A new book on the vintage cars of Königsberg , titled The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, is a nostalgic & historical landmark
A historic moment was recorded today (17 October 2020) when our friend, Yury Grozmani, journalist, historian, vintage car enthusiast and organiser of the Kaliningrad international vintage car festival, The Golden Shadow of Königsberg, presented me with a signed copy of his recently completed book The Steel Ghost of Königsberg. The inscription on the inside front cover reads:
“To an excellent journalist Mick Hart from an equally excellent journalist Yury Grozmani. For a long memory in honor of the best years spent in the beautiful historical city of Kant and Schiller – the city of Königsberg – with respect from the author.”
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
Yury reminded us that it had been almost a year ago when we discussed the progress of this project over dinner at the Plushkin restaurant, sadly now closed. On that occasion he had brought with him a copy of the book’s proposed front cover, adding that there was still much work to do on the book itself. During that evening we discussed his previous book, The Iron Heart of Königsberg, which was published in 2015. The Steel Ghost of Königsberg is the sequel to this work.
Front cover design to The Steel Ghost of Königsberg
The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, which explores the relationship between the vintage cars of Königsberg and their owners, contextualised within the history of the East Prussian city, was no short time in the making. Yury confided in us that he has been researching, writing and compiling the book for an astounding 29 years!
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
The book is based on real events. It narrates the stories of people who, after the Siege of Königsberg in 1945, had the honour to own or use the cars that once belonged to the ‘great and good’ ~ kings, heads of state, ministers, bankers, actors and leading Königsberg townspeople.
The book comprises 18 chapters distilled from the memoirs of people from diverse backgrounds and all walks of life, including those who took part in the Battle of Königsberg, famous Soviet generals, doctors, actors, housewives, taxi drivers, traffic wardens, tram drivers and so on. The stories are different — some intricate, some formal, some sentimental, some dramatic and many very amusing.
With its imaginative page designs, detailed accounts and being lavishly illustrated throughout, this landmark publication demonstrates yet again Yuri Grozmani’s top-flight ability as a writer, journalist and editor, whilst the breadth and incisiveness of his research speaks volumes for his love of vintage vehicles, the history of their ownership and the unique city and region upon whose dramatic stage the vehicles’ life stories and the stories of those who travelled in and/or travelled through existence with them have been played out over the years.
To seal the historic occasion, Yuri completed the inscription on the inside front cover by penning in today’s date just before he handed my copy to me ~ 17 October 2020.
Published: 15 October 2020 ~ Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad is Top Quality
Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)
Article 8: Ostmark Strong
My previous review of bottled beer in Kaliningrad, sampled from the brands that can be purchased every day from most supermarkets, was written on 2 September 2020. I could claim that I have not written anything about beer since 2 September 2020 since that is the last time that I had a bottle, but that would be about as believable, not to say as ridiculous, as declaring that I voted to remain in the European Union.
Mick’s Place (aka, Mick’s Attic Bar) has been functioning as normal, but I have drunk elsewhere ~ on the outside seating areas of various bars and hotels and at friends’ houses ~ calculating that as the dark days of winter approach, with them cometh more grim coronavirus news and consequent restrictions, all of which will mean more Attic Bar and less drinking on location.
So, what have I been drinking at home, and have I enjoyed it?
Out of the beers that I have sampled so far, the Belarus beer Lidskae Aksamitnae is my beer of choice. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it wins hands down. Nevertheless, if you were to ask me, and I am sure you will, have I discovered another beer that in taste and quality equals Lidskae Aksamitnae then I would have to say yes ~ and that beer is Ostmark.
Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad
Now, as far as I can tell there are several popular variants of Ostmark. The one that is the subject of my reverence, however, is Ostmark Strong, the ABV (Alcohol by Volume) of which comes in at a not insignificant 7.1%.
I do not buy beers for their strength and, as a matter of fact, when I drink real ale in the UK I usually choose something that is within the range of 4–4.2%. I am happy with that. But Ostmark Strong appeals to me because, whilst it may be a strong-by-alcohol-content beer, it is also strong on taste.
The first test for any beer is the olfactory one. Ostmark Strong has a strong aroma. It hits you as soon as you take the top from the bottle. There is nothing limp-wristed about this brew. It is deep, dark and smokey. If it could wear tattoos, it would be the kind that real men wore, not the arty-farty slate-grey type that are everywhere today and to which even women resort to violate their bodies, as if forgetting that they and their tats will not stay young forever. Alas, for the fleeting fads of fashion and the relentless indifference of the march of time …
Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad
But enough of this idle banter! Into the glass with Ostmark, and what have you got?
You’ve got a dark-coloured beer that settles nicely into the bacal (glass) and whose head does not immediately die, but neither does it sit on top like a foaming ice cream sundae.
The first sip is yummy. It is so yummy that I have to take several more before I can ask myself, flavour? Its caramel and malts, plus a good toasty aftertaste, the type of aftertaste best described as moreish. And this is not an insuperable problem, because once you have finished one glass you can simply pour another.
Ostmark Strong has a good strong label ~ no wishy-washy rainbow colours here! Dark brown, deep red and silver tones complement each other. The design is simple, instantly recognisable and carries with it the hallmark of history.
Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad
Now, Ostmark made its debut in 1910 and was originally brewed in Königsberg, which was, of course, Kaliningrad’s predecessor, but be that as it may, and for all my love for Königsberg, as I had no knowledge of Ostmark’s pedigree when first I purchased and quaffed it, I refute any implication that my judgement may have been swayed by where it was born and when. But, since its history is no longer the mystery that it was when I started out, it would be remiss of me if I did not mention that Ostmark was first brewed at the Brauerei Ostmark Brewery and that after passing through various hands is now produced by the Heineken Group.
Rumour has it that throughout its change of ownership the brew retained its original recipe, and we who love beer and history have no contention with that. But as to where it is brewed today, I am not at liberty to say, because in October 2016 the trail runs cold. It was then that Heineken announced that come the following year its Kaliningrad brewery would close.
Some folk here in Kaliningrad who I have interviewed swear ~ usually at me ~ that Ostmark is still brewed here, and in the same brewery where it has always been brewed, that is here in the city of Kaliningrad, but some say otherwise, others don’t know and still others don’t seem to care, they just buy it and then they drink it.
As Ostmark is not a phantom, as phantoms as a rule do not come with hangovers, wherever Ostmark is secretly brewed I can recommend it, so much so that as I sit here reviewing it, I can honestly say that I would rather be sitting here drinking it.
A word of warning to the uncautious, however: The enticing taste and session-like character of this very fine quality beer belies its superior strength. “Everything in moderation, including moderation,” said Oscar Wilde. And who can doubt his wisdom? But how much of a good thing is too much? Until you try it, you will never know.
😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS Name of Beer: Ostmark Strong Brewer: Heineken Group Where it is brewed: Somewhere Bottle capacity: 1.35 litres Strength: 7.1% Price: It cost me about 136 rubles (£1.36) from our local shop Appearance: Darky Aroma: Divinely smoky Taste: Subtle blend of caramel & malts with an after allegiance Fizz amplitude: 4/10 Label/Marketing: Just so right Would you buy it again? As soon as the opportunity arises (update February 2022 ~ bought many times!) Marks out of 10: 8.5
Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad
*Note that the beers that feature in this review series only include bottled beer types that are routinely sold through supermarket outlets and in no way reflect the variety of beer and/or quality available in Kaliningrad from speciality outlets and/or through bars and restaurants.
Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 209 [9 October 2020]
Published: 11 October 2020
Coronavirus chaos has strengthened its grip on the UK, the focus having now switched away from London to the north of the country. There are so many different ideas, protocols and strategies proposed for or operating in so many different regions and towns that the British public have been propelled into a second wave of terminal confusion. ‘Traffic lights’, three-tier systems, pub curfews, the Rule of Six, social distancing, lockdown ~ this lexical explosion, perpetrated by political pundits and lobbed like grenades into the public arena by hack journalists, has not, as linguists would have us believe, helped a beleaguered public to communicate better the altered shape of their lives and collective state of mind as much as it has routed common sense.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
The new speak is bandied around as something positive given to us by the New Normal in return for stealing our lives. It is a poor substitute, thrilling perhaps for linguists and for those who devote their lives to the pursuit of adding slang to dictionaries, but for the humble man on the street (now locked down in his home), it is just so much unnecessary verbiage.
As I sit here in Kaliningrad ~ sometimes Königsberg ~ I have, by slow and calculated degrees, weened myself off my daily habit of consulting UK Google News, because (a) it is depressing and (b) after five minutes of reading, I feel as if I am drowning in alphabetti spaghetti.
Alphabetti spaghetti
There are no such buzzwords in Kaliningrad as there are in the UK, not even, or very rarely, a mention of ‘second wave’, but the protection that this offers us from the contagion of new speak and from the ill-thought-through strategies, U-turns and excuses around which in the UK these catch-all words revolve, does not, as with the rest of the infected world, extend immunity to the real problem, coronavirus, or provide us with a way back to the life we have lost and for which we grieve.
I suppose that in the last analysis as long as you remember to step carefully through the media spaghetti, the semantics are irrelevant; they ‘don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world’; it is simply a case of whether or not you like your beans spiced or served as they come without relish.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
Today, for example (9 October 2020), without a lot of fuss, I learn from consulting Kaliningrad news that 67 new cases of coronavirus have been confirmed, bringing the total number of infected to 4,970 in this region. A total of 3,521 people have recovered, and the total number of deaths since the onset of the pandemic stands at 891.
Whilst this should come as no surprise to anybody, as governments around the world, the WHO, scientists and health practitioners have been telling us all along to regard summer as little more than a seasonal respite, because this virus, like most respiratory viruses, favours a romp in the autumn and winter months, some critics here have inferred that a contributory factor to the increased number of Covid-19 cases has been “a decrease in the vigilance of the population”2.
This mainly, but non-specifically, I assume refers to the controversial subject of mask-wearing in confined public spaces. It is quite astonishing that 12 months into the pandemic, the world’s health gurus, scientists, governments and the public are still at serious odds about how efficacious face masks are as a preventative measure against Covid-19, and that this one issue alone illustrates not only how polarised opinion has become on how best to protect oneself against the virus but also serves to remind us of how fallible our knowledge is and how vulnerable we are when the science community on which we rely are unable to reach consensus on something so fundamental.
In the UK, here and elsewhere in the Covid-19 world, the division and opposition between maskers and anti-maskers defines the ambiguities of the ‘New Normal’ as well as its extremes, and allegiance and loyalty to one or the other is breeding the kind of resentment and partisan hostility usually reserved for, as Leonard Cohen describes it, “the war between the black and white and … left and right”, not to mention the rancour between the leave and remain camps of Brexit. Indeed, the line drawn in the sand between pro- and anti-maskers is as deep as any encountered and has a universal reach.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
In Kaliningrad to mask or not to mask has led to altercations on public transport and recently, it was reported, that a fight broke out on a bus between a pro-masker and an anti-masker3. There is no doubt that throughout the infected world feelings are running high, but is this the result of fear or bigotry, frustration, ignorance or ambiguity, or a little bit of everything and a little more besides? Whatever is stoking it, as with all last stands on the moral high ground, since both opposing parties are convinced that the cause which they espouse has right upon its side, unless someone steps up to the plate and passes final judgement on the mask vs no mask case, the heat can only go up and the situation can only deteriorate.
As with all arguments of this nature ~ inconclusive ones ~ there is no flexibility, no ground to give. The pro-maskers believe unquestionably that face masks can prevent or at least protect against the spread of the disease, whilst the anti-maskers argue that not only are masks ineffective but that wearing them incorrectly can actually increase one’s chances of catching coronavirus, particularly if masks are carried, handled and worn in ways that contradict and confound the science by which their usefulness, and by default their limitations, are defined.
Consider the following, which was emailed to the comments section of the article cited above3 [Note that this has been reproduced verbatim using an automated translation service]:
‘Who among those who like to wear masks observes these rules? How to Wear a Medical Mask: Important Recommendations A disposable medical mask is only used once. The mask is placed on the face so that it covers the nose, mouth and chin. If the mask has strings, they must be tied tightly. If a plastic fastener is sewn into the mask in the area of the nose, it is tightly fitted with your fingers to the bridge of the nose. Many masks have special folds. They are unfolded to give the garment a more functional shape for a snug fit to the face. While wearing the mask, it is not recommended to touch its protective field with your hands. After touching the mask, hands are washed with soap and then treated with a special antiseptic. It is better not to take breaks in the process of wearing the mask: after removing the product from the face, a person, as a rule, touches it with his hands, shifts to the chin and neck, or even puts it in his pocket, and this is strictly prohibited. Dispose of the wet mask immediately and put on another, dry and clean. On average, the medical mask is changed every 2 hours. Removing the used mask, you must not touch the protective layer of the product, where pathogens have already accumulated. The mask is gently pulled off the face by grasping the ear loops or strings. Knowing how to properly wear a medical face mask is very important. Otherwise, the protective effect of the product will be minimized, and the risk of “catching” the virus, on the contrary, increases significantly.’
In the early days of coronavirus a friend of ours, who, incidentally, is a confirmed anti-masker who wears a mask begrudgingly, reminded someone on public transport that they were not wearing a mask. She was promptly informed by the non-mask wearer that there was no need for her to wear a mask because she was not infected. Our friend replied, that she was not thinking of her infecting others but being infected herself. When the bus conductress came along, who also was not wearing a mask, our friend asked if she challenged passengers who were not wearing masks and asked them to put them on. She replied: “Of course not!”
Two week ago I travelled by tram across the city, whereupon I observed some people wearing masks and some not. My maths have always left a lot to be desired, but in my humble opinion I would estimate that the split was equal at 50:50. In the article quoted above3, interviews with public transport staff conclude that since the onset of coronavirus and the early days of the mask-wearing rule the uptake has improved and is improving, even if the grumbling has not.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
And what about me? For my own part, I am a reformed anti-masker/reluctant masker, but my gut feeling echoes the sentiments of the commentator whose words I quoted earlier in this post, namely that knowledge of and adherence to the art and science of mask wearing is, firstly, not well understood, and secondly, even if it was, is difficult if not impossible to transact under normal societal conditions. And under New Normal conditions? Well, I will try to answer that when somebody tells me in plain English or in simple Russian what the New Normal is.
In the meantime, no more spaghetti for me, thanks, I have signed myself up for a detox diet.
How do you spell ‘NOT SURE’? Coronavirus Language & the Mask Argument (*Photo credit)
Note: The opinions expressed in this article are exactly that, opinions. The current rules, as I understand them, are that the wearing of masks is mandatory on public transport and in other enclosed public places, ie shops, chemists, etc …
Woodoo Barber Shop Kaliningrad. Cut along for a close shave with urban chic, 21st century style and razor-sharp professionalism
Published: 5 October 2020
It had been more than nine months since my last haircut. I remember it well. I was in Bedford, England, at the time, preparing to return to Russia for New Year. I chose D’Arcys out of the myriad hairdressers available, as I had used their services once before and because they are one of Bedford’s better barbers, established in 1998 no less.
Within three months of having returned to Kaliningrad, the coronavirus balloon went up and normal things, such as going to restaurants and bars, including going for a haircut, first took on a sinister character and quickly thereafter, as pandemic panic took root, became widely regarded as no-go areas.
Restaurants were forsaken, bars boycotted and hair was left to grow. Six months later, and looking like Robinson Crusoe on one of his least flattering days, my jenarr (wife) turned into a za nooder (moaner), complaining about how awful my hair looked and that it was high time that I should have a haircut. It had not helped any that in the meantime I had also grown a couple of Victorian sideburns, the legacy of watching one too many episodes of the old TV series The Onedin Line, but, whilst I agreed with the haircut bit, the daily tally of coronavirus cases argued robustly against trips to the barbers.
Summer came and summer went and hair continued to grow and then, on the 3 October, amidst world-media rumblings of a second wave and lockdowns, I bit the bullet, so to speak, and went off in search of hairdressers.
We left the house without really knowing where we were going, but after a short confab decided to head (pun intended) for a hairdressers that we had passed several times, and which we both liked the look of, situated on Nevsky Street.
Knowing that I would have to go barbering sooner or later, I had peeped through the open door on a couple of occasions when passing the shop and liked what I had seen.
Woodoo Barber Kaliningrad
The interior had a modern look (not something that I would normally go for in England, being a gent of a certain age), but there was something about the wooden-clad décor that resonated with me. Wood is good.
Approaching the building on this historic day ~ this would be my first haircut in Kaliningrad ~ we took out our coro masks and applied them accordingly, then Olga went into the building ahead of me to reconnoitre the tariff.
This precaution was endearingly old-fashioned of her, and she soon learnt that the tariffs for the various hairdressing services, although not quite set in stone, were clearly itemised in a book that had been handed to her by a young chap, who I assumed was one of the staff but who, it transpired, was the owner.
I already had my jacket off ready to jump into one of the vacant chairs. There were four or five of these, all clientless, so I could not understand what it was that Olga and the owner were taking so long to debate. I soon learnt, however, that although clippers were not whirring and scissors not chattering, they soon would be, as all the chairs had been booked.
This is something that I am not used to encountering in the UK, at least not in the barbers I use. The normal procedure is to look through the window and if the chairs are full and three or four people waiting, go elsewhere. Conversely, an empty room is a green light.
Nevertheless, just when I thought we would have to book or walk, I worked out (my, how my Russian language is improving!) that the young owner was offering me a lift to another establishment that he owns. This was a new one on me: being chauffeur driven by the hairdresser to a second venue.
Woodoo Barber Kaliningrad
The second establishment met with my approval immediately. It was situated in an old Khrushchev building, typically accessible via a set of metal steps.
You cannot beat an old building; neither, if you are or were once a Jim Beam bourbon drinker, could you fault the entrance hall, whose dark brick-clad walls are festooned with Jim Beam bottles as well as yankee number plates and retro metal signs. The steampunk pipe shelves on which the Jim Beam bottles sit and the whacky cream and red pop-art settee, with its erotic caryatid framework of leggy nude-women, were just two of an eclectic number of inventive design features which, together with a long ‘bar’ constructed from new ‘old’ pallets and bottles of booze on a shelving unit behind it, confused me ~ happily, I might add: Was this a hairdressers or a trendy 21st century bar?
No doubt about it ~ Time for a Haircut!
We entered the building in regulation light-blue cotton masks and disinfected our hands with the appliance laid on for this purpose.
After a brief conversation with his staff, which probably went something like “This is the famous British spy, Mick Hart, he needs a haircut so that not even he will recognize who he isn’t”, the owner allocated a barber to me by the name of Andrey, and I was shown to a chair.
I had taken the precaution earlier of removing my mutton-chop sideboards, since I had the notion that they would look thrice-times more strange with short hair than they had when it was long, the other reason being that I had been led to believe that this would be the first time that I would have my haircut whilst wearing a face mask, and the mask sat more easily without the facial hair.
This latter precaution turned out to be unnecessary, however, for I removed the mask before the barber started to alter my appearance. I simply could not see how one’s hair could be cut with one of these things flapping around one’s face and ears.
First, however, as I sat in the chair wearing a monographed chair cloth, I was asked to choose my new hairstyle from a catalogue containing numerous thumbnail photographs of men with modern styles (although, of course, the crux of the modern lad’s hairstyle is a clever fusion of what has already been ~ selecting and mixing elements from the early 20th century, the 1940s’ and punk eras).
Spoilt for choice if not overwhelmed, it certainly had not been like this in my young days.
I recalled one specific trip to a hairdressers in Fletton, Peterborough. I had gone to the barbers with one of my brothers, David, who also needed his ‘barnet’ trimming. The barber’s shop was as basic as basic. Three kitchen chairs, a small table with a couple of newspapers on it and, of course, the barber’s chair. In those days, you could not distinguish barbers from doctors, dentists and scientists as they all wore white smocks. There was no catalogue of different styles; what choice there was, was written on a chalk board hanging on the wall. In this particular establishment you could have a trim, a skinhead, a short back and sides, or ‘an over the ears’, which leads me to the conclusion that some things really do change for the better!
Woodoo’s catalogue exploded with every kind of hairstyle imaginable, although I cannot recall seeing ‘an over the ears’ among them. But, as there was the very real risk that in choosing one of these hairstyles I would instantly look 30 years younger, I decided that it was not the way to go, and settled for a haircut similar to that of Andrey, the barber, himself ~ who is 40 or more years younger.
Phase 1 taken care of, choosing the look, the cutting and styling commenced.
The second welcome surprise was that I was asked to up-seat and move into a chair next to a sink unit. I was going to have a ‘wet cut’. I had not had this done since I lived and worked in London about 14 years ago. In ‘the sticks’, at least in the barbers I used, they did not offer this option in spite of the fact that it was the easiest and most effective way of cutting and styling my kind of hair, which is difficult (wife: “Just like the rest of you!”).
I hardly dare say it, but say it I must, this young barber had a soft touch and talented hands, quite different from the Boston Strangler-type jobs I had experienced at barbers in the past.
Back in the barber’s chair, I was amused to see Andrey fasten two or three clips to his sleeve, which, with my hair now wet, he proceeded to apply to my hair, scooping it this way and that until I ended up looking like my Chinese top knot had migrated above my forehead. Then the trimming commenced.
Time for a haircut: Kaliningrad, Russia, 2020
Now, please note, as I said earlier, that I have never frequented a modern, I mean a really modern barbers, so all this was new to me. I had graduated somewhat from the chair outside on the pavement with a guzunder on my head, but, generally speaking, over the last 14 years the barbers that I have used have been rather less than ‘cutting edge’.
About five minutes into the scissors work, I was offered a drink. I do not mean a glass of water, I mean a proper drink. There was a choice of alcoholic beverages; I opted for vodka. The drink was complementary, on the house, and was brought out in a good-sized glass with two slices of lemon on a saucer. Andrey gave me a couple of minutes to savour the vodka and chew the lemon. “Now we’re cooking!!” I thought. And “How civilized is this!”
Mick Hart drinking vodka at Woodoo
Andrey went back to work again, carefully adjusting the chair cloth so that it covered my legs as it should, and, five minutes later, when he brought the electric shaver into play, he allowed me another break for a second swig of vodka.
A smaller battery-operated shaver made its debut, then it was back to the scissors and 10 minutes into the cut an old-fashioned sharp blade razor was waved above my head. An interesting touch here was that after Andrey had used some sterilising solution on it, he whipped out a flame-thrower and gave the blade a fiery blast. It was enough to make Sweeney Todd jealous and me to reach for the vodka!
There was a little more scissor-work to do; he used a small clipper to trim around my Brezhnev-style eyebrows and remove any lingering reminders of my mutton chops and a few minutes later my transformation was complete. There had been one frightening moment when, in combing my fringe forward when it was still at its original length but after the sides of my head had been shaved, I looked into the mirror and thought I saw Adolf Hitler staring back at me, but we had gone past that stage, and it was now time to pay.
I downed the remains of my complementary vodka and took the glass back to the ‘bar’ (counter). “Thanks very much,” I said, and before you could say ‘the wife was giving me a reproving look’, the attractive woman behind the counter had offered to top up my glass. Well, how could I refuse!
The haircut cost me, in English money, £12, and I left the hairdressers well-pleased with the professionalism of the service, the end ~ or rather top ~ result, as well as feeling gratefully tipsy. A small gift of a bottle of shampoo was also a nice touch.
Complementary shampoo from Woodoo Barber, Kaliningrad
You have possibly already worked out that in my opinion this place gets the absolute thumbs up. It is highly recommended. Try it yourself and see!
Mick Hart at Woodoo Barbers, Kaliningrad, October 2020
Pubs and homes made illegal in four new coronavirus regions including Beatlesville
Health Secretry Mel Hotcock announced emergency lockdown changes for Beatlesville, Whoreington, Hilterpool and Mindlessborough as loss of common sense continues to surge
Health Secretry Mel Hotcock announced today that if you don’t live together, then you can’t mix together. From one minute past half-past three today, give or take thirty seconds, non-mixing, other than between consenting mixers in the same home, will be legally banned from mixing ~ which includes cakes and cement ~ in private homes, private gardens or indoor venues in the afore-named regions. Mixing in communal areas, on street corners, in air balloons, on the side of the Great North Road, or anywhere else where the police can’t catch you and fine you 200 quid, has been cited as a jolly good alternative to everyone moving in together and mixing willy-nilly.
Beatlesville and Whoreington already have laws in place to prevent people meeting in private homes, which has led to a lot of crowded doorsteps, and there is strict guidance about meeting in pubs and restaurants, although this has not affected the ‘lonely guy’ who sits on his own in the corner.
So, how does it work?
Do you really expect an answer?!
Offenders face £200 on-the-spot fines, which is bad news for exhibitionists who like to keep their curtains open. However, people who share a bubble car or have childcare needs are exempt, as are schools and workplaces, as it has been scientifically proven that coronavirus only targets non-home mixers and people in pubs and restaurants in groups of more than six.
However, mixing in parks or beer gardens, whilst breaking guidance but not the law, is acceptable, as long as there is only six of you. What to do with the seventh is not clear but will suit some who are having an affair and want to get rid of the wife or return to those good old days at school where bullying by exclusion is a veritable institution. No government advice has been forthcoming about getting into beer gardens if going to pubs is made illegal, but by parachute is not illegal providing you drop in no more than six at a time. Anymore will break guidance rules but not necessarily the law.
Not attending sports matches is recommended, and no more than six players are allowed on the field at any one time, providing that they are living together and observing the one-metre distancing rule. {The FA, RFU and England and Wales Cricket Board were all available for comment, but we simply dare not publish what they had to say. Here is a hint: the FA said FA, the RFU said FU and the England and Wales Cricket Board cried middle wicket and bails.}
Mixing in pubs & home illegal
Good news! You can visit care homes, but only in ‘exceptional circumstances’ (whatever they are?) but take care not to break ‘non-essential’ travel rules. If you must travel then it is possibly best not to, unless you are a celeb whose star is fading fast and is desperate for publicity, whether good or bad. Of course, travelling to work or school 60 to a bus, or packed like sardines in a rail carriage, is quite permissible.
Stop press (and mixing!): We understand that local authorities in the four areas effected will be given £7 million, but we have not been told why? Do they know something we don’t? And who is going on holiday?
A Labour MP for Mindlessborough made a completely silly statement about mixing being the ‘root cause’ of everything ~ and no one listened to him, and probably won’t vote for him again. And the mayor of Mindlessborough, smitten suddenly by what the Daily Shunter described as another mysterious symptom of coronavirus, told the government to go and do one.
The introduction of a new ‘traffic light’ system, whilst it may not have the slightest chance of ending the confusion, will, it is confidently believed, add substantially to the confusion that already exists, and, besides, it just sounds good.
The three tier system, which will be applied to towns and cities according to all sorts of things — ie tier 1 very tight restrictions; tier 2 not so tight restrictions; tier 3 restrictions about as tight as a pair of pants with no elastic — have come under fire from people who just don’t get it ~ or haven’t got it yet ~ with Liebour questioning whether people in tier 1 and 2 towns will simply flout non-essential travel bans, drive to tier 1 towns and move in with other people — a ‘highly likely’ scenario (thank you Mrs May) if the pubs are open late.
Mixing in pubs & home illegal
Concern that the new pub curfew is piling people onto public transport at the same time — where social distancing is impossible to adhere to, non-essential travel questionable (what’s the point of going home where you can only mix with people you don’t want to) and where you can be fined £200 for mixing in an indoor venue, ie a bus — has invoked the logic that if there was no curfew people could just enjoy themselves and catch coronavirus in the pub instead of on the buses, or could easily catch it later were the pubs to close at normal times.
Liberal activists have accused the government of discrimination, arguing that in deciding where and when the public can and cannot catch coronavirus is a clear violation of virus’ rights.
So far there has been no legislation to combat the allegation that coronavirus is selectively racist or that the virus places men more at risk of fatality than women. It is hoped, however, that if the first finding leads to riots, that riot mixes will be limited to crowds of six, preferably from the same household. The government has already taken the precaution of hiding all statues behind giant face masks. As for the man thing, any suggestion that the virus could be sexist has been effectively dealt with under the Positive Discrimination Act.
Whilst everyone should do their utmost to obey the letter of the law ~ known by most as the ‘C’ rate ~ the public are advised to beware of scams, such as where policemen disguised as policemen try to fine you 200 quid.
Remember, there is a subtle difference between breaking the guidelines and breaking the law (200 quids worth of subtlety), but one thing the government has not made clear (amongst the many other things) is whether breaking wind is exempt or not, but laughing about it certainly is, unless you are breaking wind with others in your own household group, where, after several months of lockdown, it has probably ceased to be funny.
In summary, what we think, but don’t know exactly, is now happening in the four areas:
What was previously lockdown is now more lockdown than previously
Previously you could be breaking guidance, but now you can break the law instead (£200 please)
Previously it was illegal to mix with people in private homes and gardens, now we are all related and have much larger extended families
You can go to the pub with everyone from the same household with whom you have been rowing and getting on each other’s nerves for months, but if you mix with others, such as the man or woman behind the bar, you risk a fine of £200
You can mix in parks or beer gardens if there is no more than six of you, but the government advises against it in case the man sweeping up leaves or the girl collecting the beer glasses gets too close, thus making it seven people (£200 please!)
Exemptions for people in bubble cars, saying that they are childcare supporters, or working from home in pubs or parks must not look like MPs or else they will have to resign
Non-essential travel, which does not include trips to the outside toilet where no more than six from the same household are allowed to congregate for fear of contracting a social stigma, is at ‘guidance’ stage, but just when you get used to it, it could suddenly change at half-past-four-and-a-half and become a criminal offence (£200 please)
If in doubt don’t be an amber gambler, consult the government’s traffic-light system!
Red ~ you must not go anywhere or do anything, but you must go to work
Amber ~ you can go somewhere, but we are not sure where, but if you go, go in sixes
Green ~ go now, and go quickly before the lights change to red!
When I was a nipper, I would like nothing more when we visited the seaside than spending my parents’ money on the funfair rides. Sea and sand are OK to look at, but I like water in tea, and I am no beach lizard.
If you live in or are visiting Kaliningrad, you can get your funfair fix at the Youth amusement park, which is a spacious and well-equipped amusement park across the road from the Upper Lake.
Recently, on my birthday, I was smitten by the regressive desire to go oscillating on the park’s big wheel. This is quite unlike me, as I gave up heights in preference for the sure-footedness of good old terra firma many moons ago. But it was my birthday, I had eaten an ice cream by the lake, and the wheel, which I had often regarded with curiosity whilst partaking of beer at the front of the Mercor Hotel, must have said something to me today like, “you’d better do it now, before you get too old!”
Kaliningrad Ferris wheel at Youth Park
I have never argued with a Ferris wheel before, have you? And today was no exception. But had I have been inclined to do so nothing would have come of it, because Kaliningrad’s big wheel is not one of those fast-moving fairground attractions where you sit with your friends suspended in chairs and when the wheel stops at the top your friend begins to rock it and is no longer your friend anymore, it is, in its construction and spirit of revolution, more akin to the London Eye ~ big, solid, friendly and sedate.
Nevertheless, at 50 metres it is high enough for me, and as we stood on the departure platform waiting for one of the empty cars to descend and allow us to board, I caught myself thinking yet again how unlike me this is, even on my birthday.
Kaliningrad Ferris Wheel at Youth Park
The cars roll around at a gentle pace but even so you clamber quickly aboard goaded to do so by the Imp of the Perverse who is whispering in your ear, “Quick, imagine your trouser leg getting caught on the edge of the car; how embarrassing that would be, to go hopping off towards the end of the platform!”
Mick Hart about to board Kaliningrad’s Ferris wheel
This thought, or thoughts similar, have you jumping aboard in no time. The car lurches and swings in response to your opposing momentum, but it is alright: the thing seems sturdy enough, and before you can say ‘motion sickness’ you have plonked yourself down on the bench seat.
Olga Hart not at all frightened on Kaliningrad’s Ferris wheel
The wheel’s cars are in fact quite spacious and would, I imagine, hold six people quite comfortably. The cars have glass doors, so you are fully enclosed, and the wide windows offer an awesome and spectacular view not just of Kaliningrad from an aerial perspective but of the steel lattice-work fabric, nuts, bolts and bearings from which the revolving contraption is made.
View of Kaliningrad’s Ferris wheel and Kaliningrad itself from one of the wheel’s cars
As we levelled out at a 45-degree angle to the ground, the angle of the dangle incidentally causing you to feel more vulnerable than when the car reaches the summit, this is when both the wheel’s superstructure and park layout below are at their most dramatic; and then, slowly, very slowly, as the car begins to rise, Kaliningrad in all its (as I have said before) green glory and contrasting urban extensiveness folds quietly out beneath you inciting a landmark-spotters epiphany.
Looking out across the once Königsberg district of Maraunenhof from Kaliningrad Ferris wheel
Away with apprehension and out with the camera, I get some fairly good shots of the wheel itself and some admiral ones of the city. Yes, the photographs would have been better had I come prepared with a proper camera instead of relying on the mobile phone’s, but spur of the moment decisions respect nothing but opportunism so, as I did not plan ahead, I have to be contented.
Kaliningrad Upper Lake
Kaliningrad boating lake
The view from the wheel’s highest point is nothing short of breathtaking, and for 200 rubles a ride (£1.99), presuming you do not own a microlight, this is the next best way to reach the dizzy heights, in other words to see the city of Kaliningrad as you have never seen it before.
Next on the bucket list is a spin on the wheel as dusk settles, when the wheel and the cityscape are bedecked with illumination.
Whereabouts
The Youth Park of Culture and Recreation is located in the Leningrad district of Kaliningrad at 3 Telman Street, opposite the Upper Lake.
Updated: 12 March 2022 | Published 29 September 2020
Warning! In response to Russia’s special operation aimed at ‘demilitarising and de-Nazifying Ukraine’, the UK media has embarked upon and is actively pursuing an intensive propaganda programme which is resulting in widespread anti-Russian sentiment and Russophobia. Aimed at cancelling Russian culture and demonising Russian citizens at every level, incidents of verbal abuse and physical aggression towards Russian nationals have been reported in various western countries, including the UK. This comes against the backdrop of reports suggesting that Facebook is greenlighting hate speech against Russians on its social media platform. You are advised to travel to the UK only for essential reasons and whilst there to exercise caution.
It is not easy for Russians to emigrate to the UK, although it has been cynically suggested that possession of an extremely large bank account might go some way to oiling the wheels. Failing that, you could always apply the right shade of make-up, throw away identification and thumb a lift on one of those little boats that roll daily into Dover. However, if you are not into making things up and have no desire to be treated as a VIP, you could always try the normal route, which is? At the end of this article, you will find a reference section containing a list of UK Government websites outlining the daunting process which you must undergo should you wish to enter the UK, apply for Leave to Remain and possibly later citizenship.
Not that I am trying to put you off or anything, but the following account is taken from my diary. It is a personal record of what we had to go through, my wife and I, in order for her to live with me in the UK. Admittedly, all this took place a long time ago, back in 2000/2001, but I have no doubt that the process today is no less turgid, complex and frustrating.
Advice for Russians moving to the UK
As outlined in my first post I met my wife to be, Olga, when, as an English language teacher, she brought a group of Russian students to London for a month’s cultural visit.
I visited Olga in Russia, Kaliningrad, during the Christmas holidays and New Year celebrations at the end of 2000, and I returned to Kaliningrad again in 2001, staying twice for a month at a time.
A few days later we separated, and I returned to the UK to prepare for my interview at the British Embassy in Moscow, where I would have to go in order to obtain a British visa for my wife.
For Olga this meant a long train journey from Kaliningrad to Moscow; for me, it meant flying back to Russia about two weeks after returning to England.
Advice for Russians moving to the UK
From the time we decided to wed until mid-September 2001, I had spent six months or more compiling a dossier on Olga and myself which I would need to present to the British authorities in Moscow as proof that our relationship was ‘kosher’, in other words that our marriage was legit and not an arranged immigration scam.
As well as the official bumph, for help on which I had engaged the services of an immigration solicitor, it was necessary to include documents and evidence of a more personal nature, such as photographs of us together on outings and social occasions with family and friends, as well as copies of our private correspondence. It was a labour-intensive, costly and time-consuming task, and once completed the documents assembled easily filled one of those large Lever Arch files.
On my flight to Moscow, I could not resist comparing my situation with the thousands of so-called asylum seekers that Tony Blair & Co were importing into the UK on an almost daily basis. The irony was inescapable. Here was I, a British citizen, my English lineage stretching back over hundreds of years, having to go cap in hand to the British Embassy in Moscow to beg them to allow my wife to join me in England, whilst immigrants from every corner of the globe were being shipped in wholesale to shore up Tony’s indigenous electoral base, which was destined to collapse once the Socialist faithful tumbled that New Labour was in fact nothing to do with old Labour at all. The irony made me smile. I felt that I had been left on the shelf to make way for Labour’s ‘Buy into it now and get another thousand free’ policy.
Notwithstanding, I made the most of my time in Moscow. I had never been to Russia’s capital city, and I had furnished myself with the luxury of taking a few days off from work to ‘see the sites’ and recuperate once the ordeal was over.
It was an ordeal, make no mistake of that, but, like most things in life, it had its satirical moments.
We arrived at the British Embassy in Moscow at the appointed time. Outside and inside the doorway there was a group of Asian-looking fellows being corralled by three or four military-looking personnel touting automatic weapons. I rather stood out from the crowd as I was wearing a blue suit with a needle-point pinstripe and carrying a black briefcase. One of the soldiers, espying me at the back of the horde, came forward and asked, “Can I help you?” I showed him my British passport and explained that I had an appointment at 4 o’clock. He must have presumed that I was some sort of official diplomat or other, for he and his colleagues suddenly became extremely polite. A route was cleared for us through the crowd and, with a cheery and civil “Come this way, sir”, we were taken past the stairway, shown into a lift and saluted most decorously as we took off.
Well, you know what they say ~ every dog must have its day!
It was a different kettle of bureaucratic fish when we arrived in the vast open-plan waiting room upstairs. Once we had ‘booked in’, we were sat there for one hour before our interview and almost one hour afterwards. As with all bureaucratic institutions, making the public wait seems to be de rigueur. Admittedly, this protraction gave us plenty of time in which to get our story straight. What I mean by that is that we had been alerted to the fact that it was standard practice for the Embassy authorities at some point in the interview to split couples up, and whilst one person went back to the waiting area, the remaining person would be asked various personal questions about the other. Then, the role was reversed: the waiting person would be wheeled in and asked the same questions about himself or herself to see if the answers tallied.
You are no doubt familiar with the axiom that ‘it is the waiting that is the worst’, and our two hours waiting at the British Embassy proved the rule not the exception.
Down one side of the waiting area there was a series of doors leading to the interview rooms. The appointments worked on a numeric system, in other words you were issued with a ticket with a number on it and when your number was up ~ so to speak ~ as shown on the electronic indicator boards, off you not so merrily went.
During our wait, we saw several people enter the rooms. I am not sure whether they went in merrily, but what I can say categorically is that most of them came out looking anything but: at least one woman came out in tears and another looking distraught.
It was something akin to being at the dentists, with the patients ahead of you screaming whilst you nervously waited your turn
And then, suddenly, just when we had begun to suspect that they had forgotten us, it was our turn!
The little interrogation, sorry, interview room, could just about hold three people; there were four in ours ~ us and two interviewers ~ a man and woman. It was terribly claustrophobic.
Having witnessed the condition of interviewees prior to ourselves we were both ready for the third degree, but it never happened. From the moment we entered the room to the moment we left, the interviewers, contrary to our expectations, were the epitome of good humour, even joining in with and complementing my quips ~ which, I instinctively knew, I should not be indulging. There were formalities, with regard to the visa application and checking of sundry documents, but my Lever Arch file, so painstakingly compiled, hardly received a glance, and I was rather put out that they did not want to scrutinise it.
The questions that they asked each of us about each other individually were also taken in good part and raised a few laughs in the process.
At the end of the interview, we were not exactly told that Olga’s visa would be granted, but we were confident that things had gone well and reassured that we were on the right track from the advice that we were given on what we could expect officially when Olga arrived in the UK.
Whilst our visas application story has a happy ending, contrary to popular belief legal entry into and settlement in the UK is by no means guaranteed, and I cannot emphasise enough the need for assiduous preparation and the importance of taking legal advice.
In fairness, the UK is not alone in this: there are very few countries where legal entry with intention to remain is not onerous; it has certainly been no cakewalk for me moving to Kaliningrad, but like everything else in life, you must do your homework first.
In my follow-up article I will try not to deter you even more by outlining how much it costs to live in the UK ~ in London in particular ~ how much you need to earn to live, where your money will go and how fast your money will go.
A warning to the Curious (apologies to Peter Vaughan)
Updated: 12 March 2022 | Published: 24 September 2020
Warning! In response to Russia’s special operation aimed at ‘demilitarising and de-Nazifying Ukraine’, the UK media has embarked upon and is actively pursuing an intensive propaganda programme which is resulting in widespread anti-Russian sentiment and Russophobia. Aimed at cancelling Russian culture and demonising Russian citizens at every level, incidents of verbal abuse and physical aggression towards Russian nationals have been reported in various western countries, including the UK. This comes against the backdrop of reports suggesting that Facebook is greenlighting hate speech against Russians on its social media platform. You are advised to travel to the UK only for essential reasons and whilst there to exercise caution.
Part 1
An article in The Moscow Times (12 February 2016), ‘ Russian Women — They’re Just Not That Into You’, tells the disheartening tale that Russia’s “fascination with foreignness” is over and that Russian girls no longer fantasise about being “whisked away by a foreign prince in Levi’s”. (How about a foreign knave in a pair of ‘skinnies’ cut-price from Peacocks?).
As a long-time married man of a respectable senior age, I really could not tell you whether this is true or not. However, an inveterate Facebook commentator, a Facebook friend of my wife’s, who never misses an opportunity to respond negatively to my wife’s more political Russian posts, has asserted on more than one occasion that Russian’s are queuing to leave Russia and live in the UK and America. Allowing for the obvious hyperbole, an interesting question nevertheless emerges from this statement: Do Russian citizens still want to emigrate to the UK?
I use the word ‘still’ purposefully, based on my own observations that the Russia of today is considerably different from the one I encountered twenty years ago, which was reeling from the fallout of perestroika and was a time therefore when the quality-of-life divide between the East and West was at its most dramatic. Then, it was understandable that people, especially young people, were looking for a way out and that the West, with all its lauded material trappings and projected hedonism, was not simply a land of opportunity but a seductive Lady Bountiful ~ Shangri La personified.
You can imagine the banner advertisement, ‘Move to the UK ~ a better way of life awaits you!’ But life in the fast lane has a funny way of slowing down, and it could be argued, with no small degree of credibility, that since then Russia has caught up with, if not in many instances, overtaken the UK, where almost every citizen is heavily in debt, young people outpriced from the housing market, too many people and not enough jobs, and where political, social and ethnic division, moral malaise and gratuitous violence has replaced the cohesion and respect of the past.
Advice for Russians emigrating to UK part 1
Nevertheless, the answer is ‘yes’. Of course, there are Russians, predominantly younger Russians, who continue to be attracted by the lure of the West, but the allure is no longer the promise of a substantially better or more stable life. The internet has put paid to that naivety. Today, the internet offers a window on the world and however the media spins it, the other side of the so-called western democracies, like Jekyll’s Hyde, is continually surfacing.
As life on the edge and the chance to become embroiled in the left vs patriot battles are ‘No Sale’, I think we can conclude that what allure there is, is strictly financial. The old sheen may have worn off the good-times chimera with the insurgence of unserviceable credit cards and unsafe streets, but the financial remuneration from certain jobs and professions continues to pull and, you never know, there is always the chance you will beat the House no matter how fixed the wheel.
This post, therefore, and those that follow in this series, are dedicated to those of you in Russia who are considering and/or seriously contemplating emigrating to the UK. You may still be wondering, should I really do this? Or you may already have made up your mind that you are off; either way, I trust that by shedding some light on what you can expect to find in the UK economically, socially and politically, that this series of articles will serve to alleviate any delusions and misconceptions that you may have adopted. And whilst these articles are primarily intended as a guide for prospective or potential emigrees, some sections may prove useful for those amongst you who are travelling to the UK on an international secondment or for the purpose of tourism.
Advice for Russians emigrating to UK part 1
In the following posts I will consider the bureaucratic, economic and social ramifications of moving to London/moving to England, and in it I will explain why I have deliberately chosen to deal with London as a separate entity to England as a whole.
Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 189 [19 September 2020] The thin dividing line between caution and common sense
Published: 19 September 2020
Reckless, lax, less cautious, or a simple case of resumed normalcy? How should I describe the shift in my attitude to coronavirus, having, at the time of writing, completed my 189th day of ‘self-isolation’?
When self-isolation first started it was as it sounds, exactly that. My wife and I stayed put, only venturing out into the great beyond when necessity dictated, ie to go shopping. One hundred and eighty nine days into the isolating regimen, and we are not so punctilious. We still proceed with caution but have ceased to follow the caution-code to the letter.
For example, in our early self-isolating days before going to the shops, we underwent a countdown checklist as rigorous as any practised by Lancaster bomber crews prior to take off on their way to Berlin.
Facemasks x two ~ check. Hand wipes ~ check. Large shopping bags ~ check. Rubber gloves ~ check. Irvin flying jacket ~ check. OK, perhaps not the latter, but you get the picture.
This has all been steadily shelved. We do still take our masks with us but only because some shops, government offices and other such places demand that they are worn. We do not wear them in the street, and we no longer don them when we travel by taxi.
Taking a taxi in itself is another example of altered traffic-light syndrome, as we scale down from red for danger to amber for caution. Time was once when I would no more get into a taxi than climb into a hearse, but that time has long since passed. My initial return to this convenient mode of transport would not be countenanced unless my facemask was sternly in place, and we would ride out the duration of the journey with our faces poised before the open windows and wipe our hands thoroughly with disinfectant wipes as soon as we alighted. Now, we are happy to taxi-it sans masks. We still leave a window or two open and shoot each other a tight-lipped smile whenever our driver coughs or sneezes, but we are nowhere near as paranoid.
In days of yore when the coronavirus menace first hit, masked-up and ridiculous-looking, we would enter the local supermarket as if invited to a radiation-leak party. Once inside, we tore around the shop grabbing what we wanted as if our arses were on fire and religiously observed the one-metre distancing tapes at checkout.
Prior to Mission Shopping, and as part of our checklist ritual, we would first decide which of the two supermarkets we were going to shop in. We are lucky to have two supermarkets close to our abode, neither large but one smaller than the other, and as the smaller supermarket, which is also the more expensive, is always more empty than the other, for the sake of presumed safety and expediency, ie quickly in and more rapidly out, we always chose this shop. Now, however, as self-isolating veterans, we observe this rule no more, shopping in each supermarket as mood or necessity suggests.
Another precaution that has been downgraded from a stage 10 emergency situation to about a four and a half is the strict rule that we originally applied to quarantining our shop purchases.
On arriving home, flak damaged but yet intact, we would extract only those items from our shopping bags that we immediately required, for example food items for lunch, or which needed, because of their perishable nature, to be stowed away in the fridge. All food packages would be washed or wiped prior to opening and those destined for the fridge would be placed in the fridge isolation room ~ the chilling compartment (aptly named). The rest of the commodities remained in the bags and were placed in the hallway to the attic, where they would remain until safe the following day.
Now, Olga seems to ignore this ritual almost completely (she is more ~ considerably more ~ of a coronavirus skeptic than I), whilst I sometimes remember to ‘handle with care’ and sometimes do not.
In earlier times, on our return from wherever, one or other of us would take care to thoroughly disinfect the door handles, keys and anything else we had touched. We would wash our hands as soon as we returned, disinfect and then wash our hands again. We continue to wash our hands as though a liberal has shook them (cannot imagine that ever happening), but the attendant ritual has been more or less dispensed with.
On the social distancing front, the ironclad code of no fraternising with the suspect-contaminated has also been downplayed, and we have gone from no guests and social gatherings to selected guests and small social gatherings. Admittedly, these occasions have mainly taken place in the garden and not indoors but, as I believe I mentioned in a previous post in this series, maintaining prescribed social distancing measures quickly proved impractical if not impossible, and whilst we do not go around hugging and embracing as if we belong to France ~ when France was France ~ we are considerably less conscious of the risks of social interaction than we were six months ago.
Self-isolating Englishman in Kaliningrad
Possibly ~ no, not possibly, definitely ~ the greatest alteration in our Covid-19 bunker mentality is that slowly, but surely, we have permitted ourselves the luxury of dining and drinking out. We are not entirely comfortable with this arrangement, and, indeed, it just happened rather than was planned.
The momentous first post-coronavirus café/bar occasion took place during a day trip to the small seaside resort Otradnoye. Olga wanted to swim and the most comfortable and convenient place to wait for her was in the outside area of the pop-up summer café, a party tent that services the food and beverage needs of the sand and sea clientele. We had a pack of antiseptic wipes on board and used these like a clumsy juggling circus act to decontaminate the beer bottle. We had also taken the precaution of bringing with us our own plastic cups.
The second bar/restaurant experience was when we travelled to Svetlogorsk to celebrate our 19th wedding anniversary. This was an indoor job, because the hotel staff would not allow us to dine and drink outside. At the time I thought it quite high risk, even allowing for the fact that Olga and I were the only patrons, but neither of these two events was as adventurous as our most recent outing when we ate and drank in the company of about 100 people or more at a beach-side restaurant in Zelenogradsk.
Once again, we refrained from sitting inside, choosing instead a table on the upper tier of the two-tier decking system facing the beach and sea. I believe, if my memory serves me right, that a pack of antiseptic wipes came into play but more by force of habit than with respect to coronavirus hygiene protocol.
Self-isolating Englishman in Kaliningrad
In a few days’ time we have a relative from the UK coming to visit. As a matter of course, she will have to undergo a test for coronavirus at one of Kaliningrad’s clinics the day after she arrives. If she gets the all clear, we will no doubt push the boundaries back still further by going to a restaurant and, as the autumn chill sets in, we will be dining inside ~ That’s one small step for mankind, one giant leap for a Covid-19 self-isolator.
Mick Hart, the Self-isolating Englishman in Kaliningrad, unleashes himself in Zelenogradsk
My wife was recently thrilled to discover that her birthday fell on the same day as Königsberg’s. On the 1st September 2020 Königsberg turned 756. Olga felt relieved and grateful that Königsberg was considerably older than her, whilst I feel like I am catching up with Königsberg every day that goes by.
On hearing about this coincidence of birthdays, I suggested that we show our respects to the old city on which Kaliningrad is founded by travelling to what was once the cultural and spiritual centre of Königsberg, the cathedral, and wish Königsberg a happy birthday.
Olga bought some flowers to mark the occasion, a pretty basket display, which she placed at the gate to Immanuel Kant’s tomb at the side of the 14th century cathedral. We then walked to the front of the cathedral, noting as we did that one section was undergoing renovation and that the cathedral parvis had been re-laid with cobbles in which a twin section of serpentine tram track had been sunk, thus creating a more accurate picture of how it once would have looked. Other improvements ~ some complete, some still work in progress ~ also caught our eye.
It was a beautiful day, as our photographs show; one of those early autumn days which brings people out in droves but winds them down into relaxation mode. It was not difficult, therefore, to get someone to take a photograph of us next to the model of Kneiphof Island, one of the three towns in the middle ages that comprised the city of Königsberg and the area in which the cathedral stands today.
This was all well and good, but we still had not yet toasted Königsberg.
Happy Birthday Königsberg
By and by, we found what we considered to be the perfect location on the elevated approach to the cathedral entrance. With my large vodka flask to hand, a kind and useful gift from our neighbours last Christmas, we accomplished our objective: Happy Birthday Königsberg!
Mick & Olga Hart: Happy Birthday Königsberg
Having respected history and become a small part of it ourselves, we took a slow stroll to the river bridge for more photographs in front of the Königsberg Stock Exchange and of the now complete Planet Ocean Exposition globe across the other side of the water.
There was one last visit to make. As we were in Victor Ryabinin territory, we decided to make the emotionally difficult but appropriate pilgrimage to the door of the building where Victor’s studio had been located. As Olga said, had Victor been here today he would have been with us and would have been proud to have toasted Königsberg’s birthday.
The building where the studio used to be is under scaffolding at the moment. We stood at the open entrance, and I saluted him and the building for all those memorable times we had spent together here.
Mick Hart at entrance to stairwell leading to the former Studio of artist Victor Ryabinin, Königsberg-Kaliningrad 2020
From Victor’s, we decided we would wend our way homewards via Kaliningrad’s famous war memorial. To do this we would have to cross over Dvukhyarusny Bridge. I hope that this bridge is preserved, as it is a landmark of the city. I love walking across the old buckled steel plate pathway that runs along the side of this bridge and gazing out across the Pregel River for the unique perspective it offers.
Dvukhyarusny Bridge, Kaliningrad 2020
Crossing over the busy road on the other side, it is possible to escape the traffic by following a section of road leading to the war memorial where traffic is restricted. This road climbs a hill between an avenue of mature trees with Victory Park on the left-hand side.
The Monument to 1200 Guardsmen is an awe-inspiring sight. Set in a vast semi-circular walled and paved space, a central obelisk, its ascending sections carved and embossed with WWII battle scenes, rises triumphantly into the sky; an ‘eternal flame’ burns in its foreground and the whole ensemble is flanked by two larger than life figural groups depicting soldiers charging into battle.
Obelisk at the Monument to 1200 Guardsmen, Kaliningrad, Russia, September 2020
Olga Hart, Eternal Flame, Kaliningrad
Olga Hart at 1200 Guardsmen Monument
We had our photographs taken here on the day of our wedding, 31 August 2001, and were fortunate enough to find two willing Kaliningradians to snap some photos today.
Olga and Mick Hart at 1200 Guardsmen Monument, Kaliningrad, September 2020
Not quite sure whether I had toasted Königsberg sufficiently, when I arrived back home I opened a bottle of beer and toasted it again ~ Happy Birthday Königsberg!
