By squeakyrobot
My program is one of only a couple study abroad programs that allow its student a week of independent travel. Students can do anything in this time, so long as they’re back in class the following Monday morning, ready for the daily grind and such. After a program-mandated excursion to Kiev and then Moscow, a group of friends and I took a train to Murmansk, the Arctic Circle’s largest city.
Go to Russia, and you’ll immediately see that the thrills and freedoms of consumerism have hit hard. Go to Moscow, see the supercars zooming past, and it’ll be easy to forget that only twenty years ago, this was the center of a deadly chaos as the government was enduring a castling of hands and minds. Petersburg has a touch bit more Soviet-ness to it than Moscow, but not much more. So when I arrived to Murmansk, I was surprised.
As the last city founded in the Russian empire, Murmansk 
still oozes its socialist heritage. The hammer and sickle is a permanent fixture on gray and blockish buildings. The heart of the town, its port, is industrious and peppered with smoke stacks. Cranes are the cityscape. And all of this remains true to its history. Murmansk was born out of the need to ship and receive military supplies. It played important roles in three wars and countless international scuffles. It remains a strategic point for Russia to the north, the heart of the region, and a main hub for submarine and icebreaker activities and other nautical industries. In short, Murmansk was important then and its important now.
And it’s because of this importance, I’d venture, that it remains relatively static in a country that has changed exponentially in two short decades. That, and its geographic isolation (27 hours north of Petersburg by train). I had never been more aware of the USSR than I had been when I was there. Even the people were friendly, very warm people for such cold weather. Rather, there was this sense of community that you just don’t see in Peter or Moscow or any huge city nowadays. A few older Russian folk I know would lovingly reminisce on the community that came with bread lines. I now know what they were referring to. The atmosphere of Murmansk seemed stuck in time, like a fish stuck in ice. Change the name all you like, but the USSR dies hard.
Coincidentally, I was in Murmansk on November 7th, the anniversary of the October Revolution. I heard a megaphone in the distance, so I followed it. A decent sized crowd had gathered in a park on that blizzardy morning. A crowd of Communists. The speaker was saying things of intense nature, commenting on the supposed degradation of the country, on the dirty streets, and on the inequality and injustices performed for the sake of a few at the cost of millions. I’d say the average age of the crowd was 70. A crowd that has survived a lot. A crowd that wants to return to the good old days. A crowd stuck in ice.
And I wonder, do they know their town, Murmansk, might be as close as they’ll ever get?