People may lie, but I’m truly innocent.
——Russian Proverb
In a remote corner of Russia’s Vitebsk Province lies a small, remote city nad Druiysk.
There are neither any majestic buildings nor can one see grandiose gardens like Ancient Babylon; walking along the unpaved dirt streets, one won’t even spot a single building taller than four stories, and the chapel on the central plaza is low and dilapidated. In winter, the wind blows and makes the windows creak, sounding as if God has manifested.
Even if you lower the standard of opulence from four-story buildings to three-story ones, such opulent structures are still extrely rare here.
The few opulent residences belong to the Mayor, the Postmaster, and the Police Chief.
Yes, residences!
Although most people living in this city don’t even know what this word ans, perhaps only the few teachers with a secondary and higher education understand that it simply refers to soone’s house.
But in this city, the more obscure and awkward the word, the more it can highlight a person’s status.
How should one describe the first impression of an ambitious outsider entering this small city?
Sitting in a carriage, watching the snowflakes dance through the air, it seems as if the snow doesn’t fall on the muddy streets but on your heart.
The feeling is cold and chilly, as if a lifeti of fa and fortune has ended here, and both life and career have been cast into cold storage.
For the rest of your days, you can only sll the cool snowflakes and chew over the mories of the past.
This damn place doesn’t even have a road leading to the outside world, as if here is the end of the earth; standing on the street looking to any direction outside the city, you can only see wildlands, forests, and grasslands.
However, even in such a place, everything that should be present is still all there.
Prisons, charity hospitals, churches, city hall, police stations, and local courts, and the occasional excitent brought by the ’Slavoboda’ (market), bureaucrats, landlords, priests, serfs, and rchants are all present.
Oh, and don’t forget!
The city’s only hotel houses a British diplomat, trapped by the snow for five days and nights, pacing like ants on a hot pan, yet having no way to deal with General Winter but to stay cooped up in the hotel bed, angrily cursing ’Russian cities look like Jerusalem from the outside but like a condemned Bethlehem from the inside.’
However, what infuriates Arthur the most is not General Winter, but the onerous process of entering Russia.
In the 19th century, international entry and exit managent in various countries were very backward, allowing notorious criminals like Garibaldi to roam widely; as long as they dodged the border checkpoint checks, they could roam into most European countries freely.
Even France, the most centralized country in Europe, often missed two-thirds of the ’Young Italy’ exiles.
If they plan to go to Britain, what stumps them is usually not a visa but gathering enough money to buy a ticket to Britain.
Yes! At this ti, Britain didn’t have a visa system; as long as you could show the customs your ticket and prove that you ca to Britain via a legal route, you were fine.
Of course, to combat smuggling, while submitting your ticket, you also had to declare your belongings, valuables, books, or any items that might require taxation.
But Russia, this damned place is different!
If ordinary Russians with non-noble and non-official status wish to go abroad, I advise you to abandon such fantasies.
Because it requires applying for a passport from the provincial police, then traveling to Saint Petersburg to apply for an exit permit from Russia’s Ho Office and declare your properties. In addition, you must also submit a detailed travel plan, intended expenditures abroad, and accommodation arrangents.
These legal procedures could take several years, and when ready to embark on the journey, you would face stringent scrutiny as if you were a spy. If hoping for a smooth departure across the border, not only must money be prepared in advance, but the person receiving it must also be contacted early.
Although foreigner entry isn’t as strict as dostic exit, Sir Arthur Hastings, already spoiled by the lax customs of Western Europe, is extrely angry with the Russian governnt’s attitude towards him.
To enter Russia, he had to carry, at minimum:
1. A diplomatic passport issued by the British Governnt to prove his status as a diplomat.
2. A letter of appointnt and diplomatic correspondence from the Foreign Office, illustrating his purpose in visiting Russia and his position and status.
3. An entry permit and dostic travel pass obtained from Russia’s Ho Office after negotiations between the British Embassy in Russia and the Russian Governnt.
3. Due to sporadic cases of chaos in the European Continent, Arthur was also forcibly quarantined upon entry for seven days; and after quarantine, he obtained a health certificate from the hospital to prove he carried no infectious diseases.
4. A customs declaration obtained at the border, listing Arthur’s declared personal items and ensuring all compliance.
5. Registration docunts obtained from the local governnt of Russia’s Grodno Province upon completing entry at the border inspection.
User Comments
0 comments from readers