Архив метки: Fort IX

Fort XI Kaliningrad Hosts Retro Car Club

Fort XI Kaliningrad Hosts Retro Car Club Day

Fort XI (Fort Dönhoff) Revisited

Published: 29 April 2021 ~ Fort XI Kaliningrad

The classic cars had been assembled in two parallel lines. Even though there were as many as 15 or 20, they were lost, engulfed by the vast piece of open ground on which they were parked in front of a landmark that has earnt itself the dubious reputation of being Kaliningrad’s most ugly whilst, ironically, most iconic post-war building.

I am referring, of course, to that concrete anomaly that replaced the beauty that was Königsberg Castle, the House of Soviets ~ a building much loved by western journalists in their quest to mythicise Russian austerity, and for all those who earnestly believe that nothing ever changes for the better, a reassuring reminder that their nihilism is not unfounded.

House of Soviets Kaliningrad
‘H’ for House of Soviets ~ it has the same ambiguous appeal as Marmite

Fort XI Kaliningrad: Retro Car Club Day

The classic cars lined up on the paved expanse belonged to members of the Kaliningrad Retro Car Club. The cars were standing in front of the House of Soviets as a prelude to being driven cavalcade fashion on to Fort Dönhoff, the eleventh of the twelve forts that form the outer ring of the city of Königsberg’s nineteenth century defence system.

As we were a few minutes early for kick-off, I used the time available to snap a few pictures, both of the cars and the House of Soviets. Rumour has it that after 50 years of non-occupation due to its having been constructed on ancient tunnels that rendered it unsafe the moment it was built (and yet it is still here?), the days of the controversial House of Soviets may be finally numbered. I can hear Elton singing “I’m still standing” and Leonard Cohen reminding us that “You hear these funny voices in the Tower of Song …”

Camper Van Kaliningrad Retro Car Club

How chilly it was on this late April day can be calculated from the thin blue palate of the sky and the fluffy white clouds skating across its surface. The breeze was slight, but whenever the sun disappeared behind one of these cotton-wool splodges, the 8 degrees that we had been promised by the weatherman dipped, and the chill factor bit home.

Nevertheless, after twelve months or more consigned for the most part to barracks on account of coronavirus, it was good to be out and about again, even quite amazing to be standing there permissibly in such an open and public space, with the tall buildings of the city in the background, the traffic bustling past and on the near horizon the always edifying and noble turret of Königsberg Cathedral.

Königsberg Cathedral view from House of Soviets
Königsberg Cathedral as seen from the former castle site ~ Kaliningrad, April 2021

Now that all the crew had arrived, it was time that we set off, and today we were in for a treat. We would be travelling to Fort XI in our friend Arthur’s Volga.

I have had the opportunity to ride in two or three Volga classics since moving to Russia. I love the typical 1960s’ interior — the low-slung front bench seat, the colour scheme that replicates that of the car’s exterior, the busy chromium dashboard, column-change gear stick, and, most of all, the arched transparent speedometer which, in its hey day, was as space-age chic as Sputnik (see first image in this post).

Unfortunately, Arthur’s speedo has the irritating tendency when the car is in motion to chatter a lot, and as we accelerated on the outskirts of the city, the chattering  increased with such velocity that Inara, Arthur’s wife, in a refreshing moment of complete indifference to the repressive nature of political correctness, made as if the noise was coming from a car-mounted submachine gun. For a fleeting second it looked as though she was wearing a small moustache and was that a wave she was giving or a rather silly salute?

Despite this fantasy, there was little doubt that we were not travelling in a 1939 Mercedes-Benz 770 Grosser Offener Tourenwagenas, not least because I have it on good authority that the suspension on this particular vehicle has a solid retaining quality, whereas, in my opinion, the Volga’s suspension is spongey, tending to rock the car about on Kaliningrad’s variable road surface like an afternoon romp on a waterbed.

From consideration of the vehicle’s suspension, I then found myself asking did Volgas, indeed any Russian cars of this period, have powered steering? I ask this question as it is a mystery to me whether our driver, Arthur, wrestles with the steering wheel because he has no choice, because it is required, or simply because it is his adopted driving style?

I do know that other drivers were pleased to see the old girl on the road ~ and I don’t mean my wife. Numerous cars tooted respectfully at the unusual sight of the senior citizen bouncing across the city ~ and I do mean the car, not me.

Fort XI Kaliningrad by retro car

We were jolting along the approach road to Fort XI, when our hitherto uneventful journey took a dramatic turn for the worst. Suddenly, Arthur switched off the engine, and we coasted the last few metres, arriving at the side of the carpark under a cloud of steam.

Thankfully, the fault was not a serious one. The articulated radiator screen, which should have been open, had closed itself, either because of a broken piece of wire or for want of a screw (steady!). Whichever it was, willing helpers from the car club were immediately on hand and the problem was resolved within minutes, demonstrating how, when cars were honestly mechanical, not stuffed with computerised gismos as they are today, all it would take was a little know-how, a spanner and a screwdriver and a quick-fix would be implemented.

Kaliningrad Retro Car Club

Arrival at Fort XI Kaliningrad

As we rolled past the perimeter gate of Fort Dönhoff, with the soldier’s grave to the left and the Soviet barb-wired emplacements to the right, I recalled my first visit to this heritage site back in 2015 and our last visit, which took place at the end of January 2020.

I wondered how this massive conservation/renovation programme had fared during the past 15 coronavirus months and how badly if at all the pandemic restrictions had affected business. Taking into consideration Russia’s nationwide policy to boost home tourism, whatever the downside, I reasoned, it had to be a good deal less dramatic than the impact Covid restrictions is having on business in western Europe.

Once the cars had been lined up exhibition fashion in front of the left arm of the fort, Olga and I decided to go and see what changes had taken place since we were last here.

Fort XI Kaliningrad Hosts Retro Car Club Day
Cars in the process of being lined up at the front of the fort
BMW Outside Fort XI Kaliningrad
Bring on the BMWs!
Olga Hart with Volkswagen Fort XI Kaliningrad
A German fort has to have a Volkswagen

I recalled Arthur ~ not Arthur of Kaliningrad Retro Club fame, but Arthur the man in charge of Fort XI’s reincarnation ~ saying on our last visit that he visualised one corridor inside the fort becoming a trading and exhibition street, so we decided to check this out first, stopping off on the way to rekindle some warmth over a cup of tea in the fort’s cafeteria.

Fort XI Kaliningrad developments

The vison of the ‘street’ had indeed been brought to fruition and atmospherically so. On our previous visit, you had to appreciate the vision with little vision, as the tunnel was lightless. But now illumination there was, set just at the right level so that you could see what you needed to see without compromising atmosphere.

I apologise to anybody if I have omitted them and their enterprise from this list, but, working from memory, on one side of the street the chambers leading from the main tunnel housed an antique shop, a coffee shop, a jewellers and amber specialist’s shop, an exhibition of military items leading to an evocative display at the base of the melted staircase (see my previous post on Fort XI Dönhoff) and a ‘rifle range’. On the opposite side the vaulted rooms had been opened up to allow access to the curious: one long, arched chamber contained haunting images of Königsberg as it had been before the war and as it was later, after the RAF had bombed it and after the battle for the city; whilst another room, judging by the cumbersome apparatus contained within it, appeared to be the fort’s original boiler house.

  • Fort XI Kaliningrad
  • Trading Street Fort XI Kaliningrad
  • Antique Shop Fort XI Kaliningrad
  • Cafe Fort XI
  • Branch Tunnel Fort XI
  • Grid Iron Doors Fort XI Kaliningrad
  • Shooting Range Fort XI Kaliningrad

Each room in the fortress is lovingly festooned with educational wall boards, which no doubt inform you of each exhibit and the interdependence that each room had to the fort’s military effectiveness, but, alas, as my ability to translate Russian is not as good as it should be I had to rely for the most part on my own perspicacity. And, it would seem, as my eyesight is not as good as it once was, I completely failed to notice that the newly erected ‘you are here’ boards, strategically placed in the tunnels and corridors, are all equipped with English translations. So, like the explorers of old, I plotted my course with vicissitude!

The past’s presence in Fort XI Kaliningrad

Standing once again in the main tunnel, taking my photographs, I became aware of the strange hush that descends on visitors once they have been swallowed up inside the fort’s subterranean maze, the possible joint consequence of acoustic absorption by the high, arched ceilings, the awesome madness of the construction in terms of sheer size and scale and the impenetrability of trying to imagine what it would have been like to have been a soldier stationed here, sentenced to serve and live in the echoing twilight of this vast brick warren.

Atmospheric Fort XI Kaliningrad
Relics of War Fort XI Kaliningrad
Relics of war …

Consulting my inbuilt compass, which seems to work on the principal of a magnetic attraction to vodka, I returned to the comparative warmth of the outside world and on the way met Arthur, architect of the fort’s restoration.

We had ‘bumped into’ him and his wife earlier in the café where we had briefly discussed ‘work ongoing’ and, meeting with him now, were privileged to be offered a tour of some of the other parts of the fort that we had visited last year, to see the changes that had been made.

The rooms and associated area focusing upon Königsberg’s war-time history and the fort’s involvement in the siege of Königsberg had undergone a rationalised re-configuration. The cabinet and wall displays of WWII Soviet weaponry, uniformed mannequins and such had been added to and re-assigned, and a wheel-mounted machine gun ~ possibly a DShK 1938 ~ took pride of place in the centre of the room (the sight of such a weapon would be enough to throw our British-Soviet re-enactors into uncontrollable raptures!). Likewise, the study area, complete with white board and electronic visual and auditory equipment, had been tweaked and moved to a better location. Last year these rooms had been good; now they were professional.

Our next stop was a large room, composed of three or four chambers, which, I seem to recall from our last visit, had been used for social functions. Indeed, this spacious room, with its grand open fireplace, would seem to make the perfect place for venues. However, we learnt today that it had been reassigned as a museum of fortification, whose educational resources were to be augmented using state-of-the-art virtual-reality.

As exciting as this promised to be, I have to admit I was disappointed. I suppose because I saw this room as the right place for a Wetherspoon’s pub ~ but, hey now, isn’t that typically me!

Fireplace Fort XI Kaliningrad

What our small party agreed on was that the rooms and corridors into which we had been shown were nice and warm, but lordy! — imagine how difficult and how expensive it must be to heat something of this magnitude!

From this suite of rooms we were taken outside across one of the interior grassed quadrangles, along a block-paved path to a door in one of the adjacent banks. I could see as we approached that this entrance had been tidied up and, indeed, fitted with one of Fort XI’s signature gridiron doors, two in fact, the interior one serving as an airlock to keep in the warmth from the central heating.

Inside, electric lighting clearly testified to the fact that a great deal of work had been undertaken in restoring the brickwork both in the walls and the floor. Apparently, each brick had been painstakingly cleaned by hand.

A spiral staircase inset in the wall led into a long chamber, wide enough to hold two tiers of desks. Above this chamber, accessible by the same staircase, lies a second chamber of identical proportions. And in each, as in almost every room in the fort, there are professionally designed and attractive wall-mounted information boards.

It looked like a school, and it was. Once complete, this combination of rooms is destined to facilitate Fort XI’s Spy School ~ an educational experience from which one will eventually graduate knowing all there is to know about the art, science and history of spying. Call me Maxwell Smart, I thought, as we descended the spiral staircase.

On our way back to base, I praised Arthur for the sterling work he and his crew had achieved in the past year, to which he graciously but wryly responded, as he did last year, there is still a great deal to do, adding that his reward for orchestrating the never-ending project lay in the cultural service that he was providing.

That is the joy of spending time with time travellers and historians. It is not just their knowledge that attracts but their love of the past in whatever form it takes to float their boat, and that obviously goes for cars as well.

Russian classic car enthusiasts are no different from their British counterparts in this respect, although, needless to say, in Russia the social dimension shines. The car club is just that: a club. The people all club together, muck in together, bring food, tea, coffee and picnic tables to each venue that they inhabit, ensuring that the day becomes an enjoyable social occasion.  

On this occasion, music was also provided courtesy of a vintage USSR radio, and for those of us who were passengers, and thus relieved of the responsibility of being behind the wheel, vodka was also at hand. Don’t drink and drive! This is how the slogan went. Wise words indeed. Could this be the reason why I gave up driving years ago?

  • Group Photo Kaliningrad Retro Car Club
  • Mick Hart with Kaliningrad Retro Car Club
  • Mick & Olga Hart Kaliningrad Retro Car Club
  • Mick Hart Kaliningrad Retro Car Club
  • Mick Hart Kaliningrad Retro Car Club
  • Olga Hart & Inara Kaliningrad Retro Car Club

After Arthur’s tour, we made our way back to our retro club friends, who were enjoying the sunshine in spite of the chill that its presence had failed to entirely eradicate.

Some of the car owners had brought along Soviet-era samovars: big, nickel-plated kettles with chimneys on the top. This would be the first time that I would get to see them in action.

Olga Hart with samovar Fort XI Kaliningrad

Olga and I have always wanted a samovar, so that we can react the counting-the-stars scene in Hedgehog in the Fog.

At present, we only have a couple of plug-in electric samovars, which are all well and good as curiosity pieces, but to enjoy the real experience of tea-making using a samovar you really do have to feed it with made-to-measure kindling wood, then stand back whilst the water boils and watch as the chimney smokes!

The carnival atmosphere around the car and picnic tables also seemed to appeal to the fort’s four legged critters. It brought out the resident funny bunnies and, not to be left out, even a duck got in on the act.

Teased by the sun and a sporadic stiff breeze, the day had all the makings of being a cold one, but the warmth of human interaction, good company and a genuine sense of camaraderie ~ all of the human values that coronavirus restrictions have threatened to deprive us of over the past 12 months ~ proved their vital importance, reminding us in timely fashion that there is only one true normal, which if taken away leaves nothing.

The historic setting added its own unique ambience. Fort XI is an inspiration —the perfect place to realise that there is no time like the past. It is a true gateway into Königsberg and its region; an ongoing restoration project of no small magnitude celebrating history even as it continues to be history in the making.

On the subject of time, I am not sure what the soldiers billeted here in their past-present thought of our antics today, but with history being so vibrant and so alive within the walls of Dönhoff, you feel you can almost ask them? Perhaps when you visit you will?

Fort XI Kaliningrad uniform display

*****************************

Essential details:

Fort XI Dönhoff
Ulitsa Energetikov
Kaliningrad
Kaliningrad Oblast 236034

Tel: +7 4012 39 04 61
Web: https://fortDönhoff.ru/en/

Opening times:
The fort is open every day:
Summer from 10am to 6pm; Winter from 10am to 5pm

Admission:
300 roubles
Discount tickets 150 roubles (pupils and students, retirees, veterans of the Great Patriotic War, the disabled)
Free admission for children under 7 years old

Sightseeing tours:
Tours are provided free of charge
On weekdays tours take place daily at 11am, 1pm, 3pm and 5pm
At weekends and holidays at 11am 12 noon, 1pm, 2pm, 3pm, 4pm and 5pm
Approximate duration of tour is one hour
For groups of more than 10 people, advanced booking is required. Tel: +7 401 239 0699

Fort XI Website: https://fortDönhoff.ru/en/

For more background information on Fort Dönhoff, see my earlier post: https://expatkaliningrad.com/fort-donhoff-kaliningrad/

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

Skeleton Museum Zelenogradsk

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
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.

Mick Hart with skeleton doctor

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.

Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk
Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk
Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk

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.

Amazed at the Museum of Skulls & Skeletons Zelenogradsk

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)