Do svidaniya, Russia!

SUKHBAATAR, Mongolia – Before I came to Russia, I fretted several times on this blog about how this scary, oligarch-controlled, former democracy would probably extract sweat, bribes and a kidney during my recent visit.

Starting the trip in Eastern Europe didn't help, where people like Jonas in Vilnius and Dorota in Poland warned how Russia threatened their state's sovereignty by withholding natural resources and clandestinely supporting anti-democratic forces. They had the same message: you are entering the belly of the beast.

Ten days later, I'm safely out of Russia. I still have my iPod, camera, and all bodily organs. No border guards shook me down for money or tried to deport me to Kazakhstan. No fake police tried to steal my passport in Red Square (although two Brits I met up with did). No one force-fed me vodka until I passed out, and then took my things.

Instead I found caring and interesting people, who, though they didn't speak much English (I think my entry from Moscow about the level of English spoken was written a little soon), demonstrated their kindness in other ways. There was Olga, feeding me roast chicken, kabobs, sweets and tea on the five day Trans-Siberian trip. Ilana arranged bus tickets in Ulan Ude. Sasha bought me a couple beers late one night on the train and refused payment.

Even people who are normally touts were nice in Russia. Taxi cab drivers showed me the fare in bills so I didn't have to haggle. Shop owners gave correct prices even when the item names were hopelessly Cyrillic. Monks refused admission or money for guided tours of their monasteries.

No, no one in Russia tried to cheat me. Until today.

Sitting in an Internet Cafe/post office somewhere just south of the Russian-Mongolian border, it's hard to imagine that all of the nonsense that's occurred since my last entry happened in the course of one day. Some days at home go by so fast: get up, work, eat, watch TV and then sleep.

Today started bad. I slept in too late - my alarm didn't ring - and I missed my bus to Ulaanbaatar. I tried to keep my head cool, going right to the train station to look for a good train. There weren't any. I grabbed a cab and took a minibus to the border town of Kyakht (pronounced "card-TE") three hours away.

It was then that I realized this extra transport zapped my remaining supply of roubles. When I bought a direct bus ticket yesterday I figured had no use for roubles. I kept about $35 on me just in case, but I found out my case was even bigger. At the bank, the clerk was out to lunch. Forty-minutes later she returned with bad news.

"Visa card nyet. Rosebank. Ulan Ude."

Shit. That's three hours away in the wrong direction.

I left my bags at the bank and walked around the town's dilapidated streets, looking for another solution. Somehow I wound up at the movie theater (Now Playing: “A Night at the Museum”), where I recruited four women to go back to the bank and demand answers. At least I think I did. No one spoke a word of English and I lost my Russian Phrasebook on the Trans-Siberian.

We marched into Rosebank and the manager's office, and 45 minutes later, after a trip to another bank across town, several phone calls phones and one rather dangerous line cut ("Why do you let the American cut in front of the Ruskies," I overheard), I had $25. The bank manager put in a taxi cab and we were bound for the Mongolian border.

We drove for 40 minutes through thick pine forests, the quintessential Siberian landscape. We passed only a tank, with pale young Russian soldiers riding on the sides of the giant guns. We reached the border, but get this: the driver brought me to the wrong border, a train-only crossing.

So we – now with an old woman we grabbed at the train station – headed to the other border, where a mess of Mongolian traders were rushing to get across before it closed at six. My driver demanded 400 roubles ($14) for the first cab ride. Then he wanted 200 roubles for the return trip ($7). And he wanted to hand me off to a crazy Mongolian, who wrote in the dust of his ancient van that he wanted $50 to get me across.

I almost had a meltdown.

There would be no Chinese lessons from a voluptuous young woman, just a lifetime of hard labor in Siberia. The only solution was to open my wallet and show what I really had: 345 roubles. If the only way he would let me over would be for $50 that meant a life of Siberian exile for me. Finally a young woman came over, put her hand on 300 roubles and said that would be O.K. She pointed to her car: an old minivan that as we spoke was being pushed by five men through the narrow parking lot. The men ramped it up to a fast speed, the driver revved the engine and slammed the brakes simultaneously, starting the car while narrowing avoiding a concrete post. We were off.

After one, two, three, four, five checkpoints, none of which detected the OLD WOMAN HIDING UNDER THE LUGGAGE BEING SMUGGLED ACROSS THE BORDER, we were through. And transferred to another car.

At 7 p.m., 12 hours after I started, I made it to the beginning of the train line and an ATM. I paid off the third taxi driver (he only wanted $0.90, but I gave him $1.50. He was nice.) and sat down.

I made it out of Russia.