Julia Semenovoj's surprisingly sincere history about our city, our Kishinev. The history penetrated by heat, humour and nostalgia. And, probably, it is printed not first time, but in archive of a site it would be desirable to have it. So.
One my colleague who has arrived to Kishinev already married person and, strangely enough, lives here approximately years twenty, once was surprised: "Why, when here there are two strangers, at once start to find out, who at what school studied?". Yes it is a city such was! Earlier here all each other knew. If not personally, in absentia, through the familiar. And even if these in absentia familiar people never and could not meet (in what I personally very much I doubt) be assured: all of them equally had about each other weight of data - who where studied, who with whom is on friendly terms, who whom married, how many the person was on wedding and as the cousin aunt of the groom looked. Such popularity irritated nobody. Unless surprised visitors of capital. But to them explained: it in traditions of Kishinev, what here not clear?
Old кишиневцы - not on age, and on spirit - learn each other from apart. And there and then start to search for general acquaintances. Till now. And it is unimportant, in what point of the world there is their conversation. Somehow in Israel we with the husband have got acquainted with the nice married couple which has arrived here from Kishinev about thirty years ago. Having talked minutes этак ten, have found out, that we have general friends: academician Boris Tsukerblat and his wife, known historian Clara Zhignja in Moldova have got over several years ago from green Kishinev in desert Negev, in Beer-Shevu. We - already all four together - have there and then spoken by with them to phone and have made an an appointment next day in seaside Герцлии. And there, at restaurant when have again started to try to discover general acquaintances, it was found out, that Boris Tsukerblat is on friendly terms with American businessman Daniel Sahnovskim with which wife my husband studied in one class. Moreover, at this particular time the couple Sahnovsky too stayed in Israel. So, thanks the Kishinev traditions, we have met and them. And, of course, thoroughly повспоминали ours once a remarkable city.
In the footsteps of Anna Kareninoj
Prospectus Штефана of foreheads Маре which till now many on a habit name Lenin's prospectus, accurately divided Kishinev on two parts. Top, with its beautiful residences constructed still before war, always was considered as the prestigious. Bottom - with stocky houses, narrow curve small streets and noisy markets - was as though the second grade. And though its inhabitants could not brag of bathrooms, toilets and gas cookers in apartments, nevertheless the occasion to pride at them was. Moreover what! In this part of a city, in the visiting house of a merchant of Naumov in the street Antonovsky, 19 about two months there lived once Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin. He wandered on these intricate small streets and lanes, instead of on haughty Garden (now Матеевича) which, by the way, during its times and in помине was not.
However, the neighbourhood with spirit of the great poet of snobbery to inhabitants of the bottom part of Kishinev did not add. Neighbour's democracy here reigned. In tiny court yard where mistresses cooked that jam from a white sweet cherry (necessarily with a lemon in the summer!) plam jam, since morning till late night the children crowded. Here, in court yard and on eyes everything, had the most important and most interesting events in a life.
Here dramas were purer than the Shakespearean. Well, for example, the respectable husband of family has grown fond of the servant, the girl from village. But simultaneously he madly loved the wife and to leave it did not gather. The servant has given birth to it to the child. The happy father solemnly declared this spouse. But that for some reason has not divided its pleasure. It in tears has jumped out in a court yard and has rushed to the neigbour: "Madam Musja (here all have been brought extremely up), at you is the railway schedule?". - "On what to you, madam Tsilja?". - "I Wish to learn, when the Moscow train comes, and under it to rush!" . Having thrown up the hands, madam Musja has called other neigbours. Madam Tsile sympathised, calmed and explained, what the Moscow train comes very much late, when already darkly and how it will reach station? Madam Tsilja has agreed with these arguments and has lived as early as more many years. And all this time near to it there was its assistant-competitor-servant. It selflessly looked after the mistress - and when that has grown old and when has absolutely fallen ill. And then as early as more many years went on могилку madam Tsili. Remembered it both on orthodox and on Judaic to customs. And the daughter of this servant too remembered madam Tsilju, and then somewhere has left, speak, to Israel.
Not knowing ford, be not put on the Broadway
The Kishinev summer is tasty smelt as fried pepper. This smell wandered from year to year, from a decade in a decade. It shrouded a hot city as if a shawl, and equalised in the rights all its areas. Pepper fried and on aristocratic Forge (nowadays street Bernardatstsi), and on Soviet (now Рава Церельсона), in growing, as mushrooms after a rain, new buildings-five-storey apartment blocks Рышкановки and Botany, on green Small Malines and noisy worker Otovaske. Even, present, inhabitants of elite Stalin houses on Lenin's prospectus had supper fried pepper. And through the opened windows hooters of cars, as today, and a rumble of voices reached in kitchens from street not. In the evening Lenin's prospectus became the Broadway which it was accepted to name simple Ford.
To go on Ford is was cool! On small пятачке between streets Kotovsk and Pushkin the advanced youth in the evenings walked. If someone casually got to this fashionable multi-coloured crowd, to it did not pay attention. The Ford had rules.
Gait. It should be lazy, hardly вразвалочку. That foot is a little косолапила. That, walking to rise on a sock. Gait gave out the. To it followed study and study.
Clothes. Naturally, all the most fashionable. Polo-necks, toffees, bright приталенные shirts with peaked collars and large drawing. Terry socks and velveteen тапки - махра and мокасы. At крутейших - shoes on a mad platform: шкары, or wheels. Trousers-klesh - клеша.
Jeans cost a fantastic sum, more than the salary of the engineer. The word "джинсА" was said not with contempt, as now, and with reverential aspiration: to afford such luxury (it still to find it was necessary!) units could only. It was possible to achieve effect of "attrition" of trousers boiling down. Inhabitants of Ford had some special recipes which shared only with the nearest environment.
On Ford it was not accepted to be surprised. Even if it was very curious, here tried to keep the indifferent and a little tired kind. It created sensation of mysteriousness and special appeal.
Let's recollect "Youth"
Every summer in Kishinev there were events of world value, for example, opening of dance pavilions. It now the youth can dance in everyones there a disco-clubs round the clock and all-the-year-round. Earlier this entertainment was seasonal. Having much developed on Ford, having proved to be and having looked at others, many inveterate "бродвейцы" went on "Youth" to the Valley of Roses or on "Smile" near Komsomol lake.
A low podium played ensemble. Some electrotools, repertoire from fashionable Soviet ВИА (vokalno-tool ensembles) and a para-three of songs from "Beatles". Then yet there was no concept "fans", but фанатки already existed. Shivering in a neck, girls tried to make the way more close to musicians. To get acquainted to the simple unknown student or the senior pupil with any bass guitarist from a dance pavilion was almost as it is impossible, as today, for example, with Тимати. But, alas, more often girls (which came here flocks) these inspired and inaccessible persons interested. Seldom when of their attention any guy from dancing nearby took hold. And practically even a sight those poor fellows who could not pay for an input never received and crowded round "Youth" or "Smile", listening to music and from the party observing for succession of events. Among spectators was much пэтэушников (pupils of the TECHNICAL TRAINING COLLEGE), dressed in the identical form.
Sometimes, when dances came to an end, between spectators and those who left from a dance pavilion, fights began. It was called to "be waved". Business did not reach serious fights, however in order to avoid misunderstanding round dance pavilions militiamen have started to be on duty. They sometimes protected "youth" even with dogs.
On avenues of shady park
The militia protected not only dance pavilions, but also evening parks. The present mounted police is that new which name well forgotten old. Both in the sixtieth, and in the seventieth on dark avenues of all city forest parks militiamen caracoled on horses. They did not touch kissing couples, but here if caught whom behind drinking on a shop of the cheapest "Wines де масэ" from a bottle, sent in a strong point for trial.
In summer days in parks it was populous. The density sunbathing on a beach of Komsomol lake was not less, than at sea coast in Затоке, for example. In the late fifties restaurant "Seagull" which many for some reason named "Swallow" was the main sight of a lake beach. But what in a name? Main after all the maintenance. And it was tasty and cheap. For this reason "seagull" - "Swallow" so loved кишиневцы, and believe, everyone who though there has visited once, recollects this point of a public catering with nostalgia and still considers her as the best, despite an abundance of restaurants, small restaurants and bars in present Kishinev.
And in Pushkin's park there was restaurant "Норок". From a cinema end face "Патрия", in подвальчике - "Крама" with the surprising violinist. To get to these treasured places to the ordinary citizen it was practically impossible. To have dinner there it is expensive, and to have supper - not to make the way. But the democratic people did not despond: first, opposite "Патрии" was забегалока "Фокушор" with мититеями and кырнэцеями. And secondly, it was possible, having bought in a street booth the pie with meat, cosy to treble on "eight". So one of corners of park of Pushkin where round thick trunks of centenary mulberries circles benches settled down was called.
Who only was not on this "eight"! Young mummies with carriages, an intelligent kind of the grandfather with newspapers, students with abstracts, not recognised geniuses with inspired looks and city madwomen at whom, however, nobody laughed. And in the evenings the companies with guitars here came. And depending on what decade stood on a court yard, sang songs.
And then suddenly somehow imperceptibly all has changed. That city has disappeared. There was in the past a disposition to laziness and slowness of southern capital, streets have captivated foreign cars, markets and базарчики, shops and little shops with bright multi-coloured signboards. And Kishinev has got absolutely other shape. And each time is recollected цветаевское: "Solemn strangers we pass a city native". Or окуджавское: «though flora there all the same, yes fauna not that».