On the market

With an uneasy feeling in our stomachs, we get into the cab and show the driver the address of the registration office that Tatyana from Gastinitsa gave us. The cab ride costs a flat rate of 45 roubles (1.3 ?) When we arrive at the complex of houses, a helpful Russian shows us which of the buildings we have to go into. “I hope the whole procedure doesn’t take forever,” I whisper to Tanja as we enter the office. People come and go. Some are inserting their passports, others are placing them on the counter or filling out forms. “Oh dear,” I say as I recognize the goings-on in the room. We ask at a counter where there are no people queuing. The lady behind the narrow pane of glass is friendly. “Passports please,” she asks us to pass our travel documents through the small hatch. As the officer studies our passports and enters the passport number and visa number into a computer, we are surprised again. “Can it be that you go to such lengths just because you want to stay a day longer in a gastiniza?” I ask. “Looks like it,” Tanja replies. We watch excitedly as the printer spits out two large forms with our data. After 20 minutes, the nice woman hands us our passports and lots of paper again. “208 rubles (6,- ?) please,” says the voice behind the window. We pay and as we want to leave the woman stops us and points to a door. “Is that where we have to go?” I want to know. “There,” she says. After a short wait, we knock on the door with the number seven. When we open the door, two 30-year-old men kindly invite us in. My uneasy feeling increases immediately. “Please sit down,” says one of the officers to Tanja and points to the chair. We give him our papers that we have just bought outside. The man takes a quick look, checks the visa in our passports and asks what we are doing here. “We just want to stay an extra night in the Gastiniza and get some rest,” we reply. “Resting? Are they tourists?” he wants to know. “Yes”, we answer because we don’t know what else to say. “Then why do you have a business visa?” “We’re working here. Just resting a bit,” we reply again. “Well, then please have the papers countersigned by the Gastiniza, copy everything and arrange for the papers to come back to us,” he gives us further tasks. I get hot and cold. “Where should we have the papers copied? Where can we find a copy store here?” I ask. Because of the language barrier, it’s not easy to understand all the official stuff and the explanations. Nevertheless, we think we have understood the man and are glad that he doesn’t pester us with more questions and pick on the visa. We breathe a sigh of relief as we leave the office and take a cab back this time for 50 roubles (1.50- ?). It is already midday when we arrive at our guest inn.

We hand Tatjana the mountain of paper. “Oh, that was quick,” she marvels. Obviously, such an application usually takes longer. After she has stamped and countersigned the forms, she returns everything to us. “No, the officer said you should hand it in there,” says Tanja, if only to avoid having to take a cab to the city and back again. Tatjana looks at us in surprise. Then she picks up the phone and dials the number for the authorities. “I have two cyclists here. Yes, two tourists. What’s going to happen to the papers?” she says into the receiver, whereupon a few waves of heat penetrate us. “What, you have a fake visa? They should come and pay the fine immediately?” Tatjana’s words shock us, although we’re not sure we’ve understood correctly. Tatjana hangs up the phone, looks at us a little embarrassed and tells us that one of us should go to the registration office immediately to pay the fine for the wrong visa. We are flattened. So my feeling was right once again. We should not have contacted these authorities. After all, this is Russia and we have been told and warned about cases like this. “Civil servants never miss an opportunity to improve their low salaries,” was one of the comments. Well, we supposedly have the wrong visa. I feel quite sick. “I’ll take care of it. You start writing down our experiences while I drive to the two gentlemen. I can manage that. You know; the power of thought,” says Tanja, grabs the passports and the paperwork and disappears. “Good luck!” I shout afterwards and switch on the laptop to write these lines for the time being. A little unfocused and nervous, I type the story into the box. What if they cancel our visa? Will they expel us from the country? What penalty should we pay? Our visa is a correct expensive business visa. After all, we will soon be working here every day. Writing and photography to promote German-Russian friendship. To build bridges between the two cultures. To work against the negative past. To create understanding. To break down prejudices in order to fill our green vein with life and now we’ve only been there a few days and they want to get at us? “Oh well. Think positively. It will turn out well. It will turn out well. It will turn out well,” I say again and again, praying to Mother Earth that Tanja will get the case under control without any problems.

Tanja enters our room just an hour later. “Wow, that was quick. I thought maybe the guys there were on their lunch break,” I wonder. “They had too. But the two gentlemen from Room Seven were still there and asked me in.” “So, how did it go?” “Good!” “Good what? That’s great. How did you manage that?” “He actually wanted 200 euros from me because of the supposedly false visa. I didn’t, I explained to him. 200 dollars is fine too, he said. I don’t have 200 dollars either, I told him and also asked why I should pay anything at all? Here you have all the papers. That’s all right, I said. Your visa is wrong, he replied. I played dumb, but I have to say that I hardly understood what he really wanted from me. Apart from the repeated demand for 200 dollars. Then he got a bit desperate and asked in the corridor if anyone there spoke German. He actually found someone. A German-Russian with a perfect command of German. He translated for me that anyone who stays in one place for longer than 72 hours has to register according to paragraph 109.” “Everyone?” I interject in astonishment. “Allegedly yes. But I don’t know for sure. Maybe this paragraph 109 only applies to foreigners. In any case, we have the wrong visa and if I don’t pay, he’ll make a report to a higher authority, he threatened. I told him that we have exactly the right visa because you are a writer and are writing a book about German-Russian friendship. Then he wanted a letter from the visa office about our work permit, etc. I repeated the thing about German-Russian friendship and suddenly I noticed how it clicked in his brain. He looked at me kindly. Took the papers and shook my hand. So it’s all clear.” “Fantastic. Very well done. That was close. No matter what papers, what visa, if they want to find something, they always find something. We know that well enough. I’m glad that you appealed to his humanity and I’m glad that the Russians seem to have a heart that’s in the right place, like most of the world’s inhabitants,” I reply. “You’re probably right,” nods Tanja.

“So supposedly we’ll have to register in every town in the future if we want to stay longer. But maybe it’s only like that here in this region,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe. It would save us a lot of running around. I’m going back to see Tatjana now. She does indeed have to file a report when we’ve moved on. The officer explained to me that if she doesn’t fulfill this obligation, the guestiniza will be fined very heavily.” “How high?” “He said 450,000 roubles.” “What? 450,000 roubles? That’s almost 13,000 ? That can’t be right? They ruin everyone who doesn’t hand in the registration form. Imagine forgetting something like that?” I get angry. “That’s what he said. I had the number written down specially. I don’t think the officer was telling me any bullshit.” “I wonder what that’s about? Total surveillance. And I thought the surveillance here in the West was already bad. But what’s going on here is really bad. Must be a leftover from the communist era,” I ponder.

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