Saturday, September 12, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Marta and I are in Pushcha Vodytsya, staying at the sanatoriy where we used to just take walks three years ago. We were here for the fresh air and no garbage then, and we are here for the same things now. That, and the proximity to Kyiv, to my mother.
It's very different to be actually staying here, though. There is nothing terrible about the place, but too often it seems as if half the staff here are paid to pretend we're still living in the Soviet 1980s, and to act accordingly - and the decorations are Soviet, too. Most rooms look the way they must have looked 25 years ago - only there haven't been any major renovations since then, and they never meant to be cozy - relative coziness was probably reserved for the Intourist hotels only back then. What might have looked impressive to someone totally average in the 1980s - if only they allowed average people in here back then (they didn't, this was a place for the Communist Party's high-ranking farts) - now looks and feels ghastly and pathetic. Quite a few average people are allowed to see it now - and what would have sort of awed some of us then, sort of freaks us out now. Looking at all this today, it's hard not to be struck by how, you know, humble the lifestyle of the Soviet Ukrainian "elite" used to be - if this was the best, what did the worst look like? A rhetorical question, of course, for there are still plenty of memories and reminders of the low-end Soviet lifestyle. Now, it is, of course, possible, to have a computer guy set up wifi internet in your shabby sanatoriy room, which is amusing - and very nice.
Here are some of pictures from the room we stayed in the first night - the wallpaper looks a bit too psychedelic for the 1980s, but who knows:
And here are a few pics from our current room - the wallpaper looks quite authentic here:
Yes, but the air here is amazing, and I'm willing to ignore the things I've just written about because of that. Sort of.
***
Here's Marta squeezed in between a pine tree and an oak that have grown like two loving cousins - different but very close - one of my favorite spots three years ago:
And here's me, photographed by Marta:
It's very different to be actually staying here, though. There is nothing terrible about the place, but too often it seems as if half the staff here are paid to pretend we're still living in the Soviet 1980s, and to act accordingly - and the decorations are Soviet, too. Most rooms look the way they must have looked 25 years ago - only there haven't been any major renovations since then, and they never meant to be cozy - relative coziness was probably reserved for the Intourist hotels only back then. What might have looked impressive to someone totally average in the 1980s - if only they allowed average people in here back then (they didn't, this was a place for the Communist Party's high-ranking farts) - now looks and feels ghastly and pathetic. Quite a few average people are allowed to see it now - and what would have sort of awed some of us then, sort of freaks us out now. Looking at all this today, it's hard not to be struck by how, you know, humble the lifestyle of the Soviet Ukrainian "elite" used to be - if this was the best, what did the worst look like? A rhetorical question, of course, for there are still plenty of memories and reminders of the low-end Soviet lifestyle. Now, it is, of course, possible, to have a computer guy set up wifi internet in your shabby sanatoriy room, which is amusing - and very nice.
Here are some of pictures from the room we stayed in the first night - the wallpaper looks a bit too psychedelic for the 1980s, but who knows:
And here are a few pics from our current room - the wallpaper looks quite authentic here:
Yes, but the air here is amazing, and I'm willing to ignore the things I've just written about because of that. Sort of.
***
Here's Marta squeezed in between a pine tree and an oak that have grown like two loving cousins - different but very close - one of my favorite spots three years ago:
And here's me, photographed by Marta:
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
A cab driver story. An asshole cab driver. Just a rant, actually.
Saturday night, around 10 PM, Livoberezhna neighborhood. A few cabs are parked near a bus stop, drivers away somewhere, but come running back to their cars when they see us approach. We tell them how much we're willing to pay, they discuss it briefly among themselves, and one of them gets into his car. He's young, too skinny, with very short brownish hair - guys his type all look the same to me somehow.
I'm in the front seat, Misha and Marta are in the back. The car begins to move, and the wind begins to blow into my right ear. My first thought is I haven't shut the door properly, and since we are driving slowly, I open it and then shut it again, a bit more forcefully than the first time.
Then I realize that the window is rolled down a tiny little bit, so the wind isn't the door's fault, and I apologize to the driver - but he's already half-screaming, half-whining at me: Why the hell do you have to shut the door like this, it's a new car, just half a year old, couldn't you just leave it be, don't you see the window is open, etc.
I try to reason with him: But what's gonna happen to your car - is it made of cardboard or what?
Nah, he's still hysterical: It's not some Volga, you shouldn't have shut the door like this, period.
(For the record, the car's a Daewoo.)
We drive on in silence for the next three minutes or so. Soon after we get on Brovarskyi Prospekt, the guy begins to speed like crazy. The car in front of us is too slow for him, so he drives up real close to it, nearly bumps into it actually, and flashes his lights to chase the slow driver off to the right. The incoming traffic is real close to us on the left, and for a few moments, until we pass that other car, things are just way too fast for me to bear.
I know it's bad to distract drivers from driving, so I try not to yell at the idiot: What you've just done, don't you realize that the damage could've been worse than just losing your damn door? Like, much worse?
He doesn't feel he's done any wrong: I've been driving for nine years! That slow jerk, what am I supposed to do, wait forever?
I remind him of a child passenger in his back seat. He tells me he's got a child, too.
I more or less yell at him and order him to slow down and drive like a normal person.
For the rest of our trip, he obeys.
The more I think about it, the more furious I get. For a number of reasons that I'm not gonna write about here because they are obvious.
Saturday night, around 10 PM, Livoberezhna neighborhood. A few cabs are parked near a bus stop, drivers away somewhere, but come running back to their cars when they see us approach. We tell them how much we're willing to pay, they discuss it briefly among themselves, and one of them gets into his car. He's young, too skinny, with very short brownish hair - guys his type all look the same to me somehow.
I'm in the front seat, Misha and Marta are in the back. The car begins to move, and the wind begins to blow into my right ear. My first thought is I haven't shut the door properly, and since we are driving slowly, I open it and then shut it again, a bit more forcefully than the first time.
Then I realize that the window is rolled down a tiny little bit, so the wind isn't the door's fault, and I apologize to the driver - but he's already half-screaming, half-whining at me: Why the hell do you have to shut the door like this, it's a new car, just half a year old, couldn't you just leave it be, don't you see the window is open, etc.
I try to reason with him: But what's gonna happen to your car - is it made of cardboard or what?
Nah, he's still hysterical: It's not some Volga, you shouldn't have shut the door like this, period.
(For the record, the car's a Daewoo.)
We drive on in silence for the next three minutes or so. Soon after we get on Brovarskyi Prospekt, the guy begins to speed like crazy. The car in front of us is too slow for him, so he drives up real close to it, nearly bumps into it actually, and flashes his lights to chase the slow driver off to the right. The incoming traffic is real close to us on the left, and for a few moments, until we pass that other car, things are just way too fast for me to bear.
I know it's bad to distract drivers from driving, so I try not to yell at the idiot: What you've just done, don't you realize that the damage could've been worse than just losing your damn door? Like, much worse?
He doesn't feel he's done any wrong: I've been driving for nine years! That slow jerk, what am I supposed to do, wait forever?
I remind him of a child passenger in his back seat. He tells me he's got a child, too.
I more or less yell at him and order him to slow down and drive like a normal person.
For the rest of our trip, he obeys.
The more I think about it, the more furious I get. For a number of reasons that I'm not gonna write about here because they are obvious.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
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