The Word Show

I left Istanbul with my brain and belly stuffed to the gills, with historical facts and delicious kebab meat, respectively. I was ready to move on and head north,  towards a region that I imagined would be more familiar to me – or one at least less socially and religiously conservative as was Turkey. The next stop on the itinerary was Minsk, capital city of Belarus.

On the one hand, I’d figured Minsk, as a former part of communist Russia, would still be a little rough around the edges. Maybe we would see a few relics on display from Minsk’s past history behind the Iron Curtain: perhaps a smattering of brutalist Soviet apartment buildings – those ones that take up  2 or 3 city blocks and don’t look all too different from federal prisons. Maybe I’d see a handful of old statues dotting the city, honouring past Soviet heroes. But I also figured, since it had been a full twenty years since the fall of communism, Minsk, if not all of Belarus, would be positively dripping with post-Soviet capitalistic swagger – and it would feel not unlike other newly-westernized European cities, like Prague or Budapest.

But I was wrong. At least compared to western Europe, Minsk was still reminiscent of Old Russia, and the little things i noticed  hammered this home: there were the incredibly wide, traffic-free roads (good for inevitable student demonstrations, and no doubt better still for Russian tanks to get around and quash said demonstrations) with narrow sidewalks (to make the populace feel small and insignificant), there was the distinct lack of commercial signage or billboards of any sort, and block after block of those depressing, Soviet-era apartment buildings. I feel like HBO could have easily filmed parts of “The Wire” in Minsk.

The population was very homogenous: everyone was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and in seriously good shape. Sports and fitness were big tenets of communist life, and they still seemed to be today in Minsk – and it made sense: just think, if you were a Belarusian youth, what better way to vent your frustration at the inadequacies inherent in Soviet daily life (the bread lines, the tedious work, the lack of cultural stimuli), than by going to the gym and pounding out a few reps at the bench press?

Indeed, all the men look and dress like they’re perpetually training  for spots on the 1984 Russian Olympic shotput team. As the men were in shape, so, too were the ladies – slavic amazons as far as the eye could see. This seemed to be at odds with the fact that most of the food these people eat is calorically rich, deep fried, and plentiful (more on that later). That’s genes for you – or perhaps just portion control and self restraint, as in: maybe these people don’t eat 50 shrimp tempura in one sitting – as we were doing regularly, not one week earlier.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate – the people of Minsk are, by and large, attractive and in shape, but only up until they reach their 40th birthday. At that point, waistlines seem to expand, skin becomes blemished, and what was once supple and perky becomes deflated, shrivelled, and – well, you get the idea. It’s as if there’s a state-sponsored fairy god mother who roams the country, tapping each citizen on the forehead with her magic wand as they turn 40, and their looks go out the window. I’m not saying this can be scientifically proven – it’s just a theory at this point.

We stayed two nights at the Hotel Belarus. In the 1970’s, it was the best hotel Minsk had to offer, and if you were at the top of the communist societal hierarchy (i.e. if you were an olympic athlete or a politburo honcho), the Hotel Belarus was where you stayed. Naturally, nothing had been updated since that swinging decade of polyester leisure wear and gelatin desserts. Therefore if you were going to rate this hotel on the conventional 5-star hotel rating scale, you’d probably end up giving the Hotel Belarus a measly 1- or 2-star rating.

But this misses the point entirely. On the much more important and indicative Soviet Kitsch Factor scale, the hotel scores a whopping 10 out of 10. It’s got everything you really need and nothing you wouldn’t – two examples: pimp-tastic 70’s time-warp decor and a surly hall monitor stationed on every floor of the hotel. This second feature was genuinely weird. Every time I tried to venture out of my hotel room, these hall monitors made me feel like a 15-year-old sneaking out after curfew.

Day trip to Pinsk and Horodna

Most Westerners who choose to vacation in Belarus (I’m guessing there are as many of those as there are Belarusians vacationing in the West) make the mistake of staying only in Minsk. In doing so, they’re really short-changing themselves, because you haven’t experienced Belarus until you’ve visited both Minsk AND Pinsk. Haha – just kidding! Pinsk is not memorable. What’s more, the truth is once you’ve committed to vacationing in Belarus, you’ve already effectively short-changed yourself, so whether or not you decide to visit Pinsk in addition to Minsk is immaterial.

But we drove 3 hours to Pinsk from Minsk as a means, not an end. Our ultimate destination was Horodna, a small village south of Pinsk, and now I will explain to you why that is:

Jokes aside, the reason we undertook this family trip to Eastern Europe was a somber one: to visit the concentration camps of Poland (which we’d do later in the itinerary) and to retrace the roots of Chaim Schmidt, my late, maternal grandfather, in Horodna, the impoverished village into which he was born and raised. We didn’t know much about Chaim’s early life – that is, until my mom had decided last year to translate his memoirs, which he had originally written in Hebrew.

After reading my mom’s translations, we were able to get at least a semblance of what my granddad had endured in his early life. There were certainly elements that stuck out in my mind: the hunger, the back-breaking manual labour, his exhaustion and ensuing stunted growth, due to overwork and malnourishment, the brutally cold winters…it’s difficult not to feel guilty and useless when you read about your grandfather’s childhood, and how starkly it contrasted with your own. I suppose all one can do is be thankful for their lot in life, and try to live as well and richly as possible. Oh, and maybe never again complain about anything.

In Horodna, we met Barbara, a sweet, elderly lady, who appeared to come straight from Central Casting for “Eastern European Grandma”, and whom my cousin Lev, who was with us and spoke fluent Russian, had charmed and bribed with some gifted groceries.

Barbara in turn offered to show us around the village,  taking us on a tour of the village’s old Jewish area, where there stood abandoned farm houses in various states of disrepair. She also took us into the woods to view a memorial that was erected in memory of the Jews of the village, many of whom were killed by the occupying Nazis and their sympathizers. Among the victims were members of my grandfather’s family.

Needless to say, there wasn’t a dry eye in attendance at the grave site. That this elderly lady would still be so emotional and grief-stricken some 70 years after the fact tells you everything you need to know about how bad things were during the war. All in all, it was an emotional day.

We spent Day 2 back around Minsk, where we spent the morning visiting the Memorial for the Khatyn Massacre. Check wikipedia for the full rundown of what happened there. It’s horrible, horrible stuff. The memorial is beautifully done and incredibly moving.

The rest of the day, we enjoyed some more conventional sightseeing – walking around the old town and along the scenic Svislach river. The day’s highlight was lunch at a riverside restaurant, which served traditional Russian cuisine. I’ll go ahead and lay my cards on the table, as it were: I find most Russian food to be less than delicious -  perhaps even gross. But some people really enjoy it. Maybe if you grew up with it, it’s different.

As far as I can tell, perhaps second only to the BP oil spill and the controversy surrounding the Ground Zero mosque, the biggest recent news out of America has been that KFC managed to render the hamburger bun obsolete, with their innovative and disgusting “double down” sandwich. The sandwich consists of bacon and cheese, group-hugged by two deep-fried chicken patties.

But what America probably failed to realize is that the Double Down was old news: at least in the world of Foods That Will Induce A Coma. You see, the Russians have been perfecting deep-fried slop for quite some time, apparently, as this is what my sister ordered. If i had to take a crack at describing it, I’d probably term it “double-deep-fried dark matter.”

Call this dish the Sputnik of the culinary world, because this was proof that the Russians had beat the West again, but this time they traded early aerospace supremacy for early artery-busting supremacy. I suppose it’s still impressive. But I don’t doubt America will bounce back with something bigger and more disgusting – actually, chances are they probably already have.

Anyhow, these are all the things that stuck out from our visit to Belarus. I’ve made a lot of jokes, but the truth is it was a fascinating place – certainly the closest I’d ever been to Russia -  especially when you consider Belarus in its historical context of world wars, communist dictatorship, and, yes, even fried foods. I don’t know if I’d ever go back, but I’m glad i visited.

Ooh, one more thing: if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: nothing says “outlaw biker” like decorating your “hog” to look like your great aunt’s favourite flower vase. Oh Minsk, just when I thought you maxed out the chintz-factor – you drop this 2-wheeled wonder right smack dab in the hotel parking lot, just as we’re leaving. Message received, Minsk, message received!