Traveling - Rebecca Link

On October 29th, 2000 we returned to Perm Russia to adopt our two baby girls. It was prettier than before because the dirt was covered with a blanket of snow. Having the same family to stay with and the same driver gave us a sense of security. We knew what to expect. It was hard to sleep that night knowing in the morning I would finally see and hold Alonya. She was at a different orphanage than Olga, who we had visited in Perm in July. Alonya’s orphanage was in the village of Kungor, about two hours east of Perm, Russia. Natasha, our interpreter, could not be there so she sent her brother, Pavol, with our driver to interpret. Pavol was a high school English teacher in Perm.

The roads to Kungor were covered with snow and it was hard to tell where the lanes were. It looked like miles and miles of nothingness. At one of the crossroads a police car stopped us. Two police officers dressed in what looked like army clothes, carrying machine guns approached our car. Our driver and Pavol were in the front seats while my husband and I were in the back seat. Pavol asked us to get out our passports and hand them to him. Our driver got out of the car to speak with the officers. Pavol turned around in his seat and said,” Say nothing.” I grabbed my husband’s hand. They spoke outside the car for several minutes. Our driver reached inside for our passports and handed them to the officers. They looked inside the window at us with a stare and checked our passports. Everything must have been in order because they returned the passports and waved us on.

We finally reached the village of Kungor. Most of the buildings were wooden; some brightly painted but most were falling apart. As we approached the orphanage it looked like a dark brick institution. There was an older woman outside with a dark blue scarf tied around her head. It was still snowing and the sidewalks were covered. She was sweeping the sidewalks with a large stick that had small branches tied to the bottom to make a broom. She was only wearing sandals with layers and layers of socks on her feet. She smiled at us.

The orphanage smelled like Pine-Sol. It was drafty and cold. Going from room to room you needed to step up or down; nothing was level. I saw glass baby bottles lined up on a counter with twine to attach what looked like a nipple. We entered a large room that had several large cribs with babies playing in them. Across the room was Alonya on top of a dressing table. She was being dressed, being dressed to meet us. Alonya’s eyes looked across the room to look at my husband and me. There were those blue eyes that I stared at in pictures for months, those precious blue eyes that I had waited to see, those beautiful blue eyes that I was told I couldn’t have. When she was handed to me I felt like I was holding a fragile piece of china. She was so innocent and delicate. I wanted to take her with me now!