In 2004, I visited all 25 countries in Eastern Europe. You'll find the blog entries from that trip here. In 2008-2011, I returned to see what had changed since that time. With these two visits, five years apart, I accumulated enough material for my 750-page book, The Hidden Europe: What Eastern Europeans Can Teach Us.
This blog now has many excerpts from The Hidden Europe. But who the hell reads anymore? Just look at the best photos from Eastern Europe!
This map reflects how I define Eastern Europe. Eastern Europeans love to deny that they're in Eastern Europe. I tackle how and why I define Eastern Europe the way I do in the Introduction of The Hidden Europe.
No, this isn't some politically incorrect email about how stupid Slovakians are. I would never generalize about a people in such a mean and rotten way. Besides, I left all the stupid people behind in Poland.
OK, no more Polish jokes. Promise.
This tale is about MY FIVE stupidities (and my Mr. Magoo Lucky Factor that partly made up for them).
I had told the attendant at the bus terminal in Krakow, Poland that I wanted to go as close as possible to the High Tatras in Slovakia. As usual, the person who sells the tickets at this international city didn't speak a foreign language.
I hoped I got my message through by saying "Tatras" and "Slovakia" a few times, but when I got off the bus I really wasn't sure where I was.
Magoo Factor: I turned up in the right place.
You're not supposed to camp in the Tatras, but it's easy to do if you follow these steps:
1) Get way off the trail: I cut across a tough mountain range to enter an enormous zone without any trails.
2) Sleep at sunset: In my case, I was stuck way above the tree line after having scrambled to a craggy peak. The only place to camp was in a small cave on uneven rocks.
3) Wake up at dawn: That's when my troubles started.
I woke up and was surprised by what a sharp grade I climbed. (I spent 20% of my 3 days in the Tatras using my hands to get around. Getting off the trail doesn't help.)
I wanted to film the spectacular view and the tough grade.
"I would hate to slip here and fall down. It's a long way down...." I thought as I reached for my camcorder in my pocket.
Somehow the camcorder took on a life of its own and jumped out of my hands as I stood over the cliff.
In slow motion I said, "Noooooooooo....."
It crashed on the first rock and bounced high and then down to the next rock, and the next, and the next....
I watched it do somersaults, back flips, and a half twists with corner pike all the way down the mountain.
It was quite spectacular. I was so impressed I almost cried. OK, maybe I was crying for other reasons....
Magoo Factor: After tumbling 15 meters/yards, the Sony camcorder did not shatter. Although the video no longer works, the digital camera still works! I couldn't believe it!
I was despondently stuffing my sleeping bag and thinking, "OK, I gotta put this in a place that's pretty secure because everything here is at an incline. This looks good over here...."
It stayed there. For about 2 seconds. And then it also took a life of its own. And rolled away. All the way down the hill.
Because of its loft, it bounced MUCH farther than the camcorder.
To give you an idea how far it fell, it took me 20 minutes to retrieve it and come back.
Magoo Factor: Despite the sharp rocks and the incredibly long fall, the stuff sack only got a minor tear.
With two unnecessary trips down the mountain to retrieve my crap, I was no longer a happy camper. I was putting away my glass jar of peanut butter and it also leaped out of my hands. Fortunately, it didn't roll down the hill, but it did shatter.
Lamenting my precious peanut butter and my woes, I sat down and decided to eat it anyway. After all, I hate seeing good food go to waste.
As I was eating it I thought that maybe this wasn't such a bright idea. After all, there could be shards of glass in the peanut butter.
"Nah...." I thought and carefully worked around the glass as I spread it on my bread.
I was chomping away when suddenly I heard a "CRUNCH!"
That wasn't the sound of a little peanut being broken in my mouth. That was glass.
I spit what I thought was the bad portion and swallowed the rest. Hey, I was hungry.
Magoo Factor: I felt very minor pain (I think it was psychological) for about 5 minutes afterwards. Otherwise, no internal bleeding. The glass tasted good! Just like peanut butter!
That night I was again stuck above the tree line when the sun set. I found two big rocks and set up my tarp just in case it rained. On cue, the moment I got under the tarp the sky lit up and thunder roared.
That was a lonely night on top of another craggy outcropping. The lightning storm just added a bit of drama.
The next day when I changing from pants to shorts, I didn't transfer my cell phone belt clip. I left it behind. Idiot.
Magoo Factor: A few days later I went to a store to buy a new belt clip. The store clerk said he didn't have just a belt clip, but he gave me a complete holster for free. "It's a gift from Slovakia," he said.
Despite my misfortunes, I adored the Tatras. I have never experienced such an amazing backpacking in my life. They brought back many memories:
The trails were insane. They've managed to blur the line between backpacking and rock climbing.
Many trails required you to use a long metal chain to go up or down the mountain. Lose your grip and you're history.
Bring gloves if you hike here. The cold metal numbs your hands. Which is the last thing you need to have happen when your life depends on your grip. At least once person dies in the Tatras every week.
I was dangling off one of those chains late in the freezing evening when nobody was around (after 6PM everyone is in the huts). I thought, "If my mom knew how close I am to dying she would kill me."
In Belarus I wished for more toilet paper, but in Slovakia I wish there were less... on the trail. This is the only stupidity I found Slovakians doing.
I asked a Slovakian why is there so much toilet paper on the trails. She blamed the "tourists."
"OK, this is a national park lady, we're all tourists," I told her, "So can you be more specific? Why don't they pack it out?"
She blamed the tourists from the neighboring countries. She added, 90% of the people here are from Czech Republic, not Slovakia.
An 18 year old man said the Slovakians are also to blame. Having visited their small local parks and seeing TP everywhere, this guy may be right: this is also a Slovakian tradition.
The stupidest thing I saw was this outhouse near the summit of a mountain. It did not contain the waste, but just let it all fall down the steep mountain gully. With a little rain all the toilet paper and shit just roll down the mountain into the pristine water below. Brilliant.
Pity, because it is a perfect place otherwise. They call it the biggest little mountains in Europe. They're only 7,500 feet high (about 2500 meters), but they look and feel much higher. I just wish the territory were a bit bigger. You can see almost everything with three days of vigorous backpacking.
Pit stop in Trencin, Slovakia
I took a day trip to a cute little town on the way to Brastislava that has a castle a hill.
It was a cute town on my way to....
Another well-preserved old town in Eastern Europe. I'm surprised I'm not sick of them yet.
Although Bratislava was wonderful, the highlight of Slovakia was the High Tatras. See them when you go to Krakow, Poland. It's about 2-3 hours away. But don't go to the Polish side of the Tatras. Most believe the Slovakian side is the best.
August 17, 2004
I slipped but managed to cling desperately to the snow covered rock. I arched my neck to look down below me and there was a 100 yard/meter drop. There is no way I could survive such a fall. I craned my neck up and the nearly vertical wall continued on several many more meters.
"How did I get myself into such a position?" I wondered.
Slovenia is a dinky country between Italy, Austria, Hungary, and Croatia. Of course to us geographically ignorant Americans that means nothing, so all you gotta know is that it's in Europe somewhere.
As I left Austria I marveled at the mountainous countryside. It's hard to stop me from reading, but the views from the trains forced me to pay attention.
I went straight to the town of Bled. All the hostels were full, so I slept with some dead roommates in a cemetery.
I didn't think much of it, but perhaps this was a little foreshadowing....
It was pouring rain when I started walking up at 11AM. It was snowing on top. I got to a hut and asked the ranger about going to the summit of Mt. Triglav. The conversation reminded me of when I asked a ranger in the High Tatras of Slovenia if I could cut across the mountains and go off the trail.
He said, "Not without a guide. You'll never make it."
"But have you considered the fact that I'm wearing tennis shoes, have no map, no compass, and I'm sporting all cotton clothing?"
He strained a fake smile.
But I did it anyway and survived. OK, so I dropped many valuable items in the process, but I didn't drop.
But I was on the brink of dropping myself a long way down when I clung onto a cold piece of rebarb on Mt. Triglav in Slovenia.
My hands were so cold that they burned in pain. Since every step was a slow arduous process up the wall, my feet were also cold (which is rare).
Without a map, I just woke up at 5AM and took the most direct route up the mountain. It's an impressive peak even though it's only 2864m/9394ft high. I found some spectacular pictures of Mt. Triglav (and the magical town of Bled with its church on an island and its fairytale castle on a hill).
As I marched up the mountain I wondered why I didn't see any other tracks in the snow. Then I understood why. The path led to a near vertical wall, complete with rebar, cables, and plenty of snow.
The problem was that the metal handholds were not evenly spaced out. There are stretches where you have to use your bare hands to grip the sharp rock. As a result, my hands were not only cold, but they were getting cut and scrapped. I saw blotches of red snow behind and below me and I realized it came from the blood dripping from my hands.
This climb would be tough without snow, but after the recent snow fall, I found myself in a precarious situation. I don't think I have ever been so scared in my life. If you don't count my previous night in the cemetery, I've never been so close to death.
I remembered what my Lonely Planet guidebook said about the Julian Alps. "Above 1500 meters you can encounter winter conditions anytime."
I was over 2,500 meters.
And then my favorite part: "Never EVER try to trek alone."
Feeling quite lonely midway up the wall, I suddenly heard a helicopter.
"Oh good, they're coming to save me."
I wanted to take a picture but I was too busy hugging the rock.
Instead the helicopter landed by the hut nearby, probably to drop off supplies and pick up the bodies of yesterday's failed hikers.
I eventually made it up the wall and ran into a pair of hikers at the pass who had taken a different approach trail. Together we climbed the last 100 meters, which was hard, but not ridiculous. They couldn't believe I was in sneakers. We took the easier way down, which allowed us to see the wall I climbed. Nobody else had followed my tracks.
I told my fellow hiker, "I gotta take a picture of the wall I climbed."
"Yeah," he said, "your friends back home will never believe you."
Even the easy way down was still pretty gnarly. I passed climbers on their way up. I eventually I found my favorite Slovenian. He had a rock climbing helmet, sturdy boots, gloves, and a twisted look on his face.
He shouted something to me in Slovene and I said, "Sorry I don't understand."
He pointed at the white powder at my feet, "SNOW!"
I nodded.
He vigorously pointed at my snow covered sneakers, "SHOES!!"
I nodded.
Then he put the two together to form his complex sentence: "You IDIOT!!!"
And then walked by me.
Yes, it was a memorable moment during my Eastern European adventure.
My Lonely Planet guidebook puts Slovenia's Skocjan Caves in the Top 10 Attractions in Eastern Europe. It's also listed on UNESCO's elite list. So I had go.
It wasn't easy getting there. For starters, I had to cross the country.
OK, so that's not a big deal when it's only 100 miles from end to end, but still.
It was an eerie feeling when I was the only guy to get off the bus. Although it's nice to not to be free of tourists, when I completely alone I start to wonder. I soon learned why I was the only idiot using the bus: I ended up walking an hour in the hot sun to get to these stupid caves.
"This better be good."
They did not disappoint. I was amazed, especially with the 130 meter/yard deep canyon. It's the biggest underground canyon in the world.
It was illegal to take pictures, but there is a fantastic virtual tour. Just click on the numbers below to walk through. Of course, it's not the same as being there, but it's cheaper.
I befriended three Spanish folks from Barcelona (a couple and a guy). They offered to take me back with them. It would be a 2 hour drive back to the capital, Ljubjana (which means "beloved").
We stopped at a dramatic castle that is embedded into a massive cave entrance.
For the first time in Eastern Europe, I found people that most people spoke English. The guidebook said that Slovenia was a nation of polyglots, and they're right. I had gotten used to having to ask 10 people to find one English speaker. Here I had to ask 10 people to find one person who did NOT speak any English.
Thank god because Slovene is a tricky language. It's grammatically complex with lots of cases, genders, and tenses and has something that is very rare in linguistics: singular, dual, and plural forms.
For example, it's one "miza" (table), two "mizi", and three or more "mize."
Jesus.
And I thought knowing that "foot" becomes "feet" was tough.
I'll leave you with a quick history of this cool little country:
Today they're doing better the rest of the former Yugoslavia.
And today I am doing better now that I am on level ground.
I will stay away from the mountains. At least until I get to Transylvania....
September 3, 2004
Crossing the border between Moldova and Ukraine was as easy as I expected. That's right, it was a complete and utter pain in the ass.
My favorite part was when they made us all get out of the bus at 3AM because the border police wanted to conduct an arbitrary "luggage inspection."
Fed up with their shenanigans I boycotted the inspection and stayed in the bus while all the Ukrainians suffered in the freezing temperatures. It was REALLY COLD. For those who know me well, you'll be surprised that I was not taking off my shoes in most places because it was so cold.
After ten minutes the bus driver finally ratted me out, so I joined my shivering comrades. I left my bag with all my cocaine inside the bus.
Meanwhile, I lugged my big bag filled with weapons of mass destruction to the end of the counter, pretending that I had already passed inspection. It worked. The customs agents ignored me and let us get back on board. They never checked any of the bags on the bus. Hey at least there's no discrimination: I was the most Arabic looking guy on the bus. Clearly, they didn't realize that I'm a Kazak.
Kazak is a Turkish word which most Westerners pronounce “Cossacks.” It means “outlaw, adventurer, or free person.”
OK, I’m only an outlaw when I steal fruits from branches that hang over the street.
However, I'm not a real Kazak because I haven't helped establish the self-rule of any country. The Kazaks did this in the 15th century in Ukraine, thereby asserting the Ukrainian right for self-determination. Today that spirit lives strong in Western Ukraine. And that's where I was headed.
When I was planning this Eastern European tour I didn't expect to revisit countries I had already seen. But I already violated that concept when I went to the Austria, Czech Republic, and Hungary. If I skipped Ukraine, the largest country in Europe, it would be the only country in Eastern Europe that I didn't visit. That would be kinda rude.
It's a surprising fact, so I will repeat it: Ukraine is the biggest country wholly in Europe. Most Americans think that Europe ends around Germany and Italy, but officially it extends to the Ural Mountains (which are east of Moscow) and down to the Caucasus Mountains (northeast of Turkey). Although part of Russia is Europe, most of it is not, so it doesn't win the biggest country in Europe prize.
Besides, Russians don't consider themselves European anyway. They're Russians. A class by itself. Today about half of Ukraine wants to join the EU, while the other half wants a tighter relationship with Russia. The Ukrainian presidential election on Halloween should point which direction the country will go. Russians are scared the outcome won't favor them.
I hope it doesn't favor them and that Viktor Yushchenko wins. He wants Ukraine to join EU. His opposition favors getting cosy with Russia. Tune in on Halloween to see who wins. May the most corrupt man win.
Use this map to navigate my confusing journey in this enormous country.
Start in the country of Moldova, which is jammed between Romania and Ukraine. I headed north to cross the border and went to enchanting Ukrainian town of Chernivtsi.
I arrived in Chernivtsi at 5AM. I wanted to cry because it was so cold, but my tears would have frozen on my cheeks. I had six layers of clothing, one backpack on my back and another on my front, and I was walking uphill. And my teeth were still chattering.
I know it was a cold spell, but I didn't can't comprehend how all these people survive these winters. I couldn't even survive the fall!
A century and a half out of the Russian orbit have been kind to Chernivtsi. It has a graceful, cosmopolitan, Central European air. Its mixed history has bestowed upon it a wide variety of architectural styles, from Byzantine to Baroque, and the elegant streets of its old quarter are lined with grand, vine-covered facades. Tree-lined pedestrian avenues are lined with cafes, restaurants, and shops. A very different, very Ottoman world opens up in Chernivtsi's courtyards, which have wooden balconies and covered staircases. There is an Armenian Cathedral, a mid-19th century building with an interior meticulously painted. I can't believe that nobody talks about this city. It's gorgeous!
I hopped on a bus to Kamyanets-Podilsky which is about 25km (16mi) north of the point where Moldova and Romania meet at the Ukrainian border. It's called Khmel'nyts'kyy (its Ukrainian name) on the online map.
This old town has stood since at least the 11th century on a sheer-walled rock island carved out of the steppe by a sharp loop in the Smotrych River. It's a unique geography creates almost a natural moat. The south-western bridge, for centuries the only link between the town and the mainland, is guarded by a nine-towered stone castle that dates from the 16th century.
On its cobbled streets I asked 16 year old boy to take a picture of me. To my surprise, he spoke excellent Spanish. His father (who is from St. Petersburg) now lives in Spain. That was almost as weird as a Ukrainian man speaking Portuguese with me in some train station.
It wasn't long before a dozen of the teenagers joined in. We toured the castle together (we were practically the only tourists that chilly day). They had the day off from school and they were doing a field trip.
My maturity is regressing in this trip. I'm hanging out with such young kids because they're the only ones who speak a foreign language. So I'm making lots of jokes about farting.
Oh wait. Never mind. Maybe my maturity level hasn't really changed.
Another long bus ride later, I arrived in Ivano-Frankivs'k. It has four plazas and is set at the base of the Carpathian mountain range. Wow.
What's with these cities in western Ukraine that nobody knows about but that everybody should know about?
None are huge, but there's all extremely beautiful. They remind me of Prague and Riga.
After three elegant and regal cities, I was excited to see the highlight of western Ukraine: Lviv.
Russians call it Lvov, but don't call it that in this nationalistic city. Lviv, the capital of western Ukraine, is a enchanting city. It reminded me of the Prague I saw 12 years ago. With a bit of renovation it will live up to its name: the Pearl of Europe.
Until 1939 it had never been ruled from Moscow, and it was here that Ukrainian nationalism re-emerged in the late 1980s. Having escaped the urban devastation of WWII, Lviv is a living museum of Western architecture from the Gothic to the present. And while there are plenty of Communist-era monstrosities, the old narrow streets and colourful historic core make it the best city in Ukraine and one of the best in Eastern Europe.
I visited Ukraine in 1999, but didn't see the western part. What a mistake. It's the best part! It's also home of the "real" Ukrainians.
I had arrived Lviv early that morning and was leaving that same day. I had meticulously toured the city, including its cemetery, which is the most beautiful cemetery I've ever seen.
However, I felt a bit guilty because I hadn't mingled with the locals, a crucial component of my travel experience. But at 8PM my uncanny luck came through.
As I walked into the central square in Lviv my path crossed with an art student named Julia. I asked her to point me to an Internet cafe. She did, but she was curious to know where I was from. I told her I was from the Russian Liberation Army and I was here to free her from her silly Ukrainian traditions.
Within minutes another Julia joined us. She was a language specialist and spoke outstanding English. Next came Lena, who was sweet but spoke no English. Finally, wild Evelina arrived late as usual. Although she didn't speak English, I scolded her anyway.
I lamented my misfortune: I was stuck with four beautiful Ukrainian women. I did my best to run away, but they insisted on going out for coffee before I split to Kyiv in a few hours. With great reticence I acquiesced. But I'm glad I did because I learned about the country.
Unlike Belarus, there's at least one place in Ukraine where people speak their official language. Ukrainian is the default language in Western Ukraine, but is the second language after Russian in the rest of Ukraine. In the past 15 years, they've made a big push to promote this language which has a 70% overlap with Russian.
Although the girls said they would let me live this time for saying "thank you" in Russian, they encouraged me to learn how to say it in Ukrainian. Fortunately, all Ukrainians are fluent in Russian and are forgiving of ignorant Americans.
Many Ukrainians see Russians as fellow neighbors; however, western Ukrainians aren't big fans of Russians. They feel that Russia is the big brother who pats them on their head in a condescending fashion. However, even the worst Ukrainian-Russian tension looks like a love affair compared to the deep seeded Balkan hate. So don't expect any wars over this anytime soon, unless somebody drinks a bit too much vodka.
I always thought that Ukraine was a happy co-conspirator with Russia to establish Soviet dominance throughout the Eastern Bloc, like Austria worked with Germany to expand the Third Reich. Wrong.
After WWI and the collapse of Tsarist Russia, Ukrainians made a sloppy attempt at independence. Instead of having one coherent army to take on the Russians, they had six, each with their own agenda. Kyiv changed hands five times in one year. For their poor coordination, Ukraine ended up in the hands of four different countries. Nice going fellas.
In 1922 Stalin thought Ukraine would be a good lab rat for his Soviet plans. His first experiment was to see if he could obliterate Ukrainian nationalism. Instead he nearly obliterated the country. He engineered a famine in 1932-33 which killed millions in Ukraine.
And then WWII came, which killed six million Ukrainians and left the country in ruin.
So this might explain why many Ukrainians don't have great feelings for the Russians. And then came....
For those who remember my illegal field trip to the radioactive Chernobyl Exclusion Zone in Belarus, you’ll be glad to know that I decided not to visit it even though it’s just 100km (60 miles) from Kyiv.
But can you imagine the horror of watching nearly nine tons of radioactive material spew into the sky? To give you some perspective, that’s 90 times more powerful than the Hiroshima bomb.
Over five million people had the distinct pleasure of having radioactive fallout land on their heads.
Ten years ago Ukrainians were suffering an unbelievable 10,000% inflation. Five years ago their currency lost half of its value. Today things are better, but it’s still tough making a living when your average monthly wage is $61 or you only get a $30 pension.
Of course, things are cheap here and $61 goes a long way, but life isn’t THAT cheap. So corruption abounds as the economy stirs to life.
All this bad news makes it understandable that Ukrainians are heading for the exits and not reproducing. As a result, the population has been steadily declining since independence more than ten years ago.
The Julias proudly said that Ukrainian hospitality is legendary. It's true. Ukrainians are warmer than Russians and one of the warmest people in Eastern Europe.
They demonstrated this hospitality by helping me get to train station, buy tickets to Kyiv, and find the proper platform. This may not sound like much, but in Ukraine it's a big production. Although we only spent a couple of hours together, they left me one of the best memories of this trip.
For the few who know the capital of Ukraine, it’s pronounced (and now written) Kyiv and not Kiev (the Russian version). Say "Keev."
I'm embarrassed to admit that I missed a big portion of Kyiv when I was there five years ago. It makes me wonder what other stuff I've missed on this trip. Maybe I should go backwards and do all of Eastern Europe over again. And this time write even longer emails.
OK, maybe not.
Kyiv is a world class city that's worth seeing.
I spent two days there and then went to a city with a really long name...
This city offers little to a tourist, but I had an interesting experience.
I was in a mini-bus when an Asian man entered. I was surprised to an Asian in this random Ukrainian city. I figured he was from eastern Russia. But then he started talking in English to his Ukrainian girl.
"Where are you from?" I asked, dying of curiosity.
"Los Angeles," the Asian man told me.
"Wow. What's the chance of two Californians sitting next to each other in Dnipropetrovs'k? What are you doing here?" I wondered.
"I teach English for the Peace Corps."
His name was Ed and the Ukrainian girl was called Nellie. Nellie demonstrated that fabled hospitality when she invited me to join them for lunch at a Spanish restaurant. This made for an interesting picture: eating a burrito with chips and salsa with a Asian man from LA and a Ukrainian woman in a random city called Dnipropetrovs'k. Weird.
Later that night Nellie invited me to join her and Justin (another Asian Peace Corps member) on a mellow night of town. At the end of the night Justin, who was from Dallas, invited me to crash on his floor.
I happily accepted his trail magic and was surprised by how humbling these Peace Corps people live. Maybe I've finally found a government program that is somewhat frugal.
Justin disrupted that short-lived hope when he said that the Ukrainian Peace Corps headquarters was pretty lavish. Well, it was fun while it lasted.
Everyone told me that Krivoy Rog sucked.
They're right. There's nothing touristy to see there. Next!
Odessa is a curious mix of enticing seaside holiday retreat and polluted industrial port. Long the shipping centre of the Black Sea region and the major urban centre of southern Ukraine, the city is famous for its role in the 1905 revolution, when the mutinous battleship Potemkin Tavrichesky supported rebellious workers. Odessa's most famous sight, the massive Potemkin Steps, are nice but nothing that great. The city does have some fine architecture though.
The sandstone on which Odessa stands is riddled with about 1000km (620mi) of tunnels, known as the katakombi (catacombs). Quarried out for building in the 19th century, they have since been used by smugglers, revolutionaries and WWII partisans. In Nerubayske I visited a network of tunnels that sheltered partisans in WWII. Pretty cool side trip.
For no apparent reason the comfy train was sold out, so I had to take a 12 hour bus ride to the Crimea. No fun.
However, I got a lucky seating assignment and sat next to the only English speaking person on the bus: a Brit working for the British Council. Dave, a 40 year old man, has been living in Ukraine for three years. He later invited me to go clubbing with him.
Sevastopol has a beautiful bay and was a scene of an unusual war strategy in the 19th century. A navy admiral realize that French and British would beat him in a fair fight, so he purposefully sank his entire fleet at the mouth of the bay!
Why? Because it would impede the enemy's ability to enter the harbor. The admiral and the citizens cried when they sank their own fleet. Today a memorial stands there.
For my last night in Ukraine Dave offered to take me to a dance club (it was Saturday night). This was my first club in five months of travel. It was worth the wait. The quality and quality of the eye candy was simply uncanny.
I had 30 hours to rest on the boat that will cross the mighty Black Sea. I needed it. My body was exhausted and couldn't shake a cold I had for 2 weeks.
The boat had about 80 Ukrainians. For $100 it was quite a deal, because they include a room with a bed (I shared with a Russian man), hot showers, two dinners and breakfasts, plus one lunch. Who cares if nobody on board could speak English?
Well, there were two German lesbians on the boat who could speak English, but they treated me about as nicely as most of the ticket agents at Belarusian train stations.
So I spoke with the Ukrainians in my catastrophic Russian. I can now communicate about as effectively as a 3 year old Russian boy. Maybe with 5 more years of practice I can communicate at the level of a 4 year old.
When I disembarked I entered my final destination, the gateway to Eastern Europe: Istanbul, Turkey.
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