holidays in the eastern bloc

Bulgaria
"Drop everything" we were told. "You're off to Bulgaria on Saturday". The Black Sea resorts were then just opening up to western tourists and they were not yet attracting the numbers needed to fill the planes. That was why Jerry and I found ourselves, along with a few other full-time Communist Party workers, being whisked off to Sunny Beach. The only duty we had to fulfill was to meet with the local Communist Party officials on Thursday before we left for home. We had to tell them of any criticisms we had, in order to help them cater better for future holiday makers.
Each of us had specific criticisms but there was one that we all shared - the small pile of 2 inch square, rough, grey toilet paper that was sparingly placed in the cubicle beside a warning not to flush them down the lavatory but to put them in an already overflowing small bin. There was used toilet paper scattered all over the floor. As you can imagine, it was not a pretty sight and nor were the toilets the most fragrant of places.
When I said I was going to comment on this, my companions said it wouldn't go down well and that I should remember the generous hospitality they had offered us. Thursday came and I braced myself for the moment of truth. When the Bulgarian comrades asked for our comments mine was the oly voice heard. i sweetened the pill by firstly telling them of all the things that Jerry and I had really enjoyed, but then told them that they must clean up their act on the toilet front and that the 2 inch squares of toilet paper were too small for western bums.
There was a long silence and my heart pounded. Then the Bulgarian chairman rose from his chair, fixed me with his eyes, and stabbing the air with his index finger, slowy said, "Ah, yes, comrade, but you must admit that there are no sharks in our waters".
What a conversation stopper! For ever after jerry and I used it to stop bores in full flood. It's most effective.

A Day on Bear Mountain
It was thought that after five years of full-time work for the Communist Party you would need your revolutionary batteries recharged. So the Soviet Union and the other so-called "Eastern democracies" offered such comrades throughout the world a month's hospitality. For two weeks we had to go to a sanitorium for health checks and treatments and after that we were given a choice of cities to tour.
Jerry and I, with eight other British comrades were sent to a sanitorium in Yalta where we joined others from America, Finland, France, Germany and Italy. Each day we had early morning exercises before breakfast and then various courses of treatment were booked for you according to what ailed you. There were: hydrotherapy, physiotherapy, massage, salt baths, mud baths, saunas and steam baths and for those of us who were fit there were tennis and badminton courts, rowing, climbing and aerobics to choose from.
One day jerry and I decided to volunteer to clamber up Bear Mountain with the German comrades. We soon wished we hadn't. The Germans were all there wearing their lederhosen and all the gear, whereas we didn't even have proper boots, only plimsolls. We had such a job keeping up with them. They literally leat up steep, thickly wooded slopes like mountain goats. As we staggered the last few yards to the top, the leader of the group blew her whistle and ordered the men to the right and the women to the left. I didn't realise why at first, until I saw the women crouching down behind trees with their skirts up. We joined in the mass toileting and then all of us raced down the other side until we reached the sea. How wonderful it was to plunge straight in after that long, hot climb.
From Yalta we went overnight by train to St Petersburg - (Leningrad in those days). In each sleeping compartment there were four bunks and at the end of the corridor sat a woman in charge of a steaming samovar of tea. I had ust one problem. I had been allocated a bunk in a compartment with three Soviet generals, each resplendent with sword and gun, but all very polite. I kept my clothes on and they just took off their swords.
On arriving early next morning we were met by a band playing and people waving flowers. How very nice, I thought, only to discover the welcome was not for us but for a young newly-wed couple on the train.
St. Petersburg is one of the most beautiful cities I have seen, ith its well-proportioned buildings coloured apple-blossom green, yellow ochre and a pink that glowed in the sunlight. Canals criss-cross the city and every bridge is a work of art in itself. The splendid St. Isaacs Cathedral, towering over the city with its large dome, its enormous malachite pillars and superb marbles, stood across the street from our hotel. In Tarist days the hotel had been used by visiting royalty and it had a chaise longue in the bathroom.
After our organised trip to the Hermitage and Peter's Palace with its trick fountains, Jerry and I left the others and visited the "anti-religion" museum. It showed big bibles with guns inserted into the ages; bullets from many different countries but each inscribed with "For God, King and Country"; relics of Rasputin and other monks who influenced the Tsars. We loved walking along the banks of the Neva at night, where the young lovers met, and as tradition dictated, the man would present a single rose to his loved one..
The street scenes were endlessly entertaining: the group of people stood reading the wall newspapers and discussing the news animatedly, then tut-tuttig as they turned to read the poster warning of the dangers of drinking vodka, while drunkards lay in a stupour in the gutter behind them; and the crows that gathered to remonstrate with a husband beating his wife in the street, while a policeman stood nonchalantly by on the corner, not interfering.
I also carry a vivid memory of the cook at the Party Hotel coming out of the kitchen to talk to me because I ate so little. She thought it was because I did not like her cooking and was close to tears. Jerry put her mind at rest by saying that her cooking was just like his mother's. Thank goodness, she took that as a compliment.

East German Mountain Retreat
We were in a chalet high up on a wooded mountainside and our companions were comrades from many different countries, but this story is of three who came from Argentina. One was a famous poet, Don Juan; another a full-time Party worker, Albert; and the other a peasant, Luis, who had never ever been out of his own small village before.
In the chalet our bedrooms were sited around a small hall, in which there was a small billiard table. Each evening before dinner all the men were to be found playing very seriously - except for Luis who had never played and was carefully watching each move they made. They asked him to play and tried hard to encourage him, but Luis would always shake his head. However, there came a day when I was woken by a click, click, click sound outside my bedroom door at about 4 o'clock in the morning. I tried to ignore it, to get back to sleep but the continual click, click was very annoying. Eventually I got out of bed and opened the door just an inch. Luis was there practising the game of billiards. That evening before dinner he proudly joined the other men in their game.
Another day the three Argentinians joined Jerry and I for a long walk down the far side of the mountain to a famous hostelry in a small village. Jerry had a map and a pocket compass, as none of us had ever been there before. We were all chattering away, occasionally stopping to examine an interesting plant. We even caught a glimpse of a wild boar. Then, as we stopped to study a particularly interesting fungus, I suddenly realised that Luis was not with us. I called out his name - no response. I went back a little way to see if we'd left him behind - no sign of him I became anxious. I knew he could speak neither German nor English and he had no map with him. The others laughed at my concern. "Luis is a peasant" they said. He could find his way without a map or compass - he could work out the direction by the heightand position of the sun. he would find a path and and know by how well trod it was that it led to the village. "You'll see" they said, "He'll be there long before us".
And they were right. As we turned into the village, there was Luis grinning at us over the top of a steine of beer on a table outside the hostelry.