My wife has been nagging (they do, don’t they) for the
past couple of days for me to leave the house and go outside, but the weather
has been so awful that I have used it as an excuse to stay indoors and not get
the fresh air that is so good for me.
Today, however, the sun came out and with my excuse rendered null and void I was forced to give in. We were off to the central market, and I had been told that it would be very beneficial for me if we walked, and besides I would enjoy it.
As it happens I did, but you don’t tell them that in a
hurry.
On the way we took some photographs of some
interesting bas relief work to some of the buildings close to the market.
We were off shopping for vegetables, and I must say
that Kaliningrad’s covered market is such a joy to shop in (more of that later)
that by the time we got there I had stopped complaining.
Loaded with all sorts of edibles that are not meat, we
then decided to stop off somewhere for a spot of lunch.
We chose Mama Mia’s, a restaurant on the edge of
Victory Square opposite the cathedral.
Mama Mia is a rather modern affair, certainly not the sort of place that I could wear my 1940s’ clothes in, but it is bright, comfortable and above all relaxing. On one side, the side we were in, you can look out of the windows and watch the world go by ~ I spotted a van with a large hammer and sickle motif stuck to it ~ or, for a slightly more reclusive experience, you can turn left where the room is divided up into larger seating areas favourable for group dining.
Mama Mia Restaurant
Mick Hart drinking sensibly at Mama Mia’s Restaurant, Kaliningrad, Russia
In here there are two rather interesting things: one,
a wall-mounted water feature, which resembles a mirror but has water cascading
down the inside of it; and two, a display of giant piano keys overlaid with outsized
wooden portholes.
I was content to be in our little seats, seeing vans
go by with hammers and sickles on them at a table where it is possible to flag
the waiter’s attention literally at the press of a button.
We did not have the chance to use this communication
mechanism, as we were straight in and ordering two ‘business lunches’. These
are preset lunches at a very good price. I had Greek salad, soup and pizza
accompanied by cranberry juice. My wife had chicken soup and chicken cutlets
with brown rice, and between us, in a see-through teapot, we had freshly made
ginger tea. The meals cost us £2.50 apiece and the speciality tea £1.70.
Comfortable and competitively priced: Mama Mia Restaurant, Kaliningrad, Russia
Shame on me, I did not partake of beer this lunchtime
as I had a workout scheduled. But perhaps tomorrow night…
We snapped a few pictures whilst we were in there, caught a taxi home and I left one bag behind, had to go back for it and got nagged at for being дурак (silly)
That’s a nice thing to say to your husband, I’m sure.
Essential Details:
Mama Mia Klover Siti Tsentr Ploschtschad Pobedy 10, Kaliningrad Kaliningrad Oblast, 236006
Continuing with our theme of Kaliningrad City of Contrasts, I was out walking the other day and I came across this rather splendiferous example.
On one side of the road you have this spanking new
block of flats; on the other, this rather sad and sorry ruined Königsberg
cottage.
This side
That side
Kaliningrad City of Contrasts
Could the latter be restored, I hear you say? Or, is
that just the sound of my own Romanticist fantasy ringing inside my head?
If I had a flat which faced the street in the new
apartment block pictured here, every day I looked out of my window and beheld
this ruined abode, I would be confronted with the question, is this building
restorable?
I would need you there to laugh at me.
But something has to be built on this site at some
time. So, let us rephrase the question: would it be possible to salvage
something from this former home and integrate it into a new build as a historic
feature?
You are laughing at me again!
But look at those marvelous chimney stacks, and is that an enamel sign peeping through the trees on the right-hand side? And who knows what may still be lurking on the inside under the debris? Perhaps one of those remarkable tiled Königsberg stoves; 1920s’ door handles; additions and renovations from the Soviet era. If nothing else, the red bricks have to be a reusable, recyclable commodity?
What’s that you say?
It would be easier to keep the curtains shut or buy a flat on the other side of the building.
Kaliningrad 20 Years Ago (or Russian Hospitality part 1)
Diary entry dated 28 December 2000
From our brief excursion to Königsberg Cathedral we were off at last to Olga’s mothers. I wrote in my diary of rattling over roughshod cobbles, dodging one pothole to land in another, of dimly lit streets, an old metal railway bridge overlooking a huge rolling-stock marshalling yard crammed with lines of open wagons and tankers, of winding streets clung onto by tired old German flats and overlooked impersonally by more modern chunks of concrete that looked more tired and shabby than the ones they sought to usurp. I wrote of the street onto which Andrew let us out of his car. (It was the approach road to Olga’s flat, the flat she shared with her son, her mother, daughter and Marsha the cat.) ‘Mean Street’ I wrote, on account of what the road was: a narrow lane that ran along the side of two or three groups of flats, which taken together formed open-ended quadrangles. On our right there was a small shop in a low-level shed-like building, with a thick wooden entrance made of two doors bolted together. We were going to get in there, once we had braved the terrain: an adventurous combination of savaged concrete interlaced with sinews of ice.
It was warm inside the shop; very little, very basic but altogether very warm. Here, I could chalk up another first, my first time in a Russian shop. The fish and meat counter was enough to give a vegetarian a fit of the flying ab dabs, so I focused elsewhere and found that that every packet, every box and every wrapped item, no matter how small it was, had a little bit of paper stuck to it on which the price was clearly written in hand. The shop keeper, a stout and formidable-looking lady, was dressed in an apron of broad stripes, reminiscent of ticking material used in pre-war British deck chairs.
Whilst I
was taking in the ambience and generalities, brother Joss was concerning
himself with the relative prices of things, particularly those things to which he
was most partial, ie meaty things, such as sausages, big chunks of meat on the
bone, plus large cheeses and pickles.
Olga purchased some items to take with us to her flat, and on the way we stopped at another shop, this one built into the end of the block of flats immediately preceding hers. This shop was slightly larger and more enticing owing to its ample stock of alcohol. I remember that the brand selection was impressive, whilst the generic composition was limited primarily to a choice of vodka or beer.
As it was about
5pm, I was surprised to discover that we would not be taking wine with our
afternoon tea but vodka. “It is cranberry flavour,” Olga emphasised, so that
was alright then!
Kaliningrad 20 years ago
It was not
far now to Olga’s flat. The street lighting was worse here than it had been on
our approach and, as we turned into the open-ended quadrangle, our best guide
was the light filtering out from an open door at ground level. The beams of
light seeping out from the hinge side, threw a thin and lurid glow across a
large mound heaped up at the front of the flats. Some of its composition had
spilled out across the path and, as it crunched beneath our feet, we realised
it was coke (ie, the sort you put in the stove to heat your house!).
We passed
through the external door, a big, old wooden affair, blistered, warped,
incapable of being closed that night as it had been, no doubt, for years. We
were now in the stairwell. This was my introduction to the average Kaliningrad
stairwell, typical in its design and appearance to thousands across the city.
The Balham flat
In looking
back on the way I reacted to and described these communal areas, I feel both
reticent and awkward. In England, I had
been brought up in a rural community. My family home was an 18th century thatched
cottage. My closest friend’s father, a farmer, had a large 18th
century hunting lodge set in the most rural and sequestered piece of English
countryside that you could possibly imagine.
It is true that on moving to London, as a postgraduate student and later in my first job, that my flat in Balham was so notorious, I mean in the sense of basic and humble, that it earnt itself the sobriquet of The Balham Flat. But as shabby, disheveled and wanting as it most certainly was, this flat occupied an old Victorian house, the type that in the early 80s was, like numerous other residential Cinderellas, waiting for Thatcher’s golden slipper. These hangbacks from the 1950s, with their garish red and yellow wallpaper, threadbare carpets, doors overpainted in rivulets of gloss, antiquated electric fires, mouse-eaten skirting boards, rising damp, yellowing net curtains and a kitchen and bathroom that looked as if they should have been consigned long ago either to the scrapheap or social history museum, were known and tolerated, loved to some extent, in that quaint way, with reservations, that you might compassionately look upon a gentleman of the road. Such flats were held in affectionate dislike, reviled but revered as home.
Kaliningrad 20 years ago: the flat
For all I
know the residents of Kaliningrad back in the year 2000 may have felt exactly
the same about their flats as we did about our bedsits, but for we westerners,
particularly those who had tasted comparative privilege, no matter how lowly or
secondhand, it was one of the most challenging moments of coming to Kaliningrad
~ how to react to the flat.
I could tell that Olga, who had travelled and stayed in London on at least two occasions and observed such differences as there were, was embarrassed about what we might think or say. We thought, oh dear, this place could do with a coat of paint, the metal stair rails could do with fixing, the concrete steps could do with some attention and the tangled mass of electric wires protruding dustily from every orifice like an old man found in the nude, well, we did not think much of that and, of course, we said even less.
Unlike some flat complexes in Kaliningrad, the block containing Olga’s flat was a mere three storeys, and her flat was on the third floor. We had already passed some of the biggest, burliest doors I have ever seen not standing outside of a nightclub wearing a dinner jacket, and now we were standing outside yet another which did not fit with the rest whilst none of the rest fitted with any.
As with the stairwell, Olga’s flat premiered yet another phenomenon ~ the two-door combination security system. The first door, which was made of metal and looked secure enough to resist yet another revolution, was immediately backed with another, this one as solid as the first but having a button-down padded interior. It crossed my mind that I must have missed the KGB plaque as we entered. However, the ritual awaiting us was surely a special test (as challenging and bizarre as anything that the Masons could have thrown at us).
In Russia shoes must be removed
As is the custom in Russia, and the custom remains today, all visitors must give up their shoes as soon as they cross the threshold of the flat, the assumption being that the streets, in this instance the streets of Kaliningrad, are so bad that …
Anyway, I
had on a large pair of clod-hopping lace-up boots, difficult from which to extricate
myself even in normal circumstances but very near impossible whilst dancing
around on one foot. Being winter, and a harsh winter at that, hopping around wearing
a full complement of heavy clothing in an attempt to connect with your lace,
whilst it may have been good for Jane Fonda, was hardly conducive to dignified
composure and still to this very day leaves you all sweaty and flustered.
Advice for
all of you who are visiting Russia in winter, invest in a pair of winter boots
but make sure that they are zip-fastening.
It did not
take long for us to get acquainted with the Soviet flat, even in a pair of
slippers that were two sizes too big for me. The flat comprised a small
bathroom, two short corridors, one extending from the front door to bedroom and the other to the right, a small
kitchen at the end of this second corridor and before that, to the left, a
medium-sized bed-sitting room. This room opened out onto a balcony typical for
flats in this region: it was narrow, but of a size sufficient to accommodate
two to three people, together with two small chairs and a table. Incipiently,
such balconies were open to the elements, but a trend for boxing them in had
developed, as was the case in this instance. The inclusion of glazed casement
windows converted the humble balcony into an extension of the living space,
giving the occupants somewhere to sit and smoke whilst offering additional
insulation in winter and a semi-open area in which to relax in summer.
The little
kitchen was truly thus, allowing, with cooker and fridge, no more than a small
table in front of the window along with a chair and stool.
The bathroom was likewise space-conscious, the bath, unboxed, having a long-reach, combination-tap fitted with a shower rose and, of course, there was a toilet.
Kaliningrad 20 years ago: the toilet
The toilet
itself, or rather pan system, was a somewhat curious affair, and I must confess
that I had never seen the like in the UK. Looking into the bowl, it consisted
of two parts. At the front there was a small water chamber and to the back a
shaped platform. Without wanting to go into too much technical detail, how this
worked was that one answered the call of nature, turned the handle, a jet of
water shot out of a conduit at the back of the platform and, if luck was with
you, the water chamber did the rest. For young children I suppose it must have
been a far more exciting model than our boring British bog, more of a
successful launch than, to use the vernacular, dump.
Russian hospitality
Moving swiftly
on, two to three sociable hours were spent at the flat.
Whilst feeding Joss presented no gastronomical difficulty, Olga’s mum had solved the vegetarian issues by augmenting various salads with traditional Russian blinee: savoury pancakes with three different fillings ~ cabbage, potato and mushroom. These went down very well with the cranberry vodka purchased earlier.
I have
never asked Olga’s mother what her first impressions were of the two visiting
Englishmen ~ perhaps it is best not to know!! We found her very open,
interesting, sociable and hospitable, and for me, as I was going out with her
daughter, it was nice to know on this cold Kaliningrad evening that the ice, as
they say, had been broken.
Back out
into the cold, we were now to go by taxi to Olga’s friends’ flat, Andrew and Inna’s.
Being a person of moderate food consumption, I was more than a little concerned to learn that Russian social tradition places great store upon the provision and demonstrable enjoyment of a hearty meal and that any show of reluctance or inability to eat what is laid down in front of you could engender serious offence. I cushioned my concern with the self-assurance that a degree of exaggeration may be expected regarding accounts of the size of the meals and the reaction to reasonable restraint from those who had prepared the meals to those about to receive them.
Very soon, I would find out.
Kaliningrad flats: a communal area (this photograph taken 2004)
When my wife suggested to me that I should take my tooth that needed to be filled to the Russian dentist, here in Kaliningrad, I thought twice about it.
It was my
wife who suggested that I put an end to my griping and take myself and my tooth
with a hole in it to one of the dentists here in Kaliningrad. “The [dentist]
service here is very good; very professional,” she told me. Well, she would say
that, wouldn’t she. She’s Russian.
It was December 2018. We had just arrived in Kaliningrad having moved from England. Being at that age when everything falls to bits [Cohen: “Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey, I ache in the places where I used to play.”], especially teeth, I knew I had to do something and that was either go to a Russian dentist, travel back home to England or take my brother’s advice and use one of his Do It Yourself dental filling kits.
Flying to
the pub is good, but flying through the air is not and DIY dental kits conjure
up images of something that Del Boy would peddle, so, tempted with the
conciliatory carrot that we could go to the local bar afterwards, the Russian
dentist it was.
UK dental experiences
Now I am not one for ‘telling tales out of school’ but recently both my and my wife’s experiences of UK dentistry had left much to be desired. I was struck off the patient list by one practice because I did not attend for two appointments, even though I contacted them and explained that I was unwell, and was immediately and suspiciously recommended to their sister practice up the road, which was, quite frankly, awful. In 12 months of registering there I had two fillings: one was so oversized that it felt as if I had a piece of Stonehenge in my mouth, and I breathed a sigh of relief when it fell out six months later, and the other disintegrated three times in a similar period. My wife was registered with Charlie Chan Inscrutable Dentist Man. Alright, admittedly that was not the real name of his practice; it was Charlie Chan Inexcusable Dentist Man. He worked on my wife’s teeth, charged her a bundle and when she was forced to go for a second opinion because the tooth was still giving her pain, she discovered that apart from the anesthetic he had not done anything! To add insult to injury, he had cancelled two appointments in a row, month on month, the only excuse being that he had other patients to see. Yes, we should have reported him, which we threatened to do, but this did not get the tegs seen too, and we all know how difficult it is in overcrowded Britain to find an NHS dentist that is willing to take you on. We did, after a lot of ‘Googling’ and ‘word of mouthing’ locate a dentist 15 miles away. He had a nice old-fashioned English name, ‘Harry’, and seemed to have a severe case of x-ray phobia, as he kept dancing out of the room before he had quite determined how the apparatus went together. You instinctively know things are not quite right when the x-ray plate is lodged behind your ear!
These incidents went a long way in persuading me that the Russian option was worth a try.
Kaliningrad Dentist Russia
There is no shortage of dentists in Kaliningrad and, as it is pay as you go, there is no ‘will you, won’t you’ register me. Our dentist practice of choice came from personal recommendation. It was, and still is, Centrodent. The recommending friend explained that Centrodent was not the cheapest practice in Kaliningrad but, in her opinion, it was the best.
Now, where is that dentist’s clinic?
In recent years, since leaving London, I have been used to small dental practices operating from all sorts of converted houses, so I was surprised to find that not only was the Centrodent clinic purpose-built but very large.
Water feature and Neoclassicism ~ Centrodent dentists, Kaliningrad, Russia
Inside it
is spacious, light and airy. The dominant colour is a mellow green, the walls
made from a green marble substance containing white ripples (a sort of soothing
toothpaste effect). A combination of design embellishments, favouring both Art
Deco and Neoclassical elements, work surprisingly well together and form a
harmonic partnership with the general modernity.
My first impression was one of tranquility, which was surprising as the place is busy, busy. Patients and white-uniformed staff criss-cross the wide reception area, ascend and descend the curved staircase to the upper quarter, mill around the reception desk, congregate in front of the cloakroom, appear and disappear from the central passage and from the glass-fronted rooms to the left of the planters and water feature. It is all go and yet no stress. It is Waterloo Station on quiescent medication. It works and whoever designed it did well, as he took the dread out of dentistry.
Spacious, clean and relaxing ~ Centrodent dentist clinic, Kaliningrad, Russia
As with many public establishments in Kaliningrad, the cloakroom, with its lady cloakroom attendants, is a nice, civilised and practical touch. This one is open-fronted, built into the main foyer/waiting room, and allows you to divest yourself of your coats so you can worry about your treatment wholeheartedly and without encumbrance.
Swimming caps on shoes
In exchange for your coat you are given a small numbered tag, appropriately made in the form of a tooth. Before you can proceed further, in the interests of feet hygiene, it is mandatory to cover your shoes with a pair of polythene shoe protectors. These ubiquitous items are found in all medical institutions here. I suppose they are a good idea, especially as they make everyone look rather silly. It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to indulge yourself in pre-dental stress whilst wearing a pair of these. First off it amused me, as in trying to put them on I nearly went arse over head, but once content that no one had seen me, I settled into a game of spot who looks the silliest walking in bright blue plastic elastic.
When it was time to advance to go, I looked down at my bright blue shoes and decided that it was me.
‘Don’t step on my blue suede shoes!’
My good
lady wife led me along a corridor, the doors and arches of which were edged
with classical pillars or curved adornments surmounted by pediments. This brief
walk brought us into a smaller waiting room of suntan and honey tangerine
colours, hollow curves to some of the doorways, beige highlighting and, at one
end, a row of blind arches fronted by a small stone-wall garden of tall cacti
and succulents. Activity was no less restrained here than it had been in the
main entrance hall but, as before, the colour scheme and sense of open space
made it less of a waiting room and more of a transit area.
A tooth bush?
I was not
kept transiting long, but during my brief stay I did notice that the majority,
if not all, of the dentists were female, as was mine. She was dressed in a
smart two-piece medical uniform and wearing a surgical mask when she called me
into the surgery. I remember thinking to myself, she had very nice eyes: kind
and sincere.
Kaliningrad Dentist Russia 🤍
It probably was not advisable of me to tell my wife later that I had fallen in love with my dentist as she promptly told the dentist, thus making me very self-conscious when it came to return appointments, but how could I not be so enamoured: pain-free dentistry, a palpable professionalism, a dental surgery equipped with the most sophisticated appliances and stuff to fill your teeth with claimed to be top of the range, not to mention those kindly eyes and gentle but accomplished hands. What was there not to like? There was even a garden and shrubbery just outside the window.
In short, as dentists go this one was one that you would want to go back to time and time again, though propriety dictates that only your teeth should decide.
I came away smiling. Our recommendee is decidedly recommended. She told us that this was one of the best dentist outfits in Kaliningrad, and she warned us not the cheapest. On this occasion my filling cost me just under £45, but before making comparisons with British NHS prices I should clarify that the service here and the techniques and dental composites used match British private dentistry practices. Cheaper alternatives abound in Kaliningrad but when you consider the cost, 45 quid is nothing really for a tooth that you can be proud of and a dentist to whom you would willingly return time and time again.
The dentist’s: No place for the legendary stiff upper lip
Essential Details:
CentraDent Kaliningrad St Kaluga Building 40 Kaliningrad, Russia
February 8th 2020 was a big day in Kaliningrad, to be more precise, it was Big Sausage Day*. Reputedly, it is the day that the ladies of Kaliningrad walk around with smiles upon their faces and quite a lot of the men most sensibly stay at home (source: anonymous). But not me. Unfazed by the reports of a giant object of cylindrical length being disported on the open streets, I set out, in defiance of the Vegetarian Society, one day late as usual.
The Big Sausage fest has become so popular here in
recent years that it has undergone an extension, turning it effectively from a
Big Sausage Day into a Big Sausage Weekend. Unfortunately, the huge and
eponymous object makes its debut on Saturday morning. This year we had been
invited to attend on Sunday and last year both I and our invitee were too
hungover to attend. So, instead of reviewing how the Big Sausage went and where
it went, I am going to make a few comments instead on the much-vaunted subject
of ‘Kaliningrad: a place of contrasts’.
This expression is a stock-in-trade of most
travelogues where Kaliningrad is concerned, and why not? It is a good one. The
term is often applied to the striking and very often incongruous juxtaposition
of architectural forms here in Kaliningrad.
Kaliningrad architectural contrasts
The connection between a whopping great sausage and
architecture is not as obtuse as first it may seem. On the second day of this
weekend’s event, the Big Sausage, understandably exhausted from Saturday’s
exertions, goes into hiding, allowing the festivities to continue in a more
circumscribed place. The venue this year was in the paved area surrounding one
of Konigsberg’s restored monuments, the King’s Gate (more of which at another
time).
Königsberg ‘s KIng’s Gate & Kaliningrad’s Soviet flats ~ a City of contrasts. Notice the old tram tracks!
Kaliningrad King’s Gate
You can see from the photograph supplied, the red-brick Gothic structure of the King’s Gate in the foreground (photographed from the back) and there in the background a long row of 1970s’ Soviet-built flats. Needless to say, the world’s most renowned architects eschew these rather than applaud them, but, like them or not, they are all part and parcel of Königsberg-Kaliningrad’s diverse and rich history.
In my humble vegetarianskee opinion, these flats could be employed to good purpose this time next year. By attaching a giant inflatable sausage from the rooftops, running from one end to the other, the venue for Second Sausage Day would be unmissable and the advertising potential for certain types of products phenomenal. Food for thought?
A view of the King’s Gate from the rear surrounded by Big Sausage Day event stalls
*The Long Sausage holiday has a long tradition. The medieval holiday was first held in Königsberg in 1520. Königsberg’s butchers cooked 16 metre’s of sausage and carried it around the city. The participants then ate the sausage, drank beer and danced. Today, the people of Kaliningrad continue the old tradition and enjoy the holiday of old Königsberg .
Sadly, Plyushkin is now as deceased as it’s fictional namesake😥
It is not called ‘Lampshades’ but why not is anybody’s guess. Plyushkin (which is the name of a fictional character in Gogol’s novel Dead Souls) is a bar/restaurant located on a busy intersection in Kaliningrad opposite the Amber Museum. It is nice and central, and situated as it is on a bustling traffic hub, easy to get to by bus, mini-bus or tram. From the outside, it is deceptive, especially at night, when all that can be seen is a small foyer and the neon sign above it, but the bar/restaurant is below ground and once inside the place is truly TARDISial.
Plyushkin bar & restaurant, Kaliningrad, where lampshades abound
Be that as it may, the furnishings, décor and lighting make for a very comfortable, cozy and inviting feel. When you stop marveling at the oversized lampshades, you are rendered agog by the seating arrangements. Where would you like to sit? It is not an easy choice. In Plyushkin no dining suite is the same as the next, although we narrowed down the selection from traditional table and dining-room chairs to low-slung settees and tables to match.
Lampshades galore at the Plyushkin bar & restaurant, Kaliningrad
Plyushkin Bar & Restaurant Kaliningrad
The accent is upon old-world charm ~ reproduction
antique furniture ~ but non-conformist enough to find walnut-veneer-framed divans sharing the same
space as 1960s’ designs and Avant Garde spectaculars, such as one table which
has a coiled rope columnar support, not dissimilar to a cat’s gigantic
scratching post.
Along the side of one wall runs an eclectic series of
mismatching sideboards and tallboys, both parodies from and originals to
disparate eras. The walls and lateral
ceiling supports are profusely covered in framed vintage photographs and
prints, including one of a young Queen Elizabeth II (G’ord Bless yu Maam!),
although one wall of painted brick has been left relatively clear with respect
to the current industrial look.
Queen Elizabeth II in Plyushkin, Kaliningrad ~ that’s her on the wall by the way …
Pigs’ Snouts
The menu is deliberately ‘old style’ Russian, and
whilst pig snouts in mustard sauce may not be everyone’s idea of culinary
heaven, just think it could be worse, and there might have been a photograph in
the menu.
Nevertheless, we have dined here four or five times,
and my carnivore associates assure me that their choice of meals has been very
tasty and value for money.
The bar is well stocked, leaving nothing to the
imagination, and I can vouch for the beer. The cheapest is about 112 rubles
(which is about £1.36), whilst the premium, which weighs in at around 7%
gravity, is about 275 rubles (£3.33).
Service is spot-on, unlike some places I could mention
~ and no doubt will, as we get around.
Live music
All in all, Plyushkin is extremely atmospheric, and on Saturday evenings live music adds to the ambience. The pendant lampshades, of which there are many, are huge, creatively different and pose a curious question, if not ‘Lampshades’ why not ‘Not One the Same’? ~ both would make super alternative names.
The bar area at the Plyushkin, Kaliningrad
Lenin says, “I’m always at the Plyushkin!”
Essential details:
Plyushkin Restuarant Kaliningrad, pl. Marshal Vasilevsky, 2
This is one of my all-time favourite buildings in the Kaliningrad region’s coastal resort, Svetlogorsk (German: Rauschen). Without genning up on its history, I would estimate that it dates to around the 1920s and is designed and constructed in a neo-Gothic style. The wooden cladding, turret finial, pointed and high gables, clambering levels and fascinating asymmetry make for a very interesting Carpenter Gothic structure steeped in the Romanticist tradition. Hoffmann would have been proud of it!
Svetlogorsk Gothic (Rauschen)
As noted in my previous article, at the turn of the 21st century, this was home to the Café Mozart. It has sat idle and empty for many moons since and was up for sale in 2018, although on our New Year’s Eve trip 2019-2020 to Svetlogorsk , the ‘for sale’ banner was missing. Has it been sold? Is it ‘off the market’? Who knows? All I know is that it embodies all the atmospheric architectural features that my imagination needs and craves!
Gothic, centre of Svetlogorsk (former Rauschen), Russia
Alluring & atmospheric! ~ Svetlogorsk (former Rauschen), Russia
On 23 June 2016, the British people voted in a democratic referendum to leave the European Union. One thousand three hundred and eighteen days later ~ the political establishment and liberal-left pressure groups having exhausted every trick in the book and more to overturn the will of the people and, in the words of the Liberal Democrats, ‘Cancel Brexit’, even if it meant undermining the very foundation on which the UK’s democratic system historically depends ~ the UK under Boris Johnson’s command ~ thanks mainly to Nigel Farage ~ has at last extricated itself from the Federalist Frankenstein otherwise known as the European Union.
Independence Day: Freedom from the EU
Make no mistake, 31 January 2020 was a momentous day in history. It was the day when natural and commonsense nationalism triumphed over the undemocratic, dictatorial aims of a Neoliberal elite which will stop at nothing to push its globalist agenda. With the UK sailing merrily away, bets are now on as to who will be next to jump. Until recently, it would have been unthinkable to suggest it could be the French, but with Captain Macron at the helm of the globalist Bounty, the scent of mutiny is gathering in the air. Thank heavens that when the French people finally see the light, as we did in the UK, and desert the sinking ship, Le Pen will be there with her safety net. We, in Britain, have been waiting to take our country back. Le Pen says, ‘the world is waiting for the return of France’. More to the point, the world is waiting for the return of Europe.
Independence Day: Freedom from the EU
On the positive side, let’s pay tribute to the architect of our Great Escape, Nigel Farage, who took on the British Establishment and won . Here is his exit speech from the EU pantomime [Link here]
Notice the icy cold Gestapo-type tones as they block Farage’s final words: “If you disobey the Rules you get cut off!!” That just about sums up all the EU says they stand for, but don’t. Have you ever noticed how those that shout the loudest about Freedom of Speech, Democracy etc, are the ones that shout you down the loudest. A case of the sulky EU taking their ball from the playground. Sadly, for them that is, less and less people are willing to play.
There is a historic battle going on now across the West, in Europe, America and elsewhere: it is Globalism against Populism. You may loathe Populism, but I’ll tell you a funny thing, it’s becoming very popular!
NIGEL FARAGE in his final address to the EU Parliament, 29 January 2020
