С большой грустью сообщаю, что наш дорогой друг Стас (Станислав Коновалов) скончался от послеоперационных осложнений во время лечения в больнице. Мы с женой Ольгой познакомились со Стасом в январе 2019 года. Нас познакомил с ним наш общий друг, художник Виктор Рябинин. Позже Стас рассказывал мне, что Виктор сказал ему: «В Калининград переезжает англичанин. Тебе следует с ним встретиться. Он интересный человек, и я думаю, вы найдете общий язык ». Я не совсем уверен, что заслуживаю быть названным «интересный», но мы нашли общий язык в нашей любви к истории в целом и в частности к истории Кенигсберга- Калининграда и его окрестностей. Важным элементом нашего общего языка было вдохновение, которое мы оба получили от нашего друга и наставника Виктора Рябинина. Вскоре после смерти Виктора Рябинина в июле 2019 года я сказал Стасу, что нашел две картины Виктора среди своих вещей в Англии. Он ответил с присущей ему скромностью, что, хотя у него нет картин Виктора Рябинина с его автографами, ему достаточно того, что у него есть «тайная гордость», заключающаяся в том, что он был «близок к этому великому человеку». «Я был его учеником много лет, – сказал он. Когда я рискнул предположить, что Виктор был его другом, Стас ответил, опять с присущей ему скромностью: «Виктор знал очень многих людей, но он, вероятно, не считал их всех своими друзьями. . Могу сказать, что я был его учеником, что я восхищался им и был счастлив в его обществе… »Затем он сделал паузу, прежде чем сказать:« Но я хотел бы думать, что он считал меня своим другом ». Стас был скромным человеком. Он скромно относился ко всем своим достижениям, даже тогда когда было совершенно очевидно, что у него было столько же, если не больше, прав их превозносить. В знак признания его достижений, я попросил Стаса написать краткий биографический отчет о его работе и жизни, в том числе о его отношениях с Виктором Рябининым, и поместил его очерк, вместе со ссылками на его практику экскурсовода на страницах своего постоянного блога под рубрикой “Виктор Рябинин Кенигсберг”. “Стас Калининград Кенигсберг Путеводитель”https://expatkaliningrad.com/personal-tour-guide-kaliningrad/ Стас очень много работал над своими проектами гида, оттачивая и совершенствуя их, снимая несколько видеороликов на YouTube и всегда спрашивая: «Что ты думаешь об этом аспекте?» “Все в порядке?” «Есть ли в сценарии видеоролика что-нибудь, что, по твоему мнению, требует пояснения?». Как и смерть Виктора Рябинина до него, смерть Стаса лишила Кенигсберг-Калининград еще одного его великого посла. Но нас его смерть лишила гораздо большего. Стас был человеком прямолинейным, открытым, искренним. Он был добрым человеком, всегда готовым помочь, он был сердцем хорошей компании. Вместе, мы делили общий язык прошлого, а я через него – общий, но очень важный язык – человеческий. В общем, Стас был самым ценным арсеналом – он был незаменимым другом, которого мы не могли себе позволить потерять.
It is with great sadness that I report that our dear friend Stas (Stanislav Konovalov) passed away recently from post-operative complications whilst undergoing hospital treatment.
My wife, Olga, and I met Stas in January 2019. We were introduced to him by a mutual friend, Victor Ryabinin the artist. Stas told me later that Victor had said to him, “There is an Englishman moving to Kaliningrad. You should meet him. He is an interesting man, and I think you will find a common language.”
I am not altogether certain that I deserve the appellation ‘interesting’, but we did find a common language in our love of history generally and specifically for Königsberg-Kaliningrad and the surrounding region.
An important element in that common language was the inspiration we both received from our friend and mentor Victor Ryabinin.
A short while after Victor Ryabinin’s death in July 2019, I told Stas that I had found two paintings by Victor among my possessions in England. He replied, with characteristic modesty, that whilst he did not have a signed painting by Victor Ryabinin the artist, it was enough that he had a “secret pride”, which was that he had been “close to this great man”. “I was his student for many years,” he said.
When I ventured to suggest that Victor had also been his friend, he replied, once again with characteristic modesty, “Victor knew a great many people and associated with a great many people, but he probably would not have considered them all to be his friends. I can say that I was his student, that I admired him and enjoyed his company …” He then paused, before saying, “But I would like to think that he thought of me as his friend.”
Stas was a modest man. He was modest about all of his achievements, when it was quite obvious that he had as much right, if not more, to blow his own trumpet with the ‘best’ of them.
Stas worked extremely hard on his tour guide projects, honing and perfecting them, making several YouTube videos and always asking, “What did you think of this aspect?” “Was that alright?” “Is there anything in my tour guide script that you think needs clarification?”.
Like Victor Ryabinin before him, Stas’ death has robbed Königsberg -Kaliningrad of yet another great ambassador.
It has robbed us of so much more.
Stas was a straight-talking, open, sincere individual. He was a kind man, always ready to help and good company.
Together, we shared the common language of the past, and I, through him, the common but all-important language of humanity.
In summation, Stas was that most precious of all commodities ~ he was the indispensable friend that we could ill afford to lose.
A sunny afternoon with Stas Konovalov, ‘Stas’, [right of picture] Kaliningrad Königsberg Guide
As sanguine and sagacious as you are, you would not, I am perfectly sure, have jumped to the conclusion that our esteemed Headmaster, Sir Keir Starmer, had completely dropped his marbles when he allowed the loony left, a motley ragbag of Labour MPs, cabbage-looking Greens and limp-wristed Liberal Democrats, to railroad him into disallowing UK airbases to be used for the deployment of US aircraft required for service in the Middle East. If Sir K knows nothing else, he sure does know his onions when it comes to choosing strategically between the preservation of the centuries-old US ‘special relationship’ and running the risk of riots, which, had he not capitulated, the anarchistic left and its unholy migrant confederates would have no doubt unleashed upon the streets of Britain..
Rampant riots on Britain’s streets, with their concomitant rape of the already endangered public purse, cost a third-world ransom and are, moreover, when televised for all the world to see, an embarrassing indictment of failed political leadership unless brought swiftly under control with the sort of robust measures that Britain never employs; the only exception being when those that protest are white, whereupon rest assured that every last man jack of them, as distinct from last man Ali, irrespective of sex or age, can expect their impudence to be met with the ‘full force of the law’. Another downside to be had from riots is that they are bad for happy endings as written at the ballot box; indeed, they incur the unfortunate consequence of lingering in the collective memory and then later, in wild abandon, leaping out in the voting booths as ‘Xs’ in rival MPs’ boxes.
Bearing this conjunctively in mind with the volatile state of Britain and the clear and present danger of nationwide civil unrest, even the most vehement of Starmer opponents would probably have to agree that in refusing ‘bad-ass’ Trump’s request for U.S. planes to land on British concrete was the better part of valour, as also was, it might be opined, his subsequent refusal to send one of His Majesty’s rowing boats to assist with the tricky political task of de-mining the Hormuz Straits.
Now, the less charitable among you, ie those who refuse to read The Guardian on the grounds that it might incriminate their reputation and common sense, might be inclined to paraphrase my diplomatic articulation in preference for words less minced and state with convincing clarity that the Starmer way on this occasion, and indeed on many others, had less to do with standing up to Trump than it had with appeasing the migrant masses of whom he is, to borrow freely from Northamptonshire’s vernacular, most possibly rather ‘frit’, although we should ameliorate by admitting not without reason. But then what can one expect if one continues to fill the country day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year and forever until it’s goodbye to us with hordes of people who just don’t fit and from countries wherein is found Britain’s most implacable enemies? I wonder how much room there is behind the settee at Number 10 and if nationally it is large enough to accommodate us all when Elon Musk’s prediction of something akin to a civil war kicks off across our imperilled nation from ‘Hoots mon’ to Cornish pasties.
Much is made in parliament and in the eager-beaver media about the looming threat from historic adversaries, Viking-like would-be aggressors romping in from abroad (you notice I mention no names). There is so much bandied hype about a conventional country-on-country attack upon our sceptred isle, which, although it is not impossible, remains, at least for the moment on the bright side of improbable – let us take as our chosen analogy that it is not entirely impossible that one day ousted Prince Harry might actually wake up and also grow up, but that there is nothing so far in his behaviour to suggest that this possibility will ever transcend improbability.
Nursery rhyme heard from an open window of the Primary School for Blatant Publicity…
Prince Harry went to Ukraine He isn’t a prince just an exported shame And after he came home again (Although he hasn’t got one.) Nothing was changed; all was the same The news of him of which we are sick Make him, for the many, look like a dick.
Perhaps he should change his name to Prince Richard Head.
Life in the UK – it’s all so peculiar
Like the many that preceded them since the end of World War II, this Labour government, which you went and elected – alack a day and fie! – has no plans, no strategy and no backbone, absolutely no political will and, one keenly suspects, no real executive power to halt the migrant invasion from France or to send the buggers already here back to whence they came. As Elon Musk’s, we must conclude, credible prediction, that civil war is on its way takes root in the nation’s consciousness, all that the present government does is continue, as the Tories did before them, to apply to the vicious gaping wound the ointment of capitulation and the accommodating sticking plaster whilst casually sticking two fingers up at the concerns and ultimate welfare of the indigenous population.
The normalisation of policies that contradict, confound and confuse the actions expected of government in pursuit, one would ardently hope, of an outcome that favours the country’s health in all its myriad forms – and these not by a long chalk from Starmer’s lacklustre lot alone but as a legacy laid down by a series of not-fit-for-purpose governments stretching back to the end of the Second World War – is red-carpeting the migrant march to the accommodation tune of a tidy eight million pounds a day, costing the British nation dearly, not only in misspent ackers but in the loss of the cultural sense of who we are, the bewilderment of what we are becoming and the fear of what will become of us. as personal and national security are compromised like never before.
Eight million pounds a day is an awful lot of money – an awful lot to spend on people whom we neither need nor want and could very well do without.Think of all the positive things that could be done with all that money. Think of the potholes in Britain’s roads that long to be repaired, of homeless Britons on British streets deserving a roof over their heads, of a most inadequate military, underfunded and demoralised; of new hospitals, new schools, funding for the NHS, real investment in real renewable energy (if you feel that you must think of this) and a thousand other etceteras, etceteras, along with so-ons and so-forth.
The British media is a spilt piss pot, an overflow of alarm stories bent on dunking us into the slops of the country’s parlous economy, rancid with predictions of an economic slowdown and a terminally stagnating GDP. And yet, with all this talk of the United Kidthem heading for the skids and becoming ever more potless, hardly a mention is made, you could say not surprisingly, of the exorbitant and unholy drain on the country’s faltering economy by the perpetual and perpetuated infinite migrant invasion. Bookmark how much it costs to house these delightful darlings: it’s £8,000,000 a day*! And this expenditure in a country where many of its inhabitants cannot afford, in the depths of winter, to switch the domestic heating on. Let me repeat that figure again for the liberal hard-of-hearing: £8,000,000 a day! (*These figures are taken from an assessment made in 2023, which equate to a total annual cost exceeding £3 billion.)
The rocketing cost of home energy bills Over the past five years, the annual surge in costs of domestic gas and electric bills has been successively and neatly blamed on a jamboree of circumstances ranging from coronavirus to Ukraine and now the war with Iran. I, personally, am glad about this because I have long distrusted my suspicions that the energy crisis is all to do with greed and that everything used to talk it up is nothing but excuses. The sticking point for me is that as each and every crisis that forms the basis for the hikes subsides or, as in the case of coronavirus, vanishes overnight, the higher cost of energy never returns to what it was before the crisis was invented.
There are among our energy companies, who seem to be raking-it-in, some who seek to explain away these sudden precipitous peaks by recourse to pious allusions to the investment they are making in the nicely named renewable energy, but I think we all know by now, or if we don’t, we certainly should, that the imposition of net zero, paying 30 pence at the supermarket whenever we need a shopping bag, and all those other touchy-feely save-the-planet schemes are hand-in-glove with another suspect cause, the humanitarian industry, that global ideological racket belying the altruistic motives of philanthropic billionaires (so-called), hidden-agenda NGOs and need-to-be-scrutinised charities. We’ll just stop short of coining the phrase ‘ideological gangsterism’.
Mass building projects, new towns, associated infrastructure and net zero defined
If you want to know what topsy-turvy means in its relationship to net zero and all the other save-the-planet rackets, just head off into Cambridgeshire and take a look at Peterborough – a sprawling conurbation of the most utterly reprehensible kind.
The same urban sprawl is possibly being masterminded for the rural area of North Bedfordshire. South Bedfordshire has already become a save-the-planet farce: a rotten, unsightly mess of sprawling Lego-type house developments and noisy traffic-spewed roads that crisscross and run in fume-ridden, thundering parallel across a blighted and shattered landscape. This kind of urbanised vandalism is a thin-end-of-the-wedge scenario that is about to be driven like a stake through the heart of North Bedfordshire’s slumbering countryside.
Already, thousands of wonderful new homes are poised to be built on the outskirts of Sharnbrook next to the A6, turning a small, grey stone village with centuries of rural history into yet another example of the corrosive link between profit motive, white flight and overpopulation.
A fleet of ‘War of the ‘World’-type excavators are already tearing up rural Bedfordshire.
The A6, which at the best of times is already overburdened with heavy traffic, will, thanks to those lovely new homes and the masses due to occupy them, fall foul to a glutting influx of cars, the majority of which, with one or two exceptions in the shape of those funny whining things powered by electric that most of us don’t understand and more significantly cannot afford, will soon be belching CO₂ in ever-increasing volumes across the choking, stricken landscape. As the victim’s health deteriorates, a frustrating and clogged A-Sick will compel the rabbits in the new-build hutches, for which they have paid most handsomely, to seek out alternative roads on which to boldly go to get them into Bedford and beyond. Towards this competitive end, they will be rat-running their daily way through every local country lane in droves, forever in search of the Golden Fleece, the illusory traffic-free thoroughfare.
This same area of North Bedfordshire is also earmarked as the unlucky recipient of acre upon acre of environmentally unfriendly, ugly, intrusive solar panels; so many of them, in fact, that they will literally gobble up not only some of the county’s best and richest arable land but also turn what is today a truly beautiful example of English countryside at its most precious into a hideous plastic eyesore. Once the topsoil has been removed from century-old fields and meadows, it won’t be long before the relatively useless solar panels are pronounced dead and buried, like the arable land they’ve deprived us of, whereupon, hey presto, like a magician’s rabbit pulled out of a hat, all that sacrificed verdant land will turn, by a smoke-and-mirrors strategy, into a massive brownfield site, and before we can shed a validatory tear, up will sprout thousands of houses where wheat and barley used to be, like an overnight rash of toadstools.
This scheme, and the scheming behind it, though it may look topsy-turvy to some, discounting, of course, the duped disciples of the environmental racket, is as plain as the nose on Pinocchio’s face.It could literally pave the way for those hundreds of thousands more houses which Labour so rejoices in, transfiguring, in this case, a magnificent part of rural Bedfordshire, as so many shires are being disfigured, into that deadly urban sprawl that once was the noted cathedral city of Peterborough.
Standing on the crest of the valley overlooking tranquil Bedfordshire, the question might enter your head, ‘Why would they want to bury such splendiferous natural beauty under piles of bricks and slabs of concrete?’ And the answer might come back to you, quietly but convincingly, carried on the melodious sweetness of freely given bird song and suggested to you in the whispering breeze, ‘To pave the way for white flight, as the UK’s major towns and cities devolve to third-world ghettos, the rich therein behind gated compounds and murder incorporated out on the streets. Is this England I’m describing or am I confusing it with South Africa? Perhaps, as E.A. Poe would say, ‘It’s all but a dream within a dream.’ Meanwhile, at the carnival, you pay your money and you make your choice!
Crime matters
Yonder, about 12 months hence (my, but doesn’t time fly – ay up, think of the planet. I wonder how many of them do when they are up there in the sky), I was standing at the checkout in Bedford’s wonderful Wilko’s when a skanky individual – there are a lot of them about – looking like one of Kenneth Grahame’s weasels, went strolling out of the shop, his arms laden with unpaid items. Like the conscientious citizen that I am, and also to test what I had been told, I drew the attention of a store attendant to the undeniable fact that Wilko’s had just been robbed. Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling in a manner that suggested he would rather I had kept this to myself, he nevertheless pursued the thief and came back on this occasion with full retrieval of the loot. As for the robber, he went scot-free.
The new deal in the UK is that shop assistants and shop security can watch but cannot touch: shoplifting in effect has become a kind of spectator sport or retail-sanctioned voyeurism. Shop staff and security are corporately disempowered from apprehending shoplifters for fear the company may be prosecuted for violating the criminal’s human rights. Moreover, the unverified story goes that should you ring the Old Bill and report the crime of shoplifting, you’d simply be wasting your time as well as the cost of a phone call, as they, the UK police, rarely, if ever, respond to such incidents, unveiling the reason, at a guess, why Britain is currently overwhelmed by a shoplifting epidemic and suggesting to the intelligent that this in part explains why good-old Wilko’s Bedford branch closed down.
Understandably, as a customer, the daily scourge of shoplifting may not be as high on your list of concerns as it would be if you owned a shop, but crime in all its variations, particularly crime to the person and serious crime at that, has reached an all-time UK high, suspiciously coinciding with profound cultural changes in the nation’s composition, with disproportional representation in certain ethnic groups and by conflicting, hostile creeds.
To be chatful of it, you could say that crime in Britain is ‘rife’, and yet it’s a funny thing, I’ll have you know, and you may think so also, how Britain’s Foreign and Commonwealth Office, known as the FCO, is altogether exceptionally good at passing judgement on other countries, warning us not to go there for fear of falling victim to crime at street and also state level, but never tells the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in fact any truth it would seem at all, about the dangers of visiting and living in Britain, especially when that living and visiting pertains to the city of London, which as every honest fellow knows, grows more dangerous every day.
‘Edith Binstock has lived in Golders Green for more than 70 years and says when she was young it “was the most amazing place to live in”.’
‘” I don’t know how it’s got to such a state… I don’t know when it’s going to get better. I doubt it.”’
I hope the left are listening …
In daylight, UK towns and cities look exactly what they are, but when night descends on Gotham, it’s best to scurry home, and once inside what used to be but isn’t any longer the revered and impregnable Englishman’s castle, quickly bolt and bar the doors. The real, fictional Gotham City had one distinct advantage: when the dregs seeped upwards to the surface, it could always call on Batman, whereas in Britain we think ourselves lucky if we see a copper from one week to the next, and when we do catch a glimpse of them, they are roaring rapidly past in their cars. What the eye don’t see, the report don’t mention.
But whilst visible policing may be a thing of the past and there’s no solution to crime, two things that we do have are a glut of fatuous politicians and a disingenuous media making blatant false assurances that there is no such thing as ‘no-go areas’ in our major cities. Of this they may be right. Take Londinstan, for example: here you can go wherever you like, just don’t expect to always come back, or always come back in one piece.
Where’s that policeman when you need one?
Life in the UK – it’s all so peculiar
No write-up on the topsy-turvy fragile state of Britain would be worth its weight in Asian barber shops without a word or several on the behaviour of Britain’s yoof, and in this respect I will not disappoint.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the ‘pleasure’ of spending an evening in a large Bedford pub, which shall here remain unnamed, although I know that my secret will not stop you guessing which one it is I am talking about.
The night it was a Saturday, and yoof were out in force.
This particular boozer, which is renowned for beer that is sensibly priced and grub that is affordable, acts on Friday and Saturday evenings as a meeting place and springboard from which, following an alcohol primer or seven and having strutted their stuff – their very noisy and raucous stuff – the country’s dubious future spills out of the frenzied pub onto Bedford’s bedighted streets like a carnival of zombies. The next stop for Hysteria isn’t exactly the Twilight Zone, but it’s as near as damn it is to swearing. They are heading off, one and all, and in all sorts of bold undress, to abandonedly disport themselves at one or other of Bedford town’s overpriced and over-rated cattle markets, which some, those we must assume deprived of the good fortune to have ever been, or have ever been taken, to anywhere half decent, like to refer to as nightclubs.
Does my arse look big in this mermaid costume
In observing this unruly and indescribable disembarkation, I asked myself the searching question, has anything really changed since the 1990s? The decade that tried to redefine woman.
Sporting hilarious bouffant hairstyles, massively square and padded shoulders and parroting to anyone awake enough to listen that their careers were all they lived for – even having children was a bind! But occasionally, if it had to happen, they would take time off to do it, providing they were back in the boardroom at 9am the following day – these larger-than-daft career women symbolised the prototype model for the upwardly shafted female; she who had been deliberately conned into giving up her home life for sitting in an office. Led to believe herself empowered, all she had really achieved was emancipation from common sense. Now she would face the grim task of juggling home and working life, while creating feral latchkey kids, stressing it out wage-slave fashion and giving it all to the taxman.
It was during this time, or shortly after, that perfectly innocent programmes, like the comedy On the Buses and the long-running Benny Hill Show, came under the feminist cosh. Indeed, poor old saucy Benny, after years of treating us and our fathers to a feast of tits and bums, was driven out of business by the ‘It’s far too sexist!’ Stasi.
New Woman, especially feminists, wanted it to be known that they were volcanic hairstyles and padded shoulders above the leering of mucky old men’ (although the old but rich and ‘toy boys’ appeared to be exempt). Sexual jokes and innuendoes were no longer to be brooked; the Italian pinch or pat on the bum became strictly a bridge too far, and as for those cheeky construction workers bound by tradition to wolf whistle whenever they clocked the cheeks of, or cast their eyes across, the various assorted feminine goods purposefully displayed to them, their interest in the freely on offer was ordered to cease forthwith; the whistling had to stop, although the setting out of the carnal stall continued unabated.
Now, I have no idea what goes through your mind when you first clap eyes on or meet a woman, but I’d hazard a layman’s guess that it has little to do with her credentials as a hot-shot exec female or whether she can or cannot hold an in-depth conversation on the philosophical works of Kant (Careful with that spell checker!) or has practical skills in woodwork. But the real question is, and has been since the 1990s, when PC first appeared, if, as we are led to believe, UK women regard themselves generically, that’s wholesale, as distant cousins to sexuality, demanding to be identified by their labour skills and brains, then why do so many still in this age of Ms equality, professional or otherwise, dress in what is defined traditionally as outfits worn by tarts (apologies to jam and biscuits)? Like charity that begins at home, sexual objectification begins primarily with the object itself, not, as alleged, the objectifying.
Anyway, getting back to this certain pub in a certain part of Bedford. Bedford isn’t Bedlam, and neither is this pub – on a Saturday night it is worse! You might want to call it a clusterf*ck! Liberals would describe it as a hip and vibrant venue, a popular haunt for the dynamic young – ‘inclusive’ and ‘diverse’, they would quoth – a lively, relaxed and fun-loving crowd just wanting to let off steam. And in this respect, indeed, they were. Some sights, I must confess, were steaming up my glasses, testing my resolve to define women in the new-age light as prescribed by liberal doctrine, but steel myself as I might to ignore what my eyes beheld and its impact upon my reprobation (Forgive me, Lord! For I am male!), I could not altogether resist Aphrodite’s timeless charms and the wish she would have me entertain to become, and instantly, younger – by about 100 years, I’d say.
Other ‘ladies’ there were who were steaming in a different fashion, and yet, although they were out to get the same thing as their nimble counterparts, as they lumbered around like steamrollers with huge, tree-trunk, cellulite legs clad in bum-hugging skirts or shorts that were much to short for them into which they had awkwardly squeezed, and sometimes squeezed far too tightly, making them look like sausage meat overstuffed in skins, I wondered if they would ever get what it was they were after or remain for the rest of their days in a limbo state of disappointment. It’s exactly times like these that I’m glad I’m vegetarian. Had Stan, Jack and Benny been here, they would have had a field day! And here’s the topsy-turvy of it, for in spite of all we’ve been led to believe about modern British women, I think I can honestly say that I’ve never seen so many females embracing objectification since I worked on the local pig farm. Ah, so that’s what it reminded me of: that terrible shrieking din of youngsters and the letting off of their clouds of steam!
The contention of to what degree, if any, women ought to be obliged to take responsibility for the manner in which they dress and behave in public, if not merely for their own safety, then out of common respect for Modesty, is an issue framed in the larger debate of whether a rights-obsessed society should encourage every member of it, from politicians to media moguls to the happy-go-lucky migrants to women out on the town, to adopt the type of double standards that circumvent and short-circuit moral codes of responsibility, shaping the world’s wise opinion of the kind of society that Britain wasn’t but now, sadly, has become.
And if the answer is ‘no’, then where should such standards trickle from if not from the highest office in the land? Should the backdoor to double standards be left off its Yale lock here, then the thief that covets morality will perceive the right to go amongst us, sacking and plundering without redress and mugging us at will.
From turning your back on an ally, to turning the other cheek, as Labour’s Rochdale councillors did as cheeks were being turned; to letting the boats come flooding in; to ignoring the rising tide of crime; to an attitude of ‘sod their morrows’ by endorsing Sodom and Gomorrah; to paying perpetual homage to the one-way god of rights – this, then, is the topsy-turvy life, a life of confusing contradictions, that we live in the UK today. Thus verily unto you I say, and I am sure you will agree, that in pausing to examine it, it is all so peculiar.
Revised 19 April 2026 ~ Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information
Airspace Closures
Russia has closed its airspace to airlines from multiple countries in direct response to airspace closures effecting its airlines, which were introduced by western governments opposing Russia’s military operation to ‘demilitarise and de-Natzify’ Ukraine. Airlines on the banned list are prohibited from landing in or flying over Russian territory. As a result, air travel disruptions are widespread. If you intend to travel in the immediate future, you should contact your airline or travel agent for further information. Links to Airport/Airlines websites can be found at the end of this guide
To visit Kaliningrad, you will need to apply for and have been issued with a Russian visa. For those of you who are not sure what one of these is, it is an official document that permits you to legally enter a foreign country, in this case the Russian Federation. The visa is valid for a specific duration of time. It contains the date of entry to the country and the date of exit, as well as your name, travel document (passport) details and the purpose for which you are travelling.
There are various types of visa depending upon the nature of your visit, but, for the sake of this blog, let’s assume that you are visiting Kaliningrad as a tourist.
Russia Kaliningrad Tourist Information: Tourist Visa
A tourist visa will allow you to enter Kaliningrad and leave within a specified time frame of 30 days. This means that the maximum length of stay in Kaliningrad is 30 days and no more. It is important that you leave the country before or on the date of exit.
Before a tourist visa can be issued, you will need to have confirmation of where you will be staying throughout the duration of your visit. Two documents are required, commonly referred to as ‘visa support documents’, and they consist of (1) a voucher and (2) a booking confirmation.
If you are staying in a hotel, you will need to ask the hotel to send you a hotel voucher and confirmation of tourist acceptance. Once you have received these, you are then ready to make your application.
To complete your visa application, you will need the following:
1. An original passport, valid for more than 6 months, containing at least 2 blank pages for your visa and entry/exit stamps
2. An application form
3. One valid passport-type photograph
4. Payment for application
Note: The Russian Service Centre (the Russian National Tourist Office) can assist you with all stages of your application, including visa support documents. You can contact them by telephone on 0207 985 1195 and/or visit this page on their website: https://www.visitrussia.org.uk/visas/getting-a-russian-visa/
Their location and postal address is:
Russian Service Centre Russian National Tourist Office 202 Kensington Church Street London W8 4DP
However, you will still be required to go in person to the Russian Tourist Office at 202 Kensington Church St, London W8 4DP, for biometric scanning. This sounds worse than it is. Biometric scanning means that you need to supply your fingerprints.
Russian Tourist Offices (also referred to as Russian Visa Application Centres) are also located in Manchester and Edinburgh. However, the Manchester office has been closed for some time now, so that leaves you with the choice of London or Edinburgh. The address of the Edinburgh office is 64 Albion Rd, Edinburgh EH7 5QZ. Tel: 0131 661 7279. Visa applications operate by appointment.
The time it takes for you to receive your Russian visa depends on which service you pay for. Visas can be received within two days of the completion of the application procedure.
Electronic Visa (E-visa)
Yes, Russia does implement an electronic visa (e-visa) system for entering the Russian Federation. The citizens of sixty-four countries are eligible to apply using this fast-track system, but, unfortunately, as Britain is officially designated an ‘Unfriendly Country’ by Russia, those holding a British passport are excluded from this list. Visa applicants from the UK are thus requested to apply, using the old-fashioned paper route, via Russian Visa Application Centres in London, Manchester or Edinburgh.
Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information: Professional visa support company
To make things easier for you, there are various visa-support companies that you can contact, which will take you through the entire process. My support company of choice is Stress Free Visas, if only because if you do get stressed whilst using them, you can have a good laugh at your own expense! Their website address is www.stressfreevisas.co.uk.
When using their service, you will be asked to fill out an application form online. It is as well to know what to expect before you start, since when they start asking you questions, such as ‘What is your inside leg measurement?’, it will be difficult to do so unless you have a tape measure already at hand. OK, it’s not that bad, not quite, but there is information that you will need that you might inconceivably not have thought of.
To this end, please see the following:
Q: Who is paying for your trip to Russia? A: [If it is you, put ‘independently’]
####
You will be asked ‘information about your financial
situation’. You will need to enter your ‘overall monthly income from all
sources’ and various other financial details.
####
You will need to include your National Insurance number
####
You will be asked to enter ‘place of birth’ and ‘date
and place of birth’ of your spouse
####
You will be asked to provide the following details
about your parents:
Name Date, country & place of birth Nationality If deceased, date & place of death
####
You will be asked to provide the name of the hotel you
will be staying at, plus address and telephone number
####
And that, as Bruce Forsyth used to say, “is all there
is to it!”
To assist you in all visa-related matters, here again is the web address for Stress Free Visas: www.stressfreevisas.co.uk
Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information (Useful links)
Note: The London centre offers couriers or mail-based applications as well as in-person visits. The Edinburgh Centre operates an in-person system only. All in-person visits must be booked in advance.
The topsy-turvy world of life in the UK From the dress code and behaviour of Britain’s young ‘ladies’ to the conflict in the Muddle East, post-civilised Britain is a mass of contradictions. 30 April 2023 – Life in the UK – it’s all so peculiar [This post appears in the ‘Meanwhile in the UK‘ category]… Читать далее: Life in the UK – it’s all so peculiar
Obtaining a Visa for Kaliningrad, Russia Revised 19 April 2026 ~ Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information Airspace Closures Russia has closed its airspace to airlines from multiple countries in direct response to airspace closures effecting its airlines, which were introduced by western governments opposing Russia’s military operation to ‘demilitarise and de-Natzify’ Ukraine. Airlines on the banned… Читать далее: Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information
A little of what you fancy does you good – and so does a little more of it. With an essay prefacing the status of ales versus victuals and what a restaurant means to some when a bar can be seen by others. 10 April 2026: Art Depot Kaliningrad – beer for a one-track mind… Читать далее: Art Depot Kaliningrad – beer for a one-track mind
UK to Kaliningrad Updated: 28 March 2026 ~ How to Get to Kaliningrad from UK Airspace Closures Russia has closed its airspace to airlines from multiple countries in direct response to airspace closures effecting its airlines, which were introduced by western governments opposing Russia’s military operation to ‘demilitarise and de-Nazify’ Ukraine. Airlines on the banned… Читать далее: How to Get to Kaliningrad from UK
If you like thinking, Kant’s tomb is a good place to do it 26 March 2026 – Kant’s Tomb at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad A visit to Königsberg’s Cathedral and/or the Kant Museum, which it contains, would hardly be complete without stopping off to pause philosophically next to Kant’s tomb, which, as every trip-advising website… Читать далее: Kant’s Tomb at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad
A little of what you fancy does you good – and so does a little more of it. With an essay prefacing the status of ales versus victuals and what a restaurant means to some when a bar can be seen by others.
10 April 2026: Art Depot Kaliningrad – beer for a one-track mind
As a seasoned pub-goer, nay, a patriotic supporter of what is undoubtedly one of the UK’s most important cultural assets, the British pub, qualified to say so from having lived a so-called pub lifestyle from the age of 14 and, during the time I was resident in London, reputed to have required an A to Z knowledge of London pubs, may I say without equivocation – and why not, indeed? – that the quest to boldly go and seek out hitherto unknown drinking venues, whilst as exciting as it is dutiful, does not rule out that there is a lot to be said for returning to the scene of the crime, which many a splendid bar or pub might unfairly be denounced as by stay-at-home abstemious naysayers and those who would rather drink from the bottle whilst sitting in front of the telly.
“Pubs and bars are like women; some are worth a second visit and some most definitely not” –The Sexist’s Guide to Male Dominated Traditions by Lord Wollocks.
When I first landed in Kaliningrad, in the year of our Lord (Wollocks!) 2000, there were so few bars to go around that if it hadn’t been for the Sir Francis Drake and the most exceptional 12 Chairs (R.I.P.), the only way of not returning to drink in them would have been not to go out at all.
Thankfully, in more recent years the situation has moved in the right direction. Kaliningrad is now a city with an eclectic range of bars, all of which would come in useful even if you never used them, which is something I would never do, as I use them whenever I can. ‘Roodly do’ is a phrase that inconveniently comes to mind at this juncture, not because I ‘roodly do’ use bars, but because it was a favourite catchphrase that rose to prominence in the 1980s through my aunt’s repeated use of it.
Thought I: “That expression will come in useful even if I never use it”, and, to prove it, although I have just used it, it has served no use at all.
Art Depot Kaliningrad
Now, some of Kaliningrad’s bars identify themselves as restaurants, which is a taxonomy I can live with, as the food that they serve is hardly limited to a humble packet of crisps bolstered by the insertion of an acquired-taste pickled egg, once standard fare in British pubs when I was too young to be drinking in them, although I always was.
The introduction of ‘pub grub’ was heralded in the UK as a major breakthrough by those who like to take solids with their drink, but its impact on the established consensus of what a pub should traditionally be was, like allowing kids to run riot in pubs, anathema to the old guard, among whose sagacious ranks I proudly claim to number. Indeed, Rolly Smith, a valued friend and respected drinking partner, confided that his father had condemned the arrival of food in pubs as a flagrant assault on the honoured conventions of that most noble of British institutions: “It’s only pigs”, he used to say, “that eat and drink at the same time!” Being a one-time pig farmer and now vegetarian convert disqualifies me from commenting on the veracity of this statement in recognition that a conflict of interests could lead to anything that I say being taken down, twisted round and used in evidence against me.
I can say, however, and should say, however, and therefore I will, that as a devoted beer drinker, food is often off the itinerary when drinking beer in bars and pubs. It is not so terribly difficult for me to apply myself to this golden rule, as food is an unfair competitor in the allocation of volume stakes when it comes to imbibing beer; moreover, whenever temptation may suddenly strike, I am reminded of the words of wisdom conveyed to us by Mr Rowbottom, my primary school headmaster, who sanguinely divided the world into two distinctive camps defined by him as eating compulsion, namely, those ‘who live to eat’ and those ‘who eat to live’, with my allegiance solemnly sworn to the minority sect of the latter. However, posit the question, if you must, ‘Do I live to drink?’ and it is not so easily answered.
The best thing to do with that, therefore, is to leave it gently dangling, turning at last, as you must be growing impatient, thinking, ‘Where is he going with this?’ to apply all that which has gone before to the subject of this post, which, as the title gives away, is Kaliningrad’s Art Depot Restaurant but which, according to my perception of it, is Kaliningrad’s Art Depot Bar.
Art Depot Kaliningrad – bar and restaurant
I am sure, to the vague extent that I can be sure about anything, that, as on my previous visit, I must have dined on something, and I am almost just as certain that whatever that something was, it must have been up to snuff, but the reason for my return was that I was desirous not of the food but of the range of beers that there are on tap and a second chance to soak them up whilst also imbibing the Art Depot atmosphere.
The novelty of having one’s drinks delivered in the rolling stock of a large model train is one of those things that can never grow old and goes exceptionally well with the vaulted cellar ceiling and the detailed dioramas of the railway stations and resident districts of the various Prussian towns to which the train delivers its vital cargo.
Above: Art Depot’s train reversing back into Königsberg/Kaliningrad rail station, ie the bar, to load up with another cargo of beverages. Below: Model architectural, urban and village district scenes lend to the unusual.
The horseshoe-shaped curved banquette booths ensure a plush, cosy, comfortable and intimate dining and drinking experience, especially should you be able to boast of sufficient friends or relatives to descend there as a group. But no matter how much you fall in love with any one seat and location, permit me to offer a little advice: on subsequent visits, be adventurous; go for a seat you haven’t yet sat in, as each location around the room has a unique perspective to offer.
On the evening to which the photographs here pertain, we were seated close to the bar, a location to which I am eminently suited, for not only did it allow me to feast my eyes on the beer stock and watch the barman playing the taps, but I also spotted a namesake whisky whose brand I was unacquainted with. Though not, as a rule, a spirits drinker, this Hart Brothers’ distillation was far too much of a bold coincidence to let it pass unsampled, and I am sure had both of my brothers been present, they would not have foregone the opportunity to have joined me in a wee dram.
You can’t get enough of a good thing
The Art Depot Restaurant is part of Kaliningrad’s intriguing Ponart Brewery complex, a restored 19th-century, multistorey, redbrick building with a superlative brewing history surrounded by an assortment of shops and other cultural amenities. Brewing has been returned to the premises (yummy); there are guided beer-tasting tours, and, preferably whilst your head is still clear, you can, if the mood so takes you, clamber into the viewing tower and survey the old industrial site and the district it inhabits.
I tend to put my faith in history, because I do not trust the present, and the future has all but expired. Beer and history have been going steady for as long as I can remember. So, let’s toddle along to the Art Depot Restaurant and raise a glass to both of them.
Here’s where the good thing is:
Art Depot Restaurant, Kaliningrad Kaliningrad, Sudostroitelnaya st., 6-8 (on the territory of the historical quarter ‘Ponart’)
Updated: 28 March 2026 ~ How to Get to Kaliningrad from UK
Airspace Closures
Russia has closed its airspace to airlines from multiple countries in direct response to airspace closures effecting its airlines, which were introduced by western governments opposing Russia’s military operation to ‘demilitarise and de-Nazify’ Ukraine. Airlines on the banned list are prohibited from landing in or flying over Russian territory. As a result, air travel disruptions are widespread. If you intend to travel in the immediate future, you should contact your airline or travel agent for further information. Links to Airport/Airlines websites can be found at the end of this guide
Most people travelling from the UK to Kaliningrad are not
going to do so by car, train, taxi, bicycle or hitching. Some of you might, but
most of you won’t. You’ll want to come by plane, so that’s what I will focus on
here.
Flights from the UK to Kaliningrad
As far as I am aware, there are no direct flights from the UK to Kaliningrad, and there has not been for some time.
The last time I flew back from Kaliningrad to London direct was many years ago. I remember it well, as I sat in the front of the plane looking through the open door to the flight deck. The date was 10 September 2001. It was most probably the last day that you would be able to do that on an international airliner.
I am told that the only ‘convenient’ way to fly to Kaliningrad from Europe is to fly to Turkey and from there to Kaliningrad. If you aren’t in the market for paying between £400-£800 pounds, then I wouldn’t bother.
If you do fly to Kaliningrad, you will land at Khrabrovo Airport. Once a relatively small red-brick building dating from the Königsberg era with a high wire fence, today Khrabrovo Airport is a modern terminal possessing all the usual facilities.
From Khrabrovo Airport to Kaliningrad
The distance from Khrabrovo Airport to Kaliningrad Central is about 23 km, and the journey takes approximately 20 to 30 minutes.
The easiest way of getting to Kaliningrad is by taxi. Look for the cubicles by the airport terminal exit, which offer taxi services. The fare to the centre of Kaliningrad typically costs between 700 and 1000 roubles (approx. £6.48–£9.26). Here is a price guide by destination,using licensed taxis (recommended).
The cheaper option is to travel by bus: fare 50 roubles (0.38 pence). The route number is 244-Э. Payment is made on the bus, either to the driver or a conductor. Buses run frequently, about every 30 minutes, between 7.00am and 8.20pm (Link to Bus Timetable). The average time of the journey to Kaliningrad’s Yuzhniy Bus Station is 40 to 50 minutes.
Kaliningrad via Gdansk, Poland
(Photo credit: Serhiy Lvivsky)
The route that most of us take when travelling to Kaliningrad is to fly by Wizz Airlines from Luton London Airport to Gdansk and then travel from Gdansk to Kaliningrad.
Time was once that I would take a pre-booked taxi from Gdansk Airport to Kaliningrad. If you had contacts in Kaliningrad, which I had, someone could arrange this for you. In 2024, I was told that the journey to Kaliningrad from Gdansk Airport would cost you in the region of £200-300. This is a gigantic leap in price from the 100 quid that I was paying back in 2019. Why? Could the price hike be associated with border-crossing difficulties emanating from coronavirus restrictions, a by-product of Western sanctions or just plain old profiteering? Whatever the explanation, you might be of the opinion that the taxi option is no longer viable. Even if you like spending money, Poland is no longer accepting vehicles with Russian number plates crossing from Kaliningrad into Poland (now, where’s my screwdriver!) (Link to article on Poland’s extraordinary measures. It also mentions a ‘big wall’, so you won’t go climbing over that, will you, with or without licence plates! So there!)
First from Gdansk Airport to Gdansk city bus station
I have travelled by bus to and from Kaliningrad via Gdansk many times now.
To do this, you must first take a bus or taxi from Gdansk Airport to Gdansk Bus Station, located at 3 Maja St, 12.
The bus line is 210. The bus fare is 4.80 zloty (0.97 pence). The service operates every 30 minutes and takes about 35 to 40 minutes to reach Gdansk city bus station.
After rolling out of bed at 4am in the morning to catch a flight from London Luton Airport, I am inclined to travel to Gdansk bus station by taxi.
There are plenty of taxis at the airport rank, and the cost of the trip is about 90 zloty (£21). The trip takes approximately 10 to 15 minutes.
And now, from Gdansk bus station to Kaliningrad
The bus ticket from Gdansk costs 155-190 zloty (approximately £31 to £38). There are multiple buses a day from Gdansk Bus Station, and the last bus leaves at 5.00pm. The approximate travel time is advertised at 3 hrs and 30 mins and 4 hrs and 30 mins, depending on the route, but in reality it often takes longer than this, due to the grilling you get at both borders, especially since the Polish border authorities introduced the practice of photographing everyone on board: Smile, please; we are going to make crossing into Kaliningrad extremely irritating for you. It will be inside leg measurements next! (Spoiler: On a couple of occasions, I was stuck at the borders for 8 hours! Make sure your sim cards are working, your phone is charged or you have a book to read!)
Catching the bus means buying tickets online in advance. By far the most straightforward and therefore best online booking service is Busfor.pl
Example of Busfor’s Gdansk to Kaliningrad page below:
There was a time when the bay from which the Gdansk>Kaliningrad bus service operated was Gdansk’s best-kept secret. You could try asking at the bus information office, but if they had that information, they would not be letting you have it. Later, they stuck a piece of paper on the wall, which revealed the bay to be number 11. Don’t be put off if when arriving at the bay you see the name Królewiec and not Kaliningrad. According to what I have read, in 2023 some bright Polish spark came up with the idea of renaming Kaliningrad or, as they put it, reverting the name to its historical Polish name. That’s helpful, isn’t it?
The facilities at Gdańsk Bus Station are bog standard. It does have a bog (it will cost you 5 zloty for a pee), but the metal tins that used to function as a left-luggage department have moved, TARDIS-fashion, from the interior of the bus station to a bit around the back of it (you will need zlotys to activate these), and the bus station cafe, which was basic but useful, as there are no other cafes nearby, has closed. There is a burger bar in the bus park, which, in winter, has a plastic sheet around it, where you can stand and wait for your order.
At the time of writing, you will have approximately two hours to kill if you catch, for example, the morning flight from London Luton Airport to Gdansk in time to catch the 3.00pm bus. My advice is to take a walk into Gdansk Old Town for great cafes and a historic atmosphere.
The buses dock at Kaliningrad’s Central Bus Station in the vicinity of the city’s South Railway Station. Change here for local buses, coaches to Svetlogorsk/Zelenogradsk coastal resorts and taxi services.
Public transport to the city centre is plentiful, including trolley bus services, mini-buses and trams. Note, however, that some buses operate on a no-conductor electronic-card basis. If you haven’t got a Russian bank card or a ‘Volna Baltiky’ transport card (the cheapest option at 33 roubles) use conductor-served buses. I have worked out (at least, I think I have) that the orange buses take card payments only. The mini-buses accept cash as well as cards. Approximate fare to anywhere in the city is 48 roubles.
Taxi services from Kaliningrad Central Bus Station: !!! Scam alert: Avoid the gaggle of taxis that huddle and hustle around the immediate vicinity where the bus from Gdansk to Kaliningrad terminates. The motley crew that operate these dodgy deals on wheels are to be avoided at all costs, unless you want to triple or quadruple the going rate.
Reputable taxi services are typically accessed via the following websites/apps:
Airport transfers can be pre-booked using Utransfer
How to Get to Kaliningrad from UK
Kaliningrad via Lithuania
It was once possible to get a train from Vilnius, Lithuania, to Kaliningrad (the trip took about 7 hours). That service has been suspended now. As for travelling by bus, the information served up on the net is vague and conflicting. It seems that all direct intercity bus services have ceased, but, for 37 euros (£32), a once-a-day indirect bus still functions. Only consider this option if you are into long bus journeys, as the grapevine suggests that the trip from somewhere in Lithuania to Kaliningrad takes 21 hours. Bon voyage! See Omio.
Rumour has it that an alternative to the cross-border bus from Vilnius is to use local buses/trains, cross on foot via the Kibartai-Chernyshevskoe border and then use local buses/trains on the Russian side. I cannot confirm this, as I have not personally used this route, but it is one you might like to check out.
Panemunė–Sovetsk (where you can cross on foot!) This is a foot-friendly (and no other type of vehicle) crossing from Lithuania into Kaliningrad, Russia, and vice versa.
It requires taking a bus or taxi or being dropped off by a relative or friend at the checkpoint, walking across and then continuing your journey on the other side by one of the three means cited.
The crossing is located in the town of Panemunė (Lithuania).
To cross, you will need a valid passport and a Russian visa (or e-visa).
The topsy-turvy world of life in the UK From the dress code and behaviour of Britain’s young ‘ladies’ to the conflict in the Muddle East, post-civilised Britain is a mass of contradictions. 30 April 2023 – Life in the UK – it’s all so peculiar [This post appears in the ‘Meanwhile in the UK‘ category]… Читать далее: Life in the UK – it’s all so peculiar
Obtaining a Visa for Kaliningrad, Russia Revised 19 April 2026 ~ Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information Airspace Closures Russia has closed its airspace to airlines from multiple countries in direct response to airspace closures effecting its airlines, which were introduced by western governments opposing Russia’s military operation to ‘demilitarise and de-Natzify’ Ukraine. Airlines on the banned… Читать далее: Russia Kaliningrad Visa Information
A little of what you fancy does you good – and so does a little more of it. With an essay prefacing the status of ales versus victuals and what a restaurant means to some when a bar can be seen by others. 10 April 2026: Art Depot Kaliningrad – beer for a one-track mind… Читать далее: Art Depot Kaliningrad – beer for a one-track mind
UK to Kaliningrad Updated: 28 March 2026 ~ How to Get to Kaliningrad from UK Airspace Closures Russia has closed its airspace to airlines from multiple countries in direct response to airspace closures effecting its airlines, which were introduced by western governments opposing Russia’s military operation to ‘demilitarise and de-Nazify’ Ukraine. Airlines on the banned… Читать далее: How to Get to Kaliningrad from UK
If you like thinking, Kant’s tomb is a good place to do it 26 March 2026 – Kant’s Tomb at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad A visit to Königsberg’s Cathedral and/or the Kant Museum, which it contains, would hardly be complete without stopping off to pause philosophically next to Kant’s tomb, which, as every trip-advising website… Читать далее: Kant’s Tomb at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad
If you like thinking, Kant’s tomb is a good place to do it
26 March 2026 – Kant’s Tomb at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad
A visit to Königsberg’s Cathedral and/or the Kant Museum, which it contains, would hardly be complete without stopping off to pause philosophically next to Kant’s tomb, which, as every trip-advising website will tell you, is located at the cathedral’s northeast corner. If, like me, however, you haven’t got a compass either in your head or in your shoe, such directional information may not be a whole lot of use to you, so we’ll say that the tomb is located at the back of the cathedral opposite the river. It is easy to navigate from Honey Bridge. Cross that and turn immediately right. Conversely, if you are approaching the cathedral from the front, walk around the back.
Kant’s Tomb at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad
Initially, Kant was interred inside the cathedral, but his remains were exhumed in 1880 and reinterred beneath a neo-Gothic chapel, which stood on the site of the present-day mausoleum.
Prominent German architect Friedrich Lahrs designed the replacement to the dilapidated Gothic structure in a neoclassical ‘monumental’ style, constructed in 1924 as an open-hall, colonnaded chapel. The design is simplistic but effective, and I am quite convinced that Kant would not have disapproved.
The sepulchre contains a stone sarcophagus, beneath which the philosopher’s remains are buried.
It is particularly atmospheric on a dark night, when the tomb’s illumination, reflecting from its red granite surface, bathes the whole in a warm glow, casting angled shadows in stark relief across the imposing Gothic structure to which it is appended.
I know, it’s not red and warm as it sometimes is; it’s turquoise. Either way, it’s illuminating.
The tomb is accessible to visitors all year round and is an integral part of the cathedral’s tours, which take in the cathedral, the Kant Museum, Kant’s grave, Kneiphof (Kant Island) and the history of Königsberg.
Visitors Information
Location of Kant’s tomb: Kanta Street, 1, Kaliningrad, Russia 236039
Revised 23 March 2026 | First Published: 8 February 2021 ~ Awesome Königsberg Cathedral Organ Concerts
Can you spot the clue in one of the photographs providing evidence that this was first written in 2021? First prize: a face mask.
We recently received a kind invitation to attend an organ concert at Königsberg Cathedral. This was the first time that I had been to a concert there, and I was keen to discover if the sound of the cathedral’s pipe organ was as impressive as the organ looked.
With temperatures outside falling to as low as -17 degrees, we were surprised, happily surprised, to discover that in spite of the capacious size of the cathedral, it was warm and comfortable. For a building that had been reduced to a shell in the Second World War by RAF bombing and subsequently and painstakingly restored, the atmosphere and ambience are superb. Lighting is important in any environment, but particularly so in exhibition and concert halls, and here it cannot be faulted.
Königsberg Cathedral Organ Concerts
The colonnades, sturdy walls and Gothic vaulted ceiling served the acoustics well, the hard surfaces deflecting the quieter notes distinctly and the deeper tones with generous resonance. The organ rolled, rumbled and reverberated, the multiple dense sounds thundering spectacularly from numerous points within the building’s chambers.
I will admit that I am not much of an opera aficionado, but on this occasion I felt that the dulcet tones of the singer complimented and contrasted perfectly with the rich and varied tones of the pipe organ.
At the close of the concert, we chose to walk around the back of the cathedral, past Kant’s tomb. My wife, Olga, rightly commented that here, outside and within the cathedral, the spirit of the city of Königsberg lives on.
This was so true, and I felt rather guilty that I had not visited the cathedral more frequently since moving to Kaliningrad.
I confess that since the death of our friend Victor Ryabinin in the summer of 2019, I have been purposefully avoiding the cathedral and the surrounding area. The cathedral and Kneiphof Island are only a stone’s throw away from Victor Ryabinin’s former art studio and as such constituted the epicentre of his cultural and historical world. There were so many memories that I did not want to face, and so many more, like this evening’s, which he may once have contributed to but now never will ~ at least, that is, in person.
But you cannot hide forever, and I was glad that I had agreed to attend the concert this evening.
Even in the falling temperatures and with noses looking like beetroots, Olga managed to snap some photos of the cathedral on this very cold winter’s night, which capture the magical quality of the external lighting and how it is used to imaginative effect.
Brrrr: It was time to rattle back home on the number 5 tram and, once indoors, make with the cognac!
Königsberg Cathedral Organ Concerts: Königsberg Cathedral website: http://sobor39.ru/
This was the concert lineup for the 6th of February 2021:
Titular organist of the Cathedral, laureate of international competitions, Mansur Yusupov
Soloist of the Kaliningrad Regional Philharmonic, laureate of international competitions, Anahit Mkrtchyan (soprano)
Music and song featured works from the following composers:
A. Vivaldi A. Scarlatti G. F. Handel J. Pergolesi J. S. Bach V. Gomez M. Lawrence, A. Babajanyan
19 March 2026 – Königsberg Cathedral Organ pulls out all the stops!
Konigsberg Cathedral, reconstructed from the ashes of the Second World War, is a culturally nostalgic landmark, all that remains of Kneiphof Island, and a fascinating historic and architectural monument of the first order. It is also a centre of musical excellence, a legacy that stretches back even before the cathedral had been completed in 1380, thanks to the use of a portable organ.
In 1380, with the last cathedral stone in place, the art of organ transportation gave way to a large stationary version, which, over a period of years, underwent enlargement and improvement in sound quality.
A new organ, based on the lines of the original, which superseded the latter in 1567, was endowed with no less than 10 bellows and 60 voices.
Towards the close of the 16th century, ornate carving, sumptuous painting and gold-plated adornments added a striking visual dimension to the organ’s musical talent, which by this time had become the largest organ in Prussia.
Not satisfied with this achievement, which was already spectacular of its kind, a new organ was commissioned in the first quarter of the 18th century, the work to be undertaken by craftsman Johann Mosengel. Completed in 1721, both the organ and its sound met with high acclaim.
It was also celebrated for having been finished in a grand baroque style, beautified with angel figurines, artisan carving and magnificent gilding, and later would be made famous for helping the writer ETA Hoffmann to master the basics of music.
By the time this organ was up and playing, the cathedral could boast of its own orchestra, which added greatly to its musical repertoire and induced a greater attraction.
The cathedral’s high-humidity environment, which was also subject to erratic temperature fluctuations, required the organ to undergo frequent repair and maintenance, and by the onset of the 20th century, major restoration was rendered unavoidable along with the need for musical tuning.
Königsberg Cathedral Organ pulls out all the stops!
In 1928, Königsberg Cathedral was blessed with a new organ. The Hannover firm that built and supplied it meticulously observed the baroque influences that inspired its decoration, making it all the more tragic when, on the evenings of the 28th and 29th of August, 1944, a bombing raid by the RAF, which gutted the cathedral, added the beautiful organ to its list of fatal casualties.
Today’s Königsberg Cathedral is equipped with two fibre-optic-connected organs, making it the largest piped organ complex in Russia and one of the largest in Europe. The two instruments, the grand three-storey organ and the smaller choir organ, were installed by Alexander Schuke Potsdam Orgelbau, Germany.
Combined, the organs are served by more than 8,500 pipes (6,301 in the larger organ, 2,224 in the choir) and 122 registers. One organist can play both organs from one or the other console, or the organs can be played separately.
As with the cathedral’s earlier organs, stylistically the baroque format has been faithfully followed, the gilded façade featuring impressive carvings, including the Virgin Mary and putti that move with the music. The Phoenix carving is said to symbolise the rebirth of the cathedral.
The cathedral hosts organ concerts on a regular basis. The smaller ‘mini concerts’, as they are called, are augmented by visiting musicians of world fame. These larger performances incorporate the best in orchestras and choral groups. More information, ticket prices and booking are available from https://sobor39.ru/en/events/concerts/.
Meet Kant and shake hands with the history of Königsberg
14 March 2026 – Kant Museum Kaliningrad – all you need to know
Those who have a passion for everythingKant could not do better than direct themselves towards one of Kaliningrad’s most multifunctional cultural centres, the major surviving landmark of the former city of Königsberg, Königsberg Cathedral.
The museum is located in the cathedral’s towers. It occupies three floors, accessible by a series of steep and challenging staircases, the first being stone and spiral.
The museum, as the name suggests, is principally dedicated to the celebrated 18th-century German philosopher Immanuel Kant but also embraces the concomitant history of the cathedral, Kneiphof Island, as Kant Island was formerly called, Königsberg itself, and the Albertina University, which, before the arrival of the RAF in 1944, was so conveniently situated at the cathedral’s eastern side that the adoption of the latter as the university’s church could not have been more fortuitous.
Kant Museum Kaliningrad – all you need to know
The three floors that constitute the museum have distinct areas of interest: the first is a historical tribute to Kneiphof (Kant Island); the second contains an authentic reconstruction of the Wallenrodt Library; and the third is a shrine to Kant.
The Kniephof exhibition is a must-see for anyone interested in the juxtaposition of prewar Königsberg with its Soviet and modern-day successors. Kant, who lived and worked in Königsberg all of his life, knew Kneiphof in the 18th century as one of the city’s four central districts. Over time, Kneiphof Island became overbuilt, assuming the character of a highly concentrated urban environment. The wartime visit by the RAF abruptly changed all that, laying waste to Kneiphof as it did to the best part of Königsberg. In more recent years, this lamentable space has evolved with some careful landscape coaxing into a gentle, relaxing retreat, thoughtfully planted with shrubs and trees and intersected throughout with meandering hard-surface walkways.
Exhibits in the Kant Museum at Königsberg Cathedral in Kaliningrad include historic artefacts and images relevant to the Albertina University.
The Kniephof exhibition contains a number of maps, images and artefacts, illuminating the island’s history, including vintage items and ephemera connected with the Albertina University. But the jewel in its crown is undoubtedly the detailed scale model of Königsberg, which clearly shows not only Kneiphof in its 1930s heyday but also the layout of the city of which it was comprised, which seven years from the time depicted would abruptly cease to exist.
The Wallenrodt Library on the museum’s second floor is named after its founder, the Prussian Chancellor Martin von Wallenrodt, whose private collection of ancient books and manuscripts became the first secular public library to be hosted by a religious establishment. The library was donated to the cathedral in 1650 by Wallenrodt’s son, and its contents increased year on year until, just before the cathedral was bombed in 1944, some 10,000 written works had been sedulously amassed and carefully curated for the edification of the general public.
Fortunately, both before the war and during the time it raged, much of the library’s invaluable contents were transferred elsewhere for safety, but for those volumes that did remain, fate showed a less lenient face than the one that had partly smiled upon the cathedral’s tenuous destiny, for the library and its remaining contents suffered to be obliterated.
The library’s reincarnation is largely acknowledged to be a faithful replica of its former self in all its relative dimensions and an accurate aesthetic and atmospheric facsimile of its 17th-century origin. The Baroque appearance and scholarly ambience echo throughout the sumptuous mahogany woodwork, particularly in the carved detail that overlays the library shelves. If ever a place was intended by God for learned study and quiet reflection, then here, I feel, is a better place than most – allowing, of course, for its constant stream of visitors.
Kant Museum Kaliningrad – all you need to know
The third floor of the cathedral’s museum is a paean to philosopher Kant, where personal artefacts, sketches, portraits, busts and documents of various kinds consort with digital technology to introduce the visitor to the life of the man and philosopher, locating him in the history of the world in which he lived and worked.
Hello, Mr Kant!
An adjoining room demonstrates Kant’s adherence to the dining etiquette advocated by Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield, whose considered opinion was that dinner parties should never consist of fewer than three persons and never more than nine, this number including the host. Exemplifying rigid rituals typically Kant in nature and, indeed, no less in practice, this prescription was one which the philosopher, so it is said, adopted in order to equalise his solitary existence with structured social interaction sufficient enough to divert and enjoy whilst informing his lifelong pursuit of the moral and intellectual stimulants his calling held so necessary.
In reflecting this sense of order, the room is symbolically staged according to the principles Kant accepted and of which he approved; the table and chairs are laid out as prescribed to accommodate guests conforming to the strict limits of a propitious number, the host, of course, included, and are presented then to visitors against a dynamic, colourful tapestry, the lively content of which depicts a typical evening at home with Kant. Who would have thought that a man so widely considered to be intractably pedantic could demonstrate his critique of reason through such perfect hospitality!
In contrast to this merry scene, but quite in keeping with life itself, this room also contains two Kantian exhibits which some of a sensitive disposition might consider macabre. The first, staring blindly from the cushioned base of the glass case in which it resides, is a copy of the philosopher’s death mask, about which it is probably true to say he fails to look his best; the second is a framed painting hanging on the wall, which captures the haunting moment of the exhumation of Kant’s body, in which one man is depicted standing inside the open grave, passing Kant’s skull to a colleague, whilst the rest of the congregation look on with expressions of awe and wonder, morbid fascination or an irresistible inclination to surrender to all three.
Kant’s remains were removed from where his body had been buried inside the cathedral’s walls and reinterred in a mausoleum constructed in his honour annexed to the cathedral, which is where they are today, though no longer in the original bespoke structure, whose character had been Gothic, but in a remodelled modernist setting designed in the 1920s by the German architect Friedrich Lahrs, about which, no doubt, we will have something to say in a later post at a later date.
You might very well find this useful …
The Kant Museum is located in Königsberg Cathedral: Ulitsa Kanta, 1, Kaliningrad, Kaliningrad Oblast, 236039
Revised 7 March 2026 | First published 6 March 2020 ~ International Women’s Day Kaliningrad
Just before the dawn of International Women’s Day 2020, we took a trip to the BauCenter, where I bought Olga a nice trowel and some other romantic garden implements. I thought these would make excellent presents, and I was right. The garden has now matured and looks very nice indeed.
Travelling across Kaliningrad today on our way to the garden centre, we marveled at how the city had swung into action in readiness for International Women’s Day on Sunday.
The city was festooned with flower-sellers, ranging from one person with literally a handful of flowers to stalls consisting of two and three tables profusely bedecked with all manner of blooms.
Tulips Rule OK!!
The flower-selling booths, which are there on a permanent basis, were, of course, also in full swing, helping to transform the city into a charming early-spring festival ablaze with refreshing and natural bright colours.
International Women’s Day Kaliningrad
To Kaliningradians, International Women’s Day is an important date in the yearly calendar. It is a celebration of femininity, a time to show appreciation for the love, devotion, work and commitment that women invest in relationships and the value they impart to motherhood and family. I remember last year [2019], even with the sleet and snow, how many men of all ages were out on the streets of Kaliningrad purchasing flowers to present to their wives and girlfriends.
I tried comparing International Women’s Day in Kaliningrad with its UK counterpart, but, try as I might, there was nothing to recall. Perhaps, on March the 8th, I had always been in the wrong place at the wrong time (ie, hiding in the pub), or, then again, perhaps buying flowers for one’s other heterosexual half is frowned on in the UK as an unforgivable act of sexism.
Hmmm, well, the last thing that I would want to be accused of is sexism. Perish the thought.
So, I refrained from purchasing my wife flowers this year (which makes it sound as if I bought her flowers last year), and instead I bought her a shovel and a trowel so that she could plant her own in the garden.
Which just goes to show that leading your wife up the garden path does not have to spark a gender war!
On recounting some of my experiences of working in the publishing industry, some wag asked, back in the 90s, “So, what are you going to do when you leave school?”
1 March 2026 – Mick Hart’s Diary One Day in Travel Trade Publishing
The following diary extract is taken from my time as managing editor at a now-defunct travel-trade publishing house, which we shall here refer to as Shackelton Press.
Shackelton Press for me represented the last post in a long line of desperately bizarre, tumultuously chaotic, and unbelievably high-octane-stressed advertising-based publishing houses, each one stocked with larger-than-life, weird and wonderful characters.
Let’s do a bit of time travelling:
Preface
These little insights, or snippets of madness, are taken from my 1996 diary. The setting is London. The names of both the publishing house and the actors in it have been changed to protect the reputations of the not-so-innocent. If you know who you are, God bless you. I trust that you all came through the experience mentally and emotionally unscathed. They were, as John Lennon lyricised, “Strange days, indeed!”
Cast of Characters: Editorial Director: Byron Quill (Quilly)
Managing Editor: Mick Hart (or, ‘managing badly’, as Sebastian used to say, or ‘managing just’, as Mr Ormolu was wont to quip)
Production Department Staff Sebastian Forrester (subeditor/researcher/writer – part-time actor)
Margaret Clark: (researcher/subeditor)
Matt Ormolu: (editor)
Grant: (graphic design and page layout)
Arthur: (freelance editor – South African) nickname ‘Slice’
Suit & Tie: (researcher/subeditor) – female
Publishing house: Shackleton Press
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Introduction
Is it the same today? In my days, people were always leaving publishing house editorial/production departments, either because they couldn’t stand the pace any longer and wanted to get their life back or were, or so they said, moving on to richer pastures. Such is the land we occupy, known as Wishful Thinking.
On this day, Friday 15 May 1996, someone – yet another someone – was about to make the great escape. She was a northern lass, who we will refer to here as Margaret Clark.
In connection with this event, I had been directed by my director (after all, that’s what directors are for, directing) to sally forth, in my own time, of course, or manage someone else to do the same (that’s what managing is all about, delegating) in the interests of procuring for the aforesaid Margaret a communal card and leaving present.
To avoid the boredom of it, I delegated the role to the one chap in our department whom I knew would turn a routine task into something more diverting. No one was better suited to this task, I thought, than Sebastian Forrester, the irascible budding actor, whose aspirations of high culture and whose self-regard for sophistication presented numerous opportunities whilst preparing for the lunchtime trip to, how do we say it, ‘take the piss’.
Friday 15 May 1996 – as it happened
Sebastian, who was extremely excited by the responsibility conferred on him, entertained, with my help, the whole department. He set up his affectatious cultural airs as if they were skittles and my debasing of them the balls that would knock them down.
Margaret Clark, the girl who was leaving today, reminded me of a stick of rock; she had ‘Northern Girl’ stamped right through her. As such, she would most likely have been happy with a pair of clogs, a flat hat and a bowl of mushy peas, heavy on the mint sauce, for a leaving present, but Sebastian, true to form, had his mind set on something she would like because it was something he would like. He seriously had no idea if she had any interest in, or appreciation of, art, and neither did I. But once Sebastian had latched onto something, it was like a dog’s teeth in arse. (This analogy has some baring, sorry, bearing, on the eventual choice of gift, or, of course, I would not have employed it.)
So, we were off to Covent Garden to buy Margaret, who was leaving, a book on art that she might not want, would not like and would never read. It sounded to me like the perfect present for a person quitting a job that she did not want, did not like and was pleased to close the covers on.
Sebastian, just before we left the office, was commenting vociferously on the remarks of one of his colleagues, whose projected view on everything he considered rather crass: “Oh yes, Michael, there’s old Ormolu, his usual helpful and refined self, ‘I think some novelty items are in order, Sebastian,’ he said. Novelty items, indeed. And we all know what he means by that!”
What Sebastian did not know was that Matt Ormolu and I had already discussed the type of present that we were going to buy dear Margaret, and novelty items were top of the list.
“Oh no, Michael!” protested Sebastian, his nose curling and sensibilities clearly offended. “I’m not under any circumstances going into Nutz Novelty shop!”
“Sebastian I barked (Sebastian was the son of an army officer, and sons of army officers, I have found, respond instinctively to the old sergeant major treatment). “Sebastian!”
“Yes, Michael!”
“We are going in!”
“Right, Michael!”
“Oh my God!” That was Sebastian, genuinely shocked by the risqué greeting cards greeting him in Nutz Novelty.
Naturally, being a thespian by aspiration, buying anything of such a crass, crude nature was theatrically beneath him.
Officially, we only had our lunch hour in which to buy a present, and the clock was ticking. In Nutz Novelty, the hands and the pendulum bore an intended resemblance to male genitalia.
“Pity we can’t afford that,” I thought.
Sebastian’s dithering was impinging upon our schedule, so I had to make a managerial decision. So, much to his dismay, I grabbed the nearest greeting card. On its cover was a naked man, who was looking rather gay. Then, before Sebastian could faint, I added to my basket a jumping clockwork bum and a packet of luminous condoms.They were always experiencing power cuts up North, so Margaret should find some practical use for them.
Sebastian was so appalled that, in the interests of balance and resuscitation, I accepted his need to restore the culture he’d lost by looking for it in Dillons bookshop.
In Dillons, we haggle over two potential publications: Works of Art of the Past Century or 100 Years of Playboy. I’ll leave you to decide which one of us advocated which book.
To placate Sebastian, Works of Art of the Past Century it is. A good manager always manages to make concessions when they are faced with a member of staff who looks as though he’s about to stage a tantrum.
With the esteemed book in his mitt, Sebastian proceeds to checkout, putting the book on one side of the counter and resting the Nutz Novelty nude-man card on the other.
The shop assistant rings up the book and then, glancing at the gay card, with its picture of a compromised nude man on the front, asks Sebastian, “Is this yours?”
Sebastian panicking, “Good heavens, no! He bought it from Nutz Novelty!”
But ‘he’, meaning me, was nowhere to be found. I had expeditiously removed myself and was studiously and demonstratively preoccupied with Post-modernist Works of Art.
“We sell them here,” the assistant said, referring to the card.
Mick Hart’s Diary One Day in Travel Trade Publishing
We were already late back from lunch, two hours late to be exact.
“It wil be a ground-to-air arse-seeking boot for us, Mr Hart!” was Sebastian’s prediction.
We were rattling along on the tube, with Sebastian imitating what he expected Director Quill to say about our lengthy expedition,” Huh! Did it take two of you!”
“To which the reply will be, Sebastian: ‘Yes, one to go into the arty-farty shop and one to buy the bouncing bum.’”
Mr Quilly never commented on our combined late return, but he did say, “I can’t have my managing editor buying condoms, bouncing bums and false breasts in Nutz Novelty Shop.”
Leaving his office, I thought, “Where did he get the false breasts from?”
As I approached the editorial department, I could hear actor Sebastian hamming it up in no uncertain terms: “… and whilst I was in Dillons looking for a decent present, there’s old Mick,” I could hear him sneering, “dithering about in Nutz Novelty shop, undecided about whether he should buy the fart spray or the masturbatory glove?”
“False breasts? Masturbatory glove?” Perhaps Quill and Sebastian were more frequent visitors to Nutz Novelty than we gave them credit for. Perhaps they are given credit? Perhaps they had a joint account!
When I entered the department, I was greeted with: “We thought you were never going to come back. It’s 5pm!”
“Sebastian’s fault,” I replied. “He’s such an old woman when it comes to buying presents.”
No fear of reprisals for that comparison. The one thing I never did was employ feminists.
Mick Hart’s Diary One Day in Travel Trade Publishing
We were late back, so late that we barely had time to wrap the presents and get the card with the bare gay man on the front signed.
South African Arthur, regarding the nude picture on the front of the card, asked: “Why is there a picture of Quilly on the front? More to the point, who took it?”
Grant, from the production department, asked, referring to the photo, “Is this a still out of Sebastian’s latest film?”
After everyone in the production department had signed the card, I ferried it, with half the department behind me, to Mr Quilly’s office. Through the window in the door, we can see him smiling as he signs the card.
Matt Ormolu: “Quilly’s smiling. Perhaps people should leave more often.”
Even Mr Quilly himself had a comment to make: “I’ll have to be more careful about who photographs me as I’m scrubbing my right knee!”
It was almost time to leave for the leaving party, which was taking place at a venue in the Angel. There was an air of school days’ excitement in the office. We were going to be really naughty and leave fifteen minutes early. Even old Suit and Tie, one of the female editorial staff, was coming with us tonight. She usually went straight home to darn her socks or something.
Outside on the street, most of those people accompanying me waited patiently for a cab; all, that is, but Sebastian.
“Typical Harty situation,” he scoffed, referring to me, and then directed at me: “Haven’t you heard of that simple and convenient mode of transport known as the tube?”
“Indeed I have, Sebastian, but you being an actor and all, I wouldn’t dream of casting you in the role of a commoner. Besides, on the tube you’d most likely be deprived of a speaking part, whereas in the cab your oratory will be rewarded with a standing ovation.”
“You’d have a job standing …” but his derision was cut short by our chariot arriving.
The cab got us to where we wanted to be, door to door, in half the time it would have taken by tube.
“I know, Sebastian, there is no need to congratulate me. We are here much quicker than if we had taken the tube; that’s why I’m the manager, here to manage.”
Sebastian’s book, A 100 Years of Art, came in handy. Margaret used it as a platform for the jumping bum, and everyone, except for Sebastian, was enraptured by it. “Good choice, Sebastian,” Ormolu glowed – and so did the condoms.
Whilst Ormolu and the condoms glowed, Sebastian glowered; he was leaning in close – too close, I thought – to two of the female editors for which he had a lascivious liking, chastising me for all he was worth: “You should have seen him, old Hart, standing there in Nutz Novelty, unable to make up his mind whether to buy the fart spray or the masturbatory glove!”
I steered clear of this conversation but wondered how Sebastian would deal with certain questions the female staff now were putting to him regarding the glove to which he had alluded, of which, like Quilly’s female breasts, I had not the slightest knowledge.
All things considered, the party went well, which was something of a letdown by publishing standards. Nobody got paralytic and disgraced themselves by fondling bottoms, except for the clockwork one, or by slagging off the production director to his face; nobody threw up, got into a fight or bonked one another in the gentlemen’s lavs and the stench of Ganja was conspicuously absent. It all could have been so very different, if I had only invited the sales staff.
