Documents!

"Documents!" he insisted after showing me some sort of badge. Gulp. I only came into the bus station being led by the driver as apparently I needed to pay separately to stow my luggage. That taken care of I wandered into the next room looking for a washroom but when I inquired "Toilet?" he demanded "Documents!"

I'd heard of random checks and had dreaded them but on my last day of over two weeks in Russia it was the border I was worried about not my first check. Begrudgingly I handed over my passport. Naturally there wasn't a word of English among the five various authority figures who eventually joined the original power tripper. All I could manage was one of my very few Ukrainian phrases that is the same in Russian: "Yenez niyou" or "I don't know." Curiously enough it was the fellow in full traditional Russian army garb, fur hat and all, who translated a few phrases on his tablet. I established I was traveling solo, on holiday to Ukraine and beyond. Trying to keep my eyes on my passport as it changed hands like a magicians cup trick I also kept flitting out the window to my bus which was holding the luggage I'd just paid to store. My stomach in knots as the tripper, not trooper, punched buttons on his cell phone over and over and I became convinced I would lose all my stuff and my ride on the last bus of the day. The only slight relief came when another man I recognised from the same bus was also ushered in, him with a Moldova passport but at least he had command of the local language. Minutes ticked and sweat dripped. Nothing seemed to be happening. Mobile phone buttons mashed and my passport information was written down but there was no indication I'd be escaping this unscathed. Is this going to be a bribery shakedown? I haven't got any cash since I've used up my rubles as I'm supposed to be leaving today.

Then the bus door closed.

I exclaimed, as did my soon to be cell mate, and yelled 'baggage' - a word I knew that translated and pointed frantically at my backpack and then at the bus that was ready to depart. 'Port Kavkaz?' my bus' destination someone asked and I agreed, repeating it twice. One of the men left the station and relief flooded as I saw the bus door reopen and the red faced driver point at his watch in annoyance. Finally there's some activity in the room I'm in and I heard my name read into the phone. The Moldova passport is returned which is a great sign. As he turns to leave I reach for my outstretched passport and half run, half skip to the friendly confines of that rickety old bus. Much chatter occurs between the driver, the Moldovan and whoever else. The babushka beside me wants to know what has happened and I do my best to assure her it's okay while doing the same to myself and my still full bladder.

(Bet you never expected two blog ending bladder jokes!)