Natasha
On
returning, I would spend quite a lot of time with my friend and
lecturer Henry Wrassky. One day he said he would like to introduce me
to someone interesting. We met at the home of Marina Page who lived
in Sumner, a short walk from my parents house. Marina had her cousin
Natasha, from Leningrad staying with her for the summer. I remember
Natasha lying with her back to the window pane reading a book and
taking very little interest in the conversation.
I
don’t recall any more how things went but have a recollection that
Wrassky said something about us getting together and for whatever
reason that’s what transpired. Natasha (who was, at 34, 12 years
older than me) started seeing quite a bit of each other. That was the
start of a bit of a romance.
Problems
started when went, very reluctantly, to stay with cousin Marina in
her cottage at Hanmer. Natasha arranged for me to pick her up in hand
mark and started a trip together to the West Coast. We stayed in
Greymouth and then travelled down, through Hokitika to Franz Josef
glacier before returning to Christchurch (and trouble).
I
was in love – or it might be more accurate to say I was in lust,
with Natasha who was in deep trouble with her cousin Marina for
betraying her trust and, not least, seducing a young man from an old
Canterbury family – Marina always had a deep appreciation of that.
When
Natasha flew out to return to Leningrad I accompanied her to
Melbourne and Sydney. We stayed with old friends of Wrassky whom we
are managed to offend, not least by Natasha leaving blood on the
sheets. We had a fine old time together in Sydney with no one looking
over our shoulders. I remember walking a lot, seeing the Sydney Opera
House, drinking beer. We entered one pub where there were only men
who cleared at Natasha for daring to enter a “men – only”
drinking hole.
Coming
back to New Zealand – I remember it Christchurch airport having to
wait until the last for a Customs search which was extraordinarily
thorough, I presume because I hardly had any luggage and wasn’t
carrying back the obligatory shopping – I settled, more or less
back into the last year at University.
The
obstacles made, what would have been unobtainable, not to say
ill-advised for the normal person had they even ended up in this
situation, all the more determined. Wrassky, who by now regretted
having ever brought us to together tried his best to dissuade me from
going further with my odyssey, even saying something about women not
being as fertile as long as men.
My
parents probably knew better than to try and persuade me out of my
delusions and were remarkably long-suffering, even supportive. There
were many difficult, and expensive trunk calls to Leningrad. It was a
real feat getting through to the operator in Moscow and persuading
them to connect me with Leningrad. I remember one time, trying to get
through, asking “is this Moscow?”, “No! This is South Africa”.
All of this would have been quite impossible had I not been able to
practically take over from the New Zealand operator and explain
myself and Russian.
All
of this was very stimulating.
Next
came the preparations for travelling to Russia and fulfilling the
bureaucratic requirements of the Soviet government. Natasha’s
letters were very matter of fact (I wish I had kept them) and
explained how I needed to have documents, witnessed by a notary
public and by the Soviet Embassy proving who I was, that I had no
criminal record and so forth. The Soviet representative at the
embassy,Nikolai Parshenko, was embarrassed and apologetic about the
red tape. I think he was on our side.
Some
time in our winter I took a trip to Leningrad, met the family, got
the blessing of Natasha’s mother, Nina Petrovna and spent some time
with Natasha. I had to go on a tourist visa which meant having to
stay in a hotel at monopoly Intourist rates. It also meant that
whatever we did during the daytime I was not able to stay with them
and Natasha was not able to sleep in the hotel.
I
remember one amusing episode returning back to the hotel in the
evening and the babushka who guarded the floor and gave out the keys
refused and insisted on asking “where is your delegation?” The
officious old woman refused to believe that I was an individual and
staying on my own so I had to go down to the service department and
explain myself before I could get into my hotel room. That was Soviet
reality!
On
that trip I flew out of Copenhagen which meant taking the train from
Leningrad through Warsaw, where I spent one night and then on to
Copenhagen.
I
remember arriving in Warsaw where after the sparse shelves of shops
in Moscow and Leningrad the Warsaw shops had piles of cabbages. I
remember staying in the Hotel Bristol on Nowy Swiat, which is now one
of the most swish streets in Warsaw but was then pretty dingy and I
remember how they served up the obligatory meal with potatoes, a
small piece of steak and tinned peas. I was also very pleased with
myself that I was able to buy some sweet smelling Polish aftershave
from a kiosk.
Other
memories which come to mind are visiting my Danish friends who I met
a couple of years before in Moscow, drinking Danish beer and then the
trip back, which started with the Lufthansa flight being 10 hours
late, being put up in an expensive hotel, the next flight being also
late as well as the connecting flight from Sydney being late as well
– I arrived approximately 24 hours later than scheduled. Luckily I
was young.
Fast
forward to November and I again, was flying to Europe, this time to
London where my sister Kathy and my cousin Rosie took the train to
Moscow. I remember it as a pleasant trip with guard bringing us free
cups of tea. In Warsaw I was sure that we had plenty of time so the
three of us went for a walk, (minus our passports) and when we
strolled back a very red-faced guard asked where had we been, we had
held up the train.
We
arrived in Moscow, met by Natasha and then travelled on to Leningrad
in style, on the “Red Arrow”. I remember Cathy and Rosie meeting
the family going to pick up Jeremy from the railway station, he had
arrived from Helsinki; walks through the frigid streets of Leningrad,
photos on Palace Square and then later on the wedding itself which
was held in the Palace of Weddings, which was a very formal and very
Soviet ceremony.
I
remember saying goodbye to my family at the railway station, spending
some more time in Leningrad and then moving on to Moscow. One way to
save money was to travel by train as much as one could because the
train journeys were a lot less expensive than the hotel
accommodation, and also rather pleasant.
That
winter was one of the coldest they had had in Russia for several
years. I remember being told how water pipes had cracked in the cold
and I have recollections of walking some of the most beautiful parts
of Moscow, such as Kropotkin Street and around the Novodevichii
monastery, which was closed in those days, it incredible cold –
minus 24° C.
One
of the aspects of visiting Natasha were long shopping lists, bringing
items like sheepskin coats made in Christchurch, or some item of
stereo equipment – all of this could be resold at huge profit and
help to finance the whole endeavour.
All
of this must’ve placed a tremendous financial burden on my family,
for all know I had learned some of the money and cashed in on some
insurances my father had to subsidise much of this.
I
don’t really know what my parents thought about the strange
situation, but they were amazingly supportive, never tried to
dissuade me and greeted the new arrivals with great warmth when
Natasha and her family finally arrived in the country in August the
next year.
Can’t
have given any thought to how I was going to support this new family.
I had started a job at the Department of Trade and Industry as
assistant advisory officer, really a fairly low level clerical job,
deciding whether import licences would be granted, or not. This was
in the days where the policy was still one of import substitution and
fostering local industry, one that would go down the gurgler just a
few short years later in the Rogernomics neoliberal policies.
Natasha
arrived with her full contingent, consisting of her mother, Vera
Petrovna; her aunt, Nina Petrovna in nine-year-old daughter,Zhenya. A
wonderful cottage had been found for us in the middle of Sumner,
ironically just over the fence from Natasha’s cousin Marina. I
think Natasha’s family thought that third arrived in Paradise and
were living in a dacha, as if it were a summer holiday, even though,
to my shock, they were lighting up the fire every day going through
the firewood as if there were no tomorrow. Zhenya started at the
local school and was taken under the wing of my mother, ‘Granny
Moll’.
Natasha
had arrived as a whole lot of books on computer programming – I
took her word that she was experienced in this area but it didn’t
take that long to realise that this is not her area of expertise
there were no prospects of her work in this area. So, for the time we
were together, we will all supported on my very meagre salary.
Unfortunately
Vera Petrovna had a heart condition and after about a month took a
bad turn. She was seen by the doctor and have some ECGs which said
nothing, but was called back from work one morning to be told that
she had died from a heart attack.
Whatever
hard exterior Natasha had, or whatever skills in wheeling and dealing
in the Soviet system, the death of her mother within a short time of
arriving in a new country dealt her a severe blow and I had no skills
to be of much support and it didn’t take long to learn about the
chasm that divided us culturally.
She
was not emotionally invulnerable as I think some others tended to
think that in fact very emotionally vulnerable, which was shown by
the fact and she revealed this to me that at some stage (I can’t
remember what the immediate trigger was) she closed herself off in
the covered and developed a debilitating skin condition, psoriasis.
She
often didn’t speak to people that she wasn’t close to and seemed
haughty and rude. She was, I think, shy amongst people she didn’t
relate to what I know she loved and respected my parents greatly,
even if she was capable of whisking away one of my dads bottles of
gin.
I’m
sure that she had a not so secret inner desire to be accepted and
taken them to what she (and her cousin Marina) saw as one of
Canterbury’s “aristocratic” families.
The
relationship was based on open (on my side at least) pure fantasy.
People only saw how I (and my family) we used by Natasha to get out
of Russia and find a better life. This was certainly the position of
her cousin Marina who had taken great offence at Natasha’s
behaviour when she was staying with her and was livid when in her
eyes, she “targeted” “the scion” of the great Westenra
family.
I
still, 35 years later, see this as, to put it politely, an
oversimplification. Although there is some truth the whole thing was
not concocted and the truth is a lot more complicated.
Things
started to fall apart when her ex-husband, Misha visited her from
United States. I’m not sure of the ever met (probably not) but I
can’t imagine the vehemently anti-Semitic Marina ever accepting the
Jewish Michael! Following closely on that, Natasha went back to
Leningrad to sort out her affairs and I learnt indirectly that she
had been in contact with other husband… and I’m sure that’s
when the possibility of a move from New Zealand to Europe arose.
What
transpired in the months following was that… had managed to marry a
Finnish woman, to divorce and turn up in Belgium.
The
relationship deteriorated rapidly, there were some unfortunate scenes
between us during which time I took refuge in a vodka bottle and
eventually, I was asked to leave, and went back to live with my
parents.
My
wife was persuaded by her lawyer to take out a non-molestation order
and quickly moved to get a separation agreement, as well as the New
Zealand passport under the name Westenra, (which was very convenient)
and to arrange to leave, with her family for Belgium where her
ex-husband left for her.
We
kept in sporadic contact until I left for a trip to Europe. After a
few days in England I was met off the ferry by Natasha and we spent a
day or two together in Brussels.
She
disappeared off the radar completely for some years until I found
her, and she was living in France.
Visiting
Natasha in France
When
I returned to Moscow with Henry Wrassky in 2007 I saw her in Moscow
and amongst other things was treated to lunch in the opulent Cafe
Pushkin. After some time in Poland and visiting my long-time friend
Gerti in Bamberg, Germany I was treated to a ticket to visit Natasha
on the Cote d’Azur. The meeting was very amicable and felt more
like a family visit them to and an estranged spouse.
We
shared many recollections, and even the promenade around the
peninsular of…was somewhat reminiscent of old times in Sumner. I
was met like a long lost friend and treated with characteristic
generosity even if the quid pro quo was to accompany Natasha in her
large Mercedes (playing CDs with old crooners like Dean Martin) on
long shopping trips, or on a wonderful (but over-long and very
tiring) trip along the Cote d’Azur, through… and Menton to Italy
where we had dinner.
I
met Zhenya (Eugenie Westenra) who was living in Monaco and working
for the Credit Suisse catering to the needs of Russian millionaires
who needed some place their money. This was in 2007, in the heady
days before the 2008 financial meltdown.
I
have often wondered what has happened to them in the days since then,
but apart from one solitary phone call when Pam spoke to her, Natasha
has once again disappeared off the radar.
That
is so characteristic.
……………………….
Here’s
an excerpt from my diary of my last visit to Europe.
8
August 2008, Provence
Une
villa au Meditteranee!
I
think I really have to pinch myself – a completely different world
from Bamberg. 9.30 and already thermometer says 27° C!
Cypress
trees and tall hills covered with buildings that are as reminiscent
of Italy as a France. Cicadas sing shorter notes here I think.
Was
met at the airport after a bit of a wait by Natasha – and
undersized person in an oversized Mercedes. In the old days she
didn’t/and couldn’t drive. Airport seemed empty and provincial,
but apparently it’s the second biggest in France. I wasn’t that
impressed by what was on offer in Frankfurt and Zurich. Nothing much
to eat – but Swiss chocolate and Moevenpick ice cream on the
Swissair flight.
Can’t
remember much of the drive back – dry, hot, amazing French
buildings – very dense buildings along the seaside and on the steep
hillsides.
Met
by Zhenya and her daughter – nice but slightly awkward (from my
side) conversation – I was tired. Zhenya also suffers seemingly
from some form of chronic fatigue – sleeps a lot, both the office
but doesn’t spend a lot of time there.
More
later…
After
a slow start took off with Natasha to Eze, a small village between
here (St Jean Cap Ferra) and Monaco. Situated on steep slopes of 400
m – it has a church with narrow winding paths leading up to a
fortress. The Romans were here but present structures date back to
the 14th century. Belong to Provence, then to Kings of Savoy and then
France. A lot of time in highbrow shops and art galleries. Down below
bicarb Park is a perfume factory and museum. Apparently all French
perfume comes from grasses grow nearby – this is the source.
Shades
of the old Natasha – in and out of shops, looking at all the
beautiful things. In the evening a nice one and a half hour walk
around the peninsular of Cap Ferra. All slightly reminiscent of
Scarborough and Flowers Track etc .
In
Eze that is an expensive hotel with the customer’s luggage is
carried by donkeys.
It
has been an adjustment – from Gerti’s flat in Bamberg to this
amazing fellow on the Cote d’Azur was to Russian women working one,
Raiya- (a Chechen I think) the other looking after the wee
girl,Nastya (Anastasia Charlotte Westenra!!). Zhenya works for a
local branch of credit Suisse and works with the rich Russians who
live here, bringing business to the bank. She obviously earns well
(she has brought some millions of euros to her employer) – this was
the problem with Nastya’s father – in Moscow, who found it hard
to accept that she was earning several times more than what he was.
She studied economics at Brussels University and Russian politics at
the London School of economics. Since I knew them in Brussels, when
they were struggling to keep themselves going, they have lived in
Switzerland, London, Moscow – and now the Cote d’Azur. As I
understand it Natasha is following Zhenya and running her own travel
business from wherever. She has someone, who she describes as being
like a son, running a bureau in St Petersburg – specialises in
Tours from Europe with the cultural (or whatever,) theme. She has her
own guides stop she gets referrals from European travel agencies and
she pays them.
….
Feel
exhausted today after a rough day yesterday. Met up with Natasha’s
Georgian friends and drove to Menton and looked around the most
amazing old town – the last town before one hits the Italian
border. Lots of photos, lots of waiting while certain people did the
shops, a good proportion of the day went into shopping stop
Then
went to a cafe to have tea in the most amazing array of cakes and
sweets et cetera – one piece would have been enough for the sweet
tooth, but had to sample everything. By this time would have been
ready to turn around, but no, onwards to Italy. Stopped in one town
while in its business and then on to San Remo… More shopping, a
little bit of sightseeing – by this time it hardly care less –
and then to cap it off) after all the wonderful eateries on the
street that we bit bypassed] went to some expensive cafe – more tea
with pastries! By this time I felt pretty pest off. Then back to the
car (a huge Mercedes that doesn’t fit the roads here) a’s ships
nd a long trip back, finding the way; yet another stopped walk around
and night Bazaar in Menton. By the time we got back it was 12:30 a.m.
and I was stuffed.
Today
I think I am suffering, primarily from the diet. Tired and a little
depressed – basically need space, simplicity and hanker for home,
or it least Birling Place.…
This
has been a difficult stay for me. Especially the resins. I have been
ups and 730, ready to go down to the village to look up the Internet
for Z – it is now 8. 30 and nobody has stirred is – so I can see
that Natasha will get up late and normally no time for what seemed
urgent last night.
Similarly,
there would be announcements such as open quote after dinner we will
drive up to the village, – and then nothing would happen. Then
yesterday I was told we were going to the beach only to find we were
going on a shopping expedition instead.
I
have spent a lot of time this waiting while Natasha disappears into a
shop to look at shoes, onions, or whatever, I have found it all a bit
claustrophobic, unnerving and frustrating. There is an uncomfortable
feeling of being dependent on someone else, to go somewhere, when and
if they want.
This
on the one hand. But on the other, the unbounded generosity of paying
for my ticket, taking me around, offering the most incredible
delicacies – champagne , all sorts of French breads and sweets,
being on the beach with its chaises longues and glasses of wine,
orange juice etc – it cost $40 a day just to sit on the beach.
All
of this is brought up feelings of rage, in adequacy, frustration –
most of all, not really being my own person. So while I know I should
be grateful and happy I feel in a pressure – let me get out of here
full!
Apart
from anything else observing the life of the well off is not a
comfortable experience – all the expensive cars, rich food, the
throwaway society, all the talk of who has what, expensive cars,
jobs, helicopters to St Tropez. It is, to put it extremely mildly,
unsustainable. On Saturday, when I went shopping with Natasha in her
huge Mercedes, forgetting to take with her any bags from home – all
the unnecessary expenditure, the use of plastic bags – all produced
a sense of despair.
Natasha
is a powerful woman in people seem to be attracted to her. When
people speak to her on the street and French there is a good
connection. She does seem to be able to help the people around her –
so the money flows in and out. She seems to have a sincere belief in
spirituality (eastern and western); she is impressed by Alexandra
David Neel and a bit borders on; also a fairly innate understanding
of energetic medicine – she latched fairly quickly onto the
principles of NAET. I did some basic muscle testing on them and then
Natasha went down to use the Internet to find some local NAET
practitioners. Zhenya is pretty sick with chronic fatigue and unable
to work at the moment (she sleeps a lot of the time close bracket and
has all the classic symptoms of CFS/candida. I hope someone here is
able to help.
Who
wee daughter, Nastya, is delightful and bright for her age perhaps I
should think of myself as some sort of “would be” Grandad!! All
in all there is some familiarity, but in general a very different
world from what I’m used to!
