Tweet:..Jigawho?

Hov's Ukrainian yacht!

Tweet: Tag Along

Discovered this stowaway inside my camera bag, inside my day pack which only ever
left my back to lay beside me in my hostel bed *shudder*

Tweet: Pocket Full of Posey

Likely part of the fleet that invaded the then-Ukrainian, now-Russian port of Kerch

This is what they had to parallel park in

Hostel Hunting: Russia and Ukraine Concluded

Odessa
My train out of the fiery region of Crimea arrived in Odessa even earlier than the planned 5:30am. This time I knew right where my hostel was and was sure it was nearby the train station. in minutes I had found the sign and having learned my lesson immediately went to the dingiest entrance I could see around back but couldn't find it. Around to the front again I tried pulling the knob but the door wouldn't budge then realised I was the knob and pushed it easily. There were five doors on three landings and not a single one was marked. No buzzer could be found. The hostel WiFi was strong but password protected. Being pre 6am I didn't want to knock on the seemingly private residence doors so I silently willed someone to feel my presence and come let me in. After fifteen minutes of silence besides me pacing noisily up and down the stairs peeking in keyholes and peepholes and any other holes I could see I came up with a new game plan. On the street I asked a man to call the number on the sign for me but he either didn't understand or didn't want to or was so drunk from being out at the all night girlie club next door that he didn't call. He did tell me he was an army man and asked me to join him for a drink but he was a creep so I turned him down. He followed me across the street so I walked off to the only other address I knew, nearly two kilometres away with my massive bag. There the archway was exactly like the picture with the arrow but beyond that there was no indication of where to go in the courtyard with ten or more entrances. Climbing a number of random staircases nothing looked good and the stray cats were evil eyeing me for being in their turf. The sun was rising and one man exited but coldly brushed me of altogether when i approached him directly. It had been nearly half an hour here now and almost two since leaving the train and I was exhausted. A young boy appeared with his dog and told me in decent English there was no hostel there. I didn't know what to do and didn't want to walk another 4km back so I sat. The boy returned after his pup had done it's business and he approached me to offer advice. On my map he pointed out another and I thanked him and walked a reasonable distance there. Kid knew his stuff - there were two hostels there. When I checked in and had an 8-person room to myself for two consecutive nights understood why some might have closed (at least got the season.)

Conclusion
Having related these tales to some travelers I've heard that many hostels in Russia and Ukraine are illegal since they do not want to pay taxes. This might explain the obscurity and lack of signage and all the pain I endured.

Hostel Hunting: Kerch Me if you Can

Kerch
Dusk was settling in when I passed Ukrainian customs off the ferry and I still had to take a small van taxi transfer to town. The walk from the bus station was delightfully well lit, even embedded in the concrete, but the streets were nearly deserted at only 8pm. Trying to get my bearings I seemed to have passed the hotel once already without seeing it and now came at it from another direction. The address I was looking for should have been on the darkest part of the road next to the dilapidated buildings.. I couldn't see it and instead went to main street to reevaluate. Nobody there spoke English so I went into a restaurant with an English menu and WiFi. Following a nice meal and interaction with the manager I set out with expensive fallbacks but made one more stab. This time I recognised the sign from an online picture though it didn't say hotel at all or, you know, have a light on. When I knocked a slippered man slid to the door and we negotiated for my small, comfortable room ($20 CAD) without any common language while standing on plexiglass revealing a fake archaeological find.

(Not a) Guardian: Soviet Trains 'n Trams

With ticket in hand after passing an hour in the nothing-neighbourhood of the station I returned to the platform. It was eerily quiet. The sinking feeling quickly sank but I waited until 5 minutes past the departure time before asking the only person around, a Russian speaking cleaning lady. Eventually she understood where I wanted to go and shook my head and put me back on the tram I'd come in on. I pieced together that I'd interpreted the hand gestures of the price as the departure time from the sour Soviet train ticket lady. Cleaning lady explained something to the tram driver and the more pleasant tram ticket lady as she pushed me on. I still didn't know what was going on as we pulled away and they tutted but otherwise couldn't seem to help. Back at the main town, I cried out that I didn't know what they were expecting me to do as they told me to get off. An old man was the only one to answer to my agony. I showed him my ticket which had the destination in Cyrillic and he led me emphatically to the bus station. We stood at the platform for a minute as he asked and the answers didn't seem positive. Dragging me along again we went inside where the Soviet bus ticket lady was amazingly more sour than the train one had been. It seemed the ticket I held was not good for the bus as I'd hoped all this fuss had meant and that the next bus was not until after the next train. My old man seemed to have another idea and still wordlessly he pulled me back to the main road. However I recognised this from the time I'd taken the tram to the train station nearing 2 hours ago now. We played the worst game of charades since that time I had an unbearably itchy back during my turn, so he and I changed over to Pictionary in the dirt. Eventually I figured out he was sending me back to the train station on the tram three hours before the next departure, that he wanted me to confirm the platform it would leave from, and that he was not a guardian after all. I thanked him for his intentions and to his consternation walked away to find a better way to pass the time.

Guardian: Marble Caves

These guardians may also seem familiar to the ravenous readers who recall the Indiana Andrushenko Escapade. First there was the man who spoke not a word of English yet pulled over to pick me up soon after I'd stubbornly refused a taxi and set off walking. Insisting there would be no charge he drove me over two kilometres of hot, dry, boring road that would have wasted energy needed later in the day. Leaving me all smiles in the village I just so happened to meet the excellent English speaking woman from St. Petersburg who began describing the complicated route just to the start of the hiking path before giving up and asking very apologetically if I could hold on while she completed her errands. My alternatives were to look for another friendly English speaker with intimate knowledge of the trail to the cave in this village of 85 people, head into the wilderness without a map never to be seen again, give up and double back, sit in the dust and pout. Of course I could wait! Mere minutes later she rejoined me and again began describing the route as we walked and once we cornered she pointed and noting my seemingly permanent perplexion smiled and said "come on" and carried on well past her destination to baby me onto the trail. Hours later down this very same trail I would meet a young couple who often went romping in this area. Again the explanations without a map were not going well, especially now with 6 hours of first hand knowledge as to how easy it was to just hike and hike so they asked me to join them even sharing their lemonade in exchange for my crumby biscuits. Then they not only walked me back to the road and drove me miles back to civilisation but went out of their way to pass by the cave so I could recognise it but also went off-roading to indicate the shortcut to me. "To think a Canadian boy in the mountains of Ukraine in the winter!" they each exclaimed in their own way, bless them all.

Indiana Andrushenko and the Conclusion of the Marble Cave

The beginning of the tale may be found here.

Your fitless protagonist promised to reinstate the Quest for the Marble Cave replete with the newly ascertained information regarding its whereabouts, thus, not two days removed from the previous search, he set out again. The morning was even sunnier than on the previous adventure and the temperature warmer still, forcing the man to regulate well as he achingly pushed upward along the long ascent of the steep mound which was promised to hold the jewel of his desire. Pressed for time he took merely one miraculous hour to crest the mountain and was delighted with the progress that the sweat of his brow had accomplished. As indicated by the marauding couple the entrance appeared - they proved not to be deceitful after all!

Alas the prize still alluded him as guarding the entrance were keepers of the cave. When he approached they outrightly refused him, citing a host of unacceptable excuses to deny him this victory. Surely he could reason with them! But the negotiations did not prove fruitful. Eventually he offered them a bounty to allow his entrance but they still refused without justification, muttering only apologies. He had not come this far to be quelled by a resistant troll and pressed further, reiterating the significance of the discovery and the hardships he had endured just to be standing on that spot. Through unending charm and wit he eventually swayed them and they relented, swinging the gate wide for his entrance. Inside were amazing sights that one must literally see to believe. The depths of the caverns breathtaking, and the height of the stalagmites astounding, while the length of the stalactites incredible. However the discovery to make it all worthwhile was the nearly wholly preserved skeleton of a mammoth that lay awe-strikingly in one of the many rooms of this truly magical cave. In true celebratory style they toasted not only this beast but also this heroic quest with the nectar of the land.

Tweet: Chill with the Willies

Eastern Europe please cease the terrible RHCP covers - just leave Dani on the other side under the bridge in California.

Profile: Ukraine

Meet Ukraine

- Former Soviet country with close historical ties to Mother Russia
- Language: Ukrainian, with Russian widely used
- Birthplace and home of my paternal grandparents until fleeing in WWII
- Large country on the Black and Azov Seas, bordering Russia, Belarus, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania and Moldova
Visited: Crimea (Kerch, Yalta), Odessa
Sidewalk Safety: Serious twisted ankle threat
Stray Dog Rating (out of 5): Three cats plus a dog and a half

Ranting Impressions: Starting with the glaring caveat - I visited at a time of political instability as the federal government had recently been overthrown and pro-Russian forces took military control of the Crimean region while I was there. (See Crimean Politics)

Phew, glad that's out of the way.

On touchdown I was relieved to be there. Something felt freeing about departing Russia and despite a severe disconnect I did have some ingrained affection based on my lineage. It was also nice to have the dollar on my side to not worry that my beer bill would equal my room for the night.

To speak of the people, in general it seemed as if they did not care at all about you and were happy to ignore you and take care of themselves - ticket agents included. However those who did take an interest were so sweet, generous and caring that it makes me wonder. There were more than a few times where I was in a predicament and a local would usually respond to my plea (not necessarily offering on their own) by doing everything in their power to assist me. In Yalta I was fed, sheltered (as well as sheltered from any potentially dangerous political situations), chaperoned and genuinely cherished by a group of strangers. It was immensely welcoming.

Logistically moving around was a little tough as there was no English; online, in the stations, or spoken by attendants. That said I could almost always find someone to understand my destination and show me the way.

The food was.. only okay. Before you berate me and call me a blasphemer I suspect this is largely due to the language barrier precipitating that I could only eat in the select places that had an English menu. Even there it was slim pickings for the vegetarian, especially because the majority of my time was spent in Russian areas that retain the Russian taste for flesh.

Altogether it was an enjoyable experience with beautiful and interesting things to see and do, even in the late winter/early spring. Next time I would like to return with my family and to places in the north, including Kyiv, for perhaps a more authentic impression closer to my original expectations. And of course without the impending threat of war.

Tweet: A horse, of course

Triple flame extreme (beet?) purple horseradish chips. About as bad as they sound, didn't stop me from holding my breath and thinking S & V

Tweet:Mime

Anyone want to play charades? I've been practising!

Indiana Andrushenko and the Marble Cave

Raved about by legend and locals alike, the strapping young lad sets off for the Marble Cave apparently located high in the mountains outside Alushta. Having pieced together partial information about its whereabouts he is cautiously optimistic he will discover what has been described as magical but he will not rest until this is personally verified. Local transportation only goes so far before he is dumped unceremoniously roadside with little more than scraps of a map in his head based on written accounts, and determination. Stocking up on supplies (read:biscuits) he bucks the proffered taxi and sets off into the small village under the noon sun with crisp conditions. All canine attacks rebuffed the start of the journey is without incident along the dusty road until a royal purple vehicle approaches from behind and slows. A lift seems to be offered and cunning as he is he accepts in order to save energy for the tasks to come. Only minutes down the road the free ride ends and once again he is in the open air. Locals approached are either excellent liars not willing to disclose the majestic whereabouts to a foreigner or imbeciles.

A stroke of luck would come in the form of a beguiling English-speaking woman whom he befriends and through careful discussion is given not only initial directions but a head start as she walks him to a trailhead. As instructed he enters the forest where the ascent begins and steadily rises first to the ground where snow still lies then past the treeline before finally plateauing. The journey, he knows, is far from over.

Strides across the open field are interrupted by photographic documentation of the route for explorers to come but as the adventurer continues without finding his prize this effort becomes dangerously wasteful. The only sign of humanoid life comes from the abandoned vehicle on the sole mud-caked road that he traverses as he presses on. Now above the clouds, following nearly three hours of trekking, one might think that the stupendous views would be prize enough but he has bigger things on his mind.

Finally the path breaks away, down into a shadowy valley, and he hypothesises that if there were to be a near-mythical cave the entrance would be here. Alas all that he finds are snow and mud drenched pant cuffs and cutting his losses he climbs straight up and out.

Daylight is waning, threatening his determination, but his will is strong and he forges on with only a vague, haunting, dark thought of a night alone in the mountains stuffed deep in the back of his mind. Then he hears it! Voices. Weighing his options he concludes the potential glory outweighs the potential downfall and calls out. And again. Silence..

Undeterred he makes for the highest point and obvious peak, serendipitously the same presumed direction as the unanswering voices. Then he spots movement, first one and then another, and waves a greeting. Valuable leads are at stake. Cutting a beeline for the couple they firstly are able to communicate and secondly seem to know of the location. Tormenting your hero they only agree to assist him if he first leads them to the nearby precipice. Although it appears a simple endeavour their careful steps and hence sluggish progress serve to render the man further frustrated with the lack of progress. Once his end of the bargain is finally taken care of, being an honest fellow, he expects corresponding payment but is disappointed to hear them refuse, citing a lack of remaining daylight (without mention of their prolonged summit). They do however agree to provide details, and even show him the route via the apparently-not completely deserted vehicle seen earlier. Without option he accepts this agreement and with their knowledge imparted, including a return trip to the village, he resigns to return another day. It has been a full day, much of it spent relentlessly hiking with little, or potentially nothing to show for it, but the dream of the Marble Cave is too alluring to relinquish that easily and he vows that the search will continue..

Tweet:Sound the Alarm

Every car in Ukraine equipped with "Hellooo, I'm a caaar" Dane Cook alarm (or whoever he ripped the bit off of)

Tweet:Exit Bar

Ever seen a guitarist solo with his patch cord? and then play with his tongue? and then play a solo while someone else plays ON THE SAME GUITAR?

Profile: Soviet on a Soviet Train

Caution, the post you are about to read contains language intended for a mature audience. Wake only the mature children to let them know what Stefan has spied.

Meet Viktor

- From Odessa but does not identify as Ukrainian
- Speaks Russian, English and Italian (macaroni..spaghetti..)
- A submarine captain in the Soviet Union
- Fought in the Angora war 1982 (??) (unverified)
- Has visited Canada on cargo ships from the Pacific and Atlantic (Vancouver, Toronto, Mon'real)
- Only needs 2 hours sleep; snores throughout
- Smoker
- A man, 100%. "No, a fucking man, one hundred percent!"
- Shares, but only with Canadian young man, not Russian boy. Masdarovia!

Tweet:Ukrainian Appetite

The only meal I can order in Ukrainian #borscht #kapustaVareniky Also pictured, homemade hummus. #BabaStillBetter

Dedications

Just as the borscht pictures are dedicated to my sister Larissa (her favourite) this one goes out to Katherine.
You would have had a field day (get it?) with these apparently endangered spider-wrapped flowers. Careful though, local lore says smelling them makes you sleepy.

A Foreign Vegetarian in the CCCP

Can any dietitians among you please review my food log?

Breakfast
2 sweet pastries, often fig or jam filled
0.5l strawberry-apple juice

Morning Snack
Orange
5 cookies

Lunch
0.5l water
1/2 loaf bread and Soft cheese akin to La Vache Qui Rire (occasional)
Or
3 sweet cheese filled crepes served with fresh cream

Afternoon Snack
0.5l water
Jumbo chocolate bar

Dinner
8 cabbage stuffed perogies
2 buns
1 large bowl borscht (beat soup)

Evening
1l beer (occasional)
Or
6 cookies
Or
1.5l beer (occasional)

Do you see any deficiencies? My worry is that I'm not getting enough carbohydrates..

Crimean Politics

Please do not think me to be foolhardy for carrying on with preordained travels into what would turn out to be a potentially hazardous land. I carefully considered my actions, being as informed as possible from multiple sources, before making moves. If you are a worrier and can't get past this perhaps it's best to just skip along to another entry - or hang tight for the Quest for the Marble Cave.

When I arrived in Ukraine, specifically Kerch, the Ukrainian government in Kyiv had already essentially been toppled. Upon crossing the strait separating Russia from Ukraine I began utilising what little Ukrainian I know, unaware that this being the state of Crimea Russian is still the language of the land. My history and politics lessons picked up quickly as it soon became all anyone was concerned with. To brief you, this area was gifted to the Ukraine in 1954, then merely a symbolic gesture as all fell under the heading of the Society Union. Even with the fall of the Iron Curtain the significance was little as the two countries remained closely allied and Russia retained its strategic military bases in the region. It was not until the recent revolution in Kyiv where the government was replaced for trying to turn away from a deal with the EU to maintain its ties with Russia that the relationship then became severely strained. Further complicating the situation is that the majority of locals identify with Russia despite living in the Ukraine and are fed Russian propaganda, primarily via Russian TV, that tells them the new government is full of fascists and Nazis (I kid you not).

My first night in Kerch I met a young local fellow who ranted about Ukraine being strong and rich enough to support itself and I knew better than to stir the pot with contradictory information I had read in there news. My stay here was fine, politically uneventful though the night before I was to leave all of the restaurant and bar patrons and employees were closely tuned in to the introduction of the new government to a mostly agreeable Maiden crowd.

The day before I was to move to Simferopol I read about opposing protests outside its legislative buildings. Accounts said it was mostly civil and free of violence but that tensions were high. Only minutes before my bus was to depart did the news of the armed take over of the building reach me. Obviously unsettling I spent the hours on the bus traveling into the darkness of night fretting about the scene I would arrive at and whether I would have to traverse any dangerous scenes. I decided with this new information that instead of staying in Simferopol as planned I would take up residence in the neighbouring village of Alushta - one of my day trip destinations. As fortune should have it my bus was early to Simferopol, still after dark considering the sun sets at 5:15 due to Kyiv time, but early enough that people would still be around and they were. Furthering my good fortune as I attempted to ask where to get a bus ticket to Alushta in broken Russian the two young people I approached responded in English! They too were headed on the same bus and invited me to sit with them. One was a local who now lived in Kyiv but was visiting home while the other was from East Ukraine and now called Yalta (south of Alushta which is south of Simferopol, all in Crimea). Supremely curious I cautiously broached the politics of the day by mentioning my change of plans and they eagerly took the bait. They were all for the revolution and despite their Russian backgrounds did not side with the common sentiment of the Crimean state which is that Russia is ruler - so much so that they admitted to arguments within their own families based on their beliefs.

Arriving on the bus to Alushta they expressed concern over me heading to an unknown hotel in an unknown town in the dark. If the locals were concerned then I figured I should be as well and wavered only long enough for the trolley doors to close before deciding to take them up on their offer to stay at one of their apartments in Yalta.
After we arrived to their place another friend came over and there was much discussion in Russian which they explained away by saying 'politics'. Despite the obvious interest they didn't seem to want to dwell on it in my presence.

The next day was completely normal with respect to politics despite having read of further rising tensions in other cities in Crimea. See 'A Nearly Perfect Travel Day' post to show just how secluded I was. Mind you at dinner they translated that a friend who worked at the local television station told them it had been taken over by people with guns but that it was done civilly and they had been asked not to talk about it but to return the following day to assist in broadcasting an interview at 6 pm. He refused to provide more details.

My plan for the next day was to go to Sevastopol and visit a former secret Soviet submarine base turned museum. However just before bed my host told me of planned protests in that city for the next day, and if it was enough to spook him it was enough for me as well. Surely when I awoke the news confirmed this as well as more alarmingly that troops of unknown origin had entered the city, complete with video of a flock of military helicopters coming in to land. I altered my plans and instead went to the mountains (Marble Cave I) where my political exposure was limited. The lady in the tiny village I passed remarked that she was considering returning with her husband to St. Petersburg after two years away due to the political instability. Furthermore the couple who drove me out of the mountains took a more relaxed view. It is just rich, powerful people employing actors but there is nothing to worry about. Though I agreed with part of their sentiment I couldn't wave away the potential threat and referenced a few contradictory things but when they responded anecdotally "my father was in Sevastopol today so it must be safe" I gave up on them.

That evening when meeting with more friends there was still much discussion, though some of it was lighthearted and jokes were made, it was obviously on everyone's mind. The TV station employee was present but skirted my questions. I spoke of my hopes to still make it to the submarine museum and a couple of them agreed to accompany me which was fantastic and exciting. However when I checked again the news had worsened, with downright frightening photographs of armed patrols and vehicles in the specific suburb of the museum. One article even specifically noted the sign taped to the museum door "closed for technical reasons" hypothesising the anti submarine watercraft nearby might have something to do with it. This was also the first evening I received a direct email from the Canadian consulate asking me to "consider leaving while it is safe to do so" in obvious reference to the local airports being surrounded by unknown armed men in military uniforms that had essentiality grounded all flights.

We made other plans but each new place we went or person we met had some mention. My first overt sign was as we walked along the main seashore strip and an army tent flying Russian flags was erected in front of the statue of Lenin (found in nearly every Russian or Crimean town). Nobody mentioned the elephant right in front of us and even when I brought it up little was said. Later that day when I met some other friends separately they said they had approached to investigate but would only tell me that the things they read on their signs were not good.

Having begrudgingly given up on the subs I resigned to return to the mountains but even the tiny village of Perevalne had conflict. At first I read of the standoff at the Ukrainian military base I hadn't seen on my visit two days earlier which was surrounded by Russian troops and that one shot fired had the potential to start an all-out war. Later articles reported an uneasy truce had been called where the Russians removed their clips and the Ukrainians backed off their vehicles. By the time I climbed the mountain across town and could view it from afar there was no sign off any  movement or that the Russians had been there at all. The only other tie made was that the electricity was out in the few buildings in the mountains which people blamed on the revolution under their breath.

As of now there is no conclusion. I tend to think that the revolution in the Kyiv government is a good thing as the ousted president was almost unanimously hated and the Russian government he attempted to side with is commonly considered corrupt. The situation in Crimea is particularly delicate as the common people no longer feel at home while both governments obviously have vested interests in this remarkably beautiful region for more than its tourism. Yes, the locals may feel abandoned without Russian support but Putin should absolutely not be engaging in this militarily. I do hope that for the sake of the citizens that this is resolved diplomatically and that the violence seen thus far does not become a minor precursor to anything much more grave.