Common Minsk-conceptions
Belarus. A nation often defined by its authoritarian leadership, political isolation, and close ties to Russia. While some might debate its status as a mere vassal state of their colossal neighbour, there’s little doubt that under the long reign of Alexander Lukashenko, Belarus has firmly aligned itself with a path far removed from Western democratic ideals. As Putin’s closest ally, Lukashenko’s influence casts a long shadow over the country, although recent signals of his desire to open up to Europe (one of the reasons I’m able to write this post) suggest a possible shift, even if just a small one. For most, a visit to Belarus might not rank high on their travel lists, and some actively avoid it for political or ethical reasons. So, before diving into my own experience, it’s worth explaining what prompted my decision to visit at this particular time.
Firstly, I shared the strong desire to avoid giving any kind of financial support to a government that has actively supported Russia’s attempt to invade Ukraine but, as a person who doesn’t have any kind of financial support to give, this principle was easy to uphold. My plan involved boarding an early morning bus from Vilnius, in neighbouring Lithuania, to the Belarusian capital Minsk and returning later the same day. With the bus company a Lithuanian enterprise, and my bag packed with all the sustenance I needed for the trip, the only purchase I planned on making while in the country was an oversized magnet—should I find a babushka-run market stall selling them. This approach is in stark contrast to my usual habit of supporting the local economy wherever I travel but, in this instance, an exception was warranted.
Secondly, through my travels, I’ve come to appreciate that the actions of a government never reflect the character of its people. My time in Eastern Russia in 2017 reinforced this, as I encountered limitless warmth and generosity despite the dour political condition of the country. I have no doubt that, if I found myself lost in Minsk, I would be met with genuine hospitality—perhaps even a shot of vodka, as I’ve experienced in other former Soviet Republics. What made this trip particularly timely was a recent change in Belarusian visa requirements, which created a limited opening for me to visit. This chance could disappear quickly, though, given the unpredictable political climate. It also wasn’t my first attempt to enter the country; nearly a decade ago, I was denied entry for an incorrect visa. However, the new policy allowing UK passport holders to visit visa-free for a trial period of six months was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, especially since I was staying in a hotel just forty kilometres from the border.
As for security, while my visa wouldn’t be an issue, the crossing itself was unlikely to be straightforward. Cautionary tales from fellow travellers being grilled for hours on end over harmless comments or ancient messages on their phones were common. So, with a hint of paranoia, I meticulously purged my devices. Every message, comment, and image that might be deemed controversial had to be deleted—no matter how benign it seemed. It was a painful process. Devastatingly, my cherished collection of Soviet dog memes vanished in an instant along with every impassioned comment I’d ever made declaring Verka Serduchka as the greatest Eurovision entrant of all time.
To be on the safe side, I also removed all messaging apps meaning that the only way I could contact Lowri, should her expertise on magnet choice be required, was via e-mail—a form of communication preceded only by carrier pigeon and one that no human has used to contact their significant other since pre-McFly. With phone censored, sandwiches spread, an alarm call at 2:30 am, and a heroic hangover from last night’s endless wine accompaniments, I was prepared for my jaunt. I caught a taxi to Vilnius station and awaited my coach to Minsk.
Precisely on time, the bus rolled into position, and the small group of passengers making the early morning journey took their seats. Quickly ascertaining that I was the only English speaker on board, I hoped for minimal questioning at the border knowing that the Belarusian guards unlikely spoke a word of it, or wanted to, and there would be no one to assist if things went awry. Less than fifty minutes later, the coach screeched to a halt, and we were promptly ushered off and directed towards the EU and Schengen exit. As we passed under several stern warning signs that could have made even the most seasoned explorer reconsider their plans, a sense of foreboding was inevitable. With my exit stamp stamped and the brief walk across no man’s land behind me, all that was left was to pass the rows of red and green flags, step into the old Soviet-style immigration office, and face the first round of questioning…
J
