russia, my lovely

Russia, my lovely

Why do I remember this now on a Christmas day
galley boy on a tank ship that was old in 1956
as the youngest of the crew of mostly middle-aged men
it is safe to assume I'm the only one left alive.
The ship arrived late at the port I have long forgotten its name, we had been stuck by drifting ice and only the Russians could come to free us.
A large icebreaker came and got us out of the mess
it appears the winter that year had been hard,
the elderly
said it was because a long war had upset the weather pattern, the cook, who was Swedish and had the face of
a Roman senator, or a hawk, told me not to listen to the fools, weather patterns change over time, whatever humans do.
The town was only a short walk from the oil terminal
and we walked without being harassed by beggars and
people who pretended to be friendly, anyway they skulked away when the cook looked imperiously, made
a remark in Russian.
The avenue in the town was wide but strangely empty of cars there was also a nice looking park but the town was saving in lightening, and there were speakers
at corners playing music to gladden the heart.
But things were going on that I was not aware of
buying Russian caviar to be sold in Europe and bottles of vodka, the cook got very drunk and the chief steward came to help in the galley.
I was later told, although I had no way of knowing
there were many prostitutes in park the who wanted
women's underwear, and nylon stockings, which some
enterprising sailors had bought in Rotterdam
later that evening, the Swedish cook and I went to a restaurant where men in old-fashioned suits sat and a lady
violinist played.
We were served food, and the cook drank white wine he said came from Crimea, wherever that was, I was not familiar with maps back then.
My impression was it was a poor place suffering from
a long war, basic freedom, and the great difference between the haves (nomenclature)
and people.