Flying To Siberia

On Christmas Eve, 1993, a Federal Express carrier walked down the sidewalk to the front door. Denise almost knocked me over as she ran to open the door. She thanked the carrier, opened the package and pulled out the paper work about a little five-year-old girl from Siberia that we were being asked to consider adopting. She handed me the photograph of a little girl, with chubby cheeks, dark hair, and a mushroom house applique on her dress. Tears flowed because I recognized that girl. (that is another story). 

The only visions of Siberia that I had were Cold War images and scenes from war movies. The Siberia in my mind’s eye was a frozen wasteland spotted with gulags where the Russians sent their prisoners. We were going to fly to Chelyabinsk, on the Asian side of the Ural Mountains. Chelyabinsk had a population over one million. We did some research and discovered that Chelyabinsk was one of the worst polluted cities in the world. This was a secret city where the Russians developed the atom bomb. There had been a nuclear accident in the 1960s that was worse than the one at Chernobyl. What were we getting ourselves into?
This photo of Monument to Kurchatov is courtesy of TripAdvisor

We thought that we would be going to Siberia in February or March. We purchased warm clothing. The governments opened and closed doors often. We didn’t end up flying to Russia until July. Denise, our daughter Bonnie, and I, boarded an Aeroflot jet from Moscow to Chelyabinsk. Denise took her seat. She put on her seat belt but when she leaned back to adjust her seat, the back of her seat fell all the way back. She struggled to get up. She found another seat. The plane took off toward the east, toward the morning sun, toward Siberia.

After a short while in the air, the cabin attendant came down the aisle holding a tray of small Tupperware bowls of different pastel colors (capacity 6 oz). They were each filled with something resembling 7 UP in taste and color. The cabin attendant returned to the front of the plane. She came out pushing a steel three-open-shelf  cart. She handed each of the passengers a clear plastic bag that contained dark Russian bread, cheese, sausage and a small plastic container of horse radish.  Denise put some on her black bread and took a bite. Her eyes popped wide open as she gasped and coughed. She fanned her mouth and bit off a piece of bread that was clean. And then she burst out laughing. “Oh my God! That is hot! It felt like someone took a small rake, shoved its prongs up my nose and yanked it over the top of my head.” She sipped some of her drink. Her teary eyes squinted as a mischievous grin came across her face. “You should try this,” she said. “It makes everything that I eat now, taste even better.” Bonnie and I shook our heads. “No way, not after your reaction.” Bonnie said.

We landed at a small airport, not unlike the Long Beach airport. The yellowish stucco building, with its light blue turquoise roof was surrounded with concrete. As the plane came to a stop, the airport staff pushed mobile steps up to the plane. We looked out our window and watched a group of well-dressed people assemble themselves at the bottom of the steps. Two of the women held large bouquets of flowers. We wondered who they were waiting for. To our surprise, they were waiting for us. Click here for a photo of the Chelyabinsk airport

They led us through the airport, grabbed our luggage and escorted us to two waiting cars. Julia, the interpreter, sat in a car with Yuri, the driver, Denise and me. They put Bonnie in the other car. Yuri yelled, “Nyet!” and waved his hand when I tried to put my seat-belt on. Julia told us that seat belts weren’t necessary and that Yuri was a very good driver. He may be good at driving, but he didn’t obey any of the traffic laws. He reminded me of the tax drivers in Sri Lanka who drove all over the road. Denise’s knuckles were white, and for good reason. The road from the airport to the city of Chelyabinsk was pretty flat. Julia told us that we were not going to the orphanage. Instead we were heading out of the city to the dacha, the place where the orphans spend the summer while the steam system is serviced throughout the city.

Way off in the distance ahead of us, I saw the tall building of Chelyabinsk. We turned off the pavement and onto a mud road. The back end of the car slid and sloshed its way through the mud. The mud was thick and I worried that we would get stuck. There were fields of grass on either side of the road. A line of telephone poles stood, marking the line of the road ahead. Many of the houses were constructed out of gray concrete masonry units. But we could only see the tops because they were behind a tall wooden fence. Many had steep pitched roofs. I felt like we were driving in the back way, through an unpaved alley; expect that this was the road to the dacha. Click here to see what the dirt roads looked like

We stopped in front of an iron gate. Yuri got out of the car and walked to the gate. He yelled through the gate’s bars and someone yelled back. He got back in the car and drove to another gate. We drove into a dirt courtyard. A couple of German Shepard dogs came around the cars, wagging their tails. Yuri parked in front of an old two story stucco building. We got out and were led up some steps and into the building. We were greeted by the staff, all nicely dressed. They escorted us to the second floor, to a dining room table that was decked out with flowers, plates, bowls, and glasses of Champagne. We all sat down. Denise, Bonnie and I were the honored guests. We were served Champagne and a bowl of borscht, along with black bread. Dollops of sour cream were in each of our bowls. The head of the orphanage made a toast in Russian. We all held up our Champagne glasses, including our 14 year old daughter. We ate while Julia explained that our new daughter was taking a nap. They would bring her to us when nap time was over.

We were taken on a tour of the dacha. We were shown the room where the children were napping. There was one empty bed. Julia giggled and told us that Olya was too excited to sleep. The staff was getting her dressed. We went outside and met some of the older children, including some young teenage boys. I showed filmed them with the video camera and then I showed them. They all crowded around. One of them spoke a little English. He asked, “How do you do?” The boys all laughed nervously when I said, “Fine. And you?” One of the boys asked Julia if I had an American dollar. They knew of them but had never seen one. I reached into my pocket, removed my wallet and extracted a one dollar bill. I handed it to one of the boys. He took it very carefully and examined it. He showed it the other boys, holding it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. The boy returned my dollar and then orphanage staff sent the boys away.

We went back into the main building and sat in a small room with highly polished blond wood covered walls. A woman came in holding a little girl by the hand. I recognized the girl from the photo. The woman introduced us to Olya, who smiled and then put her head down. She started to cry. One of the male staff sat in a chair and put her in his lap. She leaned her head against his chest and looked at us. Julia told us that Olya was crying happy tears. I think some of her tears held fear, as well.

Julia told us that Olya had been told a story about how she ended up in the orphanage. When Olya was very young, she had been out shopping with her parents and they got separated. Someday her parents would find her and take her home. This was not true, but it was a good story.  And, because of the story, Olya thought that we were her real parents who had finally found her. And the fact that everyone remarked about how much I looked like her only added to her belief. Click here to see the main street in Chalyabinsk

We left the dacha and Yuri drove Denise, Olya, Julia and me in his car. Bonnie was with other staff members in the other car. Olya sat in the back between Julia and Denise. She had been given a can of Coca Cola and chocolate. Her lips were soon covered in chocolate. We drove through a city with a main street that was ten lanes wide. Most of the buildings were 5 stories tall. There were overhead lines for the trolleys. Yuri drove us to a sanatorium across the street from a forest. We were taken to the top floor and shown our suite.
Click here to see the place we stayed 

This story will continue at another time.