My continuing Ukrainian Adventure... Trip 2

[mobob]

TR2 Prologue – The intermission: Six months, two weeks, seventeen hours, twenty minutes... but who's counting? Ah, that would be me.

An indeterminate time after departing Ukraine last fall, at least more than one day after returning to American soil but before the new year... I asked. She, that would be Olga, said yes. We shall marry this fall. Perhaps not as romantic as a proposal could have been, during an online chat, but for us, I think, it worked. It allowed us time after the visit to consider our experiences, evaluate our feelings and the consequences of our decisions.


It's a good thing Skype is free, at least for now. We're burning up the internet with video chats. Phone SMS (texting), too. I've mentioned this before somewhere, but I think it's important enough to say again. I've got a fairly decent international texting plan, but I use that up pretty quickly each month. A $1.99 app on my iPhone, Textalert International, lets me send messages free. It's a little more involved than direct texting, but the price is right. It allows me to schedule text messages to be sent when I am (should be) working or sleeping. Convenient. I think for the most part it is appreciated. I hope.


Trip preparation was interesting. The plane tickets begin the adventure.


The international tickets were easy. Last trip I booked with Delta/KLM as they had the best price. This time using Orbitz, I found United/Continental (essentially already merged) had the best deal. Since I knew I wanted to overnight at the Yotel inside Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, I routed my return through there. For Oklahoma City to Kyiv, I let the booking system do its thing, which gave me a plane change in Munchen, Germany. The return route, with the Shiphol overnight layover as mentioned, again gave me a plane change in Munchen. Clickety click and it was done, paid for, etickets in the in-box. US$ 1458.


The in country plane ticket purchase was far from pleasant. Last trip I'd made the reservations and paid for my tickets online with Donbass Aero. No problems. Instead of what I'm used to for online payment, such as Paypal or a credit card checkout, the reservation and payment process took place in online chat. I gave the names, dates and times, they made the reservations, then sent a link for payment. As I mentioned, last time it worked out just fine. This time it was not to be so easy. The process, as last time, required them texting (SMS) a passcode for authentication and payment. This time their system just would not send the passcode to my phone in the USA. ARG!!! Well, actually, I said a few other choice words. To complicate matters, I was trying to do this in my evening, about 2000 Oklahoma time, 0400 at the call center in Dnepropetrovsk, Ukraine. After several days of aborted attempts, I got online with Olga in Skype at the same time with the call center in their chat window. They'd send the authentication code to Olga's phone, she'd send it to me, I'd enter it into the proper place in chat, and finally I had our tickets arranged. I thought. Driving to work the next morning I got a call from a 380 prefix. Recognizing it was Ukraine, I answered. It was the clerk from the call center. Our tickets were canceled. There was some sort of flight number conflict. We had to do it all over again, but with Aerosvit. Turns out it's the same call center, same people, just a different company chat window. After coordinating again with Olga to assist with the passcode relay, we got it done, etickets in the in-box. Finally! US$ 300.


Two issues complicated the ticket purchasing process. First issue: I had forgotten to contact my bank about using my cards outside of the country. Specifically that it would be used in Ukraine. Hmmm. Something about potential fraud in the FSU. Maybe that's the reason my payment attempts kept getting rejected. After calling the ATM/credit card department, I connected with the person I'd dealt with last fall. A few moments to verify my identity and travel plans, all was good to go. And yes, they saw the attempted charges. All of them. Second issue: my internet connection, or lack thereof. At the time I was trying to make the reservations and buy the tickets, I lived in the boonies. I had aircard service with AT&T until returning from the last trip, and it worked pretty well. While I was away they changed my service. As in, 'we're sorry sir, but you no longer have the unlimited, roaming, nationwide internet service you signed up for. your service plan has changed', and were charging by the megabyte. If I continued with my current usage, the next bill would exceed $500. Since I rely heavily upon unlimited service, and couldn't support that level of corporate sponsorship, I switched to a Cricket aircard. Unfortunately, I don't think the Cricket 'network' is designed to handle such heavy usage. For unknown reasons, I kept getting disconnected from the call center in Dnepropetrovsk. Each conversation required no less than six reconnections to the chat, and then requests to connect back to the attendant helping me. I got to know the entire night shift on a first name basis, including reading their names and greetings in Cyrillic. They were quite patient dealing with me. So was Olga.


Another note about the in country tickets. With the purchasing, canceling and then purchasing again, my bank account took some major hits. Luckily I had enough in the bank to cover everything. It took about three days for the refund to hit my bank. I only took a small ding, about $2 total, on the exchange rates from USD to UAH back to USD.


It seems for both international and in country travel, it worked out best to have at least a two week advance purchase to get the best price. Donbass Aero and Aerosvit seemed to have some really good in country deals, like US $97 round trip tickets for Donetsk to Kyiv. But no matter how hard I tried, those tickets were always sold out.


Lodging in Kyiv. Having done some reading online, I deduced, with Olga's concurrence, staying in an apartment would be more economical than a hotel. I found some agencies and submitted my suggestions to Olga. After we agreed upon a selection on Kerchatik Street, she made the arrangements for our stay and taxi transport to/from the airport in one phone call. It really helped to have someone that can speak the language manage this. I probably could have done this, but I think we fared much better with Olga handling the details. I don't know what she said or did, but they didn't require an advance deposit like most arrangements, only payment when we arrived. That came to UAH 1600, about US $200, a good deal.


Now, dear readers, you may ask, why all the travel and lodging arrangements? Many of you will probably know this; I do from longtime lurking and research. Marriages in Ukraine, the civil part, are performed at RAGS, which records many administrative things for citizens. Marriage first requires a marriage application. To get to that point, as an American citizen, I had to get a notarized letter of non impediment to marriage from the American Embassy in Kyiv, a fee required. Then get it certified at the Ukrainian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, also in Kyiv, another fee required. Since I was previously married, I had to have copies of my divorce decrees, originals and Ukrainian translations, fee required, to submit with the marriage application. And my passport likewise required translation. Yes, fee required. So, in my infinite wisdom (Olga and others may question it, please feel free to do so), even though I could have done the stuff in Kyiv on my own, I figured it would be a nice opportunity to do a little touring in her country. The truth is I really didn't want to do it alone. It also helped immensely to have a native along for translation. There is no way I could have accomplished this in two business days. We ended up with four days in Kyiv. Time well spent.


The paperwork. Twice divorced, I needed notarized decrees from different states. And each required an apostille certifying the notarization was legal. Oklahoma was easy since all I had to do was drive to a local court clerk's office, then to the state capital, applicable fees paid. Task accomplished in two days. The other one, however, was a little more difficult. The Nebraska State Department of Records has a divorce certificate, so I ordered one, figuring a one page document would be easier than a multipage decree. What I got for my ten bucks wasn't even half correct. The names and court date were right, but that was it. My personal information, date of birth, place of birth, occupation, was of a namesake from a neighboring state. We weren't even related. I'd had this problem before. We had the same doctor growing up and I would get his medical claims on my insurance. Who would have thought it would follow me for 29+ years? Calling the department of records only added to my frustration. Even though the errors were not my fault, it would cost me $50, ME! to get the corrections made. And that would only be written annotations on the certificate, not a new one. I thought that would only complicate things for translation and RAGS. Olga agreed. I called the court clerk where I got divorced to get a notarized copy of the decree. Since it happened such a long time ago, the records weren't computerized and had to be retrieved from archives. Three or four days later it arrived in my mailbox and was immediately sent back to the Nebraska secretary of state, with another ten dollar check, sans explanation why I was sending another document for another apostille. My motto: 'Do not feed the animals... or confuse the public servants.' While this ran its final course, I'd gotten the notion I also needed my birth certificate. That request, with fees, went out express mail. The final divorce decree, with apostille, showed up three days before departure. The birth certificate, notarized and with apostille, arrived two days before. What timing.


Six weeks before departure, a family emergency required me to move into the city. I had some extra money saved, but it was still a hassle to move and set up a new household on three days notice. Two weeks after that my engine threw a rod. Now the expenses hit. Hard. I was able to get a replacement vehicle, but it soon required repairs, more expense. And stress. Do not think to oneself 'what can happen next?' It happened. During the move I misplaced my the key to my safe deposit box, which stored my passport. Sometimes I do things right. I had a backup key! A call to my friend; the next day I had my passport in hand.


Ok. Reservations made and paid. Documents, tickets, passport, all in place. I am ready to go. Almost.


The night before wheels up I completed the gift search. First to the liquor store! I had a few selections in mind, but the store clerk convinced me to add a few things. Imagine that. In addition to whiskey, a pint each of Jack Daniels and Wild Turkey, I got a bottle of gin and a bottle of vermouth since Olga mentioned she and her sister liked martinis. Now enter the clerks suggestion – take them some 'real' vodka. Ha! So, in the vein of humor I have, I grabbed a handful of mini bottles, several brands of vodka, Jaegarmeister, and some rum, I think. Next stop Walmart for chocolate and a few other edible goodies . Finished the night with a run to Target for a board game for Alex. Finding Risk outside of the holiday season was nearly impossible. While there I also did a quick and successful search for a plug adapter. They had exactly what I wanted and half the price of Walmart.


Now, where to put the liquor since I can't take it in my carry on bag? And how do I ensure its safety from pilferage and breakage? This part worked out well. At a special request, I'd agreed to 'packmule' a few things for some special friends. Their packages arrived the previous week. Knowing how roughly luggage is handled, especially for the distance involved, I couldn't see these surviving the trip in their original packaging. With my son Taylor's help, we bought an inexpensive suitcase at a thrift store to transport the goods. It even had operating locks with a key. Now the liquor packing. Each item was bubble wrapped twice, then puzzle fit into the suitcase. Into the open spaces went the liquor bottles, also double wrapped. After only two packing attempts it all somehow fit. Moment of truth... it weighed 48.5 pounds on the bathroom scales. Whew! In addition to locking it, for security and ease of locating we wrapped it with fluorescent green duct tape. It would not get lost. Yeah, right. More about that later.




Since I didn't have enough stuff to drag along, I decided I needed more. Responding to an 'anyone coming to Ukraine?' request, I rounded up some baseball equipment from a friend at work and his little league team's parents. Actually it was more than just some equipment. They provided bats, balls, gloves, shoes and a few other items, which completely filled an equipment bag. Thankfully the bag had handles and rollers. I only taped the handle for identification since I figured it would be hard to lose an equipment bag. Yeah, right. More about that later, also.


Ok, bags packed, holding my breath and counting the hours. Half a day of work tomorrow and I'll be on my way! Nothing else is going to go wrong. All will proceed well. Ha! There's more on Day One!
                                                    -30-

[mobob]

  TR2 – Day 01, Friday, 15 April


Very little sleep the past two nights. Anticipation is killing me. Everything is packed and ready to go in the living room. A half day at work. Just as I'm clocking out my phone rings. Hmmm. Strange, it's a five digit number. It's a good thing I decided to answer. Orbitz calling. My 1430 flight to Chicago was canceled due to weather and wind. I can believe this since the wind is untypical for Oklahoma this time of year, sustained 40mph, gusts to 60. Crap! I get routed to the international reservations desk – in the Philippines. ??? The clerk gets me an earlier flight. Didn't make sense since the weather would be chasing me to Chicago. I didn't care, just didn't want to miss a connection. I get a 1220 flight. Time to hustle.


Change in departure plans. I'd scheduled a friend to drop me at the airport. That didn't happen. Fortunately my son Taylor, who became today's hero, was available. I might have slowed to ten mph as I drove by his house and he jumped in. Tried to print a new boarding pass, but couldn't get one with the new flight data. Gave up and decided to get it at the airport. We grabbed my stuff and took off. With the later takeoff I'd planned some final errands on the way to the airport. That was reduced to one – traveling money. Exercise in frustration at the bank. No matter that I explained clearly and very slowly, the teller just did not get it that I wanted crisp, clean, unmarked benjamins and grants. After three rounds of bill exchanges I finally got what I wanted.


I set a poor example of the rules of the road. Classic 'don't do this'. Yes, I was speeding, but only slightly. Uh huh. Got there in plenty of time. Said bye and dragged my bags inside. While looking everything over and adding a last wrap of tape to my checked bags, I realized something wasn't quite right. CRAP! I didn't have my carry on bag! It had the non liquid gifts and my clothes. I just about puked right there on the floor. A quick call to my son, explain the situation, I literally begged him to go back to the apartment, find the bag and bring it to me. Got checked in, new boarding pass, then back outside to stress. Later he told me I called every five minutes checking on his location. Might even have been every three minutes. I only remember four calls. I knew enough not to ask how fast he was driving. The clock struck noon; he arrived a minute later. If my stuff would have been at the house in the country, he never would have made it. Of course the checkpoint line was long. More stress, but it was moving steadily. Dumped my stuff in a plastic tub and walked through the x-ray. I was ok, but the conveyer x-ray reviewer didn't like the cans of Bumble Bee tuna. I guess nine was too many. Opened the bag for examination. Now everything is moving in slow motion and my blood pressure is rising. I'm trying to maintain a calm outer appearance while not jumping out of my skin. The guy looks the packages over and over. I explain the boxes are still sealed from the manufacturer. Finally another security agent shakes his head and says to let me go. Everything goes back through the conveyer x-ray and is cleared. Of course now I've got to repack. Actually it was a situation of jam it in the bag, zip it closed and head for the gate. It's maybe five minutes to takeoff. On the way to my gate, the very last one on the right, I hear my name on the overhead speakers. Now I'm 'one of those people running through the airport'. As I approach the gate I see an attendant looking at me hustling and asks me 'Are you...' I gasp out 'I am'. 'It's him, he's here' he shouts to the gangway door. The hatch didn't clip me as I got on the airplane, but it was close. I got several dirty looks while making my way to my seat. I was too stressed to care. Departure on time. The wind has gotten worse. It pushes the little Embraer 145 all over the runway. A rough ride to 10,000 feet.


A few days after my return, Taylor let on a little about how fast he was going. He gave me a number, which was slightly higher than mine. He said a state police car came up behind him on the return trip to the airport with my bag. Luckily it passed him, evidently on the way to a call with only the rear lights flashing. Whew!


Arrival in Chicago was almost 20 minutes early. Now I know why my earlier flight was canceled, as I later discovered, so were many others coming to O'Hare, the weather was horrible. I felt like a popcorn kernel in an air popper. The approach was bumps and yaws from Hell. Glad my seatbelt was tight. Even with the terrible wind and rain, the flight crew pulled off a perfectly smooth landing. The cockpit door was open as I left the plane, so I got to say a quick thank you to the pilots.


Couple of hours to kill. I see a few runners in the airport and send quiet wishes they make their flights. I've been through O'Hare before, starting back in 1979; it hasn't shrunk with age. Knowing I'll be sitting for quite a while, I choose to walk from Concourse A to Concourse C.




And walk, and walk, and walk. I sure am glad my bags will be transferred (I hope) to my connecting flight as the ticket agent told me. Last trip and previous travels I had to check in my bags for the international flight.

 
One of the missed errands was to get some notebooks for documenting my experiences. I ended up buying a 3-pack at a small bookstore kiosk near my gate. Ouch! They are worth the price since I don't want to write on loose sheets or try to remember everything later. I also get a bottle each of lemonade and water to go with two boxes of the tuna salad. Lunch is served. At the gate I only find one outlet, and it's dead. Fortunately a man with an 'Ask Me' button passes by. He kindly points me to a free charging station across the concourse. All the seats are taken, but all I need is a charge on my iPhone to listen to music during the flight. While there I chat with other travelers. Several are on rescheduled flights or delays because of the weather. Other flights were delayed due to the president flying out of Chicago. Evidently a few had to circle almost an hour before they could land.


With a 100% charge I mosey on over to the gate. Seems procedures have changed. The gate attendant is repeatedly and loudly announcing they don't have to see passports. I make a few final phone calls and text messages, then board. The flight attendants say it's a full flight, but I'm in luck – no seatmate! Now if I could just get the stupid armrest to go back another eight inches I could stretch across both seats and get really comfortable. Alas, it is not to be. It will only rotate to 75 degrees vertical, just enough to be in the way. Ah, well. I've still got more legroom than usual. As soon as we hit cruising altitude drinks are served; a neighbor scarfs down a six incher from Subway. At 1910 we're over Mackinac Island, Michigan. Munchen 4360 miles. Altitude 33,000 feet. Ground speed 677 mph. Tailwind 70 mph. Outside temperature -68F. I am truly on my way. Dinner is almost ready. I smell something with gravy. Yum. Even though I'm only two rows from the rear galley, I don't expect I'll be eating first. Expectation confirmed as the cart passes by the cheap seats. Ok, it's a good time to stretch my legs. Uh oh. I've been a bad boy. Somehow I managed to forget to fasten my seatbelt. Click. Snacks and a drink, then dinner.

 
Right after trash cleanup the cabin lights are dimmed. Hoping for a little rest, I'd taken a couple of Tylenol PM at the end of dinner. Got situated, plugged in my music and closed my eyes. Two capsules are not enough, or maybe it's because the music stopped. I'm awake. Took a couple more Tylenol, got the music going and tried for sleep again. This time it worked. Maybe four hours. I know I'll still have jet lag, but I feel better. I notice breakfast on the seat next to me. Pastry and juice. I pass on the yogurt. I see land below. Landing shortly.




-30-
 
 
 
Window art along the way.
4897 & 4899
 
 
The never ending trek.
4900 & 4905
 
And a dinosaur skeleton.
4903
 
Had the pasta last time, so this time it's chicken.
4906
 
One hour to Munchen.
4907

[mobob]

TR2 – Day 02, Saturday, 16 April

Touchdown 0939 local, an hour early. Welcome to Germany! Feeling like I'm already in Ukraine, I see buses at the foot of the stairs. We're somewhere on a parking apron. A ride through a maze of planes and airport buildings to... Immigration for transient passengers? I had not expected that. But then, every other time I've flown international it's always been from port to port, so I wouldn't know this is the procedure. No problem. Until...


So, like, I checked two bags in Oklahoma City. The paperwork, I had to pay for the equipment bag, said they were checked to Munchen. Really, it did. The ticket agent told me the same thing, checked to Munchen, and I would have to make arrangements (pay for the extra bag, again) for the flight from Munchen to Kyiv. I make my way through the line, get processed and head for the baggage carousel. No bags. Well, plenty of bags, just not mine. I wait. Ok, maybe they're on the next carousel with the hockey team's stuff. Yeah, that's it, the baseball bag was a little heavy. Nope. Another traveler was going on to Bremen on a connecting flight. She'd been told the same thing, that she'd have to claim and check her bags again. Great. We both make the same comment, hoping our bags find their way to our final destinations. Ok, now's a good time to check my claim checks again. I do have my wits, sort of, but at the moment they're not with me. I dig through all my stuff until I finally find my claim checks in my passport wallet. Guess I thought enough ahead to protect me from myself, as in 'put all the really important stuff together and keep it close' (around my neck). Right on the claim stubs it says final destination KBP. Good grief. Ok, I was a little rattled at the airport yesterday.


Back through immigration, passport stamped again, then to the ticket counter for a boarding pass. Wits still missing, I have to ask an attendant at the ticket entry area for help. All I needed was my boarding pass since I wasn't checking bags. She took my passport, scanned it at a kiosk and voila! out pops my boarding pass. What will the airline industry think of next? Security checkpoint. Dang. I've got to ditch the bottled water from Chicago. Even though I didn't really leave the terminal, it's not allowed – it came from 'outside'. Not their fault. This time there was no problem with the tuna in the boxes, but my slr camera did get a thorough inspection, including the zoom lens and then opening the battery compartment on the flash. During the inspection we discuss, of all things, beer and food. On to the gate, with a side mission for more water, and... I'm in Germany, so I know they've got to have the chocolate I've been missing for 25 years, Ritter Sport, the plain type, no nuts, fruit or flavorings. I've only found the plain version once since I came back from Germany in the mid '80's. I get five, thinking that should be enough, and knowing I'll be coming this way again. Short nap at the gate, then boarding time. At the rear of the cabin again. This time the plane is full. Knowing how everything fills up before you get to the last few rows, I hope there's be room for my bags. I'm in luck, just enough space for my carry on bag in the overhead. Although the Airbus is bigger than an Embraer, it's still close quarters. The backpack barely fits under the seat, with little foot room. Nap time again, more like a coma. I wake to the clattering of snack deliveries. That's good, I didn't realize I was that hungry. Juice and pastry, I didn't leave any crumbs. One hour to Kyiv.


Touchdown 1615 local. Interesting, only a little applause. Guess there are more tourists than natives on this trip. Just like 'old times' we're met by a bus. Ride to the terminal, hoping and praying my bags are there. A few bags appear, but of course not mine. After a quick pit stop, thankfully the baggage claim area has toilets, I see my bags. Someone did me a favor and put them together. Might have been the green tape. I don't know, I'm just grateful they're here. On to the green line. Arg. Walked too close to the customs guys and made eye contact. They 'invited' me to put my bags on the x-ray conveyer. I collected my stuff and started to walk away when I heard a question in Russian. I turned to see an officer pointing to my bag and repeating the question. So... I give him the dumb tourist face and say 'Sorry, I don't speak Russian'. He looks at me, the equipment bag, makes a slightly disgusted face, waves his hands, turns around and walks off. I'm thinking it was the baseball bats. I don't care, I'm on my way and out the door. I've made it to Ukraine again!


So, I've got everything piled on a cart – thankfully free, and hit the money exchange, keeping $50 for the embassy. Exchange rate was pretty good, about 7.98 UAH to the dollar. It's maybe.03 UAH per US$ more than last time. Like I'd notice. It's a wad of cash. I stuff it in the wallet and then circle inside the terminal for a while trying to figure out what to do next. Guess I am pretty tired, nothing looks familiar. No wonder. I'm at the new international terminal, which was not in service during my first trip last September. I've got to get to Terminal A, the domestic terminal. I finally have to ask a clerk where it's at. No longer next door, it's a 200 meter trek. I push my stuff outside to survey my options. I really don't want to drag this stuff by hand. I see a few groups pushing their carts through the parking areas. Ok, if they can, I can too. Onward! I push off toward the terminal, sneaking a look behind me to see if anyone notices. Nope. I push on.


Olga isn't due to arrive for a couple of hours, so I sit on a bench outside the domestic terminal to relax for a bit. Yep. There's the old international terminal, right next door, but all boarded up. The crowds and noise are replaced with a crew dumping and raking dirt, then planting flowers. I write notes for an hour, cooling down from the heat of the plane and terminal. Finally getting a chill, I roll inside and check the arrivals board. Her flight is on time. Since I've come inside and begun to warm up... I need to make a pit stop. I remember from the first trip there are restrooms in a corner next to an arrival door. Wonderful. The mens' WC is under repair, which means the only one left is downstairs. I circle for 30 minutes, becoming more desperate with each step. I didn't think I drank that much water sitting on the bench. I only took small sips. Really. With my teeth starting to float, I finally asked the clerk in the taxi booth if she speaks English. She does. I explained the situation, that I can't leave my bags unattended, while trying not to dance. She makes a quick look around, I presume for security officers or a supervisor, or maybe noticing how miserable I'm becoming, then says she'll watch them. I take off. Whew! I return and give her a most heartfelt and grateful 'spasibo'.


Back to the arrivals board to make sure everything is on schedule. Nope. It's now showing a three hour delay for Olga's plane. Great. Plus, I left my water bottle outside. I'm thirsty, but didn't want to make a bathroom problem for myself again, so I forgo replacing it and find a seat to wait it out. I end up by the closed WC. It's a good spot, in a corner next to a coffee machine. I people watch a little, arrivals and drivers with signs, then lean my head and rest. I nod off for a few minutes, then look again, hoping to see a driver with a sign and name I recognize. No luck. Nod off again. About 1930 I jerk awake to see a woman walk past. She turns... Olga! Relief and a big hug. Think I squeezed so hard she squeaked. She and the driver had only been searching for me a few minutes. She apologized for the delay with her flight. Hmph. The arrivals board had incorrect information. Imagine that.


We load up and head for the flat. This is my first, maybe only, visit to Kyiv, so I'm all touristy again, looking out the windows and gawking. Even though it's getting late, at this latitude there's still plenty of light. It's a big city, like many I've seen, but a new one. I continue to gawk, and try not to crush Olga's hand during the ride. Yes, I am glad we're together again.


We get to the building about 2100. It's not the place Olga had arranged on Kreschatik street, but I'm really tired, so I'm ok with it. Fifth floor – ah, I know this story and anticipate 'the climb'. But wait, this building has an elevator. Yea! It's small, though. Really small. With my bag, her bag, the baseball equipment, my backpack and the three of us, all remnants of personal space disappear. I think now would be a great time for some garlic gum. We get a quick tour of the place. It's nice. It's got a kitchen, a toilet, and places to sleep. I'm happy. Having given Olga the wad of grivnas at the airport, she pays the driver for the flat and taxi service. Three nights plus taxi to and from the airport came to 1600 UAH, about US$ 200. A good deal, I think, considering the hotels I looked at (but never considered) were $ 90-200 a night and up, with plenty in the $450 range. Not for me.


Having been hours since I've had a meal, I'm starving. Knowing we'd need to eat that night, and probably wouldn't feel like shopping, Olga brought a few provisions. Insisting I rest, she sends me to crash on the couch while she prepares a fish soup. Crash, I did. Asleep in eight seconds or less. An hour later the aromas find their way to the living room to wake me. A romantic dinner by candlelight. Her dad's red wine, too. We eat, talk, drink and laugh. As usual, it's a feast. I'm pretty sure the fish was canned, but the vegetables from her father's garden and everything else was fresh, including the bread she'd made that morning. Really good stuff. In my opinion, better than I could expect in a restaurant. I don't say that just to get her good side, or just because I was hungry. I truly enjoy her cooking. Even better than mom could make. I think we finished with a dessert of tea and some of the chocolate from Munchen. The trip has taken its toll. Sleep.
 
-30-

[Anotherkiwi]

Considering the dates, I presume that we have TONS of info still to come 
 
I really enjoy TRs by people who can properly use the English language (and no offence meant to those for whom it is their second or third and stumble occasionally!).

[mobob]

TR2 – Day 03, Sunday, 17 April

After sunlight wakes us to a light and late breakfast, we go walking – a seemingly favorite pastime in Ukraine. We turn left to explore and discover the Metro around the corner, only three blocks away. Hmph. McDonald’s across the street. There's one everywhere. I don't hate McDonald's, just have eaten there too many times. I didn't come all this way to eat in a fast food restaurant.
 
With no particular destination in mind, we turn around and head off in the opposite direction. Dodging brisk traffic we make our way across the street, stroll past the flat and notice our corner neighbor, Irish Pub.
 
Around a sweeping corner, our leisurely pace takes down by the river. Olga points out the statue Mother Motherland through the trees. From online research I learn the 62 meter statue sits on a 40 meter pedestal. After the math, that's about 334 feet tall, eleven yards longer than a football field. That thing is huge.
 
I call Ron to arrange a meeting place and time to deliver the baseball equipment. We agree on the main train station at 2100. We head back to the flat. Seems like we hiked forever. Ok, I'm lost. Well, not lost so much as disoriented. Less than twenty minutes and we're back. Guess it wasn't really ten clicks after all. Lunch and some tv, something on the street involving contestant singing and crowd approval. Time to explore some more. We head for the city center – Independence Square. Even though we'd planned on being closer to Kreschatik street, this is almost as good, a straight shot downtown. Typical tourist, I've just got to have a photo of Map d' Metro.
 
Our metro stop near the flat was a platform. No big deal. Two stops at platforms, across the river, another platform, then into a tunnel. I've ridden trains a few times in my life, no big deal. But I was not prepared for this. It was not a gentle slope downwards, it was a lean downwards. Everybody leaned. When we got off the train I should have looked for a sign indicating our depth below the surface. I couldn't see the top of the escalator. It went up, and up, and up, and up. Finally hitting open space and fresh air, we're uphill from the square. We do a sneak attack and check the time on the way down. According to the clock in my camera, the big one is a minute fast.
 
Walking past a fountain I comment to Olga about a bill I noticed on the ground. Quickly she shakes her head, says 'net'. I recall earlier read forum advice, “Don't Touch!” and turn away. Huge tourist mistake. Oops.
 
We continue to walk and watch. And discover yet another landmark. Yes, McDonald’s is everywhere.

 
McDonald's
4914


Irish Pub
4917


Mother Motherland
4918




Map d' Metro
4915


Fast clock
4920


Fountain
4921


Ukraine Independence Monument
4923


McDonald's is everywhere
4924






continued...

[mobob]

TR2 – Day 03, Sunday, 17 April   continued...

We spend several hours walking, looking, people watching. While taking a photo of sculpture, an art lover slipped in the scene.

 
We wander to an interesting fixture. I walk around, suitably impressed and take a couple of photos. Wish I had my gps with me to verify the numbers.


Olga calls me to the opposite side and points out a place I recognize. My national capital and birthplace. I've learned enough Russian now to be able to read some things, albeit a little slowly. Ok, truth is, she said 'Washington' and then I recognized it, after quietly mouthing the phonetics.


Strolling from the square to Kreschatik we come upon a crowd and loud music. It was a filming of the tv program we were watching earlier, a sort of 'Don't Forget the Lyrics'.


Kreschatik street is closed to traffic, full of people, street performers, musicians and lots of people walking and enjoying the evening. Free entertainment! Olga tells me it's a weekend occurrence.


Saw several break dancers, or dance performers, or whatever they might be classified.

 
Art lover
4926


Coordinates
4929


Washington
4930


TV Filming
4932


Show hosts.
4933


Street performers
4936, 4937
 
continued...

[mobob]

TR2 – Day 03, Sunday, 17 April   continued...

 
Ron called from the main station after catching an earlier train. Back to the flat to get the equipment bag. A block from the flat I notice a sign for an English language school. I comment to Olga I could come to Kyiv to teach English, but I know the pay is rather low, so I suppose it really isn't a viable opportunity for me.
 
The subway station is not to be confused with the train station. I did, tormenting Ron for a good 20 minutes on the phone, telling him 'I'm right in front of the train station, with the sun behind me.'
 
I finally headed over to the trusty landmark, McDonald’s, which IS in front of the train station. Uh, sorry Ron.


We chat for a while, he goes his way and we head back to Kreschatik street for more walking and people watching. I hear four or five couples speaking English. One definitely British. It's nice to be in an international city. Walking past an alley, I was impressed by the pretty lights and just had to take a photo. Only after I returned home did I discover I'd photographed the Red Lion, an entertainment establishment subject of many a post.
 
Getting hungry, we shop for dinner. Spaghetti, shrimp, tomato sauce, bread, wine and cheese. Some croissants for breakfast. Back at the flat we prepare the food, then sit for a romantic candlelight dinner again. I couldn't have wished for more. We chat and plan the next day's schedule – American Embassy, Ukrainian Foreign Ministry, get documents translated. The only set appointment is the first one, 0900 at the embassy. The others will follow. I'm trying to maintain my cool, but have no idea if I'll be able to sleep. Success finally, but only due to jet lag.




-30-




Several small ensembles performing.
4938, 4941


Don't know if he was a performer or just enjoying the music. Either way he was quite entertaining and having a really good time.
4939


Teaching English anyone?
4943


Subway station
4944


Ron and equipment.
4947


The Red Lion
4948
 
More pretty lights.
4949

[mobob]

Akiwi, I don't know that I'm using the language properly... I really cut these back from the initial drafts. The editor, that would be Olga, gets final review. She's required explanations more than a few times, which is a good indicator I'm being a little obtuse, or downright confusing, which forces a rewrite. Or five. Anyway, thanks!

[mobob]

 TR2 – Day 04, Monday, 18 April

To the American Embassy! Step one today, getting the Letter of Non Impediment to Marriage certified. Pre Step one is getting to the embassy. Olga called the taxi company a little before 7am; we depart at 0805. Heavy traffic. My nerves are shot and we haven't even made it around the corner from our walk yesterday. Ahead of us as far as we can see and on the bridge over the river, the streets are jammed with cars. Not moving cars. We creep along, a few inches, sometimes half a car length, to sit again. Once on the bridge things finally start moving in the normal stop and go motions I expect. We arrive at 9:05 and 50 grivna later. I'm about to puke. No particular reason, just nervous. If I had eaten breakfast I could have blamed it on that.


There's a small crowd milling about and people queued in lines. A security guard approaches asking if I need assistance. I tell him I have an appointment and show my passport. He takes it and my appointment paper to the security checkpoint. Less than a minute later we're quickly escorted around the lines to the entrance steps. Olga has to wait outside. I feel horrible abandoning her, but there's nothing I can do. At least it's decent weather. Another guard at the door directs me to pass around the people waiting to enter. The light turns green, I open and go inside. Knowing what to expect at this portion of the journey, I'd left my phone and cameras at the flat. After a thorough passport examination and airport like screening, I'm directed further inside.


I was quite worried I'd have to wait, or worse, reschedule since I was late. No problem. I get to the proper window, submit the letter. I go to another window to pay the notary fee. Done and return with receipt. I'd made a mistake on the form. Before I can get out my extra blank copy, the consular gives me another. Each block had two blanks for my information. I was supposed to write the top one in English and leave the bottom one empty for the time being. A few minutes later I'm back at the window. Signed, notarized and stamped. Done. Expecting this to take an hour or more, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it's barely 0930 when I meet back up with Olga.


On to the Ukrainian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Although there were taxis next to the embassy, none were taking passengers. We walked to a main street and grabbed one there. Even though it was still relatively early, I was concerned we'd make it before noon. Our taxi driver dropped us at a side entrance to the ministry. That wasn't the right door. Around the corner and in the front door. Nope. This isn't it. We were met by a very efficient guard and directed to a building across the plaza. Through a narrow alley, around the back, through a wrought iron gate, we finally see an official looking sign over a door. Inside we get in line. And wait. After completing the paperwork to get the notarized letter certified and paying the fee it's 1140. Whew! We're to return between 1600-1700 to pick it up.


Last item, getting my paperwork translated into Ukrainian and notarized. We'd seen a few signs for translators in the area of the Ministry, so we went looking. The first one couldn't get it done on short notice, but recommended another place downhill. I'd hate to be without brakes on this street. They can do it, but it's going to cost extra for an overnight turnaround. Gotta have it, so we pay a deposit. It will be ready the next day at 1100.


Free time. We walk to a plaza which turns out to be Independence Square. Stroll around a bit, releasing stress. I see a Metro entrance and we head back to the flat for lunch. The metro is really convenient – a straight shot to and from the flat. I don't even have to learn the names of the platforms, just count to four. In English, of course. We get back on the Metro a little before 1600. Four stops back I point out. Olga is very proud of me. No lines, no waiting at the Ministry office. She picks up the letter and we're back on the street. We go exploring around the square.


First stop is Mihailovskiy Gold Domed Monastery on the east side of the plaza. A photo outside, then entered the grounds to look around. Afterward, more photos on the square.


continued...
 
 
Mihailovskiy Gold Domed Monastery
5519
 
Duchess Olga of Kyiv.
5527
 
 Bohdan Khmelnytsky 5532, 5533

[mobob]

TR2 – Day 04, Monday, 18 April    continued...


We next walked to the opposite side of the plaza to see Saint Sophia Cathedral. This day entry to the grounds was free.

 
We walked around, taking photos of its features, the original masonry was exposed in many places.

 
The entry to the cathedral museum is at the rear of the building. We arrived around closing time. The attendant told us, ok, Olga, if we hurried we could see a little inside. She dashed around to get tickets. As with the outside of the cathedral and the monastery, in many places the bricks of the original walls were exposed. A few places the original floor was also exposed. Paintings everywhere on the walls and ceilings. Most seemed to be in fairly good condition after the wear of a thousand years. Guides were strategically stationed throughout the museum. Quite helpful, they pointed out and explained features of the cathedral. Equally helpful... when it was time to leave, they were extremely efficient at clearing the building. We completed our exterior tour of the building, taking a few more photos of the cathedral in the setting sun.



Olga likes to walk, so we head back to the square center. It's nowhere as full as Sunday, but still busy. Walking on, I hear American voices. More people watching and walking. As we pass an ice cream kiosk, I decide I'm in need of a snack. Two cones. We find a bench to sit while eating and more watching. It's a little cool for ice cream with a brisk breeze in the trees, but still enjoyable.



We need to do some last minute shopping on the way to the flat. A lady on the sidewalk directs us to a store about half a click from o metro stop. I'd noticed the sign on our first metro ride and busted up laughing, thinking it meant commode – toilet. Childish, yes, but I try to keep a humorous viewpoint of the world and life, much to Olga's continual torment and chagrin.
 
Turns out Komod is a shopping mall of sorts. I guess it more or less translates to commodities. We hike the 500 or so meters, then dodge the never ending rush hour traffic to the entrance. Inside it takes us a minute to get our bearings among all the shops. Ground floor is an eclectic mix including jewelry and high end clothing shops. We finally find the escalator to the basement for the grocery store. It's by far the biggest one I've been in yet, but like the others, its small aisles are packed almost floor to ceiling. We pick up a few things, including a jar of stuffed olives for Olga's martinis. Alex had requested a cake, evidently a specialty of Kyiv. Olga reviews the selections in the cake section and makes her choice. It's somewhat fragile, so she'll hand carry it back. Last item in the basket is a bottle of wine for our final dinner in Kyiv.



We trek back, again dodging traffic, which seems to have increased. Dinner is the last of the spaghetti and shrimp with music, wine, and of course, chat. We stay up late chatting and finish the wine, knowing we can sleep in a little the next morning.

 
Saint Sophia Cathedral
5541, 5547, 5548, 5549,



Memorial stone to Yaroslav the Wise. His casket is inside St Sophia Cathedral. During our tour, a guide gave a brief lecture about him.
5550


Original masonry exposed
5552, 5557

KOMOD

Last photo



-30-

[Wayne]

I was married in Ukraine last summer and went through all the steps you described. There were a lot of students trying to get visas at the embassy at that time.
We had the same trouble finding the correct building and entrance to the Mininstry of Justice in Kyiv. We also were able to get everything done in one day, although we stayed in Kyiv for several days.
 
There were still uning the old terminals at the airport.

[Faux Pas]

Heya mobob!


Great trip report. Where's the pic with Ron and the baseball equipment? Also, kudos to you for lugging it over.


Good on ya

[mobob]

Wups! Sorry. I'm used to inserting images inline and kinda missed his photo. Here's Ron...

I have to give credit where it's due...  A guy at work is a little league coach. It was the team parents and his scrounging that really put it together. They filled the bag completelly. It took two of us to zip it closed. Credit to Ron... I had to pay to check the equipment bag. He was kind enough to flip me back the cash, which went into the pile for the document translation expense. I never did ask how much, just handed the cash to Olga and turned my head. I've made quite a few overseas trips with four or five checked bags and carry on stuff, so 'lugging it over' wasn't a big deal, except for the fiasco in Munchen. And I have to admit, it was nice to be able to do it. Hope to bring more in September if it works for him.

[Ronnie]

Works for me, John!  This week, after 6 weeks of "basic training" we have finally begun to play real pick up games, with the two oldest kids choosing sides.  Well, the games are not yet "real" in the sense that I have not yet started working on pitchers and catchers so it's me doing the coach pitch thing for both sides with the catcher standing far enough back that he doesn't get hurt by a foul tip.  Our field is still not much more than a pasture and our bases are bare spots on the ground where I dug the ankle-deep grass away and laid waste paper to highlight them.  It's a riot when I see a kid running full speed from first and ends up in center field looking for the base.  His team mates will sometimes run onto the field to get pointed back to the infield.  I've had to call a few kids "out" because they passed the proceeding runner.  It's hard not to laugh out loud, but the inner chuckle makes my day.


Yesterday, I received a shipment of supplies from my friend Lanny Ropke in Woodland, California.  It took two months to the day to arrive.  Lanny threw in some hats he's collected over the years.  Before yesterday's pickup game I announced that some of the hats would be given as a prize to the members of the winning team.  The level of intensity rose noticeably and when Alex's team won, we put each of his players' name on a piece of paper and drew three names from my hat.  You would have thought it was a million dollar lottery as each winner jumped into the air when they heard his or her name called.


I'm glad I'm here.  What I'm doing is bringing me more joy than anything I've ever done before.  It's making my 62-year old body feel younger.  I can't last 30 minutes in Costco, but yesterday I was on my feet for more than 7 hours without a break.  I can't explain it.

[ML]

I had to pay to check the equipment bag.

On your international flight; was your first checked bag free and $50 for second checked bag, $200 for third checked bag?

If yes. how would those prices compare to buying new baseball bats in Ukraine?

[Muzh]

I bet you is cheaper sending the stuff by MEEST.

[mobob]

First bag was free. Second bag was $50. Don't know after that. I didn't think to ask if that was round trip or only one direction. Probably only one way. As for cost comparisons, no idea, I met a need. The fee I covered the transport from OKC to KBP.

[Ronnie]

There is no baseball equipment seller Ukraine.  Meest IS the best deal on shipping between Ukraine and the USA.  I paid MoBob 400 UAH which is $50 USD...the amount it cost him to bring the bag that weighed about 35 lbs.  That same weigh with Meest would have been about the same cost but the shipping would have been by boat.  The package that I wrote about that came from my friend Lanny in California took two months by sea.  Another package sent by air took just a week but cost about three times the price.  Since I was visiting Cherkasy anyway for a baseball tournament I took the bus up to Kyiv where I met Mobob, then got on a train to Odessa which I was going to take anyway from Cherkasy.  Otherwise, the convenience of Meest's to-my-door delivery would have been worth it.  All the other shipments from my Ebay purchases are coming by Meest.  Buying uniforms and equipment (even socks) on Ebay is cheaper, even after delivery charges, than buying in the local markets.

[ML]

All the other shipments from my Ebay purchases are coming by Meest. 

Please elaborate on this.  As I understand it, Meest only sends shipments from their USA warehouses.  So you have to pay UPS or FedEx to ship from seller to Meest warehouse, and then pay Meest to ship from warehouse to you in Ukraine.  Sounds quite expensive to me.  Maybe I am missing something.

[Ronnie]

Please elaborate on this.  As I understand it, Meest only sends shipments from their USA warehouses.  So you have to pay UPS or FedEx to ship from seller to Meest warehouse, and then pay Meest to ship from warehouse to you in Ukraine.  Sounds quite expensive to me.  Maybe I am missing something.

I does sound expensive.  Let me add a point of correction.  They do ship from other points.  Once box I received last week come from California.  The have agents in various cities.


When I bid on Ebay, I make sure I am buying by the lot. For instance, 48  hats arrived today.  I paid less than $2 per hat, including the shipping to Meests warehouse in NJ.  I buy used gloves in lots too so that the shipping cost to Meest becomes minimal on a per item basis.  Last night, I bought 23 baseball belts from Sports Authority's website for $0.99 each and a flat rate of $5.99 shipping to NJ...cost delivered to Meest...about $1.25 per belt...belts which retail in stores for $3.99 or even $4.99 or more, plus tax.
I esnipe.com to place my bids btw

[ML]

I does sound expensive.  Let me add a point of correction.  They do ship from other points.  Once box I received last week come from California.  The have agents in various cities.

Ron, thanks for your comments.  Note: I am not trying to argue against you, as you have the experience; but I still have some confusion about this.

For instance . . . what does it matter regarding my original question whether Meest 'ship from other points' as you say.

My point was, there will be two shipping companies:  One to get to Meest (no matter where their location is in USA) and then the cost of Meest itself.

Now I understand that the cost for the first leg may not be much for certain deals on e-bay, but it is still there and would probably be much more when dealing with a traditional wholesaler or retailer; right?

When I bid on Ebay, I make sure I am buying by the lot. For instance, 48  hats arrived today.  I paid less than $2 per hat, including the shipping to Meests warehouse in NJ.  I buy used gloves in lots too so that the shipping cost to Meest becomes minimal on a per item basis.  Last night, I bought 23 baseball belts from Sports Authority's website for $0.99 each and a flat rate of $5.99 shipping to NJ...cost delivered to Meest...about $1.25 per belt...belts which retail in stores for $3.99 or even $4.99 or more, plus tax.

Second question:  OK, so you tell the ebay seller to ship to Meest.  Then you have to trust that Meest personel will know what to do when a shipment arrives at their location.  How can  they keep track of such info.  I can see if you do this on a regular basis and they become well acquainted with you;  but would this work smoothly for a first time customer or even a 'once in a while' customer?

Thanks much for your comments.   

[Ronnie]

You open an account at Meest and start managing your shipment on their "dashboard"  You enter the tracking number or the senders name and Meest will set it in a section of their warehouse for you until you are ready to have them repack the items in a larger box and and ship to Ukraine.  So far Meest hasn't lost a single item.

[nicknick]

Second question:  OK, so you tell the ebay seller to ship to Meest.  Then you have to trust that Meest personel will know what to do when a shipment arrives at their location.  How can  they keep track of such info.  I can see if you do this on a regular basis and they become well acquainted with you;  but would this work smoothly for a first time customer or even a 'once in a while' customer?

I don't know about Meest but there are certainly similar comapnies in the UK that do the same thing, for example:-

http://alfaparcel.com/

Which enables Russians to purchase from Amazon, ebay etc and other UK online retailers and then have their stuff shipped to Russia at discounted prices - cheaper than if they got the retailer to ship it for them.

I'm sure that meest probably works in the same way.

[mobob]

TR2 – Day 05, Tuesday, 19 April

It's supposed to be a sleep in day, but I can't. The northern latitude and curtains let in plenty of sun. We take our time eating breakfast, cleaning up the rest of the food and packing. The liquor, all survived, is transferred from the big suitcase to our bags. When we get to Donetsk all we'll have to do is hand it off. Our driver picks us up at 10 to head to the translators' office. There's somebody big in town – police everywhere. At every Metro stairwell, stairs to other streets, even the tops of ladders on bridges was at least one police officer, sometimes more. All appeared on alert. The side streets, too, have plenty of officers.


We avoid a few traffic jams on the way, turn around for an alternate route, get caught in another. We finally get close to Independence Square to see it was crawling with police, in some places barely room to see between them, one row facing the street, the other facing the square. No parking near the translators' office. The closest we can get is three streets away. Even here are police. We stop in the middle of a street, Olga takes off, right at 11, our appointment time. We finally get a parking space further uphill, but move twice to let buses pass on the narrow street. After what seems an hour, but likely half that, she returns, documents tightly in hand. Like yesterday, I didn't ask how much it cost, only that she had enough.


To the airport! As we get further from the city center we see fewer police. On the way our driver makes a fuel stop. Good timing, as the stress level dropped after getting the documents, I need a pit stop. It's funny, some of the observations people make, including me... Typical gas station - snacks, drinks, maps and such inside, the vastly important toilet around back. And it's locked. Not quite dancing, I wait my turn. The restroom is reasonably clean and has plenty of towels. Back on the road.


Pulling up to Terminal A, the police are back in force. We bid “spasibo and poka” to our driver and head inside. After a short sit, I get the bags wrapped. Thirty grivna per bag, a good investment. I give they guy a hundred. When he digs to make change, I just shake my head and say 'ladna'. No idea if a ten grivna tip is ok or not. He didn't seem to mind. The line has queued up for tickets, so we take our places. At the ticket counter I pile our bags on the scales. It's 40 kg; I'm 20 kilos (the bags!) overweight. The agent informs me I'll have to pay extra and proceeds to compute the charge. After explaining we're traveling together, everything is ok. No quibbles about three bags, I guess it only mattered that it was within the weight limit.


On through the security checkpoint. After our passports and tickets were well scrutinized, everything, backpack, purse, coats and cake goes on the conveyer belt or into tubs. My greatest worry was for the cake. Would it survive? It did. Another short wait and we head to the bus.


Poor Olga. I've been so good, behaved so well...until now. We walk to the bus and get in. A mother follows us pushing a stroller. Her one year old boy ends up facing me. I smile, he smiles back. I stick out my tongue. He returns the gesture and smiles. Olga hits me. I grin, giving her the “what, me?” face and do it again. Olga turns five shades of red and turns her head as if she doesn't know me. I also notice her posture has stiffened. I think she mumbled something in Russian which, of course, eggs me on. Our little game continues, taking turns to see who can make the other stick out his tongue. Others notice and smile, including his mother. I see a slight grin from Olga, but she notices me looking and gives me the “look”. I finally give it up, but sneak a couple of looks back at him, each time getting a wide smile.




The bus takes us to our plane. It's small, but thankfully not an Embraer. Olga hasn't flown many times, so she gets the window seat. And I do it again. This time, though, it's a boy a few years older, sitting in front of Olga. I see him looking between the seats at me and begin another game of faces. At first Olga didn't notice as she was looking out the window. But when his grinning face popped over the top of his seat I was busted. This time we only played a minute or two before I gave him a chance to settle down, and avoid 'the look' again. Bags go in the overhead, cake on the floor for squish prevention.




Olga takes photos before liftoff and as we circle out of the airport. It looks quite different from the air. Only later after close examination and rotating them many times, did I finally recognize the buildings and my path between the terminals.




About 50 minutes of flying time we're over Donetsk and then on the ground. As we get off the stairs and head for the bus, Olga tells me to behave. I see the mother with the stroller, smile and agree. It's a short ride to the terminal, so quick we forgot to wait for the bags and went inside. Had to turn around and go back to baggage claim. That hasn't changed, it's still an open air foyer where you pull your bags from a flatbed trailer.


After checking the bags for damage and leakage, everything appears ok, we're approached by an anxious looking lady. In English she asks if we are Olga and John. At the positive reply she relaxes. A few more words in English, then high speed Russian. It's Irina, for whom the suitcase is destined. I notice her puzzled looks at the bags, I suppose she was trying to determine which one was supposed to be her “package”. Ok, this I could understand without translation. I roll the suitcase to her, saying “this one”. The puzzlement turns to surprise as she explains she was expecting something much smaller. I briefly catch the “someone's in trouble” look on her face as we turn for the exit. Evidently David didn't tell her how much stuff was coming. Irina hands a bag to Olga, later discovered to be a box of very good chocolate, and takes the suitcase. I try to trade the key back for the bag, offering to pull it outside, but no amount of arguing is successful. The suitcase is now hers. Period.


Less than a five minute wait and we're together on the same bus. Irina's connection is along the way somewhere. The ladies continue their high speed chat. I just stand with the bags, nod and smile. Five or six stops later, Irina bids us “poka” and departs, still tightly gripping the suitcase. We wave; the bus rolls on. I comment to Olga I think David is in trouble. She agrees.


Guess where we stop. If you guessed by McDonald's, you'd be correct. Ah, familiar territory. Across the street is our bus station. I've got the bags, so Olga gets the tickets. Ok by me, as I wouldn't know what to say, in Russian of course, and there always seems to be a line at the ticket counter. After a half hour wait we load up and hit the road. Plenty of stops along the way, dropping people off, more getting on. After an hour or so we arrive at our destination, mostly, hopping out on the side of the highway. Her father, Vladimir, meets us with his Lada. We put our stuff in the trunk and make the final seven klicks. I'm really glad we didn't have to walk it.


Ah... it's still five flights up. Yea. It's really not that bad since I've already been doing a bunch of walking. Olga reaches the door first as I've been a little stubborn insisting on carrying the bags myself. Alex meets me halfway to lighten my load. Whew! Ok, five flights is a little rough.


We've made good time today; it's only about 1700. Olga heads to the kitchen to prepare a big meal. I offer (want) to help, but get explicit instructions – she will call me if she needs help, which in real terms means to stay out of her way.


Ok, I've got a task of my own – unwrapping gifts. Alex is banished to his room to maintain the surprise. It's not punishment for him; it's reunion time! He's been in withdrawal since Saturday. He didn't know Olga had taken the laptop until after she left for the airport. She relates the story of a rather frantic phone call when he discovered it was gone. He's happy to be surfing again. It's all good; I know what it's like to desperately need an internet fix.


Olga's sister Irina arrives and heads for the kitchen. Just as I finish unwrapping and hiding the last item, Vladimir arrives with two bottles. Yes! He brought his wine. He and Alex move the table and chairs into place as I finally get a call to the kitchen for help – to ferry the food.



All seated, we begin. Smiles, laughter and food. We eat a few bites, then Vladimir pours the first toast, but it's clear, not something I recognize. Olga had mentioned I would be trying something different, but I didn't know it would be so soon. Hmm.... This time the glasses are smaller than last time. Much smaller. Double hmm... Should have been triple hmm... Vladimir makes a toast to health. We raise our glasses and down it goes. As I threw my head back I realized all eyes were on me, and immediately found out why. It's good I was already sitting, that stuff took my breath away. I mean it took all the air from my lungs. Imagine a fire suppression system, the Halon type, the kind that evacuates the air from an area to stop a fire. This stuff was the concentrated liquid form. When I was able to breathe again, I laughed along with everybody. Thus, my introduction to samogon, the homemade stuff. The good stuff. Really good stuff. Olga then explained a method to drink it, some would say best, I agree. Throw it down, breathe out, then take a bite of sour pickle. After five more toasts that night, I realized she was indeed, correct. Or was it eight? I don't remember.



The samogon was a gift from her father's girlfriend, Sofia. I asked about the ingredients and process. Olga tells me to wait, departs and returns with two main ingredients: sugar and dry baking yeast. The other being water. Interesting. I'm a little familiar with the fermentation process, having helped my father make wine a few times, but knew there was more to it than that. I feel quite good about myself having impressed them with intelligent questions. Or maybe it was the samogon. By the end of the night I wasn't fit to drive a tricycle. With translations in high gear, we discussed the virtues of samogon, especially not using a car radiator for the distilling. Our selection that evening was a plain variety, which I found quite palatable; it became smoother as the night wore on. She explained there are endless recipes, many involving fruit as a flavoring at the end of the process.



As I said, by the end of the night I wasn't fit to operate anything with wheels. I wasn't stumbling drunk, just very, very mellow. Very. Since returning I've researched the requirements to make samogon in the USA, since I'd like to try my hand at it, legally, that is. It appears to be an extreme pain, especially where I currently reside – Oklahoma. The federal limit is 100 gallons of wine per year, for personal use only. It's 200 gallons if there are two or more adults of age in the house. State legislation only recently legalized brewing beer for personal use, with the same limits as wine. I don't expect I'll ever make or need that much, but want to have the proper permits so I don't get busted by the revenuers. That will be a project for later.



We eat, talk and laugh some more. I get Olga to explain the “tongue incident”. It's great amusement to me and the others as her voice gets higher and higher as she tells the story. Again she turns red and gives me “the look”. I have no shame. And yes, I am rather proud of myself.



I nod to Olga. Alex is called back from the computer, still suffering withdrawals. The last of the samogon is poured, glasses raised. Having built my courage during the meal, my nerves are in good shape, albeit from liquid reinforcement. Again all eyes are on me. Now or never! I choose now. I face and address Vladimir with his full name, still holding my raised glass, and ask for his daughter – the one translating, to be my wife. I'm pretty sure he knows what I've said, but he waits for the translation. Olga gives me his reply “I agree”. Smiles around, relief for me. I make the final toast, to our long and happy future together.



Dinner finished, we clear the table and open the cake box. It survived the travels quite well, never dropped or squished, only a little frosting on the lid. It's delicious, quite worth the effort.



Family gift time. As stated in last year's report, I might be overdoing it a bit with the gifts, but I want to make a good impression. I've already done that, so now it's my time to really enjoy the process. To Vladimir, as before, a small tool set. This time it's a Stanley interchangeable screwdriver set. Maybe more novelty than anything, but there might be that one time it will come in handy on a project. Olga comments she could use something like this as well. I can't pass up the opportunity. With a straight face and stern voice I say “not for women”. I get a couple of forced laughs from the guys, and much deserved – “the look” from Olga. I then hand him a pint each of Jack Daniels and Wild Turkey, explaining these are American whiskeys. For Irina, my son Taylor selected gum; I picked my favorite, about two pounds of assorted mini chocolate bars. Finally to Alex. Gum, again Taylor's selection. A couple of tins of peppermint Altoids. I teased him about this, as I'd mailed a package earlier in the year with all three flavors, cinnamon, peppermint and wintergreen, and was told the cinnamon was too hot and the wintergreen tasted like soap. Actually, I don't care for wintergreen, either. Finally, what I hope to become another favorite, the board game Risk. He did seem quite interested in it, immediately examining the game pieces and instructions. The following week Olga found the Russian translation online. We didn't get a chance to play, though. Maybe next trip. Lastly the remainder of the liquor, all 100ml bottles. The cashier in the liquor store convinced me to buy several bottles of vodka. I also brought rum, Jaegarmeister and Bailey's Irish Cream. Although I intended these for consumption, Olga told me they would sit on a shelf as mementos.



We clean up the last of the dishes, cover what's left of the cake, Vladimir and Irina say goodnight. Sleep comes easy after a long day.
 

-30-

4960 The mom in front of us, her boy at the window. Shortly after the photo he popped up.


4962, 4965, 4967 Before departure.

4968, 4969, 4970 Circling KBP after takeoff.


9999 The souvenir drinks, including a Ukrainian sample.

[mobob]

 TR2 – Day 6, Wednesday, 20 April

Today we visit RAGS for the marriage application. We're on our way by 0900 after a light breakfast of bread with butter and tea. We get the last seats on the bus in the village. As usual, lots of stops; people get off, people get on. About ten minutes we're getting on the local highway heading north; another ten minutes we're exiting.


Sitting back from the highway, Volnovaha is much bigger than I expected. We get off after maybe eight stops in town and head for RAGS, about five blocks east. I wait in the hall while Olga checks in. She returns shortly; we have to go to Donetsk. Since I neither read or speak Russian or Ukrainian, I'm required to have a translator and notary certify I understand the marriage application, which means another bus ride. But first, a much needed pit stop.


Olga warned me the toilet may not be sanitary. I thought I understood her meaning; to me it wouldn't be a big deal. I've used toilets in many countries on several continents, being a world traveler and all. It turned out to be quite clean, but it was quite a surprise, which explained her comment not to drop anything. For one not accustomed to this “cultural experience”, I was less worried about dropping something than I was about trying not to fall over. An equally great achievement was trying to keep my pants dry. Reading a newspaper while “relaxing” would have been impossible for me. And no, I didn't drop anything or fall over.


Refreshed, we head for Donetsk. Our timing today is awesome. We've caught each bus at just the right time to get to the next stop. We're seated and on the way for the hour trip. As usual, I spend the trip gazing out the windows at the countryside of farmland and mining pits. We arrive at the open air bus station on time. Coming in a back way, it only becomes familiar territory after I get a chance to look around to see... McDonald's. Actually, I did recognize the parking lot once we stopped, but it's still fun to pick on McDonald's. Truthfully, it's the only one I saw in Donetsk.


After a short hike to catch a city bus, we arrive at the address the RAGS registrar gave Olga, but don't see a sign for the notary or translator. Olga asks inside a street side office. The office we're looking for is at the back of the building. Around the corner we go.


There Olga talks with a lady on a break and we're told to come back the next day. Olga explains our time constraints and the distance we've traveled. She tells us to wait while she checks if the notary and translator will be able to help us. After walking in circles a short while, she comes back to tell us they can, but we must also wait for the translator to finish lunch. I walk more circles. Shortly we're waved inside to sit on a wooden bench in a huge, unlit hall. It's a little reminiscent of waiting to see the principal. I tried unsuccessfully not to fidget.


Seems like forever, but actually less than an hour, we're escorted into the notary's office. Greetings exchanged, we sit. The documents and our passports are handed to the notary. She examines everything, then begins filling in the application blanks on the computer while the translator explains the form to me. We review a draft, names and other appropriate information placed in the correct spots, I'm presuming all in Ukrainian. I kind of recognize our names in a few places. If I ever stick with the Rosetta Stone course I bought, I might actually be able to understand more of what's happening. The final document is printed, reviewed, signed, dated, stamped, notarized and done. Fees paid, they wish us luck and we're back on the street.
 
Our final adventure in Donetsk... Heading back to the bus stop Olga asks what I'd like to do next. I reply “look at rings”. I mean, that's part of what I'm here for, right? A few blocks on we descend into a basement jewelry store for a look. It's very small, just one aisle. The lights make everything sparkle. It all looks nice, but nothing really jumps at me. On to the next place.


Our final stop, we arrive at the place she'd bought her birthday present last fall. It's a conglomeration of wares: clothing, food, furniture, appliances, et cetera. Three steps inside the door on the first floor are the jewelry shops, each kiosk a little world unto itself. We take a left to see what's available. The salesgirl shows us a couple of sets, but nothing seems special yet. Ok, actually she shows the rings to Olga, I get a look mainly as an afterthought. Third set is the one! Matching rings, yellow gold with a white gold slider. Hers fit perfectly. We had to search a bit to find one to fit my fat finger. Olga is happy. I'm happy. Transaction complete, she asks if I want to do any more shopping. Net. I'm done. Mission accomplished.


Now, to be fair to Olga, her selection was not hasty or uninformed. I had “mentioned” rings more than a few times during many Skype chats. Prior to my visit, she'd been in Donetsk with her sister on shopping errands. They spent a great part of the trip in several jewelry stores, looking and trying on more than a few rings. She sent me evidence of her extensive research – photos of many hundreds of rings.


Also in fairness, I did not just capitulate on the rings after sensory overload or travel weariness. What she selected I liked, as evidenced by the sets I rejected. Olga has a pretty good poker face, but this time she gave herself away. She really liked this set.


Back to the bus stop. It's packed. Buses are full, people milling about, long lines. Olga reviews the timetables then talks with a driver. An agreement is negotiated; we can take the next bus, but we'll have to stand. We board just before departure, pay the driver and worm our way down the aisle. A few more follow us. Packed is an understatement. But it's only an hour ride with the obligatory multiple stops for loading and unloading. Standing a little while won't kill me; I'll have plenty of time sitting on the flights back. About halfway through our commute we do get to sit.


Off the bus at the side of the highway again, we hang around about 30 minutes before catching a ride back to her village.
 
On the way, we discuss getting some snacks for after dinner. The other rider signals for her stop; we hop out a few blocks later, right next to one of the main stores Olga frequents.


We get beer, just one, but it's a two liter bottle and should be enough. Remembering she likes dried fish, I suggest we see what's available. Several to choose from, Olga looks them all over, then makes her selection, it is called tulle. She pulls a shopping bag out of her purse. In goes about a quarter kilo of the little fishies and the beer. Next stop is the Bankomat. Technology is amazing; even in a small town I have no problems getting cash. I didn't really expect any difficulties, but there's always a slight chance something won't go right, such as a machine eating my card. We get chips at the last stop, then head for the apartment.


I can tell all the walking is improving my stamina and general well being. However, five flights of stairs with a bag of groceries still leaves me a little winded. Alas, no sympathy from Olga or Alex. The most I get is a greeting from Pusya the cat, but she quickly loses interest and walks off. Groceries are put away. I write some notes, Alex returns to the computer, Olga prepares dinner – borscht.


About an hour later we eat. As usual, it's good stuff, including the spoonful, ok, huge double scoop, of sour cream I drop in mine. Seconds for me, of course. This time I can blame it on the walking and traveling. We hadn't eaten since breakfast. Remembering my last trip, I wasn't too keen on eating out. Plus, I was still kind of full from the feast from the previous night. Dessert and tea finish our meal, along with jokes and chat, then clean up and head for the living room.


We channel surf a while, Olga translating programs and dialogues. Somehow not full, I'm ready for a snack. A perfect combination – crisp and salty chips with ice cold Ukrainian beer. I did see MGD in the store, my favorite American beer, which really surprised me. However, I didn't come all this way to drink domestic American beer. Well, here it would be imported.


Olga's been munching on fish and offers me one. I figure they can't be too bad, considering she's already eaten a handful. I mimic her, holding the tail and biting off the head and spitting it out, then bite off the rest up to my fingers, dropping the tail with the head. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it was quite tasty chased with the beer. I didn't ask the name or type of fish, but she did tell me they came from the Sea of Azov.


Sated and sleepy, we call it a night.
 
-30-
 


A note about the samogon. Good stuff. I might have mentioned that. I don't drink that much, which makes me a cheap date. After the many enjoyable toasts the night before I wasn't fit to operate any type of vehicle, or even walk a straight line, and should have expected a mother of a hangover or worse, according to many online horror stories. Such was not the case. No ill effects, other than the steadily increasing vision and hearing losses I already suffer.


A note about getting cash from the Bankomats – ATM. After I returned from my trip I checked the cost of using the ATMs. The exchange rate was just about the same as the airport exchange office and banks in Kyiv. I got 12 Uah less, about US$1.50, per US $100 from an ATM than exchanging at the airport.
 

 
5050 5051 Olga must think I'm completely off, wanting photos of a toilet, or that I've put so much effort writing about it. I'd have to agree.


4994 Next to our transfer spot by the highway.


4995 4996 Here fishy, fishy, fishy...