The country is gradually becoming more open to tourism, though 80-85% of its tourists come from Russia and Ukraine. A further 5% come for work projects. Finally, currently, less than 5% of visitors come from Western countries, for tourism purposes.
There was very little English in Brest and Grodno, and only in my fairly nice hotel hotel in Minsk did I find a receptionist that I could manage a good conversation with my limited Russian and their quite-good-English. (Thank you Hotel Minsk! – highly recommend!)
But perhaps the highlight of my visit was a cab driver turned tour guide that I met in Brest.
I’d arrived in the city, fairly high on the culture shock wagon. I was a little floundered by how little English I found and was tired of not being able to use my words (like I told my kindergarten students) to make myself understood. It was intimidating, and exhilarating all at once. It was also exhausting!
You can probably imagine my disbelief when a taxi driver in front of my hotel asked me ‘taxi? You need ride?’ And when I asked to be taken to the Brest Fort, he even appeared to understand.
And away we went. Alexei tried to point out various points of interest in the town using wild hand gestures and staccato directions to look where he gestured ‘see! Big man from Russia’ (pointing to a statue of some famous general), and ‘look! River! Beach for Belarus people!’ (Land-locked countries, unite!).
As a general rule when I travel solo in taxis, I follow along with my phones gps. It makes me feel better to know that I’m headed at least in the right direction.
I knew that I had a problem when Aleksei pointed enthusiastically and mentioned ‘see! Brest Fortress!’ Before speeding by. Going close to 80kms and rapidly leaving town, I knew my options were getting increasingly limited.
I tried the honest approach:
‘Yes! Brest fortress? Go there!’
Aleksei nods and speeds up.
‘No, no wait! Going to Brest Fortress?’
At this, he seems to realize I’m trying to communicate something that requires his focus and he pulls off onto a side road, and drives just far enough to make me mentally plan an exit.
He stops the car and asks ‘Brest Fortress? Or Brest Fort?’
There’s a difference!?
I show him my gps to show him the approximate location of where to go, and thankfully, the image of the entrance way.
Finally understanding, he breathes out and goes:
‘Ahhh! Brest fort!’
And then, what every solo female traveler wants to hear:
‘No no, we go to Brest Fortress. Much good to see. Then Brest Fort, ok?’
Alright, stranger in a taxi miles away from any other living human…sure. To quote my cousin:
“What could go wrong?”
We continued down the gravel road just long enough to convince myself that this was indeed a less-than-ideal situation, when around the corner, clear remnants of an old fort appeared. A guard on duty motioned us forward.
Grounds of the old fortress.
Inside, in one of the few rooms with sunlight.
For comparison, the restored-to-a-degree fort.
Aleksei climbed out of the car as I took a few photos, expecting to jump back in and head to the ‘real’ fort.
Before I knew it, Aleksei had paid our admission and was being handed a flashlight, and he motioned for me to follow him. Into the fort.
Why did we need a flashlight?
It was nearly pitch black in the fort, with very uneven, rocky paths, which about every dozen steps, would be flooded with up to three inches of water.
I’m going to pretend that this wasn’t an ideal place for bats, mice and snakes to hide. They just don’t exist there.
…
Every few hundred steps or so, we would enter into a room, which someone or some organization had obviously tried to make into an appealing and historical memory of the buildings former glory. Black and white photos of the fort hung on the walls and there were a few information boards (with Belarusian and Russian).
Aleksei alternated between his history facts ‘and then soviet army destroy all bad guys the end’, and telling me to ‘watch the bump/water!/give me hand’. (Really, a wonderful tour guide, considering I had just expected a taxi ride – and I would have NEVER ventured into a flashlight self-guided tour).
After touring the grounds, he handed back our flashlight and we headed off to the Fortress.
To say that the two were comparable isn’t even accurate. The Fortress is clearly designed with tourism in mind. It has à recognizable entrance, with musical and special effects (guns go off on the hour, with the national anthem played after, a simulation of the battle fought on the grounds). The grounds are immaculate, with signboards (Russian/Belarusian), a separate museum, and restored walls, rooms, and buildings. There are numerous memorial statues and graves for unknown soldiers. There are three stunning orthodox churches that can be toured, but with very limited hours of operation.
Entrance to the fort.
Aleksei was incredibly passionate about his country’s history, even though his English limited him to saying ‘great Russian soldiers/kill bad guys/bang bang!’, but every few sentences he would confirm that I was following along with his historical trail.
He was a photographer, a tour guide, a story-teller. He insisted on paying for both of our admission costs, and he made sure that I saw the absolute best of the area. He tried to insist that the guards on duty allow us to stay later than the grounds were open, so that he could show me one more sight.
Massive memorial statues in the fort grounds.
Finally, after spending a solid 4 hours together, he drove me back to the hotel, also telling me on the way what else I should see in Brest, explaining the historical significance of certain buildings and statues.
Though everything was very inexpensive in Brest, I was worried that our afternoon and his guide services would amount to more than the 100 dollars or so I had with me.
When our tour finished, he wrote down what our total bill was.
For the entire afternoon, guiding, stories, admissions (I hope!), etc, I paid him the grand total of three dollars. (No. I didn’t forget a zero).
I insisted that he keep the change, and he told me to come back soon.
Though he didn’t have a contact number, he told me that unless he is driving or sleeping, he is always in front of the Intourist Hotel, and, I assume, waiting for his next adventure.
View from the Intourist Hotel.
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