Buckling under the intense pressure behind me from a heavy-breathing matryoshka with a fearsomely rugged complexion and hands like rusty shovels, I hurriedly attack the keypad and request the princely sum of 50,000 BLR. Instantly, the six lone mathematical neurons slumbering peacefully in the darkest recess of my brain whirr into frantic action in excited anticipation of five days' usage of the 4,450 multiplication table. I walk away with a grand total of £12.70 in local currency and the dubious record of the highest percentage value of bank charges paid for money withdrawn. Later that evening, as I am handed a 10 BLR note with my change and my net worth increases by £0.002/€0.0025/$0.003, it is clear that - for the moment - my financial aspirations are to remain as grounded as the British Airways fleet after a light snowfall.
Mildly amused by my mathematical idiocy, I pause to take stock of the situation: it is 7 o' clock in the evening of my 36th birthday , the thermometer outside is registering a cool fourteen degrees below zero and I am standing all by myself at Moskovsky Bus Station in Minsk, Belarus. Life is good. I am attracting more than a few glances from the local populace, possibly wondering like so many back home what it is exactly that I am doing here. The 'pretentious prick'* in me would no doubt seek to expansively describe a lifelong interest in communist sociology and reveal acute and sincere concern for the plight of the endangered European bison native to the plains of southern Belarus. The simple truth is that I am here because I have not been here before. In my quest to visit every single country on this wondrous planet, today and for the next four days it is Belarus' turn to be put to the sword of my global conquest.
The preparation for this trip was uncharacteristically straightforward, for Belarus is not a land endowed with touristic riches. A cursory internet search yielded very little of sightseeing interest beyond the obligatory churches and two vast national parks. Even the Lonely Planet, global barometer of genuine travelworthiness, spares it a mere 27 pages in its Eastern Europe travel guide, whilst East Timor, Bhutan and Antarctica each merit their own book despite their combined human and penguin populations being barely one fifth of that of Belarus.
A promising brochure obtained at the Embassy of Belarus in London provides more entertainment than enlightenment thanks to some rich vocabulary and syntax assembled economically using Google Translate. Page headers such as 'Adventure Foretaste and Movement Excitement', 'In Reflection of Profane Rites and Christian Wisdom' and 'Listening to the Steps of History' do more to excite my lust for restaurant menu mistranslations than wonders of architecture and natural beauty. Nor are my taste buds salivating with anticipation as I am informed that '... the Belarusians love beans. Boiled beans with garlic and linseed oil are a traditional Belarusian dish.' or that I might get to drink '... kvass made from birch juice, sometimes bread crusts are added for extra taste.' Licking my lips I am not...
If Belarus does not actively promote tourism, neither does it encourage it. At a prohibitive £75 for a single entry visa and with the cheapest direct flight from London costing a painful £250, one really has to want to visit the country, and make a concerted effort to get there. Thankfully I do, so I have. My reward is a trip to another outpost of the former Soviet Union that so fascinates me, a magnificent and vastly underrated architectural cityscape and an intriguing current geopolitical context.
Guided as faithfully as ever by the gods of civil unrest, I find that the timing of my visit has again coincided with local electoral discord**. President Alexander Lukashenko has been in power since 1994, Chavezing the law along the way to allow himself indefinite terms of office. Having 'allowed' rival candidates unprecedented access to the media and general public in the run-up to the general election last week, he then proceeded to have them all arrested and thrown into prison the day after he was returned to power with more than 80% of the vote. Upon declaring the voting process irregular and therefore condemning Lukashenko's bid for $5bn of EU aid to failure, the independent organisation responsible for supervising the vote found that its offices had been cleared out and closed when they tried to go to work the following day. Welcome to the USSR...
For now though, it is only the urban youth that looks to the west. They do not do so for a different way of life but simple democracy and freedom of speech. The older generations see no need to risk upsetting the apple-cart: if it ain't broke, why fix it? Unemployment is minimal, every house has electricity and hot water and there is enough food to feed almost everyone. That the factories are producing goods that are simply piling up, unused and unwanted, is irrelevant. The communist model is visibly working on such a small market.
Scratch the surface a little, however, and the foundations for the future do not appear so solid. Belarus' main export and source of revenue is the resale to the West of Russian gas bought at rock-bottom prices. The ideological price of this arrangement is political and social alignment with Moscow rather than the EU. And yet... These are not Zils or Volgas tearing down Independence Avenue, they are gleaming new Minis, Renaults and Fiats. The streets of Minsk are bright with the neon signs of countless cappuccino bars or sushi diners. To my infinite horror, that satan spawn of peasant footwear - the UGG boot - can even be seen warming the ankles of every Elena, Olga or Tatiana. How long will communism and Russia keep its iron grip? Half a generation would be my guess, although the transition may be precipitated should the gas tap be turned off.
I am discussing the fall-out from the elections on a bus heading into the centre of Minsk with my host Dmitry, but my concentration is wavering and my attention distracted. I have just been reminded of one of the principal reasons I am enjoying Belarus and why I am such a russophile. I cannot stop a huge smile spreading from ear to ear as I realise that I am not here to make a political study of this satellite soviet state and paragon of communist conformity, however fascinating it may be. My real field of interest lies elsewhere, in the inhabitants themselves or more specifically the back of their necks and the wonderful and highly unfashionable hair overgrowth that gently rests there.
As creatively avant-garde in this field as the Balkans and Eastern Europe may be, no-one quite does mullets like the soviets. Curly or straight, mid-length or cropped, evenly trimmed or wildly overgrown, I have never seen so many mullets in my entire life, they are everywhere. On this packed bus, I do not know where to look, so rich and varied are the styles. I am swimming in a sea of Billy Ray Cyrus lookalikes. To my right, so close to me, is a man whose head is completely shaved but for a layered fringe lightly draped over his shirt collar. Words can do him no justice and his rich contribution to the global mullet scene will remain alive in my mind only.
Meet the MulletsThe credit or blame for this wave of bad taste can be lain squarely on the shoulders - literally - of one man: Dima Bilan. Thanks to this pop star and supermodel, soviet coiffure has not looked back (unfortunately) since the day he burst onto the Russian television scene by finishing second in the Eurovision song contest with an overgrown blow-dried rat's tail hanging limply from the back of his neck . From St. Petersburg to Vladivostok and across 9 different time zones, the rise and rise of Bilan has doomed a nation's already suspect sense of sartorial elegance and signalled the closure of hundreds of barber shops and hairdressers across the realm. It is not only men that have adopted the style: women, children, unlucky pets and even shop window mannequins sport the look that has just made my day, week, month and even year. I am about to discover new cheek muscles and my sides will need restapling after this trip is over. I am truly getting the 'Adventure Foretaste and Movement Excitement' I was promised...
Dima Bilan - giving bad taste a name
Mullet Still Life
* Copyright Mrs Sue Knoll (1974 - present day) - may also be referred to as a familial term of endearment
** See also 'Moldova, Violent Uprisings In (2009)' or 'Ukraine, Student Demonstrations of (2008)'
** See also 'Moldova, Violent Uprisings In (2009)' or 'Ukraine, Student Demonstrations of (2008)'
.jpg)
.jpg)