The Weirdest Night of my Life?

As some of you may know, I was dreading coming to Ukraine. First and foremost, I was tired and had been working really hard and missing home a lot. But it was more than that. No need to put down a country (the partners we have here are exceptional!! And I like the food!! And that’s about it!!), so I won’t go into why I would have preferred to go to any number of other places (I started counting other countries I’d rather be in and lost count). After praying that my flight would be canceled (a little dramatic, yes), it was on time afterall, and I board in relative tranquility (not wanting to leave Vienna, I was almost last to board). But boarding is so painless, and the plane even so nice, I chuckle as I walk down the aisles of the Ukraine International Airlines flight. I had overcome my fears, recognizing, triumphantly, that absolutely nothing bad was going to happen to me in Ukraine. Almost nothing could trump the elatedness I feel floating in my seat, not even the two women in front of me who cackle viciously the whole trip. Before I could say hyena (two hours later), we land.

Still, I don’t have a good feeling about immigration & customs. Last time they lost my bag. They also gave me a hard time in immigration and made me step to the side and all this junk. Not this time! While it wasn’t fast to get through, I do see my luggage right away. *SIGH and DEEP BREATHS*

All is going well; even the driver meets me right outside the gate. This had been the site last year, where hundreds of people were shouting and yelling upon my arrival the year before (not to me, nor at me) which had been kind of a commotion. Time is about 9pm, on time (good because I have to wake up at 5am the next day). Driver takes me to apartment office (to save $$ I’ve booked an apt, which is promised to have a concierge, wireless internet, and many other things that made it sound good enough).

We arrive at 10pm to the office where we have to check-in before going to the actual location, and man has me sit in the car for 20 minutes while he does something else upstairs. I of course start to get weirded out. But he emerges eventually, and we go upstairs to the office to get the key to the apartment. Patience, I remember, is key here.

Apt office lady—girl actually—speaks exactly zero English. I feel, of course, terrible that I have no Russian or Ukrainian skills and try in French, Spanish and Pig Latin before totally giving up. I forget to use my point-it book and instead use the Germans who speak no Russian/Ukrainian but keep getting angry at the girl. It’s at least mildly amusing, I suppose. I laugh a few times, but mostly out of frustration.

Cross-cultural communications fail miserably, and about an hour later and one angry driver later I still don’t know if I can buy a train ticket tomorrow morning at 5:30; how long it takes to get to the train station; what I should do with my luggage; where I can withdraw $$; where to get a SIM card; how they can set up the wireless; where I am going and where the hell I am.

I ask to call the one (well one of two) person I know here in Kyiv, and after the girl refuses several times (and driver making the sign of cash, fingers rubbing together—what??), I make a mad dash for the phone and start dialing. She sighs but goes along with it. Friend answers phone, translates questions, all has been arranged, and soon enough man whisks me away. I am still not sure what has happened, but I know I am going somewhere, which is better than where I was standing. Driver starts talking to me and shouting a bit and I start saying “mama” and make crying noises. It’s partly faked, but it’s partly real. He gets the point and leaves me alone. (Mama, that one is for you. Miss you every day.) But I must pull myself together, to not add myself to the list of Americans who have made fools of themselves here in recent days and garnered Ukrainian hatred (BUSH BUSH BUSH), and I do, with deep courage.

Where I am now, the location from which I write this, well, I have absolutely no freaking clue, I know it is one of 10 giant apartments in some complex on some street far from the city center. I am almost certain if I left I would NEVER be able to find it again. So I don’t plan on leaving. As the driver and I go up the unlit hallways, I start to feel a bit panicky. There is of course no concierge and you won’t be surprised to hear there is no wireless either.

As soon as angry driver leaves, I also realize there is no bed. There is a couch. I will sleep on it.

My friend calls the apt (after the apartment lady calls and shouts “KEYS MORNING” which I take to mean “Please drop off your keys back at our office tomorrow morning before you leave, dear.”) to say she “has a friend” who runs a travel agency who can get me a ticket for the train tomorrow morning and be here in 20 minutes. Um…WHAT? I go along with it.

I go to take out some cash I’ve stored in my bag (which WAS a carryon but had to be checked at the last minute) and find it to be missing. Hrmm. It was about $50. I could have not brought it with me, but I am sure I saw it in the last country I was in. This is puzzling, disturbing, but I can’t think about $50 right now when I have to figure out how to get the money to pay for the train ticket. Luckily, they will let me pay in dollars, though giving me a pretty awful rate.

20 minutes later a knock on the door. I don’t even ask who (I figure if I’m going to die here I may as well get it over with) and open it up. In front of me is a pimply dude wearing a tattered suit and white gloves. The white gloves, I should note, are magician’s gloves. He says “Citiclub!!” and acts real excited. If I weren’t so surprised I would have laughed by the entirely bizarre situation, but I shrug and invite him in to pay him. (Needless to say I don’t know what Citiclub is but assume it has something to do with the train ticket).

It does. He also comes bearing a bag of heavy promotional coupons. When I try to reject them, he keeps trying to give them to me, and I say I don’t want them, he says they’re free, I say I don’t care, and pretend like they’re really heavy to carry. He kinda gets it.

I pay, he goes away, and I try to get ready for bed. I need a shower first, so I go in the shower and tinker around with it for a good 15 minutes before I figure out how to activate the shower (and all at once tons of water comes shooting all over me, and again, I am only confused).

T minus a few hours before I have to get up (that is, if I ever fall asleep!) and I am thirsty and don’t remember if I can drink the water. Recalling the bouts of food poisoning & other junk I got in Ukranian-backed Transnistria, I pass, and decide to go to sleep thirsty.

And here it gets even worse. I start envisioning all the things that could go wrong. What if the taxi doesn’t show up? There’s no way I can get another one in time, the closest stop I saw was at least a mile away. And the phone doesn’t work, so that’s out.

What if I don’t have enough time for the train? I realize that I haven’t booked enough time for the taxi to return the keys, withdraw the $$ and still make it to the train. I have a shot, but it will be super tight.

And, my worse fear, what if, while I return the keys to the apartment lady, the taxi drives away with all my luggage? Then I would be totally screwed! This is the scenario I keep playing over and over in my head (for whatever bizarre reason) and just cannot let go. The few times I doze off I quickly waken only to realize I was literally dreaming of the Cyrillic alphabet. Dear God.

Another day, another adventure.

For those of you who wonder why I get tired of traveling, NOW YOU KNOW! U.S.A.!! U.S.A.!!

PS: An update from timetravel (aka the next day): I never did fall asleep, but I did make my train to Eastern Ukraine. It’s a real joy here, too. But that’s another story.