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Not wishing to refuse such gracious hospitality especially
when offered by people with guns we hesitantly accepted and
followed the crowd of five uniforms into an adjoining small
dacha beside the checkpoint leaving one guard still manning
his post.
After the third "small" vodka Matt decided he would
step in and firmly refuse any more vodkas, at which point,
handcuffs were produced with a playful grin indicating the
consequences of his decision.
After the first bottle, the word Banya was supplied into
the conversation. Banya is the Russian steam room and is famous
throughout and beyond the borders. We were led to a small
room out the back of the dacha which in the corner had a large
stove with the pipe surrounded by river stones. Our eyes took
in the site of manna from heaven to our aching bones and the
excitement of finally taking part in the ritual of the Banya.
Noticing our interest our host in his typical playful style
motioned that if we wanted to take a Banya we would have to
stay the night as their guests while showing us the dorm to
get the message across.
What lay before us was a night of debauchery that reminds
one of college (university) days. One small vodka turned into
an unending supply of bottles that made sure the conversation
(with them not speaking English and us with limited Russian!)
was kept flowing and the fun chasing closely behind.
Shortly after a meal of cheese and small oily fish which
I learnt to fillet with my thumbs, we took the Banya for half
an hour sweating out the dirt, dust and exhaustion that we
had picked up over the past couple of weeks, whilst being
beaten on our naked backs with branches of oak leaves dipped
into a sweet smelling mixture. Escaping in pain for 3 minutes
at a time we would stand outside in the chilly night air before
re-entering the small dark room for another round of beatings.
I can't remember whether it was after the loud rounds of
arm wrestling or before the long quiet periods of chess furtively
supported by more rounds of vodka but it didn't seem like
a long time before guns were produced, and after being cleared
of ammunition were handed round for inspection.
The police station had only one pistol and one AK-47 to be
shared by all of them - a fact quickly pointed out by one
of the sergeants. This was obviously a Kodak moment, so as
Henning went to get his camera from his bike, I asked whether
we could complete the scene wearing their uniforms. Our hosts
thought this a great idea, and a uniform along with cap and
bulletproof vest was quickly produced. The vest interestingly
enough was not made of Kevlar but of steel plates all linked
together like chain mail covered by light blue cloth.
We had great fun with the photo opportunities, with us dressed
as police and the police donning our motorcycle uniforms and
pretending to run from us with us acting like we were chasing
them. I can't show most of the photos to protect the identity
of those involved but can show photos of just us. Towards
the end of the night we got to use the pistol when they set
up two bottles in the back field gave Henning and I a bullet
each which amazingly enough under the circumstances we were
able to hit the targets to our hosts surprise (and ours) and
congratulations.
As we were participating in this unreal event, our very jokingly
host did say something that stuck in my mind. With a mixture
of simple Russian and hand movements he said that the Russian
police were kind compared to American police. This seemed
a bizarre statement considering our media inspired imaged
of Russian police physically roughing up the suspects they
capture. When we pointed out this viewpoint, he just laughed
and brought out one of their rubber truncheons saying that
just softens them up anyway and doesn't hurt them much as
they were all strong big criminals. He then pointed out that
as the American police have so many guns they use them a lot
more easily and will shoot somebody where a Russian officer
will just beat them up some. It was fascinating seeing this
point of view directly from the other side and I couldn't
help agreeing with him that it would indeed seem to appear
that way.
Around 4am the vodkas started to hit Matt, and he was the
first to crash with Henning closely behind. After talking
some more with our increasingly drowsy hosts I went into the
barracks and grabbed a bunk where I immediately drifted off
to a deep vodka induced sleep before being woken up at 8am
by Henning who was eager to avoid the rain clouds hanging
above.
We were all feeling under the weather but with hearty handshakes
and tight beer hugs we fondly bid our hosts adieu before shakily
mounting the bikes and carrying on with the journey.
The entire night seems surreal and we still laugh about it
now, remembering all the distinct personalities of those involved.
When now people ask us if we have had a problem with the Russian
police, we all wink knowingly at each other before answering
that they are indeed a tough crowd and a group one should
be very wary of and you should definitely run for your life
if they ever mention the words ""Malinkie Vodka". |
Travel Writers: Russian Police & Banyas by
Shaun Munro
Globe
Trekker: 
