{"id":3947,"date":"1990-11-22T12:36:44","date_gmt":"1990-11-22T17:36:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/?p=3947"},"modified":"2020-04-29T15:37:58","modified_gmt":"2020-04-29T19:37:58","slug":"pizza-diplomacy-life-on-a-soviet-freighter","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/pizza-diplomacy-life-on-a-soviet-freighter\/","title":{"rendered":"Pizza Diplomacy, Life on a Soviet Freighter"},"content":{"rendered":"

November 1990 | view story as .pdf<\/a><\/p>\n

By Kevin LeDuc<\/em><\/p>\n

\"pizza_diplomacy\"SHALKAV<\/strong>, a 31-year-old sailor, tells me, \u201cMy son is 4, my daughter is 8,\u201d indicating with gestures his son\u2019s smaller size. I am assisting his search for a car in the Boston Globe\u00a0<\/em>Classifieds section. He stops and retrieves a picture of his children from his bed, beaming proudly at his family. He hesitates, points to a calendar, and in broken English speaks, \u201cWe go to Boston, buy car, go home for the holiday\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Once worlds apart, we\u2019re now embarking on a friendship right on the coast of Maine. The Soviet freighter Riga\u2019s<\/em> journey\u2019s been as long as mine has been short. Her name is derived from the city of Riga, capital of Latvia. Her home port is Murmansk, population 380,000, in the Soviet Republic. Owned by the Northern Cold Storage Fishing Fleet of Mumansk, the Riga<\/em> has a crew of 108 men and 8 women from the country villages and cities throughout the Republic. Men from Kiev, Riga, Minsk, Byansk, and Estonia flock to Murmansk to work on fishing vessels that fish the world\u2019s oceans. But wait\u2026 wasn\u2019t I in the United States this morning?<\/p>\n

Journal Entry, 7:10 a.m.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Skimming into the fog in a Zodiac two miles off the coast of Rockland, I see an ominous black silhouette slowly beginning to take shape, like a magic mountain. Speeding closer, details rush toward me with a shock as the rusty fishing vessel looms over us, growing in apparent height. \u201cIs that the ship?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d says the Zodiac pilot. \u201cThat is the Riga<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Looking amidship, I see her smokestack statuesquely reaching into the sky. Firmly imprinted on her stack, in deep rich colors of red and yellow, shimmers the hammer and sickle.<\/p>\n

The Soviet freighter Riga<\/em>\u2019s journey has been as long as mine has been short. Her name is derived from the city of Riga, capital of Latvia.<\/p>\n

Her home port is Murmansk, population 380,000, in the Soviet Republic. Owned by Northern Cold Storage Fishing Fleet of Murmansk, the Riga<\/em> has a crew of 108 men and eight women from the country villages and cities throughout the Republic. Men from Kiev, Riga, Minsk, Bryansk, and Estonia flock to Murmansk to work on fishing vessels that fish the world\u2019s oceans.<\/p>\n

But here, off the coast of Maine? My eyes involuntarily widen. Then I burst out laughing. To the rear of the vessel. a local fishing boat is unloading a Plymouth Horizon onto the Soviet ship. Dangling precariously between the two pitching decks, it seems almost too symbolic an expression of the transfer of western theory and culture to the Soviets as Perestroika jump-starts into reality. I look at the car and oddly hope it has an automatic transmission.<\/p>\n

7:37 a.m<\/strong>. In a joint venture with Resource Trading Co. of Portland, the Riga<\/em> is here to purchase pogies from American fishermen, then process the fish into fish meal and fish oil. The ship is automated and is capable of processing 20 to 30 tons of fish an hour.<\/p>\n

Like U.S. fishing ships, she\u2019s a highly efficient killing machine poised far from home. To the Riga<\/em>\u2019s crew, Maine is the far-flung end of the world.<\/p>\n

Throughout the autumn days and nights,\u00a0 American fishing vessels have come to the Riga<\/em> to unload their catch. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.<\/p>\n

No leaves, no holidays; the crew has not been to shore in six months.<\/p>\n

How ironic\u2013as I write, some men play a game of Chinese billiards on the deck as if they\u2019re not in sight of land and fewer than three miles away lies solid ground. Amerika<\/em>. After a game of billiards, I ask one of the players what he thinks of the North Atlantic Coast. He says he doesn\u2019t know, he\u2019s never been here. \u201cAre there beautiful mountains and trees there?\u201d he asks. The conversation struggles on in broken sentences and hand gestures. He likes European football, which he plays daily on an enclosed deck. Baseball? \u201cNyet<\/em>!\u201d He knows nothing about baseball.<\/p>\n

8:11 a.m<\/strong>. Left alone, I\u2019m free to wander about the ship. My passage leads me to the captain\u2019s quarters.<\/p>\n

The door opens; I peer in. Hello?<\/em> No response. Entering, I notice a photograph of Mikhail Gorbachev on the wall. I tiptoe over for a look. The photograph is almost surrealistic, but there\u2019s something odd about it. I peer even closer. Then it dawns on me. No discolored birth mark!<\/p>\n

8:17 a.m<\/strong>. Voices come from behind. Surprising me as they enter are the captain and Steve, the only American who lives on board. Steve is a marine biologist whose job is to sample the fish for disease and general health, as well as monitor the catch. The captain, shaking my hand firmly, says, \u201cHello, I am Vadim Khrulev, captain of the Riga<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, I am Kevin, the first mate.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m dumbfounded when both the captain and Steve roar a laugh. \u201cOK, first mate,\u201d Captain Khrulev says. \u201cHave a seat, let\u2019s talk!\u201d<\/p>\n

I ask Steve what\u2019s so amusing. Steve explains that unlike American ships, the first mate aboard Soviet vessels is the political officer. His duty is to be the voice of Moscow to all foreign companies and governments. We settle in and talk some more.<\/p>\n

11 :41 a.m<\/strong>. Up on deck, Capt. Khrulev explains the Riga<\/em> to me. Built in 1958, Riga<\/em> can hold 750 metric tons of fish oil; she produces 90 metric tons of oil in one day. In two-and-a-half months she\u2019s spent off Rockland, Riga<\/em> has produced more than 350,000 metric tons of fish oil. \u201cWhat is the meal and fish oil for?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cPogies are quite rich in protein,which makes an excellent nutritional additive for animals, particularly chicken and cattle.\u201d When refined, the fish oil makes a high grade oil for use in fine machinery. Khrulev explains the Soviet Union exports much of the oil from Murmansk to Norway and other European countries. There, the fish oil is used as a food additive in margarine, as an ingredient in the production of cosmetics such as lipstick, and also as a vitamin supplement.<\/p>\n

This is Khrulev\u2019s first year as commander of the Riga<\/em>. The trip has been \u201crefreshing.\u201d Ordinarily, his assignment brings him off the Spanish Sahara Coast in Africa, fishing for sardines. \u201cNot a pleasant time,\u201d he says. \u201cFishing is often difficult.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it hot?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, the civil war there is hot. The sun is, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Back in his office, Khrulev reveals he speaks both English and German; he considers German the easier of the two. \u201cMy daughter, she is 12; she has learned English in school, too. She is talented in music and art. I have many hopes for her. My son is seven. He will learn English this year in the first grade.\u201d<\/p>\n

Khrulev stops our conversation, turns to open the top drawer of his desk, and takes out a photograph of himself with his wife and children poised behind a small, cartoon-like statue. \u201cThe picture was taken on Constitution Day.\u201d In the background of the photo lies the greenery of a small park. In the distance stands a plain concrete and stucco apartment building. Khrulev tells me they once celebrated this holiday in October, but because this version of the constitution only lasted for one year, this place is now nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was your first impression of Americans?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cNormal. I have fished the sea for 16 years and traveled in 29 countries. Americans here are the same as Americans overseas. Friendly, normal, behave like they should, civilized.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you ever visited America?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, one time we visited Portland.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow were you greeted?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNormal. I was not spooked by the Americans, and they were not spooked by me. I liked the visit to Portland\u2019s City Council meeting most. I like the way I was received and how friendly the people were to each other. I like the rituals that were involved with the meeting. The people were very serious, honor their flag, and have allegiance to the government. The meeting is designed to make you feel the decisions that are made are right and just. The people don\u2019t look as if they are tired or bored of the process. Nothing like this happens in my homeland. In Russia, I have never been to a political meeting. In Russia, people do not feel this way\u2026\u201d Khrulev then becomes guarded and seems somewhat reluctant to discuss his thoughts openly\u2026<\/p>\n

1:51 p.m. <\/strong>As if to bail out his captain, a sailor calls out in Russian, \u201cHas the Geiger counter arrived?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYa,\u201d replies the Captain, \u201cand it has been calibrated, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy the Geiger counter?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe captain of the transport ship from Russia is concerned that their meat is radioactive because the beef came from an area near Chernobyl.\u201d<\/p>\n

2:24 p.m<\/strong>. The people on the ship are in exceptional physical condition. Their physique is attributed to the hard labor and diet. Their menu is high in starch, carbohydrates, and protein. Yogurt, meat, and tons of potatoes are the basic staples of their meals. Round this out with oxtail soup, bread, and tea. Evidence of their yogurt intake is everywhere\u2013empty containers are used as drinking glasses, pencil holders, and storage containers.<\/p>\n

4:49 p.m.<\/strong> When they aren\u2019t wearing their universal fish-processing coveralls, they dress quite differently. Mikal, the deck officer, is dressed in American clothing\u2013a Polo shirt, khaki trousers, Docksider shoes, and Ray-Ban sunglasses. If it weren\u2019t for his Russian accent, Mikal would easily be mistaken for an American preppy. In contrast, Shalkav is all 1960s\u2013black jacket, cigarette, Euro-beat Unbearable Lightness of Being<\/em>. With Russian music serenading us in the background, we talk and exchange trinkets. I end up with Soviet cigarettes\u2013a curious red and white package with, yes, a Soviet Surgeon General\u2019s warning on the side. Seems they\u2019re all trying to quit, too. Mikal can watch both American and Russian television. Back home, he listens to the BBC and Radio Free Europe. Before Perestroika, he says, Moscow radio didn\u2019t tell the news the same as the BBC, but now \u201cThere is no difference.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you have to look forward to when you get home?\u201d I ask him.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d he replies. \u201cVery bad, no money. Chut<\/em>, chut<\/em>, a little bit I have,\u201d he says. He pulls out a paper ruble. \u201cHere,\u201d he says, \u201ca gift for you.\u201d With reluctance, I accept. He explains that a ruble\u2019s worth depends on who you trade with. One U.S. dollar can buy from 60 to 2,000 rubles.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you practice religion?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Communist,\u201d Mikal says. \u201cNo problem.\u201d Then he reaches under his shirt and shows me a silver cross. It is the Eucharist cross, the symbol of Orthodox Catholicism.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are Christian,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Communist.\u201d<\/p>\n

Just then a slender, somewhat meek man approaches and begins speaking to Shalkav, who tells me, \u201cThis is Dr. Kememovov Dmitmi, the ship\u2019s dentist. Come, he welcomes you to his cabin for a visit.\u201d<\/p>\n

5:42 p.m.<\/strong> Dr. Dmitmi was educated as a dentist in Leningrad, where he now lives with his wife Natili. As the ship\u2019s dentist, he\u2019s equipped to perform minor surgery, but he finds himself generally involved with cleaning and filling cavities. Many of the Russian men have gold teeth. Why? Dr. Dmitmi explains that filling teeth with gold is no longer done, but some men do have their teeth capped with the gold from their wedding bands, though the practice is fading. Today, men who cap their teeth in gold are considered behind the times, bumpkins.<\/p>\n

6: 15 p.m.<\/strong> Standing on deck, looking out, I hear a hello from behind me. Peering out a cabin window is a bearded man smiling broadly, his gold tooth glimmering in the sunlight. \u201cHello, my name is Alexander. You are a journalist\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

6:21 p.m.<\/strong> Alexander is a machinist from a village on the Ukrainian\/Russian border. \u201cCome, come see my shop.\u201d We rush through narrow corridors and down a steep stairwell into the belly of the ship. He opens a heavy steel door into a dark enclosure and slaps the tops of giant metal objects. \u201cI fix them,\u201d he indicates with no lack of gesturing. \u201cRussian computers!\u201d he says, and then laughs at his joke. \u201cLet\u2019s go and dance,\u201d he says to my surprise.<\/p>\n

Back in his cabin, he picks up an accordion and creates a sound I\u2019ve never heard from an accordion before. U.S. players are jerky, showy. This is a cooing sound, wonderfully charming and understated, with a distinct cultural flavor. I stare at the invisible music coming from his arms. He is playing from the heart.<\/p>\n

6:29 p.m. <\/strong>Then he stops. \u201cMy harmonica!\u201d he proclaims. People surround and start to cheer. One by one, each man takes center stage to dance, amid more cheers. One dancer challenges another and another. Everyone is dancing. The small stateroom is getting hotter and hotter and the laughter more robust in the cold Soviet freighter that has inspired so much fear along the Maine coast for so many years.<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s Just Call For A Pizza\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

News item: \u201cFor years, they\u2019d thought of Maine as lonely duty\u2013a dark continent inaccessible to Soviets (and possibly hostile) as they floated outside the 3-mile limit [aboard] their fishing freighter Riga<\/em>. A few lonely streetlights connecting Maine towns in the distance, glares from U.S. fishermen en route to fishing grounds\u2026 Then Glasnost<\/em>, and suddenly the Rockland Domino\u2019s is starting pizza deliveries\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething with vodka on it!\u201d \u201cDouble anchovies!\u201d Speculation grew rampant, says Bob Mitch, who coordinated the delivery of 60 hot pizzas and several cases of Coca-Cola. But the final tally is 20 pepperoni (\u201ceverybody likes pepperoni\u201d), 10 cheese, 10 hamburg, and 20 assorted. At sea, the Soviet cable lowers nets to the deck of the Domino Effect<\/em> delivery boat, where cold-numbed fingers slip and lose fully half the cargo into the mountainous green swells. A Soviet crewman strips off his wristwatch in trade for an American model, sends it down, but it too falls into the slapping waves. Still, everyone\u2019s all smiles as the historic transfer begins something new for all of us, a spirited attempt at fruitful communication, trade, and cooperation. \u2013Susan Gillmor<\/p>\n

Riga<\/em> Recalled<\/h3>\n

Twenty-four years after writing and photographing this story, Kevin LeDuc still feels its power. \u201cEveryone was acting like the Riga <\/em>was a spy boat. Whatever it was, it was also a pogie processor. Remember back then, when Maine had a huge pogie problem and they were just washing up on the beaches? Russia was falling apart economically, and they needed food. They showed us their refrigerator for the galley. \u2018Chernobyl steaks,\u2019 they said of the discounted beef they used. \u2018Pre-microwaved.\u2019 A lot of the crew came from Revenek on the North Sea.\u201d<\/p>\n

LeDuc\u2019s visit was all on the quiet, of course. You just didn\u2019t walk onto the \u201cpizza boat\u201d on the Maine coast and demand a passage to the Riga<\/em>. It took nerve and friendliness, and LeDuc has both.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had to go out there three times beyond the six-mile limit to international waters, where the Riga<\/em> was, to earn their trust. I rode in an American fishing boat, then transferred to a Zodiac. The first two times, I didn\u2019t bring a camera.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pizza was just the tip of the iceberg in private trading during this sensitive period of D\u00e9tente, when U.S. and Soviet relations were warming up. \u201cI saw an entire new Volkswagen bug being transferred from an American trawler to the Riga<\/em>, lifted high in the air by cranes. Miles of new blue jeans. The Maine coastal fishermen weren\u2019t happy about my being on hand, watching this. They were very protective, like wolves. Their social network is who they trust: family members. People whose families they\u2019ve known for three or four generations.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne American fishermen was giving me the eye, like I was going to swipe his wallet, disturb his private world. It was easy to read his mind: It\u2019s taken time to make these Russian guys my buddies\u2013I\u2019ve been working with them, fishing with them (several U.S. boats were nested up against the Riga<\/em>), trading with them all summer long, and here\u2019s this guy\u2013me\u2013crashing in, maybe ruining everything. He\u2019s looking at me and thinking, people get what they earn, and you haven\u2019t earned anything. I was in a situation that could have developed very poorly very quickly.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn the last day I got to go on the Riga<\/em>, there was a show. The ship\u2019s bleak auditorium had banners and paintings from the Soviet Union era, plenty of deep reds, and the lights went out. It was Devonsquare on the stage. I was astonished. Who possibly could have booked them here? How did they get here? For a moment, I was in Oz\u2013if The Wizard of Oz<\/em> had been shot inside the ribs of a tanker. What a culture clash, with dangling speakers on the ribs!<\/p>\n

\u201cFinally, I was asked to two parties. What did crew party about? Hey, we\u2019re here for a year, processing pogies! I went into the captain\u2019s cabin, and Sasha\u2019s cabin. It seemed in that cell there were five or six Russian crewmen, two other fishermen, myself, and my interpreter. Everyone was pretty trashed, like 2 a.m. in a bar in the Old Port, waiting for last call, even though it was 2 p.m. I met two [of the eight] women who worked on the boat. They did manual labor, laundry, cleaning. They were in their late thirties. The blonde was very friendly, very open, a very sexy tone to her voice. A person who once might have turned heads on the street. The brunette was more reserved but friendly, too. As\u00a0 the night wore on, there were more Americans coming out of the dark and up the side, all fisherfolk, joining the party. After a while, it was hard to tell who was who.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometime before dawn, I was given a pack of Russian cigarettes. I still have it! The cigarettes aren\u2019t there any more.\u201d\u00a0 Like the past, \u201cThey\u2019ve been smoked.\u201d<\/p>\n

FUN FACT: While we were preparing this story for publication in 1990, we received a call from Nobel laureate Czeslaw Milosz<\/strong>, who was interested in this most unusual situation and our coverage of it, along with other stories we were doing on Polish echoes and the Lithuanian Friars at the Franciscan Monastery in Kennebunk. We believe he heard about our Ethnicities Issue from Tomislav Longinovic of the Iowa Writers\u2019 Workshop, who has twice written for Portland Magazine<\/em>.<\/p>\n

PARTY LIKE IT’S 1989 – (Yes, Devosquare did<\/em> play aboard the Riga.)<\/em>
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

“It\u2019s been so long! A riot? My God, yes,\u201d laughs Alana MacDonald, a founding member of the band Devonsquare, who performed aboard the Russian fish processing ship off Rockland in 1990. \u201cOur friend Nina Carter\u2019s brother Spencer Fuller booked us aboard the Riga\u2013<\/em>he had something to do with the marine industry. It was so primitive! We went out there on a little launch, and they had this sort of pontoon bobber\u2013it was like an egg. We had to jump from the launch into it without falling in the water and drowning. Then they hauled up our equipment. They all looked at us so silently in this strange way. They were paranoid! That\u2019s the way they lived. They brought us into this little theater, we performed, and they loved it, it was a big thing.<\/p>\n

\u201cAfterward, we were invited to the captain\u2019s quarters for a drink. It was a Flash Gordon time warp! The captain\u2019s quarters were so bare and out of date. He had vodka. There was a knock at the door. The cook reached in and handed the captain something. I thought, oh no, it\u2019s a gun!<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a lemon, one<\/em> lemon. You\u2019d have thought it was the golden egg, it was such a big deal! We\u2019d drink a shot of vodka, sprinkle sugar on a thin slice of lemon, and suck the lemon.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe made good friends with Victor Sobornov, the second mate, and kept in touch. Two years later, the Riga <\/em>was in Boston when we were there. The Russians could go ashore by then. We all had dinner at Maison Robert and drank champagne . Then we put him up where we were staying, at the Parker House. Wonderful guy. His father was murdered by the KGB.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

All aboard the Riga.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9439,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[972],"class_list":["post-3947","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-classic-maine-stories","tag-riga"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3947","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3947"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3947\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18395,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3947\/revisions\/18395"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/9439"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3947"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3947"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.portlandmonthly.com\/portmag\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3947"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}