Ukraine

Ukraine. Amazing Ukraine.
My flight here came a bit unexpectedly. Firstly I had somehow thought it would be a week later. Secondly I kept thinking it is Georgia my parents love so much. Whatever gave me that idea, I really don’t know. Here I am however, sitting in my hotel room in the (turns out infamous) hotel Orenda. There is an official maffia gathering taking place here as well. And no, it’s not just my imagination. A friend of my dad’s who used to be on a very high position in a security organisation in the country (off the record, an organisation higher than the official government) told me this personally. Indeed after he’d said that I started noticing all the BIG guys with their much younger toned gorgeous wives/lovers. The men kissing each other on both cheeks when they meet for breakfast and the bodyguards behind each door on the second floor. The other day I actually saw two veeeery muscular bodyguards “cleaning” a room next to mine. By cleaning I mean them rather openly checking for hidden cameras etc. No one makes a secret out of these things here since the Crimea is officially the “Riviera” of the Russian mob that among other things has a huge say in the affairs of this country. So huge in fact that Ig. (the secret security guy) mentioned that every person that wants to do honest business here needs double the amount of security guards. As you can imagine I find all this tremendously entertaining. Especially as I may easily be the poorest person in this hotel but am by far the best-dressed. Also I believe everyone thinks I am here as a lover not as a daughter and hence they look at me weirdly when I read my latest issue of National Geographic or the FT weekend supplement on the beach. Come on! The beach is for your very manly man to show off his woman’s body and for him to do some light mob-talk. And it is definitely not for educating your mind under the sun next to the 27C Black Sea. The women don’t need to have information. Why would they when they have a vagina?! To conclude, I believe in these circles the whole sex difference thing concerning intelligence is never going to change. Yet on the other hand it is kind of nice or old-school romantic for the women really are the heads of the households. They control everything private from what the man has for breakfast in the buffet to how far away the nanny should take the kids when she wants to literally lick her husband’s body. Well….they have money, bodies, sex, prestige (in a rather fucked up sense)…. I guess they must be happy. I guess I really don’t fit in.
Enough about the rich half-illegal Russians. The Ukrainians themselves are wonderful. They’re all very warm even when they don’t understand a single word you say. Plus they make amazingly greasy comfort food. Many things here remind me of things I saw in China (not the food though) I don’t even know what it is exactly. A kind of mentality I guess of a nation not quite sure what to do with it’s newly found state of freedom (is it?). I mean there’s so much potential yet no one seems to have really figured out what to do with it. A lot like Estonia 15 years ago. For example you can park anywhere without paying. Anywhere, really. Then there are old women on the street with their scales that they bring there from home every day: you can weigh yourself for 1 Ukrainian money which I have no idea how to spell. Cigarettes still cost on average about 5.- which is about 15 Estonian Kroons and less than a pound. It’s just weird. And funny and wonderful. In a way it is impossible to predict what is and what is not going to change here. The temperament is largely a mix of Mediterranean and also the Russian. Half of the country refuses to speak Ukrainian and believe themselves to be more Russian and the other half is the nationalists who strive for Europe’s approval. They actually say that this sort of social climate is an absolutely perfect ground for a civil war to start any day of the week. You might even say they half expect it to start.
Right now, frankly I don’t care. The tropical rain behind my covered terrace shall pass soon and I can once more be found on the private beach of the hotel flashing my still (!) blue thighs and perhaps this time reading something a little more pink. We’ll see.


Frenchie are you back from NY? And Mama, still loving your flatmate? And where’s Bammie on her travels with Urrrrrr by now? I was actually thinking that the whole flashing my blue thighs would have been muchmuchmuch more fun with you guys here. At least I could comment on the badly-dressed people.

Oh 1, also I had the best Brazilian wax here that I’ve had in my life. It took her 20 minutes to remove it all (and trust me babes, there really was a loooot) without me even blinking my eye (is that the expression you use in English?).


Oh 2, and good new for miss Alabama Mama, since you are so genuinely worried about me buying things I guess it’ll make you happy to know that I haven’t here at all, nor in Estonia. Personally I find it rather boring that I haven’t even seen anything I like.

Oh 3, Must tell you guys about the wonderful night I spent in Tallinn right after I’d got back from France. Me and L (ex-husband’s sister) went to see a play written by friend J (it was by the way his second play. Both of them have been turned into public performances and BOTH have gotten such great reviews that it’s scary, especially as he is my age). Me and L decided to meet up early to have time to get almost drunk and then sober again before the theatre. so we sat down in an outdoor terrace of a rather random pub, where I don’t normally go that often or at all, in the Old Town, ordered a bottle of wine, a couple of bottles of beer and some cocktails. All of these drinks arrived at the same time (we ordered them when we were still not sure what we wanted) hence our little round table was covered with drinks. A few moments later L notified me of the two guys that had just sat down behind me. One of them was one of my ex-boyfriends and the other his best friends who happens to be an ex-boyfriend of two girls I know. Thankfully even though I think they noticed us as well they did not start talking to us thus avoiding much unwanted discomfort. Then a few minutes after they’d sat down the guy I kissed before coming to France and used to be in love with for four years sat down behind L with his date (yes, DATE! Good thing to see when you want to stop being in love with someone. No sarcasm here.) facing me. It was nice to see however that he felt uncomfortable too. And we still had all those drinks to finish. So in about 30 minutes me and L were so pissed that we actually talked about going to the toilet to play a little bit of the eating-disorder games. The bright idea did come to me though that whatever dignity we had left should not be flushed down the toilet in the pub where I had just spent the most uncomfortable 30 minutes of my life. I applaud L though, for she had nothing to be uncomfortable about but she cheered my life’s-a-fucking-tragic-comedy side of life so full heartedly that she ended up more hung-over in the theatre than I did.
Anyways, the play was good. I’m not sure whether it was the hangover or just the little shock that I’d just had but those 2 hours managed to completely turn around my idea of good theatre and set the level so much higher than it was before (both theatre and men-wise).

Oh 4, Another funny thing happened as I went downstairs to give my dad his book just now. This mob-guy came over to me when I was waiting for the elevator. He must have been about 45 or something. He asked me what I’m going to be doing for the next 50 years and whether there’s any room for him in my plans. Hahahaha. I said I plan to be busy. What? I don’t want to be licking his hairy fat body on the Crimean coast in five years time while the nanny’s taking the kid to play with dolls or kill cats or something. And then wondering what I’m going to do with my life when he’s either died of heart-attack or been shot in ten years time. Nononono. I shall be right here. Hopefully with a few boyfriends, a fierce career as a priest, sipping my tenth mojito, smoking a cigarette, oversexed and with soooo many right choices to show. Okok, forget about the priest. And I might have quit smoking, and maybe I WILL have a kid. NONE of this with anyone who disgusts me though. I shall never downsize to upgrade. Hiphiphoorray to the bitter feminist!

Must go and have a Sprite now. Diet coke is still a huge rarity here (trust me I’ve tried saying it differently: Kokakoola lait, Cocacola light, dajet koola, Diet Coke, diet cocacola…not working.).

What do I want most? Maaan, I’d still have to say world peace.