Travel, 50+, Ukraine

The last time I was touristing around Ukraine was during the so called "little green men"-era. Everything was modestly, if not humbly, priced to pleasantly surprise an international comer and goer. While the country is still a solid budget traveling choice, the popularity of going has mysteriously dropped.

As I had asked whether to do any "special preparations", my good Ukrainian acquaintance had given me only one advice: Do not use the taxi. So, there I was sitting at the backseat of some guy from the local mafia. We were riding towards where I was going, or so I had hoped. But, at least it wasn't a taxi. It did, briefly, cross my mind that I might end up on some field, to enjoy a couple of poisoning inducing lead pills while my bags were being emptied (and not the ones I'd prefer). In the end, though, I only suffered a boast-pumped tongue lashing against my ears. It was much alleviated by a smooth ride, which is not always a given in less publicly wealthy countries.

I had also received a recommendation. There was this restaurant that I most definitely had to experience. It was absolutely the best one in the whole city of Kyiv. Probably in the whole of Ukraine. The locals know the best and as someone open to experiences, I went. A row of girls greeted me with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Pretty much from low to non-existent. Maybe there was some ritual or, perhaps, I was to turn my charm off and on again. I don't know, but they did have a table and a nice softly covered bench.

The food was good. No complaints. However, what happened after causes some qualms, if you will. There was a question hanging in the air that demanded asking. The server boy, a kind lad, tried his best, but could not muster the linguistical ability required. He called one of the girls to help out. It was the one dressed like a goth harlot, black micro shorts, black teeny tiny top, enough black fishnet on her to trawl the (obviously) Black Sea empty... and a facial expression that looked like she had eaten a bowl of lemon soaked excrement for lunch. She stomped towards the table with flauntingly visible irritated aggression and roared her first thought like a drag queen with booze burned vocal cords: "Is there a problem!?"
"Not before you arrived." ... is what I wanted to reply, but she was already filling the gap of mildly surprised double-you-tea-eff silence.
"Is there a problem with the payment!?" She went on and the other girls in the background started whispering. Some of them scrammed.
In the end, I responded with a smile and a brief explanation there was simply a question. I asked the question against her scoffs, crossed arms chest support and a sour look thrown at the server lad. Her pleasant just standing around time was being soiled with the job she was supposed to do. She expectorated the reply, like I was a spittoon and stormed out with her heels pumping sparks against the floor. The best place in town.

While the capital was sort of a Ukrainian treasure chest, modern, smooth, undergoing additions and improvement, Odesa was not quite there yet. The streets had more potholes than surface, the business seemed more slow and shaky and the services were limited. However, as I got to witness against my will, some were getting service.

As it turns out, a businessman was on the road, selling the American dream to local receptionist girls. For services rendered, he would "absolutely" start arrangements for the marriage of himself and the receptionist. Rendered they were and more promises were made, after which the guy immediately moved on to demands for her to call him a ride and book that hotel from another city "with that girl, you know". Swallowing more than her pride, the girl agreed and the American gave her a few words that sounded a little like "good dog" after the pup had played a previously taught trick well enough.

The paper thin walls of my room located immediately next to the receptionist's area, including the little "private" room by it, did not leave much room for guessing. The plan had been to rest and relax for a moment, but now I had to head out. The receptionist girl was not even trying to hide her vocalized tears. Desperation is a helluva drug and this was back when it was still "kinda okay". While higher intelligence might head for philosophical pondering on something akin to inter-human social interaction in situations with an unfair distance in power and wealth, I just though: Is that really all you have to do? Be a blatant jackass with a couple of weak promises you won't even hold on your way out the door? And then, the sea wind blew in my one ear and the thoughts went out the other.

The Judgment:
While Ukraine was rough around the edges, I did have a pretty good time most of the time. The place left a good handful of stories to tell. The people were mostly nice, even with that East European shield of beaten down expression and natural suspicion towards new people. I was planning to explore certain areas a couple of years later, but then came the lockdown and then came the other things. Touristy Ukraine has been on hold since, although not all tourists are repelled by the events. Based on the past, I could recommend for all of you adventurous people to go and have a look. Right now, I'm obliged to hold my word and wait. I hope I can go back one day, in times of peace and prosperity. It remains to be seen.

Would I go again? Maybe. Depending on all the moving pieces.