Dorogi - Russian Roads

There is a saying here attributed Nikolai Gogol - "Russia suffers from two grave misfortunes - fools and roads." When traveling by car here, the latter is particularly apparent. But when it comes to Russia's other roads, its railroads, they make getting around here a relatively easy, if relatively slow, process. Last week, the boys and I helped along our cultural re-integration after the summer away and took the train (36 hrs each way) to Rostov. The reason for this? That takes us back to the first misfortune of Gogol's quote.

That's probably being too harsh. But over the past two years of trying to find a way to avoid the hassles of getting a visa every year (with that chance that I could be rejected), I've not yet learned to love the Russian bureaucracy (or, for that matter, to learn how to spell bureaucracy without spell check). As I attempt to get permanent residency here, I have to get all my documents processed in Natasha's hometown, even though it is one, nation-wide agency that works on immigration questions. In way with my current status I have to get a new exit visa every time I want to leave the country - that happens only in Rostov (where there are only 4 hrs a week available for submitting such

applications), and only after the FSB (the successor to the KGB) does a background check on me (which takes up to 6 weeks). And so, I'll be going to Rostov again in October in order to have the chance to leave Russia in an emergency, or to get to Finland to talk with my dissertation adviser.

Yet, this little adventure is not so bad, preciously because the "fools" seem to have so little in common with the actual people I meet when traveling here. In the 3rd class wagon that we took, sure we were a little crowded (with the 3 of us all sleeping on one of the bunks you see to the right), but the boys and I had lots of people to talk and play with, people who,

inevitably, shared their food and their stories.

The way back to St. Petersburg was particularly

interesting. There our wagon was full of families

with young children, coming back from their vacations in the resort areas or with families in the south. Our neighbors across the aisle were traveling with their 8-month old son, Andrey, who really was interested in his older peers. Since our train got in at 3.50 n the morning, nearly 2 hrs before the subway opened, his parents, Marusa (Maria) and Tolik (Anatoly) kindly offered to give us a ride home with their friend who was to pick them up. This sounded great. And here, Gogol's two grace misfortunes meet.

Maria and Anatoly's friend stuffed all our things into his Russian station wagon and we were off. On the way from St. Petersburg to the seminary (a little over a mile outside of the city limits), we have to pass by a police post. The police can stop any car without reason, and, this time, the Russian station wagon looked like a good target. Our driver got out of the car and showed the police his documents...and didn't come back. 10 minutes. 15. 20. Finally, Tolik went to look for him. Our driver, it turns out, was driving with a suspended license. He was deep into negotiations with the policeman, who was threatening a jail sentence of 15 days. And so, we waited some more. All the money we had between us wouldn't be enough to get him out of the situation, though this was obviously the policeman's hope. And so, eventually, our driver worked it out that the policeman would take him to his apartment to get the remainder of the $1000 it was going to take to get him and the car out of there.

By then, though, the Buerkle clan had already split. It was 5.30 in the morning, and we had been given the rare chance to take an early morning walk down our last stretch of road. For now.