Memories of Marxist Moscow - A collage - Part I
January 3rd 2007 06:51
Before the Berlin Wall came down I had the opportunity to travel through Moscow alone and eventually become stranded there .. as everything teetered on the brink of the end of the communist paradigm ... here is a collage of mental images from that incredible adventure...
The condensation from the overhead rack splashes onto my forehead. I marvel at Russian resourcefulness in turning ex-B-52 bombers into international passenger airliners to attract western dollars. I briefly remember my hunger for this experience when I first learned about this newest invention. Of course, the seats are way too small, and the air-conditioning cannot cope with the tropics, but this is progress. Drip … drip … drip …
Time for a scotch… The air-hostess looks like she has been time-shifted. She appraises me with a dispassionate gaze and neon-blue eye-lids. She looks awkward, out of place. Her clothes seem tight and loose, all at the same time, and her body looks … sectioned. It’s as though each segment is separate from the other and has only recently been re-assembled on some insane robot conveyer belt.
“Could I please have a small whiskey,” I ask.
“Nyet,” she replies.
So this is what Tashkent looks like from five thousand feet. It should be listed under bleak in the dictionary. It’s just a short stop amid mountainous, swirling cold grey, whilst they unload the mail and the chickens. A sleeping drunk Russian with bad breath and white whiskers keeps lolling into my lap from the seat next to me. I prop him up again and stuff a pillow between us. It is mid-winter, 1989 and the Berlin wall is still standing proud and globally forgotten.
When it first opened, Moscow airport was a surprise to western preconceptions. It sparkled with bright lights and western-styled marble opulence. There were no bread cues or starving masses anywhere. There were shops, duty free, restaurants and a café, a regular western-styled airport like any other…. well almost...
‘Soviet Airlines, Aeroflot regrets to inform passengers that Flight SU241 from Moscow to London will be delayed for 14 hours.’
A sizeable group of travellers are instantly stranded like whales upon a pristine marble shoreline. Airport officials soon arrive and herd them into a small pod, which seats itself in a protective circle, now as painfully unwanted as refuse upon a pure white sheet. A large bottle of scotch appears from someone’s hand luggage and there is a loud cheer.
An hour later, a solitary airport official appears from nowhere to address a somewhat inebriated and rowdy group sitting in a circle amidst pure white… His words and thick accent echo across the eerie silence that has fallen – hitherto unnoticed - around the revellers. There are no other people anywhere now, the shops have all been closed and there are no more flights today, in or out. There is total silence as the gravity of the situation settles...
“You vill all taik bus to Hoitel,” he says simply and points to the door.
I would often sit with my father as a young adult and listen to story’s about his remarkable life during the war, the Hungarian uprising of 1956, and communism in general.
“I was 16 at the time of the Nazi invasion of Hungary,” he would tell me. “I had been rounded-up with a dozen others once, to be shot. I could speak six languages then, including Russian, and by luck the officer in charge of the firing squad needed an interpreter, so I was spared.”
“That was an extreme time,” he’d continue. “Communism like that is scary without the Nazi’s anyway. If they wanted to take you away and dispose of you, they would just do it, no questions asked. There are no individual rights within a communist regime like that, not like those you have grown up with in England and Australia,” he’d say.
The condensation from the overhead rack splashes onto my forehead. I marvel at Russian resourcefulness in turning ex-B-52 bombers into international passenger airliners to attract western dollars. I briefly remember my hunger for this experience when I first learned about this newest invention. Of course, the seats are way too small, and the air-conditioning cannot cope with the tropics, but this is progress. Drip … drip … drip …
Time for a scotch… The air-hostess looks like she has been time-shifted. She appraises me with a dispassionate gaze and neon-blue eye-lids. She looks awkward, out of place. Her clothes seem tight and loose, all at the same time, and her body looks … sectioned. It’s as though each segment is separate from the other and has only recently been re-assembled on some insane robot conveyer belt.
“Could I please have a small whiskey,” I ask.
“Nyet,” she replies.
<<>>
So this is what Tashkent looks like from five thousand feet. It should be listed under bleak in the dictionary. It’s just a short stop amid mountainous, swirling cold grey, whilst they unload the mail and the chickens. A sleeping drunk Russian with bad breath and white whiskers keeps lolling into my lap from the seat next to me. I prop him up again and stuff a pillow between us. It is mid-winter, 1989 and the Berlin wall is still standing proud and globally forgotten.
<<>>
When it first opened, Moscow airport was a surprise to western preconceptions. It sparkled with bright lights and western-styled marble opulence. There were no bread cues or starving masses anywhere. There were shops, duty free, restaurants and a café, a regular western-styled airport like any other…. well almost...
<<>>
‘Soviet Airlines, Aeroflot regrets to inform passengers that Flight SU241 from Moscow to London will be delayed for 14 hours.’
<<>>
A sizeable group of travellers are instantly stranded like whales upon a pristine marble shoreline. Airport officials soon arrive and herd them into a small pod, which seats itself in a protective circle, now as painfully unwanted as refuse upon a pure white sheet. A large bottle of scotch appears from someone’s hand luggage and there is a loud cheer.
An hour later, a solitary airport official appears from nowhere to address a somewhat inebriated and rowdy group sitting in a circle amidst pure white… His words and thick accent echo across the eerie silence that has fallen – hitherto unnoticed - around the revellers. There are no other people anywhere now, the shops have all been closed and there are no more flights today, in or out. There is total silence as the gravity of the situation settles...
“You vill all taik bus to Hoitel,” he says simply and points to the door.
<<>>
Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye,
13 dissident westerners stuck high and dry,
without a pie between them
and lovely US dollars to spend,
we’ll put them on an airport bus
and take them round the bend.
13 dissident westerners stuck high and dry,
without a pie between them
and lovely US dollars to spend,
we’ll put them on an airport bus
and take them round the bend.
<<>>
I would often sit with my father as a young adult and listen to story’s about his remarkable life during the war, the Hungarian uprising of 1956, and communism in general.
“I was 16 at the time of the Nazi invasion of Hungary,” he would tell me. “I had been rounded-up with a dozen others once, to be shot. I could speak six languages then, including Russian, and by luck the officer in charge of the firing squad needed an interpreter, so I was spared.”
“That was an extreme time,” he’d continue. “Communism like that is scary without the Nazi’s anyway. If they wanted to take you away and dispose of you, they would just do it, no questions asked. There are no individual rights within a communist regime like that, not like those you have grown up with in England and Australia,” he’d say.
<<>>
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Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
Comment by Adrian
Philosophy Blog
Comment by Lilla
Enviro Warrior
An Extra Ordinary Life
Dream Herald
thank you for your lovely words of priase... very encouraging...
part 2 coming up...pronto..
Lilla...
Comment by Lilla
Enviro Warrior
An Extra Ordinary Life
Dream Herald
thank you also for your compliment... inspiring...
..I also miss Lauren terribly too, thanks,
Lilla...
Comment by Nina
Comment by KylieW
Celebrity Obsession
Wow....what an adventure! Great post. Can't wait to read part 2.
KylieW
Comment by LaurenD
I love this, your writing, your stories. Bravo!
Lauren
Comment by Lilla
Enviro Warrior
An Extra Ordinary Life
Dream Herald
Nina,
..it is great to know it has that effect.
KylieW,
thanks
LaurenD,
Great to 'see' you again,
.. even greater compliment coming from you
thank-you.
I won't keep you..
...without further adue...
tomorrow morning...
early... part 2
Comment by AmyHuang
Sydney Table
Project Job Search
Travel Debate
Travel String
Love Adventures
Comment by Lilla
Enviro Warrior
An Extra Ordinary Life
Dream Herald
Hope you enjoy Part 2 just as much, it really gets sillier; but it certainly beats Jetstar's hospitality, that's for sure *chuckle* Ooh those Russians!
Lilla ...