A Strange Saturday

Dear family, friends and fearless readers,

I hope this gray, frozen, snowy day finds you well fed, warm and in good spirits.  As a spell of remarkable luck, the hot water in my shower came back this morning.  It wasn’t as hot as usual, but it was warm enough and I took advantage of the opportunity.  I’m sure Zhmerynka appreciates the hopefully permanent reprieve from my musk.

A week or so ago I wrote an entry entitled: “My Best Laid Plans.”  The post was a short bit about my future plans and intentions.  The literati among us will recognize the title.  This title comes from an old Scottish poem, the same poem from which Steinbeck took the name of his seminal work Of Mice and Men (not that I’m comparing my blog post to a book in the canon of American Literature).  The more astute among us will know how this line ends:  “the best-laid plans of mice and men / often go awry.”  And, to be honest, I’d be a naïve Peter if I had expected the plans to come to fruition as intended.  Luckily, I wasn’t disappointed when that first spanner was thrown into my gears.

After lengthy searches online, and considerations as to which train would best suit our timetable, I got frustrated not being able to find game time, and ticket prices for the Ukraine – Romania rugby game.  The only thing listed online was that the game would be held in Odessa.  So, after a final look online I called the Ukrainian Rugby Federation.  The girl on the other end of the line was surprisingly helpful (especially considering the fact that customer service doesn’t really exist here).  She told me the game would start at 2:00 pm.  Reasonable enough, I though.  She told me admission was free.  I was astonished, but in a good way.  Then, right before disconnecting the call I confirmed the venue:  “Very good, so 2:00 on Saturday, Spartak Stadium in Odessa?”  Response:  “No, no.  2:00 pm Saturday, Spartak Stadium, Kyiv.  Fortunately, my train tickets to Odessa had not yet been purchased.

Admittedly disappointed, I gathered my resolve for a trip to Kyiv.  Other than the rugby, I was less than enthused about going back to Kyiv.  As I’ve written elsewhere, and earlier, I like Kyiv about as much as I like New York City (read:  not at all).  I painted it in rosy colors when it was the only city in Ukraine I had been to, but in comparison to Odessa, or my favorite, Lviv – Kyiv leaves much to be desired . . . (if this weren’t a family atmosphere, I’d make a caustic and harsh statement right here!).

Saturday morning came and dressed warmly to brave the 10ºF temperatures.  The train left, and arrived and brought me to my requisite McDonald’s lunch.  Fully sated, takeaway McCoffee in my hands I headed down to the Metro and started my cross-town expedition:  Metro to Petrivka, followed by bus to Moskovsky.  Get off the bus at Frunze, and find the Hotel Spartak, the field is right next to the hotel.  Do all of this, while trying not to freeze, and if a grocery store or produkti (mini-mart), be sure to get refreshments for the game.

A bit of a miscommunication with the driver caused me to go about two miles out of the way.  I had asked him to shout when I needed to get off, but he determined that my knowledge of the city was sufficient enough that I did not need any special treatment.  Expert navigator that I am, I didn’t let this bother me.  I just trekked through the spitting snow towards the stadium.  I’m embarrassed to admit, but I was on the phone during this time, and I didn’t even think to take the tram.  The tram line was literally right next to me, and would have saved me at least 10 minutes.  But, we’ll just say that the walk was good exercise.

I arrived at the stadium about three minutes after the scheduled kick-off.  I was nervous I had missed the kick-off, so I was relieved when I saw that rugby games start with the same punctuality as everything else.  There was a smattering of people at Spartak Stadium.  I’d say at least a hundred.  After about 5 minutes with no news, no players on the field and no referee, I went to the grocery store across the street to get some snacks.  Prepared for an afternoon as a spectator it was back to the stadium for me.

No sooner had I sat down, than a young guy close to me said, in English (surprisingly) “the game’s been declined.”  I asked him if it would be later, or if it wouldn’t at all.  He said it wouldn’t happen at all and we shared a bit of disappointment.  He must have noticed the cold on my face because he followed this statement with:  “have some cognac with us; it is helping you to keep warm.”  Never one to disappoint I made my way over and introduced myself.  There were four of us total, myself, Dima (the guy who had invited me over), Alex/Sasha (another rugby player that lived for 6 months in Arizona, and speaks near fluent English, with a spot on English accent) and Sergey.  Poor Dima, the scrumhalf found himself surrounded by three front-rowers.  After some pleasantries, talking about how we’ve all played in worse weather, and there is no reason for the game’s cancellation we had finished the bottle of cognac.  Sufficiently warm, and satisfied that no one had lied, there would, indeed, be no game we decided to find some more cozy confines.  This took us to a small café/bar about a block away.

Two rounds and about an hour later I was invited to O’Brien’s, an Irish pub, in Kyiv.  They were planning on watching the Rugby 6 Nations matches of the afternoon, Italy – England, and Wales – Scotland.  I gladly accepted.  I was in Kyiv, after all, a small town boy in the big city.  And so, following a fruitless search for a bus to the center, we grabbed a cab down to O’Brien’s.  It was a longer distance than I had anticipated, and I saw a good deal of the city that I had not seen prior.  These areas were more residential, none of the imposing touristy buildings of downtown, the nitty-gritty of Kyiv.

O’Brien’s is generally a haven for expats.  It is a bit out of the price range for Peace Corps volunteers.  So it was a chance to treat myself.  But we spent the rest of the day and evening there.  The place was full of Americans, Scots and Welsh.  I’d imagine the other British Isles were represented as well, but I didn’t meet them.  Around halftime of the first game, someone came and sat down in the open seat next to me.  I didn’t recognize him, but introduced myself, with the usual “where’re you from?  What are you doing in Ukraine?”  It turns out the guy next to me was not only from the Boston-area, he was from Rhode Island.  A graduate of Bishop Hendricken High School, and had been teaching there when I was at school.  Absolutely wild, and completely unforeseeable, that’s the first time I’ve ever met someone from my high school abroad.  We’ll also have another product of the Irish Christians brothers coming to Ukraine this coming March.  The Hawks are well-presented in the Eastern Bloc, that’s the only conclusion I can draw from last weekend.

In terms of the rugby, I’m told there will be a game between Ukraine and Russia on March 12^th in Odessa.  I’m putting my faith in that, and hopefully my trip to a city by the sea won’t be foiled by another unexpected venue.

This is all I know for now.  One other thing, Friar Fans:  make sure Coleman is taken off the floor whenever something important is happening.  He made a crucial mistake against Pitt, and now cost us the DePaul game.  Awful, awful, awful.

Be good,

Pete