10. The Geography

Odesa, particularly the city center or the old town along with Moldavanka, boasts a classically regular layout, with streets intersecting at right angles to form square and rectangular blocks, each with characteristic courtyards. Living here, I am often reminded of a claim I once heard that suicide rates are higher in classicist cities like St. Petersburg, Karlsruhe, Barcelona, or even New York - than in more chaotic, naturally grown cities. It’s a bold claim and hard to test, given the complex interplay of factors. However, there is something unsettling about this relentless order.

Navigating Odesa’s downtown is straightforward once you become familiar with the street names. A mental grid-like map emerges, with north-south aligned Katerynynska, Rishelievska and Pushkinska streets intersecting with east-west aligned streets. Visualizing certain landmarks, junctions, and memorable places or buildings (“halfway from the opera to Pryvoz”, “just next to Bunina”, “Starobazarnyi Garden Square is now on my left”) makes orientation logical. Yet, there’s something disquieting about this logical street network.

The feeling intensifies when I venture off the grid-like downtown or notice irregularities within it. Whether it’s the huge English-style Shevchenko Park, a romantic discord, or the border area between the city center and Moldavanka - Moldavanka’s own street grid intersects with the city center's at an angle of about 45 degrees, forming a series of “skewed” streets, although they are, in fact, as straight as the streets they intersect against; or the smaller seaside side streets around Langeron and Malyi Fontan.

In comparison to these border areas, the rigidly logical outline of the downtown somehow seems particularly oppressive, hopeless, constricting to the imagination, as if saying that yes, that’s the way life and the universe are, everything really is as it seems to be, there are no unknown corners to be discovered, no romantic views, no surprises...

And yet, this notion is entirely misleading and superficial. Remember the courtyards mentioned earlier? Each one is a spectacle in its own right. Some of the larger ones can conceal cramped dwellings that occupy a significant portion of the space and appear haphazardly placed. In one courtyard, an old pink Zaporozhets 968 sits atop a pedestal, serving as a focal point.

Other courtyards are designed as playgrounds for the children living in the surrounding buildings, while some boast lush vegetation. Admittedly, too many are simply used as parking lots. However, a few courtyards are also neglected, with paving riddled with holes, weedy bushes in corners, and the brickwork around basement entrances serving as the domain of Odesa’s true masters - cats in all shapes and sizes.

In early October, however, I am in for a real surprise. The Primorsky Boulevard, which has been closed as a military exclusion zone since the beginning of the full-scale Russian invasion, will be opened. As I have no previous experience of Odesa and am visiting the city for the first time only during the war, in January 2023, with its curfew, no-go zones, and a general economic downturn, I have a corresponding understanding of the city and its geography. So, for example, the idea of Odesa as a capital of humor is a little alien to me - not that it can’t be fun even during the war, but I have a feeling that much of what characterized Odesa before February 24, 2022, is gone now. Some of it, probably permanently.

And, as I can see now, until the opening of Primorsky Boulevard, I also had a slightly misguided understanding of the geography of Odesa’s old town, the underlying idea of its general plan. It is only on 7 or 8 October, walking from the site of the former monument of Catherine II towards the monument to Duke Richelieu, buried beneath a pyramid of sandbags covered with a green camouflage net, that I begin to realize something...

I’ve actually encountered the Potemkin Stairs once before, from Primorska Street that runs almost parallel to the waterfront, under the embankment of the higher plateau where downtown Odesa is situated. This route can be taken by car even when pedestrian access to Odesa’s seafront is mostly restricted. On a spring evening, a friend drives me home in his Lada after an enjoyable night at the pub. As we pass by the base of the Potemkin Stairs, I catch a fleeting glimpse of them in the darkness. But now, I can see the top of the stairs. I also realize that I’m in a place where I should be able to see the excavated remains of a former Greek settlement - which was NOT Odessos, nor Histria, as is sometimes thought. And to the left is Vorontsov Palace - which I know only from pictures.

The houses along Primorsky Boulevard - on one side of it, the other side being a long balustrade designed for sea views, likely the reason for the boulevard’s closure - are both gorgeous and shabby. The Hotel London has no window panes, likely the result of a missile strike on the harbor or a nearby area, and the rest of the buildings stand mostly empty. But to call them “houses” diminishes their grandeur - they are grand palaces, some of the most imposing buildings in the city.

As I trudge along the boulevard, I realize how wrong my perception of Odesa downtown has been - enclosed and closed to the sea. I’ve misjudged and misunderstood the layout and location of the buildings, imagining them looking inland all the time, when Odesa should really start from the sea. Or at least - ‘also’ from the sea. After all, at least since the opening of the Stalinist railway station, it has been a powerful landmark and gateway to the city center at the southern end of downtown. So, the downtown is sandwiched between these two centers of gravity: the Primorsky Boulevard and the harbor below it, and the railway station and the large square in front of it.

I am even more surprised when I wander to the southeastern end of Primorsky Boulevard, where the snow-white Odesa City Hall building looks out at me. I’ve always passed it from the other side, assuming that the square in front of the building, guarded by soldiers, is closed off. I had no idea that Odesa’s most prestigious street even existed.

While I consider myself adept at navigating cities, my understanding of Odesa’s downtown was flawed. Closed off from the sea, I failed to grasp the essence of its geography. The opening of Primorsky Boulevard in October revealed a new perspective, shedding light on Odesa’s strategic layout and historical significance.

Oh, and probably also of interest to note why the street had been closed. Well, there were several reasons. The most obvious of them is the proximity of the port - the entire harbor remains a military exclusion zone, and the seaward slope of the plateau that forms the center of Odesa has been mined - for example, one can see signs warning of a mine threat when walking in Shevchenko Park.

Then, at the beginning of the war, there were also fears of a naval landing from Crimea to Odesa. Thus, prepared positions and fortifications were built on the waterfront that can be seen everywhere in and around the city. It appears that Primorsky Boulevard, running along both sides of the Potemkin Stairs, was considered the best vantage point to defend against threats from the harbor below, as it provided a clear line of fire.

It is also possible that the boulevard was closed off to limit public access and minimize the risk of people observing the harbor below. Whether the opening of the boulevard indicates any change in the strategic importance of Odesa’s central harbor 18 months after the start of the war is unclear. As of March 2024, the harbor is being used, despite the city enduring missile and drone attacks. Grain ships come and go, visible from Primorsky Boulevard, yet photographing the harbor and the sea is still forbidden.