Chasing Lenin! 7 Discoveries From My Twisted Treasure Hunt For Soviet Relics In Ukraine & Georgia

My Strange Soviet Relic Goose Chase!

From fake tanks to faded murals, my search for Soviet-era symbols turned into a wild adventure. Here’s why these relics of the past are more important than they seem.

Lost Lenins and Forgotten Histories

When I first landed in Ukraine in 1998, I expected a Cold War time capsule: towering Lenins, hammer-and-sickle murals, and heroic workers marching toward utopia.

What I found instead felt like a bad game of hide-and-seek.

The statues? Many gone. The murals? Painted over or peeling away.

Soviet history hadn’t greeted me, it had packed up and left town.

But disappointment soon gave way to adventure.

The hunt reminded me of childhood walks out in the deserts of New Mexico with my step-grandfather, searching for arrowheads and pottery fragments.

Now, halfway across the world, I was chasing Lenins instead of arrowheads and pottery, uncovering stories hidden in the weeds.

Join me on this twisted treasure hunt, where I found not just statues, but something far more surprising.

1. The Ghosts of Soviet History: Traces Hidden in Plain Sight

My search for Soviet relics in Kyiv didn’t lead to grand “statue parks” or curated displays.

Instead, I found scattered symbols woven into the city itself.

The Friendship Arch still stood boldly near the river, but other relics were more subtle, the hammer-and-sickle designs on old gates, or Red Stars perched on rooftops like forgotten ornaments.

It was like someone had left the star on Rockefeller Center’s Christmas tree, year after year, either out of laziness or because no one wanted to deal with the hassle.

But here, the star wasn’t festive, it was a faint reminder of a regime Ukraine had worked hard to leave behind.

As much as Kyiv tried to shed its Soviet past, small traces lingered, clinging stubbornly to corners and crevices.

These weren’t monuments anymore, just relics too obscure or inconvenient to erase.

If you think these symbols had a rough fate, wait until you hear about the murals, they didn’t even get to stick around.

2. Faded Glory: Murals That Tried to Ghost Us 

You know those Soviet murals of muscular workers, heroic women holding wheat, and rockets soaring into the cosmos? I thought they’d be everywhere in Ukraine.

Instead, most had practically faded away, thanks in part to the famously bad quality of Soviet paint, which I discovered for myself when leaning on walls in many old building’s common areas left streaks on my coat.

Occasionally, I’d spot a faint hammer and sickle peeking through cracked plaster on a decrepit factory wall.

An old factory called “Bolshevik”, where I once gave private lessons to the director, stood out.

Between classes, I’d wander the grounds, marveling at faded murals clinging to life, as if hiding in the shadows.

Once, as I lingered after a lesson, a scowling babushka snapped, “What’s so interesting?”

To workers like her, these murals weren’t history, they were scars of a painful era better forgotten.

3. The Hidden Relics: When History Hides in Plain Sight

In Donetsk and Kharkiv, not all Soviet relics had vanished. The massive Lenin statues still dominated the squares, their presence impossible to ignore.

But it was the smaller remnants that fascinated me, a chipped stone depiction of a factory worker gripping a wrench on a dilapidated building in Donetsk, or a weathered Soviet slogan barely legible on an factory wall in Kharkiv.

Even the smallest details, like a faded red star etched into the iron gate of an abandoned office building, hinted at the past.

A passerby glanced at me with a puzzled expression, probably wondering why anyone cared about such a relic.

These relics didn’t shout, they lingered, waiting to be noticed.

But what about places where the relics were gone entirely? That led me to my next hunt.

4. The Lenin That Wasn’t: A Wild Goose Chase in Tbilisi

In Tbilisi, I’d heard rumors of a Lenin statue still lurking somewhere in the city.

Intrigued, I hopped into a taxi, guidebook in hand, and asked my driver, “Lenin?”

He grinned, shrugged, and took off, ready to stretch this goose chase for all it was worth.

We tore through Tbilisi, past crumbling old Soviet blocks, bustling markets, and hillside parks.

Each stop was a dead end: an empty plaza, a converted government building, even a flea market where the closest thing to Lenin was a pile of Soviet medals and rusty samovars.

After an hour of increasingly vague detours, it became clear I’d been had.

Lenin hadn’t survived 1991, his marble likely smashed and sold off for souvenirs long ago.

My driver, grinning ear to ear, happily collected his inflated fare while I admitted defeat.

No Lenin, no pedestal, just a reminder that the spirit of enterprise thrives in Tbilisi.

But it left me wondering: what did locals think of tourists chasing relics of a painful past? Their answers would surprise

5. Locals’ Take on My Obsession: “Why Do You Care?”

In Kyiv, my fascination with Soviet relics amused and baffled my friends.

Over a plate of varenyky, I asked Katya if she knew where a rumored Stalin statue might still be standing. She laughed and said, “Why do you even care? We tore it down years ago for a reason.”

Her words stung.

For Katya and others who grew up under Soviet rule, these relics weren’t just statues, they were symbols of a regime that dictated their lives.

My treasure hunt probably felt like someone in the U.S. searching for Depression-era breadlines.

When I explained my fascination, how growing up during the Cold War made these relics feel like puzzle pieces to a story I’d only seen on screens, her amusement shifted to curiosity.

She nodded, though with a smirk. “You’re probably the only person in Kyiv who misses Stalin.”

She wasn’t wrong.

But as I passed an old, chipped bust of some long-forgotten Soviet hero, I wondered: Could we preserve history without keeping its ghosts alive? 

Then came the tank, an absurd find that had me laughing in an overgrown field.

6. The Soviet Tank That Wasn’t Quite What It Seemed

One afternoon on the outskirts of Kyiv, I spotted what I thought was the ultimate Soviet relic! 

A tank, its faded green paint still marked with a faint red star. 

My heart raced, this was the raw, unfiltered history I’d been searching for.

Until I got closer. That’s when I noticed the wheels. Yes, wheels!

The “tank” was a hollowed-out movie prop, complete with rubber tires.

It looked like someone had looted a film set and left it here to rust.

A nearby kid on a bike shouted, “It’s fake! They used it for some old movie. Nobody knows how to tow it.”

I laughed. This once-mighty symbol of power had become a forgotten roadside oddity.

Yet, the more I thought about it, the more this fake tank felt like a perfect metaphor for my journey: the Soviet past hadn’t vanished, it had been repurposed, reframed, and left to decay.

But my scavenger hunt wasn’t over. 

One question still lingered: Should these relics be saved, or is history better left to fade into memory?

7. Should They Save These Relics, or Let Them Rust?

As I explored Kyiv and beyond, one question stayed with me: how do you handle a history no one wants to relive?

These statues and murals weren’t just relics, they were painful reminders of a regime that suppressed identity and erased individuality.

This isn’t just Ukraine’s dilemma. In the U.S., debates over Confederate statues mirror the same tension: are they cultural artifacts or symbols of oppression?

The challenge is universal, how do we remember the past without glorifying it?

What if we struck a balance?

Thoughtful museums or augmented reality apps could recreate these relics, letting us learn from the past without letting it dominate the present.

Because history doesn’t disappear when we hide it. It lingers in the stories we tell and the lessons we take forward.

Maybe these relics could teach us more if we stopped burying them.

The Fine Line Between Remembering History and Letting It Go

My hunt for Soviet relics wasn’t just about statues or murals, it was about the stories they told, the people who lived through them, and the delicate balance between remembering the past and moving on.

This isn’t just Ukraine’s struggle. From Confederate statues in the U.S. to colonial monuments in Europe, societies everywhere face the same question: should these relics be preserved, erased, or left to fade away?

The real challenge isn’t where these symbols belong, it’s how to preserve their lessons without glorifying their legacy.

What do you think?

Should these relics be saved for curious travelers or left to history’s shadows? 

Share your thoughts in the comments, I’d love to hear them!