The time Russia thought I was a spy!

Out of every travel story I’ve ever told, the time Russia thought I was a spy is the one I’ve retold most.

One of my favorite trips I’ve taken is when I rode the entire Trans-Siberian Railway. It was a great trip, but I’d be lying if I said the thought of being detained in Russia hadn’t crossed my mind once or twice.

Okay, it crossed my mind way more than twice. At one point I had a supervisor tell me certain countries that I personally should not travel to, and then there were my coworkers.

Trash Talk

Trash-talking is pretty standard fare in my line of work. It’s everywhere, and yes it can be toxic, but believe it or not, it does serve a purpose, which I’m not going to get into.

One thing about it, though, is that if it’s known that something gets to you, the sharks begin to circle. Sharks or cackling hyenas.

I never let on that the possibility of being detained because Russia thought I was a spy was a thought because, initially, it wasn’t. Or at least not until a few of my friends got me spun up about it. I can only imagine how they’d have acted if I had let on, but they were still on me enough that I had recurring dreams about being detained.

My Dream

In my dream, I was always walking down the street in Moscow and someone would come running up to me, screaming in English, yelling “Take this! Take this!” They would then thrust a paper bag full of cash and flash drives into my hands before running off.

I had that dream probably ten or twelve times leading up to my trip.

This didn’t happen in real life, of course, but what did happen was still a little too close for comfort.

What actually ended up happening

It happened during my time riding the Trans-Siberian Railway, as I was crossing the border between Mongolia and Russia.

The provonista, who is essentially in charge of the entire train car, walked cabin to cabin. Stopping at ours, she locked the windows, closed the shades, and issued a few directions.

“Sit on the seats, passport in hand. Don’t get up and don’t say anything.”

She sounded pissed when she started barking orders, but she hadn’t been very friendly for the entire trip up to that point.

The only time I remember seeing her smile or be cordial was while she was trying to sell our cabin old souvenirs from the 2014 Sochi Olympics. Other than that, she seemed like we were inconveniencing her simply by existing. Wanted the window unlocked? End of the world… you’re ruining her day. Question about the train? Don’t even think about it.

As we waited, passports in hand, a guy around my age and wearing plain clothes walked by our door. Moving fast, he just briefly glanced into our cabin as he walked, but he saw me.

He went right past the door but then leaned back and his face came around the corner, into view, and he locked eyes with me.

He immediately said in accented English, “What do you do for a living?” before he was fully in front of the doorway.

Everyone in the cabin was pretty relaxed, but I immediately groaned on the inside. I’ve “randomly” been the only person picked out of customs lines for additional screening more times than I can count, so I knew exactly where this was going.

I didn’t tell him what I really do or who I work for, as that would have probably made things worse. I did, however, tell him something, which while misleading, technically wasn’t a lie.

Over the years I’ve theorized about the reason why I stand out so much. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s at least partially that I look the part jussst enough.

Why would I lie about it? My superior who warned me against going to certain countries also gave me a little coaching. Much like Obi-Wan Kenobi (though he’s really closer to Vader), he said that if I ever did find myself being questioned about this stuff, I needed a good backstory that could be interpreted as true from a certain point of view.

That’s all irrelevant now, though, because I have no plans to go to any countries in question in the foreseeable future. Riding the Trans-Siberian railway and seeing the Great Wall of China were high on my list, but they’re now both over and done with now.

One thing to know about these little twists of truth is that all bases need to be covered. Case in point, if this guy was determined enough, he would have found the same answer I gave on my visa application, which had been accepted.

Sorry, I won’t be revealing what it was I told him.

He came into the cabin and stared at me hard.

I was in my typical travel clothes, but he was in a black polo, grab green nylon pants, and lightweight boots, with a coyote messenger bag looped over his shoulder.

After asking me about my job he immediately got on the radio. I don’t speak a lick of Russian, but he clearly said the word American several times.

The provonista returned almost as soon as he appeared and now stood behind him, arms folded, and staring at me like she was his muscle and I might try jumping out the window.

I wish I had a picture of the scene, Grandma staring me down, but that would have been the worst thing to do at that point.

He then demanded my passport, which I handed right over. He slowly went through it page by page and looked at EVERY stamp I had. Then he took everyone else’s passports and flipped through one of them in about a second; the other two he didn’t even open.

After saying something else on the radio, he requested my luggage and went through everything. He took all of my stuff out of both bags, shook it all down, and then inspected the empty bags. He even ran his finger along the seams.

When he finished with my luggage he looked at my passport again, said something on the radio, walked off with my passport, and told me not to move. As he left, he said something to the provonista, probably telling her to watch me because she didn’t leave.

About half a minute later, another guy holding my passport arrived with a second woman. This guy, however, was in uniform and fully armed.

It was like we hit a reset button.

“What do you do?” “Where are you from?” “Why are you here?”

Why am I here!? What a ridiculous question! Who wouldn’t want to ride almost 6,000 miles on a stuffy, uncomfortable train with bad seats and worse food?

He then thoroughly went through my passport again, in the same way, while barely flipping through the others. “Where’s your luggage?”

And as you may have guessed, my bags got tossed again.

This time, however, he didn’t leave. Instead, he stayed with his female companion and sent off our original provonista while he talked on his radio.

An uncomfortable ten minutes of silence later, and in walked a third man.

Tag! You’re in.

This guy was older than the first two. If I had to guess, I’d have said he was in his mid-fifties. He was in plain clothes, like the first, and had cauliflower ear.

He wasn’t a talker, and he didn’t ask me the same basic questions. Instead, he got right to it and dove into my passport.

To the average bystander, this probably looked humorous. Case in point, the second he opened my passport book, everyone else broke out laughing. Everyone except for me, that is.

To my cabinmates, it looked like the soldiers were just messing with me. They thought it was all a big joke.

I asked them about it later, and it never even crossed their mind that the Russians thought I was a spy. My friend, however, saw what the issue was after I pointed it out.

What I saw was them being highly suspicious, and due to that, trying to intimidate me, while simultaneously looking for an excuse to possibly detain me. Or maybe they were hoping I’d slip on what I was saying.

Whatever it was, these men clearly thought, or at least hoped, I was up to something.

This final guy was way more in-depth with his search. He even took the lens off of my camera body to inspect it. Thankfully he didn’t damage the sensor. And in retrospect, I’m surprised the first guy didn’t do the same.

Russia thought I was a spy, but I was saved by a goat!

Blessedly, he eventually got through my things, picked up a final paper bag, and asked me what it was before looking in it.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“Souvenirs.”

“What?”

“Souvenirs from Mongolia.”

“Show me.” In retrospect, the fact that he allowed me to show him rather than do it himself was a pretty good sign.

At this point, though, I was so over it. So, I reached inside the bag, and pulled out a little wool goat, held it up, and said, “BAAAAHHHHHH.”

Luckily, he laughed, because antagonizing him wasn’t the best idea.

It was the only emotion he showed, but after that laugh, he immediately relaxed. He then peppered me with a few more questions. Any weapons? Bombs? Drugs? Before saying something in Russian to the provonista.

He seemed satisfied because I was given back my passport. He then talked to someone else standing in the hall who I couldn’t see before walking off.

The train began moving a few minutes later.

Later I went on to ask a few other English speakers, including a pair of Americans, if they had encountered similar problems. They all said no and were pretty surprised by the attention I received.

I can’t confirm it, but yes, the optics are that they held up the entire Trans-Siberian Railway, for about four hours, just for me.

Have you ever had any close calls with foreign officials? Have you been to Russia? Did Russia think you were a spy too?

This wasn’t even my only encounter with them. I also had a highly suspicious-encounter in the Kremlin Armoury Museum that was unusual enough to send me back to the hotel early.