In the time of sanctions

The morning in Moscow was nice and clear, but cold, as cold as the relations between Russia and the West right now, a new Cold War emerging. In Moscow things appear to be normal, business as usual. In the streets, people commute to and from work in their fur-collared winter jackets and fur hats. My commute from the hotel to the office is quite short, just a 10 minute walk.

The conflict in east Ukraine is not resolved, and probably won’t be for a long time. Russia is under sanctions, from USA and its allied. The goal of the sanctions is to hit the Russian government and the rich oligarchs who support it. The exchange rate of the Ruble is down 50% compared to US dollars. Consequently, the cost of imported goods has increased a lot.  The sanctions hit ordinary people too. That’s what my Russian friends and colleagues tell me.

I doubt the sanctions will work. Russia can’t be forced in any way. The Russians don’t give in to external pressure, and never did.  They didn’t give in to Napoleon. They didn’t give in to Hitler. They certainly don’t give in to Obama. They will rather perish.

The Russians like to criticize their government, the bureaucracy, the misuse of power and corruption in their country. However, they don’t want to be criticized by foreigners. What happens when sanctions are imposed is that Putin becomes more popular than ever. He is gathering the Russian people against a common external enemy; USA, EU and NATO.

From the western point of view, the Russian annexation of Crimea is unacceptable. It violates international rules and laws. The Russians see it differently. They have bad experience with laws in general, from past and present corrupt regimes. The laws are obscure and ambiguous, and can always be twisted and interpreted in favor of the mighty and powerful. Law doesn't imply justice. For the Russian government, the same logic applies on the global scale; USA is an aggressor, supported by international regulations, which threatens Russian rights and interests.

The Russians have a good, but quite subjective, sense of justice. And justice says that Crimea belongs to Russia. When Leo Tolstoy was a young man, he served in the Tsar’s army during the Crimean war. He wrote about it in the Sevastopol Stories (a good book). Crimea was given to Ukraine by Khrushchev in the 1954. At that time it was only an administrative formality within the Soviet Union. Then Crimea drifted away when the Soviet Union collapsed and Ukraine became independent. However, many Russians still see it as a part of Russia.

That’s what they say. I just say that different people see things in different ways. The politicians in America and Western Europe don’t understand the Russian mentality. That’s for sure.

(Picture taken in Moscow this morning, when I was walking from the hotel to our office, and crossing the bridge over the frozen Moscow River to Krasnye Holmy.)

Flying on an Antonov An-24

I had a relaxing Saturday morning; my mission is completed, just waiting for the plane back home.

I’m flying out of Murmansk on an Antonov An-24.This classical Soviet propeller aircraft was constructed by the famous engineer Oleg Antonov in the 1950s. From 1960 to 1978, more than thousand AN-24s have been assembled in the factory in Ukraine, for both public transport and military purposes.

I was left alone in Murmansk last night, when my Russian colleague went back to Moscow. This morning, I put my suitcase in the storage room, and took for a walk outside. The streets were quiet and empty, just a few old Russian cars and buses passing by. It's very different from Moscow, with it's modern buildings and abundance of German luxury cars. Murmansk still gives a Soviet feel, except that the Marx and Lenin posters are replaced by commercials. It was a nice and sunny morning, and it's the middle of July. It's supposed to be summer, but still it was pretty chill outside. No more than 10-15 degrees (50-60 Fahrenheit), too cold with just a T-shirt and a thin jacket.

Coming back from my short walk, I found a coach in the lobby, and sat down to read and write, and to do some people watching, interesting as always. Two German women went up to the reception and asked for a map with the sights of the city. The receptionist was apparently surprised, and had nothing to offer. I was surprised too. There's not much of interest to see. It's the huge Alyosha statue, the cranes on the harbor, the former Soviet navy base in Severomorsk, and the midnight sun. People go fishing and hunting on the Kola Peninsula, but nobody go to Murmansk for vacation.

The driver picked me up outside the hotel at noon, to take me to the airport. I'm trying a different route this time, going straight west, across the border, and then continuing on a domestic flights. It's the shortest distance, but not necessarily the shortest time. It's not easy to find effective transportation between the remote places in the north, and Saturday is not a good day for traveling. There are not many flights to choose from.


The international departure on the Murmansk airport was like a small cupboard. They don't have many international flights, possibly only this one. Security, check-in and passport control was smooth and easy. There were no more than 10-15 passengers on the flight. I like the lazy atmosphere of the small airports in the north.

An old yellow truck was tanking the plane when we boarded, climbing a short and narrow ladder. The engines started to bark, propellers gaining speed, and we were ready for take of. The plane was as noisy as a punk band, and shaking like a hard-rock drill. But, what the Hell, it was cool to fly on an Antonov.


It was a two-hour flight, above endless forests and lakes in the east, and fjords between rugged snow-capped mountains in the west. Half-way the cute stewardess served a decent lunch, a salami sandwich with vodka and wine, but I stayed with tea and orange juice today.

Yesterday, when we had completed our business tasks, there was a celebration. We had some snacks and drinks in the general director’s office, whiskey with ice, Oran single malt. I don't like that stuff very much (prefer beer). Anyway, there were a lot of toasts, as usual, and they proposed a toast to my great braveness, because I was flying on the Antonov to get back home >:D

(That's our Antonov, ready for bording. Beautiful plane, isn't it? I took the picture at the top on the short walk across the runway. I shot a few pictures through the window of the plane as well. That tank-like thing in the upper part of the pitures is the engine.)