See Wall Street Journal's map of my route from Syria to Norway.
To add up to my fear, there was a scary Soviet-looking building staring at me from across the street. I felt as if drowning and whispered to the Soviet building “what the hell am I doing here “.
I probably should explain a little. You see, when you live in a country that is torn by terrorists, Jihadis, and a stupid dictator, you tend to leave that country (if you can).
So, I decided it’s time to flee that shithole. My goal was Sweden because lots of my friends were there, but that option turned out to be a costly one (at that time no less than 7000 USD), which was a deal-breaker for me, so I started looking for options. I managed to get a full scholarship from Georgetown University, but when they demanded proof that I have 10000 USD in the bank (cost of living for one year), that was unfeasible for me.
A few days later, while he was listening to Alphaville's Forever Young, my brother declared that he saw a border between Russia and Norway on our wall map that we keep in our room, I immediately asked him to shut up. Little did I know then that would be my rout to conquer.
After I had found out that there is a checkpoint and a Schengen entry up there, I applied immediately for a Russian visa. Got my visa and a companion for my travels, booked a flight from Beirut to Moscow, and with the financial help of my American friend whom I met back in Syria in 2010 I was able to book a 4-star hotel in Moscow and another 4-star hotel in Moscow, plus the train from Moscow to Murmansk (first class).
I must tell a little history about my American friend whom I will not name, he came to Tartous (my coastal city in Syria) to have a special legs operation that cost him 15 000 USD, not including the cost of living, one needs to stay in semi medical care for one to one and a half year after the operation, so it cost him roughly a 20 000
USD
And he wasn’t the only one there doing this operation, at the same time there was a woman from Australia, a woman from Canada, and two guys from the Emirates.
So this operation that makes you taller is very rare, and the only doctors I heard of doing it were in Germany and Tartous, and doing it in Tartous is a bit cheaper of course.
So to get back to the land of Tsars, why take the train, not a flight? You ask. Well, I thought that was a smart decision but little did I know, it was the worst decision I’ve ever made.
I thought if I took a flight I would risk security check at Murmansk airport, and then the security police will ask me what the hell I’m doing there, so we took the train from Moscow to the last city in North Russia. After a long 38 hours on a train full of Russians who spoke no English whatsoever, we arrived at the Murmansk train station, and to my surprise a welcoming committee was gathered on the platform, “come with us” they said, another me in a parallel universe shat himself.
Why? I asked. Knowing the answer well myself, I kept calm.
The FSB guys (Russian immigration police) plus one guy from the Russian intelligence agency took us to an office nearby, asked us why are we here and if we were planning to go to the Norwegian border.
They didn’t buy our tourism story and said that Murmansk is a military area, and they feared that we could be terrorists from Syria trying to take revenge on Putin’s Russia for supporting Assad. We had to tell them that we were, in fact, pro-Assad (just for clarification: I don’t give a rat’s ass about Assad nor the so-called opposition) and how we come from Tartous, a pro-Assad city and how Tartous is filled with Russians (Tartous has the biggest Russian military base in the area).
So, they drove us to the hotel, but not before they made us buy two train tickets back to Moscow, because, as they put it “it’s the only way we can insure that you will go back to Moscow after your booked stay at the hotel is over”.
Now you know why I was freaking out in the hotel room!
I mustered all of my powers and calmed myself, and started posting on Facebook for any help. I needed opinions on what to do next, does anyone knows what should we do, do we try to bribe them or just leave the hotel.
I wanted any help regarding what to do because I was sure that was it, that was the end of my life’s journey – and now I will be sent to Syria to die like most of my friends.
And help I got, one of the many positive responses to my post was from a response by a Norwegian guy who lives in Berlin, who posted an ad in the local newspaper in Kirkenes, and called a Russian friend of his to try to help us if she can.
We met with her near the Norwegian consulate, and she said she has a friend who drives to Kirkenes on a daily basis.
At the same day we met again with Russian police and told them we were planning on going to the border, they said that if we could manage to get a ride there then they don’t care.
Now I’m here in Drammen, living a normal life in a normal house with Norwegians, I work as a volunteer assistant in Oslo domkirke, where I was baptized early this year, and I also have a praxis with Oslo Business Memo. Plus, going to norskkurs in Drammen (the Norwegian language programme provided by the kommune).
But now I can’t help but laughing when I remember that room in Murmansk.
By now, Now these days it’s all over the news, the border crisis is all over the news. Certain, some weeks, it’s more than 1000 asylum seekers cross over to the Norwegian side crossing.
And something must be done to filter the true asylum seeker and the people who want to take advantage of the asylum policy in Norway.
Funny to mention that because I was among the first to take that road. I was able to hitch a car to the Norwegian border. I’m pretty sure that my brother was the first to bike his way over to the border, because he was in Murmansk waiting for a car to come and pick him up when the driver called and said that there’s no way a car would cross over with asylum seekers anymore.
I suggested to buy a bicycle and try to cross the border with it. Since it’s against the law to walk yourself over to the Norwegian side and you must have a way of transportation, a car is out of the question now, so I thought that a bicycle is considered a way of transportation
And that was accurate, and Marco, my brother, also is here in Norway now.