The agent who moved out into the cold around Russia ...

Press, 12 March 1985, Page 25

The agent who moved out into the cold around Russia ...

By

BILL HITCH

This, the first of two articles on a travel agent’s view of the western region of the Soviet Union, was written by Mr Hitch, Christchurch manager of Westpac Travel. Mr Hitch visited Moscow, Baku, Tbilisi, and Leningrad in November as the northern winter was taking its grip. The trip was sponsored by Intourist, Aeroflot, A. and P. Travel, Air New Zealand, and Swissair.

My introduction to things Soviet was a thick fog gushing from the airconditioning ducts of the Aeroflot Il-yushin-62 at Singapore Airport. For space-age effects it was superb, but I must admit it left me wondering what was to follow. The fog, fortunately, dispersed as soon as the doors were closed. At last we were on our way to Sheremetyo Airport, Moscow — to a country of mystery and intrigue which I have always wanted to visit. My impressions on arrival in Moscow were of seemingly endless miles of tenement buildings, statues of politicians, wide streets, hundreds of buses and trams and thousands of people in uniform. Next morning we were shown the underground railway, the stations of which are magnificent with marble walls lined with murals and bas-reliefs. The Metro is kept spotless and any litterer, I’m sure, would be quickly nudged on to the third (electrified) rail. Later, we visited Red Square where Ivan the Terrible put his enemies in cages and set them on fire, thus justifying the claim that it was the Russians, not the Americans, who invested the outdoor barbecue. We saw mile-long queues waiting to enter Lenin’s tomb. One of our party who photographed an army officer was obliged to expose the film — such is the sensitivity of the military. In the old days it would have been a blooded cutlass and a head rolling in the dust. Progress was making itself felt. Moscow was cold, but having driven dog teams in Alaska and having worked with senior bank officials, I felt I was not experiencing anything new. Early the following day, we travelled by coach through miles of birch trees and snow to Domododedoro, one of Moscow’s two domestic airports, to board a Tupolev 154. However else you assess Aeroflot pilots on domestic flights there is one sure thing, and that is they are positive. For takeoff you don’t need seat belts: you are glued to the seats as you rocket skywards like a seagull with scorched feet. Baku, on the Caspian Sea, is the capital of the Azerbaydzhan Republic and one of the richest oil-producing centres of the world. It also produces high quality carpets, which, when one is reminded that it was once part of Persia, is not surprising. The mystery of Zarathustra and Ahura Mazda lurks here. Traders come from India to collect the healing oils of Baku. Add to this the paths of earlier Assyrian, Greek, Roman, Christian, Muslim, Mongol and Turkish influences, mixed with the twentieth century (including a short occupation by the British in 1918), and you

have all the ingredients for excitement and adventure. Azerbadzhan is the eastern province of Transcaucasus, with Armenia in the south and Georgia in the west. Its people with their olive skin and brown eyes, are friendly, young, and extremely attractive. Highlights were visits to the “Gold Repository” of the State Museum; the ancient “Ichery Shekher” middle town; “Shirvanshakah Castle;” the local market with stalls of fruit (fresh and dried), vegetables, meat and handcrafts; an offshore oil rig; and the fire-worshippers’ “Atshguah” temple. After viewing what could be called a Middle Ages camel-traders’ motel of about 16 units, we were hosted at a nearby subterranean restaurant where the flow of wine and vodka supplemented a memorable meal. We flew to our next destination, Tbilisi, capital of Georgia, in a YAK-40 aircraft. This 30-seat tri-jet was so compact that there were no overhead lockers: a smart little aircraft which had ice forming on the inside walls while those in the aisle seats sweltered from the blast of the heating system. Up front my count was six aircrew with three hostesses. This equates to one jet-pod, one hostess, and two aircrew to every 10 passengers — a help to full employment as we zoomed up, across, and down. Tbilisi, a city of absolute charm, encourages the feeling that you would always return if given the opportunity. Tbilisi dates from the fourth century. The province of Transcaucasus (once called Iberia) contains legends of Odysseus sailing to its shores on the Black Sea, and of the Argonauts questing for the Golden Fleece under Jason and his mistress, Medea. The area was reasonably prosperous until the thirteenth century when Genghis Khan and his gang messed the place up. After that came the Turks; then the Persians. The Russians took over in the early eighteenth century only to lose it back to the Persians. It was not until the nineteenth century that the Russians regained control. Georgia was Russian occupied until the 1917 revolution. Three years later, the new republic came into the modern world. The Georgians, however, were no slugs, and they managed to get a lad into the Kremlin who, by this time, was chairman of the board and had all votes sewn up, as well as anyone who got in his way. This lasted through to 1953. Pictures of Stalin still appear on Windscreen of trucks, shops and cafes in

Tbilisi. His birth place, Gori, is 110 km away. The people, as in Baku, were very friendly. One young man, who could speak English, told of his obtaining a university degree in the arts, but whose employment was the counting of empty bottles at a restaurant. I asked him if he had ever thought of moving to other parts where more meaningful employment (my opinion, obviously) might be obtained. He said he would never leave his beloved Georgia. The variations of architecture is as a thread describing the history of Tbilisi along the banks of the Kura River, which flows from Turkey through Georgia. Lacy

wooden balconies would be the most typical of Georgian architecture in the old quarter. The severity of the more modem post-war tenament blocks is softened by the surrounding hills of the city. The main street is named after Georgia’s noted poet, Shota Rustaveli. The area produces fine tools, fabrics, most of the tea used in the U.S.S.R., brandy, more than 50 varieties of wine, tobacco, citrus fruit, champagne, and mineral water. Pigs, goats, sheep and cattle provide for their meat and skin trade, while coal, iron and electricity contribute to the economy of the republic. The prosperity of the area is obvious by the staggering number of cars. In some areas two sets of four lanes of traffic expand to five at temper-time — a 10-lane thoroughfare with the militiaman on point-duty blowing his whistle and gesticulating like an Orange fife-and-drum major taking the wrong turn in the Falls Road area of Belfast. Tour highlights included a visit to the ancient capital Mtsheta, with its cathedral, the Djvari Temple high on a hill opposite, and to realise the prominent part Christianity played in Georgia. It was of the Eastern orthodox and quite separate from the Greek and Russian churches. Saint George is the patron saint of Georgia — one can only speculate whether the slain dragon was Turkish, Persian, or Russian. (To be concluded next Tuesday)