The Wild East

"Me and taylor were crammed with 20 others at the back."

Odessa, Ukraine.
Our room had an en-suite toilet/shower but still had no hot water. However, Me and MT were now well trained in the art of washing in cold water.

The multi-million dollar ferry port at Odessa is very new and impressive. What was not impressive, though, was the fact that our plan to go to Istanbul by ferry was not going to happen. We sat down for a coffee an emergency planning session. Both of us felt fed-up. It was pouring down with rain, our ‘spooner shoes’ (sandals) were treacherous in this weather and our plan to go to Turkey was in serious jeopardy. Our options were to wait until Saturday for the ferry (and only have a few days in Turkey), try and fly there which could be really expensive or try and get a Moldova-Turkey bus. However, we had no way of acquiring transit visas for Moldova and we decided to return to Prague going through Slovakia.

Odessa is place where the Russians/Ukrainians go to enjoy themselves. It’s a good place to eat out and party with a lot of the bars being open 24 hours. The place was heaving with tourists but we never spotted any other westerns around or heard English/german spoken.
The 192-Potemkin steps seemed to be a major tourist attraction. this was the place where the attempted 1905 revolution was crushed by the Czar. The sailors’ blood flowed down these steps like a river, according to the local sources

The weather wasn’t very good, there were a lot of thunderstorms good which meant lots of slipping and sliding in our sandals. I think I abandoned them after a while and went back to trainers, much to the disappointment of MT who stayed loyal with ‘spooners’ until the end. Somehow, I don’t think we saw odessa at its best
There wasn’t much visible poverty around, though there were the usual street kids hanging around expectantly around McDonalds.
After our 3rd day it was probably time to move on. I was sorry to leave Odessa, but Taylor seemed satisfied. I think Mark was steadily beginning to tire of Ukraine. I never really got fed up of the place, though my patience was tried more here than any other country (except Russia, 2003, but that’s another story...).

We had a few drinks in a café before heading to the bus station for our overnight bus. the bus station was the usual standard; semi-abandoned, dark, shabby, and designed for a pre-1985 era when travellers were potential enemies of the USSR.
Inside I was nearly knocked off my feet by a rampaging stray dog.
The journey was eventless. The bus was crowded for the first couple of hours by skinhead young conscripts who eventually left. Taylor is somehow managing to sleep like a baby. At 4am we stopped at a gypsy settlement somewhere on the Odessa-Kiev road. the gypsies swarmed over the occupants of the bus like mosquitoes attempting to sell/steal what they could and attempted to board the bus.

At 8am we arrived back in Kiev and got straight on a bus to Lviv. I tried to sleep a bit more but the sweltering temperature and bad roads put a stop to that. I was cursing foreigner pricing/Ukraine/the communists at this stage. I vowed that I’d never travel on 2 consecutive over-night buses again.
We got back into Lviv at 6pm and headed for the Hotel Lviv again. Remarkably, we were given exactly the same room again (it probably hadn’t been occupied since our last visit). A chance to wash, repack and prepare for another long journey the next day.

Saturday, Lviv bus station, 11am.
Inside the bus station stood a sparkling, air-conditioned, Czech registered coach. A note on the windscreen announced the visitors were from Karlovy Vary, near Prague.
The well dressed, Czechs looked out of the window with disdain (and probably a good deal of smugness) at their surroundings and the not-so-well-dressed Ukrainians. A guard was employed to stand at the door and prevent any undesirable salespeople from boarding and selling cabbage/newspapers/vegetables as is customary on all buses in the CIS.
It was necessary to show passports to board the bus.

Our bus to Uzghorod was the exact opposite.
The 20 year-old bus (already 20mins late) rumbled uncertainly into the station at the wrong stop. A scrum of passengers immediately surrounded it. I looked on with horror when I saw the bus was nearly full already.
Not everyone would get on. Me and Taylor were determined that we would not be ‘haves’ and would resort to bribery if necessary. The door opened and we all jostled, shoved and pushed forward.

Everyone did get on but only 40% of the passengers had seats. Me and taylor were crammed with 20 others at the back. I was wedged between a piece of metal and a 20 year old girl but unfortuneatly a kid's bike was rammed in behind me with the handlebars wrapped round my neck.
I couldn’t see Mark.
Apparently Mark was standing up on the stairs by the doorbetween a large old woman and a metal post.
It was impossible to see anything out of the windows. This would be a hellish bus journey.

About 5 miles out of Lviv a blue haze of exhaust fumes started flowing into the bus. The girl and her family rolled their eyes at each other, laughed, and put their T-shirts over their mouths. I desperately tried to keep hold of my sanity. I wondered how I’d manage this 7 hour journey. I can’t help but feel annoyed when people in Britain start suing for the most minor complaints. In Ukraine you are gassed on the buses! I don’t know if this is normal or not in Ukraine. I just can’t imagine how the molly-coddled British would react in these conditions.
The bus continued on its merry journey. Every stop was like being released from prison, but after 10mins we would have to get back into our confinement. At these stops, Taylor and I would compare notes.
It got slightly quieter and more ‘comfortable’. An middle-aged (mid 50s, but looked 70s) man (the one who owned the child’s bike) started to wail. He was handed another beer and promptly fell back into a semi-coma.

Another man, much younger with bleached blond hair began to moved around. I think he was some sort of mechanic- he owned the bag of tools that were digging into me and had oil-stained hands.
Bleach-blond cracked open a bottle of vodka and poured a shot into a grubby glass which was offered to a woman standing next to Mark. She refused. He offered again. Another refusal.
After about the 5th time she caved in and necked it. Soon it was MTs turn. He looked dubiously at the glass, but downed his shot silnetly and professionally. I did the same. So far the passengers are non the wiser to our national identity.
Bleach blond then poured himself a few generous shots and give the middle-aged man some. BB then lurched back to his seat. These people must have bladders of steel!!

Bleach-blond, bored with drunken conversations with his friends staggered to the back of the bus and started speaking to us. He then discovered that we were foreigners.
He started pointing at us and shouting excitedly to his friends. Our fellow travellers, standing at the back, stared at us curiously.
Another bottle of Vodka appeared we had shots forced into our hands. I think we agreed to have 2 more shots but absolutely no more.
I knew my bladder would burst if I had any more.

Nearly everyone got off in a town called Mukachevye and we got seats for the last 20km.

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