Passport Control on the Russian side of the border with Finland is probably one of the most distressful experiences I have ever gone through. Not because of the four or five times our bus was stopped to check for illegal substances, or even because of the long line we had to endure while the Russian officers were having lunch. No, it was because of that woman’s stare.
Each one of us had to stand in front of her when our turn arrived. She was around forty years old, had black hair, and stone cold green eyes that could pierce all the way to the back of anyone’s mind. She would look at the victim’s passport intently, and then direct her sight straight into his eyes. She wouldn’t even care about his general appearance, it was like a war, she’d try to break him down and make him confess: “Ok, here are the drugs!” or “Fine, I’m an illegal immigrant”. I swear, I almost confessed, and I wasn’t even guilty.
I tried smiling as she gazed at me, but her face only seemed to harden after my attempt. The war went on for what seemed to be hours, until she finally decided that I could go into her country. She stamped my passport, I took it, and walked away as fast as I could.
Our first excursion around Saint Petersburg was something special. The guides made an emphasis that the city was also known as “The Venice of the North”, and after a nice bus ride around town they took us on a boat tour through some of the channels that run inside the metropolis. We had Russian Champaign (which I affectionately started calling ‘Champanska’) as we enjoyed the view of the sunset. The golden sparkles of light bounced on the water, and the Soviet architecture displayed its shadows as the day died.
Back in the hotel I debated between going out and staying in my room. I didn’t have any sleep on the boat from Stockholm to Helsinki, and the bus from there to Saint Petersburg hadn’t been any better. The other students insisted in having dinner outside, but I just felt like resting. My life would be completely different today if I hadn’t decided to go out on the last minute.
I went down to the lobby with Roberto, one of my Mexican friends; we walked to the main door as we discussed our options for dinner. We were about to leave the hotel when I heard someone calling us.
-‘Hey! You’re speaking Spanish!’
I turned around and found her standing a few meters away from us. She had the nicest big blue eyes I had ever seen, long blonde hair, and a warm smile. Little did I know that I would go half around the world a year later, just to see her again.
