Vodka and Queues: Five Days in Ukraine
On arrival, a semi-civilized crowd rushes to the passport control stands. Unfortunately, when 10 planes arrive at the same time, even the fastest runners have to wait for an hour. I socialize with people around and behind me, and as time goes by, all of us become increasingly anxious about the luggage that is on the belt somewhere over there, somewhere we thankfully can’t see. I start telling horror stories about bottles and cigarettes and jewellery being stolen from checked-in bags. Nobody is really impressed. As my queue approaches, it turns out many never bothered to read the immigration form and didn’t fill in the return journey slip – which results in them being sent to the back of the queue. Another hour… On my way back, by the way, a pack of cigarettes was stolen from a box of 10, that was torn open and put back into my bag. A pack of cigarettes! Taken out of a box! I mean, who has time for this!..
I last went to Ukraine in 2005 – and, no, not much has changed since. I could have probably had a different impression had I stayed in Kiev, but, unfortunately, my visits are almost entirely limited to an obscure working-class city of Cherkassy, some 180 kilometres from the Ukrainian capital. Not that I was much impressed by Kiev either. Don’t get me wrong – I appreciate the greenery and the buildings, and I have seen the squat toilets and rude people before, but it’s just a capital city with an effective metro system, ugly Soviet houses and many Orthodox churches.
Ukrainians are very proud of their food. Or at least, this was my impression. Russians don’t have any food of their own, I’ve been told, borsch is Ukrainian, and, moreover, Ukrainian is more like the old Slavonic than Russian is, hence… Exactly, hence, Russian stems from Ukrainian! And Russian food as well. No, this was not a joke. And this was long before tensions started to form between the two countries. Some of the food is good, of course. I suppose in good restaurants in Kiev you can get your heart’s desire. In Cherkassy, it is oversalted and overcooked with too much animal fat. And the bread is tragic, even in the best restaurants. Perhaps they don’t use preservatives?
On the positive side, Cherkassy is small, with parallel streets crossing at right angles throughout the city, making it impossible to get lost. The climate is pleasant and even though there is no sea you can swim in the river pretty much the whole summer.
It seems people started drinking less. On approaching Cherkassy, however, I stopped at the roadside cafe – oh no, not to go to the toilet! you wouldn’t want that! – and saw two rather decent men sitting outside with some insignificant food and discussing business casually over a one-litre bottle of vodka. As I watched in disbelief – mind you, both of them were drinking, which means one of them was driving – a group of three were seated at another table, ordering a similar bottle of vodka… Again, all of them were drinking. I don’t think you get to see this often…
Would a tourist actually want to come to Cherkassy and what would he do? Honestly, I am not sure. Food and drink is cheaper than in Kiev, of course, so if one is not picky this will do. Petty crime is almost non-existent, but there is seldom anyone who speaks English and is able to help. As the city has basically been a village until a chemical factory was built in the Soviet times, there are no monuments or places of interest in the city itself, although some local museums in the neighbouring villages may attract those with a special interest in Ukrainian culture.
On arriving back in Oslo, on a plane filled with some Dagestanian ex-refugees and their unruly children, we were all made to pass through a metal detector and have our bags x-rayed before even being admitted to a passport control stand. It seems I am not the only one who is little impressed by Ukraine…
Tags: Adventure, Travel
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