Don Curry is learning to write

Don Curry has never been a fan of writing. By that, I don't mean the formulating or even composing of texts, I mean the physical act of using a fountain pen or ballpoint pen on a classic piece of paper. Even in elementary school, 'penmanship' was always one of his worst subjects, as even back then Don Curry seemed to know: why should I bother to write by hand when typing is so much easier? He only knows real writing as a signature, as a almost calligraphic abstraction of his name. But today, this day would demand so much more from him.

First, he was greeted with a real surprise: an overflowing breakfast buffet, with freshly brewed and served excellent coffee. As a self-proclaimed breakfast despiser, Don Curry only sampled a few bites of scrambled eggs and various salads on his plate, followed by a pancake roll filled with jam. Then he quickly tidied up his room, simply placed the key in the provided basket, and left this convincingly hospitable place.

He could leave his car behind for now, as his first destination was right across the street on a hill: the Gothic Cathedral of Frombork, its size bearing witness to the long-faded significance of this now remote village. It was also the place where Copernicus lived and worked - and found his final resting place in the cathedral.

Yesterday, Don Curry had already noticed the scaffolding on the outside of the church, a drastic reduction in what should have been extremely photogenic objects. Today, the drama was even deeper: the cathedral was surrounded on all sides by scaffolding, construction machinery and materials marred large parts of the churchyard, and inside the church, the construction workers hammered and roared with their tools. Don Curry's visit therefore remained quite short, the entire choir area was one construction site. The tomb of Copernicus in the nave was the only accessible highlight.

The bell tower of the cathedral also formed part of the fortification of this true church fortress. In its lower part, a planetarium had been set up in memory of Copernicus' research. The first show of the day was to take place at 9:50 am; after the short visit to the cathedral, Don Curry hurried there expectantly, 5 minutes before the scheduled time, only to read on the outdoor door that the last admission is granted 10 minutes prior to the performance. Was today going to be a day of disappointments?

Don Curry quickly decided to explore the upper part of the tower, paid the equivalent of 1.80 € with his EC card, and began the ascent, encountering a real peculiarity: the entire interior of the tower had been exposed, the stairs always ran along the outer walls; in the middle of the inner top of the tower, a gigantic Foucault pendulum hung, its constant oscillation unquestionably proving the Earth's circular motion. In addition to this immersion in iron laws of nature, Don Curry also enjoyed the magnificent view of the cathedral construction site, the entire Frombork up to the Frisches Haff and the final spit.

Now somewhat satisfied, Don Curry got in the car just before a torrential downpour hit Frombork. The heavy rain accompanied him on the journey to Braniewo, where Don Curry wanted to visit the Gothic St. Catherine's Church. It had already undergone the general renovation started in Frombork and appeared almost too sterile and perfectly renewed. At least it was Don Curry's last point of interest before continuing the journey to Russia.

He had read a lot about individual trips to Russia. Almost all relevant travel guides and websites warned against entering with your own car, especially on the first visit to Russia and without solid language skills. Don Curry didn't care. He could say 'Good day', 'Thank you' and 'Goodbye' perfectly in Russian, and he had successfully crossed many borders before.

The Polish part of customs clearance turned out to be completely problem-free. He handed over his passport and vehicle registration document, went through a 5-minute check, and off he went. A few meters further, the Russian part of the border facility began. A dashing uniformed officer initially only wanted to see Don Curry's visa and then gratefully handed him a white plastic strip that Don Curry should put in his passport. Now he proceeded to the vehicle check, but although only 5 EU vehicles (all from Poland) were waiting ahead of Don Curry, he would spend almost 2 hours here, and the process was accordingly slow. The Russian vehicles on the adjacent lane were cleared much faster.

Finally, a young customs officer beckoned to Don Curry with her flashlight, so that he could enter the actual control area. He quickly got out of the car to rush to the control counter when the officer shouted something in Russian, friendly but insisting. Don Curry called back asking if she could speak English? She did, and she made it clear to Don Curry, politely but unmistakably, that he should get back into his car and wait. Okay, thought Don Curry, personal cooperation to improve efficiency is obviously not desired. So he waited, constantly watching the officer to see if she would make any sign for him to proceed. But she just smiled kindly and was not ready to make any sign. At some point, she called out to Don Curry, asking if he didn't speak Russian at all? 'Njet', Don Curry replied and felt proud inside to be able to say another Russian word.

Finally, the officer gave a clear signal, and Don Curry hurriedly went to the control counter with his documents. The visa, passport, and vehicle registration document were meticulously inspected, copied, and inspected again. Then, an entry card was printed, and half of it was handed to Don Curry, so that it could be placed in his passport along with the plastic strip. This real success allowed Don Curry to drive another 5 meters into Russian territory. Now it was time for the officer with the instructive flashlight and the undercarriage mirror: one by one, Don Curry was allowed to open every door and flap of his car. The lamp and mirror were used everywhere, but there was no need to open the travel bag.

The next stop was the customs counter, behind which sat Margareta, as her Cyrillic name tag revealed. Her task was to process Don Curry's possessions, mainly his car, in accordance with customs regulations. Margareta was not surprised by Don Curry's lack of Russian proficiency, she took it all pragmatically, handed Don Curry 4 forms, and made it clear in German: 'Write! Three times!' Don Curry took the forms, retreated to the car to write, and first noticed that one of the 4 forms had already been filled out in German and labeled 'Example'. In addition, one of the blank forms was duplicated, presumably for his wife/companion; so he wouldn't have to fill it out. So Don Curry eagerly set to work, filling out the two relevant forms by hand. One concerned general belongings and was relatively easy to complete, although Don Curry began to hate the extremely long street name of his home address. Why wasn't there an autofill function here? The other form concerned only his car and required the recording of many data from the vehicle registration document, such as the license plate, displacement, and identification number.

Don Curry bravely filled out both forms carefully and returned to Margareta. Margareta opened the flap of her counter, took the slips, rolled her eyes, and said energetically: 'Write! Three times!' The duplicate form was not intended for any companion - Don Curry had to fill it out twice! Okay, back to the car. In the meantime, the officer who had given the initial instructions was back and clearly instructed Don Curry to clear the space and drive 10 meters further into a parking lot on Russian territory. Carefully, Don Curry filled out the duplicate form and returned to Margareta, satisfied.

Margareta opened the flap of her counter and took the slips. She changed the manufacturer's designation VW to Volkswagen disapprovingly, and also ensured that the date entries were two digits. Then she sealed the forms and handed one of the duplicates to Don Curry. When he thanked her with 'Spassibo' (Thank you), a brief smile even appeared on her stern face. Don Curry returned to the car, finally ready to start his 'Russian adventure'. Just as he started the engine, he saw Margareta running towards him in the side mirror. He quickly stopped the vehicle and rolled down the window. 'Customs paper!' Margareta said in her pointed style, showing that she had not written down the identification number of his car, but rather the chassis number. 'Komm!' (Come!), Margareta said.

Resigned and at the same time apprehensive, Don Curry followed the stern customs officer. Back at her counter, Margareta carefully separated the area with the state seals from the form, crumpled up the rest, and handed Don Curry 2 new copies of the vehicle customs certificate. 'Write! Twice!' she commanded, but quickly filled out the check boxes herself. This time Don Curry did not return to the car, but wrote the data from the vehicle registration document next to the counter. Satisfied, he stood in front of the counter after the double completion. Margareta opened the flap of her counter and took the slips. She then took a small pill box, swallowed two small tablets vigorously, and only then turned her attention to the forms. 'Vehicle registration document!' she demanded sternly, meticulously checking every single character of the identification number on both forms. Don Curry almost felt that she was then smiling like an elementary school teacher who had successfully taught her children the first letters of the alphabet. 'Das alles!' (that's it!), Margareta said, and Don Curry preferred not to say 'Auf Wiedersehen' (Goodbye) out of caution, but to end with a harmless 'Spassibo - Danke' (Thank you).

He started the engine of his vehicle almost hectically, in order to escape any further requests from Margareta as quickly as possible, and drove to the next checkpoint, now about 100m into Russian territory. Here, a smartly dressed officer finally requested his passport, removed the plastic strip, and presumably wished him a 'Gute Reise!' (Good journey!). Don Curry had arrived in Russia.

He initially drove on noticeably worse roads to the village of Mamorowo, where he wanted to go to the port on the Frisches Haff. He found the right turnoff easily, but experienced that the quality of the road steadily declined, until in the end, a bumpy dirt road ended at a barrier, making further travel to the port impossible.

Don Curry turned around and headed for his second destination: the ruins of the once powerful Teutonic Knights' castle, Balga, located right on the Frisches Haff. But what he had just experienced happened again, albeit in a more blatant manner - albeit in slow motion, as the distance was much longer: from the bad asphalt road eventually arose a German cobblestone road, which then turned into an uneven dirt road with potholes and bumps that could only be navigated at walking pace. At some point, Don Curry gave up, parked his overstrained vehicle on the side of the track in the middle of the forest out of pity, and decided to walk the last 3 km. It was predictable: after a few hundred meters, the road became significantly better again, but Don Curry was already enjoying his surprising hike in Russia. Shortly before the destination, however, the ruins of Balga Castle were also considered a restricted area. Don Curry observed the behavior of the locals, who could easily navigate the profiled route with their mighty SUVs: they, too, did not dare to step beyond the almost ridiculous barrier tape. So Don Curry adapted to the local practices, accepted the annoying demarcation, and followed a footpath that allowed at least some distant photos of the ruins and the Frisches Haff.

After the return hike, bumpy road trip, and drive, Don Curry set an eastern course. He ventured to the village of Kornevo, where a huge water tower from German times had been preserved, which looked quite photogenic due to its sheer size and almost archaic shape. He then continued on to the village of Vladimirovo, formerly known as Tharau, where the church still stood where Ännchen von Tharau was baptized. Like almost all churches from the German era, it no longer played a role in the Soviet state and was left to decay after the plundering of all artistically valuable treasures. It officially belongs to the Russian Orthodox Church today, but it is in such a dilapidated state that Don Curry would not want to bet a cent on its future.

He finally felt drawn to Kaliningrad, where the pre-booked Hotel Honey Bridge was waiting. Kaliningrad has been working on its tourist relevance for several years now. The simplest means to this end seems to be the reconstruction of historical buildings. After the Königsberg Cathedral, the former fish market area was rebuilt around 15 years ago as an overly half-timbered building complex with a stylized lighthouse. It feels like Disneyland! Despite this unflattering history of development, the Hotel Honey Bridge could score points: with its excellent location right on the Pregel River and the Königsberg Cathedral, with the many free parking spaces all around, and with an ambitious, modern interior design. Don Curry quite appreciated sharing his room with massive mosses as wall decor.

But he soon left the mosses alone again, as he wanted to experience something in Kaliningrad. His first stop naturally took him directly to the cathedral. For 100 rubles, he could have visited it, but Don Curry did not yet have any Russian cash. So he continued towards the new city center, past the ruins of Königsberg Castle and the Soviet prestige building 'House of Soviets', which, however, was so badly built that it could never be used. Since then, this construction ruin has overshadowed the castle ruins and clearly demonstrates how ironic history can sometimes be.

On his way to Victory Square, Don Curry finally found an ATM, which he was able to convince to dispense rubles. Victory Square is the new center of Kaliningrad, with a monumental triumphal column, the Christ the Savior Cathedral, built only a few years ago, and many shopping centers. Don Curry would have liked to visit the Orthodox Cathedral, but despite the obvious opening hours, it was completely closed.

So he headed straight for the last destination of the day: the brewpub restaurant 'Chmel', located in one of the shopping complexes. The restaurant was very busy, which is always a good sign. Don Curry was directed to a table for two, which he regretted because the tables for six had direct taps. Here, the thirsty guest could continuously tap his own beer in the required quantity and variety - the bill would then be calculated in milliliters at the end. Great idea, elegantly implemented! But Don Curry would have to make his waiter run, as the beer did not flow automatically to the small tables. Since the staff consisted exclusively of young people, communication in English was no problem at all, and an English menu was immediately handed to Don Curry.

Don Curry is always drawn to the unknown, he is a researcher and explorer, even in the culinary field. So he ordered a salmon suguday for his appetizer, without really knowing what to expect. A suguday is a typical Siberian specialty and consists mainly of frozen raw fish that is slightly thawed; in addition, the salmon was dressed with fresh onions and lemon juice. It was served with small warm boiled potatoes, toasted Borodinsky bread with frozen butter flakes, and some salad with dill dressing. It also included a small glass of horseradish vodka. Although the icy, still completely frozen fish took some getting used to, the overall composition proved to be an absolutely convincing masterpiece of culinary delight. Don Curry's first dish in Russia turned out to be an undisputed hit.

The Baltic pike fillets in dill cream on bacon fried potatoes were quite convincing as a main course, but did not meet the high expectations set by the suguday. Nevertheless, two things became clear to Don Curry: similar to Ukraine, bacon in Russia is exclusively white, and the indulgent Russian does not bother with trivialities like vegetables. The main thing is meat or fish - and the main thing is fat! The self-brewed beers of the 'Chmel' also deserve a mention: tasty, flavorful, and full of character. This is how it could continue in Russia.

With this surprisingly positive summary, Don Curry looked back with satisfaction and reassurance on his first few hours in the supposedly so foreign world. It had been more than worth it to be forced by the strict Margareta to write correctly. Spasibo! (Thank you!)