Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, June 25, 1990 TAG: 9006260405
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A7 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KENNETH RYSTROM
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It didn't take long for Soviet housewives to descend on grocery stores to grab anything they could find. Accustomed to queuing up to buy almost anything, the housewives faced even longer and more unruly lines than usual.
If what we saw and ate during four days in Moscow is an indication, food provided each day to feed 7 million residents and 2 million visitors - largely through government-owned stores and government-owned hotels - is skimpy and woefully lacking in variety. And the situation seems to be getting worse.
The 3,500-room Kosmos Hotel, where the government-owned Intourist sends most tourist groups, provides a good example.
Six years ago, when one member of our group had stayed at the Kosmos, meals were served individually at the tables; though diners had no choice of entree, they did receive full servings. This year, food, now served cafeteria-style, invariably ran out before all guests had been served. Dinner was supposed to be served from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m.; our first night, when we arrived at 8:15, most of the serving trays were empty. We settled for rice topped with something like onion soup.
We also saw less variety of food in the Soviet Union than in the six other East European countries we visited on the trip. In most of the other countries, we had plenty of beef and some fresh vegetables; we had very little in the Soviet Union.
Beautiful fruits and vegetables exist. At a Moscow market to which private entrepreneurs take their produce, we saw stacks of every imaginable fresh garden product; row after row of good-looking beef, pork, chicken and lamb; bunch upon bunch of roses and carnations.
But, our guide told us, only people with a lot of money can buy in these markets. "The hotels," she said, "cannot afford to get their food here."
Most visitors are stuck with eating in their hotels. Those who come as part of groups generally have prepaid for their breakfast and evening meals. Other restaurants are few and expensive, and hard to get into. By going through our hotel, and paying in advance, our group managed to get reservations for dinner at a restaurant not far from Red Square and the Kremlin; the meal cost us each $36.
Three blocks down the street at Gorky Park was another option, the relatively new MacDonald's - if you were willing to stand in line a couple of hours. At one point, the line waiting to get in stretched for about 2 1/2 large city blocks, with three or four people abreast.
I asked a young man who had just joined the line how long he expected to wait. He held up two fingers and pointed to my watch. A "Big Mac" plus trimmings, I had heard, costs about what a typical Soviet worker earns in a day.
Several people told us that doubling or tripling the price of bread would not hurt Moscow families very much, since bread plays a small role in their diets. But we were told that in other areas of the Soviet Union, especially in Southern Asia, bread is a primary part of people's diets. There, severe financial hardships, and starvation, are likely.
Though most Muscovites can't afford to shop at the private markets, one reason given for the price rises was that residents have more rubles than they can find decent products to spend their money on. Our Intourist guide said she had saved enough money to buy a car, but she would have to wait six years for a Russian car. Asked why she didn't use her money to buy a foreign car, such as a Volvo, she said, "Because my rubles are no good. They want hard currency."
Those of us who made the mistake of converting American dollars into rubles soon found out how worthless they are. At the airport and at the hotel, you can get six rubles for each dollar. But go across the hotel lobby to buy a souvenir T-shirt, or to the bar to buy a hard or soft drink, and the sellers will take only hard currency.
An even greater surprise was in store for those of us who wanted to make purchases in the government-owned gift shops in the hotel. Prices are marked in rubles. A little black lacquer box, for example, may be priced at 600 rubles.
"So that would be $100," the would-be buyer says to the clerk.
"Oh, no, that would be $960," the clerk replies. "We go by the official exchange rate of $1.60 to the ruble."
"Well, then, I'll pay for it in rubles," the buyer says, pulling out a wad of currency.
"Oh, no, you can't pay in rubles. You must pay in dollars."
So you leave, without the box but with a pocketful of rubles.
You know exactly what a Soviet factory worker, quoted in the U.S. press, meant when he said: "[The ruble is] a worthless piece of paper. My wallet is full of money, but I can't spend it."
by CNB