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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 22, 2019 16:22:04 GMT -8
That was the thing about Moscow, it was colorless. The sky was colorless. The people were colorless. Almost everyone wore black, dark blue or dark grey. There was no color. The exception seemed to be be some of the higher military types, some of whom had pretty bright uniforms.
I don't recall if we were allowed inside the Kremlin Walls, but the notes on a couple of the photos say something like "church inside Kremlin" so they must have let us have access to some part.
Moscow Subway
I visited Moscow over the Easter Break while studying in Vienna. The head of our program and about 5 or 6 male students flew there. I still have some memories of the trip.
One is of something which happened on the subway.
We were touring the Moscow Subway which if famous for its elegance. Like the London Tube, the Moscow Subway is deep underground. My fellow students, teacher and I were on a very long escalator going up and cutting up like American males are wont to do. We were laughing and making a fair amount of noise. All of a sudden, it hit all of us that nobody else among the hundreds of people surrounding us was making a sound. And all were looking at us. Believe me, this is a strange feeling. We got very quiet. I recall looking around and seeing a lot of immobile faces. I may have seen a smile of two, but can't recall. We quieted down for a bit, but soon started up again minus a few decibels. We were back on the street shortly thereafter.
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Post by timothylane on Aug 22, 2019 16:37:23 GMT -8
I wonder if you've ever seen the Clint Eastwood movie Firefox, in which he has to spend some time in Moscow as an ordinary person. If you have, how accurate is the portrayal of life there?
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 22, 2019 18:29:20 GMT -8
About the only thing I can remember about Firefox is the odd looking jet that Eastwood had to hijack and the scene in which he got rid of the pilot and put on that black space-suit-looking outfit. I would have to watch it again to judge how true-to-life the other scenes were. But even so, I only spent a few days in Moscow each time I visited it and I stayed around Red Square. So I don't know how accurate my appraisal would be. What I can do is describe a couple of things which happened to me during my visits.
Soviet Woman
In 1974, we stayed in some old hotel which looked like it had been built in the late nineteenth century or early twentieth. I believe my group was put into this hotel because we flew out of Austria, which had reasonably good relations with the Soviet Union, and because we were students. In those days, most businessmen stayed at the horrible Intourist Hotel, which is where I stayed in 1985.
In the hotel where we stayed, the elevators opened up on my floor to an open area/lobby and in this area was a large desk, behind which sat the stereotype of what one might call Soviet Woman. As we stepped out of the elevator, we were on Soviet Woman's left-hand side. Her desk was perpendicular to the elevator facing a long hall on both sides of which lay the guest rooms. Thus Soviet Woman had a view of everyone who arrived on the floor and the room to which they went. She was the floor monitor, so to speak. One had to keep an eye on those crazy foreigners, some of whom were no doubt spies.
Whenever we went in or out of our rooms or left the floor there sat stern Soviet Woman; in some type of military-looking uniform, as I recall.
One afternoon or early evening, I was in my room waiting for the others to get back so we could, I believe, go to supper. Let us say that hotel rooms in 1974 Moscow were somewhat Spartan and one didn't have TV, or radio. Well, there might have been a radio with one channel, but if there was, I tired of it quickly.
In any case, I was getting bored and decided I might as well wait for my teacher and friends out by the elevators as in my dull and dusty room.
So I went outside my room and walked down the dim and silent hall until I reached Soviet Woman's desk. And there, on the right side of her desk so it would not block any view of the elevators, stood an old Soviet-looking wooden chair. Soviet Woman had been observing me approach without moving a muscle in her face. But when I said "hello" to her and sat down in the chair next to the desk, there was the slightest puzzlement/concern on her face. I then started to speak to her in English to see if I could get a conversation going. After a short time, having not made any progress, I switched to German, with an equal amount of success.
While I was talking Soviet Woman tried to maintain her composure and did her best to keep looking straight ahead at the hall in front of her, and not at me. But she couldn't help looking at me out of the side of her eye and twitching , not quite turning, her head in my direction every now and then. It was clear she was uncomfortable and didn't quite know what to do with me.
Luckily, before things got unbearable for her, the elevator door opened and out came my teacher and friends. My teacher came over to the desk and got me to follow her down the hall. I explained to her what I had been doing and how little success I had had with getting to know Soviet Woman. My teacher then told me that I had to be very careful as visitors in Moscow were always watched, and those who watched us were also being watched. This being the case, I had probably made Soviet Woman very nervous and she didn't know how to react to me. My teacher was of the opinion that Soviet Woman was likely afraid to be seen conversing with, much less getting friendly with, a young foreigner, so I had best forego such jolly liaisons in future.
Understand, in those days, I was young, very open and friendly and was happy to meet new people and learn their ways. I was naive' and had no concept of the evil loose in the world and how many it touched. I only learned that later.
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Post by timothylane on Aug 22, 2019 19:07:06 GMT -8
As I've mentioned before, Robert and Virginia Heinlein visited Moscow (and other places) as tourists in 1960. He discussed their experiences in a pair of articles, "Inside Intourist" and "Pravda Means Truth", which appeared in his collection Expanded Universe.
Virginia learned Russian and would talk to people they met on the streets, usually asking about their families. Heinlein noted that in a hotel (at least an Intourist hotel) there would be a floor where you could get some good food. He noted that the biggest insult for their guides was being "uncultured" (ni-kulturny, I think). There were some nice guidelines. The other article mainly discussed Soviet propaganda, but was probably also where he discussed the population of Moscow.
Eastwood's character in Firefox was masquerading as a genuine Russian (they noted that his character was half-Russian and completely fluent in the language, which in fact played an important role later, as you may recall). His experience would thus be different from yours or the Heinleins'.
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 22, 2019 19:18:48 GMT -8
I often laugh at the silly things writers do with the problem of language in spy capers. To speak a language fluently without any hint of a foreign accent is extremely difficult unless one grew up with that language in a bi-lingual setting.
Even then languages have many different accents and dialects. I can't recall the number of different dialects in German, but it must be something like 50. In any case, it has the most dialects of any Western European language. But in addition to dialects there are accents which show where one is from. So if you wanted to drop someone into Vienna to spy there, you would have to find someone from Austria as at least that way, the spy wouldn't stick out. Austrian accents are common in Vienna, but someone who spoke Plattdeutsch, which is from the north of Germany, would stick out like a sore thumb. Even if he spoke high-German his accent would very likely give him away.
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Post by timothylane on Aug 22, 2019 19:25:46 GMT -8
I believe Eastwood's character was bilingual; they observed early on that he could think in Russian. Accents and dialects didn't figure into it, but I suspect that would be less obvious in a city like Moscow with people from all over the country. Presumably his papers would match this properly.
John MacWhorter, in one of his books on language, mentioned chatting with a bunch of Swabians in a bar there. He knew standard German, but they were telling jokes in the local dialect and he was completely unable to follow them.
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 22, 2019 19:39:05 GMT -8
I am lucky that I am pretty good at understanding dialects. I believe this comes from the fact that I was musical and have a very good ear. I used to get a lot of free drinks across Germany, but especially Austria and even Switzerland because I could understand dialects. Most people couldn't believe a Texan could understand and even speak some Niederoestereichisch (Lower Austrian) for example. Viennese Beiseldeutsch (bar-German) is extremely difficult for me to understand unless I can stay some days around people who speak it. But since it is a very low-class German which is common among the Prolitariat I do not lose much.
When I first moved to Switzerland, I first thought I had forgotten my German. But in fact, Swiss German is very different from the German spoken in Germany and most of Austria. Hell, even among themselves, the Swiss German sometimes don't understand each other unless they speak a sort-of standard Swiss German. One of most difficult dialects I ever heard was from Sarnen, Switzerland. Interlaken was also no piece of cake.
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Post by artraveler on Aug 22, 2019 20:34:25 GMT -8
Don't forget American dialects. Yankees, Rebels and Westerners not only use regional slang but different pronunciations and usages for the same words. There are also regional dialects in each area that can cause confusion especially for foreigners.
If you are from anywhere except the South and are offered a ride home the expression most often heard in the Deep South is, "can I carry you home ?" Prompting visions of someone physically hefting a person on their back and carrying them. In the west it would be do you need a ride, and no Yankee ever offers a ride to anyone.
Don't forget Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady, "Why can't the English teach their children how to speak ?
An Englishman's way of speaking absolutely classifies him.
The moment he talks he makes some other Englishman despise him.
One common language I'm afraid we'll never get,
Oh, why can't the English learn to
set a good example to people whose
English is painful to your ears?
The Scots and the Irish leave you close to tears.
There even are places where English completely disappears.
In America, they haven't used it for years!
Why can't the English teach their children how to speak?
Norwegians learn Norwegian,
the Greeks are taught their Greek.
In France every Frenchman knows his language from "A" to "Zed"
The French never care what they do, actually, as long as they pronounce it properly.
Arabians learn Arabian with the speed of summer lightning,
The Hebrews learn it backwards,
which is absolutely frightening.
But use proper English and you're regarded as a freak.
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Post by timothylane on Aug 22, 2019 20:45:56 GMT -8
I think I took a quiz once to figure out where I came from based on questions about English usage. Do you saw "seesaw" or "teeter-totter"? Do you pronounce horror phonetically as written, or as if it were "harror" (as I do)? I was brought up all over wherever they sent my father, so mine couldn't be located. But I will say that it's nice seeing a Taxachusetts Senator (Blonde Squaw With Empty Head) referring to her "mamaw" and "papaw". I don't use those myself, but my relatives down in Edmonson County do.
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Post by artraveler on Aug 22, 2019 21:59:08 GMT -8
Taxachusetts Senator (Blonde Squaw With Empty Head) referring to her "mamaw" and "papaw".
I would bet that is just an act she puts on for the plebs. Odds are she never uses those terms in private.
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Post by timothylane on Aug 23, 2019 5:57:52 GMT -8
Anything is possible with a Demagogue, but she does come from Oklahoma, and I don't see why she would adopt such usages in Taxachusetts. Still, she used it in discussing her supposed Cherokee ancestry -- but I suspect she does have such family lore. So do we -- but when my sister had her ancestry checked, she found that we don't even have 1% Indian ancestry. Of course, that doesn't rule out something far enough back to be less than that.
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Brad Nelson
Administrator
עַבְדְּךָ֔ אֶת־ הַתְּשׁוּעָ֥ה הַגְּדֹלָ֖ה הַזֹּ֑את
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Post by Brad Nelson on Aug 23, 2019 7:04:03 GMT -8
I’m 49% into “ The Billion Dollar Spy.” If the end notes are extensive, I’m likely further along than that. This is so far a terrific read. It’s a near perfect combination of history and spy novel. History is a spy novel, in this case, and David Hoffman does a superb job laying in the facts while maintaining the tension of a good story. As for “Reilly: Ace of Spies,” I’m tiring of it already through only two episodes. Yes, it’s dark. But it’s main fault is it’s lack of reality. We zip through time bolstered (supposedly) by little bits of melodrama here and there. Never does Reilly seem like a real person. He just seems a constant McGuffin to keep the plot moving, such as it is. I agree with one reviewer who writes “The first problem is with Sam Neill's two-dimensional Sidney Reilly. This character never comes alive for me.” I have found some other spy stuff on Acorn TV and may sample some of that. I do agree with Mr. Kung that the themes song for this series is superb. |
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 23, 2019 7:20:14 GMT -8
As you may recall from my comments and review at ST, I love the movie version of "My Fair Lady." Harrison did a wonderful job as the Prof. I'm not sure anyone could perform that song as well as he did.
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Brad Nelson
Administrator
עַבְדְּךָ֔ אֶת־ הַתְּשׁוּעָ֥ה הַגְּדֹלָ֖ה הַזֹּ֑את
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Post by Brad Nelson on Aug 23, 2019 7:27:08 GMT -8
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 23, 2019 8:31:59 GMT -8
Moscow Bookshop
Another story which shows a positive side of 1974 Moscow is my visit to a Russian bookshop. A couple of my classmates and I decided we wanted to buy some books to take back to Vienna. We inquired as to the location of a good store and then went out in search of it. Once we found it, we were not disappointed. The shop was full of people which confirmed what I had heard about the Russians being a literate bunch. This was a positive to my mind. And the bookstore was nothing like our modern Barnes and Noble. It was a nineteenth century refuge from the cold and drab streets. No gleaming stainless steel or plastic counters. Everything was made of wood and glass. Deep rich warm mahogany looking shelves from floor to ceiling full of books with colorful covers. I immediately felt at home. There were wood and glass counters in between the actual bookshelves and the customers. Behind the counters were young (mostly) ladies serving the customers. They would take a customer's request for this or that book, in some cases the customers had long lists, and then retrieve the books from the shelves. They would leave the books on the counter and the customer would then have a look at those books and decide whether of not to buy one or any of them. My friends and I waited our turns, watching the bustle going on. I cannot recall what books my friends bought, but I was not sure what I wanted and asked the saleslady about various writing of Lenin or others. This went on for a minute or so when she smiled and said, "come with me." She led me a few feet down the counter and opened the small leaf in it, which separated the customers from the books, and invited me to come behind the counter. She then pointed out a large section of books on the shelves, pushed a rolling ladder over to me and told me to have a look to see what books I might like to have. She then went back to the counter and started helping other customers. There I was, the only customer allowed behind the counters, perusing a huge library to my heart's content. All the while, dozens of others are talking, waiting, bumping and looking at books on the other side of the counter. I believe one might have to be a book-lover to understand the bliss I was in, but at that moment I was very close to Paradise. In the end, I chose a couple of books, climbed down the ladder and went back to the other side of the counter to pay. I left that bookstore in a very happy mood, holding on to my books as if they were gold. I still have those books, somewhere in my boxes. I believe one was Lenin's screed on Imperialism. The other was a history of the Soviet's involvement in WWII, which contained the phrase, "The Great Patriotic War" in its title. That was the first time I had heard this usage for WWII.
Imperialism: The Highest Form of Capitalism |
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Post by timothylane on Aug 23, 2019 8:47:39 GMT -8
That was probably the more-or-less official Soviet history of the war. One wargaming magazine, discussing the history, said one needed a "shit detector" because there was so much of that. It was compiled during the dictatorship of Khrushchev, so he featured prominently in it. (He was a high-level commissar, but even in the Red Army the generals were more important than the commissars.)
That was obviously a very nice facility (probably like a lot of used book stores here), but I wonder how good the selection was. Did they include anything the Party wouldn't approve of? (I suspect I know the answer.)
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 23, 2019 9:22:31 GMT -8
I do not know what books they may or may not have stocked, but given that it was 1974, I doubt they allowed an uncensored-edition of "The Master and Margarita" on their shelves.
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Brad Nelson
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Post by Brad Nelson on Aug 23, 2019 9:23:40 GMT -8
That sounds wonderfully, literarily described, I would say.  This is one reason I love old book stores. Too bad they’re a vanishing breed. I, too, am going to miss my White Privilege. What a great anecdote of your bibliophilic adventure. |
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 23, 2019 9:27:28 GMT -8
Ah, yes. What is truly pitiful is that although I am pretty pale, (someone described my skin color as similar to the belly of a fish) many Russkies were even whiter than I.
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Post by kungfuzu on Aug 23, 2019 9:59:27 GMT -8
Going back to the 300,000 Rubles which the CIA paid the Soviet spy; although there was not a lot to buy in the USSR, in addition to books, certain beverages were very cheap. The link will take you to something we could buy in Vienna and Russia. It was called Krem Sekt in Vienna which means cream sparkling wine. It was semi-sweet and cost something like US$3/bottle in Vienna. It must have been even cheaper in Moscow, and we took a few bottles back with us when we returned to Vienna.
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This is one reason I love old book stores. Too bad they’re a vanishing breed.