We bounced our way out of Minsk in an old red bus; two Americans, two Brits, a Filipino and a Chinese girl attracting more attention than seemed reasonable, in a place where everyone is blonde, blue-eyed, tall and slim. They don’t call it ‘White Russia’ for nothing, and the apparent purity of Belarusian genetics points to its long and difficult history of isolationism. But for all the curiosity, everyone we met was inordinately pleased to see us, and much hand-shaking and back-slapping followed us from day one.

We were on our way to the wetlands near the Lithuanian border, to study the lingering effects of the Chernobyl disaster. We arrived in the little town of Smarhon to stock up (mainly on potato vodka) before we headed to our dacha, or hunting cabin, to pitch camp. Smarhon has several shops, none of which feature signs or windows, which all sell an apparently random selection of goods (one chair, a tea set with odd saucers, three felt-tip pens…). It was how you might picture rural Russia in the Communist era, and I was amazed to find that in 21st century Europe. Perhaps all the town’s money had been poured into their new and quite spectacular Orthodox church and its lovely bronze ‘onion’ domes.

Back at the dacha, our Russian and Belarusian friends stoked the bania (bathhouse) fire and lashed together birch branches for the ordeal to come, while we foreigners steeled ourselves with vodka and salami round the campfire. As it turned out, the girls had it easy. After a good steam, a round of beers and a few giggles we emerged pink and happy from the bania, lulling the Team Boy into a false sense of security.

Poor Raul from Texas was hauled unceremoniously into the Big Boys’ Bania, stripped and beaten with birch till he was blue, and emerged drunk as a skunk after a full 3 hours of punishment. Afterwards, he said it was the best and most authentic Belarusian experience he had the whole trip!

After every day of hot work in the bogs, we enjoyed that travellers’ camaraderie where everyone speaks a different language, so you get by more on smiles and laughs than words. Don’t count on your language skills in Belarus. It’s not easy to find speakers of English, German, French or any of the usual suspects, so brush up on your Russian basics before you go, including the alphabet, or even your road maps will remain illegible.

Belarus is certainly off the tourist trail, and the only other foreigners I saw were a handful of businesspeople in the capital Minsk, but don’t let that deter you. Once you get out to the countryside, its flat, green farmlands will remind you of the Netherlands and people will fall over themselves to meet you and to help you out. Accommodation, food and shopping are all pretty simple, and you can eat, drink and sleep comfortably on the tightest of budgets.

Belarus is unspectacular, but it is charming, and I challenge anyone to visit and not leave with ten new friends. Drunken, giggling friends covered in birch leaves.