Surviving Smuggling Babushkas: Walking from Ukraine to Poland

Walking across the border from Ukraine to Poland is infamous for its chaos, and it lived up to its reputation.

The journey starts from the bus stop in Shehyni (Шегині), Ukraine. On the 3 minute walk from the bus stop to the border crossing, I can see roadside stands saying “Green Card” and “Money Exchange.” Lines of cars are waiting to leave Ukraine and drive into Poland. I walk down a long, fenced-in pathway and then I see it- mobs and mobs of people awaiting entrance into Poland.

The Mobs Waiting to Walk from Ukraine to Poland

The mobs of people seem to be somehow arranged into smaller mobs, and as we walk up, someone tells us to join the mob up ahead on the left. This is not a border agent or someone who works there, but a regular citizen trying to organize a horribly chaotic situation. And he's not doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but for his own benefit because he will eventually be able to cut the line unquestioned.

We stand and wait with about 500 people ahead of us, mostly people smuggling vodka and cigarettes across the border to sell them in Poland for big profit. Some people do this routine weekly, and they are the toughest ones - the pushers, the elbowers, the veterans. People can make up to $200 in one day doing this, so they will pull anything out of their bag of tricks to get across that border before you do. Babushkas, women, men, everyone does this.

I saw more than I ever wanted to see of a babushka in those bathrooms as she was stuffing the cigarette cases up her skirt and down her stockings.

This is why it takes four hours to cross the border to Poland and less than 30 minutes the other way.

Don't Anger the Mobs

We heard there was another line for non-Ukrainian passport holders, but who to ask? There is no one to ask. When we try to go to find someone, we are shouted at by the women around us. Getting yelled at by a Ukrainian will send shivers down your spine. They sound like they’re yelling just having a regular conversation, so when they are actually angry, it sends you to the brink of tears.

Some of the fellow border-crossers told us only one person could go up and ask, but that person must leave her backpack to guarantee she wouldn’t just cut the line. Informal rules I wasn't going to question. The search for help ended to no avail.

Magical Cutting Papers

As we continued to wait in line, we noticed some groups walking through the mob, seemingly able to cut the line while holding up some kind of document. I knew when these groups were approaching because we would hear loud screams and yells from smuggling babushkas who did not want anyone cutting in front of them. But nevertheless, they were allowed to cut the line.

We started chatting with the babushkas around us, and after they heard us speaking Ukrainian, I guess we earned their trust so they began to help us. We heard angry babushkas yelling from behind us; another group was coming through with the magical cutting paper. Out new babushka friends told us to go with them as they came through.

I Don't Understand!!

Without hesitation, we went! I didn’t look back. I saw one friend go, and I went for it, hoping the other 2 friends followed. We had to weave in and out of yelling, angry babushkas asking where did we think we were going. Telling us to stop, don’t cut! One friend was saying “we’re with them.” I was saying “I don’t understand.” Another friend was yelling “Kryptonite!”

Head down, eyes closed, scared someone was going to get so mad they would pull their smuggled vodka bottle from their pants and hit us with it. Luckily, we made it to the front mob - but it was far from over.

A mosh pit full of smugglers, drunkards and one Papa Bear

They have it set up where the mob filters into a line - like at an amusement park, and then we go through Polish customs. We were packed like animals! Everyone was pushing, with nowhere to go, just waiting for the gate to lift. Like at a concert where everyone is trying to get to the front.

One lady got in my friend's face and told her we were all liars. That we weren’t Americans but just studied hard in school and can speak English really well, that we were trying to trick the guards into thinking we were Americans so we could cut the line and get in before everyone else.

We made friends with Papa Bear, a 6 feet tall, 250 lbs Ukranian man with dark glasses, a leather jacket and gold teeth. He looked out for us. Three drunk, stumbling men came to our group and decided to try and push into the line going nowhere. One guy could not stand up straight and kept bumping into my friend. Papa Bear told him to stop. The other guy decided to rest his chin on my shoulder from behind and let out a growl. They were stinky, disgusting and they were pressed up against us like on a Tokyo subway during rush hour.

The Revolving Door of Death

After 45 minutes of standing in a mosh pit full of smugglers, drunkards and one Papa Bear, the gate opens.

Now, imagine if there was a group or people, no let’s say a group of 50 wild dogs, that more accurately paints the picture of the situation. Imagine they are penned up together in a 10ft x 10ft space for 45 minutes with no room to move a toe or scratch your nose. Then all of a sudden, a door opens and there is a juicy steak sitting there for the taking. How would those dogs react?

Well, we are the wild dogs and Poland is the juicy steak. The gate wasn’t even fully opened and I'm already being pushed from the side and back. A mob of people pushing, trying to filter into a smaller waiting area. I was shoulder checked by a babushka. They’re yelling, swinging their purses.

Then we reach the next obstacle - The Revolving Door of Death - a six-foot tall metal turnstile door with bars of different lengths poking out randomly, and just enough space in between for one person to fit through at a time. Not like going through to the subway, but more like what you go through when visiting a person in prison, or to herd cattle. If you get a bag strap stuck, or try to enter it too early or too late, the bars will get you and you may just die.

We wait again to enter the Revolving Door of Death, this time in a line. One person is let into the Revolving Door of Death at a time, and the door is locked until that person is through customs.

There is a small green light that tells you when the door is unlocked and you can go through. If you hesitate for even one second when that light turns green, you'll feel the wrath of angry Ukrainians. I was pushing, people were yelling. I made it in and showed my passport.

The heavily armed guard sitting behind a piece of glass in a dinky, wooden office looked at it for a long time, longer than they did with any of the other people I was traveling with (sometimes people think I’m a gypsy). He stands up, my passport in his hands, goes into the back, and comes back with a second armed, camouflaged guard, checking some paperwork before I get the stamp.

I feel like I need a beer and a shower.