I’m in the Ukrainian port of Sevastopol – the main harbour for the Russian Mediterranean fleet. Part of the controversial Ukrainian independence deal was that the Russian still get to birth their fleet here.
Everywhere you go there are beefy Russian sailors and even beefier Ukrainian men that look like they just came out of a casting call for Rocky IV. (Isn’t that the one where he fights the Russian?)
I think maybe the reason we Americans hated the Russians for so long was because they were handsomer than us. The road from the harbour is filled with memorials to the war dead, all built in that imposing Russian block style and adorned with that hard soviet calligraphy.
As a child of the cold war I can’t help but feel a bit uneasy. I was taught to hate this race and fear the sound of this language. It occurs to me that if this was the 60’s the only way I could have been here was as a spy. If I had been caught walking around with my tiny spy camera – I would have been banished to a Siberian salt mine as the US State Department denied my existence.
John Lenahan's Year of Gratuitous Socks 
5,September, 2009 at 11:19 am |
For some reason, when I try to view this page, I get the message
“Error 404. This page cannot be found. You should not be at all suspicious of this. It happens all the time.”
6,September, 2009 at 9:53 am |
It’s not worth the effort David, just idol brain meandering.