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Hitch-hiking around the USA
Valery Shanin
Copyright © 2011 Valery Shanin
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2011-10-17
How I Became A Hitchhiker
Unfortunately, I have never come across any hitchhike aces and I learned all the secrets of hitchhiking on my personal experience having covered thirty thousand kilometers of the USSR roads.
Everything began on an occasion: it was summer and my friend and I was strolling along one of Crimean roads when a car stopped by our side and the driver offered us a ride to the nearest settlement. However, we didn’t rest there for long and hitchhiked … to Brest.
Since then, every summer I have been taking a small backpack, some money to buy food and went hitchhiking – sometimes on my own, sometimes with a friend and once (from Moscow to Nalchik) with my daughter Violetta, who was five back then.
In several summer seasons I visited almost the half of the country – nine Soviet Republics. In 1990, after just another journey I decided to quit hitchhiking for good. But my fate had her own plans.
Stephen Leah Carbon, Postgraduate Physicist, came to Moscow University on probation from Florida. In two months spent in Moscow he had not only made lots of new friends, but had also married a Russian girl. Before going back home Steve handed around many invitation letters to the US – I too happened to get one.
To be honest, it’s not that I had been dreaming all my life to go abroad – there were still many places in the USSR I have never been to; but I had the invitation letter in my hands, so, I began to prepare the documents.
The American Embassy had always been suspicious of young men traveling to the U.S. on a private invitation letter, but I left ‘hostages’ in Moscow – my wife and children,–so, they issued me a visa without any problems. Despite the humongous line to the bank I got my money exchanged (back then they gave you three hundred sixty–four dollars for two thousand rubles).
By the beginning of February, 1991, everything was ready: the passport, the visa, the money, still, I couldn’t decide on when to go. The expiry date of the American Visa was May 5, 1991. Thus, I couldn’t go to America in summer like normal tourists, but had to go there in spring, or even in winter.
At that moment, I was finishing my last year in Psychology at the MSU and had my research paper due in May as well as my graduation exams. There seemed to be no chance for me to leave, but, like in that good saying, those who want to do something search for opportunities, those who don’t, instead, search for reasons. There were really many reasons why I should have cancelled my journey. However, I also found the opportunities.
In the last semester – from mid–February to mid–May – I was supposed to dedicate all of myself to the research paper. I boosted this process and did all the necessary work two weeks before my winter holidays. That’s why, I was free until May and I could go to America even for two months.
There was an obstacle, though. Unfortunately, until a motorway is built over the Bering Straight there is no way to hitchhike from Russia to America. One can only go there by plane. Sure enough, in the beginning of 1991 it was almost impossible to buy a flight ticket to the U.S. (you had to keep the line at the ticket window for more than a year). The only chance I had was to hunt for free seats in the plains.
Aeroflot offered one flight from Moscow to the U.S. every day – four to New York, three to Washington. Which one to take? It made no difference to me.
My first attempt: flight for New York. Departure at 7.45 A.M. I had to take the last bus for Sheremetyevo–2 and hang around the airport for the whole night. Finally, we could begin to check–in. I took the line as well as the others. I explained to the customs officer that I was going to check–in, that I had passed the customs examination and was waiting for the check–in to be over. There were so many people and still more luggage. The crowd was enormous. However, there were still a few vacant seats on the plane and immediately a number of people started claiming them. First got the pass those who had tickets even for another flight. Fare dodgers like me were left behind.
The next day – the second attempt. Flight foe Washington. Again at 7.45. A more laid back atmosphere, smarter passengers, no backpacks, no sacks; luggage made of attaché cases and expensive trunks. Plus, I was the only to check–in. Ten minutes before the end of check–in there was nobody at the kiosk.
Suddenly, some dozen of passengers having tickets for that flight broke in from several check–points at once. When they had checked–in it was 20 minutes left before takeoff… I had to go back to Moscow again.
I skipped another flight for New York and tried again to take the flight to Washington. That time still fewer people wanted to depart for Washington. No one at check–in kiosk, no one at customs control point. Nothing seemed to stand between me and the flight.
Suddenly it turned out that tickets for the flights to the U.S. and Canada were sold only by authority of the shiftsperson. I asked the Aeroflot officer who issued tickets where I could find the shiftsperson and passing through the customs where everyone remembered me and let me pass like an old buddy I started for the other wing of the airport. I found the door I’d been searching for, knocked and peeped into the room. The shiftsperson was sleeping all dressed right on the couch. The creak of the opening door didn’t wake him up.
I had to wake him up.
— What is it? — he murmured all sleepy.
— I want to depart to Washington, — I explained.
He took a glance at his watch and grumbled:
— Fine. I’ll be right there in ten minutes.
I went back and was set to wait. Ten minutes passed, then twenty… the half–empty airplane took off to Washington but the shiftsperson never showed up. The door of his office was locked – apparently, he didn’t appreciate when somebody disturbed his hard work sleep for no good reason.
My friends did come to see me off the first time I was intent on catching a flight, but later they gave it up and were not even surprised when I was coming back home after a sleepless night at the airport. Still, I believed I could depart. Besides, the flights to Washington seemed more available than those to New York.
I decided it would be the very last time I tried to check–in for the New–York flight and, from there on, I would try with Washington only.
So, I’m at the airport, again. The customs officers greet me like a sibling. The check–in is still the same, looks like an emergency evacuation. However, this time, despite the crowd and rush, there are many vacant seats. Then it was the turn of the fare dodgers.
We were in seven for eleven seats. The shiftsman, who appeared to be awake
