Letter From Kyiv - 19910309 (1/1)
Beebit
I have recently re-read Hedrick Smith's The Russians which was first
published in the UK in 1976, two years before my first trip to Moscow.
It is amazing to see how much has changed here since then, and
depressing to see how much has not. As a "Child of Perestroika" I am
often at the cutting edge, as it were, where no one knows exactly what
regulations are applicable. My Moscow colleagues work either at the
representative office, which comes under the auspices of the
Diplomatic Corps Administration, or at our newly-founded Joint
Venture. For either of these operations, the authorities are fully
acquainted with the regulations (which themselves get changed from
time to time) but somehow I fall outside this setup. Both my contacts
at $SPA (the organisation with which we have our cooperation) and the
local authorities are effectively doing everything for me for the
first time, with some mistakes and confusion resulting. Still,
together we somehow manage to muddle through.
In order to get the daily allowance (with coupons), it turns out that
I am on the payroll at $SPA. This means that when I travel, I carry a
bit of paper which must be signed and stamped by the organisation
visited (most often a hospital where we have a scanner), just like my
Soviet colleagues. As luck or the Health Ministry would have it, it
turns out that one of our first installations is at the Institute of
Neurology in Moscow, the very place, nay the very room, where I
commissioned the EMI brain scanner over 13 years ago. It is nice to
keep in touch with old friends and acquaintances.
One major change which has occurred is the terms of my access to the
plant here in Kiev. I was told how some years ago a few of my
compatriots had come to install and commission injection-moulding
equipment for plastics. For the months they were here, they lived and
ate at one of the few Intourist hotels; and they were ferried to the
hotel for lunch. There was even a special entrance constructed for
them, which meant that a hole had to be knocked in one of the compound
walls etc etc, and they were escorted at all times.
For us, mercifully, the special entrance requirement was waived even
before the contract was signed. During my first visit in August of
'89, I was in an Intourist hotel but $SPA were still under the
impression that I had to have lunch at the hotel. I immediately
objected to the loss of time involved so it was decided that, in spite
of the supposedly poor quality of the food, I would eat in the
"dietary canteen". Actually the food is about the same as what is on
offer at a hotel, and, while there is no choice, at least the menu
varies every day.
On my return in November, I was issued a pass which allows me to come
and go anytime I like without escort, and gives me the rare privilege
of carrying my attache case in and out of the plant (for most workers,
the carrying of such "suitcases" is prohibited). Sometimes there is a
security check when everyone is asked to show what they are carrying
in their plastic sacks; this usually happens after something has been
pinched. Pilfering is widespread, but the most painful loss was that
of all the boards from the control box for a German stamping machine.
This affected our project as many locally-fabricated parts are
produced on that particular machine, so we at $VBC ended up having
to help $SPA with finding replacements.
The "product palette" of $SPA is a fascinating comment on the current
times. Originally they started producing time-delay relays and such
devices used in control gear. They then started making increasingly
sophisticated control equipment, most of it for the military sector.
Even now, there is still some production of precision equipment for
satellites - this latter production area, which not so long ago would
have been considered strictly off-limits for visitors (even from other
Soviet organisations) was recently shown to a delegation of
specialists from $VBC. Just now $SPA's hottest item in the
capital-goods sector is a modular panel display based on LED-arrays.
At first they were doing a 2-or-3 colour version (with green and red
LED's), and now they make a full-colour version. Each panel is about
40 x 40 cm and any number can be combined to make a display unit for
stations, airports, the Baikonur Cosmodrome, etc.
In recent times, $SPA has branched out into consumer products, making
the most of the plastic moulding equipment. Among their products are
humidifiers, baby bottle warmers, car vacuum cleaners, small drills
(like the hand-held sort for making holes in PC boards), and
electrical toys. These latter have been very popular with people
going abroad; many is the time I have seen my fellow passengers at
Budapest's East Station carrying the familiar boxes of $SPA-produced
toys among their baggage.
A certain quantity of $SPA's consumer production never finds its way to
the shops: often a car vacuum cleaner or a drill will be given as a
present to a hotel or restaurant administrator, customs official,
freight forwarder, etc by way of baksheesh. Once the composition and
operation of a "slush fund" was explained to me; as in many
organisations the bean-counters can not imagine why such expenditures
are considered necessary. Of course the bean-counters do not have to
deal with these other mobs, so they cannot imagine what it is like to
be told that this or that is impossible or fully booked: objections
which vanish like magic once presents are involved. At $VBC we
have long had the possibility to enter such tips ("Sonderleistungen",
special services rendered) on our expense report; here one must resort
to "creative accounting".
"$SPA, although not old, makes a very dilapidated impression." So
begins a report from one of our specialists concerning the production
capabilities of our partners. Parts fabricated of mild steel are left
outside in all weathers to rust (not that this is entirely unknown in
the UK), but I have even seen a bending machine unpacked and left in
the snow. I am mildly grateful that our people have not seen where
our equipment is stored upon arrival: a Nissen hut-like structure with
no insulation or temperature control. Other buildings vary in
construction dates but all are affected by the "instant aging" which
has been noted elsewhere. Office facilities are limited and
primitive: often several people are crowded into a room in which we
might put no more than two. When one's office neighbour has visitors
or phone conversations (often carried on at a shout because of bad
connections) it is difficult if not impossible to carry on working
because of the disturbance.
Some of the "showplace" workshops look almost decent, but most are
just as decrepit as the buildings themselves. The bogs are
unspeakably vile. All in all, the Russian words "bardak" and
"bezobraziye" (mess and disorder) come most often to mind. The lifts
are a bit of a joke: "too many relays and not enough automatics" was
the comment of one of my German colleagues.
That last comment could also apply to the organisation itself. The
Stalinist dispensation has left a rigid hierarchy where all too often
too many responsibilities are delegated with too little authority.
This happens at all levels, up to and including the General Director
himself. Oddly enough, for all the necessity of having to refer
decisions to a higher level, there appears to be little actual
monitoring of performance, and this is by no means unique to $SPA. I
find that I have to make a complete pest of myself to get any action;
it never suffices to ask just once.
Promotion seems to depend on just about anything else but competence
or performance: party affiliations, etc play a decisive role, together
with the usual toadying and intrigue. This has the effect that
management consists mainly of amateurs with varying talents rather
than professionals: the "old school tie" with a vengeance. Of course,
amateurishness is not necessarily unique to the USSR; I have worked
with a number of amateurish organisations before joining $VBC,
where there is a much higher level of professionalism. It is hard for
many Western professionals to imagine the importance of personal
relations, except, perhaps, in the matter of sales. Since so much is
in short supply, be it money or even permission, it follows that the
one dispensing whatever precious commodity is in question has
tremendous discretionary power; since all causes have apparently equal
merit, it becomes a matter of chance or personal favour as to who gets
what, or who is left out in the cold. The net result of all this is
to place everyone in the position of a supplicant, with all that
implies in terms of crawling, bribes, etc. It must be galling to a
general director of some operation to have to crawl to some minor
official in the ministry, but crawl they do, or go without; this in
spite of whatever merit the application has or prior decision by
higher authorities.
For all the foregoing, $SPA is hardly the worst organisation here.
Rather the contrary: the results are so good that they pay often as
much as 75% of one's basic pay in the form of a premium. This form of
"profit sharing" used to be paid out every month, but now it is paid
out every quarter. There is a widespread impression here that wages
and salaries in the West are similarly determined by results. How
does one explain the pay bargaining which we go through in order to
secure increases based on productivity and cost of living? People
here seem to think that such increases spring naturally from the
employers' generosity and good intentions. I suppose, as with so many
other things, this lot will just have to learn the hard way.
I have been spending a lot of time on the road (or should I say
rails). For reasons of cost, convenience, and personal preference, I
generally travel by train. Here the saying goes "if you want to go
quickly, take the plane, but if you want to get there on time, take
the train." These days, getting plane tickets is a real hassle,
especially for foreigners, who must pay in hard currency and have
personally to stand in two queues (one to reserve, one to pay). I
have worked out a system where someone else does the running and
queuing, and $SPA pays (in roubles).
In addition to monthly trips to Moscow, I have been to Leningrad,
Latvia, and Perm. I have also managed in one trip to sample three
variants of overnight accommodation on Soviet Railways. What is given
in Cook's timetable as "soft" and "hard" class tells only part of the
story. The most popular is the 4-berth coupe which offers the best
compromise between cost and comfort. The berths themselves are
well-padded with leatherette upholstery. An additional mattress is
laid over this, and sheets, blankets, and a pillow (with pillowcase)
are issued for overnight. The cost of this latter service has
recently been increased to 2 roubles, and is paid separately for
holders of ordinary tickets (people travelling on the grossly inflated
[5 times the price of an ordinary ticket] Intourist tickets mercifully
get their bedding free). There is also the "platskartny"
accommodation, with slightly less well-padded leatherette-upholstered
benches which are arranged in an open-plan pattern with six berths
occupying the space used for 4 in the coupe arrangement as shown.
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The centre section of the lower longitudinal berth can be raised to
form a table. This arrangement is much nicer than the one used in
China, where the six berths are arranged in stacks of three.
There are two variants of "soft" accommodation, either two-berth or
four-berth. The four berth is similar to the coupe except that the
mattress is thicker and I seem to remember cloth upholstery. The
two-berth accommodation is often referred to as "spalny" or sleeping,
with only two people occupying the same volume as four or six would
elsewhere; this counts as the height of luxury.
Each carriage carries its own coal-fired boiler, and, as long as the
circulating pumps are working, kept heated to the point of stifling.
Smoking is permitted only in the vestibule at the other end of the
carriage from the boiler. Actually, many people I know do not smoke
in their own flats but smoke in the stairwell, so this regulation is
almost always observed. The effect in the far vestibule is something
else; imagine a smoke-filled icebox... Since 1985 alcohol is
completely forbidden, but this regulation is almost always ignored.
The restaurant facilities vary: some trains (like the overnight
Kiev-Moscow expresses) have no dining car, others have a buffet car,
still others offer a proper dining car. The selection and quality
vary with both the crew (some are excellent, others abominable) and
with the provisioning (out of Moscow worse every day). The net result
of this is that most people bring their own food and drink, which is
then pooled to provide what amounts to a feast.
It's getting to that time of year where the clocks start getting
messed about. Whatever the results of the coming referendum, I rather
expect that the western republics will continue to demonstrate their
independence in the matter of moving the clocks forward (or not).
Actually, there is a problem in that the whole country is an hour
ahead of where it should be (rather like France). Kiev is located
nearly on the 30 degree meridian, which by rights places it two hours
ahead of Greenwich. The same applies to the Baltic republics, White
Russia and Moldova. Moscow itself lies somewhere about 37 degrees
east of Greenwich, which by rights places it at the eastern edge of
the East European time zone. Moscow Time is, however, 3 hours ahead
of Greenwich, and everyone else's time calculated accordingly. This
had the effect in the western areas of having very long evenings in
the summer. Last year, the Baltic republics moved their clocks back
one hour. The Ukraine did likewise, but only for the summer. The net
result is that the time changes in the Baltic republics, whilst the
time in the Ukraine does not change.
Travelling through Estonia and Latvia, one can see what the fuss
concerning independence is about. The countryside and architecture
are very reminiscent of Sweden or Finland. The view from the library
building of the University of Estonia at Tartu could be that of
somewhere in Western Germany, particularly the newer buildings, with
their solid colour (green or mustard yellow, with large square
windows. The railway station building looked rather like one in
Germany, soot-stained 19th Century Neo-classical. Only the
predominance of Soviet-made cars with Russian lettering on the
registration plates gives the location away. The industrial
installations are another matter: these are almost always based on the
"Soviet" plan, or lack thereof -- jerry-built to last.
From Leningrad, I arrived in the Estonian border town of Valga. The
hospital itself lies in its Latvian twin Valka. There was a border
post looking like a bus shelter with a barrier looking like a bent-up
exhaust pipe. This was not manned at 4 in the morning, but it would
have been interesting to know who mans it and when. The driver seemed
to regard it as a bit of a joke.
A digression on borders: I well remember the first time I crossed the
border between Belgium and the Netherlands: there was only a customs
officer who was busy waving everyone past. Although we too were waved
on, we had to stop to get some carnet papers stamped for the
merchandise we were carrying. This took about 5 minutes, after which
we were on our way. It seems that a similar situation arose on the
border between the Germanies after the currency union. The drivers of
the lorries carrying the parts for our scanners to Kiev were waved
past by the Federal German customs officer as they left Bavaria,
headed for the GDR, Poland, and the USSR; whereas before they would
have been stopped. As it turned out, they should have stopped anyway
to get the export papers stamped. What happened was that the first
stamp they got was at Frankfurt-am-Oder, the border between the GDR
and Poland, but this stamp was for the Federal German customs office
not deemed valid. We later got a request to forward copies relating
to the customs examination in Kiev, to prove that the goods arrived.
Yes, I explained, we too have our bureaucracy.
I was shown the barriers around the Interior Ministry building in
Riga, but hardly any policemen were to be seen, and they were
directing traffic. Which reminds me: I haven't seen much evidence of
the "joint patrols" of civilian police and military; fair enough, I
live in a quiet neighbourhood but even in the centre of Kiev I have
not seen any troops in a while. What I have seen are the
"paramilitary" police who have trouble distinguishing an argument in a
bar from a night on the barricades. More than once, I have seen them
wade into a group of people with flailing truncheons: at the close of
my birthday celebration as my friends were waiting by the door for
others in the loo they were ordered to move on. I suppose they were
not sufficiently deferential in their reply because the next minute
two of them (one a woman) were knocked sprawling and one of these
guardians of the law was starting to beat on the man with a rubber
flail. I immediately intervened in English with "there's no need for
this" which had the miraculous effect of stopping the beating, after
which I helped my friends to their feet. It says something for the
desire to favourably impress foreigners: imagine trying to stop the
bobbies beating on someone with a few words in Russian... Some of the
same friends were witness to another unprovoked attack in another bar:
this time wooden truncheons were used and one lad was driven out with
a series of blows to the ribs. We later found him doubled over trying
to make his way down some stairs. We were followed in short order by
one of these GBH merchants who seemed to think that it was some kind
of a lark. We ended up calling an ambulance and asking one of the
hotel staff to look after him until it arrived.
No one in Leningrad wanted to comment on the supply situation except
to agree that it was just as bad as reported in the press. I was
later to find out that, while foodstuffs are a big problem, other
things, like sewing supplies, for instance, are to be readily had.
Our guess here is that while everyone is scratching around the food
shops, no one has time to shop for anything else. In Kiev foodstuffs
are more easily obtainable, but sewing supplies are not to be found
anywhere. Cigarettes having appeared once, matches have run out and
now electric lighters for cookers are being allocated in the
workplaces on a lottery basis, having long since disappeared from the
shops. Cigarettes are now scarce again, and pipe tobacco and cigars
are only a dim memory. They told me in Perm that supplies never were
"normal", and the supply situation has not deteriorated that much from
the unsatisfactory situation hitherto. In Valka, the long queue in
the shop was for shopping baskets, this being their way of instituting
crowd control. My doctor friend was subjected to some hostile stares
when he jumped the queue by producing his own basket. There, all the
prices are "agreed", to use the local terminology: in other words
about 3 to 4 times the hitherto official prices. The shop in Valka
was relatively well-stocked; better than many I had seen in Kiev.
On German television in a report on the "humanitarian aid" just
started, a journalist was in Riga riding "one of the last trams in the
USSR", this last bit of nonsense being equivalent to someone getting
onto a bus in Manchester and describing it as one of the last
double-deckers in the British Isles. What is unique to Riga is the
use of poles on the trams rather than the more usual pantographs.
The provisions for public transport here could fill a book in
themselves, if only for enthusiasts. In addition to the world-famous
Metro, Moscow has one of the largest tram networks anywhere, but there
are no trams in the centre. As can be expected, the metro stations in
outlying areas are not so spectacularly decorated as the ones in the
centre, especially on the older lines. One of my favourites is the
Revolution Square station with its statues, first depicting the
soldiers, sailors, and partisans who made the Revolution, and then
those for whom it was made, and who are expected to carry it forward:
miners, factory workers, peasants, scientists, and children. The Kiev
metro station has mosaics depicting Ukrainian folk arts, traditional
and industrial, everything from embroidery to transformer winding.
Much is made of the potential for the deep-mined stations to serve as
bomb shelters: just as in London, the system was built on the "tube"
principle, except the tubes are bigger. The stations tend to be a bit
deeper in the centre as well; this mainly being in order to avoid
pre-existing foundations, sewers, etc. A Londoner might find the
practice of crossing the river with bridges rather than tunnels a bit
strange. It is significant that the newer lines invariably cross the
river by bridge; presumably technical problems and cost were a factor.
The trolleybus network is also extensive. Compared to the "autobuses"
trolleybuses are cleaner and quieter. They are not heated in any
serious way which is not as horrible as it sounds: when one is bundled
up to resist the winter cold it is not advisable to stand (or sit, in
the unlikely event seating becomes available) in a warm place for any
length of time. This does have the effect of frosting up the windows
on the inside, which can make for problems when trying to find one's
stop. The Hungarian "Ikarus" buses, while plentiful in Kiev, are not
to be found in Moscow, except for Intourist and the airport runs.
Ordinary city buses in Moscow have some form of automatic transmission
whose operation is characterised with much clanking and juddering.
Also, there is this pervasive vile smell of diesel oil in various
stages of decomposition and combustion. And they are not even that
warm... I remember, however, one girl saying that she preferred the
bus, somehow the dim incandescent lights and the relative warmth
seemed better than the harsh fluorescent lights and the cold blast as
the doors were opened on the tram.
"Impossibly crowded" does not begin to describe the conditions; this
even at times considered "off peak". "Maximum capacity, squashed: one
more." If this lot have to wait more than 5 minutes for a tram,
trolleybus, or bus, it is a long time. If one is a bit late, it just
gets later in the course of the run as more time is lost squeezing on
or off. When the thing is absolutely ram jam full, it often pays to
wait for the next one which is right behind and half-empty (a
half-empty bus being equivalent to the optimist's half-full glass of
water). A statistician or traffic planner will readily understand the
tendency for "bunching" which happens everywhere, although the
well-known London "bus convoy" is still the exception rather than the
rule.
The ticket system is somewhat akin to the "honour" system used widely
on the Continent: the passenger stamps or punches a ticket which is
only sporadically inspected; fare dodgers paying a substantial fine if
caught. Originally developed in Kiev, the current system involves the
pre-purchase of tickets from special kiosks, metro stations, and on
the buses (but not trams or trolleybuses). A ticket is punched for
each passenger for each journey, contrary to the practice in, say,
Germany where the ticket allows unlimited transfers in the same
general direction within a specified time. Two fares are supposed to
be paid for each piece of baggage, although I have only ever seen this
done once (probably a foreigner, at that). When the vehicle is packed
like the proverbial sardine tin, getting and punching tickets would be
impossible but for the cooperation of other passengers: it is the done
thing to hand tickets onward for punching ("composting") or even money
to buy some from the bus driver, and then the tickets are handed back
by several people along the way.
To get around the whole ticket business, it is possible to buy a
"proyezdnoi" or season ticket. These are available for various modes
and combinations thereof for various periods, and are often purchased
at the workplace. Yearly and quarterly tickets have not been issued
in Kiev this year: looks like there will be a fare increase, the first
since the fares for the tram and trolleybus (3 and 4 kopeki
respectively) were raised to the level of bus and metro fares (5
kopeek) back in 1985.
Transport in Kiev has some features unique to it: the older
trolleybuses run in tandem, like little electric road trains, and
there is what we call "supertram" or the "speedy" line which runs not
far from where we live. Basically it runs down the central
reservation of a broad avenue running westward and is vaguely similar
to a suburban railway complete with stations. Nearer the centre, the
line runs through the streets like an ordinary tram line. Most tram
lines operate with two tram cars coupled together, the supertram runs
mostly with sets of three. The metro is newer than Moscow's, and the
stations are not as spectacular. The system is built for 5-car sets
as opposed to the 7-car sets used in Moscow. Local topography makes
some stations very deep indeed. At one station, the entrances at
opposite ends of the station tunnel are located at vastly different
heights, so at one end there are two spectacularly long escalator
rides. Fortunately the escalators are faster than those elsewhere,
but it still takes a subjectively long time.
Unlike London, there are no "crotch adverts" on the metro escalators,
nor any visible adverts at all. Some bright spark has, alas, hit on
the idea of reading out adverts on the tannoy. Adverts are starting
to appear in the carriages as well. Trolleybuses often sport
someone's advertising or logo, although this abominable practice has
not yet spread to trams and city buses yet.
In Kiev, the "no exit" or "no entrance" signs on the metro had always
been in Ukrainian, but the recorded station announcements and "mind
the doors" were Russian. Last summer they were changed to Ukrainian.
I have to admit that my command of Ukrainian more or less starts and
stops with the transport announcements and notices "it is forbidden to
converse with the driver whilst the vehicle is in motion",
"uncancelled tickets are not valid for travel", etc etc. I remember
my Russian teacher criticising our pronunciation with "You talk like
Ukrainian," I wonder what she would say now, especially as I have
picked up one or two "Ukrainisms" i e words, pronunciations, and
figures of speech found mainly in the Ukraine. I am hearing more and
more Ukrainian in general conversation; although at the same time I
know of many households here in Kiev where only Russian is spoken. In
addition to Central (all-Union) Television 1 and 2, there is a
Ukrainian channel, as well as a number of radio programs. Ukrainian
has been taught in the schools, and even those who do not speak it
that much can read it; this in spite of what we have heard concerning
the policy of "Russification".
I am told that in Kiev at least, there are welfare services for the
housebound which are overstrained in these difficult times. Last
summer, beggars (often cripples) were to be seen in underpasses. With
all the troubles in the south, a number of dark-skinned ragamuffins
began to appear with or without an equally unwashed mum. They were a
bit of a nuisance in the parks, accosting people with soulful eyes and
crossing themselves under the discreet but watchful gaze of their
relatively well-dressed dads. I remember one lot being sent packing
by an old boy in the shashlik queue with the words "First study, then
hold out your hand!" These may be the lucky ones: one story goes that
last summer a planeload of refugees carrying flowers to sell were met
by a delegation from Rukh (the main non-communist party here in the
Ukraine) who ripped the heads off the flowers and would not allow
anyone to leave the airport except on the next plane homeward.
I suppose it is time to mention the Great Currency Shakedown. I
managed to miss the scenes of chaos at the banks, as did most people
here. Once the decree was announced (at 2100 Moscow time), all the
restaurants closed so I was told. I first heard about it the next
morning on the BBC, and at the works it was announced that up to 2000
roubles would be exchanged with no questions. It can be safely said
that at least two working days were lost: one to pay the old notes in
and one to receive the new notes a few days later. I was told that
when the new notes were handed out, several people were seen to be
staring at them in mute disbelief, before saying how ugly they were.
Actually they are not that bad, being a lot more colourful than the
old ones. I am irresistibly reminded of the time when it was
announced in the Guardian that a new format would soon be introduced.
A letter was published the following day "Re the new format, let me be
the first to say that I don't like it..."
It was said that a number of Georgians, Armenians, and Azerbaijanis
were caught out, as it were. Anyone on a "komandirovka" or business
trip could exchange his money upon returning home, but anyone without
papers would be left high and dry. It was said that tickets southward
had disappeared already, so by Wednesday when the decree was announced
there were any number of southerners left stranded. These
unfortunates were reportedly selling 100-rouble notes for as little as
10 roubles. It would seem that speculative profits were not so much
wiped out as transferred.
At the same time as the large-denomination banknotes were being
recalled, there was another move in which Soviet citizens were
deprived of the right to hold money abroad. There had been any number
of people who had worked in other countries in one capacity or
another, and who held their earnings in bank accounts in the country
where they had earned the money. Now, on pain of imprisonment, they
are supposed to transfer all such monies home where they are currently
allowed to have foreign-currency accounts. There is one major snag to
all this: one can expect a Spanish Inquisition ("Where did it come
from, what for, why do you need it?") at every stage: opening the
account, transferring the money, and withdrawing it. And this at a
time when just about everyone is demanding hard currency for goods or
services.
Not so very long ago, there was a time when having a car in Moscow was
something particularly grand. It was possible to race through nearly
deserted streets at a great rate of knots with only the rare traffic
light to deal with. The rules of the road are a bit strange in that,
while left turns may be prohibited in certain places, a U-turn was
permissible a bit further down the road, and, where there is a light
with a right-turn arrow, one must wait until said arrow is illuminated
before making a right-hand turn, even if the main light is green.
Anyway, since those halcyon days the traffic has become just about as
congested as anywhere else. Not so long ago, I very nearly missed my
train to Perm because of the traffic -- I would have done better
taking the Metro. Actually I was late, but mercifully so was the
train, by 5 minutes: most unusual.
This train out of the Kazan station was the express to Krasnoyarsk.
It seemed that no one in Moscow could be bothered to clean off the
filth accumulated in the two-day journey, even less could they be
bothered with seeing to decent provisions. As I tried to look out of
the soot-covered windows, I could only sigh and remember how the last
time I had travelled in that direction, the Chinese train staff used
to clean the windows at least once every day.
When I got to Perm, it was only -30 degrees Celsius (our German 3-star
deep-freeze goes down to -24 degrees Celsius). As ever, the
hospitality was warm, perhaps a little too warm. Having imbibed a
modest quantity of antifreeze at lunch with the doctors, we then
proceeded to have a session with the workers after hours. Having
overfulfilled the norm, I could feel neither pain nor cold as we
shuffled back to the hotel, where, after a short conversation with
Huey and Ralph on the great white phone, I collapsed.
After being allowed a day to recover, I was taken to the opera by one
of the doctors and her husband, who works in Communications Department
and is mainly concerned with telephone exchanges. He had some
interesting things to report about the activities of several foreign
companies in the supply of telephone exchange equipment. I was told
that, while the opera company was not in the First Division, so to
speak, the ballet company was. I was impressed with the quality of
the performance of both groups. In the opera, Borodin's Prince Igor,
the ballet corps has a chance to show their stuff in the Polovtsian
Dances (the music of which is familiar to almost anyone with a
knowledge of "popular" classical music). Being fonder of opera
myself, I was delighted at the opportunity to see the entire company
in one production.
In this most Russian of stories, an ill-conceived expedition is
launched "for the Faith, for God, for Russia!" against a
stronger foe. A solar eclipse puts a fright into the gathered
populace, this, rather than the lack of adequate preparation, being
regarded as the cause of the ensuing disaster. The wife is left to
cope with the Prince's absence, the importunities of an unwanted
suitor, and finally the news of the Prince's defeat and capture. The
scene where the boyars tell of the catastrophe is particularly
effective, one can almost imagine a similar meeting of the
Presidential Council reporting on the current economic situation in
equally ominous tones.
I went with some of the lads to the local gallery. The most unique
feature is a display on the top floor of nearly life-size wooden
figures of Christ and the Apostles. Not that this would be
exceptional in, say, Bavaria, but the Orthodox Churches generally
prohibit 3-dimensional portraits as being contrary to the commandment
forbidding the making of "graven images". Such has been the
divergence of opinion and practice between the Latin-rite and
Greek-rite churches that the presence of statuary in a Western church
and the veneration of 2-dimensional images (ikons) in the Eastern
church have been mutually regarded as abominations.
At a distance of space and time there are two paintings by Russian
artists which I immediately can recall. In one, among other things, a
building is shown with some of the stucco falling away and exposing
the brickwork underneath. One of my colleagues pointed to it and then
noticed the date: somewhen around 1870. "So it was like that back
then as well," he said. "Yes," I replied, "and it would be well to
remember that: not everything was in order then." Another painting
was entitled "Schlagbaum", this borrowed German word being that for
barrier at, say, a level crossing. Here, this barrier stretched
across what is supposed to be a road but is more like a river of mud,
and appears to be easily avoidable. How very, very Russian...
For the trip home, the Chief Doctor arranged a ticket on the "town's
special train". I would be riding in the same carriage with a group
of city council officers on a visit to Moscow. This had to be the
best train I have been on so far in the Soviet Union since the Chinese
train from Beijing. The wagons, and fittings thereof were in
absolutely top nick, the linens were whiter-than-white, and the food
in the munchwagon was reasonable -- the best in a long time. When I
commented on this to one of my travelling companions, and compared the
quality of fittings and service to that on other trains out of Moscow,
his reply was to the effect that in Moscow these days everyone is
concerned with politics, whereas in Perm they are sufficiently
old-fashioned to take pride in their work.
They must have come with the equivalent of three crates of vodka,
which they proceeded to demolish on the way westward, with some
assistance from me. I was told of how they had entertained
delegations from Britain, France, and elsewhere, the latest batch
having something to do the "humanitarian aid". Their comments seemed
to be to the effect that it was not so much aid that was needed, just
the chance to sell raw materials and semi-finished products in order
to buy what they wanted. To hear them tell it, once they disabused
the visitors of the notion that the Perm district was a sink of
poverty, they could quickly find a "common language". If I remember
correctly, the district has a budget of something like 5 milliard
(5000 million) roubles. I gathered that the main purpose of the
pilgrimage to the capital was to try to get some local control,
particularly in the matter of dealing with other districts, republics,
or countries.
At some place I no longer remember, someone came through with some
newspapers from one of the non-communist mobs. One of the council
officers made an interesting comment: "Oh, yes, we are all for
independence from the Centre, and that's what we're working for,
except we don't make so much noise about it." I have an invite from
one of them to stop in next time I am in the area. I would be very
interested to find out how their meetings with Gorbachev and Yeltsin
went. My guess is that Misha could only offer explanations and
excuses, while Borya would only be able to offer promises. While all
the talk of devolution to the Republic level excites the Ukrainians,
among others, it is hard to imagine what possible benefit would accrue
to people like the worthies from Perm. Unless they get full
devolution to district, city, and enterprise level, they would still
be taking orders from Moscow, even if from a building 5 trolleybus
stops down the road from the old one.
As the snow melts, the resulting slush combines with the grit applied
during the winter to form a thin mud which is particularly suited for
splashing on one's clothes. This calls to mind the German word
"dreck", but I was amazed to hear some Moscow colleagues referring to
the absence of dreck on the streets, by which they meant litter. Of
course to a German, a sweet wrapper on the deck spoils the whole
appearance: they were saying that the streets of Erlangen and Nürnberg
are becoming more littered with each passing year. Not that this lot
here are particularly tidy, it is just that there is less in the way
of packaging to throw away. Actually, this place gets increasingly
untidy: in recent years, street traders have been allowed to set up
their crates and sell all sorts of items, depending on the time of
year, anything from potatoes, to cabbages (raw and pickled), to
clothing, as well as the ubiquitous flower sellers. The refuse left,
particularly by the vendors of fruit and vegetables, is often allowed
to accumulate, much to the disgust of the older locals.
Some bright spark had hit on a novel way to clear the streetside
rubbish bins: rather than labouriously digging out the noisome refuse
only to be presented with the problem of hauling it away, they just
set the bin contents alight. The bins themselves are concrete and do
not seem to be too adversely affected and appear to be so constructed
to give a good draught which minimises (while, alas, not eliminating)
the smoke and stench, which itself would contravene any number of
regulations by us.
There are times when I am inclined to agree with Koheleth the
Preacher's observation that "there is nothing new under the sun". As
Gibbon writes of the Emperor Trajan: "... as long as mankind shall
continue to bestow more liberal applause on their destroyers than on
their benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever be the vice
of the most exalted characters." The foregoing applies even more so
to the far less exalted characters currently occupying positions of
authority, particularly in Britain and the United States. The extent
of the weapons trade has its precedent in the propagation of the
invention of gunpowder: "If we contrast the rapid progress of this
mischievous discovery with the slow and laborious advances of reason,
science, and the arts of peace a philosopher, according to his temper,
will laugh or weep at the folly of mankind." With regard to the
bombast and propaganda which even this lot here find convincing: "For
every war a motive of safety or revenge, of honour or zeal, of right
or convenience, may readily be found in the jurisprudence of
conquerors."[30]
B.
--
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