Forever, for years and until recently going to the shop was considered to be a fairly humdrum chore, but now it is fraught with apprehension and danger. Today, just before we left the house, I caught myself inadvertently humming the Dambuster’s theme tune, a morale-boosting bit of subconsciousness if ever there was one. Thought I, ruefully, how long will it be before I am humming Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer?
We had been to the one of our local shops in the morning and stocked up on enough provisions to get us through the week. Leaving the shopping in quarantine in the hallway, we scrubbed our hands thoroughly ~ my once manly John Wayne hands looking like two red lobsters ~ and then we disinfected the tap, sink unit, door handles, doors, steps, front door, gate, street, you name it.
Self-isolation in Kaliningrad
It was a sublime spring day. The sun had got its hat on
and the sky was a crystal-clear blue. We even managed to sit for a while on the
terrace, and our old ginger cat, which jumps at his own shadow, courageously
followed us, though in an eponymous way, as if he has been watching the way
that I act when I have to leave the house these days.
The young man whom we had employed to dig the garden
was sneezing and coughing outside as if someone had stuffed a cigar in his
mouth and was pinching his nostrils shut. The two-metre social distancing rule
would need to be extended in his case, so, since it had taken him two hours to
dig two feet of ground, we checked how much he was charging us by satellite.
We had business in town today, and there was no way
out of it.
On foot to the official business destination was a good walk, about two miles I would imagine, but ever mindful of avoiding public transport we took this option.
Self-isolation Kaliningrad Russia
Our route would take us around the side of the ‘lake’
(if you are talking Kaliningradian) and the ‘upper and lower ponds’ (if Königsbergian).
It is a pleasant walk, never more so on a beautiful spring day like today.
There were many people in evidence ~ people of all
ages ~ strolling, sitting on the lakeside benches, all in a condition of
relaxed torpor brought on by the return of spring after a long and miserable
winter. Olga listened in on snippets of conversation as we walked ~ no one
mentioned coronavirus.
Social distancing: Kaliningrad gulls setting a good example
We emerged from the small gateway at the side of the
fort which houses Kaliningrad’s world-famous Amber Museum. The relative
tranquility of the lake was suddenly replaced by an extremely busy thoroughfare
~ cars, buses, trams, trucks, pedestrians. There was no difference in the
volume of any since I walked this route a fortnight ago.
Self-isolation Kaliningrad
When we reached our destination, an establishment not
dissimilar to your average British dole office, we were discomforted to find
that with the exception of some of the staff who were wearing protective masks
most people were not in the least concerned about the threat of the transmission
of or infection by a rather nasty virus. The little window at which we needed
to queue was fronted by several people who could not have been closer to each
other had they been at an orgy. We did our best to keep our distance, but the
experience put me in mind of a pedestrianised version of funfair dodgems,
except without the fun.
In a situation like this the only real way of
guaranteeing your safety would be to stop breathing, and, as this was hardly
advisable, we had to make do with a touch of the old Fred Astaires and Ginger
Rogers ~ light and quick on our feet.
On our return home, we went through the whole
decontamination programme again ~ thorough handwashing, disinfecting door
handles, keys and anything else we could think of.
They say that a week is a long time in politics; four weeks into the coronavirus age and it feels like forever.
Day 5 of self-isolation and I am as happy as a pig in …. What is the expression? Ahh, straw. Of course, it is early days and there is a slight difference between five days and, how long has it been suggested in the media, 18 months? But I am confident that come what may I can do my time.
The hypocrisy inherent in that statement compels me to admit, however, that people like myself who have been working from home for years do have a distinct advantage. For us it is a way of life: self-isolating, social distancing, cuh, it is as easy as mugging somebody and blaming it on a deprived background. Over a period of time ‘working from homers’ cannot help but develop all of the essential skills isolators need to survive. We end up being Robinson Crusoes of our time, man; Friday or any other day, it is all the same to us.
I appreciate that the situation is somewhat different, somewhat more irksome should you by nature be a get-up-and-go, over-energised, gung-ho, physical-expending type or by vocation a manly man or manly woman doing heave-ho type of work. Self-lock-up, like voluntarily chastity, cannot be easy (they say it can be fun?) if you spend much of your life running marathons, getting sweaty down the gym, chopping down trees, digging holes or mountain climbing, but you do not need to run around your house with your chopper in your hand, tunnel your way out as if you are in Colditz or find yourselves climbing the walls, and the same applies to keeping fit and making your trainers pong. These things can be just as effectively transacted at home as in a posy, rip-you-off sports centre. OK, nobody is going to see you in the ridiculously expensive gear you bought to show off in, but if that worries your ego, why not just take a ubiquitous ‘selfie’ and post it up on Facebook.
I reverted to home workouts years ago during an
eight-year spell when I was working a 70-hour week, when it was just not
feasible, and when I certainly did not have the inclination, after rolling home
late on an evening to look out my gym gear, pack it (forgetting your towel,
naturally), travel to the sports centre, jump around, shower, pack up your
kecks in your old kit bag and trundle all the way home. Home exercise saved an
awful lot of time and made even more sense ~ it was a good way of saving money,
too.
Admittedly, as on many occasions I elected to workout before I travelled to work, which meant dragging my sad and sorry arse out of bed at 5am (always difficult if you have had five pints of glorious ale the night before), it was difficult, but very good for self-discipline ~ Ouch! ~ although the combination of hard exercise, sleep deprivation and, if you are foolish enough to imbibe the night before, shock detoxification can produce an effect that is almost out-of-body. But there is really no need to follow my masochistic lead. Just choose a time of day when exercise suits you best ~ that is the beauty of working from home, indeed just being at home!
Keeping occupied whilst incarcerating yourself, or being locked down by the State, is another matter and depends on what you are used to and how adaptable you are.
“Be an opener of doors” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
This blog, my diary, a biography that I am editing and a couple of other projects keeps me very busy. I have a Lada-load of books that I want to read and, when all of this becomes too wearing on the eyes and as Poirot was fond of saying, the little grey cells, I can always put my pinny on and pretend I am a housewife before the days of the gender wars.
To say that there is nothing to do and that ‘I’m bored’ is an alien concept to me. As my late friend Victor Rybinin the artist and historian said, “I can only imagine what boredom is!”. This is the internet age, dammit.
Self-isolating & Lockdown
We might live in the misinformation/disinformation age, but when you cut through the crap on the internet there is really quite a lot of good stuff out there. If you look hard enough, you can learn all sorts of new things. My ex-SAS friend, who is currently on lockdown in London (why not, he has been locked up everywhere else), is biding his time between unarmed combat training, learning how to make soufflés , and another chap I know, who once registered his employment as a professional burglar, has started a new business on eBay selling all sorts of home appliances, jewellery and things that he has collected over the years.
You meet a lot of interesting people when pub-crawling is your hobby, er although possibly not at the moment!
If the truth be known, that is the only thing that I am missing in this new isolation age ~ my weekly trip to the boozer. Somehow, it is just not the same, drinking with friends whilst on Skype.
However, being optimistic (very by the look of the news), come summer at least we can invite some friends around for a drink. My new social-distancing socialising plan is called relative socialising. How it works is that having disinfected ourselves and made sure that the wind is blowing in the right direction, we, my wife and I, sit on the terrace and drink ~ the terrace is on the first floor ~ whilst they, the guests, sit outside in the garden. We can hold conversations by shouting to each other over the railings and/or use our mobile phones if and when the mood should take us. This is also an excellent way of keeping your mind occupied and stopping you from reading Google News. If you do not have a terrace set-up like us but have two rooms, you could always knock a hole in the wall, fill the gaps with facemasks or, if you have been farsighted, bog paper, and with you in one room and they in the other converse through this homemade filtration system.
There is really no end to the things you can get up to
whilst you are self-isolating or in government lockdown.
Yesterday, for example, I read on the Kaliningrad news
website that there had been a substantial increase in the number of condoms
sold in Russia since the outbreak and spread of coronavirus. It really is quite
amazing what people will store in a time of crisis. I suppose with all this
time on their hands, and elsewhere, some enterprising couples are making their
own rubber gloves.
Tomorrow, Day 6 of Self-isolating, we brave the great outdoors!
Today, we (my wife and I) officially became professional, full-time self-isolators ~ well, as full-time as it is possible to be, making allowances for the inevitable trip to the shops. Whilst Boris was pondering the ramifications of closing down Britain’s singular most important institution, the public house, and Tim Martin (Wetherspoon) was left wondering whether the pub blackout was a conspiracy aimed at him for supporting BREXIT, I had already taken the boycott-bar pledge.
Harbouring a long-term prejudice against drinking at home, which is about as satisfying as drinking Charlie Wells’ bitter anywhere, I have had no choice but to turn our converted attic into a gentleman’s drinking retreat, where I shall social distance myself with a few beers and vodkas whilst trying assiduously not to fall arse-over-head down our ‘north face of the Eiger’ stairs.
Yesterday evening, apropos of our decision to self-isolate, we called in at the local trading post to pick up some hardware and victuals. Whilst there are no obvious signs of panic-buying in Kaliningrad yet, I must confess that on this occasion we did buy three or four more packets of dried goods ~ cereals, porridge, that sort of thing. Whilst this is a long way off from those heartbreaking scenes of huge lard arses wheeling mountains of bog rolls out in supermarket trolleys stuffed to the gunnels with grub ~ by the time they have finished self-isolating they are going to need someone with a jemmy to prise them through their front doors, plus a years’ subscription to Dyno Rod ~ a paroxysm of fear, albeit a very small one, raised the troublesome question within my conscience, is this just the start? And furthermore I cannot deny that when I reached into the cupboard this morning to take out a packet of muesli I felt what I can only describe as a frisson of excitement ~ no, secret satisfaction ~ on noting that instead of one packet of muesli there were two!
5 inches of muesli & a pricking conscience
Diary of a self-isolator
I am monitoring my reactions to this phenomenon very
carefully, mitigating my unease with the get-out clause that although Russia is
the largest country in the world, it does seem to stock and purvey edible goods
in the smallest of packages. I mean UK ASDA would never be able to sell
breakfast cereal, or anything for that matter, in convenient pocket-size
packets like this!
One last question on my first day of self-isolating: Have you stopped to ask yourself what Tim Martin of Wetherspoon is going to do with all those tapped real-ale kegs now that his pubs have been prematurely closed?
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
