The Wild East

"I have been the victim of a practical joke."

By 6.30 things had started to happen, the currency exchange (an anonymous dirty window) had opened and we were able to get our hands on some Ukrainian money (Hryvnia). We got on a battered trolleybus (tickets 4p, one door missing). Everywhere was very quiet and judging by the stares we received, western tourists were rare. McDonalds, in the process of opening, received its first customers of the day.

Went to the hotel George and were told that the hotel was full by the receptionist. We didn’t believe her and told her so, and after a thoughtful pause she gave in and said in English “OK, you come back in 20mins and we might find you room”. We left our bags and headed down the street. At the next hotel a bad-tempered drunk had just kicked a window in, but at $6 a double this was a much better prospect than the George ($30). We slipped back to the George, put 5HR ($1) for the return of our bags into the porter’s hand, and disappeared.
Taylor went for a shower and I sat down on my bed. After only 2 hours sleep in 2 nights I was asleep by the time he returned.

The next thing I knew it was 5pm and time to get up. We went to explore the fabulous view from the top of the tower. We were the only people there and shared the place with a huge blue and yellow Ukrainian flag.
Finding a restaurant to eat dinner in was a challenge. Unfortunately, ordinary Ukrainians are much to poor to eat out, and there are few tourists, so no real market exists. Of course there are a few restaurants to cater for rich Ukrainians (Mafia) with $5 beers, and $20 for a main course, quite beyond the budgets of me and Taylor. MT was hinting at McDonalds, but luckily we found a café in the nick of time! The ordering procedure went something like this:

• Two menus are tossed onto the table (Ukrainian only)
• Taylor looks puzzled and fed-up. I’m unsuccessfully trying to translate.
• After 25mins the waitress re-appears.
• Taylor grins and orders (points to something at random in the blur of cyrillics). She doesn’t smile back but the order is accepted.
• I order (in bad Russian). Waitress grins (showing the deficiencies of Soviet dentistry) and shakes her head. I try something else. No. Eventually I strike gold.
• Taylor’s pizza arrives 45mins later. I wait expectantly for my Carpathian Meatballs.
• I receive my meal, but first the girl ties a bib round my neck, which I presume to be an integral part of Ukrainian culture.

I can’t help noticing that we/I are receiving a disproportionately large number of stares (even for stupid tourists) from the other patrons of the cafe.
The bib I’m wearing turns out to be a normal babies bib...and it wasn’t especially clean. I have been the victim of a practical joke.
Maybe it was because I spoke Russian- western Ukraine considers itself to be completely independent of Russian influences.

Later that evening we are sitting in a makeshift outdoor café enjoying some of the local beer, Lvivskaya (no toilet facility provided, meaning I had to use an unlit back alley).
The evening is getting late and some of the customers are getting rowdy. Taylor is deep in conversation, but I start looking over his shoulder to observe a crowd that has recently gathered.
A fight has started, and around 4 punches have been thrown. the two trouble-makers (in their mid-40s) are separated. Peace returns to the café, and normal conversations resume.

Fifteen mins later trouble starts up again with one man throwing a plastic chair at the other. this time at least 6 people are involved trying to separate them.
Me and Mark decide to leave, before all hell breaks loose and it transforms into a scene out of 007 ‘License to kill’

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