Solo China - A Journey to China in 1933

Author: (English) Peter Fleming
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: Strangely enough, you will find the Muscovites quite dull yet utterly adorable. Their fatalism curbs their curiosity, and strangers gratefully notice that no one is staring at them. For instance, when a Britisher walks down the streets of New York with a gloved hand and a folded umbrella, he is annoyingly aware that he seems like a rare animal. But wandering the streets of Moscow won’t give you that feeling. His attire is more refined than anyone he meets, and he clearly is a rare creature, a bourgeois. Yet, no one pays him too much attention, and he won’t feel like a stranger or an intruder. The Muscovites’ clothing is neither stylish nor distinctive. Except for the loose jackets often worn by men, their clothes are cut in standard European styles but poorly executed. Nevertheless, in the city center, you won’t see ragged people, barefoot individuals, or gaunt figures. The streets are always crowded, yet the faces are all identical, indistinguishable, and devoid of excitement. The crowd moves with caution, whispering to one another, and patiently queues outside tram stations and cooperative stores. In people’s eyes, you don’t see clear hope, only sometimes despair. They are a calm and composed people. Without a doubt, reality demands that people remain calm and composed.
One of the most curious things about modern Russia is that their women are generally astonishingly unattractive. Bolshevism seems to be incompatible with beauty. Across the border, in the nightclubs of Harbin and Shanghai, you are struck by the sight of countless stunning Russian beauties. But in Moscow, finding a beauty is like searching for a needle in the haystack, and even finding a girl with a decent face is like lighting a candle in the dark. You cannot but admire the wisdom of the Russian rulers, who issued a decree stating that marriage should not be considered permanent among Soviet citizens. I can’t imagine how this decree could be implemented. Even in theaters, you feel bewildered. Russian actresses take their careers very seriously, believing that years of meticulous training are necessary to become a true leading lady. In contrast, our innocent girls are on stage under the spotlight before they even reach adulthood, and such girls are hard to find in Russia. Moscow shows no respect for celebrities under 30, and most of the leading performers are over 30.
Another strange thing about Soviet Russia is how poorly their shop windows are arranged. My words are merely an analogy, for this shortcoming is far more serious than the shop windows in Moscow. People always assume that while the Russians are never very good at doing things, they possess the talent to handle them successfully. This refers to the ability to leave a good impression on observers, which is the foundation of the great and increasingly important art of selling. The current rulers of Russia—the men in power—are almost all of Jewish descent. If not Jewish, who else could be a good salesman? Let me repeat, the poor quality of the arrangement of Russian shop windows is truly strange. Precisely because the window displays are so low in quality, it is necessary to examine them more closely. Those stacks of hard, unyielding cheese, those fake hams, the cake icing that looks like varnish, and those magnificent, broken storefront windows—despite the long cracks clumsily patched with plaster. The goods inside the windows don’t need to be displayed, though they are so trashy and unappealing.
Across the street, a new building is about to be completed. A red flag proudly waves from the rooftop. Perhaps it has been fluttering like that since they hoisted it there a month ago. Alas, the red flag is made of inferior cloth; the wind has worn it down, and now the flag is tattered and ragged, with a weary strip of fabric hanging from the bare flagpole.
Another failure that didn’t meet expectations is the magnificent and imposing, adorned with castles and domes. It is undoubtedly a fortress and a beautiful place. From the opposite riverbank, the towering silhouette of the Kremlin fills you with genuine admiration. But why, oh why, does the great clock on the central tower strike 12:15 when it is actually 5:30? Why can’t they ever get things right? I don’t know the answer to that question. P15-P16