11 June 2023 ~ Kaliningrad German Helmet in all its Steampunk Glory
On the subject of vintage and antiques, which we were in my last post and are in this one, the object featured today is, in its reincarnated form, neither, but as peculiar and fascinating things go, it has a promising future, and who knows who’s interest it may collect from someone for whom it was destined.
This item, which is a lamp, was made by and purchased from a Kaliningrad metalwares’ sculptor and is yet another example of the talent and creativity which artist Victor Ryabinin spoke of when he talked of the special people who are drawn to, or who have been nurtured within, the ancient Königsberg region.
The components of the piece are identifiable enough: the shade most obviously is a WWII German military helmet; the stem is a length of shaped and sculpted pipework; and the base, though not so easily categorised, seems to have been taken from an engine of some description.
The industrial look, the interior design concept which continues to dominate cafés, bars, restaurants and nightclubs is simpatico. A close relative of steampunk, it, too, cuts to the basics, wedding and distorting common objects from the industrial past with their future in the present.
Kaliningrad German Helmet goes all steampunk
My lamp, or rather the lamp I am looking after for future generations, is artistically endowed with an evocative bronze patina, which, when the lamp is lit, creates a deep and mellow aura.
Sometimes, when I am alone in the attic regarding the lamp over a beer, a macabre realisation seeps quietly out through the helmet’s ragged holes and makes its way into my mind: “Just think,” it says, “once upon a time the light bulb in this helmet was nothing of the sort; there was a German head inside the helmet.” And I go on to wonder who that German was and what eventually became of him. Did he survive the war?
Hmmm? Pieces from the past do that to you sometimes; they talk to you in your present and make you long to complete the jigsaw.
Published: 16 June 2022 ~ What makes Kaliningrad Flea Market a Junk Buyers paradise?
In 2000, the first time I set foot on Kaliningrad soil ~ a giant step for a man who had never been to Russia before ~ one of the major attractions very quickly became the city’s flea market or junk market, as we like to call it.
The junk market was located at the side of Kaliningrad’s central market, a monolithic and cavernous complex consisting of all kinds of exciting combinations of traditional stalls, units and multi-layered shops, selling everything from fruit and veg to jewellery.
In those days, to get to the market we would cut around the back of Lenin’s statute, which occupied the place where the Orthodox cathedral stands today (irony), and making our way along a make-shift pavement of boards raised on pallets, often treacherously slippery as winter approached, we’d pass amidst the wagon train of covered craft-sellers’ stalls, trek across the city’s bus park and on the last leg of the journey sidle off down a long, wide alley with rattling tin on one side and a towering building on the other. I have no idea why, as I was often in Kaliningrad during the sunny seasons, but my abiding memory of walking along that alley was that it sucked wind down it like the last gasp of breath and was always wet and raining.
Another ‘in those days’ was that the junk market extended along the side of the road which is now a pedestrianised space between buildings ancient and modern and the latest super monolithic shopping centre. Dealers could be found in an old yard opposite, plying their trade from a shanty town of stalls, all higgledy-piggledy and cobbled together, whilst public sellers set up shop on a narrow sloping scar of land, a grass verge worn down by years of junk-seller hopefuls.
In our militaria dealing and 1940s’ re-enactment hey days, we bought twenty pairs of sapagee (high leather and canvas military boots) from a bloke stalled out on this piece of ground over several consecutive days. We also bought Soviet military belts from him, the ones that he was wearing. On the last day of purchasing, we would have had his belt again had he more to sell, but all he had left by the time we were through was a piece of knotted string to keep his trousers up.
When we left Russia at the end of a month’s visit, this was in 2004, the border personnel searched our vehicle, and on finding twenty pairs of old Soviet boots, rolled up, tied down with string and stashed in bin liners, sniggered to themselves. But we had the last laugh. We hadn’t sneaked off with an icon, but boots at one quid a pair that could be sold in the UK to re-enactors and members of living history groups at £35 or more a pop was lubbly jubbly. Whilst we wouldn’t get rich on the proceeds, it would certainly offset the cost of our trip. It shames me to recall, comrade, what a despicable capitalist I once was.
When I first came to Kaliningrad (2000) I was buying stuff mainly for myself but as I turned dealer, as most collectors are obliged to do to reclaim the space they live in, I did what all collectors do when the fear of decluttering wakes them from their slumbers in a cold sweat, I went out looking for more things to clutter with, the justification being that I was no longer buying it for myself but selling it on for profit. Believe you me, sooner or later (usually later) every junk hoarder reaches this critical stage of consciousness, when they finally have to admit that buying old stuff is more than a compulsion it is in fact a disease. After confession, however, comes absolution and, like all professional sinners, hoarders quickly learn that regular confession and regular sin go hand-in-hand together.Thus, wherever we travelled the story was always the same ~ be it Lithuania, Latvia, Poland or Ukraine ~ junk markets and antique shops loomed large upon the itinerary.
What makes Kaliningrad Flea Market a Junk Buyers’ paradise?
Be it ever so difficult for the likes of us to understand, but old stuff is not everybody’s cup of tea, and the first victims of the development and progressive gentrification of Kaliningrad’s market area were the junk sellers. Speaking euphemistically, they were ‘politely asked to move on’.
I must admit (there you go, I am at it again, confessing!) that when I discovered they had gone, I was truly mortified: new shops, block-paved and tree-inset pedestrian-only streets and a face lift that no amount of Botox or plastic surgery could replicate is all very nice, but oh, what had become of the junk!?
As it happened there was no cause for alarm. All I needed to do was go around the bend, something that I am known to be good at, and there it was, as plain as the specs (the vintage specs) on your nose.
The precise location of the junk market was ~ I use the term ‘was’ because rumour has it that the purveyors of indispensable high-quality items and second-hand recyclables may be moved on again to make way for more civic tarting ~ parallel to the road at the side of the fort opposite the central market, thereupon extending at a right angle along a tree-settled and sometimes muddy embankment that follows the remnant of Königsberg’s moat.
The better-quality items ~ militaria and Königsberg relics ~ are generally to be found on the stalls that line both sides of the pavement. Here you can discover gems, although not necessarily or even regularly at prices to suit your pocket.
The pavement-side sellers are mainly traders, people ‘in the know’, who are hoping to get at least market rate for their wares or substantially more, if they can wangle it.
Experience has taught me that in dealing with these chaps movement on prices is not unachievable, but don’t expect the sort of discounts that are possible to negotiate at UK vintage and boot fairs. Sellers in Kaliningrad are skilled in the art of bargaining ~ seemingly absolute in their conviction that if you don’t want it at the quoted price some German tourist will.
A busy Saturday at Kaliningrad Flea Market
If you are after military items, especially those that relate to WWII and Königsberg’s German past, then it is along this stretch of pavement where you will most likely encounter them. Badges, military dog-tags and Third Reich medals are quite prolific, as is cutlery, ceramics and fragments of ceramics backstamped with the symbols and insignia of the time.
Although, given Kaliningrad’s German heritage and the fierce battles fought here during WWII, you would reasonably expect to find a preponderance of genuine military relics, as anyone who collects Third Reich memorabilia and/or deals in this field will tell you, counterfeit and reproductions abound. Memorabilia, both military and civilian, bearing ideological runes attained collectable status almost before WWII ended, and a thriving market in good quality reproduction items to service this growing interest emerged as early as the late 1940s.
Party badges, military decorations, particularly of the higher orders and those associated with the SS, are difficult to distinguish from the real McCoy since many were struck from the same dies or moulds used to create the originals.
The rule of thumb when hunting out Third Reich bargains from dealers’ stock is that you are less likely to get a bargain than to experience a hard bargain, as the pieces that dealers have acquired will almost certainly have been exhaustively studied and meticulously researched but, if you are tempted to buy, pay attention to the item’s appearance. Remember that genuine military items dating to the Second World War are now in their dotage ~ 70-years-plus ~ and, just like ‘mature’ people, will generally exhibit signs of age-related wear and tear and sundry other defects from natural use and handling.
The other thing to watch out for is a proliferation of similar items at any one time. When in the UK I was a regular attendee at the Bedford Arms Fair, then held in the now demolished Bunyan Sports Centre, you could guarantee that each year there would be a ‘bumper crop’ of one category of Third Reich memorabilia or another. What an alarm bell that is! For example, one year almost every other dealer had German army dress daggers, all sharing the same mint condition; another year it was flags, which looked and smelt the part ~old ~ but whose labels did neither. Caveat emptor!
When I buy German items these days I do so mainly for nostalgic reasons, not to sell on, and because it is the historic not monetary value that attracts me, I am content to purchase military decorations, party badges and so on that have been dug up. Naturally, the condition of such items range from considerably less than pristine to battered, biffed, corroded and poor, but as such they are more likely to be the genuine articles than their ‘remarkably well-preserved’ counterparts and, moreover, you can get them at a price that will not break your brother’s piggy bank (is that another confession?).
It should come up nicely with a light polish …
The same can be said for architectural pieces such as enamel and metal signs that are Königsberg in origin. Enamel signs, advertising, military, street plaques, whatever, are a personal favourite of mine, since they make excellent and historically evocative wall-mounted additions to any thoughtful home design. In purchasing these, the same rule applies: signs of any type and description will in most cases have been used; they will have hung on walls in both internal and external situations, and wherever they were and whatever they are they will demonstrate commensurable signs of age.
In the past four decades, as original signs, especially enamel ones, have grown in popularity and correspondingly price, various retro companies have been successfully plugging the gap in an escalating market and meeting demand with repro goods. Some of these shout repro at you from a telescopic distance, but as techniques in ageing have evolved it can often be hard at first glance, and even several glances or more and even if you study them, to separate the wheat from the chaff, particularly when your impulsiveness has knocked caution quite unconscious. And it is not only signs that have been skillfully ‘got at’. I recall a ‘19th century’ ship’s wheel turning up at our local auction house in Bedford that was so well aged and distressed that had it not been so convincing you could easily have talked yourself into believing that it was the genuine article.
This is what to look out for: Signs that are ‘uniformly’ aged or show wear and tear in the places where you would most expect to find them but not to the extent that it dissuades you from making a purchase are to be put on the suspect list. The last thing you want, after years of gazing lovingly at the antique sign in your home, thinking to yourself this was once on a shop front in Königsberg, long imagining how eyes like yours lost in time and to memory alighted on it as yours do now, is to learn that your treasured piece of history was made in China a week before you purchased it.
Original German/Königsberg signs(photo taken Victor Ryabin Studio, c.2010)
Anything to be had forming a direct link to Königsberg can only be irresistible, not just signs but home appliances, kitchen ware, tea sets, ornaments, furniture, garden tools, anything in fact, especially when that anything bears irrefutable provenance in the form of a maker’s mark. Metalware and ceramics embossed or printed with commercial references, ie references to specific brands or retail outlets, are desirable collectors’ pieces. Old ashtrays, which come in all sorts of inventive shapes and sizes, are top whack in this category. Many are chipped and cracked, but even so still command high prices, and as for the best examples, which are usually in the hands of dealers, after you have exclaimed “How much!” in those same hands they may well remain.
For a less expensive and in-profusion alternative, you could do far worse than plump for bottles. Bottle bygones are dug up in their hundreds, possibly thousands, in Kaliningrad and across the region, but as there are as many different shapes, sizes and hues as there is quantity, it is not unreasonable to discover rare, curious and even exquisite bottles rubbing shoulders with the more mundane.
In the UK, old bottles from the end of the 19th century to the 1960s are as cheap as chips (used to be, before the West sanctioned itself), but Kaliningrad is not the UK, so don’t expect to get bargains on a par. The trade here adjusts the market price according to the needs and instincts of German visitors, many of whom are easily swayed to part with more money than they seem to have sense for a fragment of their forbears’ past. But “Ahh,” I hear you say, ‘what price, philistine, can you put on nostalgia?’ Must I confess again?
I have been known to part with as much as ten quid for an interesting and unusual bottle when it has caught my fancy, but this kind of impetuosity acts in defiance of common sense. If you haven’t got the bottle to part with that much, and you shouldn’t have (Frank Zappa: ‘How could I be such a fool!’), when visiting Kaliningrad’s ‘flea market’, turn 90 degrees from the pavement and head off along the well-worn and sometimes muddy embankment, where you will find bottles and a vast range of all sorts, spread out on blankets, perched on top of little tables and even hanging in the trees from mainly domestic sellers.
I have bought all sorts of things from this part of the market that I never knew I did not need, not to mention clothes that I have not worn and would never wear. For example, I was once obliged to buy an old tin bucket, and I would not dream of wearing it. It’s far too nice a bucket to use as a bucket should be used; so, it sits at home in our dacha full of things that one day I may go looking for but will never think of looking for them there. It’s the sort of bucket that dealers like I typically find in house clearances ~ a bucket of flotsam and jetsam left behind by the owner when he up and decided to die; a bucket of odds and ends destined to take up valuable space; the accidental contents of which having no value at all, I would never be able to give away let alone turn a penny on. I sometimes wonder if this is not the only reason why people fill their houses and barns with junk, viz to make more work for those poor sods whose job it is to clear them after they, the owners, kick the bucket. And what a lovely bucket, my bucket is!
Now, where was I? Ahh, yes wandering around on the bank mesmerised by matter.
As I said at the outset of this post, Kaliningrad’s ‘collectors’ market’ is on the move again. Don’t quote me on this! As Elvis Costello said, it could be ‘just a rumour that was spread around town’, but its veracity is tied to the echo that the strip of wooded embankment roaming along by the side of the Königsberg fort may soon be hosting its last tin bucket. There is a whisper of reincarnation and the rustle of leaves in a public park.
Likewise, I am not 100% certain where this cornucopia of memories, the junk market, is bound, although the wind in my tin bucket tells me that it may be somewhere not too far removed from the city’s botanical gardens.
To be perfectly honest with you (another confession may soon be required), I really harbour no desire to know the next location of Kaliningrad’s junk market ~ what the eye doesn’t see the heart won’t pine after. Thus, the next time that I wake up there handing over my roubles, I won’t be able to blame myself for going there deliberately and for buying things on purpose. Take a leaf out of my well-thumbed book: never leave chance to anything else but intention ~ you can always confess in the fulness of time.
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.
‘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 …”
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 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.
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.
Cars in the process of being lined up at the front of the fortBring on the BMWs!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.
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.
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.
Soviet WWII Weapons
Maxim Machine Gun Fort XI
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!
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.
One of Fort XI’s Inner quadrangles
Quadrangle seen from opposite direction
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?
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 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?
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Essential details:
Fort XI Dönhoff Ulitsa Energetikov Kaliningrad Kaliningrad Oblast 236034
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
A new book on the vintage cars of Königsberg , titled The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, is a nostalgic & historical landmark
A historic moment was recorded today (17 October 2020) when our friend, Yury Grozmani, journalist, historian, vintage car enthusiast and organiser of the Kaliningrad international vintage car festival, The Golden Shadow of Königsberg, presented me with a signed copy of his recently completed book The Steel Ghost of Königsberg. The inscription on the inside front cover reads:
“To an excellent journalist Mick Hart from an equally excellent journalist Yury Grozmani. For a long memory in honor of the best years spent in the beautiful historical city of Kant and Schiller – the city of Königsberg – with respect from the author.”
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
Yury reminded us that it had been almost a year ago when we discussed the progress of this project over dinner at the Plushkin restaurant, sadly now closed. On that occasion he had brought with him a copy of the book’s proposed front cover, adding that there was still much work to do on the book itself. During that evening we discussed his previous book, The Iron Heart of Königsberg, which was published in 2015. The Steel Ghost of Königsberg is the sequel to this work.
Front cover design to The Steel Ghost of Königsberg
The Steel Ghost of Königsberg, which explores the relationship between the vintage cars of Königsberg and their owners, contextualised within the history of the East Prussian city, was no short time in the making. Yury confided in us that he has been researching, writing and compiling the book for an astounding 29 years!
New Book! Vintage Cars of Königsberg
The book is based on real events. It narrates the stories of people who, after the Siege of Königsberg in 1945, had the honour to own or use the cars that once belonged to the ‘great and good’ ~ kings, heads of state, ministers, bankers, actors and leading Königsberg townspeople.
The book comprises 18 chapters distilled from the memoirs of people from diverse backgrounds and all walks of life, including those who took part in the Battle of Königsberg, famous Soviet generals, doctors, actors, housewives, taxi drivers, traffic wardens, tram drivers and so on. The stories are different — some intricate, some formal, some sentimental, some dramatic and many very amusing.
With its imaginative page designs, detailed accounts and being lavishly illustrated throughout, this landmark publication demonstrates yet again Yuri Grozmani’s top-flight ability as a writer, journalist and editor, whilst the breadth and incisiveness of his research speaks volumes for his love of vintage vehicles, the history of their ownership and the unique city and region upon whose dramatic stage the vehicles’ life stories and the stories of those who travelled in and/or travelled through existence with them have been played out over the years.
To seal the historic occasion, Yuri completed the inscription on the inside front cover by penning in today’s date just before he handed my copy to me ~ 17 October 2020.
My wife was recently thrilled to discover that her birthday fell on the same day as Königsberg’s. On the 1st September 2020 Königsberg turned 756. Olga felt relieved and grateful that Königsberg was considerably older than her, whilst I feel like I am catching up with Königsberg every day that goes by.
On hearing about this coincidence of birthdays, I suggested that we show our respects to the old city on which Kaliningrad is founded by travelling to what was once the cultural and spiritual centre of Königsberg, the cathedral, and wish Königsberg a happy birthday.
Olga bought some flowers to mark the occasion, a pretty basket display, which she placed at the gate to Immanuel Kant’s tomb at the side of the 14th century cathedral. We then walked to the front of the cathedral, noting as we did that one section was undergoing renovation and that the cathedral parvis had been re-laid with cobbles in which a twin section of serpentine tram track had been sunk, thus creating a more accurate picture of how it once would have looked. Other improvements ~ some complete, some still work in progress ~ also caught our eye.
It was a beautiful day, as our photographs show; one of those early autumn days which brings people out in droves but winds them down into relaxation mode. It was not difficult, therefore, to get someone to take a photograph of us next to the model of Kneiphof Island, one of the three towns in the middle ages that comprised the city of Königsberg and the area in which the cathedral stands today.
This was all well and good, but we still had not yet toasted Königsberg.
Happy Birthday Königsberg
By and by, we found what we considered to be the perfect location on the elevated approach to the cathedral entrance. With my large vodka flask to hand, a kind and useful gift from our neighbours last Christmas, we accomplished our objective: Happy Birthday Königsberg!
Mick & Olga Hart: Happy Birthday Königsberg
Having respected history and become a small part of it ourselves, we took a slow stroll to the river bridge for more photographs in front of the Königsberg Stock Exchange and of the now complete Planet Ocean Exposition globe across the other side of the water.
There was one last visit to make. As we were in Victor Ryabinin territory, we decided to make the emotionally difficult but appropriate pilgrimage to the door of the building where Victor’s studio had been located. As Olga said, had Victor been here today he would have been with us and would have been proud to have toasted Königsberg’s birthday.
The building where the studio used to be is under scaffolding at the moment. We stood at the open entrance, and I saluted him and the building for all those memorable times we had spent together here.
Mick Hart at entrance to stairwell leading to the former Studio of artist Victor Ryabinin, Königsberg-Kaliningrad 2020
From Victor’s, we decided we would wend our way homewards via Kaliningrad’s famous war memorial. To do this we would have to cross over Dvukhyarusny Bridge. I hope that this bridge is preserved, as it is a landmark of the city. I love walking across the old buckled steel plate pathway that runs along the side of this bridge and gazing out across the Pregel River for the unique perspective it offers.
Dvukhyarusny Bridge, Kaliningrad 2020
Crossing over the busy road on the other side, it is possible to escape the traffic by following a section of road leading to the war memorial where traffic is restricted. This road climbs a hill between an avenue of mature trees with Victory Park on the left-hand side.
The Monument to 1200 Guardsmen is an awe-inspiring sight. Set in a vast semi-circular walled and paved space, a central obelisk, its ascending sections carved and embossed with WWII battle scenes, rises triumphantly into the sky; an ‘eternal flame’ burns in its foreground and the whole ensemble is flanked by two larger than life figural groups depicting soldiers charging into battle.
Obelisk at the Monument to 1200 Guardsmen, Kaliningrad, Russia, September 2020
Olga Hart, Eternal Flame, Kaliningrad
Olga Hart at 1200 Guardsmen Monument
We had our photographs taken here on the day of our wedding, 31 August 2001, and were fortunate enough to find two willing Kaliningradians to snap some photos today.
Olga and Mick Hart at 1200 Guardsmen Monument, Kaliningrad, September 2020
Not quite sure whether I had toasted Königsberg sufficiently, when I arrived back home I opened a bottle of beer and toasted it again ~ Happy Birthday Königsberg!
Stanislav Konovalov ~ Stas ~ passed away in November 2020 from post-operative complications whilst undergoing hospital treatment. We salute him for the memories he has bequeathed us and grieve for those that would have been had death not suddenly deprived us of his company. The biographical article that follows was originally written and published on 18th July 2020. It stands in testament to Stas’ love of the history of this city and this land and as a tribute to Stas himself, a man that we are proud to have known and been able to call our friend.
About Stas Konovalov Stas Konovalov is a professional tour guide who specialises in tours of Kaliningrad and the Kaliningrad region. His tours are given in Russian and English. His love for this land was nurtured and advanced by his friend and mentor, Victor Ryabinin, the legendary artist-historian, for whom life began in the ruins of Königsberg and for whom Königsberg became his life. Under Victor’s tuition, Stas honed his knowledge of the city and its region, from its ancient Prussian roots, through the years of the Weimar Republic, through its rise, fall and eventual destruction from the beginning to end of WWII, its fate under Soviet rule, onto the modern bustling city, attractive coastal resorts and UNESCO heritage status by which it is defined today. Stas’ tours, given in both Russian and English, can be either broad-based or thematically tailored to suit individual or group interests. He refers to them in the second half of this article, where you will also find links to his internet tour page and his introductory YouTube videos.
Originally published: 18 July 2020 on the first anniversary of Victor Ryabinin’s death
My wife and I were introduced to Stanislov (Stas) in the winter of 2018 by Victor Ryabinin. He prefaced the meeting with “I want you to meet a very good friend of mine. He has a love for Königsberg. He is an interesting man, with a very interesting flat!”
At that time my wife and I were in temporary accommodation, looking for property to buy in Kaliningrad. It was but a short walk from where we were living to ‘the interesting man and his flat’. It had been snowing and it was snowing, and I will always remember Victor jumping up and down outside the door to the block of flats where Stas lives and clicking his heels together to shake the snow from his heels, saying “This is possibly the only flat in Kaliningrad where you are not expected to take off your shoes and run around in your socks.” Apart from this phenomenon, the interesting man and his interesting flat did not disappoint.
Sadly, our mutual friend Victor died in the summer of 2019.
At the end of his funeral, we thanked Stas for his support and his company. He replied, simply but sincerely: “I think we consoled each other.”
Since then we have continued to console each other, and Stas and his girlfriend (another Olga) have become good friends. I said to my wife, Olga, it was very fortunate that Victor introduced us to Stas when he did. Typically, Olga replied, “It was no coincidence. It was meant to be.”
Stas is planning to produce a catalogue of Victor’s work and is directly involved in attempts to establish a permanent exhibition, where the legacy of Victor’s art and relics from Königsberg can be properly displayed for future generations.
This is Stas’ story, of his life leading up to his meeting with Victor Ryabinin and how under Victor’s tutelage his life going forward has been directed and shaped.
Stanislav Konovalov ~ a brief biography
Upon leaving school, I entered the Kaliningrad Technical University Commercial Fisheries Department. In 1985, it was not difficult as that department was no longer popular. The course was not easy to follow in that it covered all aspects of engineering in depth, that is theoretical mechanics, strength of materials, physics, mathematics and so on.
My university study was interrupted for two years by national service in the Soviet Army. It was a period in the mid-1980s called ‘children of the children of WWII ’, when the army had to compensate for staff shortages by enlisting students, even from technical universities in spite of the fact that these had their own military departments.
My national service was undertaken mainly in the chemical defence forces. Once completed, I was so afraid that military service had kicked my brains out that when I returned to university I needed to prove otherwise and worked as hard as I could.
Army life ~ Only 100 Days to Go!!
At university, I met old friends and made new ones who felt the same way about the possible adverse effects of army life, so we united as a group of six to seven guys and studied eagerly. Soon, we were enjoying our studies and were surprised to find that on completion of our first ‘after army’ exams we were not as stupid as we thought. Thereafter, having developed a taste for study our later successes did not surprise us so much.
As undergraduates we were eager to invent and implement something extraordinary which would push commercial fisheries forward. My diploma thesis supervisor was Professor A L Fridman, who had studied under Professor F I Baranov. A street in Kaliningrad is named after Professor Baranov, who was the founder of scientific application for commercial fisheries. His name is well known among colleagues worldwide, as his book Techniques ofCommercial Fisheries, written in 1933, was translated into many languages.
The idea which I presented to Professor Fridman was to combine fish biology (fish behavior) with specific fishing equipment in order to develop efficient and selective fisheries.
Professor Fridman, who had professional contacts worldwide, arranged for lectures to be given at our university by two doctors of science from the Aberdeen Marine Laboratory, Scotland. Some of the topics encompassed by these lectures approximated to ideas covered in my course project, so I asked if I could meet with Clem Wardle, one of the visiting lecturers, to discuss these. I felt quite confident about my English, and besides Dr Wardle had extensive experience of communicating with non-English students.
These discussions led to me being invited for a training course at the Aberdeen Marine Laboratory, prior agreement having been made that two students from our university would participate in studies in Scotland.
I presented my Diploma Statement in both Russian and English, and the next day I became an engineer and assistant of the Commercial Fisheries Department of the university. But it did not last long. Perestroika was in full swing, and I had to channel my time and energy into earning money to feed my young family, which left little time for scientific research.
When did you first become interested in art?
I was seven years old when an art enthusiast, Alevtina Maksimova, created an experimental art group in the Kaliningrad Art School. At that time, entrance was restricted to children in the 10 to 12 age group. I cannot begin to imagine the effort she must have put into creating such a group under the Soviet system. Anyway, she succeeded.
Bureaucratic barriers having been overcome, she visited schools in Kaliningrad, examined children’s drawings and selected potential students on the basis of their work. I was one of them. Initially, the art lesson lasted 15 minutes, three times a week, but gradually class time was extended to normal hours.
For the next four years, I studied sculpture, painting, drawing, history of art and so on, and it soon became routine.
When did you first meet Victor Ryabinin and what part did he play in your artistic interest?
We were drawing and painting still life and in warm seasons went outside to practise. The last academic year included the subject Applicable Composition (Design). Viktor Ryabinin was our teacher.
As for the arts, Ryabinin directed me more towards feeling the harmony and philosophy of art. It was a sort of magic. He did it so gently that I thought that I had discovered it myself.
Stanislav Konovalov
At first sight, from a teenager’s point of view, he was this small and funny man, but very soon our attention was attracted to his methods of teaching. He was a breath of fresh air in my understanding of art. He was so alive in comparison with many of the other teachers. He ignited our imagination. He was not backward in pointing out our mistakes, but he inspired! And he took a sincere interest in our artistic development, which extended beyond the classroom.
When he invited us to his art studio, I was impressed on two accounts: first, that he had invited us at all; and second, by the studio itself. It was not as cluttered as it became in later years, but it had a special atmosphere that charmed me forever.
As for the arts, Ryabinin directed me more towards feeling the harmony and philosophy of art. It was a sort of magic. He did it so gently that I thought that I had discovered it myself.
With Victor’s help, I became interested in many artistic genres: Symbolism, Surrealism and others, and creating in graphics or in colour. Ryabinin attracted my attention to Impressionism as a means of playing with colours. Still life and landscape pictures are definitely important to me as are learning basic techniques from which drawing skills accumulate that can be implemented in any genre.
As a mentor, Victor was kind but did not hold back when pointing out mistakes. Drawing my attention to the Impressionists, he repeated the words of his mentor Valentine Grigoriev, “dark – darker, light – lighter”. What this means, for example, is that the shadow of a green apple must never be painted in a dark, green colour. He said (about any object drawn): “It must be tasty and alive!”
I continued to draw and paint after finishing art school. I showed Victor each new picture, listened to his remarks and very often corrected mistakes to which he alluded and even re-drew some of my pictures. When a new picture was ready, I would telephone Victor, and we would agree on a time to meet at his studio. Later, when I stopped drawing, we remained in contact.
What made you become more interested in the history of Königsberg than to proceed with your art studies?
I have been charmed by Königsberg for as long as I can remember. Of course, in my youth there were a lot of myths circulating among children and teenagers about underground objects relevant to old Königsberg that impressed my sense of fantasy. But it was Victor who inspired a new surge of interest in the history of the city and the surrounding land. Victor was an authority on Königsberg urban life. He knew very well the history of certain districts and even certain houses. He was an excellent storyteller, often attracting your attention to particular details that had passed you by in daily life.
Through Victor, I learnt many things that I had seen throughout my life in Königsberg but had never really thought about.
Stanislav Konovalov
I learnt a lot of things from Victor of this nature, for example about the hatches on the streets and pavements, in which factories they had been made and how they were brought to Königsberg; that the granite curb stones and cobbles used in the construction of the pavements and roads had been shipped from Scandinavia. Through Victor, I learnt many things that I had seen throughout my life in Königsberg but had never really thought about.
Have you any particular memories of your association with Victor both as mentor and friend?
Victor was always pleased when I arranged to meet him at his Kaliningrad studio with visitors from other Russian cities and from abroad. By the way, the first signature in his Guest Book was that of Noel Mizen, an engineer from the ELGA Pure Water Company, England. I was an interpreter for him when he installed the purification system at Kaliningrad’s vodka plant.
Being an artist, Victor had a sharp eye. I remember once walking with him among the ruins of Balga Castle and around the lagoon coast. We had a flask of cognac, from which we sipped from time to time. The weather was good and the leisurely walk enjoyable.
Next to the water’s edge Victor picked up a small piece of something and showed it to me. He explained that it was a metal button from the trousers of a Wehrmacht soldier. I was impressed that such a tiny detail had not escaped his notice. This was part of his magic: his ability to give a lesson invisibly.
I am happy I knew Victor and that I met with him a lot. For the last years of his life we lived almost in the same street, so we would bump into each other quite often. Victor appreciated my cooking. I used to invite him for a meal, and we would sit in my kitchen, talk, and often look at and discuss the latest entries in his pictorial diaries.
I am very lucky to have met Victor and to have been his student. I learnt a lot from him. He was a great artist and a good man.
By the way, I also feel lucky that I took lessons in in martial arts from Guy Aerts, 6-dan master, the student of Tanemura Sensei, the patriarch of the Traditional Jujutsu school and that I took guitar lessons from one of the best musicians and guitar players, Sergey Teplyakov.
Stas learnt to play the guitar, but he did not mention anything about horses!
Although, I can count some achievements, I have no pretensions of being a star student. I remember the words of one of the martial arts masters: “All your achievements are the achievements of your teachers. All your defeats are the result of your remissness.”
However, I keep in contact with all my teachers, and it seems to me they enjoy it too ~ I hope!
History-based tours of Kaliningrad
(a) Can you remember the first tour that you organised? To be honest, I can’t remember my first tour. It sometimes seems as if I have been doing them all of my life. As a child I shared the knowledge that I had gained about Königsberg-Kaliningrad from adults that I had met and from my parents’ friends with my mates. When I was older, I would use that knowledge to entertain visitors in the companies where I worked. I knew more about Königsberg than my colleagues, and this enabled me to arrange sightseeing trips. Of course, looking back I see how funny and unprofessional those tours were, but the main purpose was achieved – people came on my tours, received a first impression of the place they were interested in and, wanting to know more, returned again and again.
There are two occasions that I remember in particular. The second half of my national service was undertaken in Kaliningrad, but through my national service I had made friends with guys from all over the USSR. One of them came from Samara (at that time Kuibyshev) before he was sent to Kaliningrad. This friend would walk a lot through the city. He even created a chart of the routes he had taken.
He once opined that there was nothing to see in Kaliningrad. Although we were friends, his comment irritated me. Nevertheless, I patiently asked where exactly had he walked and what had he seen? He replied, and I explained to him exactly what he had seen and what had escaped his eye. After my ellucidation his route chart extended dramatically.
Later ~ 20 years later ~ thanks to the internet, we contacted each other again. He decided to visit me in Kaliningrad and stay for five days. When I met him at the airport, he introduced me to his wife: “Meet Stas, who I told you about,” he said. “It was he who made me fall in love with Kaliningrad.”
The second occasion that I recall concerns the regional manager in Germany of the company for which I worked. She had visited the company where I would eventually work six years before I joined it and had been avoiding Kaliningrad ever since! We got to know each other and met several times at events in Moscow and in Germany. Finally, she came to Kaliningrad again.
I didn’t try to show her something extraordinary in Kaliningrad or ‘the best of the best’, after all she had lived in Bremen and Schweinfurt for decades ~ two interesting cities. I simply showed her Kaliningrad, and we went for a walk around the coastal resort Svetlogorsk. I told her about Kaliningrad after the war and included some true stories about families that I knew. At the close of her visit, I gave her a lift to Gdansk Airport. As we embraced and said our farewells, she paid me the highest compliment: “I disliked Kaliningrad,” she said, “but, thanks to you, I have almost fallen in love with it!” For me, who loves the city and introduces visitors to it, what could be better to hear?
(b) How have your tours progressed since then? Having been told by many people for whom I have organised tours that I am in the wrong job, ie that I would be better as a tour guide, I asked if I was such a bad logistics manager. My friends and colleagues then tried to assure me that I was an excellent logistics manager, but my tour-guide abilities are superb. So, whilst accepting the compliment, I still doubt my logistics professionalism.
As I became more involved in giving tours, I set about reading up on the history of Königsberg-Kaliningrad and researched particular topics. It is one thing to give sightseeing tours to friends but quite another to visitors who might be well-read on the history of Königsberg and interested in specific details. My biggest problem is memorising exact dates, and this worried me. After a while, however, I consoled myself with the thought that bachelors and masters graduates of university history departments are not typical of the type of people who want to enlist my tour service, and that ‘normal’ people don’t usually want to be overloaded with precise dates (except, perhaps, with regard to a very few extremely interesting places or situations).
Exactly a year ago, as I am writing this, I received a tourist from Moscow. The young lady, a manager in a big international company in Moscow, had a background in history. She knew the history of Königsberg quite well. I must admit that I was rather nervous about the prospect of showing her around, especially as I was recommended to her by a mutual friend. I felt that it was more like an exam for me than an excursion for her. The excursion took about 10 hours instead of the expected three-and-a-half to four hours. She was open-minded, analytical but happy to see what it was that she had read about. We understood each other well, and I think I calculated quite accurately what she wanted to see on the tour and what would impress her. Several times I hit the bullseye!
(c) Which tours specifically do you offer now? Normally, I offer a general sightseeing tour, with some particular interest deviation, for example the history of beer brewing in Königsberg-Kaliningrad, Königsberg as a fortress city, the exploration of certain districts comparing its history with its modern life, the Curonian Spit, Baltic seaside towns and so on. What is most interesting for me about guiding is trying to identify the ‘general trend’ that a particular tourist or group are interested in ~ what they expect to see and hear.
The more detailed I am able to make a narrative, the more excited they get. But I never invent my own myths; I extract the expected theme from the history I have researched and then animate it. I focus on their interest with a view towards inspiring further interest in a specific topic, place and the history that surrounds it.
YouTube videos
(a) How many YouTube videos have you completed to date? There are six at the moment. The first video I did was undertaken for a tour guides’ competition. When it was completed, I watched my video and compared it with the videos made by other participants. I was pleased to discover that the theme of my video went beyond the format required by the contest. I immediately prepared two more videos. I did not get any reward for these, except for a phone call from a federal radio channel and the pleasure of having a couple of minutes conversation on-air with radio presenters whom I particularly like.
I posted my videos on my Facebook page and also on the YouTube channel and got a few positive responses, so I thought it would be a good idea to make some more videos, the idea being that they would act as a video business-card. In my opinion, very few people are prepared to read about you, but people respond to videos in the same way as they interact with television, using the remote-control mentality. You press a button listing the TV channels. If something attracts you, grabs your attention, you might stay on one channel for a few seconds. If not, you list forward. So, my videos are brief. On one hand, to demonstrate who I am and my ability to communicate, and on the other to provide a glimpse of what my tours are about and what can be learnt at a deeper level.
(b) Elaborate on the work involved, the difficulties and the positive aspects I’m not sure if I followed it to the letter, but I keep in mind Chekhov’s idea, “be short with words, but wide with thoughts”. It took quite a while to write texts based on that precept. The initial texts were excluded. When I checked the time that it took me to read them, I was able to work out what needed to be excluded. It was a good experience. After the fourth video, my camera man, a professional, said to me “You can now work on TV”, as we made fewer single-takes than we had before.
(c) Which of your current videos do you like the best and why? I both like and hate all of them. I hate my appearance in all of them. I like what we did and how we did it. I became friends with the camera man, Mikhail. My son handled the video editing. It was, besides the purpose behind producing them, fun to make these videos. Once my son, Ed, presented me with a ‘gift’ video; it contained all my pratfalls. I laughed watching it. That was great!
Good news. I talked to Galina Zabolotskaya, the Director of the Art Museum, and she told me that they could mount a permanent exhibition of Victor’s work within a hall on the museum’s ground floor in which they commemorate artists of Königsberg and Kaliningrad. She proposed that Victor’s masterpieces be displayed in a room reserved for his work exclusively. In my estimation, this could take some time. Sergey, Victor’s nephew, wants, on one hand, to bring Victor’s pictures and his collection to as wide an audience as possible but, on the other, he is extremely cautious about who he entrusts Victor’s work to.
I can see no benefit in trying to persuade him to act until he himself is ready; in fact, I am of the opinion that too push too hard will simply provoke resistance. I keep in contact with him, and we have taken some important steps in the right direction. I feel that he is pleased with what we have done.
Apart from, and in addition to, setting up a permanent exhibition, I would like to see Victor, the man and art-historian, and the unique contribution that he has made to the memory of Königsberg, commemorated by publishing an album, or catalogue, of his work and collection. I am on the case and will keep you informed about how things are progressing.
Before going anywhere today, the first thing we do is
consult the internet. If you undertake ~ or have already undertaken ~ an
internet search of ‘Kaliningrad’ chances are that you will turn up, or have
already turned up, a disproportionate amount of negativity. This is especially
true of UK media articles, that is articles disseminated by the mainstream UK
press, particularly articles written prior to and up to 2018, when Kaliningrad
hosted the World Cup tournament in which England played against Belgium.
In the months leading up to the World Cup the
concerted vitriol reached its apotheosis, which was rather unfortunate for the
British press as, almost without exception, the majority of British fans who
were not dissuaded from coming to Kaliningrad agreed that they had enjoyed
themselves in Russia and in Kaliningrad in particular. So, it was a warm
welcome for the British footer fans and a red face for the British media.
Since 2018, there has been a noticeable change in tone,
with some, though not all, journalists adopting a more honest appraisal of Kaliningrad’s
status as a tourist destination. Leading travel guides for English-language
readers blaze the trail, using such words to describe Kaliningrad as ‘exciting,
vibrant, a city and region of contrasts, fascinating, quirky and historically
unique’.
Indeed, our late friend Victor Rybinin, artist and
historian, defined its unique character as the combination of two cultures, first
German and then Russian, and it is somewhere between this polarity that its
fascination resides.
Königsberg: a city that refuses to die
Kaliningrad’s duality really begins at the close of WWII. Until that time it had been the capital of East Prussia, an imposing and noble city, boasting an architectural composition of Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic designs. Originally known as Königsberg, the city changed names when it changed people and country in 1946, the historical city of Königsberg having been all but extirpated from aerial bombing in 1944 and the Soviet siege and battle of 1945. From 1946 onwards, Königsberg, now renamed Kaliningrad, and the territory surrounding it, was absorbed by the Soviet Union.
Home to the Baltic Fleet, and of strategic geo-political importance, the area became a closed domain and remained this way until the collapse of the Soviet Union. The dissolution of the satellite Baltic states in the 1990s and their subsequent harvesting by the European Union created a physical and psychological barrier ~ physical in that the Kaliningrad region is separated by countries unallied to Russia, psychological in the sense that this little piece of land, the westernmost outpost of the Russian Federation, has become a political/military bogeyman for the West to rattle its sabres at ~ little wonder, therefore, that it is ringed with NATO bases! Never mind, it does not worry the locals, so it need not worry you.
History is Kaliningrad’s speciality
For the history buff, especially those interested in
WWI, WWII and the Cold War, Königsberg-Kaliningrad has plenty to offer. The
city contains a number of wartime monuments and museums and so many underground
shelters that I have often amused myself whilst travelling from one side of the
city to the next by taking part in my own spot the bunker competition. One of
the bunkers, the aptly named Museum Bunker, is open to the public. It is very
Nazispheric and replete with military history exhibits.
Spot the German bunker competition
The most obvious examples of Königsberg’s military
history predate the conflicts of the 20th century, although, like
every building in the beleaguered city of 1945, they played a not
inconsiderable defensive role in the final battle for Königsberg.
Königsberg was a fortress city, which, by the middle
and the late 19th century, was heavily defended by two continuous
rings of red-brick forts joined by an elaborate network of slit walls,
bastions, gates, ramparts and crenelated towers. A prodigious proportion of
both defensive rings is extant today, thanks to their solid construction, the determination
of local history groups to conserve them and considerable restoration
investment. Some of the forts now house museums; others are work in progress.
One of Königsberg’s inner circle of fortsMoat surrounding one of Königsberg’s forts in the outer ring
Smaller relics both of Königsberg and from its military
past can be found in any one of the city’s antique shops and ~ joy of all joys
~ at the city’s central street market. This haven for collectors has evolved
into a boot fair/flea market hybrid, selling all manner of WWII and Soviet
relics along with remnants of Königsberg itself.
One of the most atmospheric, or should that be claustrophobic,
reminders of the Cold War is the Soviet submarine which is moored at the side
of the Pregolya (German: Pregel) River on a bankside development mainly
devoted to other marine vessels, museums and education centres under the
auspices of the World Ocean Museum.
Soviet submarine, Kaliningrad
Kaliningrad’s Amber Museum is possibly the most well-known museum in the city and its territory. It was established in 1972 and occupies one of the inner-circle forts on the bank of one of Kaliningrad’s lakes (the correct terminology for which, I am told, is ‘pond’ ~ which makes it a very big one!) This, incidentally, is the same tower depicted in various YouTube videos, on which victorious Russian troops hoist the Soviet flag high across the war-torn landscape which, in 1945, is all that remained of Königsberg ~ at least in its physical form.
Kaliningrad amber
Amber Museum, Kaliningrad, Russia
Established in the richest amber-producing area in the world, the Amber Museum holds impressive and ornate examples of artisan craftsmanship, and both the city and coastal resorts are dotted with specialist amber shops, supplemented by market stalls specialising in every conceivable manifestation of amber-work imaginable and in all its various hues ~ jewellery, souvenirs, framed pictures, clocks, statues, household goods … the list is seemingly endless.
Exotic amber jewellery, Kaliningrad, Russia
Opulent amber covered vase/urn, Kaliningrad, Russia
Coastal resorts of the Kaliningrad region
The largest coastal resorts, Svetlogorsk and Zelenogradsk,
are respectively a mere thirty and forty-five minutes away from Kaliningrad
city centre by car, train, taxi or bus. As both towns are extensively populated
with shops and stalls selling amber, and as the amount and range of goods for
sale is little short of amazing, amber hunters visiting these resorts can
combine their shopping expedition with a relaxing day by the sea.
Svetlogorsk (German: Rauschen) is a traditional
coastal spa resort nestled on an undulating headland, sprinkled with fir and
beech woods, in which quaint German houses of Hoffmanesque character peep out
from within small enclaves of trees.
High Gothic, Svetlogorsk, Russia
In recent years, renovation and large-scale investment has, like Kaliningrad, made this a place of contrasts and with it evoked controversy. Lavish and extravagant villas, high-rise buildings, even an entire street reconstructed in retrospective styles, have inevitably been precipitated by its growing popularity as a well-appointed, attractive coastal retreat.
Half-timbered reconstruction, Svetlogorsk, Russia
Following in the style of Rauschen (Svetlogorsk)
The, in my opinion, outsized multicomplex theatre and shopping centre, constructed in Svetlogorsk in 2015, seems to have been accepted, but there is decidedly less tolerance for what many see as a disproportionate extension to the seafront promenade, an enormous elevated walkway that has robbed Svetlogorsk of some of its little sandy beach and is destined to serve as the frontage for a parade of grand hotels and exclusive sea-view apartments. This notwithstanding, the older parts of Svetlogorsk are resolutely anchored by firm historical roots which, at the time of writing, continue to nurture the fairy tale.
Entertainment centre, Svetlogorsk, Russia
Zelenogradsk (German: Cranz) is by far the better option if sandy beaches are your thing. In German times, Cranz was considered to be the first resort and Rauschen the second, a position reversed in Soviet times and persisting to this day, but my prejudice is gradually moving in favour of Zelenogradsk. With its broad, golden swathe of beach, wide service-filled promenade, interesting beach-side cafes and restaurants offering unobstructed views of the sea, and its calm and easy serpentine high street containing many fine old buildings, some tastefully renovated others honestly gnarled and time-weathered, and not forgetting its awe-inspiring sunsets, a heavenly fusion of the sublime and surreal, Zelenogradsk for me is the perfect seaside retreat.
Zelinogradsk promenade, Russia
Zelinogradsk High Street, Russia
Zelinogradsk Hotel, Cranz Style
Lenin in Zelinogradsk
As stated previously, Svetlogorsk and Zelenogradsk are
the two main regional coastal resorts, but they are not the only ones along
this stretch of the Baltic coastline. Smaller and more secluded places await
the intrepid traveller!
Sandy beaches hidden away on Kaliningrad’s Baltic coatline
For nature lovers, and lovers of the great outdoors, the
Kaliningrad region’s jewel in the crown is indubitably Korski Spit (the
Curonian Spit) ~ a long (98km) narrow sand dune that arcs from the Kaliningrad region into south-west Lithuania,
with the Curonian Lagoon on one side and the Baltic Sea coast the other.
Carpeted with pine forest, and intricately laced with white sandy dips and
hollows, this Unesco World Heritage Site is a phenomenal natural landscape and a
natural habitat for a multitude of bird, animal and plant species. Wooden
pathways constructed by volunteers permit the traveller to enjoy the natural
beauty of the Curonian Spit whilst preserving the fragile ecosystem. It is
along one of these that you are invited to walk to the Dancing Forest ~ so
named because of the coiled and twisted nature of its trees. Visitors to the
Spit will find viewing platforms from which to appreciate the beauty of both
land and seascape, level cycle trails, and cafes tucked away in quiet little
woodland glades. As for guest houses in this protected part of the Kaliningrad
region, such are not prolific, although you may be lucky and find one in one of
the two small secluded settlements hidden away on the Spit.
Meanwhile, back in Kaliningrad, no reference to its
historic past would be complete without acknowledging the enduring presence of Königsberg
Cathedral. A mere husk after the war, sterling work, much effort, considerable
investment and skill has seen this fine specimen of 14th century
Gothic architecture restored to an unbelievable standard. In the daytime its unmistakable
profile hints at the glory of what once was; in the twilight its silhouette is
an eerie reminder of total war and the obliteration that still haunts this
city.
Kaliningrad: ‘City of Contrasts’
Kaliningrad: Victory Square
The label a ‘city of contrasts’ is as good as one as
any to try to hang on a place which is as enigmatic as it is ambiguous.
Modern-day Kaliningrad is vibrant and bustling ~ new apartment blocks,
expensive reconstructions cast in the mould of its Königsberg predecessors, an
eclectic array of bars, cafes, restaurants and clubs, brand-spanking
international hotel complexes rub shoulders with down-at-heel swathes of
Soviet-era concrete flats, all sharing the same physical and spiritual space as
the monuments to and memories of the ruins from which they have grown ~ Königsberg.
Original Königsberg building, Kaliningrad
Epilogue
When I began writing this article, I had envisaged a
succinct work of some 500 to 600 words. The fact that I have greatly exceeded
that is testament to the great variety of things to see and do here, within Kaliningrad
itself and its outlying region, and whilst I have deliberately focused on some
of the more prominent, more defining features unique to this special place, those
that I have not mentioned ~ of which there are many ~ less known, perhaps, but
equally deserving, are urging me to write about them and, more importantly, for
you to come and discover them for yourself.
Tour Guide/Accommodation
English-speaking visitors to this region are welcome
to contact us on email Königsbergmick@mail.com.
We provide a friendly, personal tour guide/interpreter service tailored to your
requirements. We also offer accommodation (maximum two people).
