submerging in ponarth

The Pregel, flowing through Kaliningrad Oblast and finding its way to Vistula Lagoon just outside of Kaliningrad, is a peculiar river. It starts where two other streams – Angerapp and Alle – join. At some point in time the current became so strong that the Pregel bifurcated into Pregel proper and Deime. Yet it was still not enough to keep the element at bay. Just outside of Kaliningrad, water flow gets so immense that the river meanders, creating islands and meadows so swampy that they have to remain largely uninhabited and serve only for summerhouses and fishing spots.

The Pregel has behaved this way for centuries. Its wildness and caprices probably got envisaged in the name of an old Pruthenian settlement which later became a village and, subsequently, a neighbourhood within Königsberg – Ponarth. The word is believed to mean either behind the edge or diving, submerging, whirling. In both cases, it clearly refers to Pregel and its wetlands which still separate this part of Kaliningrad from the historic down town.

Ponarth’s golden age began in mid-19th century along with advancing industrialisation and construction of the East Prussian Railway, connecting Berlin with Königsberg. The rural village quickly transformed into a town with a brewery, a city-like park, a neo-Gothic church and a sports club called MTV. Especially the former became the stimulus for the settlement’s growth. Founded in 1849, the brewery produced an astonishing 90,000 tons of beer a year. It was famous across all Germany.

Ponarth’s neo-Gothic church is now an Orthodox khram.

Such mass-scale production required manpower. The number of Ponarth’s inhabitants rose from 3,500 to over 8,000 in just 5 years between 1895 and 1900. Construction of houses that followed the population boom actually blended the town into Königsberg. Five years later Ponarth found itself within the administrative borders of the city and was officially transformed into a suburban area. It has been busy and lively every since, always retaining a colouring of its own.

Kievskaya Street is former Ponarth’s axis.

World War Two left Ponarth damaged, but not destroyed, similarly to the west of Königsberg (usually referred to as Amalienau or Hufen). Most importantly, the district’s main factories continued to function. As military officers and clerks moved in comfortable villas and semi-detached houses of Hufen, and the southwest, so did industrial workers in Ponarth’s poorer dwellings and brick houses. This made Ponarth repopulate quickly with newcomers from all over Soviet Union.

Old brick houses, although neglected and partly modified, have retained its charm.

In 1947, two years after the war had ended and a year after Königsberg was renamed into Kaliningrad. the district was incorporated into the the newly created Baltiyskiy Rayon (Baltic District). Because of its new inhabitants and decades-long lack of investment in infrastructure, the name became a regional local synonym for shabbiness and roughness. Some people even called it ‘the bear’s corner’, advising not to go there without a clear reason.

Although Baltrayon ceased to exist in 2009 due to administrative reforms, Kaliningraders have kept memory of its special charm. Most people who are even a tiny bit interested in the history of the city remember the Zhigulyovskoye beer which continued the pre-war traditions. The historic brewery is still there although now it’s largely devastated and impossible to serve its purpose.

Ponarth’s brewery.

Is it justified to say that Ponarth, still exists? On one hand, the neighbourhood for 75 years has been part of Soviet/Russian Kaliningrad belonging to Soviet Union/Russian Federation. Inhabitants, street names and many other things have altered. On the other hand, the memory of Ponarth, its rich history and charm not only has survived but has also been cherished by many contemporary Kaliningraders. Plus, even they keep using the old name. At least in this sense Ponarth has not sunken into oblivion.

All photos were taken during two photo walks in October and Novermber 2020 using Minolta X-500 and various Minolta Rokkor lenses. Films were developed, scanned and edited to taste by me using Plustek OpticFilm 8200i, Lasersoft SilverFast and DxO PhotoLab.

longing for gerdauen

The town of Zheleznodorozhnyi, known as Gerdauen before 1946, lies in the center-south of Kaliningrad Oblast, just a few kilometres away from the Polish border. It is less than 3,000 inhabitants big. In the late nineteenth and and early twentieth century it developed into a local centre thanks to construction of a railroad, a watermill and a brewery.

Gerdauen was severly affected by both world wars. First, in 1914, the town was destroyed by advancing Russian forces. It was then reconstructed with the help of partner cities (Patenstädte) from Budapest (Austria-Hungary) and Berlin-Wilmersdorf (Germany). The recultivation works lasted until 1921 so long after the war ended. Thanks to favourable infrastructure Gerdauen grew quickly. Its population increased by 60% in just 20 years (between 1890 and 1910) and exceeded 5,000 people shortly before World War II broke out.

The 1939-1945 conflict, however, brought an end to the idyllic, a little drowsy life of Gerdauen and its citizens. Apart from military actions and Germans fleeing the town, what slowed down any reconstruction was its unclear post-war political fate. Initially, it was meant to become the capital of the Gerdauen county (powiat gierdawski) within Poland’s shifted borders. As it turned out in 1946 and subsequent years, Stalin had other plans for the whole Polish-Soviet borderland, moving the frontier some 15-20 kilometres southwards. Gerdauen found itself on the latter’s side, having been renamed to Zheleznodorozhnyi (Railroad Town).

Being not a municipal centre and rather remote from regional capital, Zheleznodorozhnyi was one of the most depressive spots on the map of Soviet Kaliningrad Oblast. As fields were nationalised and kolkhozes were established, local agricultural tradition was replaced with centralised planning. It meant no attachment to the land and rapid decay in crops efficiency. There was also almost no industry here. This is why already in late Brezhnev times Zheleznodorozhnyi suffered from outflow of people. Just between 1979 and 1989 it lost 15% of its population, barely exceeding 3,000 souls.

Zheleznodorozhnyi’s centre has not been renovated completely and comprehensively.

Collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 made things even worse. Rapidly deteriorating economic situation forced people to search for jobs either in Kaliningrad or elsewhere in Russia. Many of those who had relatives in the West migrated to Germany. Those who stayed had to deal with even deeper pauperisation, high unemployment and alcoholism. Regional authorities have other challenges to face and focused their attention mostly on Kaliningrad and its immediate surroundings. I wrote about this phenomenon in New Eastern Europe bimonthly earlier this year.

Only late 2020s brought a cardinal change of this attitude. There were two main factors for that. First, preparations for hosting the FIFA World Cup in 2018 by Kaliningrad Oblast aligned with attempts to increase the region’s tourist attractiveness and stimulate its more remote parts to grow. Second, consequences of the war in Ukraine made Russian authorities invest in domestic agricultural production. Although the Oblast largely benefitted from the so-called importozameshcheniye (imports substitution), it did not prevent the east of the region from depopulating weven further. Thus, regional government came up with the idea of renovating Zheleznodorzhnyi to see if it would improve the quality of living there.

Reconstruction, known as kapremont (capital renovation in Russian), began in summer 2019 and lasted for a year. They resulted in renovating a number of living houses in the town. Yet they were neither aimed at restituting the exact old look of the town nor carried out in a fully organised way. In fact, they stopped less than halfway. Major attractions of Zheleznodorozhnyi, such as the medieval church, mill, town hall and neo-Gothic castle, were left untouched.

The town castle is gradually sinking into oblivion.

It is striking to observeall these monumental buildings falling into decay especially when looking just a hundred metres away. On a little hill nearby, there is a brand new Orthodox church, drawing attention with its gold-plated cupolas. Its existence is very emblematic for all towns and cities in Kaliningrad Oblast. It points to a broader phenomenon of building typically Russian/Eastern Orthodox objects at the expense of the pre-war Gothic and neo-Gothic architecture.

Orthodox church (tserkov’) in Zheleznodoroznyi.

Does it mean that the kapremont failed? The answer is somewhat multi-faceted. For one thing, Zheleznodorzhnyi has not attracted serious investments offering new workplaces to the inhabitants. In this sense, it remained a sleepy town in the outskirts of the Oblast. For other thing, on sunny autumn days you could see tens of people from all over the region in Zheleznodorozhnyi. Visitors enjoy walking here, admiring the ruins and showing some interest in neat brickhouses in the centre. Oddly enough, Zheleznodorozhnyi strikes a balance here between what seems to be gone and what seems to be still here. The town’s uniqueness is that it offers both at the same time, wrapped in a rather accessible package. That is already solid ground to build upon.

All rights reserved. All photos were taken with Sony A7R Mark III.

in limes on belarus (and poland)

My article entitled ‘Polonia fa il tifo per la piazza’ in the latest issue of Italian geopolitical journal Limes is out. It provides a longue durée perspective of the area that constitute today’s Belarus in the context of recent developments there. It also briefly explains how it all relates to Poland. You can find it here: https://www.limesonline.com/cartaceo/la-polonia-fa-il-tifo-per-la-piazza.

All images were added by the editors. The translation from English into Italian was provided by Fabrizio Maronta.

Disclaimer: I write and publish all my articles in my private capacity. They reflect only my point of view and not that of any organisation I am associated with.

the province 1

Having lived in Kaliningrad Oblast for more than two years, I have managed to travelled it all. While traversing its province, I would often get a feeling there is something surreal about it. Although agriculture and animal husbandry are on the rise, towns and villages outside of the region’s capital city gradually depopulate. There are many reasons for that. I tried to address them in my article for New Eastern Europe earlier this year.

The phenomenon of a dying province inspired me to take a series of photos in different part of the Oblast. Below you can find pictures from Pribrezhnyi (Russian Прибрежный, literally meaning coastal or littoral), just a few kilometres south-west of Kaliningrad.

orphans of köbe

Back in 1920s, motorisation was more of a concept and a dream of the few. As Europe was struggling with economic turmoil, only rich bourgeoisie and aristocracy could afford private cars. Yet there was growing understanding of how important crossroads- and pedestrians-free roads could be to overcome difficulties of the post-World War One period, such as mass unemployment. Such endeavours went beyond national borders. The HaFraBa Association, founded in November 1926, advocated for construction of a freeway connecting Hamburg and Frankfurt am Main in Germany with Basel in Switzerland.

When National Socialists came to power, they used the concept of high speed-roads for propaganda purposes. One of their favourite notions was the allegedly detrimental fate of the province of East Prussia, separated from the rest of Germany by the Pomerania region of Poland after the Versailles Treaty of 1919. Initially, Hitler sought to ensure unimpeded road communication (although there were already transit train connections established) by the Königsberg-Berlin freeway. By doing so, he also planned to put additional pressure on the Polish government.

In mid-1930s the Nazis temporarily dropped the idea and focused on constructing its stretches in West Pomerania and East Prussia instead. In the latter case, the 90-kilometre-long Königsberg-Elbing part of the road was constructed in 1937. It consisted of finely connected blocks of concrete, allowing for a smooth ride with a number of collision-free junctions on the way. Two years later, World War Two broke out and works were never finished.

This viaduct, west of the village of Polevoye (pre-war Mahnsfeld), was once part of the regional route 126.
Shot on Sony A7R III + Sony FE 28mm f/2.0 | f/5.6 | 1/100 sec | ISO 100 | +1 EV.

In 1945, East Prussia was divided into Poland and the Soviet Union. The border was set some 40 kilometres south of Königsberg (Kaliningrad) and 50 kilometres north of Elbing (Elbląg). The newly created Kaliningrad Oblast was a highly militarised area with little civilian traffic with Poland until the beginning of 1990s. Thus, the freeway did not serve its purpose especially on the Soviet/Russian side as there were almost no towns and villages alongside it. In addition, parts of it had been damaged and destroyed and were not repaired. The freeway became a phantom, both in Polish and Russian known as Berlinka.

The situation changed in late 2000s when the Polish stripe of Berlinka was thoroughly reconstructed. As a result, in September 2008 it was re-opened as a single-lane expressway leading to the Grzechotki border crossing. The crossing was opened only in December 2010. Renovation works of Russian part of the road, however, began already in 1992 but were not completed until 2013 due to lack of steady financing.

Nowadays, the road serves as a transit route for Russians travelling not only to Gdańsk or Warsaw, but also further west and south. Although over the last years the traffic increased significantly, it is still rather not intense given the road nominal capacity.

The Russian stripe is a regular single-lane road with no collision-free junctions. In fact, most such objects, constructed already before the war, were dismantled or destroyed. Only few have survived. On the other hand, the second lane was partly spared and is now used as a car park by mushroom pickers and bungee jumpers. These orphans of KöBe are silent witnesses of what the highway aspired to be and what it is now.

All photos were taken with Sony A7R III.

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sambian storms

Sambian Peninsula separates the Vistula and the Curonian Spits, one of the longest worldwide (90 and 98 kilometres, respectively). The latter belongs to the UNESCO World Heritage Site. Sambia itself was long inhabited by Pruthenians – a pagan Baltic tribe conquered by the Teutonic Knights in 13-14th centuries. Since then, they gradually blended, often by being rooted out and assimilated, into the medieval Prussian society of settlers coming from today’s Germany, Poland, the Netherlands, Lithuania, Russia, Czechia and many other countries.

The Pruthenian language became extinct even though we know it was still in use in 16th century. When the Reformation started, secular Prussian princes ordered creation of Catechism in it. Thanks to it, some words have survived the extinction of the whole ethnic group together with its culture and beliefs.

Minolta X-500 + Rokkor 85mm f/1.8.

Sambia has always been a place where the nordwest, cold wind dominating southern part of the Baltic Sea, enters the Eurasian mainland. Before World War Two, it was a paradise for gliding. Sailplaners enjoyed sheer coasts and learnt to respect forces of nature which could be source of joy and excitement as much as of danger and destruction. One them was a young boy from Palmnicken (Yantarnyi) named Martin Bergau. As a 16-year-old he finished a war pilot course but was assigned to land anti aircraft defence of Königsberg. He survived the war and was one very few eyewitnesses of the Palmnicken Massacre in January 1945. In his memoirs entitled Der Junge von der Bernsteinküste. Erlebte Zeitgeschichte 1938–1948, he described both the beauty of Sambia and the tragedy of thousands of Jews who died on its coast.

Minolta X-500 + Rokkor 85mm f/1.8.

Sambia’s cliff, postglacial landscape clashes with high waves here and, occasionally, witnesses heavy storms. Nowadays, as global climate changes become more visible, it suffers from an unusually high number of them. Impossible to fend off, they slowly take away high coasts and damage objects constructed to attract tourists. They usually start in November and can last until March.

Minolta X-500 plus Rokkor 55mm f/1.7.

Nevertheless, when the waves are not extremely high, the Sambian coast remains an attractive spot for walks for both locals and tourists.

All photos were taken with the Minolta X-500 and two native Minolta SR (MD) lenses: Rokkor 55mm f/1.7 and Rokkor 85mm f/1.8.

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