In their final days of imprisonment, the Romanov family, the last of the Tsars who had ruled Russia for over 300 years but had fallen from grace during the 1917 Russian Revolution, remained under strict guard, spending their last days on mundane activities such as religious practices and gardening.

However, on the night of July 16–17, 1918, they were transported to the Ipatiev House, a merchant’s residence. Taken to the basement, the family barely had time to realise what was happening before the Bolsheviks began shooting relentlessly. Their hatred was so intense that multiple attempts were made to ensure no one survived.

After the brutal execution, the bodies were taken to a forest, stripped, and buried in a mine, forever sealing the fate of the Romanov dynasty in secrecy. But as they say, some secrets, no matter how deeply buried, eventually come to light.

In 1979, just as the world was beginning to forget about the Romanovs and the Russian Revolution, a local amateur historian stumbled upon their burial site. Realising that these were the remains of the deposed royal family, he chose to keep this discovery hidden from the authorities.

However, in 1991, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, investigations confirmed that these were indeed the remains of Russia’s long-lost monarch, Tsar Nicholas II, and his family. Where did this long-kept secret of the Bolsheviks finally unravel?

In Yekaterinburg, Russia’s fourth-largest city, about 1900 km east of Moscow, the very place where the Romanovs had met their tragic fate.

Haunted by Romanovs  

It has been over 100 years since the fall of the 300-year-old Romanov dynasty. Despite Yekaterinburg gaining fame as a centre of heavy industry and steelmaking, often considered Russia’s equivalent of Pittsburgh, the city remains haunted by the ghosts of its tragic past, forever linked to the fate of the last Russian royal family.

Church of all Saints

The legacy of the Russian royal family is reflected in many places across the city, which is nestled in the Ural Mountains and serves as a trading hub for goods from Siberia, Central Asia, and Europe. Amidst buildings reflecting communist ideology stands the Byzantine-style Church of All Saints, commonly known as the ‘Church on the Blood’.

A place of worship that has attracted thousands of pilgrims from Russia and around the world since its construction in 2003, the ‘Church on the Blood’ stands in stark contrast to its tragic past. Ironically, this sacred site marks the very place where Tsar Nicholas II and his family were executed in 1918.

Even today, the church preserves a spiral staircase, believed to be the very steps from the Ipatiev House, where the Romanovs took their final, doomed walk.

Crowned with five golden domes and a towering bell tower, the church’s Byzantine-inspired architecture exudes grandeur, it also preserves the original basement of the Ipatiev House. This space serves as a powerful reflection of the collective memory that continues to haunt Russia, whether during its Soviet years or even today, in the post-Soviet era.

Around 21 km from the church, there lies a monastery with seven chapels, with a tall cross marking the mine shaft’s edge named Ganina Yama Monastery.

Ganina Yama Monastery

Constructed in 2001, this monastery holds the remains of the Romanovs, whose bodies were discarded after their brutal execution, shot while seated on chairs. Surrounded by artificial ponds, the monastery features chapels dedicated to each member of the royal family, including the daughters, who, according to one of the executioners, were stabbed with knives fixed to the ends of rifles after gunshots to their heads failed to kill them. Their survival, even momentarily, was attributed to the diamonds and other precious stones sewn into their clothing, which acted as a form of armor, an eerie twist of fate where their treasured possessions played a role in their final fight for life.

Though built rather recently, these places remain deeply marked by the past, a dynasty whose bloody end continues to weigh on the conscience of the people. Constructed to honour the Romanovs, they stand as reminders of the tragic fate of the royal family, whom the Bolsheviks, with the support of the people, deposed in 1917.

Yekaterinburg beyond Romanovs

However, Yekaterinburg is not defined solely by the execution of the Romanov family. Like any modern city, it is experiencing a boom in high-rise developments, a growing technology sector, and a diverse industrial base.

This modern expansion stands in contrast to its simple, constructivist architecture, inspired by communist ideals. Unlike its European counterparts, known for their opulent styles, constructivist architecture is known for its minimal decoration and sharp angles.

For instance, the Sverdlovsk Film Studio is a classic example of Constructivist-era architecture, reflecting a style that was highly popular in the Soviet Union during the late 1920s. Characterised by wide stairways, open balconies, and interconnected passageways, this Russian film studio was established by filmmakers who had been evacuated during World War II. At its peak, it was the third-largest film production center in the Soviet Union after Moscow and Leningrad.

Today, the once-prominent studio is barely recognisable, now housing small shops, a reflection of the declining influence of the Soviet Union, which had once sought to spread communism across the world.

Shaped like a moving ship, the Dinamo Sports Centre sits on the city pond and showcases the distinct Constructivist architecture designed by Veniamin Sokolov, a key figure of this architectural movement.

Established as a sports facility during the Soviet era of the 1930s, the building features a glazed façade, bay windows, and balconies that resemble lifeboats. Its roof structure atop the main pavilion resembles a captain’s bridge, while the bay window mimics a ship’s bow, giving the entire facility a striking resemblance to naval architecture.

Despite its historic significance, authorities considered demolishing the structure in the 1980s. However, following public protests, the plan was abandoned. Today, the facility is managed by the country’s Ministry of Internal Affairs, reflecting the deep sense of heritage cherished by the people of Yekaterinburg.

Far beneath Yekaterinburg lies a stunning natural wonder—the Psychedelic Salt Mines, located about 1,600 km east of the city. These underground tunnels are famous for their vibrant, swirling stripes of blue, red, orange, and yellow, created by layers of carnallite, a mineral used in plant fertilization. Found 650 feet below the surface, these mines are a unique mix of nature’s beauty, practical use, and artistic wonder.

Yet, in the heart of Yekaterinburg, among its Soviet-era architecture, stands an unexpected tribute—a monument to the British band, the Beatles. Featuring wall sculptures and murals, it reflects how the legendary band captured the hearts of Russians, despite the Soviet Union’s strict ban and heavy censorship of Western music like rock ‘n’ roll and jazz.

Despite these restrictions, the Beatles captivated the hearts and minds of many Russians. So strong was their influence that when fans could not buy Beatles-style jackets or boots, they refashioned their government-issued bulky coats and chunky footwear to imitate their idols. This place serves as a powerful reminder of an era when Russians secretly embraced Western music, proving the enduring cultural impact of pop music on society.

Shaped by its tragic past and evolving future, Yekaterinburg is a city of contrasts. From the haunting legacy of the Romanovs to the bold simplicity of constructivist architecture, accompanied by marks of Soviet-era authoritarianism, it reflects Russia’s turbulent yet enduring spirit.