On Waking Up As an American During the Fall of the Soviet Union

On the evening of August 18, 1991, my friend Terry and I were staying at the Pribaltiyskaya Intourist hotel, a huge Soviet hotel complex built in an ugly brutalist style on a windswept island close to the Gulf of Finland, far from the center of Leningrad.Article continues after advertisement

On the morning of August 19, I tried to wake Terry for breakfast. He was having none of it and told me to go on my own. So I walked over to the lift, pushed the button, and got in. As the door closed, a tall American looked down at me and said, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“So I guess we’re all going home.” “What?”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a revolution! Gorby is out.