Crossing the Border

30th October 2009, Belarus embassy south of Warsaw

'You come back Monday'

It is Friday morning and I need the transit visa for Belarus today.

'Is it possible today?' I ask
'No'
'I need it today. Just for transit, not to visit'
'It is not possible. Come back Monday'

Dammit.

There follows a lot of discussion. A lot. The guard on the door who speaks almost no English takes me to one side and speaks to me, interrogates me, askes me the same questions over and over again. Where are you going? Why you not go yesterday? Why you not have visa? When you come back? This goes on for an hour during which I explain I'm not coming back and I show him my visas for Mongolia and China.

'You have ticket for train today?' he asks
'No.' There is no point in me buying another ticket until I know I had a visa. If I can't get a visa I will have to fly.
'You go to train station. Buy ticket. Bring here, show me.'
'Then can I get a visa today?'

He looks at me and considers his answer.

'Maybe'

Maybe. It is better than no, but not the hoped for yes. At the moment it is the best I have to work with.
'Get taxi. Buy ticket. Go quickly. Maybe you get visa'

There follows a whirl wind of activity which, at 13.30 on Friday afternoon, sees me clasping desperately to my new train ticket and, miracle of all miracles, a little slip of paper in my passport that allows me to sit on a train through Belarus.

As I leave, the guard comes out of the embassy with me. He looks directly at me and shakes my hand.

'Safe trravels'

'Thank you'.

So far away from home. So far away from famliar things, from everyone I know, from everything I know. I walk away and cry until I look up and, just across the road, is a Drive Thru MacDonalds. A huge grin spreads across my face and I laugh. Not so far from familiar things after all.