Hurry up and wait...
Hurry up and wait...
Hurry up and wait...
Now hurry up! After a quiet train ride through the Ukraine countryside I found myself in a mass of people rushing off the train in Lviv. For a few wild minutes I surged forward with the herd and suddenly....I was alone.
A large white concrete platform spread out in front of me. Central Lviv was off in the distance. The train passengers were dispersing and I quickly hailed down one of them before I ran out of options. He was a large, young guy with an massive beard who spoke a little English. He introduced himself as "VladakrunpronouncableSlavicname." I showed him Maria's drawing of the two parallel roads and the directions for Retro Hostel Shevchenko. Instead of simply pointing me the right way, he told me to follow him and walked me to the street where Tram 29A waited. I thanked Vladakblahblahblah kindly and paid for the ticket.
The tram did a quick turn onto the main thoroughfare. No sooner had I sat down when I saw the same bearded young guy running after the tram. He quickly appeared at the door and apologized for putting me on the wrong tram. As if I knew the difference. He lead me to a tram immediately in front of the first. He found two young, attractive girls on the tram and chatted with them briefly in Ukraine:
Here we go again.
Flirting with the girls was easy, since they were flabbergasted that some American guy would end up sitting behind them on a tram. At that point I had been border-traveling for 14 hours and could barely entertain the notion of some wild, exotic Ukrainian girl sex fantasy. I talked with them, but the only image that kept popping into my mind was me alone, sleeping in a warm bed. We arrived at the Green Street stop and I found Retro Hostel easily enough. I checked-in and slumped up the 6 stories to my 10 bed dormitory. After a shower I passed out to recover for a few hours. Before hitting the pillow, I saw several Polish guys drinking beer and vodka in the dorm. It was only about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. They would be ideal party comrades.
We did party. By the time we found Kriyyika Pub on Market Square at 11pm, we had already helped ourselves to several liter beers at the hostel after sharing travel stories, establishing my proud Polish roots and finding a few Polish girls as well. Retro Hostel staff tipped us off to the pub. Its well hidden and quite a task to find if you don't know where it's at. This is exactly what the bar wants. Even the website has a password.
Kriyyika Pub is what I expect from a part of the former U.S.S.R. You can only find the location by word-of-mouth, it's hidden underground, the bouncers don't blink and they don't let you in without a password (ask the Retro Hostel staff.) Once you're inside it's a different story.
The place is a massive underground cellar with a Communist theme. Its food menu is nice and the drink menu nicer...especially the homemade flavored vodkas. A few fresh, delicious bottles of "Mint Stagger" vodka set our group of Polish folks (plus one American) reeling. They were good enough to demand a 2nd round. Possibly there was a 3rd round or even a 4th, but we were quickly losing track of the bottles. Ukrainian vodka is strong and potent when its this drinkable. Drinking it with a group of rowdy Polish guys and girls further complicates the problem.
These large amounts of vodka caused my mind to drift back to the lovely Ukrainian girls from the bus. They weren't the only ones I had noticed. Our difficulty in finding Kryyvina pub was troublesome, but it had given me plenty of time to watch the locals girls walking around. What I had seen this night simply made my jaw drop. That is no easy thing to say after having lived in Slovakia for 2 years and traveled through Poland. Slavic girls are already amazing in general and yet somehow they got better in Lviv. Maybe a Ukrainian mail-order bride isn't such a bad idea?
I abruptly stood up from the table and declared my plans to start looking for my future wife. The Polacks were very amused and said since I was American it would be easy. I started stumbling around the cavernous bar in search of a soulmate.
She was tall, beautiful and had jet-black hair to contrast with her ivory skin. I found her drinking champagne with her equally lovely blond "mother." I couldn't honestly believe they were mother and daughter, but who cares? They joined our table for more vodka rounds.
Hold on. When two lovely girls so willingly leave their table at the request of a drunken, loud American something is suspicious. The words of my border-crossing guide, Maria, "No English. Speak English, more money" echoed in my mind. This thought bothered me, but the 5, 6, 7..??? shots of vodka told me otherwise. I told the Ukrainians we were ready to dance and asked their suggestion for the next stop.
Fashion Club? Sounds posh. In our drunken mess, we managed to pay the bill and stumble out of the cellar. The Ukrainians guided my Polish crew and I to a place right on the main drag. It looked posh, intimidating and screamed "cover charge." The line to pay cover had several supermodels and their big Mafia-looking boyfriends. I wondered if my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles "Party Wagon" shirt was up to code.
Despite my drunken state, what happened next sobered me up quickly. "Mother" and daughter had kindly gotten entry tickets for us foreigners. Yet somehow we were all getting quoted different prices. Men do pay more than women, but oddly one of the Polish guys was charged an additional fee because his shoes were "wrong." Not surprisingly, I being the "rich" American got charged the most. Mother and daughter said I was paying for them plus "added" fee. I tried comparing single ticket prices. Something wasn't adding up. I could've spent more time calculating but drunkenly converting Ukrainian Hryvna to American Dollars while being scammed by beautiful foreign women is not something I learned in university. I did the asshole backpacker thing.
At the risk of getting my ass beat by the skinhead bouncer with probable ties to the Russian Mafia, I argued with the ticket doorman. By waving my arms, shouting and gesturing enough the man finally figured out I wasn't going to pay for the girls.
He ripped up my first ticket and gave me a new, single ticket. I paid the new amount and stomped into the club, ignoring the fashionable Ukrainian spectators who were eyeing me with disgust. Life is good.
My Polish comrades hadn't been so lucky. One had paid the "shoe fee" and the others seemed unsure of what had just happened. I myself wasn't so sure. How had one ranting, jeans and t-shirt American convinced the Ukrainian staff of a fashionable Lviv club that he had been ripped off by two scheming Ukrainian women?
The rest of the night slipped away as we consumed more vodka and danced to bad Ukrainian pop music. One of the Polacks fell victim to too much vodka. Two Polacks fell victim to each other and left early. I fell victim to another beautiful Ukrainian girl. Somewhere around 5 in the morning I found myself sharing breakfast and singing "Just The Way You Are" off-key to a blond-haired, blue-eyed Barbie doll in a 24-hour casino. This is only the first night.
Hurry up and wait...
Hurry up and wait...
Now hurry up! After a quiet train ride through the Ukraine countryside I found myself in a mass of people rushing off the train in Lviv. For a few wild minutes I surged forward with the herd and suddenly....I was alone.
A large white concrete platform spread out in front of me. Central Lviv was off in the distance. The train passengers were dispersing and I quickly hailed down one of them before I ran out of options. He was a large, young guy with an massive beard who spoke a little English. He introduced himself as "VladakrunpronouncableSlavicname." I showed him Maria's drawing of the two parallel roads and the directions for Retro Hostel Shevchenko. Instead of simply pointing me the right way, he told me to follow him and walked me to the street where Tram 29A waited. I thanked Vladakblahblahblah kindly and paid for the ticket.
The tram did a quick turn onto the main thoroughfare. No sooner had I sat down when I saw the same bearded young guy running after the tram. He quickly appeared at the door and apologized for putting me on the wrong tram. As if I knew the difference. He lead me to a tram immediately in front of the first. He found two young, attractive girls on the tram and chatted with them briefly in Ukraine:
"This girls speak English. They know where you are. Follow them."
Here we go again.
Flirting with the girls was easy, since they were flabbergasted that some American guy would end up sitting behind them on a tram. At that point I had been border-traveling for 14 hours and could barely entertain the notion of some wild, exotic Ukrainian girl sex fantasy. I talked with them, but the only image that kept popping into my mind was me alone, sleeping in a warm bed. We arrived at the Green Street stop and I found Retro Hostel easily enough. I checked-in and slumped up the 6 stories to my 10 bed dormitory. After a shower I passed out to recover for a few hours. Before hitting the pillow, I saw several Polish guys drinking beer and vodka in the dorm. It was only about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. They would be ideal party comrades.
 |
| Team Poland (plus 1 American) at Kriyyika |
 |
| Two bottles of 'Mint Stagger' vodka |
The place is a massive underground cellar with a Communist theme. Its food menu is nice and the drink menu nicer...especially the homemade flavored vodkas. A few fresh, delicious bottles of "Mint Stagger" vodka set our group of Polish folks (plus one American) reeling. They were good enough to demand a 2nd round. Possibly there was a 3rd round or even a 4th, but we were quickly losing track of the bottles. Ukrainian vodka is strong and potent when its this drinkable. Drinking it with a group of rowdy Polish guys and girls further complicates the problem.
These large amounts of vodka caused my mind to drift back to the lovely Ukrainian girls from the bus. They weren't the only ones I had noticed. Our difficulty in finding Kryyvina pub was troublesome, but it had given me plenty of time to watch the locals girls walking around. What I had seen this night simply made my jaw drop. That is no easy thing to say after having lived in Slovakia for 2 years and traveled through Poland. Slavic girls are already amazing in general and yet somehow they got better in Lviv. Maybe a Ukrainian mail-order bride isn't such a bad idea?
 |
| Lovely Ukrainian & Polish girls. Plus one Polish guy. |
She was tall, beautiful and had jet-black hair to contrast with her ivory skin. I found her drinking champagne with her equally lovely blond "mother." I couldn't honestly believe they were mother and daughter, but who cares? They joined our table for more vodka rounds.
Hold on. When two lovely girls so willingly leave their table at the request of a drunken, loud American something is suspicious. The words of my border-crossing guide, Maria, "No English. Speak English, more money" echoed in my mind. This thought bothered me, but the 5, 6, 7..??? shots of vodka told me otherwise. I told the Ukrainians we were ready to dance and asked their suggestion for the next stop.
"We go to Fashion Club. You and mother and Polish."
Fashion Club? Sounds posh. In our drunken mess, we managed to pay the bill and stumble out of the cellar. The Ukrainians guided my Polish crew and I to a place right on the main drag. It looked posh, intimidating and screamed "cover charge." The line to pay cover had several supermodels and their big Mafia-looking boyfriends. I wondered if my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles "Party Wagon" shirt was up to code.
Despite my drunken state, what happened next sobered me up quickly. "Mother" and daughter had kindly gotten entry tickets for us foreigners. Yet somehow we were all getting quoted different prices. Men do pay more than women, but oddly one of the Polish guys was charged an additional fee because his shoes were "wrong." Not surprisingly, I being the "rich" American got charged the most. Mother and daughter said I was paying for them plus "added" fee. I tried comparing single ticket prices. Something wasn't adding up. I could've spent more time calculating but drunkenly converting Ukrainian Hryvna to American Dollars while being scammed by beautiful foreign women is not something I learned in university. I did the asshole backpacker thing.
"I'm not paying for you."
 |
| The golden ticket |
He ripped up my first ticket and gave me a new, single ticket. I paid the new amount and stomped into the club, ignoring the fashionable Ukrainian spectators who were eyeing me with disgust. Life is good.
My Polish comrades hadn't been so lucky. One had paid the "shoe fee" and the others seemed unsure of what had just happened. I myself wasn't so sure. How had one ranting, jeans and t-shirt American convinced the Ukrainian staff of a fashionable Lviv club that he had been ripped off by two scheming Ukrainian women?
The rest of the night slipped away as we consumed more vodka and danced to bad Ukrainian pop music. One of the Polacks fell victim to too much vodka. Two Polacks fell victim to each other and left early. I fell victim to another beautiful Ukrainian girl. Somewhere around 5 in the morning I found myself sharing breakfast and singing "Just The Way You Are" off-key to a blond-haired, blue-eyed Barbie doll in a 24-hour casino. This is only the first night.
