"We are going to Star City," I
directed. The driver did not respond.
"Star City?…Cosmos?…Um, cosmonaut?…Yuri Gagarin?" I grabbed at any word that I
thought might trigger a reaction. Again a blank stare.
Polling the people in the van, a few friends and a couple of new
acquaintances, it became evident no one spoke
Dragging him back into the hotel, I brought him to the front-desk receptionist
(whom I already knew spoke some English) and asked her to explain to our
puzzled driver our desired destination.
"Svësdni Gorodok" she replied. That finally inspired a reaction from our
driver, however, not exactly the one I had hoped for…
"Nyet, nyet, nyet," he chuckled while shaking his head.
"Da." I countered, using one of only two Russian words I knew.
After a little more bantering between our driver's 'nyets' and my 'das' he
finally agreed and began our hour-long drive to the center of the Soviet and
Russian space programs.
The long drive was relatively uneventful. The road leading to one of the
world's leading technological (albeit, often overlooked) centers is
surprisingly rural; it's basically located in the country, with farms and
small roadside stands serving as the most noticeable of any local landmarks.
The peaceful ride gave some time for us to reflect on what had really just
transpired. Only a decade earlier, the idea of tourists visiting Star City,
let alone Americans, would have been unthinkable. But here we were, a group of
six, most of us too young to remember Gagarin's first flight, doing just that.
We knew we had arrived as we drove up to a
large gate and a surrounding
stone wall. Two guards toting AK-47 rifles slowly approached either side
of the van. One guard looked into the van and yelled something in Russian to
his partner.
The gates opened, much to the obvious relief of our driver, and we were waved
onward...
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