An evening stroll

Looked at another flat this evening as my place has its share of problems. One, it’s a bit far away from the centre for me, despite all Ukrainians insisting it’s in the centre. The bottom flats in my building are being turned into a shop and hence the drilling streaks up the walls from 8 in the morning, and the stairway is always dust clogged. The light in the stairwell outside my door has failed to work for weeks; something to do with the wiring. So every night the mobile phone becomes a torch to let me in. And I like a change. Always searching.
The other flat is down near Mr Lenin off the big square. Once again it could be great, except for the wallpaper, the dodgy sofas and the mattress used in a doss house. And the room used by the landlady. It wasn’t clear if she lived there or not, but it had a bed in it. Extra security? In case I forget the keys? The landlady insisted on showing me the cooker, the fridge, the freezer, the toilet with the attached geyser which she demonstrated by soaking the floor. Though strangely I saw a cupboard that looked like it hid a dishwasher. So I opened it and it did. The landlady did not seem to want me to see it and pointed at the sink. And I thought I’d found the only dishwasher in town !

I do wonder when all these new flats being built will ever be rented out. Probably when they’re worth $35m each.

On the way back I went for a stroll and saw a bit of Kharkov I hadn’t seen for ages. Passed the “Intimate Picture Club for Gentlemen” (in the Latin alphabet) which may have to be visited for educational purposes.

I’ve worked out a way to find the ‘good’ restaurants is to look for large shiny cars parked in bulk. So there were a couple of cafes round the back of Lenina that fit the bill. And McDonalds. So being depressed of late (and lack of latte) I wandered up Lenina and went into McDonalds. Not my normal habitat, but the difference between fine dining and McDonalds in Ukraine is not as great as in some other countries.

I can report that

• McDonalds has no Fashion TV, just bland rock videos;
• my russian is good enough to order a file-o-fish meal;
• people come in just to use the toilets like everywhere else in the world.
• And it was cheaper than I expected – $3.2o. Is that cheap? I need the Economist’s Big Mac index.

Metallist Metallist

Continuing my absorption of local culture I went to see a footie match with a friend here. Metallist is one of 3 Kharkovian (?) teams, the others being FC Kharkov and Arsenal. So Dinamo Kiev were in town and it was a big match as Dinamo are first in the league and Metallist third. Donetsk are second as always; they have a rich backer, though I guess not as rich as Kiev’s.

The game was sold out so had to buy the tickets outside the ground. Now I expected this in a raw capitalist society to be a simple affair. But the English soliquay of “Tickets, tickets, who wants tickets, buy and sell” was nowhere to be found; had I wandered into some new Socialist Paradise by mistake? Eventually found some; had to pay $5 for a $2 ticket! What a mark up. I’m in the wrong business. Now there’s a business idea.

Once inside the police herd people into the stands to ensure maximum squeezing. The seats were kinda dirty but what to expect in the world’s dustiest town. The stadium was pretty big (28000 people the announcement said) but one whole end was a construction site. And it’s been that way for years. Rumour has it that Metallist musn’t qualify for the Uefa cup as they can’t afford to get the stadium up to the Uefa standard, so they always contrive to finish outside of the top 3 or 4. Judging from their perfomance against Dinamo this is not hard to achieve.

The highlights of the game;

• the mexican wave every few minutes, though one empty end of the ground had a disruptive effect on the tide.
• The riot police charging into the Dinamo fans every time a flare went off. i.e. every 5 minutes.
• Learning some choice swear words.
• And Rebrov who once played for Spurs in London scored twice.

And afterwards we went to a bar where I had the world’s worst Mojito.

Shopping

Went to the huge market today at last. I’d been warned that it was a scary place; huge. I’d get lost, get eaten by lions and never find my way out. Rumours of having to pay guides to get you back to the metro.

So catch the metro to Barabashova (must get a Cyrillic keyboard) . Follow the crowds. The metro exit is in the market, so no trouble in my mission to get lost. I follow a cute girl as I have to go somewhere. Leather everywhere. I expected a more ramshackle market; perhaps like the central market but this is very nicely organised with proper stalls/shops. A mixture of Chinese and Ukrainian stall holders with a good splash of African. And yes it is big. I wandered aimlessly around.

Now I understand how Ukrainian women dress so interestingly. They all come shopping here! Rack upon rack of ultra-bling sunglasses ($2 – $16 said one sign); all the big designer names. Not a place to buy understated clothes. And not my taste in suits.

After much endless wandering around I failed to get lost; always ending up back at the Metro. I took it as a hint and went home, once again failing to see anything I wanted.

A lot of shopping takes place in little kiosks; in the metro stations and on the streets. The only problem is they all have, without fail, one small window to speak through, which is placed about 3 feet off the ground. I will one day be perfect in the Olympic sport of squatting, talking bad russian and pointing upwards as what I want. How I miss Tesco’s; I never thought I’d say that. Even Billa is not that great. A good country to lose weight. Except for the extra servings of grease in every dish.

The door always shuts twice

Came home late the other night. Most apartment blocks have these door codes on the street door where you enter the 3 or 4 digit code and it electrically buzzes the door open.

So I come home about midnight, slightly tipsy it must be said. Enter the code and BANG!!FLASH!! That didn’t sound promising. Enter the code again but I can tell that ain’t going to work ever again.

So standing outside at midnight. This is not good. I see a light on in the ground floor flat which is being renovated. Knock, and I’m let in. And given a tour of the two flats that are being knocked into one shop. The guys explain, as far as I could understand it, that shop rents are too expensive on the shopping street, so they’re going to open a shop in a residential district. I do wonder how all these strategically placed shops ever get customers but this country is different; I’m sure it makes sense to someone.

Anyways, the next morning someone has cleverly inserted a brick in the door to stop it clicking shut. Go out in the evening to the lovely Italian Grill restaurant (service WITH a smile, sigh), come back around midnight as always and surprise surprise no brick. OK, no builders this time. All lights in building off except one. (No door bells in this town btw). Throw stones at window, not being sure if this is a good idea. I live opposite the main police station. No-one answers. Swear. Stay at friend’s flat. Next day swear vociferously at landlady. She promises me a key to the street door. The next day. Swear some more. I get the key.

Club Misto

Someone mentioned to us that Club Misto was a place to go to. So after the most expensive dinner we could muster at a glass box Sushi restaurant (confusingly glass boxes seem to be the in thing for restaurant design in Kharkov; must be a ready supply of window cleaners) – a dinner incorporating a lot of sake, we head outside and decide what to do. We recall the Club Misto suggestion. Stop a taxi and just say Misto since we have no idea where it is. The driver sagely nods. We know we are onto a good thing.

So what is Misto? A casino, bowling alley, bar and a disco stuck permanently in the 80s! What more fun could three 30 somethings want?? Probably three 20 something girls on our arms but failing that a fistful of chips for the tables.

I am not a gambler; well, not since I had to sell my parents to that Chinese gambling syndicate. But Mike and Max like to play and the drinks are free at the “high roller” table. And the best bit is whenever you want a drink a croupier rings a bell in a most flamboyant fashion to attract the waitresses’ attention. So the fun to be had miming the bell ring whenever your glass runs dry. Of course, too many free drinks on top of copious sake does not help one’s ability to count to 21.

Upstairs the disco is rocking. Well, the girls employed by the club to dance and look pretty are rocking. At least with Russian dancing there is less need to be a good dancer. So plenty to watch and admire there.

The bowling prices knocked us over; when you get used to the Ukrainian level of prices, expensive things seem outrageously priced. So we rejected the chance to bowl in blue light and returned to the safe haven of the casino.

Leaving Misto is fraught. The normal taxi driver issue; who can rip us off the most. A very pleasant ‘Palestinian’ organised us a ride and the offer of women etc. So we declined one but took up the other.