Russia > Jewish Autonomous Oblast Birobidzhan

In front of the Asia Hotel, large groups of Chinese tourists are waiting. When Chinese travelers visit Russia in organized groups, they don’t need a visa. They wait in front of the hotel until their group is complete or the bus arrives. The motorcycles and the Land Rover attract attention, and countless photos and selfies are taken. As we drive off, we are literally waved goodbye by about thirty Chinese tourists. Today we continue eastward. The first stretch is a backroad leading us back to the Trans-Siberian Highway. About halfway, we stop for lunch. We order borscht, a traditional Russian soup. A man behind us is eating a kind of pancake with his borscht. “You must try this too,” he says. He treats us and orders four portions for us. We thank him. A truck driver sitting on the other side of the restaurant waves me over in the parking lot and hands me a bottle of juice. I’m not allowed to refuse. I had never expected such hospitality in Russia, although I’m not really sure why. We are halfway through the route. The road winds through rolling, forested hills. We pass rivers and small lakes. It’s a beautiful area—almost a shame to pass through it so quickly. The horseflies outside keep us from stopping. We pass relatively few villages. Suddenly, there is a police checkpoint. We have to pull over. We haven’t encountered this in Russia before. It seems more out of curiosity. “Where are you going today? Do you speak Russian?” “Nyet.” “OK, goodbye.” We’re allowed to continue.

Russia - The Jewish Oblast of Birobidzhan

We drive via the highway to Birobidzhan. Birobidzhan is the capital of the Jewish Autonomous Oblast. In 1934, Stalin designated this region as a Jewish area. Outside Israel, it is the only place where Judaism is the official religion. However, due to increasing antisemitism, many Jews have moved to Israel. Today, an estimated three to four thousand Jews live in the Jewish Oblast—a minority. Entering Birobidzhan, there are large puddles on the road. It must have poured recently. Pedestrians avoid the edge of the sidewalk for fear of being splashed. The hotel is in the center of Birobidzhan on a pedestrian promenade. The surroundings are full of concrete buildings, and the hotel itself dates from the Soviet era. The rooms are not large, but fine for an overnight stay. The clock at the reception shows that we have crossed a time zone—it’s one hour later here. According to the Lonely Planet, there’s a good restaurant along the Amur River—the “place to be”! The restaurant doesn’t look like it. Perhaps it’s due to the recent rainfall; most of the tables are still wet from a leaking canopy. We have a beer. For dinner, we move to another restaurant. On the way, a group of young people laughs when we greet them in English. Using the few English words they know, they ask how we are and where we’re from. Then they giggle and walk on. The waitress in the Italian restaurant speaks no English. She just looks very bored because we don’t understand her and she doesn’t understand us. Eventually, she walks away in irritation. A colleague comes to take over.