr 400 Rubel für ½ l von einem guten Wodka). Die angebotenen Waren waren ganz klassisch: die üblichen Alkohol und Schnäpse, billige Biere, Snacks und plastifizierter, getrockneter Fisch. Alle Gäste (bis auf die eine Frau Natascha im mittleren Alter ausnahmslos Männer) haben Karten um Geld gespielt, bis auf den guten Evgenij, der alleine vor sich hin gedöst hat, weiterhin gab es noch ein dubioses Hinterzimmer, mit regem Begängnis, bis dahin sind wir ‘leider’ nich nicht vorgedrungen.

Wir haben uns sofort gut verstanden. Ich wurde „Puschkin“ genannt, wir haben gemeinsam Karten gespielt und dabei genüsslich Wodka getrunken, Bier, und später noch billigen Cognac (sehr schlechte Idee) . Nach ein paar Drinks wurden wir ungehaltener und schnell hat sich herausgestellt, dass wir mit Mitgliedern der lokalen Mafia tranken. Die prominenteste Person unter ihnen war natürlich die gastfreundliche Natascha. Die Gasfreundschaftlichkeit stammte aber auch daher, dass sie für keinen der Drinks Geld ausgeben musste und in ihrer Macht, Leute herumzukommandieren, ungebremst war. Aber was anderes hätte man erwartet von der Frau, dessen Vater zufällig „Besitzer der Krim ist“. Urlaub in der Ukraine garantiert! (Gott, für diesen Kommentar werde ich sicherlich gelyncht…). Nachdem wir herausgefunden haben, dass Natascha bereits mit ihrem 5. Kind schwanger war, haben wir ihr vorgeschlagen vielleicht ganz mit dem Rauchen aufzuhören, als nur auf Marlboro Light zu wechseln. Andererseits wäre das nur ein Tropfen auf den heißen Stein gewesen… immerhin hat sie den ganzen Abend lang Kaffee getrunken und sich mit Hochprozentigem tüchtig die Kante gegeben (auch Drogen waren ihrerseits im Spiel, wir schafften es irgendwie dankend abzulehnen). Irgendwann werden meine Erinnerungen undurchsichtig… aber mit vereinten mentalen Kräften, haben wir es dann geschafft ein einigermaßen klares Licht auf die dunklen Stellen zu scheinen: Die ganze Nacht lang sind wir in einem Taxi durch die verschlafene Stadt gefahren, immerzu auf der Suche nach dem schönsten Blumenstrauß Kazans, um damit das Grab von Nataschas Mutter zu schmücken. Ein normaler Montag Abend also. Hin und wieder haben wir irgendwo ein Päuschen eingelegt, um uns mit Drinks und Essen zu versorgen (möglicherweise auch ein Mal in einem georgischen Restaurant, aber daran kann sich niemand genau erinnern, jedenfalls wurden wir jedes mal eingeladen, Riesen-Buffet, fast nichts angerührt, um dann im nächsten Restaurant/Drecksloch wieder eine Großbestellung aufzugeben).

Bild entspricht nicht dem tatsächlichen Grab

Mein Gedächtnis ist erst bei Sonnenaufgang komplett zurückgekehrt. Als die ersten Lichtstrahlen das Dunkel der Nacht vertrieben, haben wir uns dazu entscheiden Natascha mitsamt ihres Mafiabusiness alleine zu lassen und zum Wohnheim zurückzukehren. Die Wächter haben sich sicherlich sehr gefreut meinen und Ludwigs Namen aufzuschreiben (erste von 3 Verwarnungen) als wir zurück gekrochen kamen – ich bin davon überzeugt, dass man den gütigen Herren und Damen der Nachtwache überhaupt erstmals einen Sinn im Leben gibt, wenn man versucht in einem solchen Zustand durch das bewachte Tor zu treten. Natürlich haben sie es nicht als nötig empfunden, auch noch Marias Namen aufzuschreiben. Als wir dann aufgewacht sind, haben wir sofort damit angefangen, die einzelnen Gedächtnisfetzen aneinanderzureihen.

Mit den neugewonnenen Kontakten und dem Wissen, dass ein wahrhaft russisches Abenteuer zu jedem Zeitpunkt losbrechen kann, garantieren wir unserer teurer Leserschaft, dass die Qualität des Blogs weiterhin ansteigen wird.

Mehr Artikel folgen sehr bald!

An offer that we simply couldn’t refuse (Vodka with the local mafia)

After being thrown into the absurdity that is Russia and surviving the first week without any frostbite, we got acquainted with the local mafia. Yes.

Strolling through unknown places often results in a permanent distortion of one’s horizons. One feels vulnerable to be moving in a location as the possible dangers are unidentified, yet at the same time it is oddly attracting, because it holds secrets that will never be undiscovered if one choose not to leave one’s “Comfort Zone”. The possibility of meeting interesting new people or running across a bar or restaurant that may just become one’s favourite despite the old-fashioned appearance are quickly reduced to a bare minimum. Unfortunately, this will cause in a drainage of inflow of information to the brain and will surely result in a gradual disinterest in the world and its countless hidden beauties.

Taking this place for example! 

Be the Trinity to my NEO!

A typical local’s bar on the outskirts of Kazan. Its facade hardly welcomes anyone to move inside. Built in a 90s/post-Soviet fashion, it must have welcome and produced a number of alcoholics, probably directly equal to the amount of children born in this district within the period of roughly 30 years. Even though its look does not promise anything, the value of this very unique place should at no point be belittled. The sudden introduction of a, say, foreign element could provoke various reactions: One of them could be the spontaneous urge to show what their perspective on their home look like.

As Ludwig and I have moved out of our Comfy Zone and faced new living conditions, we constantly seek to push our horizons to new limits – many projects have already been discussed, travels planned, cooperations with friends and local “partners” schemed. In order to discover our new habitat, we decided to visit this strange-fated bar called NEO along with our Italian friend (for discretion reason, we shall henceforth refer to her as Maria). Simply because NEO already indicates two strangely distanced things. On the one hand, it means something new, a start to a truly Russian experience with many of its stereotypes confirmed. On the other hand, it could be discussed whether it is a reference to the film character Neo from Matrix; he, who escaped the illusion that his old life was to go through a phase of shock and terror, but who eventually learned to embrace the reality and grow up in it (the phase of liminality made his see the truth). After emptying half a bottle of vodka in our dear dorm, we swiftly ordered a fresh one once we entered NEO. We were greeted with suspicious looks who turned into well-meaning ones the second we started speaking Russian.

The scene was as follows: The place barely had any decorations on the inside, with the exception of a few badly printed versions of famous Russian artworks. The prices were very low, close to the ones you would get in any ordinary shop in Kazan (i.e. around 400 Rubles/5€ for ½l of tasty vodka). The products were very standard; one could buy the usual kinds of alcohol, cheap beers, snacks and dried fish enveloped in plastic. All guests (all men apart from the middle-aged woman Natasha) were playing cards for money, only Evgenji was dozing away all by himself – to be fair, I have no idea what his name was, but he practically instantly got up from his seat when Natasha demanded it.

We got off on the right foot. I was nicknamed “Pushkin”, we drank vodka and played Russian card games. After a few drinks, our conversation became more eager and we suddenly found ourselves outside with the locals, who turned out to be part of the mafia. Natasha was the most prominent, and at the same time most hospitable person. This may mostly due to the fact, that she didn’t buy for any of the consumed drink and snacks and her unlimited power when it came to ordering people according to her will. But what else can you expect from the daughter of “the man who owns the Crimean Peninsula”. Holidays in Ukraine guaranteed! (Goodness, I will be lynched by someone for this…) After finding out that she was pregnant with her 5^th child already, we asked her if it wasn’t a better idea to stop smoking entirely instead of switching to Marlboro Light. Though a complete abstention from cigarettes probably won’t help the fact that she had intoxicated herself throughout the whole evening with coffee, vodka and different cognacs. After this everything becomes blurry and cloudy in my memory… The combined brain power of Ludwig, Maria and me managed to fill some of the hazy parts: we drove around in a taxi all night long in search of the most beautiful flowers of the city, so that Natasha could decorate her mother’s grave. A typical monday evening, apparently. Every now and then we settled down in some place in order to eat a great load of food (possibly Georgian, but this part is extremely unclear) and have new drinks.

Not the actual grave

My memory fully returned to my at sunrise. Just as the first lights of the next beautiful day slowly pushed away the darkest shadows of the night, we decided to leave Natasha to her mafia business somewhere outside of the city and headed back to the student’s dorm. The guards must have much rejoiced at the aspect of writing down mine and Ludwig’s name as we came lurching to the outer gates of our prison (first of 3 warnings) – I do believe that, by returning at the first light of the young day in a condition that is beyond good and evil, we actually provide the fine gentlemen and ladies with a purpose in their lives. Of course, they did not note Maria’s name. As soon as we awoke, the recollection of loose pieces of memory had begun – and so did this blog article.

With the new contacts and the knowledge that a fascinating Russian adventure can kick off at any given moment, we assure you, our dear readers, a continuation of the quality offered so far.

Stay tuned for new!

Potatoes, Tanks and KFC: Wonders of Modern Socialism

I was in Belarus.
It is not Russia and they also don’t speak Russian. In fact, they all understand it and it’s one of the two official languages.
The politics are not Russian. They are mostly just a relict from Soviet times that missed some important events in the world.
The food certainly isn’t anything like Russian one. Beside the Borschch that is served cold and with sour cucumbers… or the many potatoes… Blinis perhaps? The potato pancakes, the Draniki, are very untypical for Russia indeed.
The people aren’t Russian. Even though the culture is very similar, to a degree that locals can’t name 5 things that vary from their Eastern neighbour. There are some differences, which are similar to those from Ukraine, such as the national folk dresses – I’ve been told that the colours are different from the ones in Ukraine and/or Lithuania!
The history certainly must be something unlike the one from Russia. And, truly, the medieval times were marked by a direct cooperation with Lithuania and Poland. Until the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth struggled with its existence and Belarus was absorbed by Russians. When their former Northern ally demanded its freedom from Russia, Belarusians joined the movement of independence, but then failed at strengthening their own culture to a similar extent as the Baltic States.

Vytis, the knight on the cup, is also one of the two Lithuanian flag// The stork is the national bird of most Baltic States, including Belarus

Then it was absorbed into Soviet Union from which it’s barely escaped. Now the country is stuck in a silly limbo between capitalist influences from outside and an “authoritarian democracy” that takes care of a population of alcoholics (Belarus figures as number 1 on the statistics). Yet, the overconsumption of alcoholic beverages is hardly noticeable in Minsk where the streets are clean and no graffiti taints the walls. The only truly artsy place I’ve had the pleasure of seeing was the Oktyabrskaya street, where the entirety of the free-thinking and intellectual society lives. Many enormous paintings can be observed, while ordering some sort of drink in one of the many cafés in the area – Moby Dick Café being the one with the best music and service – or strolling down the road, all under the solemn gaze of Comrade Lenin.

 

 

The most interesting about the city Minsk, however, is this very limbo I mentioned earlier: The first thing I noticed upon my arrival in the city were the long and clean boulevards that all point to the historical and political centre of the city, whose sides were covered by McDonalds and KFC “restaurants”. A friend rightly observed that the basis on which the regime in all of its absurdities is constructed is deep-fried, unhealthy food from the USA.

 

 

What absurdities though?
Let’s take the newly-founded “Tank Day” (День Танкиста) for example. Once a year for the last 5 years or so, thanks to the most prominent crew of World of Tanks – not kidding, I’m not making this up – the celebration day was introduced and is traditionally held in the Victory Park. One could say that it is a perfect example of blunt military propaganda. Apart from the numerous craft beer stands and corn sellers, some sort of military circus was presented (with animals, i.e. extremely well-trained dogs). Then, if one continues further into the park one will eventually reach an island on the river that was renamed  “Partisan Island” for the special occasion. The backwardness of the industry, the politics and, to some extent, the society reaches its peak. The military presence and the possible threat which might result from it is ubiquitously felt all over the city, at all times. This not only manifests itself in the great number of young men (and few women) in uniforms everywhere, but also in the unbalanced men-to-women-ratio in Minsk.
On that island everything is about Partisans and resistance, as the name already suggests. Traditional partisan and Red Army songs are sung with great enthusiasm – toast to Товарищ Сталин! As one proceeds further along the river bed, one can listen to Partisan theatre pieces and the like. Lastly, it is apparently common practice to have your child photographed with Kalashnikov and helmet in front of soldiers dressed in WWII army fashion. Or just have them play around with real weapons; who knows when it come in handy to know how to assemble and dissemble a gun?
And as the happy family is leaving the beautifully decorated and staged park, why not buy the child a ballon filled with helium… in the shape of a tank? He’s behaved well. And with this little piece of souvenir he’ll certainly remember the experience in a positive light.
I frankly enjoyed this day way too much. The whole event was simply too preposterously ridiculous and the people’s reactions by no means critical, so that I couldn’t hold back a little giggle from time to time. Nothing similar would be possible in most Western countries and especially not in Berlin – after crossing a shitload many pro-vegan, meat-condemning chalk writings on the ground, I stand assured that the warmongering side of Germany has abated.

 

 

 

Some more information on my trip there – for those who actually care: After two weeks of summer school in Kaunas, Lithuania and a week of traveling in the other Baltic States, I had spent two additional weeks in Minsk in order to study the Russian language even harder. The most intensive, laborious and honestly most beneficial part was the hitchhiking trip back to European Union, as I was forced to speak only Russian for little over 6 hours with different people while discussing many different topics (one being the prices of Cocaine in Moscow, as the driver was working and celebrating there).
Some other posts on this trip might follow.

Lastly, many thanks to the usual candidates (i.e. the Royal Society for Putting Things on Top of Other Things), but foremost to our lovely teachers in Minsk, the greatly caring people that I’ve met from Belarus who welcomed my warmly and offered me a different perspective on politics and people’s mentality, the Red Army…? Is it still the Red One? At least, they didn’t wear no Soviet Emblems anymore Belarusian Army for not shooting me on grounds of espionage or whatever other reason they might have come up with and, of course, the (mostly) German group with which I arrived. Furthermore, the many drivers who offered me a ride all the way back to Berlin. Special thanks to Nino for hosting me and introducing me to Poznan. It’s a great city. Really. Trust me.

(Fun drinking game to play in Belarus: Every time you see someone in military uniform you need to drink a shot. Success guaranteed! If you play this on “Tank Day”, your liver is gonna explode in an ultimate cloud of alcohol and blood you need a strong constitution.)