Monthly Archives: January 2020

Svetlogorsk to Kaliningrad by Train

28 December 2000

There are a plethora of travel guides out there on the internet that like to make sweeping statements about Russian people, as if the people of the largest country in the world can be whittled down to fit ~ like a misconceived square peg into the round hole of consolation. After much negative stereotyping, these articles tend to intimate that in spite of what you have heard, when you meet them Russian people are not so bad after all. It is suggested that they come across as brusque, even rude, but, guess what! ~ when you get to know them they are just as superb and wonderful as any English, German or American person. And what is more, despite having been brought up cooking behind an Iron Curtain, their food is no less delicious.

Related: Exploring Svetlogorsk

Armed then with this image of a bear with sandwiches, we had not the slightest misgiving or uncharitable apprehension that later today we would have the extraordinary experience of meeting and dining with Olga’s mum.

Previous article: Exploring Svetlogorsk

Svetlogorsk to Kaliningrad by Train

First, we had to get to Kaliningrad, because remember, Dear Reader, Olga had been so concerned that her English visitors would baulk at the imperfections there that she had taken the precaution of squirreling them away in the coastal resort of Svetlogorsk, had installed them in the Hotel Russ, where everything was obvious and the fitness centre was minus its wheel.

Yesterday, we had travelled by taxi from Kaliningrad to Svetlogorsk, but today, whether to save money or merely to be brave, Olga suggested that we go by train.

We had returned to the Russ from our afternoon drink in the bar, which had no toilet, got changed ~ rugged ourselves up ~ trudged our way back through the new fall of snow, it was snowing as we did so, to arrive at Svetlogorsk’s railway station just as dusk was gathering. We were right on time: a big, old solid lump of a train was making its way ponderously along the track to where we stood at the end of the line.

Svetlogorsk to Kaliningrad by Train — Trains waiting at Svetlogorsk Station, December 2000

Quickly ~ as quick as it was possible with conditions as they were ~ we hurried along the length of the platform, passing this beast of a train’s bull-nose front until we reached the first carriage door. Unlike British trains where, in getting on and off, you are constantly advised to ‘mind the gap’, here it was a case of mind the small, narrow, rusty iron steps up which you have to teeter if you want to get inside. As the doors were shut when we arrived, there was no small amount of dexterity involved in ascending, balancing and opening them, but teamwork won the day, and before you could say ‘arse over head’ we were on board and, a few seconds later, on boards. Through no fault of a well-illuminated carriage we could have been forgiven for believing that British vandalism had arrived in Russia at last, but it soon dawned on me, with the cold comfort of a Cold War documentary, that Western decadence would simply not be countenanced, that there really were not any cushions or padding upon the seats, just two long rows of slat-back wooden benches.

I ignored what I thought was my brother saying something like “who’s going to pick the splinters out” and made my way to the seat at the other end of the carriage. There may not have been neon lights above our heads saying ‘Look at us, we’re foreigners’, but the inhabitants of the carriage were gawping at us all the same.

They continued to gawp, as if all were one, even though it necessitated some backward craning on their part, whilst we found that we could not hear each other speak below the sound of our peculiar whispering. Fortunately, unlike Max Bygraves, the train never lingered longer, for, with a sickening, unannounced jolt, which took the audience as much by surprise as it had us, wrenching their heads in the other direction, we and the hulking train lurched clumsily out of the station.

Within a few moments of rolling along we had to admit to each other that although the seats had looked hard, cold, hostile and uninviting they were all that and more besides. There was no heat in the carriage; a couple of young scruffy looking blokes were taking it in turns to drain a bottle of vodka; two old babushkas, who simply could not refrain from turning their heads every now and then, gave us a withering stare; a gnarled old man, his coat pulled up over his ears, rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the train, one minute asleep, one minute not; and almost everyone without exception was dragging on a fag, ~ not that this bothered us, tobacco smoking had not quite yet become the wretched victim of self-proclaimed health zealots. I cannot remember whether we lit up or not, but we most likely did. Brother Joss always had a packet of roll-ups with him in those days, and besides, the complete and utter absence of any detectable heating system made striking the match appealing.

Svetlogorsk to Kaliningrad by Train: Tickets Pashalsta!

I was just wondering when and how we would pay for this magic carpet ride, when a fierce-looking babushka armed with a large leather handbag waved that secret weapon menacingly in our direction and snarled something at us, which might have meant anything, such as ‘Hand over your roll-ups’. Such was her fierce demeanour that we would have quite willingly handed over anything had not Olga, taking money out of her purse and passing it to the handbag waver, received in exchange three slips of paper. Ahhh, so these were our tickets to ride.

In spite of the excitement, Kaliningrad seemed an age away. The old engine and its ‘ready for retirement long ago’ rolling stock, rocked, swayed, groaned and complained every snowbound inch of the way. The undernourished light cast a yellow shroud over the carriage windows through which nothing could be seen except darkness and small rivers of snow, which stretched out across the opaque expanse and collected in miniature drifts along the lower edge of the sills. It was a long journey; a hard-on-your bum journey; and a very cold journey; but we got there in the end ~ we actually made it.

The No Frills Travel Company operated from a station which was not in the least different from what you would expect: it seemed that no expense had been spared in reinforced concrete and metal struts.

We alighted, a little undignified, from the steep, narrow and rickety steps, onto a slab. A bitter wind was channeling through the yawning end of the station canopy and what signs there were to tell us how to escape from it were all, of course, in Russian. As this was Olga’s home town, she did know the way, and although nothing softening or unremitting greeted us in the station’s concrete underside, simply evading the wind’s cutting edge was consolation enough.

We were now passing along the same subterranean passages that we had traversed yesterday when we arrived in Kaliningrad, from which we would cross the vast rectangular concourse, and out through one of a number of wonderfully arched Gothic doors. We had done this, and were now standing, ankle deep in snow, on the perimeter of that vast concrete plain where yesterday my senses had been so seductively stimulated by a scene so typically Soviet.

This evening, however, there were no shoveling soldiers and all but one lonely taxi driver. All was quiet on the Eastern Front.

Fortunately, we had done our bit with public transport for the time being and were now all together looking out for Olga’s friend, the man who was going to meet us. We did not have long to wait.

Antiques & collectables

Andrew was a big man; you could not make out his features as he had a muffler over the lower half of his face and a woolly hat pulled firmly down on his head. He shook our hands warmly, exchanged a few short words with Olga, laughed and embraced us and then beckoned for us to follow. Olga had confided my love of history and antiques to him and he was now leading us to an antique and collectables shop some few yards away on the edge of the station carpark.

The antique shop was located in a large room in one of the relatively few remaining original Königsberg buildings. Access was gained by passing through a large, heavy, metal studded door, on the other side of which was a veritable cornucopia of Soviet and pre-Soviet Königsberg relics ~ I’ve stopped short of claiming that it was Aladdin’s Cave, as Aladdin would most likely have found it difficult to get a visa here and is most likely on his way to England as we speak in the back of a Co-op lorry.

I shall not dwell on all the goodies I was interested in here, or what I would have liked to have bought. In a couple of days’, we would return to this shop and make three or four purchases. Suffice it to say, that for someone who had spent a lifetime involved with antiques and curios this was a place far beyond Aladdin and his half-brother Ali Barber (since arrested in Rochdale).

We were actually on our way to Olga’s mums, but our driver, Andrew, had been asked by Olga to wheel us around via Königsberg Cathedral, at this time one of the few historic buildings to have been given the green light for restoration.

Königsberg Cathedral

Konigsberg Cathedral — Königsberg Cathedral (this photo taken in winter 2004)

As we drove, I remember passing by a great concrete monolith, softened by and shrouded in snow, and thinking to myself, what on earth is that? (I was later to learn it was the ‘House of the Soviets’). But the soon-to-hove-into view Gothic turret, high perpendicular gables and broad sweeping roof of Königsberg Cathedral erased all other sentiments, save for that inspired by the sublime scene in front of me. Now when I look back on my first impression of Königsberg Cathedral, its haunting profile sketched against a whiteboard of snow, I gain some insight into the extent to which already the dark and troubled past of this place had begun to draw me in. But whilst the vast silhouette stamped its indelible mark, my recollections of the interior of Königsberg Cathedral in the year 2000 are vague to say the least. I was entranced by my first view of the external edifice but wrote very little in my diary about what lay behind the great oak doors. I mention renovation work to various wall monuments and note that it was not possible at that time to venture further than the ground floor, but much more than this I did not register, although the impression I have is that unlike today the doors opened into one very large rectangular room in which seating and other appurtenances seemed to be at a minimum.

And that, strangely enough, is all that I can recall of Königsberg Cathedral on the inside; whilst the memory of its outside has never let go of me … and never let me go.

Kaliningrad: Secret holiday destination

A City of Contrasts

Preamble

Before going anywhere today, the first thing we do is consult the internet. If you undertake ~ or have already undertaken ~ an internet search of ‘Kaliningrad’ chances are that you will turn up, or have already turned up, a disproportionate amount of negativity. This is especially true of UK media articles, that is articles disseminated by the mainstream UK press, particularly articles written prior to and up to 2018, when Kaliningrad hosted the World Cup tournament in which England played against Belgium.

In the months leading up to the World Cup the concerted vitriol reached its apotheosis, which was rather unfortunate for the British press as, almost without exception, the majority of British fans who were not dissuaded from coming to Kaliningrad agreed that they had enjoyed themselves in Russia and in Kaliningrad in particular. So, it was a warm welcome for the British footer fans and a red face for the British media.

Since 2018, there has been a noticeable change in tone, with some, though not all, journalists adopting a more honest appraisal of Kaliningrad’s status as a tourist destination. Leading travel guides for English-language readers blaze the trail, using such words to describe Kaliningrad as ‘exciting, vibrant, a city and region of contrasts, fascinating, quirky and historically unique’.

Indeed, our late friend Victor Rybinin, artist and historian, defined its unique character as the combination of two cultures, first German and then Russian, and it is somewhere between this polarity that its fascination resides.

Königsberg: a city that refuses to die

Kaliningrad’s duality really begins at the close of WWII. Until that time it had been the capital of East Prussia, an imposing and noble city, boasting an architectural composition of Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic designs. Originally known as Königsberg, the city changed names when it changed people and country in 1946, the historical city of Königsberg having been all but extirpated from aerial bombing in 1944 and the Soviet siege and battle of 1945. From 1946 onwards, Königsberg, now renamed Kaliningrad, and the territory surrounding it, was absorbed by the Soviet Union.

Home to the Baltic Fleet, and of strategic geo-political importance, the area became a closed domain and remained this way until the collapse of the Soviet Union. The dissolution of the satellite Baltic states in the 1990s and their subsequent harvesting by the European Union created a physical and psychological barrier ~ physical in that the Kaliningrad region is separated by countries unallied to Russia, psychological in the sense that this little piece of land, the westernmost outpost of the Russian Federation, has become a political/military bogeyman for the West to rattle its sabres at ~ little wonder, therefore, that it is ringed with NATO bases! Never mind, it does not worry the locals, so it need not worry you.

History is Kaliningrad’s speciality

For the history buff, especially those interested in WWI, WWII and the Cold War, Königsberg-Kaliningrad has plenty to offer. The city contains a number of wartime monuments and museums and so many underground shelters that I have often amused myself whilst travelling from one side of the city to the next by taking part in my own spot the bunker competition. One of the bunkers, the aptly named Museum Bunker, is open to the public. It is very Nazispheric and replete with military history exhibits.

Kaliningrad: Secret holiday destination — Spot the German bunker competition

The most obvious examples of Königsberg’s military history predate the conflicts of the 20^th century, although, like every building in the beleaguered city of 1945, they played a not inconsiderable defensive role in the final battle for Königsberg.

Königsberg was a fortress city, which, by the middle and the late 19^th century, was heavily defended by two continuous rings of red-brick forts joined by an elaborate network of slit walls, bastions, gates, ramparts and crenelated towers. A prodigious proportion of both defensive rings is extant today, thanks to their solid construction, the determination of local history groups to conserve them and considerable restoration investment. Some of the forts now house museums; others are work in progress.

Königsberg fort — One of Königsberg’s inner circle of forts

Moat surrounding one of Königsberg's forts. Kaliningrad: Secret holiday destination — Moat surrounding one of *Königsberg’s* forts in the outer ring

Smaller relics both of Königsberg and from its military past can be found in any one of the city’s antique shops and ~ joy of all joys ~ at the city’s central street market. This haven for collectors has evolved into a boot fair/flea market hybrid, selling all manner of WWII and Soviet relics along with remnants of Königsberg itself.

One of the most atmospheric, or should that be claustrophobic, reminders of the Cold War is the Soviet submarine which is moored at the side of the Pregolya (German: Pregel) River on a bankside development mainly devoted to other marine vessels, museums and education centres under the auspices of the World Ocean Museum.

Soviet Submarine. Kaliningrad: Secret holiday destination — Soviet submarine, Kaliningrad

Kaliningrad’s Amber Museum is possibly the most well-known museum in the city and its territory. It was established in 1972 and occupies one of the inner-circle forts on the bank of one of Kaliningrad’s lakes (the correct terminology for which, I am told, is ‘pond’ ~ which makes it a very big one!) This, incidentally, is the same tower depicted in various YouTube videos, on which victorious Russian troops hoist the Soviet flag high across the war-torn landscape which, in 1945, is all that remained of Königsberg ~ at least in its physical form.

Kaliningrad amber

The Amber Museum, Kaliningrad — Amber Museum, Kaliningrad, Russia

Established in the richest amber-producing area in the world, the Amber Museum holds impressive and ornate examples of artisan craftsmanship, and both the city and coastal resorts are dotted with specialist amber shops, supplemented by market stalls specialising in every conceivable manifestation of amber-work imaginable and in all its various hues ~ jewellery, souvenirs, framed pictures, clocks, statues, household goods … the list is seemingly endless.

Exotic amber jewellery, Kaliningrad, Russia

Coastal resorts of the Kaliningrad region

The largest coastal resorts, Svetlogorsk and Zelenogradsk, are respectively a mere thirty and forty-five minutes away from Kaliningrad city centre by car, train, taxi or bus. As both towns are extensively populated with shops and stalls selling amber, and as the amount and range of goods for sale is little short of amazing, amber hunters visiting these resorts can combine their shopping expedition with a relaxing day by the sea.

Svetlogorsk (German: Rauschen) is a traditional coastal spa resort nestled on an undulating headland, sprinkled with fir and beech woods, in which quaint German houses of Hoffmanesque character peep out from within small enclaves of trees.

High Gothic. Kaliningrad Holiday Destination — High Gothic, Svetlogorsk, Russia

In recent years, renovation and large-scale investment has, like Kaliningrad, made this a place of contrasts and with it evoked controversy. Lavish and extravagant villas, high-rise buildings, even an entire street reconstructed in retrospective styles, have inevitably been precipitated by its growing popularity as a well-appointed, attractive coastal retreat.

Half-timbered reconstruction, Svetlogorsk, Russia

The, in my opinion, outsized multicomplex theatre and shopping centre, constructed in Svetlogorsk in 2015, seems to have been accepted, but there is decidedly less tolerance for what many see as a disproportionate extension to the seafront promenade, an enormous elevated walkway that has robbed Svetlogorsk of some of its little sandy beach and is destined to serve as the frontage for a parade of grand hotels and exclusive sea-view apartments. This notwithstanding, the older parts of Svetlogorsk are resolutely anchored by firm historical roots which, at the time of writing, continue to nurture the fairy tale.

Entertainment centre, Svetlogorsk, Russia

Zelenogradsk (German: Cranz) is by far the better option if sandy beaches are your thing. In German times, Cranz was considered to be the first resort and Rauschen the second, a position reversed in Soviet times and persisting to this day, but my prejudice is gradually moving in favour of Zelenogradsk. With its broad, golden swathe of beach, wide service-filled promenade, interesting beach-side cafes and restaurants offering unobstructed views of the sea, and its calm and easy serpentine high street containing many fine old buildings, some tastefully renovated others honestly gnarled and time-weathered, and not forgetting its awe-inspiring sunsets, a heavenly fusion of the sublime and surreal, Zelenogradsk for me is the perfect seaside retreat.

As stated previously, Svetlogorsk and Zelenogradsk are the two main regional coastal resorts, but they are not the only ones along this stretch of the Baltic coastline. Smaller and more secluded places await the intrepid traveller!

Secret Holiday Destination ~ Kaliningrad — Sandy beaches hidden away on Kaliningrad’s Baltic coatline

For nature lovers, and lovers of the great outdoors, the Kaliningrad region’s jewel in the crown is indubitably Korski Spit (the Curonian Spit) ~ a long (98km) narrow sand dune that arcs from the Kaliningrad region into south-west Lithuania, with the Curonian Lagoon on one side and the Baltic Sea coast the other. Carpeted with pine forest, and intricately laced with white sandy dips and hollows, this Unesco World Heritage Site is a phenomenal natural landscape and a natural habitat for a multitude of bird, animal and plant species. Wooden pathways constructed by volunteers permit the traveller to enjoy the natural beauty of the Curonian Spit whilst preserving the fragile ecosystem. It is along one of these that you are invited to walk to the Dancing Forest ~ so named because of the coiled and twisted nature of its trees. Visitors to the Spit will find viewing platforms from which to appreciate the beauty of both land and seascape, level cycle trails, and cafes tucked away in quiet little woodland glades. As for guest houses in this protected part of the Kaliningrad region, such are not prolific, although you may be lucky and find one in one of the two small secluded settlements hidden away on the Spit.

Meanwhile, back in Kaliningrad, no reference to its historic past would be complete without acknowledging the enduring presence of Königsberg Cathedral. A mere husk after the war, sterling work, much effort, considerable investment and skill has seen this fine specimen of 14^th century Gothic architecture restored to an unbelievable standard. In the daytime its unmistakable profile hints at the glory of what once was; in the twilight its silhouette is an eerie reminder of total war and the obliteration that still haunts this city.

Kaliningrad: ‘City of Contrasts’

Victory Square Kaliningrad Russia — Kaliningrad: Victory Square

The label a ‘city of contrasts’ is as good as one as any to try to hang on a place which is as enigmatic as it is ambiguous. Modern-day Kaliningrad is vibrant and bustling ~ new apartment blocks, expensive reconstructions cast in the mould of its Königsberg predecessors, an eclectic array of bars, cafes, restaurants and clubs, brand-spanking international hotel complexes rub shoulders with down-at-heel swathes of Soviet-era concrete flats, all sharing the same physical and spiritual space as the monuments to and memories of the ruins from which they have grown ~ Königsberg.

Original Königsberg building, Kaliningrad, Tourist Destination — Original Königsberg building, Kaliningrad

Epilogue

When I began writing this article, I had envisaged a succinct work of some 500 to 600 words. The fact that I have greatly exceeded that is testament to the great variety of things to see and do here, within Kaliningrad itself and its outlying region, and whilst I have deliberately focused on some of the more prominent, more defining features unique to this special place, those that I have not mentioned ~ of which there are many ~ less known, perhaps, but equally deserving, are urging me to write about them and, more importantly, for you to come and discover them for yourself.

Tour Guide/Accommodation

English-speaking visitors to this region are welcome to contact us on email Königsbergmick@mail.com. We provide a friendly, personal tour guide/interpreter service tailored to your requirements. We also offer accommodation (maximum two people).

New Year’s Eve at the Hotel Russ, Svetlogorsk

New Year’s Eve at the Hotel Russ

31 December 2019

Note: Rumour has it that the Hotel Russ has not only closed but in 2021 was demolished to make way for a brand-spanking new development complex. I am glad that I had the chance to visit this iconic building before it was consigned to history! R.I.P. Russ!!!😪

Every year it’s the same: what are we going to do, where are we going to go on New Year’s Eve? I was in England over the Christmas period when my wife telephoned to discuss where we should see the New Year in. Such a question would have been unthinkable, and quite unnecessary, in Kaliningrad when we were younger, as there was always someone holding a party somewhere, but the years have taken their toll and most of our friends and associates, we included, have reached the age when raucous reverie no longer holds the attraction that it once did. To paraphrase the Ouse Valley Single Club’s record, ‘We’re not as young as we used to be’. However, life is full of surprises, and just when I was thinking that it would be a night in with my old Kenneth McKellar Hogmanay tapes, here’s my wife suggesting that we return to the Hotel Russ!

New Year’s Eve at the Hotel Russ

Now, it had been almost 20 years ~ New Year’s Eve 2000-2001 to be precise ~ since we last celebrated New Year at the Russ (see my diary entry on this blog, when I get time to write it!), and when I divulged our decision to my brother, who had been with us back in the day, all he could chortle was, “Oh, no! You’re joking! Remember what it was like then. I bet it hasn’t changed!”

I wondered.

In my previous article on the Russ I had promised that we would return at some point in the future and review the Russ again, and as this occasion seemed as good a time as any, New Year’s Eve at the Russ it was.

Although Kaliningrad, where we live, is only 1000 rubles (about £11) by taxi away, we decided to make a short break of it, booking in for two nights. The New Year’s Eve party tariff was, approximately, £60 per person; the hotel tariff, £40 per night for a double room. For your 60 quid each person received a meal of 9 courses and a choice of two bottles from three options, which comprised wine, champagne and vodka. Fruit juice, in copious amounts, was thrown in and, of course, the fee included the cost of entertainment.

Not being altogether sure what time the event started, we had arrived early at 8pm, giving us time to patrol the Russ to spot the deliberate changes. We had returned to the Russ on three or four occasions since our first visit in 2000, not to stay there, but for a drink at the bar, so we were aware that the hotel had changed hands a number of times and of the changes made under different ownerships.

Related: The Hotel Russ, year 2000

The ‘sun lounge’ extension to the dining room, for example, which had not been there on our first visit, had been instigated some several years ago and, naturally, the hotel’s interior decoration, paintwork and such, had passed through various stages of transformation. Nevertheless, in terms of construction and overall layout, alterations were few: the approach to reception and reception area itself was as good and as true as yesterday; the ship-shape bar area, the overhang of which was distinctly reminiscent of a 1920s’ ocean liner, was perfect in its preservation; the sweeping twist of the spiral staircase unmolested by time; the split-level pitch of the bar lounge unspoilt in all its high-ceiling glory; the square-section colonnade marching along the centre line as sturdy and impressive as the day I first set eyes on it. However, needless to say, there had been some changes.

As one of the photographs we took in the year 2000-2001 reveals, the original Russ bar had been a rather small affair, a little curved thing which would not have looked out of place (although they all did) in a 1970s’ British council house front room. Gone! This had been replaced by a big job: a long, solid, dark-wood structure, extending almost from one end of the room to the other, and better in proportion to it. Gone, too, were the drop-down cluster lights, the ceiling-hoisted tapestries and the curved low walls at the foot of the pillars with their water feature. The main lighting source, at least at the bar, consisted of three long rows of sunken downlighters; the low walls and water features had been replaced by width of space and the tapestries had, well, they had just gone somewhere.

In the lower level, the lighting was dimmed, especially for this occasion, and restrained to roving beams and three or four table lamps, these to cosy the atmosphere. I focus on lighting at this juncture because if I have any reservations about our evening at the Russ, it would have to be the lighting, that is the lighting in the bar area where our table was located. On the lower level, the lighting was just right; on the upper it was all wrong ~ far too bright. When we returned to the bar the following evening two of the three downlighter series had been turned off ~ then, but alas, too late, the lighting was near enough perfect.

It is not possible to comment on any other difference within the ground-floor area, except for a slight variation in the fireplace surround at the end of the lower level, as this section had been set out with party in mind and to accommodate as many guests as possible. In 2000-2001, the New Year’s celebrations had been confined to the main dining room; then, the upper bar area had, presumably, been left untouched, likewise with the lower level, which was then sprinkled luxuriously with leather divans and armchairs.

On this New Year’s Eve, we did not immediately take our seats at the table we had reserved. Apart from the hotel staff, we were alone, and the empty legions of tables, hollow space devoid of human existence, background music ~ which only we could hear, echoing throughout the people-less places, roaming empty rooms and haunting lofty halls ~ put me in mind of scenes from The Shining ~ all we needed now was a heavy fall of snow!

We purchased a couple of drinks at the better, longer bar and took the same slim lift into which we had squashed with Mincer and our Sausage back in 2000. We got out on the second floor, although our room was on the third, simply because we wanted to see if we could remember which room we had occupied, and which room had been my brother’s 19 years’ ago.

In this quest we had marginal success, but this little bit of time travelling had revealed that the railed centre of the broad corridor was no longer an open vista to the ground floor and that even had we returned to carry out my brother’s threat all those years ago, to hang underpants on the top of the Christmas tree, the chance had passed us by. Possibly because our rooms had been bugged back then and someone knew of our plan, the two gaps in the ceiling had been effectively plugged, allowing subsequent management to turn the corridor below into a multipurpose function room and, indeed, this was the very location for the New Year’s entertainment tonight.

Fish & the billiard table

At the top of the spiral staircase, on the veranda where the lift came out, the full-sized billiard table, over which Mr Fish had cursed boredom and chucked pistachio shells noisily into an ashtray whilst contemplating his prostitute of choice, had vanished, replaced instead by lots of open space and around the perimeter in part a combination of settees and armchairs in a sumptuous off-white fabric into which one could gratefully sink to savour one’s choice of beverage whilst pondering on the efficacy of yonder massage chair, with its various change of positions and strategically thought-out vibrating parts.

We discovered later, much to my nostalgic joy, that the famous billiard table had not been given the heave-ho but merely relocated to the third floor.

Our room at the Russ

I am not altogether certain that the room we had booked had been described as a double or a room for two persons. Although, alas, there was no signs of rope bondage as there had been years ago, a practice, no doubt, that just did not catch on, the sleeping arrangements may have constituted two single beds artfully conjoined by the simple but effective use of a stretch-fitting base sheet.

Whatever it was, the bed was comfortable, and the room, with its light wood trim, light sandy wall colouring and matching hard and soft furnishings was pleasant on the eye and on all the other senses. Good use had been made of compacting the space available and maximum storage capacity had been exacted in terms of wardrobe fittings and shelving. The shower room was, as they would have said in the 1920s, blissful, and was well equipped: it had a voluminous sink unit, large circular wall mirror, a profusion of hooks and racks, all the shampoos, conditioners, soaps and the like you could wish for, disposable tooth brushes with toothpaste included and a wall-mounted hair dryer, a nice touch eliminating the need to search for it amongst your shirts and smalls. Without question, however, the jewel in the crown had to be the walk-in shower room. Big enough to hold an orgy, this spacious facility with its mosaic floor was just the job for a good rinse down when, on returning from the beach, you might need to evict the sand from your toes.

Another appealing feature of Russ bedrooms, at least the ones we have stayed in, is the balcony. Russ balconies are recessed into the broad sweep of the roof. They are as deep as they are wide, providing excellent suntraps in sequestered privacy.

Too cold to go nude on this occasion, even whilst wearing my cravat, we elected instead to return to reception, collect our belongings and prepare for the evening.

New Year’s Eve party at the Hotel Russ

Being a bit long in the tooth, we had chosen our table deliberately, putting a respectably less noisy distance between us and the entertainment hall. As I mentioned earlier, our only reservation was the lighting, which made us wish that we had booked a table in the more atmospheric lower level, but being close to the bar had its compensations ~ for example the attentive waiter, who could not have replenished our glasses quicker had he been beamed down specifically for that purpose.

Drinks wise, I have no complaints; as for the food, well, I am not a foodie person, by which I mean not one of those gluttons (or is it gourmets?) who vacillate from orgasmic to anti-climactic dining experiences, eating at one restaurant whilst comparing it with another, waxing lyrical on this gastronomical campaign whilst deprecating that one and scoffing down one meal in the midst of planning their next. As my old primary school teacher used to say, “There are those who live to eat; and those who eat to live.” In my humble opinion, the Russ repast was good. In quantity, there was too much for me; but I have no beef with the quality. In fact, being non-carnivorous, I had no beef at all. This should at least provide some reassurance to vegies who may have read elsewhere ~ and, indeed, in my own articles on this blog ~ that vegetarian fare can be hard to find in Russia.

My good lady wife, who neither shares my predilection for non-meat fodder nor condones my beans-on-toast palate, seemed well pleased with her meal(s). Had she not, I am almost certain that she would have complained!

The Russ breakfast

I will say, however, that breakfast the following morning was generous both with regard to the variety of food on offer and in quantity. In respect of the latter, it would have been impossible not to be, since food was served buffet style and, if you wanted more, you simply helped yourself. There were different cheeses, poached eggs, omelet squares, sausages, fish, potato wedges, small buns containing meat, croissants, bread, fruit, yoghurts, a range of cereals, a cavalcade of fruit juices and much more than my hangover-impaired memory can properly recall. One delicacy was more indelible, however, and that was a traditional Russian dish called ‘Herring Under Fur Coat’. Believe me, I kid you not.

‘Herring Under Fur Coat’

On the quality of the entertainment this New Year’s Eve, I am not really qualified to comment, as we spent most of our time at our table. We did watch and listen to President Putin’s speech and raised a glass to Moscow’s New Year, which came in one hour ahead of time than that of Kaliningrad’s, and raised a second toast at the end of the Russian National Anthem, probably one of the longest but most uplifting national anthems of all time. At Kaliningrad’s midnight, we joined the throng in the entertainment hall, where champagne was being served in preparation for the midnight hour, the countdown preluded by a New Year speech by the Governor of Kaliningrad, Anton Alikhanov.

In the lift Olga had spoken to a man who had asked her if she was partying until 6am, the official closing time of the Russ party. When she replied in the negative, excusing us from this commitment due to our age, the grey-haired man replied, “I’m not as young as I used to be [now, where have I heard that before?] but I’m going to party anyway!”

Young and old and in between, the Russ continued to rock until daybreak. Much was drunk; but all was civilised!

In summary, our return to the Hotel Russ had been disappointing: the service was excellent, the staff extremely efficient and friendly, the bar well stocked, the food ~ like Trump ~ unimpeachable, the interior design architecturally fascinating, the hotel rooms clean, comfortable and well-equipped, and it was all that you wanted and all you could ask for. Although I did not have so much to laugh about as I did 19 years’ ago when last I stayed at the Russ, what the Russ had lost in slapstick comedy it had more than made up for in professionalism, atmosphere and a sense of bon ami.

At a time when hotels are popping up in Svetlogorsk like a bad rash, should you be looking for reclusive (ie away from the increasing hustle and bustle of the seafront) and exclusive accommodation, you would do much worse than opt for the Russ. From relatively humble but entrepreneurial beginnings, it has attained a level of maturity seldom encountered in the hospitality trade.

The Hotel Russ, Svetlogorsk, Russia: a 4-Star Hotel with 6-Star Service!

Essential Details:

Russ Hotel
Ulitsa Vereshchagina, 10
Svetlogorsk
Kaliningrad Oblast, 238560

Tel: +7 (4012) 777 787

Exploring Svetlogorsk

28 December 2000

“… and then, to top it all off, they passed the bill to me!” This was Joss recounting his adventures the night before over breakfast, which was ~surprise, surprise ~ a Russian version of cold meats and cheeses.

“So,” I clarified, “you all had plenty of food and the most expensive whisky and brandy and they (his hosts) asked you to pay the bill?”

“No,” he snorted, “They ordered what they wanted and then simply shoved the bill in my direction. What could I do? I couldn’t say anything as I can’t speak the lingo!”

“How about, ‘How much is a crash course in Russian?’”

There is something extremely satisfying about an inveterate bill dodger being caught out at his own game!

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Exploring Svetlogorsk

It had stopped snowing, but the temperature had dropped. Some grit had been applied to the Russ pathway but beyond that it was fairly treacherous underfoot. Across the road from the Russ the silver birch woodland was as picturesque as one could wish for, the floor covered in a thick bed of snow and the treetops artistically crystalised.

Joss Hart in the silver birch tree wood opposite the Hotel Russ, Svetlogorsk, year 2000. (Photo is blurred because of the quality of an old-world camera and a couple of hangovers.) Note the traditional Soviet hat!.

The walk into town took us on a route passed buildings of a most curious nature, each one different from the other. Immediately next to the Russ, on the same side of the road, there was another hotel, half-completed but with the front section, which was of concrete-block construction, yet windowless, over which a large crane hovered.

Svetlogorsk architecture

On the left side of the road, there were three or four new-builds, the architectural style of which varied immensely from building to building but all incorporating some or mixed elements of Gothic, Baroque and Neo-Classicism. The pastiche shouted conspicuous affluence, the contrasting styles sitting uneasily with each other but rendered plausible thanks to their salutary regard for the East Prussian influence from which they had sprung.

Exploring Svetlogorsk a new-Russian house c.2000 — Grand house, Svetlogorsk, December 2000

On the right side of the road, the majority of houses were older and much more simple and humble. These were small one-storey buildings, possibly dating to the early 20^th century, but with small windows in the gable end suggesting attic space above and most, if not all, having (shock and alarm in England!!) corrugated asbestos roofs. There was a shanty-town down-at-heel honesty about these dwellings, with their hotchpotch of wooden porches built on during the Soviet era and lean-tos in various states of semi-collapse. On the corner of this road, same side and opposite to an as of yet incomplete new-build with Gothic tower, stood a large, unseemly concrete and brick block of flats, each floor equipped with integral and continuous open balcony. It may have been the middle of winter, but this had not prevented someone from stringing up a line, from which their washing hung stiff and frozen in the rapidly descending temperature.

Acclimatised to the never-ending sameness of British weather, where seasons meld into one, we were intrigued to learn that today the temperature had dropped to -10 degrees. The snow was very crisp under foot and treacherous ice patches kept us ever vigilant in our quest to avoid one of those embarrassing arse-over-head experiences. As we turned into the long road to the town, the pavement was the proverbial accident waiting to happen.

New Russian House Exploring Svetlogorsk — New Russian House c.2000. No longer in existence c.2020??

This road contained few houses on the left; on the right there were some beautiful, genuine old houses, small, set back inside woodland groves. What houses there were on the left were extravagant in every sense ~ large, out of proportion with their neighbours, bristling with different-sized windows on every conceivable level and surrounded by high, black wrought-iron fences. These were the properties of New Rich Russians, a term which in those times was used pejoratively. I was to encounter this label often over the next few days, and it would be used in a tone that was as cold as the ambient temperature. It seemed to me that the inherent contempt was a hang-back to the Soviet-era’s emphasis on a level society in which any hierarchical structure, as defined by wealth or class, was frowned upon as being dangerously bourgeoisie, smacked of Capitalist individualism and was tainted by the trappings of conspicuous consumption.

Exploring Svetlogorsk ~ Commemorative Chapel

We continued to walk. This road was a long one, with no deviation. By and by we stopped beside a small clearing in which an unassuming white chapel set in grounds away from the road could be seen. This building had a sad and tragic history to it, as it marked the spot where a Soviet plane crashed into a school building back in 1972.

Mick Hart & Olga outside the Commemorative Chapel in Svetlogorsk Russia (2000) — Mick Hart & Olga outside the Commemorative Chapel in Svetlogorsk , year 2000

Now on the left, we were walking past a large open square which had what looked to be a makeshift stage on one side and on the other the little café-bar which we had frequented the night before. A few yards down from this we passed a couple more historic Svetlogorsk houses, fronted by snow-filled gardens adjacent to the road, and here we were in the centre of Svetlogorsk.

The centre was basically a wider, more open area situated or build around a crossroads. On our right there was a café-bar, across the road on our left a shop, on the opposite side of the road in front of us a small, modern (glass and steel-framed) snack bar and, on the opposite side of the road, a large, non-descript, uniform municipal building.

Olga steered us off to the right, where we passed a glass-fronted restaurant. On the opposite side of the road stood two Prussian blocks of wooden-framed buildings, shutters on either sides of the windows and pretty carved fascia boards above, the latter festooned with rows and clusters of icicles.

We were now heading towards the ‘front’, and to do this we would have to descend along a broad pathway that snaked its way down the steep banks to the promenade. The wind whipped across this section of coastline and, although buffered by the woodland on either side of us and in spite of our extra layers of clothing, was inhospitable enough to force us to take shelter in the nearest place dispensing warmth, hot food and beverages.

At this time, Svetlogorsk promenade was serviced by one café only (a far cry from today!). According to my diary, what I liked best about this cafe was the coat and hat-check facility. This was not something that we were used to in the provincial part of England where we hailed from, and the elegant formality of it seemed to belong to an altogether more refined and bygone era. My ‘second first’ in this café was an introduction to the Russian menu. Unlike in England, where the fare is typed on the front and back of a piece of card, the average Russian menu was so extensive that it was presented to you in the form of a large book, covered in simulated leather ~ a weighty tome, indeed, which would not look out of place should Eamon Andrews be handing it to you (showing my age again). Every page of this wonderful book was rammed with meaty delights, cooked and served in every way imaginable; salivating stuff indeed if you happened to be a carnivore, but if it so happened that you had renounced consumption of animal flesh, as I had, then this great big book was woefully short of grub.

Englishmen & Vegetarians

At this time vegetarianskee options were a long way from catching on in Russia and, whilst most people in this western extremity of the country no longer react with amazement when you reveal that you do not eat meat, your strange preference is still met with a visible degree of perplexity whether dining at someone’s house or eating out in café or restaurant. On this occasion, long ago, Olga did manage to organise something akin to borsch, the most traditional of Russian dishes, but very few places other than this would be willing to make me borsch with the essential ingredient, meat, excluded.

The next rift with tradition was trying to get a cup of tea with milk. The problem here was the inverse of meat: with meat dishes it was necessary to exclude, whilst with tea, it was all a matter of remembering to include. To this day, whenever we order tea (chi) in a café , restaurant or hotel, the milk is always forgotten, and it is not altogether unknown to be asked with a puzzled expression ‘skolka?’, how much?, and even then you can sometimes end up with a tumbler full.

Hurdles are there to be overcome, hoops are there to be jumped through and the cold outside was waiting for us. Wrapped up and back outside, we continued along the prom, our attention and progress arrested by the sight of a rather peculiar tower, rectangular of shape and clad entirely in large sheets of corrugated tin. This, Olga explained, was a lift shaft, the lift within ready to transport you to the elevated ground above, only today it was not working. That was a shame, I thought, as it looked well dodgy and dangerous. We also passed another means of aerial transport, this time in the form of small bucket-shaped cable cars, the wire on which they were suspended following the slope of the bank. A note in my 2000 diary refers to rust and a certain degree of lopsidedness, the implication being that I had been rather pleased to discover that these were not working either, even if it did mean walking up the steep incline. And very steep it was and very slippery.

Exploring Svetlogorsk ~ Bar No Toilet

Approximately three-quarters of the way up this hill, the urge for a pint kicked in and when it did we were fortunate enough to be a snowballs throw away from a neon sign with ‘Bar’ written on it. The old-fashioned red neon tube was a sight for sore eyes, frozen hands and almost unfeeling toes. From the outside this bar looked exceptionally basic and the inside did not disappoint me: half-a-dozen round tables with four plain chairs around each, a high, short counter, two beer engines and an electric fire ~ my kind of place. Olga had a vodka and Joss and I had two ice cold lagers ~ just the ticket for this sort of weather!

We must have spent at least forty minutes in this humble but gratifying establishment, during which we were watched by the bar staff as if we had just landed from Pluto. We soon learnt that our presence in the Kaliningrad region was singularly astonishing; we tended to be regarded somewhere between exotic and alien, or exotic aliens, with an oscillating reaction which swung back and forth from amused curiosity to highly suspicious caution. At first it was unnerving, but, as we became accustomed to it and realised it was par for the course, the attention we received appealed to our sense of the exciting and comic. Besides, if we knew nothing else, we had armed ourselves with one very important and versatile Russian phrase, which was Ya nee penymio (I don’t understand).

This phrase came into its own when we enquired Gdye toylete? And the answer came back, “We haven’t got one.” I had often used this response when I was younger to guests who were visiting our family home; their confusion was delightful. But now with the tables turned it did not seem quite so funny. Further enquiry, with our legs crossed, revealed that although they really did not have a toilet, patrons were welcome to use the toilet block outside that belonged to an establishment on the opposite side of the street.

In normal circumstances, ie normal being when the steeply sloping road outside was not covered by a glacier, such an excursion may have been a considerably less arduous and adventurous undertaking, but even with my brother and I providing more than moral support to each other we ended up sliding this way and that in a helpless fit of the giggles. Fortunately, no accidents accrued, in any place where they might have done when one is dying for a pee whilst inadvertently ice skating, and having mastered this peculiarly Russian ritual, we downed another pint and headed back to the Russ where, ‘isn’t it obvious’, we had returned for a short respite and a snack before travelling into Kaliningrad for our first experience of Russian hospitality.