TRAVEL: Rubbernecking in Russia

In the basement of the Soviet embassy in Washington this week, sweating Russians worked furiously to bring some capitalist efficiency to their task: processing a flood of U.S. tourist visas for the Soviet Union. The Russians had expected some 10,000 U.S. visitors in 1959, but now the total seems headed for 15,000. Not only is Russia “the place to go” for thousands of seasoned tourists, but this summer’s U.S. exhibition in Moscow is proving a strong drawing card. So great is the influx that American Express alone had a backlog of 200 visa applications last week. The once-formidable Soviet tourist restrictions have been cut so much that almost anyone, unless he has been involved in a well-publicized anti-Communist incident, can get a visa within a week or ten days.

Capitalist Profit. Once the tourist reaches the Soviet Union, the hand that guides him is Intourist, a state monopoly whose official title is the All-Union Stock Company for Foreign Tourism. Founded in 1929, Intourist had shrunk to a shadow at the time of Stalin’s death, grew like a weed in the tourist thaw that followed. Though all its stock is owned by the government, Intourist still uses the forms of a capitalist corporation, holds annual stockholders’ meetings attended by representatives of Soviet ministries. It also turns over to the U.S.S.R. Bank of Foreign Trade a healthy capitalistic profit, which will be swelled by a $5,000,000 take from U.S. tourists alone this year.

From its grey stone headquarters at 1 Gorky Street, Moscow, Intourist is run by balding, stocky Vladimir Ankudinov, fiftyish, who has managed to hold onto his job for seven years. Says Ankudinov, with a gold-toothed smile: “I am what you would call a Soviet businessman.” He has plenty of business. Intourist runs 18 hotels throughout Russia, has more than 8,000 employees, handles all accommodations, meals, transportation and incidentals for half a million visitors to Russia each year (most of them from the East European countries).

By Boat & Plane. Ankudinov has done his best to make travel to Russia easy. Intourist has a permanent representative in the U.S., books tourists through a dozen major U.S. travel agencies and 50 associated agencies. Chief among them: American Express, which now has its own office in Moscow, and Manhattan’s Cosmos Travel Bureau. Six Western European airlines (SAS, Finnair, Air France, KLM, Sabena and British European Airways) fly into Russia, occasional boat cruises ply the Black Sea, and tourists can even enter Russia in their own autos.

A third of the Soviet Union is officially closed to tourists (the U.S. has retaliated by keeping an equal area closed to Russians), but the traveling choice is still wide. The tourist can visit 27 Soviet cities on any of 45 Intourist itineraries, ranging from five to 23 days. The main travel circuit includes Moscow, Leningrad, Kiev, Tbilisi (the Eastern-flavored capital of Soviet Georgia), and the seaside resorts of the Black Sea (Sochi, Sukhumi, Yalta). More adventurous tourists can go to Riga, capital of Latvia; Irkutsk, the burgeoning capital of eastern Siberia; or far east to Tashkent and Alma-Ata. Intourist will also permit tourists to hunt in the Crimean game preserves, once reserved for Soviet V.I.P.s.

Snares of Bureaucracy. Intourist tempts the tourist with package travel plans ranging from de luxe ($30 a day for a private guide, all transportation in Russia, room and bath, four meals a day, and the use of a private limousine) down to $10 a day for less attention and more Spartan accommodations. Russian hotels are well below U.S. and European standards, even such better ones as Moscow’s National Hotel and Leningrad’s Europa and Astoria. The food is plentiful, heavy and generally dull—except for those who can live on caviar and vodka—and the good restaurants (Moscow’s Aragvi and Peking) are few.

Unless he goes to Russia as part of an official delegation—and sometimes even then—the tourist is likely to run up against a snare of bumbling bureaucracy if he attempts to go off the beaten track of tourist attractions to indulge some special interest. At such times he is subjected to long, unexplained delays, often given silly reasons for not being able to do things that are routine in other countries. His best bet for success is his Intourist guide-interpreter (two-thirds are women), who can make or break a tourist’s trip. One U.S. doctor who arrived in Moscow last year got a complete brush-off in his attempts to meet Russian doctors, finally went home in a huff. But a U.S. colleague who arrived a few months later simply told his problem to his guide. She got on the telephone herself, got him an appointment with one of Moscow’s leading cardiologists the same day.

Sensitive to Criticism. In their campaign to woo more tourists to the Soviet Union the Russians have become very sensitive to tourist criticism and suspicion (rarely are people followed or rooms bugged). At first astounded and confused by the swarm of hustling foreigners, they have gradually learned to admire the dynamic and demanding Western way of doing things, are slowly making their tourist machinery more efficient. Where that is clearly impossible, they favor short cuts. In the long queues that line up outside the Lenin-Stalin Mausoleum or at the theater, Intourist sees to it that the tourist is put at the head of the line. It could never happen in the free world, but a Russian does not complain about losing his place in line.