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Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk

Skeletons in closets and more …

Published: 15 January 2021 ~ Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons

To see it, especially from a distance, you would think that it was just another modern apartment block. Besides, your eyes would be led away by the nearby proximity of a far more interesting building ~ the Zelinogradsk (formerly, Krantz) water tower. Only when you draw closer do you get to see the hotel sign, as large as it is. This is the intriguingly named Boutique-Hotel Paradox; the first paradox being that entombed within this building lies the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons; the second, that it is not really a museum at all but more like an art centre, or exhibition centre, of skulls and skeletons. But you won’t know this until you get inside.

Once on the forecourt shared by the Boutique-Hotel and water tower, you will be unable to miss the directional sign for the museum. It is a large ~ larger than life ~ skeleton made of metal, steampunk style.

My wife, Olga, and I visited the museum on the 21 December 2020.

Here is an extract from my diary:

As we climbed the steps to the entrance of this building, the thought materialised that it was an odd building in which to have a museum. For a start, it was plainly modern, and for a second and last it was more or less nondescript, looking like a large block of flats with one of the lower walls in glass, through which it appeared was a bar or restaurant.

The entrance led us into a foyer, which, in keeping with the building’s general appearance, was office-like. Olga paid the girl sitting at the desk in one corner the skelet museum’s entrance money, and off we went, through some large glass doors and up a staircase, which was, well, office-like. And when we emerged into an identical landing on the second floor, where there was a long counter/reception desk, it felt as if we had come for a job interview.

To our right, there were two large, double, glass doors, and it was in here where the skeletons were lurking.

I am not exactly sure what it was that I had been expecting. Olga had spoken of the museum a year or so ago when she visited it whilst I was in England, and we had posed for a photograph next to the metalwork sculpture of a skeleton outside the front door on the concourse one night last year [2019]. This particular skelet had a bronzed, distressed finish, classifying it in my mind as steampunk, so I imagined that this was how the rest of the museum would be. I did not expect it to be a museum in the traditional sense, full of dusty, old, real bones, which was good, as it was not like this at all. No, Zelenogradsk’s skelet museum is, in fact, a brightly illuminated showroom containing a vast number and range of skelet art pieces of all shapes and sizes made from lots of different materials.

Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons, Zelenogradsk

The desk to the left of the entrance, the shelves behind and other surfaces and the display units to the front and side were bristling with every conceivable skelet artefact in miniature or medium. On, within the glass-frontage and around the desk, the smaller items were souvenirs, waiting to be bought as mementoes of your visit. In front of you, and in the centre of the room, there was a large motorbike, possibly a Harley ~ they like Harleys in this part of the world ~ complete with flag, possibly one with a skeleton imprint ~ on which one could sit and have one’s photo taken. In fact, Olga suggested that I do just that, but I declined on the basis that I was not a motorbike sort of person.

I was, however, the sort of person who would be quite ready and willing to stand next to a ‘vintage’ wardrobe containing various skeleton pieces and which spoke to you in English when you opened the door. Olga snapped off three or four pictures of me in front of this, including a most arty-farty one, in which my face appears in the inside door mirror looking quizzically at a white bust of Putin.

President Putin in the wardrobe — Hello, fancy meeting you here

Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk

The next experience was an unlikely one for us and one, moreover, which Olga placed great symbolic store on later. At the side of us, next to the wall, there was a doorway with multicoloured plastic streamers hanging vertically from the ceiling. A couple of yards away to the right there was an identical door furbished in the same manner. Above each door, on brightly coloured card, I was able to read, in Russian, the words ‘entrance’ and ‘exit’. I asked what this was, and Olga said it was a maze.

The maze at the Museum of Skeletons in Zelenogradsk — Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk

“A maze!” I snorted.

I just had to step inside and in so doing was immediately and utterly overwhelmed, smothered by the sheer volume of the multi-coloured hanging plastic strips. I pushed my way through them until I reached the back of the cabinet. It must have been almost two yards deep. The density of plastic trailers made it impossible to see what exactly lay at the back of this cabinet, but I could feel a textile wall ~ and that was it. I felt my way back to the entrance, saying, as I almost emerged, “But there’s no way through; it is solid.”

“No,” Olga contradicted, “It’s a maze. It says so on the sign.”

I was just about to question the veracity of this statement when I realised that the vertical strut I was holding was not in fact adjoined to the outside wall.

“There,” said Olga at the same time as I discovered it, “is an entrance.”

Indeed, there was. It was narrow, about one slim person wide, tall, obscured by the crowding nature of the hanging tapes and the dark interior beyond but most of all by the assumption that no doorway would lie at right angles to the entrance.

By now I was curious and made to move inside. Olga was nervous and attempted to hold me back.

“Come on!” I laughed. And off we went.

No sooner had we stepped inside than we were overcome both by the darkness, which was now black as pitch, and by the obstructive density of the dangling ribbons. We had not gone three feet, I imagine, before our voices lowered and our pulses began to race. I edged forward, feeling the wall as I went, until my hand dropped into space. Another right-angled turn. I urged Olga to follow me.

As I entered into a wider void, I heard Olga’s voice in the darkness call out, “Hold my hand! Hold my hand!” I did, pulling her gently behind me. I was feeling for where I suspected the next opening in the maze would be, but it was not. The ribbons seemed to be growing in profusion, but I found another gap and proceeded through it, a frightened Olga clinging to my hand and calling in an alarmed voice, “I don’t like it”.

Into the next compartment we went, with Olga calling, “Let’s go back.”

It seemed to me that this part of the labyrinth was larger than the previous, and when my hands hit solid wall, and with Olga crying to get out behind me, I must confess to experiencing a paroxysm of panic, quite foolish and illogical I know, but panic all the same. I was on the cusp of saying, ‘you’re right; let’s retrace our steps’, when a science officer Spock-like rationale kicked in. “Don’t be so silly,” said a still, calm voice, “you’re only inside a cupboard.”

[I have omitted the next paragraph as it contains the secret to identifying where the ‘doorways’ are, and I would rather you go to the museum and get lost in the maze yourselves!]

Applying this simple science, we did a quick sharp turn and there, lo and behold! through the ribbons that hung like fog, the lights of the larger room penetrated.

As we emerged, I had to laugh, both at our fears and our appearance. My hat was all skew-wiff, making me look like Captain Mainwaring in one of those scenes when the entire Dad’s Army troop cram into the verger’s office, and Olga was as red and dishevelled as a beetroot fired from a cannon.

The difference was that whereas I had enjoyed the experience, she had not; and whereas I recovered instantly, she did not. She was still talking about how much it had disturbed her on the way home and, in fact, throughout the following day.

Made of sterner stuff, however, including a built-in denial system that allowed me to bury quickly any further thought of the spasm of fear experienced and certainly not to discuss it, I moved on to the exhibits, which were many and varied and laid out in large shelving units glazed front and back. My favourite was the excavation scene: a skeleton lying on its side in a shallow hole, its legs bent at the knee and one of its bony hands clutching an empty bottle of vodka. The red earth around the skeleton was caked, cracked and littered with the detritus of our modern age, suitably weathered and tarnished as though it had been there for some considerable time. There was a battered coke tin, a scrunched-up plastic bottle, a squashed memory stick, part of an old music cassette, a CD, a shattered ballpoint pen, a condom (still in its packet, I am glad to say!), coins, a battered mobile phone and other bits and pieces testifying literally to life in the throwaway age.

Remains of a skeleton amongst remians of modern life

This exhibit was not, of course, a shelf one. It was contained in and presented through a large flatbed cabinet, tilted at an angle and raised on supports. It stood in front of a window, the closed strip blinds of which had one edge stencilled with the image of part of a skeleton, connected visually to the rest of its skeletal body, which was solid state, pinned above the blind fitting. Two similar designs were repeated in the second half of the room: one, with the skull and two hands of a skeleton mounted above the blind rail and the complete body of the skeleton stencilled beneath it; the other, one side of a skeleton in solid state with the skull, rib cage and one arm stencilled onto the fabric.

In the centre of the room where I had been studying the excavation scene, there was a table-mounted stretcher, on whose surface lay a skeletal leg and, standing next to it, a skeleton doctor, dressed in a white coat with a stethoscope around its neck. Hmm, not only was he not wearing his muzzle (mask), but he had also forgotten to put on his trousers.

The glass-fronted shelving units contained a profusion of artistic sculptures all designed around the theme of skulls and skeletons. My favourites consisted of: (1) a ‘giant’ Zippo lighter, with two skelets standing nearby, one holding the body of the lighter and the other supporting its top; (2) three skeletons together on a beach with a large jug of beer next to them, one of the skeletons is lying drunk on his back and next to him is the proverbial tall story ~ a giant fish; (3) three different tray and skull designs, each profusely decorated ~ one in blue & white motifs; the other deep red with abstract, almost psychedelic ornamentation; and the third in traditional Russian lacquer-work. I also liked the open-sided computer tower with a gold skull inside, and the skulls with green moss clinging in patches to the side of them. One of these had a small graveyard scene modelled on the skull’s cranium, complete with tumble-down picket fence and skewed tombstones.

Of the numerous artefacts on display, if I was asked to choose my favourite, it would be without hesitation a figural piece, which was both touchingly symbolic and at the same time macabre. The composition is that of a long-haired female skeleton sitting on the knee of her skeleton male lover, the two are embracing and kissing, and the piece most aptly named, ‘True Love Never Dies’.

I would have purchased this without a second thought, but, alas, none of what we could see before us was purchasable. There were skeleton-themed items that you could buy, but they were cheaply made and overpriced. There were other pieces that I did not care for, mainly those skulls that looked as though they belonged to computer-game software and Halloween-type products: skulls and skeletons with glaring, gobstopper eyeballs. There was even a wall-hanging skeleton with the parched remains of brown flesh clinging to its bones. If this was available for purchase, would I have bought it and hung it on my wall …?

In the end, we settled for a skeleton pen, with two articulated arms. There are a couple of buttons at the back of these little devils and when you press them the arms move, as if they are boxing, oh, and the eyes light up.

I would have bought the skull lamp, but I thought it a tad expensive at thirty quid, and besides I was not sure whether our skelet, the one we have at home who is a member of the family, would be pleased. Skelets, like the human beings that they partly are, can be exceptionally jealous.

Essential details:

Museum of Skulls & Skeletons
Saratovskaya St, 2A
Zelenogradsk 238326
Russia

Tel: +7 (40150) 31053 / +7 (9520) 560992

Web: http://m-ch-s.ru/

Opening times

Monday to Sunday inclusive 11am to 6pm

LINKS TO OTHER ARTICLES
ZALIVINIO LIGHTHOUSE RESTORATION
SCHAAKEN CASTLE
FORT XI (Fort Dönhoff)

Support the Restoration of Zalivinio Lighthouse Kaliningrad

A Cold Day at Zalivino Lighthouse

Published: 7 January 2021 ~ Orthodox Christmas Day in Russia❤: Support the Restoration of Zalivinio Lighthouse

You might think that the last place you would want to be on a freezing cold winter day, with the wind whistling round the Baltics and shivering your timbers, would be perched on top of a derelict lighthouse. You might feel the need to ask why? Why would anyone in their right mind want to do this? And you might believe that the answer lies notably in the psychological reference above ‘in the right mind’. But there are at least two other factors that need to be considered: one, history and a love of it; two, that in the right mind or not, we happened to be in the right place ~ I think it is called nearby.

Zalivino lighthouse is located in Zalivino ~ where else? Ahh, but it is not that simple. Zalivino is a village nestled against the Baltic Coast in Russia’s Kaliningrad region. Now, if you were to conduct a search on the internet for the exact location of the lighthouse, you might find that lighthouse or no lighthouse you run aground on the rocks of all sorts of name changes and district alterations, so, for the sake of simplicity, let us say that the original (German/ East Prussian) name of the village was Labagiene, which, after the Second World War, when the region fell into Soviet hands, then became Zalivino.

The lighthouse, however, is named Rinderort, after Labagiene, renamed as Haffwinkel, merged with the settlement of … and if that has not confused you, I do not know what will.

But moving swiftly on: The first lighthouse to be constructed on this spur of land at the edge of the Curonian Lagoon was made of wood. Erected in 1868, it was illuminated by a simple kerosene lantern. The brick tower that replaced the wooden structure was built in 1908, extending upwards to a height of 15 metres, with a cottage appended for the lighthouse caretaker. In the intervening years, between the tower’s construction and World War II, subsequent modernisation was sporadically enacted.

After the war, when the former East Prussian region passed into the hands of the Soviets, the lighthouse and the land it occupied fell under the auspices of a local fish farm, and the ruined building next to the tower was an occupied dwelling. From what people say, the lighthouse continued to function during this period, but ceased to do so in the post-Soviet era.

Whilst some of the dilapidation evident today has accrued from common disuse and neglect, rumour has it that in the 1990s the building was cannibalised. Bricks, always a sought-after commodity, went missing as did the bronze lantern and other metal parts from inside and around the dome of the tower. Inevitably, as the tower and surrounding buildings fell steadily into ruin, it soon attracted the unwanted attention of vandals, among whose number were also arsonists.

By the end of the first decade of the 21st century, lighthouse romanticists and those interested in the history of the region in which they lived had seen their numbers swell substantially, as tourists, both from further afield in Russia and from other parts of the world, travelled to Zalivino to pay homage to the lighthouse. In 2020, this influx received greater impetus by the closed-border restrictions caused by coronavirus and the Russian government’s related incentive to boost domestic tourism.

In recognition of the site’s heritage status and its destination as a tourist attraction, in July 2020 it was acquired by the Museum of the World Ocean, whose remit it is to preserve, conserve and renovate the structure as a place of historical interest. The renovation will include restoration of the bronze lantern, the tower, caretaker’s cottage and the rare weather mast.

The estimated cost of renovation is somewhere in the region of 18 million rubles (approximately £179,575.47), and a fundraising campaign is already underway.

Support the restoration of Zalivinio Lighthouse

When we arrived at the lighthouse site on this very cold day, we found the lighthouse and its associated buildings at the end of a winding track. We parked up in front of some long, old, German buildings, which I presume were once part of the fish farm complex, and then walked the short distance to the rickety gate and compound fencing behind which the tower resides.

A large banner, pictorial and text-laden, told me in Russian all I wanted to know about the future plans for the site, and had my command of the Russian language been better, I would have been well informed.

As we approached the compound two people donned their coats and emerged from a little blue mobile hut. These were the caretaking staff and representatives of the World Ocean Museum.

If we had been in England this site would have been strictly out of bounds due to the ongoing process of renovation, coronavirus and the fact that it was winter and therefore out of season and off limits, but we were not in England so we were not told to bugger off! Instead, we were cordially welcomed, and, after five minutes of jumping up and down on the spot to keep the circulation going, we were taken on a tour of such as there was to see.

First, we were invited to contribute something to the renovation fund, which was a bit embarrassing as we had to have a whip round. We were carrying plastic, naturally, but otherwise we were cashless on the Curonian Spit. It was not much, our 500 roubles, but as the old lady says, every little helps (That is a saying, by the way, not a reference to my wife!).

The roubles having been procured and placed for safe keeping into a very attractive antique lamp placed on top of the sites’ well, the guide began her talk. The historical background of which she spoke is augmented and illustrated by four or five display boards attached to the wall of the larger of the domestic buildings. Alas, however, these signs are all in Russian, but, with the timely assistance of my wife, I was able to capture the tour guide’s gist.

Support the Restoration of Zalivinio Lighthouse Kaliningrad — History boards at Zalivinio Lighthouse Kaliningrad region, Russia

Moving around to the bay side of the buildings exposed us to the full frontal of the rude breeze, where, to tell you the truth, we had difficulty concentrating. I hopped around on one foot, and my wife’s nose had turned so red that it could easily have stood in for the lighthouse lamp. However, I refrained from suggesting that my wife’s nose would make an excellent money-saving alternative to a replacement lantern out of concern for my personal safety, that and the fact that my teeth were too chattery to formulate the words.

Olga Hart at Zalivinio Lighthouse, Kaliningrad region, January 2021 — Olga Hart feeling cold in front of Zalivinio Lighthouse (Jan 2021)

Olga Hart on the shore at Zalivinio Lighthouse, Baltic Coast (January 2021) — Olga Hart feeling colder a few feet from Zalivinio Lighthouse next to the sea

Although the outbuildings offered little in the way of shelter, much of the roof is missing and the doors and windows have gone the same way as a substantial proportion of bricks, inside proved kinder for our bones than shivering outside on the water’s edge.

Keeeper's cottage at Zalivinio Lighthouse, Kaliningrad Oblast — Zalivinio Lighthouse Kaliningrad region: much work to be done …

For all the ravages of time and misappropriation of materials, the building itself appears to be quite sound and the massy wooden beams strong and durable, and, with a little imagination ~ a lot, if you have not got much ~ it was not difficult to envisage these rooms reconstructed and reinstated to their former glory.

I did not expect that we would have access to the tower in its present condition, my conclusions based once again on precedent in my native country, England, where Health & Safety and all that jazz would most likely have stymied any such fancy, so imagine my surprise as well as untrammelled delight when the question was put to us, ‘Would you like to climb the tower?’

The guides warned that the last stretch of the staircase was almost vertical, so be careful, and that was it, off we went. It was so refreshing to be allowed to do something that relies for safety on your own common sense.

Mick Hart in the tower of Zalivinio Lighthouse, Kaliningrad region — Climbing the tower of Zalivinio Lighthouse (Mick Hart, 2021)

View from the unrestored lighthouse Zalivinio — Out of the window all at sea

The lighthouse tower is by no means wide, and the mode of ascension is by a stone-stepped spiral staircase. Windows at regular intervals permit you to gaze out at the increasingly elevated scene as up you excitedly go. Suddenly, you feel the cold breeze on your face, alerting you to the fact that you are almost at the top, and there, in front of you, is a short metal ladder. To gain access to the lamp room and viewing tower, it is necessary to climb these steps, so, although I am not a great fan of heights, it had to be done and up I went.

Zalivinio Lighthouse, Baltic Coast — Metal ladder leading to the lighthouse dome and viewing platform (January 2021)

Mick Hart in the dome of Zalivinio Lighthouse, Kaliningrad region, January 2021 — Where better on a freezing cold day? Mick Hart, top of Zalivinio Lighthouse (Jan 2020)

Already inside the dome was a gentleman dressed in a woolly hat, overalls and thick white gloves. He was busy wrapping webbing around his body and adding and fastening buckle attachments to a series of belts. Surely, I thought, he is not … But he was.

He looked up at me looking at him, and I said, in my best Russian, “Stratsveetee,” to which he replied with the same. He gave me a lingering look and smiled, as if he had worked out what it was I was thinking: “Rather you than me!”

Lighthouse restorer — Heritage restorer at Zalivinio Lighthouse

Restorer Zalivinio Lighthouse — Heritage restorer at Zalivinio Lighthouse

The dome, which is windowless and open to the elements, can easily accommodate three people. In its centre stands a solid brass or bronze stanchion, which would, I surmised, once have supported the warning lantern. Some of the dome’s outer wall panels are absent, nicked, I imagine, but the decorative metal railings that encircle the platform looked present and correct enough.

To say that the view from the top is breath-taking, particularly on a day like today, would be as predictable, I predict, as coining the phrase that Zalivino lighthouse is located in Zalivino, but look at the photos and judge for yourselves.

Zalivinio Lighthouse view from the lantern tower (Jan 2021) — Zalivinio Lighthouse, Kaliningrad region, Russia. View from the top (January 2021)

Whenever I visit a conservation/restoration site, I never fail to be impressed by the commitment and dedication of the people involved, and today was no exception. Many would have taken one look at that fellow hanging on his harness doing whatever it was he doing at a height of 15 metres in temperatures well below freezing and their response would be, rather you than me Gunga Din.

Mick Hart Baltic Coast — Just hanging around at Zalivinio Lighthouse Kaliningrad. (Mick Hart, Jan 2020)

I am sure that the suspended man’s name was most likely Valordia, Sergey or Vladimir, but all the same in my estimations he was up there all right and doing it ~ whatever it was he was doing. I bet not even Gunga Din himself would have left his Indian restaurant in Bethnal Green to do such a thing as that!

Support the restoration of Zalivinio Lighthouse

Eighteen million rubles is a lot or rubles to muster, so if you could see your way to donate to this worthy cause it would be most appreciated. Not only will you have the satisfaction of knowing that you have done your bit to preserve an important heritage site, but through the donation incentivisation programme you will be eligible for certain rewards, which include tours of historic places and other cultural and entertainment benefits.

Please click on the following link for more details on how to donate and for further information on the restoration programme: Old Lighthouse Zalivino

Outline of the lighthouse restoration programme

Restoration of the bronze lantern
Restoration of the lighthouse tower and caretaker’s house
Restoration of the weather mast, complete with navigational signs
Repair the pier and undertake dredging work along the coastline
Improve the quality and appearance of the grounds around the lighthouse
Create an exhibition of the history of navigation and business in the region.

A regular report on the collected funds and completed works of the Museum of the World Ocean in conjunction with the foundation Beautification and Mutual Assistance will be posted on the official website of the museum: www.world-ocean.ru

Examples of donation rewards

Donation: 1,000 rubles
Exclusive tour, with a tea party for 2 people. Choice of one of the following destinations:

Royal Gate
Friedrichsburg Gate

Donation: 5,000 rubles
A collective tour on a fishing boat, a ‘Rusna’ kurenas (invitation ticket for 2 people), approximate duration 2 hours. This service is available in summer from 1 June to 10 September.

Exclusive tour, with a tea party for 2 people. Choice of one of the following destinations:

Lighthouse in the village of Zalivino
Royal Gate
Friedrichsburg Gate
Maritime Exhibition Centre (Svetlogorsk)

Donation: 50,000 rubles
A collective tour on a fishing boat, a ‘Rusna’ kurenas (invitation ticket for 2 people), approximate duration 2 hours. This service is available in summer from 1 June to 10 September.

An exclusive tour for 2 people of the ‘Depth’ exhibition, with a visit to the GoA ‘Peace-1’ accompanied by a hydronaut.

Exclusive tour, with a tea party for 2 people. Choice of one of the following destinations:

Lighthouse in the village of Zalivino
Friedrichsburg Gate
Royal Gate
Maritime Exhibition Centre (Svetlogorsk)

Donation: 500,000 rubles
The opportunity to hold two corporate events at the Museum of the World Ocean (up to 30 participants; maximum duration 3 hours each), choosing from the following venues:

Sea Hall NIS Vityaz
Royal Gate
Friedrischburg Gate
Warehouse
Maritime Exhibition Centre (Svetlogorsk)

The opportunity to stay in a guest cabin on the NIS Vityaz (invitation for 2 people) (1-day duration).

A collective tour on a fishing boat, a ‘Rusna’ kurenas (invitation ticket for 2 people), approximate duration 2 hours. This service is available in summer from 1 June to 10 September.

Exclusive tour, with a tea party for 2 people. Choice of one of the following destinations:

Lighthouse in the village of Zalivino
Friedrichsburg Gate
Royal Gate
Maritime Exhibition Centre (Svetlogorsk)

An unlimited number of free visits to the lighthouse exhibits in the village of Zalivino.

Awarded the Beacon Friends Club sign.

Invitation to the annual ceremonial meeting of the members of the Beacon Friends Club (June 8, the day of the Lighthouse Service, on the territory of the lighthouse in the village of Zalivino).

>>>>More culture>>>> An Englishman at Schaaken Castle

Addendum
Have you spotted the deliberate mistake? Zalivino Lighthouse is, of course, in Zalivino and not ‘Zalivinio’ as it sometimes appears in this text. I apologise unreservedly to anybody to whom this mis-spelling may have caused inconsolable and even terminal distress, especially to those who may have incorrectly assumed that Zalivinio is somewhere in Italy (is it?) I know of many wordsmiths who sadly may never recover ~ shame that …
I wrote this piece whilst I was perfectly sober, which might go some way towards explaining why I have got my words in such a mucking fuddle. However, after careful consideration, I have resisted the desire to rectify the mistake on the grounds that it may incriminate my permalink, an occupational hazard of blogging that fellow bloggers are sure to empathise with even if the rest of the universe will forever stand in judgement. Er, sorry.

Zelenogradsk! Lit up like a Christmas tree

A festive day in Zelenogradsk

Published: 24 December 2020

Travelling for the first time from a small railway station tucked away in Kaliningrad, my wife, Olga, and I recently visited the coastal resort Zelenogradsk. It was a wet, cold, overcast day, and it was also Monday, so we had the pleasure of travelling on a very sparsely populated train. Even though we were the only ones sitting in a carriage that could hold 60 people effortlessly, we were still obliged to obey the mandatory mask-wearing rule, aka ‘muzzles’, as Olga calls them.

Zelenogradsk! Lit up like a Christmas tree

Cutting out the rail journey across town, the trip took about twenty minutes in total. First stop, Love café, for a bowl of piping hot mushroom soup, potato pancakes and a couple of carafes of vodka. Thus fortified against the inclement weather, we were better able to appreciate the delights of Zelenogradsk’s festive decorations. The upper end of the High Street was positively festooned with them, and there was no shortage for my paparazzi-minded wife to snap her mobile phone at, prior to uploading them onto Facebook.

Love café Zelinogradsk: Mick Hart & Olga Hart Xmas 2020 — **Mick & Olga Hart in Love café Zelinogradsk, Russia, Christmas 2020**

Although the lower end of the High Street was less profusely decorated, I was much taken with the latest socio-cultural symbol, which speaks volumes about our modern-day society. It takes the form of a bronze statue, modelled after a shapely young woman trouncing across the road. She is towing a case on wheels and, oblivious to everything around her but herself, is taking a selfie on her mobile phone. With her arm outstretched and her head tossed back, she is so completely self-entranced that when I put my arm around her she did not blink an eyelid. Thank you lady for that, but do watch out for the traffic now!

We took a stroll along the deserted beach, which only five months ago was a sardine tin of sun loungers, and then retraced our steps from the park, detouring in the direction of the Cranz water tower. My wife, knowing that I have a skeleton fetish, had steered me toward the Skeleton Museum, a truly novel establishment which I intend to write about later.

Then, it was back along the High Street, allowing Olga to indulge herself in her fetish ~ more photo-taking for Facebook. This made me grumble a bit. This never-ending compulsion to phone-photo everything for Führer Facebook has the irritating tendency to subjugate life to a series of fits and starts, placing real time in abeyance, putting it on hold in the most obtrusive and disjointing way. The inconvenience righted itself, however, when Olga, in order to placate me, suggested that we stop for a drink in the Telegraf restaurant, a capital suggestion with which it was inconceivable not to agree and which most mysteriously seemed to alter my point of view about photos. After all, I reasoned, over a nice refreshing ‘pint’, I would need the photographs for my blog.

Zelenogradsk! Lit up like a Christmas tree

Bicycle Zelinogradsk adorned for Christmas

Zelenogradsk, Russia, Christmas 2020

An Englishman at Schaaken Castle Russia

Castle, Cheese and Church in the Kaliningrad Region

Published: 28 October 2020

{See Feature image attribution at the end of this article}

Schaaken Castle is located in Nekrasovo, Kaliningrad Oblast. The castle, which was built for the Teutonic Knights in c.1270, was built on the site of an ancient fort and consisted of an octagonal walled-enclosure with two outer baileys. In the first half of the 14th century the original building, which was of wood construction, was replaced with stone. It was atypical of most of the castles constructed by the Teutonic Knights in that its perimeter wall was curved, almost round in formation, a feature that remains to this day.

(Photo credit: Caspar Henneberger, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons:
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Schaaken_Henneberger.jpg)

(Photo credit: Mmdocent, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%D0%A8%D0%B0%D0%B0%D0%BA%D0%B5%D0%BD_2.JPG)

In 1270, the castle defended the coast of the Curonian Lagoon against attacks from a Baltic tribe known as the Skalvians, who, by 1277, had been defeated and subjugated by the Teutonic Knights. Towards the end of the 13th century, Schaaken Castle’s defensive role took on greater significance in protecting the border and coast from repeated raids by Lithuanian pagans. It became one of a number of castles strategically positioned to prevent the Lithuanians from storming through the Curonian Lagoon. Towards the end of the 14th century its military function was controlled from Königsberg. The castle was destroyed by fire in the early years of the 17th century and only partly rebuilt. One of its greatest claims to fame is that Peter the Great and Catherine stayed there on three separate occasions between 1711 and 1717.

During the 19th century it was remodelled in the Romanticist-Gothic style, and it was during this time as part of that refit that the distinctive corner towers, which can still be seen today, were added.

(Photo credit: Сергей С. Петров – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73135063)

At the end of the Second World War, the castle, which in 1945 was a family farmhouse, came under Soviet state control. The land was requisitioned and used until the 1960s as a collective farm, the castle’s rooms hived off as domestic units. For a short period of time, the castle acted as a children’s home.

By the mid-1970s, the castle had begun to fall into ruins, but one family salvaged the rooms that were inhabitable and continued to live there.

In the early 21^st century under a joint Russian-German venture some renovation took place, and the castle was opened as a small museum exhibiting medieval artefacts. In 2012 the museum was damaged by fire.

And on 10 October 2020, it was visited by an Englishman in Kaliningrad, Mick Hart (I don’t suppose they would welcome a wall plaque?).

An Englishman at Schaaken Castle, Russia

Today, Schaaken Castle sits red-brick, gaunt and broken on a small eminence on the curve of a sharp bend overlooking the village of Nekrasovo within the Kaliningrad region, Russia.

To be perfectly frank, the first glimpse of what was left of the castle was one of unalloyed pathos, and getting out of the car into the damp-cold air, on the poor little bit of waste-ground that served as a make-shift carpark, and the sight of the wooden hut, the pay gate, knocked up of old odds and ends of ill-fitting boards, and the dog next to it, rather less than a thoroughbred, hanging off a piece of rope at the front of a homemade dog kennel, perpetuated this first impression. It had not taken me long to work out that this establishment did not enjoy the privileges and patronage of either the state or a private consortium, in other words that it was not part of the National Trust or any other such august body, which is a crying shame as Schaaken Castle has a rich and noble history, both in its East Prussian and Russian context.

Today, there was a man at the castle gate. He came out of the rather sad little hut in his jeans and baseball cap and, after some money had exchanged hands, we were allowed inside.

We passed through the entrance into the enclosure. To the right and close by to us was what remained of the castle’s living quarters. The functional building is little more than a narrow strip of red brick, not battle scarred but weathered and distressed from years of neglect and, from what I have been told, actions amounting to cultural vandalism.

For the sake of our hosts, and Victor, I tried to look and sound interested, not an easy thing to do as I was busy wondering if, apart from the narrow remains and crumbling exterior, there was anything here to see.

Had I been on my own, however, what there was would have been enough. It only takes an old brick or two to get my nostalgic flails turning, but, amazingly enough, we were not alone. There were four or five small groups milling around in the courtyard and, I would soon discover, about 20 more visitors at subterranean level.

This was where we went first. I had perplexed myself enough wondering what the proper name was for the small Gothic ‘towers’ erected at either end of the castle building, high upon the roof level, and going down underground seemed like a good idea.

No sooner had I begun descending, down the steps under the low curved brick ceiling, than out came my wife’s, Olga’s, mobile phone, and I was instructed to pose for a photograph. Needless to say, this would be one of many photos, but I restrained my natural inclination to criticise her illicit love for the camera, reasoning that should I write a piece for my blog on our visit to the castle, photographs would be needed and besides, no matter how much I complained, if 10 years of Arsebook-incentivised photo-snapping had taught me anything it was that such remonstrations are just about as futile as asking a liberal to examine his conscience.

So, I posed for the photograph graciously, grimaced just a bit and eventually life resumed.

Mick Hart going underground at Schaaken Castle, Kaliningrad, Russia — Mick Hart going underground at Schaaken Castle

Down below, we found ourselves in one of two vaulted chambers. Space was relatively limited and the floor uneven. This was no dungeon by any stretch of the imagination, but the curators of the castle had seen fit to imply that it had been by using what space there was to mount an exhibition of medieval torture. You cannot blame them. Castles and dungeons go together like beer and hangovers; the two are inseparable, and there is nothing like an excursion into the dark side of human nature to draw in the punters and make them feel normal.

There were two chambers in this vaulted basement. We were in the first and in the second, the group of about twenty people I mentioned earlier, who were gathered together listening to the commentary of their guide, who was a young, stocky, bearded fellow. On hearing us talking in English, the guide called out to me in English. He addressed me as if I were an English gentleman (which, of course, I am) and I replied in kind, causing some of his audience to chuckle. On the way out, I was able to get my own back by addressing him in Russian, at least enough to state that “Excuse me, I have to go now as I want to drink vodka.”

Although the diabolical apparatus exhibited in the underground vaults are knocked-up scaled-down examples accompanied by photographs and text, if this sort of thing appeals to you there is enough to see, and from what I could make out the guide was doing a very good job of engaging his congregation.

Later, this same guide, on finishing his tour and we finishing ours, presented me with two small gifts outside the castle gate; one being part of a red brick from the castle itself, with the name of the manufacturer impressed into the surface, and the other a long, crooked smithy-made nail.

An Englishman at Schaaken Castle Russia — Mick Hart with Schaaken Castle guide and historic iron nail

On reflection, I do feel more than a little guilty for accepting these gifts. There is not much left of Castle Schaaken, and it is evident to me that it needs giving to and doing to rather than taking from. “Conscience. What a thing. If you believe you got a conscience it’ll pester you to death,” Humphrey Bogart’s Fred C. Dobbs once said. And am I not very proud to have these artefacts displayed on the shelf in my attic? “Ahh, hypocrisy, who needs it?” ~ I said that.

Inside the walls, the living quarters, constituting three rooms and an entrance hall, are enclosed and complete, but the taller structure to which they are appended is a narrow, crumbling shell, the wing extending to the rear in a state of open collapse. The surmounting crenellation of the main structure has survived, and the Gothic interest it stimulates is further assisted by the balancing presence of two turrets raised at either end to form the highest points of the building.

**End towers to the extended section of Schaaken Castle.**
(Photo credit: Сергей С. Петров, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File)

Inside the three rooms, the curators have done their best to mock-up exhibits pertaining to the days when knights fought each other in armour and chain mail. There are a number of historical wall charts that map the history of the castle and of Königsberg, and a small diorama depicting a Soviet living room comprised of real artefacts and furnishings.

Outside, in the oval courtyard, other exhibits can be found demonstrating the skills of medieval artisans, and you can try your hand at archery. The centre of the courtyard contains what appears to be a combat ring, an area of ground set aside for re-enactors to demonstrate their skills of medieval martial arts. At one side, and close to the wall, a viewing stage complete with canopy has been erected, and in front of this, on a lower platform, a chair has been affixed where, no doubt, during tournaments the adjudicator presides and who, at the close of the contests, hands prizes out to the victors.

In one corner of the compound, stands a large, brick building, which has undergone extensive renovation. It contains the castle’s cafeteria, but, as enticing as it was on a chilly day like today, we reluctantly avoided it in keeping with the official guidelines to limit association in the wake of coronavirus. My wife, who lives by her Facebook images, made sure that a couple of photographs were taken of us standing next to the window shutter, on which the skin of a wild pig had been nailed (not a good advert for a vegetarian! ~ not too good for the pig either).

Mick & Olga Hart at Schaaken Castle, Kaliningrad region, October 2020

There are more buildings that run along the end of the defensive wall, but these are hollowed out ruins. Beneath them, however, lies another chamber containing the castles well, and this is well worth a visit (ah hem).

To speak honestly and plainly, it does not take you long to see what there is and what there isn’t left of Schaaken castle. And yet, if you are a Time junky like me, this is irrelevant, as it is enough to visit and to rub shoulders with so much history. Having said that, however, even on an inclement day like today there were 30 or so visitors in the short time that we were there. Imagine how many more there would be if funds were allocated, first for a comprehensive programme of renovation and then for the installation of a fully fledged East Prussian museum!

Cheese-making centre

The second leg of our trip today involved using our legs to walk the short and pleasant distance from the castle to the local cheese-making centre. The friendly guide, who had presented me with gifts earlier, advised us to follow the castle wall into the meadow and cut across it to the cheese-making plant from there.

This route allowed us to take in just how massy the granite-boulder perimeter wall was, how high and thick and curved. It also allowed our friend Sergei to introduce me to some concrete silos in which at one time hay would have been stored for farm animals. I had always wondered what these concrete cylinders were and was slightly disappointed to find that they were not some kind of rocket launcher.

From these disappointments, it is only a short walk from the castle to the cheese-making plant, which is housed in a long, large, old brick building. From the looks of it, I conjectured that in a previous life it had most likely been a cattle barn. Inside, the presence of iron rings in the original wooden uprights and walls seemed to lend my supposition credence. The supports and cross timbers were a mixture, some extant to the original structure others added in sympathetic style, replacing, no doubt, earlier ones that had gone too far down the road to decay to bring them back to life.

Nekrasovo cheese-making factory, Kaliningrad Region, Russia — In here they make and sell lots of delicious cheeses!

In the centre of this capacious barn stands a rectangular counter where one can purchase all manner of cheeses, whilst on the left a central display unit and shelving extending around the L-shaped perimeter overflows with what they used to call up North in England ‘suckers’, but which we more civilised on our way down South colloquially referred to as sweets.

At the opposite end of the room, and to the right of the entrance, the brick wall ends at waist height, the remainder finished in glass, allowing visitors to look inside at the cheese-making process at work.

During my appreciation of the finer elements of the building and its history, my wife, Olga, had been procuring an adventurous selection of sweets and cheeses, which she passed to me for carriage as we emerged from the front door. On the shop forecourt stood a large decorative … “What do you call it in English?”

“Millstone,” I replied. “I’ve got one of my own; it’s called a wife!”

Our Russian friends enjoyed this sleight, as they had my previous remark, when, concerned that I might find the castle wanting in things to see, they asked me, “Is it [the castle] interesting enough?” To which I replied, “It’s fine. I love anything old … that’s why I love my wife!”

Fortunately, after 20 years together my wife makes allowances for me, and as long as I was carrying the chocolate and cheeses and doing an excellent job of alerting our party to the pavement presence of sheep droppings (Smartree Gavnor!!), which is where my knowledge of Russian language really excels, she was happy to let me babble inanely.

I shut up for a few moments whilst we were walking back through the village of Nekrasovo. It may only have one street, but now I had the opportunity to see at closer quarters, and therefore in more detail, the humble rusticity of the low-build German cottages and, of course, later domiciles that reared out and above the natural and cultivated vegetation, a little too obtrusively for scale and historical comfort.

The circuitous route we had taken also permitted us to see the castle from the opposite side of the enclosure, looking now at the perspective from the road to the T-shaped structure with its crumbling external walls and collapsed interior. It was obvious from this angle that to safeguard against further and irreparable dilapidation precise and extensive remedial work was urgently required.

Schaaken Church

From the castle, we drove the short distance to Schaaken Church, another ruined edifice of historical importance. Had it been built as a Gothic folly it would have been a wonderful evocation, but although its degenerated condition inspired reveries of a Romanticist nature, as the ruin it actually is, and as with all ruined churches, it was wreathed in a sense of loss that transcended the fault lines in bricks and mortar. What happens to all those prayers, all that hope for salvation once a church is abandoned and dies?

Through nature’s reclaiming influence ~ spindly trees, climbing plants and bushy overgrowth ~ the rectangular tower and outer walls, though partially screened from the road, are visible still. As with all ruins, the sight triggers an irresistible yearning to explore and, as with most ruins, when you get there you realise that so much human traffic has been there before you over the years ~ spot the early graffiti ~ and so much time has elapsed that it is an enduring mystery how the accumulative and many moments invested in the building are still able to exert such a powerful stimulus upon the imagination.

From a distance, this particular building looks less desecrated than it actually is. Close up comes the discovery that the roof is missing, the gaping holes in the walls are not all vestiges of former windows and much of the brickwork spalled on the outside are, on the inside, hollowed out in parts exposing the rubble core.

Adding greatly to the Romanticist ideal of the atmospheric ruin is the thick carpet of undergrowth that reigns supreme where once stone slabbed floors and pews would have been. The photograph that we had taken of us in the nave from inside the tower serves to illustrate the extent of the church and the extent to which nature is capable of re-asserting its claim over man-made structures, whatever they set themselves up to be.

Mick & Olga Hart inside Schaaken's ruined church, October 2020 — Mick & Olga Hart inside Schaaken’s ruined church, October 2020

Mick Hart Englishman in Russia at Schaaken Church — Mick Hart going up in the world at Schaaken Church, Russia, October 2020

It was just as well, then, that from the church we were taken to enjoy the view from an outcrop of land looking out over the bay. Our journey took us through an interesting and altogether uneven tract, which we would not have been able to traverse had we been travelling in anything else but a 4×4.

I cannot claim that we were off the beaten track, because the track was very beaten, but the joy was that it took us through one of those wild, densely vegetated areas that you stumble across now and then in this fascinating region, which bristles with all kinds of dwellings from different times of origin in all conceivable states of disrepair or stark modernity and whose spanned periods reflect the ethos of each epoch, with a heavy accent on Soviet make-do and esoteric improvisation.

I particularly liked the small series of boat houses, stamped with the individualism of their creators and imaginatively constructed from tin, asbestos, wood and concrete and/or made from the requisitioned back of trucks. These monuments to the Mother of Invention in association with build from what you’ve borrowed, which once would have looked so bold and brash, had, courtesy of the softening effect of time, settled in very nicely, achieving a singularly peculiar and yet quaint harmony in the leafy back-stream settings in which they had come to rest.

When we reached the end of our road (as we all must), the water-front opened out from the narrow stream against which the proud boat houses sat into a wide stretch of water, beyond which a distant Curonian Spit could be seen.

A slight breeze lifted a chill from the surface of the water, a coincidence of no deterrent to the two or three fisherman congregated at the waters’ edge, who, nevertheless, were complaining bitterly about the size of their catch, nor did it seem to worry the boating fraternity, several of whom were coming to shore in a small flotilla of motorised dinghies.

Inland, close to where we were at, a monument had been erected, typically demarcated by a heavy metal chain in black, testifying to the fact that back in the 1940s’ Russian lives had been lost along this stretch of water in running battles with the incumbent Third Reich. During WWII, Kaliningrad (formerly Königsberg) and its region was the scene of many a fierce battle and is therefore of special interest for anyone having a keen regard for military history.

All this history today had made, and was making, me thirsty. Anticipating that this would be the case, I had taken the wise precaution of bringing along a couple of bottles of Lidskae, whose contents I was destined to enjoy later this afternoon when we returned with our friends to their home.

An Englishman at Schaaken Castle, Russia

Schaaken Castle reminds me of a larger and ‘more grand on scale’ replica of a friend’s flat ~ it is being tarted up but needs a lot more doing to it. Having said that, I enjoyed my visit to the castle today. It really is hats off to those people, such as our guide, who put in so much time and effort in maintaining, running and raising funds in order to bring such unique heritage treasures as Schaaken Castle to the notice and appreciation of the public at large. It has not escaped me that with the right sort of planning and investment this modest attraction could be transformed into something monumental, something of a feather in the cap of the region’s cultural history. It already has the makings of a success story; all that it needs now is Vision, Support and Commitment ~ and there is your happy ending.

Essential Details

Schaaken Castle Heritage Museum
Ulitsa Tsentral’naya, 42, Nekrasovo, Kaliningrad Oblast, 236008
Tel: 8 (906) 211-73-00

Opening times:
Monday:        Closed
Tuesday:        10am–6pm
Wednesday: 10am–6pm
Thursday:      10am–6pm
Friday:           10am–6pm
Saturday:      10am–6pm
Sunday       10am–6pm

(Feature Image Attribution: Dordoy, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons; https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Castle_schaaken2.jpg)

Zelenogradsk New Sea View Apartment Blocks

Zelenogradsk’s new sea-view apartment blocks are duneright amazing!

Revised 1 April 2024 | First published: 19 August 2020 ~ Zelenogradsk New Sea View Apartment Blocks

Now, whilst in Zelenogradsk, Russia, if you take the coastal route written about in my previous posts, you will eventually come across what could with accuracy be described as an architectural wonder of our modern age.

As noted in those previous posts, the block-paved thoroughfare runs parallel with the sea, but on walking it you reach a point where a series of low-level private flats, not so terribly old, obstruct you from making further progress. At this juncture, you have no option if you want to proceed but to continue your walk in land, a route that very soon brings you before a rather prosaic development residential in nature, most of whose flats which were up for sale last year are up for sale this year (2020). But as you turn to the right a most amazing visual thing happens, helped not a little, I suspect, by the mediocre tenor of the flats you passed a moment ago. In less than 18 months a new development has sprung from the ground, which, in its domineering height, prodigious bulk and latitude and by dint of its sheer proliferation in a relatively short space of time, really knocks you for six.

Completely out of scale with everything around it and consuming more ground than a migrant camp in Calais is the most enormous high-rise residential estate that I have ever encountered. With your senses still reeling from scale fright, the foreground flats and those behind them marching regimentally down the steep fall of the hill, grab you by the Gothics. If, like me, you are a Gothic freak, adore Gothic almost as much as drinking a pint of real ale in the company of Nigel Farage, then you will put aside any prejudices that you may have adopted against kitsch and lap what you see before you up like a Westernised Bela Lugosi on a boy’s night out in Butlins.

Gothic towers in Zelenogradsk Russia — **Gothic ~ get the point!**

Here, there are more than enough perpendiculars, faceted angles, towers, turrets and pinnacles to give every Gothic addict the fix they crave and need. Yes, I know that these structures are modern, but I have personally consulted with Tom Cat Murr in whom, he has assured me, no catatonia has been induced by their 21^st century origin.

**Zelenogradsk Apartment Blocks with a touch of Gothic**

I am not sure, however, that either he or I feel the same way about the estate’s alter ego, those just as massy structures that run in line with their Gothic neighbours along the unfinished roadside and which extend at right angles from them.

**Zelenogradsk flats, Russia: two styles face off against each other** ~Zelenogradsk New Sea View Apartment Blocks

The flip side to the Gothicised coin is a vast battery of impressive apartments built, correction embellished, in the Neo-Classical and Neo-Renaissance spirit. Designed with corners, angles and twists enough to thwart prescribed conformity, and assisted in this respect by the natural decline of the landscape, along whose downward curve this Goliath series of buildings march in the most dramatic manner, the stacking effect of shelves and ledges, inclusion of white panels, many adorned with relief motifs, and woven into the frieze a colonnade of arches strike a Kensington/Chelsea chord in me, chiming, whilst not exactly in tune but all the better for it, with a nuanced note in their juxtaposition against the light-brick infill. The icing on top of this pastiche cherry has to be the recessed oval, a final flaunting touch of extravagance clearly seen at the front and centre of the classic Dutch-styled gable.

**The icing on the top** ~ Zelenogradsk New Sea View Apartment Blocks

Whatever your feelings towards these 21^st century additions to Zelenogradsk’s built and natural environment, you have to admit they are a big improvement on the experimental, rectangular-limited, mass-housing pre-fab models constructed during Stalin’s reign and the clunky pre-cast concrete jobbies, known as the Khrushchyovka, that went up at an alarming rate in the late 1940s and 50s.

Nevertheless, for all their ubiquitous uniformity and quick-assembly triumph over the lauded principles of aesthetic finesse, they, these seemingly once drab predecessors, have, with the re-evaluation that typically comes with the passing of time and hindsight, acquired, especially in recent years, an era-defining nostalgic status similar in intrinsic import to the cult of personality.

However, whether today’s apartments that are changing Zelenogradsk’s shoreline profile into a high-density urbanised landscape will be accepted so sympathetically by tomorrow’s generations depends on values we cannot predict. As with everything in our immediate lives ~ only time will tell.

Zelenogradsk New Sea View Apartments — **We will see them from the beaches!**

Svetlogorsk Gothic (Rauschen)

Rauschen (Svetlogorsk) Gothic Architecture

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 21^st 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!