Black Sea bubble
Justin Kerr-Smiley dessa was once as fashionable as Lausanne or Biarritz. The glitterati would take the waters in the summer and mingle on the pristine beaches of the Black Sea. Even Bolshevik rule barely dented its popularity, but as Stalin's iron curtain descended, this great city began its sad and inevitable decline. The jet-set and the émigré aristocrats stopped coming, the palaces began to crumble and the churches were turned into party offices for communist apparatchiks.
Now, suddenly, Odessa is thriving again. As Ukraine turns its face towards the West, this Black Sea pearl is starting to regain its lustre, and now is the perfect time to go because the barbarian hordes of holidaymakers haven't arrived yet, although they can't be too far away. Part of the reason for this is because you cannot fly direct from the UK. However, this will change when Ukraine joins the European Union. Visas for British and EU nationals were waived last year.
My flight from Prague to Odessa was only a third full and as the plane banked over a creeping, gunmetal sea, we flew over a vast cemetery, row upon row of white gravestones laid out like a well-ordered ossuary. Descending the aircraft steps we were met by a paramilitary policeman and were driven past several knackered Antonov aircraft, debris from the Soviet era. Customs consisted of a large uniformed lady of uncertain age, whose gold, gap-toothed smile reminded me of Rosa Klebb. I expected to feel a firm hand on my shoulder, accompanied by the words, 'Not so fast, Mr Bond!'
I stayed at the Londonskaya hotel on Primorsky Boulevard, its windows overlooking the Black Sea. The Londonskaya gives you an insight into the city Odessa used to be. It's a baroque building with old-world charm and a long list of illustrious former residents. The Finnish field-marshal Carl Gustav Mannerheim stayed in Room 325 in 1915 and the American dancer Isadora Duncan took the room next door in 1924. Anton Chekhov and Robert Louis Stevenson were also guests. I felt in good company as I put my bags down and opened my window on to the courtyard with its twin plane trees, their branches catching the late afternoon sun.
The following morning I took breakfast in my room and wrote up my notes, sitting at a small table next to the open window and watched by a curious collared dove sitting in one of the trees. Occasionally she let out a soft moan. It might have been pleasure, or it could have been indifference. It's hard to tell with women.
Later I strolled down the boulevard with its lines of chestnut trees just coming into leaf and stood at the top of the Potemkin Steps, a scene of Sergei Eisenstein's great film The Battleship Potemkin. There are 192 steps in all and they once led down to the sea; now it's a ferry terminal. Across from the terminal is the city's only monstrosity, the new Odessa hotel. A truly revolting building made from mafia money, it is lit up like a giant neon phallus at night and should be demolished.
But Odessa's museums and art galleries are full of wonderful stuff and well worth visiting. Odessa Art Gallery on Sofievskaya is a red stuccoed former palace that used to belong to a Count Pototsky. It has an impressive collection of Russian art from the Romanov to Impressionist and Soviet Realist eras. There are no security cameras; instead, in each room a babushka sits on a chair and gives an occasional commentary as you wander round. There are grand portraits of tsars and tsarinas, including Catherine the Great. I particularly liked the Soviet section, which included a marvellous piece of propaganda showing heavily armed Russian soldiers advancing in the snow, their uniforms torn, the expression on their faces comically fierce.
Also excellent is the Museum of Eastern and Western Art on Polskaya Street, which has Caravaggio's 'Christ Taken into Custody', as well as fine works by Rembrandt and Rubens. Again the security involved no cameras, just a babushka on a chair. As I advanced towards the Caravaggio to take notes, one of them flew across the room, thinking that I might vandalise it. She then apologised when she saw my notebook, and I replied that there was no need: better to be safe, etc. Smiles all round and I continued on.
The Archaeological Museum nearby is well curated with beautiful ancient Greek and early Slavic artefacts. It's supposedly Ukraine's oldest museum, and the collection consists mainly of objects found in Black Sea burial grounds: Scythian gold, Sarmatian swords and pottery, but it also has also some fine marble friezes and busts. Downstairs is a room full of Egyptian sarcophagi. Sadly the Ship Museum opposite was closed after being gutted by a fire and the impressive Opera House was undergoing refurbishment.
A combination of fine art and too much walking always makes me feel parched. My thirst was slaked, several times, with local beer or wines from Georgia and Moldova. I grew quite attached to a Moldovan chardonnay and only wish I could get it here. The food in Odessa is eastern Mediterranean with a dash of Russian thrown in: lots of grilled meats and salads, fresh fish, pickled vegetables, garlic and peppers. The service is charming and the food well priced. You could wine and dine like a prince for a tenner. And I did, often.
I atoned for my indulgences by visiting the Panteilemonovsky Monastery opposite the railway station, its silver onion domes gleaming in the bright spring sunshine. It's a popular place for couples getting married. I was fortunate in being able to attend Mass and found the celebration inspiring, with much singing from bass-baritone monks. The clergy sang the liturgy as clouds of incense dusted the air, tiers of candles flickered beneath icons and the faithful constantly bowed and crossed themselves.
Nearby is St Ilya's Church on Pushkinskaya, which is smaller but just as enchanting. Outside the grand railway station, babushkas sell piles of cooked prawns. I took a chance and bought a bag and munched them on the way back to the hotel, flinging the shells into the gutter. They were delicious.
Previous page
