December 31, 2013
The worst New Year ever: Babsuhkas and bad men
There was a serious frost in the morning which made all three of us glad that we hadn't had to camp the previous evening. Robert and Olga resumed their position at the side of the road, or rather Olga resumed her position at the side of the road whilst Robert resumed his position just out of sight, and I wished them well and continued on my way.
I passed through more chaotic towns and I came to realise that there is, despite appearances, a form of cohesion on the roads based on some sort of hierarchy. By now I had already worked out that as a cyclist my place was at the bottom of this food chain, along with the stray dogs and the chickens. It seems I was expected to give way to all traffic bigger than me, regardless of whether or not I had the right of way. Next up the ladder you might expect would be the horse and cart, but actually it seemed that these in fact commanded slightly more respect than the poor Ladas. These Soviet relics still make up about twenty percent of the vehicles on the road and they trundle along getting in everyone's way. Above the horse and cart come the medium-sized cars, followed by the buses and the 4x4s. Appearing to be at the top are the big trucks roaring along like metaphorical lions, but actually there is one thing that commands even more respect. For should one of the babushkas - those big, busty, elder females, shrouded in head-scarfs and the undoubted head and final word of any eastern household - decide to cross the street, great clouds of dust rise up from screeching brakes as everything else gives way to the undoubted queens of the Ukrainian road.
My self-appointed manager Andriy had organised me a place to spend New Years in the city of Chernivsti near to the Romanian border. This was even more of a blind couchsurf than the last one, and I knew nothing other than that I was to meet a guy named Sergi outside of the University at four. Getting to this location on time required completing something of an assault course. First of all, upon reaching the city I crossed a river (there was a bridge, it wasn't part of the assualt course) and then had to cycle up the steepest street in the world (which was.) This was made even more difficult by the fact that the road was cobbled and the air pollution from the passing traffic was terrible. I don't know if you've ever tried to ride a heavy bike up the steepest street in the world on cobblestones, but if you have you will know that you pant and gasp for breath quite a lot. And I don't know if you've ever panted and gasped for breath quite a lot while toxic exhaust fumes are blown directly into your mouth, but if you have you'll know that it ain't fun.
Nevertheless I completed this first obstacle with only a mild case of asphyxiation, and turned off onto a side street where I found my next challenge. This particular road had been recently dug up and what was left was a muddy, sandy, bumpy, sticky mess. And it was still going uphill. There were some huge holes in the ground, which had only the mildest attempt at warning signs around them, and some big rocks in the middle of the road, which didn't. It was another tough task, but I made it through to the final road which was paved and I appeared to be on easy street to the finish. But then the obstacle emerged. A babushka! A big one! Hunched over in the middle of the street, carrying her shopping home, very, very slowly. I think she was crossing the street although she was moving so slowly it was hard to tell. What should I do? Lowly cyclist that I am, I know my place. Yet she had her back to me, she had not seen me, and so I went for it, darting around to the side of her, pedalling as fast as I could until I was clear around her and chanced a look back. Had I angered the beast? No, I saw with some relief, she had not even moved (literally.)
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The fact that we were to meet at the University had been my only clue about Sergi and had naturally made me assume that he was a student, but when he arrived I saw that he was about my age (and therefore far too old to be hanging around with students.) He seemed like a nice guy as he came up and shook my hand, but he spoke almost no English.
"No problem. My friend, he speak English very good," he told me as we walked to his apartment. I have absolutely no idea why we met at the University because we walked all the way back down the hill again and halfway across the city before we got to his place. He showed me inside and it seemed like he lived alone in a very simple little place. There were three rooms - a main room which was Sergi's and another room where I would sleep, and a little kitchen out back. It was all very basic and sparsely decorated. Sergi fed me bread with margarine and I saw inside his fridge and it was completely empty except for two eggs which he wanted to give me but I refused to take. We tried to talk but it was very difficult and he didn't even have an internet connection to use google-translate to communicate.
"No problem" he said "My friend, very good English, he come seven. Tonight. Party. Small party."
It was six and so I decided to take a nap for an hour or so because I was very tired and I wanted to enjoy the party. But when I got up it was about eight and the house was empty, Sergi had left. As I waited for him to come back I studied a world map on his bathroom door and thought about my route ahead through Asia and the visa hell that I am about to begin. Oops, I'm sorry to use such a strong four-letter word on a family site. From now on I will sensor it. V*sa hell. That's better.
Time passed and soon it was after ten and there was still no sign of anyone. By now I was beginning to think that maybe Sergi had gone to a party somewhere without me, thinking that I preferred to sleep. What a New Years this was turning out to be! I had been rather looking forward to a fun night out. I had told Andriy when he said that he could get me a host in Chernivtsi, "Please make sure it is someone fun, I want to have a fun New Years!" and now here I was, alone and locked in a cold apartment. I didn't even have internet to contact anyone and I couldn't go out because I didn't have a key.
But then at half past ten Sergi finally returned with two friends. I can't remember their names, but one of them had a goatee beard and the other was missing a front tooth, so I will refer to them as goatee and toothy. Goatee was the one who spoke English and, although it was a long way from fluent, I was able to communicate with someone which, at first, I thought was good. Toothy was a strange little man of a nervous disposition. At one point the other two went out of the room and I said something to him and he suddenly burst out talking and didn't stop for five minutes, a continous animated monologue of which I understood not one word.
There was a bottle of vodka of course, and every so often we all stood and drank a shot together. I had made up my mind to relax my no drinking rule tonight and, although that had been based on the idea that I would be spending a fun night with hot Ukrainian student girls, I nevertheless joined in with the first few shots. Along with the vodka my companions had brought a tremendous amount of chicken and a tremendous amount of cigarettes and we all crowded into the kitchen and cooked chicken and smoked cigarettes. I made a mental note to ask Andriy to make sure my future parties involve more girls and less bad smells.
I was doing my best to enjoy it but before very long my only English speaker, goatee beard, leaned over to me and looked at me through drunken eyes and said in a very serious tone:
"I cannot remember the last time I felt happy without mariujana and alcohol."
'Crickey' I thought, 'thats a bit heavy. This is turning into one hell of a party!'
I listened to his woes and tried to sympathise, and told him to be positive and that it was a new year, and that this year was going to be great.
"I am a musician but I cannot move my music forward. I have no money."
'Maybe if you didn't spend so much on cigarettes and alcohol' I thought.
I have to be honest, the party really wasn't much fun. Depressed goatee man was getting very drunk and it was clear that he was not a happy drunk. In fact, it was pretty clear that he was an angry drunk and, seeing as the other people were his friends, I soon became the target for his anger.
"You are from England. You have money. You are rich, you have no problems. You are rich."
'Rich enough to spend most evenings in a tent eating jam sandwiches, yes'
"Why do you come to my country and you don't learn my language? You should speak Ukrainian. Why do we speak in stupid Engish?"
'I've only been here ten days, and it is quite difficult'
"You must learn Ukrainian"
'I am leaving tomorrow. If anything, I should learn Moldovan'
But angry goatee man was quite insistant and he found a pen and a piece of paper and started writing down swear words and making me say them. Just to be clear that I understood he also drew little pictures to show what they meant.
'How do you say v*sa?' I thought to myself.
More shots followed and angry goatee man got more angry with me when I didn't want to drink anymore, but I figured it might be a good idea to keep my reflexes sharp because this idiot was clearly trying to pick a fight with me. The atmospere was horrible. Sergi knew his friend was being a пеніс but all he could do was look at me and say sorry. I decided that blind couchsurfing was definitely not a good idea and I made a mental note to reprimand Andriy for getting me into this horrible situation as idiot goatee man repeated swear words in my ear and told me I was not welcome in his country.
A couple more guys showed up before midnight. One was younger and sat quietly and didn't say a word. The other was a little older and was bald but big and strong and tough. I hoped he was a good guy. I really hoped he was a good guy. He also spoke a little bit of English and one of the first things he said to me was, "My father was a commander in the Red Army." I really, really hoped he was a good guy. I asked him what he did and he didn't seem to know the exact word but it was something like militia or military. I really, really, really hoped he was a good guy.
Luckily it seemed like he was. He was asking me questions about my trip and I was trying to concentrate on him and ignore offensive goatee man and not rise to his bait. But when annoying goatee man asked me "What have you learned about our culture?" I risked a cheeky reply "You like drinking?" and smiled at big strong militia man. He laughed! I had made a friend. A big, strong friend, and my chances of living to see the new year improved dramatically.
Midnight came and went and we all survived drunk goatee man popping a champagne cork across the room and waving sparklers around wildly and I was grateful that he was distracted enough to leave me alone for five minutes. It was, without doubt, the worst New Years party I could ever have imagined. A bunch of sour faced thirty-something-year-old men smoking and eating meat and drinking vodka and this ignoramous making everyone, especially me, feel very uncomfortable. As another bottle of vodka appeared I decided I had better take my leave and so I headed to try and sleep in my room.
As I left the kitchen and started down the hall another guy arrived through the front door and he greeted me. He had a very round head on a round body and he appeared to be defying the laws of common sense by having a smile bigger than his face. "Happy New Year!" He beamed, "Hello to you! Welcome to my country, nice to meet you! Welcome, welcome! Happy New Year!" He was the happiest man in the world.
'Where the hell have you been all night?'
I went to bed and I hoped that tough strong militia man would stop dumbass goatee idiot from coming to disturb me but it wasn't guaranteed because my room was down the hall away from the kitchen and you had to go through Sergi's room to get to it. So he could go to Sergi's room and no one would know if he then opened the door into my room. I was paranoid that he was going to come and attack me in the night because he was really absurdly drunk and he really did seem to hate me. There was no lock on the door and I couldn't even find my blunt pocketknife. I was actually considering making a run for it out of the window when I heard someone coming through Sergi's room and then rattling my door handle. I held my breath and drew the bed covers up around me. I was really scared. Suddenly the door opened and a dark figure stood there. It was him, I was sure it was. He advanced towards me. There was no time to react.
"Chris! I am sorry, I am so sorry!' and with great relief I realised it was Mr Happy with the smile-too-big-for-his-face "he is a bad man, a very bad man. I am sorry! Please, you are welcome in my country! We want to be Europe too. Please. We love you! I love you!" and he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a big hug. Faith in humanity restored.
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!
(not you Andriy, you're fired)
Today's ride: 75 km (47 miles)
Total: 11,485 km (7,132 miles)
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