Tag Archives: Mick Hart in Kaliningrad

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

A night to remember

Published: 13 July 2021 ~ It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

Take a 750-year-old castle, a friendly curator-family from central Russia, an impressive and well-stocked museum, two classic Volgas and a vintage Hanomag car, a guided tour by a youthful tour guide better informed than Tacitus, home-baked bread the delights of which I have never tasted before made by a child baker, a female troupe in full traditional German dress demonstrating Prussian folk dancing, first-class quality beer and cognac, a rousing speech by our friend Grozmani about the book that took him 29 years to research and write, an opera concert performed in the open air by professional opera singers, a grand finale supper with large iced cakes, and what you have is one of the most unusual and interesting birthday parties that I have ever had the good fortune to have been invited to.

The curious location of this event, to which we were driven in style in our friend’s, Arthur’s, classic Volga, was Waldau Castle, thirty minutes or so by car from Kaliningrad.

We had called at the castle at the end of the Kaliningrad Retro Car Club’s rally a couple of weeks before, on which occasion I had been attracted to the castle on many levels but immediately by the feel of what it was and what you would not expect it to be.

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

No sooner had we passed through the gate into the castle grounds than I was smitten with an enveloping sense of calm, a convalescent repose, which had it been a churchyard or a monastery would have excited no further response but, given the purpose for which it had been constructed and by which it had lived out most of its life, fortification, seemed oddly at variance with its military biography.

My first impression had been no aberration, for the same singularity stepped out to greet me when we passed through the castle gate this evening. There was no challenge, no rattle of sabres or priming of firearms, in fact nothing to authenticate its militaristic legacy, only an inviting, calling, sense of calm, the kind that those who seek and who are fortunate to find might speak of in terms of sanctuary.

We had pulled up in our Volga not at the front of the house but a short distance from it and parked at the side of the drive. Although the castle’s surviving principal building was visible from where we were, it was yet indistinct, only a glimpse of its tall, grey walls asserted itself through the wooded area that lay between us, the tree trunks and branches obscuring whilst the leafy canopy overhead cast a thoughtful but not unpleasing shade over the tranquil prospect and introduced a welcome coolness in which refuge could be taken, for although it was early evening the heat of the day had not yet abated.

Set in the middle of this entreating copse stands a solid monument of large, rectangular proportions surmounted by an apex top. It is dedicated to those who fell in the First World War. This is a German monument which has on both of its narrower ends an incised representation of the imperial military cross and along the top edge of the monument’s greater width words of commemoration.

There is something so touchingly melancholic about this monument immersed within the shade of Castle Waldau’s trees. I detect in it an attitude of self-consciousness, as if it plainly understands that whilst symbolism is timeless, the land on which it is stationed, and for which the men it pays tribute to gave their lives, is now but a point of historical record and has lost all claim to anything else.

Be this as it may, I could find nothing in the calm that I have already described to suggest the slightest trace of rancour, just a gentle, quiet, contentment. So, if there are ghosts in the grounds of Waldau Castle, you are less likely to hear them rattling chains than to catch them occasionally sighing.

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

The path that leads away from the German memorial led us in a straight line to the front door of the castle. We stood on the opposite side of the sweeping driveway taking in the Teutonic might with which all German buildings of a certain age and stature in this part of the world are redoubtably invested. Bold, solid and, apart from the section of the building devoted to the doorway and its encasement, austere, the structure embodies typical if mythical German virtues and has an impregnability about it that perceptibly transcends bricks and mortar, effortlessly overshadowing the knowledge and laws of mere physics.

The only concession that the architect of this building has made to the decorative lies in the perpendicular that projects, surrounds and extends vertically from the main entrance, a feature which supports two sets of simple Gothic windows, three in parallel, both sets incorporating tracery and both arranged within a rectangular oriel supported by a stepped, pyramidical corbel. Enrichment takes the form of a small number of various blind, recessed arches, with the oriel culminating in a crenelated cornice and the perpendicular typically concluded as a broad stepped gable, the last horizontal platform of which makes the perfect base for Mrs Stork and her nest.

Waldau Castle Gothic features — **Two photographs (see above) depicting Waldau Castle entrance and the Gothic nature of the embellishing features**

To the right of the building, orienting from the position of observer standing at the front of the castle, is a second three-storey building connected to the principal by a high wall. This second building houses the castle museum.

**The museum at Castle Waldau, Kaliningrad region, Russia**

Both the castle and its grounds have passed through innumerable transitions in its 750-year history and no better appreciation of this can be found than by visiting the on-site museum, which occupies the cellar, ground and second floors of the surviving wing of the castle.

It is impressive in its collection of artefacts, impressive in its layout, impressive in its inventive displays and impressive in the past that clings to it in every tread of its ancient steps and every nook and cranny. It is so impressive that it needs to be covered in its own article, so we will put it on hold for the time being and revisit it at a later date. Ghosts and God willing!

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

In the wall that connects the two remaining parts of Waldau Castle, there is a small, low archway, the kind in historic buildings that must be walked through in order that the apparition that you will eventually become can follow in the footsteps of those that once like you were physical forms. It is truly a time-honoured ritual, in every sense of the word, but do not forget to lower your head!

On the other side of this portal, we found ourselves on a piece of wild ground, on a slight eminence looking over more ground of an even wilder nature: lush, green, overgrown and silent. This is the last step on the road to complete tranquility that you would want to take of your own volition. We ambled along, Olga, our friend Inara and I, stopping now and again to move fragments of brick with our shoes or to pick up a piece of pottery, deep in the thought of moments past.

The back of the castle is not in the best of health. There is no denying its solid state, but the wall rendering has given way in places and the castle’s eyes, the many windows spread out across its awesome width and height, are covered in a mess of makeshift cataracts. I cannot remember when, if ever, I last beheld such an incongruous and anomalous sight, in which doors of all shapes, sizes, makes and periods have been requisitioned for use as wooden blinds to eye-patch empty window sockets. But work proceeds, and as Waldau Castle knows, possibly better than anyone, nothing remains the same for long or forever.

Returning to the front of the castle was a lot like having swapped Leonard Cohen for VE Day. The vintage cars had been lined up on the opposite side of the drive to the castle entrance and the party guests were busy assembling in the middle of the driveway.

A troupe of ladies all dressed in period Prussian costume were about to demonstrate the art of traditional Prussian dancing. The music and footwork in clogs set the party spirit in motion, but before getting down to the serious business of sampling the beer and cognac, we were about to be given a guided tour of Waldau Castle’s ground floor rooms.

Waldau Castle, Russia. Typical Prussian folk dancing

On the other side of Waldau Castle’s entrance sits a great hall, which owes its present restored condition to the hard work and volunteer commitment of one family, the Sorokins, whose tender loving care can be seen and felt everywhere. Observing and appreciating is one thing, but it is quite another to have to clean and repair acres of wooden floorboards, bricks by the thousands and dusty, peeling plasterwork and have to construct hefty, wooden, external doors and massy window frames when by trade you are not a carpenter but are the sort of valuable person who can turn your hand to anything.

When my wife mentioned this feat to the head of the Sorokin family, he modestly confirmed, “No, I am not a carpenter by trade, but I believe that everyone has an innate knowledge that they rarely ever use, and if necessitated can turn their hand to anything.” I would like to have concurred, and I did note the professionalism of his castle doors and windows, but I also recalled in secret embarrassment how, back in the 1970s, my one foray into DIY had resulted in the humiliating experience of witnessing the wall-mounted can opener that I had screwed to the wall lasting for less than a day before it fell off ~ and so I had my doubts. As the saying goes, “Horses for courses.”

In the process of describing Waldau Castle it is next to impossible not to resort to words like strong, solid, robust, but it is only when you get inside that you are able to fully appreciate the exactitude with which these attributions apply. The windows, sitting as they do at the front of broad, deep brick arches, reveal the thickness of the walls to be at least three feet, and the quality of the brickwork, in all its restored glory, leaves you in little doubt that endurance and longevity have always been the castle’s watchwords.

But restoration in terms of visitor attraction is not confined to structural work. Also to be considered is, for want of a better word, the inclusion of suitable ‘props’, the seeking out, acquiring and emplacing of interior décor and household items best able to create a medieval atmosphere. Central to this objective, and situated in the main hall of the castle, are two suits of armour ~ a matching pair (I did not stop to check if it was ‘his’ and ‘hers’), conjoined with wall-mounted hunting trophies, intricate tapestries and a ceiling pendant made from a heavy wooden wheel entirely surrounded by antler horns. I’ll have the full Hermann Göring baronial hunting-lodge works, please!

Olg Hart at Waldau Castle — Olga Hart with tapestry at Waldau Castle

Wall thickness Waldau Castle — Olga Hart with tapestry at Waldau Castle

The tapestries, which are as colourful and imaginative as they are intricate, are made to order for the Sorokin family from specific patterns that they provide to a specialist company. Now that my wife had seen these, I wondered how long I would have to wait. It was not long: “I really want to buy one of these!” Olga exhaled.

Our tour guide was the oldest son of the Sorokin family, who not only had an incredible knowledge of the history of the castle, but was fluent, articulate and completely unphased when it came to holding court to so many adult strangers. My Russian gets better every day (I boast ye not), but my present knowledge was no match for the speed and confidence with which this young man discharged his verbal duty.

Our guide led us from the main hall into an adjoining room. There are no corridors, at least between rooms, in this part of Waldau Castle, thus access to the three great rooms at ground level is obtained on a door-to-room basis.

The second room, though large, was of smaller dimensions than the first, but as with the former had undergone extensive renovation and as with the former was work in progress.

From here we were taken into the kitchens, where, at the far end of the room, two hefty brick-built ovens encased in rusting white metal testified to the gargantuan task of cooking meals on a banquet scale. The ovens were quiet today and the castle interior cool, but one can imagine how unbearably hot and sweaty this environment would once have been when full of cooks and servants and the ovens in full swing.

In this room there was another oven. Tall, slim, far more elegant than the ones I have described, made of ebonised cast iron, with a succession of white porcelain knobs protruding from rows and layers of doors, this oven was of German manufacture. It had a German precision-build quality about it that was undeniably superior, and I should not imagine for one moment that anyone among our company was in the least surprised to learn that this fine example of industrial German craftsmanship, which is almost 170 years old, is as functional today as it was on the day it was made.

Antique German Stove — **Not a grandfather clock!**

Two other features in this kitchen that caught my eye were the heavy wooden serving hatch in the wall to the back of me and a nineteenth century iron ceiling column, with an intricately wrought Corinthian capital.

Whilst our young tour guide was fulfilling his duty, a man entered the room who was immediately recognisable to us. It was our friend Ivan. At first, I thought what a coincidence, and in a way I was right. I knew that Ivan was renovating an old German building of his own, but I had not realised that it was just up the road from Waldau Castle. And a second coincidence, it was his birthday, too.

We were greeting each other just as the tour guide was explaining about the intrinsic dangers of old building restoration. Apparently, in the process of their labours the Sorokin family had uncovered Schweinfurt paint, or Emerald Green as it was generically known.

Emerald Green was an extremely popular colour in the early nineteenth century. It was used in paint, wallpapers and a number of other pigmented and dyed products, and it was used extensively. But whilst most of us know about the dangers of friable asbestos, less people are acquainted with the fact that many old green paints and green-coloured wallpapers, those made from a compound in which arsenic was one of the main ingredients, could, did and can kill. Highly toxic when it was produced, the dust from this arsenic derivative continues to pose a serious threat to health and retains its lethal potential.

Right on cue, no sooner had our tour guide apprised our fellow tourers of this warning from the past, than a playful poltergeist or two, decided to shake the ceiling. A small amount of dust descended, enough to make our company beat a hasty retreat.

In the first room, where we had now re-assembled, I had noticed earlier that opposite the main entrance there was a carved, Gothic screen in wood, which, on closer investigation, I discovered was employed to separate the area in which we were standing from a corridor that ran the entire length of the back of the building. This was an unusual arrangement, at least it was not one that I was familiar with in the large historic houses and castles that I had visited in England. In the wall of the corridor, a few feet back from the screen, I also observed a great wooden staircase that could be closed off, if need be, by two incredibly large and heavy doors.

We were not privy to this section of the castle today or to its upper storeys, but I hope we may be allowed to explore at a later date.

There are many things that can inculcate a thirst, and history is one of them. A table in the main hall had been laid out with food, bottles of beer and cognac and, on the word ‘go’, it was every man for himself (I have no idea what the women were doing?). To accompany my cognac, I chose a large, flat, round bread roll, and was glad that I did. I cannot recall tasting bread half as delicious as this. The second surprise was that the baker of this delicacy turned out to be a young boy, the youngest son of the Sorokin family. When Olga praised him for the bread, he threw his arms around her and thanked her for her kind words, saying that it was the nicest thing that anyone had said to him. I endorsed her praise, adding Königsbacker beware!

Our friend Yury and I were in full flow about the quality of the beers when, in true Russian party fashion, it was announced that we all had to congregate outside on the drive to do something? When I discovered what that something was, an attempt by the hosts to dragoon us into a dance routine, I swiftly excused myself. Our friend Ivan followed my lead, but Yury stepped up to the challenge, and I was only too happy to play the part of photographer as he was twizzled around the tarmacadam.

**Yury Grozmani demonstrating the art of Prussian folk dancing**; **and above, the talented boy who bakes the bread**

We had not long been back inside, and not too far from the table, when a second announcement was made. It was now time to witness an operatic performance, which would take place on the granite stone courtyard at the front of the Sorokin house.

It would be dishonest of me to claim that I have any love or affection for opera, but, by the same token, it would be no less dishonest if I did not admit that I enjoyed this performance immensely. The Sorokin family’s house made a superb backdrop, the large open window with wrought-iron lattice work emitted the piano accompaniment perfectly and, from where we were sitting, gave us a first-rate view of the pianist at work.

I marvelled at the fact that the performers required no artificial amplification systems to project their voices, which were either remarkably well toned, aided by the acoustics of the building that lay behind them, or both.

Before the performance commenced, our friend, Yury Grozmani, delivered a speech as requested by the host, about the book he had researched and written on the vintage cars of Königsberg. Yury is what you would call a natural speech maker and, as he admitted himself, once fired up it was difficult for him to come back down.

Yury Grozmani makes a speech at Waldau Castle

Yury delivers a speech about the book that he worked on for 29 years

When both performances reached their respective conclusions, the tables were rearranged and laid out for supper. I refrained from indulging in the big iced cakes but was quite pleased that we had enough time and enough cognac left for one or two for the road before being chauffeured home in style by Arthur in his Volga.

Essential details (not of the party, but of Waldau Castle):

Waldau Castle
Kaliningradskaya Ulitsa, 20
Nizov’e,
Kaliningrad Oblast, 238313, Russia

Tel: 007 (963) 299-85-43

Opening hours
7 days a week ~ 10am~5pm

How to get there
By car, taxi, bus. The approximate journey time is 30 minutes

Stay Young & Avoid the Vaccine

Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 483 [10 July 2021]

Published: 10 July 2021

Growing old is an occupational hazard of being born, but by staying young forever you can avoid untested vaccines and serious complications from catching Covid-19.

Just when I was absolutely certain that I would soon be certain about changing the name of this series of diary posts from ‘self-isolating’ to something more applicable to the lifestyle I am leading, like what?, along came the Delta variant, the call for bars and restaurants that do not have outside seating areas to close, renewed attention to maskee wearing and a rallying cry for mass vaccination, which has as its masthead the controversial word ‘mandatory’. Thank heavens for that, I thought: self-isolating it is and thus it will remain.

An inveterate worrier, and a professional at that, who is more worried about not having something to worry about than worrying about something, lately I have done a lot of introspective soul-searching as to why coronavirus has not bothered me as much as it should, and in the process have asked myself the questions: Is it because I have adopted a reckless and cavalier attitude? Have I been turned by the myriad conspiracy theories? Or have I just dropped out of the panic circle by living one day at a time and by allowing the news that I can be bothered to read to simply wash over me?

Not much news is good news and no news even better, but if you have ever tried avoiding mainstream media, along with the gabbling gibberish of social media, you will inevitably have discovered that it is not that easy. There always seems to be some well-meaning soul on hand to replace the valve in the radio that self-preservation removed.

Dropping out is a great feeling, truly emancipating, and what the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve about, but bad news like coronavirus itself has an aerosol effect (at least, I think that is the right word for it), and when I turned on and tuned in I discovered that in the UK Matt Hancock had left his post, disgraced but lustfully happy, that the man who had replaced him, Mr Sajid Javid, the brown man with a bald head, was calling for ‘F’ Day and that western media was adopting an ‘I told you so’ attitude to Russia’s latest Covid predicament, eagerly using words like ‘forced to play catchup’ and ‘caught on the back foot’ to describe Russia’s clamour to get as many people on the vaccination bandwagon and in the shortest time possible as the Delta variant stalks the land.

Our World in Data ¹ states that 18.5 million people have been fully vaccinated in Russia, representing 12.8% of the population, compared to 48.2% fully vaccinated in the United States and 51.3% in the UK. So, perhaps the phrase catchup is not as undeserved as it first might appear.

From The Moscow Times² I learn that the Delta variant is surging ~ now, where did I put that maskee? ~ that someone in Moscow has been detained on suspicion of selling fake coronavirus vaccine certificates and that Moscow’s first criminal case against someone has been opened for allegedly purchasing a counterfeit QR code, which could be used to grant the perpetrator access for indoor dining in Moscow’s restaurants. It is times like these that make me feel glad that I am a beans-on-toast man.

So, does this all mean, taking into account the ‘success story’ of the UK’s vaccination programme, that jumping onto a small boat and heading to the Sceptered Isle would be strategically fortuitous. After all, if I was to set off now I might arrive just in time to celebrate Britain’s big ‘F Day’.

And yet, there is no confusion like coronavirus. Google News UK throws up any number of articles claiming that the virus can be spread and caught even by those who have been fully vaccinated; that thousands of Brits are destined to catch coronavirus once restrictions are eased; that ‘breakthroughs’ are happening all the time (that’s not victims breaking out of lockdown but coronavirus infecting people who have had the vaccine); that Brits are being told to carry on social distancing and wearing masks even when they have had two jabs; that booster jabs will be needed … etc

The Mirror³ reports, for example, that the UK can expect 100,000 cases per day as restrictions are eased. Another Mirror⁴ article tells us to watch out for Long Covid, and identifies 14 symptoms that could be signs of Covid, from insomnia to earache. Looking down the Mirror’s list I thought, “Well, I’ll be buggered, it looks as though I may have had Long Covid since I was 14, or even before”.

Then there was this report from the BBC⁵ which informed me that due to escalating cases of Covid that the NHS Covid contact tracing app used in England and Wales must be made less sensitive to take account of the hundreds of thousands of new cases that will emerge after ‘F Day’, which, in case you are in any doubt, means Freedom day. I had to back-track through the news and read up on what exactly this app is and what it does. Apparently, it detects the distance between users and the length of time spent in close proximity, which is currently 2m or less and for more than 15 minutes. In doing so it seemed as if I had stumbled upon the latest chapter in How to make your life technologically unbearable and become neurotic in the process. But then, what would I know? I do not have a mobile phone.

On reflection, I do not think that I will travel to the UK after all, although given the inconvenience, costs of tests and what have you, if I was to go I would most likely go by small boat across the Channel, as thousands of illegal migrants can’t be wrong.

Stay young & avoid the vaccine

So, back to taking the vaccine, or not as the case may be.

It occurred to me that instead of taking any vaccine and exposing myself to any number of unknown, possibly critical and censored, adverse side-effects, I could try getting younger, as the incidence of coronavirus cases in the young is relatively low as is the risk of developing serious illness and dying from it.

But whilst the young may feel good about this now, unless they do as I am doing, which is getting younger, they too will eventually grow old, which is not advisable, given the depressing prediction that coronavirus may never go away. All of which points to the unsettling conclusion that growing old is becoming a far more risky business than it was and always has been.

After serious consideration, I think we could do worse than to take a leaf out of Charles Aznavour’s philosophical song book. Asked about ageing, the acclaimed singer/songwriter reputedly said, “There are some people who grow old and others [like me] who just add years.”

Seems like the only way to go.

References
1. Our World in Data [https://ourworldindata.org/covid-vaccinations?country=OWID_WRL] [accessed 9 July 2021]
2. The Moscow Times [https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2021/07/09/coronavirus-in-russia-the-latest-news-july-9-a69117] [accessed 9 July 2021]
3. Mirror Online [UK records 29,000 Covid cases in worst day since January – with 37 more deaths – Mirror Online] [accessed 9 July 2021]
4. Mirror Online [ Long Covid: 14 symptoms that could be signs of illness – from insomnia to earache – Mirror Online] [accessed 9 July 2021]
5. BBC [https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-57772515] [accessed 9 July 2021]

Image attribute
Cute Baby: http://clipart-library.com/clipart/pi58ypdKT.htm

Is the Vaccine now Mandatory in Russia?

Vaccines & the curious effect of the word Mandatory

Published: 29 June 2021 ~ Is the Vaccine now Mandatory in Russia?

{*image attribution at end of article}

To learn on the same day Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte vowed that he would track down all those who refused the vaccine and inject them in the arse that the word ‘mandatory’ had emerged in Russia relating to the vaccine was arguably not the most auspicious timing possible.

Whilst I have no difficulty imagining these measures being adopted in the UK without much, if any, opposition ~ picture hordes (yes, I said, hordes) of young men dressed only in rainbow underpants skipping, not very fast, through Nob-butts Garden Centre, hotly pursued by several masked and white-coated gentlemen (two looking suspiciously like Matt Hancock and Fauci) with their syringes in their hands ~ the thought of something similar happening here, in Russia, just does not bare arsing about!

Imagine being chased through the tangled undergrowth of the lonely Russian countryside (where, incidentally, the lupins are gorgeous at this time of year) by five burly Russian men in paramilitary uniforms; chased until you cannot go on anymore (you can, but you won’t!); and then it happens ~ one of them brings you to the ground with a rugby tackle and, before you can say Bill Gates, its pants down, vaccination administered!

Well, it probably won’t come to this after all, as, according to The Moscow Times¹, the term ‘mandatory’ is defined like this:

“Though vaccination remains voluntary for Russians, service workers face losing their jobs if they decide not to have the jab.”

The same article states:

“From June 28, all Moscow cafes and restaurants will only serve customers who have been vaccinated, had Covid-19 in the past six months or present a negative test taken within the past 78 hours.”

AP News²reported that 18 Russian regions had made vaccinations mandatory for employees in certain sectors and listed government offices, retail, health care, education, restaurants and other service industries.

Meanwhile in Kaliningrad, a local news report today states that

“in the Kaliningrad region, mandatory vaccination was announced for officials and workers in several areas – trade, catering, transport services, education. By August 20, at least 60% of employees must be vaccinated. Now in the region more than 140 thousand people have been vaccinated with the first component.”³

So, it does look like being chased around the House of Soviets is not an option. Perhaps it is time to put away those running shoes and roll your sleeves up after all!

How & Where to Get Vaccinated in Kaliningrad³

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Image attribution

Image attribution [‘We Can Do It!’]: <a href=”https://www.vecteezy.com/free-vector/we-can-do-it”>We Can Do It Vectors by Vecteezy</a> [https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/98839-vector-poster-we-can-do-it]

Image attribution [pointing finger]: http://clipart-library.com/clipart/1667119.htm

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References
1. https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2021/06/24/muscovites-flock-to-vaccination-centers-amid-mandatory-jab-push-a74325 [accessed 28 June 2021]
2. https://apnews.com/article/europe-russia-health-coronavirus-pandemic-business-42d0c14f0545371e16a360b677cb4c38 [accessed 28 June 2021]
3. https://kgd.ru/news/society/item/95771-v-centre-kaliningrada-vystroilas-ogromnaya-ochered-v-mobilnyj-punkt-vakcinacii-ot-koronavirusa

Further reading:
Tracking World Vaccination with the Prickometer

Secret Weapon in Kaliningrad

We have lift off!

Published: 3 June 2021~ Secret Weapon in Kaliningrad

You know how the UK media is always going on about the Kaliningrad region being the most militarised zone in the universe, well here’s a secret weapon that my wife discovered when she was out shopping one evening.

Its code name is Lift Off, but we shall refer to it by its layman’s name: the Ground-to-Air Arse-Seeking Boot!

My good lady wife had popped out of the house to make a routine trip to a local food store. It is a small shop but well stocked with a variety of different products.

On this particular evening, there was herself and the lady serving her in the shop and nobody else.

Suddenly, the door opened and in staggered an extremely drunken man. He was mnoga peearni, as they say in these parts.

Swaying this way and that and reeking of booze, he faced the two women in the shop and ordered them to give him some money: “I’m hungry!” he exclaimed.

Silence ensued.

Becoming more agitated, he repeated his demand.

My wife, being a teacher and used to addressing me on the subject of alcohol, looked at him firmly and said, “If you’ve got enough money to booze, then you ought to have enough money to feed yourself with!”

The well-oiled man became extremely angry.

“You b…..s!!” he shouted. “You must feed me! I’m going to sit in this corner and won’t move until you do!”

At that moment, a man of no small proportions entered the shop. He purchased three or four items, and just as he was about to leave the shopkeeper whispered to him, “That man in the corner is extremely drunk and demanding money and food! I am frightened of him.”

“What, this vermin!!” the strapping fellow proclaimed in a tone of disbelief, whereupon he marched over to the gentlemen concerned, hoisted him up by the scruff of the neck, turned him around to face the doorway and taking careful aim gave him a ground-to-arse boot send off.

Although the secret weapon had succeeded in propelling the target some two metres or more, the recipient, as though still unconvinced of its capabilities, crawled back for more. Was he a stunt man?

Once again, the man in charge of the defensive booteries found himself obliged to provide a further demonstration of the weapon’s capability. So, he turned the target around, took careful aim for the second time, launched the lethal ground-to-arse-seeking boot and sent the target flying.

“Oh thank you,” said the shopkeeper, “but I am of the opinion that when you leave he [the drunken man] will simply return.”

She could not have underestimated the strapping Sir Galahad more, for not only was he a very good shot equipped with a big pair of boots that anyone would be envious of, but he also seemed to operate his own road haulage company, for, no sooner had the fearful shopkeeper expressed her concerns to him than he had literally collared the drunken man and, hoisting him on all fours, proceeded to ferry him across the busy road where, he assured the tremulous shopkeeper, given his drunken state should the offending object attempt to re-cross the road he would be swept away on the front of a passing car bonnet and end up somewhere in Poland.

The moral of this story is plain to see. Unless you are wearing a thick piece of sponge in your underpants and don’t mind going to Poland, and going there very suddenly, aggressive begging in the city of Kaliningrad is not entirely recommended.

Репетитор английского языка в Калининграде:
Развивайте cвои навыки английского языка с преподавателем Oльгой Коростелевой–Харт, имеющей 20-летний опыт преподавания в Великобритании (квалификация выдана Палатой Учителей Великобритании, сертификат за номером 0614508)

Image credits:
Weapon: Andreas_G / pixabay.com (https://freeimg.net/photo/1558247/human-man-military-weapon)
Boot: The Clown A laugh every day (https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/en/view-image.php?image=168343&picture=boot-with-teeth)

Kaliningrad Street Food Festival a Cathedral of Taste

Food festival in the grounds of Königsberg Cathedral

Published: 17 May 2021 ~ Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

On 9^th May, after honouring Victory Day by paying our respects at the Mass Grave of Soviet Soldiers and the Monument to 1200 Guardsmen, we were driven by our hosts, Arthur and Inara, to the street food fair, held this Easter in the sculptured parkland and cobbled grounds of Königsberg Cathedral.

Kneiphof Island, as this area was once known and now more commonly referred to as Kant’s Island for the very good reason that it is the historic resting place of the great German philosopher Kant with whose name it is eponymous, has undergone a series of successful gentrification programmes over the past few years, making its long, broad thoroughfare, which stretches from the Trestle Bridge on one side to Honeymoon Bridge on the other, the perfect place for cultural events.

Tourists and the majority of Kaliningradians approve but, as in every sphere of life, pleasing all of the people all of the time is as unobtainable as the Holy Grail, and the food fair, as well as other events held in this vicinity, is not without detractors, its critics arguing that the proximity of the cathedral and the hallowed ground on which it stands should prohibit such acts of sacrilege.

I personally do not hold with this. Reincarnation, as in the case of Königsberg Cathedral as much as in any other, is about breathing new life into something that would otherwise cease to exist, and the historical Phoenix that Königsberg Cathedral most assuredly is, is a good enough argument in my books for holding events nearby that celebrate life and, whilst I myself do not go in for Facebook snapshots of plates of grub, most people would agree that food and drink plays a not insignificant part in celebrating life or is, at the very least, a rather indispensable ingredient of it ~ something very much up there with oxygen and sunlight.

Thus, silently mediating between the cultural polemics by which my actions were guided, I was able to wend my way without a sullied conscience, heading towards the food fair by way of the riverside walk that fronts Kaliningrad’s ‘Fishing Village’ ~ an attractive architectural fantasy of swish hotels and well-appointed restaurants that has nothing to do with fishing but a lot to do with tourism.

Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

Someone, I believe it was my wife, suggested that we rest our weary bones at one of the outside tables and take light refreshment before going on to the fair. This was an odd idea considering that over the other side of Honeymoon Bridge there was about forty or fifty food stalls. But wives, as you know, know best …

Mick Hart & Olga Hart at the Fishing Village, Kaliningrad — **Kaliningrad Fishing Village ~ on our way to Kaliningrad Street Food Festival**

The first mistake was quickly followed by the second, which was that the spot we had chosen was firmly in the shade and subject to strong gusts of wind; the second mistake was the restaurant/café itself. Foodwise, it had not been a good choice, even for snack standards, although I did enjoy my pint of Leffe!

You might infer that having crossed Honeymoon Bridge we would be plunged into the troubled world of real life, but this was not the case.

Mick Hart with Inara Honeymoon Bridge Kaliningrad — Mick Hart with Inara: Honeymoon Bridge,Kaliningrad

Königsberg's New Synagogue — Mick Hart with Inara: Honeymoon Bridge,Kaliningrad

The continuous row of brightly coloured stalls and milling crowds was a sight for sore self-isolating eyes, a coronavirus-contagious nightmare for your mask-wearing six-foot distancers, but for me, today, a much-needed carnival atmosphere ~ a cornucopia of pleasing sights, foot-tapping sounds and sizzling smells ~ or, as I put it earlier, a celebration of life.

A giant radio at Königsberg Food Festval

Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

The pink stalls with their colourful, whacky wallpapered fronts, looked well in the sunlit environs, with the hefty walls of Königsberg Cathedral acting as their backdrop. There was food galore, which was not a bad thing for a food festival, but this being Russia it was a foregone conclusion that most of it would be meaty. For vegetarians such as myself, options are rather limited.

Unphased, since I am a ‘baked beans on toast’ sort of person anyway, there was nothing for it but to turn my attention to the beer they had on offer.

Stall at Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

Old Brick Pub Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

Olga discovered one stall selling warm beer; not warm as in ‘Ugh my beer is warm’ (an ironic grumble in England where everyone seems to have forgotten that beer is supposed to be served at room temperature), but warm in the sense of heated. Being nothing but adventurous ~ where beer is concerned, that is ~ I sampled some of this, and I must admit that, contrary to my bigotry, I found it remarkably palatable.

Mick Hart Kaliningrad enjoying special warmed beer — **Mick Hart samples heated beer at Königsberg Cathedral Food Fair**

At the corner of the pedestrian walk where the cobbled street widens to form the plaza at the front of the cathedral, a group of vintage vehicles were on display, among which was our friend’s, Arthur’s, Volga.

Mick Hart with the Auto Retro Club Kaliningrad Königsberg Cathedral

Speciality warm beer, vintage cars, good company & Königsberg Cathedral: Food Festival Kaliningrad 2021

To the right, the one-time silver refreshment caravan in the shape of an American diner has been replaced by a permanent parade of gift and refreshment cubicles and even a proper restaurant. Again, some people criticise, but I like them. They reflect Königsberg Cathedral’s increasing popularity as a tourist destination and are just enough and not too much.

At this point in the cathedral grounds the land rises, and it is necessary to climb a brief flight of steps to ascend to the higher and wider concourse, on either side of which today food stalls took pride of place.

The variety of food on offer was really quite astonishing, so much so that you would have to be suffering from indigestion, experiencing an attack of consummate vegetarianism, or just being rather peculiar should you not be able to find yourself something to sink your choppers into.

As I fall into at least one of those compromised categories, I continued to stay on the beer, which, like its solid counterpart, offered incomparable sustenance of a most diverse and most diverting kind.

All of a sudden standing went out of fashion. It was fortunate, therefore, that the municipal makeover of our immediate vicinity had pre-empted this condition, a contingency not found wanting in the number, style and seating capacity of the scrolled and slat-back benches dotted around the park.

Being difficult as well as vegetarian ~ same thing? ~ I immediately ignored these, and we eventually came to rest on the well-thought-out and positioned wooden steps that aligns the seated with the magnificent facade of Königsberg Cathedral.

Mick Hart, Olga hart and friend Arthur on steps front of Königsberg Cathedral — **Mick Hart & Olga with Arthur (feeding himself) on the steps in front of Königsberg Cathedral (May 2021)**

From this spot we refused to move (OK, I refused to move) for the rest of the afternoon, with the exception of forays for food and beer ~ Oh, and Olga’s impulse purchase of a silver and amber ring (good job my beer requirement was not overstretching our budget!)

Said Olga, whilst we were sitting where we were sitting: Have you noticed how the front of Königsberg Cathedral has an unreal aspect about it? It has an ethereality, a lightness that most ecclesiastical buildings do not possess. Cathedrals in general have a formal and officiating presence, commanding deep and unquestionable reverence, but this cathedral seems to hang in the air ~ to float. Now remember, it was Olga saying this and not my beer, but was it the beer that made me respond that it looked from our perspective as if the cathedral could have been drawn on the natural canvas donated by this calm and relaxing day by our friend and artist Victor Ryabinin?

Some things you can never be sure of and others even less so, but one thing we agreed on was that Kaliningrad’s food festival had given us plenty of food for thought.

Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad

A Trip to Fort Dönhoff

Updated: 3 May 2021 | originally published 24 January 2020

Königsberg, the former East Prussian capital which preceded Kaliningrad, was heavily fortified by two formidable rings of forts and interconnecting walls punctuated with bastions and other defensive structures. Today, these forts exist in various states of repair and disrepair, some extensively damaged as a result of military action in WWII, others being cared for by people who are renting them on a lease basis.

In 2015, we learnt that one of the forts belonging to the outer belt was being meticulously restored with a view to opening it as a tourist destination. Then, as now, a good friend of ours arranged for us to visit the fort. In January 2020, we were introduced to the entrepreneur who had taken on this ambitious restoration project. We were to meet him again at Fort XI to see how things were developing.

Fort XI (Fort Dönhoff), one of Königsberg’s forts within the outer defensive ring, is currently undergoing an extensive renovation programme. Already welcoming tourists, the massive and intricate structure is being painstakingly repaired, brick by brick, wall by wall, room by room. As I said to Arthur, the man behind the plan, “You’ve done a lot since we were here last in 2015.” Said he, with more than a touch of irony, “There’s still a lot to do.”

Having turned off the main highway, you arrive at the fort after travelling down a long narrow road that opens up into the visitors carpark. At the end of WWII and until recently, the fort was requisitioned and used as a munitions and armaments store. This explains why the perimeter of the fort is ringed with barbed wire fences, coils of barbed wire and a secondary metal gate, and why there are rusting warning signs and spotlights stationed in the trees. At this point you have not entered the red-brick fort. You are not in 19^th century Königsberg, or Königsberg World War II, but atmosphere-wise you are very much back in the Cold War era.

Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad — Soviet entrance to the fort (summer 2015)

Where’s James Bond when you need him?

Not looking at all like James Bond, any of us, our friend Venzel, Olga and I pass through the Soviet military gate, which is now on the skew and decidedly rickety. We pass a portable cabin, which, for the time being, functions as a front office, pay-desk and souvenir shop, and walk the short distance to the fort’s gate proper.

The main entrance to the fort, built, as with the rest of the structure, in Neo-Gothic form, stands a few metres away from the later entrance, the banks on one side and the flatter terrain on the other still protected with military fencing.

The two tall pillars of the entrance continue to support the original iron gates to the fortress. They are awesome in every respect, thick and heavy with hinges and handle to match. What an excellent logo they would make for border control in Britain when we finally leave the EU. Hmmm, I think I should copyright this one.

Inside the compound, immediately inside, nothing much seemed to have changed from our last visit: small building on the left, small shed-like building to the right. But this position does give the visitor a commanding view of the front of the fort: the hardstone track crossing the moat to the great arched doorway; the side walls of the fort fanning out to form the open end of a chevron.

Our host, Arthur, the fort’s lease owner, greeted us, and we walked together towards the fort entrance. As we crossed the narrow bridge, I could see immediately that repointing and cleaning work had been undertaken and that the old windows had all been replaced with wooden-framed double-glazed units. The overgrowth, and the rubbish that it contained, along both outer walls of the fort had been cleared, the grass on both sides of the footpath in front trimmed and the vegetation stripped from the moat. Arthur explained that they had managed to lower the level of the moat by one metre, which must have had a beneficial effect in combatting rising damp inside the fort.

Rare bits and rabbits

The mown grass banks that slope gently down towards the moat side contain a small profusion of little wooden houses. These were not homes for a rising population constructed on a green belt, but executive homes for rabbits. Arthur explained that they had a number of resident rabbits, curious and exotic species, half-a-dozen of which could be seen bobbing around munching the grass.

Gathering outside the entrance to the fort to discuss what had been achieved since we were here last, I observed that an outer door had been added. This new door followed the original contours of the arch. The frame was black steel, the inner criss-crossed with vertical and horizontal struts in the manner of a portcullis, the intervals between the squares infilled with double-sided, ribbed, translucent plastic. This theme, I would soon discover, had been adopted throughout the fort. The portcullis effect was highly suitable to the surroundings in which it had been employed, whilst the translucent plastic served two fortuitous purposes: letting in light whilst retaining heat.

And heat there was, not in every room and corridor, but certainly in the rooms where renovation was complete. The heating of choice, and it could hardly have been any other bearing in mind the fort’s location, is wood burners. Nothing more, except for open fire hearths, would be appropriate. The stoves have a retro-look about them and fit well into the backdrop of red-brick walls and vaulted Gothic ceilings.

We passed through two ante-chambers containing relics from World War II: munition shells, military helmets, various items of field gear all discovered either in the fort itself or in the grounds surrounding it. The walls are interspersed at regular intervals with printed and pictorial information boards depicting the history of Königsberg’s defenses, the particular fort we were in, and the RAF bombing raids and subsequent battle which saw Königsberg reduced to ruins.

I would have liked to have lingered longer here, but Arthur was calling us into what was effectively a suite of rooms, three interconnecting chambers that flanked the main entrance which, with their tall archways and multiple vaulted ceilings, were deliciously Königsberg Gothic. In here, the wall displays and glass cabinet containing both German and Soviet firearms from WWII, were augmented with a large wall-mounted monitor on which a video of the battle for Königsberg was running. From the presence of a longish conference table, complete with modern chairs, their back supports decorated armorial style, it would appear that this room was used for business meetings and educational purposes. Arthur was particularly proud of the real wood floor which, he surmised, would have been the status quo at the time when the fort was constructed.

Meeting table at Fort Dönhoff Kaliningrad — Fort Dönhoff: Conference table

It was explained to us before we continued our tour, that the two front radial arms of the fort had been the soldiers’ barracks, their living quarters.

When you first visit the fort, it is hard to visualise the layout, even with the help of plans which are dotted about on large display boards. For the novice visitor and us, effectively on our second visit, the initial and lasting impression is one of being swallowed up within a vast maze of corridors and arched-roof chambers. Obviously, electric lighting has been installed, but some areas are dimmer than others and others really quite dark. For the time being, however, the route we were on was figurable. On either side of the main entrance, long corridors run the length of the fort behind a series of arched rooms, the windows of which look out over the grassed bank and moat beyond. This would have been the view that the troops stationed here from the 19^th century to the end of WWII would have had on a daily basis.

Long passageway: Fort Dönhoff Kaliningrad — Passageway running the length of the barracks, Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad, Russia

As we walked, Arthur explained that these rooms were at the forefront of the renovation process and would eventually be rented as commercial units. All of the rooms were of the same proportion, except for the first, this larger space having been arranged to accommodate parties over the festive season. The main feature herein was the huge open fireplace with its solid oak mantle beam.

Function room: Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad — Function room at Fort Dönhoff, destined to become the fort’s cafeteria

A unifying theme of both the left and right sections of this area of the fort, and, indeed, throughout, was the application of the portcullis-style doors, which fitted handsomely into the original archways and were used to good effect in dividing the length of the corridors.

I asked Arthur how the entrance to each room would have been originally, and he was able to show me, as one of the rooms was being restored in order to demonstrate the original design. The arches to the front of each room had been brick to the point where the verticals curved, with a conventional door at the centre. The arched upper section would have been filled with a wooden frame and windows.

The chambers on the opposite side to the one we had first visited were a mirror image, and, once again, contained relics and artefacts associated with the history of the fort and Königsberg in general. The first room had a giant plan of the fort on one side of the wall and, on the other, a circle of ceramic plaques showing the outer circle of forts, including Fort XI, with Königsberg at their centre.

Konigsberg fort plan: Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad — Konigsberg’s outer ring of fortifications

The main suite of chambers here contained a modern, but refectory-style, table, and, if I remember correctly, recently these rooms had been used for holding parties.

Fort Dönhoff Caféteria

The design of the Königsberg forts was such that both sides had been constructed to include open yards. To get to these you have to pass through big, heavy iron doors. In fact, to get to anything here it’s big heavy iron doors! The yards are sunk well-like at ground level; they are valleys, with the ramparts of the superstructure rising precipitously above them on all sides. To get to the higher levels, you need to negotiate steep stairways or grassed tracks that rise gradually, but precipitously, along a lengthy incline. These yards are fitted with outbuildings sunk into the side of the banks, the exposed portions of their roofs grassed over, as is the fort in its entirety, making it look from the rooftop more like a giant mound covered in hills and valleys than a building. We would ascend to the roof in good time, but first it had done my chilled fingers and toes a power of good to see that in the corner of the yard was the welcoming sign of a café.

Naturally, written in Cyrillic (isn’t my Russian improving!), I was heartened to see that in keeping with the historical tenor the sign was perfectly suited. It had been written, or painted, in hand and the wooden frontage and doors below had a rough-hewn plank effect.

Inside, the accent was on basic; just as it should be. The natural stone floor and seats arranged down one side as a series of wooden box-frame units, painted to look distressed, ostracised any attempt at modernity, making for a completely inline atmosphere.

Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad: cafeteria — The interior of Fort Dönhoff’s atmospheric cafe

Before ordering something warm to drink, and a snack to go with it, we were advised that quality and exotic coffees were the specialities of the house, and I have to say that my choice, coffee with real ginger, was superb.

Refreshments in Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad, 2020 — Fort Dönhoff’s cafe: some of the most exotic and tasty coffee I have ever tasted!

Suitably replenished, we followed our guide into a long passageway set into the side of the bank. He asked us to close our eyes and imagine this as a street, with retail units of various kinds on either side. So, I put on my architect’s head and what do you know, it worked!

Aren’t your toilets wonderful!

From this point onwards the exact route that we took becomes a little blurred. We returned to the fort interior, checked out the long, arched powder rooms, entered several narrow walkways, popped out again into the open air, this being the opposite yard where in 2015 I had been filmed by Moscow television coming out of one the historic toilet blocks and all I could think of saying was, ‘the toilets are really wonderful’, returned inside, climbed a very steep flight of steps and came out on the upper level overlooking the entrance.

At this juncture, Arthur drew our attention to various scratched inscriptions in the walls and ceilings just behind the doorway. The names and their attendant dates largely belonged to the 1950s, and it was Arthur’s opinion that they had been incised there by a succession of lonely guards who, when the fort had been employed as a munitions store in Soviet times, would have been standing here in this doorway, rifle in hand, wracked with boredom.

Our excursion was now becoming more labyrinth-like by the minute. We traced our steps, literally, to a lower level, and then climbed a spiral staircase that brought us out on the top of the fort a few yards away from the main entrance. Wooden decking had been laid here, on which there were two park benches and, looking out towards Königsberg, a pair of coin-operated binoculars raised on a metal stanchion.

Fort XI, Dönhoff, in World War II

From this point you could just make out using your own built-in optics a distant Kaliningrad. Said Arthur, “The fort garrison could clearly see from here the city of Königsberg going up in flames. The Soviet artillery was placed not much more than a metre apart and firing was so intense that some of the barrels were melting.” It was not surprising, therefore, that the morale of the German forces occupying the fort had, like the once grand city before them, disintegrated.

Not all of Königsberg’s ancient forts had been this fortunate: some saw heavy fighting during the battle for Königsberg, and some were reduced to rubble. Later, as we were walking back through the main tunnel, Arthur said with an ironic sigh, “Ahh, all this material and work ~ for nothing!” He referred to the fact that by the time Königsberg’s legendary fortifications had been completed, they were already out of date. Developments in artillery meant that the massive walls and ramparts offered little or no effective resistance and, of course, come aerial warfare they were all but perfectly redundant. The crowning irony has to be that whilst large swathes of Königsberg were wiped off the map in WWII, much of its fortifications survived the onslaught.

Back in 2020, on the grassy roof of the fort the Germans had bequeathed us, I marvelled at the garrison of chimneys marching across the skyline. Each red-brick chimney block, capped against the wind and rain, seemed to contain several flues. It was good to see one or two of them smoking. Arthur had informed us that they had undertaken assessments of all the flues in the rooms that had been earmarked for later use and all were in functionable order.

Since we were here last, in 2015, the trees, bushes and undergrowth sprouting from the roof of the fort had been done away with. It was now possible to stand on the entrance peninsular and look out over grassed areas that were not too far from golfing-green standard, except for the presence of tree stumps, and when we climbed to the highest point, and took up position at the base of the flagpole flying the Russian flag, the hills and dales of the rooftop landscape traversed with wooden walkways really was a sight to behold.

We ventured to the furthest extremity of the roof and looked out on the other side of the fort, where, extending from and behind the massy walls of the moat, more buildings were waiting among the trees to be renovated.

Gun emplacements: Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad — Gun emplacement on far side of Fort Dönhoff

Machine-gun post

At this moment, we were standing next to a great slab of concrete. It protruded from the ground at not much more than calf height and contained a pillar-box split, just wide and deep enough to peer through from the inside using a pair of binoculars or through which to mount a machine gun.

Arthur took us back into the fort so that we could see what this look-out/machine-gun post was like for the men who once were stationed here.

Our route took us past a peculiar tunnel, the walls and floor of which were almost smooth, that ran at a steep diagonal downwards. Apparently, it had once been a staircase, but some kind of high-powered incendiary device had been tested there, the heat from which had been so intense that it had literally melted the brickwork. The effect could clearly be seen and touched at the farthermost point of the ceiling, where the bricks resembled petrified jelly!

Napalm tunnel ~ Fort Dönhoff Kaliningrad — Incendiary experiment = brick meltdown! ~ Fort Dönhoff

We also passed some large oval iron plates in the floor. These were trapdoors, which, when opened, would have allowed ammunition to have been hoisted up from the floors below.

Ammunition hatchways in Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad — Trapdoors for elevating munitions to the upper storeys ~ Fort Dönhoff

We made it to the machine-gun nest, the last leg of the journey necessitating a short climb up a vertical ladder. Inside it was damp and claustrophobic, but those stationed inside would have had a narrow but commanding view over the moat. With a heavy machine gun trained on them from this elevated position many lives would need to be sacrificed before the fort could be stormed at this point.

We wended our way back from here to the lower level, where we were shown the fixtures and viewing windows to the right and left of the moat, where some kind of heavy cannons would have been trained, making any attempt to bridge the fort by boat a costly if nigh impossible one, and then we made our way back through a narrow corridor closer to the front of the fort.

I’ve never seen one as big as this before!

We had been talking about horses and stables when I thought I could smell hay and, hey presto!, at the end of the corridor in which we were standing was a room full of hay bales. Tempted to revert to my Judge Dread and Ivor Bigun upbringing, I won’t say it after all, but the occupant of this room was a large one ~ one of the biggest and most self-confident cockerels that I have ever clapped eyes on. He looked at us as if to say ‘follow me’, and led us through an open doorway onto the chilly embankment outside.

We emerged about three-quarters of the way along the moat side, which put us in Funny Bunny country. Whilst Olga conversed with the cockerel, I observed three or four species of rabbit, the likes of which I had never beheld. I won’t dwell on this too much, as I have a friend in England who cannot stand rabbits. He claims that they were introduced to England by the ‘bloody Normans’, and that this was when for England ‘it all went wrong!’.

We had spent a splendid afternoon at Fort XI (Fort Dönhoff) and look forward to returning later in the year to see how things are progressing there. It is truly a marvelous and atmospheric place, particularly if, like me, you are only too pleased when the past catches up with you!

Fort XI Dönhoff Kaliningrad — Venzel, Arthur & Mick in Arthur’s fort. Boys will always be boys!

When you visit the Kaliningrad region, put Fort XI (Dönhoff) high on your itinerary of must-see places. I assure you, you won’t regret it!

Tourist INformation NBoard, Fort Dönhoff, Kaliningrad — TOURIST INFORMATION BOARD Fort Dönhoff

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This article was originally posted to my blog on 24 January 2020 and revised on 4 May 2021. To preserve the historical integrity of this piece, the editorial revisions that I have made have been essentially confined to practical details, ie opening times, costs etc. For an update on Fort XI, please refer to my March 2021 post: Kaliningrad Hosts Retro Car Club Day.

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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 later post:
https://expatkaliningrad.com/fort-xi-kaliningrad-hosts-retro-car-club-day/

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 …”

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.

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.

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 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.

Soviet WWII Weapons Fort XI Kaliningrad — Soviet WWII Weapons

Maxim Machine Gun Fort XI — Soviet WWII Weapons

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.

Fort XI inner quadrangle — One of Fort XI’s Inner quadrangles

Fort XI Kaliningrad open area — One of Fort XI’s Inner quadrangles

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 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?

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

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/

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas ~ Cheer them up with a card and personal letter!

Published: 17 November 2020

So, what I have been doing for the past week? Did news that they had installed a Democrat in the White House appall me so much that I have not been able to focus and write? No, even stranger than that, I have been busy writing my Christmas cards ~ either a case of there’s forward planning for you, or its time he invested in a new calendar.

Nothing quite as spectacular. I have been writing cards to folks back home, to friends and family in the UK, and cognizant of the fact that the post from Kaliningrad to England is not exactly the 21^st centuries’ answer to a hypersonic version of Pony Express, I hope to have mailed them in good time.

Another reason for planning ahead is that every year I include a ‘brief’ note with my card. This has become as traditional as Christmas dinner, party hats, Christmas crackers and auntie Ivy turning Christmas day into a rugby scrum as she insists on clawing open everybody else’s presents.

Important to keep in touch during coronavirus Christmas

My Christmas letter has become such an important element of the annual Christmas ritual that its up there with seasonal sayings like ‘just what I always wanted’, when it is quite obvious that you didn’t (I mean, who in his right mind would wear a jumper like that, and when did your gran lust after a WWII German tin helmet (or even a WWII German in a tin helmet?)) ~ and ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have!”, when you obviously didn’t: that’s the aftershave you were given by someone last year and which you personally would not touch with a barge pole and neither would anyone else. Mind you it makes the perfect Christmas present for social distancing.

The thing about my Christmas letters is that although you have to state out loud at UK post offices these days what you have in your ‘packet’ ~ and my letters are known for being rather bulky, so they always ask ~ they always get through, even though sometimes I cannot resist answering, at first in a whisper, “It’s an inflatable doll,” and then, in response to the lady behind the counter urging me to ‘speak up’, to call out stridently, “It’s an inflatable doll,” so that everyone can hear (you should try this sometime, it really is fun!).

No stopping those Christmas letters

Yes, my letters always get through. Like Reader’s Digest junk mail, electricity and gas bills, even if the Post Office had been sold to China (what’s that, oh, it has been) and my letters rerouted via the M25, carried in the pocket of a young thief travelling on a skateboard during rush-hour, my letters always get through.

They zip past defiled statues, hoody-wearing muggers on handbag-stealing mopeds and bearded men burning poppies. They cruise through ganja-stenched knife-secreted carnivals, through nice areas deprived by people. As slippery as Hope not Hate, they riot their way down Looting Street, defying all manner of social distancing, lockdowns and Tiers for fears and, before you can say Hoorah for Brexit or Joe Biden is as honest as Clinton, they sail up your drive, through your letter box and plummet onto your doormat quicker than the stink from a suspect scientific claim.

They are so popular, my Yuletide missives, that family and friends leave home for them, and come back after Christmas ~ a long while after Christmas. Some people board up their letter boxes, others disguise them as something intimate in such a way that were you to insert a letter through them, you’d have the neighbours shout ‘pervert!’. Some teach their dogs to savage them, and others, those with ‘Beware of the Cat’ on their doors, train their feline friends to hide them under the Christmas tree ~ and scrape the soil back over.

One year my brother shoved his letter under the mistletoe, prompting his gay friend to say that he would rather kiss his own arse. He is a lonely guy, but no worries, he is double-jointed and quite the contortionist.

Selfish people, those who stockpiled toilet rolls when they heard the word pandemic, convert them into paper hats and hide the Christmas crackers for pulling on their own when they think no one is looking. Ahh, but someone is always looking, especially in these days of essential travel only. Do they really think that they can get away with it?

“Where are you going in that Support Bubble Car?”

“I am a victim of self-isolation and social distancing, officer. I am shunning all that I have ever known and all those that know me, even those who have tried to lose me, give me away or pretend that I don’t exist, such as my mother. I am going somewhere where they can’t track and trace me, and there, in the privacy of somebody else’s Tier 1 home, I will hide from the world and pull my Christmas cracker.”

“Very well,” says the Social Distancing Marshall, “but no laughing at the joke inside the cracker, mind. This is no time to be enjoying life, and don’t forget to wear your mask.”

Sorry, that was uncalled for.

“Hello, I think I may have coronavirus. I have been trying to telephone the hospital for the past three hours and nobody has answered.”

“Sorry, the hospital is as full as boatload of migrants from France. Wait a moment. Oh, it is a boat load of migrants from France. Please hang yourself. I mean hang up and try the Samarlians.”

The Samarlians ~ a not-for-profit organization that will talk you out of the ‘easy way out’:

Answer machine: “Hello, you have reached the end of your tether. I am sorry, due to a high volume of excuses about coronavirus we are unable to take your call at the moment, please leave your name and telephone number and you will never hear from us again. You might like to waste what remains of your life by visiting our website, goingaroundincircles.con, where you can often never find what it is you want to know using our FAQ Offs ~ Frequently Asked Questions Offline ~ alternatively, you will find the end of the line at your nearest Midland Mainline Station.”

Once, all you had to do was press Button A to be connected and Button B to get your money back. Now ‘you have the following options’, more numbers than the National Lottery and about the same chance of winning.

What my coronavirus Christmas letters mean to the recipients

Rumour has it that carol singers have written songs based on the contents of my Christmas letters and sold the rights to Leonard Cohen.

Christmas vicars have read them out in their sermons and have been summarily excommunicated.

Edgar Allan Poe, who essentially travelled by TARDIS, was inspired to write The Masque of the Red Death having read my treatise ‘Lockdown ~ the most effective life saver since leaches’.

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas
{See end of article for image credit*}

My letters have tweaked the ears of statesmen, tickled the underbelly of boat-owning philanthropists and have sunk a thousand ships, or would have if I had my way ~ where is my letter to Sir Francis Drake?

Napoleon stuck his arm up his vest after reading one of my letters, and what would Lord Nelson have asked Hardy to do for him had he read my letter before someone shot him first?

Thank heavens Adolf burnt his letter!

As for ordinary mortals, some wrap their present to auntie Joan in them and still others wrap them around uncle Martin’s chestnuts, who would otherwise lose them on Christmas morn as he struggles to adjust his mighty pendulums attached to his very large grandfather’s clock (thank the Lord for Spell Check!).

Looking forward to my letters

People look forward to my letters so much that they ‘wish it could be Christmas every day”. One day they will write a song about it and play it every year with depressing regularity.

This year they are all busy singing to, ‘So this is Christmas and what have you done. Sat in self-isolation it isn’t much fun.” I know, let’s open one of Mick’s Christmas letters and cheer ourselves up (gunshot off stage).

My letters have a sentimental and emotional appeal. They are up there, tugging at the heart strings like that old romantic Christmas Carol, who your mother caught your father with (also Christmas Connie, Christmas Christine and Christmas Cordelia, well, Christmas comes but once a year).

Ahh, the old ones are the best (Connie was 73).

Lovely old Christmas carols

What memories these well-known carols:

“Drug King Wenceslas looked out from his boat to Dover

When the snow is not found out we’ll roll the UK over

Brightly shone the hotel sign, the waiting bus was free

It was worth the trip through several countries and across the sea, He! He!”

And do you remember this one:

“Away in a 4-star I don’t pay for my bed, the tax-payer in England pays for it instead …”

And how could you possibly forget:

“Twinkle, Twinkle celeb star who the F..K do you think you are?

Pontificating up on high?

Spreading all those EU lies.

Twinkle, Twinkle talentless star paid too much, too much by far”

Dear old Christmas Carol, one of Charles Dickens’ favourites. This will be the one year that Ebenezer Scrooge will be looking forward to a visit from the ghosts of Christmas Past, anything has to be better than Father Boris’s Christmas Present.

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas

Although it is very important to keep in touch during a coronavirus Christmas, I don’t as a rule send the prime minister a Christmas letter, besides he will be far too busy this year reading and listening to fairy tales from the Brothers Grimm. Chris Witty and Sir Patrick Vallance, sorry I don’t know them ~ and neither do you, but there is a sort of chemistry there. It reminds me of that Chad Valley Junior Scientists set I was given at Christmas a long while ago. As I recall, it was a very disappointing present, all smoke and mirrors, bits missing, as incomplete as a Liberal manifesto and it had a very funny smell about it, something slightly fishy.

Send them a Christmas letter? I would not give them the steam off my turkey. What I do like to do, however, is spice up my Christmas offerings with the odd anecdote from Christmases past.

“Please, pretty please do tell us one.”

Well, all right, if you beg nicely.

Once upon a time, long ago, when England was really England, I worked part time as a waiter. I was young once, and in those days I was a teenager. These were the bad old days, before teenagers became entitled and were able to live at home with mum until their 45^th birthday (you can ~ could? ~ always take a loan).

Teenagers in those days were not deprived as they are today. They were lucky, in that they did not have the internet from which to plagiarise articles to pass their exams with and, without keyboards and computers, they had the fun of writing all of their essays out by hand, correcting them by hand and then rewriting them by hand for presentation. This meant that they had less time for anything else, which was good, because there were no smartphones in those days and nothing to twiddle on, no Twatter, Arsebook, Snapcrap and the like. Instead, after school teenagers went out and worked.

I worked at the Talbot Hotel in Oundleshire, a very prestigious establishment, with a long history dating back to Elizabethan times and with a staircase that was said to have come from Fotheringay Castle where Mary Queen of Scots lost her head and on which staircase I almost lost my job for telling two old ladies that Mary was always looking for it in the rooms that they had paid for.

It was a posh place, the Talbot of Oundle, and still is. Standards were high. We had to wear black trousers, white shirt, cummerbund, little white pointed tail jackets and a black dicky bow. We looked like clockwork penguins. We were always well turned out, apart from one person whose flies were never done up, as if, we suspected, by no fault of accident.

It was three days before Christmas, us well turned out and him with his flies undone, that we were called to wait upon a very important table, several tables in fact containing the governors and alumni from Oundle’s prestigious public schools.

I had two salvers: one with Christmas seasoning and the other containing peas on my arm.

Several of we waiters moved along in single file serving our guests of honour. And then it came to her.

She was gorgeous, stunning, wearing a low-cut dress. She had the most diaphanous orbs you could ever imagine ~ yes, her eyes were beautiful. Mesmerised by love, or something that starts with ‘L’ and has the same number of letters, I leant over her and with the seasoning in my hand, asked:

“Would you like stuffing madam?”

The timing could not have been more perfect. Hardly had I realised that I should have used the word ‘seasoning’ than my waiter friend at the side of me, my pal, my very good pal, gave a purposeful nudge to my elbow and off went a spoonful of peas straight down the lady’s cleavage.

Talk about Captain Kirk’s ‘Space, the final frontier’!

And really, what did it sound like: “Madam, can I help you?” As she is reaching down inside, red faced and all a fluster, for those penetrative peas.

Sounds like something out of a Carry On film? How about Carry on Down the Cleavage? Rather that than Carry on Down the Pandemic.

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas

But what has this got to do with it being very important to keep in touch during coronavirus Christmas? I confess, I have digressed, when my real intention for writing this piece was to say how nice, affectionate and charming Russian Christmas cards are. Different again to the crass and vulgar things that they churn out in the UK.

Every year in the UK, Christmas cards get bigger, which is a problem for my family and friends, for it means that instead of a ‘short’ letter I can really go to town and insert a tome like War & Peace. But British Christmas cards do not just get bigger they become more vulgar each year. In keeping with declining moral standards, smutty innuendo ~which is as traditional as laxatives on Boxing Day ~ has given way to images of a semi-pornographic nature and to captions laced with obscenity. It is enough to make you lie and say that Rubber Band has comedic talent!

How much nicer these traditional Russian cards are. They remind me of the sentimental cards that were produced in wartime England ~ soft, delicate, romantic and affectionate

Of course, they are not really Christmas cards as such, as this is an Orthodox Christian country, and Christmas is celebrated on 7^th January. No, these are, for the sake of accuracy, Happy New Year cards ~Snovam Gordams.

Snovam Gordam (Happy New Year!) I shouted that last year on the stroke of midnight. You did too? Really?

Hmmm, we’d better shout twice as loud this year, as I don’t think He was listening.

By the way, sorry if you did not receive my Christmas card and letter.

No, I shouldn’t think you are!

Leonard Cohen: Waiting for the Miracle ~ A song for 2021

Illustration for Edgar Allan Poe’s Masque of the Red Death
(Image credit: Harry Clarke – Printed in Edgar Allan Poe'sTales of Mystery and Imagination, 1919., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2348546)

Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

Article 3: Cedar Wood beer

Published: 20 July 2020

Would you Adam and Eve it, the name of this beer is Wood? Well, to be more precise Cedar Wood. And no, I am sorry to disappoint you, I am not about to make comparisons between the smell and taste of this ‘Russian-brewed’ beer and a cheap, tacky aftershave of the same name that was rife in the UK back in the 1970s, if only because Cedar Wood aftershave did stink strongly of cedar wood (whatever that smells like) and may have tasted like it too, although, contrary to legend, I never did drink it.

Previous articles in this series:
Bottled Beer in Kaliningrad
Variety of Beer in Kaliningrad

I bought this beer not for its strength, which comes in at a not-to-be-sniffed-at 4.8% (not considered to be a strong beer in this part of the world), but on the strength of its label, which at first site is its selling point and some Wood say its last.

The label shows three men, two sitting on top of a log and one standing nearby, which, one would logically (pun intended [or was it!]) conclude, is from the eponymous tree genus, cedar, as it would not make sense if it was something else. The three men are, supposedly, jolly Siberian peasants ~ the bottle states that the beer is brewed in Siberia, although I have since found out that it isn’t. One man has a foaming ‘pint’ in his hand, which must be any other beer but Wood, as although Wood does have a big head on it, it is rather wishy-washy. A second man has his chopper over his shoulder. Yet another boast, I suspect, that Wood cannot live up to. And I am not quite sure what the third man has in his hand or where his hand is. Ahhh, it appears to be in his pocket, possibly holding his wallet intact because he has no intention to pay for such a beer as this. Come to think of it, he does look a bit like my brother …

Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad

That the marketing profile has good, old-fashioned masculine appeal ~ you can almost smell the pheromones ~ cannot be disputed. This beer is aimed at and drunk by hard-grafting manly men ~ none of your skinny-arsed trousers and nerdy spectacles here! Indeed, when I first saw the label I thought, I bet this comes from Canada, but I quickly remembered that the Canada of my youth and earlier ~ the Canada of fur trappers, mountain men, cattle ranchers, lumberjacks and the good old Canadian Mountie ~ was now, like John Wayne, an anachronism, replaced by new man, woke man, limp-wristed and Guardian-reading, the sort that would make Bob Hope look like Tyson Furry.

I suppose this is why when I took my first sip I won’t say that I was disappointed, as this might suggest all kinds of acceptable things by today’s gender-depleted standards, but it certainly was not what I had expected. Unlike the Mountie I thought it was, it never got its man.

In other words, it was not as manly as the label suggested. It did not have to be infused with the sweat of honest toil and reeking of rancid pipe tobacco, and neither, just because it was called ‘Wood’, did I anticipate that it would make me feel 30 years younger at half-past six in the morning, but a little more oomph Wood have been appreciated.

I am in no way attempting to criticise the alcohol strength, 4.8% is good enough for me; no, the missing ingredient was taste.

Here you have a light, golden-looking beer, with a hoppy taste and straw-like aroma. There is a touch of the aromatics about it, which conforms to the cedar name, and this ingredient loiters happily at the back of your throat after the beer has been quaffed. It is a fizz beer, with plenty of carbonation, but as both taste and aroma lacks clout, and is fairly bland, the effervescence compensates for the rest and does propel what vague distinction there is high up into the back of your hooter, which is by no means novel if, like me, you have the distinction of having belonged to the Andrews Liver Salts generation.

With Wood, you need patience, for you have to wait for the taste to come through, but it eventually does in a very eventual way.

In summary, Wood is a light, golden, traditional lager beer. The aroma and taste are hardly as memorable as the vintage aftershave of the same name, but at 4.8% by volume, it is deceptively strong. I purchased my bottle of Wood, 1.35 litres, for about 137 rubles (£1.50) from our local supermarket.

As standard supermarket retailed fare goes, it was not that bad, and the price speaks for itself. Would I buy Wood again? To answer that question, I will borrow that singularly important loaded word from the long-running Carlsberg advertising campaign ‘probably’, if only to enjoy the Pythonesque label!

Note that the beers that feature in this review series only include bottled beer types that are routinely sold through supermarket outlets and in no way reflect the variety of beer and/or quality available in Kaliningrad from speciality outlets and/or through bars and restaurants.

😁TRAINSPOTTING & ANORAKS
Name of Beer: Cedar Wood
Brewer: Baltika-Samara
Where it is brewed: Everywhere but Siberia
Bottle capacity: 1.35 litres
Strength: 4.8%
Price: I got it for 136 rubles (£1.50)
Appearance: Light, traditional lager beer
Aroma: Still working on it
Taste: A bit of this and that ~ hoppy, slightly bitter, tinge of herbs but no cedar
Fizz amplitude: 7/10
Label/Marketing: Michael Palin and the Lumberjack song
Would you buy it again? Probably

Mick Hart drinking beer in Kaliningrad — **MIck Hart secretly drinking ‘Siberian’ beer in Kaliningrad, where no one suspects that he is English**

What Really Matters

A day at the seaside ~ with beer
[3 July 2020]

Published: 6 July 2020

Forgetting where I was for a moment, I looked nervously over my shoulder. That man on the opposite side of the road? Did he not look a little like Ed Davey, the Liberal Democrat leader? Relax, I thought, this isn’t the UK? Even there, there is no Ed Davey Matters movement. Even there, he and his party does not matter very much, and here he does not matter at all.

Besides, I was not about to go legally to the pub and enjoy a pint like Nigel Farage and be accused by the liberal outrage industry. In fact, I was not about to break social distancing laws in any shape or form. After 106 days in self-isolation I was off to the seaside for a change of scenery.

What Really Matters

As we sped off in the car towards the coast, I thought to myself a couple of days at the seaside matters. It matters very much to get out into the fresh air and enjoy the bounteous gifts of nature. Sun, Sea and Sand Matters, I thought. Fresh Air Matters. A Change of Scenery Matters.

We were staying for two nights in a friend’s dacha. Good Friends Matter. The cottage was an old German building. History Matters. It was not far from the sea. Being Not Far From The Sea Matters.

Before we went to the beach we sat in the conservatory, ate a pizza and cracked open a bottle of wine. Good Company Matters. Good Conversation Matters. Good Wine Certainly Matters.

The seaside town was busy but not overcrowded. Being Busy But Not Overcrowded Matters. It was clearly a family occasion. Families Matter. There were mums and dads with their children. Mums and Dads with their Children Matters.

The sea was warm and good for a swim. Warm Sea Matters. The atmosphere was family-friendly with no hint of anti-social behaviour. No Anti-Social Behaviour Matters.

What Really Matters

In the evening, I bought a couple of bottles of quality beer. Quality Beer Matters (ask Nigel Farage!). And as I relaxed and drank those beers I thought to myself, everything that I have seen today and all that I have experienced matters. It matters a lot.

What wasn’t there to matter as it did not matter at all was a matter for commonsense. But that’s another matter which in the fullness of time will matter little and then will matter a great deal less.

I took another sip of beer and something closer than the celestial spheres whispered to me in the voice of history, “Consider the matter closed!” it said. “There are those that can end the matter now if push really comes to shove, and that is a matter of fact!”

Mick Hart in Zelenogradsk musing on what really matters — Sitting on a Bench in Zelenogradsk Drinking Beer Matters!

It’s just so Outrageous!!!!

A night to remember

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

It Happened at Waldau Castle Kaliningrad

Diary of a Self-isolator: Day 483 [10 July 2021]

Growing old is an occupational hazard of being born, but by staying young forever you can avoid untested vaccines and serious complications from catching Covid-19.

Stay young & avoid the vaccine

Vaccines & the curious effect of the word Mandatory

Image attribution

We have lift off!

Food festival in the grounds of Königsberg Cathedral

Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

Kaliningrad Street Food Festival

A Trip to Fort Dönhoff

Where’s James Bond when you need him?

Rare bits and rabbits

Fort Dönhoff Caféteria

Aren’t your toilets wonderful!

Fort XI, Dönhoff, in World War II

Machine-gun post

I’ve never seen one as big as this before!

Essential details:

For more background information on Fort Dönhoff, see my later post: https://expatkaliningrad.com/fort-xi-kaliningrad-hosts-retro-car-club-day/

Fort XI (Fort Dönhoff) Revisited

Fort XI Kaliningrad: Retro Car Club Day

Fort XI Kaliningrad by retro car

Arrival at Fort XI Kaliningrad

Fort XI Kaliningrad developments

The past’s presence in Fort XI Kaliningrad

Essential details:

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas ~ Cheer them up with a card and personal letter!

Important to keep in touch during coronavirus Christmas

No stopping those Christmas letters

What my coronavirus Christmas letters mean to the recipients

Looking forward to my letters

Lovely old Christmas carols

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas

Important to Keep in Touch During Coronavirus Christmas

Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)

Article 3: Cedar Wood beer

Cedar Wood Beer in Kaliningrad

A day at the seaside ~ with beer[3 July 2020]

What Really Matters

What Really Matters

For more background information on Fort Dönhoff, see my later post:
https://expatkaliningrad.com/fort-xi-kaliningrad-hosts-retro-car-club-day/

**Mick Hart’s totally biased review of bottled beers* in Kaliningrad (or how to live without British real ale!)**

A day at the seaside ~ with beer
[3 July 2020]