Best Indian this side of the former Iron Curtain
Trip Start
Apr 08, 2007
1
116
144
Trip End
Oct 01, 2007
Brest,
Belarus
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Brest lies extremely close to the Polish frontier, so it's basically either the first or last city people see going through Belarus. As such, it's arguably more Westernized than other cities likely are, but it's still a major switch from the capital. On a somewhat positive note, there aren't as many police around either (but they still maintain a noticeable presence). There honestly isn't much to the town, so it's little surprise that it doesn't feature heavily on tourist routes. Even so, it's a pleasant place and far less austere than I was expecting. Brest was steamrolled in World War II, so I figured it'd be a series of numbingly identical tower blocks and concrete excess. While there's certainly some bland Soviet architecture around, it's a far more laidback, low-rise and leafy town, with a fair few classical-style houses and even wooden cabins (!) about in the backstreets. Of course there's the standard yawning Soviet-style main plaza, but the buildings are pretty cleaned-up and tasteful for all that. The inclusion of a pointing Lenin that seems to have his index fixed smack on a nearby church adds a certain humorous charm. Throughout the rest of town, big tanks of kvas (a sweet, mildly-fermented barley drink) seem to mark every other corner, so it's easy to find a quick, cheap drink on summer days too.
There is one stand-out attraction here though. As mentioned before, Brest was largely reduced to ashes in fighting between the Nazis and the Soviets, but the biggest battle centered around the city's massive citadel. Built in the mid-18th century, Brest fortress covers an enormous stretch of ground southwest of the center, and when the Nazis marched in, a mere two regiments held out within its fortifications for some two months. The entire structure (or what's left of it) has been kept largely as it was after the war - myriad pockmarks, shattered walls and all - with the interior grounds converted into a gigantic war memorial. Considered by many to be the finest example of Soviet memorials to World War II, it's an impressive, even downright awe-inspiring place to explore, even without the gargantuan concrete sculptures and militaristic music accompanying it. It's typically over-the-top in terms of its arrangement, but given the historical events it all seems perfectly appropriate.
The other attraction that should be a draw is a little restaurant in town called "Jules Verne." Now I have a tendency to treat raving reviews in guidebooks that wax rhapsodically about dining spots in provincial cities. On this occasion though, the Lonely Planet researcher was bang on the money. With an odd combination of Chinese and Indian on its sizeable menu, the restaurant's focus comes across as a bit random, but the food is fabulous. I stuck to a purist approach and only ordered the Indian, so I can't really speak for how the Chinese is. But the samosa, nan, basmati rice and chicken shakhi-korma were absolutely succulent and easily the best Indian I've had in months. In fact, I think I'd go so far as to say it's the best I've had in a good year or two (the last really knock-out Indian I had was in Ulaanbaatar, of all places . . . hey, it's been a while since I was last in London!).
So, it's been a pretty darn good day, I have to say. Ahh, wait . . . except for the beginning. I got up early this morning with the notion of getting to the breakfast room right at opening time (7am) so I'd have no problems catching my 8:32 train. Then, strangely enough, I get down there and the door's still locked. I go to the receptionist and ask what the deal is. She explains that since it's Saturday, they don't open at 7am. On weekends, they open at 8! So much for breakfast then. No . . . she insists that I'll have time to go in, eat and then get down to the station in time for my train. "It only takes 15 minutes to get there," she declares. I make the near-fatal mistake of agreeing with her then. After biding my time and getting everything packed up to go, I hurry down there and basically have to throw down a paltry breakfast of bread, cheese and juice. Then I rush out the door at just after 8:10. My, how healthy.
She's right though. It does take about 15 minutes to get to the station. That is, if you're walking at a fair clip, not carrying a heavy pack, and manage to hit all the lights just right. Running with an overly full backpack isn't a whole lot of fun, but I had to do it a few times in order to avoid waiting two or three minutes for a green pedestrian signal. Along the way I was almost positive I wouldn't make the train. Somehow I just managed it though, and got up the stairs to the platform maybe three minutes before departure. The provodnitsa (female train conductor/car overseer) took a look at my ticket - for wagon 10, and she's standing outside wagon 5) - then told me to get right on and walk through the cars to my proper compartment. Already hot and sweaty, I ascend to a stuffy, stinky platskartny compartment packed to the gills with people and proceed to shove my way through. After that, I have to go through the same routine all over again for several successive kupeyny cars. Without question, I could have gotten to my compartment in half the time and effort had I just walked outside. And, sure enough, I get to wagon 10 with over a minute to spare before departure. Stupid. But at least I made it. Getting stuck in Minsk 'til the next train would have cost me some serious time (since I only have one day in Brest).
Anyways, I now know to skip breakfast if it's coming that close to a pending departure. At least tomorrow I won't have to worry about it - my bus out is at a more comfortable 9am. That'll be my last internal voyage in Belarus, to the city of Hrodna near the Lithuanian border. After a night there, it'll be onward to Lithuania.
