I once saw a map in Winterthur,
Switzerland, that made a big impression on me. It was in my late
sister-in-law’s apartment, a few short blocks from the Hauptbahnhoff, and it covered an entire wall in her sitting room. This
was more than just a single map, however. It was several maps, collected together
into one over-sized topographical collage of the western Soviet Union.
My sister-in-law’s Swiss
husband, Moritz, is a linguist, specializing at the time in Finno-Ugric
languages. These include some tongues spoken by small groups of people scattered
all over the northern tier of Eurasia – in other words, somewhere in Russia. I
suppose that’s why Moritz had assembled this full-wall geographic display of what
encompassed the homelands of the Komi, Mari, Mansi, and other isolated groups
of people speaking something distantly related to Finnish.
Seeing it scaled up that
way, I was amazed how huge and apparently endless the territory of Russia
really is, in fact the biggest country on Earth. And I recall thinking, as I studied
the map up close, how cool it would be to venture out across that vast country someday,
exploring it by car. Of course, such a road trip was impossible then, in Soviet
times, and maybe only marginally more feasible now.
My interest in visiting Russia
probably peaked not long after that trip to Switzerland, and in some ways, I
feel bad about that.
Lately, with Russia again
front and center in world affairs, with Vladimir Putin putting on
polar-opposite displays of Russian pride in Sochi and Crimea, I find myself thinking
it’s too bad I haven’t gotten better acquainted with the big country next door.
I’m sorry to say that, in
all the years of living here, only a couple hours from the Russian border, I’ve
traveled across it only once, in 1984, on a weekend bus trip to Leningrad (when
it was still called Leningrad). At the time, it felt like quite an adventure – a
completely different world behind the Iron Curtain. I somehow even recall
selling an old pair of Levis on a street corner, but that is surely a false
memory. I did later sell a travel article about the trip. Of that I’m sure.
Since that trip, I haven’t
been back. That’s despite the fact that modern St. Petersburg, a city of nearly
five million people and monumental cultural landmarks, lays only 385 kilometers
(240 miles) away by car.
I did make a quick visit to Estonia soon after it was no longer a Soviet republic. I spent a day in Tallinn in late
October 1991, some five months after Estonian citizens had held a referendum on
independence from the USSR and just eight weeks after they had faced a possible
showdown with Soviet troops during Moscow’s “August Coup”.
(That was the putsch during
which Soviet Communist Party hardliners placed Mikhail Gorbachev under house
arrest in Crimea and tried to take over the government. It was the beginning of
the dissolution of the Soviet Union, which apparently haunts some people in Russia, Vladimir Putin not the least among them, to this
day.)
From my "archives" of old newspapers. |
On that visit to independent Estonia, the recent past still lingered. Soviet authorities still manned passport control in Tallinn’s harbor, and the local currency was still the Soviet ruble. It wasn’t easy to find an open restaurant, and the one I did find was practically deserted. (To be fair, October is way outside the tourist season anywhere this far north, let alone in a country just recently opening up to the free world.)
Still, when it comes to
possible travel destinations, I’ve always ignored the giant country that
Estonia left behind, Mother Russia. I’m not quite sure why.
It’s not as if I haven’t had
the opportunity. Last autumn, a friend of mine on his way to Shanghai tinkered
with the idea of a more adventurous alternative to flying to China – taking the
Trans-Siberian railway. He asked if I wanted to join him. It sounded exotic, and
I was a bit tempted. But, with the prospect of sitting on a train non-stop for
the week or so it would take to reach Beijing, I never seriously considered it.
In recent years, my wife – perhaps
trying to break us out of our rut of traveling only to the US or central Europe
– has been suggesting that for our summer holidays we should think about visiting
Russia, especially the more remote areas where those various linguistic kinfolk
of the Finns live, somewhere close to the Ural Mountains.
The Komi, distant linguistic cousins to Finns. Photo: Irina Kazanskaya |
Maybe I’m not open-minded enough, but I haven’t been keen on the idea. Partly, it’s the thought of visiting a part of the world that looks essentially like Finland, but is even more remote and with even fewer amenities. And, the ethno-folkloric nature of such a destination doesn’t much appeal to me, either. Don’t get me wrong. I like watching folk dancing and shamanistic drumming as much as the next guy. I just haven’t been interested enough to spend precious holiday time seeking it out.
I’m no Ville Haapasalo, you
might say. Haapasalo is a burly Finnish actor who is something of a celebrity
in Russia due to his appearances in numerous Russian films, in which he apparently
often plays the role of “the foreigner”.
Fluent in Russian and
obviously a great admirer of the Russian people, Haapasalo has hosted several
popular travelogue series for Finnish television, all premised on the idea on
spending 30 days in this or that part of Russia.
In the first one, Venäjän halki 30 päivässä (“Across Russia in 30 Days”), Haapasalo travels by train through Siberia from Moscow to Vladivostok (like I might have done last autumn if I were made of stronger stuff).
This was followed by three
similar month-long journeys: Silkkitie 30 päivässä (“The Silk Road in
30 Days”), Suomensukuiset 30 päivässä
(“Finnish Kinfolk in 30 Days”), and Jäämeri 30 päivässä (“The Arctic Sea in 30
Days”). In the last two, Haapasalo passes through the forest and tundra
homelands of Finland’s various linguistic cousins – just the kind of secluded
corners of Russia my wife is pressuring encouraging me to visit. Who
knows, maybe someday we’ll follow in Haapasalo’s footsteps. I’ve noticed that
the Komi Republic is a jumping off spot for guided packages to the Ural
Mountains, so there might be some potential there after all.
One of the drawbacks of traveling to Russia is that they don’t make it easy. Unlike Sweden or Estonia, which Finns can visit on a whim by just hopping on a boat, a plane, or (previously in the case of Tallinn) a helicopter, Russia requires prior notice. And a visa.
The application process can
take a couple of weeks and requires a letter of invitation of some sort, even
for tourists. In practice, this is provided by the Russian tourist agency
arranging your trip (so I understand). Apparently, you must also inform your complete
itinerary beforehand. There’s no following your nose.
You also have to shell out
some cash. For Finns, the non-refundable application fee is €35 (about $50) for
the normal single-entry visa, double that for expediting the process (which
means a visa in one to three working days). For Americans, it’s pricier, €106
(€145) for the normal processing time, €190 ($260) for the fast track. And
that’s just to enter the country.
It doesn’t exactly lower the
barriers to would-be tourists. I have heard, however, that in summer the St. Peter
Line offers cruises for one- or three-day visa-free visits to St. Petersburg. I
should check it out.
In any case, I should give
up on my cartographically inspired daydream of ever being able to make a road trip across
the back of Mother Russia as easily as driving from Boston to LA. Not that I didn't also have an opportunity (theoretically) at least to try it.
My friend trying to make his
way to Shanghai also invited me to join him on an even more adventurous scheme
he briefly considered, that is, going across Russia by car. Again, I was
tempted. Well, not really, since I have some idea – from watching “Long Way
Around”, the account of actor Ewan McGregor’s motorcycle ride around the world – of how rough Siberian roads can be, where they even exist.
If Russia’s primitive road
system almost defeated a young Obi-Wan Kenobi on a BMW all-terrain bike (with a
support team), then it’s certainly not something that should be attempted by two "middle-aged" men on their own who don’t speak a word of Russian. Again, that's just too bad.
More historic headlines from my "archives"
"Congratulations, Dear Comrades!" "Under the Banner of Lenin" Pravda, November 7, 1982 (65th anniversary of the October Revolution) |