No other pick-me-up necessary

Published: 31 July 2021 ~ Svetlogorsk a Tale of Two Lifts

It was winter, or somewhere on the edge of the coldest season in the year.

We were walking along Svetlogorsk prom, the original piece, and having fooled ourselves into believing that the sea air would be all those euphemisms that they are fond of using in England, bracing, invigorating, fresh, which mean ridiculously and intolerably cold, my brass monkeys were telling me that it was time to head for a nice warm bar.

In those days, 2001, the choice along Svetlogorsk prom was rather limited. You had a café, take it or leave it, and we had only just left it.

“It’s working!” exclaimed Olga.

“My charm?!”

No. She was pointing towards a tall, ribbed biscuit tin standing on end at the side of the bank.

“It’s a lift, and it’s working,” she exclaimed again.

“Is it?!” I asked.

Both pronouncements were hard to believe, as one section of the tin’s corrugated metal was missing and two others were flapping around like a panic-stricken liberal at a patriots’ convention.

These were the days before marriage, when making a good impression was almost as important as drinking a nice pint of beer, so without exposing my reluctance I agreed to take the lift.

“Let’s do it!” I announced.

Ten seconds later we were doing it, or about to, we were about to go up in the lift, so why did I have that sinking feeling, as if I had just been shafted.

It wasn’t a big one, quite small in fact ~ looks can be deceptive ~ and as it was already up, it took some time to bring it back down, and with the most frightful clanking. I had heard a lot about Kaliningrad’s lifts, lifts inside 1970s’ flats that regularly got stuck, and the last thing I wanted was to be trapped in this sardine can slowly but surely refrigerating in the ice-cold wind that was whipping around the Baltics.

There were four of us in the lift; myself, Olga, the man who pressed the ‘up’ button and my apprehension; anymore and it would have been really crowded. Not the sort of lift you would want to take in these uncomfortable days of slavish social distancing.

The lift had rattled and groaned down, and it rattled and groaned up, but it got there, a little too quick for my liking. I was just beginning to enjoy it! Isn’t it always the way!

The doors opened onto another world: an even colder one.

It was like stepping out of the TARDIS, except this TARDIS was smaller on the inside than it was on the out, and onto a platform which, although buckled and uneven, could at a pinch have accommodated at least a Dalek or two.

My word but the wind up here was all those euphemisms and more that meant, ‘Hell, I’m freezing my nuts off’, and I was off as well, pretty sharpishly. Olga could stand and admire the view as much as she liked, impressing her or not, it was time to nail my true colours to the mast and hot foot it to bar-room sanctuary!

Svetlogorsk a Tale of Two Lifts

Kaliningrad’s new beach-side lift, located three-quarters of the way along the new promenade as part of its grand development plan, is solid-built, having a large and airy assembly room, a modern ticket office and turnstile entry system, with marbled interior and two lifts spacious enough in which to hold an illegal gathering in the midst of a pandemic.

The apparatus by which the lifts work is well oiled, and the lifts themselves have a lovely bedside manner. ‘Going up’ says the automated voice, which is rather reassuring, and with the slightest of bumps the ascent begins. Hoisting isn’t in it; you glide and as you glide, to dispel claustrophobia and replace it instead with a fear of heights, the shaft becomes transparent. Through the now glass sides daylight pours in and with it views of the sea, the sky and the coastline, the ground slipping quietly and smoothly away, until, with another gentle bump, the lift comes to rest where it should.

Everyone holds their breath, except those that can’t breathe through their masks, wondering, as lift travellers’ do, what if the doors don’t open? But guess what, they do. And there you are, standing umpteen feet from the ground in the long, glass viewing gallery, feeling as high as a kite and besotted with the view, some of which has been there for centuries and some of which is changing before your very eyes.

Tip for the moment: Every moment in a person’s life is historic, some more historic than others. Don’t forget to capture these for the sake of social history.

Copyright © 2018-2021 Mick Hart. All rights reserved.