The dirt on living in Costa Rica and backpacking Europe. If you want pretty descriptions of beaches, green tree frogs, and 'pura vida' reflections this is the wrong place.
Additional irreverent travel advice includes hitchhiking disasters, getting drunk with locals, four-hour border crossings and other fun topics.
"I guess more than most Americans. I was fortunate to be in Slovakia when they entered the World Cup for the first time in their history, and unfortunately it was because of you. That own-goal was not good."
"Yes, we are bad. Poland and Ukraine is only in Euro 2012 Championship because they are hosting."
We spent almost a hour traveling by bus to the outskirts of Lviv to see the construction of the Arena Lviv. Ukraine and Poland will play hosts to the UEFA Euro 2012 Championship and Lviv saw it fit to construct a new stadium for this epic soccer event. The Euro 2012 will happen between June 8th and July 1st of this year.
Soccer?? I realize most Americans have quit reading this so they can go watch a College Bowl game or find out which NFL teams have gained a playoff berth. If you are one of those few Americans who follow soccer, or pretty much anyone not from the USA, keep reading...
Construction on the Arena Stadium began in November 2008 and continued despite much debate on whether the Ukraine even had the finances and infrastructure to host the Euro 2012. The large stadium Adam, Rado, Matuesz and I saw being constructed before us would eventually have a capacity of 34,915 spectators. At it's completion on October 2011 the construction costs totaled 211 Million Euro. As impressive as these numbers are, it is actually the smallest of the eight stadiums that are hosting games.
Certainly my Polish comrades were quite happy to see this building that was contributing to the Euro 2012's - and Poland's - fame. What I saw in August 2011 looked a long way off from the ambitious project that would include city tram connections, bus connections and an airport link and was meant to host one of the largest athletic events in Europe. From the highway bus stop we had had to walk across a least a mile of open grassy farmland. I assumed it would be plowed to make way for a connecting road to the stadium.
The construction workers seemed bemused that we were milling about the site. They allowed us a little closer to the stadium and even obliged us a few touristy photos. Rado and I considered jumping on a steamroller and seeing if we could ride it into the city. We probably wouldn't get very far, but it would make getting across the farmland much easier. We found the dirt road back to the highway and the bus stop. There was a shopping center by the stop, so we went inside for a drink. Coffee, beer or water...it was all the same. It was a long way back to central Lviv.
We got on the bus. Adam fell asleep almost instantly. Rado and I began talking of the amazing beauty of Ukraine girls again. In particular we talked of one who we saw on the bus behind us. She was brunette and could have won that year's award for "Highest Cheekbones." I knew we were drawing attention to ourselves by speaking English quite loud. Did anyone understand?
Someone had been listening. At the next stop, our beautiful Ukraine girl turned to us right before she got off the bus:
"You know that some of us can understand you when you speak. Its not polite."
I refuse to be fazed.
"Sorry. We couldn't help talking about how beautiful you are. I wish you would stay on the bus."
What passes for cheesy in the USA seems to work well elsewhere. She smiled and laughed a little at my audacity. I waved goodbye as the bus left her at her stop. By that that time we had entered central Lviv. The city became familiar again and the Polacks and I pointed out some of the buildings and places we had seen when we had left earlier that afternoon. We were planning for the night and Lviv was ours again. We started guessing how far we were from Retro Hostel.
As if to answer our question, the bus broke down. Everyone off.
Working in a hostel has made me realize how many backpackers blindly allow 'Lonely Planet' guidebooks to dictate their entire travel plans. Their travel mantra is, "If it's not in 'Lonely Planet,' it doesn't exist."
Re catching train on the Ukrainian side - it's not practical. The border railway station in Mostyska is several kilometers from the road/pedestrian crossing in Shehyni, actually in a middle of nowhere, so you'd have to catch a cab and I am not sure how would it be with tickets availibility there.
If I had taken this Thorn Tree advice to heart, I wouldn't have enjoyed eating lunch in scenic 'Middle Of Nowhere,' Ukraine. Although it seemed more dangerous at the time, blindly following a strange Ukrainian lady from Krakow to Lviv was a better decision than repeating the advice of a guidebook.
Maria had gotten me from Krakow to Prsymsymsysm to Medyka and across the Ukrainian border into Shehyni without problems. She had helped me get food in the ugly bordertown convenience store and had even scared away an evil taxi driver who had followed us inside. I could trust her now and stop imagining she was somehow leading me into a trap involving a roving band of gypsies, corrupt police and her ugly gold chain and tracksuit clad Mafia boyfriend.
Besides...who else could I trust here?
With food in hand, we walked out the store into the hot summer sun. The bordertown vultures saw us exit immediately and we rushed down the road in the opposite direction of the border while ignoring the shouts of "Taxi, Taxi" and "Money, Money." A short walk past some garbage piles and homeless winos brought us to a large rock lot like the one in Medyka. Minibuses waited for us there.
"Minibus, minbus," said Maria. And then in a more hushed tone she added,
"You. No English. Speak English, more money."
Those who know me would say its impossible for me to keep my mouth shut in any language. This particular time I did follow her advice very well. We boarded in silence and took off once the bus filled up. My mouth was shut, but I imagine that pulling out the camera on the ride raised the rate a few Hryvnia.
Stupid tourist.
Kilometers clicked by as the driver randomly dropped off and picked up people along the highway. It seemed everyone knew where exactly where they were going except me. Were we taking the bus all the way to Lviv? I resisted the urge to ask Maria and assumed she knew what was next.
After 15 minutes we pulled off to a muddy road on the side of the highway. Large puddles dotted the route. Maria nodded her head. I got off, grabbed my bags and turned around to see Maria heatedly arguing with the driver. They wildly gesticulated and yelled as the other passengers stared. Hastily Maria got off the bus with her luggage. Some old ladies were departing as well so I helped them with their bags. Maria continued arguing with the driver. Finally she stopped and told me to pay 3 Hryvnia for the trip. I paid and the driver left in a hurry.
Maria and the old ladies discussed her mystery problem for a while before they left. I gazed around the empty countryside, oblivious to the issue. Eventually Maria and I were standing alone on the muddy path that stretched into the distance. She was pissed.
I asked Maria, "Katastrofea??" She responded immediately with, "Tak, Katastrofea!!" In my bad Slovak I found out that less than 200 meters down the path was the train station that would take us to Lviv. For this short distance the driver wanted to charge us an additional 3 Hryvnia; that's double the price for a small detour. His reason?? The mud was dangerous.
Train structure with chickens
We meandered to the train station...or rather train structure. To call it a station would give it too much credit. A tin roof topped 3 concrete walls. Two broken benches, some graffiti and a few stray chickens were inside. There were no schedules nor employees to say when trains came. Maria assured me we could leave our bags alone by the tracks with no problem. Given the desolate location, I believed her and gladly dropped my heavy luggage. I asked her when the train arrived. She held up one index finger. It was 11am.
"Woda?"
"Tak. Woda je dobra...where?"
I hadn't drank anything in fourteen hours. The train structure clearly had no electricity nor plumbing, so I wondered why Maria would offer me water. She waved her hand and led me around the structure to a low-built wooden shed with a crank sticking out the right. Inside there was a tin bucket for an old well leading deep into the ground. I momentarily thought of how the Chernobyl accident had occurred in the Ukraine, but the incredible dryness in my throat quickly cast this thought away. After several times of lowering and raising the tin bucket we had quenched our thirst with fresh water straight from the aquifer.
My throat was no longer parched but my stomach was rumbling. We returned to our luggage besides the tracks and prepared a simple lunch of bread, cheese and yogurt. It was sufficient to kill the hunger that had been building up since I had left Krakow several hours ago. Following the madness of running by train, minibus and foot from border to border all night, it felt good to have some peace. Now was the best time to enjoy that first Ukrainian beer I had bought at the border town. After a moment of panic when I realized I had no opener for the bottle, I remembered an old Polish saying my friend Marcin taught me: "anything can open a beer." I walked over to the railroad tracks, set the cap against an edge on the steel beam, then pulled the bottle down quickly. *Psssshhhh!* The quiet Ukrainian countryside looked much better now. Who wants a beer?
The first Ukrainian beer
Maria received a call on her phone and disappeared into the bushes to talk. The sounds of the countryside filled up the silence: birdsong, some cricket chirps, a light breeze blowing and the occasional cow moo in the distance. The mind wanders easily in a idyllic setting like this.
Sitting alone in this empty, never-ending countryside by an isolated railway emphasized how little I knew about the largest country in Europe. What do they eat? Are they friendly? Do they like Americans? Is it -in fact- still Europe? Many questions and thoughts ran through my head, and soon the moment took on a surreal quality quite like one of the stranger passages from 'Everything is Illuminated.' Perhaps the train will never come...and it won't matter.
I always thought words like 'enchanting' and 'magical' were reserved for places like Paris, Dresden and Prague, yet this little, dilapidated corner of western Ukraine affected me more than any of those great cities.
Maria returned from her hiding place in the bushes. We finished our food then took a nap on the concrete in the hot sun. The train arrived exactly at 1pm.
