We never did keep that appointment we promised ourselves and go for a picnic this summer in Königsberg’s Max Aschmann Park, but prompted by the delightful autumnal weather, all sun and blue skies, we did walk to the park today and, because it covers a large area, managed at least to stroll through one section of it.
Autumn in Kaliningrad
Our route to the park would take us through some of the most quiet and atmospheric streets of the old city. These are cobbled streets lined with great trees on either side. In spring and summer these trees are a silent explosion of green leaves, and although they have begun to shed them profusely in anticipation of winter’s dawn, sufficient remain to act as a filter to the last rays of the summer sun, which scattering through them illuminate their various hues and shades like a giant back bulb behind an origami screen.
Olga Hart photographing autumn in Kaliningrad, October 2020
Below the sunburst, across the humpty dumpty road surface, the grass verges ~ neat or overgrown ~ and on the pavements, where there are some, the leaves lay strewn like so much wedding confetti ~ yellow, brown, auburn and gold. They would form carpets were it not for the hardworking road sweepers, who are out and about at the crack of dawn piling the leaves into heaps ready for the administrations of the follow-up leaf-sucking lorries.
The street we are walking along is, like many in this neighbourhood and in other parts of remnant Königsberg, a cavalcade of architectural opposites. We pass by the Konigsberg signature flats, a series of long but detached blocks, three or four storeys in height, each one re-equipped with its Soviet steel door and, in this particular instance, curiously clad in wood.
If you know Kaliningrad you are ready for contrasts, but ready does not mean less surprised. In two steps we go from the scene I have just described to another quite improbable, yet not quite so improbable in the light of the status quo.
A large bushy tree rolls back at the side of us and there, of course, they are ~ the new-builds. We were half-expecting them, but not at any moment. They are three or four in number, big brand-spankers; demure-brick faced in parts but striking in their adaptation of Neoclassical principles. They shine and they sparkle with pride in the sun; the sun polishes them and casts an autumnal eye along the neat, trimmed verge evenly planted with shrubs, the upright expensive fence and the ever-imposing gate. The sun seems to wink at me, but perhaps in my admiration I failed to notice the slightest breeze and the way it secretly shifted the branches across my line of vision.
Some of the houses along this street conform to the more conventional and some, which must be flats, are hefty great slabs, albeit with nice arched windows. And then, just when you have stopped thinking ‘phhheww they must have cost a bit’, you reach the end of the road, and there in the corner, at the junction, you immediately fall in love with what once would have been an almost-villa ~ a lovely, lovely property, with its original pan-tiled roof virtually conical in form and with one of those small arched windows typical in Königsberg peering out of its rooftop like the hooded eye of an octopus.
For a few moments I stand in the road looking from my present, as its past looks back at me.
Königsberg house on the corner, autumn 2020
We have no choice but to leave Königsberg at this junction, making our way along a busy thoroughfare where the concrete battery of flats left us in little doubt that we were back in Kaliningrad ~ they in the 1970s and we, by the sight of a facemask or two, again in 2020.
We instinctively knew that we were on the right track for Max Aschmann. We did have to stop and ask someone, but immediately afterwards landmarks from our previous excursion remembered themselves to us, and it was not long before we recognised the lemon church and one of the entrances to the park, the one we had used before.
On our previous visit, we only had time to venture as far as the first group of lakes, but today we wanted to broaden our horizons, so we pressed on. We had not gone far when Olga, always on my left side, relinked her arm through mine.
The broad swathed track curved and as it did another expanse of water opened up to us on our right, set against a verdant backdrop of trees, some still green, others in autumnal garb. The leaves were thick on the ground, but not all of them had fallen, and those that were still aloft painted autumn across the skyline in nature’s soft and mellow brush strokes. It was as if we were walking into the heart of a picture.
At the front of a lake stood a fir tree, anchored to the ground by three or four ropes. It was a Christmas tree, bracing itself for the world’s first coronavirus Christmas. Close by, there was a great pile of tree trunk sections. We wanted one of these for our garden. We had the samovar, the juniper twigs and each other, all we needed now was the log, so that we could sit on it and count the stars like Meeshka and Yorshik in Hedgehog in the Fog (Russian: Ёжик в тумане, Yozhik v tumane)
Christmas comes early to Max Aschmann Park ~ Kaliningrad, October 2020
We walked on. Whatever Max Aschmann Park had been, and it was really something in its day, for all intents and purposes, its modern incarnation is more Max Aschmann forest.
On the hard-surface paths, long and straight that criss-cross the woodland, lots of people were walking. They were people of all ages, babushkas and derdushkas, family groups and teenagers, but no matter who they were or how old they were, a peaceful unification prevailed. There was nothing fast, nothing loud, nothing out of place or obtrusive, certainly no coronavirus madness or any other menace to interfere with the calm repose. And yet here we were in the midst of dense woodland, itself in the midst of a bustling city. The experience was simple but memorable. There was something wonderfully alien about it, not only by what there was but thankfully by what there was not.
An Autumn Walk in Kaliningrad
It does not matter where I roam; wherever I am, something old, something from the past comes forward and makes itself known to me, and that something this afternoon was the remains of a building, here, in the centre of the park. I had read somewhere that in its day the Max Aschmann Park had been a haven for the German well-to-do and a holiday destination for those who by virtue of wealth and status qualified for its privileges, so the sight of this leftover dwelling did not entirely surprise me.
What remains is little more than a great slab of concrete, but closer inspection reveals metal reinforcing rods and the remnants of one or two steps that lead down into a small recess beneath the concrete floor, now silted up with earth and woodland debris but which would presumably once have been a cellar or, perhaps, a subterranean garage, as these are standard features of houses in this region.
Mick Hart sitting on and surrounded by history in Max Aschmann Park, Kaliningrad, October 2020
Before I sat down on the concrete remains to have my photograph taken, as thousands had done before me and would continue to do so afterwards, I discovered one of the house gate piers lying prostrate among the leaves. There would have been a time when it was doing something practical, but it was doing nothing practical now, having relinquished its incipient function for matters of mind and heart.
Next on the voyage of discovery was another lake, this one more expansive than those we had passed already. The ground tapering gently to the water’s edge made an approach quite possible, and three or four people were gathered there feeding a bevy of swans. There were also two or three trees, not many, but just enough to satisfy the idyl along this picturesque border.
Olga Hart at the side of the lake in Max Aschmann Park, October 2020
Waterside trees always possess an anachronistic architecture, and these were no exception. Complementing the natural contours of the lake, and with the trees and bushes in their variegated shades rolling and billowing around it and into the distance, they and the scene they belonged to put me in mind of a 19th century lithograph, which, if it was mine to own, I would hang on a wall, preferably in my personal bar, in Mick’s Place, where I could sit and savour the view whilst sipping a glass of beer.
A beautiful autumn-leaf hat in Max Aschmann Park, Kaliningrad
But time was ticking on, as it has the habit of doing, and it was time to be making tracks. For this purpose, we chose instead to return through the woodland itself, at least for a short distance before we re-joined the path.
Under the trees, the ground was a little bit squelchy, but this natural hazard of woodland walking was only objectionable as far as our boots were concerned, and it had certainly made no difference to a small group of woodland wanderers who had removed themselves into the fringe of the wood for a spot of al a carte lunch. I wondered, had they carried that old metal barbecue on stilts with them, or had it been donated by an unknown benefactor who had staked out that spot on a previous occasion?
Even deeper into the wood and perched on wooden roundels cut from sizeable trees were people enjoying a picnic. Now that’s an idea, I thought, we really must do that and do that one day soon: go for a picnic, here, in Max Aschmann Park.
Castle, Cheese and Church in the Kaliningrad Region
Published: 28 October 2020
{See Feature image attribution at the end of this article}
Schaaken Castleis located in Nekrasovo, Kaliningrad Oblast. The castle, which was built for the Teutonic Knights in c.1270, was built on the site of an ancient fort and consisted of an octagonal walled-enclosure with two outer baileys. In the first half of the 14th century the original building, which was of wood construction, was replaced with stone. It was atypical of most of the castles constructed by the Teutonic Knights in that its perimeter wall was curved, almost round in formation, a feature that remains to this day.
(Photo credit: Caspar Henneberger, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Schaaken_Henneberger.jpg)
(Photo credit: Mmdocent, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%D0%A8%D0%B0%D0%B0%D0%BA%D0%B5%D0%BD_2.JPG)
In 1270, the castle defended the coast of the Curonian Lagoon against attacks from a Baltic tribe known as the Skalvians, who, by 1277, had been defeated and subjugated by the Teutonic Knights. Towards the end of the 13th century, Schaaken Castle’s defensive role took on greater significance in protecting the border and coast from repeated raids by Lithuanian pagans. It became one of a number of castles strategically positioned to prevent the Lithuanians from storming through the Curonian Lagoon. Towards the end of the 14th century its military function was controlled from Königsberg. The castle was destroyed by fire in the early years of the 17th century and only partly rebuilt. One of its greatest claims to fame is that Peter the Great and Catherine stayed there on three separate occasions between 1711 and 1717.
During the 19th century it was remodelled in the Romanticist-Gothic style, and it was during this time as part of that refit that the distinctive corner towers, which can still be seen today, were added.
At the end of the Second World War, the castle, which in 1945 was a family farmhouse, came under Soviet state control. The land was requisitioned and used until the 1960s as a collective farm, the castle’s rooms hived off as domestic units. For a short period of time, the castle acted as a children’s home.
By the mid-1970s, the castle had begun to fall into ruins, but one family salvaged the rooms that were inhabitable and continued to live there.
In the early 21st century under a joint Russian-German venture some renovation took place, and the castle was opened as a small museum exhibiting medieval artefacts. In 2012 the museum was damaged by fire.
And on 10 October 2020, it was visited by an Englishman in Kaliningrad, Mick Hart (I don’t suppose they would welcome a wall plaque?).
An Englishman at Schaaken Castle, Russia
Today, Schaaken Castle sits red-brick, gaunt and broken on a small eminence on the curve of a sharp bend overlooking the village of Nekrasovo within the Kaliningrad region, Russia.
To be perfectly frank, the first glimpse of what was left of the castle was one of unalloyed pathos, and getting out of the car into the damp-cold air, on the poor little bit of waste-ground that served as a make-shift carpark, and the sight of the wooden hut, the pay gate, knocked up of old odds and ends of ill-fitting boards, and the dog next to it, rather less than a thoroughbred, hanging off a piece of rope at the front of a homemade dog kennel, perpetuated this first impression. It had not taken me long to work out that this establishment did not enjoy the privileges and patronage of either the state or a private consortium, in other words that it was not part of the National Trust or any other such august body, which is a crying shame as Schaaken Castle has a rich and noble history, both in its East Prussian and Russian context.
Today, there was a man at the castle gate. He came out of the rather sad little hut in his jeans and baseball cap and, after some money had exchanged hands, we were allowed inside.
We passed through the entrance into the enclosure. To the right and close by to us was what remained of the castle’s living quarters. The functional building is little more than a narrow strip of red brick, not battle scarred but weathered and distressed from years of neglect and, from what I have been told, actions amounting to cultural vandalism.
For the sake of our hosts, and Victor, I tried to look and sound interested, not an easy thing to do as I was busy wondering if, apart from the narrow remains and crumbling exterior, there was anything here to see.
Had I been on my own, however, what there was would have been enough. It only takes an old brick or two to get my nostalgic flails turning, but, amazingly enough, we were not alone. There were four or five small groups milling around in the courtyard and, I would soon discover, about 20 more visitors at subterranean level.
This was where we went first. I had perplexed myself enough wondering what the proper name was for the small Gothic ‘towers’ erected at either end of the castle building, high upon the roof level, and going down underground seemed like a good idea.
No sooner had I begun descending, down the steps under the low curved brick ceiling, than out came my wife’s, Olga’s, mobile phone, and I was instructed to pose for a photograph. Needless to say, this would be one of many photos, but I restrained my natural inclination to criticise her illicit love for the camera, reasoning that should I write a piece for my blog on our visit to the castle, photographs would be needed and besides, no matter how much I complained, if 10 years of Arsebook-incentivised photo-snapping had taught me anything it was that such remonstrations are just about as futile as asking a liberal to examine his conscience.
So, I posed for the photograph graciously, grimaced just a bit and eventually life resumed.
Mick Hart going underground at Schaaken Castle
Down below, we found ourselves in one of two vaulted chambers. Space was relatively limited and the floor uneven. This was no dungeon by any stretch of the imagination, but the curators of the castle had seen fit to imply that it had been by using what space there was to mount an exhibition of medieval torture. You cannot blame them. Castles and dungeons go together like beer and hangovers; the two are inseparable, and there is nothing like an excursion into the dark side of human nature to draw in the punters and make them feel normal.
There were two chambers in this vaulted basement. We were in the first and in the second, the group of about twenty people I mentioned earlier, who were gathered together listening to the commentary of their guide, who was a young, stocky, bearded fellow. On hearing us talking in English, the guide called out to me in English. He addressed me as if I were an English gentleman (which, of course, I am) and I replied in kind, causing some of his audience to chuckle. On the way out, I was able to get my own back by addressing him in Russian, at least enough to state that “Excuse me, I have to go now as I want to drink vodka.”
Although the diabolical apparatus exhibited in the underground vaults are knocked-up scaled-down examples accompanied by photographs and text, if this sort of thing appeals to you there is enough to see, and from what I could make out the guide was doing a very good job of engaging his congregation.
Later, this same guide, on finishing his tour and we finishing ours, presented me with two small gifts outside the castle gate; one being part of a red brick from the castle itself, with the name of the manufacturer impressed into the surface, and the other a long, crooked smithy-made nail.
Mick Hart with Schaaken Castle guide and historic iron nail
On reflection, I do feel more than a little guilty for accepting these gifts. There is not much left of Castle Schaaken, and it is evident to me that it needs giving to and doing to rather than taking from. “Conscience. What a thing. If you believe you got a conscience it’ll pester you to death,” Humphrey Bogart’s Fred C. Dobbs once said. And am I not very proud to have these artefacts displayed on the shelf in my attic? “Ahh, hypocrisy, who needs it?” ~ I said that.
Inside the walls, the living quarters, constituting three rooms and an entrance hall, are enclosed and complete, but the taller structure to which they are appended is a narrow, crumbling shell, the wing extending to the rear in a state of open collapse. The surmounting crenellation of the main structure has survived, and the Gothic interest it stimulates is further assisted by the balancing presence of two turrets raised at either end to form the highest points of the building.
End towers to the extended section of Schaaken Castle. (Photo credit: Сергей С. Петров, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File)
Inside the three rooms, the curators have done their best to mock-up exhibits pertaining to the days when knights fought each other in armour and chain mail. There are a number of historical wall charts that map the history of the castle and of Königsberg, and a small diorama depicting a Soviet living room comprised of real artefacts and furnishings.
Outside, in the oval courtyard, other exhibits can be found demonstrating the skills of medieval artisans, and you can try your hand at archery. The centre of the courtyard contains what appears to be a combat ring, an area of ground set aside for re-enactors to demonstrate their skills of medieval martial arts. At one side, and close to the wall, a viewing stage complete with canopy has been erected, and in front of this, on a lower platform, a chair has been affixed where, no doubt, during tournaments the adjudicator presides and who, at the close of the contests, hands prizes out to the victors.
In one corner of the compound, stands a large, brick building, which has undergone extensive renovation. It contains the castle’s cafeteria, but, as enticing as it was on a chilly day like today, we reluctantly avoided it in keeping with the official guidelines to limit association in the wake of coronavirus. My wife, who lives by her Facebook images, made sure that a couple of photographs were taken of us standing next to the window shutter, on which the skin of a wild pig had been nailed (not a good advert for a vegetarian! ~ not too good for the pig either).
Mick & Olga Hart at Schaaken Castle, Kaliningrad region, October 2020
There are more buildings that run along the end of the defensive wall, but these are hollowed out ruins. Beneath them, however, lies another chamber containing the castles well, and this is well worth a visit (ah hem).
To speak honestly and plainly, it does not take you long to see what there is and what there isn’t left of Schaaken castle. And yet, if you are a Time junky like me, this is irrelevant, as it is enough to visit and to rub shoulders with so much history. Having said that, however, even on an inclement day like today there were 30 or so visitors in the short time that we were there. Imagine how many more there would be if funds were allocated, first for a comprehensive programme of renovation and then for the installation of a fully fledged East Prussian museum!
Cheese-making centre
The second leg of our trip today involved using our legs to walk the short and pleasant distance from the castle to the local cheese-making centre. The friendly guide, who had presented me with gifts earlier, advised us to follow the castle wall into the meadow and cut across it to the cheese-making plant from there.
This route allowed us to take in just how massy the granite-boulder perimeter wall was, how high and thick and curved. It also allowed our friend Sergei to introduce me to some concrete silos in which at one time hay would have been stored for farm animals. I had always wondered what these concrete cylinders were and was slightly disappointed to find that they were not some kind of rocket launcher.
From these disappointments, it is only a short walk from the castle to the cheese-making plant, which is housed in a long, large, old brick building. From the looks of it, I conjectured that in a previous life it had most likely been a cattle barn. Inside, the presence of iron rings in the original wooden uprights and walls seemed to lend my supposition credence. The supports and cross timbers were a mixture, some extant to the original structure others added in sympathetic style, replacing, no doubt, earlier ones that had gone too far down the road to decay to bring them back to life.
In here they make and sell lots of delicious cheeses!
In the centre of this capacious barn stands a rectangular counter where one can purchase all manner of cheeses, whilst on the left a central display unit and shelving extending around the L-shaped perimeter overflows with what they used to call up North in England ‘suckers’, but which we more civilised on our way down South colloquially referred to as sweets.
At the opposite end of the room, and to the right of the entrance, the brick wall ends at waist height, the remainder finished in glass, allowing visitors to look inside at the cheese-making process at work.
During my appreciation of the finer elements of the building and its history, my wife, Olga, had been procuring an adventurous selection of sweets and cheeses, which she passed to me for carriage as we emerged from the front door. On the shop forecourt stood a large decorative … “What do you call it in English?”
“Millstone,” I replied. “I’ve got one of my own; it’s called a wife!”
Our Russian friends enjoyed this sleight, as they had my previous remark, when, concerned that I might find the castle wanting in things to see, they asked me, “Is it [the castle] interesting enough?” To which I replied, “It’s fine. I love anything old … that’s why I love my wife!”
Fortunately, after 20 years together my wife makes allowances for me, and as long as I was carrying the chocolate and cheeses and doing an excellent job of alerting our party to the pavement presence of sheep droppings (Smartree Gavnor!!), which is where my knowledge of Russian language really excels, she was happy to let me babble inanely.
I shut up for a few moments whilst we were walking back through the village of Nekrasovo. It may only have one street, but now I had the opportunity to see at closer quarters, and therefore in more detail, the humble rusticity of the low-build German cottages and, of course, later domiciles that reared out and above the natural and cultivated vegetation, a little too obtrusively for scale and historical comfort.
The circuitous route we had taken also permitted us to see the castle from the opposite side of the enclosure, looking now at the perspective from the road to the T-shaped structure with its crumbling external walls and collapsed interior. It was obvious from this angle that to safeguard against further and irreparable dilapidation precise and extensive remedial work was urgently required.
Schaaken Church
From the castle, we drove the short distance to Schaaken Church, another ruined edifice of historical importance. Had it been built as a Gothic folly it would have been a wonderful evocation, but although its degenerated condition inspired reveries of a Romanticist nature, as the ruin it actually is, and as with all ruined churches, it was wreathed in a sense of loss that transcended the fault lines in bricks and mortar. What happens to all those prayers, all that hope for salvation once a church is abandoned and dies?
Through nature’s reclaiming influence ~ spindly trees, climbing plants and bushy overgrowth ~ the rectangular tower and outer walls, though partially screened from the road, are visible still. As with all ruins, the sight triggers an irresistible yearning to explore and, as with most ruins, when you get there you realise that so much human traffic has been there before you over the years ~ spot the early graffiti ~ and so much time has elapsed that it is an enduring mystery how the accumulative and many moments invested in the building are still able to exert such a powerful stimulus upon the imagination.
From a distance, this particular building looks less desecrated than it actually is. Close up comes the discovery that the roof is missing, the gaping holes in the walls are not all vestiges of former windows and much of the brickwork spalled on the outside are, on the inside, hollowed out in parts exposing the rubble core.
Adding greatly to the Romanticist ideal of the atmospheric ruin is the thick carpet of undergrowth that reigns supreme where once stone slabbed floors and pews would have been. The photograph that we had taken of us in the nave from inside the tower serves to illustrate the extent of the church and the extent to which nature is capable of re-asserting its claim over man-made structures, whatever they set themselves up to be.
Mick & Olga Hart inside Schaaken’s ruined church, October 2020
Mick Hart going up in the world at Schaaken Church, Russia, October 2020
It was just as well, then, that from the church we were taken to enjoy the view from an outcrop of land looking out over the bay. Our journey took us through an interesting and altogether uneven tract, which we would not have been able to traverse had we been travelling in anything else but a 4×4.
I cannot claim that we were off the beaten track, because the track was very beaten, but the joy was that it took us through one of those wild, densely vegetated areas that you stumble across now and then in this fascinating region, which bristles with all kinds of dwellings from different times of origin in all conceivable states of disrepair or stark modernity and whose spanned periods reflect the ethos of each epoch, with a heavy accent on Soviet make-do and esoteric improvisation.
I particularly liked the small series of boat houses, stamped with the individualism of their creators and imaginatively constructed from tin, asbestos, wood and concrete and/or made from the requisitioned back of trucks. These monuments to the Mother of Invention in association with build from what you’ve borrowed, which once would have looked so bold and brash, had, courtesy of the softening effect of time, settled in very nicely, achieving a singularly peculiar and yet quaint harmony in the leafy back-stream settings in which they had come to rest.
When we reached the end of our road (as we all must), the water-front opened out from the narrow stream against which the proud boat houses sat into a wide stretch of water, beyond which a distant Curonian Spit could be seen.
A slight breeze lifted a chill from the surface of the water, a coincidence of no deterrent to the two or three fisherman congregated at the waters’ edge, who, nevertheless, were complaining bitterly about the size of their catch, nor did it seem to worry the boating fraternity, several of whom were coming to shore in a small flotilla of motorised dinghies.
Inland, close to where we were at, a monument had been erected, typically demarcated by a heavy metal chain in black, testifying to the fact that back in the 1940s’ Russian lives had been lost along this stretch of water in running battles with the incumbent Third Reich. During WWII, Kaliningrad (formerly Königsberg) and its region was the scene of many a fierce battle and is therefore of special interest for anyone having a keen regard for military history.
All this history today had made, and was making, me thirsty. Anticipating that this would be the case, I had taken the wise precaution of bringing along a couple of bottles of Lidskae, whose contents I was destined to enjoy later this afternoon when we returned with our friends to their home.
An Englishman at Schaaken Castle, Russia
Schaaken Castle reminds me of a larger and ‘more grand on scale’ replica of a friend’s flat ~ it is being tarted up but needs a lot more doing to it. Having said that, I enjoyed my visit to the castle today. It really is hats off to those people, such as our guide, who put in so much time and effort in maintaining, running and raising funds in order to bring such unique heritage treasures as Schaaken Castle to the notice and appreciation of the public at large. It has not escaped me that with the right sort of planning and investment this modest attraction could be transformed into something monumental, something of a feather in the cap of the region’s cultural history. It already has the makings of a success story; all that it needs now is Vision, Support and Commitment ~ and there is your happy ending.
Updated: 12 March 2022 | Published: 23 October 2020
Warning! In response to Russia’s special operation aimed at ‘demilitarising and de-Nazifying Ukraine’, the UK media has embarked upon and is actively pursuing an intensive propaganda programme which is resulting in widespread anti-Russian sentiment and Russophobia. Aimed at cancelling Russian culture and demonising Russian citizens at every level, incidents of verbal abuse and physical aggression towards Russian nationals have been reported in various western countries, including the UK. This comes against the backdrop of reports suggesting that Facebook is greenlighting hate speech against Russians on its social media platform. You are advised to travel to the UK only for essential reasons and whilst there to exercise caution.
UNLESS you are a Russian oligarch, and reading this humble blog you most likely are not, moving to the UK is not a decision that should be taken lightly*. As with emigrating anywhere, there is a number of important considerations to chew over, especially with regard to where you would want to live, where you can afford to live, and where you can afford to live and most definitely would not want to live unless you are very adventurous or there is something wrong with your head.
In this article, we will focus purely on where you most likely want to live and the cost of living there.
Russians Moving to London: Costs / Jump to Section
Most Russians, when moving to the UK, understandably head for London for three reasons: it is where the money is, the action is and it is probably the only place in the UK that you know very much about.
Let us assume then that the majority of you who are heading to the UK optionally will invariably have your sites fixed on London, unless, of course, you are being sent to the UK on a company relocation scheme, in which case the choice may not be yours.
For the sake of argument, this article will suppose the former, that you are moving on your own volition, are in it for the money and that as you know little or nothing about the UK, London is your destination: you know that the Queen lives there, that the buses are red, the cabs black and that there is an awful lot of nightlife in the West End.
What you are probably not aware of is that London, albeit the capital city of the UK, the seat of government and centre of finance, is, in terms of attitudes, political prejudices, behaviour and mindset, the least representative place of the UK as a whole. In fact, London, economically, socio-politically and demographically, is so removed and distant from the rest of the UK that if it took off tomorrow and landed somewhere on Mars, not a lot of people would be surprised and some might not even miss it.
As the celebrated English comedian John Cleese stated, London is no longer an English city. It is claimed that white ethnic Britain’s are now a minority ethnic group in London. The division is reinforced further when you consider the fact that most London boroughs voted to remain in the EU in contradiction of the socio-political bias of the rest of the country, which mostly ran in favour of Brexit.
All things considered, the best way to consider London in its relationship to England and the UK in general is as a state within a state.
It thus follows that your experience of UK life, of living in London, will be an entirely different one than if you were to reside, say, in Scunthorpe. Where? Precisely!
Thus, for the purpose of this article, I have intentionally dealt with London and England as two separate entities. Why? Because they are.
I have also narrowed the geographical scope to include only London and England, as I have never been to Ireland, visited Scotland once on a flying visit and know very little of Wales, except for its shape on the map. So, let’s stick to what we know.
Russians Moving to London: Costs (Photo credit: George Hodan / publicdomainpictures.net; https://www.freeimg.net/photo/1484282/bank-broken-break-pig)
Russians Moving to London: Costs ~ Money
In this post we will consider that all important criterion, ‘Money’, taking into account the cost of renting or buying a flat/house and the cost of living when living in the capital, and how much you will need to earn to live comfortably. I know that there are guides out there, viz ‘How to holiday/live in London on a budget’. Forget them. If you are visiting London and, more importantly, planning to live and work there, you will want to enjoy the experience, and for this you will need money. If you want England on a budget, forget London and try somewhere else, like Wellingborough instead.
By far the greatest drain on your financial resources on moving to London will be the cost of accommodation. Is it expensive? No. It is extortionate. Whether renting or buying, you can expect to rob yourself of at least one-third of your monthly wage just in providing yourself with a roof over your head.
Let’s look at renting first, and some of those jolly statistics.
Russians Moving to London: Costs ~ Renting property in London
The amount you are willing to spend, or can afford to spend on renting, will determine the nature of the accommodation you rent and its location. Obviously, the financial outlay for a bedsit (everything sandwiched into one room), a house share (who’s nicked my milk from the fridge?), a self-contained flat or a whole house to yourself will attract different tariffs, as will where you live, ie renting a self-contained flat in the City will cost significantly more than, say, one in Brixton (you hope!).
Before starting out, remember that in addition to one month’s rent in advance and a whacking great deposit, you are going to need references, usually at least a character reference, ie from someone senior in the company where you work and from your bank.
Invostepedia.com1, states that “Housing costs are normally one of, if not the, largest expense in any budget. This is particularly true in London.”
It goes on to exemplify that a two-bedroom flat in the centre of London will set you back, on average, $2500 per month. The article is obviously addressing the American market, but at the time of writing this translates into approximately £1940, give or take a few pence. The same article goes on to say that outside of the centre, the cost of accommodation falls, and uses the expression to as “low as $1,400 dollars per month” ~ which in my book is still a substantially high £1083 per month ~ remember, we are talking about a two-bedroom flat, not a family residence.
Metro.co.uk2 tells us that the cheapest average rent to be found is in the Upper Edmonton district, and says that in the second quarter of 2020 the average rent was £538 a month. Now, at first sight, this seems to fare well with rented accommodation in other parts of the UK, until you read on and find that for £538 a month you get a room in a shared house (please, turn that music down!!)
The same article cites the St Paul’s area (EC4) as being the most expensive to rent at £1,316 per month, followed by South Kensington/Knightsbridge at £1,110 per month. How’s that for a room in a shared house! What did you say, where is Wellingborough? Don’t ask, or I might just tell you!
So, what will it cost you to rent a two-bedroom flat in the cheapest part of London ~ let’s forget about Knightsbridge!
According to comparemymove.com3 you can rent yourself a two-bedroom flat in Bexley for £1,152 a month.
So what is Bexley like. According to finder.com4 “The borough with the second-highest crime rate increase is Bexley, with an average increase of 7% over the last six years. Despite the increase in the number of crimes, Bexley still has a low number of crimes compared to other boroughs.” [article updated Aug 18, 2020]
Make of that what you will, but, from a purely economic point of view, remember that high-crime rates areas are reflected in the price for home insurance.
Thus, the cost of the area in which you choose or, indeed, can afford to live should not only be measured in £££s. The website ilivehere.co.uk5 has this to say about Bexley: “There were a total of 319 street level crime incidents in Bexley in August 2020. The largest category was Anti-Social Behaviour, followed by Violent Crime.”
So much for renting a flat in London. What about buying a home?
Russians Moving to London: Costs ~ Buying a property in London
The most desirable, and therefore the most expensive, boroughs in London are continually cited as Kensington and Chelsea, Westminster and Camden. Kensington and Chelsea appear to be in the lead as a place where most people cannot afford to live, with the price of an average home now in excess of £1.5 million6.
Conversely, the cheapest borough in London is said to be Woolwich, with the average price of a house around £322, 0007. (Presumably a three-bedroom house?)7.
What’s Woolwich like? I could tell you, as I lived nearby when I first moved to London, but that was quite some time ago ~ perhaps it has improved?
If you are looking to buy a house in London on a mortgage basis, which you would only be able to do after a rigorous assessment of your means to support that mortgage, including your credit rating, how much cash will you have to put down?
The lowest down-payment that you can expect to make is 5% of the mortgage loan, but 15% is considered to be a more reasonable figure. The simplest way of approaching the issue is to bear in mind that the larger the deposit you are able to afford the more certain you can be of obtaining a mortgage and the more favourable the interest rates will be8.
There are various ‘schemes’ to assist you in purchasing a home in London, such as the appropriately named London Help to Buy scheme, Shared Ownership, Rent to Buy, First Dibs for Londoners and the Starter Homes Initiative. But in the end, it all comes down to £££££££. This article by which.co.uk9 should either help you or help to put you off. In here, you will also learn about the option and pitfalls of buying a property not too far from London and commuting into the city each day. The upside is that you will get more property for your money and the mortgage is likely to be significantly less; and the downside? Any advantages that you are likely to accrue from a lower property purchase price, and therefore a lower mortgage, will, given the inflated cost of rail travel, be lost on your monthly travel fare. Drive into London? Only if you are a stress junky, like sitting in traffic and have no qualms about paying for those out-of-this-world parking fees, oh, and don’t forget the congestion charges!
For the time being, however, let us hypothesise that you have found a place to call home, have stumped up the down-payment and acquired a mortgage. The next thing on the money hit list is council tax.
Russians Moving to London: Costs ~ London council tax
Council tax is a tax levied on domestic property, in other words a tax on your home (and any other domestic properties that you may own). It is demanded by and paid to your local council, the administrative body for the area where your property is located. It is said that the revenue collected, which is paid to the council in monthly instalments, usually spread over a 10-month period for each year, is used to finance local services, such as schools, rubbish collection, road maintenance, street lighting and so on. That is all well and good, but rent and mortgage payments aside, or included, council tax takes a not inconsiderable chunk out of your monthly pay packet.
In London, every property is allocated a council tax band according to the property’s capital value. There are 8 bands in all, identified alphabetically from A to H, with ‘A’ being the lowest rated band and ‘H’ the highest.
In Barking and Dagenham, for example, if your property is valued as falling within the ‘A’ band, you can expect to pay £1,077.91 a year, and if it should fall in the ‘H’ band, a whopping great £3,233.74 a year10,11 .
By comparison, in the borough of Kensington and Chelsea, if your property has been evaluated as a Band A property, you will be charged £824.55 a year and for Band H, 2,473.76 per year12.
But, wait a moment, isn’t Kensington & Chelsea supposed to be one of the most expensive boroughs in London in which to buy and rent a property? Yes. You’ve tumbled it ~ council tax just does not make sense. To understand it properly, you need to know all about ‘stealth taxes’13?
The irony is, of course, that if your property falls into Band H in Kensington and Chelsea, your £2,473.76 charge is not likely to worry you too much, as you would not be living there if you did not have the means to do so, whereas the £3,233.74 for a Band H property in Barking and Dagenham would no doubt be seen as an horrendous expense, wherever you live ~ never mind Barking and Dagenham!
Suspect you are being ripped off? Take heart, it’s the name of the boat we all are in.
If you think this ‘extra mortgage’ is bad, don’t ~ it gets worse. Next on the wage-packet mugging list comes your monthly or quarterly utility bills.
Russians Moving to London: Costs ~ Utility bills & living expenses
According to bystored.com, the average monthly cost for gas, electricity and water is about £160, so £1920 a year14. If you need Wi-Fi, then you should factor in an additional £20–£40 per month. In fact, utility bills are quite competitive in London compared to other areas in the UK ~ which is a blessing, because in some areas they are crippling.
And now we come to the nitty-gritty: everyday living expenses.
How much will I spend each month whilst living in London on everyday necessities, such as food and little luxuries, that is on going out for a drink or a meal? How long is a piece of string?
However long that piece of string is, you do not want to throttle yourself with it. Your monthly expenditure all depends, of course, on your habits and expectations. How much you eat, where you eat, how much booze you put away, do you like to go clubbing or are you a sit at home type ~ which you might have to be, if you have not got the ackers!
There are many websites out there that will give you a blow-by-blow account of how much specific things cost, from food prices to entertainment, two of which you will find in the reference section at the end of this article. And although London is one of the most extortionate cities in the world today, like anywhere else, you can budget yourself.
But, to give you a taster, so to speak, let us confront the most important things first. The average price of a pint of beer in a public house in London is around £4.60, but beware! ~ in some swanky eating and drinking places you can get really ripped off and pay as much as £22 a pint!
Russians Moving to London: Costs ~ Cost of travel around London
One of the greatest drains on your everyday resources is the dreaded cost of travel. Driving around London is a mugs game. You simply cannot get anywhere quickly and the difficulty of finding convenient parking is as ridiculous as the cost. Oh, and do not forget that nice Mr Sadiq Khan’s save-the-planet congestion charges!
It is generally agreed that the cheapest way to zip around London is to purchase an Oyster card. This will allow you to keep costs down at the same time as giving you travel access to all parts of London, whether you are travelling on the Underground, using the Docklands Light Railway (DLR), by overground rail, some river boats and on London’s buses.
To give you some idea of what you will have to fork out for an Oyster card covering Zones 1–6 in London that can be used at any time, it will cost you £12.80 per day15.
How much do I need to earn to live in London?
So, in conclusion, the all-important question is, how much do you need to earn before tax to live comfortably in London? If you trawl the internet on the basis of this question you will find the accumulative answer to be about £50,000 a year before tax. Of course, the definition of ‘living comfortably’ is a subjective one, and at the end of the day ~ at the end of everyday ~ it all depends upon what you call living and the lifestyle you aspire to.
Summary about cost of living inLondon, United Kingdom: Source of data highlighted below: https://www.numbeo.com/cost-of-living/in/London {acessed: 23/10/2020}
Four-person family monthly costs: 295,573.04руб (2,975.49£) without rent (using our estimator). A single person monthly costs: 83,347.81руб (839.05£) without rent. Cost of living index in London is 173.46% higher than in Kaliningrad. Rent in London is, on average, 899.30% higher than in Kaliningrad. Cost of living rank 41st out of 573 cities in the world. London has a cost of living index of 82.60.
*I should not have to say it, but I will. This series of articles is based upon the ever diminishing hope that some day soon our Covid-infected world will assume some sort of acceptable normalcy. Obviously, given the catastrophic Covid situation in London, and the UK in general, at the time of writing, any right-minded person would be better off avoiding it. For the time being, Robinson Crusoe and the lonely guy orbiting the Earth in a space station would seem to have it all! But, as they say, Hope dies last!
Stay tuned for my next post on moving to the UK, as distinct from moving to London.
Additionalreferences Comprehensive tabulated data on cost of living in London. No publishing date, but it appears to be current! [accessed: 23/10/2020] https://www.numbeo.com/cost-of-living/in/London
A new book on the vintage cars of Königsberg , titled The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, is a nostalgic & historical landmark
A historic moment was recorded today (17 October 2020) when our friend, Yury Grozmani, journalist, historian, vintage car enthusiast and organiser of the Kaliningrad international vintage car festival, The Golden Shadow of Königsberg, presented me with a signed copy of his recently completed book The Steel Ghost of Königsberg. The inscription on the inside front cover reads:
“To an excellent journalist Mick Hart from an equally excellent journalist Yury Grozmani. For a long memory in honor of the best years spent in the beautiful historical city of Kant and Schiller – the city of Königsberg – with respect from the author.”
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
Yury reminded us that it had been almost a year ago when we discussed the progress of this project over dinner at the Plushkin restaurant, sadly now closed. On that occasion he had brought with him a copy of the book’s proposed front cover, adding that there was still much work to do on the book itself. During that evening we discussed his previous book, The Iron Heart of Königsberg, which was published in 2015. The Steel Ghost of Königsberg is the sequel to this work.
Front cover design to The Steel Ghost of Königsberg
The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, which explores the relationship between the vintage cars of Königsberg and their owners, contextualised within the history of the East Prussian city, was no short time in the making. Yury confided in us that he has been researching, writing and compiling the book for an astounding 29 years!
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
The book is based on real events. It narrates the stories of people who, after the Siege of Königsberg in 1945, had the honour to own or use the cars that once belonged to the ‘great and good’ ~ kings, heads of state, ministers, bankers, actors and leading Königsberg townspeople.
The book comprises 18 chapters distilled from the memoirs of people from diverse backgrounds and all walks of life, including those who took part in the Battle of Königsberg, famous Soviet generals, doctors, actors, housewives, taxi drivers, traffic wardens, tram drivers and so on. The stories are different — some intricate, some formal, some sentimental, some dramatic and many very amusing.
With its imaginative page designs, detailed accounts and being lavishly illustrated throughout, this landmark publication demonstrates yet again Yuri Grozmani’s top-flight ability as a writer, journalist and editor, whilst the breadth and incisiveness of his research speaks volumes for his love of vintage vehicles, the history of their ownership and the unique city and region upon whose dramatic stage the vehicles’ life stories and the stories of those who travelled in and/or travelled through existence with them have been played out over the years.
To seal the historic occasion, Yuri completed the inscription on the inside front cover by penning in today’s date just before he handed my copy to me ~ 17 October 2020.
Published: 15 October 2020 ~ Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad is Top Quality
Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)
Article 8: Ostmark Strong
My previous review of bottled beer in Kaliningrad, sampled from the brands that can be purchased every day from most supermarkets, was written on 2 September 2020. I could claim that I have not written anything about beer since 2 September 2020 since that is the last time that I had a bottle, but that would be about as believable, not to say as ridiculous, as declaring that I voted to remain in the European Union.
Mick’s Place (aka, Mick’s Attic Bar) has been functioning as normal, but I have drunk elsewhere ~ on the outside seating areas of various bars and hotels and at friends’ houses ~ calculating that as the dark days of winter approach, with them cometh more grim coronavirus news and consequent restrictions, all of which will mean more Attic Bar and less drinking on location.
So, what have I been drinking at home, and have I enjoyed it?
Out of the beers that I have sampled so far, the Belarus beer Lidskae Aksamitnae is my beer of choice. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it wins hands down. Nevertheless, if you were to ask me, and I am sure you will, have I discovered another beer that in taste and quality equals Lidskae Aksamitnae then I would have to say yes ~ and that beer is Ostmark.
Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad
Now, as far as I can tell there are several popular variants of Ostmark. The one that is the subject of my reverence, however, is Ostmark Strong, the ABV (Alcohol by Volume) of which comes in at a not insignificant 7.1%.
I do not buy beers for their strength and, as a matter of fact, when I drink real ale in the UK I usually choose something that is within the range of 4–4.2%. I am happy with that. But Ostmark Strong appeals to me because, whilst it may be a strong-by-alcohol-content beer, it is also strong on taste.
The first test for any beer is the olfactory one. Ostmark Strong has a strong aroma. It hits you as soon as you take the top from the bottle. There is nothing limp-wristed about this brew. It is deep, dark and smokey. If it could wear tattoos, it would be the kind that real men wore, not the arty-farty slate-grey type that are everywhere today and to which even women resort to violate their bodies, as if forgetting that they and their tats will not stay young forever. Alas, for the fleeting fads of fashion and the relentless indifference of the march of time …
Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad
But enough of this idle banter! Into the glass with Ostmark, and what have you got?
You’ve got a dark-coloured beer that settles nicely into the bacal (glass) and whose head does not immediately die, but neither does it sit on top like a foaming ice cream sundae.
The first sip is yummy. It is so yummy that I have to take several more before I can ask myself, flavour? Its caramel and malts, plus a good toasty aftertaste, the type of aftertaste best described as moreish. And this is not an insuperable problem, because once you have finished one glass you can simply pour another.
Ostmark Strong has a good strong label ~ no wishy-washy rainbow colours here! Dark brown, deep red and silver tones complement each other. The design is simple, instantly recognisable and carries with it the hallmark of history.
Ostmark beer in Kaliningrad
Now, Ostmark made its debut in 1910 and was originally brewed in Königsberg, which was, of course, Kaliningrad’s predecessor, but be that as it may, and for all my love for Königsberg, as I had no knowledge of Ostmark’s pedigree when first I purchased and quaffed it, I refute any implication that my judgement may have been swayed by where it was born and when. But, since its history is no longer the mystery that it was when I started out, it would be remiss of me if I did not mention that Ostmark was first brewed at the Brauerei Ostmark Brewery and that after passing through various hands is now produced by the Heineken Group.
Rumour has it that throughout its change of ownership the brew retained its original recipe, and we who love beer and history have no contention with that. But as to where it is brewed today, I am not at liberty to say, because in October 2016 the trail runs cold. It was then that Heineken announced that come the following year its Kaliningrad brewery would close.
Some folk here in Kaliningrad who I have interviewed swear ~ usually at me ~ that Ostmark is still brewed here, and in the same brewery where it has always been brewed, that is here in the city of Kaliningrad, but some say otherwise, others don’t know and still others don’t seem to care, they just buy it and then they drink it.
As Ostmark is not a phantom, as phantoms as a rule do not come with hangovers, wherever Ostmark is secretly brewed I can recommend it, so much so that as I sit here reviewing it, I can honestly say that I would rather be sitting here drinking it.
A word of warning to the uncautious, however: The enticing taste and session-like character of this very fine quality beer belies its superior strength. “Everything in moderation, including moderation,” said Oscar Wilde. And who can doubt his wisdom? But how much of a good thing is too much? Until you try it, you will never know.
😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS Name of Beer: Ostmark Strong Brewer: Heineken Group Where it is brewed: Somewhere Bottle capacity: 1.35 litres Strength: 7.1% Price: It cost me about 136 rubles (£1.36) from our local shop Appearance: Darky Aroma: Divinely smoky Taste: Subtle blend of caramel & malts with an after allegiance Fizz amplitude: 4/10 Label/Marketing: Just so right Would you buy it again? As soon as the opportunity arises (update February 2022 ~ bought many times!) Marks out of 10: 8.5
Ostmark Beer in Kaliningrad
*Note that the beers that feature in this review series only include bottled beer types that are routinely sold through supermarket outlets and in no way reflect the variety of beer and/or quality available in Kaliningrad from speciality outlets and/or through bars and restaurants.
Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 209 [9 October 2020]
Published: 11 October 2020
Coronavirus chaos has strengthened its grip on the UK, the focus having now switched away from London to the north of the country. There are so many different ideas, protocols and strategies proposed for or operating in so many different regions and towns that the British public have been propelled into a second wave of terminal confusion. ‘Traffic lights’, three-tier systems, pub curfews, the Rule of Six, social distancing, lockdown ~ this lexical explosion, perpetrated by political pundits and lobbed like grenades into the public arena by hack journalists, has not, as linguists would have us believe, helped a beleaguered public to communicate better the altered shape of their lives and collective state of mind as much as it has routed common sense.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
The new speak is bandied around as something positive given to us by the New Normal in return for stealing our lives. It is a poor substitute, thrilling perhaps for linguists and for those who devote their lives to the pursuit of adding slang to dictionaries, but for the humble man on the street (now locked down in his home), it is just so much unnecessary verbiage.
As I sit here in Kaliningrad ~ sometimes Königsberg ~ I have, by slow and calculated degrees, weened myself off my daily habit of consulting UK Google News, because (a) it is depressing and (b) after five minutes of reading, I feel as if I am drowning in alphabetti spaghetti.
Alphabetti spaghetti
There are no such buzzwords in Kaliningrad as there are in the UK, not even, or very rarely, a mention of ‘second wave’, but the protection that this offers us from the contagion of new speak and from the ill-thought-through strategies, U-turns and excuses around which in the UK these catch-all words revolve, does not, as with the rest of the infected world, extend immunity to the real problem, coronavirus, or provide us with a way back to the life we have lost and for which we grieve.
I suppose that in the last analysis as long as you remember to step carefully through the media spaghetti, the semantics are irrelevant; they ‘don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world’; it is simply a case of whether or not you like your beans spiced or served as they come without relish.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
Today, for example (9 October 2020), without a lot of fuss, I learn from consulting Kaliningrad news that 67 new cases of coronavirus have been confirmed, bringing the total number of infected to 4,970 in this region. A total of 3,521 people have recovered, and the total number of deaths since the onset of the pandemic stands at 891.
Whilst this should come as no surprise to anybody, as governments around the world, the WHO, scientists and health practitioners have been telling us all along to regard summer as little more than a seasonal respite, because this virus, like most respiratory viruses, favours a romp in the autumn and winter months, some critics here have inferred that a contributory factor to the increased number of Covid-19 cases has been “a decrease in the vigilance of the population”2.
This mainly, but non-specifically, I assume refers to the controversial subject of mask-wearing in confined public spaces. It is quite astonishing that 12 months into the pandemic, the world’s health gurus, scientists, governments and the public are still at serious odds about how efficacious face masks are as a preventative measure against Covid-19, and that this one issue alone illustrates not only how polarised opinion has become on how best to protect oneself against the virus but also serves to remind us of how fallible our knowledge is and how vulnerable we are when the science community on which we rely are unable to reach consensus on something so fundamental.
In the UK, here and elsewhere in the Covid-19 world, the division and opposition between maskers and anti-maskers defines the ambiguities of the ‘New Normal’ as well as its extremes, and allegiance and loyalty to one or the other is breeding the kind of resentment and partisan hostility usually reserved for, as Leonard Cohen describes it, “the war between the black and white and … left and right”, not to mention the rancour between the leave and remain camps of Brexit. Indeed, the line drawn in the sand between pro- and anti-maskers is as deep as any encountered and has a universal reach.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
In Kaliningrad to mask or not to mask has led to altercations on public transport and recently, it was reported, that a fight broke out on a bus between a pro-masker and an anti-masker3. There is no doubt that throughout the infected world feelings are running high, but is this the result of fear or bigotry, frustration, ignorance or ambiguity, or a little bit of everything and a little more besides? Whatever is stoking it, as with all last stands on the moral high ground, since both opposing parties are convinced that the cause which they espouse has right upon its side, unless someone steps up to the plate and passes final judgement on the mask vs no mask case, the heat can only go up and the situation can only deteriorate.
As with all arguments of this nature ~ inconclusive ones ~ there is no flexibility, no ground to give. The pro-maskers believe unquestionably that face masks can prevent or at least protect against the spread of the disease, whilst the anti-maskers argue that not only are masks ineffective but that wearing them incorrectly can actually increase one’s chances of catching coronavirus, particularly if masks are carried, handled and worn in ways that contradict and confound the science by which their usefulness, and by default their limitations, are defined.
Consider the following, which was emailed to the comments section of the article cited above3 [Note that this has been reproduced verbatim using an automated translation service]:
‘Who among those who like to wear masks observes these rules? How to Wear a Medical Mask: Important Recommendations A disposable medical mask is only used once. The mask is placed on the face so that it covers the nose, mouth and chin. If the mask has strings, they must be tied tightly. If a plastic fastener is sewn into the mask in the area of the nose, it is tightly fitted with your fingers to the bridge of the nose. Many masks have special folds. They are unfolded to give the garment a more functional shape for a snug fit to the face. While wearing the mask, it is not recommended to touch its protective field with your hands. After touching the mask, hands are washed with soap and then treated with a special antiseptic. It is better not to take breaks in the process of wearing the mask: after removing the product from the face, a person, as a rule, touches it with his hands, shifts to the chin and neck, or even puts it in his pocket, and this is strictly prohibited. Dispose of the wet mask immediately and put on another, dry and clean. On average, the medical mask is changed every 2 hours. Removing the used mask, you must not touch the protective layer of the product, where pathogens have already accumulated. The mask is gently pulled off the face by grasping the ear loops or strings. Knowing how to properly wear a medical face mask is very important. Otherwise, the protective effect of the product will be minimized, and the risk of “catching” the virus, on the contrary, increases significantly.’
In the early days of coronavirus a friend of ours, who, incidentally, is a confirmed anti-masker who wears a mask begrudgingly, reminded someone on public transport that they were not wearing a mask. She was promptly informed by the non-mask wearer that there was no need for her to wear a mask because she was not infected. Our friend replied, that she was not thinking of her infecting others but being infected herself. When the bus conductress came along, who also was not wearing a mask, our friend asked if she challenged passengers who were not wearing masks and asked them to put them on. She replied: “Of course not!”
Two week ago I travelled by tram across the city, whereupon I observed some people wearing masks and some not. My maths have always left a lot to be desired, but in my humble opinion I would estimate that the split was equal at 50:50. In the article quoted above3, interviews with public transport staff conclude that since the onset of coronavirus and the early days of the mask-wearing rule the uptake has improved and is improving, even if the grumbling has not.
Coronavirus language & the mask argument
And what about me? For my own part, I am a reformed anti-masker/reluctant masker, but my gut feeling echoes the sentiments of the commentator whose words I quoted earlier in this post, namely that knowledge of and adherence to the art and science of mask wearing is, firstly, not well understood, and secondly, even if it was, is difficult if not impossible to transact under normal societal conditions. And under New Normal conditions? Well, I will try to answer that when somebody tells me in plain English or in simple Russian what the New Normal is.
In the meantime, no more spaghetti for me, thanks, I have signed myself up for a detox diet.
How do you spell ‘NOT SURE’? Coronavirus Language & the Mask Argument (*Photo credit)
Note: The opinions expressed in this article are exactly that, opinions. The current rules, as I understand them, are that the wearing of masks is mandatory on public transport and in other enclosed public places, ie shops, chemists, etc …
Woodoo Barber Shop Kaliningrad. Cut along for a close shave with urban chic, 21st century style and razor-sharp professionalism
Published: 5 October 2020
It had been more than nine months since my last haircut. I remember it well. I was in Bedford, England, at the time, preparing to return to Russia for New Year. I chose D’Arcys out of the myriad hairdressers available, as I had used their services once before and because they are one of Bedford’s better barbers, established in 1998 no less.
Within three months of having returned to Kaliningrad, the coronavirus balloon went up and normal things, such as going to restaurants and bars, including going for a haircut, first took on a sinister character and quickly thereafter, as pandemic panic took root, became widely regarded as no-go areas.
Restaurants were forsaken, bars boycotted and hair was left to grow. Six months later, and looking like Robinson Crusoe on one of his least flattering days, my jenarr (wife) turned into a za nooder (moaner), complaining about how awful my hair looked and that it was high time that I should have a haircut. It had not helped any that in the meantime I had also grown a couple of Victorian sideburns, the legacy of watching one too many episodes of the old TV series The Onedin Line, but, whilst I agreed with the haircut bit, the daily tally of coronavirus cases argued robustly against trips to the barbers.
Summer came and summer went and hair continued to grow and then, on the 3 October, amidst world-media rumblings of a second wave and lockdowns, I bit the bullet, so to speak, and went off in search of hairdressers.
We left the house without really knowing where we were going, but after a short confab decided to head (pun intended) for a hairdressers that we had passed several times, and which we both liked the look of, situated on Nevsky Street.
Knowing that I would have to go barbering sooner or later, I had peeped through the open door on a couple of occasions when passing the shop and liked what I had seen.
Woodoo Barber Kaliningrad
The interior had a modern look (not something that I would normally go for in England, being a gent of a certain age), but there was something about the wooden-clad décor that resonated with me. Wood is good.
Approaching the building on this historic day ~ this would be my first haircut in Kaliningrad ~ we took out our coro masks and applied them accordingly, then Olga went into the building ahead of me to reconnoitre the tariff.
This precaution was endearingly old-fashioned of her, and she soon learnt that the tariffs for the various hairdressing services, although not quite set in stone, were clearly itemised in a book that had been handed to her by a young chap, who I assumed was one of the staff but who, it transpired, was the owner.
I already had my jacket off ready to jump into one of the vacant chairs. There were four or five of these, all clientless, so I could not understand what it was that Olga and the owner were taking so long to debate. I soon learnt, however, that although clippers were not whirring and scissors not chattering, they soon would be, as all the chairs had been booked.
This is something that I am not used to encountering in the UK, at least not in the barbers I use. The normal procedure is to look through the window and if the chairs are full and three or four people waiting, go elsewhere. Conversely, an empty room is a green light.
Nevertheless, just when I thought we would have to book or walk, I worked out (my, how my Russian language is improving!) that the young owner was offering me a lift to another establishment that he owns. This was a new one on me: being chauffeur driven by the hairdresser to a second venue.
Woodoo Barber Kaliningrad
The second establishment met with my approval immediately. It was situated in an old Khrushchev building, typically accessible via a set of metal steps.
You cannot beat an old building; neither, if you are or were once a Jim Beam bourbon drinker, could you fault the entrance hall, whose dark brick-clad walls are festooned with Jim Beam bottles as well as yankee number plates and retro metal signs. The steampunk pipe shelves on which the Jim Beam bottles sit and the whacky cream and red pop-art settee, with its erotic caryatid framework of leggy nude-women, were just two of an eclectic number of inventive design features which, together with a long ‘bar’ constructed from new ‘old’ pallets and bottles of booze on a shelving unit behind it, confused me ~ happily, I might add: Was this a hairdressers or a trendy 21st century bar?
No doubt about it ~ Time for a Haircut!
We entered the building in regulation light-blue cotton masks and disinfected our hands with the appliance laid on for this purpose.
After a brief conversation with his staff, which probably went something like “This is the famous British spy, Mick Hart, he needs a haircut so that not even he will recognize who he isn’t”, the owner allocated a barber to me by the name of Andrey, and I was shown to a chair.
I had taken the precaution earlier of removing my mutton-chop sideboards, since I had the notion that they would look thrice-times more strange with short hair than they had when it was long, the other reason being that I had been led to believe that this would be the first time that I would have my haircut whilst wearing a face mask, and the mask sat more easily without the facial hair.
This latter precaution turned out to be unnecessary, however, for I removed the mask before the barber started to alter my appearance. I simply could not see how one’s hair could be cut with one of these things flapping around one’s face and ears.
First, however, as I sat in the chair wearing a monographed chair cloth, I was asked to choose my new hairstyle from a catalogue containing numerous thumbnail photographs of men with modern styles (although, of course, the crux of the modern lad’s hairstyle is a clever fusion of what has already been ~ selecting and mixing elements from the early 20th century, the 1940s’ and punk eras).
Spoilt for choice if not overwhelmed, it certainly had not been like this in my young days.
I recalled one specific trip to a hairdressers in Fletton, Peterborough. I had gone to the barbers with one of my brothers, David, who also needed his ‘barnet’ trimming. The barber’s shop was as basic as basic. Three kitchen chairs, a small table with a couple of newspapers on it and, of course, the barber’s chair. In those days, you could not distinguish barbers from doctors, dentists and scientists as they all wore white smocks. There was no catalogue of different styles; what choice there was, was written on a chalk board hanging on the wall. In this particular establishment you could have a trim, a skinhead, a short back and sides, or ‘an over the ears’, which leads me to the conclusion that some things really do change for the better!
Woodoo’s catalogue exploded with every kind of hairstyle imaginable, although I cannot recall seeing ‘an over the ears’ among them. But, as there was the very real risk that in choosing one of these hairstyles I would instantly look 30 years younger, I decided that it was not the way to go, and settled for a haircut similar to that of Andrey, the barber, himself ~ who is 40 or more years younger.
Phase 1 taken care of, choosing the look, the cutting and styling commenced.
The second welcome surprise was that I was asked to up-seat and move into a chair next to a sink unit. I was going to have a ‘wet cut’. I had not had this done since I lived and worked in London about 14 years ago. In ‘the sticks’, at least in the barbers I used, they did not offer this option in spite of the fact that it was the easiest and most effective way of cutting and styling my kind of hair, which is difficult (wife: “Just like the rest of you!”).
I hardly dare say it, but say it I must, this young barber had a soft touch and talented hands, quite different from the Boston Strangler-type jobs I had experienced at barbers in the past.
Back in the barber’s chair, I was amused to see Andrey fasten two or three clips to his sleeve, which, with my hair now wet, he proceeded to apply to my hair, scooping it this way and that until I ended up looking like my Chinese top knot had migrated above my forehead. Then the trimming commenced.
Time for a haircut: Kaliningrad, Russia, 2020
Now, please note, as I said earlier, that I have never frequented a modern, I mean a really modern barbers, so all this was new to me. I had graduated somewhat from the chair outside on the pavement with a guzunder on my head, but, generally speaking, over the last 14 years the barbers that I have used have been rather less than ‘cutting edge’.
About five minutes into the scissors work, I was offered a drink. I do not mean a glass of water, I mean a proper drink. There was a choice of alcoholic beverages; I opted for vodka. The drink was complementary, on the house, and was brought out in a good-sized glass with two slices of lemon on a saucer. Andrey gave me a couple of minutes to savour the vodka and chew the lemon. “Now we’re cooking!!” I thought. And “How civilized is this!”
Mick Hart drinking vodka at Woodoo
Andrey went back to work again, carefully adjusting the chair cloth so that it covered my legs as it should, and, five minutes later, when he brought the electric shaver into play, he allowed me another break for a second swig of vodka.
A smaller battery-operated shaver made its debut, then it was back to the scissors and 10 minutes into the cut an old-fashioned sharp blade razor was waved above my head. An interesting touch here was that after Andrey had used some sterilising solution on it, he whipped out a flame-thrower and gave the blade a fiery blast. It was enough to make Sweeney Todd jealous and me to reach for the vodka!
There was a little more scissor-work to do; he used a small clipper to trim around my Brezhnev-style eyebrows and remove any lingering reminders of my mutton chops and a few minutes later my transformation was complete. There had been one frightening moment when, in combing my fringe forward when it was still at its original length but after the sides of my head had been shaved, I looked into the mirror and thought I saw Adolf Hitler staring back at me, but we had gone past that stage, and it was now time to pay.
I downed the remains of my complementary vodka and took the glass back to the ‘bar’ (counter). “Thanks very much,” I said, and before you could say ‘the wife was giving me a reproving look’, the attractive woman behind the counter had offered to top up my glass. Well, how could I refuse!
The haircut cost me, in English money, £12, and I left the hairdressers well-pleased with the professionalism of the service, the end ~ or rather top ~ result, as well as feeling gratefully tipsy. A small gift of a bottle of shampoo was also a nice touch.
Complementary shampoo from Woodoo Barber, Kaliningrad
You have possibly already worked out that in my opinion this place gets the absolute thumbs up. It is highly recommended. Try it yourself and see!
Mick Hart at Woodoo Barbers, Kaliningrad, October 2020
Pubs and homes made illegal in four new coronavirus regions including Beatlesville
Health Secretry Mel Hotcock announced emergency lockdown changes for Beatlesville, Whoreington, Hilterpool and Mindlessborough as loss of common sense continues to surge
Health Secretry Mel Hotcock announced today that if you don’t live together, then you can’t mix together. From one minute past half-past three today, give or take thirty seconds, non-mixing, other than between consenting mixers in the same home, will be legally banned from mixing ~ which includes cakes and cement ~ in private homes, private gardens or indoor venues in the afore-named regions. Mixing in communal areas, on street corners, in air balloons, on the side of the Great North Road, or anywhere else where the police can’t catch you and fine you 200 quid, has been cited as a jolly good alternative to everyone moving in together and mixing willy-nilly.
Beatlesville and Whoreington already have laws in place to prevent people meeting in private homes, which has led to a lot of crowded doorsteps, and there is strict guidance about meeting in pubs and restaurants, although this has not affected the ‘lonely guy’ who sits on his own in the corner.
So, how does it work?
Do you really expect an answer?!
Offenders face £200 on-the-spot fines, which is bad news for exhibitionists who like to keep their curtains open. However, people who share a bubble car or have childcare needs are exempt, as are schools and workplaces, as it has been scientifically proven that coronavirus only targets non-home mixers and people in pubs and restaurants in groups of more than six.
However, mixing in parks or beer gardens, whilst breaking guidance but not the law, is acceptable, as long as there is only six of you. What to do with the seventh is not clear but will suit some who are having an affair and want to get rid of the wife or return to those good old days at school where bullying by exclusion is a veritable institution. No government advice has been forthcoming about getting into beer gardens if going to pubs is made illegal, but by parachute is not illegal providing you drop in no more than six at a time. Anymore will break guidance rules but not necessarily the law.
Not attending sports matches is recommended, and no more than six players are allowed on the field at any one time, providing that they are living together and observing the one-metre distancing rule. {The FA, RFU and England and Wales Cricket Board were all available for comment, but we simply dare not publish what they had to say. Here is a hint: the FA said FA, the RFU said FU and the England and Wales Cricket Board cried middle wicket and bails.}
Mixing in pubs & home illegal
Good news! You can visit care homes, but only in ‘exceptional circumstances’ (whatever they are?) but take care not to break ‘non-essential’ travel rules. If you must travel then it is possibly best not to, unless you are a celeb whose star is fading fast and is desperate for publicity, whether good or bad. Of course, travelling to work or school 60 to a bus, or packed like sardines in a rail carriage, is quite permissible.
Stop press (and mixing!): We understand that local authorities in the four areas effected will be given £7 million, but we have not been told why? Do they know something we don’t? And who is going on holiday?
A Labour MP for Mindlessborough made a completely silly statement about mixing being the ‘root cause’ of everything ~ and no one listened to him, and probably won’t vote for him again. And the mayor of Mindlessborough, smitten suddenly by what the Daily Shunter described as another mysterious symptom of coronavirus, told the government to go and do one.
The introduction of a new ‘traffic light’ system, whilst it may not have the slightest chance of ending the confusion, will, it is confidently believed, add substantially to the confusion that already exists, and, besides, it just sounds good.
The three tier system, which will be applied to towns and cities according to all sorts of things — ie tier 1 very tight restrictions; tier 2 not so tight restrictions; tier 3 restrictions about as tight as a pair of pants with no elastic — have come under fire from people who just don’t get it ~ or haven’t got it yet ~ with Liebour questioning whether people in tier 1 and 2 towns will simply flout non-essential travel bans, drive to tier 1 towns and move in with other people — a ‘highly likely’ scenario (thank you Mrs May) if the pubs are open late.
Mixing in pubs & home illegal
Concern that the new pub curfew is piling people onto public transport at the same time — where social distancing is impossible to adhere to, non-essential travel questionable (what’s the point of going home where you can only mix with people you don’t want to) and where you can be fined £200 for mixing in an indoor venue, ie a bus — has invoked the logic that if there was no curfew people could just enjoy themselves and catch coronavirus in the pub instead of on the buses, or could easily catch it later were the pubs to close at normal times.
Liberal activists have accused the government of discrimination, arguing that in deciding where and when the public can and cannot catch coronavirus is a clear violation of virus’ rights.
So far there has been no legislation to combat the allegation that coronavirus is selectively racist or that the virus places men more at risk of fatality than women. It is hoped, however, that if the first finding leads to riots, that riot mixes will be limited to crowds of six, preferably from the same household. The government has already taken the precaution of hiding all statues behind giant face masks. As for the man thing, any suggestion that the virus could be sexist has been effectively dealt with under the Positive Discrimination Act.
Whilst everyone should do their utmost to obey the letter of the law ~ known by most as the ‘C’ rate ~ the public are advised to beware of scams, such as where policemen disguised as policemen try to fine you 200 quid.
Remember, there is a subtle difference between breaking the guidelines and breaking the law (200 quids worth of subtlety), but one thing the government has not made clear (amongst the many other things) is whether breaking wind is exempt or not, but laughing about it certainly is, unless you are breaking wind with others in your own household group, where, after several months of lockdown, it has probably ceased to be funny.
In summary, what we think, but don’t know exactly, is now happening in the four areas:
What was previously lockdown is now more lockdown than previously
Previously you could be breaking guidance, but now you can break the law instead (£200 please)
Previously it was illegal to mix with people in private homes and gardens, now we are all related and have much larger extended families
You can go to the pub with everyone from the same household with whom you have been rowing and getting on each other’s nerves for months, but if you mix with others, such as the man or woman behind the bar, you risk a fine of £200
You can mix in parks or beer gardens if there is no more than six of you, but the government advises against it in case the man sweeping up leaves or the girl collecting the beer glasses gets too close, thus making it seven people (£200 please!)
Exemptions for people in bubble cars, saying that they are childcare supporters, or working from home in pubs or parks must not look like MPs or else they will have to resign
Non-essential travel, which does not include trips to the outside toilet where no more than six from the same household are allowed to congregate for fear of contracting a social stigma, is at ‘guidance’ stage, but just when you get used to it, it could suddenly change at half-past-four-and-a-half and become a criminal offence (£200 please)
If in doubt don’t be an amber gambler, consult the government’s traffic-light system!
Red ~ you must not go anywhere or do anything, but you must go to work
Amber ~ you can go somewhere, but we are not sure where, but if you go, go in sixes
Green ~ go now, and go quickly before the lights change to red!
