Fisherman’s House Museum Zalivino: a must for social history buffs
27 March 2024 ~ Fisherman’s House Museum Zalivino Kaliningrad region
If you are planning on visiting Zalivino lighthouse or taking a day trip to Zalivino, you should take the time to stop off at Zalivino marine and maritime museum, aka Fisherman’s House. Although it is tucked away, if you head to the sandy cove at the far end of the village, a short walk from the village’s second bus stop, and follow the road to the left, you will find you are almost there. Now, just look for a white building with a painted seascape mural on its wall.
Zalivino’s museum is dedicated to the village’s fishing heritage. It provides an unforgettable insight into the working lives of the people who lived there across successive eras and subsequent generations from when it was German Labagienen, then Haffwinkel, throughout its Soviet years.
The museum, or rather how it came to be a museum, has an interesting history of its own. During the perestroika years, Zalivino, a once thriving community, which relied on the water for its livelihood, had declined so substantially that even access to the lagoon had been rendered virtually impossible. Left to its own devices, the coastline had clogged itself with vegetation, turning the erstwhile open shore into a dense and impenetrable forest, choked with invasive reeds, wetland plants and willows.
In 2015, local residents, some of whom personally remembered the coastline’s former glory from their childhood days, got together to form a group to action the shoreline’s reclamation.
Calling themselves ‘Clean Coast’, the group’s hard work won them recognition in a fund-raising competition. The proceeds from this competition enabled the group to launch an assault on the stifling shoreline foliage. They trimmed back trees and bushes, removed strewn rubbish and, when the clearing job was done, used its remaining funds to purchase planks with which to make public benches.
Inspired by their success, the group’s next venture was to establish a museum, which would tell Zalivino’s story as a working fishing village. The property in which the museum is now housed came to fruition following the Clean Coast’s group successful application for a charitable foundation grant, which once obtained was used to develop both the building and the site.
Research suggests that in German times the renovated building was less likely to have been a private dwelling than a warehouse or stable. Personal recollections from the Soviet period see it as a sawmill and a wood-working shop, turning out an array of goods from oars and boat boards to coffins, and later, in the 1990s, when the sawmill was relocated, as the village’s communal bathhouse.
From bathhouse to social history museum, the first exhibit to mark the transition was a sleigh of German origin dragged from the lagoon. According to those in the know, such sleighs in Soviet times were given a new lease of life. Come winter, they were attached to and drawn by horses to trawl the ice-bound waters across the bay for fish.
Zalivino’s museum may be small, but it is also neat and compact, every space having been carefully utilised to bring the story of the settlement’s past to life. Photographs, display boards and documents intermesh successfully with the exposition’s tell-tale artefacts ~ the fishing lines, nets, floats, waders, kerosene lamps and household items ~ all of which have a part to play in the biography of the village.
But whilst they aid the visitor to reconstruct a picture of what life was like in the village many years ago, the museum’s greatest assets are by far its guides, who, because of their palpable love for their subject, enthuse and infuse in equal measure, turning the pieces the past has left for us into a thought-provoking dynamic.
In days of old a fisherman’s life was hard ~ some would say, still is. Relying for your livelihood on the quantity and quality of fish caught in the surrounding waters, and fishing those waters come rain or shine, day in, day out, and often at ungodly hours, was no faint-hearted occupation. The photographs in the museum’s collection underscore this hardship. But they also reveal expressively in the gnarled and weathered faces, in the look of determination, in the brightness of the villager’s eyes and the smiles upon their lips, a satisfaction almost bucolic, deriving from sometimes aligning with, sometimes doing battle with but always being respectful of the laws and forces of nature. After all, to coin a phrase, every villager was in the same boat.
Overall, there is nothing in the Fisherman’s House museum that fails to captivate. But if I was asked to select from the many exhibits one that hits the unusual spot, then the one I would be inclined to choose would be the weathervane.
I am not talking about a wrought iron something that typically spins in the wind high above a chimney pot but of an intricately carved and brightly painted sign-board made of wood which, whilst effectively showing the wind’s direction as any weathervane should, had as its primary function to identify the sailing ship to which it was attached together with the details of its owner. All Curonian sailing ships would be marked by such a device, and those who were acquainted with the lexicon of their symbols would be able to decipher them without a second glance.
Museum Fisherman’s House, Zalivino, is not just a venue for examining relics from a sepia-coloured bygone age, as entrancing as they are, it is a meeting place for the past and present, which will take you into a world and introduce you to a way of life made obsolete by the tides of time and the undercurrents of ‘progress’.
The world it preserves was different then and life in its way much harder, but, as the exposition depicts, it was strong in kinship and fellowship ties. Visiting this museum will help you to understand that it is also Zalivino’s social history as much as its natural landscape that infuses it with allurement and awakens the senses to timeless mystery.
The main thing
Fisherman’s House Zalivino, Kaliningrad region, 238633
Tel: 8 (962) 266 44 57
Opening times Monday to Friday 3pm to 5pm Saturday and Sunday 11am to 4pm
8 October 2023 ~ Herman Brachert Museum Königsberg Sculptor
Otradnoye [German: Georgenswald] is a small, unspoilt seaside enclave on Kaliningrad region’s Baltic Coast. It sits, relatively obscurely, on a wooded escarpment between the region’s two main resorts, Svetlogorsk (German: Rauschen) and Zelenogradsk (German: Cranz).
Otradnoye is worth discovering for its wonderful woodland walks, late nineteenth and early twentieth century German architecture and its small but white sandy beach (now smaller still, since a couple of thousand boulders have been netted there to tackle coastal erosion).
Herman Brachert Museum
Another reason for visiting Otradnoye is to acquaint yourself with one of its most famous and charismatic former occupants, the German sculptor Herman Brachert (1890~1972), whose home and studio has been faithfully preserved as a biographical record of his life and as a museum for his works of art.
Herman Brachert, who originated from Stuttgart, worked in Königsberg and the Königsberg region for 25 years. From 1933 to 1944, he lived and worked in the country retreat of Otradnoye.
The Brachert’s family home was built in 1931 by architect Hans Hopp. It was renovated in 1992 and became a museum the following year.
Much of Brachert’s work perished during World War II and/or was destroyed in the postwar years. Even so, the museum contains more than 700 exhibits, more than enough to be highly representational of the concepts, materials, forms and compositions with which Brachert is associated.
The museum’s curators continue to track down original Brachert items, aided in their quest by photographs, letters, documents and diaries from the sculptor’s family archive. Fortunately, Brachert’s wife, Maria, was an accomplished photo-artist, and many of her photographs are included in the museum’s display.
Herman Brachert Museum
Herman Brachert was particularly adept in the creation of small items, as evidenced by the museum’s collection of plaques and medals, arguably the most valued being the 1924 medal to the 200th Anniversary of the Unification of Königsberg. He also worked with plastics and jewellery.
The quality and detail of his work also shines through his larger projects, of which perhaps the most impressive, or at least most loved, is the figural sculpture Carrier of Water. This forlorn but beautiful woman rising from her knees clasping a pitcher of water upon her head is said to be the Goddess of Fate.
Carrier of Water. Herman Brachert Museum.
In the winter of 2000, I made the lady’s acquaintance. She was quietly and gently decaying beneath the snow-capped trees of Svetlogorsk’s Larch Park.
Two years passed before a rescue party came and whisked her away to St Petersburg, where, at the State Hermitage Museum, under the direction of artist-restorer VN Mozgov, she was lovingly restored and later transferred to the Brachert Museum.
Another favourite among the Brachert exhibits is the goddess Demeter. A two-third figural composition of a young nude woman, produced by Brachert in 1939 and donated to the museum by patron of the arts BN Bartfeld, Demeter is said to personify strength, equanimity and feminine beauty.
In addition to free-standing figural sculptures, Brachert was also an expert in the field of bas-reliefs, fine examples of which can still be seen upon the surviving buildings of Königsberg.
In 2015, the Brachert Museum acquired two rare plaques, dating to the early 1930s, produced by students from the Königsberg School of Arts and Crafts, where Herman Brachert taught.
Herman Brachert Museum
The exhibits of the House Museum of Herman Brachert echo a golden era of Germanic sculpture and architectural embellishment, many strongly influenced by the Art Deco design concepts that were prevalent during the 1930s.
The same artistic principals resonated throughout the interior design of the Brachert family home. Structurally, the house is uncannily presented in almost every architectural detail, and though the fixtures and fittings that graced the original abode have long since disappeared, it is yet possible, using numerous family photographs within the museum’s collection, to see exactly what the interior looked like when the Brachert family lived there.
One photograph in particular [see above] opens a poignant window into the past. Stand next to this photograph and look towards the far end of the room in the direction of the Carrier of Water, and you can easily reconstruct the entire room as it appeared during the Brachert era, locating with pin-point accuracy every piece of furniture and even Brachert himself sitting at his desk.
For time travellers, this is one of those ‘hairs standing up on the back of your neck moments’. A similar sensation can be replicated by gazing upon the portrait bust of the great sculptor himself.
The bust’s likeness of Brachert is so finely executed that his features seem to come alive before your very eyes, inviting you to think, ‘Here, indeed, is a man possessed of singular intellectual depth and charismatic intensity.’ He has the face of someone you would have liked to have known in person.
During their time in Otradnoye, not only did the Brachert’s have a modern country home nestled above the Baltic Coast, but they were also the fortunate owners of a large and pleasant garden, which follows the fall of the land to the edge of the wood beyond. Poignant photographs in the museum’s collection reveal the Brachert family in their natural setting: a woman leaning casually out of the ground-floor window and a boy with a sleeping dog, sitting and laying respectively, upon the garden terrace. Today, the garden is a quiet oasis, a green and tranquil backdrop for a cornucopia of widely differing sculptures, donated over the years by various artists.
Former Brachert home as it is today [October 2023]. Herman Brachert Museum.
Wandering recently through this exotic landscape, I wondered perchance would I meet again with my old friends Lenin and Stalin. Eighteen years ago, on a very wet and very cold day in January, I thrilled to the sight of them languishing incongruously in a hedge at the side of the Brechert Museum. Sure enough we were reunited, but now they had a proper station among the other exhibits. The plaque, which shows the ensemble before it succumbed to distress and decay, presents an ennobling tableau.
Plaque (above): ‘Lenin and Stalin in Gorkah’. Fragments of sculptural group, constructed in 1949, were discovered during building work in Svetlogorsk. Donated to the Brachert Museum in 2003.
Skull sculpture in the grounds of the Herman Brachert Museum by Evgeniy Dolmator and Gregory Bogachuk, Moscow, Russia (2016). A symbol of the continuity of life and a reminder that life should not be wasted.
The House Museum of Herman Brachert
The House Museum of Herman Brachert showcases the work of a highly talented individual who produced legendary sculptures and architectural plaques in a wide range of materials and on scales both large and small.
In spite of Königsberg’s fate, examples of Brachert’s work live on, reminding us of the important role he played in the architectural heritage of the city and its provinces. In all, he was the progenitor of more than 20 outstanding sculptures made in and for the region of East Prussia.
Whatever material Brachert worked in, his breadth of imagination, elaborate detail and the innate energy of his compositions, exerts a signature brilliance.
I will stop just short of using a word like genius as through frequency of use it is fast becoming an unsustainable concept, and besides far too many of us today are deserving of the appellation. Perhaps, we should simply say that Herman Brachert, Königsberg sculptor, is the exception to our rule.
Mick & Daniel Hart with Brachert’s bronze Nymph statue, Svetlogorsk (2004)
Svetlogorsk, on Kaliningrad’s Baltic Coast, contains a number of Brachert’s works, the most celebrated being his bronze Nymph statue, which is framed in a giant shell surrounded by different coloured mosaic in a prominent place on the sea-front promenade.
(Above:) This gatefold advertising leaflet for the Herman Brachert Museum was produced in 1992, making it a collector’s item in its own right! The calligraphic script featured on the front page is the work of our friend and artist Victor Ryabinin. Victor introduced us to the museum in the winter of 2005, to be precise on the 12th January 2005, as written in his inscription to us by hand in memory of that occasion.
The Herman Brachert Museum caters for individual and group excursions. It plays host to exhibitions by Kaliningrad, Polish, and Lithuanian artists as well as from the collections of Russian and foreign museums, and has established itself as a favourite venue for concerts and creative plenaries.
House-Museum of Herman Brachert Svetlogorsk, pos. Otradnoe, Tokareva Street, 7
Published: 5 February 2023 ~ Zalivino Lighthouse Restoration Reaches New Heights
Returning to Zalivino lighthouse last month, it was remarkable to see what progress had been made since we first explored the site in 2021. Let’s start with the cosmetic improvements first and then proceed in order of importance:
3. A new addition is the weather vane, with the intricately designed rotating ornament and stained-glass inclusions
4. The compound has been enclosed with a new fence and a gate at either end, the effect is both cosmetic and security oriented
5. The boardwalks laid down last year from the sandy cove to the compound perimeter have been extended into and across the site
6. The outlying buildings have been reroofed
7. The outlying buildings have been given new wooden doors; good solid stock, with a vintage chevron and diamond-pattern finish
8. Three solid-state buildings constructed from red brick have been added to the site. They consist of a utilities building, ticket office and the now completed tearoom, which on our last visit was at a functional stage minus proper windows.
Zalivino Lighthouse Restoration: the lighthouse keeper’s cottage
The most significant development is the structural renovation and the complete interior restoration of the former lighthouse keeper’s cottage.
The first photograph below denotes the condition of the cottage in 2021; the photograph beneath it, how the cottage appears today.
BEFORE
AFTER
The following account of our latest visit to Zalivino lighthouse is an extract from my personal diary:
Zalivino Lighthouse Restoration
At last, numb and red nosed, we reached the perimeter, by way of the coastal route, of Zalivino Lighthouse. Outside the lighthouse grounds, the old German buildings lining the water’s edge facing out across the Curonian Lagoon appear to have been given the once over, either that or I missed this fact on my previous visit. The brickwork looks cleaner, and the lovely wooden doors and window shutters strike me as being recent installations along with the terracotta-modelled roof.
Inside the compound, everything looked immediately more presentable. To the left and right are single storey buildings, red brick with Georgian-style roofs. One, I imagine, is the toilet block; the other the ticket office and, next to that, the completed tea and loitering room, which on my previous visit had thick translucent polythene sheeting where windows were wanting but wanting no more.
Olga Hart in proud receipt of her ticket from the ticket office
The former lighthouse keeper’s cottage, which had been nothing more than a shell, ravaged by time and cannibalised by thieves when the site fell derelict after perestroika, has been renovated to such a high standard that had I not witnessed the dereliction with my own eyes and taken photos to prove it, I would have scarcely believed it was the same building.
Although the museum it would like to become has a long way to go, for those interested in marine life, the old keeper’s cottage contains an interesting display of marine paraphernalia and artefacts associated with lighthouse history.
The two rooms of the cottage also contain some rather fetching reproduction antique furniture and other curios. For example, a not-for-the-squeamish stuffed and mounted seabird and a round-shaped Deco-style early plastic radio that may or may not be original but is endowed with vintage appeal. There is also a Vienna-style wall clock, two hefty wagon wheels and, in the centre of the room, a polished wooden dining table and corresponding chairs.
I think it is safe to say that this level of homeliness is not the one that the lighthouse keeper would have been accustomed to, and yet the warmth transcending the basic need for warmth on a bitterly cold winter’s day would have probably been no stranger to him.
What also affected me was the solidity of the building which, considering its exposed location, was reassuring indeed, since no amount of huffing and puffing was about to blow this house in. Strong, solid, durable and intuitively enriched, the lighthouse keeper’s cottage could hardly have been more welcoming.
Zalivino Lighthouse tower
A visit to Zalivino Lighthouse without climbing the tower would be like going to the pub and ordering an empty glass. Thus, even on this coldest of days, off and up we went.
At the time of our ascent, or rather a few minutes before, Zalivino suffered a power outage, so we had to climb the tower without the aid of electric lamps. The first few steps were enveloped in darkness, but the windows in the tower walls, as small as they are, are sufficient to light the way and as you reach the base of the lamp room the light pours in from the dome above.
The elevated view from the lighthouse window reveals the extent to which the outlying buildings and the site in which they stand have been improved and whilst up there in the Gods, we got to gaze across and enjoy the scene of the winter landscape complete with icicle-petrified coastline.
As stimulating as these prospects were, there were two impressions from the top of the tower whose tenacity cannot be equalled. The first was the sound of the wind, rushing across the lagoon, curling around the lamp room like the giant tentacles of a phantom sea squid.
The second was that of Olga daring to step outside onto the wind-swept lighthouse’s viewing platform so that I could take a photo of her. Of course, I was champing at the bit to get out on the ledge myself, make no mistake about that! But someone had to cower inside in order to take the photo.
The renovation and refurbishment of Zalivino lighthouse has come on in proverbial leaps and bounds in a relatively short space of time. If you are not personally acquainted with the near demolition site that it was in 2020 at the outset of the project, the photographic collage within the keeper’s cottage will give you a good idea of just how bleak the damage was, as will the photographs used in my earlier post.
You will also find in the keeper’s cottage a framed composition of images depicting where the restorationists want to be with the project by 2024. Unfortunately, the photograph that I took of the wall-mounted display is not good, as my hands were in need of a warm cup of tea and the light from the window reflected badly into the lens of the camera.
Comparison of the photographic evidence of the condition of the lighthouse, its ancillary buildings and site as they appeared in 2020 with the photos taken this year (2023) demonstrate the achievements to date, making the 2024 target a less ambitious objective than might otherwise be supposed.
Without a shadow of a doubt, a lot of work, care and attention has been invested in the project, not to mention wonga. The results so far are superlative, returning the lighthouse to its historical origins and turning it, metaphorically speaking, into a restoration beacon for other projects across the region to follow.
Support the project
Raising funds for the restoration of the lighthouse is an ongoing process, and any donation that you would care to make would be greatly appreciated. Your generosity will help to preserve an important element of marine cultural heritage and if that’s not reward enough, your part in the preservation will be forever a part of the lighthouse’s history.
Published: 29 January 2023 ~ Zelenogradsk Restaurant BALT a Lesson in Harmony
I’m sure, almost certain, that it was not there 18 months ago, when I last visited Zelenogradsk (doesn’t time fly!), but it was there now. I am talking about a new restaurant ~ new to me ~ that sits smack bang at the midway point of Zelenogradsk’s serpentine high street: a large, impressive, luxurious establishment set back from the street inside a broad paved plaza, its plate-glass single-storey extension forming a scaled juxtaposition against the taller building from which it extends, the latter meticulously refurbished to a grand and imposing standard.
In the winter months when we were in town the first impression of this restaurant from the outside looking in was PC; that’s not politically correct but plush and cosy.
It was bitterly cold that day, and if the hallmark of a successful bar or restaurant is principally defined by the pulling power it possesses to tempt one off the street, then rest assured Balt restaurant has it.
Oh, did I forget to tell you? The name of the restaurant is Balt.
The first impression from the exterior of the building, which is so categorically bourgeoisie that Lenin had turned his back to it, was swish. I made a mental note, a simple equation: plush+posh+impressive+coastal resort+town centre = expensive. So, let’s jump to the bill. We had three dishes, nothing elaborate, a speciality tea and a glass of beer. It didn’t break the bank.
The second impression the Balt conveys is ‘big’. “It’s so big!” say your senses, when perhaps they should be saying, “It’s so tall”! In keeping with the modern trend in bar and restaurant design, the Balt is undeniably big, but, initially and accurately, this perception of spaciousness is confined to the height of the ceiling. The restaurant area leading away from the entrance hall is in fact limited to the perimeter of the building; it forms the letter ‘L’, being a long, but slightly more wide than the word implies, corridor. This is because, conforming once again to modern predilections, the restaurant has been built around a central kitchen, in other words built to a plan where kitchen is King.
In the olden days, restaurants concealed their kitchens as though they were the black sheep of the family, the philosophy seeming to be out of sight, out of mind. This closeted mentality was an excellent way of keeping the eating-out fraternity on edge, since they never knew, having enjoyed an excellent meal the night before, whether their friends would treat them the following morning to a ‘You didn’t eat there, did you!?’ story, involving the latest hygiene scandal. Today, there is no need to be told by ‘well-meaning’ friends, family or media, what goes on in restaurant kitchens, because all is laid out for the eyes to see. Restaurant kitchens have come of age. They are open, accessible, uninhibited, something to be admired not hidden away like a seedy back room in the depths of a mucky book shop. Restaurant kitchens have been emancipated, and a large part of that liberation lies in the transformation from cautious propriety to unabashed exhibitionism.
Some bar and restaurant designs tend to OTT this. Displaying a kitchen in all its stainless steel and hygiene-oriented, busy, industrious, functioning glory is one thing, but it is quite another and quite inexcusable to overdo the exposure. Thankfully, Balt’s kitchen is a far more sophisticated centrepiece, enabling it to escape comparison with a man in a mac on a hill surrounded by precious little foliage. I think the word I am searching for is ‘subtle’.
In fact, everything, about Balt restaurant, not in its individual accoutrements but as a job lot, taken in its entirety, is subtle. How this works exactly is a rather clever feat, because Balt is not without novelty.
Zelenogradsk Restaurant BALT
We were able to appreciate both the component parts of this dichotomy and its overarching effect from the favourable location of the table we were escorted to. Our seats occupied the latter portion upon the longer extension of the room’s ‘L’, almost at the inflection, thus availing us of a first-class view of each and all the different elements, which, when taken together, add up to the Balti experience.
First off, we were only a few feet away from the serving area; a long, curved counter from which waiters collect ‘meals to go’ and on which chefs add the finishing touches to the dishes they are preparing before popping them into the tandoor oven.
From our vantage point, we had a privileged view of the kitchen and the floor-to-ceiling tandoor, a large cylindrical-shaped oven used for baking unleavened flatbreads and for roasting meat. Once the open oven door and blazing fire beyond had ceased to remind me of crematoria, it was fun to watch the chef at work, sliding the various dishes and breads into the wood-fired oven with the help of a peel tool, a long-handled shovel-like implement with a flat metal pan attached to its furthest extremity.
Looking straight ahead, I noted with satisfaction the high-backed wooden chairs belonging to the nearest table. The back rests consisted of two vertical ebonised planks slightly angled toward one another. Close to their highest point a pair of semi-circles had been cut out so that in alignment they formed a circle. The only other concession to decoration was the seemingly random inclusion of small, pierced motifs, simple shapes which donated a touch of mystique without disturbing the minimalist balance.
My forward view also provided examples of ingenious lighting styles, including a heavy, orange tassel-roped pendant and lampshades mimicking small sheaths of straw.
The tables to the left and behind me were objects to be marvelled at. They had thick, ragged-end marble-apparent tops, were supported on a small cluster of angled tree trunks, some of which had been allowed to protrude through the table’s surface, and hovering above them with remarkable pendulosity a clump or cluster of shell-like bowls, off-white and almost asymmetrical, which had me wondering out loud if they were really made from pumpkin skins or moulded from papier-mâché.
Every item in the Balt’s atmospheric makeup is an imagistic letter in the word and the concept of ‘Natural’: wood, stone, fire, rope, straw, vegetables. At one end of the subtle spectrum, Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble would not look out of place, but the Balt’s natural is a polished natural that borrows as much for its appeal on down-to-earth and back-to-nature as it does on chic sophistry.
Following the line of the floor, a patchwork quilt of natural-look tiling in a crazy-paving composition, my eyes discovered the bar (they would, wouldn’t they!), all wood with top-shelf liquor brands set smartly against undressed brickwork.
For all its emphasis on the natural world, and for good fashionable measure, Balt’s designer’s had hedged it’s bets, choosing not to preclude but include the draw factor of a tried, tested and much approved formula: the distressed industrial look.
This approach has become so prevalent that it has gone beyond ‘must have’ and has entered the realms of ‘can’t do without’. In the Balt, it has gone one further, becoming ‘Would you Adam and Eve it, it actually works’; thematic principles such as rocks, marble, stoneware vases, corn plants, vegetables and pieces of tree, rubbing shoulders with gnarled brickwork, whitewashed slat-board old beam ceilings, exposed ventilation ducts and suspended arty farty spots.
It is a tribute to Balt’s interior designers that they have managed to pull off a subtle, seamless fusion between modern chic and reclaimed rundown and then wrap it up in in an eco-friendly ethnicity.
In a nutshell ~ and I am sure that Balt would approve of the use of such natural imagery ~ the key word to Balt’s come-hither and dine-within appeal is harmony. Everything, including things that would normally be at odds with each other, are wedlocked. It might be a marriage of convenience, but one that is no less perfect for it. Even the ethnic music, with its emphasis on tom-tom beat and chanting, is low-key, Sade-like and subtle.
At the centre and everywhere else of this is lighting. I’ve said it before; I’ve said it again; I’ll say it again and keep on saying it: from Restaurant Guy Savoy in Paris to The Four Seasons B&B in Brightlingsea, if the lighting is not right everything else will be wrong. Lighting is the magic drawstring that pulls everything together.
Balt’s lighting is soft, suffused and artistically modulated, a harmonising integration of ambient-sensitive ceiling spots and downlighters, overhead table pendants, each paired with its own novel shade, soft-glow wall lights, natural fire and candles. It’s good, because it works.
At this juncture, I know what you are thinking: So much for the Balt’s design; what about the grub?
Those of you who have read any of my bar/restaurant reviews will know that when it comes to food I’m hopeless. Why do I go to bars? To drink. Why do I go to restaurants? Usually because the company I am in wants to go to restaurants, and so I tag along, but also because, as you may have deduced, I am an ardent fan of interior design and atmosphere.
As a baked beans on toast man, a man who likes simple food, I cannot provide you with a gourmet breakdown of what the Balt has to offer or the quality of its meals, and neither shall I try. However, a quick twirl around the internet should satisfy your curiosity. It might even tell you all you need to know.
Our order at the Balt amounted to a snackette: a spicey vegetable platter on oven baked bread, a white leavened flatbread similar in texture and taste to naan, and some exotic-looking poppadoms It was not in the least expensive, but I will say that presentation took precedence over quantity. Now, were you to indulge in a main meal, the situation may be completely reversed or, like everything else at Balt, a happy medium struck.
I had a beer there, which was palatable, but it was served up in one of those peculiar ‘neither here nor there’ glasses, ie glasses that are neither small nor large, which frankly I find irritating. Half a litre, fine; half a half litre, fine; anything else exceeds my mathematical ability (see Soul Garden post).
The Balt, I am told,offers a range of dishes based on Indian subcontinent fare, which is something of a luxury in this part of the world. The prices are so-so, but not so expensive that they will tear the lining out of your pocket, and the carefully choreographed atmosphere, which is as restful and relaxing as it gets, beats anything I have experienced anywhere else in the Kaliningrad region or for that matter in the UK. Recommend the Balt? I’d buy it if I could!
💚 Around the Kaliningrad region
Angel Park Hotel > An inspirational rural recreation centre on the site of an East Prussian settlement Amber Legend Restaurant > Amber Legend Yantarny, a jewel in the coastal town of Yantarny Fishdorf Country Guest Complex > A family-oriented retreat, secluded and steeped in nature Fort Dönhoff (Fort XI) > An evocative 19th century redbrick fortress, part of Königsberg’s labyrinth defence network Polessk Brewery > Beer, history and German-Gothic architecture (that’s my personal order of preference!)
Zelenogradsk ~ streets ahead with imaginative decorations
Published: 10 January 2023 ~ Zelenogradsk Christmas Decorations Win First Prize
In the UK, the festive season is well and truly over. Unless you had a better time than most, the last remnants of the New Year’s Eve hangover will have sailed way into the ether, along with the memories you cannot remember and those you wish to forget. But here, in Russia, the festive holidays do not peter out until the morn of the 15th of January. This is because the Russian Orthodox Church follows the old Julian Calendar and not the Gregorian one, so, although some religious denominations still celebrate Christmas day on the 25th December and the big festive night for Russians is the same as that for the Scotties, New Year’s Eve, Russians also celebrate Orthodox Christmas on the 7th January and Orthodox New Year’s Eve on the 14th January. That’s an awful lot of celebrations in one month, but it does mean that the municipal decorations remain intact until the middle of January.
Zelenogradsk Christmas Decorations Win First Prize
Bearing this in mind, I took a trip to the Baltic seaside resort of Zelenogradsk on the 9th of January to shiver in front of the sea and say hello to what are without question the most inspiring display of Christmas decorations this side of the Russian border.
I have no idea whether Kaliningrad holds a Best Decorated Christmas Street in the Region competition, but if it did, the main street of Zelenogradsk would win hands down. Words like magical and enchanting easily spring to mind, along with novel, imaginative and even bizarre!
This year I took my camera along with me and, although the snaps that I have taken do not do the panoply near enough justice, they do manage to give an idea of the thought and effort that each shop, café, bar, restaurant, etc put into producing the best expression of Christmas joy. They certainly make my Christmas baubles look pathetic in comparison, even when lit with flashing lights.
Which of the Christmas ensembles along Zelenogradsk High Street would I nominate for first prize? That’s a tough ‘un’. I’ll leave it to you to decide.
A summer’s day on Svetlogorsk prom (where there is a lift)
Published: 25 August 2022 ~ Whenever I need a lift, I go to Svetlogorsk
Look! Is that really me sitting outside a café bar in Svetlogorsk gazing out across the sea! I wouldn’t want you to get the erroneous impression that I have a peculiar Freudian obsession with lift shafts, but here I am back in Svetlogorsk again checking up on what has happened or not, as the case may be, along the prom extension of the Svetlogorsk coastline, at the base of Novyy Promenad lift. Perhaps I am just sitting there for the convenience of the location, enjoying respite and inertia and the pleasure of drinking beer. Will we ever know? And will the world stop turning if we don’t?
Approaching the lift on the uplands, we walked through the landscaped grounds of Yantar Hall, described by tour guides as a ‘modern multifunctional cultural centre’, a place where bold futuristic design meets pretty silver-birch woodland. What a juxtaposition! I cannot recall what was here two decades ago when I first came to Svetlogorsk. “Bugger all!” my brother cries. For once, he could be right. But we won’t split hairs about it, if only because as one gets older one tends to becomes more follically challenged. However, we will politely venture that a percentage of the ground requisitioned for this ambitious development consisted of hard-surfaced tennis courts and more of the woodland that surrounds it today. Should I be wrong, excuse me. (I know you often do …)
On a warm summer’s day, although the streets of Svetlogorsk are not exactly teaming with people, give or take several score more than there was twenty years ago, charting one’s course to the lift via the grounds of Yantar Hall is to court serenity. You mind knows and so does your soul that you are walking in step with nature, heading towards the sea.
It does not take long, in fact a surprisingly short duration, for new buildings to make their peace with Nature. Already, the headland entrance to the lift has begun the process of blending, or perhaps for the sake of accuracy we should say that the environment into which it intruded no longer baulks at its presence
The plate glass wall that perimeterises the outdoor viewing area and stops you from travelling down to the prom without the aid of the lift, could make you feel a little queer if heights are not your thing, but if you are feeling queer and heights don’t bother you, don’t fret, the only thing you need worry about is that there is something wrong with your gender. Viewed from a different perspective, from the crest of the bank to the ground below and out across the sea, it is the perfect place for people, who have forgotten to bring a cameraman with them, to take those all-important filtered selfies to post on social media. A picture is worth a thousand words, make no mistake about that, possibly more if you care to count them.
The view from the gallery inside the building, looking down on the construction site that hugs the coastline below, revealed within visible limits no dramatic alterations since my last reconnaissance. That luxurious premier apartment overlooking the sea has yet to box the space that it has been allocated, but I am sure that it is out there somewhere, somewhere in the future, complete and enviably occupied.
For the time being, however, I would have to be content with commenting on such changes that had occurred, and which could be seen and appreciated once we reached ground level.
Whenever I need a lift, I go to Svetlogorsk
The first appreciable development was the opening of a café bar at the front of the lift’s terminus, facing the prom and the sea. It did not take long to leave me here to enjoy a beer, or two, whilst my fully aquatic wife flirted with the Baltic.
The small forecourt at the front of the café is demarcated inside a rectangle of black metal planters, which would ‘good looks’ (as my wife used to say, until I put her right) as screening for a home patio. Craning over the top of the planters, I was able to observe that the adjoining area containing the retro fast-food vans, which had acquired two more in my absence and was beginning to look like a diner-vans’ colony, was also territorially enclosed with planters, but ones that resembled tubs on wheels. Their portability opened up all sorts of possibilities for mobile garden planning (see, my time as an editor on Successful Gardening was not entirely wasted), failing which they could be exploited as excellent roving ice buckets, eminently suitable for large-scale soirées or adventurous garden parties. They would also make good kiddie buggies into which to throw your children and tank around the lawn or, exclusively for my wife, a customised nomadic swimming pool. I could take one of these buckets on wheels, roll it under the apple tree, fill it full of water and my wife could go and sit in it. And I, of course, could take photos of her that she could then post to VK.
When my water-winged wife got out of the sea, any chance that I may have had to impress her with my notions were lost to a flurry of praise of how wonderful it was to swim and commune with ‘beautiful nature’. Now she was imploring me to take photographs of the ‘amazing’ sunset. Cuh!
Keeping my plans for the planters secret, I finished my second pint and fortified in stereo walked over to the sea wall not to take photos of sunsets but of the lift and its immediate surroundings from the perspective of the front elevation. Hmm, perhaps I do have a lift shaft fetish? But that is by the by. If I had not pursued my inclinations, I would not have been any the wiser that above the café where I had been sitting a restaurant had been installed. By no means the largest restaurant that the world has ever known, it does have long, broad windows through which you can gaze at the briny.
Eventually, I did take that picture of the sunset over the Baltic Sea and in doing so discovered an excellent example of utilitarianism that either had not been where it is now when I last leant on the wall or if it was, I had not been paying attention. Every three or four feet or more flat surfaced wooden rectangles, approximately one foot in width and two feet in length (I am an ardent supporter of the old imperial system ~ it really does make life just that little bit less simple) had been bolted along the top of the wall, creating, in effect, handy little table tops on which to stand your sundries. A man standing next to me placed his can of beer on one. What a good idea!
How well these table tops will hold up when the summer weather turns dramatically to winter is a point I wished you had not raised. Perhaps they are detachable? No matter, I am so taken with the concept of them that should they float or fly away I will return with one of my own.
Making off in the direction of the older promenade, where one would have been when Svetlogorsk was Rauschen, nothing leapt out at me like a mugger in Brixton to alert me to something that I may not have seen already. But when we reached the giant sun dial, the starting point of the old prom, sheets of corrugated tin barring further access reminded me of an article that I had read in the local news about future reconstruction work to the resort’s historic esplanade. That future was obviously now.
Not meaning to imply by the word ‘historic’ that the in-situ esplanade is the one that Germans once strolled along, most likely not even the foundations on which it stands is of German origin, nevertheless its Soviet heritage must retain nostalgic value for others not just me, but me included since I have sauntered along it many times over the past 20 years.
Following the diversionary tactics of other pedestrians, we ended up on a hard-surfaced path hidden inside the bushes, running parallel to the promenade, that I had forgotten had ever existed, and it was from this path and the bushes lining it that I was able to take a photo of the old prom (see above) looking rather sad and forlorn in its decommissioned condition. Whether the whole kaboodle is to be replaced or the framework preserved and a new plateau raised above and around the existing structure, your guess is as good as mine. But lured by my illicit love ~ my affair with Svetlogosrk lift shaft ~ I am bound to find out sooner or later. When I do, I’ll let you know.
Fishdorf Country Guest Complex, Kaliningrad region, Russia
Published: 22 July 2022 ~ A day out at Fishdorf Country Guest Complex
In my last post about Matrosovo, we entered the village together, passing a pretty old German house and some rather malodorous cows (no problem, if like me, you are an afficionado of country smells!) and glancing warily at the high tin fence on the other side of the road, which has something inflatable thrust high above it, we rolled on, on our car wheels, until shortly confronting a T-junction. Here, I took you right; now I take you left.
Before doing so your attention will have been drawn to an interesting feature on your right. There, standing in what I can only imagine in Soviet times was a mown and tended green, but now badly in need of a lawnsman, is a typical example of socialist realism from the collective-identity genre: a statue, striking in colour and pose, of a fisherman and his son.
Small riverside communities such as Matrosovo would once have been greatly reliant upon the role that fishing played in guaranteeing livelihoods, and statues such as these, as well as performing an ideological function, were a way of saying thank you.
Above: Madam, kindly unhand that fisherman!
Across the way, by the side of the river, sits a typical Soviet children’s playground, with all facilities preserved and functioning ~ a marvellous sight to behold ~ and immediately left a municipal building, once the village shop, then and more recently, but now abandoned, the village’s House of Culture.
The road ahead, left at the T-junction, has nothing in common with the road leading into it, except, of course, it is also a road. The dirt-covered rubble track suddenly changes to new block paving, on either side of which stands modern buildings and proper fencing. I mean by proper fencing, not ugly sheets of tin but fences made from real brick piers inlaid with panels of wood, and the buildings that accompany them solid-state buildings of consequence.
A day out at Fishdorf Country Guest Complex
On the right is a restaurant with private carpark, whose grounds lead down to the river’s edge. It has a spacious veranda made of wooden decking and, closer to the waterside, rusticated bench seats with built-in tables for two, purposefully made and conveniently positioned for patrons to sit and gaze idly across the rippling river at the attractive commune of houses nestled on the opposite bank. The perfect place on a hot summer’s day for sitting, staring and eating ice cream.
Next door is an establishment designed for people in mind who do not abide by the maxim that if God had meant for us to swim (or do anything else in or on water), he would have given us gills. Here, all sorts of water-borne craft, including tandem canoes and sapboards, are available for hire, but if it is something bigger that floats your boat, there are always things you can row and even a canopied catamaran that will romp you along the river whilst you sit there for a fee in the smug and requited pose of completely paid-up passenger.
Above: Things to go floating about the river on
The establishment next door to the establishment next door is presently under construction. Perhaps it will be a bingo hall, or am I thinking Hunstanton? But next door to that, looking handsome, refined and sophisticated (Shame on you, you thought I was going to say me!), stands the eminently functional Fishdorf restaurant, which is almost immediately across the road from its namesake the Fishdorf Hotel.
Above: The self-explanatory Fishdorf Restaurant
Both buildings, the restaurant and hotel, are built in a charming, modern, East Prussian style. The Fishdorf restaurant boasts extended eaves, half-timber decoration, ‘distressed’ brickwork and lots of natural wood embellishments. The main building, the Fishdorf Hotel, is distinguished by the presence of a giant illustration on its gable end of a fisherman of old, suitably endowed with clay pipe, neckerchief, a pair of rolled-up wellies and carrying a whopping great fish. The ‘aged’ brickwork around the doors and windows, which cut a dashing contrast with the white and textured walls, is another memorable Fishdorf signature.
At the side of the hotel and prior to its reception area there is a large rolling gate, which would appear to conceal the hotel carpark, but in fact conceals a whole lot more. A suitable cliché at this point would be that it opens onto another world, the pertinence of which can be better understood by recourse to my previous post regarding Matrosovo village. For this particular roller gate does not just give access to the hotel carpark but access to the surprisingly ‘off the beaten track’, and all the more astounding for it, Fishdorf recreation park or, to revert to its official name, as noted on its website, the Country Guest Complex Fishdorf.
A family-oriented retreat
In trying to describe what Fishdorf is, apart from and in addition to a hotel and a restaurant, I run shy from using a word like ‘complex’, although Fishdorf use it themselves. I hesitate to use this word for fear of evoking impressions of spirographical mental states and complicated things devised from cold mathematical precision, since Fishdorf’s realm of influence is rooted in the natural world and the only precision one can accuse it of is the skilful manner in which its grounds and facilities have been mapped out to produce a certain appealing something that respectively lies between the ordered elegance and intrinsic sublimity of the formal and natural garden.
So, how does one sum up Fishdorf? What shall we say it is, exactly? We could try: A family-oriented retreat, secluded and steeped in nature, combining the best in formal and natural landscaping, where both guests and day visitors alike can enjoy a variety of outside leisure pursuits and other diverse recreations. Yes, I think I can live with that.
Fishdorf park
The extensive area that the park takes in is designed around two large and interconnecting ponds (don’t think village ponds, think lakes!), stocked with extroverts ~ both fish and frogs ~ which are either leaping out of the water and going splosh at regular intervals or putting in guest appearances and going croak whilst sitting on leaves. (I’ll leave you to work out which one is doing which.). At the centre of these two ponds, dividing it geometrically, is a pretty, single-span bridge of the arched, romantic kind, and around the ponds on every side the lawns trimmed to perfection are sprinkled with plants, shrubs, bushes and trees, intersected by meandering pathways and punctuated with globe lights.
Already you should detect that Fishdorf is an environment in which Mother Nature is everywhere and everywhere in excelsior. She graciuosly presides over a spacious open-air schema where wood is what it always is, versatile and wonderful, and used in so many different and in so many more inventive ways.
Above: Mick Hart on a garden swing ~ wood you believe it!
A day out at Fishdorf for lovers of wood
Garden swings with bench seats hewn out of solid tree trunks, their frameworks assembled from the curving boughs of trees, are studied by wooden toadstools peeping out of the long, trained grass, each stem of each toadstool carved with faces from folklore. Dotted here and there and sometimes assembled in communes, the alternative answer to a hotel room takes the form of standalone chalets, attractive little retreats successfully given the log-cabin treatment. To ensure exclusivity is complemented by privacy, rustic fencing, skilfully put together by weaving tall, thin, branches into a vertical plane and by using slightly thicker branches for horizontal stabilisation, screens and beautifies in one fell swoop.
Above: Cabins well-appointed
Above: Picturesque log-cabin accommodation
The visual affect is so thoroughly pleasing that you make a mental note that when you get home you’ll build one yourself and you’ll also include the wood-panelled gates, as you rather like the serpentine arch and find the naïve motifs with which the gates are illustrated seductively quaint, cute and engaging, perceiving something in them, indeed in the whole composition, that you faintly recognise long ago as lying between the covers of the books that you read in your childhood.
A day out at Fishdorf Country Guest Complex
By the side of a nearby pond, much smaller and more secluded than the two that share the bridge, an open-ended gazebo beckons. Unsullied by professionalism, or clever and artful in this suggestion, the wood used in its making looks as though it could have been cut and taken from the forest nearby and then brought together to form the function that it now fulfils using nothing but an artisan’s eye and the skills of one of those men of whom we have heard it said, much too often for comfort, ‘he can turn his hand to anything’ ~ don’t you just love such people!
In the same vicinity as the log gazebo an elongated wooden barrel, big enough to get inside, makes me think of Beer. But this is no beer barrel, mores the pity. It is in fact a barrel-shaped sauna in which, if you like it steamy, you can tarry at your leisure, perhaps between gruelling sessions swinging around on the tennis courts or charging about on the football pitches, which are visible from this point on the other side of the lawn.
If I was sauna inclined, which I am not, I would have jumped into the barrel and sweated it out, but I didn’t. However, had I for once been less than predictable, at least in matters like these, the incident may have passed without comment, considering that minutes before, estranging herself from maturity, Olga had shown little restraint in hopping inside a funnel-shaped object, made, of course, from wood, and holding a twig-ended broomstick retained by this odd receptacle, declared herself to be that infamous mythical figure from the annals of Russian folklore, Baba Yaga, the witch. Had my name been Bernard Manning, the impetuosity of this performance would not have left me stuck for words, but I decided not to become him today presuming for my impertinence that the broomstick could take off in a hurry and could get stuck right up … in the clouds.
Above: Olga Hart on her broomstick
One thing I can say is that I never knew until I came to Fishdorf how hungry wood could make you, and it had the same effect upon me. Whilst I presume that Fishdorf’s salient restaurant is the one across the road from the Fishdorf Hotel, on the other side of the roller gate, within the grounds of the park itself there is a second restaurant, plus a cafeteria à la carte, the latter cunningly equipped with a canopy-covered dining area designed to outwit the weather should it begin to act unseasonable.
It was here, overlooking a neat and expansive lawn, that I had my mid-morning snack and (sssh, please don’t tell anybody) an alcohol-free beer ~ well it was an extremely warm day and even though the sun was considerably over the yard arm … but why should I explain to you?!
Above: Non-alcohol beer on a hot day
For those who like it hot, and may or may not have issues drinking beer that is alcohol free, Fishdorf has extensive sauna and various hot bath facilities. For those who like to chill out, it has a combined poolside and children’s recreation area, where adults can recline on the recliners meant for reclining on and children can amuse themselves by flying up and down on any one of a number of colourful bouncy castles or for higher and more exciting plunges take a turn or two on the stupendous Aqua Park waterchute. (You may recall, gentle reader, my mentioning of something large and inflatable towering over a tall metal fence in my previous post on Matrosovo village; was this the item in question? Indeed, the very same.)
Above: Very large, indeed
As a river runs through it, the village of Matrosovo that is, there are any number of ways that a person can take to the water but, if like me, the only volume of water that you can cope with comfortably is enough to balance your whisky glass, you could do considerably worse than book yourselves a table on Fishdorf’s riverside dining area, which I believe is part of the restaurant ‘Cheshuya’, as described on Fishdorf’s website.
Country Guest Complex Fishdorf
Here, when all around you are clamouring to live the life of a fish, you can annoy your company by saying ‘I don’t do water myself’, and then watch from the comfort of your riverside table them doing something that you don’t do whilst you do something you do: I have it on good authority ~ the best authority, my own ~ that Cheshuya serves a very nice pint. So, let’s have a toast to the Fishdorf restaurant, one to the Country Guest Complex Fishdorf and also, whilst we’re at it, to Matrosovo itself.
Essential details:
Country Guest Complex ‘Fishdorf’ 238634, Kaliningrad Region, Polessky District, Matrosovo Village, 21 Levoberezhnaya Street
Room tariffs (Details can be found on Fishdorf’s website)
Prices per day vary according to the type and location of the accommodation required, which includes traditional hotel rooms, chalets and buildings capable of occupying multiple numbers of guests.
Services A full and detailed breakdown of costs for all amenities offered at the park both for residential guests and day visitors can be found on the park’s website. These include: Spa, Bath & Aqua Zone; River Vehicles (Kayak, Canoe, Catamaran, Boat, Sapboard); Adult and Children’s Bikes; Games (Virtual Reality & Air Hockey); Children’s Vehicular Amusements (eg, Electric Car, Electric Scooter); Fishing Permits and Bait; Gazebos (priced according to size and location).
Restaurants There are two restaurants listed on the website, Restaurant ‘Gans & Beer’ and Cheshuya Restaurant. The first has a banquet hall that will accommodate 150 people; the second can hold 45 people and is well-appointed with a veranda overlooking the river.
The menu is available through the park’s website.
Entertainment The many and varied entertainments offered at the park are covered on its website, including the Aqua Park, The Club (which has billiard and pool tables); the Bath Barrel Sauna, etc. For comprehensive details, see the park’s website.
Matrosovo Village Matrososvo village, charming and sequestered, nestles beside Matrosovka River. It is also the astutely chosen location of the Country Guest Complex ‘Fishdorf’.
Angel Park Hotel The Angel Park Hotel, Kaliningrad region, is a gift from the people of its past, an unaffected rural retreat that breathes new life into a timeless realm where history and the natural landscape flow together like the rivers that run through it.
Zalivino Lightouse The restored lighthouse on the shore of the Curonian Lagoon is a singular maritime experience. Imagine what life was like as a lighthouse keeper in the early twentieth century and enjoy the coastal views from the lighthouse lamp room and platform.
Fort Dönhoff Fort XI (Fort Dönhoff) is one of Königsberg’s 19th century fortresses, part of the former city’s monolithic defence system. Vast, intricate and painstakingly restored, it is a must for anyone fascinated by military history generally and by Königsberg specifically.
Polessk Brewery Lovingly restored, Polessk Brewery is one of the region’s historic treasures. Even if you are not a beer fanatic (is their such a specimen?) you cannot help but be enthralled by the neoGothic architecture and the German and Soviet timeline of this splendid and remarkable edifice.
or how we got there and how interesting it was when we did
Published: 11 July 2022 ~ On the Polessk Canal Road to Matrosovo Kaliningrad
Out on the single-track road that runs along the canal from Polessk to wherever it was we were heading, there’s a sense of going somewhere, which is good enough in itself. The canal, which links the rivers Deyma and Nemunas, provides a mostly parallel route to that place where, when we eventually got out of the car, I would call our destination.
The narrow road, no doubt constructed on the canal’s one-time tow path, is a cambersome experience, dipping, rolling and bowling along. The route takes in vast tracts of overgrown land which, at this time of year, is fifty shades of green, or even more, across and through which the Polessk Canal holds a straight and steady course.
Dotted along both sides of this sweeping tract of water, stand, in varying degrees of stability, old German cottages, typically composed as single-storey abodes but with attic space more than sufficient for filling up with all sorts of things.
On the Polessk Canal road to Matrosovo Kaliningrad
The canal road is like all roads of this nature, unambiguously elevated, and often the humble cottages built on the opposite bank to the water’s edge lie at a lower level. Those homes that abut the road are so close to it that an occupant stepping outside could in any unguarded moment find themselves swept away or knocked for six by a passing vehicle. The cottages in the hollow, in the cut below the bank, are exempt from this particular problem but arguably not from others; they can be so tightly sandwiched against the edge of the road that their windows are nearly contiguous.
They made stout hinges those Germans did!
At this time of year, the trees, wild bushes and virile foliage are so profusely laden with leaves ~ embracing, entwining and intimately enmeshed ~ that the houses seem to lose their way. It is not unusual, for example, to see entire portions of house appropriated by nature, swallowed up by all manner of creeping and climbing plants, whilst small trees and saplings jostling for space in front of the windows lead one to conclude that for all its idyllic rusticity subtract the picturesque and what you are probably left with is a multitude of sins, ranging from light-deprived interiors to issues with rising damp.
For the traveller, however, bouncing and bounding along without a care in the world, such phenomena, where they may or conversely may not exist, are of little or trifling consequence. One of the joys of travelling this road by car is that the presence of such houses often makes themselves known to you when you least expect them. The point at which two walls meet (the right angle of a cottage) can lean out from the natural shrubbery where nothing is, or seemed to be, only a moment before, followed quickly by a gable end and then the building in its entirety; only sometimes it does not, as you see as much and no more as the foliage permits.
A good many of these cottages are in states of disrepair that border on amazing qualities of things that refuse to fall down, their ability to remain standing testifying to construction techniques of old, where the need for durability and ‘everlasting’ strength are indubitably all that they should be.
The unifying deterioration is one, however, that could be remedied without considerable outlay, this is to say where painted walls have turned blotchy and brown with age and in some places on higher and lower planes where the substrate screed has fallen away, leaving irregular patches of brickwork exposed to view and the elements. In some instances, however, the pan-tiled or asbestos roofs have given up the ghost: rafters have resigned and the lot has sunk and plummeted inwards. This is not to say the ‘whole lot’. Indeed, the greater proportion of any one structure may have generally held its own against the concerted depletions inflicted by time, weathering, neglect and despair, thus rendering what remains if not exactly practicable to live in notwithstanding liveable.
As this condition is one that marks the fate of detached premises, you can imagine how much more acute the situation can be with regard to the semi-detached, where one half is maintained and the other lies forgotten, even to the extent of appearing, or actually being, abandoned. Sometimes it is hard to distinguish which of the two applies.
An old German barn with some signs of ageing and later additions
We travelled the canal route twice over one weekend, enabling me to get a closer look at two buildings in particular. One, a property with torn sheets of polythene flapping from collapsed windows, surrounded by blistered brick and flaking woodwork and bound by a garden resembling that of my friend’s garden back in Bedfordshire, only revealed its occupied status when on the second day of passing a venerable old rustic gentleman, swarthy faced and of matted grey beard, pausing conveniently at his rusting gate to gawp at the awesome sight of a motorised carriage with us tearing past in it, inclined us to believe that here indeed was the owner.
The second of the two buildings that prompted further attention was one which did so on account of its size and shape and also in possessing something more substantial and aesthetic in its character. I stop short of pronouncing it grand, speculating that it may once have been a school or chapel, its cruciform outline and the series of arches framing its entrance suggestive of civic importance and lending to it an air that asserted a presence more commanding than most.
One suspects that the majority of the buildings that I have described are hand-me-downs from the Soviet era, gifted on by folk who had been given them themselves by power of the authorities after Königsberg and its outlying region fell in World War II; in other words, they are family homes passing along and down the generational chain.
Houses that overlook the canal do so from large picture windows and some from the envy-making platforms of dark-wood fretwork balconies
Of course, the picture that I have painted is only one half of the canvas. Although they would be considerably less shiny and new, considerably less conspicuous should they exist in a hypothetical exclusivity created by the absence of their impoverished German neighbours, accomplished restoration projects and executive-status mouth-watering newbuilds share the same verdant space along the quiet, sleepy, secluded banks of this reclusive strip of water.
Kempt and curated, the freshly seeded lawns, attractive outbuildings and accessory dwellings blend neatly with the master home, offering tantalising glimpses into near perfection. Houses that overlook the canal do so from large picture windows and some from the envy-making platforms of dark-wood fretwork balconies, and always these and lesser properties whose gardens touch the canal have a jetty of some description and a motorboat moored nearby.
Such houses stand out like a sign saying, “See what you can do, if you’ve got the lolly!” Let’s take a break and put that idea to music: Dr Feelgood As long as the price is right. “If you’ve got no bread, you’re as good as dead”; “If you’ve got no loot, you just can’t shoot”; “If you’ve got no cash, then you’ve gotta dash”.
Off to Matrosovo in the Kaliningrad region
At the risk or repeating myself, I will say again that out on the single road that runs along the canal from Polessk to wherever it was we were heading, there’s a sense of going somewhere, which is good enough in itself. I suppose it is a fait accompli that sooner or later the canal veers off and that when it does it takes with it the narrow track that was originally its in the first place.
The road continues, but now is wide enough to accommodate oncoming traffic with ease. The wheels dip and the suspension rocks across the slightly less than level tarmacadam but soon rumble and jog respectively as the relative smoothness is abruptly replaced by sequential concrete sections. This type of construction always puts me in mind of a certain approach road that may still exist, and which was certainly there in the 1970s, on the way to Norwich, although in this geographical neck of the woods a road consisting of concrete slabs would, I guess, have been laid back in Soviet times.
I cannot remember exactly whether the road changed before or after we crossed a broad sweep of rapid rippling water, which I presume is the Deyma River, but there is no forgetting the bridge. It is a heavy metal-plate affair, with the ability to pivot on a mechanical mechanism. Lower than the road it services, when vehicles pass over the access slope it throws them slightly off-balance producing at the same time a mildly alarming clunkety-clank, likewise at the opposite end when leaving. The bridge appears to be solid enough but could do with a coat of paint.
On and on and on and on and then hoving into view is the signpost for Matrosovo. So, could this be where we were going and had we now arrived?
Matrosovo Kaliningrad region
On entering the village Matrosovo to the right you will see a quite substantial, attractive German house. It has been professionally reroofed using either terracotta tiles or their modern metal equivalent. The gable end, the end that faces the road, has a chevroned woodwork finish, and the house stands in its own grounds amidst a very nice cottage garden. Just beyond it, by the side of a silted brook, is something rather more down to earth, meaning decidedly earthy. A patch of ground, grazed relentlessly into dust is home to some rather whiffy cows and chickens as well as the paraphernalia required for sustaining them, such as wooden shacks full of hay and, scattered about in no particular order, various metal feeding troughs, buckets and the like. Suddenly I was young again, back on the farm in my youth!
On the whole, Matrosovo village has stood the test of time.
And now for something completely different; for across the road from this veritable Ponderosa looms an abnormally high metal fence and poking out above it is a rare, colourful if not grotesque very large plastic what-have-you ~ an inflatable how’s your father? It most resembles a bouncy castle but if that is what it is, it must have been made for giants. Moving on, as we were, we can discuss this curious contraption and other astonishing Matrosovo things at a later and more convenient date in my follow-up post on Matrosovo Park.
The road, that by now has turned into a dusty hardcore track, wends along a little until it meets a junction. Here you have a choice, which is either left or right, as before you lies the wide, the deep and the rather fast-flowing Matrosovka River, the mouth of the Neman River, destination Curonian Lagoon.
There are such a lot of waterways, rivers and the like, criss-crossing in these here parts that it is hard to determine who is which, but if at this point in my post you were to drive straight on the name of the river would matter less than the sound of going plop and feeling incredibly wet.
Avoiding this fate by turning right we followed a twisting hardcore lane with buildings on either side; this comprising the greater part of Matrosovo village, a village that instinctively feels like one with a genuine East Prussian heritage. (You have no idea what one of them feels like? Then you have to visit Matrosovo.)
Into Matrosovo
On the whole, Matrosovo village has stood the test of time. Yes, there are modern renovations of older buildings that could have been more sensitively restored in order to vouchsafe original features as well as newbuilds recently landed from the planet Super Affluent, but by and large along this meandering lane the houses of Matrosovo have managed to escape the worst excesses of insensitivity during periods when conservation was as alien a concept as ridiculous things like women prime ministers.
Matrosovo Kaliningrad region
The German cottages of Matrosovo are predominantly wooden-clad structures. Detached or semi-detached each possesses bilateral features and a sense of uniformity in the relative space that they occupy, both vertically and horizontally, with one or two exceptions. Some are super-simple, standard pitched-roof jobs, their longest dimension aligned with the road but can be gable-end facing, a not unusual arrangement, in fact typical in this region but inversely so in England. Others, a little more posh, have a large, pitched dormer-style window intersecting geometrically, which, in the semi-detached variation, is the dividing point between the two properties.
Not all of the houses in Matrosovo conform to the wooden-clad principle, but plank cladding is certainly prevalent. Where it is employed, it is usual for the cladding to stand proud along the upper portion of these buildings, sometimes with no embellishment, in other words it starts as a plank and ends that way, but others are pointed, like the upturned staves of a traditional picket fence, or even nicely rounded so as to form a decorative apron.
Wooden cladding with ‘pie crust’ finish
Hardly any of these domiciles, whether partly hidden behind the trees or exposed to view, have escaped the make-do-and-mend and aesthetic-free philosophy of Soviet DIYers, who during the era of their tenure thought nothing of tacking a porch on here or amending a section of pan-tiled roofing there, usually from the loan of a ubiquitous piece of asbestos or by recourse to any number of unremarkable materials but admittedly novel techniques that may have conceivably rectified but certainly not improved, and yet when they are beheld today cannot fail to gratify with their touches of eccentricity and unique dedications to social history.
A number of these establishments are still endowed, if only just, with their original German barns. Here, in the former province of East Prussia, German barns can be as big as their imperialist ego or as small as there … (please send your answer to Mick Hart on a postcard). In Matrosovo, they are generally, and may I say delightfully, less alpha in their bearing, but notwithsatnding no less endowed with the universal characteristics of the whoppers you find elsewhere.
Former East Prussian German barns are built on the following principles: The lower parameters are composed of red brick, which make them solid, sturdy and handsome to say the least, but the upper sections are made of wood, simple wooden planks nailed to a framework of beams and supports. The roofs, which are pan-tiled, are heavy and seem to press down forcibly, much to the detriment of the load-bearing structure beneath, causing the wooden mass to assume a splayed or bowed effect. But without wishing to delve too deeply into principals of design that are better left to the experts or for you to research at your leisure (I shall be asking questions, later, children) a revisionary approach implies that perhaps these barns are made this way to spread the load as needed.
A buckling barn of typical German construction
If so, time, neglect and Soviet hap-hazardry has tested them to the limit. Many have succumbed to various states of collapse ~ roofs stoved inward, walls buckling, bits missing, doors as unhinged as Justin Turdeau, and even when this is not the rule but rather the exception, proletariat bodgery is written on almost every surviving quarter like a vandalistic antecedent to the gunge that liberals delude themselves is ‘street art’ but those who live in the real world routinely condemn as graffiti.
Notwithstanding, the buckling barns of imperialist Germany are inspirational remnant art-forms from the hands of Father Time meant to give living artists something bold to emulate. They are a concomitant of hieroglyphics each one firmly rooted in its era, each with a story to tell for those who know how to read them. And what they may have ceased to be from a utilitarian standpoint they more than make up for in visual delight and empathising Romanticism.
Matrosovo Kaliningrad region on the Deyma River
Along the side of the village riverbank, at the back of the houses and land adjoining, old boats can be found, some which with their happy occupants would have come whistling in to dock many years before but, for reasons we may never know, have whistled nowhere since. Lamentably becalmed, strangled by waterside plants and the encroaching branches of trees, their fading blue and yellow paintworks (they are invariably blue or yellow) and weather-cracked mouldering windscreens project on the first encounter a sad and silly impression. Wanted once, will they ever be wanted again? There they sit, like single mums abandonned (even bereft of benefits), dull and dowdy, water-logged, without engine and nowhere to go. No matter where in the world you trek, be it by river or sea, rest assured you will always find that old boat sitting somewhere: becalmed, sad, no longer needed, possibly taking in water, largely forlorn, resolutely forgotten.
Up the garden path
Gardens, unlike boats, are not so easily forgotten but, like most things known to man, you can either devote your life to them or live your life and let them live theirs. In Matrosovo both philosophies and the nuances that derive from them are open to conjecture. It all depends on how you like your gardens: traditional, cottage, formal, pre-planned, secret, maintained, natural, exotic or simply not at all. They are all here in Matrosovo.
Lovely wooden shutters and a nice garden
Reconditioned and new houses tend to go for reconditioned and new gardens. Many contain supplementary/ancillary buildings and seem to go on forever. They remind me of our cat: they have been tended, pampered, revitalised, put down to new grass (even our cat has grass) and may contain a pond or two or a stream that runs gently through them embroidered by trees large and mature that attest to a natural border. (My word, that’s some cat you’ve got there, Mick!)
Yet Spick and Span is but one short band on the overall garden spectrum. Others have become repositories of overspill modernity, among which, and noticeably, is the human compulsion not to recycle when one can simply discard. Old tin buckets, fridges, enamel bowls and any number of garden implements and ornamental wares that have ceased for some reason or other to provide either the useful or novelty value for which they were intended, peep sleepily out from behind clumps of yellow dandelions, play hide and seek in the long wild grass or prop themselves up wearily against the separating sides and quiescent, weed-fringed borders of geriatric sheds that have seen it all and more and may just go on seeing it when we have long since gone.
Heaven forbid, however, that you would find anything of this nature in the exalted gardens of immaculate conception. But don’t worry; it does forbid. Not that the shuffling, folding, falling sheds complain. Like old folks that have been leaving home since the day that they were born but never got further than the garden gate and will never go anywhere now, except in one direction, they belong to a realm of static contentment upon which no amount of the present has neither the will nor authority to intrude.
On a hotter than usual summer’s day this then is the village of Matrosovo, offering all that the senses could wish for ~ a time-honoured rustic seclusiveness on the balmy banks of the Matrosovka River.
Next up: Would you Adam and Eve It ~ the contrast on the other side of the village! (Wait a mo, I’ve yet to write it …)
Waldau Castle and film noir go so well together, as actor Michail Gvozdenko demonstrates, that not being seen dead there would probably never occur to you.
Published: 24 May 2022 ~ Waldau Castle and film noir make a perfect partnership
On our last visit to Waldau Castle we had the pleasure of watching a 30-minute film noir, Agnes, set in 1940s’ Königsberg. Shot in the grounds of Königsberg Cathedral, in the East Prussian countryside and at Waldau castle, whilst the mood of the film and its retrospective authenticity owes a lot to the imaginative screenplay and the cinematographic convention of producing it in black and white, good casting throughout ensures that this silent intertitle movie delivers impact and holds one’s attention from the opening scenes to the end credits.
The plot goes something like this: Whilst walking, a young woman, Agnes, (actress Ekaterina Zuravleva) accidently drops a postcard informing her friend that she is content living with her rich aunt. A young chap picks the card up and reads it. Realising that the young woman comes from a rich family he returns the card to her, flirts and hands her his business card. He visits the castle several times where Agnes lives, but her austere aunt sees through the deception; she realises that the man’s intentions are not honourable; he is not in love but is after their money. Agnes, however, refuses to heed her aunt’s advice to stay away from the man. Driven to breaking point by her aunt’s controlling nature, a violent altercation occurs following which Agnes kills her aunt, takes her money and her jewellery and flees from the castle in the company of the man about whose perfidy she has been warned. On the way to the ‘promised land,’ the man kills her. He gives her a long red scarf to wear, which flows from the open car window and wraps itself around one of the wheels (an allusion to the death of Isadora Duncan, the 1920s’ American dancer). He places her body on the side of the road, is met by a female accomplice and they drive off together gloating over their ill-gotten gains. As they do so, they appear to be planning another hoax, which may be why there is talk of a possible sequel.
Waldau Castle and film noir make a perfect partnership
Not unlike the male lead, the scheming opportunist who wheedles his way into the life of the young woman, I, seeing an opportunity to have my photograph taken with Michail Gvozdenko, the lead male actor, was happy to pose with him next to a film publicity poster. You might infer that I would have been a lot happier had I been standing next to the actresses in real life, but if horses were wishes beggars would ride. As it was, I was pleased to ‘get in on the act’: any man who can wear a trilby in such a way that he would pass unnoticed on a 1940s’ street is someone whom we should all stand next to, at least once in our modern and sadly less elegant lives.
Michail Gvozdenko did an excellent job of convincing us, in or out of trilby, that have Hanomag will seduce. Whether this is true or not you will have to ask the actor, as the Hanomag car that features in the film, which, incidentally, has original Königsberg credentials, is owned by the actor himself. Of course, it does help if you are smooth, suave and sophisticated and always carry a business card!
Some of the costumes and props used in the film are on display at Waldau Castle, together with the medieval-style wall bed in which the deluded and cheated Agnes bumps off her aunt before being heartlessly despatched herself. That’s no way to treat an antique wall bed even less so an ailing aunt, regardless of her readily purloinable fortune. As for the death of Agnes (sigh!), as Leonard Cohen would say, “I came so far for beauty, I left so much behind”.
Published: 20 May 2022 ~ Waldau Castle Revisited and the Case of Asparagus Soup
The grass verges on either side of the drive leading to the entrance of Waldau Castle were awash with cars and on the other side of the striped checkpoint-style gate, the type much-loved in spy thrillers, twenty or thirty more people across a broad age spectrum were swarming about the grounds busy digging, sweeping, carrying and wheeling things. The place was a hive of activity.
Looking down from an air balloon or, if you prefer, a magic carpet, you might conceive that you had inadvertently dropped something and, in the process, disturbed an ant’s nest, but back on terra firma disturbance played no part. Waldau Castle has a way, a mystical way, of gently absorbing everything, even a milling crowd, into the matrix of its historical presence and making it indistinguishable from the permeating status quo.
A day of impressions at Waldau Castle
I looked up at the castle windows, at the old and the new. Since we were last here, Mr Sorokin had been busy replacing, renovating and making good the neglect of years. The windows looked down back at me, the protective polythene sheets where glazing was waiting to be installed moving slowly back and forth in the breeze, emitting little sighs, not of impatience but studied contentment.
Later, over a large cup of delicious asparagus soup and a plate of hot potatoes, Arthur Eagle would say, as he observed the Waldau edifice thoughtfully, that there was enough work to do here to keep the Sorokin family occupied for the rest of their natural lives. He paused, before adding quietly, “And beyond …”
Although I had only been inside Waldau Castle once before, the act of returning was like embracing an old friend. Inside the hall and main room (I gather that there once would have been a dividing wall to the left.), I had a feeling ~ not the admission to a museum feeling, but the warmth of being genuinely welcomed into someone’s home.
Perhaps the answer to the phenomenon lies in the 1972 Christmas ghost story The Stone Tape, which explores the theory that hard objects, such as stones and rocks, are capable of storing sensory information that can be intuitively retrieved and played back by those who are predisposed mentally and emotionally to metaphysical energies, except that in the case of Waldau Castle the reciprocity is resoundingly positive.
Waldau Castle has been around for 750 years and in the duration of its existence the castle’s physical structure has undergone changes too multitudinous and too far-reaching for precise computation, but stand alone in any one of its atmospheric rooms, its long concealed back corridor or upon the steps of its well-trodden and foot-worn staircase and place your hand upon the gnarled but solid brickwork and, should you be that way inclined, you will feel the lives of the people that dwelt within these walls and those like us who have passed this way.
On our previous visit, we were limited to the three main rooms that form the order of the front of the castle, but today we could stray without let or hinderance through and under the carved wooden screen into the long, wide, servants corridor that runs the length of the building and which would at one time presumably have contained interconnecting doors to each of the three main chambers.
Extremely spacious in all dimensions and with windows looking out upon, over and across the meadows that fall away at the back of the castle, windows that replicate those at the front, their deep horizontal V-shaped openings cut into sturdy walls two metres or more in depth, this secluded, secreted once functional passage had in its resting life become an avenue of thought.
Against its back walls stood two ancient window frames, pitched Gothic with pierced tracery, thoroughly weathered and eaten away in places by wood parasites and mould spores, but for all that in remarkable shape and solid for their age.
Besides them, nearby, a modern facsimile of these venerable frames, craftsman carved and assembled to form a replica so exact that only age could tell the difference, invoked the question was this the flexible and tailored handiwork of Mr Sorokin, the head of the resident household of Waldau Castle’s curators and conserverationists? I also wondered if it had been his hand to which the refectory table on the second floor owed its incarnation.
The intricately woven mediaeval tapestries that hang within the corridor as they do in the castle’s front-facing rooms have not been sewn together by Mr Sorokin, they are bought in; but they are made to order to Sorokin specifications, made in the 21st century until they enter Waldau Castle whereupon they assume a sense of belonging as old and as accommodating as the fabric of the building itself.
These exquisitely fashioned and illustrated tapestries complement the suits of armour, heraldic devices, Baroque cabinets, heavy Renaissance revivalist furniture and stylised bass-relief plaques, regaling one’s senses with impressions of the past and resurrecting an exotic world lost to us in time in which people of wealth and influence lived out their privileged lives in envied baronial splendour. A lot of imaginative thought lends itself to cultivation when standing almost solitarily inside the walls of a castle’s passageway.
Waldau Castle Revisited and the Case of Asparagus Soup
It is from this passageway that access to the castle’s second floor presents itself. The staircase is enclosed behind a set of double doors, but these were open today revealing what in bygone times would undoubtedly have been a stairway and stairwell of most imposing character.
You rang m’lud, or is that Bela Lugosi?
The broad steps worn and contorted by the mechanics of innumerable shoes and the feet of those no longer with us require some contemplation; they are potent symbols left behind by the people of the past who will never walk these stairs again, at least in mortal form, and are reminders to us all, all who are able to see them, of the immortality each of us lack. Is this vanishing so unutterably sad or a continual source of wonder?
The first landing, before the stairs turns back upon itself, sits on a level some 30 feet or more below the ceiling. There is no stair rail, just a solid wall of brick, capped, where it has survived, with a coping stone of triangular profile. The second-floor landing, which is effectively part of the upper passageway retracing the one below, provides a better impression of the commodious dimensions and the roomy spaciousness which they bestow. It also gives visual ease to consideration of the gothic window inset high above the stairs, along whose base lies a small yet not unremarkable fragment of intricate relief work.
Somebody asked me if I thought that the cannon, strategically placed to the left at the top of the stairs, was an original, working implement of war. Let’s just say that on no account would I rush to put it to the test by attempting to fire a projectile from it!
The room at the end of the second-floor corridor, which is capaciousness enough to hold 40 people, or thereabouts, has, from the ceiling pendants to the dark wooden tables, been perfectly baronialised. This room would appear to function as a gathering place for groups in which to hold discussions, listen to talks or even watch a film, which is what we did today.
The 30-minute programme was the first part of a historic drama set in 1930s’ Königsberg, some scenes of which were filmed at Waldau Castle (more about this in the following post). As you will see from my photograph, with the lights down and candles lit, the room in question assumes an atmospheric quintessence. It is the sort of place where folk less cautious than myself might well be tempted to hold a séance. What an inducive but uneasy thought!
Waldau Castle Revisited and the Case of Asparagus Soup
It is now time to take a break from architectural pleasures and musings of a preternatural kind and reveal the link between Waldau Castle and the not so strange case of asparagus.
To us there was no abstruseness, in fact the connection was as clear as soup ~ asparagus soup to be precise ~ along with a plate of pizza and boiled potatoes. You see, as well as being the physical and spiritual saviours of Waldau Castle, the Sorokin family also do a nice line in home-grown asparagus, which was on the menu today free in the form of soup for the legion of willing helpers and to visitors such as ourselves. It was also on sale in the wholesome character of natural, freshly picked produce.
With the piping hot asparagus soup reaching the parts today that the sun, though bright and beautiful, had neglected, we were confluently treated to a demonstration of traditional Prussian dancing by a troupe of ladies dressed in Prussian costume.
Under this spell and the promise of the makings of a nutritional meal, once the soup and dancing was over, we filed one by one into the Sorokin house to purchase some of this lovely grub to take home with us.
As we walked back to the Volga, me with the sprig of asparagus in my hand, I thought I caught a glimpse of something, a shadow perhaps, or otherwise, momentarily flicker across the dusty kitchen windows of the ever-watchful Waldau Castle, but when I looked again there was no one and nothing there. This may have been cause for concern had not the sun at that deliberate moment deigned to appear from behind a cloud. Like a spotlight it shone on my garden vegetables, and it was this, I later reasoned, that accounted for the warmth in my heart with which I had come away. Farewell goodly Waldau Castle, until we meet again!
A carved plaque dedicated to, or even a coat of arms representing, Waldau Castle and the Sorokin family
Food for thought: It is food for thought to note that whilst Europe is busy plunging itself into the dark ages of genocidal witch hunts against Russian nationals everywhere, here in the Kaliningrad region no such prejudice and hatred proliferates. In humbling contrast to the devastation and destruction of monuments, bullying, intimidation, acts of violence to Russian citizens, expulsion of the creative and the cultured and the march to rewrite history to suit the figments of the West, Russians are going about their business, quietly and with exemplary composure, restoring, renovating and honouring Kaliningrad’s German and East Prussian past. Something for the West to watch and hopefully to learn from.
Furniture at Waldau Castle
Once a dealer in vintage and antiques, never more less so, which is beyond a reasonable doubt why wherever I go a-visiting, old stuff, including furniture, always catches my eye.
Not surprisingly, as Kaliningrad was once Königsberg, the capital city of East Prussia, real antique furniture and its reproduction equivalent reveals a regional market trend predominantly focused on German Baroque and Renaissance revival items. So, if you like your furniture heavy, dark and Gothic, with lots of rich carving, intricate mouldings, bold armorial and heraldic symbols then you will like what you will find.
You will also discover examples of original 1930s’ continental Art Deco, such as this buffet/tallboy or kitchen servery with its tell-tale Lucite handles.
