Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape
Алексей Бардаков
This book is based on true events and is the first part of the story about a person who, in a difficult moment, took the opportunity to radically change their life and share the consequences. It covers a hitchhiking journey through the countries of Central Asia: the gray and seemingly gloomy Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyzstan with its beautiful nature and amazing people, the sunny Uzbekistan, where the author spent a significant part of this journey, allowing them to visit many wonderful places in the country, and catch a glimpse of Tajikistan with its beautiful yet simultaneously dangerous mountain landscape.
Алексей Бардаков
Through the Horizons. Part 1. Escape
Who I was
Hello, my name is Alexey Bardakov. I'm 29 years old and divorced. I have dedicated almost 10 years of my life to working in the restaurant industry. I began my journey as a waiter in Crimea. After the first summer season, I completed bartender courses in Kyiv, which significantly changed my attitude towards alcohol consumption. Before the courses, I would drink any alcohol without thinking twice. However, the tastings conducted during the courses provided me with a foundation for developing my taste and understanding of alcohol as a form of art. Over time, I moved to the Moscow region and then to Moscow itself. I had the opportunity to work in excellent restaurants in Moscow and meet amazing chefs who had an incredible sense of taste. Most of the time, I worked as a waiter in restaurants. On one hand, it provided me with a stable income for a comfortable life in Moscow. On the other hand, I enjoyed being able to cater to the tastes of guests who were interested in my opinion about the dishes.
September 21st.
The morning began like any other workday: I woke up at 5:30 a.m., took a shower, got ready for work, and left home at 6 a.m.
As I boarded the subway train, I turned on my VPN and opened Instagram, scrolling through my friends' stories. I stumbled upon a photo from a television screen with the caption, "Address by the President of the Russian Federation." It piqued my curiosity, so I decided to go online and listen to what was being said. I had no thoughts or assumptions about the content of the address. Perhaps it was because I tried to emotionally shield myself from this war-related situation, as it had a significant impact on my work and psychological state.
After listening to the President's address, I was in a mild state of shock. Chaos ensued in my mind and soul. Feelings of fear, hopelessness, and duty intertwined into an emotional knot that hindered clear thinking. After a couple of minutes, I gathered myself and engaged in an inner dialogue about the decision I should ultimately make if the so-called "partial mobilization" affected me.
During the remaining half-hour of my commute, I failed to reach any agreement with my inner voice. Upon arriving at work, almost everyone was discussing the topic, and I, of course, took part in those conversations, which triggered my self-preservation instinct, raising alarm.
One of my colleagues and I couldn't stop talking about the situation. The fear and panic in his eyes surpassed mine, which led me to think that I didn't fully grasp the seriousness of the situation. Airfare prices to any destination were skyrocketing exponentially, and the more I interacted with him, the more I started to panic.
An hour later, my colleague decided to flee the country while there was still a chance, using any suitable means. I stayed at work, and the more I thought about this situation, the more I considered following my colleague's example.
I called Egor, a friend and also my neighbor. He was in the same internal panic as myself. Egor and I agreed to discuss this matter at home after work and decide what to do. I couldn't focus on work today, as my thoughts consumed my mind. They didn't let me go home earlier either, as there was already a shortage of people for the shift.
From seven in the morning until four in the afternoon, my productivity reached a solid zero point zero tenths of a percent. The management, seeing that this situation was occupying my mind for a long period, gave permission for me to go home and consider the pros and cons in a calm environment.
On my way home, I made a resolute decision to flee the country, as I concluded that I didn't want to go to a place engulfed in fratricidal war. I believe that, no matter the disagreements, everything can always be resolved peacefully.
Once we arrived home, Egor and I began discussing the situation and our subsequent actions with a clear head. We reached a mutual agreement that we needed to leave, and where to go was not as important anymore.
Firstly, I started packing my belongings, having a rough idea of what might be useful in the near future. Secondly, we began searching for options on how to leave the country.
Closer to seven in the evening, information appeared on the internet stating that only citizens who met three criteria were subject to partial mobilization:
Military service completion and possession of military specialization.
Health category A.
Participation in combat operations.
Upon seeing this information, Egor and I breathed a sigh of relief, as neither he nor I had participated in combat operations, and it should not affect us at this stage of our lives.
After ten in the evening, I messaged and then had a phone call with an acquaintance whose father works at the military draft office. He confirmed the earlier information and assured us that we shouldn't worry at the moment. I exhaled and calmed down. I informed my workplace that I wasn't leaving and would be back to work tomorrow.
I unpacked some of my things and started attending to household chores, preparing for sleep.
September 22st.
The morning started like any other – easy and calm. There was no trace left of yesterday's anxiety and worries. Today, my shift was scheduled to begin at 12 noon.
Everything was going well; I was working quietly and hardly recalling the events of the previous day. As evening approached, information appeared on the internet that Ukrainian hackers had hacked the website of the military draft office, and lists of people subject to partial mobilization were exposed. My anxiety began to shake my inner state slightly.
My colleague Alexander found a link to this file on Telegram and started searching for me and other guys who could potentially be subject to partial mobilization. After they didn't find me, I regained peace of mind for myself.
After a short period of time, I asked them to look for my friend Egor. He was not on the list either. Out of curiosity, I asked them to check the list for the city where I was born and where my school acquaintances and relatives lived. I didn't find any acquaintances there, but I saw my younger brother and his best friend on those lists.
In that same second, I experienced a wide range of negative emotions. Anger, resentment, outrage, horror, fear, and irritation overwhelmed me. He couldn't possibly be on those lists, and in that moment, I made a decision for myself: if it so happens that he gets called, I will volunteer to go with him. I cannot let him go there alone.
I was once again thrown off balance; I couldn't focus on work because my worry for my brother was overwhelming. After a short while, we had the idea to find those people whom we knew had received summons or were already there. Out of five people, we couldn't find a single one. In that moment, I stopped worrying about my younger brother, and a slight sense of unease for myself resurfaced. It was clear that these lists were fake, created to induce panic, and to some extent, they succeeded.
I worked through the rest of the evening, trying to isolate myself from these thoughts, and somehow I managed to do so. Upon returning home, I exchanged a few words with Egor and went to sleep.
September 23st.
Morning, waking up at 10:00. The worries have already faded away. Shower, breakfast, everything is going as usual. I received a call from my brother via Telegram at 10:45. Before I could answer, another call came in, this time from my sister.
In that very moment, I sensed what had happened. As soon as I picked up the phone, the first thing I asked my sister was:
Did they come for me?
Yes. Mom is talking to an officer, and there are two more people in military uniforms with them.
Mechanically, I started repeating:
I won't go there.
I had already decided for myself that it was definitely not my path and I didn't need to go there. My sister asked me what I would do, and all I kept repeating was, "I won't go there, I won't go there."
Without even hanging up the phone, I went into Egor's room, woke him up, and told him they had come for me. Egor, still groggy but with fear in his eyes, asked:
Where? Back home to Crimea?
Yes, we need to decide something quickly.
Egor called his parents, asking if they had come for him. His parents answered that everything was calm, and there was no need to worry.
I asked Egor what he was thinking and whether he would leave with me now or on his own. Egor said he would stay in Moscow for now and hide in another apartment. I decided not to delay, as there was no time for it, and this news gave me a strong push to take action.
A few minutes later, my mother called me and relayed the dialogue she had with the military personnel.
Is Alexey Yuryevich Bardakov living here?
Not at the moment.
Where is he currently located?
He is in Moscow.
How long has he been away?
He has been living and working there for a long time.
Why didn't he register with the local military office?
I don't know.
Do you know his phone number?
My mother gave them my phone number, and many people might wonder why. In such situations, it's better not to resist since they would have found out the phone number anyway. Moreover, I have never changed my number.
My mother was worried and wanted to know what I would do and what I was thinking. I replied to her, "I don't want to go there, and I have no intention to." My mother asked me not to do anything foolish and not to make hasty decisions. She suggested talking to the military office and finding out what they wanted.
Given the current situation, their intentions were clear to me. I understood that it was better not to share my thoughts and possible actions with her to avoid causing her unnecessary worry. I had already made my decision, and I had no intention of changing it.
I needed to leave immediately, and the sooner, the better. The fewer people who knew about my departure from the country, the safer it would be.
I called my workplace and briefly explained the entire situation to my manager, informing them that I wouldn't be coming in today or in the near future. They understood completely and wished me good luck, for which I am grateful.
Next, I called my father, hoping that at least once in my life, he would do something significant and help me with my journey to the Kazakhstan border. Unfortunately, I was naive in those thoughts. The only thing I heard was, "Don't be foolish, there's no need to go anywhere, call the military office, and everything will be resolved."
I realized that I would never receive any help or support from this person. Just like in the past, he had never taken any part in my life, and he had no intention of doing so now.
As I packed my things, I simultaneously searched for a car to the nearest border. I chose Saratov and then onwards to the Kazakhstan border. I found a car through BlaBlaCar at three o'clock in the afternoon, leaving me with only four hours available.
I went through the items I had gathered earlier once again. Reducing them to two backpacks, this time I only took the essentials and warm clothing.
At one o'clock, I called a taxi to arrive early at the departure point. After getting into the taxi, I contacted the BlaBlaCar driver to find out the exact address and departure time. The response to my question shocked me: "We have already left and are speeding along the MKAD." Sitting in a taxi heading to a different address, I tried to negotiate with them to wait for me somewhere. For a modest extra fee of 200 rubles, we agreed to meet at the Kashirskaya metro station at two o'clock in the afternoon.
Changing the address from one point to another naturally altered the taxi fare, and it was pointless to change cars when there was simply no time. The taxi driver turned out to be excellent. Somehow, we managed to reach the designated spot in less than an hour from the other side of the city. I called the BlaBlaCar driver, and he said he was approaching. We agreed on a more specific location for me to wait.
The driver arrived in a brand-new Toyota. I introduced myself to Dima, whose character and initial manner of communication were quite unpleasant, which increased my caution and mistrust towards him. He appeared to be no younger than 40. Dima turned out not to be alone but with a colleague, with whom they worked as long-haul truckers. His colleague's name was Artem, a young, short, and slim guy in his twenties. He had returned from mandatory military service a couple of months ago. He was extremely quiet and reserved.
Artem went to the store to buy cigarettes for the journey, while Dima and I stood outside the car, getting to know each other better, so to speak. He asked why I was going to Saratov, a question I had to lie about, which I really dislike doing, but I had no other choice since I didn't trust Dima. Without much thought, I answered his question, "I'm going to my girlfriend's relatives for the weekend."
Dima got distracted by a passing woman who appeared to be slightly over 35 years old. She approached us and asked for a light, to which Dima, being a true gentleman, helped her with this request. After flirting with each other for about five minutes and exchanging numbers, the woman went about her business. Dima's subsequent monologue about this woman was not the most pleasant. I don't think it's worth describing it here.
Artem returned from the store, we got into the car, and we were ready to leave, but Dima received a phone call. The guy who called him seemed clearly worried and pleaded intensely not to leave without him. Dima turned to me and asked if I minded waiting for the guy. I, of course, had no objections because I had been in his position just an hour ago. Dima agreed to wait for him for an extra fee for one hour. We parked near the nearest shopping center next to the metro station.
After 50 minutes, he arrived, and we set off. My fellow traveler turned out to be a young lad named Vitya, who didn't look older than 22. Vitya studied the IT field on YouTube and, according to his claims, quite successfully. He had managed to get a job at some company by lying about his work experience.
Vitya tried to conceal the purpose of his trip, but Dima quickly figured him out, and Vitya confessed that he was running away to Kazakhstan.
During the journey, Dima and Artem shared the purpose of their trip. They were deliberately heading to a military recruitment office, even though they hadn't received any conscription notices. Dima expressed approval for the events unfolding in Ukraine. For about an hour, he talked about his anticipation of an attack on Kyiv, as it was the capital and there were many places where they could find supplies. At that moment, I realized that this person was not going there with the aim of defending the borders of the Russian Federation, but rather for plunder and looting. Dark thoughts, a dark soul.
I thought of giving Vitya some advice and handed him my phone with a note open, which read, "Try not to talk too much about the border, where you're going, and what you think about it." He wrote down his phone number and handed me my phone back. In our conversation, I told him that I was also heading to the Kazakhstan border. After that, Vitya and I decided that we would continue together towards the border because, at the very least, it would be easier and somewhat safer.
We had plenty of time to explore options for getting from Saratov to the "Ozinki" border. We estimated our arrival time in Saratov to be around three o'clock in the morning. We managed to find a driver who would take us to the border for 5,000 rubles per person. We didn't have any other choice since taxi fares were starting at 15,000 rubles, and many other temporary taxi drivers were charging at least 10,000 rubles. So we had to agree on the price of 5,000 rubles. Vitya arranged with the driver to pick us up at four o'clock in the morning at the Saratov train station.
We were driving fairly quickly and confident that we would make it on time, but we encountered some issues as darkness fell. We got caught in a major traffic jam, which later turned out to be caused by a collision between two trucks. Both of them were engulfed in flames, leaving only their metal frames behind. Besides the police and firefighters, there was no one else around. If there was an ambulance, it had likely left after taking care of the injured. Because of this traffic jam, we were already running late for our scheduled time, at least a couple of hours late, so we informed the next driver that we would arrive later.
Along the way, approximately every couple of kilometers, there were cars stuck in ditches, and the drivers stood on the roadside, waiting for someone to pull them out. It seems to me that this is due to several factors. There is no road lighting, no barriers, and, of course, driver drowsiness. These are probably the main problems during night journeys between cities. Around eleven o'clock in the evening, I succumbed to sleep, as its arrival could no longer be restrained.
