Friday, March 25, 2011
Russia and the Baltics, April 2001
We had a trip planned to Scandinavia when we learned that our niece had married a Latvian and had moved to a small town just outside of Riga, Latvia. Naturally, our plans changed and we undertook a trip we hadn't planned on doing, but turned out to be a wonderfully surprising and rewarding trip. The letters read from the top down on this post date.
Laba Diena from Lietuvo
In other words, good afternoon from Lithuania:
Our arrival in Moscow was met with all the legendary Russian bureaucracy that we had been led to believe is some of the worst in the world. We were in the middle of the pack when we were trying to clear immigration, but somehow everybody seemed to be moving, albeit slowly, towards the counter. Everybody that is, except us. In the end, we were able to work our way to the back of the pack and were the last to clear immigration an hour and a half later. Somehow, the lines kept shifting and changing, people going from one line to another, all seeming to understand the rules much better than us.
Everything is going wonderfully well for us. Again having experiences that will last a lifetime.
We arrived half dead in Moscow on my birthday and it was very surrealistic to be driving around Red Square and seeing St. Basils Cathedral while sill on California body time.
But Bella our Moscow host was gracious and patient with her two zombies.
We had a full day in Moscow before flying to Riga to see Andrea, and since Bella had a meeting in a small village so Carol and I went with her and had a great time walking around what Bella called "a true picture of Russia, which Moscow, apparently, is not. Conjure up visions of stereotypical Russian peasants and you have the idea. Spring has not arrived yet, and people were still ice fishing on frozen lakes, stupid people according to Bella, because the ice is ready to break up and she will read in the paper tomorrow that x number of people drowned when the ice broke through and they got up close and personal with the fish they were trying to catch.
Our trip to Riga was uneventful after we were able to board the plane. That portion of the journey was again exciting since Aeroflot had cancelled our flight on the 7th and changed it to the 8th. Since the tickets were for the 7th which had passed, we were confronted with the fact that our tickets were not valid for the flight on the 8th. Lots of miscommunication, sign language, pleading, and finally a woman who decided to actually help and not just say "Nyet" we got the proper stamp, a very simple procedure which took about 30 seconds once it was decided it could be done.
Andrea and Martins were there to meet us. Again, we were the last to clear immigration:-)
She lives in a small village Ikskile about a half an hour outside Riga and we went into town with her to walk the old city, decide how we were going to go to Estonia later on, buy some gifts, and generally enjoy stepping back in time. We got the car and driving here is exciting to say the least. Traffic rules seem to be very flexible, with a level of aggression certainly necessary to get from point a to point b. The problem is finding the proper level of aggression, since too much will prevent you from getting anywhere except the hospital, and too little means you're stuck in traffic for ever.
We had a close encounter of the 1st kind with the Lithuanian police when we went down an unmarked street which turned out to be a one way one, naturally the opposite way were going. Again much haranguing, shrugging of shoulders, pointing to signs, looking up fines, and finally returning passports, car registration, drivers licenses, and sending us on our way, no poorer. Probably a bribe was the proper procedure, but since we couldn't understand and they couldn't directly ask for one, we were all right. Who said that ignorance was a bad thing.
I had left our packet of semi-precious documents at Bella's house. Luckily, I had taken passports, visas, travelers checks and all the other really critical things out previously, but international driver’s licenses, email addresses, and directions to our Lithuanian host's house were not with us.
I emailed our host in Kaunas our first stop after leaving Andrea telling I did not have his address nor his telephone number, and when we arrived in Kaunas we bought a local map, checked the telephone numbers for the Leonard Rinkevicius' and found two. We went to the first one, a shabby tenement house more suited to the lower Bronx, nobody was home, and headed across the town of 500,00 to find the other one. It was a very small lane and we finally found a man in a bar who knew where it was. He left his friends, his half finished beer, jumped in his car, motioned for us to follow and took us there. It was at 91 Darbunininku, a house even shabbier than the first place. We went to the house behind it 91A and were greeted by a very large angry dog, so decided to ask instead at 93A. A 20 something girl said that Leonardas used to live there but that was 10 years ago. I said, Leonardas the professor, and she said no, it was not him. So I decided to check the e-mail and asked her if there was an internet cafe. She was just leaving and it was on her way, so she took us to one at a local library, but unfortunately I couldn't get into my email. So the man running the library asked us which university, I replied, "There’s more than one?" well, there are six!! Finally we found him under the faculty listings for one of them and got his office telephone number. I called his office, but he was gone, but was told his address. Guess what? It was the original residence. So back we went across town, finding incredible views along the way and enjoying the solving of the mystery.
Upon arriving there we were told that he would not be able to host us since his daughter was ill. He took us downtown where we got a hotel and we all went out to dinner and had a nice evening talking. On the way back to the room, I asked Leonardas if he knew about the Lithuanian Basketball shirts which I had purchased when they were raising money to send the basketball team to the Olympics. It was a joint project with the Golden State warriors and the Grateful Dead. When the team won the bronze medal at the Olympics, the whole team wore the shirts on the medal stand. Leonardas said they are like gold here. Everybody loves them, but nobody knows how to get them. I told him I had the one from the 92 Olympics and one from the 96 Olympics as well. His eyes got very big. I asked Leonardas if would like one, and he replied that yes, but of course, he'd really like two. So I gave him both of them, and I thought he was going to go through the ceiling. It was one of those moments when you can do something for someone that has so much meaning to them, and yet costs you so little. I would have liked to keep one of them, and wear here in country, but that's an ego thing, and it was a national pride thing for him, so naturally, it was a no brainer. My suitcase is lighter, and there is one joyous Lithuanian who has a shirt for each of his two daughters.
He gave me the list of names that I had forgotten in Moscow, and I noticed that one Lithuanian host is located at 93 Darbininku, the same place we had been before. The irony was just too much for me and we decided to go check it out again the next day. Just as we drove up, a young woman came into the yard and I asked her if she was Kristina a Servas host. She said yes, we laughed at how we had been there the day before, she invited us in and we had a wonderful afternoon talking and Carol playing on the floor with her too children one and two years old. She invited us to stay for the night, but Leonardas had found another host who accepted us for the evening so we declined, after promising to send movies which she and her husband Marius love but can't get in Lithuania. What a neat family and a great ironic adventure it all was.
I want to tell a little about the shabbiness of the tenement block houses. They are all leftovers from the Soviet occupation of 50 years. Bella's in not any better. They all look terrible outside. Just grey cinder block, grafted and dirty. But inside, each person is able to create a very livable and lovely home. I felt ashamed that I had judged them so poorly. Again, I have to listen to the spirits who tell me not to be so judgmental.
Our drive today was a snow filled morning followed by sunshine. Back roads revealed lots of storks nesting on tall power lines or unused chimneys, horse drawn plows tilling the soil, carts drawn by horses, and every home with a water well, complete with rope and bucket. Their only supply of water comes from drawing it from the earth. More about the poverty level and the difficulties the people are having in a later letter.
When we were driving around Moscow with Bella, we laughed at the McDonalds, and she said that everybody loved them. They're huge!! and jam-packed with people. They are about twice as big as a Denny's at home. I asked her why they were so popular since the food was so terrible, and she said it was simple. It was just so refreshing to find a place in Russia where everybody smiled at you, the place was spotlessly clean, the food was cheap, and service was fast. The guide books tell us that the only people who go out to restaurants are foreigners and business people. Hence they're expensive, running around $50 per person for simple fare. In Moscow restaurants, you’ll find - surly waiters, poor service, and dingy atmospheres. Only 1% of the people in all of Russia eat out more than once a year. A staggering fact to us. Here in the Baltic’s food is cheap and with the new spirit of independence, places have sprung up which are good and dining experiences akin to home/ Well, I've used up my allotted time here, and there are dozens of kids waiting to play Mortal Combat, Commando killers, duel to the death, or some such mind improving computer experience.
We're having a wonderful time, Sunday is Easter and we're very comfortably ensconced in a nice hotel across the square of the national cathedral. Lithuania is a very, very catholic country and we're told it will be quite an experience. Naturally, we're looking forward to more wonderful people, sights and sounds on our latest journey to the big wonderful world.
I'll write more when I can.
Until then, we remain,
son, father, mother, friend, uncle, aunt, cousin to which of you these may apply,
love,
Carol and jim
Our arrival in Moscow was met with all the legendary Russian bureaucracy that we had been led to believe is some of the worst in the world. We were in the middle of the pack when we were trying to clear immigration, but somehow everybody seemed to be moving, albeit slowly, towards the counter. Everybody that is, except us. In the end, we were able to work our way to the back of the pack and were the last to clear immigration an hour and a half later. Somehow, the lines kept shifting and changing, people going from one line to another, all seeming to understand the rules much better than us.
Everything is going wonderfully well for us. Again having experiences that will last a lifetime.
We arrived half dead in Moscow on my birthday and it was very surrealistic to be driving around Red Square and seeing St. Basils Cathedral while sill on California body time.
But Bella our Moscow host was gracious and patient with her two zombies.
We had a full day in Moscow before flying to Riga to see Andrea, and since Bella had a meeting in a small village so Carol and I went with her and had a great time walking around what Bella called "a true picture of Russia, which Moscow, apparently, is not. Conjure up visions of stereotypical Russian peasants and you have the idea. Spring has not arrived yet, and people were still ice fishing on frozen lakes, stupid people according to Bella, because the ice is ready to break up and she will read in the paper tomorrow that x number of people drowned when the ice broke through and they got up close and personal with the fish they were trying to catch.
Our trip to Riga was uneventful after we were able to board the plane. That portion of the journey was again exciting since Aeroflot had cancelled our flight on the 7th and changed it to the 8th. Since the tickets were for the 7th which had passed, we were confronted with the fact that our tickets were not valid for the flight on the 8th. Lots of miscommunication, sign language, pleading, and finally a woman who decided to actually help and not just say "Nyet" we got the proper stamp, a very simple procedure which took about 30 seconds once it was decided it could be done.
Andrea and Martins were there to meet us. Again, we were the last to clear immigration:-)
She lives in a small village Ikskile about a half an hour outside Riga and we went into town with her to walk the old city, decide how we were going to go to Estonia later on, buy some gifts, and generally enjoy stepping back in time. We got the car and driving here is exciting to say the least. Traffic rules seem to be very flexible, with a level of aggression certainly necessary to get from point a to point b. The problem is finding the proper level of aggression, since too much will prevent you from getting anywhere except the hospital, and too little means you're stuck in traffic for ever.
We had a close encounter of the 1st kind with the Lithuanian police when we went down an unmarked street which turned out to be a one way one, naturally the opposite way were going. Again much haranguing, shrugging of shoulders, pointing to signs, looking up fines, and finally returning passports, car registration, drivers licenses, and sending us on our way, no poorer. Probably a bribe was the proper procedure, but since we couldn't understand and they couldn't directly ask for one, we were all right. Who said that ignorance was a bad thing.
I had left our packet of semi-precious documents at Bella's house. Luckily, I had taken passports, visas, travelers checks and all the other really critical things out previously, but international driver’s licenses, email addresses, and directions to our Lithuanian host's house were not with us.
I emailed our host in Kaunas our first stop after leaving Andrea telling I did not have his address nor his telephone number, and when we arrived in Kaunas we bought a local map, checked the telephone numbers for the Leonard Rinkevicius' and found two. We went to the first one, a shabby tenement house more suited to the lower Bronx, nobody was home, and headed across the town of 500,00 to find the other one. It was a very small lane and we finally found a man in a bar who knew where it was. He left his friends, his half finished beer, jumped in his car, motioned for us to follow and took us there. It was at 91 Darbunininku, a house even shabbier than the first place. We went to the house behind it 91A and were greeted by a very large angry dog, so decided to ask instead at 93A. A 20 something girl said that Leonardas used to live there but that was 10 years ago. I said, Leonardas the professor, and she said no, it was not him. So I decided to check the e-mail and asked her if there was an internet cafe. She was just leaving and it was on her way, so she took us to one at a local library, but unfortunately I couldn't get into my email. So the man running the library asked us which university, I replied, "There’s more than one?" well, there are six!! Finally we found him under the faculty listings for one of them and got his office telephone number. I called his office, but he was gone, but was told his address. Guess what? It was the original residence. So back we went across town, finding incredible views along the way and enjoying the solving of the mystery.
Upon arriving there we were told that he would not be able to host us since his daughter was ill. He took us downtown where we got a hotel and we all went out to dinner and had a nice evening talking. On the way back to the room, I asked Leonardas if he knew about the Lithuanian Basketball shirts which I had purchased when they were raising money to send the basketball team to the Olympics. It was a joint project with the Golden State warriors and the Grateful Dead. When the team won the bronze medal at the Olympics, the whole team wore the shirts on the medal stand. Leonardas said they are like gold here. Everybody loves them, but nobody knows how to get them. I told him I had the one from the 92 Olympics and one from the 96 Olympics as well. His eyes got very big. I asked Leonardas if would like one, and he replied that yes, but of course, he'd really like two. So I gave him both of them, and I thought he was going to go through the ceiling. It was one of those moments when you can do something for someone that has so much meaning to them, and yet costs you so little. I would have liked to keep one of them, and wear here in country, but that's an ego thing, and it was a national pride thing for him, so naturally, it was a no brainer. My suitcase is lighter, and there is one joyous Lithuanian who has a shirt for each of his two daughters.
He gave me the list of names that I had forgotten in Moscow, and I noticed that one Lithuanian host is located at 93 Darbininku, the same place we had been before. The irony was just too much for me and we decided to go check it out again the next day. Just as we drove up, a young woman came into the yard and I asked her if she was Kristina a Servas host. She said yes, we laughed at how we had been there the day before, she invited us in and we had a wonderful afternoon talking and Carol playing on the floor with her too children one and two years old. She invited us to stay for the night, but Leonardas had found another host who accepted us for the evening so we declined, after promising to send movies which she and her husband Marius love but can't get in Lithuania. What a neat family and a great ironic adventure it all was.
I want to tell a little about the shabbiness of the tenement block houses. They are all leftovers from the Soviet occupation of 50 years. Bella's in not any better. They all look terrible outside. Just grey cinder block, grafted and dirty. But inside, each person is able to create a very livable and lovely home. I felt ashamed that I had judged them so poorly. Again, I have to listen to the spirits who tell me not to be so judgmental.
Our drive today was a snow filled morning followed by sunshine. Back roads revealed lots of storks nesting on tall power lines or unused chimneys, horse drawn plows tilling the soil, carts drawn by horses, and every home with a water well, complete with rope and bucket. Their only supply of water comes from drawing it from the earth. More about the poverty level and the difficulties the people are having in a later letter.
When we were driving around Moscow with Bella, we laughed at the McDonalds, and she said that everybody loved them. They're huge!! and jam-packed with people. They are about twice as big as a Denny's at home. I asked her why they were so popular since the food was so terrible, and she said it was simple. It was just so refreshing to find a place in Russia where everybody smiled at you, the place was spotlessly clean, the food was cheap, and service was fast. The guide books tell us that the only people who go out to restaurants are foreigners and business people. Hence they're expensive, running around $50 per person for simple fare. In Moscow restaurants, you’ll find - surly waiters, poor service, and dingy atmospheres. Only 1% of the people in all of Russia eat out more than once a year. A staggering fact to us. Here in the Baltic’s food is cheap and with the new spirit of independence, places have sprung up which are good and dining experiences akin to home/ Well, I've used up my allotted time here, and there are dozens of kids waiting to play Mortal Combat, Commando killers, duel to the death, or some such mind improving computer experience.
We're having a wonderful time, Sunday is Easter and we're very comfortably ensconced in a nice hotel across the square of the national cathedral. Lithuania is a very, very catholic country and we're told it will be quite an experience. Naturally, we're looking forward to more wonderful people, sights and sounds on our latest journey to the big wonderful world.
I'll write more when I can.
Until then, we remain,
son, father, mother, friend, uncle, aunt, cousin to which of you these may apply,
love,
Carol and jim
Greetings from Vilnius
Greetings from Vilnius:
On Friday morning I looked out the window and there were tiny flakes of snow attempting to make it intact to the ground. Those who made it would quickly melt as the temps were just not sufficient to keep them. Giedre said that this was not snow and we joked about what it would take for her to consider it to be so. Well on Easter Sunday we found out. We awoke in Vilnius to a lovely white blanket of 3-4 inches of the fluffy stuff and everyone was shocked. It had been so warm the week before. We told everybody how great it was, and they just gave us this look of varying degrees of disgust, amazement, and disappointment. This was not great, they said. This is what they put up with all winter, and now it's supposed to be spring, where they break out the bright colors after a winter of black: coats, stockings, hats, trousers, shoes, and whatever else they wear. The streets look like a huge line of mourners all coming and going to the same funeral. The stores are full of bright, happy colors, but the people still aren't wearing them.
It started to get warm and now, just when they thought it was safe to go in the water again, here comes this huge snowstorm which covered half of Europe. We hit the road heading for the coast and the longest natural spit in the world, a 50 mile long, 1/2 mile wide piece of sand separating Kaliningrad (Russia) and Lithuania. To get there, we had to negotiate the storm, lots of shaky drivers. and snow which got as deep as 10 inches and narrowed the road to one lane at times. At one point our road got narrower and narrower and finally when we hit a spot which was not covered in snow, we saw that we were on a dirt road. We had obviously taken a wrong turn. We turned around and flagged a car down and with our best Lithuanian grammar (actually a finger pointing in the direction we had been going and saying the name of the town Polanga) we got this strange look and a "ne, ne, he" He pointed in the opposite direction and we retraced our steps and found the error of our ways. Mother will be happy I can still do that.
We picked up a couple of girls (16 and 18) hitchhiking in the snow and took them to their town. One spoke excellent English and she was a veritable fount of conversation. We dropped off little sister where mom worked and took Rosita (no she wasn't Hispanic) to her house. We stopped at this hill of crosses which developed hundreds of years ago. There are over 100,000 crosses there now. Crosses hanging from crosses which are attached to bigger crosses which in turn lean on bigger crosses. People come from around the world to leave Rosaries and crosses. The pope came a couple of years ago and the place really took off. The Soviets would cart them all away at times, but the people kept coming back and leaving new ones. It's very other worldly. Lots of people hitchhike. We’ve given rides to a woman who lived in one town and worked 75 miles away because there was no work in her town, an old Russian peasant woman who we now refer to as the "Curd lady," because of the heavy smell of cheese, a sister and brother who spoke no English and others for shorter rides. We have a big car and lots of room so why not, it makes for an interesting journey. Rosita gave us a couple of dyed Easter eggs she had made, a tradition not unlike our, except that they take theirs to church to be blessed before giving them away. She wants to study computers, but they have no computer, TV, car or other amenities. Mom works in a cafeteria, while dad was kicked out "thanks to God," because he "liked to drink, and beat my mother." Every body dreams of coming to America and the better life. Many have relatives who got out in the mass migration following WWII and the Soviet takeover.
The whole region has been going back and forth, partitioned, taken over, conquered so many times that everybody seems to have a claim on towns, coastal areas, and land in general. Germans, Lithuanians, Russians, Finns, Swedes, Poles, and assorted tribes have come in and set up shop at various times in the last few centuries.
But the spirit of the people is well intact. Giedre was the only one who spoke of things being easier in the soviet times. She could travel. Yes it was only in the Soviet Union, but it was big and had lots of variety. Now she is free to travel wherever she wants, but is too poor to do so. She is 37, unmarried, and still lives at home. Consider that, Ang and Jeff:-)
We made it to our sand spit at the end of the day and were greeted by a group of wild boar, a fox, a flock of wild sheep, a hedgehog, and lots of very different birds. The sun smiled brightly at us the next morning and we enjoyed our walk in the lovely woodland along the beach where Carol filled her (read my) pockets with rocks of various colors .Amber washes up along the beaches and she gathered a couple of dozen pieces of this fossilized resin. The amber in the museums has lots of bugs encased in them: spiders, grasshoppers, ants, and lots of other things I didn't know lived that long ago. Carol, of course, thinks all of this is tres cool. I'm fascinated, but that pales in comparison.
Of course it rained following the morning, but at least we had one period without precipitation. Our only one so far on the entire trip. But that doesn't dampen our wanderings.
The food has been wonderful. Great spices and mixtures of vegetables with a little meat thrown in. Everything is very natural and sits well on the system. One item which didn't quite measure up was what they called Zeppelen's. They are shaped like the old blimps and have the texture of four day old mush which somebody forgot to take out of the pan. In the middle of this dumpling, as they are euphemistically called, is a sausage. A gluttonous mass of tasteless goo, we were had we had them, even though most of it was left on the plate.
Car alarms are a constant cacophony of sound in the Baltics. When I picked up the car the rental guy set it off by accident. A constant pressing of buttons, lock, unlock, and trunk in some magical sequence silenced it. When I asked him how to shut if off should it happen to me, he replied that he didn't know how he set it off, much less how he stopped it. It seems nobody understands how or why they go off, certainly I don't. It's happened to me twice, and I get it stopped, smile at Carol at my creative mind, and it goes off again. This process is repeated four or five times until I finally get the write combination and silence it for good. But they go off everywhere all the time. Nobody has the slightest reaction to them. Nobody gets annoyed like they would at home; they just accept it as a part of the new technological age.
All the Balts are involved in a conspiracy against the police. Probably some latent holdover from "Soviet Times," (their favorite phrase). Whenever there is a police man or car hiding trying to catch speeders, one mile an hour faster than posted will get you nailed, everybody warns the people by blinking their lights. Hence you drive the correct speed until you pass them and then speed up blinking your lights at the unaware coming your direction. It is a marvelous system and with narrow, windy roads enabling forewarning, getting caught is truly by accident. They like to hide at places on curves where the speed drops to 50 kph (31 miles an hour). You can't slow down when you hit the speed zone; you have to be going that speed when you pass the sign. Lots of time you have little warning which brings on a hard brake.
The euphoria over independence has worn off and the harsh reality of trying to rebuild a culture, economy, and system of government remains a difficult one indeed. There is lots of enthusiasm and optimism. Feeling that their problems are at least their problems and their opportunity to solve them. Down sides include drug trade, gangs, graffiti, and lots and lots of poverty. In Moscow, Bella and Ludmilla are world class scientists making $50 a month. But each has a car, cell phones, computers, and in the case of Bella, a TV in each room, "I'm addicted," she says. They make it by engaging in entrepreneurial enterprises where they can take part in the new capitalism. Bella has a hepatitis clinic where people from around the world come and get the tests, 25% of Russians are susceptible. They can charge western rates and therefore can make it. They laugh at the taxing system. There is no method for collecting taxes outside of the old regular jobs. So they only pay taxes of their "Jobs." and have no intention of paying on their real incomes. "Everybody knows the government is corrupt, and steals all the tax money," they say. So they keep their income. Of course the state has no money to fix the infrastructure since only about 10% of the economy is taxed. The 90% of the money made outside the system is just freebies. Kind of like waitresses not having to ever declare their tips, and there is no enforcement policy. Taxing outside the system is "Voluntary." Yeah, right!!!
Friday we head to Tallinn, Estonia. Andrea and Martins are going to go with us, we think. After that, it's off to St. Petersburg and then again to Moscow.
We love our time here. People are bright and cheery and it's a wonderful mixture of old and new, old world and new hope. The tomorrows are uncertain but they have survived so much nothing like poverty or an unexpected return of winter seems to dampen their knowledge that things will get better and the short summer will arrive on its own timetable.
We hope that everything is well with all of you. We'll be home sooner than we are ready to be, but that will enable us to recharge the batteries and the coffers for another adventure.
I'll write as time allows.
Love to all,
Carol and Jim
On Friday morning I looked out the window and there were tiny flakes of snow attempting to make it intact to the ground. Those who made it would quickly melt as the temps were just not sufficient to keep them. Giedre said that this was not snow and we joked about what it would take for her to consider it to be so. Well on Easter Sunday we found out. We awoke in Vilnius to a lovely white blanket of 3-4 inches of the fluffy stuff and everyone was shocked. It had been so warm the week before. We told everybody how great it was, and they just gave us this look of varying degrees of disgust, amazement, and disappointment. This was not great, they said. This is what they put up with all winter, and now it's supposed to be spring, where they break out the bright colors after a winter of black: coats, stockings, hats, trousers, shoes, and whatever else they wear. The streets look like a huge line of mourners all coming and going to the same funeral. The stores are full of bright, happy colors, but the people still aren't wearing them.
It started to get warm and now, just when they thought it was safe to go in the water again, here comes this huge snowstorm which covered half of Europe. We hit the road heading for the coast and the longest natural spit in the world, a 50 mile long, 1/2 mile wide piece of sand separating Kaliningrad (Russia) and Lithuania. To get there, we had to negotiate the storm, lots of shaky drivers. and snow which got as deep as 10 inches and narrowed the road to one lane at times. At one point our road got narrower and narrower and finally when we hit a spot which was not covered in snow, we saw that we were on a dirt road. We had obviously taken a wrong turn. We turned around and flagged a car down and with our best Lithuanian grammar (actually a finger pointing in the direction we had been going and saying the name of the town Polanga) we got this strange look and a "ne, ne, he" He pointed in the opposite direction and we retraced our steps and found the error of our ways. Mother will be happy I can still do that.
We picked up a couple of girls (16 and 18) hitchhiking in the snow and took them to their town. One spoke excellent English and she was a veritable fount of conversation. We dropped off little sister where mom worked and took Rosita (no she wasn't Hispanic) to her house. We stopped at this hill of crosses which developed hundreds of years ago. There are over 100,000 crosses there now. Crosses hanging from crosses which are attached to bigger crosses which in turn lean on bigger crosses. People come from around the world to leave Rosaries and crosses. The pope came a couple of years ago and the place really took off. The Soviets would cart them all away at times, but the people kept coming back and leaving new ones. It's very other worldly. Lots of people hitchhike. We’ve given rides to a woman who lived in one town and worked 75 miles away because there was no work in her town, an old Russian peasant woman who we now refer to as the "Curd lady," because of the heavy smell of cheese, a sister and brother who spoke no English and others for shorter rides. We have a big car and lots of room so why not, it makes for an interesting journey. Rosita gave us a couple of dyed Easter eggs she had made, a tradition not unlike our, except that they take theirs to church to be blessed before giving them away. She wants to study computers, but they have no computer, TV, car or other amenities. Mom works in a cafeteria, while dad was kicked out "thanks to God," because he "liked to drink, and beat my mother." Every body dreams of coming to America and the better life. Many have relatives who got out in the mass migration following WWII and the Soviet takeover.
The whole region has been going back and forth, partitioned, taken over, conquered so many times that everybody seems to have a claim on towns, coastal areas, and land in general. Germans, Lithuanians, Russians, Finns, Swedes, Poles, and assorted tribes have come in and set up shop at various times in the last few centuries.
But the spirit of the people is well intact. Giedre was the only one who spoke of things being easier in the soviet times. She could travel. Yes it was only in the Soviet Union, but it was big and had lots of variety. Now she is free to travel wherever she wants, but is too poor to do so. She is 37, unmarried, and still lives at home. Consider that, Ang and Jeff:-)
We made it to our sand spit at the end of the day and were greeted by a group of wild boar, a fox, a flock of wild sheep, a hedgehog, and lots of very different birds. The sun smiled brightly at us the next morning and we enjoyed our walk in the lovely woodland along the beach where Carol filled her (read my) pockets with rocks of various colors .Amber washes up along the beaches and she gathered a couple of dozen pieces of this fossilized resin. The amber in the museums has lots of bugs encased in them: spiders, grasshoppers, ants, and lots of other things I didn't know lived that long ago. Carol, of course, thinks all of this is tres cool. I'm fascinated, but that pales in comparison.
Of course it rained following the morning, but at least we had one period without precipitation. Our only one so far on the entire trip. But that doesn't dampen our wanderings.
The food has been wonderful. Great spices and mixtures of vegetables with a little meat thrown in. Everything is very natural and sits well on the system. One item which didn't quite measure up was what they called Zeppelen's. They are shaped like the old blimps and have the texture of four day old mush which somebody forgot to take out of the pan. In the middle of this dumpling, as they are euphemistically called, is a sausage. A gluttonous mass of tasteless goo, we were had we had them, even though most of it was left on the plate.
Car alarms are a constant cacophony of sound in the Baltics. When I picked up the car the rental guy set it off by accident. A constant pressing of buttons, lock, unlock, and trunk in some magical sequence silenced it. When I asked him how to shut if off should it happen to me, he replied that he didn't know how he set it off, much less how he stopped it. It seems nobody understands how or why they go off, certainly I don't. It's happened to me twice, and I get it stopped, smile at Carol at my creative mind, and it goes off again. This process is repeated four or five times until I finally get the write combination and silence it for good. But they go off everywhere all the time. Nobody has the slightest reaction to them. Nobody gets annoyed like they would at home; they just accept it as a part of the new technological age.
All the Balts are involved in a conspiracy against the police. Probably some latent holdover from "Soviet Times," (their favorite phrase). Whenever there is a police man or car hiding trying to catch speeders, one mile an hour faster than posted will get you nailed, everybody warns the people by blinking their lights. Hence you drive the correct speed until you pass them and then speed up blinking your lights at the unaware coming your direction. It is a marvelous system and with narrow, windy roads enabling forewarning, getting caught is truly by accident. They like to hide at places on curves where the speed drops to 50 kph (31 miles an hour). You can't slow down when you hit the speed zone; you have to be going that speed when you pass the sign. Lots of time you have little warning which brings on a hard brake.
The euphoria over independence has worn off and the harsh reality of trying to rebuild a culture, economy, and system of government remains a difficult one indeed. There is lots of enthusiasm and optimism. Feeling that their problems are at least their problems and their opportunity to solve them. Down sides include drug trade, gangs, graffiti, and lots and lots of poverty. In Moscow, Bella and Ludmilla are world class scientists making $50 a month. But each has a car, cell phones, computers, and in the case of Bella, a TV in each room, "I'm addicted," she says. They make it by engaging in entrepreneurial enterprises where they can take part in the new capitalism. Bella has a hepatitis clinic where people from around the world come and get the tests, 25% of Russians are susceptible. They can charge western rates and therefore can make it. They laugh at the taxing system. There is no method for collecting taxes outside of the old regular jobs. So they only pay taxes of their "Jobs." and have no intention of paying on their real incomes. "Everybody knows the government is corrupt, and steals all the tax money," they say. So they keep their income. Of course the state has no money to fix the infrastructure since only about 10% of the economy is taxed. The 90% of the money made outside the system is just freebies. Kind of like waitresses not having to ever declare their tips, and there is no enforcement policy. Taxing outside the system is "Voluntary." Yeah, right!!!
Friday we head to Tallinn, Estonia. Andrea and Martins are going to go with us, we think. After that, it's off to St. Petersburg and then again to Moscow.
We love our time here. People are bright and cheery and it's a wonderful mixture of old and new, old world and new hope. The tomorrows are uncertain but they have survived so much nothing like poverty or an unexpected return of winter seems to dampen their knowledge that things will get better and the short summer will arrive on its own timetable.
We hope that everything is well with all of you. We'll be home sooner than we are ready to be, but that will enable us to recharge the batteries and the coffers for another adventure.
I'll write as time allows.
Love to all,
Carol and Jim
On to Russia
Hey Everyone:
Tomorrow it´s off to Russia for four nights in St. Petersburg and then four nights in Moscow before flying home on the 2nd.
It´s been a great time here in the Baltics and there is much to see, but never enough time. We're glad that we actually saw Tallinn at the end of our Baltic stay since it is the most fantastic of the three capitals. The old city is the best preserved, with myriads of alleyways and small streets to wander down, get lost in, discover unknown sights, and wind back where you started in the first place. From various points you can look down upon the city for wonderful vistas and orientation points. It's really fairy land, old world style, and we loved it.
We came here with Andrea and Martins. They decided at the last minute to come with us and we were happy for the time together, since in Riga their schedules were a jumble and we had not as much time together as we wanted.
We drove their car, actually, I drove it since Martins doesn't have a license to drive cars, he can legally drive trucks, but not cars, and Andrea doesn't have a valid Latvian license. She could legally drive for three months on her Cal. license, but that expired some time ago. So I got to be the designated driver and off we went north.
First of all we went to one of the islands off the West coast of Estonia. A place which until the Soviets left, Estonians could not visit, since the Russians had super secret radar installations there. But it is a lovely quiet area where we passed a pleasant day, visiting the only meteor site in Europe, finding windmills, walking in the country and exploring castles.
We made our way to Tallinn and because it was the weekend, there was no room at the inn. There were rooms at the Radisson for 179 dollars per room per night, but we passed on that. So Martins and Andrea hoofed it in search of the hotel where they had stayed last Sept. They used their best instincts and happily came back and said that they not only found it, but it had rooms available. It was just outside the city walls, so was very convenient.
In the days together we got the whole scoop on Andrea and Martin's whirlwind courtship, 10 days, and their hurried marriage since he was to leave the country. We watched them together and can happily report that they are indeed very happy together and seem very well suited. She is very loving toward him and mothers him with a kindly affection that is really nice to see. He, in turn, is very protective of her and has a tremendous love for her as well. They work very well together, both artistically offering suggestions for their various projects, and personally where they give support to each other as they struggle in these hard times. They are very poor, at last count they had about 22 dollars, not counting the hundred which we brought from Carole. That is pigeonholed for their immigration papers which they are trying to secure. Andrea hopes to go to grad school at Humboldt where Martins can continue his artistic projects. It's difficult here to get established, and in the States they will be able to make it a lot easier than they can at this time. But they will look back on these times with fond affection as we all do now that we're through the hard times. They still have them ahead of them, but I'm confident that they'll make it. They really seem made for each other. Funny how things work out. What seemed like rashness, I'm sure to those who love her, really seems to be something which has made her stronger and more certain about herself. After years of waffling about Steve, her boyfriend, to be able to make a decision and get married in only 10 days is miraculous. She never looks back nor regrets her decision. She misses her family and home but is confident that things will work out for them where they will be able to make the immigration scene work.
They have returned to Latvia. Andrea works now for the Baltic times and has stories to write and is looking forward to payday:-) We remain in the land of Cell phone heaven. Statistics indicate that about every other person in Tallinn owns one, a probable cause being so close to the two biggest makers of cell phones, Erriccson of Sweden, and Nokia of Finland. They have them programmed to ring to their favorite tunes, and you hear Beethoven, Britney Spears, U2, and lots of other tunes going off all the time. Everybody is plugged in all the time. It's a scene that would drive a yank up the wall, with all these things ringing all the time, but the Estonians don't mind. They say they best neighbors are ones that live too far away to see, and this helps them stay connected. The internet is huge here, all schools are plugged in and individual web sites abound. Although the books state that about half the people live below the official poverty line, you don't really feel it here. There are plenty of new cars, consumer goods are plentiful and selling well, and people are smartly dressed, actually quite fashionable in all the Baltics.
The people are a good looking lot in all three countries. It's no wonder that the Lithuanians won the bronze medal in the Olympics and have stars in the NBA. The women are very tall, very tall. Six feet and above seems to be the average. The men are strong and well built, and the women are beautiful. I joked with the rental car guy and said how pretty the women were and he just rolled his eyes, "Yes," he said. "Aren’t they." I said that I thought the Lithuanian women were the prettiest, and he protested that Latvian women were the prettiest in the world. An arguable comment at best, but certainly one that could be presented well.
As in the other two countries, the Russians have a hard time here. Trying to figure out who they are and where they belong. The Soviet government brought in literally hundreds of thousands of people to live here trying to make the Baltics true Soviet States, but now with the crumbling of the empire, the people are lost. Many/most only speak Russian, anyone under 40 was probably born here and this is home. But their Russian culture is frowned on, literally discouraged as the Balts try to reestablish their own culture after decades of the Soviets trying to stamp it out. Difficult times for all, to be sure, but time is on everybody's side if only ancient hostilities, prejudices, and past wrongs can be overlooked.
There is a distance to the Estonians which we didn't feel in the 0ther two countries. Maybe it's because they're so close in proximity and culture to those world noted isolationists, the Finns. I wouldn't call them unfriendly, we've met plenty of warm and friendly people, but there's a sense of not wanting you to get too close.
I had a great time this afternoon. Carol was feeling a little under the weather so >I went shopping for food for our bus ride tomorrow. I found the big supermarket. In Lithuania they're called Maxima, smaller ones are called >Media, and the smallest are called Minima. Here they just have the name of the Store. But when I went to buy fruit and munchies, you don't write down the number of the bin or any such thing. You put the apples on the scale in the produce area, look at the pictures above it, punch the appropriate number, and out pops a sticker with the name and price of the items. I had so much fun, I bought, apples, pears, trail mix, pastries, chocolate covered raisins. I finally had to grab myself by the neck and haul me away. I came back with enough food for the Trans Siberian Railway.
The only negative side of our time here is the constant and very prevalent smoking which takes place. Everybody smokes, and I mean everybody, and they light up everywhere. There's no such thing as non smoking areas in most restaurants and public places. The smell of smoke is very heavy everywhere. It's a real drag, no pun intended.
Crossing the borders each time gave us a sense of the urgency which everybody feels about the foot and mouth crisis here. You have to get out of your car and go stand on a rug like device which is soaked in some kind of disinfectant. Andrea asked what about the other shoes we have which are not on our feet. Isn't that just like her:-) You have to drive your car through a trench which douses the tires with the same stuff. Now we know how the sheep feel when we run them through the foot bath.
It's continued to rain, we haven't had a single day where it didn't, but that doesn't dampen our spirits or our movements. Of course the big snow storm which we experienced still lingers in our minds, just as it does on the ground, even though it was over a week ago. That gives you an idea of how cold it has been. Naturally, I brought pairs of shorts and my swimming trunks, which only take up space and add weight to the bags.
We've enjoyed the food immensely. There are certain staples, pickles for breakfast, lunch and dinner, delicious ones at that. Cabbage salad which has been salted soaked and then drained which puts it on its way to becoming sauerkraut and then with tomatoes and cucumbers added makes another dish which is served or offered at every meal. But lots of delicious barbecued items Shashlik is a regional treasure which everybody has variations on and nobody wants to share their secrets. All are delicious.
Tomorrow upon our arrival in St. Pete we get another adventure, Russian taxi drivers who don't speak English, don't understand western alphabets, and probably won't have a clue of the address we give them in our poor pronouncement of the Cyrillic. Oh well, it will probably make for a fine tale to be told at a later time.
By the way, I got stopped by the cops again, but that's another story.
Love to all, we'll see you soon
Tomorrow it´s off to Russia for four nights in St. Petersburg and then four nights in Moscow before flying home on the 2nd.
It´s been a great time here in the Baltics and there is much to see, but never enough time. We're glad that we actually saw Tallinn at the end of our Baltic stay since it is the most fantastic of the three capitals. The old city is the best preserved, with myriads of alleyways and small streets to wander down, get lost in, discover unknown sights, and wind back where you started in the first place. From various points you can look down upon the city for wonderful vistas and orientation points. It's really fairy land, old world style, and we loved it.
We came here with Andrea and Martins. They decided at the last minute to come with us and we were happy for the time together, since in Riga their schedules were a jumble and we had not as much time together as we wanted.
We drove their car, actually, I drove it since Martins doesn't have a license to drive cars, he can legally drive trucks, but not cars, and Andrea doesn't have a valid Latvian license. She could legally drive for three months on her Cal. license, but that expired some time ago. So I got to be the designated driver and off we went north.
First of all we went to one of the islands off the West coast of Estonia. A place which until the Soviets left, Estonians could not visit, since the Russians had super secret radar installations there. But it is a lovely quiet area where we passed a pleasant day, visiting the only meteor site in Europe, finding windmills, walking in the country and exploring castles.
We made our way to Tallinn and because it was the weekend, there was no room at the inn. There were rooms at the Radisson for 179 dollars per room per night, but we passed on that. So Martins and Andrea hoofed it in search of the hotel where they had stayed last Sept. They used their best instincts and happily came back and said that they not only found it, but it had rooms available. It was just outside the city walls, so was very convenient.
In the days together we got the whole scoop on Andrea and Martin's whirlwind courtship, 10 days, and their hurried marriage since he was to leave the country. We watched them together and can happily report that they are indeed very happy together and seem very well suited. She is very loving toward him and mothers him with a kindly affection that is really nice to see. He, in turn, is very protective of her and has a tremendous love for her as well. They work very well together, both artistically offering suggestions for their various projects, and personally where they give support to each other as they struggle in these hard times. They are very poor, at last count they had about 22 dollars, not counting the hundred which we brought from Carole. That is pigeonholed for their immigration papers which they are trying to secure. Andrea hopes to go to grad school at Humboldt where Martins can continue his artistic projects. It's difficult here to get established, and in the States they will be able to make it a lot easier than they can at this time. But they will look back on these times with fond affection as we all do now that we're through the hard times. They still have them ahead of them, but I'm confident that they'll make it. They really seem made for each other. Funny how things work out. What seemed like rashness, I'm sure to those who love her, really seems to be something which has made her stronger and more certain about herself. After years of waffling about Steve, her boyfriend, to be able to make a decision and get married in only 10 days is miraculous. She never looks back nor regrets her decision. She misses her family and home but is confident that things will work out for them where they will be able to make the immigration scene work.
They have returned to Latvia. Andrea works now for the Baltic times and has stories to write and is looking forward to payday:-) We remain in the land of Cell phone heaven. Statistics indicate that about every other person in Tallinn owns one, a probable cause being so close to the two biggest makers of cell phones, Erriccson of Sweden, and Nokia of Finland. They have them programmed to ring to their favorite tunes, and you hear Beethoven, Britney Spears, U2, and lots of other tunes going off all the time. Everybody is plugged in all the time. It's a scene that would drive a yank up the wall, with all these things ringing all the time, but the Estonians don't mind. They say they best neighbors are ones that live too far away to see, and this helps them stay connected. The internet is huge here, all schools are plugged in and individual web sites abound. Although the books state that about half the people live below the official poverty line, you don't really feel it here. There are plenty of new cars, consumer goods are plentiful and selling well, and people are smartly dressed, actually quite fashionable in all the Baltics.
The people are a good looking lot in all three countries. It's no wonder that the Lithuanians won the bronze medal in the Olympics and have stars in the NBA. The women are very tall, very tall. Six feet and above seems to be the average. The men are strong and well built, and the women are beautiful. I joked with the rental car guy and said how pretty the women were and he just rolled his eyes, "Yes," he said. "Aren’t they." I said that I thought the Lithuanian women were the prettiest, and he protested that Latvian women were the prettiest in the world. An arguable comment at best, but certainly one that could be presented well.
As in the other two countries, the Russians have a hard time here. Trying to figure out who they are and where they belong. The Soviet government brought in literally hundreds of thousands of people to live here trying to make the Baltics true Soviet States, but now with the crumbling of the empire, the people are lost. Many/most only speak Russian, anyone under 40 was probably born here and this is home. But their Russian culture is frowned on, literally discouraged as the Balts try to reestablish their own culture after decades of the Soviets trying to stamp it out. Difficult times for all, to be sure, but time is on everybody's side if only ancient hostilities, prejudices, and past wrongs can be overlooked.
There is a distance to the Estonians which we didn't feel in the 0ther two countries. Maybe it's because they're so close in proximity and culture to those world noted isolationists, the Finns. I wouldn't call them unfriendly, we've met plenty of warm and friendly people, but there's a sense of not wanting you to get too close.
I had a great time this afternoon. Carol was feeling a little under the weather so >I went shopping for food for our bus ride tomorrow. I found the big supermarket. In Lithuania they're called Maxima, smaller ones are called >Media, and the smallest are called Minima. Here they just have the name of the Store. But when I went to buy fruit and munchies, you don't write down the number of the bin or any such thing. You put the apples on the scale in the produce area, look at the pictures above it, punch the appropriate number, and out pops a sticker with the name and price of the items. I had so much fun, I bought, apples, pears, trail mix, pastries, chocolate covered raisins. I finally had to grab myself by the neck and haul me away. I came back with enough food for the Trans Siberian Railway.
The only negative side of our time here is the constant and very prevalent smoking which takes place. Everybody smokes, and I mean everybody, and they light up everywhere. There's no such thing as non smoking areas in most restaurants and public places. The smell of smoke is very heavy everywhere. It's a real drag, no pun intended.
Crossing the borders each time gave us a sense of the urgency which everybody feels about the foot and mouth crisis here. You have to get out of your car and go stand on a rug like device which is soaked in some kind of disinfectant. Andrea asked what about the other shoes we have which are not on our feet. Isn't that just like her:-) You have to drive your car through a trench which douses the tires with the same stuff. Now we know how the sheep feel when we run them through the foot bath.
It's continued to rain, we haven't had a single day where it didn't, but that doesn't dampen our spirits or our movements. Of course the big snow storm which we experienced still lingers in our minds, just as it does on the ground, even though it was over a week ago. That gives you an idea of how cold it has been. Naturally, I brought pairs of shorts and my swimming trunks, which only take up space and add weight to the bags.
We've enjoyed the food immensely. There are certain staples, pickles for breakfast, lunch and dinner, delicious ones at that. Cabbage salad which has been salted soaked and then drained which puts it on its way to becoming sauerkraut and then with tomatoes and cucumbers added makes another dish which is served or offered at every meal. But lots of delicious barbecued items Shashlik is a regional treasure which everybody has variations on and nobody wants to share their secrets. All are delicious.
Tomorrow upon our arrival in St. Pete we get another adventure, Russian taxi drivers who don't speak English, don't understand western alphabets, and probably won't have a clue of the address we give them in our poor pronouncement of the Cyrillic. Oh well, it will probably make for a fine tale to be told at a later time.
By the way, I got stopped by the cops again, but that's another story.
Love to all, we'll see you soon
Visa, Visa wherefore art thou
Visa, visa, wherefore art thou:
Our big adventure in finding our Servas host Larissa turned out to be a non adventure in the end. We had the address and Carol translated the letters from the Roman alphabet to the Cyrillic. Using my best cartographer skllls, learned at the knee of my Aunt Gerry who made me sit beside her on long drives and who gave me the map to read because: 1. It shut me up, 2. It kept me from bugging my other cousins, and 3. Where I was close enough for a swat across the head if I forgot numbers 1 and 2. We cousins always rode in Aunt Gerry’s car because that was the only way to insure that we’d arrive safely. Riding in my Mother’s car would have resulted in mass burial because she’d have killed us all what with the bickering , noise, and pestering that always went with a trip involving more than two of the six cousins,. But that’s another story.
Anyway, I found the street on the city map and noticed that it was also referred to as M11. While driving across the Russian countryside, I noticed that we were on a road labeled M11, and my brain started clicking. Thank you, Aunt Gerry. Sure enough, as we started entering St. Pete we were on Prospect Stachek, and as the numbers decreased, I showed the alternate driver, who was riding shotgun, the address and when we got to the right spot, he had the driver pull over, unloaded the bags from underneath the bus and we walked across the street: As simple as that.
Getting across the border from Estonia proved a little more difficult than in the Baltics only because there was a border guard who had nothing to do and decided to make herself official when she pulled us aside. We, the only non-Russian/non-Baltic persons on the bus so it seemed a little suspicious that we were randomly selected for more passport control. After checking the passports, she asked us for our insurance papers. Carol had her blue cross card and that was fine for her, but what about me. I had nothing. I’m a hanger on in the Insurance game. I just ride Carol’s coattails. So the handed us a paper which said that non insurance was cause to be denied entrance into Russia. We finally convinced her that it was a family coverage, or probably more truthful, she got tired of trying to extort money from us and when she really couldn’t communicate that fact. , It just wasn’t getting her anywhere. So we got back on the bus where everybody was waiting patiently. They’ve probably seen this act before, and one thing they did learn in the Soviet system was to be patient- except in lines, that is.
The family we stayed with in St. Pete was a great fit for us. Larissa is 50ish, her mother , the Babushka, is 85, and Macha is a 16 year old ball of fire who is so destined for success in life that she gives us a lot of optimism about the things to come in Russia. Larissa gave us her “Bedroom” for our stay and she slept on some contraption in the living room where the babushka and Macha also slept. Our bedroom was actually a fold-out couch, which served as the bed. This is how it was in all our Servas stays. An extra bedrooms and western style beds are luxuries that are not a reality for most Russians. The people have little to share, but like struggling people around the world, they are more willing to share what they do have.
St. Petersburg turned out to be a wonderful time, a wasted time, a huge disappointment, and a beautiful experience all rolled into one. What city of contrasts.
The wasted time came about as a result of our visa problems. When Aeroflot, the Russian airlines, changed our flight schedule, we had one night in Moscow before flying to Riga. That created all kinds of bureaucratic hassles for us. We arrived in Moscow on Saturday night and one of the first things a traveler has to do upon arrival in Russia is to have their visa “Registered.” There are official places where this is to be done, but because they were closed on Saturday night, and of course were closed on Sunday, we were told to register them when we arrived in St. Petersburg. That’s where the adventure part began. Larissa took us to the OVIR office to register the visas, but it was closed until Friday, too late to register the visas within the required 48 hours. The books said that we could have them registered at a special office or that we could pay the equivalent of a night’s room in a hotel and register them at the hotel.
We first went to a hotel mentioned in our Lonely Planet book. They were very nice about it, but told us that they didn’t have any rooms available, and therefore couldn’t register the visas. But if we went to the Moscow Hotel, they could do it for us because they are a large establishment and always have rooms. So, on to the Moscow Hotel where we met what Russians told us was their “I don’t give a shit,” attitude of officials, bureaucrats, and individuals who have some measure of control over other’s lives. We were told that they wouldn’t register the visas for us because we weren’t staying there. “Well, can’t we pay for a room for one night and get the visas registered that way?” “No!” “Why?” “Because you’re not staying here.” “Well, if we pay for a room for the night, doesn’t that mean we’d be staying here?” “No, you’re not staying here, you must go somewhere else.” “Where should we go?” “I don’t know.”
Never mind the hotel lost a room for the night and $100 in income with no effort. It wasn’t the woman’s intention to register the visas and there was nothing to do about it. I asked to see the manager and was told by two other people that working my way up the chain of command was pointless. The woman said no and that was the end of it.
So back to the book where it gave us the address of another place to get it done. After a lot of help from people on the street and others inside buildings, we finally arrived at a huge, macy-sized complex where the outside of the building is numbered, but the individual offices are not labeled or numbered. We thought we had gotten to the right place, but it turned out not to me. Looking very confused, flummoxed, and annoyed, an English speaking student offered help and we gladly accepted. Carol and I followed the spike-heeled woman on a 10 minute jaunt across St. Petersburg to our correct destination. We entered the office where we came face to face with real Russian bureaucracy. There were a couple of dozen people waiting for some official to do something and everybody was sullen to the nth degree. They all had a dazed, defeated look about them. A look that told us it would be a while to get this done here. We watched as an obviously ex-Soviet official dismissed visa requests, document signings, and other paper work with the same concise, blunt, condescending, “Nyet!”The official, a woman, would scowl and spew some harsh words. Yeah, I know all Russian sounds harsh to me, but this stuff was really harsh. The person being denied would hang their head, their shoulders would drop, and they had a resigned look on their faces that told us this was nothing new to them. They lived with it every day of their lives. Their spirits seemed to depart for places unknown as they picked up their pieces of paper and sadly headed for the door. After an hour or so when it was our turn we were, surprise met with courtesy and a smile, but were informed that she couldn’t do it. She suggested, in Russian, that we fax Moscow, (someone told us what she said.) but that seemed rife with problems and horrible results, so we decided to head back to the one place where they spoke English and were pleasant – the original hotel we had attempted to get the visas registered. We told Kate, the girl at the desk now, our run-around problems, and she called the Neva Hotel, and they said they would do it for us for $20. We were jubilant and headed for the hotel. Upon our arrival, things seemed to be going smoothly when we heard this almost inaudible “Oh-oh” from her. Because we hadn’t registered the visa on our original day in Moscow, she couldn't do it. “Yes, but it was Sunday and so it was impossible.” We responded. “Yes, I understand that, but you didn’t do it.” Came the answer. “Yes, but we couldn’t. We can’t be punished for something that was impossible to do, can we?” That was met with a shrug of the shoulders and no other response. It’s like punishing us for the fact that we didn’t visit the MIR space station or something that was impossible to accomplish. In the end we were told to pay $100 for failure to follow the rules, and if we didn’t like it we could go to the central office and complain.
We were already eight hours into this whole process and had walked and talked ourselves silly, retraced our steps several times and were back where we had started without resolution. The next morning we started off on day two of the visa runaround. We went to the central office and since it opened at 10 a.m. we got there at 9:30. There was a group of people waiting in one area, but we were told to go to another office and wait by another door until it opened. ‘Great. We’re the only ones in line, we’ll be first. If it sounds too simple, you’re way ahead of us. When the office opened, here came the large group of people we’d already seen, and now they already had numbers for the queue. Therefore, when we signed in, we were number 12, not a happy thought.
The office closed at noon, and the line was moving none too quickly. We began to get seriously concerned that this wasn’t going to work any better than previous efforts, but a nice woman told us, in English, what number they were working on, and when we finally got into the office, we found a single woman sitting alone in the office without any paper work, books, manuals, or anything else. She just sat there behind a desk dispensing “Justice” at the whim of her individual fancy.
We told the official our situation, but of course, she didn’t speak English, so I went outside and asked the English speaking woman to come in and translate for me. She told the official of our plight and the official nodded. The official left the office and returned with a pen, a piece of paper, and god bless, that wonderful indispensible item of Russian bureaucracy, a stamp. She wrote out a scribbled note and stamped it. She told us to return, oh-oh, to the original hotel and we’d be taken care of. The English speaking woman who helped us was #16, but since she was already in the office, she got to jump the queue and she was thrilled.
To end this sorry tale, we took the stamped paper back to the hotel, the clerk who had said she could do nothing, looked at the stamped piece of paper, promptly threw it in the trash can and registered the visa into the hotel register without charge. She now had the official okay so everything was good. The whole process too two minutes in the hotel, but couldn’t be done without the official stamp allowing her to do so. The essential bureaucratic idiocy of the whole process is that it doesn’t get entered into any kind of a data base. The woman who stamped the piece of paper, did nothing else except stamp a piece of paper. The hotel doesn’t send the information anywhere or enter it into their books. The officials have no idea where it was registered or whether it was done officially or not. So after 14 hours of official hassle, we now had a stamp in our passports which would allow us to leave the country. The refusal to leave is a really scary thought. I’m sure we could have hastened the problem if we’d greased a palm or two, but that in itself is a scary thought. We didn’t wasn’t to get accused of doing anything illegal, so we got to see some areas of Moscow on a much closer basis than we would have otherwise.
We left with our passports having the magic stamp, and a brand new realization of what the average Russian must deal with. I honestly can’t imagine what this nightmare must be like day after day after day. They are a resilient people. We talked to people about the process and they just gave that look of: “and your point is?” It’s just the way things are done. Nobody knew why, but rules are rules, so it has to be done that way. I wish you could have seen Carol’s face when the girl threw the paper into the trash. After all we’d been through, it was an absolutely fitting end to the ludicrous nature of the whole episode. The process became a very useful tool un understanding Russia today.
Finally, we could explore St. Petersburg.
Larissa and Macha were wonderful hosts and took much time to ensure that our time was well spent, at least what was left of it. I'm sure the city can be very beautiful. I've seen stunning photos of it when it's wearing its best clothes, but that was not the case on our visit. It was late winter. The snow had melted but had left behind a dinginess that comes when all the dirt and grime which accumulates over the winter has not yet been cleaned up. It's like a car which has traveled through snowy conditions and has had the puddles splash up on the sides of the car. So too were the buildings, streets, and sidewalks. It was like walking through an inch of dust everywhere. This is not to criticize but to explain. Naturally, the winters are very harsh, and it takes time to get things back in order. But Larissa also told us that the post-Soviet experience was not a pleasant one. They had their financial crisis in 1998 and things were not yet stabilized. She, along with possibly millions of Russians, lost everything she had saved and had to start all over again.
The trolley tracks were in desperate need of repair. We weren't sure if this was caused by the harsh winters where the frozen ground heaves and twists any and everything attached to it, or just the lack of civic order. But the trolleys travel very slowly, barely faster than walking speed in order to stay on the tracks.
Our two Servas hosts, Larissa and Bella in Moscow were dynamic women who put their energies and education to use and have made successes of their lives and their families. Interestingly, neither had men in their lives. Both husbands floundered with the fall of the Soviet system. We passed parks on our city tour and Larissa just scoffed at the lassitude of the men in Russia today. Under the Soviet system, she told us: "They didn't have to show up to work ready to work, they never got fired for lack of productivity,and no matter what they did, they always had a job." Now, however, all those things do matter, and they are lost, and hence, you can see them in the parks, drunk on vodka at any time of the day or night. They are totally lost. After generations of not having to take responsibility for their actions, the rules have changed, and they are not happy campers.
Larissa's mother, the babushka as they called her, was a very interesting character. She was born before the 1917 revolution and lived to see it fall. She was a teacher and still believed in the system as one that improved people's lives. She was sad to see the changes that befell her country. Carol was particularly impressed by what she saw as a woman of dignity and class. Carol had given her a necklace she had brought from home and the babushka wore day and night. She was so pleased that someone had given her something she really liked. Macha, the daughter, is a fireball teenager, and Larissa told us that the hope of the country is in these kids at her school who are totally motivated and committed to making their lives better.
The Hermitage, one of the oldest and most respected museums in the world with almost three million items on display was, indeed, everything it was cracked up to be. It comprises, several museums, amongst them the Winter Palace of the Czars. We didn't have nearly enough time there, but what we did see showed us that they did not exaggerate in their descriptions.
Our time in St. Pete ended, we took the overnight train to Moscow. We shared a four berth cabin with a married Chinese couple who were medical students in Moscow. Upo our arrival in Moscow, we grabbed a cab for a wild ride to Bella's apartment and began our second stay in Moscow.
Our big adventure in finding our Servas host Larissa turned out to be a non adventure in the end. We had the address and Carol translated the letters from the Roman alphabet to the Cyrillic. Using my best cartographer skllls, learned at the knee of my Aunt Gerry who made me sit beside her on long drives and who gave me the map to read because: 1. It shut me up, 2. It kept me from bugging my other cousins, and 3. Where I was close enough for a swat across the head if I forgot numbers 1 and 2. We cousins always rode in Aunt Gerry’s car because that was the only way to insure that we’d arrive safely. Riding in my Mother’s car would have resulted in mass burial because she’d have killed us all what with the bickering , noise, and pestering that always went with a trip involving more than two of the six cousins,. But that’s another story.
Anyway, I found the street on the city map and noticed that it was also referred to as M11. While driving across the Russian countryside, I noticed that we were on a road labeled M11, and my brain started clicking. Thank you, Aunt Gerry. Sure enough, as we started entering St. Pete we were on Prospect Stachek, and as the numbers decreased, I showed the alternate driver, who was riding shotgun, the address and when we got to the right spot, he had the driver pull over, unloaded the bags from underneath the bus and we walked across the street: As simple as that.
Getting across the border from Estonia proved a little more difficult than in the Baltics only because there was a border guard who had nothing to do and decided to make herself official when she pulled us aside. We, the only non-Russian/non-Baltic persons on the bus so it seemed a little suspicious that we were randomly selected for more passport control. After checking the passports, she asked us for our insurance papers. Carol had her blue cross card and that was fine for her, but what about me. I had nothing. I’m a hanger on in the Insurance game. I just ride Carol’s coattails. So the handed us a paper which said that non insurance was cause to be denied entrance into Russia. We finally convinced her that it was a family coverage, or probably more truthful, she got tired of trying to extort money from us and when she really couldn’t communicate that fact. , It just wasn’t getting her anywhere. So we got back on the bus where everybody was waiting patiently. They’ve probably seen this act before, and one thing they did learn in the Soviet system was to be patient- except in lines, that is.
The family we stayed with in St. Pete was a great fit for us. Larissa is 50ish, her mother , the Babushka, is 85, and Macha is a 16 year old ball of fire who is so destined for success in life that she gives us a lot of optimism about the things to come in Russia. Larissa gave us her “Bedroom” for our stay and she slept on some contraption in the living room where the babushka and Macha also slept. Our bedroom was actually a fold-out couch, which served as the bed. This is how it was in all our Servas stays. An extra bedrooms and western style beds are luxuries that are not a reality for most Russians. The people have little to share, but like struggling people around the world, they are more willing to share what they do have.
St. Petersburg turned out to be a wonderful time, a wasted time, a huge disappointment, and a beautiful experience all rolled into one. What city of contrasts.
The wasted time came about as a result of our visa problems. When Aeroflot, the Russian airlines, changed our flight schedule, we had one night in Moscow before flying to Riga. That created all kinds of bureaucratic hassles for us. We arrived in Moscow on Saturday night and one of the first things a traveler has to do upon arrival in Russia is to have their visa “Registered.” There are official places where this is to be done, but because they were closed on Saturday night, and of course were closed on Sunday, we were told to register them when we arrived in St. Petersburg. That’s where the adventure part began. Larissa took us to the OVIR office to register the visas, but it was closed until Friday, too late to register the visas within the required 48 hours. The books said that we could have them registered at a special office or that we could pay the equivalent of a night’s room in a hotel and register them at the hotel.
We first went to a hotel mentioned in our Lonely Planet book. They were very nice about it, but told us that they didn’t have any rooms available, and therefore couldn’t register the visas. But if we went to the Moscow Hotel, they could do it for us because they are a large establishment and always have rooms. So, on to the Moscow Hotel where we met what Russians told us was their “I don’t give a shit,” attitude of officials, bureaucrats, and individuals who have some measure of control over other’s lives. We were told that they wouldn’t register the visas for us because we weren’t staying there. “Well, can’t we pay for a room for one night and get the visas registered that way?” “No!” “Why?” “Because you’re not staying here.” “Well, if we pay for a room for the night, doesn’t that mean we’d be staying here?” “No, you’re not staying here, you must go somewhere else.” “Where should we go?” “I don’t know.”
Never mind the hotel lost a room for the night and $100 in income with no effort. It wasn’t the woman’s intention to register the visas and there was nothing to do about it. I asked to see the manager and was told by two other people that working my way up the chain of command was pointless. The woman said no and that was the end of it.
So back to the book where it gave us the address of another place to get it done. After a lot of help from people on the street and others inside buildings, we finally arrived at a huge, macy-sized complex where the outside of the building is numbered, but the individual offices are not labeled or numbered. We thought we had gotten to the right place, but it turned out not to me. Looking very confused, flummoxed, and annoyed, an English speaking student offered help and we gladly accepted. Carol and I followed the spike-heeled woman on a 10 minute jaunt across St. Petersburg to our correct destination. We entered the office where we came face to face with real Russian bureaucracy. There were a couple of dozen people waiting for some official to do something and everybody was sullen to the nth degree. They all had a dazed, defeated look about them. A look that told us it would be a while to get this done here. We watched as an obviously ex-Soviet official dismissed visa requests, document signings, and other paper work with the same concise, blunt, condescending, “Nyet!”The official, a woman, would scowl and spew some harsh words. Yeah, I know all Russian sounds harsh to me, but this stuff was really harsh. The person being denied would hang their head, their shoulders would drop, and they had a resigned look on their faces that told us this was nothing new to them. They lived with it every day of their lives. Their spirits seemed to depart for places unknown as they picked up their pieces of paper and sadly headed for the door. After an hour or so when it was our turn we were, surprise met with courtesy and a smile, but were informed that she couldn’t do it. She suggested, in Russian, that we fax Moscow, (someone told us what she said.) but that seemed rife with problems and horrible results, so we decided to head back to the one place where they spoke English and were pleasant – the original hotel we had attempted to get the visas registered. We told Kate, the girl at the desk now, our run-around problems, and she called the Neva Hotel, and they said they would do it for us for $20. We were jubilant and headed for the hotel. Upon our arrival, things seemed to be going smoothly when we heard this almost inaudible “Oh-oh” from her. Because we hadn’t registered the visa on our original day in Moscow, she couldn't do it. “Yes, but it was Sunday and so it was impossible.” We responded. “Yes, I understand that, but you didn’t do it.” Came the answer. “Yes, but we couldn’t. We can’t be punished for something that was impossible to do, can we?” That was met with a shrug of the shoulders and no other response. It’s like punishing us for the fact that we didn’t visit the MIR space station or something that was impossible to accomplish. In the end we were told to pay $100 for failure to follow the rules, and if we didn’t like it we could go to the central office and complain.
We were already eight hours into this whole process and had walked and talked ourselves silly, retraced our steps several times and were back where we had started without resolution. The next morning we started off on day two of the visa runaround. We went to the central office and since it opened at 10 a.m. we got there at 9:30. There was a group of people waiting in one area, but we were told to go to another office and wait by another door until it opened. ‘Great. We’re the only ones in line, we’ll be first. If it sounds too simple, you’re way ahead of us. When the office opened, here came the large group of people we’d already seen, and now they already had numbers for the queue. Therefore, when we signed in, we were number 12, not a happy thought.
The office closed at noon, and the line was moving none too quickly. We began to get seriously concerned that this wasn’t going to work any better than previous efforts, but a nice woman told us, in English, what number they were working on, and when we finally got into the office, we found a single woman sitting alone in the office without any paper work, books, manuals, or anything else. She just sat there behind a desk dispensing “Justice” at the whim of her individual fancy.
We told the official our situation, but of course, she didn’t speak English, so I went outside and asked the English speaking woman to come in and translate for me. She told the official of our plight and the official nodded. The official left the office and returned with a pen, a piece of paper, and god bless, that wonderful indispensible item of Russian bureaucracy, a stamp. She wrote out a scribbled note and stamped it. She told us to return, oh-oh, to the original hotel and we’d be taken care of. The English speaking woman who helped us was #16, but since she was already in the office, she got to jump the queue and she was thrilled.
To end this sorry tale, we took the stamped paper back to the hotel, the clerk who had said she could do nothing, looked at the stamped piece of paper, promptly threw it in the trash can and registered the visa into the hotel register without charge. She now had the official okay so everything was good. The whole process too two minutes in the hotel, but couldn’t be done without the official stamp allowing her to do so. The essential bureaucratic idiocy of the whole process is that it doesn’t get entered into any kind of a data base. The woman who stamped the piece of paper, did nothing else except stamp a piece of paper. The hotel doesn’t send the information anywhere or enter it into their books. The officials have no idea where it was registered or whether it was done officially or not. So after 14 hours of official hassle, we now had a stamp in our passports which would allow us to leave the country. The refusal to leave is a really scary thought. I’m sure we could have hastened the problem if we’d greased a palm or two, but that in itself is a scary thought. We didn’t wasn’t to get accused of doing anything illegal, so we got to see some areas of Moscow on a much closer basis than we would have otherwise.
We left with our passports having the magic stamp, and a brand new realization of what the average Russian must deal with. I honestly can’t imagine what this nightmare must be like day after day after day. They are a resilient people. We talked to people about the process and they just gave that look of: “and your point is?” It’s just the way things are done. Nobody knew why, but rules are rules, so it has to be done that way. I wish you could have seen Carol’s face when the girl threw the paper into the trash. After all we’d been through, it was an absolutely fitting end to the ludicrous nature of the whole episode. The process became a very useful tool un understanding Russia today.
Finally, we could explore St. Petersburg.
Larissa and Macha were wonderful hosts and took much time to ensure that our time was well spent, at least what was left of it. I'm sure the city can be very beautiful. I've seen stunning photos of it when it's wearing its best clothes, but that was not the case on our visit. It was late winter. The snow had melted but had left behind a dinginess that comes when all the dirt and grime which accumulates over the winter has not yet been cleaned up. It's like a car which has traveled through snowy conditions and has had the puddles splash up on the sides of the car. So too were the buildings, streets, and sidewalks. It was like walking through an inch of dust everywhere. This is not to criticize but to explain. Naturally, the winters are very harsh, and it takes time to get things back in order. But Larissa also told us that the post-Soviet experience was not a pleasant one. They had their financial crisis in 1998 and things were not yet stabilized. She, along with possibly millions of Russians, lost everything she had saved and had to start all over again.
The trolley tracks were in desperate need of repair. We weren't sure if this was caused by the harsh winters where the frozen ground heaves and twists any and everything attached to it, or just the lack of civic order. But the trolleys travel very slowly, barely faster than walking speed in order to stay on the tracks.
Our two Servas hosts, Larissa and Bella in Moscow were dynamic women who put their energies and education to use and have made successes of their lives and their families. Interestingly, neither had men in their lives. Both husbands floundered with the fall of the Soviet system. We passed parks on our city tour and Larissa just scoffed at the lassitude of the men in Russia today. Under the Soviet system, she told us: "They didn't have to show up to work ready to work, they never got fired for lack of productivity,and no matter what they did, they always had a job." Now, however, all those things do matter, and they are lost, and hence, you can see them in the parks, drunk on vodka at any time of the day or night. They are totally lost. After generations of not having to take responsibility for their actions, the rules have changed, and they are not happy campers.
Larissa's mother, the babushka as they called her, was a very interesting character. She was born before the 1917 revolution and lived to see it fall. She was a teacher and still believed in the system as one that improved people's lives. She was sad to see the changes that befell her country. Carol was particularly impressed by what she saw as a woman of dignity and class. Carol had given her a necklace she had brought from home and the babushka wore day and night. She was so pleased that someone had given her something she really liked. Macha, the daughter, is a fireball teenager, and Larissa told us that the hope of the country is in these kids at her school who are totally motivated and committed to making their lives better.
The Hermitage, one of the oldest and most respected museums in the world with almost three million items on display was, indeed, everything it was cracked up to be. It comprises, several museums, amongst them the Winter Palace of the Czars. We didn't have nearly enough time there, but what we did see showed us that they did not exaggerate in their descriptions.
Our time in St. Pete ended, we took the overnight train to Moscow. We shared a four berth cabin with a married Chinese couple who were medical students in Moscow. Upo our arrival in Moscow, we grabbed a cab for a wild ride to Bella's apartment and began our second stay in Moscow.
Midnight in Moscow
On our first arrival in Moscow, my 60th birthday, Bella took us on a car tour of downtown before going to her apartment. She must have had some intuition of what it would mean to us. Even in my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged, suddenly senior citizen status, it was a thrill to see the flood-lit Kremlin and the onion domed St. Basil’s cathedral.
Years of seeing TV pictures of troops marching and tanks and missiles rolling across Red Square had merely whetted my appetite to see this political symbol of the struggle between good and evil as the propagandists had led me to believe for all my formative years. So it was to Red Square that we first headed upon our return at the end of the trip. It did not disappoint.
Red Square is strictly regulated as to when you can enter the public square. Even though it is not inside the Kremlin’s walls, the police set up barricades and from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. And you can only enter through one gate which leads you to that yellowing, moldy, fungus-breeding figure of Lenin lying in state, as he has since 1924. The huge lines to see him are no because, if the pictures of the continuous lines were correct, then surely everybody in Russia must have already seen him over the years. But the reality is probably because interest in the whole Soviet thing is now really more a curiosity than a rite of passage.
In this case, there was no waiting. There was a somewhat drunk man in front of us supported by a woman. Proper “Respect” is still enforced by the multitude of military guards on hand. No talking, no whispering, no funny gestures, no improper body language is allowed. That is absolute. It seems odd that although the people have rejected his policies, and large parts of the population see him as an evil being, you have to keep the same demeanor as when the Soviets reigned. The fact is that his body is somewhat of a political hot potato. Nobody knows just what they should do with this symbol of the revolution who was elevated to mythical status during “The Soviet Time.” After almost 80 years of lying there, the only thing that is certain is that it’s pretty ugly at this point.
Upon viewing Lenin in the red marble tomb which served as the viewing stage for the top Communist leaders and the annual May Day parade, the path leads behind the tomb to where the heroes of the Soviet Union are buried beneath the Kremlin Walls. We really wanted to see the grave of John Reid, or Djon Rid, as they say in Russian. Remember Warren Beatty’s movie “Reds?” That was the story of the American Communist who wrote the book, “Ten days that shook the world,” and still remains the definitive work on the revolution. He is the only American, I wonder why?, to be buried beneath the Kremlin walls.
After seeing all the plots and plaques, we were shuffled out of the square and we walked around to the ticket booth for our entry to the Kremlin proper. It is a huge structure. Kremlin really means fort in Russians, so there are Kremlins everywhere in Russia, but this one is the real deal. It’s a huge affair. A long red-bricked triangular wall with a perimeter of almost two miles, topped with towers at various points. The tomb of the Unknown Soldier is just outside, and entering the Kremlin proper is still very popular with visitors. There are various churches and museums inside. The Tsar’s jewels and regalia are still on display, at an extra $10, of course. Then finally around to the other side and Red Square now opened because Lenin’s tomb is closed and the mass of people just milling around, doing photo op’s like us of course, and going through St. Basils. It was as big thrill as I had always thought it would be. Kind of like finally getting to macchu Picchu in Peru, this was another “biggie.”
Part of the photo op thing are the dozens of wedding parties who go to Red Square and the Kremlin to have their photos taken. Most people get married by civil authorities, the Russian equivalent of a Las Vegas elopement. But the difference is that it’s done in full regalia. Flowing white gowns, suited grooms, and the whole following entourage are all in tow. There will be groups of wedding parties all lined up for that perfect angle of everybody in front of St. Basils, Lenin’s tomb, and various other picturesque spots. One tradition is that the wedding couples have their pictures taken in front of the tomb of the Unknown Soldier and then leave part of the flowers in tribute. They may have rejected Communism, but there is still a tremendous understanding of the suffering of the Russian people during WWII. Losing 20 million people will do that to you. More civilians in St. Petersburg died during the siege than the combined military casualties of the U.S. and Britain.
Red Square figured in another memorable day in Moscow. May Day is no longer celebrated in Russia as a military showcase. The tanks no longer rumble through the square, nor do the Russian leaders rattle their sabers, but it is still part of a general four-day holiday and don’t try to tell the unrepentant Communists in the general population that it’s not a special day. On May 1st, we went back to the square and there was a huge demonstration going on just outside the square proper. Thousands of people all clad in red, singing the “Internazionale” wearing all their Soviet medals, waving their huge hammer and cycle flags, all made it a moving day. Just as big as if the missiles had been on display.
These old Communists do believe. Never doubt that! There were many “Passionate” discussions going on. Vehement, nose to nose, arm-waving arguments might be closer to the real picture. But feelings still run deep on all sides of “ The Soviet Time.” Actually, they block off Red Square to keep them from demonstrating in front of Lenin’s tomb, tut there are still are areas to have demonstrations.
At first we hesitantly asked if we could take video of some of the medal-laden people. But when asked for their photo, they absolutely puffed up like peacocks. They are very proudly they have not meekly gone back into the closet to ponder their bad fortune of history. They wear their political feelings openly and proudly. There wasn’t a one who hesitated to be filmed.
We had many other wonderful , memorable experiences in Moscow. It’s a fascinating city. The whole political and social climate makes for an exciting, if troubling time for Muscovites. But Red Square and the Kremlin will be at the focal point of our reflections in many different ways.
Years of seeing TV pictures of troops marching and tanks and missiles rolling across Red Square had merely whetted my appetite to see this political symbol of the struggle between good and evil as the propagandists had led me to believe for all my formative years. So it was to Red Square that we first headed upon our return at the end of the trip. It did not disappoint.
Red Square is strictly regulated as to when you can enter the public square. Even though it is not inside the Kremlin’s walls, the police set up barricades and from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. And you can only enter through one gate which leads you to that yellowing, moldy, fungus-breeding figure of Lenin lying in state, as he has since 1924. The huge lines to see him are no because, if the pictures of the continuous lines were correct, then surely everybody in Russia must have already seen him over the years. But the reality is probably because interest in the whole Soviet thing is now really more a curiosity than a rite of passage.
In this case, there was no waiting. There was a somewhat drunk man in front of us supported by a woman. Proper “Respect” is still enforced by the multitude of military guards on hand. No talking, no whispering, no funny gestures, no improper body language is allowed. That is absolute. It seems odd that although the people have rejected his policies, and large parts of the population see him as an evil being, you have to keep the same demeanor as when the Soviets reigned. The fact is that his body is somewhat of a political hot potato. Nobody knows just what they should do with this symbol of the revolution who was elevated to mythical status during “The Soviet Time.” After almost 80 years of lying there, the only thing that is certain is that it’s pretty ugly at this point.
Upon viewing Lenin in the red marble tomb which served as the viewing stage for the top Communist leaders and the annual May Day parade, the path leads behind the tomb to where the heroes of the Soviet Union are buried beneath the Kremlin Walls. We really wanted to see the grave of John Reid, or Djon Rid, as they say in Russian. Remember Warren Beatty’s movie “Reds?” That was the story of the American Communist who wrote the book, “Ten days that shook the world,” and still remains the definitive work on the revolution. He is the only American, I wonder why?, to be buried beneath the Kremlin walls.
After seeing all the plots and plaques, we were shuffled out of the square and we walked around to the ticket booth for our entry to the Kremlin proper. It is a huge structure. Kremlin really means fort in Russians, so there are Kremlins everywhere in Russia, but this one is the real deal. It’s a huge affair. A long red-bricked triangular wall with a perimeter of almost two miles, topped with towers at various points. The tomb of the Unknown Soldier is just outside, and entering the Kremlin proper is still very popular with visitors. There are various churches and museums inside. The Tsar’s jewels and regalia are still on display, at an extra $10, of course. Then finally around to the other side and Red Square now opened because Lenin’s tomb is closed and the mass of people just milling around, doing photo op’s like us of course, and going through St. Basils. It was as big thrill as I had always thought it would be. Kind of like finally getting to macchu Picchu in Peru, this was another “biggie.”
Part of the photo op thing are the dozens of wedding parties who go to Red Square and the Kremlin to have their photos taken. Most people get married by civil authorities, the Russian equivalent of a Las Vegas elopement. But the difference is that it’s done in full regalia. Flowing white gowns, suited grooms, and the whole following entourage are all in tow. There will be groups of wedding parties all lined up for that perfect angle of everybody in front of St. Basils, Lenin’s tomb, and various other picturesque spots. One tradition is that the wedding couples have their pictures taken in front of the tomb of the Unknown Soldier and then leave part of the flowers in tribute. They may have rejected Communism, but there is still a tremendous understanding of the suffering of the Russian people during WWII. Losing 20 million people will do that to you. More civilians in St. Petersburg died during the siege than the combined military casualties of the U.S. and Britain.
Red Square figured in another memorable day in Moscow. May Day is no longer celebrated in Russia as a military showcase. The tanks no longer rumble through the square, nor do the Russian leaders rattle their sabers, but it is still part of a general four-day holiday and don’t try to tell the unrepentant Communists in the general population that it’s not a special day. On May 1st, we went back to the square and there was a huge demonstration going on just outside the square proper. Thousands of people all clad in red, singing the “Internazionale” wearing all their Soviet medals, waving their huge hammer and cycle flags, all made it a moving day. Just as big as if the missiles had been on display.
These old Communists do believe. Never doubt that! There were many “Passionate” discussions going on. Vehement, nose to nose, arm-waving arguments might be closer to the real picture. But feelings still run deep on all sides of “ The Soviet Time.” Actually, they block off Red Square to keep them from demonstrating in front of Lenin’s tomb, tut there are still are areas to have demonstrations.
At first we hesitantly asked if we could take video of some of the medal-laden people. But when asked for their photo, they absolutely puffed up like peacocks. They are very proudly they have not meekly gone back into the closet to ponder their bad fortune of history. They wear their political feelings openly and proudly. There wasn’t a one who hesitated to be filmed.
We had many other wonderful , memorable experiences in Moscow. It’s a fascinating city. The whole political and social climate makes for an exciting, if troubling time for Muscovites. But Red Square and the Kremlin will be at the focal point of our reflections in many different ways.
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