Trip to Ukraine, May 2005, by Ben Bamberger

From MemoryArchive

Who: Ben Bamberger
What: Trip to Ukraine
When: May 2005
Where: Ukraine

Last semester I was studying in Moscow, and by studying I really mean drinking vodka to stay warm (yes it’s that cold). Eventually, when the weather became remotely nice my Swedish friend Christian and I decided that class was boring and that going to Ukraine would be more interesting. At the time it seemed like a logical choice especially given the absurdly low prices of Russia/Ukrainian trains. But I forgot about one thing, the visa.

So, the story goes like this. Due to “Euro-Vision”, a trashy European rock concert held in Kiev that year, all Europeans were allowed to enter Ukraine without a visa. Americans however, were not. Unfortunately, my need for a new Russian visa occurred at the same time as my need for a Ukrainian visa, and so I did not actually have my passport. A week before I wanted to leave, I went to the Ukrainian embassy and asked if I could receive a visa without a real passport but instead copy, and the reply seemed to be yes. Perhaps I asked improperly, but the next day when I went back with all the documents and a copy of my passport, I was told I needed a real passport and not a copy. What the damn? I was, to be honest, quite stuck. The day I received my real passport was the day after my friend left for Kiev (he already bought his train ticket) and it takes three days to receive a visa. By the time I received a visa, half the week would already be over and Christian would be heading back, or lost in the depths of Ukraine never to be found again. What could I do? In situations like these, I’ve often resorted to begging, and this one was no different. So I went to the embassy and asked the same nice lady I met before (nice Russian ladies can be an anomaly) about a visa. The conversation went like this.

Me: “Is it possible to get a visa in only one day.” Nice Visa Lady: “No, definitely not. It takes three days.” Me: “Are you sure, please?” Nice Visa Lady: No, I’m sorry we can’t do that. Me: But I really, really, want to go to Kiev. Nice Visa Lady: Why can’t you go later? Me: Because my friends won’t be there later. Nice Visa Lady: And you really, really, want to go? Me: Yes I really, really, really want to go. Nice Visa Lady: Okay, if you really, really, really want to go I guess we can manage something. Go pay the fee, come back in an hour and pick up your visa.

Once again, my assumption that begging is an efficient way of getting things done seems to be confirmed. How the hell this actually worked out, I don’t know, but after paying the highly overpriced 100 dollar fee and buying my much cheaper 15 dollar train ticket, I was all ready for the night train to Kiev, a nice 11 hour commute. Now night trains have always been a favorite of mine, especially Russian ones. First of all, you always meet weirrrd, weirrrd people that only seem to exist in fiction until, that is, you actually meet them. For instance, I met an old Ukrainian babushka (old lady) who mumbled so much that her Russian had to be translated by a younger woman into a form of Russian that I could understand. For whatever reason, probably in an attempt to make her difficult life more bearable, she started giving me a hard time. Realizing I was a foreigner, this became incredibly easy. She reminded me of those Japanese soldiers who were found twenty years after the end of World War II, stranded on islands still believing the enemy was America. For this woman, it seemed as if the Cold War never ended (no doubt, her life never actually got better with the collapse of the Soviet Union, probably even worse) and an American was some sort of intruder. Her knowledge of America was so sparse that she even assumed I spoke “American,” and couldn’t understand that there was no difference between the languages spoken in America and England (if I spoke English, I had to be from England). I gave up and attempted to fall asleep. She did the same and moaned about all her many pains, again in incomprehensible Russian. Oh the night was just beginning. I eventually fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the Soviet built train (the rocking is the best part, it’s like one giant cradle) but was rudely awakened at the Ukrainian border for the usual document check. Now Eastern Europeans aren’t really known for the friendliness of their police, something I learned the hard way in Moscow. This night was no different, as the police did their best to intimidate everyone on the train. Luckily, my documents were in order and everything went smoothly, although I did see the police nearly beat a woman across from me until she got up. Clearly, the idea was to be awake and ready before the police get to you. Eventually I made it to Kiev the next morning in one piece and glad to be away from the crazy old lady, but alas, my cell phone was not working. I had no way to call Christian and see where to meet him and it looked as if I had a bigger problem on my hands than mumbling old women. It really did occur to me at this point how dependent on technology we are, but luckily for me my friend decided to meet me in the train station. Odd thing is, it’s quite a large train station and he was able to locate me immediately after I got off the train, to my relief. Oh Swedish efficiency. Kiev is really a beautiful city, and not that expensive either. I feel you get the same amount of European charm for a lot less money, as long as you speak some Russian. It was spring at that time, already May, and everything was blooming (although not warm enough to the point where jackets are unnecessary). Moscow is a capital of power, not very clean and somewhat depressing, but with a charm that’s all it’s own. Kiev is the exact opposite of this, beautiful, lush, green parks, with some cobblestone streets, not really a big city feel. In fact, there are parts of Kiev where you feel like you’ve stepped back in time a few centuries, it’s that picturesque. The people are friendly, the police amazing (compared to Moscow) and the food delicious and cheap. What more could you ask for? We were content and even found a nightclub that featured dancers behind glass walls around the bar where one could watch nearly naked Ukrainian girls breaking it down. Cool or creepy, you decide.

Unfortunately, due to the rock concert, all the hotels downtown were taken so Christian was forced to take a hotel in the suburbs the night before, which I also wisely used. Now the Moscow suburbs are quite dangerous for foreigners, lots of alcoholism and angry Russians, but I never really got that sense in Kiev. In fact, at times it almost felt as if one had turned back time and was now in the Soviet Union, as all the buildings were from that time period. I could even imagine greeting people with the now defunct, “comrade,” although decided not to.

But after two days in Kiev, it was time for a change of scenery, so to Odessa we went. A simple five-dollar train ticket and a 13-hour ride and we were in this beautiful port city. The thing about Odessa is, it’s not a town you’d go to for vacation, but when you’re there it’s a blast. It’s small, cheap, and the people are constantly making jokes. Knowing nothing about Odessa (planning is for fools), we bought a few maps of the town when we arrived and started walking towards the downtown area in an attempt to get some food (it had been probably sixteen hours or more between meals) and a hotel. The food was relatively easy the hotel was not. Again, every hotel in the city was booked (why I don’t know), so exasperated we gave up and eventually asked a genteel looking Russian who was standing on a street corner for advice. He couldn’t suggest a hotel, but could suggest a place to get information, a terrible Soviet built hotel a few blocks from where we were. I don’t remember what his exact words were, but the sense he portrayed was, “never, ever stay in that hotel, just get information from them.” Alas, we were tired from traveling, and knew of no other hotels, so after finding and realizing the prime location of the shitty Soviet hotel (directly downtown) and the fact that it cost nine dollars a night per person, we gave in to the temptation to forget the good advice we were given. In the end, you get what you pay for, and this hotel was no exception. The showers and bathrooms were communal and you had to pay to use them, our beds were from the age of Brezhnev and the door was falling apart. After two nights on a train this seemed quite nice, although I did miss the rocking. Odessa was wonderful and I have nothing bad to say about the town. The people were even friendlier, and at a restaurant we even met a Ukrainian couple who took us back to their apartment to drink saki, as they worked in Japan part of the year. This struck me as quite odd, inviting strangers into your house, but I think it is really indicative of the kind attitudes the people of Odessa carry. Eventually though, all trips have to end, and unfortunately we had to go back (skipping one week of class is appropriate, two weeks probably isn’t although we did entertain ideas of going to Istanbul). The train ticket to Moscow cost forty dollars for second class, something that seemed like quite a lot of money to me. Then I realized, the train ride was 25 hours long and we had our own room and better accommodations. I also realized it cost me 60 dollars to get home from Washington DC to Pennsylvania, a five hour train ride with no sleeping compartment. Hmmm, cheap, efficient transport was at least one thing the Soviets did correctly. Of course the police woke us up at the border again, and this time they actually took our passports away-why, I still don’t know. All I remember is being drunk with fatigue and falling back asleep, an incredibly stupid thing to do. Yet, I woke up as the police came back ten minutes later with the passports, all stamped and ready to go. Good luck… definitely. Good timing… definitely not, I barely got the passport into my pocket before I immediately fell asleep, all the traveling had taken it out of me. Unfortunately, our planning was once again quite poor and the only food we brought was two liters of water (with carbonation…), a loaf of bread, some bananas and a couple Snickers bars. It’s safe to say neither of us would make it in the Boy scouts. I guess if I can make any conclusions about my trip to Ukraine|, it was simply a wonderful country with engaging people and I’d go back any day. Shady at times, sure, but I never got the sense it was truly dangerous. The only thing I regret is forgetting to exchange thirty dollars worth of Ukrainian money before I left, which became most expensive souvenir I brought back and the fact that the Black Sea was too cold to swim in. At the very least though, it was the best excuse to skip class I’ve ever had.