Sputnik Adventures

I’m safe and sound in Ufa, the cloak and dagger about police and scams notwithstanding. However, one more weird thing happened at the Volgograd train station before I left–I was laying low near the underpass to the train platforms when a woman approached me and said, ‘What train are you going on?’ ‘Ufa’, I blurt brightly. She strode off. All my paranoia that there was some fix in to fine this Yankee for some infraction was instantly renewed. I hot-footed it to the platform and skulked behind the stairway until the train pulled up and I hopped on board. I was just not made for these cat and mouse games.

A bit on Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad)–a fine city in its current incarnation, entirely built after WWII. The city is justifiably proud of its courage and incredible sacrifice during the war. After the battle of Stalingrad not one stone was left atop another. Months of withering bombardment by advancing German forces had left over half a million Red Army dead before the German retreat. The Germans needed Volgograd badly to gain access to Russian oil further down the Volga and Caspian at Baku; to deny it to the Russians and to control the Volga would have been a near-fatal blow to the Soviet front. Stalin recognized the importance of Stalingrad both strategically and psychologically, and dedicated every possible shred of manpower and materiel to its defense. The result was untold destruction and loss of life, but with the Germans turned away after months of bitter fighting the battle proved to be the turning point against Axis powers.

Today renamed Volgograd, I found a quiet city center with a lively park on the Volga banks. It’s an industrial town, and material wealth visible on the street seemed to be inching up, as elsewhere in Russia. Volograd is all about remembering the past, and has an excellent museum dedicated to the Battle of Stalingrad. Far more moving, though, is the memorial Mamaev Kurgan with a triumphant statue of Mother Russia wielding a huge sword. This is a Statue of Liberty-sized monument, and approaching it is moving not just for its magnificence. Mamaev Kurgan stands at the top of a hill that saw the abolute worst horrors of battle. No man’s land was a handful of yards between enemy lines, and continuous shelling was matched by waves of soldiers sent to certain doom, to claim a few steps’ advance. The hill was so ravaged by battle that for years nothing would grow on it. No one at the monument the sunny day I saw it was unmindful of the scene before them, and one old man walking slowly behind me keeping repeating, ‘Smyert, smyert’ (‘the death, the death’).

Sorry to leave it on that note today sputniki. Russia paid a terrible price against fascism and then some, and for that we, to this day, owe it a debt of gratitude.

Sputnik Lee

Details on Crimea, cave cities and Bashkiria to come.

Hey Sputniki, welcome back. Got a few minutes before I hop on the train from Volgograd to Ufa, Bashkortostan’s capital, so I’ll continue to hack away at the blog backlog.

So, the police (I never quite grasped what flavor of gendarme they were; Russia’s got umpteen different types) ask me to their office, a dusty kiosk at the corner of the train station square. Again, this validates them as legitimate officers, but then the fun starts. ‘Where are you heading to?’ ‘I don’t know yet; I’m on vacation.’ ‘Do you have any medicines, weapons, narcotics, or contraband in your possession?’ ‘Of course not.’ ‘Will you permit a search?’ Now we were getting down to brass tacks. I would not permit a search of my person; it is my right as a foreign citizen to ask that such searches be conducted at police headquarters, and this I did. This seemed to amuse the officers, and a funny (a ha-ha funny, thank God) kind of silence followed for a few seconds. A torrent of Russian followed, which causes my understanding levels to plummet. I respond with a torrent of English, which had the same effect on them, although doubtless they understood the key words American citizen’ and ‘consulate’. After we all reach a sane level, they say, ‘Look, can we just have a look in your backpack?’ I give in and open everything up. Inside is the usual assortment of travel junk. My name was duly logged in their ledger, and I was turned loose.

The whole incident would barely be worth mentioning but for a curious epilogue. I went back to the train station and asked a ticket agent about the next day’s train to Ufa. As soon as the question was out of my mouth the agent took a quick look at me, excused herself from her desk, and left the office, delivering a piece of paper to a presumed plain-clothes man who was talking with my two officers in the main hall. Coincidence? We’ll find out when/if I catch my train this morning to Ufa. Stay tuned.

Sputnik Lee