Stopped by Police in Russia… Three Times
Fortunately, this was before the invasion.
I mean, before the “military operation.”
Oh, why dance around it? Living in Russia as a foreigner was much simpler before Putin invaded Ukraine. I felt safe traveling alone on the Trans-Siberian Railway. I even rediscovered the value of not having a plan while traveling there. I had no qualms about wandering around Moscow late at night.
But there were a few incidents.
While traveling in Kazan, the regional capital of Tatarstan, I was stopped by police on the street and asked to produce my documents. Fortunately, I have a habit of carrying my passport when I’m out and about. Not out and about in the city where I live. But on weekend getaways or longer trips elsewhere.
There was a time when I left my passport at the hotel or hostel. That time has long passed.
The police officers were genuinely surprised to find out I was an American who wasn’t a complete deaf-mute in Russian. Also, I have the face that I have. They didn’t give me too much trouble, but it could’ve gone either way. What if my passport had been at the hostel?
I later found out police in Kazan were extra vigilant only because there was a football tournament going on.
Another time, I was stopped inside a metro station a bit of a distance from the city center. I was not shocked. Ever since moving to Moscow, I had seen Central Asians being routinely stopped and interrogated inside metro stations. Many of them do the jobs that native Muscovites and Russians believe are beneath them, like sweeping the sidewalks clean of snow during winter.
They are indispensable and underappreciated.
As I obviously do not look like a white Russian, sooner or later it would’ve been my turn. And it was. For some reason, I had my actual passport with me on this particular evening. At most I would carry a copy. My fellow American colleague, the only other American at my school, always carried his and his family’s passports on his person when away from their apartment.
I, for better or worse, did not find this level of precaution necessary.
He had even had a GOD bag at home. I had my ideas as to what the acronym stood for. Then he told me: Get Out of Dodge. It eventually came in handy. He stayed in Russia longer than I did.
Anyway, at the metro station, instead of two police officers in Kazan, there was only one. Less intimidating. If memory serves, this guy grilled me for a little longer. I wasn’t quite scared. Merely annoyed. I mean, I was in a hurry. I had places to be.
Much of this attitude had to do with a Russian colleague consistently telling me that Russian police are a joke. Well, even in the States, I find traffic police petty. Giving me a ticket for turning on a red? How un-American. Yes, there was a sign, but let’s not pretend the guy was not trying to meet a Christmas quota.
Sorry, I digress.
Another Russian colleague had a very different view of Russian police. She and I were parked “illegally” in a forest. There were no signs. We were just taking a walk. That… unfortunately is not a euphemism.
When we returned to her car, we were met by a police car empty of its occupants, who were standing next to the only other car in vicinity: hers.
Like a true Russian lady, she took care of business. She stuck me in her car and went to speak with the men.
After a short while, she came back to the car and asked me to give her a few thousand rubles. Um, okay.
She left the car again.
I watched attentively but not too attentively. There was definitely a transaction.
The police car drove away, and she hopped back in the driver’s seat.
“I told them I have to drive you to the airport.”
“Did they have any right to tell us we couldn’t park here?”
“Of course not!”
It’s not like I was being a double agent.
Dash Ip would, despite all this, live in Russia again… after and if things settle down.
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