"Ding-ding," the doorbell chimes. "Diiing-diiing," it insistently plays its brief aria.

On tiptoe, I approach the peephole of the brown leather-covered door. At the threshold stand my neighbor girls, each holding a few candy boxes adorned with colorful stickers. I quickly realize what this means and spring into action.

"Mom, I'm going to exchange!" I shout to my mother, who is stirring something in an enamel pot on the gas stove. Jumping up, I run to my room, grab my "Assorti 1" candy box, and dash into the stairwell, where we comfortably sit on the steps, beneath the scribbled walls. We open our boxes, begin showing off our treasures, and bargain like seasoned merchants from the bustling markets of Marrakesh and Casablanca.

As children, we loved collecting everything we could. It was our small world, which we meticulously hid under the bed or stored in old, polished nightstands. We enjoyed sorting through it, admiring the old, unused "exhibits" of these collections, and marveling at the new acquisitions, successfully exchanged with friends or classmates.

My simple collections mainly consisted of candy wrappers, small shiny calendars, and postcards. The candy wrappers were divided into two categories: "ours" and "foreign."

"Ours" referred to the wrappers from ordinary, well-known Soviet candies like " Clumsy Bear," "Red Riding Hood," or "Masquerade." These were the budget class of wrappers and were not highly valued among collectors since they were found in every household and were not considered special.

"Foreign" wrappers were considered premium. They showcased mysterious German names like Schogetten or Toffifee. These were not common, and only those who could boast of receiving parcels of sweets from Germany-based relatives or friends, who had migrated there in the late '80s or early '90s, had them.

Most of us had never tasted such candies, and the wrappers' novelty and "foreignness" made them prestigious. Every girl aged 7-10 eagerly sought to collect them. One foreign wrapper could cost 3-4 of our wrappers, but it was worth it.

Postcards were a separate category in our collections. They served as a means of communication among acquaintances, friends, and relatives. Many families, lacking home phones, had to "order" long-distance calls at the telecommunication center, where they had to pay in advance. After the operator’s notification, they had to enter one of the numbered booths with a sign on a glass door "Long-Distance Automatic Telephone" and tried to say everything necessary within the prepaid time.

To hear the other person, it was necessary to cover one ear with a hand due to the loud noise around. People shouted because it was hard for the other person to hear them. Moreover, the tension was increased by those standing impatiently beside the booth, waiting for their turn.

Postcards, on the other hand, could be sent to any corner of our vast country, previously purchased from the "Soyuzpechat"2 kiosks. Despite their long delivery time, receiving them was always a pleasant and unexpected event.

"Happy Birthday! Wishing you happiness and health!" wrote the Khasanov family on the back of a postcard featuring delicate lily-of-the-valley stalks.

"Happy New Year from Omsk! Wishing you success at work and Siberian health!" was a greeting from our relatives living in Siberia, with a picture of cheerful squirrels hanging glass baubles on a pine tree branch.

"We love you and miss you! Come visit!" said the Kasimov family in a postcard showing a large family of hedgehogs happily marching somewhere with a bunch of sea buckthorn, surrounded by playful tits.

Most postcards either went directly into children's collections or were glued onto medical records to decorate their dull cardboard covers. In pediatric clinics, these cards were stored on shelves in alphabetical order. When I used to come to see my mom, who worked as a pediatrician at the local clinic, I loved looking through these cards, especially because many of them were not in my treasured collection. With the precision of a Sotheby’s auction expert, I would evaluate these postcards and imagine how perfectly they could enhance my collection, had I hypothetically been allowed to tear them off.

My friend Tanya also had a postcard collection. Ordinary and not-so-ordinary.

While our postcards were typically Soviet-themed—either with cartoon motifs or propagandistic ones for May 1st 3, May 9th 4, or November 7th 5 (the ones I honestly didn’t like because they were so dull for a child)—Tanya had an entire stack of unusual postcards. They featured landscapes and monuments from distant countries and cities.

Instead of carnations and a ribbon shaped like a number seven in honor of November 7th, the revolution day, there were postcards with sakura flowers against the snowy peak of Mount Fuji.

Instead of the slogan "Peace, Labor, May" and a five-pointed star in the center, in honor of May 1st, there were postcards with an ancient castle somewhere in the forests of Montenegro.

Instead of a mimosa branch folded into the number eight for March 8th, there were postcards with ships sailing the Pacific Ocean.

Instead of a stern Soviet soldier with a helmet for February 23rd 6, there were postcards with a condor spreading its wings against the backdrop of the South American Andes.

There were postcards with beaches, cliffs, waterfalls, cathedrals, mosques, penguins, elephants, polar bears, Santa Claus, pharaohs, and many, many more.

These postcards were not for trading. They were objects of envy and admiration from friends and peers. Interestingly, each one had some mysterious code instead of the typical "Happy Birthday" or "Happy March 8th." Thanks to this combination of numbers and Latin letters, these artifacts were surrounded by an aura of inaccessibility for me, because none of us understood what it meant. We wondered whether it was a sort of secret code.

Tanya's father, Victor, was a radio amateur. In the corner of their small bedroom in the Brezhnev-era apartment there was a large (in my young mind) machine with many levers and lights, which clearly resembled the time machine from the movie "Ivan Vasilyevich Changes Profession." 7

Despite the Iron Curtain, Soviet radio amateurs could connect and communicate with their counterparts around the world. So, Victor, residing in a small snowy mining town, on the street named after the 40th Anniversary of Victory, would sit by the receiver in the evening and at night—when the shortwave range worked most reliably—to establish contact with colleagues from various corners of the planet.

"A radio amateur met in the air, just like you, is a kindred spirit. Friendship can begin even if you've never seen each other, and it's clear that you probably never will," says Anatoly Pershin, head of the MGTSU radio station, call sign "The Vatican," who became interested in radio sports at the age of 15. 8

The postcards we so admired in our childhood were actually QSL cards—documents exchanged by radio amateurs after establishing a radio connection. The letters QSL come from the Q-code, a standardized set of radio communication abbreviations used by amateur radio operators and telegraphists.

In the USSR, QSL cards were an important part of the radio amateur movement, and the Soviet postal service, in agreement with the Central Radio Club, sent QSL mail free of charge between local radio clubs and abroad.

Radio amateurs participated in various international contests, aiming to establish as many connections as possible with different correspondents. In 1988, Victor, with the call sign UL7PT, won the World Wide DX Contest 9, demonstrating outstanding skills in the "Single Operator, Single Band" category, working at 14 MHz CW using QRP—low power (less than 5 watts). He scored 30,540 points and became the winner in his category. This achievement was documented in a diploma in English, signed by the contest director, Robert Cox from the United States.

So, radio amateurs belonged to a special category of people who were allowed to establish contact with foreign countries because radio communication was one of the few areas where international cooperation existed, even despite political isolation. Soviet authorities of course monitored this communication but was reluctant to really ban such contacts because they were used for scientific and technical purposes and helped exchange experience among radio amateurs worldwide.

“If a man-made disaster occurs, electricity will be cut off. Then, there will be no communication left except for radio signals. Mobile communication depends on electricity. In the past, people were always trained to ensure radio communication anywhere. Let's remember the Spitak earthquake in Armenia, Chernobyl, and the August Coup (GKChP) when all communications were cut off, but radio amateurs continued to exchange information”, says expert and radio amateur from Surgut, Alexander Kulakov. 10

Everything about it was unique and captivating. I didn’t envy Tanya's collection, but I genuinely admired and even respected the messages her father received from distant corners of the planet. Each postcard was a window into an unfamiliar world full of mystery and adventure, much like Tom Sawyer's. I imagined the people who had written them and the places from which they had come, and I became curious about what lay beyond our small town.

The QSL postcards from Tanya's father's collection, each one carrying stories from distant lands, sparked in me a sense of wonder that transcended the boundaries of our small town. Back then, those postcards were more than just paper; they were connections to far-off places, carrying with them a sense of adventure that felt almost magical.

Today, in contrast, technology has completely transformed the way we connect.

With just a few taps on a screen, we can instantly reach someone on the other side of the globe, sharing messages, videos, and experiences without the wait or anticipation that once made each postcard so special. It’s incredible how much the world has shrunk through digital advancements, but I can’t help but feel that something has been lost in the immediacy. The thrill of awaiting a reply, the excitement of receiving something that came from a place you'd never visited, that sense of wonder that accompanied the arrival of each card, seems something so obsolete in our fast-paced, always-connected world.

At that time, every contact, every letter, every postcard was like a connecting thread, giving radio amateurs a sense of belonging to something larger and unexplored, opening a world that at that moment seemed endless, despite different geographical latitudes, political regimes, ideologies, beliefs, and views.

References

1 Assorti" was a popular candy brand in the Soviet Union, known for its variety of chocolate and candy assortments.
2 Soyuzpechat" (translated as "Union of Press") was a major Soviet state organization responsible for the distribution of newspapers, magazines, and other printed materials throughout the USSR.
3 In the Soviet Union, May 1st was a major public holiday marked by parades, demonstrations, and festivities showcasing the achievements of the working class.
4 May 9 is celebrated as Victory Day in many former Soviet republics. It marks the Soviet Union’s victory over Nazi Germany in the Great Patriotic War (1941–1945), which was the Eastern Front of World War II.
5 November 7 was celebrated in the Soviet Union as the Anniversary of the October Revolution.
6 February 23 in the Soviet Union was celebrated as Defender of the Fatherland Day.
7 Ivan Vasilievich Changes Profession" (1973) is a Soviet comedy directed by Leonid Gaidai, where an inventor’s time machine accidentally swaps a Soviet apartment manager with Tsar Ivan the Terrible, leading to chaos in both eras. Filled with legendary quotes, historical satire, and brilliant performances, it remains a beloved classic in Russian cinema.
8 Friendly voices: how radio amateurs in the USSR created their own social network 50 years before Facebook.
9 The World Wide DX Contest (CQ WW DX Contest) is one of the most prestigious and largest amateur radio competitions globally.
10 Call sign from the days of the USSR. Radio Amateur on Rare and Emergency Communication.