Friday (4)

Friday, Day 4

Today we got up around 6 after thinking we would sleep so well and that sucked but we ate good food again. Apparently that was all I needed, bc after drinking the biggest cup of the strongest tea of all time, I passed out for another three hours. Deep, amazing sleep. Dad talked on the phone the whole time and made a bunch of plans for us. (we are the same, plans stress us out, but as soon as we don’t have them, we want them. Da?)

Today, we are visiting Olga, who is Manya’s daughter. Manya was my grandmother’s big sister, the only sister out of the 5 women who did not move eventually to the US. Olga is older and we want to be sure she has everything we need so we’re going to visit. Then he called Sasha to ask him if we could do dinner again, and I guess the Olga plans came up because Sasha offered to drive us to Olga, instead of taking tram/bus etc. Very nice of him. THEN, oohh so amazing, Sasha offered to take us to his dacha tomorrow. Dacha is beach house. Dad had one, a little shack he says, and Sasha has one too, about 40 miles away from here. So exciting.

A few things I have been dying to record, though not specific to one particular day or experience. Driving, beach, women. And in that order. They all connect, in a way.

OK, we got a ride to the beach today, from Valia and her driver, and that was very kind and generous of her. At first, it was really really strange to see and hear about people with drivers. Especially not in a limo or something, but in their Honda or whatever. But, after driving around a while here, you couldn’t pay me to drive here, and I’m not just saying that in the way I said it before I bought a car in Tempe. So, I guess in a way, it makes perfect sense that the wealthy would want a their own ride (not the public transit, which actually, though crowded, is really reliable and surprisingly easy) but wouldn’t want to have to navigate the roads themselves.

Further explanation: cars for a long time were very rare here. So, even in terms of basic traffic laws and parking regulations…well, these things are essentially nonexistent. Most of the sidewalks are as wide or much wider than the street, so when it comes to parking, it’s perfectly normal for cars to roll right over the curb and up onto the sidewalk and park next to trees and trashcans and smack in front of doorways. I have pictures of this.

Now in terms of the actual driving, I have never been so terrified of being in a car in my life. I thought Dad was a fairly reckless driver, but I would rather be with him behind the wheel than in a car anywhere in this city. (That being said, I must admit it’s kind of fun, in that this-is-so-crazy-I-will-not-bother-imagining-possible-endings-to-this-ride kind of way.) I have not seen a single speed limit posting anywhere, and, strangely, accelerating as quickly as possible regardless of the cars in front, red light, trolley going by seems to be the habit here. So there’s lots of slamming on brakes and gas pedals as drivers see fit.

And there’re no lanes, didn’t I mention that? Most cars are small, but they seem to think they’re also scratch-resistant, as they will go between parked cars or slow cars or on the other side of the road if they’re itching to step on the gas again. Lev had told us “traffic will be crazy” and most surprising especially to Dad, but never did I think he was being so literal.

So we get to the beach, alive, scratch-free. We walk to Arcadia Beach, about a ½ mile from where the cars are allowed to go. Now I preface this by explaining that I was excited and a little nervous for this trip, knew it would be fun and amazing and emotional, but I really didn’t have time or have the perspective to imagine us getting to relax.

I had no idea that the Black Sea is, essentially, a turquoise mini-ocean, except with fewer waves, clearer water, less seaweed, and warmer temperatures. There are even waves, though not the surfing kind, but the ones that are fun to swim around in. And sea shells. And people walking around selling amazing food. And soft soft white sand. I have missed the water so much, and Arizona has kept me longing for it for a long time. I have always enjoyed the ocean, but you know, had the occasional complaint about cutting my foot on a rock, the temps being freezing cold, or the seaweed wrapping around my ankles. This was basically perfection.

Apparently, Sasha’s dacha is even better. We’ve all heard the idiom, “There’s salt-water in my blood” or something like it. If I am going to entertain such a romantic and somewhat cheesy idea, could I perhaps also suggest that the salt water in my blood might come from this very sea? These girls whacked their ball right near me in the water, and I turned to snarl at them and their interruption of my swim, and saw their happy, patient faces waiting for me to throw their ball back to them (I did. I mean at least I know when I’m acting like an asshole). They smiled big and said “speciba” (thank you) and it suddenly felt so normal, not foreign at all.

Onto the women. Who are beautiful, I should say, before anything else. I kind of find myself staring into their faces, as if I’m looking for someone specific. What I do see is a familiar face, a giant forehead and big eyes, full cheeks that end in a pointy chin, and all the other features little and cute and somewhat contained to the lower half. It’s so weird, but to some degree they really do all look alike.

But the way they dress and present themselves is very strange to me. I must stick out like such a sore tourist thumb, it’s kind of hilarious. Hair is either very very platinum light, or super snow-white dark, and either way it’s long, so long that mine seems short. Some are crayola red. Haven’t seen a brunette other than children, no joke.

The shoes are always high heels. Always. The roads are cobblestones; it does not matter, they negotiate them flawlessly – I have not seen a single woman falter. The other thing is wardrobe, which is sort of 80’s minus the shoulder pads and prostitute skin tight stretch fabric. Dad keeps referencing Pretty Woman, which I think is a fairly hilarious and PC comparison.

To be honest, the women (I’d say under 35? 40?) are nearly all thin, and Dad and I haven’t really seen any woman in a restaurant doing much other than smoking and drinking, which he says is normal. Still, the provocative dressing 24/7 is not flattering, and everyone’s a sausage in their clothes, skinny or fat. To be fair, everyone looks kind of 80’s, decked out in mesh shirts and rat tails or mullets. MULLETS. At the beach, everyone, and I’m talking everyone, was in a thong. Even little girls, like, 8 yr olds. Most kids younger than that were nude, or in speedos. People are very comfortable with their bodies, and its something to envy for sure.

I really had to get that out of my system. In another cranky moment, I was itching to say outloud, “I know this lame but I need you to give me about 18 inches between our noses so I can breathe. Thanks.”

Right now we are watching TV, and it’s really awesome. This is kind of our first night in, and the Russian shows are translated in Ukrainian subtitles. Dad is shocked. He never really saw TV here. He’s baffled that there are Ukrainians who would need subtitles for Russian, and insists they must be from the Western part of the country. All the commercials are for American products (Colgate, Old Spice, etc.) and are so cheesy they translate perfectly with no aid. The spokesman for Schweppes here is a talking tiger.

 I wanted Dad to find the Olympics on TV, which I was so excited to see from a different country’s perspective, but he keeps saying, “I didn’t come here to watch the freaking Olympics,” and to that I say, “Good point.” But he is so easily annoyed by this, it is fun to push the issue.

Instead we found footage of Russia attacking Georgia. They are seriously concerned about a war here, between these two countries, which I don’t think we’d see on TV in the states. We just learned part of the reason why there was so much traffic here today was because there were mass weddings with lots of cars and honking and cans on string and blah blah. 08.08.08!!!We saw a bride with her bouquet in a skimpy wedding gown at the beach!

Pink Floyd is coming, we saw it on a sign…in October. In other news, there is a momma pigeon that lives outside our window and she is always sitting on a nest. Either that or a bunch of crap. I call her Petichka, which is bird. There is a kitten, named Kitten (Kotyonuk) outside the apartment. She is orange and I am beginning to plot her escape to the US. This has been a pretty random and beer-influenced paragraph. But I have the sense to save the best for last.

This morning, after nap-of-the-century, we visited Olga. We had our first Odessa tears. Dad and Olga talked about his mother, and she remembers taking care of her when she was pregnant with Dad. They talked about other mutual family members who have since passed away, very sad, like Olga’s husband.

She lives alone in a beautiful apartment that is slowly falling into disrepair, but she is sharp as a tack and seems really mentally alert. She was observant and articulate, and told Dad a lot about the country and ways in which it has changed since independence. Ironically, it was when translating it in English that Dad started to cry. I hope he doesn’t kill me for typing this.

The whole time, to be soothing, Olga just said, “da, da,” with deep sighs. He translated for me that he was very proud of me, because he had just been telling Olga the same in Russian.

We are going to visit the grave (my grandfather’s) Monday, as we think now we will be sleeping over at Sasha’s dacha because it’s just that awesome. Highlights from the opening ceremonies just aired; they only showed Ukraine (in some really great baby blue suits lined in neon yellow) and China. And a quick flash of Bush’s face, then Putin. Goodnight.

Words:
spoon: loshka (love this)
cup: chashka
plate: tarielka
weather: pagoda (yay!)
why: patchimou (I think, patchouli)
I get it/gotcha: ponile/ponila (male/female)
beach: pliage
check: schote (it’s all one syllable, I cant really say it without saying sss-chote)
money- dengy
bird- petichka/petitsa