Autobiographical

At least, that was the initial reaction we all had when we landed (what a classic hit from Foreigner, though). Perceptions change over time though. Today it is very hard to imagine the size of the Soviet Union –  over twenty-two million kilometres, with Russia accounting for seventeen million. According to a 1989 census of the USSR (there was no census in 1984), Russia accounted for more than half the total population – an estimated 147 million out of 286 million in the Soviet Union as a whole – and at this time the USSR had the third biggest population globally after China and India. While Kazakhstan was second biggest in terms of size,  Ukraine claimed that ranking in terms of population, with over 51 million people.

Back in those days students would be sent from different English universities to a few cities in Russia or to Minsk in Belarus for three or 10 months, depending on their degrees. It would no doubt have been enjoyable to spend that time in Moscow or Saint Petersburg, or even the Belarusian capital, but I didn’t have the contacts. So it came to pass that I ended up in Voronezh for three months, plus a few days in Moscow and a week in St Petersburg. 

We were sent there at the start of our third year in early September 1984. After four hours on a British Airways flight to Moscow, in the good old days when the airline was prestigious and you would be treated to a good lunch and copious alcohol with your ticket, we immediately sensed the stark difference in mood and surroundings on leaving the plane. The drink didn’t block that out.

The international terminal Sheremetyevo-2 was a dark and forbidding place. Its bleak look added to a sense of dread. Given the flight restrictions imposed on Soviet citizens (it was virtually impossible to travel abroad back then), the building was virtually empty. In addition, nobody smiled at us, from the porters to passport control and customs officers. It made you  feel that you were not wanted and should at the very least have the courtesy of looking miserable.

After the luggage arrived, every single bag was opened and searched meticulously for potentially illegal anti-Soviet propaganda (in particular, such provocative material as bibles), or more probably in the hope of confiscating cigarettes or booze in excess of the set allowance. Then we were left to sort out the mess that had been made, picking up the items that had been chucked on the ground. On leaving the environs of the airport, we were shipped onto a sterile yellow and white LIAZ-677M bus and taken to a shoddy hotel in Moscow. 

And the food wasn’t much better. Cheese, boiled eggs and hard brown bread, and some kind of meat. The Indian tea was good with sugar, while the coffee took a while to get used to. 

We visited the usual tourist traps: Red Square, St Basil’s Cathedral and Lenin’s Mausoleum. Unfortunately, in case of the latter, a long perusal was prevented by the guards and pressing from people behind us.

The most frustrating aspect was the lack of interaction with the population. Everything was controlled and everyone we met in Moscow was clearly a KGB stooge at some level. Nats and I decided with a couple of others to try to eat in a restaurant at 1-2 PM. However, either it was closed for lunch or we managed to secure a table, but nobody would serve us even though we were surrounded by empty tables.

And then the following morning we were split into different groups: the lucky ones staying in Moscow or bound for Saint Petersburg, Minsk (Nats) and Voronezh (yours truly). The journey there was also memorable, but for all the wrong reasons.

Also from 1984, but just before departure.