1 NOTES from the UNDERGROUND II the RUSSIAN TRIP March 29, 1980 to April 15, 1980
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1 NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND II THE RUSSIAN TRIP March 29, 1980 to April 15, 1980 2 Saturday, March 29, 1980 The day for the departure to Russia was at hand. The morning was preoccupied with packing and going out to buy a plug that would take a three way prong and come out two way. Luckily, one was available at the neighborhood hardware store. At about 1:30 p.m. I went up to Teachers College with Irene and Betsey. They were off to the choral practice and I went to tidy up my desk (clearly related to having clean underwear on in case of accident.) I was met at the office by Glenn Hendricks who was back from Bahrein, Thailand, India, Hong Kong, Australia, etc., with bad back and cracked tooth. At about 2:50 p.m. I descended to the choral practice, heard some Honegger, was greeted by some and paid farewell to Irene. Incidentally, received a nice card from Betsey and presents of bath stopper, kleenex and bubble gum for my journey to the wilds. I took a taxi home at 3:30 p.m. retrieved my baggage, patted Xochi and went downstairs to await limousine. The latter arrived on time, with Sula Benet, and we went on to pick up Vera Rubin. The ride to John F. Kennedy airport was uneventful although traffic was remarkably heavy for a Saturday afternoon. TWA accepted eight huge valises from our party of three without a murmur and without overweight charges. Gone, apparently, are the days of microscopic weigh-ins. The line at the airport check in was long and miserable, a man behind us collapsed--a heart attack rumor had it-- but we finally got through. Met up with the rest of our party--Frank Lees (SUNY-Albany), John van Willigen, David Wolf, Tom Arkuri, and Craig Tussey, the latter four from the University of Kentucky. 3 Flight #904 to Madrid was delayed about an hour due to the usual reasons as well as foul weather in New York City. Finally we took off, a 747 completely full. An uncomfortable six and one half hour flight to Spain. We arrived at around 9:30 a.m. Spanish time. Supposedly we had reservations at the airport hotel, but TWA put us up rooms, meals and taxi fares at the Hotel Convencion on O'Donnell 53, not all that far from the center of Madrid. Palm Sunday, March 30, 1980 I had arrived in Spain without sleep. My immediate seat mate on the flight was an oversized man who never stopped talking to his neighbor. He turned out to be an engineer with a low-level literary flair and a penchant for photography, and he never stopped trying to impress his neighbor, a Puerto Rican woman married to an USAF doctor stationed in Torrejon de Ardoz. Anyway, when we got to the hotel, I took a shower and shaved. Then I took a walk with Vera around the neighborhood. I had on my woolen shirt and heavy jacket as everything else was ticketed on to Moscow. It was warm. I heard it got to 68° by afternoon and I sweated and felt terrible. It was Palm Sunday, "Domingo de Ramos" in Madrid. The city was quiet. Many had left for their pueblos and Semana Santa, but it was, as usual, clean and beautiful. The Madrileno is no Rondeño. He is an urban animal with all that connotes. But still he is a Spaniard--dignified, courteous and helpful--when called upon. The women were in black, more than usual, undoubtedly related to the tragedy that is Palm Sunday. 4 I returned to the hotel and had lunch with Vera, Sula and Frank Lees at a lonely table reserved for TWA layover guests. Food was reasonable, even passable, but not what one would expect in a good Spanish restaurant. At about 1:30 p.m. Vera, Frank and I went off, by taxi, to the Rastro, where we saw the open air merchants begin to pack their wares and leave for their respective houses. Nothing really impressive here at this hour of the Sunday market but still struck by an apparent opening of Spanish "mores" e. g. the "head" shops, the peddling of sexual items and devices, etc. After about 45 minutes, we taxied to the Prado, which, of course, was closed on Sunday afternoon. Then followed a desultory search for an open air cafe. None were to be found in the neighborhood-- the summer season was not quite on yet. Finally, we found one at Plaza de las Cibeles, across from the Post Office where we recouped and rekindled our spirits with a drink. Prices have gone up exponentially. It cost 230 pesetas for a beer, a lemonade and a campari! C'est la vie! Returned to hotel by 5:00 p.m. I had called the Bar Jerez in Ronda earlier and had talked to Pepe Luis, could not get Juani at the Gestoria or at home. But by the time I got back to the hotel, Juani called. The conversation was typical, where are you? how's Irene, are you coming to Ronda? come back from Russia through Ronda, if not, come this summer, etc. Everybody is O. K. Paco is back from Rome (temporarily?) Dozed for two hours, got up, dressed in my woolens again, came down and had supper, again at the TWA table with all seven others of the "team." Colleagues impressed by the food. I wasn't, by the lavish laying of wine at no cost, etc. Afterwards, six of us (Sula and Frank had opted and retired for the evening) went off in search of a cup of coffee. Palm Sunday apparently is not the time for such searches. Nevertheless, we found a local bar--not quite Ronda style--but not bad. Coffee, conversation, and return to 5 hotel. To bed-no longer exhausted, but clearly tired. Slept like a log awaiting a wake-up call at 6:00 a.m. Monday, March 31, 1980 Left hotel at 6:45 a.m. for an 8:55 a.m. flight. Warnings about heavy Monday traffic proved wrong. Warners had forgotten the flight from Madrid engendered by Semana Santa. Arrived at Barrances Airport at 7:00 a.m. Iberia personnel handled our Aeroflot flight with calm and dispatch. No coffee, no breakfast, airport cafes on strike, but politely. Team wondering around. van Willigen forgot coat at hotel, had to return to get it, and got back in time. Aeroflot flight was also completely full. Why? Plane seemed to be functional but the interior, especially the service areas, seemed primitive by comparison to American and European standards. Reminds me somehow of my Aunt Eleftheria's kitchen. Stewardesses were not the behemoths I was led to expect. Almost comely, almost well-turned ankles. Lunch at 10:30 a.m. included herring, other fishy things, a huge container of beef and potatoes, cake, wine, bread, butter, cheese, all served in a pizza-type box! And, then we landed, after a 4 1/2 hour flight at 4:00 p.m. Moscow time at Sheremetyevo Airport. Melting snow on the ground, a gray flat look, low buildings, the smell of confused construction. The reception building was of aesthetic level considerably lower than the old airport at Sewell in Barbados. Cinder wooden floors, booted Russian women returning home, men in assorted fur caps, and disorganized looking military presence. We were met cordially, if not warmly, by Victor Kozlov, Solomon Brooke, Alexander Zubov, Andre Voronov and Ludmilla Kusmina. Enormous baggage load picked up with relative 6 dispatch and passed through customs without inspection. This process was facilitated by the Institute personnel and after signing a declaration of money brought in. The group divided into several sections. I went with Victor, Tom and a couple others in a heavily smeared van, smeared with mud and dirty snow. The ride into the Gastinitsa or Hotel run by the Academy of Sciences. The ride itself was interesting, mostly trucks on the road, a paucity of passenger cars. First impressions were clear, a flat landscape, a thin, dirty snow melting and smearing fields and road. Occasional buildings, a few houses but mostly larger structures probably factories. A monument was pointed out, put up by the Air Force to commemorate the spot the German advance on Moscow was stopped, no more than 15 kilometers from the city itself. The monument itself was three huge structures in the shape of tank traps and painted red. We crossed the bridge over the channel linking the Volga and the Moscow rivers, passed the Moscow river, drove along Lenin Avenue, had many buildings pointed out but memory fades. The Gastinitsa Akademia Nauk is a large building. Each floor has a lady concierge. Passports are exchanged for a room assignment form. My room is 608 (a small foyer, a functioning but strangely 30ish bathroom, a bedroom with narrow bed, a sofa, a table, a picture window and a sort of redifussion type radio.) Comfortable. At 6:30 we assembled in the downstairs restaurant for a welcoming meal. In addition to our receiving committee, Lucia Smirnova was present. Toasts were begun by Brooke. Vodka was consumed in some quantity accompanied by snacks of herring, mushrooms, cheese, etc., More toasts by both Russians and Americans. I tried mine in both languages- 6 words in the difficult one and the rest in New Yorkese. Main meal followed, an awful piece of meat and, I believe, potatoes. The party broke quickly but amicably. If the purpose was solidarity, the dinner was a success.