Читать книгу Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape - - Страница 5

I woke up around two o'clock in the morning due to the noise of a heavy downpour, which was so intense that the roads were barely visible. Dima asked us if we minded stopping somewhere along the way to wait out the rain and allow him and Artem to get some rest. Of course, we agreed because our goal was to arrive at our destination alive. Vitya informed our next driver that we were even further delayed and would arrive much later than planned, and we didn't know exactly when we would be in Saratov. He kindly agreed to pick us up when we arrived without changing the price.

Instead of two hours, we waited for nearly four hours and resumed our journey closer to six in the morning.

We reached Saratov around 10 o'clock in the morning, where a Kazakh driver in a Lada Granta was already waiting for us at the train station. The first thing I asked him was where I could find an ATM. Luckily, there was an ATM around the corner, just 50 meters away from us. Leaving our belongings in the car, Vitya and I headed towards the ATM.

I withdrew almost all the money, not only from my debit card but also from my credit cards. I was aware of the potential consequences this could have in the long run if I didn't repay the money back to the credit cards. Unfortunately, I didn't know and couldn't anticipate how much money I would need and whether I would be able to use credit cards once I was abroad.

After finishing this task, we returned to the car, and as soon as we got in, the driver informed us that we would make a stop at the airport to pick up three more passengers before heading to the "Ozinki" border. On the way to the airport, we asked the driver to stop at a store to buy something to eat for the journey.

A few kilometers from the airport, the driver asked us not to mention that we were paying 5,000 rubles per person because we had agreed on that price before the increase, and he didn't want to change the terms. However, the guys we were currently traveling with agreed to pay 12,000 rubles. According to him, the price had risen from 5,000 to 12,000 per person overnight. To avoid any problems with the driver, we agreed.

When we arrived at the airport, the guys were already waiting for us. They immediately started bargaining with the driver, arguing that they had been offered 7,000 rubles per person at the airport, and if he didn't lower the price to 5,000, they would go with any other driver. Our driver didn't resist for long, and after a couple of minutes, he gave in, and we set off in a cramped space but without hard feelings.

On the way, we got to know the guys, all of whom appeared to be no older than 25. Misha worked in IT, Kolya was a car dealer and importer from abroad, and Vlad was involved in some entrepreneurial activity.

We discussed with the guys the main topic of the past few days and how their parents reacted to their departure. None of the guys, except me, had served in the military, but they still worried that they might be pursued. Without any hidden agenda, I shared with them that people had already come looking for me based on my registration, and only after some time did I realize how rash it was to trust people I had just met in my life, even though I usually think several steps ahead before taking such actions.

I told the guys that I hadn't made any plans because I wanted to cross the border first and then think about what to do, as I was 99% sure that I would not be allowed to leave the country.

By 3:30 PM, we arrived at the border. The beginning of the queue was 7 kilometers away from the Ozinki checkpoint. The guys and I decided to walk to the beginning of the queue and try to cross the border on foot, as there were rumors in the chats that groups of 5 or more people were being allowed through. If that didn't work, our next option was to try and hitch a ride in a car as close to the border as possible. As we walked further, the price to hitch a ride with someone willing to make a profit increased from 5,000 to 15,000 rubles per person. Our belief that we would be allowed to cross on foot did not waver. It served as a good motivator in such sweltering weather.

After an hour and a half, we reached the barrier where the border guards turned us away, informing us that pedestrian crossing was closed. We had no choice but to begin searching for cars that could at least take us across the border.

And so the game began. We started looking for people to hitch a ride with. Any car from the higher-end segment with only two occupants and empty back seats would either roll up the windows or turn their faces away, ignoring us.

I approached a simple sedan with a young couple and a three-year-old child in the back seat. I tried to negotiate with them, and after a minute of silence, the driver's wife finally engaged in a conversation with me. Even after explaining our situation, she still hesitated and cited the visit from the military registration and enlistment office earlier that morning, expressing her reluctance to put someone else at risk if her husband was not allowed through. Left with no other option, I decided to take a gamble and share my story, as I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I told them that the same thing happened to me yesterday, so I had nothing to lose and was in the same circumstances as him. After exchanging glances and a brief discussion, they still declined, apologizing for being unable to help. I sincerely wished them well and went on to search for another car.

I caught up with the guys after about 10 cars. Kolya managed to strike a deal with a person who agreed to give us a ride to Uralsk for 5,000 rubles per person, four of us in his car and one in his brother's car. We agreed and divided ourselves as follows: I, Vitya, Kolya, and Vlad in the first car, and Misha in the second. By 5:00 PM, we were already in the car, with only about 20 cars left to the border.

After putting our belongings in the trunk, I took off my t-shirt and hung it on the door to dry, as I was drenched in sweat and the shirt could be wrung out. The guys and I had a snack with what Vitya bought at the store.

A few minutes later, the same woman who was with her husband and whom I tried to negotiate with approached me.

If you still need it, let's go. We can take two people for free.

Since we had already made arrangements with the driver, it wouldn't be nice to change plans. However, we decided to send Misha with her, as he was in a separate car with unfamiliar people.

We drove to the border barrier for about a couple of hours, moving at a snail's pace. During the journey, we decided to get to know the driver better. He was from Kyrgyzstan and earned a living by transporting cars from Georgia to his homeland, so Kolya had something to talk to him about, as their activities were similar.

And then came that long-awaited and decisive moment when we passed the barrier and approached the stop line in front of the border booths for personal document checks. As we sat in the car, we watched and tried to listen to the guys going through passport control ahead of us.

The queue reached the last guy from the car in front of us. The border guard came out of the booth and invited him to come forward. He led him to a man in military uniform, and unfortunately, we were too far away to hear what they were saying. We could only make out a few words spoken in an elevated tone. We couldn't make out what the border guard was saying to the guy. But the fact remains unchanged: they put him in the car and took him in the opposite direction from the border. The other guys from that car turned back and headed towards the Kazakh border.

My fears after this incident that I wouldn't be allowed to leave the country and would be taken away like that guy multiplied, and my fear increased by tens of times.

It was our turn to approach the designated spot and approach the border booth. We lined up in the queue, and since I had the highest chances of sharing the same fate as the guy from the previous car, I stood at the end of the line.

Vitya approached the window first and handed over his passport. The border guard asked where he was going and with whom, mentioning the driver's name. The border guard looked up and saw all of us standing behind Vitya. He told us to call that driver over and stepped out of the booth, took out a cigarette, and lit it. When our driver approached, the border guard asked him:

Who are they?

Pointing at us.

They're my friends.

What are you saying, and what are their names?

Our driver stopped resisting and just lowered his head. It was easier for us to remember one of his names than for him to immediately grasp four new names. Now the border guard shifted his focus to us.

And where are you all headed?

Various versions of where everyone was going started pouring out. Someone said they were going to uncles and aunts, someone to grandmothers and grandfathers. I probably had one of the best stories: I said I was going to Kyrgyzstan for a mountain hike, and I had all the necessary gear that I could show if needed. After everyone finished their stories, the border guard erupted and started expressing his thoughts loudly, almost shouting.

After mobilization started, everyone abroad suddenly had grandmothers, grandfathers, and distant relatives who urgently needed visiting! What are you telling me here?!

After his verbal tirade, my fears and anxiety increased even more. The border guard clearly vented out everything that had built up in him throughout the day, turned around, and silently returned to the booth, and we lined up again. I also took my place at the end of the line. The guys presented their passports, answered one or two questions, got their stamps, and walked back to our car, which had already passed the inspection.

And now the moment arrived when it was my turn. My heartbeat accelerated, my wrists trembled slightly, and a lump formed in my throat that I tried to swallow before approaching the window. Gathering my emotions, I greeted and handed over my international passport. Although an internal passport would have been sufficient for crossing the border, my passport had a stamp indicating that I was subject to military service, which could raise additional questions.

The border guard didn't respond to my greeting or even raise his eyes to me, not asking a single question. He simply scanned and flipped through my passport, stamped it, and returned it to me. I just said "thank you" and, with my heart pounding a million beats per minute, returned to the car where my fellow travelers congratulated me on successfully passing the border. But I still couldn't relax because I had lingering concerns related to the Kazakh border.

In some Telegram chats, unpleasant individuals wrote that Kazakhstan intends to soon close its land borders due to a large influx of people. Such news circulated throughout the following week, and occasionally, unpleasant rumors surfaced, but nobody knew how reliable they were.

We set off towards the Kazakh border. After passing the barrier, we caught sight of a new queue, which was not the only one. It began almost immediately after crossing the barrier.

It was nearly nine o'clock, and we stepped out of the car to breathe in the fresh night air and stretch our legs. There were three queues, unlike at the Russian border. The first one was for trucks, the second for cars with Kazakh license plates, and the third for cars with Russian license plates. Since we had Armenian plates, we were instructed to join the queue with Russian plates. This meant that we would have to wait for a long time, as the queue was probably 3-4 kilometers long.

I informed the guys that I would take a short walk and try to find Misha and the others who had agreed to give him a lift. I was curious about how they were doing and if everything had gone well for them. I walked about one kilometer but couldn't find them.

My search was interrupted by a phone call from Kolya, my fellow traveler. I picked up the phone, and he spoke very quickly and excitedly.

"Leha, where are you? We're heading towards the border through the Kazakh queue. Catch up with us."

I don't think I've ever run as fast as I did that day. I ran for about two kilometers, maybe slightly less, panting but managed to catch up with them.

Our car was second in line after his brother's car. I hopped inside and found out what was going on. The brothers who transported cars had managed to arrange with the border guards to pass through this queue, bypassing all the other cars with Russian plates, for a symbolic fee.

There were many dissatisfied people, even a Kazakh car that arrived after us tried to squeeze in earlier. But the bribe had already been paid, and the border guards themselves didn't allow it to pass ahead of us.

We waited for about half an hour until we were given permission to proceed. And there it was, the final step to cross the border. The document and vehicle inspection procedure with the Kazakh border guard went smoothly, faster, and easier. As soon as we entered the territory of Kazakhstan, a loud cheer erupted in the car from everyone present. Thus began not a chapter, but a new book in my life titled "The Traveler."