Belarus: dispatch 2

Here are some more tidbits and reflections from ADT's recent trip to Belarus, from which he returned safe and sound to Israel only a few days ago. Never one to take things easy, my buddy just got his full sailing license and is set to join the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) in a month. He'll surely be the oldest member of the infantry, meaning that in addition to dealing with the physical and psychological strain of being in the military, he will have to entrust his life to 18-20 year olds. Let's wish him well.

Here are some observations I've made from other places I've visited and observed over the past week:

--I fully expected to be plagued by the local militzia. Recurrent nightmares of my experiences in Uzbekistan, Russia, and Georgia prepared me for this reality. However, after 6 days here in Minsk, I've been shocked by the opposite. There's a strong police presence, but they pretty much keep to themselves. In fact, I've only been approached by them twice. Once, on the first day as the main thoroughfare was closed off due to a presidential motorcade, I failed to use the underground pedestrian crossing, and jaywalked over the railing. The traffic cop had a fit screaming at me in Russian. The second was the following day in the colossal square in front of the Palace of the Republic. I got a 1/2 liter of Baltika beer and decided to do the local thing and just drink in the middle of the city in the middle of the day. My mistake was that I committed the indecency of sitting on the ground of the square (the only shade I could find). A cop approached me and told me in Russian (very politely) that I must move to the adjacent bench to enjoy my beer.

-- Visiting the World War II museum in Minsk (called the Museum of the Great Patriotic War). The descriptions were solely in Russian which made understanding it a visual experience. I think I got the crux of the message which was: Belarus got royally FUCKED in World War II. At the junction of the advancing German army from Berlin and the Red Army from Moscow, the city got totally razed. By some estimates, 1 out of every 3 Belarussians was killed in the war, and nearly 40% of the pre-war population was Jewish (now it's only a few thousand). For this reason, Minsk looks and feels like it's brand new. Though it's one of the oldest cities in Europe, every existing building dates back from the late 1940s and 50s.

--Tonight will be my second night at the ballet. They're putting on Swan Lake. I saw a stunning performance of Carmela (I think that's what it was) three nights ago. It was far and away superior to other shows I've seen in other CIS states. The theatre was about 2/3 full (not a bad showing relatively) and the entire presentation and ambience were delightful. Apart from these obvious trappings of culture and civilization, Minsk is an immaculate city. It seems Belarussians don't litter and don't jaywalk. A burgeoning consumer culture and Western advertising along with throngs of well dressed Belarussians create a very civilized and elegant image.
Of course, at times the neatly packaged, pretty capital city exposes another side...the side that we hear a lot more spoken about in the "West." As I was walking through the park to return to my hotel after the independence day festivities (unbeknownst to me, I had landed the day before the biggest holiday in Belarus and my hotel room overlooked the festivities), I witnessed a group of uniformed military police kicking the shit out of two teenagers. I was the only pedestrian walking by, and saw them dropkick the two, and pound them repeatedly while they were on the ground with their boots until they were bloodied and beaten. I tried not to stare and continue on my way, but it was hard. As I crossed the bridge, I realized they were following me and experienced some pangs of fear, one of the first times I can ever recall experiencing fear while traveling. Thankfully, they turned the other way soon after, and nothing more came of it.

--The girls here are stunningly gorgeous. Hands down, the hottest girls (in great abundance) that I've ever seen across 6 continents. It seems nearly all of them are engaged in 1 of three competitions at any given moment: tightest pants, shortest skirt, or highest heels. With no puritanical religion to speak of, flesh is the only religion they subscribe to. I had illusions of possibly meeting and hooking up with some, but that has proven to be quite difficult. The inability to communicate in its most basic form and share a simple word makes that nearly impossible. Unless, of course you're willing to pay for it--which is quite easy. In all 6 of the Soviet-style hotels in Minsk, all of them are swarming with prostitutes (even in the really nice, fancy one). I made the mistake of sitting in one of their chairs, and got accosted for it. But, not before, she offered to sleep with me for $150 "for once" or $300 "for the two times." Some discount. At a place where the average monthly income is less than the "one time," I wanted to slap her for her presumptuousness. Though i don't think she cared too much about my rejection. They do quite well for themselves. It seems they capitalize on the fact that non-Russian speaking foreigners are completely helpless. Though any given girl passing on the street is twice as attractive as the best looking prostitute, they are completely untouchable. And after seeing the throngs of scantily clad, stunning Slavic women, you're so horny that you're nearly trembling. In other words, it seems the prostitutes do quite well here.

--I'm fairly certain the hotels treat them (the whores) better here than they do the foreigners. The hotels and receptionists act like they're doing you a huge favor by allowing you to spend money to stay there. They're universally unfriendly, detest hearing English, and usually would prefer to just say "niet" instead of trying to help you out and finding you a room. The hotel I'm staying in now has a large strip bar that they advertise in all their publications. It's called "Texas," and shows scantily clad girls in cowboy hats, belts, and boots. Keep in mind, these are all government run, official hotels. You gotta love governments that say how much they hate American influence, and then actively capitalize on the absurdity of that very image. But that's Belarus for you.

BELARUS I: arrival, the joint

The following is the first installment of ADT's adventures in Belarus, which as we mentioned is a the last sketchy country in Europe (if you consider Albania non-sketchy). ADT, the author of Voices of Wanderlust: 5 years and 70 countries of globe-trotting and soul-searching, will post more Belarus and euro adventures in the near future.

ARRIVAL

I planned to go to Belarus with my then-girlfriend, on a family trip to return to the city of her birth along with her parents (she moved to the states when she was 9, and to israel when she was 24). Two weeks before the trip, we broke up which left me with the conondrum to go or not to go. Of course, as I've realized about myself, the inherent challenge and difficulty of the trip made it impossible to turn down...despite all the excellent reasons to stay in Tel Aviv and get my shit together.

I flew Belavian airlines on a plane chock full of Russian speakers. I'm fairly positive I was the only non-Belarussian/"tourist" on that flight. My first hint that I was entering a Russian speaking land was the guy next to me opening the overhead compartment mid-flight to brandish a huge bottle of vodka. He gave me a hefty shot as he proceeded to polish off nearly a third of the bottle (along with his wife.)

The airport was somewhat 3rd-worldish, but after buying my "obligatory" government health insurance ($4), I was on my way to the city. This is the 8th CIS (former USSR) state that I've visited in the past few years, and quite possibly, takes the cake on the strangest. As with most perspectives on things, this one changes dramatically as soon as you've been here and see it first-hand. I'm now sitting in a modern western-style internet cafe in a brand spanking new underground mall beneath the gargantuan government building in Lenin square, just a block away from the imposing KGB building (still in use).

ISRAEL IN THE HOUSE

I spent the first two days having conversations with myself to prevent insanity from creeping in. The level of spoken english here is quite possibly the lowest I've ever encountered. My level of Russian (currently about 7.5 words) is about 6x as much as anyone's english on the streets. On the 3rd day, I attempted to change my circumstances and suceeded quite well. It involved two visits to the far-away Israeli Cultural Center and the Israeli embassy. Unbeknowest to me until much later that day, I needed to go to the embassy just to get security clearance to get past the Russian (non-Hebrew) speaking thugs at the front door of the cultural center, and speak with a very helpful, attractive Hebrew-speaking lady in the back office.

A couple hours later, they drove me in their diplomatic-plated car to the Jewish community center in Minsk, a large, heavily guarded complex of buildings funded solely by the Joint Distribution Committee (JDC.) Inside, there's a quaint Jewish museum (the only one in Belarus, obviously) with pictures and documentation through the years. It was easy to get an idea of what has happened to the Jewish community throughout Belarus by walking around. The two main "exhibits" were 1) An old wooden doorpost on whose side you can see the indentation from where the mezuzah once stood, and 2) Original torah scrolls from a synagogue that were recovered from a guy's attic years after the War. The guy (non Jewish) took them from destroyed synagogue because he said they seemed like a good, strong material...suitable for insulating his roof. And so he used them for decades until his son came across them in the attic. He gave them up to the Jewish community of Belarus only after the Joint (JDC) agreed to fix his roof in exchange. These two exhibits were also the only ones with English translations. The second one, incidentally, was of particular interest. I read the town's name, Smilovitz, and remember my grandma saying the name of her hometown, and it sounding very familiar. And that's how it came to pass that I would explore my roots on this Belarussian trip...through an amazing series of events that led me to that one caption.

With the help of the Joint, I would find myself in Smilovitz three days later, meeting with and having lunch with two of the remaining five Jews in the city. Twenty five years after my great grandparents left Smilovitz, the entire Jewish community of thousands were wiped out in a mass execution by the Nazis. These two adorable grandmothers are nearly all that remains of a once thriving community. After they fed us to oblivion, and tried to marry me off to one of their granddaughters, they took us (me and an American girl I met on a JDC grant) to the old Jewish cemetary and memorial. The cemetary is all overgrown and unkempt, but the Hebrew writing on the tombstones was still clear. An old woman was gathering hay among the stones to bring to her farmhouse a few meters away. The mist and biting wind just added to the surreal atmosphere of it all. Our next stop was the execution pit where all of Smilovitz's Jews were murdered. I was shocked to find out that a local man was allowed to build his home and garden on half of the site. The other half is overgrown grass and a large Soviet monument, memorializing the "Soviet martyrs." In typical Soviet style, it paid homage to the Soviets who were murdered and completely downplayed the Jewish carnage. After reading and seeing similar things take place throughout the death camps in Poland, I wasn't too surprised by this. On the way back to Minsk, the driver took us to the large concentration camp, one of the largest in the entire Nazi ring. They've since used the space as a municipal garbage dump. A tiny memorial (written only in Belarussian) is all that remains. The smell of compost made it difficult to stay for too long.

---ADT, 7 July 2007