In 1996, Russia was in chaos. The free market had been introduced a few years earlier, without really giving the proletariat a chance to adjust. Consequently, few people understood what was happening when much of the state industry was privatized, and the bulk of the country’s resources and wealth ended up in the hands of a select few individuals. Russia quickly became society of super rich "New" Russians, mafia fiefdoms, and the rest of Russia struggling to make ends meet after everyone else had taken their cut. To make an already bad situation worse, police corruption was rampant. Being a former police state, the police were everywhere, and shakedowns became increasingly common.
The first time I got stopped by the police was at the post office. I was standing in line to buy some stamps when I felt a tap on my shoulder, and hear a voice say "Pazpord". Turning around, I found myself face to face with two very serious looking men in dark grey uniforms, complete with two very menacing looking AK-47s. After what seemed like an eternity of fumbling and searching, I found my passport in one of the several money belts I was wearing, and handed it over. The policemen checked my visa and the entry stamp, tersely said "OK", and handed it back. Somewhat flabbergasted, I watched them check the passports of every non Slavic individual in the room. They were looking for illegal immigrants, which was surprising given the amount of people trying to get out of Russia.
A few days later, I was stopped outside Gorky park by another policeman. This time, it was a fresh faced teenager in an ill fitting uniform. There was no sign of a gun. I suspected that this was going to be a shakedown, and decided to be as difficult as possible. Like the other police, he said "Pazpord" and waited for me to hand it over. Knowing that it would be next to impossible to get my passport back if it was a shakedown, I handed over a photocopy of my passport information.
The policeman pored over the paper, and then announced in Russian that there was no entry stamp. My photocopy had been made before entering Russia, so the entry stamp was not there. I said that my passport was back at the hotel, and we could go back there to see the stamp. He then threatened to take me to the police station. Figuring that he was looking for a quick buck, I called his bluff and said that it was fine to go to the station. Although his English was almost as non-existent as my Russian, he understood that I was more than willing to spend the rest of the day to straighten out the paperwork.
He backed off, trying to explain that it was far to the station, and we could come to some sort of arrangement. Playing dumb, I pretended not to understand, and said that if we could not go to the station, we could go to the hotel. Without any common language, we continued the painfully slow discussion. After fifteen minutes of completely fruitless talking, I could see that he knew I was not budging. At this point, I brought out a phrasebook to further delay him, knowing that they are next to impossible to use once you get away from the stock phrases. Lines like "I accept bribes" or "Do you have a gift for me" are not usually included in most phrasebooks.
After several minutes of trying to find an appropriate phrase, he finally found what he was looking for. His finger went to the phrase "How much will this cost?" At this point, I said that I was a student, and had no money. Once I said this, he quickly said there was no fine. He bade me farewell, and disappeared down the street to look for somebody with more money and less time.
After the shakedown attempt, I wondered how the Russians survived with so many people trying to take their cut. Compared to other places, Moscow was nearly devoid of advertising, and businesses seemed to try hard not to attract customers. Earlier, I had met some expat English teachers who showed me some of the good restaurants and nightlife. Invariably, we would trace our way through some labyrinthine route around identical brownstone buildings and alleyways, to knock on some back door hidden at the bottom of some steps. Behind the door would be a packed house, full of people who had also managed to find their way to the same location again. I can only guess about the subterfuge, but suspect it was the Russian equivalent of tax evasion. Because the mafia took a protection fee from everyone’s business, the more discrete the business, the less likely it was to attract the attention of a protection racket. This led to businesses trying to get customers without advertising or otherwise promoting themselves, except through hushed whispers to their clientele.
Needless to say, an environment where everyone was trying not to attract attention made it difficult to travel. Then again, doing just about anything was difficult. Everything from buying groceries to changing money seemed to be unnecessarily complicated. It may have been the lingering structure of the communist bureaucracy, or just the chaotic times. In time, the difficulties may fall out of the system, but probably, they will just continue to confound other visitors.
Rating
Russia was interesting, but difficult. First of all, it was very big, making travel long, and fraught with hazards like Russian Herbalife salesmen. Russia was also one of the few places in the world that would put you in prison for LEAVING the country without proper paperwork. The food was pretty poor quality, and really bland. With an almost total reliance on imports at the time, prices were high, and most goods (not counting pirate CDs) were poor value compared to other countries. I cannot fairly comment on natural beauty to Russia, as I spent my time in only St. Petersburg and Moscow. However, the dead relics of the old empires were definitely worth seeing. Red Square and the Hermitage were spectacular, and the old streets in St. Petersburg were like being in a open air gallery.
Text and images copyright © by Curtis Marr. All rights reserved.