My strangest day in the FSU

[TwoBitBandit]

Here’s the strangest day I ever had in the FSU.

So, this one summer I met this girl in Krivoy Rog (roughly in the middle of Ukraine).  Her and I really hit it off and had a great conversation and a lot of chemistry, but unfortunately I only spent a few hours with her before I had to leave.

So, we’ve been writing each other for awhile, talking on the phone, sending SMSs, etc.  Finally, I make it back to the FSU... in December. 

So, I’m in Moscow in December and I’m flying to Dnipropetrovsk, which is the closest airport to Krivoy Rog.  Surprisingly, my international flight leaves from SVO-1, not SVO-2.  I remember from a previous landing at SVO I saw a round terminal at the airport that juts out from the rest of the building.  Well, I found out what that was today: it’s the international terminal at SVO-1.  So, I made it through passport control and I’m just chilling out waiting for my flight.  It was supposed to leave at about noon.

So, because of bad weather (it’s snowing in Moscow), it gets delayed.   And delayed.  And delayed.  And delayed.  Finally, at around 4pm we all get on the bus to take us to the airplane.  The flight is delayed again, and it’s around 5pm when we finally take off.

After a while the plane starts making all these weird maneuvers, turning a lot.  After about half an hour of that, they announce that the weather is bad in Dnipropetrovsk, so they’re going to circle around for awhile.  (I speak a fair amount of Russian, so I understood the announcement.)  So, we’re just flying around, turning, turning, turning.  Eventually, they make some sort of announcement, but I didn’t understand it.  Fortunately, the guy in the next seat is a pretty nice guy, some sort of middle-aged businessman in a suit.  I ask him about the situation (in Russian), and he says that we’re going to land in Rostov.

I think for a moment.  Where is Rostov?  “Rostov-na-Dony?” I ask?
He nods.

I know where it is.  It’s in the southernmost part of Russia near the border with Ukraine.  I groan.  I remembered the name of this city because it’s irregular in Russian.  The name “Rostov-na-Dony” means “Rostov on the Don River”.  In Russian, when you say something is “on” something else, you use the prepositional case.  For singular nouns, this makes the words end in “ye”.  So, if Don was a regular noun, you’d say “Rostov-na-Donye.”  (-??-?.)  But, since it’s irregular, you say “Rostov-na-Dony” (-??-?.)   There’s a handful of other Russian nouns that fall into this category: -> ? instead of ?, -> ? instead of ?, etc.  There’s only a handful of such Russian nouns, and the name of the Don river happens to be one of the exceptions.

So, we land.  Sure enough, the well-lit sign above the airport says “Rostov-na-Dony.”  We all sit on the airplane, praying that the weather in Dnipropetrovsk clears up so that we can take off again.  Unfortunately, the weather has different ideas, so Aeroflot decides to take us all off the plane and to some sort of a waiting lounge in the airport.  We all get on a bus and go to the lounge.

I call the girl in Krivoy Rog on my cell phone.  “Are you really in Rostov-na-Dony?” she asks.  “Are you sure?”  I’m just shaking my head.  She must think I’m confused about geography in Eastern Europe, as if I’m just confused foreigner who don’t even know what city I’m in.  I take a deep breath before I reply so I don’t snap at her.  I’m tired and bitter and angry about what’s going on.  Thank goodness I know some Russian.  I explain the situation once again with a forced calmness and she gets it.  My battery is running low so I tell her how much I want to see her and get off the phone.  She wishes me luck.

Everyone is hungry and tired.  Soon, a devoshka appears at the counter to sell food and beer.  A loud group of about eight young Russian guys gets in line first and buys all the good stuff, the fresh food.  By the time I get served there are only potato chips.  So, I buy potato chips and beer.  (I really needed the beer, what a long-ass day!)  We’re all just chilling out.  The group of young Russian guys is getting drunk and having fun.  The business-suit guy is just wandering around the waiting area.  He occasionally helps me understand the announcements.  We’re speaking in Russian.  I speak it well enough to have a conversation with him about the announcements but I don’t completely understand the announcements themselves.  The soviet-era audio system doesn’t make it any easier.

Finally, Aeroflot determines that they’re done for the night.  Everyone needs to exit the lobby, go through customs, and go to the Aeroflot-Don office in the lobby of the airport.  THANK GOD I have a multiple-entry Russian visa.  If I had a single entry visa I’d probably be sleeping on cardboard in the airport since I wouldn’t be able to re-enter.  By the time I get to the Aeroflot-Don office, the place is a zoo.  Everybody is pissed off and the staff and customers are yelling at each other.  The office is packed, there’s no way I could even squeeze in there.

I sit in the lobby.  A taxi driver approaches me, I have a conversation with him in Russian.  He’s apparently figured out the situation.  He offers to drive me to Dnipropetrovsk for $400.  I tell him I want to speak with the Aeroflot people first and see what they’re going to do.  It’s about 9pm at this point.

Eventually, the chaos subsides and I get into the office.  I find out what all the frustration is: the next flight they can put me on is the following evening.  I leave and sit in the lobby, pondering my situation.  The taxi driver approaches me again.  I’m thinking about the girl, how tired I am, how much I just want to get to my hotel room in Krivoy Rog and sleep.  I think about how much every single day costs me.  I don’t work at Taco Bell, I make a good salary as a manager of a group of engineers at a semiconductor company.  I negotiate him down to $300 and we’re off.

God, it is a long-ass drive!  After about an hour we cross the border into Ukraine with no problem.  The driver has to stop at a booth to buy Ukrainian car insurance.  Fortunately, I’m able to catch a little sleep on the way after that.  I’m a little on edge, being in a strange place after this strange day with some taxi driver in the middle of nowhere in rural Ukraine.  I could have been an easy mark for the right predator.  I have about three or four thousand dollars in cash on me, so I’d be a good mark.  Fortunately, he’s an honest guy and it all works out.  I don’t even feel like myself at this point, I feel like I’m outside myself looking in on some B-rated movie.

At around 1am we stop at a roadside cafe that is open.  The driver is very tired and needs some strong coffee.  The devoshka who works there is hanging out with her friends at one of the tables in the place.  She’s obviously drunk and she doesn’t really even want to serve us.  The driver orders two cups of coffee.  The devoshka stumbles back to her table and ignores us.  My driver pounds the coffee and we get back on the road again.

On the way, the girl and I are exchanging text messages.  I don’t want to call her because my battery was so low.  She can’t come to Dnipropetrovsk in the middle of the night to get me, she doesn’t have a car and the public transit is closed.  I ask the driver if he’ll take me directly to Krivoy Rog, but he says he’s already passed the road for that.  He says he’ll take me to Dnipropetrovsk and help me find another taxi.  I know the fare for that should be about $50.  He’s actually a pleasant and friendly guy; he just wants to make his $300 for the night and go back home to his family in Rostov-na-Dony.

Eventually, we get to Dnipropetrovsk.  It’s around 2:30 am.  He helps me find a taxi.  He’s passing different taxi drivers and commenting on the drivers and their cars.  I decide to trust his intuition on who will be a good taxi driver.  He picks one out.  We get out and talk to the taxi driver, who agrees to take me to Krivoy Rog for $50.  So, I get my luggage, change cars and pay the driver the rest of the money I owe him.  We shake hands and he’s gone.  I’ve never been so thankful I went through the trouble to learn Russian, since it’s really saved my ass tonight.

The next driver is a young guy, perhaps 20 or 21.  The car is an older Lada.  I wonder if this thing is going to make it to Krivoy Rog!  There’s no snow here, but it’s super foggy which must have been the problem with landing here.  I’m texting the girl in Krivoy Rog.  She’s up late, worried about me, but there’s really nothing she can do.  As I’m texting with the girl back and forth, the driver comments on my cell phone. 

“It’s my dream to have a nice cell phone like that one,” he tells me.

I’m a little thrown off by that.  My dream is to have a net worth of thirty of forty million dollars and live a jet-set lifestyle for pleasure, spending summers in Paris and winters in Sri Lanka or Rio de Janeiro.  In style, of course: flying first-class everywhere... and never, never, never flying on Aeroflot.  But this poor guy’s dream is to have a CELL PHONE?  It’s a reminder of the difference in our standards of living.  I have so much spare money that I’m chasing girls on the other half of the world, but it’s this guy’s dream to have a cell phone that I bought for $70?  Wow.  I felt jealous, in a way.  His dream was so obtainable, so real.  My dream was always about something I couldn’t quite have, something a ways out of my reach.  I start thinking about some books on Buddhism I read when I was attending the university: how our wishes and desires are the source of our suffering.

Finally, we get to Krivoy Rog.  I have him drop me off near McDonalds near some other taxis.  This driver doesn’t know Krivoy Rog very well, so he can’t help me find my hotel which is in sort of an obscure place.  So, I’m trading taxis again.  I give the guy $80 in fresh $20 bills, $30 more than our agreement.  I just felt so sorry for the poor guy who’s dream was to own a friggin’ cell phone.  He was really appreciative and thanked me profusely.  As I watch him drive off, I’m thinking about his dream.  If I didn’t need mine so badly, I would have just given it to him.

So, I’m talking to the next taxicab driver.  It’s around 5am now.  Unfortunately, I don’t have any grivnas.  My original plan was to get to Ukraine in the middle of the day so I could exchange money.  I explain the problem to the taxicab driver (in Russian, of course), and he points me at a booth about fifty feet down the road and tells me to knock loudly.  I do so, and in a minute a tiny little window opens.  I can’t really see much through it, but I can tell there’s a person back there.  I ask about exchanging money.  We have a brief discussion about the exchange rate.  It’s surprisingly good for 5am in Krivoy Rog, I exchange $300.  I get the money and the small window closes.

So, I go back to the taxi driver.  He’s probably in his late 20’s.  He’s just been standing on the side of the road leaning against his taxicab.  These three Russian devoshki are just hanging out with him there, two of them are smoking.  They’re probably in their early-t-mid twenties.  It’s just too strange.  What are these girls doing?  Are they just hanging out with their friend?  Are they prostitutes?  Who knows?  I call up the girl I came to see and tell her to tell the taxi cab driver where to go, then I give my phone to the taxi driver.  “Da, da, da, da, da”  Then he motions for me to get in.  I’m in the back seat with two of the devoshki, who introduce themselves as Lena and Olga.  I’m just chatting with them, they’re asking me about America and various celebrities.  The whole situation just seems so surreal to me.  It’s a short ride to the hotel.  Finally, I get in, pay for the room, and lay down.  It’s quite a nice room in a very small hotel with only 15 rooms or so.  I ordered breakfast for an hour later.

Damn, was I tired!  I took a shower just as the sun was poking over the horizon.  What’s the point in sleeping?  The sun is already up, and my mind is going a million miles an hour from how surreal the past 20 hours has been.

And that’s the story of my strangest day in the FSU.