Epic Journeys

I was never more ready to leave a location then when I boarded our train the night of February 12. A nagging panic returned after the lights came up on the Moscow Circus an hour prior. It was a fantastic show of talent and bravado. Horses, elephants, lions and more circled the ring below us. The ring master earned a constant roar of applause from the crowds above. Amusingly, he sounded like Count Dracula with his bellowing showman’s voice. For me, however, it was a welcome distraction from the black market dealing I had participated in earlier that afternoon. For a few hours I forgot about the peril in which I could have found myself.

 

Our group had checked out of Hotel Rossiyia earlier in the day and loaded our luggage on our Intourist buses. Now our group was standing alongside our buses bidding farewell to our Russian guide Svetlana. Braving teh cold we waved and called out our collective ‘Danke Schoen!’ for her services. She seemed to appreciate our affections and for the first time emitted a smile. That is a another puzzling aspect of Russia. No one smiles. In all the interactions we had over the past six days, both in Leningrad and Moscow, no one smiled. Ever. 

 

I personally encountered hundreds of people in the week’s time I was in the USSR. There were the Aeroflot stewardesses, our bus driver, the train conductors, shop keepers, and restaurant waiters. There were factory workers and stewards, party representatives and museum guides. All were reserved and tight lipped. I did not understand the flat expression that was the facial uniform of the typical Russian citizen I met. What a stark contrast to the carefree spirit I was raised in as an American. 

 

Having made our goodbyes and the memorable smile from Svetlana tucked into our hearts, the three score members of our group made our way into the towering Moscow Train Station. I had my head on a swivel as we moved along the platform. In part to intercept any vagabonds wishing to tote my suitcase. Secondly, to brace myself if a pair of trench-coats slipped their hands underneath my arms and hauled me away. 

 

Safely ensconced in my assigned compartment I was pleased to discover that only my friend Bruce and I were its occupants. Our beds had been made up and we were all too ready to fall asleep in the inviting blankets. Soon the clickity-clack and the sway of the cars sent us into a restful night’s slumber.

 

The morning dawned through our windows as we sped westward towards Kiev. Swinging my legs over the bed I greeted Bruce just waking himself. Yawning, we both remarked on the uneventful night just past. Now, peering out the compartment window we saw the snowy Ukrainian landscape pass by. It was quite rural with the random barn or outbuilding poking out from the flat white fields. 

We learned that breakfast was available in one of the forward cars so we hastened to get dressed and venture in search for food. We were among the first to rise and found the humble dining car almost empty. The wait staff was still setting out dishes and pointed to a booth where we could have a seat. Sitting there I watched as one of the waiters came over to the booth opposite and lifted one of the seats. Bending over he pulled out two loaves of Russian black bread. Tucking them under his arms he gently set the seat back down. Turning back towards the kitchen he stopped at a counter and proceeded to cut the loaves into thick slices. He then returned to our booth and set down before us a plate of freshly cut bread. 

 

Both Bruce and I ogled at the texture and color of the slices. I had never before seen such beautiful pieces of bread. They invited sampling and we eagerly broke off pieces to taste. As is my custom, I first brought the bread to my nose to breath in its smell. The aroma was intoxicating. I then sampled the sturdy piece and felt my tastebuds explode. It was sacramental. This was a signature experience I can still recall these many years later - Where I was sitting. What direction the train was moving. The simple pleasure and sublime satisfaction of that moment.

 

I hardly noticed that other passengers began to enter the dining car. Bruce and I had begun to discuss this holy bread before us. We talked joyfully of food and meals we had had. Then we decided we would ask if we could purchase a loaf to bring back with us to Austria. Summoning the waiter we made our inquiry. “Of course you can.” he replied in broken English.  “We have much bread. All seat benches have dozens of loaves, fresh bread.” We couldn’t believe our good fortune. Asking and receiving the answer, ‘One Kopeck each!’ We gladly dug into our pockets and even gave him a tip for his kindness. 

​

Later than morning we pulled into the main station in Kiev. As we stepped of the train we were greeted by a band! We gathered together in a semicircle and stood by our luggage. Our tour leaders were beckoned forward as a representatives of the city greeted them. Standing close to the front I watched as two young women dressed in colorful traditional costumes stepped out. They each held in their hands a woven basket. The city leader then presented both baskets to our tour leader and said in German, “Welcome to Kiev. It is our tradition to offer guests salt and bread. Thank you for visiting.” At that the band struck up another number and everyone turned to enjoy the music. 

 

It still being February we were glad to get out of the cold and hustle onto two awaiting Intourist buses at the conclusion of the formal welcome. Last on the bus was our Ukrainian guide. He introduced himself as Viktor and said he would escort us through the city. He explained that it would be a long day as we were to return to the train station later that night and head west for our return home to Austria. He was sorry that we only had such a short time in this magical city and hoped we would enjoy it. 

 

We drove into the town center passing many unique and fanciful buildings. Victor’s introduction had whet my appetite to learn more about this ‘magical city’ and I awaited him to begin his narration. Miles passed in silence. Seizing the opportunity I leaned forward and said, “This is my first time in Kiev, I would love to learn more about the city.” Turning, and seemingly not accustomed to being addressed by a stranger he replied, “Well enough then.” Taking up the microphone he began to speak. What came forth was clearly a memorized recitation of data. He seemed to take no joy in sharing the historical origins of the place. What he shared was architectural in scope. Such and such a building was built at a certain date and had so many floors. The bridge we were passing over was of this specification in length and width. It was dreadful. 

 

Our first stop was a hotel. He called it our ‘Eating Hotel’. We would have our three meals here in succession throughout the day. “First up is breakfast, and please leave your luggage behind.” came his clear and crisp instructions. Even our Austrian leaders looked sideways at each other about our guide for the day. 

 

Following this quick respite we were back on the bus for a number of stops before we needed to return for lunch. Our first destination was Saint - Sophia Cathedral. Perched atop a hill it gave an amazing view of the city that lay below. Its facade was dazzling white and was crowned with a myriad of golden onion shaped domes. It was larger and more impressive than any building we had seen in Moscow or Leningrad. Viktor led us inside and we were dwarfed by the size of the sanctuary. The walls were covered with mosaics from floor to towering ceiling. It was orthodox in style and smell. Glinting gold and centuries old incense filled our eyes and noses. Viktor, true to form rattled off dimensions and dates to a now disinterested audience. He led us back outside and we were free to roam about and take pictures or buy a postcard. 

 

Soon we were back at our ‘Eating Hotel’ for lunch. Borscht was served with dollops of sour cream and a chunk of black bread. It was hardy and satisfying. Heading back to the bus, Viktor called out, “There’s more to see, come, come now!” Fortunately, our next stop was at a distance and not a few of us dozed grateful for Viktor’s obtuse silence. The arrival of low slung clouds added to our growing discontent. 

 

We arrived at the famous Lavra Monastery. It sat above the wide and frozen Dnieper River. Like its sister, the St. Sophia Cathedral, the Lavra Monastery is a white wedding cake with golden candles. The main attraction was its catacombs. Nearly 1,000 years old the subterranean tunnels run on for miles. We gained entrance through a door in the sanctuary. We carefully descended steps into the dark netherworld. Slowly we walked single file through eerie hallways. All along the walls were niches for bones and skulls, many exposed. 

 

Further along shelves were cut into the stone and glass covered caskets were set in rows upon the ledges. Within each casket lay a skeleton shrouded in satin garments. Over the face was laid an embroidered coverlet. Upon it was stitched the vital details of the deceased. Protruding from the waist was a skeletal hand resting on the chest. A ghoulish reminder of mortality. I located Viktor to explain the origins and practice of this ancient morgue. Listening disinterestedly, he rattled off statistics that seemed to give no bearing on my question. I wanted to throttle him so he could join his lifeless companions! 

 

Once more we retuned to our Eating Hotel. This time we were served a delicacy - beef tongue. Surrounded by a scoop of potatoes and cabbage it was too close to our viewing of the saintly corpses at the monastery. Many of us found we had lost our appetite.  Our long day grew longer. We had one final stop. We were to be guests at a Youth Center and a chance to meet with local soviet young people. We endured a program of 2 1/2 hours; skits, songs, a short film and speeches. All meant to be edifying for the youth and future of the Soviet Union. 

​

At the end of the program a bright 50 something man arose and encouraged everyone to mix and meet one another. He assured us that these young Ukrainians were eager to practice their German with us. When he stepped aside most of the Ukrainian Youth slipped away as well. It was now a gymnasium filled mostly with Austrians too tired to engage and a couple dozen soviet adult chaperones. 

 

It was then that I realized the awful truth of our tour of the Soviet Union. We were window dressing. We tour participants had bought into the idea that the Austrian - Soviet Friendship Society was about friendship. In reality it was a ploy. We were being used as props to show the Soviet youth that ‘People from the West were free to come and visit the Soviet Union!’ Sadly, the opposite was not possible. Later I asked our Austrian guides if there had been a reciprocal visit of Soviet youths to Austria. There had never been one. 

 

It was a sour way to end our final leg of our tour of Russia. Most of the Austrian students on the trip had become jaded. We enjoyed the novelty of visiting this forbidden country. However, once we looked behind the curtain it was a Potemkin village. We were all glad to leave and looked forward to returning home. We all trudged out of the Youth Center and boarded our bus. Our final stop was getting back on our train for Vienna. It was a full day’s journey ahead but we were all too exhausted. We relished the idea  of sleeping and watching the land pass by. We stowed our luggage and once again found our sleeping compartments. Falling asleep I was not prepared for the nightmare that would visit me the following day.  

 

To Continue the Epic Kiev Journey Click