Epic Journeys

In 1980, Sarah and I moved to Austria. We had always dreamed of living in Europe. In fact, before we were married we shared two goals; start a family and live in Europe. Realizing that once children arrived our mobility would be limited, we decided to plan for Europe first. In June of 1980, the two of us moved to Graz, Austria and set up home. 

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That summer we both enrolled in German language classes and began traveling on weekends. By fall I was able to pass the entrance exam for Karl Francis University and began taking courses taught in German. Sarah had befriended musicians in the Graz Opera and was invited to take classes with the ballet Company. 

 

That winter a classmate of mine told be about a club of which he was a member; the Austrian - Soviet Friendship Society. They were planning a tour of the Soviet Union and asked if I was interested. I jumped at the chance. Later that winter I joined this group of 60 Austrians and flew into the USSR. Sarah stayed behind with a Canadian couple whose husband played hockey internationally. 

 

It turns out the early 1980’s was an exciting time to travel to Russia. In December, 1979 the Soviet Union had invaded Afghanistan. In protest, America decided to boycott the 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow. The Iranian Revolution was in full swing and 52 American hostages were still being held in Tehran. Russia looked on with Schadenfreude. 

 

The 30 year year long Cold War had once again become frigid. It was similar to the temperature when my Aeroflot jet landed in Leningrad in February, 1981. A set of stairs was pushed to the side of our plane and I joined my fellow passengers descend the steps. A cold wind greeted us on the exposed tarmac as we trudged towards the terminal. I felt as if I were trespassing on forbidden ground. Going through customs everyone had to declare how much currency they were bringing into the country. It was a slow and laborious process all done by hand and in triplicate. Quite innocently, I wrote down both the Austrian Schillings and the few American Dollars I carried in my wallet. This would come back to haunt me. 

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As we exited the airport and boarded our bus we were greeted by a charming yet serioius Intourist guide, Svetlana. She was to be our constant companion for the entire trip. Intourist was the name of the sole tourist agency of the Soviet Union. They had no need for private companies. It was, after all, a workers paradise! 

 

Our group stayed outside of Leningrad on the coast of the Gulf of Finland. Our accommodation was the new Pribaltiyskaya Hotel. It was a towering steel complex jutting out from the frozen landscape. A singular node of habitation safely isolated from the locals in the city. The views from our hotel rooms gave way to wintry landscapes reminiscent of Dr. Zhivago. The interior spaces were a series of wide corridors and high-ceilinged conference rooms. It contained over 2,000 beds.

 

A funny thing happened on my first night in Russia. As a single traveler, I was randomly paired with one of the Austrian chaperones. It turns out my roommate snored. In the middle of the night I was awakened by the rumble of my co-inhabitant’s breathing. At first I tried covering my ears with my pillow to muffle the sound. To no avail. After tossing and turning, I finally reached over from my twin bed and gave him a jostle. He woke up and blearily stared at this stranger next to him. As I tried to explain the situation I realized that I did not know the German word for snoring. Summoning my best skills of imitation I began to make snoring sounds myself! He seemed to understand and rolled over. Ten minutes later his solo performance resumed. 

 

Ultimately, I got up from my bed and discovered the mattress was removable. Lifting it up I carried it into the bathroom. There I set it into the bathtub and climbed in. I pulled the blanket over me and managed to fall asleep. In the morning I was awakened when the bathroom lights flashed on. My roommate had walked in and discovered me in the bathtub. With joint embarrassment I clambered out and he apologized profusely. Fortunately, I was assigned a single room for the remainder of my stays in Russia and slept wonderfully every night.

 

The city of Leningrad has a fascinating history. Originally its marshy shoreline was the site of a fishing village. Dredged and drained by Peter the Great, the innovative Czar named it St. Petersburg. Later it was renamed Petrograd, after the Bolshevik Revolution it became Leningrad. After the fall of the Berlin Wall it returned to St. Petersburg. Significantly, throughout is history, it has been called the ‘Window to the West’. This appellation captures one of the on going contradictions of Russia. It is a Slavic nation that idolizes and abhors Europe. Sometimes the window is open. Most of the time the window to the west is firmly shut. 

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Our days in Leningrad were spent touring the important sites of the city. Every day our group would ride two large red and white buses, appropriately marked with Intourist signage. We then drove down extremely wide boulevards with scant traffic. Private cars were not to be found. Only buses, taxis and trucks traversed the roads. We walked through the massive St. Isaac Cathedral.  It had been ‘decommissioned’ as a church and was now a public space with a Foucault Pendulum swinging over the center nave. It appeared to be a reference to the empirical strength of science over against the emotional facade of religion. Its side walls were filled with black and white photos of the Siege of Leningrad. Colorful mosaics were overlapped with stark images of war. 

 

We then toured the massive Hermitage Museum. The former Winter Palace of the Czars, this enormous structure beggars description. So much gold! Inside we walked through dozens and dozens of galleries filled with masterpieces, including Rembrandts and Picassos. I was struck by the giant painting by Matisse called ‘The Dancers’. It hung nonchalantly in one of grand staircases of the palace. It was a stunning and surprising piece with its bold primary colors. The curators perhaps were not sure if its value was going up or down and so it was well suited for a stairwell. 

 

We also toured St. Peter and Paul Prison island complex. Here political prisoners have languished before trial. Famous residents included Dostoevsky, Lenin’s brother - Aleksandr and Gorky. After their trials they were uniformly sent east to Siberia. We stopped as well at the Aurora battleship. It fired a shot that announced the 1917 Revolution.

 

As we returned to our hotel after our first day of touring, our bus passed through blocks and blocks of apartment buildings. At each stoplight I looked out the window and observed that these structures were almost all identical in size, shape and off-white color. Sitting towards the front of the bus I asked our guide about the buildings. She proudly said they were for workers’ families.  'It was an example of affordable housing for all.' The following day, when returning from touring we passed along the same canyon of apartment blocks. I asked to get off the bus. I said I wanted to walk back to our hotel. Svetlana explained that there was nothing to see here. I agreed but said I wanted to get some exercise. Finally she relented and at the next block the bus stopped and let me off. 

 

As the bus pulled away I slowly walked  across the street to the enormous buildings. I was curious to inspect such a colorless lego-like amalgamation of structures. A cracked sidewalk ran parallel between the road and the front of the buildings. Identical windows looked out on the street and rose symmetrically some ten stories. Being late afternoon, I was surprised by the lack of activity on the sidewalks or inside the darkened windows. 

 

I decided to walk around to the rear of the building and get my bearings. As I came to the back yard space I beheld a rusted swing-set that had seen better days. A few children idled about while a pair were swinging back and forth on seats. Walking closer the the apartment building I was shocked by its dilapidated condition. Bricks and mortar were missing and the paint was peeling. I guessed there had been no upkeep for at least a decade. I was surprised by how run down the backside of the apartment was compared with the front facing facade. It could easily be called a slum.

 

I wandered from building to building and found them dreadfully similar. It was easy to get turned around and forget where I had entered this labyrinth of poverty. Slowly I became reoriented and found the main highway that lead to the Pribaltiyskaya Hotel. Walking into the large interior I was struck by the contrast of our living space with that of citizens just a half mile away. 

 

On another day, I asked to get off the bus on our way to the city. Our daily route into Leningrad passed another feature that seemed odd and piqued my interest. For blocks on our left side ran a wooden fence that stretched on for blocks. I thought it might be a construction site but could not detect any cranes poking out over the the fence line. All that I could see were barren tree tops against the gray winter sky. Once again I asked Svetlana and she said that if was nothing of interest. We were stopping for lunch some six blocks ahead. I said I would meet the group there in a half hour. 

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To Continue the Epic Journey in Leningrad Click 

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