last day...

Friday, Day 11:

So sad that this was our last full day! We got up and, having decided to play it by ear in the morning, chose to throw everything out the window in lieu of going to the beach again. Really, the only thing we had left to see (potentially) was the Russian literature museum, but neither of us really had no idea what was inside, and decided that exercise would be the best thing for us before sitting on a plane for 12 hours. That, and the sea felt like something we both weren’t going to see for a long time.

 Actually, now writing this post-beach, I’m sorry I didn’t have a more thorough goodbye. So anyways, having had cars offered to us, we decided to take the trolley bus instead. Neither of us actually felt rushed, and it’s actually kind of enjoyable to bump along on public transit with strangers and watch them interact, snoop, etc. The metro was always good food for poetry in DC, and the trolley has already proven itself as worthy material.

I mean, after all that build up, nothing really exciting happened (I played peek-a-boo with a little baby boy sitting on his mother’s lap. I like kids I don’t have to spend more than 15 minutes with. That kind of sounds awful) but it definitely wasn’t annoying or painful in any way. We left before it got hot (skipped breakfast thanks to the dinner extravaganza of the night before) and had a nice stroll from the bus to the beach, and probably more steps than Potemkin (we think).

Oh, funny, we paid for our bus fare in the form of a 50 Grevny bill, when the trolley is 50 cents a person, thinking we had no smaller bills. The I found a 2 at the beach in my back pocket! We finally got near a sea wall going not parallel to the shore line out in the water, but adjacent to it. So it was fun to walk out on the wall until the water was deep, see the fish (some very big, or in schools!) through the clear water, and then eventually jump in. Part of it (the end) was often covered over with water, so there was seaweed and mussels and a whole bunch of growing entertaining things to look at out there.

Two old men sat on the wall and played an equally old guitar. It was like a movie set. Kids played and pushed each other in or had cannonball contests (these were locals, no tourists at this beach) and a boy, maybe 15, totally thought I was his age and followed me around thinking he was being really stealthy. After I saw a snake swimming in the water from the seawall, it took me a good 15 minutes to work up the chutzpa to jump back in, but it was always worth it. That water was awesome, so so clean. We left, climbed up all those steps (pant pant) and caught the bus again.

Stopped on the way to the street fair for lunch, o starving post-swimming and climbing and no breakfast. Thought this would be a relatively simple thing. Our waiter was clearly new, very young, and completely scared witless. Yes, I’m censoring myself. Dad thought he ordered me potatoes with bacon (my healthy Russian staple, haha) but he ordered me asparagus with bacon, which was not only not filling but really not what I wanted (Al would have been so pleased, I thought) and Dad’s order was forgotten altogether.

I decided to amuse myself by making movies of Dad which he really was thrilled about. Finally our bill and change were given to us (wrong change, ps, he was not only nervous, but a few cards short of a full deck) and we hit the market for last minute family gifts. And ice cream of course. The car coming for us tomorrow for the airport thought our flight is at 3 (its 2) and that we only needed an hour at the airport (wrong, wrong!) so I flipped out and Dad made phone calls. I actually was yelling a lot. I don’t really know what got into me. I think Dad seemed so nonplussed I wanted to light a fire under his ass to make sure things worked out.

So I’m ranting about why the driver needs to be here by 11 (he wanted to call the airport and determine when our flight was and decide on his own when to get us – like that’s his business or his right!) and Dad kept responding with, “I hear you, I hear you” and I kept saying, “Yes I know you hear me, but do you understand me?!” Whoa. Whoa. The best thing about me and Dad as a unit is that we both have the ability to get really cranky really fast, but neither of us have the desire or ability to sustain that anger for long. By the time I got out of the shower we were back to chatting as normal. Ah, well.

After a battle with the hairdryer (I lost, and am coming back to the States with just a few less hairs) we got the call from Valia’s husband’s (Leoned’s) secretary that he was ready to go home and could we go out to meet him in his car please.

Dad and I, dressed to the nines, get in the car (not a Bentley) with this teeny tiny man and his bodyguard/driver. We drive rather far (near Arcadia beach) and on the way stop at the fanciest supermarket of all time because Valia would like balsamic. The guy was over by the shrimp checking for vinegar when I go straight for it. Supermarkets are fairly standard, even in Ukraine. OK, now when I say fancy, I mean the check-out cashiers had bow ties and hats. So different from downtown, most of Odessa, and pretty much all of Ukraine.

We come back out of the store and the car has vanished. Mini-man throws a fit worthy of any red-faced Russian, and calls the poor guy (playing with his phone with the car parked on a lawn across the street?) all sorts of names that Dad didn’t fully translate for me. Back in the car, Leoned makes some sort of comment that essentially communicates that he thinks Dad is a technician. Dad hands him his business card and explains, and though the man can’t read it, I can tell he feels better.

So, we’re almost there, and Dad comes to understand this man is the mayor of Odessa! I had dinner with the mayor of Odessa! I’ve been driving around with his wife! I think we’re even quasi-related! They were super pushy about food and after trying caviar over and over again here (and trying to learn to like it but totally hating the entire experience the whole time) I had Dad try to explain for me that I couldn’t eat it. Seriously, this was a feast that rivaled thanksgiving, and it was impossible to say no to these people.

Dad and Mr. Mayor had a lot of vodka and the guy basically fell asleep by his pool in his bathing suit. I’m pretty sure it’s a cultural thing, and isn’t exactly the same as in the US, but guests are treated really oddly. We were shown through the house and Valia really bragged about it, I mean, really expected to blow our socks off. I think she may have been a little disappointed in our reactions, though I have been practicing my oo’s and ah’s.

It was a beautiful house, for sure, and they put time and meticulous detail into every square inch of the place (a remote controlled cover for the pool?) but it’s all really not my thing. Their grandson, 18, lives with them, though I’m not sure why, and he appeared for a total of 2 minutes, played with his phone, claimed to go check something inside and never appeared again. Something about this kid really made me want to slap him, and his friend came over because they were getting ready to go to a club and I was so relieved they didn’t invite me.

Many courses later, finally we were finished (ice cream again! Am I lactose intolerant yet?) and the damn kids were supposed to drive us back to town! But actually it really wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought, though I think Dad was nervous too. They blared their circa 1999 hip hop and I laughed to myself and actually said “yay” out loud when Dad and I got out of the car.

I wanted to sit the kid down and give him the lessons of life, or at least say “in the future you will either feel bad about being an asshole in the past, or blossom into such a big asshole, you won’t ever know” but I know I don’t know much more than he does and I have no right to say such a thing to pretty much anyone. But I do know a spoiled brat when I see one.

We finished packing, are tired, and think the car is all set to come tomorrow morning. We hope to get some breakfast and check email before we leave. Too sleepy for more grandiose conclusions.