Franz Wisner recently took early retirement from his job as vice president for government relations at The Irvine Company to tour the world with his brother Kurt, a residential broker in Seattle. This article is adapted from two e-mail messages.
The last time I was in Russia was 1986. The Soviet government was firmly in control. Talk of glasnost was just starting. All tours were conducted through the propaganda-heavy, government tourist agency, Intourist. I remember the first words of the tour hostess to our small group. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your bus driver, Yuri. You Americans should know the name Yuri … Yuri Gagarin, first man in space.”
Driving in from the Moscow airport to our Stalin-design hotel on that cold, gray March afternoon, I remember being stunned at the third-world condition of the roads, the project-like apartments and the city in general. How could this be the world’s other superpower in anything other than missile systems?
The lines were long everywhere. The few shops that were open sold all the same items. People walked the streets with their heads down. The most energy you saw was in the faces of the traders, easily spotted as the only ones wearing expensive Gore-Tex coats and Nike shoes.
Some friends and I snuck out one night to a small building on the outskirts of town to experience Moscow’s first underground disco. A small disco ball was taped to the ceiling and a man played beat-up records on a 20-year-old machine. It was fantastic to see smiles and excitement from young people so eager to embrace something new. We stayed out all night.
The most memorable moment for me was spending a day in a Russian jail after being arrested for the then-crime of having a beer with a Russian who wanted to practice his English.
It was against this backdrop that my friend John Dawkins, who has been living in Russia for the past 10 years, encouraged me to return. He said I’d be blown away with all the changes. So Kurt and I flew to Russia.
Moscow is still a gray, cold, dynamic, exciting, corrupt place. Picture Mexico City in a snowy climate. Police stand on the sides of the street waving over expensive-looking cars for no other reason than to extort a bribe. Reason alone to take the subways, which are rocket fast with magnificent stations decorated with beautiful tile mosaics and ornamentation. The roads are still bad, as are the apartments. The government and police are still very controlling. We were forced to sit in our seats after a soccer game for an hour for no reason.
But life and energy in the city and country have really started to bloom. Moscow is full of lights now, with billboards everywhere. The lines are gone and the stores are open, many of them Western. You can come and go as you please without being herded by a government tour guide.
The good: Dachas with banyas,a perfect way to spend a fall afternoon with friends. The soups,mushroom, borscht,and emergence of different types of Russian ethnic cuisine. Every driver is a taxi,just hold up your hand and give them a few rubles. St. Petersburg and its Hermitage Museum. Prices. The night life, with dozens of clubs that rival the best in any major city. The people, mostly friendly, proud, yet pro-American and eager to show you the country’s gems.
The bad: the infrastructure.
The ugly: The 250-pound Russian soccer fan who blew his borscht on my seat, which I had fortunately vacated for 10 minutes to buy a hot dog.
Best of all, I spent the entire time without visiting a Russian jail again.
Kurt and I flew from St. Petersburg to Gothenburg, Sweden, to pick up his car at the Saab factory.
The Saab representative seemed a bit surprised that we planned to take the car all the way to Syria and Israel, but assured us that their insurance would cover any damages or theft. She asked that we send her pictures to verify a safe arrival. I hope she meant us.
We’ve had incredible luck on this trip. The dollar has been strong, the fall days have been clear and each country we have arrived in seems to have won an Olympic gold medal the day before, so the locals are in great spirits.
We passed small fishing villages along the coast heading north to Oslo. New, meandering two-lane roads cut through pine tree-covered hills and valleys. The country reminded me of New England and the Maine coast.
Our informal price barometer is the cost of a beer. At $6 a pint, Norway topped all other countries to date.
Other than the prices, Oslo was a very pleasant surprise, a great walking city with several interesting museums dedicated to local heroes, including playwright Henrik Ibsen, painter Edvard Munch and adventurer Thor Hyerdahl.
We took another pretty drive across Sweden to Stockholm, stopping to play golf along the way. Kurt brought his sticks and has played in most of the countries. His golfing partners have tended to be married foreigners visiting their girlfriends.
Stockholm residents argue that their city is the prettiest in the world. They make a strong case from the extensive waterfronts and islands, to the beautifully restored palace and old town. Another great place to walk and people watch. If you go, don’t ask anyone under 50 if they speak English. They just stare at you with a confused look and say, “Of course,” and then proceed to correct your English.
Next stop, Poland, via an overnight ferry to Gdansk. Though much poorer than Scandinavia, there are many immediate appeals to Poland and the gritty, random feel of Eastern Europe in general. One question answered: Yes, they do eat plenty of Polish sausage. One question unanswered: Why so many handlebar mustaches?
There were two emotionally overwhelming experiences in Poland.
The first was spending an afternoon walking around the shipyards in Gdansk, where an electrician led a successful dock workers’ strike in 1980 that was the precursor to the fall of the Soviet system and the Berlin Wall. Lech Walesa still lives in Gdansk. In addition to the statues, they’ve named a beer after him ($1 apiece if you’re keeping score). There is a small museum with many photos, videos and press clippings housed in the same hall where Walesa led his strikers. The whole experience makes you hugely appreciate the value and the fragility of freedom.
Auschwitz was the other. We spent a full day here. Impossible to describe the experience. For me, the portion of the tour that hit hardest was the stack of prosthetic arms and legs the Germans somehow planned to reuse. It’s been several days now and I still feel numb.
Then, it was back to Prague, just in time for all the IMF protests. The day before, hooligans vandalized a McDonald’s. I swear they’re the same people who were in Seattle last year. IMF protests have taken over where the Grateful Dead shows left off.
Hope all is well across the pond. Thanks to all for the kind e-words.
