APRIL 23, 2022 – After catching my breath in Malmö, I traveled back to Stockholm, my “jumping off” point for Finland and . . . Russia. In the Swedish capital, I spent three days with my cousin Anders, who, like our cousins in Malmö, was keenly interested in hearing about Poland and equally curious about my imminent trip to Russia. On the evening of my departure, he walked me to the wharf where I boarded the Viking Line overnight ferry to Helsinki*.
Between the ferry’s early morning arrival and the train’s noon departure for Leningrad, I took a quick walk in the center of the Finnish capital—a path that led to the Parliament House and . . . the statue of Tsar Alexander II overlooking Senate Square. The continued display of Russian autocracy seemed consistent with “Finlandization”—the post-WW II accommodation that Finland reached with Russia, whereby Finland “apologized” to Stalin for having humiliated the Soviets in the Winter War of 1939-40 and Stalin, in turn, allowed Finland to remain independent—as long as it remained non-aligned.
My trip to Russia was a logical sequel to my encounters in Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and especially Poland, where age-old enmity toward Russians was the fuel of current street demonstrations, not merely the subject of history books and Romantic period literature. This animus was acknowledged by the Russians I met. As I noted in a letter home, “My Russian friends admitted that history would not allow Poles and Russians to live in peace.”
At the time, relations between the U.S. and the USSR were strained and had been for some while. The U.S. had boycotted the Moscow Olympics the year before, and as I was to learn, the boycott continued to wound Russian pride. Moreover, less than two years before my sojourn, the Soviet Union had invaded Afghanistan and was confronting stiff resistance from the mujahideen, who were supplied with weapons and other support from the U.S. With Poland moving inexorably toward the West and Reagan in the White House, while bushy-browed Brezhnev remained entrenched in the Kremlin, cold winds blew between the two super-powers. American tourists hadn’t been flocking to Russia prior to increased tensions, and in 1981 Americans showed even less interest in visiting “the Evil Empire.”
There was, however, the occasional tour group from . . . New Jersey. At the ugly but modern Pribaltyska Hotel in Leningrad, I encountered a flock of older Americans from “Joisey,” who barely knew to what country their travel agent had sent them. One morning at the entrance to the hotel’s darkened restaurant, a woman from the group tripped slightly on the doorsill. I was the only other person in the immediate vicinity, and assuming that I understood English, Jersey Woman said, “If they don’t turn on the lights, they’re gonna have a lawsuit on their hands.” Having spent much time in New Jersey, I recognized the accent—and the attitude.
“This is the USSR,” I said, “where they’ve never heard of such a thing as a civil lawsuit.”
When the lights were turned on—a sign that the restaurant was now open—I deliberately sat as far away from the American tour group as I could.
______________________
*See my post of 3/13/2022. This was the ferry on which I witnessed an impromptu Roma music-and-dance performance.
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
