When we arrived at the airport, the guys were already waiting for us. They immediately started bargaining with the driver, arguing that they had been offered 7,000 rubles per person at the airport, and if he didn't lower the price to 5,000, they would go with any other driver. Our driver didn't resist for long, and after a couple of minutes, he gave in, and we set off in a cramped space but without hard feelings.
On the way, we got to know the guys, all of whom appeared to be no older than 25. Misha worked in IT, Kolya was a car dealer and importer from abroad, and Vlad was involved in some entrepreneurial activity.
We discussed with the guys the main topic of the past few days and how their parents reacted to their departure. None of the guys, except me, had served in the military, but they still worried that they might be pursued. Without any hidden agenda, I shared with them that people had already come looking for me based on my registration, and only after some time did I realize how rash it was to trust people I had just met in my life, even though I usually think several steps ahead before taking such actions.
I told the guys that I hadn't made any plans because I wanted to cross the border first and then think about what to do, as I was 99% sure that I would not be allowed to leave the country.
By 3:30 PM, we arrived at the border. The beginning of the queue was 7 kilometers away from the Ozinki checkpoint. The guys and I decided to walk to the beginning of the queue and try to cross the border on foot, as there were rumors in the chats that groups of 5 or more people were being allowed through. If that didn't work, our next option was to try and hitch a ride in a car as close to the border as possible. As we walked further, the price to hitch a ride with someone willing to make a profit increased from 5,000 to 15,000 rubles per person. Our belief that we would be allowed to cross on foot did not waver. It served as a good motivator in such sweltering weather.
After an hour and a half, we reached the barrier where the border guards turned us away, informing us that pedestrian crossing was closed. We had no choice but to begin searching for cars that could at least take us across the border.
And so the game began. We started looking for people to hitch a ride with. Any car from the higher-end segment with only two occupants and empty back seats would either roll up the windows or turn their faces away, ignoring us.