Continuing with our theme of Kaliningrad City of Contrasts, I was out walking the other day and I came across this rather splendiferous example.
On one side of the road you have this spanking new
block of flats; on the other, this rather sad and sorry ruined Königsberg
cottage.
This side
That side
Kaliningrad City of Contrasts
Could the latter be restored, I hear you say? Or, is
that just the sound of my own Romanticist fantasy ringing inside my head?
If I had a flat which faced the street in the new
apartment block pictured here, every day I looked out of my window and beheld
this ruined abode, I would be confronted with the question, is this building
restorable?
I would need you there to laugh at me.
But something has to be built on this site at some
time. So, let us rephrase the question: would it be possible to salvage
something from this former home and integrate it into a new build as a historic
feature?
You are laughing at me again!
But look at those marvelous chimney stacks, and is that an enamel sign peeping through the trees on the right-hand side? And who knows what may still be lurking on the inside under the debris? Perhaps one of those remarkable tiled Königsberg stoves; 1920s’ door handles; additions and renovations from the Soviet era. If nothing else, the red bricks have to be a reusable, recyclable commodity?
What’s that you say?
It would be easier to keep the curtains shut or buy a flat on the other side of the building.
Kaliningrad 20 Years Ago (or Russian Hospitality part 1)
Diary entry dated 28 December 2000
From our brief excursion to Königsberg Cathedral we were off at last to Olga’s mothers. I wrote in my diary of rattling over roughshod cobbles, dodging one pothole to land in another, of dimly lit streets, an old metal railway bridge overlooking a huge rolling-stock marshalling yard crammed with lines of open wagons and tankers, of winding streets clung onto by tired old German flats and overlooked impersonally by more modern chunks of concrete that looked more tired and shabby than the ones they sought to usurp. I wrote of the street onto which Andrew let us out of his car. (It was the approach road to Olga’s flat, the flat she shared with her son, her mother, daughter and Marsha the cat.) ‘Mean Street’ I wrote, on account of what the road was: a narrow lane that ran along the side of two or three groups of flats, which taken together formed open-ended quadrangles. On our right there was a small shop in a low-level shed-like building, with a thick wooden entrance made of two doors bolted together. We were going to get in there, once we had braved the terrain: an adventurous combination of savaged concrete interlaced with sinews of ice.
It was warm inside the shop; very little, very basic but altogether very warm. Here, I could chalk up another first, my first time in a Russian shop. The fish and meat counter was enough to give a vegetarian a fit of the flying ab dabs, so I focused elsewhere and found that that every packet, every box and every wrapped item, no matter how small it was, had a little bit of paper stuck to it on which the price was clearly written in hand. The shop keeper, a stout and formidable-looking lady, was dressed in an apron of broad stripes, reminiscent of ticking material used in pre-war British deck chairs.
Whilst I
was taking in the ambience and generalities, brother Joss was concerning
himself with the relative prices of things, particularly those things to which he
was most partial, ie meaty things, such as sausages, big chunks of meat on the
bone, plus large cheeses and pickles.
Olga purchased some items to take with us to her flat, and on the way we stopped at another shop, this one built into the end of the block of flats immediately preceding hers. This shop was slightly larger and more enticing owing to its ample stock of alcohol. I remember that the brand selection was impressive, whilst the generic composition was limited primarily to a choice of vodka or beer.
As it was about
5pm, I was surprised to discover that we would not be taking wine with our
afternoon tea but vodka. “It is cranberry flavour,” Olga emphasised, so that
was alright then!
Kaliningrad 20 years ago
It was not
far now to Olga’s flat. The street lighting was worse here than it had been on
our approach and, as we turned into the open-ended quadrangle, our best guide
was the light filtering out from an open door at ground level. The beams of
light seeping out from the hinge side, threw a thin and lurid glow across a
large mound heaped up at the front of the flats. Some of its composition had
spilled out across the path and, as it crunched beneath our feet, we realised
it was coke (ie, the sort you put in the stove to heat your house!).
We passed
through the external door, a big, old wooden affair, blistered, warped,
incapable of being closed that night as it had been, no doubt, for years. We
were now in the stairwell. This was my introduction to the average Kaliningrad
stairwell, typical in its design and appearance to thousands across the city.
The Balham flat
In looking
back on the way I reacted to and described these communal areas, I feel both
reticent and awkward. In England, I had
been brought up in a rural community. My family home was an 18th century thatched
cottage. My closest friend’s father, a farmer, had a large 18th
century hunting lodge set in the most rural and sequestered piece of English
countryside that you could possibly imagine.
It is true that on moving to London, as a postgraduate student and later in my first job, that my flat in Balham was so notorious, I mean in the sense of basic and humble, that it earnt itself the sobriquet of The Balham Flat. But as shabby, disheveled and wanting as it most certainly was, this flat occupied an old Victorian house, the type that in the early 80s was, like numerous other residential Cinderellas, waiting for Thatcher’s golden slipper. These hangbacks from the 1950s, with their garish red and yellow wallpaper, threadbare carpets, doors overpainted in rivulets of gloss, antiquated electric fires, mouse-eaten skirting boards, rising damp, yellowing net curtains and a kitchen and bathroom that looked as if they should have been consigned long ago either to the scrapheap or social history museum, were known and tolerated, loved to some extent, in that quaint way, with reservations, that you might compassionately look upon a gentleman of the road. Such flats were held in affectionate dislike, reviled but revered as home.
Kaliningrad 20 years ago: the flat
For all I
know the residents of Kaliningrad back in the year 2000 may have felt exactly
the same about their flats as we did about our bedsits, but for we westerners,
particularly those who had tasted comparative privilege, no matter how lowly or
secondhand, it was one of the most challenging moments of coming to Kaliningrad
~ how to react to the flat.
I could tell that Olga, who had travelled and stayed in London on at least two occasions and observed such differences as there were, was embarrassed about what we might think or say. We thought, oh dear, this place could do with a coat of paint, the metal stair rails could do with fixing, the concrete steps could do with some attention and the tangled mass of electric wires protruding dustily from every orifice like an old man found in the nude, well, we did not think much of that and, of course, we said even less.
Unlike some flat complexes in Kaliningrad, the block containing Olga’s flat was a mere three storeys, and her flat was on the third floor. We had already passed some of the biggest, burliest doors I have ever seen not standing outside of a nightclub wearing a dinner jacket, and now we were standing outside yet another which did not fit with the rest whilst none of the rest fitted with any.
As with the stairwell, Olga’s flat premiered yet another phenomenon ~ the two-door combination security system. The first door, which was made of metal and looked secure enough to resist yet another revolution, was immediately backed with another, this one as solid as the first but having a button-down padded interior. It crossed my mind that I must have missed the KGB plaque as we entered. However, the ritual awaiting us was surely a special test (as challenging and bizarre as anything that the Masons could have thrown at us).
In Russia shoes must be removed
As is the custom in Russia, and the custom remains today, all visitors must give up their shoes as soon as they cross the threshold of the flat, the assumption being that the streets, in this instance the streets of Kaliningrad, are so bad that …
Anyway, I
had on a large pair of clod-hopping lace-up boots, difficult from which to extricate
myself even in normal circumstances but very near impossible whilst dancing
around on one foot. Being winter, and a harsh winter at that, hopping around wearing
a full complement of heavy clothing in an attempt to connect with your lace,
whilst it may have been good for Jane Fonda, was hardly conducive to dignified
composure and still to this very day leaves you all sweaty and flustered.
Advice for
all of you who are visiting Russia in winter, invest in a pair of winter boots
but make sure that they are zip-fastening.
It did not
take long for us to get acquainted with the Soviet flat, even in a pair of
slippers that were two sizes too big for me. The flat comprised a small
bathroom, two short corridors, one extending from the front door to bedroom and the other to the right, a small
kitchen at the end of this second corridor and before that, to the left, a
medium-sized bed-sitting room. This room opened out onto a balcony typical for
flats in this region: it was narrow, but of a size sufficient to accommodate
two to three people, together with two small chairs and a table. Incipiently,
such balconies were open to the elements, but a trend for boxing them in had
developed, as was the case in this instance. The inclusion of glazed casement
windows converted the humble balcony into an extension of the living space,
giving the occupants somewhere to sit and smoke whilst offering additional
insulation in winter and a semi-open area in which to relax in summer.
The little
kitchen was truly thus, allowing, with cooker and fridge, no more than a small
table in front of the window along with a chair and stool.
The bathroom was likewise space-conscious, the bath, unboxed, having a long-reach, combination-tap fitted with a shower rose and, of course, there was a toilet.
Kaliningrad 20 years ago: the toilet
The toilet
itself, or rather pan system, was a somewhat curious affair, and I must confess
that I had never seen the like in the UK. Looking into the bowl, it consisted
of two parts. At the front there was a small water chamber and to the back a
shaped platform. Without wanting to go into too much technical detail, how this
worked was that one answered the call of nature, turned the handle, a jet of
water shot out of a conduit at the back of the platform and, if luck was with
you, the water chamber did the rest. For young children I suppose it must have
been a far more exciting model than our boring British bog, more of a
successful launch than, to use the vernacular, dump.
Russian hospitality
Moving swiftly
on, two to three sociable hours were spent at the flat.
Whilst feeding Joss presented no gastronomical difficulty, Olga’s mum had solved the vegetarian issues by augmenting various salads with traditional Russian blinee: savoury pancakes with three different fillings ~ cabbage, potato and mushroom. These went down very well with the cranberry vodka purchased earlier.
I have
never asked Olga’s mother what her first impressions were of the two visiting
Englishmen ~ perhaps it is best not to know!! We found her very open,
interesting, sociable and hospitable, and for me, as I was going out with her
daughter, it was nice to know on this cold Kaliningrad evening that the ice, as
they say, had been broken.
Back out
into the cold, we were now to go by taxi to Olga’s friends’ flat, Andrew and Inna’s.
Being a person of moderate food consumption, I was more than a little concerned to learn that Russian social tradition places great store upon the provision and demonstrable enjoyment of a hearty meal and that any show of reluctance or inability to eat what is laid down in front of you could engender serious offence. I cushioned my concern with the self-assurance that a degree of exaggeration may be expected regarding accounts of the size of the meals and the reaction to reasonable restraint from those who had prepared the meals to those about to receive them.
Very soon, I would find out.
Kaliningrad flats: a communal area (this photograph taken 2004)
When my wife suggested to me that I should take my tooth that needed to be filled to the Russian dentist, here in Kaliningrad, I thought twice about it.
It was my
wife who suggested that I put an end to my griping and take myself and my tooth
with a hole in it to one of the dentists here in Kaliningrad. “The [dentist]
service here is very good; very professional,” she told me. Well, she would say
that, wouldn’t she. She’s Russian.
It was December 2018. We had just arrived in Kaliningrad having moved from England. Being at that age when everything falls to bits [Cohen: “Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey, I ache in the places where I used to play.”], especially teeth, I knew I had to do something and that was either go to a Russian dentist, travel back home to England or take my brother’s advice and use one of his Do It Yourself dental filling kits.
Flying to
the pub is good, but flying through the air is not and DIY dental kits conjure
up images of something that Del Boy would peddle, so, tempted with the
conciliatory carrot that we could go to the local bar afterwards, the Russian
dentist it was.
UK dental experiences
Now I am not one for ‘telling tales out of school’ but recently both my and my wife’s experiences of UK dentistry had left much to be desired. I was struck off the patient list by one practice because I did not attend for two appointments, even though I contacted them and explained that I was unwell, and was immediately and suspiciously recommended to their sister practice up the road, which was, quite frankly, awful. In 12 months of registering there I had two fillings: one was so oversized that it felt as if I had a piece of Stonehenge in my mouth, and I breathed a sigh of relief when it fell out six months later, and the other disintegrated three times in a similar period. My wife was registered with Charlie Chan Inscrutable Dentist Man. Alright, admittedly that was not the real name of his practice; it was Charlie Chan Inexcusable Dentist Man. He worked on my wife’s teeth, charged her a bundle and when she was forced to go for a second opinion because the tooth was still giving her pain, she discovered that apart from the anesthetic he had not done anything! To add insult to injury, he had cancelled two appointments in a row, month on month, the only excuse being that he had other patients to see. Yes, we should have reported him, which we threatened to do, but this did not get the tegs seen too, and we all know how difficult it is in overcrowded Britain to find an NHS dentist that is willing to take you on. We did, after a lot of ‘Googling’ and ‘word of mouthing’ locate a dentist 15 miles away. He had a nice old-fashioned English name, ‘Harry’, and seemed to have a severe case of x-ray phobia, as he kept dancing out of the room before he had quite determined how the apparatus went together. You instinctively know things are not quite right when the x-ray plate is lodged behind your ear!
These incidents went a long way in persuading me that the Russian option was worth a try.
Kaliningrad Dentist Russia
There is no shortage of dentists in Kaliningrad and, as it is pay as you go, there is no ‘will you, won’t you’ register me. Our dentist practice of choice came from personal recommendation. It was, and still is, Centrodent. The recommending friend explained that Centrodent was not the cheapest practice in Kaliningrad but, in her opinion, it was the best.
Now, where is that dentist’s clinic?
In recent years, since leaving London, I have been used to small dental practices operating from all sorts of converted houses, so I was surprised to find that not only was the Centrodent clinic purpose-built but very large.
Water feature and Neoclassicism ~ Centrodent dentists, Kaliningrad, Russia
Inside it
is spacious, light and airy. The dominant colour is a mellow green, the walls
made from a green marble substance containing white ripples (a sort of soothing
toothpaste effect). A combination of design embellishments, favouring both Art
Deco and Neoclassical elements, work surprisingly well together and form a
harmonic partnership with the general modernity.
My first impression was one of tranquility, which was surprising as the place is busy, busy. Patients and white-uniformed staff criss-cross the wide reception area, ascend and descend the curved staircase to the upper quarter, mill around the reception desk, congregate in front of the cloakroom, appear and disappear from the central passage and from the glass-fronted rooms to the left of the planters and water feature. It is all go and yet no stress. It is Waterloo Station on quiescent medication. It works and whoever designed it did well, as he took the dread out of dentistry.
Spacious, clean and relaxing ~ Centrodent dentist clinic, Kaliningrad, Russia
As with many public establishments in Kaliningrad, the cloakroom, with its lady cloakroom attendants, is a nice, civilised and practical touch. This one is open-fronted, built into the main foyer/waiting room, and allows you to divest yourself of your coats so you can worry about your treatment wholeheartedly and without encumbrance.
Swimming caps on shoes
In exchange for your coat you are given a small numbered tag, appropriately made in the form of a tooth. Before you can proceed further, in the interests of feet hygiene, it is mandatory to cover your shoes with a pair of polythene shoe protectors. These ubiquitous items are found in all medical institutions here. I suppose they are a good idea, especially as they make everyone look rather silly. It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to indulge yourself in pre-dental stress whilst wearing a pair of these. First off it amused me, as in trying to put them on I nearly went arse over head, but once content that no one had seen me, I settled into a game of spot who looks the silliest walking in bright blue plastic elastic.
When it was time to advance to go, I looked down at my bright blue shoes and decided that it was me.
‘Don’t step on my blue suede shoes!’
My good
lady wife led me along a corridor, the doors and arches of which were edged
with classical pillars or curved adornments surmounted by pediments. This brief
walk brought us into a smaller waiting room of suntan and honey tangerine
colours, hollow curves to some of the doorways, beige highlighting and, at one
end, a row of blind arches fronted by a small stone-wall garden of tall cacti
and succulents. Activity was no less restrained here than it had been in the
main entrance hall but, as before, the colour scheme and sense of open space
made it less of a waiting room and more of a transit area.
A tooth bush?
I was not
kept transiting long, but during my brief stay I did notice that the majority,
if not all, of the dentists were female, as was mine. She was dressed in a
smart two-piece medical uniform and wearing a surgical mask when she called me
into the surgery. I remember thinking to myself, she had very nice eyes: kind
and sincere.
Kaliningrad Dentist Russia 🤍
It probably was not advisable of me to tell my wife later that I had fallen in love with my dentist as she promptly told the dentist, thus making me very self-conscious when it came to return appointments, but how could I not be so enamoured: pain-free dentistry, a palpable professionalism, a dental surgery equipped with the most sophisticated appliances and stuff to fill your teeth with claimed to be top of the range, not to mention those kindly eyes and gentle but accomplished hands. What was there not to like? There was even a garden and shrubbery just outside the window.
In short, as dentists go this one was one that you would want to go back to time and time again, though propriety dictates that only your teeth should decide.
I came away smiling. Our recommendee is decidedly recommended. She told us that this was one of the best dentist outfits in Kaliningrad, and she warned us not the cheapest. On this occasion my filling cost me just under £45, but before making comparisons with British NHS prices I should clarify that the service here and the techniques and dental composites used match British private dentistry practices. Cheaper alternatives abound in Kaliningrad but when you consider the cost, 45 quid is nothing really for a tooth that you can be proud of and a dentist to whom you would willingly return time and time again.
The dentist’s: No place for the legendary stiff upper lip
Essential Details:
CentraDent Kaliningrad St Kaluga Building 40 Kaliningrad, Russia
February 8th 2020 was a big day in Kaliningrad, to be more precise, it was Big Sausage Day*. Reputedly, it is the day that the ladies of Kaliningrad walk around with smiles upon their faces and quite a lot of the men most sensibly stay at home (source: anonymous). But not me. Unfazed by the reports of a giant object of cylindrical length being disported on the open streets, I set out, in defiance of the Vegetarian Society, one day late as usual.
The Big Sausage fest has become so popular here in
recent years that it has undergone an extension, turning it effectively from a
Big Sausage Day into a Big Sausage Weekend. Unfortunately, the huge and
eponymous object makes its debut on Saturday morning. This year we had been
invited to attend on Sunday and last year both I and our invitee were too
hungover to attend. So, instead of reviewing how the Big Sausage went and where
it went, I am going to make a few comments instead on the much-vaunted subject
of ‘Kaliningrad: a place of contrasts’.
This expression is a stock-in-trade of most
travelogues where Kaliningrad is concerned, and why not? It is a good one. The
term is often applied to the striking and very often incongruous juxtaposition
of architectural forms here in Kaliningrad.
Kaliningrad architectural contrasts
The connection between a whopping great sausage and
architecture is not as obtuse as first it may seem. On the second day of this
weekend’s event, the Big Sausage, understandably exhausted from Saturday’s
exertions, goes into hiding, allowing the festivities to continue in a more
circumscribed place. The venue this year was in the paved area surrounding one
of Konigsberg’s restored monuments, the King’s Gate (more of which at another
time).
Königsberg ‘s KIng’s Gate & Kaliningrad’s Soviet flats ~ a City of contrasts. Notice the old tram tracks!
Kaliningrad King’s Gate
You can see from the photograph supplied, the red-brick Gothic structure of the King’s Gate in the foreground (photographed from the back) and there in the background a long row of 1970s’ Soviet-built flats. Needless to say, the world’s most renowned architects eschew these rather than applaud them, but, like them or not, they are all part and parcel of Königsberg-Kaliningrad’s diverse and rich history.
In my humble vegetarianskee opinion, these flats could be employed to good purpose this time next year. By attaching a giant inflatable sausage from the rooftops, running from one end to the other, the venue for Second Sausage Day would be unmissable and the advertising potential for certain types of products phenomenal. Food for thought?
A view of the King’s Gate from the rear surrounded by Big Sausage Day event stalls
*The Long Sausage holiday has a long tradition. The medieval holiday was first held in Königsberg in 1520. Königsberg’s butchers cooked 16 metre’s of sausage and carried it around the city. The participants then ate the sausage, drank beer and danced. Today, the people of Kaliningrad continue the old tradition and enjoy the holiday of old Königsberg .
Sadly, Plyushkin is now as deceased as it’s fictional namesake😥
It is not called ‘Lampshades’ but why not is anybody’s guess. Plyushkin (which is the name of a fictional character in Gogol’s novel Dead Souls) is a bar/restaurant located on a busy intersection in Kaliningrad opposite the Amber Museum. It is nice and central, and situated as it is on a bustling traffic hub, easy to get to by bus, mini-bus or tram. From the outside, it is deceptive, especially at night, when all that can be seen is a small foyer and the neon sign above it, but the bar/restaurant is below ground and once inside the place is truly TARDISial.
Plyushkin bar & restaurant, Kaliningrad, where lampshades abound
Be that as it may, the furnishings, décor and lighting make for a very comfortable, cozy and inviting feel. When you stop marveling at the oversized lampshades, you are rendered agog by the seating arrangements. Where would you like to sit? It is not an easy choice. In Plyushkin no dining suite is the same as the next, although we narrowed down the selection from traditional table and dining-room chairs to low-slung settees and tables to match.
Lampshades galore at the Plyushkin bar & restaurant, Kaliningrad
Plyushkin Bar & Restaurant Kaliningrad
The accent is upon old-world charm ~ reproduction
antique furniture ~ but non-conformist enough to find walnut-veneer-framed divans sharing the same
space as 1960s’ designs and Avant Garde spectaculars, such as one table which
has a coiled rope columnar support, not dissimilar to a cat’s gigantic
scratching post.
Along the side of one wall runs an eclectic series of
mismatching sideboards and tallboys, both parodies from and originals to
disparate eras. The walls and lateral
ceiling supports are profusely covered in framed vintage photographs and
prints, including one of a young Queen Elizabeth II (G’ord Bless yu Maam!),
although one wall of painted brick has been left relatively clear with respect
to the current industrial look.
Queen Elizabeth II in Plyushkin, Kaliningrad ~ that’s her on the wall by the way …
Pigs’ Snouts
The menu is deliberately ‘old style’ Russian, and
whilst pig snouts in mustard sauce may not be everyone’s idea of culinary
heaven, just think it could be worse, and there might have been a photograph in
the menu.
Nevertheless, we have dined here four or five times,
and my carnivore associates assure me that their choice of meals has been very
tasty and value for money.
The bar is well stocked, leaving nothing to the
imagination, and I can vouch for the beer. The cheapest is about 112 rubles
(which is about £1.36), whilst the premium, which weighs in at around 7%
gravity, is about 275 rubles (£3.33).
Service is spot-on, unlike some places I could mention
~ and no doubt will, as we get around.
Live music
All in all, Plyushkin is extremely atmospheric, and on Saturday evenings live music adds to the ambience. The pendant lampshades, of which there are many, are huge, creatively different and pose a curious question, if not ‘Lampshades’ why not ‘Not One the Same’? ~ both would make super alternative names.
The bar area at the Plyushkin, Kaliningrad
Lenin says, “I’m always at the Plyushkin!”
Essential details:
Plyushkin Restuarant Kaliningrad, pl. Marshal Vasilevsky, 2
This is one of my all-time favourite buildings in the Kaliningrad region’s coastal resort, Svetlogorsk (German: Rauschen). Without genning up on its history, I would estimate that it dates to around the 1920s and is designed and constructed in a neo-Gothic style. The wooden cladding, turret finial, pointed and high gables, clambering levels and fascinating asymmetry make for a very interesting Carpenter Gothic structure steeped in the Romanticist tradition. Hoffmann would have been proud of it!
Svetlogorsk Gothic (Rauschen)
As noted in my previous article, at the turn of the 21st century, this was home to the Café Mozart. It has sat idle and empty for many moons since and was up for sale in 2018, although on our New Year’s Eve trip 2019-2020 to Svetlogorsk , the ‘for sale’ banner was missing. Has it been sold? Is it ‘off the market’? Who knows? All I know is that it embodies all the atmospheric architectural features that my imagination needs and craves!
Gothic, centre of Svetlogorsk (former Rauschen), Russia
Alluring & atmospheric! ~ Svetlogorsk (former Rauschen), Russia
On 23 June 2016, the British people voted in a democratic referendum to leave the European Union. One thousand three hundred and eighteen days later ~ the political establishment and liberal-left pressure groups having exhausted every trick in the book and more to overturn the will of the people and, in the words of the Liberal Democrats, ‘Cancel Brexit’, even if it meant undermining the very foundation on which the UK’s democratic system historically depends ~ the UK under Boris Johnson’s command ~ thanks mainly to Nigel Farage ~ has at last extricated itself from the Federalist Frankenstein otherwise known as the European Union.
Independence Day: Freedom from the EU
Make no mistake, 31 January 2020 was a momentous day in history. It was the day when natural and commonsense nationalism triumphed over the undemocratic, dictatorial aims of a Neoliberal elite which will stop at nothing to push its globalist agenda. With the UK sailing merrily away, bets are now on as to who will be next to jump. Until recently, it would have been unthinkable to suggest it could be the French, but with Captain Macron at the helm of the globalist Bounty, the scent of mutiny is gathering in the air. Thank heavens that when the French people finally see the light, as we did in the UK, and desert the sinking ship, Le Pen will be there with her safety net. We, in Britain, have been waiting to take our country back. Le Pen says, ‘the world is waiting for the return of France’. More to the point, the world is waiting for the return of Europe.
Independence Day: Freedom from the EU
On the positive side, let’s pay tribute to the architect of our Great Escape, Nigel Farage, who took on the British Establishment and won . Here is his exit speech from the EU pantomime [Link here]
Notice the icy cold Gestapo-type tones as they block Farage’s final words: “If you disobey the Rules you get cut off!!” That just about sums up all the EU says they stand for, but don’t. Have you ever noticed how those that shout the loudest about Freedom of Speech, Democracy etc, are the ones that shout you down the loudest. A case of the sulky EU taking their ball from the playground. Sadly, for them that is, less and less people are willing to play.
There is a historic battle going on now across the West, in Europe, America and elsewhere: it is Globalism against Populism. You may loathe Populism, but I’ll tell you a funny thing, it’s becoming very popular!
NIGEL FARAGE in his final address to the EU Parliament, 29 January 2020
There are a plethora of travel guides out there on the internet that like to make sweeping statements about Russian people, as if the people of the largest country in the world can be whittled down to fit ~ like a misconceived square peg into the round hole of consolation. After much negative stereotyping, these articles tend to intimate that in spite of what you have heard, when you meet them Russian people are not so bad after all. It is suggested that they come across as brusque, even rude, but, guess what! ~ when you get to know them they are just as superb and wonderful as any English, German or American person. And what is more, despite having been brought up cooking behind an Iron Curtain, their food is no less delicious.
Armed then
with this image of a bear with sandwiches, we had not the slightest misgiving
or uncharitable apprehension that later today we would have the extraordinary
experience of meeting and dining with Olga’s mum.
First, we
had to get to Kaliningrad, because remember, Dear Reader, Olga had been so
concerned that her English visitors would baulk at the imperfections there that
she had taken the precaution of squirreling them away in the coastal resort of
Svetlogorsk, had installed them in the Hotel Russ, where everything was obvious
and the fitness centre was minus its wheel.
Yesterday,
we had travelled by taxi from Kaliningrad to Svetlogorsk, but today, whether to
save money or merely to be brave, Olga suggested that we go by train.
We had
returned to the Russ from our afternoon drink in the bar, which had no toilet,
got changed ~ rugged ourselves up ~ trudged our way back through the new fall
of snow, it was snowing as we did so, to arrive at Svetlogorsk’s railway
station just as dusk was gathering. We were right on time: a big, old solid
lump of a train was making its way ponderously along the track to where we
stood at the end of the line.
Trains waiting at Svetlogorsk Station, December 2000
Quickly ~
as quick as it was possible with conditions as they were ~ we hurried along the
length of the platform, passing this beast of a train’s bull-nose front until
we reached the first carriage door. Unlike British trains where, in getting on
and off, you are constantly advised to ‘mind the gap’, here it was a case of
mind the small, narrow, rusty iron steps up which you have to teeter if you
want to get inside. As the doors were shut when we arrived, there was no small
amount of dexterity involved in ascending, balancing and opening them, but
teamwork won the day, and before you could say ‘arse over head’ we were on
board and, a few seconds later, on boards. Through no fault of a
well-illuminated carriage we could have been forgiven for believing that
British vandalism had arrived in Russia at last, but it soon dawned on me, with
the cold comfort of a Cold War documentary, that Western decadence would simply not be
countenanced, that there really were not any cushions or padding upon the
seats, just two long rows of slat-back wooden benches.
I ignored
what I thought was my brother saying something like “who’s going to pick the
splinters out” and made my way to the seat at the other end of the carriage.
There may not have been neon lights above our heads saying ‘Look at us, we’re
foreigners’, but the inhabitants of the carriage were gawping at us all the
same.
They
continued to gawp, as if all were one, even though it necessitated some
backward craning on their part, whilst we found that we could not hear each
other speak below the sound of our peculiar whispering. Fortunately, unlike Max
Bygraves, the train never lingered longer, for, with a sickening, unannounced
jolt, which took the audience as much by surprise as it had us, wrenching their
heads in the other direction, we and the hulking train lurched clumsily out of
the station.
Within a
few moments of rolling along we had to admit to each other that although the
seats had looked hard, cold, hostile and uninviting they were all that and more
besides. There was no heat in the carriage; a couple of young scruffy looking
blokes were taking it in turns to drain a bottle of vodka; two old babushkas,
who simply could not refrain from turning their heads every now and then, gave us a withering stare; a gnarled
old man, his coat pulled up over his
ears, rocked back and forth with the rhythm of the train, one minute asleep,
one minute not; and almost everyone without exception was dragging on a fag, ~
not that this bothered us, tobacco smoking had not quite yet become the
wretched victim of self-proclaimed health zealots. I cannot remember whether we
lit up or not, but we most likely did. Brother Joss always had a packet of
roll-ups with him in those days, and besides, the complete and utter absence of
any detectable heating system made striking the match appealing.
Svetlogorsk to Kaliningrad by Train: Tickets Pashalsta!
I was just
wondering when and how we would pay for this magic carpet ride, when a
fierce-looking babushka armed with a large leather handbag waved that secret
weapon menacingly in our direction and snarled something at us, which might
have meant anything, such as ‘Hand over your roll-ups’. Such was her fierce
demeanour that we would have quite willingly handed over anything had not Olga,
taking money out of her purse and passing it to the handbag waver, received in
exchange three slips of paper. Ahhh, so these were our tickets to ride.
In spite of
the excitement, Kaliningrad seemed an age away. The old engine and its ‘ready
for retirement long ago’ rolling stock, rocked, swayed, groaned and complained
every snowbound inch of the way. The undernourished light cast a yellow shroud
over the carriage windows through which nothing could be seen except darkness
and small rivers of snow, which stretched out across the opaque expanse and
collected in miniature drifts along the lower edge of the sills. It was a long
journey; a hard-on-your bum journey; and a very cold journey; but we got there
in the end ~ we actually made it.
The No
Frills Travel Company operated from a station which was not in the least
different from what you would expect: it seemed that no expense had been spared
in reinforced concrete and metal struts.
We
alighted, a little undignified, from the steep, narrow and rickety steps, onto
a slab. A bitter wind was channeling through the yawning end of the station
canopy and what signs there were to tell us how to escape from it were all, of
course, in Russian. As this was Olga’s home town, she did know the way, and
although nothing softening or unremitting greeted us in the station’s concrete underside,
simply evading the wind’s cutting edge was consolation enough.
We were now
passing along the same subterranean passages that we had traversed yesterday
when we arrived in Kaliningrad, from which we would cross the vast rectangular
concourse, and out through one of a number of wonderfully arched Gothic doors.
We had done this, and were now standing, ankle deep in snow, on the perimeter
of that vast concrete plain where yesterday my senses had been so seductively
stimulated by a scene so typically Soviet.
This
evening, however, there were no shoveling soldiers and all but one lonely taxi
driver. All was quiet on the Eastern Front.
Fortunately,
we had done our bit with public transport for the time being and were now all
together looking out for Olga’s friend, the man who was going to meet us. We
did not have long to wait.
Antiques & collectables
Andrew was
a big man; you could not make out his features as he had a muffler over the
lower half of his face and a woolly hat pulled firmly down on his head. He
shook our hands warmly, exchanged a few short words with Olga, laughed and
embraced us and then beckoned for us to follow. Olga had confided my love of history
and antiques to him and he was now leading us to an antique and collectables
shop some few yards away on the edge of the station carpark.
The antique shop was located in a large room in one of the relatively few remaining original Königsberg buildings. Access was gained by passing through a large, heavy, metal studded door, on the other side of which was a veritable cornucopia of Soviet and pre-Soviet Königsberg relics ~ I’ve stopped short of claiming that it was Aladdin’s Cave, as Aladdin would most likely have found it difficult to get a visa here and is most likely on his way to England as we speak in the back of a Co-op lorry.
I shall not
dwell on all the goodies I was interested in here, or what I would have liked
to have bought. In a couple of days’, we would return to this shop and make
three or four purchases. Suffice it to say, that for someone who had spent a
lifetime involved with antiques and curios this was a place far beyond Aladdin
and his half-brother Ali Barber (since arrested in Rochdale).
We were
actually on our way to Olga’s mums, but our driver, Andrew, had been asked by
Olga to wheel us around via Königsberg Cathedral, at this time one of the few
historic buildings to have been given the green light for restoration.
Königsberg Cathedral
Königsberg Cathedral (this photo taken in winter 2004)
As we
drove, I remember passing by a great concrete monolith, softened by and
shrouded in snow, and thinking to myself, what on earth is that? (I was later
to learn it was the ‘House of the Soviets’). But the soon-to-hove-into view
Gothic turret, high perpendicular gables and broad sweeping roof of Königsberg
Cathedral erased all other sentiments, save for that inspired by the sublime
scene in front of me. Now when I look back on my first impression of Königsberg
Cathedral, its haunting profile sketched against a whiteboard of snow, I gain
some insight into the extent to which already the dark and troubled past of
this place had begun to draw me in. But whilst the vast silhouette stamped its
indelible mark, my recollections of the interior of Königsberg Cathedral in the
year 2000 are vague to say the least. I was entranced by my first view of the
external edifice but wrote very little in my diary about what lay behind the
great oak doors. I mention renovation work to various wall monuments and note
that it was not possible at that time to venture further than the ground floor,
but much more than this I did not register, although the impression I have is that unlike today
the doors opened into one very large rectangular room in which seating and
other appurtenances seemed to be at a minimum.
And that, strangely enough, is all that I can recall of Königsberg Cathedral on the inside; whilst the memory of its outside has never let go of me … and never let me go.
Before going anywhere today, the first thing we do is
consult the internet. If you undertake ~ or have already undertaken ~ an
internet search of ‘Kaliningrad’ chances are that you will turn up, or have
already turned up, a disproportionate amount of negativity. This is especially
true of UK media articles, that is articles disseminated by the mainstream UK
press, particularly articles written prior to and up to 2018, when Kaliningrad
hosted the World Cup tournament in which England played against Belgium.
In the months leading up to the World Cup the
concerted vitriol reached its apotheosis, which was rather unfortunate for the
British press as, almost without exception, the majority of British fans who
were not dissuaded from coming to Kaliningrad agreed that they had enjoyed
themselves in Russia and in Kaliningrad in particular. So, it was a warm
welcome for the British footer fans and a red face for the British media.
Since 2018, there has been a noticeable change in tone,
with some, though not all, journalists adopting a more honest appraisal of Kaliningrad’s
status as a tourist destination. Leading travel guides for English-language
readers blaze the trail, using such words to describe Kaliningrad as ‘exciting,
vibrant, a city and region of contrasts, fascinating, quirky and historically
unique’.
Indeed, our late friend Victor Rybinin, artist and
historian, defined its unique character as the combination of two cultures, first
German and then Russian, and it is somewhere between this polarity that its
fascination resides.
Königsberg: a city that refuses to die
Kaliningrad’s duality really begins at the close of WWII. Until that time it had been the capital of East Prussia, an imposing and noble city, boasting an architectural composition of Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic designs. Originally known as Königsberg, the city changed names when it changed people and country in 1946, the historical city of Königsberg having been all but extirpated from aerial bombing in 1944 and the Soviet siege and battle of 1945. From 1946 onwards, Königsberg, now renamed Kaliningrad, and the territory surrounding it, was absorbed by the Soviet Union.
Home to the Baltic Fleet, and of strategic geo-political importance, the area became a closed domain and remained this way until the collapse of the Soviet Union. The dissolution of the satellite Baltic states in the 1990s and their subsequent harvesting by the European Union created a physical and psychological barrier ~ physical in that the Kaliningrad region is separated by countries unallied to Russia, psychological in the sense that this little piece of land, the westernmost outpost of the Russian Federation, has become a political/military bogeyman for the West to rattle its sabres at ~ little wonder, therefore, that it is ringed with NATO bases! Never mind, it does not worry the locals, so it need not worry you.
History is Kaliningrad’s speciality
For the history buff, especially those interested in
WWI, WWII and the Cold War, Königsberg-Kaliningrad has plenty to offer. The
city contains a number of wartime monuments and museums and so many underground
shelters that I have often amused myself whilst travelling from one side of the
city to the next by taking part in my own spot the bunker competition. One of
the bunkers, the aptly named Museum Bunker, is open to the public. It is very
Nazispheric and replete with military history exhibits.
Spot the German bunker competition
The most obvious examples of Königsberg’s military
history predate the conflicts of the 20th century, although, like
every building in the beleaguered city of 1945, they played a not
inconsiderable defensive role in the final battle for Königsberg.
Königsberg was a fortress city, which, by the middle
and the late 19th century, was heavily defended by two continuous
rings of red-brick forts joined by an elaborate network of slit walls,
bastions, gates, ramparts and crenelated towers. A prodigious proportion of
both defensive rings is extant today, thanks to their solid construction, the determination
of local history groups to conserve them and considerable restoration
investment. Some of the forts now house museums; others are work in progress.
One of Königsberg’s inner circle of fortsMoat surrounding one of Königsberg’s forts in the outer ring
Smaller relics both of Königsberg and from its military
past can be found in any one of the city’s antique shops and ~ joy of all joys
~ at the city’s central street market. This haven for collectors has evolved
into a boot fair/flea market hybrid, selling all manner of WWII and Soviet
relics along with remnants of Königsberg itself.
One of the most atmospheric, or should that be claustrophobic,
reminders of the Cold War is the Soviet submarine which is moored at the side
of the Pregolya (German: Pregel) River on a bankside development mainly
devoted to other marine vessels, museums and education centres under the
auspices of the World Ocean Museum.
Soviet submarine, Kaliningrad
Kaliningrad’s Amber Museum is possibly the most well-known museum in the city and its territory. It was established in 1972 and occupies one of the inner-circle forts on the bank of one of Kaliningrad’s lakes (the correct terminology for which, I am told, is ‘pond’ ~ which makes it a very big one!) This, incidentally, is the same tower depicted in various YouTube videos, on which victorious Russian troops hoist the Soviet flag high across the war-torn landscape which, in 1945, is all that remained of Königsberg ~ at least in its physical form.
Kaliningrad amber
Amber Museum, Kaliningrad, Russia
Established in the richest amber-producing area in the world, the Amber Museum holds impressive and ornate examples of artisan craftsmanship, and both the city and coastal resorts are dotted with specialist amber shops, supplemented by market stalls specialising in every conceivable manifestation of amber-work imaginable and in all its various hues ~ jewellery, souvenirs, framed pictures, clocks, statues, household goods … the list is seemingly endless.
Exotic amber jewellery, Kaliningrad, Russia
Opulent amber covered vase/urn, Kaliningrad, Russia
Coastal resorts of the Kaliningrad region
The largest coastal resorts, Svetlogorsk and Zelenogradsk,
are respectively a mere thirty and forty-five minutes away from Kaliningrad
city centre by car, train, taxi or bus. As both towns are extensively populated
with shops and stalls selling amber, and as the amount and range of goods for
sale is little short of amazing, amber hunters visiting these resorts can
combine their shopping expedition with a relaxing day by the sea.
Svetlogorsk (German: Rauschen) is a traditional
coastal spa resort nestled on an undulating headland, sprinkled with fir and
beech woods, in which quaint German houses of Hoffmanesque character peep out
from within small enclaves of trees.
High Gothic, Svetlogorsk, Russia
In recent years, renovation and large-scale investment has, like Kaliningrad, made this a place of contrasts and with it evoked controversy. Lavish and extravagant villas, high-rise buildings, even an entire street reconstructed in retrospective styles, have inevitably been precipitated by its growing popularity as a well-appointed, attractive coastal retreat.
Half-timbered reconstruction, Svetlogorsk, Russia
Following in the style of Rauschen (Svetlogorsk)
The, in my opinion, outsized multicomplex theatre and shopping centre, constructed in Svetlogorsk in 2015, seems to have been accepted, but there is decidedly less tolerance for what many see as a disproportionate extension to the seafront promenade, an enormous elevated walkway that has robbed Svetlogorsk of some of its little sandy beach and is destined to serve as the frontage for a parade of grand hotels and exclusive sea-view apartments. This notwithstanding, the older parts of Svetlogorsk are resolutely anchored by firm historical roots which, at the time of writing, continue to nurture the fairy tale.
Entertainment centre, Svetlogorsk, Russia
Zelenogradsk (German: Cranz) is by far the better option if sandy beaches are your thing. In German times, Cranz was considered to be the first resort and Rauschen the second, a position reversed in Soviet times and persisting to this day, but my prejudice is gradually moving in favour of Zelenogradsk. With its broad, golden swathe of beach, wide service-filled promenade, interesting beach-side cafes and restaurants offering unobstructed views of the sea, and its calm and easy serpentine high street containing many fine old buildings, some tastefully renovated others honestly gnarled and time-weathered, and not forgetting its awe-inspiring sunsets, a heavenly fusion of the sublime and surreal, Zelenogradsk for me is the perfect seaside retreat.
Zelinogradsk promenade, Russia
Zelinogradsk High Street, Russia
Zelinogradsk Hotel, Cranz Style
Lenin in Zelinogradsk
As stated previously, Svetlogorsk and Zelenogradsk are
the two main regional coastal resorts, but they are not the only ones along
this stretch of the Baltic coastline. Smaller and more secluded places await
the intrepid traveller!
Sandy beaches hidden away on Kaliningrad’s Baltic coatline
For nature lovers, and lovers of the great outdoors, the
Kaliningrad region’s jewel in the crown is indubitably Korski Spit (the
Curonian Spit) ~ a long (98km) narrow sand dune that arcs from the Kaliningrad region into south-west Lithuania,
with the Curonian Lagoon on one side and the Baltic Sea coast the other.
Carpeted with pine forest, and intricately laced with white sandy dips and
hollows, this Unesco World Heritage Site is a phenomenal natural landscape and a
natural habitat for a multitude of bird, animal and plant species. Wooden
pathways constructed by volunteers permit the traveller to enjoy the natural
beauty of the Curonian Spit whilst preserving the fragile ecosystem. It is
along one of these that you are invited to walk to the Dancing Forest ~ so
named because of the coiled and twisted nature of its trees. Visitors to the
Spit will find viewing platforms from which to appreciate the beauty of both
land and seascape, level cycle trails, and cafes tucked away in quiet little
woodland glades. As for guest houses in this protected part of the Kaliningrad
region, such are not prolific, although you may be lucky and find one in one of
the two small secluded settlements hidden away on the Spit.
Meanwhile, back in Kaliningrad, no reference to its
historic past would be complete without acknowledging the enduring presence of Königsberg
Cathedral. A mere husk after the war, sterling work, much effort, considerable
investment and skill has seen this fine specimen of 14th century
Gothic architecture restored to an unbelievable standard. In the daytime its unmistakable
profile hints at the glory of what once was; in the twilight its silhouette is
an eerie reminder of total war and the obliteration that still haunts this
city.
Kaliningrad: ‘City of Contrasts’
Kaliningrad: Victory Square
The label a ‘city of contrasts’ is as good as one as
any to try to hang on a place which is as enigmatic as it is ambiguous.
Modern-day Kaliningrad is vibrant and bustling ~ new apartment blocks,
expensive reconstructions cast in the mould of its Königsberg predecessors, an
eclectic array of bars, cafes, restaurants and clubs, brand-spanking
international hotel complexes rub shoulders with down-at-heel swathes of
Soviet-era concrete flats, all sharing the same physical and spiritual space as
the monuments to and memories of the ruins from which they have grown ~ Königsberg.
Original Königsberg building, Kaliningrad
Epilogue
When I began writing this article, I had envisaged a
succinct work of some 500 to 600 words. The fact that I have greatly exceeded
that is testament to the great variety of things to see and do here, within Kaliningrad
itself and its outlying region, and whilst I have deliberately focused on some
of the more prominent, more defining features unique to this special place, those
that I have not mentioned ~ of which there are many ~ less known, perhaps, but
equally deserving, are urging me to write about them and, more importantly, for
you to come and discover them for yourself.
Tour Guide/Accommodation
English-speaking visitors to this region are welcome
to contact us on email Königsbergmick@mail.com.
We provide a friendly, personal tour guide/interpreter service tailored to your
requirements. We also offer accommodation (maximum two people).
Note: Rumour has it that the Hotel Russ has not only closed but in 2021 was demolished to make way for a brand-spanking new development complex. I am glad that I had the chance to visit this iconic building before it was consigned to history! R.I.P. Russ!!!😪
Every year it’s the same: what are we going to do, where are we going to go on New Year’s Eve? I was in England over the Christmas period when my wife telephoned to discuss where we should see the New Year in. Such a question would have been unthinkable, and quite unnecessary, in Kaliningrad when we were younger, as there was always someone holding a party somewhere, but the years have taken their toll and most of our friends and associates, we included, have reached the age when raucous reverie no longer holds the attraction that it once did. To paraphrase the Ouse Valley Single Club’s record, ‘We’re not as young as we used to be’. However, life is full of surprises, and just when I was thinking that it would be a night in with my old Kenneth McKellar Hogmanay tapes, here’s my wife suggesting that we return to the Hotel Russ!
New Year’s Eve at the Hotel Russ
Now, it had
been almost 20 years ~ New Year’s Eve 2000-2001 to be precise ~ since we last
celebrated New Year at the Russ (see my diary entry on this blog, when I get
time to write it!), and when I divulged our decision to my brother, who had
been with us back in the day, all he could chortle was, “Oh, no! You’re joking!
Remember what it was like then. I bet it hasn’t changed!”
I wondered.
In my previous article on the Russ I had promised that we would return at some point in the future and review the Russ again, and as this occasion seemed as good a time as any, New Year’s Eve at the Russ it was.
Although Kaliningrad, where we live, is only 1000 rubles (about £11) by taxi away, we decided to make a short break of it, booking in for two nights. The New Year’s Eve party tariff was, approximately, £60 per person; the hotel tariff, £40 per night for a double room. For your 60 quid each person received a meal of 9 courses and a choice of two bottles from three options, which comprised wine, champagne and vodka. Fruit juice, in copious amounts, was thrown in and, of course, the fee included the cost of entertainment.
Not being
altogether sure what time the event started, we had arrived early at 8pm,
giving us time to patrol the Russ to spot the deliberate changes. We had
returned to the Russ on three or four occasions since our first visit in 2000,
not to stay there, but for a drink at the bar, so we were aware that the hotel
had changed hands a number of times and of the changes made under different
ownerships.
The ‘sun lounge’ extension to the dining room, for example, which had not been there on our first visit, had been instigated some several years ago and, naturally, the hotel’s interior decoration, paintwork and such, had passed through various stages of transformation. Nevertheless, in terms of construction and overall layout, alterations were few: the approach to reception and reception area itself was as good and as true as yesterday; the ship-shape bar area, the overhang of which was distinctly reminiscent of a 1920s’ ocean liner, was perfect in its preservation; the sweeping twist of the spiral staircase unmolested by time; the split-level pitch of the bar lounge unspoilt in all its high-ceiling glory; the square-section colonnade marching along the centre line as sturdy and impressive as the day I first set eyes on it. However, needless to say, there had been some changes.
Russ Bar 2000
Russ Bar 2020
As one of the photographs we took in the year 2000-2001 reveals, the original Russ bar had been a rather small affair, a little curved thing which would not have looked out of place (although they all did) in a 1970s’ British council house front room. Gone! This had been replaced by a big job: a long, solid, dark-wood structure, extending almost from one end of the room to the other, and better in proportion to it. Gone, too, were the drop-down cluster lights, the ceiling-hoisted tapestries and the curved low walls at the foot of the pillars with their water feature. The main lighting source, at least at the bar, consisted of three long rows of sunken downlighters; the low walls and water features had been replaced by width of space and the tapestries had, well, they had just gone somewhere.
In the lower level, the lighting was dimmed, especially for this occasion, and restrained to roving beams and three or four table lamps, these to cosy the atmosphere. I focus on lighting at this juncture because if I have any reservations about our evening at the Russ, it would have to be the lighting, that is the lighting in the bar area where our table was located. On the lower level, the lighting was just right; on the upper it was all wrong ~ far too bright. When we returned to the bar the following evening two of the three downlighter series had been turned off ~ then, but alas, too late, the lighting was near enough perfect.
It is not
possible to comment on any other difference within the ground-floor area,
except for a slight variation in the fireplace surround at the end of the lower
level, as this section had been set out with party in mind and to accommodate
as many guests as possible. In 2000-2001, the New Year’s celebrations had been
confined to the main dining room; then, the upper bar area had, presumably,
been left untouched, likewise with the lower level, which was then sprinkled
luxuriously with leather divans and armchairs.
On this New Year’s Eve, we did not immediately take our seats at the table we had reserved. Apart from the hotel staff, we were alone, and the empty legions of tables, hollow space devoid of human existence, background music ~ which only we could hear, echoing throughout the people-less places, roaming empty rooms and haunting lofty halls ~ put me in mind of scenes from The Shining ~ all we needed now was a heavy fall of snow!
Before the guests arrive
We purchased
a couple of drinks at the better, longer bar and took the same slim lift into
which we had squashed with Mincer and our Sausage back in 2000. We got out on
the second floor, although our room was on the third, simply because we wanted
to see if we could remember which room we had occupied, and which room had been
my brother’s 19 years’ ago.
Russ bar & staircase from the balcony
In this
quest we had marginal success, but this little bit of time travelling had
revealed that the railed centre of the broad corridor was no longer an open vista
to the ground floor and that even had we returned to carry out my brother’s
threat all those years ago, to hang underpants on the top of the Christmas
tree, the chance had passed us by. Possibly because our rooms had been bugged
back then and someone knew of our plan, the two gaps in the ceiling had been
effectively plugged, allowing subsequent management to turn the corridor below
into a multipurpose function room and, indeed, this was the very location for
the New Year’s entertainment tonight.
Fish & the billiard table
At the top
of the spiral staircase, on the veranda where the lift came out, the full-sized
billiard table, over which Mr Fish had cursed boredom and chucked pistachio
shells noisily into an ashtray whilst contemplating his prostitute of choice,
had vanished, replaced instead by lots of open space and around the perimeter
in part a combination of settees and armchairs in a sumptuous off-white fabric
into which one could gratefully sink to savour one’s choice of beverage whilst pondering
on the efficacy of yonder massage chair, with its various change of positions
and strategically thought-out vibrating parts.
We
discovered later, much to my nostalgic joy, that the famous billiard table had
not been given the heave-ho but merely relocated to the third floor.
The famous Mr Fish billiard table!
Our room at
the Russ
I am not altogether certain that the room we had booked had been described as a double or a room for two persons. Although, alas, there was no signs of rope bondage as there had been years ago, a practice, no doubt, that just did not catch on, the sleeping arrangements may have constituted two single beds artfully conjoined by the simple but effective use of a stretch-fitting base sheet.
Beds at the Hotel Russ
Whatever it was, the bed was comfortable, and the room, with its light wood trim, light sandy wall colouring and matching hard and soft furnishings was pleasant on the eye and on all the other senses. Good use had been made of compacting the space available and maximum storage capacity had been exacted in terms of wardrobe fittings and shelving. The shower room was, as they would have said in the 1920s, blissful, and was well equipped: it had a voluminous sink unit, large circular wall mirror, a profusion of hooks and racks, all the shampoos, conditioners, soaps and the like you could wish for, disposable tooth brushes with toothpaste included and a wall-mounted hair dryer, a nice touch eliminating the need to search for it amongst your shirts and smalls. Without question, however, the jewel in the crown had to be the walk-in shower room. Big enough to hold an orgy, this spacious facility with its mosaic floor was just the job for a good rinse down when, on returning from the beach, you might need to evict the sand from your toes.
Russ Balcony 2020
Another appealing feature of Russ bedrooms, at least the ones we have stayed in, is the balcony. Russ balconies are recessed into the broad sweep of the roof. They are as deep as they are wide, providing excellent suntraps in sequestered privacy.
Too cold to go nude on this occasion, even whilst wearing my cravat, we elected instead to return to reception, collect our belongings and prepare for the evening.
New Year’s Eve party at the Hotel Russ
Being a bit long in the tooth, we had chosen our table deliberately, putting a respectably less noisy distance between us and the entertainment hall. As I mentioned earlier, our only reservation was the lighting, which made us wish that we had booked a table in the more atmospheric lower level, but being close to the bar had its compensations ~ for example the attentive waiter, who could not have replenished our glasses quicker had he been beamed down specifically for that purpose.
Drinks
wise, I have no complaints; as for the food, well, I am not a foodie person, by
which I mean not one of those gluttons (or is it gourmets?) who vacillate from
orgasmic to anti-climactic dining experiences, eating at one restaurant whilst
comparing it with another, waxing lyrical on this gastronomical campaign whilst
deprecating that one and scoffing down one meal in the midst of planning their
next. As my old primary school teacher used to say, “There are those who live
to eat; and those who eat to live.” In my humble opinion, the Russ repast was
good. In quantity, there was too much for me; but I have no beef with the
quality. In fact, being non-carnivorous, I had no beef at all. This should at
least provide some reassurance to vegies who may have read elsewhere ~ and,
indeed, in my own articles on this blog ~ that vegetarian fare can be hard to
find in Russia.
My good
lady wife, who neither shares my predilection for non-meat fodder nor condones
my beans-on-toast palate, seemed well pleased with her meal(s). Had she not, I
am almost certain that she would have complained!
The Russ breakfast
I will say,
however, that breakfast the following morning was generous both with regard to
the variety of food on offer and in quantity. In respect of the latter, it
would have been impossible not to be, since food was served buffet style and,
if you wanted more, you simply helped yourself. There were different cheeses,
poached eggs, omelet squares, sausages, fish, potato wedges, small buns
containing meat, croissants, bread, fruit, yoghurts, a range of cereals, a
cavalcade of fruit juices and much more than my hangover-impaired memory can properly
recall. One delicacy was more indelible, however, and that was a traditional
Russian dish called ‘Herring Under Fur Coat’. Believe me, I kid you not.
‘Herring Under Fur Coat’
On the
quality of the entertainment this New Year’s Eve, I am not really qualified to
comment, as we spent most of our time at our table. We did watch and listen to
President Putin’s speech and raised a glass to Moscow’s New Year, which came in
one hour ahead of time than that of Kaliningrad’s, and raised a second toast at
the end of the Russian National Anthem, probably one of the longest but most
uplifting national anthems of all time. At Kaliningrad’s midnight, we joined
the throng in the entertainment hall, where champagne was being served in
preparation for the midnight hour, the countdown preluded by a New Year speech
by the Governor of Kaliningrad, Anton Alikhanov.
In the lift Olga had spoken to a man who had asked her if she was partying until 6am, the official closing time of the Russ party. When she replied in the negative, excusing us from this commitment due to our age, the grey-haired man replied, “I’m not as young as I used to be [now, where have I heard that before?] but I’m going to party anyway!”
Young and
old and in between, the Russ continued to rock until daybreak. Much was drunk;
but all was civilised!
In summary, our return to the Hotel Russ had been disappointing: the service was excellent, the staff extremely efficient and friendly, the bar well stocked, the food ~ like Trump ~ unimpeachable, the interior design architecturally fascinating, the hotel rooms clean, comfortable and well-equipped, and it was all that you wanted and all you could ask for. Although I did not have so much to laugh about as I did 19 years’ ago when last I stayed at the Russ, what the Russ had lost in slapstick comedy it had more than made up for in professionalism, atmosphere and a sense of bon ami.
At a time when hotels are popping up in Svetlogorsk like a bad rash, should you be looking for reclusive (ie away from the increasing hustle and bustle of the seafront) and exclusive accommodation, you would do much worse than opt for the Russ. From relatively humble but entrepreneurial beginnings, it has attained a level of maturity seldom encountered in the hospitality trade.
The Hotel Russ, Svetlogorsk, Russia: a 4-Star Hotel with 6-Star Service!
Hotel Russ New Year’s Eve 2000
Hotel Russ New Year’s Eve 2020
Essential Details:
Russ Hotel Ulitsa Vereshchagina, 10 Svetlogorsk Kaliningrad Oblast, 238560
