Clockwise from Above: The young diplomats (L to R from top)
Hank, Erik, Chris, Oden, Adam, Sill, Monika, Unk Nown,
Sergei, Rami, Rey. Aggression under Olympic Coliseum, Chris
Weeks lays back a fronside slap attack. A Club Olymplisky
member works the cones. A fearless fast learner, Sergie slides
into his future. A family loses a son to
mandatory military service.
bus procured by Emma. Along with
Emma were Sergei, Valerie (both
spoke English) and Andrei. Conver-
sation was confusing at first due to
airplane brain lag, but we rambled
through formalities, names, places,
skaters and skating.; Fortunately, we were
going to stay with the skaters in their
homes and not be connected to any
tourist agency, definitely a Russian rarity.
Originally our trip was only going to be a
five-day jaunt, but due to Tom's persis-
tence early in the planning, our stay was
extended to two weeks.
In the space of a few minutes, the bus.
passed from an overgrown countryside
into an industrial city riddled with apart-
ments. Excited tension dropped to light
laughter while groups of two ambled from
the bus on separate stops. Rami and I
were the final group and we followed
52
Sergei to
the ill-
named
Kruschev's
Harlem.
After
meeting Sergei's mother and his
mother's cousin, I relaxed. My view of
Russia in the past two hours had chang-
ed from cold war consciousness to a
free-spirited casualness. It seems our
media has done its own share of pro-
paganda. The people greeted us with
friendly eyes and eased us into their
world, the way they live it.
We sat around a politically postered
room and talked about music and
perestroika. We laughed at world leaders
and spoke of the times. We exchanged
gifts and music. After a few hours of rest
we headed off to meet our comrades for
some wining, dining and grinding.
The Soviet subways are huge Gothic
monuments with nervous electric trains.
shaking under the city. These and buses
were our tickets to the town; cars are too
expensive for most people. I absorbed
my surroundings as we rode to the club
while passengers on their way to limbo
threw odd glances at me. I wasn't sure
what their faces expressed-curiosity, bit-
terness or just confusion. I was later told
that some people resent our money and
freedom. With a few dollars you could
live like a king in Russia by changing
your money for rubles on the streets. The
official exchange rate at the banks is two
rubles to three dollars, but sly black
marketeers will trade up to thirteen rubles
for one dollar. This is a lot, considering
that 120 rubles is a month's salary for
some workers. We were discouraged
right away from approaching the
street gangsters with our money.
It's illegal and bad for the the
economy, they told us.
We met the rest of the victims
of travel sickness and munched
our way through a typical Russian
restaurant meal-it's fair border-
ing on bad in some places. On
the flip side, the food at our hosts
houses consisted of great authentic
munchables. We met the slalom
club dancing their way through
cones on a giant downhill drive-
way. Valerie told me that a few
years back the scene was much
bigger, practically everyone who
could walk wanted to skate. Through
the years, boarding popularity had
dwindled. They ride American
70's slalom boards, Soviet sticks
that resemble dime store releases,
or the boards made by Andre,
chairman of the club. A big chunk
of slalomers and freestylers roller-
skate, too. Sergei told me that in
the past they put up with a lot of
police harassment, but since the
founding of the club, police visits
have ended.
They taught us the basics of
slaloming, though we couldn't
come close to the speeds of the
Soviet sportsters. Later we went
across the street to skate some
wooden platform docks. This was
the memorable Moscow jam.
Everyone laughed and skated
through the evening. Finally, the
light faded and we all headed to
our respective homes.
Luckily, we avoided the tourist
traps. If you're going to travel, this
is the way to do it. We did see
and skate some of the incredible sights
of the town-Red Square, Moscow
University and monuments galore. We
went to Gorky Park and got down to
some hot tunes by Paul Simon, Lady
Smith Mombazo and other South African
artists on a Graceland tour. I recognized
a face in the crowd and could not believe
it. It was Alex, a skater from Palo Alto,
whose father was doing diplomatic work
in Moscow. We asked him and his
skating friends from the ramp-equipped
American Embassy to skate in a youth
festival with us in Gorky Park.
We had our first public performance
the next day in Gorky Park. The crowd
cheered as we leaped, bounded and
bumped into the obstacles we hauled
out. Chris ollied anything that didn't
move and Ray pulled some hot flat
ground tricks of the future despite his
injured ankle. Soviet skaters rolled up
and showed their stuff. A few soldiers
oozed through the wide-eyed crowd to
test their boots on boards.
We were giving away all kinds of
things, trying to match the generosity of
everyone we met. Music was a big thing.
and we had lots of tapes to give away. I
saw kids with Metallica shirts in strange
places throughout Russia. A lot of Soviet
bands playing music that is similar to
popular rock in the States, and there's a
strong underground scene, too.
Chris and Oden were experimenting
with more nightlife than the rest of us
ragged souls. Everyone was usually tired.
even our hosts. Long days jammed with
events that take some tourists a week
became a casual routine. Just as we
started getting acquainted with the
capital city, our train trip to Estonia
grabbed us buy the collar and held us for
a fourteen-hour ride up north.
Tallinn, the capital of Soviet satellite
Estonia, was a vacation within a vacation.
The cobblestone streets of the old Euro-
pean inner city were teeming with life.
Walls painted and scratched with creative
expression, a sight not seen in Moscow,
reflected the attitude of the people.
Tension toward the Soviet government
lingers here. Russian
forces first occupied and
controlled the area in the
forties, and emigrants
have been pouring into
Estonian cities ever since.
Chris, Oden, Sergei,
Ray, Valerie and Andre
stayed at jolly Kalev Kart-
ner's flat downtown. Rami,
Adam, Monika, her swol-
len foot and I stayed at Eric
Raitviir and his wife's
apartment on the outskirts
of town. We spent our days
either wallowing in the
shoals of the Baltic Sea or
railsliding, grinding and
airing the streets, which
are riddled with rails,
banks and curbs. The city
was a cornucopia of skate-
able terrain, and we ate it
up with grins on our faces.
We all got together at
Eric's for a road trip
Above: Midnight sun on the Baltic coast.
Inset: Moscow University-home of
higher allie education for Adam.