It’s a holiday weekend in Ukraine. Constitution day today. That means a long weekend. Nice.

We went to the dacha, as has been the norm ever since early May, on the weekends. We usually spend the night, and last night was no exception. It was particularly fun because it was just the immediate family (my wife, my son, and me). Mom is at a sanatorium. No, not for a crazed individual – in Ukraine it means more like a spa (see here). That’s not to say that she doesn’t sometime seem to be in need of one of those other facilities – but that’s for another day (he he he). Anyway, we did the usual gardening, watering, weeding, berry-picking, bbq, etc. I will post some pictures soon, I promise — some cute ones of Mikey, for sure.

But today’s post has more to do with my ride home. Yep, the motorcycle (Dnepr MT-11) is still running well (though someone stole my gas out of my tank – AGAIN – a couple weeks ago). Jesus – does it ever end?  Whatever…. it’s a bit warm for long pants, boots, and a leather jacket, but I still wear it all – because I like keeping my skin intact if I happen to come off the bike for some unexpected reason.

I’ve learned to deal with most Russian (Ukrainian) drivers pretty well. More or less – they all suck. Most feel entitled to the road, and if anything gets in their way, they simply drive around the obstacle if possible. Literally, they drive off road, on sidewalks, through parks, across parking lots, around trees, on private property, on highway shoulders (and beyond), and more. They honk, flash their lights at you, drive about 2 feet behind you, etc. Indeed, it is frustrating sometimes when you are patiently waiting in a queue for the traffic to subside, and the morons in their Land Rovers are passing you on the left, right, and center. Idiots. Pure and simple.

I’ve concluded (with the aid of discussion with my wife) that their behavior is really the immediate result of “new found freedom.” Such freedoms have been cast upon people – quickly and widely – and have been abused in many, many ways. I could give lots of examples, but let’s just say that corruption is rampant, the veil of democracy has been exploited by those in the know, and personal success and individual liberty is often flaunted, over-emphasized and/or abused.

So why do I mention this today? I’m glad you asked.

I made the motorcycle ride all the way into Kyiv; the dacha is about 50 km away. All was well – it was a nice temperature and I didn’t see a single cop on the road. Remember, it’s a holiday – they all must have been on vacation, getting pissed – like most other Ukrainians.

I was riding on one of the “ring roads” that speeds my journey to the city center, though it is less direct. Again, it was a holiday today, and I was riding mid-day, so traffic was relatively light. However, on the ring road, both lanes (in this particular spot) were filled with vehicles.

What do you know, there was a guy riding my ass as we went over an overpass. There were cars all around, and in front of me for as far as the eye could see. He honked 2 or 3 times at me. I put up my hand as to say “what do you want – there are cars in front of me?”  He got a bit pissy and passed me on the right – honking again.

Well – it pissed me off, and so I “flipped him the bird.”

Yep – the finger; up yours; the fuck you and the horse you rode in on…

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He obviously didn’t like this very much – even though he was being the unnecessarily aggressive typical Ukrainian prick driver that occupies all too much of the asphalt in this country. I’m guessing he is one of those assholes that looks for fights, beats his wife, gets shit-assed drunk every night, doesn’t have a job, still lives with his mother, steals from others, and thinks he is God’s gift to the planet. Typical scum around here. If you lived here, you would know what I mean. No, no, no – there are lots of good people too – but unfortunately, there are LOTS of these shit-for-brains too.

Anyway, this dickwad proceeded to get in front of me and slow down.

Fine. I’ve dealt with these losers before. I just stayed behind him.

Then he pretty much slammed on his brakes. Unfortunately, the brakes on the Dnepr aren’t so good, and with the sidecar attached they are even worse. Nevertheless, I locked up the front, and stopped before hitting the fucker.  (can you tell I’m a bit pissed?)

So, what do I do?

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and…

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again.

This really pissed the guy off. Clearly.

I stayed behind him, again, as he crawled forward. After about a hundred meters, he pulled forward and into the right lane.

He lowered his window and hit the brakes again. I came up on his left side, and what did I see?

A 9 mm handgun, pointed straight at me.

Holy shit man. Holy shit.

I ducked, out of instinct, hit the brakes, and just about shat myself.

I must have said WOW! about 100 times to the inside of my helmet over the next 5 minutes.

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My exit was only about 200 meters ahead. My heart was pumping like mad. I got into the right lane and watched him pass my exit. Before he was out of sight, and as I was exiting the ring road, what did I do?

I stood on my footpegs and…

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I was hoping he didn’t come hunt me down (and I regretted doing this after it was done – but I was so angry).

It just goes to show you that there are crazy people everywhere. And that gun control doesn’t mean shit here. Supposedly very, very few people have guns – but I’m not so sure. And what do you know, I saw this article in the NY Times about gun control today.

Whatever. I learned my lesson: do not brandish the finger lightly around here. It’s just not worth it. To them, in a country where it’s relatively cheap to “get rid” of someone, and where people are craving to display their power and authority wherever, whenver possible (because they virtually had none for the previous 70 years) – it’s better to keep the finger in my thoughts rather than in their rear-view mirror.

I mentioned it to my wife as soon as I got home. She knew something was up — as I parked in our parking garage she clearly saw and heard in my voice that I was disturbed by something. She had made it home about 5 minutes before me (in the car). She said that she has heard of similar stories happening to other ex-pats.

I guess the story goes that many ex-pats (like me) feel as if they can express their discontent with other drivers on the road – e.g., “flipping the bird.”

Sure, sure… road rage happens everywhere – I know. And yes, I’ve even seen it and been privy to it in the past. But somehow (if I’m allowed to contend) I feel that there’s a greater acceptance of such displays in the U.S. (for example). I mean that, in the U.S. (or at least many parts that I’ve driven in), when someone does something really stupid or ignorant, that person may get “the finger.” I’m not saying this is a wise thing to do – but gestures like this are more common – and often result in a return (similar) gesture.

Not, per se, with a gun pointed at you.

Regardless, again… I learned my lesson. It is seriously scary looking down the barrel of a gun and into the eyes of a 20-something year old who doesn’t really appreciate life yet.

I’ve learned, again, that I’m in another country which harbors some serious “loose cannons” that have very little to lose (or gain). Life isn’t respected as much as it should be. Really.

As I rode up the elevator of my building with my beautiful wife, adorable baby, and our summer house weekly booty – I realized that I had just escaped death. That fucker could have easily just pulled the trigger, and I’d be dead – or clinging to life – in a Ukrainian hospital. And he would have simply driven off, and nobody would have ever known really what happened – but I would have widowed my wife and son. And the guy wouldn’t have cared.

So… I think I’ll be keeping all my fingers in check from now on. It’s just not worth it!

I’m looking forward to coming home to America. And after today, the sooner the better.

We were on our way to the hospital this morning, and I was sitting in the back seat of my BIL’s car. My MIL was next to me. We were having the usual chit-chat, exacerbated by the anxiety-provoking fact that we were all on our way to drop my wife off at the birthing center (tomorrow is the big day). I could have stayed there all day, but I have “important” stuff to do at the office . Anyhow, I can’t really recall how the conversation came up, but my mother-in-law asked me, straight up: Are you a Spy?

Of course, playing it up, I refused to directly answer the question. For the record, I am not a spy, in any sense of the word. Nevertheless, I got a kick out of being questioned. There’s no escaping that it is/was a reality here: there were/are spies around. These people grew up with the notion of spies trickling through everyday culture. This is in contrast, at least in my naive sense of reality, to my experiences growing up in California. People here are not exactly trusting of the government. KGB/SBU do follow people. I can only imagine what it used to actually be like, 20+ years ago in the USSR days. The government wants/wanted to know who is where, when, and why they were there. Oh yeah… and how they got there, and where they came from is also quite important, not to mention where they are planning on going. And perhaps, what are they doing, who are they meeting, which kinds of food do they like, what books do they read, who do they work for, and how many times do they wear their underwear before washing, etc…

Hmmmm… the more I thought about it, the more I could see (sorta) why she might consider the possibility that her son-in-law was actually an American Spy – in Kiev. I just had to laugh, because I’m so far from a spy that it’s not even funny. So, I chuckled while staring out of the moving car at the new “higher speed railway” that’s being built – and I made a mental note to write about me, being a spy   !

I think the closest I got to a spy (knowingly) was meeting this guy. I knew his son, Sean, in high school (yep, Beverly).

I was on the metro yesterday and I noticed a big yellow sign (advertisement) on the inside wall of the train car (actually, several different train cars). It said “earn 19.5% interest, guaranteed” at XXX bank. Hard to believe, eh?

First of all, almost nobody here puts their money into the bank. Only people that have to, for tax reasons at their job, leave/put any money into bank accounts. Nobody trusts the banks! It has happened oh so many times… you go to your bank to withdraw, and POOF! –> it is gone! Yep, the “bank” just up-and-left, WITH YOUR MONEY of course!!!

So, why would anyone deposit any money there? Well… for one, they offer 19.5% interest rate (APR). And now, in times of complete global financial turmoil, it seems even more surprising that these “institutions” can offer such a whopping return. But they advertise it. In a year you’ll be lucky if the bank is still there.

Speaking of turnover, there are tons of little banks here. No, not even as big as the independent, “Main Street” savings&loans like in the good ol’ days in America. But teeeny, tiny, questionable, unscrupulous, sleuthy, sneaky, curious, fly-by-night businesses. Did someone say laundering?

Anyhow, back to the 19.5% sticker-shock. I’ve seen these ads before, but for some reason, I never really took them “to heart.” I just ignored them. However, yesterday I couldn’t tear my gaze from the ads. I couldn’t believe they were boasting about being suck “scammers.” Sure, sure, that’s probably not fair for me to judge because I really don’t know if it is, or isn’t, a scam. Nevertheless, I’m confident in saying that I believe, to the best of my ability to understand how money works on this planet, that there is no way that little [shitty] banks can provide such a return while maintaining the utmost integrity with respect to the law. Plus, if this were really the case, and they could in fact guarantee a near 20% return on your investment in 1 year’s time, then WHO WOULDN’T give them their money? People would be flocking to these little banks from across America, Europe, Iceland, etc…

I mean… where else are you GUARANTEED a ~20% return? Stock market – no way. CD’s – not EVEN close. T-Bills – Ha! Startups – not a chance. Hmmmmm……  makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Finally, I found it incredibly amusing to see that they are offering 5-day and 7-day CD’s at the same high rate! No shit! So if you are stupid enough to give them your money, EVEN FOR JUST A WEEK, they can turn it right around and give you 0.375% on your money (19.5%/52 weeks). In other words, give them $1000 and they will give you $3.75 in one week’s time. And of course, if you leave it there for the whole year, you’ll get $195. NOT TOO BAD! (Again, hopefully the bank will be there in a year to give you YOUR money.)

Oh yeah, there’s also the problem of the bank simply NOT GIVING YOU YOUR MONEY. Yep, it happens ALL the time. You deposit money. This time let’s say it’s $100,000 into a 7-day CD at 19.5% APR. Well, in a week you should get your $100,000 back, plus $375. Well — good luck getting your money. It has happened:  you go to the bank, and tell the teller that you want to cash out your 100K. They say “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t give that back to you right now…”  Remember this?

Ha!

I think they’re all crooks. But I’m a pessimist. Inflation (check this, and this) is huge here, and they are predicting that the dollar is going to get stronger and stonger (making the grivna weaker and weaker). At some point, it may just collapse. It has happened before. And no, I seriously doubt the 43 BILLION $ that the world bank gave to Ukraine to stem the collapse of her financial system is going to do anything. I think it’s probably already in the pockets of the politicians. What a joke….

Nevertheless, the banks are quite desperate now. Especially now. They will offer anything to entice grandma to pull out her ~$1000 life savings, that is stuffed in her mattress, and deposit it into the bank. But people know, and People fear, and People simply don’t do it here. It’s just TOO RISKY to give some [questionable] bank their hard-earned, mattress-scented cash!

I think I might buy a safe, and bolt it to the concrete floor I live on.

So here’s a shocker for y’all.

Similar to the forced change to digital cable, when we had to pay more for our cable service, forced to rent a cable box, and the analog was switched off……

Two days ago there was a major change in price for the Kiev Metro system. It used to cost 50 Kopecs (about 10 U.S. cents). Once on the Metro, you can go anywhere you want for the same 10 cent price. Sure, some of you are saying “that is ridiculously cheap.” In fact, I wholeheartedly agree. But also remember, the average wage here is somewhere around $500 per month, and inflation is at like 20% or something. So every little bit counts — and also remember, this was a communistic society for 70 years; public transportation had always been provided at a very low cost (I’m told it was 5 Kopecs a ride 25 years ago).

That being said, without warning the Government raised the price of the Metro fair by 4 times. FOUR TIMES THE PRICE for every single passenger (except for invalids and old farts)! Oh, that’s right… the government is running out of money – so let’s just QUADRUPLE the price of the metro. The NEW FARE IS 2 HRIVNA.

I was stunned. We were all stunned. Our old Metro Coins (tokens) didn’t work any longer, and there were HUGE cues to buy the new tokens. Moreover, they did install new machines, but it only accepts 2 Hrivna notes!!!!  No, you can’t put in 2-1 Hrivna notes. Nor can you get 5 tokens for a 10 Hrivna note!   Ha Ha Ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaa hhhhhaaaaa hha ha ha ha ha… Nutty!!!!  Who makes those decisions ?

But what can “the people” do?

Not much.

I just can’t imagine the government trying to do that in America. No way, no how. There’s only legitimate screwing of the public in America

Crazy times.

Oh yeah… and the World Bank just gave the Ukrainian (IMHO, crooked) Government 16.5 BILLION dollars. HA! What a joke. What a f’n joke.

I thought you folks in civilized countries might like this.

Due to the financial crisis that is impacting the world right now, the banks in Ukraine told everyone that they can’t take their money out.

Yep! ALL BANKS – who have your money, have been told by the Ukrainian Ministry of Finance (or something like that) to refuse to give people their money!

HA!

pretty wacky!

It’s no wonder 90% of people keep their money in their mattresses.

Moreover, in case you didn’t know it, the Ukrainian currency has been devalued twice (I think) in the current era (once in Soviet times, once post-Soviet) –> where the “central bank” simply says “your money is now worth 1/100th of what it used to be worth: Get used to it!

The people in the know would take out HUGE LOANS right before this happened. Then, with merchandise in hand, the money would deflate, and they would pay off their loans (houses, cars, etc…) with their next meager paycheck.

What a day.

Today was one of those days that needs to be documented. Highs, lows, and everything in between.

We start off early, waking up at 7am. A bit earlier than I like, but hey, we had things to accomplish today. The first of which was to make sure my wife was, satisfied. Needless to say, the day started off quite well. I headed to the kitchen at 7:30 to have a cup of tea and a bite of tvarog (baked cheesy stuff) for breakfast.

We packed up our usual Dacha gear, and headed out on our first errand – picking up the Mom’s good (long time) friend Svetlana (Sveta). No worries… we all hop in the car after depositing our belongings into the trunk of the Russian built, silver, 2006 Lada. Bro had lent us his car, and he was bitter about deciding to do it. He left AT 7:30 to make an appointment he scheduled the day before. His girlfriend waited another half hour and hitched a ride with us to the Metro station. So, we departed our beloved apartment on the Left Bank, injected 100 Hrivna ($20) into the petrol tank, and swooshed over the Moskva Bridge into Kiev (right bank, downtown area). We dropped of Luda at Petrovka, and picked up Svetlana with time to spare. After pleasantries and introductions, we drove towards the city Center on our second errand: checking out Sveta’s daugher’s unused apartment in downtown Kiev. Actually, it’s her husband’s apartment.

The daughter and her husband (a big-wig with a cell phone company) had two kids and grew out of the 2BR apartment after 7 years. They moved up the street into a 180 sq. meter apartment (quite large 5BR I’m told). The thing is, Helen and I are needing to get the hell out of “Dodge,” so to speak. If you recall, we’ve lived in Troeschina (practically a slum) with the somewhat dysfunctional (IMHO) family for 18 months… and now that we are expecting a little guy (in March), it’s time to get real. In a nutshell, I love my mother in law, but the cultural divide is more than that — it’s an enormous chasm that would dwarf the Grand Canyon. I need out – especially because we have a little guy on the way, I want to provide my wife with a happy environment in which to prepare for and have a baby in (which is not the situation in our current environment – though I don’t mean to say it’s that bad, really — it’s just not exactly my ‘cup-o-tea’).

So we look at the apartment, and I’m in heaven. Overall, it’s a somewhat spacious 2BR with a nice layout, it’s centrally located (more or less), it’s secure, and it even has a decent Southern view. Sure, it’s not a penthouse suite or anything, but it’s fairly nice by my learned Kiev standards. It would definitely suffice for the next 9 months. Ahhhh…. the freedom…. can’t you just smell it? I can.

As George Michael would say: FREEDOM!…. FREEDOM!…. You’ve gotta give for what you take!  And trust me, we’ve given for the past 18 months; now I think it’s time to take a bit, for sanity and health. There’s even a little spot for my Dnepr (motorcycle) over the winter, where I doubt anyone will mess with her if settled under a nice cover. The apartment even has 2 bathrooms, so when the wife drops a bomb in #1, I can just pop on over to #2!

Moving on – so far so good! All is well, and we leave the apartment. We were heading off to the dacha for some mushroom hunting and relaxation. It had been ~2 years since Sveta had been to our dacha, and since that time we have added onto our little house in the country quite a bit: the kitchen, bathroom, and extra room. Plus we have heaters, a water pump, and real plumbing. O Joy!

We make it to a main junction in the heart of Kiev called Petrovka (where we dropped Luda off earlier) when BLAM… I lose power. I’ve driven enough and experienced enough mechanical failures in “my time” to know that this was serious. “SHIT” I said to myself (and the rest of the car, though only my wife knew the meaning). My wife, seated next to me, said “what? … What is it?”

I said we lost power!

We are bummed.

We coasted from the top of the overpass and stopped just beyond a petrol station. I open the hood, dreary-eyed, knowing that whatever I find there ain’t gonna be pretty. I took a peek under te car and there was no problem. So no big seals/gaskets broke, no oil or coolant spilling, no transmission dragging on the pavement. Initial inspection in the engine compartment = no problem. No loose wires, not broken bits, no grinding parts. Hmmm… I try to start the motor again. It just spins. It felt like no compression… but I knew this was impossible based on what had happened. Sure, perhaps one valve could go, but that would likely sound bad! Upon calling Andre (brother and owner), he suggested to “wiggle the spark plug wires.” Yeah. Uh-ha. Sure. Why I even wasted a nanosecond listening to his ideas, I don’t know. But that’s all I gave it – 1ns.

I immediately dismissed anything he, or anyone else, had to say. I have had numerous experiences with Russian mechanical advice. Often useless, seldom productive, and occasionally destructive. Nope, I’m not listening to them anymore unless they have a thick coat of grease already under their fingernails.  Russian men are ALWAYS willing to give their advice, and they love to tinker. Before you know it, you’ve got 5 guys there ripping apart your vehicle. No way, Jose. Not today. I knew that I knew how to diagnose/fix anything better than anyone else around – yes, even better than the guys at the gas station. What can I say – I’m extremely mechanically inclined. Facts are facts.

I lift the hood and peer to the left side of the in-line, 4-cyl, sideways mounted 2.0-liter, 8-valve, overhead-cammed motor. I see a slight space between the timing belt cover and the motor. I lift its plastic frame back a bit and peer in the crack. Lo and Behold – I see the bare gear emanating from the overhad camshaft. There’s no belt. Again, NO BELT THERE. Excellent – and – SHIT! Excellent that I figured out the problem, and Shit, what the hell are we going to do about it? It’s a Sunday and we are at a gas station. There’s no such thing as Triple-A here.

Wouldn’t you know it – the first frickin’ time I drive my brother’s car in over a month, the over-aged timing belt snaps. Why me? This shit is supposed to happen to the owner, no? He drives it like an idiot every damn day –> WHY did this happen to me? Well, I know: it happened to me because I’m the only one that could rationally diagnose and determine the true cause of the problem without taking it to a repair station and saying “I dunno, it just stopped working.” Also, we are supposed to inherit the car as soon as he buys a new car. So, I was destined to try to troubleshoot something under the hood before taking ownership. Moreover, it happened because it was MUCH better than if it had happened while my wife was using it to go to work, by herself, while crossing the Dnipro River on the Moskva Bridge. That would be extremely dangerous, to say the least.

So, I break out my Leatherman, because that’s the only tool I have with me.

Using mechanically inappropriate techniques (pliers would not be my first tool of choice here), I remove the bolts that kept the timing belt cover on the motor. Indeed, after removal, it was obvious what had happened: the belt snapped where a “tooth” was missing, and just after (or before, depending on which way the motor rotated)a point where 2 other teeth were missing. The belt was obviously old, and had not been replaced since the car) was purchased. Good Job Andre… Good Job. I appreciate that. The timing belt, in case you didn’t know Andre, is supposed to be checked at 50,000 km, and most definitely replaced by 60,000. The odometer says 67,800 km. Again, Thanks Bro!

I show the belt to Mom and Sveta, who were standing behind the car, and they touch their faces with both hands in slight horror. The exclaim “Kashmar” and “Ujas” — basically saying “The Horror” in a shocking sort of way. (Kinda nasty, but it reminds me of Marlon Brando in Apocalypse now). So as I’m telling my wife that we are going nowhere, she befriends a very kind, VERY religious man who was filling up at the petrol station.

Because of his inherent generosity (obviously), he offered to help tow us around Obolon (suburb where we were located). I was skeptical. He looked sorta like George from Seinfeld. Short, glasses, balding, and clearly a similar “way” about him. Of course, George on Seinfeld is kniving in a lot of ways, where this guy was quite pure and innocent. Nevertheless, we were to find out later that: 1) he was Jewish, turned Evangelist?; 2) he was traveling with his mother (who was in unhappily resting in the passenger seat) and whom LOOKED like George’s mother in Seinfeld!!! Holy crap; 3) he was married for 8 years but divorced, and now lives with his Mom (who, again, was in the passenger seat); and 4) He knows Obolon because he used to live there with his wife. This situation is commonplace here in Ukraine. Since everyone inherited their apartments/houses/land, all the kids just live at home and spend their meager wages on booze, cell phones, cars, and fashion. Why should they move out… Mom cooks and cleans for them!!!

So, although it was Sunday, we proceeded in the high hopes of finding an open repair establishment. The overly kind gentleman (we’ll just call him George, though his name was Oleg) opened the hatchback to his 1.6L Lada (very small car), and brandished a sparkling new tow strap – obviously he was looking for an occasion to use it. I took it on faith that everything was going to work out — and I just had to roll with it (pun intended). He hooked it to the tow loop on the front part of my Lada’s frame, and then semi-attached it to the back of his car. When the tension increased in tow, it clearly imparted inappropriate strain upon his fledgeling, wimpy, plastic, bendable bumper. Pathetic, but it worked.

Fine. He drove OK, and I did my best to keep a bit of tension on the bright yellow strap (without power brakes), trying not to slam into him. I turn my hazards on. To keep it a bit shorter than my memory recalls, I’ll leave out the the minutia of the first 3 service stations we visited — they were all were closed, and no parts were to be found either – we need a timing belt and a tensioner. However, one moment was unforgettable and worth describing: on the way to the third place, we made an illegal left turn — RIGHT in front of two cops. Needless to say, they pulled both of us over , not that I had a choice in the matter

I stayed planted in my seat, while George got out of the car and spoke to the Militzia. Of course, he stopped right in the middle of an intersection. Russians do that a lot too… they don’t care what kind of mayhem it causes. People had to keep going around us… blah, blah, blah… and of course, I couldn’t do anything about it: I was, quite literally, powerless. (I suppose I could have pushed both cars, but screw that – I already pushed my car backwards to the original gas station for the more detailed inspection). After about 5 minutes of George sitting IN the cop car, obviously requesting a ticket as opposed to offering the standard 20 Hrivna payoff that the cops always get. Remember that George is as straight-laced as it gets.

He couldn’t possibly participate in an act of corruption? Could he?

OH-NO! Not my little Georgey!

Anyway, after 5 minutes George’s mother gets out of their car and starts blabbering in Russian: translated- “He’s tooo nice. He’s always too nice. We have errands to run, and we’ve been trying to run them for over a day now — and he just keeps helping people.” And on and on. She’s pacing, obviously pissed and frustrated. I guess George truly is hopelessly helpful – in an self-defeating sorta way. I think to myself, ‘this is going downhill, and fast.’

The cop issued the ticket, George, walked quickly back to his car and said to us that everything was normal. No worries. Let’s go. Well, after the 3rd and 4th failed attempts at finding a mechanic, I was sure we were doomed. Moreover, we were driving AWAY from our house, and I was getting bitter.

On our 5th (probably not final if it hadn’t have succeeded) drove by a small, single “grease-monkey” garage entitled “Diagnostics.” George, as he had done at the past 4 stations, takes the lead and speaks with the mechanic at the garage, as he had done at the previous 3 stations. Nobody else was there needing service, so indeed, the mechanic was willing to work. No surprise there. But it was a surprise that he was open on a Sunday, and ready to help us. Even more of a surprise, he seemed to be a nice guy! He said to go down the road and buy the part we needed, and he’ll get started on the car.

Helen went with George and his Mom, and got an earful. George is an evangelist. What the means, exactly, I’m not sure (except what I read on Wikipedia). Anyhow, he passed on some pamphlets outlining his religious thoughts – attempting to persuade my wife into becoming a member of his church. Needless to say, he had no idea that my wife was both a psychologist and an athiest. She had some fun toying with his brain – but that’s for her to tell you about.

I kept an eye on the mechanic (Igor) as he prepared the vehicle for timing belt transplant. I attempted to help whenever I could: I held the light over the engine cavity, I joked in my limited Russian, and a told him how much I appreciated the naked women on the walls. Before too long, though it took a solid 20 minutes, Helen, George, and Mom returned to the shop. All the while Mom and Sveta were gabbing out on the sidewalk… not worrying about a thing (now that we got towed to an open service station).

Helen handed me the belt and tensioner (combined $23), and I placed it under the hood (ready for action) after peering into the box. Another 15 minutes pass, and the mechanic tells me to try to start the motor. OK. Nothing happens. Ooops, he forgot to put on the timing gear. He attaches that after chuckling, and it starts normally! Wooo-hooo! He finished that job, and also fixed the emergency brake, which was obviously non-functional when the car nearly rolled off the rack in the shop.

In the end, Igor overcharged us. Why… because I’m a Yank! That’s why. The bastard. But hey, can you blame him? If I had a [presumably rich] American come into my garage needing some serious repair work, I’d probably try to charge him a bunch too! It was only $40 for an hour of labor… but it should have been half that much. But I didn’t care. He was a nice guy, quite friendly, and good at what he does. Plus, he let me watch everything he did — and I liked that!

I also liked his wallpaper.

Thus, 2-3 hours late, we head off to our dacha. All was going well, until we got to approximately 5 km from our house. We saw the police… again. I’ve seen them on numerous occasions, but I’ve never been stopped while driving. As luck would have it, the officer waved his black and white striped baton at me and my car.

“Shit,” I exclaimed.

My wife, in the passenger seat, said “what?”

I said “he’s pulling us over.”

She said, out loud, “KEEP GOING!”

Ha! Yeah right. I’m gonna just keep driving even though a Russian cop told me to pull over! I didn’t give that another instant of thought, and I quickly pulled over onto the shoulder. The cop meandered over to the car and leaned over. Helen began conversing with him. In a nutshell, he pulled us over because the hood of the car had a large scrape on it. (This happened a month or two ago when a truck backed up onto the front of Andre’s car). Supposedly the police are obligated to pull over any car with damage to the front of the vehicle, in order to insure that a person was not involved in the incident. So, he did. He looked at the registration, and that was fine. Interestingly, the vehicle’s registration is a card (like a license) that is kept in one’s wallet — and you have to remember to transfer this when lending your car to someone. Of course we always remember, and we had the registration. The officer also asked to see Helen’s passport, because her name is on the registration as a licensed operator. That being said, all she has to do is be IN the vehicle, and anyone can drive (like me, her husband).

Following the passport inquiry, he asked for my license. Reluctantly, but without hesitation, I handed him my California driver’s license. He sort of chuckled and said “oh, Americanski?” I said “da.” He said “Kalifornieye,” and I again said “Da.” He followed by saying “ah, Zwartzenegger… Ya znayoo Zwartzenegger” (I know Schwartzenegger).

At that point, I knew he was cool.

He chatted a bit more in Russian, looked at my license again, and returned the documents. We left as soon as he walked beyond the rear bumper — and headed straight for our dacha, as quickly as possible.

So, though there was potential for further drama, we arrived at our dacha in semi-normal fashion. We immediately proceeded to eat a big lunch (we were all starving) – including dessert and tea (of course). Within 5 minutes of finishing lunch, Helen and I were off to do some mushroom hunting. To keep it brief, we got a bunch of mushrooms (2-3 kg). Tonight I made a super-rich cream sauce a-la my brother’s (the chef’s) recommendations, which was poured over some perfectly cooked pasta – al dente. Yummy!

HOT DAMN!

It turned out soooooooo tasty with those wild mushrooms.

Hold on, I skipped a bit.

While mushroom hunting we had a couple of encounters… with snakes. Damn. I saw one and backed up. I turned my head, and I was maybe 1 foot from a second snake. Sure, these were only a couple of feet long — but just the sight of a snake sends shivers up my spine. My hairs stood on end, and I sped off. It took a few minutes for the “willies” to ware off. Ugh… I hate snakes.

Toward the end of the hunt, Helen encountered one. Unfortunately, she STRADDLED the snake without even noticing it!!! She had her eyes set on a mushroom. But when she kneeled down, she heard a “hiss.” Then again, another “hissssssssss.” She didn’t know what the hell it was… and then she saw it — right under her crotch! She screamed, shrieked, jumped, yelled, and hollered all at the same time. It was the scariest sound I’ve ever heard come out of her lungs. After that she was shaking with fright. Her hairs were standing up, and any sensation was just too creepy to deal with. No, it wasn’t poisonous, but that doesn’t take away from the fear instilled by seeing a snake between your legs (other than my snake).

Whew!

So we hunted for the mushrooms for nearly 4 hours, right behind our house in the “local” forest. We are really beginning to learn the local environment, and starting to learn where the “good patches” of mushrooms grow. We returned to home around 6pm, just in time to pack up and head out. We put our stash into the car, I adjusted the headlights (which had been needed since I remember), and headed home.

I expected a bit of traffic, as always, on a Sunday night heading back to Kiev. However, this was horrible. It’s a two lane road (one lane in each direction). But of course, that doesn’t stop the Russians. Ohhhhh Nooooo. A High percentage of Russians think they deserve to do whatever they want. They think that putting on their flashers and driving in the opposing traffic’s lane gives them a “green light” to drive past EVERYONE that is waiting patiently for the traffic to subside.

No shit. It’s ridiculous.

THESE PEOPLE HAVE A SCREW LOOSE!

I WANTED TO STRANGLE THEIR F*CKING NECKS.

At one point, there were 4 cars wide… all heading towards a 2-lane dam crossing, one lane in each direction. Why 4 lanes wide, you ask? Well, my lane and the opposite direction = 2 lanes. But then there were cars PASSING ME ON BOTH SHOULDERS!!!

ARE YOU KIDDING? Am I in the Twilight Zone? Aren’t we all trying to go the same way?

WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? DIPLOMATS? DIGNITARIES? PRESIDENTS? HONORARY ASSHOLES? Thankfully it’s only about 5% of the people that think they are privileged — otherwise it would be a total dogpile.

That being said, it took us over an hour to go about 2 miles (probably less). After a helluva day, that was painfu. I had to turn on my iPod when the persistent Russian babbling from the back seat (Mom and Sveta) came paralyzingly close to sending me over the edge.

Needless to say, we eventually made it across the damn, and proceeded to drop of Sveta in Kiev. We headed home, arriving safe and sound.

It was a long day, but the mushrooms made it worth it. Then again, I hate it when I can feel hairs turning from brown to gray on my head — for no good reason.

Hell of a long post today… time for bed.

Peace!

To all those that have lost their lives to the cold hands of tyrannical men… everywhere

Let us reflect – consider the loss, the pain, the sorrow that ensued following that September day 7 years ago. Please, let’s consider what brought us to that point in our history, and how we can try to make the world a more peaceful place, for ALL mankind, in our wholly uncertain future.

* * * * *

Today’s post is dedicated to those that lost their lives on September 11, 2001.

Moreover, today is also dedicated to those people that have the COURAGE to make the world a better place by:

eliminating hatred

extinguishing acts of war

fostering love in community

respecting all peoples and their origins

contributing to feelings of brotherhood throughout humanity

and acknowledging the validity of different belief systems, religions, and cultures

* * * * *

– because in relative terms, life is so very very short,

and we are all just fibers of the same human fabric –

* * * * *

PEACE

I flew into Kiev a couple of days ago. We took an unusual approach, and flew right over Kiev. Our home is not visible in the picture (more to the left), but this is a picture taken when the plane was almost exactly over downtown, looking south, along with the flow of the great Dnepr River.

Anyhow, this was the first time I had seen a U.S. Air Force airplane at Kiev Airport. In fact, after we disembarked from our plane and boarded the shuttle bus from the tarmac to the terminal, I saw a second US plane. The one in front was a C17 transport, I think. I can only guess what physically rolled out of it in order to protect Dick.

Ugh…

That’s right. USA Vice-President Dickhead Cheney was visiting (I was to find out later). OK, fine, I’ll just spit it out:  I cannot stand the current US Administration — Bush, Cheney, Karl Rove (though he’s not officially a member), and all of the other F*ckers. They are evil, greedy, etc ….  the list goes on and on, and I’m sure I don’t need to repeat it here. Whew… glad I got that off my chest.
Anyway, I’m guessing that the plane behind the C-17 was Cheney’s private US Government jet (Air Farce 2, or something like that).

Look, I love being an American, and I never shy away from representing the USA. I’m proud of it. But damn… I surely didn’t vote these assholes into office. There must be a lot of stupid Americans out there. Or, oh yeah, somebody made (is making) a lot of money by rigging the electronic voting machines. Surprised? Don’t be.
When I arrived I obviously knew something was going on, but I had no idea what. I hadn’t heard that Dick (or any other high ranking USA official) would be visiting the Ukraine. Not that it’s all THAT unusual, but the airport was truly a mess when we tried to physically exit… cars everywhere, and we had to practically walk out off the airport grounds to get picked up (they wouldn’t let Andre into the roundabout to pick us up). Anyhow, on the drive away from the airport there were militzia everywhere: military guys in grey/black camouflage, hats, walkie-talkies, etc… (I didn’t see them with guns) lining the ~10 mile road into Kiev. There was at least one man every 500 meteres on each side of the road. Seriously. Overboard.

Here’s the pic:

That’s all. Just was incredibly surprised that we parked our Lufthansa jet right next to an American transport jet and “Air Force 2.”
The next day Cheney was in Italy. Putz.

So yeah, I’m stuck in the cold war mentality. Clearly. Because I got chills up my spine when I saw these fighter jets flying overhead, outside our Kiev home.

What happened was…

I’m doing some work on my computer, sitting in my well-broken in chair, and I hear a jet echoing through the open balcony windows. It was a fairly familiar sound … you know, something along the lines of a commercial Airbus or Boeing that flies people all over the world, every day of the year. What’s strange about it is that there really isn’t all that much air traffic (plenty of ground traffic) in Ukraine, and so it’s quite infrequent (as opposed to the USA, where it occurs every few minutes) that we even see any kind of aircraft in the skies above.

That reminds me though, I captured this sweet pic of a helicopter flying around our dacha:

Back to my bomber story… This time, however, I heard the big jet approach quite quickly. It was close, and low. I’m not sure how close, but it was very close. It was unusually loud, and (presumably) immediately overhead. I couldn’t see it, but there was a GIGANTIC and FOCUSED shadow on the apartment building across the street — so I know it was low and close. “Whatever,” I uttered to myself — and I went back to my laptop. Even if I ran outside, it wouldn’t be fast enough to catch a glimpse of it. Foreshadowing my own story, I think it could have been this beast. An An-124 Transport.

The next think I know, I see 4 fighter jets flying in formation. These were significantly higher (I think), but in retrospect, perhaps they were at the same altitude, and serving as an escort. But then, another set of 4 fighters. They were close enough, and clear enough, that I recognized the MiG fighters from my Cold War experiences. This definitely was unusual.

And then again… 2 more fighters. This time, I whipped out my camera and snapped a pic of one of them:

After some detective work, I realized that, thankfully, these birds had the markings of Ukrainian Air Force jets. I think you’ll agree. Furthermore, they aren’t MiGs, they are Su-27′s. Well, at least the latter 2 jets were Su-27′s — I think some of the others may have been true MiGs. That my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.

The Russians don’t seem to be extending their Georgian campaign into Ukraine… YET!!!! So, no reason to panic, Mom!

I saw some kids buying cigarettes and beer yesterday. I swear, they couldn’t have been more than 15 years old – tops. There’s no reluctance by any salesperson to sell to “minors.” But then again, I’m not sure if there even is such a thing as a “minor.”

I asked my wife, and she said “well yeah, of course; it’s 16.” “Oh,” I replied.

There has’nt been a single thing I’ve seen thus far (over a year) to suggest that there would be a legal age for anything. Especially if you have cash in hand.

Anyhow, these two freshly-crowned teenagers were just like any other kids walking to the corner store to buy a jawbreaker, bubble gum, soda, or a bag of Doritos. But in this case, they each walked away from the corner stand with a liter of beer in their grips. As they walked towards the park, they twisted off the plastic caps and began pickling their livers – at the ripe old age of 15. It’s kind of sad.

Seriously…. That’s 2 for 2. Two days in a row, right out in front of my apartment building, there were 2 dumb-ass accidents.

It’s a very typical 3 second incident. 1) We hear cars accellerating more than they should be. 2) We hear tires screeching for about 1 second (maybe even a horn). 3) We hear impact (“BLAM”). 4) We hear Russian swearing, from one driver to the other. 5) We subsequently hear horns honking, because the traffic backs up.

Crazy drivers are abound. Actually, STUPID drivers are abound. I have been wondering why they all suck so bad. I’ve come to realize that it’s because they aren’t used to driving… historically. ONLY the very fortunate few (hard working with a well-paying job) had vehicles prior to dissolution of the USSR. So, unlike in America, there have NOT been generations of car drivers –> and thus, there’s little to no comprehension of driving etiquette, skidding, speeding, inherent dangers, etc… which is normally passed on from one driving generation to the next. Moreover, because up and coming drivers in the States grow up in conditions where driving is SANE, they themselves become more sane drivers when they obtain their driver’s licenses.

ALL* OF THE UKRAINIAN DRIVERS ARE BASICALLY “NEW” TO THE SPORT. Note the asterisk next to “ALL.” The “Old-Timers” driving the 1970′s Lada’s and Volga’s are generally excellent, courteous, and aware road companions. Those older drivers have been behind the wheel a while; they know where they are going, they know what they are doing, and they know how to get there without killing anyone.

Now I don’t necessarily declare myself an expert driver, but I’ve been pushing the pedal for 23 (official) years now… with no accidents (one crash on the motorcycle). Not only that, but I’ve spent the last 10 years hanging onto handlebars on 3 continents — which had made me quite aware of all kinds of drivers. So for those reasons and others, I feel like I’m a pretty good judge.

To give you an idea… The Ukrainian (and Russian) drivers park wherever they damn well please. Totally annoying. They drive wherever they damn well please, too. The end of pavement does not mean the end of the road. Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. Drivers turn whenever and whenever they damn well please. They STOP their vehicles wherever they please — like on a highway, or on a bridge — just to have a look over the edge. Seriously. Totally F’n retarded. They drive into oncoming traffic ROUTINELY. They drive on the wrong side of the road, and UP OFFRAMPS. They drive on sidewalks. They drive on train tracks. I’m not kidding. They pass on blind curves. They drive within inches of each other. They think a 0.07 second gap is plenty. They split lanes with full-size cars. They think rain enhances traction. They don’t think.

Furthermore, the bigger or more expensive car you have, the more rights you supposedly have. The people driving Land-Rovers, Mercedes, and BMW’s think they are absolutely privileged, and everyone should move out of their way, as if parting of the Red Sea. Really… it moves down the ranks from there. If you have money, you own the road. Why, you may ask? Because if you hit somebody (or even if they hit you), and they have a lot of money or a beautiful car — you could very well give up your entire year’s salary just to fix their bumper. So… basically it means to get out of their way.

Oh, and then there’s the young punks. They think of themselves as invincible — but really are careless, reckless, loony, stupid, self-absorbed, hot-shot, ignorant, retarded, foolish, naive, moronic drivers, and without question –> should not be allowed to handle such a heavy piece of machinery. But once again, if you have money, you can buy a license, so what does it matter? Moreover, if you get stopped by a cop, you can buy yourself out of the ticket. So… who cares???

Perhaps even more stupidly, NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY (perhaps 5% at best) of people wear their seat belts. No kidding. They think that holding onto the steering wheel will prevent them from flying through the windshield. Ha!!!! They need to see Red Asphalt.

Oh yeah… and you have the punks who rev, burnout, spinout, and then race their cars up and down the city streets and parking lots at 3 in the morning. Back and forth… for hours until the sun rises. You’d think the cops might care, might come by and break it up – but no. Fair warning to pedestrians… do not walk at night wearing dark clothing.

For what it’s worth, the bus, trolley, and marshrutka drivers are generally quite good. The obey most laws, and drive relatively sanely. Relatively. Taxicabs on the other hand are a total hit or miss. I’ve been in a couple of taxis where, I swear to God, I thought there was a really good chance I may not make it home in one piece. So recklessly stupid, I cannot even begin to explain. It pains me just to reflect upon those times — I wish I could strangle those assholes — they don’t deserve to accept peoples lives into their own hands. But hey, all you have to do is put a taxi light on top of your car, and you are a legitimate cab. Ha!

Alrighty… almost time for bed. Happy 4th of July!

Oh Joy,

I woke up this morning around 6am for some strange reason. Especially strange because I was helping my wife with a report until almost 3am.

I looked at the clock – and it was off. I looked at my cable box – and it was off. Needless to say, all the electricity was off. Of course, nobody knew this was going to happen.

Supposedly there was a note put on the door, but we never saw it. Anyhow, so today was without warm water and electricity. I decided I could either read, or, better yet, go for a little motorcycle ride.

I went to the Dnepr store (factory) and picked up a few parts on the way to picking up my wife at work. Pretty cool… Though my Russian is only fair, at BEST, I felt comfortable enough going into the shop and purchasing a few spare parts for the MT-11. I said hello to the same old factory worker that we saw the previous time we were there. He nodded and said zdrastya back. Pretty cool. and I obviously parked next to a sitting area for the “old guys.” One of them came up to me and asked me something (in Russian) that I didn’t understand — but I told him that I was sorry, and that I only spoke a little bit of Russian. He understood, and did not pursue his original line of thought — though I think it had to do with me parking so close to where they were sitting, but I could be totally wrong. Who knows.

Anyhow, so I go into the store, and wait a couple of minutes and get helped. The guy was nice enough, and patient with me. I think it helps to at least try to speak Russian. So after a few minutes and several times pointing at parts in the MT-16 manual (basically the same as the MT-11, but the MT-16 is dual-rear-wheel-drive), the manager comes out and drops a few parts on the bench in front of me. Obviously he recognized me, though I didn’t see him when I walked into the store. We had previously discussed a couple of semi-rare parts that I needed, and he delivered!!! I was so stoked! Not only that, but he gave one of them to me for free (a “present”). Very cool.

The whole bill came to less than $7 USD. I got two throttle cables, a seat lock, a drain plug with washer O-ring, and an oil pan gasket. Man — I like this place.

We made it home by 4:30pm or so, and the power was still off. We opened the refrigerator for the first time and quickly pulled out our lunch/dinner: cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, mustard, hot-smoked sea perch, and some chicken, with some black bread of course.

Right at the end of our meal, BOING! The electricity came back on. Woo-hoo! Time to post

I met a dead man today (actually, yesterday).

Well, he’s not dead yet, but judging by the way he drives, it’s truly only a matter of time (as they say). I already feel sooo sorry for the family(ies) of the other victims… hopefully there won’t be any others hurt when this Russian idiot takes his own life from behind the wheel.

Anyhow, I am looking at getting a motorcycle for the Spring, Summer, Fall seasons (definitely not for winter!). In Ukraine (and Russia) there are two primary Soviet motorcycles: Dnepr and Ural. Dnepr after the Dnepr (Dnipro) River, and Ural after the Western Ukraine Mountains. Using the internet to provide some needed purchasing advice, we came upon a couple of phone numbers. The first call was made to the aforementioned individual idiot – a local Dnepr dealer/seller/repairman/businessman/financier. He said he would pick us up at the Metro station (yesterday), and we obliged.

He’s a nice guy – don’t get me wrong. Also, I’ve met lots of Russian (or Ukrainian) drivers that exhibit much the same style of irreverent, thoughtless, macho, immortal driving. So it ain’t like he’s a total nutcase — there are many a bad drivers here. Nevertheless, this guy “took the cake” so far with respect to my Ukrainian driving experiences. Well… perhaps with one exception… when I TRULY thought I might die at the hands (and feet) of a raging lunatic cab driver, sometime around 6 months ago…

So – we got into his relatively new gray Ford minivan after shaking hands and saying zdrastvoutya. We (my wife and I) buckled up, as usual, and he did not, which was also quite typical. Incidentally, only about ~2% of Ukrainians/Russians wear seat belts — it’s phenomenal how retarded these people are, especially given how they drive. After introductory formalities, we merge into the nearest lane and he begins accelerating down the motorway… and he doesn’t stop. Well, he didn’t stop until he HAD to hit the brakes because of the traffic jam. In other words, there was NO COASTING involved in this man’s driving: it was either on the gas or on the brake. “Another bloody genius” I whisper into my wife’s ear, who was thankfully buckled into the front passenger seat – she just nodded. I can deal with “fast driving” as long as it doesn’t involve excessive danger. But what occurred next was excessive.

[Unfortunately I've become a bit numb (accustomed) to such stupidity here; and because I don't want to just sit in my house all the time, I've had to simply "grin and bear it," so to speak. I've accepted that living here has inherently put me at a higher risk of dying -- ... I've accepted taking more risks as part of the experience. (And hence, without sounding masochistic, I get a few crazy things to write about every so often).]

So this guy, let’s just call him Uri, because he made me nearly piss my pants. He sees that there is a massive traffic jam in front of us. Like quite a few other drivers (and something which is the quite common here), he decides to leave the sanctuary of our 3 lanes of traffic, hop the fast lane’s left curb, and head’s onto the grass/dirt median. The median only fits one lane of cars and has a set of worn tire tracks from previous usage. So the “median” traffic moves along quite nicely for about a minute; and then stops.

You can see, if you look carefully, that we are apparently driving on grass… and you can’t see the traffic jam on our right hand side.

Clearly agitated, Uri begins looking around. I ask myself ‘what in the f#*% he looking at/for?’ Then I see a car out of the left hand corner of my left eye dart across the ONCOMING 3 lanes of traffic (to the left, and which is moving at FULL speed), and onto the far side shoulder of the highway, road, super speedway — whatever you wish to call it. I point to the car (not visible in the pic) after catching my wife’s attention by a quick tap on the shoulder, and say out loud “what an idiot!”

It’s kinda funny how you never quite know if a stranger you meet here (in Kiev) speaks English or not. We often and sometimes precariously “test the waters” in public places. It some way, I wanted the guy to hear me say idiot. Idiot is basically the same in Russian — not sure if this moron made the connection.
To move on… lo and behold, I see a couple of other cars doing it. And Uri, not surprisingly (based on his looking around and his clear willingness to risk our lives in addition to his own by his Mario Andretti moves as we left the Metro station) waits for a ~4 second gap and darts in front of the oncoming traffic, a split second after dropping the vehicle off the grass/dirt/curb. Thank God the engine didn’t die, or we might have too. I began to wonder about my own sensibility — because deep down I “knew better” than to just get into a stranger’s car. After all, I’ve lived here for 9 months already.

Shit man… not even the Argentinian drivers are this stupid.

So the oncoming traffic misses us by about 1.5 seconds, and we begin driving down the left shoulder in the WRONG DIRECTION. I totally feel like a salmon swimming upstream, passing a well known bear habitat. Something is just not right about this situation.

Anyway, Uri obviously didn’t care. In fact, I may have even encouraged the daring behavior by breaking out my camera and filming it. Pictures tell a thousand words… and videos tell a million. Check it.

Download Dumb-ass, driving wrong way! What am I doing in this car???
So about 1 minute down the road, and after about 6 tractor-trailers pass 5 feet from the right side of the car, we slow to a stop, wait for a break in the traffic, and speed back onto our side of the road at a gap in the median. Holy crap.

From that point on, I didn’t think he could scare me. But I was wrong. We hit the next major road and hung a right. He gunned that Ford like the little kid on the back of the Black Stallion. I began to truly question his capacity to comprehend traction, weight, and momentum when we were doing 160 km/hr in a 60 km/hr zone. No kidding. Total Fricking Idiot. Or am I the idiot who willfully got into this ass’s car? I think the max speed we hit was only 180 km/hr (a mere ~112 mph — in a Ford minivan). For Crissakes.

So we arrive 20 kilometers away in about 8 minutes, and had a look around his shop. Kinda cool. In fact, very cool. The story goes that when Dnepr was in financial troubles quite a few years ago, this genius of a driver ended up with a truckload (not sure how many, exactly) of motorcycles and parts. Most are Dnepr MT-11′s. These are old, heavy, 800cc, motorcycles with sidecars. Several were painted differently: most were gunmetal gray, snow camouflage, red, or black.

I got to test ride the Dnepr-14 (relatively nice), after they put the sidecar on. Meanwhile, I perused the shop, looking at the different bikes. Very fun for a motorcycle enthusiast.

Check out all the motors!!!

So, anyway, they finally got the sidecar attached, and a spare battery put in (in the sidecar). We wheeled it outside into the sun, and fired her up. She has a Russian flag on it, and it says Police on the front. It was used in a movie!

So, I took her for a ride. My first Russian (bike).

Download Dnepr MT-14.

Unfortunately, this one is for only one rider, and one passenger in the sidecar. Moreover, the sidecar is kinda small… and there really wouldn’t be much room for luggage, berries, mushrooms, milk, etc…

The MT-11 was recommended for comfort. Plus, if we needed to, we could get three people on board. These guys also said that they could customize the motorcycle to suit any needs… and it could be painted any color (scheme) we want.

Here’s a sideview of the MT-14. Oh, and the nutbag driver talking to my wife.

So, it was cool, and we may very well go back. We also saw an ad about an MT-9 that had been stored for a while by an older gentlemen: a true motorcycle enthusiast, so we were told. He had passed away a couple years prior, and the owner of the garage where it was being stored needed the space for something else.

We went the next day to have a look. Again, we made an appointment and the [presumed] grandson, who’s also a taxi driver, picked us up at a never-before-been-to Metro station out West.

The MT-9 was still covered when we arrived. Supposedly some mechanic got it started in a jiffy about a month ago. I guess it has been sitting there since – with limited (or no) interested buyers surfacing around Kiev. She’s blue, and shows quite a bit more age. Well, that’s not too hard to do because the bikes we saw the day before were brand new (mileage-wise).

So we uncovered her and attached a new battery. It took about 15 minutes to clean her off, get the junk out of the sidecar, splice some wires, juice up the carburetors, and do the initial check-up diagnostics.

We kicked, and kicked, and kicked (no starter motor – needless to say).

We pushed, and pushed — twice about 100 yards each. At the very end of the second run, I heard just a little bit of a spark fire. Encouraging. But from this experience, I could tell that sonny-boy had NO IDEA how to ride a bike, let alone start one.

Download Dnepr MT-9.
So I asked if I could give it a try, while we push it again. It pretty quickly fired up on one cylinder in 3rd gear, and I gripped the clutch and turned the throttle. She was firing on all 1 cylinder. I kept riding, andafter about 30 yards the second cylinder kicked in. Ahhh — much better. I turned the corner, returned to our starting place and she continued to warm up. In fact, she was idling higher, and higher, and higher.

I shut her off, as I didn’t really want to mess with any idle settings. What do you know… we couldn’t kick start her, even after she was running for a few minutes. Weird. Then again, she is a bit funky.

So, we closed her up again, and said that we might be interested… but she would have to be running. This, I think, was obvious. The guy selling it was obviously disappointed as well. He was somewhat embarrassed for it not running properly.

He said he knew a mechanic. That seriously scares me. But the truth is, I don’t want to buy a Russian motorcycle that doesn’t work… so we told him that we can talk more about it after it runs. He wants $700 USD. We may offer him 4 or 5 hundred.

Time for bed… I’ll keep you informed as to what we end up getting… stay tuned.

A bit of an extreme title, I admit. But in lots of ways it is true. So many people here are “forced” into a life of corruption, bribery, scams, theft, extortion, illegality, etc. If you can’t put food on the table, what would you do? Starve??? So, a bit of money-taking from people that have more can hardly be considered a crime, right Robin Hood?

The average wage is so low, for the majority of jobs, that if you don’t get money on the side somehow, you can’t pay the bills. OK, fine… that may be a slight exaggeration, but without a doubt, it is significantly harder to pay the bills and have an average quality of life. And with Western culture creeping into spreading throughout the country (and the region), like a virus without an antibody to stop it, the desire to be rich and famous and be one of the “have’s” vs. the “have-not’s” is palpable. Everybody wants. And everyone wants cool stuff.

In my opinion it’s impossible for Westerners that haven’t been here to imagine what it’s like. But try. Try to imagine that you have [forever] been cut off from the majority of progressive worldly influences (unless the USSR government wanted to expose the people to them, which were apparently few and far between) — all until 15 years ago. At that time, the flood gates opened, so to speak. And now that bereft freedom is like a tidal wave spilling over the terrain, which carried a consumerism virus. The problem is that nobody has any money, or any equity for that matter.

People want more than they can have. Sure, greed is an age-old emotion. In the West, you can be legally greedy! If you can stick to the law of the land, and finesse a sweet life within the confines of democracy, then more power to you. Law and order serve as foundations for such fortunes and freedoms. But in Ukraine, at least from my perspective in the capital (Kiev / Kyiv), even the public officials are obviously on the take. From what I gather, they make so little that it’s nearly impossible to have a reasonable lifestyle if they don’t take from others. I suppose it similar in lots of 2nd and 3rd world countries — but for me, living here, it is a very new experience, and it makes me truly fear the law.
So, let me get to my point.

I have a couple of examples to share. And God, I really hope the Polizia don’t figure out who I am. The first example, and the trigger that elicited this post occurred to my brother in law (BIL). BIL got pulled over by the police last week. Not sure what he did — I think it was just a “routine stop.” Let me explain…

Usually the police park their cars at known, consistent, pre-determined places on roads. After all, why should they go chasing people around in their beat up Lada’s? Why not let the “new rich” people come to them? This being said, I’m not sure why the pulled BIL over; he doesn’t have that nice of a car. So… the cops sit in their cars, or the little “lifeguard” stations that they erect — and they wait. Funnily enough, the cops have these “checkpoints” set up at “funnel” locations. Points on major thoroughfares that people are forced to drive through. Ex: dams, bridges, highways, major intersections, etc… So they wave you over, and you stop. The inspect your papers. They run your name on their computer. If you did something bad in your past – you are in trouble. If there was something wrong with your car – you are in trouble. If you’ve done nothing wrong, and your car is in working condition – you could still be in trouble. You have a significantly higher chance of getting pulled over if the policemen are standing next to the road and if nobody is obviously parked on the road’s shoulder. That means the previous car just left, and that they are ready to make a few more bucks. You know… “Mama needs another purse…” Thus, they brandish white and red barber-pole like batons, and wave in the direction of the shoulder as you approach when they want you to pull over. Of course, the speed limit is often 25km/hr just before a patrol station, so they can get a good look at you.

Who? Who do they prefer pull over, you ask? Generally anyone in a BMW, Mercedes, Hummer, Porsche, anything shiny, anything washed, anything new, anything. But the more money a person appears to have (because everyone with money damn well shows it by buying a shiny new car), the more likely they are to have a spare $20, $50, or $100 in their wallet. Who needs a reason? They have a baton and a radio! And God knows you would give them almost anything so they don’t concoct some reason to take you to the station — as you might not be heard from for a week. I’m afraid that when they pull me over, they’ll figure out I’m American, and feel as if they just hit jackpot, or found a golden ticket in “Willy Wonka Bar.”

So, back to BIL. When BIL had his documents returned to him by the police, one thing was missing. His car registration. In the nervous haze that follows the squeeze of adrenal glands, he did not check his documents and fled the “crime” scene as quickly as he could. About two days later, BIL started receiving phone calls from an un-named, non-telephone-number-leaving individual. Eventually the call came through while BIL was home, and the anonymous caller pronounced ownership of BIL’s car registration. What do you know — surprise, surprise, surprise, Gomer. The person wanted cash, and wanted to meet tomorrow in a discreet place, at night.

BIL, knowing that the bureaucratic red-tape involved in legally replacing one’s car registration is as thick as a Mississippi swamp, makes a reasonable demand. The price: $500 Hrivna ($100 USD). Obviously it’s a scam. The cops steal the rego (Aussie for registration), they give it to a couple of 18 y.o. kids (either cops themselves or perhaps their sons), the kids do the transaction in the dark in a non-descript place, and they split the cash with their fathers (I mean cops). Perfect little game by the Authorities – I’m sure it happens all the time.

So, how can you feel safe when the Cops are this corrupt?

God forbid you get caught drunk driving… it could cost like $500 USD on the spot — or they take you to the Station. They don’t want to take you to the station, they just want money. So, the take home message is that if you are going to drink and drive, have more cash with you. Oh, and supposedly in the new year the offense for drunk driving doubled — so the cops get to demand more. So drive a crappy car and look like you got no money. And drive the speed limit. And if they pull you over, have a bit of spare cash, and check your documents before you leave the scene.

The second example happened to my wife. We were planning on going to (I’ll just tell you it’s a ‘nearby country’ so as to not incriminate anyone) for a short holiday. No problem for me, holding a US passport, but for her (Ukrainian passport) it is a different story.

You have two options, go to the embassy and apply for a visa, or go through a travel agency who can process everything for you (for a price). We decided to go straight to the embassy, because we had already booked our hotel and airfare, etc… and didn’t need the whole shebang with the travel agent. When arriving, she stood in a queue. After about an hour, she found out that visas are processed by number, and by waiting in the line, you get assigned a number. The approximated that there was about a 2 week waiting period until your number will get called. You are required to show up at 7am each day to “check in” to make sure you stay in the queue. At this point, it would have taken about 2-3 WEEKS. Sure, that might be fine for someone who doesn’t have a job, and lives nearby… but for everyone else that’s a serious pain in the ass. That being said, there was a huge line of people waiting already.
The alternative: My wife asked the lady that doled out the queue numbers if there was any other way (other than travel agents, who have their own scams going on). Of course there was. This country runs on bribery. She was told directly that she could go speak with that “gentleman over there.” Typical sort: big, Russian looking dude wearing a long black leather coat, smoking a cigarette. Sketchy.

She walked over and said “I heard you can make things happen a little faster around here.” He replied, “What do you need done?” She said “A tourist visa.” He said it would cost 250 Hrivna ($50 USD), and he promised everything would be “taken care of.” Although she had all the paperwork already filled out, the leathered individual insisted that he fill out the paperwork at a nearby cafe. So, they went, and he copied the information onto new forms, and after the monetary exchange, instructed my wife to go around to the back of the embassy. Tell the guard that “X” sent you, and he should let you in. She inquired as to how he could assure her of this, and he said “that’s not my problem.”

So, she followed his instructions and went to see the guard around back. He let her in, she saw the relevant officer inside the embassy, and within 5 minutes she was out of there… and she should receive her passport in the mail within 10 days. Sure enough, it showed up with a shiny new visa.

The point is that most people can’t afford to pay 250 Hrivna to get a tourist visa. But for those that can, standing in a line for 2 weeks is absurd. And, they know that. It’s a scam! Welcome to the developing world.
I have to say, you learn a lot from living in another culture.