Long walks in the country

Yesterday we went off to pick berries in the woods near a Presidential Reserve in the Braslav Lakes National Park. I got all charged up over the beautiful places we passed on the way there, and resolved to return today on foot. It would be about twelve kilometers one-way so I encouraged the others in our group to return to the area for more berries and to give me a ride home.

I began in our village, Ustse, and walked down a smooth dirt road with views of several different lakes, woods and meadows, punctuated occasionally by cute little villages. I only carried a small amount of water because I knew I’d pass numerous wells along the way and I imagined somebody would allow me to pour myself a little. The first time I emptied my bottle, however, I found myself beside a modernized home with an outdoor spigot. An old lady waiting nearby told me I could try the spigot because the owner of the house was away. I’d actually seen the owner in the yard before I got there, but she had disappeared by the time I approached so I just filled my bottle and proceeded down the road.

I should, in fact, have turned the corner just there. Distracted by the water, I proceeded ahead and marveled that I had failed to notice those beautiful homes yesterday. One place especially stood out because it had a huge expanse of manicured lawn leading down to the lake shore, multiple buildings on the compound, and a gorgeous main house. I didn’t try to take a picture of the main house because I figured I didn’t want to mess with anybody who’d managed to get that rich in Belarus. After a while the road petered out into a dirt track and I finally realized that I’d never been there before.

I turned back and returned to my corner, now with more elderly ladies. I stopped to greet them before turning down the road I should have taken in the first place. One of them took me to task: “Where have you been?”

“I haven’t been anywhere,” I replied. “I got lost. But if I go this way I’ll get to the asphalt road, right?”

“Yes,” they said, “but why do you want to go there?” The one who asked where I’d been looked especially concerned. If I went too far down the road I indicated, I’d end up at the Presidential Reserve, where uninvited guests are not welcome.

I explained that I’d be meeting some friends down there, but my explanation didn’t lighten that lady’s face. Finally I added the fact that my friends were gathering berries in the forest. This brightened the mood immediately, since they could all identify with forest berry gatherers.

The next time my water bottle started to run dry, I noticed a couple of people carrying buckets of water and looked over to see where they’d been. I saw a public well and went to fill my bottle with cold and delicious water.

In the next village after the well, I stopped to talk to three people sitting in a particularly beautiful yard. I asked if I could photograph the yard, and after consideration, they said yes. First they wanted to discuss what I might do with any photos. They told me I could put the picture on the internet but that I shouldn’t do anything bad with it. Later they even agreed to let me photograph them.

They live in Latvia but have this summerhouse in Belarus. I asked them what people usually ask me: “Do you prefer one over the other?” They replied to the effect that each has its plusses and minuses, and then asked about where I live. I told them that I divide my time between Boston and Minsk, and for me each has its plusses and minuses too.

I walked ahead, overshooting my destination, and finally got a ride back. I’m really glad I took this trip on foot. I saw much more per kilometer than I would have seen in a car, enjoyed the exercise, and got to chat with several interesting people. I wonder where I can go for another walk tomorrow or the next day.