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.
Freddie Mercury off the chart in Russia’s Kaliningrad
Published: 6 May 2022 ~ Freddie Mercury Kaliningrad House is one in a million
Were you, or are you, a fan of Freddie Mercury? I cannot say that moustachioed Freddie or his band Queen did very much for me, although they did produce one or two memorable tracks. But something tells me that the owner of this property (see photos), not very inconspicuously tucked away in Russia’s Kaliningrad region’s countryside, has more than a passing admiration for the flamboyant singer songwriter, his unforgettable stage persona and outstanding vocal range.
Freddie Mercury Kaliningrad House
Bright pink with a stencilled silhouette of Freddie strutting his stuff, its not the sort of property that you might expect to find in, well almost anywhere really, but least of all in a small Russian hamlet.
My favourite musician, back ~ way back ~ in the progressive-rock era of my youth, was Frank Zappa and his innovative and rather unconventional band the Mothers of Invention.
Inspired by the Mercury tribute, I am trying to imagine the exterior makeover of our 18th century UK family home had I undertaken it using various artistic devices from some of Zappa’s zany album covers, perhaps a complete rendition of Freak Out! or the imagery used on the soundtrack album of Zappa’s surreal psychedelic and Freudian-infused musical monolith 200 Motels.
I am almost certain had I attempted such a profane project that the planning department of Northants County Council not to mention the parish council would have moved to have me committed, especially if there was a real danger that neither could make any money out of it.
However, in the case of Freddie House, it sort of grows on you, don’t you think?
The other advantage that the owner of this property has over us in Britland is that in the UK we would not be allowed to paint a Union Jack on the side of the house combined with Queen’s Crown motifs, for the very reasonable reason that it might offend minority imports. You have to admit, however, that the red, white and blue cuts a rather dashing figure! I think the Union Jack should be painted on every wall in the UK, particularly every wall in London!
In the Kaliningrad provinces, possibly an embryonic catalyst is at work, subliminally suggesting the constitution of an entire village exterior designed on the principle of tributes to favourite rock artists. Would Zappa have a hand in this, he could well have called it Tinsel Town.
Meanwhile, until that day which never may dawn, here’s looking at you Fred! 😊
Posts devoted to the Kaliningrad region, Russia, recent and not so …
It is also known for the Amber Legend, a novel and attractive restaurant cunningly constructed on a split-level plan.
Built on a fairly steep incline, the pavement entrance to Amber Legend accesses what is effectively the upper ground floor, while the doors at the rear of the building lead to the lower level.
Externally, the building is invested with more than a touch of the neoclassical. It follows a simple but imposing geometrical outline, with dominating rectangular upright supports, a balustrade balcony traversing the width of the building and a matching balustrade parapet. After an introduction of this calibre, anything less internally, both upper and lower level, would be disappointing, but happily this is not the case: aesthetic integrity and continuity are safely, indeed inspiringly, assured.
The question is, however, why did the proprietors of the Amber Legend not call their establishment ‘Blue Flag restaurant’, ‘good clean air’ or ‘split-level neoclassical eatery’? Why the ‘Amber’ and why the ‘Legend’?
There are two possible reasons, one lesser known to some and the other, one trusts, obvious to anyone who has frequented the restaurant in person. The first most conceivably has to do with Yantarny’s massive amber reserves. Approximately 90 per cent of the world’s amber resources are sitting in Yantarny. They are mined upon an industrial scale using the open-quarry method.
The second, inspired by the first, has visible connotations, since both the exterior and interior of the building are lavishly decorated with variegated stones of genuine polished amber. Inside the restaurant the precious ancient resin is taken to another level of artistic meritocracy, as richly inlaid amber panels of many different hues sharing geometrical space with amber art assemblages. (Thanks for the word, Vit!) vie for your attention.
There are amber trims to the seats; amber-studded back rests; inset amber wall plaques; the bar is adorned with amber; and the ceiling-suspended lamp shades, bowls of amber inlay, are interwoven tiffany style.
Of particular note are the broad wooden panels, chain-hoisted close to the ceiling, each containing a window of different coloured amber stones lamp-backed for illumination.
Confoundingly, when we visited the restaurant, it was during the daylight hours, so that although in the room’s darker recesses some of the lamps were lit, the full effect of the interplay between light source and amber creation was lost in the dilution of overpowering, brilliant sunlight. However, the upside to this was in the excuse that it presented, which was as good as any that I could invent, for returning on an evening to witness what most assuredly must be a lighting display of artistic splendour.
Another sphere of artistic splendour, according to my wife, who had dined at Amber Legend before, was lurking in the toilets, and this, she said, was something that I must see.
Amber Legend Yantarny legendary toilet
Now, contrary to what you may have been told, I am not in the habit, not even rarely, of taking a camera into the toilet, but called upon by my wife to do so, strictly on account of the brilliance of the interior décor, I cast caution to the wind, in a manner of speaking, and made an exception on this occasion. The result of this promiscuity is documented here in two revealing photographs, illustrating the continuation of the amber theme, both in the ornamentation surrounding the wash basins and, more spectacularly, in a glass-windowed chamber recessed within the toilet floor, where chunks of amber of novel shapes and some of prodigious proportions turn everyday humble toilet into a veritable natural history museum, even at the inconvenience of others wanting to use the convenience.
You may have liked the loo, but do you like the blue? In my humble opinion, the TARDIS-blue woodwork that repeats itself throughout the restaurant, including the toilet, creates the perfect frame for the amber displays. It is just neutral enough without subsiding into plain and functions as a recall feature of Amber Legend’s personalised style. I call the colour TARDIS blue because recognisably that is what it is, which is why I should imagine we chose this colour for our TARDIS, the one that we built at home. But then, I suppose, it is not that unusual; just the colour of choice for everyone’s TARDIS.
At this point I would normally add a footnote about the food, so why disappoint. But first a caveat. As you probably recall, whilst making allowances for having been called gormless ~ and who wouldn’t want to be, for it is such a lovely word ~ gourmet I am not. Beer needs volume; food needs volume. There is only one winner. But, when we visited Amber Legend I was feeling rather peckish, so I did partake of the pizza, which was pretty good as pizza goes. However, my fellow patrons, who needless to say were more adventurous in their choice of dishes than I, as most normal people appear to be, reliably informed me that their meals were most enjoyable. And I have no reason to doubt their sincerity.
The verdict is, therefore, that when visiting this coastal jewel in Kaliningrad region’s amber crown (remember the name, Yantarny) make sure your experience is complete: Discover the Amber Legend!
Essential details
Amber Legend 66A Sovetskaya Ulitsa Yantarny Kaliningrad Olblast Russia
Published: 27 April 2022 ~ By Volga to Yantarny Russian Easter and Beautiful Coast
Whilst the French were masochistically (or should that be Macronistically) condemning themselves to another five years of neoliberal arrogance in which cash is king but people and culture are, according to their president, there to be p_ _ _ _ d on, we, here, in Russia were celebrating one of the most important holidays in the Orthodox Christian Calendar, Easter ~ a time for observing sanctified traditions, passing those traditions on to the next generation and uniting family and friends.
Easter eggs play an essential role within the Christian ethos of this holiday, not the chocolate variety, but actual eggs, hard boiled and dyed typically red using onion skins. I recall one Easter in the UK when my wife Olga and her English class decorated hard-boiled eggs in a variety of elaborate and brightly coloured patterns; a labour of love no doubt but a formidable task no less. Nowadays, modern techniques make it possible to cheat just a little, using decorative highly coloured and often illustrated bands that once applied to the egg wrap themselves tightly around it.
Hand-painted or not, the eggs, which symbolise resurrection and new life, are blessed in the church and presented as gifts to relatives and friends. Other blessed Easter gifts include bought or home-made cakes and fortified Church wine. We received and gave such fare from and to our friends and neighbours.
The blessing of Easter Gifts in Kaliningrad 2022
By Volga to Yantarny Russian Easter and Beautiful Coast
On Easter Sunday, 24th April, our friends, Arthur and Inara, invited us to be driven in style in their 1970s’ Volga to the seaside resort of Yantarny.
Yantarny is much smaller and further away from Kaliningrad than the increasingly popular resorts of Zelenogradsk and Svetlogorsk. I had not been there since my brother visited Kaliningrad in May 2019.
As then, the weather today was superb ~ a gorgeous and perfect spring day ~ just right for lounging near the sea and taking snapshots.
If you go down to the woods today …
Since I was last in Yantarny, a number of municipal improvements had been made, and in the coastal woodland, a picturesque pre-sea descent, landscape-sensitive work of both a practical and embellishing nature abounded, including more woodland paths, eclectic artworks and non-obtrusive visitor facilities. One among these is the installation of a wooden-decked observatory, enabling unimpeded views across the white, sandy beach and rolling expanse of the Baltic.
Looking out across the Baltic Sea
On the coastline itself a series of attractive and much-needed chalet-style café’s interlinked by wooden platforms, each offering inspiring views of the sea, have been tastefully constructed, and it was in one of these that we would stop a while to take advantage of their hospitality.
Sitting outside beneath the shade of the broad eaves, I was befriended by the cafés’ resident stray. No, not that irritating and passively (if you are lucky) aggressive stereotype that blights the British pub and whom everyone tries to avoid, but an old moth-eared and fur-matted cat, slate-grey and socially promiscuous. He obliged me by sitting on my knee and then, after 10 minutes, possibly dissatisfied that no grub had come his way, decided to bite the hand that hadn’t fed him. Ahh well, I thought, if you can’t be bitten by a curmudgeonly old cat over the Easter weekend when can you be bitten by one?
Bitten or not, I was content. I had good friends, good beer, the gentle sound and sight of the sea and was suffused with such a sense of complete and utter relaxation that it seemed to transcend almost everything, even philosophical thought and the quiet reflection with which it is nurtured. Effort was redundant, and effort, for the moment, had been effortlessly put aside.
We ~ as I perceived a communion among all present not only within our small group ~ remained thus for some time, gazing out across a sea that seemed at peace with its gently rippling self as much as we were with ourselves.
We remained this way for over an hour until the sun, shimmering silver across a broad swathe of sea where the surface seemed nearly smooth, challenging the visibility of my 1940s’ sunglasses, prompted us with the realisation that the afternoon was giving away to evening and that we would have to make a move. Alas, the time had come, as it always does; and for all that we had put it on hold, the ebb and flow of our own tide eventually carried us back into town.
The departure was sweetened, however, by calling in for lunch at Yantarny’s Amber Restaurant. What a remarkable place! I think we’ll give it three exclamation marks ~ !!! If you are curious as to why they call it Amber Restaurant, there’s no perhaps about it, you simply need to visit.
Hopefully, I’ll write a little more about it at a later date. For now, however, let’s just say that if the combination of amber, atmosphere, good food and brilliant beverages is something that appeals to you, the Amber Restaurant is the place!!!! There, I’ve gone and given it four exclamation marks. See > Amber Legend Yantarny
Fed, beerified and tripping up the step as I left ~ I always do that, it’s not because I was squiffy ~ we walked the short distance to the local church.
In German times Yantarny Church was Lutherian. The restored church is now Orthodox, The Church of the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God, and belongs to the Kaliningrad diocese of the Moscow Patriarchate of the Russian Orthodox Church. Mellow and mesmerising, it is difficult to imagine an environment more conducive to an appreciation of all that is dear ~ your loved ones, friends, the life you have lived and the current life you are living. Yantarny Church is not just for Easter, or any other special date on the religious calendar, it is an open sanctuary for thought and reflection, a quiet, hallowed place in which to take pause from the daily static of our estranging modern existence.
We had spent approximately three hours in Yantarny. It had been nowhere near enough and the need to return was incipient. I could definitely feel a weekend break coming on. But first there was the question of how we would leave today.
On emerging from the church, we discovered that Arthur had left the Volga lights switched on, which wasn’t so good for starting the engine. As ordered, I put my shoulder to the front of the big old car and gave it all that I could. Miraculously ~ you might say ~ the lovely old lump (not Arthur, I mean the car) fired up, and although praised for my efforts, and also praising myself, I was secretly reflecting on the mysterious ways in which things move, are moved and how they move us and the wonderful gift of having spent a perfect Easter day.
WWII Re-enactment at old German brewery in Polessk
Published: 27 January 2022 ~ Soviet Re-enactors take Polessk Brewery in WWII Battle
On 23 January 2022, the Polessk Brewery hosted a re-enactment of the battle for Labiau (Russian: Polessk), originally orchestrated as part of the Soviet East Prussian Offensive, which culminated in the surrender of Königsberg on 9 April 1945.
A better location for the re-enactment is hard to imagine. The grounds of the Polessk Brewery fall gently away from the foot of the brewery wall to the reed beds and banks of the River Deyma. Between the river and the brewery stands the solid remains of a reinforced concrete German gun emplacement . With the Soviet forces advancing from two separate points of the river, this genuine WWII obstacle provided the perfect place for the defending Germans to ‘dig in’ and attempt to repulse the invaders head on.
Germans (re-enactors) gather by the side of the ‘bunker’ before the battle commences #
As with English WWII re-enactment scenarios, attention to detail was paramount. Re-enactments have an entertainment value, but first and foremost they are educational, which is why their participants are known by the generic name of Living History Groups.
Re-enactors on both sides, those representing the German and Soviet forces, dress in authentic uniforms, each item of which, including field gear and insignia, is meticulously researched and worn in the way it would have been worn by serving members of each country’s armed forces during the Second World War.
Soviet re-enactors in authentic WWII Red Army gear #
The de-activated weapons carried and used by re-enactors are often not replicas but blank-firing originals, the cost of which is frequently more alarming than the sounds they make when discharging. The same goes for the rest of the entourage: uniforms, insignia and field gear come at a not inconsiderable price. Good reproductions, ie the sort sold through the militaria outlet Soldier of Fortune, can be expensive enough, but the real thing, especially the real Third Reich thing, can cost the proverbial arm and leg. (Sorry, perhaps not the nicest metaphor when used in conjunction with military re-enactment!) Nevertheless, at the end of the day, re-enactment is no different from any other leisure pursuit: in other words, it costs!
Soviet Re-enactors take Polessk Brewery in WWII Battle
Although the area covered by today’s Polessk re-enactment was extensive, spectator attendance was high and in order to ensure an advantageous viewing point it was necessary to arrive early and stake out your claim. Low ambient temperatures and snow on the ground did not seem to have deterred anyone, and with a fair proportion of Germans and Soviets wearing snow suits, the scene could not have been more suitably convincing.
Olga and I had chosen to stand at the lower end of the field, which gave us a pretty clear view of the start of the battle, with Soviet forces firing mortars at the entrenched Germans, followed by the infantry advancing slowly on both sides.
Small children had been warned that their ears would be subject to ‘loud bangs’, and although the reports of rifles and machine guns were bearable in the wide-open expanse in which they were discharged, no one was prepared for the heavy canon fire and punctuating pyrotechnics. As I wrote earlier, re-enactment is serious stuff!
As the Soviets advanced, Olga and I retreated to the interior of the brewery (well, I would, wouldn’t I!), where it was possible to witness the battle from an elevated perspective. If anything, the confrontation was more dramatic from this standpoint, since as well as the commanding view it gave us, the background commotion of battle emanating from a giant sound system placed at the side of the brewery wall rose tremulously from the ground below and rent the air asunder.
It was a nice touch at the close of the assault to see a triumphant Soviet soldier waving the Red Army victory flag from the stairwell window of the old Labiau brewery!
Ivan Zverev saves old German building from terminal decline
Published: 31 December 2021 ~ Restoration brings Museum to Life in Nizovie
There are good days and bad days, and Christmas day is no exception. But this year there was no need to wonder what we were going to do. If I had been in the UK, I could have put on my Christmas-cracker hat and high-tailed it to the nearest McDonald’s for a Yuletide jab, but as I was in Kaliningrad I would have to accept the next best thing, which was an invitation to attend the opening of Zverev’s museum in the village of Nizovie.
Restoration and museum comes to life in Nizovie
As long as you know where Nizovie is, the museum is impossible to miss. It is a large, red-brick, three-storey German building, set back from the road; very municipal-looking; very formal; and unmistakeably civic.
Today, its presence was even more unmissable. In addition to the soviet pennants fluttering in the breeze on either side of the imposing entrance and next to them a red sign bearing the words ‘NKO USSR, Military Commandant of Waldau’, and a large, decorated and illuminated Christmas tree on one side of the forecourt upstaged only by the pea-green 18th century carriage located on the opposite side and a very active music system, a not insubstantial crowd was gathering, some of the younger folk among it dressed in animal costumes and some among the older in the velvet-rich finery and lace that would have been worn by the well-to-do back in the 18th century.
😊Waldau Castle and Museum are a short distance from the Zverev museum, making it possible to visit all three on the same day …
Snow, and lots of it, completed a scene which for me was exceedingly 25th of December, although the meaning that I attributed to it may have been lost on the crowd, as in Russia Christmas is celebrated according to the Orthodox calendar, and thus falls later on the 7th of January.
Nevertheless, we were into the festive season and the composition all told engendered a perfect seasonal atmosphere.
Restoration brings Museum to Life in Nizovie
The official opening of the museum took place at the foot and on top of the steps leading to the main entrance. The ribbon was cut by a representative of Kaliningrad’s administration and then, after a short speech from this gentleman, Mr Ivan Zverev, owner of the building, chief restorer and curator of the museum, delivered a slightly longer one, upon completion of which up went the volume of the music and with it a herd of people who, whilst no doubt endeared by the snowy scene around them, which was extremely picturesque, could not forbear a moment longer the urgent need to throw themselves inside the warmth that the building offered.
I endured for a few minutes more, as I wanted to have my photograph taken with the man from the 18th century and his female entourage. That done, I, too, shot up the steps and into the entrance hall behind the great wooden door.
Mick Hart with re-enactors at the opening of Ivan Zverev’s renovated German building and museum in Nizovie
As I passed through the doorway, someone remarked ‘original’. It could have been me they were talking about, in which case I am glad that I did not catch the last word, but I think they meant the door, which they believed was genuinely old. The key to the door looked old, also. I did not stop to verify this as my toes were nipped and nippy, but I must say that I would not want this heavy, six-inch metal object hanging on my key ring.
The 18th century photograph taken outside had been a prelude to what awaited me on the other side of the door, a flirtation with the past possessing curious overtones of baronial medievalness and 19th century sobriety. Too many facets for immediate computation presented themselves, but the tiled flooring, stained glass partition windows, beamed and lattice-work ceilings, heavy Tudor-style wrought iron chandeliers, enamel and metal signs and, on either side of the hall, views of an eclectic profusion of bygones announced your departure from the 21st century, which, let us not be shy in saying it, can by no means be misconstrued as anything but agreeable.
Entrance Hall to Nizovie Museum
The extent of the building’s restoration to date is confined to the ground floor, but make no mistake, given the size of the building and the condition in which it was found after 10 years of neglect, the work involved so far has been nothing short of considerable.
If you were to put the plaster entirely back on the walls and mask out the curios and relics, the feeling of being back at school would be understandably justified since, in Soviet times, this is what it had been ~ Nizovie village school. Interestingly, some among today’s visitors were former pupils who attended the school in the 1960s and 70s.
Prior to its scholastic purpose, in German times the building had served the village as an all-inclusive health centre and, considering Nizovie’s diminutive size, an elaborate one at that. It had contained a dentist’s surgery, doctor’s surgery and also an apothecary.
The apothecary theme has been picked up by the building’s restorers and built into the first room on the left hand-side of the hall, which today doubled as an exhibit’s gallery and refreshment centre. The room is screened off, but not enclosed, by a decorative wrought iron framework, likewise the room opposite. This is an excellent arrangement as it affords irresistible glimpses of all that lies beyond.
Today, it was a choice of hot beverages and snacks, or, if you were so inclined, exotic and novel alcoholic infusions. Into the room we went!
The first one I sampled was a herb-based liqueur, the secret ingredient of which, or so it was whispered, is amber, over which the liquid recipe is poured and then slowly left to marinate. I took a nip of this not knowing what to expect and instantly wished I had been more greedy!
The second beverage was difficult to decant. It sat within a giant, thin-necked oblong bottle. Snow-bitten fingers and hands that looked like salmon made manoeuvring this a risky endeavour, but not one to forego a challenge, at least when it comes to alcohol, needless to say I excelled myself and was thus rewarded with a delicious glass, which then became two, of mead. Other people in the room must also have been unsure as to whether they had the dexterity to safely handle the bottle, since nobody made for the mead until I had shown them the way, after which I was quickly promoted to chief difficult bottle controller and mead dispenser extraordinaire!
Whilst drinking this pick-me-up, I was able to enjoy the many and various apothecary elements displayed in the wall-side cabinets as well as reflect favourably on specific details of restoration, for example the technique repeated throughout the building of contrasting exposed and clean brickwork with asymmetrical flowing panels of plaster.
Medicinal herbs in the apothecary at Nizovie Museum
In this room, the plastered section has been artistically decorated with large, coloured illustrations of herbs and plants, accompanied by short descriptions of their medicinal value and the curative or health-giving properties that each is said to impart. The apothecary theme is further enhanced by a line of suspended dried plants strung against the ceiling and, of course, by a multiplicity of obsolete bottles together with teeth-chilling dentistry and twinge-inducing surgical instruments.
Anaesthetised by the pleasant brew, I did, however, eventually vacate this room and, fortified as much if not more than I should be, given the time of day, I set off floating somewhat on a personal voyage of discovery.
Restoration brings Museum to Life in Nizovie
Having stopped for five minutes to enjoy the resuscitating heat puthering out from a great barrel of a wood burner, which bore an uncanny resemblance to a vintage eight-cylinder car engine, my explorations revealed that the building’s ground floor is arranged around a T-shaped profile. The entrance hall, flanked by the two rooms, has no door at its opposite end. A corridor running at right angles to it lets into rooms adjacent, and at either end of this corridor, within two symmetrical wings, a room in each is located transverse to the others.
The room on the opposite side of the entrance hall, the apothecary’s counterpart, is chocker block, mostly with relics of a domestic nature, ranging from kitchen utensils to telephones, whilst the end room in the wing on the right contains larger, more bulky household devices and many other items and implements once commonplace to gardening and agricultural work. All this was good, educational and insightful stuff from the past, reminding us that before the universality of plastic everything from watering cans to ‘washing machines’ had been manufactured from heavy, solid materials including, but not limited to, galvanised steel, wrought iron and wood.
The most inspiring and thought-provoking of the museum’s exhibit rooms are, without question, the one themed around bygone motorcycles, associated vehicle parts and ephemera and the other which is devoted to the Second World War.
As a westerner, the two-wheeled Soviet transport displayed offered me an intriguing chance to compare the similarities of and differences between the mopeds and motorbikes used in postwar Soviet Russia with models I was familiar with in the UK that had been manufactured and ridden in an era contemporaneous to that of their Russian counterparts.
This room also contains a number of enamel wall signs, most of them German, some advertising motor oils, others vehicle requisites.
These signs are a particular favourite of mine and were, and no doubt still are, highly sought-after by collectors and interior designers. When we owned and ran our UK-based antique and vintage emporium enamel signs were never out of demand.
The Nizovie exhibition of Soviet war memorabilia is really in a class of its own. Naturally, it helps with a display of this kind that the environment in which it is housed has a stark, industrial feel to it, a backdrop which comes naturally to buildings of a certain age where the walls and floors are made of brick, the ceilings lined with thick oak beams and the lighting commercial in character.
Mr Zverev and his helpers have spared nothing creatively in an effort to frame the exhibits in such a way that they guarantee emotivity.
Two explicitly detailed and dramatic murals, one a battle scene raging above and around Königsberg Castle, the other a depiction of vanquished Hitler youth and battle-exhausted German soldiers forlornly resigned to their fate as they huddle against the walls of a bomb-gutted Königsberg Cathedral, capture the hell of war in its devastating consequences for culture and humanity.
Suffering and death are also served up in two macabre symbolic compositions: one is a life-sized skeleton dressed in a German greatcoat wearing a gas mask; the other, aligned above him, is a wall painting of a Nazi officer in full military uniform locked behind a grid of real iron bars. The mask used for the face in this depiction has allowed the artist to twist and distort it into a crumpled agony of bewildered despair.
Displayed against this sensory backdrop is a diverse assortment of German and Soviet field gear, some excavated others well-preserved, as well as small arms, edged weapons, military uniforms, flags and banners and examples of heavier weapons such as the Maxim M1910, Degtyaryov machine gun DP-27 and what I think may be a tripod-mounted German MG34 anti-aircraft gun. A particularly interesting exhibit is the military motorbike and sidecar combination fully equipped with machine guns.
Another valuable asset was the war room’s guide — a knowledgeable re-enactor dressed in full Soviet combat uniform. As my Russian is slow and still has a few shell holes in it waiting to be plugged, the fact that this particular Russian infantryman could speak good English and, as with most re-enactors, was a mine of information (Did you get it? ‘Mine’ of information? Alright, well you do better!) proved most beneficial.
Mick Hart with Soviet re-enactor in the war room at Ivan Zverev’s museum
In conclusion, Ivan Zverev’s red-bricked building, a one-time German centre for a doctor’s, dentist’s and apothecary, which later became a Soviet school, has been rescued from extinction. It is a deserving restoration project, a first-class example of the architectural style of its time and the culture from which it derives, which now, in addition to its intrinsic merit, accommodates, thanks to Mr Zverev, a unique historical exposition that combines the satisfaction of entertainment with an improved understanding of the socio-cultural timeline of this fascinating region.
All in all, I must say that this Christmas Day was one to remember. Thank you, Ivan Zverev, for your gracious invitation!
Ivan Zverev with Olga Hart, Nizovie
Ivan Zverev and the Zverev Creation Ivan Zverev, the inspiration behind the restoration of the former Soviet school and medical centre in the village of Nizovie, is a Kaliningrad businessman. He purchased the derelict school after a long search for somewhere close to Kaliningrad where he could establish a museum dedicated to the history of Königsberg and its territory which would encompass its pre-war German, wartime and Soviet periods.
Already, a percentage of that vision has been brought to fruition with exhibitions devoted to a German pharmacy, German post office, motorcycles of the 1960s and 70s (a personal interest of Mr Zverev’s), a WWII exposition and artefacts pertaining to gardening and agriculture. Mr Zverev has also obtained thousands of photographs and associated documentation relating to the building when it was a school, which he intends to use as a basis for a classroom diorama.
Ivan Zverev is a hands-on restorer. He fully understood from the outset that the restoration of a building as large and run down as Nizovie School would be no undertaking for the faint hearted, but often the hard graft that underscores labour for love is not without its special compensations, and Ivan was rewarded for his hard work.
In a hitherto unknown or forgotten cellar, exciting finds were unearthed ~ a mummified mouse in a mousetrap (possibly of German ancestry), shelves containing cans of unopened food and ~ joy upon joys ~ a real German motorbike in remarkably good condition!
In a disused well at the back of the building a further discovery was made, which Ivan Zverev considers to be one of the most poignant and historically valuable. It is a white enamel dentist’s sign, inscribed in German ‘Dental Practice, Kai Marx, Dentist’. As this find ties in with at least one important vocational aspect of the building’s history, it now has pride of place in Nizovie’s entrance hall.
Ivan Zverev’s business and cultural curriculum vitae testify to a long-standing interest in and love for the past, especially for the land in which he lives and for the Soviet era in general. It is also reflected in his passion for acquiring antiques and collectable and in ‘Chevalier’, the quirky mediaeval-styled restaurant which he conceived, created, owns and operates in Alexander Kosmodemyansky, a village outlying Kaliningrad.
Published: 14 December 2021 ~ How to Weaponise Your Old Soviet Water Tower
Travelling through the former East Prussian countryside with your history head on means looking out onto a peculiar and unique scene, a hybrid landscape where two chunks of geo-political and socio-cultural history collide, the one German and the other Soviet Russian. One of the most prominent reminders of the Soviet era is the regular and recurring presence of tall, slim cylindrical objects, sometimes made of metal but mainly cast from concrete, that sprout up out of the ground in the most unlikely of places.
To look at them, the first impression is that the giant stork’s nests that sit on top are so dense with branches and twigs that nothing less solid could possibly support them, but these obtrusive objects are not a Soviet ornithologist’s answer to housing the region’s storks, they are, in fact, water towers, the expanded crests of which are routinely commandeered by the long-legged wading birds for conversion into high-rise flats.
The size of the nests and the size of their occupants never cease to amaze me, and although I have grown used to the concrete fingers on which these nests and their homesteaders sit, pointing up to the sky like prehistoric surface-to-air missiles, they bookmark a period of history for me in which concrete structures predominate.
Whilst nest, bird and concrete post vary little from one example to another, I recently came across a combination that possessed in its composition something remarkably different. It is the one depicted in this post’s opening photograph. I hardly need to ask you to look carefully at the photograph to determine what that difference is.
How to weaponise your old Soviet water tower
It would appear that this particular Stork family has not responded lightly to the latest round of NATO sabre rattling and has taken precautionary measures to ensure that it is not caught napping. I mean what else could that be protruding from the nest if not some sort of high-powered anti-aircraft gun or advanced missile defence system?
I am no authority on birds, migrating or otherwise, so I cannot say whether England’s south coast is a habitat for stork’s nests or not, but, if so, we would be foolish not to take a leaf out of the Baltic Region’s Storks’ Survival Handbook.
During the Second World War a series of radar pylons strung along the south coast of England was credited as having parity with the Spitfire in preserving the country from Nazi invasion. Today, raised atop the White Cliffs of Dover, ‘Stork’ installations would obviously make excellent radar masts and also jolly good gun emplacements to ward off any invasion inconceivably orchestrated from across the English Channel.
In the grounds of the Polessk Brewery, Kaliningrad, Russia
Published: 15 November 2021 ~ WWI/WWII German Gun Emplacement Polessk
In a post published on 8 November 2021, I wrote about the restoration of an old German brewery in the former German town of Labiau, now known as Polessk, located in the Kaliningrad Oblast, Russia.
The grounds of the Polessk brewery back onto the Deyma River (German: ‘Deime’). Contained within those grounds, facing the river, sits the dramatic remains of a wartime German gun emplacement.
Polessk WWI/WWII German Gun Emplacement Kaliningradregion
This chunky, reinforced concrete, above-ground bunker or blockhouse, which ever description you prefer, is one of the few survivors of a battery of such emplacements, more than sixty in total, which formed an awesome line of defence along the Deyma River.
The emplacements date to the First World War but were recommissioned during the Second World War as part of the formidable East Prussian defence system constructed by the Germans in preparation for the Soviet invasion.
WWI/WWII German Gun Emplacement, Polessk, Kaliningrad
According to what I have been told, after Königsberg fell to the Soviets in April 1945, the concrete fortifications along the Deyma were systematically obliterated in order to ensure that should the tide of military fortune ever be reversed they could not be employed again.
Relatively speaking, the surviving emplacement is in sound condition. Although the back has been taken out, the living quarters and the gunnery room are virtually unscathed, and the inside still retains the reassuring feeling of immense solidity. Cramped, some might think horribly, the bunkers were not completely devoid of some semblance, albeit slight, of ‘home comfort’. The existence of a metal flue shows that at least provision had been made for a source of warmth and possibly the means by which to make a brew and heat up food. The reinforced metal door to the combat room has gone, but the giant iron hinges on which it used to pivot remain intact as do other metal fixtures.
The gunners’ view from the front of the emplacement, which now faces the reed bed on the edge of the Deyma River, is, in every sense of the word, a commanding one. In theory it should have offered the bunker’s occupants a strategic advantage against any attack launched from across the water but as history has proved on many occasions the notion of an impregnable defence system is purely that ~ a notion.
View from the WWI/WWII German gun emplacement in the grounds of the restored German brewery in Polessk, RussiaPlan of the wartime gun emplacement in Polessk, Kaliningrad region, Russia, including medals awarded for Soviet bravery during the East Prussian campaign
History boards on and inside the emplacement detail its method of construction, describe its operational system and place its fortification principle in the wider military context of the WWII East Prussian campaign.
Mick Hart next to the history board in the WWI/WWII gun emplacement in Polessk, Kaliningrad region, Russia
So, when you visit Polessk Brewery stave off your irrepressible need to imbibe knowledge on beer production, and when brewing recommences your overpowering need to imbibe beer too, and take a few minutes or more to lap up the historic information and martial atmosphere redolent in and around this monumental defence post. It is an intriguing and poignant window upon German/Soviet military history.
History of Soviet military action in East Prussia and the former Labiau Brewery, now Polessk Brewery, which is undergoing restoration
Related Posts on WWII History of Königsberg (Kaliningrad)
Image attributions Königsberg in ruins as a result of Allied bombing. (Photo credit: Dylan Mohan Gray. (Public Domain)) German soldiers in trenches: (Photo credit: By Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-R98401 / CC-BY-SA 3.0, CC BY-SA 3.0 de, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5368820) Königsberg in ruins as a result of Allied bombing. (Photo credit: Dylan Mohan Gray. (Public Domain))
Published: 8 November 2021 ~ Restoring the Polessk Brewery in the Kaliningrad Region
The former East Prussian province of Kaliningrad, known today as Kaliningrad Oblast, is a territory rich in history. It is a cultural treasure trove of historically overlooked, essentially undiscovered and time-abandoned places and buildings. Even if its immense restoration and development potential is realised, it is as yet largely untapped, waiting patiently for the overdue arrival of the curatorial entrepreneurs who will restore, rebuild and conserve it for generations to come.
Above:Labiau coat of arms
Among the many instances of this long-awaited rehabilitation is the small town of Polessk, known in German times as Labiau. Located approximately 50 kilometres northeast of Kaliningrad on a long, recently resurfaced, tract of road, Polessk debuts as a tired, run-down and struggling municipality. There are sporadic instances of once regal buildings and the two small municipal parks form welcome green oases, but mirages in an urban desert waiting with weary buildings for the miracle to come merely serve to ask the question when?
It is not just for any old reason that Lenin, standing alone on his plinth, looks out across the deserted concrete plateau where homage once was paid to him, preferring these days to fix his eyes on the waterways beyond rather than look behind and be reminded of Boris the proletariat bodger, with his concrete blocks, two sheets of asbestos and bucket of cement.
And yet you instinctively know, or feel, from the moment you cross the railway line, which is the threshold of the town, to the point at which you meet the canal and river, that this is a town that deserves much more, that it could be so much better!
The Deyma River, an offshoot of the Pregolya, and the Polessk Canal, which links the Pregolya and Neman Rivers, form a natural boundary at one end of the town as the railway does the other. To the north lies the 625-square-mile Curonian Lagoon, a haven of biodiversity and a coastal habitat of unaffected beauty. In essence, Polessk is a gateway to a multi-faceted cultural region steeped in historic significance, blessed with natural beauty and profusely invested with ecological importance.
It is also home to Labiau Castle, described on the internet as an ‘historical landmark’, but which in its present-day condition looks more like a beggar waiting for the feast than deserving of the grandiloquent title which speaks of better days. Alas, both castle and Lenin’s statue occupy the same proximity, somewhere in the space between the power and the dream.
The few who belong to the exclusive Polessk club, those who have actually visited the town and who may have even stepped inside of what remains of Labiau castle, are less likely to be aware of the presence of another historic building that is tucked away obscurely behind the backstreets of Polessk.
This building, a former German brewery of mid-nineteenth century origin, is currently the recipient of an ambitious restoration project that is rescuing it from oblivion and progressing its renaissance to a working brewery and museum.
Restoring the Polessk Brewery in the Kaliningrad Region
Invited to attend an open day and tour of the brewery, I felt particularly privileged. The excursion embodied three of my major interests and by default principal weaknesses: social history, historic architecture and ~ yes, you’ve guessed it ~ beer!
At the risk of repeating myself, Polessk is by no means a large town. Nevertheless, its compact nature does not make it any easier to locate the brewery, which is hidden away behind a cluster of average Soviet flats on an expanse of ground at the end of a side street.
These flats, or to be more precise, their blandness, do the brewery no disservice. By screening it from view they ensure that the first encounter with the building is considerably more dramatic than it otherwise would be.
Admittedly, whilst zig zagging between the flats, the sight of a balcony strung with socks and pants is, to put it mildly, a disarming one, but take heart! ~ just when it seems that all is lost, the scene suddenly opens up to reveal a view that is guaranteed to set the pulse racing of anyone who is infatuated with social and economic history.
There stands before you a wonderful Red Brick neo-Gothic edifice, astonishing in its turreted and towered simulation, atmospherically magnetic, beloved in recognition of the beer it must have produced and will, with a little bit more than a gentle nudge and a shove, soon be producing again.
Star-struck, I recall the profound reaction and words of my Uncle Son, who was a builder, when he first clapped eyes on Norwich Castle: “How did they get that ‘stun’ up there!” he said. And with the same degree of wonder, as I stared transfixed at the brewery’s magnitude, made all the more awesome by the thankful absence of the Soviet predilection for pre-cast concrete, I whispered to myself, “How did they get those bricks up there?”
At this moment, I was reflecting on the buildings pseudo-Gothic tower ~ one of the most awesome chimneys that I have ever encountered. Not that I am a stranger to tall chimneys, having lived in English counties where the skyline was dominated by rows of them belonging to the brickworks. But the brewery’s chimney, being rectangular rather than cylindrical in form, and its solitary presence, gives its ground-to-skyline taper a singularly novel and striking effect.
The dynamic of the front of the building depends for its impact on the complexity in shape, size and angularity of the contrasting component parts: the tall tapering chimney, the rectangular tower with its curious knop, currently under scaffolding, and the lower sloped-roof structures. The accentuated Gothic arches within which the windows are set and, in some instances, embroidered with decorative brickwork, possess a dramatic personality of their own but seen together their inverse graduation makes this already tall building seem loftier still.
The window configurations, concomitant decorative detail and structural elements project an industrial power that is best appreciated from the prospect of the end elevation (shame about that Soviet blockhouse knocked up at ground level in con blocks and cement) and from close and awe-struck scrutiny of the far side of the building. From this perspective the viewer receives a first-class rendition of the intrinsic importance of arches in Brick Gothic formations, here creating a dynamic uniformity in which contrast plays its subtle part across the horizontal plane and within the vertical sections.
If you look carefully at the photographs of what is effectively the back of the building you will see that approximately 50 per cent of its interior is already a beneficiary of restorative work. New double-glazed windows have taken the place of the old and through them a glimpse of smart walls and retro lighting emerges.
Arched configuration of windows , Polessk Brewery
The original entrance to the brewery appears to have been through one of two doors that open, front and back, into the same traversing corridor, but the restoration has seen fit to provide a grander approach, using a two-tiered wrought iron staircase that leads to large glass doors cunningly inserted into one of the first-floor window arches.
Entrance to Polessk Brewery
First impressions count, and the two that spring to mind on the other side of the front door is overwhelmingly spacious and infinitely solid. Next comes the detail, which feeds into the first two.
The ceiling and upper storeys of this vast reception room rest on a series of three double H-beams that span the room’s width. They are raised on prodigious, iron, load-bearing columns fastened where they meet with bold connection plates bolted one into the other. These, and the visible undersides of the H-beams that travel the length of the ceiling are finished in a suitably industrial-looking matt red-oxide paint. Between the sunken ceiling beams the intervening space is arched, each arch resembling the convex half of a separated tube, so that taken as a whole the ceiling adopts an undulating character, each lengthwise arch the equidistance of the other.
In one corner of the room, suspended from the ceiling, hangs a large triangular-shaped grain funnel, studded with rivets and finished in the same red-brown paint as the beams. Diametrically opposite, on the other side of the room, a giant wood-burning furnace is at work, roaring fiercely away. It is more than capable of keeping the vast room, already operating as a tourist information centre and ear-marked for expansion in this role, at a pleasurable ambient temperature.
Connoisseurs of nineteenth-century Brick Gothic architecture will enjoy the contrast in the construction principles and materials used on the first and second floors.
The second floor, which is accessed via a short, curved, boxed-in staircase, trades its metal industrial credentials for a more medieval wood construction, substituting the iron vertical supports of the preceding floor for great rectangular posts with offshoot branches to the beams that cross above them. No wonder then that the burly brewer who occupies the second floor is a larger than life-sized wooden carving!
On this floor, as with the previous one, there are a series of history boards, all of which are designed and presented to professional museum standards. Not that my elementary grasp of the written Russian language enabled me to educate myself as much as I would have liked, but I did glean some information both from the boards and from the various relics and artefacts scattered around the rooms.
The second storey also contains a large circular grain tank that would have fed into the hopper on the other side of the ceiling. This great metal tub studded with rivets is as impressive as it is solid as it is tactile!
A part-completed staircase and a large hole in the floor above provides an excellent viewing platform and vista from and through which to gaze up into the rafters. The beam construction is truly magnificent here and in remarkably good condition considering the age of the wood and the long period for which the building was unused, untended and deteriorating. I believe I am right in saying that when completed this section of the building is where the brewery museum will be housed.
Restoring the Polessk Brewery in the Kaliningrad Region
Although an attic-man myself, basements and cellars do possess a certain Jene sais quoi.
From an architectural and atmospheric standpoint, the cellars of 19th century breweries are fascinating places. It is in these underground chambers that the rather tedious task of throwing grain across the cellar floor with wooden shovels and then spreading it about with rakes was undertaken in the pursuit of procuring germination prior to drying and milling. The cellars of the Polessk brewery may not have been the most salubrious environment in which to work for long periods when the plant was up and running, but architecturally their vaulted ceilings are superb examples of mid-19th century Gothic style, a specific feature of which was the use of iron columns as opposed to stone or brick supports.
To access the cellar it is necessary to descend the lower half of the curved stairs that runs from the first to second floor. It brings you out into the corridor that I referred to earlier, which runs the width of the building. The corridor marks the point where one half of the building’s interior restoration nears completion and the other is work in progress. The ‘in progress’ 50 per cent gives an accurate idea of how much work has been accomplished so far and how much devotion, planning, blood, sweat, tears and sheer hard graft is yet to be undertaken before the standard of finish in this half of the building will equal that displayed in the other. Not so much as a round of applause, please, as a medal, I think, is needed!
Above: More work to be done. Any volunteers?!
History of Polessk Brewery
Anyone whose Russian is better than mine which, like 50% of the Polessk brewery, is every day ‘work in progress’ for me, should encounter little difficulty in harvesting all the detailed information that they could wish for about the history of the brewery, from its inception to the present day, from the biographical story boards distributed around the building. But to give you a leg up, here is a succinct outline of that history:
Labiau brewery, which changed names several times during its productive years, was founded and built in 1840 by oneAlbert Blankenstein. The business was a family-run concern and, after his father’s death, was inherited by Albert junior (as the Americans would say), who embarked on a complete reconstruction programme and thereafter increased the range and productivity of the plant’s output.
Soon the brewery was producing about 5,000 litres of beer a day, mostly dark lager but also a light variety known as Labian March Beer, as well as a selection of non-alcoholic beverages.
Unlike many other breweries in the region, Labiau brewery’s fate was not sealed by the outcome of the Second World War. The Soviets decided to restore, modernise it and leave the day-to-day creation of beer in the hands of a German brewer.
By February 1946, beer was flowing from the brewery again under the direction of Lieutenant Colonel Nikolai Novovi, its first Soviet director. By all accounts the colonel was a hard task master, who had no qualms about disciplining his workforce, the majority of which were German. Not only did he dismiss three Germans for skiving off work, but he also sent them up before a disciplinary tribunal.
Germans not dismissed and sent to disciplinary tribunals continued to work at the brewery until October 1948, when they became casualties of the mass expulsion of Germans from the region.
The last Soviet brewer to work at the plant was one Mikhail Myasoedov, who had learnt his trade since 1946 in breweries based in the Caucasus. As competent as he no doubt was, his tenure of the brewery was short lived. The post, which he took up in 1954, was, two years later, surplus to requirement owing to a large brewery opening in Kaliningrad. In consequence, lager production ceased in Polessk in 1957, although for a short while afterwards the plant continued to produce fruit juice drinks, lemonades and wines made from berries.
The man who is making it work
The inspiration and driving force behind the renovation and preservation of Labiau brewery is Alexander Natalich. Never forgetting that first impressions count and that the eyes are the windows to the soul, Alexander Natalich comes across as a man with a genuine love of history and a passion for his restoration project, in fact, his family’s restoration projects.
To date, the Natalich family have successfully restored a school in Ilyichevka, close to Polessk, a former Polessk printing house, which now serves as Alexander’s office, and a kindergarten, which its original owners abandoned before it could be completed. And now there is the brewery.
With a track record of this calibre, it is hardly surprising that Alexander is often asked whether his next project will be Labiau Castle, to which he wryly, but no doubt accurately, replies that what he has taken on so far could keep him occupied for the rest of his life.
The future of Polessk and the region
It may seem that Alexander and his family have cast themselves unofficially in the role of Polessk’s (Labiau’s) cultural saviours. If so, Alex has a good teacher. It was his mother, Inessa Savelyevna Natalich, who restored the old German school in the village of Ilyichevo, district of Polessk, to heritage standard. And whilst no one could blame her son for thinking that he will have his work cut out restoring the brewery, further light is shed on his ‘enough work to last me the rest of my life’ remark in that the brewery is seen as the focal point of a more extensive project, which encompasses turning the brewery grounds into parkland, cutting back the wetland reeds that are choking the Deyma River and opening up a boat station, the intention being to run a sight-seeing shuttle service to and from Zalivino Lighthouse, which is a renovation success story in its own right!
Epilogue
Intentionally or not, Alexander Natalich, his family and band of volunteers, are putting Polessk and its corner of the East Prussian region back on the historical map. There is incredible potential for sensitive tourism in Polessk, where history meets nature. Inessa Savelyevna Natalich’s German school, Alexander’s restored printing works and kindergarten, Labiau Castle, Lenin on his plinth, Eagle Bridge, river boat rides, Zalivino Lighthouse and enough natural coastline and man-made waterways to explore, enjoy, photograph, sketch and paint than I have drunk beer in a lifetime (I’ll have to think about that one!) ~ oh, and don’t forget the brewery. I can’t wait for it to open!
A rural recreation centre on the site of an old East Prussian settlement
Published: 23 August 2021 ~ Angel Park Hotel Kaliningrad Region
Our journey took us across country that is conceivably the highest, or the most undulating, in the Kaliningrad region. At one point we thrust ourselves forward in our seats, as if the added motion would assist the locomotion of the 1960s’ Volga car in which we were travelling and help it to climb the hill.
We passed through many small East Prussian hamlets, stopped for a breather in the town of Chernyahovsk (formerly Insterburg) long enough to have our photographs taken in front of the statue of Barclay de Tolly, Commander of the 1st Army of the West, the largest army to face Napoleon.
A few kilometers outside of Chernyahovsk, the first car in our cavalcade made a sharp left turn and the others followed, including us.
We had left the road and were now driving along a hard surfaced but uneven track. From our rearguard position it was a grand sight to see, this line of classic Soviet vehicles weaving in and out and bobbing up and down in an effort to miss the potholes, the summer dust flying from their wheels.
The approach road to our destination was a long one, but every now and then, as if someone had pre-empted discouragement, signs had been posted on the roadside trees informing vehicle occupants of the number of meters left to travel before they reached where they wanted to go and where with patience they would eventually be. And all of a sudden that’s where we were.
Where?
Well, the sign to the right of the entrance told me that this was Angel Park Hotel. I knew that this was no ordinary hotel, that it was part of a complex, a rural retreat tucked away in the heart of the East Prussian countryside, but other than that I had not the foggiest.
The gate through which we had passed had taken us into a carpark but today it was fully occupied. Thus, the line of retro vehicles moved slowly onward with us playing follow the leader, the leader being Yury, the man who had literally pipped us to the post at the Königsberg car rally a few weeks ago. Yury knew the Angel Park Hotel, he had visited it on many occasions, so our presumption was that he knew where he was going.
We bumped along for a few more metres, overgrown landscape on one side and a thicket of trees on the other, before emerging into a large, grassed area, scattered with tents and dotted with gazebos. It appeared that we had arrived.
It is not a man-made entity, the land occupied by and encompassing Angel Park, but a work of art painted by nature.
Angel Park Hotel Kaliningrad Region
The concept around which the Angel Park Hotel has been created is both defined and obscured by the word ‘park’. It is not a park in the municipal sense, laid out in the fashion of benches on either side of straight paths set within vistas of trees and neither does it entirely conform to the country park formula popular in the UK, where disused ground, such as depleted gravel pits and the wasteland that surrounds them, is requisitioned, reclaimed, replanted and then conserved.
On the contrary, the land occupied by Angel Park would appear to hold true to its natural contours: a secluded, sequestered, slightly undulating ground that tapers gently off before falling away abruptly from pronounced banks at the edge of a serpentine river.
At the upper level the park and all that it contains is as good as hidden by a steep grass-covered gradient, one side hemmed in by knolls and bushes, the other by an open, sweeping groundswell of natural foliage. At its lowest level, the river Angrappa cuts a broad winding swathe, its steep banks on the opposite side enveloped by a dense and heady profusion of numerous species of trees, bushes and wild plants. Behind these banks, as far as the eye can see, the land rises steadily, creating a valley below and crowning it above with woodland, the tops of its tall trees reaching up and touching the ark of the sky. It is not a man-made entity, the land occupied by and encompassing Angel Park, but a work of art painted by nature.
We had entered the park at its furthermost point, pulling our cars onto and in line with the edge of the camping area. From this position we were offered much of the view that I have described and, in addition, were able to obtain a better understanding of the park’s facilities, at least in this quarter.
The gazebos, to which I alluded earlier, some hexagonal, some rectangular, some with wooden rooves, some pantiled, are positioned far enough apart to offer group visitors a measure of privacy and personal space. Each gazebo comes with its own custom-built barbecue and is fitted with electric hook-ups for kettles, radios, lighting etc.
In the centre of this arrangement stands a large, partially open-sided barn with enough seats and tables to accommodate a party, perhaps 50 people or more, with plenty of room left for dancing for those who are so inclined.
This building is festooned with all manner of swings and other suspensions, including a giant sized punchbag, certainly enough gizmos to keep children and those who are big kids at heart occupied.
The bank above the river on the park side falls on two levels, and I particularly liked the way that the owners of the park had used this natural feature to build small huts into the banks and build them in such a way that their rooves and smoking barbecue chimneys rise cosily out of the ground.
Angel Park Hotel Sand Embankment & Swimming
The gentle, rolling nature of the landscape backed by judicious tree and shrub planting makes Angel Park the sort of place that inspires an immediate need to explore and no sooner had we arrived than Olga and I decided that we would take a stroll along the river.
Our walk brought us to a section of the riverbank that has been skillfully turned into a beach. Sand replaces grass in a large area where the ground rises and falls quite spectacularly and in whose centre lies a pond, the cone-shaped sides of which make it look like a giant funnel.
The river at this point attracts swimmers, whilst those who would rather watch than participate can lie back literally on one of several chunky wooden recliners overlooking the watery scene below. Barbecue facilities and the odd table or two make for a harmonious arrangement, offering both swimmers and their spectators a thoroughly workable compromise.
Olga, who is a swimmer, was so taken with this place that she advocated that we put it to our party that we relocate here pronto, but that was before we had grasped that each gazebo is hired in advance and that our gazebo was bought and paid for, for the duration of our stay. I had no quarrel with that. A seat, some beer and an excellent view, what more could one conceivably ask for?!
When we returned to our compatriots it was not beer that was on the menu but homemade vodka, so I quaffed some of that instead and, after a bite to eat, and having explored the hinterlands, we set off on foot again to explore the parts of Angel Park hidden from view by the trees.
The careful planting of groups of pines and firs, shrubs and bushes and the wending of pathways through them has created a woven intricacy where every twist and turn reveals something new, something different, something unexpected.
The sign of a confused Englishman
Weatherstone (above): No need to ever consult your mobile phone again about the weather! Angel Park Hotel’s Weather stone can tell you all this and more. It even has a built-in security system to alert you should somebody try to run off with it!
We happened upon various gazebo-style structures and chalets before emerging into the carpark opposite the main gate. Here, to the right of us, nestled among the trees, we discovered the ‘weather stone’ and in front of us a large, semi-open barn able to accommodate about 30 people. I particularly liked the way thinly sliced logs had been used to act as screening within and around this building.
Next door to this is the park’s reception and admin office and above it the restaurant. The restaurant has a wooden balcony offering gazers a pleasing view over a block-paved forecourt, with an accommodation hall to the left and a smaller accommodation unit in the centre. The scene is one of instantaneous tranquility. Whomsoever chose the background music that streams magically across the square like a gentle current of water trickling over a bed of smooth pebbles, must be as tuned to the natural ambience as he who designed the buildings, whose emphasis on softening materials and bygone architectural features compliment the rural setting without upsetting its apple cart.
Angel Park Hotel Accommodation
Most of the buildings at Angel have been imaginatively created and most have an olde-worlde theme. The accommodation block is a case in point, with its half-timbered finish, wooden staircase and eave-sheltered landing deck. The restaurant, largely through its balcony, extending eaves and pan-tiled roof, is pleasingly conformational, each element lending to the other, as well as to those of the surrounding buildings, an air and impression of relaxed rusticity.
Angel Park Hotel office & restaurant
Restored building Angel Park
Accommodation at Angel Park
The point at which two rivers meet, Angrapa and Pissa, is a place where people go to make a wish. Sergey, the owner of the Angel Park Hotel, recalls that many of his guests have confirmed that the wishes that they have made there have come true. I don’t know what’s happening behind that sign, but I have an idea its just wishful thinking!
Some of the buildings are new and aged by sensitive artifice, others, like the admin and restaurant building and the building in the centre of the square, have been rescued, renovated, built around, preserved and extended. Some, like the small row of wooden shacks that form a little street, which runs from the edge of the square opposite the rabbit hutches, are economy-built but yet possess a provincial charm of their own, and still others, such as the block we stayed in, have what might be called an acquired antiquity thanks to the use of recycled materials and a touch of the past in the stepped gable ends.
The accommodation at Angel Park Hotel ranges from no-frills basic to surprisingly rather plush. If you are going economy you get a little more than a Japanese capsule, but not a great deal more. For example, some of our group had decided that pushing the boat out was not for them but found out later that the harbour in which they were staying was rather small to say the least. An economy room at Angel Park Hotel basically, very basically, consists of a double bed, with single bed above it and a toilet.
To see how the other half would be living, we also took a gander in one of the wooden shacks that I mentioned earlier, where we found a similar set-up, differing only in the sense that one room had been built around the size of a double mattress, the other contained a single bed and between them both was a toilet and wash basin. Clocked from the outside, I could almost get romantic about these little wooden cabins, but romantic is not enough if you don’t like snug.
The good news is, however, that the average cost at the Angel for somewhere to lay your head, if your tenting days are done, is a mere 1500 roubles (15 quid) or, if you’re tenting days are not yet over ~ and mine decidedly are ~ you can pitch a tent at Angel Park for 300 roubles (£3), plus 100 roubles (£1) for each occupant.
Capsules, huts, tents none of these applied to me, as our good friends at the retro club in recognition of my Englishness and on the understanding that I needed somewhere to swing my cravat, and possibly because I am bit long in the tooth ~ long in the what? ~ I said tooth (it’s an expression which means old codger) ~ and having spent a relatively rough life but now in need of a little senior comfort, had seen fit to book my wife and I into one of Angel’s more upmarket rooms.
Our accommodation comprised two rooms in open-plan format with a spacious bathroom. The rooms were well equipped, with a king size double bed, dining table and chairs, a reproduction antique double wardrobe, well-stocked fridge, wall-mounted television and enough space in the upward direction to swing a hundred cravats. Bright, spacious and airy, and better than some four-star hotels that I have frequented, these rooms are the Angel’s Ritz. Their sleek, modern and capacious bathroom also sports a jacuzzi! And what is the difference in price, you ask, between these luxury rooms and the bargain basements? Only 2000 roubles, I gleefully reply, which in pounds sterling equates to £20 (Angel Park Hotel has many different categories of accommodation. For a full appraisal link to their website at the end of this article.)
If this had been England I would be expected to go down on one knee and beg for forgiveness for being so privileged; had it been communist Russia, I would have had to confess to bourgeoise tastes. Instead, I settled in and settled down with my conscience, trying to ignore a Bob Hope echo — the ironical line from the spoof western Paleface, which was: “I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight”!
Angel Park Hotel Restaurant
Budget people or no-budget people, in the evening it was a fait accompli that we and some of our group would meet up in the restaurant.
A large room, capable, I suspect, of holding about 50 diners, Angel’s restaurant benefits from the visual appeal of the pitched roof, angularity of the dorma windows and the boxed supporting framework that holds it all together, all of which are attractive features. When we entered the restaurant, Frank Sinatra was singing, “ … my kinda town …”, and this was my kinda restaurant.
I do not usually go a bundle on pastel décor, but in this setting it helped to amplify the appreciated presence of the old stuff with which the room was blessed. At the top of the winding staircase, a case of deep shelves display a fine collection of vintage typewriters and heavy metal sewing machines by Mr Singer & Co. There is a series of different mincers (not the kind that you find in Brighton) assembled on one of the cross rails, the wall at the far end of the room is besotted with all kinds of clocks and on top of the shelving units, which contain all kinds of mementoes and antiquarian books, I even found a black and white photo of my old friend Stierlitz, the fictional lead from that classic and superb 1970’s Russian TV serial Seventeen Moments of Spring. As I said, ‘my kinda restaurant’. Another plus was that the beer was different and good …
The next morning, not feeling as good as the beer tasted the night before, I was up and out just in time for last call for breakfast. One of our crew had finished breakfast and had also finished a pint of beer. No, I couldn’t!
Angel Park Hotel History
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Timeline of the site on which Angel Park is located
The settlement of Pakalehnen was part of Kraupischkehmen of the Insterburg region (today Chernyahovsk) until 03.06.1938. According to the census in 1933, 85 inhabitants lived on its territory. The owner was August Guddat. He was born in Pakalehnen, cultivated the land and kept cattle. He died during the First World War. To date, August Guddat has more than 300 descendants living around the world.
In 1938, Pakalehnen was renamed Schweizersdorf , meaning ‘Swiss village’.
From 1945 the site became a farm with changing owners until 01.07.2012.
Today, it is a country park – Angel Park Hotel – and has been since 03.07.2013.
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The highlight of today, apart from feeling better as time went on, was when the owner of Angel Park, Sergey Martynov, came out into the courtyard to fill us in on the history of the site where he had brought his vision of Angel Park to life.
It was here that he told us the story of the water and the well (see inset panel) and the impromptu construction of the function room (see inset panel).
The well In the courtyard at the front of Angel’s restaurant and admin building, just to the left, stands a covered well. As part of the renovation and development of Angel Park, Sergey and his family re-opened the well, dredged it and re-dug it. Out of curiosity, Sergey took a sample of the water to be analysed and was amazed when a few weeks later the test results revealed that the water was some of the purest in the former East Prussian region. Later, a large solid silver Roman Catholic crucifix was found at the bottom of the well, causing some to postulate that this could account for the water’s quality. But whether this was because of faith in the age-old belief that silver is a natural water cleanser or faith in something infinitely more arcane, who can readily say?
Angel Park Hotel Function Room
Testifying that his love for history equals that of his love for nature, Sergey showed us the cellar they had unearthed whilst digging the footings for the new function room.
The short winding staircase that leads down into a single arched-roof chamber, all in dark red-brick, is honoured to have had its own above-surface entrance built especially for it, also in red brick, complete with proper door. But why is this subterranean room called ‘Whiskey Bar’?
Whiskey Bar My wife, Olga, emailed Sergey for clarification: Why is the cellar called ‘Whiskey Bar’?
Sergey replied: Good afternoon Olga. It just happened! People sometimes give their own names to places. For example, the Small Bath on the price list is called Small Bath, and we hung a wooden carved sign next to it saying ‘Russian Soft Bath’, but the guests called it Black Bath and the name that was given to it by the guests got stuck, and now we also call it Black Bath ;)))). By the same principle, the guests called the basement ‘Whiskey Bar’. At one point I joked, saying to the women that the cellar is for men only! ~ and this turned the women on so strongly that they became unstoppable in their desire to get in ;)))))). That’s how the playful name got stuck !
There is a project to make a small museum in the basement to display cognac samples produced in Chernyakhovsk (they produce about 25 types today!). If I’m not mistaken, our local Chernyakhovsk factory produces 13% of all the cognac produced in Russia!
The entrance to what Sergey believed was once the cellar of the settlement’s principal domicile has been simply but effectively incorporated into the function room by linking to it with a sloping roof, thus turning what would have been external space into an integral porch or even an outside smoking room.
The function room Angel Park Hotel’s function room is a gem: bright, airy, atmospheric and with the capacity to cater for 150-people. Its original Art Deco bar was rescued from a condemned hotel in Germany and shipped to the former East Prussian territory, where it now holds pride of place. Judging by the quality of this building you would naturally think that a lot of time and planning went into its placing, design and construction, but you would be wrong. Time was limited and of the essence. According to Sergey, the owner of Angel Park, the gestation period from conception to construction, including putting the finishing touches to the interior and the ground around it, was less than nine months. This was because someone who was interested in holding their wedding reception at Angel Park, whilst more than satisfied with the location, noted that the upstairs restaurant could only accommodate 50 guests, whereas they required a hall for 150 people. After a brief discussion and the fee for the party agreed, the potential client suggested that Sergey should build a function room for them. Sergey proposed that if they were willing to pay a deposit to meet the costs of the party (a percentage of the £150 hiring fee!) in advance, he would give it his best shot. And less than nine months later, his ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ style of entrepreneurship gave Angel Park a brand-new function room, which was christened by its first marriage in August as planned.
At the rear of the function room, a double set of doors opens up onto a secluded patio. On the other side of this, partially obscuring the view beyond, stands an ancient linden tree, whose outspread bough shaped like an arch could have been custom made for Angel Park and its weddings. Adorned with a white veil and lights, the novel shape of the linden tree’s bough adds a photogenic and romantic touch for newlyweds on their special day and passing beneath it the experience only gets better.
Mick Hart & Olga Hart beneath the linden tree
On the other side, a few steps away, from a viewing platform purpose built for the eminence there, the most magnificent view presents itself high above the winding river and out across a blissful landscape that must over many years have captured the hearts and minds of countless generations.
Sergey Leonidovich Martynov’, owner of Angel Park, with Mick & Olga Hart & members of the Kaliningrad Retro Car Club
Treasure, I thought; “gift!” said Sergey, and in the same breath touched upon the other-worldly, the positive energy with which this magical East Prussian landscape has been blessed.
Of the many special moments of this weekend, the two that will remain with me are when we were standing in the courtyard listening to Sergey recounting the history of the land before and after he bought it, and when we passed beneath the linden tree.
In the courtyard, references to the lost German village, to its people and to the profusion of relics belonging to that vanished world which are continually being unearthed and in such prodigious quantities that they could fill ‘two or three museums’, along with other time-portentous tales, wafted around our semi-circle of listeners like wisps of smoke from a fire still burning somewhere in the past. With the sun shining down upon us and the soft music rippling from the park’s external speakers, I was struck by a mystical tone that is far harder to describe than it will ever be for me to forget.
The second unerasable memory was when I passed beneath the linden tree to that glorious view on a glorious day: the river winding and snaking below, a sparkling ribbon of movement and light, and the banks on its opposite side rich with trees and foliage.
I remember Sergey saying that for newlyweds the act of passing beneath the linden arch into the grandeur beyond symbolised the new beginning in their lives.
Looking back at the linden tree, with its arched carved out by nature, I wondered about the nuanced meanings this ancient tree had possessed for the people of the past and the part it had played in their changing lives and fortunes. How fascinating it would be to play it all back slowly, peeling away at the layers of time over each successive moment.
There was a slight breeze, it carried across the river, brushed through the hair of the people sitting on the viewing platform and came to rest in the linden tree behind us. On it I heard the voice of Victor Ryabinin reminding me, “I told you that this region was a special place, it drew me into it as it has drawn countless people …”
It added me to its list a long time ago, and having met and spoken with Sergey Martynov I have no doubt that he has been inducted also.
Come to Angel and join the club.
Angel Park site 2014
Sergey Leonidovich Martynov’s Story of Angel Park
Angel Park
The Angel Park Hotel and its grounds, or, as his family call it, ‘The village for spoilt city dwellers!’, is the result of Sergey Martynov’s personal vision, which was to restore and recreate the old settlement, breathe new life into it and form a recreation centre for families in the east of the Kaliningrad region.
Angel Park site 2021
Sergey Martynov, Angel Park’s inspiration and owner, recounts: When we arrived in the region in 2012 there were few places of entertainment for children and families in rural areas. In fact, few exist today.
Our plans were and are to build a dozen more houses and cottages in the style of rural Prussia and restore the Walfrieden Mud Clinic on the site of the Angel, the medicinal properties of which were known far beyond the borders of Eastern Prussia until 1944.
Every year we build at least one building and make improvements to the site.
We bought the settlement in 2012 and began restoring it in 2013. The picture below shows the only surviving building, if you can call the five walls of the barn a building, which in the past was used by 120 native villagers.
Wherever possible, we try to preserve the old style and the old materials of the buildings we restore and recreate. For example, the roof of the building in the photograph below and its walls are built from old bricks and pantiles.
The cellar, pictured here, is preserved in its original condition.
The pictures below show the gradual evolution of Angel Park from when we bought the land and first arrived here to how it looks today.
Nature, assisted by the new owners of the old settlement, create a corner in paradise:
Essential details:
Angel Park Hotel 238158, Kaliningrad region Chernyakhovsky district 92nd km of Gusevskoye highway A229
