Feeling hot hot hot

I logged onto to the weather website Wunderground today.

This is what it said the weather would be in Kyiv:

Temperature in the thirties? With continuously sunny weather? I don't believe it.

Well, sometimes Wunderground gets it wrong, so I decided to check with the source of all things true and solemn - BBC Weather.

Holy freakin' shite! 34 degrees? In Kyiv? Where, only three months ago, it was minus 18?

I really don't get the weather in this part of the world. But I think it's time to buy a fan.

All of a sudden, this doesn't look like a bad prospect:

Barbeque nation

From A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

It would be useful - I wasn't quite sure in what way, but I was sure none the less - to learn to fend for myself in the wilderness. When guys in camouflage pants and hunting hats sat around in the Four Aces Diner talking about fearsome things done out of doors I would no longer have to feel like such a cupcake. I wanted a little of that swagger that comes with being able to gaze at a far horizon through eyes of chipped granite and say with a slow, [wo]manly sniff, 'Yeah, I've shit in the woods.'

It's time I learned to fend for myself. It's time I learned to barbeque in the woods.

In Australia, a barbeque, or 'barbie', usually comes with a gas bottle and a nice wooden stand. They even have wheels, and look a variation on the theme of this:

See? This one even comes from Australia - 'Down under'.

And heaven forbid, they are so easy to use that in many a household, women commandeer the humble charcoal-maker that worldwide is the domain of men. (I'll just point out, women are less inclined to create charcoal on a barbie).

Now, I've also previously mentioned the drought in Australia. As a result, it's been illegal to light a fire in the bush, for, like, ever. The Aussie bush is predominantly eucalypt, thus there's quite a bit of oil hiding in the leaves. One carelessly lit fire on a breezy day can potentially burn half of Sydney.

But I digress. So...

Imagine how excited I was when enidd suggested that we all go for a barbie in the woods (ohh err I've never been to the woods before, only the bush!), get the man to light some sticks, and we all sit around and eat shashlyk, or potentially, Stalin.

Now. Who is we all? Let's just say, it was a real blarty (blog party).

The blarty consisted of enidd and the man, sarahemily and HDF, Olechko, Mr Olechko and bubba, and of course, Little Miss Moi and her beloved Mr Moi. Not to mention, the late afternoon cameo from Olga, the very brave dogwalker of Stalin and Fluffy.

Unfortunately, enidd got sick and decided not to come. Boo hoo. At the same time the man broke us the news, the rain started to bucket, and for an instant, it was really quite conceivable that our blarty was going farty.

However, with true pommy weather optimism, the man found a patch of blue sky and convinced us that this was the sign we were all waiting for - the weather would be fine. So we piled into the cars and took off to the island.

The island is Trukhaniv Island, and is a huge, empty, grassy and treesy island in the middle of the Dnipro River. It's covered in dirt tracks and full of big fat ditches, which are especially fun to drive someone else's car on. :o)

There's not really much to say about the BBQ itself, except that we drank lots of fizz (Cricova - a newly found Methode Champanoise Moldovan bubbly) and got a bit pizzed. We also drank beer (the Olechkos gave us a Ukrainain and European beer tour without leaving our seats) and red wine. We ate lots of meat from sarahemily's shashlyk, and endured a few rain showers (perhaps by then, I was too tipsy to care).

Australians, despite our tough talk, are really a bit ninny when it comes to being outdoors (OK, well, just me). Australians like to picnic on the beach - where they arrive first thing in the morning to nab a picnic table and camp out for the rest of the day. Said picnic table is usually within safe walking distance of a dunny block. So my biggest worry was where we were going to go to the toilet.

But. I have conquered all. Now I can say we shit in the woods. (OK we didn't really, but it sounds better than saying, 'I did a girly wee behind a tree trunk and even had to take a roll of loo paper and a can of air freshener').

And now it's time to call a halt to a long and rambling post.

Here are some photos to wake you up and help you envisage what a tough bird I've become. Enjoy!

Setting up camp in the woods - see the mole hills (I thought they were ant hills)

Boys being boys: admiring their collective handiwork (oh how Soviet!)

One of the highlights of the day was being able to enjoy the wildlife

More wildlife.. . Oh! no it's not, it's someone with her head bent in shame after going to the loo in the woods

HERE'S more wildlife. I was afraid they might bite

Not a pretty sight for vegetarians. Of which I am not one...

Beautiful bread from the French bakery owned by Russians

Gathering more sticks for the fire...

... while the girls sip on pink Moldovan fizz

And the boys misplace their beer bottles

When the fire looks like this, it's 1) time to put it out and 2) time to go home

But not before we get a lesson in what do to with bio-degradable goods...

Beer in the park

After a hard day's work (that's Mr Moi, not moi), what better way to unwind than to join the other 500 people sitting in the park, buying 80 cent beers from the hastily erected tents?

Then sit anywhere - on the edge of a fountain, in the makeshift beer garden (read: tables, chairs and brollies that are scattered hither and thither), on a park bench or, heaven forbid, on the grass, while drinking the beers and watching the evening close in over the city.

Admire the tulips. Look at the trees in bloom. Watch the little kids on jumping castles. Wonder about the planters on the lightpost that have the hammer and sickle painted on the outside (they've obviously been using the same planters for 16+ years). Listen to a group of 20 very drunk girls singing folk songs and crying their Ukrainian eyes out.

Three beers and less than $3 later, it's 9pm and time to go home and cook dinner. Ahhh... spring seems nice so far. I can't wait 'til summer.

Transport in Kyiv 101: The Metro

My readers often ask me, "Little Miss Moi, how do you move about the city of Kyiv?" (I made that up. My readers couldn't be faffed to ask me about that, but I'll answer the question anyway).

I have four main means of transport around Kyiv. Here they are, ranked from most frequently used to least frequently used:

• On foot
• On the Kyiv Metro
• In a taxi
• Being driven by someone else's driver.

Today's lesson will focus on the Kyiv Metro.

My experience on the metro here is that it's fast, reliable, clean and a great spot to see some bad fashion. I've previously alluded to how deep the metro stations are, and this Wikipedia article gives you a good run down of the metro altogether (notice the big map? Bold names in Ukrainian, lesser names in Russian. This is why I have so much trouble learning the darn lingo).

To ride anywhere on the metro costs 50 kopioks or kopeks, which is about 12 cents Aussie, about 10 cents US, and 5 pence sterling. To travel, you buy a zhiton (token) from the kassa (cashier), slot the token into the gate and jump on the escalator to go down.

The only bad thing about the Kyiv metro is that there are no signs in latin letters (i.e. ours), and the only time one sees a route map that isn't written in Cyrillic, is once you're on the train. Not a lot of help if you then find you're going in the totally wrong direction. This makes is hard for people like Mr Moi, who still hasn't learned the whole Cyrillic alphabet.

There's one confusing thing about the metro, but works OK once you get used to it. In, for example, Sydney, the Town Hall station has about six platforms because there are four of five lines running through it*. But regardless of the line, the station is called Town Hall.

In Kyiv, when you come to a station where there's two lines running through, each line's platform has a different name. Albeit, the platforms for the two lines are usually separated by a two or three minute underground walk too. So, for example, the stop Maidan Nezalezhnosti is on the blue line. There is also a red line stop at that station: Kreshchatyk. Different lines, different names, same station. It actually makes it easy when you've arranged to meet someone at the station, as the margin for error is considerably more narrow (I'll meet you at Kreshchatyk is much more definitive than I'll meet you on the third platform from the entrance, fifty furloughs from the northbound tunnel).

Now, let me have a rant about the Tube in London. It's small, it's dingy, and, even if you're at a major travel hub station, they DON'T have lifts. So, for example, I forked out 15 pounds to ride into Paddington Station from Heathrow at 6:30am, because I was at the end of a 27 hour transit from Australia. This is a lot of money, but I was exhausted and wanted to get to my brother's house ASAP. And my suitcase weighed 27kgs.

When I arrived at Paddington, I had to then catch the Tube six stops to get to my brother's place. So I followed the signs to the Tube. First, down some escalators. Then, down some stairs (bang, bang, BANG went my suitcase). Then, through a tunnel and UP some stairs! The effort of pulling of my up the stairs almost pulled my arm off.

Then back down some more stairs, and onto the Tube. Then repeated the same pully-uppy shitehouse routine when I got off the other end.

Where the London Tube is warren-like, the Kyiv Metro is cavernous. Where the London Tube has stairs, the Kyiv metro has escalators. Where the London Tube trains are tiny and slow, the Kyiv Metro trains are a normal size and go rather quick.

I could go on and on, but I won't. I'll leave it right there.

I hope you've enjoyed this lesson on the Kyiv Metro.


*I just made up these numbers.

Spring is in the... park

Picture spring in Brisbane: brown backyards (even if you have a front yard, it's called a back yard) as a result of no rain or anything wet falling from the sky since April (sub-tropical climate remember, people).

The trees didn't have to grow any new leaves because they never lost them in the first place. The grass would crunch under your feet when you walked, kids were banned from playing sports on the fields because they were rock hard, and the weather stayed the same (about 30 degrees every day), but got progressively more humid.

Spring in Sydney was a little nicer: backyards were green because, hey, it does rain occasionally during winter in Sydney.

About one tree per neighbourhood managed to lose its leaves in autumn, so it would grow leaves (oooh! Ahh! Look at the new little leaves!). And, living in an older and relatively untouched suburb like I did, the most amazing spring flowers would bloom in the most amazing gardens. The temperature would increase from 23 to 28 with the occasional freak 40 degree day thrown in, usually brought over Sydney by a westerly wind, which inevitably resulted in bushfires.

Spring in Ukraine is different. Here are some little differences that I've noticed:
- There was snow. Now there's not
- There was heating. Now there's not
- There were no leaves on trees. They're getting there
- There was 20 million cloudy days in a row. Now there's some sun
- There were ubiquitous black coats. Now people are wearing some colour

And, most importantly:

- There were no beer tents with tables and chair set up every 3 metres throughout the city. Now. There. Is.

In honour of spring, here are some photos I took on a recent walk through Taras Shevchenko park.

Enjoy, and have a good spring (oh, don't worry, I'll be back before it's over).

My Ukrainian friend told me this is a tree that bears leaves that 'look like your hand'. I'm angling for some kind of maple... anyone?


Yeah, because I love underexposed shots, this doesn't capture how damn green the grass is in this part of the world. In Australia, when you picture our natural 'green', throw in about 40 per cent browny yellow too.


I'd better hightail it home, there's rain on the way. Obviously like the amount of humidity in the air in Brisbane in spring, the amount of sun in Kyiv only increases in increments.

The splosh cliche

I've seen it happen so many times in the movies, but never believed it.

I don't know why I doubted it could happen - perhaps because Australia has lovely big stormwater drains to cope with tropical downpours.

I really didn't think it was possible for a car to drive past, and splash the happy footpath dweller from head to foot.

Now I know better.

Walking to the bank with Mr Moi today, we were in a hurry, as I had to be back on the other side of town for my Russian lesson by 1:30pm - and we were dead keen on fitting lunch in beforehand.

Today is a truly rainy day in Kyiv, and it's subsequently melted all the snow that was laying around. The pock-marked pavements resemble miniature lakes. The uneven roads have become swimming pools.

As I was standing grumpily wet on a street corner, waiting to cross the road, a bulky, black-windowed Merc zooms past at an 'up-yours' 100kms per hour.

I couldn't jump back quick enough. I was drenched from head to toe in slimy brown water.

Yay for spring! Lucky I hadn't blowdried my hair this morning.

Grocery shopping in Oo-kray-ii-na

I have a new blog friend, which is not surprising. I have only been blogging for one month, so all my friends are technically new friends.

My friend is Willowtree, and his blog is called 'A dingo's got my barbie' (what a tribute to Lindy). Willowtree lives in rural Australia (strangely considered the outback by a few of his readers), and he has inspired me to post about my grocery items. This is because he recently posted two rather entertaining pieces about groceries - part one is here. And part two is here.

So this one's for you, Willowtree.

Today I toddled off to the local supermarket to get some groceries. My local is called 'MegaMarket' and, like all supermarkets in Kyiv, it sells a random collection of goods. Whatever you want to buy is not there. What you don't want, is. For example, I might be looking for brown sugar, or cornflour. Not there. But if I want four aisles of Russian chocolate, I have it. Yum (err, not).

Or three aisles of vodka. Two aisles of beer. One of juice. One of really bad Crimean wine and champagne. Do you get the idea that Ukrainians don't mind a bit of a tipple? Well, you're right.

Really, it's not too hard to shop in Ukraine. Even if you can't understand the writing on pack, you can either see the product itself or a slightly representative picture on pack. Personally I sure can't tell from reading the label, because most labels are in Ukrainian. Never mind that most people speak Russian in this part of the country.

And, instead of stocking a range of goods, the store will only offer one good, in one brand. You want canned corn? You have to buy Bonnedelle. End of story. Instant noodles? Big Ben. Cornflakes? Nestle all the way, baby!

MegaMarket's range changes from week to week, so if I see something I like (like Heinz Baked Beans), I buy in bulk as there's every chance they will disappear within the week and not return for three years.

So. Today's shop was only a small shop. I purchased the following groceries for the royal sum of 70 gryvnias, or $US14.

Here's what you get for $14 in Kyiv:

(I have cropped the photo very close so you're not subjected to my landlord's horrid taste in wallpaper. Also, I already owned the toaster. The kitchen is so small, the toaster lives on the table).

Now, I could translate for you. I really could... if I was learning Ukrainian. But, as I mentioned before, in that cruel twist of fate, everyone in this town speaks Russian, but not one sign or label is written in Russian. So not only is Russian a bloody hard language, but I can't even soak it up via osmosis.

Let's look at some of these items a little closer. Firstly, the mushrooms. By the time I left Sydney, mushrooms were retailing for $8.99 (aussie) a kilo.

grib'i shampin'on i vesov'ie

In Kyiv, these babies retail for $US3 per kilo. Yes, some people do choose to steer clear of mushies in Ukraine, as mushrooms (and berries) absorb a lot of radiation. But I'm putting my faith in MegaMarket not to sell me Chernobyl mushies.

Next the carrots. This ubiquitous root vegie sells here for 50 cents per kilo. What a bargain! At that price, they sometimes come dirty, but I can live with that. I've eaten so many carrots in Ukraine my skin is turning orange. And I can see in the dark.

morkov' vesovaya

The price here -1.78 gryvnias - is about 35 cents.

Next we have some delicious chips. The brand name is 'Lyuks'. I'm not sure what that means, but the flavour is cheese and I trust this brand because it's a Kraft brand. I figure that means no MSG and a certain level of quality assurance.

Lyuks nizhniy sir

You can also see my Gallina Blanca pasta sneaking a peak in there, and again below, along with my 'toonets', or tuna.

toonets

I don't usually eat much canned fish, but I figure: when you can't trust the meat, or the butcher of the meat, you can always trust fish in a can. This tuna cost about $US1 per can, and comes in springwater. Oh, no, make that simply, water.

Now. Thank God for globalisation, without which, I wouldn't be able to bring you the worthy Snickers Bar and Mars Bar.

Pictured here is part of my Mars Bar Max, and the side of the Snickers packaging. The packaging pictured reads:

superpitatel'niy batonchik. Ne tormozi. Snikersni. (Russian)

What it means, I have no idea. Something about Snickers, I guess... "Eat me, I'm delicious, I'll make you strong and muscly BUT only if you go to the gym and work me off". Etc.

Last but by no means least is the beer.

This brand of beer is called Chernigivskye (in Ukrainian it's Chernihivske). It's made in the town of Chernihiv, about 200kms from Kyiv. This is the beer my body rejects the least (no headaches, not too many evil hangovers), so it's quickly become my favoured (but by no means favourite) beer brand.

Chernigivs'kye svitle. Zvareno v Ookraiini

What you see pictured here is one litre of beer, packaged in a plastic bottle. I purchased two litres of beer, which cost me $US1.20. What a perfect price for beer, no?

Now, I would love to end with a whiz bang photo of me combining all the items above into some delicious gourmet meal, but that's not going to happen. Firstly, combining the above ingredients would create a meal of sludge that tastes like sludge. Secondly, I'm not that energetic.

And as for the fallout of today's grocery shop: I'm already kicking myself cause I bought apple and carrot juice instead of just apple. Last week I bought peach juice instead of apple.

Damn me not looking at the pictures properly. I think I need to take a five year old shopping with me next time, their powers of observation are far more sharply honed than mine.



PS Just looking at the vegie labels, I think they might be in Russian, but it's hard to tell because the printer has printed the letters crap. Not that you really care, do you?

The terrific Taras Shevchenko tour

Today was a beautiful day. So I will try not to be cynical.

To celebrate this beautiful day, Mr Moi and I nursed our mini-Caribbean-Club hangovers from the comfort of our couch, and looked at the beautiful day every now and then (basically, when we were game enough to expose our eyeballs to sunlight).

But, as fate would have it, I had agreed to babysit the kids of a couple we know. After a bolstering meal of chinese instant noodles, we set out in the crisp minus 3 air, and walked to our friends' house.

I took the point-and-shoot with me to capture the fleeting afternoon. And it wasn't until I downloaded these photos that I realised I've documented the terrific Taras Shevchenko tour.

Taras Shevchenko is a Ukrainian literary hero (not to be mistaken with Andriy Shevchenko, who is a Ukrainian soccer hero. And unlike Taras, he's still alive).

Walking to the end of our street, Mr Moi and I had to cut through Taras Shevchenko park.

Most of the snow on roads and paths recently melted, and has since been followed by a cold snap. So there's still snow on the grass, but not on the paths. This makes walking a pleasure, and despite there not being any other people in this photo besides Mr Moi, there really were a few people out and about.

The sun was actually shining through the trees, which I thought looked rather pretty, and not a little endearing.

As we walked through Taras Shevchenko Park, I couldn't help but notice Taras Shevchenko University. It's the big red building you see in the background.

There's a story behind the colour of the university - I think some young bolsheviks were protesting against the Tsars, so Nikolai II ordered them to be killed. They happened to be students at the university, who were protesting at the university. So, to remind the public of the bloodshed, Nikolai ordered that the building be painted red.

If that's not enough Taras Shevchenko for you, then here's the main man himself. Everyday, he keeps watch over his park and his university.

Unfortunately, because of the way his statue is positioned, he can't keep watch over his boulevard.

This is Bulvar Taras Shevchenko.

Well, part of it. It's actually quite long, and lined with poplar trees. I'm looking forward to seeing it in the summer.

Walking down Bulvar Taras Shevchenko on a Sunday night, as we were, we could hear the bells of Volodomyrsky ringing.

This old church is still operating as a Russian Orthodox church. The bells were calling people to church, I guess, and unlike other bells you see around the place, they were being rung by humans.

I love the blue domes with the gold stars painted on. Even religious people must be three year old kids deep down.

Kyiv, as with all former soviet countries, is full of underpasses. Because the driving is so bad, and humans act as something to target rather than dodge, the soviets wisely built a lot of underpasses around the cities.

This is one of them. It's also an entry to the Universityet metro station, one of the deepest in the world.
The sun is running out, so here are a couple of last ditch shots to capture the prettiness of the day.


And finally, here's what brings me back to earth: garbage piled high right on the footpath of one of the city's flagship streets.

And here's one of the trams from the 1940s that hopefully will get replaced by a Swiss-issue 'new'* tram.
I hope you enjoyed these colour photos from Kyiv.


*old

The adventures of Mr and Little Miss Moi

One day, not so long ago, Mr and Little Miss Moi got up sorta late, feasted on delicious Chinese instant noodles for breakfast, splashed some water on their faces, and scooted out of their flat.

They were going to watch football at a friendly place called 'The Pub'.

Although both Mr Moi and Little Miss Moi were looking forward to watching the football, they had varying degrees of enthusiasm. Mr Moi was banking on an all day-er. Little Miss Moi was planning a pouting tantrum around afternoon-tea-time, which would trigger the pair's departure.

Mr and Little Miss Moi decided to dodge the snow and travel to 'The Pub' by metro. They think that descending on the Kyiv metro is a little like going into the depths of hell.

It goes a long way down.

Once they were down down down, Little Miss Moi snapped a cheeky photo of Mr Moi. See? That's his cheek. She also snapped some Kyiv winter fashion. Many Kyiv-ites are wearing big coats with fluffy bits all over them.

If you look closely, there's even a couple of big furry shapkas in the photo too.

Mr and Little Miss Moi were transported by metro to Little Miss Moi's favourite station: Maidan Nezalezhnosti. She often copies the announcing man in order to perfect her pronunciation of her blog name. She didn't take a photo of the metro, as the camera was safely tucked away against theives.

Once off the metro, Mr and Little Miss Moi took the escalator up and up and re-emerged from the bowels of the earth.

Before they knew it, they were at 'The Pub'. Here, Mr and Little Miss Moi met up with some fellow rugby lovers, and watched what seemed like match after match. First they watched Mr and Little Miss Moi's home team Queensland play the Hurricanes. Then they watched some soccer.

The soccer was a real low-light, because all of a sudden, 'The Pub' filled up with people of the pommy persuasion, dressed in red jerseys. They were so loud that Little Miss Moi had to yell, and it hurt her throat.

The mid afternoon pouting tantrum was blithely unrecognised by Mr Moi, so Little Miss Moi ordered some hot chips instead. It's funny how the tomato sauce bottle looks only a little weird with Russian writing on it.

Then, the room started to fill up with lots of people from the lovely country of France. They were here to watch their team, The Frogs, play their next-door neighbours and the inventors of pizza, the Italian Stallions. It was rugby time again, and this was the third game all day that Little Miss Moi had been subjected to. She was getting a bit cranky.

So she bought a couple of beers and took some photos of the punters with her ever-steady hand.

After the Frog vs. Stallions match, which The Frogs won, it was time to watch England play Scotland. There were a lot of people in the room in their white English jerseys, drinking a lot of beer. Including a few twelve year olds.

After nine hours in 'The Pub', it occurred to Little Miss Moi that her bottom was really sore from sitting on the one seat for so long. It was time to go home.

Walking down from 'The Pub', Little Miss Moi was struck by how pretty everything looked in the fresh snow that had banked up in her nine-hour absence from the world. She walked through Independence Square, looking about wonderously as the snow sparkled in the streetlights.

Mr and Little Miss Moi, despite eating all afternoon, agreed to join their friends The Chenkos for dinner at Mokka in The Passage. Little Miss Moi discovered that Mokka had nothing to do with coffee, and was rather amused at the black tiger spotted uniforms the waitstaff were forced to wear. Mokka was decorated like the inside of a ship.

After two mohitos and some food in between, it was time to leave Mokka. Little Miss Moi drank so much that she almost thought this Bentley was hers. Even if it was, it had probably been parked there for too long to get out of the snow.

While she pondered why someone would leave a Bentley out to rust in the snow, she took some pretty pictures of the punters in The Passage.

It was quite snowy indeed.


Then it was time to go home. Luckily being with someone who can talk the local lingo, Mr and Little Miss Moi didn't have to face either the sloppy snow, or the bowels of the earth metro in order to get home. They got a cab.

Little Miss Moi snapped this photo at the same time she got whiplash from the driver pulling a U-turn at Maidan.

When they got home, Mr and Little Miss Moi were very tired indeed. They drank some water and a few Neurofen and went to bed. And Mr Moi still hasn't woken up.

This post is dedicated to enid. It's too hard to read her blog without wanting to write in third person.

The slush has arrived

Today has been a rather uneventful day, so I've had time to reflect on the snows that finally hit yesterday (but were almost melted by today).

Yesterday I woke up to the sound of cars driving along a wet road. What with winter being so late this year, I really believed it would never come, so when I checked out the 'rain' and saw that it was 'snow', I was actually shocked.

It seems that winter may have finally come to Kyiv. Unfortunately, it was so long in coming that the people who are employed in winter-orientated occupations seem to have left town. There were no babushkas out sweeping the paths at the crack of dawn (8am), and very few snowploughs on the roads.

Throw into the mix above-freezing temperatures by mid-morning, and it was almost time to go swimming.

As you can see, there's there's a bit of slush on the roads, and with the Ukrainian tendency to park on the footpath, it's hard to distinguish where the road ends and the footpath begins. The hilarity of twisted ankles and a big a-over-t stack ensues. Not me personally, of course.

As I earlier mentioned, most of the snow had melted by this afternoon but the days are still short, so most flat surfaces in town didn't see the sunlight today. They're still very wet, and tomorrow the temps are dropping below zero for a few days. I'll have to pull out the ice-skates.