Our final port of call, Rostov-on-Don, was the most disappointing. It had as much charm as Tolliati, and whilst the shops were open here, there was little to attract. The buildings were in a poor state of repair.

For most of the ship’s crew, this was home. So, as the ship arrived back in the port for the first time in six months, the river station had dozens of relatives to greet it. We watched one woman run two miles or so along the promenade, keeping pace with the ship and waving a bunch of chrysanthemums at someone on board. As soon as we docked, there were hugs, kisses and tears. It turned out that the running lady was meeting her young son and held him so tightly that I doubt if he could breathe: and having been so mistreated along the promenade, the flowers hardly had any petals left! The whole scene brought a lump to our throats and a tear to our eyes.

The river station and some of the waiting relatives

 

In spite of the poverty, Rostov is another town where they are spending huge sums of money on rebuilding a cathedral. As you can see, it could be better spent on the roads and trams.