Day One: As Good As It Gets
Well, after waking up at 6am and catching a flight from Milan and
making a stop-over in Budapest, I finally landed in Kiev. It was about
3:30 when I found myself thinking I would have to convince the
Ukraine authorities that I was here for pleasure not business, but after
showing them my German passport and being waved through, I breathed a
small sigh of relief.
I was supposed to be met by someone from the school but I walked through the gate and realised that this was not true. After being met by thugs with taxi cabs trying to usher me in their “upper-class” vehicles for over inflated “English” fees, I slightly panicked. I called the school, no answer. Fuck. 15 minutes went by when I noticed from the corner of my eye a man, who looked like he was fired from the KGB, approached the terminal with my named scribbled on a piece of paper. I shouldn’t have felt so relieved. “Hello” I said, “No English” was simply the reply. Quickly he put me in his car and rolled up the tinted windows that protected him from whatever the fuck he needed protection from. I was soon astounded by the sites and sounds of what a true ruin of the cold war is: old cars, run-down roads, buildings in ruins, and Cyndi Lauper blasting from the gangster’s radio. Still not a word.
After 30 minutes of driving in this maniacs car, we approached the city of Kiev. It was astonishing. As you drive up to the bridge you can’t help but notice the Soviet symbols that are powerfully engulfing it, nor can you imagine the mere size of the statue that is gaping like a giant shadow over the decayed city. Unbelievable. “They could afford to build fucking churches with gold roofs but not feed and shelter their own people” I thought, shocking that the system collapsed.
We arrived at what looked like a train station, and he quickly guided me toward the train, stopping only to buy me the worst sandwich on the planet (I thought they harvest grain here) and a giant sprite for 120 whatever currency. Anyway, he guided me on the train and followed me on my journey for a seat. I went to sit down only to hear a voice firmly say “no”. “Ok” I thought, and continued to walk through the train until I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and sit me down next to a group of semi-friendly looking people. He then told them something, which translated in my head as “He’s fucking retarded and can’t read a fucking sign, so can you make sure this idiot gets off at the right stop”, they nodded in understanding.
The train was quaint and charming for a train that felt like it would run off the tracks at any given second, I even had to sit on the toilet because of the large possibilities of being threwn around and pissing on my shoes. Wouldn’t want to show up looking unprofessional at my new job, would I? The most memerable thing was the TV playing a Ukrainian series about the Cold War that actually would have been quite good if I understood a fucking word. After 4hrs on the train I arrived in the town of Poltava, I couldn’t read it of course because of the alphabet, and thankfully the group of people said “your stop” and I got off the train.
This was the smoothest part of the trip. I was picked up by another maniac driver and a girl who could speak moderately good English and driven to the camp to meet the staff.
I was supposed to be met by someone from the school but I walked through the gate and realised that this was not true. After being met by thugs with taxi cabs trying to usher me in their “upper-class” vehicles for over inflated “English” fees, I slightly panicked. I called the school, no answer. Fuck. 15 minutes went by when I noticed from the corner of my eye a man, who looked like he was fired from the KGB, approached the terminal with my named scribbled on a piece of paper. I shouldn’t have felt so relieved. “Hello” I said, “No English” was simply the reply. Quickly he put me in his car and rolled up the tinted windows that protected him from whatever the fuck he needed protection from. I was soon astounded by the sites and sounds of what a true ruin of the cold war is: old cars, run-down roads, buildings in ruins, and Cyndi Lauper blasting from the gangster’s radio. Still not a word.
After 30 minutes of driving in this maniacs car, we approached the city of Kiev. It was astonishing. As you drive up to the bridge you can’t help but notice the Soviet symbols that are powerfully engulfing it, nor can you imagine the mere size of the statue that is gaping like a giant shadow over the decayed city. Unbelievable. “They could afford to build fucking churches with gold roofs but not feed and shelter their own people” I thought, shocking that the system collapsed.
We arrived at what looked like a train station, and he quickly guided me toward the train, stopping only to buy me the worst sandwich on the planet (I thought they harvest grain here) and a giant sprite for 120 whatever currency. Anyway, he guided me on the train and followed me on my journey for a seat. I went to sit down only to hear a voice firmly say “no”. “Ok” I thought, and continued to walk through the train until I felt a hand grasp my shoulder and sit me down next to a group of semi-friendly looking people. He then told them something, which translated in my head as “He’s fucking retarded and can’t read a fucking sign, so can you make sure this idiot gets off at the right stop”, they nodded in understanding.
The train was quaint and charming for a train that felt like it would run off the tracks at any given second, I even had to sit on the toilet because of the large possibilities of being threwn around and pissing on my shoes. Wouldn’t want to show up looking unprofessional at my new job, would I? The most memerable thing was the TV playing a Ukrainian series about the Cold War that actually would have been quite good if I understood a fucking word. After 4hrs on the train I arrived in the town of Poltava, I couldn’t read it of course because of the alphabet, and thankfully the group of people said “your stop” and I got off the train.
This was the smoothest part of the trip. I was picked up by another maniac driver and a girl who could speak moderately good English and driven to the camp to meet the staff.
What a crazy trip, Ben. And what happened next? I am kind of addicted to this story now : -)
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