True Myth

INTOURIST, the "Soviet travel agency, shuttles its Western patrons from the S.M. Kirov Theatre of Opera and Ballet to the Leningrad State Circus. These organized tours will also insure that you saunter through the resplendent gardens of the Winter and Summer Palaces. And don't miss Hotel Leningrad's dinner menu; it boasts an infinite list of succulent foods and wines.

"I'm just so shocked," said a middle-aged American woman who had participated in one of these state sponsored adventures. "I expected Russia to be a backwards place. It's not at all like they told me it would be. It's beautiful, and the ballet ... well, the ballet was wonderful!"

My trip to the Soviet Union came on a whim, without the aid of an In-tourist expedition. Sitting in the Stockholm train station--my train back to Paris was due to depart within in the hour--an advertisement for the Trans-Siberian Railroad interrupted my reading.

Two days later, I found myself sitting in another train station--this time, Helsinki's--gawking at a monitor which relayed time schedules composed of Cyrillic characters.

It's not that difficult to purchase the obligatory visa which one needs to get in and out of Russia. Scurrying about downtown Stockholm to obtain the necessary forms for the Soviet consulate is about the only requirement. They want to make sure that you have hotel and train reservations. Once that's done, you indulge in a "Why do you want to go to our country?" conversation--"I want to open my eyes to the culture which I have heard so many terrible, awful things about"--and then receive the visa in a day for about 10 dollars. Surprisingly, it's that simple.

Still, I fancied myself to be some Magellan-like discover, setting out to disprove the myths and stereotypes which we thrust upon the Soviet Union.

Was the Soviet Union a destitute, lonely, unhappy place, undeserving of comparison with the United States? Or, were we all wrong, fostering images whose origins are anchored to cold war rhetoric?

My "adventure" was to last only four days, and because of the brevity of my visit, I chose to bypass the sights which Intourist strongly recommended. I never did purchase a ballet or circus ticket, and I walked past the opulent department store--for those with Western currency only, thank you--on Nevsky Prospekt, Leningrad's business district.

As much as could be expected, I attempted to implant myself inside Soviet culture. Analyzing it from within, not above. I ignored the tourist attractions, but surveyed the places which are a part of a Soviet citizen's daily lifestyle.

Poverty is everywhere. At night I would stare into Russian apartments, through street-level windows, and gaze at the chipped paint, the broken couch, the dingy, dreary, stone floors.

The city's gardens are grassless or at best spotty. Men spend their time raking the dirt. The fountains have only hoses coming out of the water making a less than ornate pattern.

Palace Square, the former home of the czarist regime; is architecturally stunning. But the windows are boarded up, the sides of the buildings dreary because of neglect.

The floors of the soup kitchens--for lack of a better name--are warped. Cabbage, watery soup and a rancid tasting beer was served when I visited one place. There are no shades, light fixtures, or cushioned seats.

Many of the minor roads in Leningrad are still made of dirt, but most of them are of stone. Pedestrians rule the streets; there simply aren't more than a few automobiles. At mid-day, one could wait for several minutes on a major avenue before a car passes.

This poverty, though pales in comparison to the destitute surroundings of Leningrad State University. Lenin went there and it's one of the most respected schools in the Soviet Union. But when walking there on a Sunday morning, one conjures up images of a burnt-out war zone; the buildings look so unsteady. Inside, there are papers strewn about in the decrepid and abandoned halls. Falling shingles, broken windows and heaps of litter infect this institution of upper level education.

IN THE Soviet Union, the children gravitate to one who wears Western clothes. Everywhere, they would study me just as I studied them. A group of young boys, training to be sailors--they were stationed just across from my hotel on the other side of the Neva River--flocked towards me when I asked if any of them spoke English Soon. I found myself surrounded by 40 or 50 of them, but nobody could speak English. We just stared at each other and tried to communicate with gestures. An older officer then furiously called them away from me.

While the children of Russia are receptive to a foreigner, most adults aren't. Never would the uniformed officers in the canteens look at me despite my odd appearance. Or if they were gazing at me.