Excerpt from the documentary «Palencia-Singapur, THE TRAVEL OF THE THREE OCEANS » (1999)
If you want to read the first part of this post click here
The two military made us go to a barracks. Alberto, Pedro and I had time to agree on an improvised story. It was not convenient to mention our condition as journalists and we could still go through Tourism students in search of adventure, camino a Azerbaijan. To say that we were traveling from Palencia to Singapore to make a documentary was perhaps too surreal for those Russians focused on the Chechen attacks.
Olieg appeared, A young imberbe, I wouldn't have 18 years. He was the only one who spyed some words in English and smiled when he released his condition as an interpreter. Explained the obvious, that that was not the best place to do tourism and that they wanted to talk to us. He looked almost fun by the situation and so relaxed that the Kalashnikov that held him slipped a couple of times making us jump back and causing the soldier's laughter.
The Kalashnikov that held him slipped a couple of times making us jump back and causing the soldier's laughter.
Then a tall man appeared, Like almost all Russians in uniform. Olieg's smile disappeared on the spot. I neither know from medals nor military ranges but that Russian showed unequivocal authority. They separated us.
I had to undo the personal luggage and show our notebooks, los DVDs, The cameras, The tapes, the micros and the rest of cachivaches for recording. Several soldiers were scrutinizing each garment, Each piece of the team. They asked me questions in Russian, I answered without knowing what in English. No one understood anything, But everyone seemed satisfied.
In the next room, Pedro was being questioned, I assumed that with Olieg as a translator. When Pedro spoke in English he used to do it out loud, As if the volume helped understanding. The nervousness further amplified his voice and I could hear our camera shout on the other side: “From Complutense of Madrid University, yes, yes, Madrid!”.
The nervousness further amplified his voice and I could hear our camera shout on the other side: “From Complutense of Madrid University, yes, yes, Madrid!”.
They passed me to another room. The highest military was presented with other men with the same rigid countenance. They had confiscated one of those CD-ROMs that were once used to configure land routes. I did not remember that we carried him among the luggage.
He introduced it to a computer and asked me to draw a route from Kyzlar to Grozni. I understood at that moment that we were in a population called Kyzlar, Right on the border with Chehenia. I accelerated my pulse, I wasn't sure how that worked, We had barely used, But by introducing the names, The program showed a detailed route with kilometers, intermediate cities and other data that seemed to satisfy the Russians.
We 25 years and at that age anything causes loose laughter, especially fear.
Shortly after, I met Alberto and Pedro in a cochambroso cabin, With three blackish mats. "Welcomome to the Five Star Hotel," said Olieg before saying goodbye.
However precarious and unstable the situation was, We all feel somehow rewarded by experience. We 25 years and at that age anything causes loose laughter, especially fear.
At six o'clock, Olieg appeared with his kalashnikov and questioned us again. “Students, students, yes, we know, this is war, sorry, sorry…”. We had actually put them in a mess because there is no military protocol that explains what to do with three idiots students who have encountered the war, so, To the fool.
There is no military protocol that explains what to do with three idiots students who have encountered the war.
While we expected some decision, We met the rest of the military, All young sly animated by the novelty of the lost Spaniards. They introduced us to the barracks prostitute and encouraged us to entertain the wait. With a forced laugh we decline the invitation.
Then they offered us a borscht, A Russian typical soup with meat. I took my soup, Pedro's and Alberto's, because they had lost their appetite despite carrying more than 40 Hours without trying bite. While I realized the ranch, I regretted having thrown that watermelon that the Armenian gave us, road to nowhere.
Someone called someone and that someone decided that we had to get out of there.! Almost without time to order the luggage we got into the Ford Mondeo. The Russian military of more rank returned the CD-ROM in a gesture thanks for having contributed to the war against the Chechens. Olieg translated his last indication: “Do not stop until you reach Majachkalá!”-The capital of Daguestán-. We started. We had others 150 kilometers of tension ahead.
We had crossed the military deployment that the Russians had ordered two days before.
For half an hour we were escorted by several army vehicles. Then we continue alone. It was then that the road was filled with dust and rolling. A tank appeared from the powder, then another and another… A armored row moved in the opposite direction to ours. We had crossed the military deployment that the Russians had ordered two days before. They were occupying the border of Chehenia. I asked Peter to record it despite the risk that this could suppose. I said I don't know what nonsense to the camera while the soldiers who crossed on the road looked at us perplexed. I was surprised by his youth. Naivety was the one that commanded that war.
On both sides of the road there were tanks and more tanks. It smelled like gasoline and sounded as the death threshold should sound. Irons, It sounded like the threshold of death should sound, It sounded like the threshold of death should sound.
They arrested us in another military control and another. On each occasion there were calls, records and sneer before our explanations. And finally we arrive in Majachkalá.
It smelled like gasoline and sounded as the death threshold should sound. Irons, It sounded like the threshold of death should sound, It sounded like the threshold of death should sound.
They led us to a headquarters where men entered and went on a hurry. It was like the place of refreshment before going to the game of weapons. And that game took place less than two hours from there. Between the chaos of people going and coming, of orders and helmets and boots with emergencies, Another angel appeared, He called Diego and spoke an impeccable Spanish. He told us we would have to wait there, that it was not safe to leave and that there were too many controls to Arebaiján. We explained that our visa won in a few hours and then that Russian stopped to think for a moment, snorted and wrote something on paper. "Show it in military controls," he said, And he wished us good luck.
Dawn when we arrived in the city of Baku, that we thought the paradise by the Caspian Sea.
Had been done at night, again. We counted on our desire to get out of there and a piece of paper written in Russian with codes that namely what they meant. In the first control they showed the usual abruptness accompanied by bewilderment before our presence. We show the paper and we didn't even have to get off the car. They luped and allowed us to continue. This happened in all controls. Diego opened all the doors with a piece of paper. And hours later we finally achieve Azerbaijan. Dawn when we arrived in the city of Baku, that we thought the paradise by the Caspian Sea.
Alberto wrote his chronicle for reason and leaf through local newspapers. The latest news about the conflict started all three. That newspaper warned that in the Guerrilas War, The Chechens had begun to use a surprising method: Introduce poisoned watermelons into Russia.
