Königsberg Ponds - Expat in Kaliningrad, Russia

Captain sinks with his ship off Königsberg Pond

Published: 4 October 2021 ~ Pondering on the future of Kaliningrad Pond

There are two lakes in Kaliningrad that are not lakes, they are in fact man-made water features and, as such, their real nomenclature is ‘pond’, even though rural English folk of a certain age will find it difficult and anomalous to reconcile such large expanses of water with their concept of a traditional pond, which used to be ~ as there are not many left now ~ a small, generally muddy-looking round thing sitting in a field or in the centre of a village ~ sometimes with ducks on top.

Pondering on the future of Kaliningrad Pond

Königsberg has two ponds, interconnecting: the Lower Pond is the oldest, believed to have been constructed in 1256, with the Upper Pond following in 1270.

The building that is the subject of my post today, must have appeared sometime in the early millennial years.

To say that the building was an odd fish to have been washed up on the side of this acute bend in the Upper Pond would be beyond the pale of understatement.

My first recollection of it was in 2015. We sat outside on a bright May morning, consuming a snack in the ornamental garden.

My first impression was that it looked like something that had sneaked out of a tired old British seaside resort, like Mablethorpe for example, and had taken root in this small corner of Russia on an even smaller corner of Königsberg’s Upper Pond in the dark depths of an unremarkable night.

From the water’s edge and the elevated pavement that runs along the pond’s borders, the front of the building is highly visible, since it occupies pride of place on a small but grandstanding eminence. Had it been built correctly, that is to say of the right materials and been less of a prefabbed rectangle, it may have added something exceptional to the attractiveness of the waterside scene instead of subtracting from it, but that opportunity has long since elapsed, and so here it stands today ~ at least for the moment but not perhaps for much longer, perhaps not even tomorrow.

Of no particular recommendation, all windows and block-like, but softened in summer by the trees that surround it, by the natural lie of the land and the happily gathering verdure, the front elevation of this building on a budget does not have much to offer and does not become particularly striking or even reasonably engaging until one turns the corner of the street, when then, and only then, does the full benefit of its maritime kitsch beguile one.

From this approach the building’s thematic premise offers itself for closer inspection. A man standing on a ship which is standing on the roof is an obvious place to start and might make sense if the restaurant on which they are anchored overlooked the Atlantic Ocean, but as the building does no such thing, it embroiders Königsberg’s pond, we will forego logic and place what faith we have left in the buoyancy ring of aesthetics.

At their lower level, the walls of the building are decorated with white and blue appliqués, which are clearly meant to resemble waves. The technique is replicated in the moulded bas relief of a wave-encompassed sailing ship that dominates the front-side wall and emerges again in the intertwining arabesque of mythical human forms set within trees of wave-like character, which flank an entrance aspirant to the essence of Art Deco.

Above the stylised wave formation, imitation wood cladding has been used to good effect to simulate the timbers of a 19^th century sailing ship. These rise steadily upward to form the hull of the stern, which juts out jauntily at roof level from the corner of the building above the pavement and people walking. On the quarterdeck itself, his hands astride the rails, stands an effigy of a ship’s captain peering out to sea, except there is no sea to see, just trees, pavements, people and traffic and perhaps if he cranes to the left a little an inkling of Youth Park.

Beneath this surprisingly detailed mannequin, just above floor level, resting against the ship, sits a large terrestrial globe. That’s it, over there: underneath the parasol on top of the ice cream fridge!

The nautical theme travels on around to the back of the building where, on the corner opposite Captain Ahab, stood, until a few days ago, a silvered-metal and rivetted lighthouse, partly reclaimed by nature, who, over the period of desertion, had garbed it in a thick green mantle of all-enveloping, cascading ivy.

Mock Lighthouse since demolished resturant Kaliningrad pond

Kitsch Lighthouse Kaliningrad pond restaurant

In Mablethorpe a building such as this would have gone down well amongst the amusement arcades, bingo halls, working men’s clubs, souvenir shops and candy floss emporiums, but here it looked a bit out of place. No, correction: it looked a lot out of place. To add to the ambiguous spectacle, the garden that belongs to it was once tasteful and rather twee. It consisted of four or five gazebos of differing shapes, with fretwork wooden walls and reed thatched roofs, tucked away and surrounded by exotic trees and shrubs that lent to the whole a secluded quality of oriental character.

Pondering on the future of Kaliningrad Pond

In May 2015, shortly after four of us had partaken of lunch in the gardens, these almost exquisite surroundings, through no fault of our own, closed, together with the establishment to which they had belonged, and remained closed, deteriorating month on month, year after year, persisting in that decline until something stirred in the garden this spring. That something was a chain saw. Trees and bushes were coming down and, swiftly with them, buildings.

Whilst the loss of the ornamental garden was a blow softened by the neglect and abandonment to which it had been subjected, what was destined to take its place prompted speculation. Presuming that the building would soon go the same way as its garden, I arrived at the conclusion that I ought to snap some pictures.

The photographs that illustrate this post were taken in the opening weeks of summer 2021 and later in September of the same year.

The garden as we knew it has, indeed, gone, to be replaced by? Well, you tell me. It all looks very functional, whatever that function is, but the organic nature of its predecessor, both regarding its planted ground and sequestered, blending buildings, is now nothing more than a pleasant memory, starkly superseded by what amounts to a bit of a mismatch.

The regeneration has already included the disappearance of the rooftop lighthouse. I always suspected it was a nuclear missile! And Captain Ahab, who still stares over the taffrail, looks decidedly nervous, as though he knows he is on the verge of losing his commission and having in the process his gimbals snatched away.

Witnessing what is happening up the garden path, the next question surely must be what is in store for the building? Will it be stripped of its nautical heritage and reclad as something more unfortunate? Or will it be knocked down? Will it rise again from the depth of demolition? And will it eventually be serving beer? Enjoy these historic photos and continue to watch this space!