31 Hours at The Waiting Place between Belarus and Lithuania.

Sarah Steiner

4 months ago

This is the story of our 31-HOUR border crossing from Belarus to Lithuania at Salcininkai starting from arrival at the border terminal area and before we saw The Queue – and The Waiting Place (and with random accompanying photos and a description of it all instead).

We had an incredible time in Belarus visiting the Visa-Free Region of Brest and Grodno.

Read our guide to crossing the Belarus to Lithuania border at Salcininkai here.

And here is our story of The Waiting Game exiting from Belarus to Lithuania across what might possibly be the longest border crossing in the world…

PART 1: Too good to be true

If it seems like we drove past the queue in disbelief; we did. We drive right past and all the way to the border front where we felt quite good handing over our passports and documents. (Quite smugly smirking at the fact there was no line). A sign to Vilnius and no queue. Too good to be true?

Well it was. Far too good to be true.

The lady officer or her counterpart didn’t speak any English. And although we technically did understand the hand gestures for ‘NO’ and to turn around it’s like we really didn’t believe it.

We tried handing over more documents. Insurance? Vignette receipt? Temporary Import Permit? Registration?

No.

It wasn’t that.

Finally after a friendly but staunch stalemate the officer on the other side of the road had asked a returning resident who spoke English to come and help translate. The women kindly translated that we needed to turn around and head back 600m to the waiting carpark. And much to our dismay of asking exactly ‘what for’ she translated simply that we needed to wait.

We tried again to ask ‘what for’ and hoped perhaps the first time the question had been lost in translation…

But alas the answer was the same. And she shrugged and said that she herself had been waiting eight hours to make the same journey in return.

Bless her for translating. (Because seriously who wants to get out of the car again after eight hours of waiting to help some imbecile tourists who don’t understand The Waiting Game?). But we took her kindness along with the depressing news to turn around and thanked the guards (disheartenedly) and headed back for The Waiting Place.

The time was now just gone 4:00pm.

A first introduction to The Waiting Place

The Waiting Place is an interesting place.

Well, that is despite conversely not being interesting at all. But boredom does create a simple sort of insanity. We made a U-turn and groaned that there were surely four more cars since we passed ten minutes ago and joined the back of the line in dismay.

Gavin hopped out to have a look around and picked up the shoe of a Kazakh truck driver climbing into his cab for a rest. (Did you know it’s a 63 hour drive from here to Almaty in Kazakhstan?).

There wasn’t much else going on and especially if you don’t smoke cigarettes there isn’t much that’s social about any border control area.

But I think it was about this time that we realised this wasn’t even ‘The’ Waiting Place.

This was more like a prelim. A line up before the Waiting Place. The queue to get in.

There were 13 cars in front of us including two Volvo, 3 Audis, a VW, BMW and a new burnt orange SUV Lada…

Our Waiting Place a few nights before in Brest, Belarus.

The Waiting Place at Brest, Belarus border crossing. — Our Waiting Place a few nights before in Brest, Belarus.

PART 2: Realising a preliminary queue for The Waiting Place

Once we gulped and took in the site just beyond the 13 cars in the queue and the looming barrier arm in front we realised we were officially OUTSIDE the Waiting Place.

Not only was this queue long. But it was a preliminary queue to the carpark WAITING PLACE just beyond the barrier.

We looked at each other in disbelief. And then at the carpark and back again…

There must surely be upwards of 100 VEHICLES in there?! And what about the trucks?! There is an entirely separate Waiting Place for Trucks!

Fools we were debating just moments earlier how it would be ‘better to wait’ to make a coffee as we wouldn’t want to drive through customs with a hot element…

Fools indeed.

We tried every distraction around us to find something positive to change the reality of what was The Waiting Place in front.

But there it was. Right in front of us in all its sunshine and shirtless glory…

A closer look (once we’d given up oooing and ahhing in disbelief) showed the Waiting Place like some kind of miniature Sim City village. There were all the vehicles lined up in the glorious afternoon sun; and people were relaxing and kicking back with car boots open and van doors slung back. And there were at least as many shirtless men basking in the late afternoon sun as there were cars in front of us. (And that was far too many).

But there they were. Everyone sort of weirdly going about the Waiting Game as if it was quite normal(!).

We looked through from our front seats feeling very far from little old New Zealand as we tried to decipher the Cyrillic of the shop opening hours from afar.

There was wasn’t a word of English in any of the signs. And sitting there despite technically being in our home on wheels as it all sunk in felt very far from home.

Sunshine and shirtless glory a long way from home

It was enough to ignore another round of taking it all in that included so many shirtless bellies that even the signs in Cyrillic became interesting.

Surely (hopefully?) there might be a translation in English to let tourists like us know what to expect?

But there wasn’t.

There was one electric billboard that the lady crossing the border had described would have our number plate displayed and we would know it was time for us to cross. But there were no numbers on it. And no signs in English bar the perpetually playing infomercial type advertisement of the country. (Quite a good idea really as I think I could by now recite the entire information about the national parks, lake and famous castles).

Did you know the Grodno Theatre is one of the last examples of Soviet architecture in Belarus? Or that Brest has much cultural wealth? That the Braslav Lakes National Park it is often called the Blue Necklace of Belarus? It was an ancient Russian trading centre. And the train station is one of the most famous icons of Stalinist architecture and for more than 130 years celebrities have visited the Brest Railway platform.

But I digress. The wait is long. Longer than long. (And actually at this stage it’s only been 2hr 56 mins for us so maybe that isn’t even long?).

We are waiting for the electronic board to show up the number of our number plate. Although truthfully it seems over an hour since it’s showed any numbers…

Does it even work?

Maybe we can play the truck game (again)? Count the trucks? Guess the country? Stake bets at how long the crossing will take? See if the shop is open now?

Would it be faster waiting for the grass to grow?

PART 3: Introducing the kiosk and the Man with 10 Fingers

Finally (ha! We call it ‘finally’ for now but we’ll laugh about that later) the cars in front of us advance forward. There are now just six in front of us and the burnt orange colour Lada SUV is at the barrier arm and kiosk.

Still we wait.

I decide to take a walk to the kiosk to find out what actually is going on there and why and what the drivers are doing going into the small building in the first place.

Three solemn faces greet me inside.

There is one lady and two men; one young and one old. And I can tell before I even speak that my NZ humour isn’t going to be appreciated. My smile feels silly on reflection and I try with good energy to ask how long the wait is but they definitely do not speak any English. It appears the other drivers are entering to pay a fee which must be for the car park – a fee for The Waiting Place.

In walks a lady from the Moldovan Sprinter van several ahead of us in the queue and with her tween-aged son she hands over some money and receives a small receipt ticket in exchange. I tried to ask her if she spoke English and how long the wait is but it’s another definite NO.

Never mind.

The burnt orange Lada SUV has only just gone inside the barrier arm so that’s five more vehicles in front of us.

Paying for The Waiting Place

An hour later we’ve crept forward and the Moldovan Sprinter van is officially inside. Gavin and I tackle the kiosk again together and this time with only three vehicles ahead of us we pay the 6 EUR equivalent fee in Belarusian Rubles and try one more time to ask how long the wait is.

A shrug. And the older man holds up ten fingers.

TEN BEEPING FINGERS.

Surely he didn’t understand what we were asking? Maybe he means ten Euro? 10:00pm his shift finishes? Ten is the age of his grandson?

We take the receipt and head back again to the van with more than a glare at the unnecessary bare bellies and all the others inside the Waiting Place.

10 BLEEPING FINGERS.

A(nother) coffee after that and it’s sometime after 8:00pm when we finally see the barrier arm raise in front of us. It’s still brilliant sunshine because the sun doesn’t actually set until after 10:30pm. (Maybe it’s been told to wait too?).

Romance and sunset at The Waiting Place

But we park up in front of one of the men with a belly out and settle in for the supposed-but-surely-not 10 hours to come.

We made dinner and the boys had a skate around the Waiting Place. The tarmacs not bad by the way. But perhaps that’s to be expected considering no one actually seems to do any driving here. Only waiting.

We’ve walked an entire round of the carpark twice now and showered the kids.

We’ve enthusiastically checked out the single Duty Free shop including rows of Belarusian vodkas and cartons of cheap cigarettes. And we noted they sell shampoo and socks and toothbrushes. There’s even breakfast cereals and hair brushes and razors.

Surely people don’t stay long enough to need all that?!

Gavin and I even had a very romantic stroll over to the Truck Waiting Place to admire the many Scania and MAN trucks and lazy axles in the setting sun.

Why hadn’t they added such sites to the still-scrolling infomercial video about the highlights of this country?

PART 4: Acceptance of The Waiting Place.

The kids are asleep now. It’s definitely one of perks of being at The Waiting Place in our home on wheels anyway. (We’re still optimistic enough to consider perks like that at this stage). And it’s quiet outside with a decidedly odd sense of calm. No one seems stressed or upset. No one is angry.

It’s like a strange acceptance of The Waiting Place.

Why isn’t anyone cross?

We haven’t any data on our mobiles and we daren’t try to sign into the WIFI network that is on offer with some kind of fake number. They already checked our phones at the border with a fine tooth comb.

So while there isn’t anything to scroll and feel connected in that sense it is an odd sort of calm without it and we don’t (yet) feel we’re missing out.

I’ve clocked another 22 levels on Wordscapes and Gavin has (re)sorted the glovebox.

About the Big Fat Number Sixty

Sometime after midnight we had a coffee outside and a Polish couple asked if we had the app.

What App?

It turns out there is a Waiting App where you can see how far your registration number is queued in the system. They checked ours (we still don’t have any data) only to announce ours at Number 60. Great.

NUMBER FREAKING SIXTY.

I’m pretty sure I choked on my sixteenth coffee of the afternoon and hoped there was again some kind of error lost in translation. But they showed us the phone and there was our registration number next to a Big. Fat. Number 60.

How long would 60 vehicles take?!

Was the electronic board even working?

Were we the only ones here feeling any kind of CROSS?!

I was cross at the Waiting Place and cross at the Waiting App. I was cross at the man in the kiosk with his 10 FREAKING FINGERS and cross at the shop selling its stupid breakfast cereal we would probably now need. And I was cross setting my phone alarm to go off on the hour just in case the stupid electronic board miraculously started working again and we might miss our number…

PART 5: Good news and the change of shifts

It’s 3:40am now which makes our wait clocking up to very close to 12 hours and there is still no movement. Three registration numbers have come up on the screen again but none of them are ours and I seriously wonder how many have actually gone up while I dozed for the last few hours in between alarms.

Gavin isn’t sleeping much. It’s hard being the driver as you’re always the one responsible. But there’s good news apparently. The big-bellied man in the White Van behind us has shirted-up and gone.

Aside from that it’s very quiet at the Waiting Place.

The Moldovan Sprinter van has all its doors closed and is parked on the opposite fence line to us. And somewhere in between the Polish couple and the Duty Free shop selling breakfast cereal is the burnt orange Lada SUV.

The infomercial about the glorious sights of the country and Stalinist architecture is still playing. And I think about cancelling the next hours alarm clock and risking it to sleep for two.

What if our registration number comes up?

Will it?

Waking up with good news

Gavin woke me at 5:20am with more good news. The burnt orange Lada SUV was just leaving.

How far ahead had they been when we arrived? Ten vehicles? Or was it seven? Or six?

It was great news though. It must mean our time at the Waiting Place is coming to an end and we would soon be through. But it’s like going back to sleep after a dream or trying to doze when you know your alarm is about to go.

No.

Not yet.

A morning update before the Changing of Guards

A Lithuanian couple (with LT on the number plate) had been just in front of us when we arrived (the second time). We hadn’t had much to do with them but the lady did speak enough English to tell us yesterday at the kiosk that we needed to wait after paying. (A kind translation albeit somewhat less gratefully received after the man had held up his 10 Fingers).

But she held her phone up in our direction just after 6:45am and said,

“One Car. And us. And then; YOU”.

We cheered and I told Gavin we better wake the kids and get ready. But she followed up by saying that could be one hour or two. No one actually knows.

Hmm.

Surely not.

We were ready faster than ever making one more coffee and keenly watching the digital board for our number. But everything stopped from 7:00am.

I started to feel a little bit bad for being cross at the 10 Fingers Man in the kiosk last night when actually I would now have pleasantly accepted his generous Number 10.

We watched the night shift kiosk staff and the Duty Free shop team change shift with new workers at 8:00am.

How long does it take to change shifts?

No numbers had flashed on the screen for two hours?!

Finally at 10:20am we saw the Lithuanian’s number plate flash first and there was ours right underneath.

Bye bye Waiting Place.

PART 6: Left in the dust

From the Waiting Place we circled around the Duty Free shop and past the Truck Waiting Place. Despite being as keenly ready as can be two hours ago we were slower off the mark than our Lithuanian friends who had raced for the barrier arm at ungodly speed and left us in the dust.

But we approached the barrier feeling pretty darn chuffed to be graduating the Waiting Place and watched it lift up with our registration display proudly on the screen.

Back down the road past more Kazakh and Kyrgyz trucks lined up by the dozens. (These hadn’t been part of our romantic truck walk but there was no stopping now). Back to the border kiosk we had so smugly pulled up to yesterday thinking we’d skipped the line.

The officer from yesterday was gone and there was two more in her place.

The young officer came first and asked for our passports. It didn’t seem like he had heard of New Zealand before but dammed if we were going to be turned back now. We handed over every document possible from the Temporary Import Permit and insurance paper to the Visa and receipt from the kiosk man with his 10 Fingers who I’d now forgiven.

Spotting a dangling carrot in the midday sun

There was a(nother) wait while they checked our documents. (Seeing a theme here?). And the young officer was instructed to do a check of our van interior.

We could see ahead to the actual border terminal. So this wasn’t even the border. It was another preliminary Check Point just like the preliminary line to the Waiting Place yesterday. Now we were waiting again for the next step with the actual border terminal like some kind of dangling carrot in the near-midday sun.

Finally once they decided we had passed the pre-check check the next barrier arm went up. And the enormous concrete bollard blocking the road through was electronically lowered so we could pass.

YES!!

This was a great feeling.

It was only a few hundred metres to the border and we were pleasantly surprised to be waved forward to the left hand queue for non-national vehicles. We pulled in now two cars behind our Lithuanian pals and felt quite relieved the end was getting nearer.

But bugger me. As we looked ahead from the terminal there was another queue of cars.

And there. Despite leaving more than FIVE hours before us from the Waiting Place, and only a few hundred metres ahead was the burnt orange Lada SUV and the Moldovan Sprinter van.

PART 7: The hideously burnt orange mirage of disbelief

Five hours is a long time. I know because we have been watching the very slow tick of the electronic registration board without many registrations actually listed and just the garish slow time of day displayed.

And so seeing the mirage of disbelief that was the burnt orange Lada SUV glimmering hideously in front of us I knew exactly how far ahead it was time-wise. Five hours ahead it was.

At that point that realisation coupled with the beep and squeal of the scanner truck alarm is enough to make any exhausted traveller crumble. But one thing we notice again is that everyone is calm and no one seems aggressive or stressed.

The Lithuanians moved forward to the next queue and we inched toward our turn at the immigration and customs kiosks.

There is no immediate instruction but having watched our Lithuanian peers we too exited the vehicle to stand by the kiosk window for Customs.

Alas; the wrong decision and we were waved back into our vehicle.

A(nother) tax on The Waiting Place

There is another (quick) interior vehicle check and finally instructions (via Google translate) to go inside and pay 40 BYN (11.25 EUR) for what we can only understand to be a departure tax.

Gavin and I made a few short trips back and forth between the customs kiosk and border terminal hall handing over papers and using Google translate to confirm they did indeed need money before we could actually leave.

And then we all got out and had our photo taken for passport control.

I’ve noticed in our wait here there are different official officer uniforms. There are three sizes of uniform hat and one officer with a bigger and more curved green hat who must be in charge. He’s slightly older too with a thick gold wedding band on his left hand.

Being singled out and summoned

Hearing the STAMP of the immigration official onto each passport page was a glorious sound.

But without getting ahead of ourselves that was only one formality.

I am given the kids passports back and waved over to our van.

“You! Come. Only you.”

Gavin is called out by the officer to follow him into the terminal and the kids and I get back in the van.

There’s much that a simple glance can confirm between two people and I nod to Gavin that we are fine and lock ourselves in the van while off he goes.

It’s taking a long time. I mean I’m not one to get into numbers again after the kiosk man and his 10 Freaking Fingers but I’m sure it’s been more than 20 minutes since I last saw my husband.

I watched a bus roll in. (Slowly). And all the passengers disembark with luggage and head inside the terminal. The driver has walked around and opened every single door and garage door on the bus. You can see right through the luggage compartment and into every mechanical and engine compartment. Even the garage door where his lunch is stored. And a smaller one with cleaning products.

It’s actually taken so long I am starting to think I could probably get my passenger licence one day. At least I’d know my way around the ins and outs of a bus and all the essential compartments.

I wasn’t going to leave the kids in the vehicle to check but admit by this stage I was starting to get a liiiiitle bit worried.

Collecting intel for potential requested descriptions

I had the boys two passports and Gavin was inside – somewhere – with his and mine. The building was technically just two lanes over (on the other side of the bus) but two lanes feels like a long way away when your husband is gone and you don’t have your passport.

I’d long given up trying to smile at the lady officers and make light of the situation. It wasn’t even remotely smile-worthy at this point. And if that dammed scanner truck could turn down the screeching bleep of the siren…

But Gavin comes out smiling. He’s actually smiling and gives me two thumbs up in the direction of the van.

Seriously?

I can’t help but feel relieved and cross at the same time. You can keep your bloody thumbs up. Here I was worried I was going to have to drive the van across the border myself and how I would explain to the news channels that my husband had been abducted and never to be seen again after being taken by the man with the slightly larger green hat and the gold wedding band.

It turns out Gavin’s interview with the officer and a translator who didn’t actually speak English had ended with an invitation for a cigarette and the Google translate message;

“Thank you for visiting our country.”

PART 8: Details / Schmeetails

Remembering at this stage we still haven’t actually exited the country yet. But its details schmeetails as we qualify for the next queuing stage somewhere behind the slowly disappearing mirage of that burnt orange Lada SUV.

This next stage is queued outside three Duty Free shops. The first one has the standard stuff. The second is similar but with an ice cream freezer outside. And the third one is priced in Euro as if to offer some half-hearted confidence you are in fact edging closer to the European Union and the end in sight.

There’s not much to talk about bar official hats and distant memories of bare bellies at the Waiting Place. But we note the change in currency of the third shop out loud. And as we look (again) towards the next stage we spot the confirmation of 12 golden-yellow stars on the blue background sign announcing entry to the EU zone.

So close.

The second shop has the best ice creams in the freezer just outside. And at less than equivalent to 1 EUR each icecream we copy those in front of us and sit on the tailgate making the most of the sunshine and cheap treat. (Such perks eh?).

An hour later it’s overdue for a second icecream and the lady in Duty Free smiles this time as we pay by card again. It’s weird to think it is a novelty to be so jovial in our thanks and appreciation that is just typical in Antipodean cultures.

We thank her and laugh again at our terrible attempts of language efforts this late in the game. But it’s not time to feel bad as we enjoy our second treat in the sunshine yielding our place in the queue.

Entrepreneurial ideas at The Waiting Place

The taste of ice cream is fading an hour later and we can see the stripes of the border marker just 100 metres in front.

It’s time to start thinking about dinner plans. We’ve got pasta and tomatoes from the market. There are tacos in the cupboard. Or we could go crazy and have spaghetti.

Imagine if we’d bought loads with us. We could have set up a taco stand near the Icecream Lady and be rolling in it by this stage.

Pasta it is.

There are dishes to do.

And eventually we are waved forward by the official stop-go lollipop sign for one last interior vehicle check before passing that illustrious striped border marker.

Hello Lithuania. Hello Golden-Yellow EU stars. It’s been a while but can you please let us in?

As hopeful as these two buskers in Grodno.

PART 9: A flaw in The Waiting Place design

There is of course another queue before the actual queue at the border terminal. But we’re now officially queued for Lithuanian immigration and customs. There are only about 5 cars in front of us in this queue. Plus two buses off to the left lane and a whole darn highway line of trucks to the right that (in other circumstances) would be perfect for romantic sunset strolling.

And you know what else we noticed? I forgot to mention there’s a flaw in the Waiting Game. That is if you have a bicycle.

We’d seen three men separately cycle past our stop by the Icecream Lady.

Each rider looked pretty casual in shorts and a backpack with a bright yellow high-visibility vest on.

Truck drivers maybe? Workers from one country just ‘popping across the border’ commuting home for a rest before their next shift?

There was even a small lane between us and the buses that had the road marking of a bicycle icon on the ground. And the only sign that had been in English was hours back by the customs kiosk stating to queue here only with a bicycle. Albeit the insanity was increasing with the hours but looking back it had seemed both humorous and out of place at the time.

Hi-Vis vests and fire extinguishers

Now one of the trucks to the right had actually started smoking. (I couldn’t make this shit up). Not the driver but the truck. A Latvian truck two in front to our right had some sort of electrical blowout behind the cab. The Lithuanian truck driver in front leapt out to inspect the situation. Two must-be truck drivers in High-Vis vests were passing on bicycles and stopped to offer their two cents as well.

The driver grabbed his fire extinguisher and opened the engine of the truck, tilting the cab forward. I cringed and couldn’t look as one of the men went under the opened engine cavity.

But they must have sorted it out and pulled some kind of plug to disconnect all electrics.

There was no more smoke. But there was also no way that truck was driving out of here.

The next 30 minutes were right up there with the fascinating bus-happenings at the last place. There is obviously a drivers code that transcends even border crossings and Waiting Games as the Lithuanian truck in front hooked up the Latvian truck with a huge towing strap.

Technically we were all only 200 metres from the eventual final barrier arm to freedom. But smoking electrics aside we were in a better position than the trucks as they had yet to circle around through the scanner before joining the mainstream exit with us.

I almost felt bad for the trucks.

Almost.

Imagining the freedom and quiet roads in Grodno, Belarus.

PART 10: Closing the gap on The Waiting Place

Next was our turn to close the gap on the border terminal and the Lithuanian vignette kiosk on the side.

This is it!

(Hopefully).

The approach was bittersweet. Namely because the burnt orange Lada SUV was no longer in sight. (Hadn’t they even cared to wave goodbye?). That mirage was over. And the Moldovan Sprinter van was only metres from freedom being questioned by two officials with a single clipboard in the distance.

I got out and went in to the small Lithuanian vignette kiosk to pay up again to cover our driving in the next country (if we ever get there). The Vignette Lady was definitely not interested in small talk and didn’t care for my attempts at asking the same question twice. But it was good news. We didn’t actually need to purchase a vignette for our Netherlands-registered private passenger vehicle.

I couldn’t wait to tell Gavin the good news.

Only one last stage to conquer

Immigration and customs entering Lithuania was nothing to write home about in terms of friendliness. I’m not sure what we were expecting; but a hot chocolate and a welcome hug and blanket would have hit the spot at this stage.

I don’t know how long it took to get to the moment of (another) interior vehicle check. This time they looked twice in the bathroom and twice in the pantry. (Did he want me to whip up some tacos or seriously WHAT NOW?!).

But that was it.

We were stamped OUT officially of Belarus and stamped IN officially to Lithuania.

This was ACTUALLY IT.

That motorbike better move out of my way (immediately)

A motorbike had squeezed in front of us in the lane. And right now if it didn’t move out of the way immediately I was going to pick it up and throw it aside myself.

It was 10:52pm and he did move. The customs barrier arm went up and we drove out to the one last gate to freedom.

Another passport check. (Of course; why not?). And the barrier arm lifted up.

Three minutes to 11:00pm and 31 HOURS later we drove out into Lithuania.

Of course we were those crazy New Zealanders disguised in our Dutch van tooting the horn and cheering from the cab. We didn’t care for anonymity by that stage and didn’t give rats for weird thoughts our way.

TOOT TOOT TOOT!

Would we do it again?

Hmm. Maybe it’s like childbirth and the pain disappears when the end result is such a good outcome.

Was it worth it?

It’s nearly midnight and we aren’t even at our park up for tonight. There’s another hour to drive yet. Gavin isn’t sure. I’ll ask him again tomorrow.