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Day 7 - The mysterious Ukraine

Following on from the previous blog…

Our second stay in a hotel, the first being in Budapest, was supposed to be a luxury affair. And in a way, it was - very clean, nice, something we'd be happy in if situated in the UK, albeit a bit expensive for the country. The problem was though, we didn't really get a chance to appreciate it - after eating our hastily constructed meal of something, something red and mashed potato, we hit the sack. We were so tired, so very tired, after such a long time, that before I knew it, the lovely receptionist was calling me with my wake up alarm.

We were so tired, so very tired, that I woke up on top of the bed, fully dressed, things still in my pockets - we were that tired.
So, yet another night of minimal sleep, this time 6 hours (which is our best so far on the rally). We were outside for 5.30am, as agreed with Rusi, along with our poorly Pete the Saxo - but no sign of him. We waited and waited, sat in the car outside the hotel, getting slightly worried - without Rusi, we had no hope. As I began to drift off in the back seat, desperate to claw back some of my deserved sleep, Mackey announced the triumphant arrival of our saviour sometime around 6am-ish. Along strolled Rusi, beer in hand, looking as if he'd just stepped out of a club and straight to our aid.

As it turns out, he HAD just stepped out of a club and straight to our aid. We all headed bright and early to the mechanics, and as good as their word were up and ready, looking exactly the same as if they'd been up 12 hours - wearing shorts, oil and a nondescript facial expression. Rusi did the talking, we did the looking worried. Within 5 minutes, Rusi told us we had to leave them to it for a few hours, so we went on a tour of the city of Illishev (or rather straight to the sea front). The beaches are very nice and clean, and the Black Sea looks constantly inviting. Even at 6.30am, there were large groups of people (locals I believe) going for their morning swim, ready to start the day ahead. Now why don't we all do that?! We went for a walk, a quick historical tour mainly focusing on the nightclubs, and then we were offered a morning coffee. Always a good way to go, Rusi was then visibly distraught as he looked around trying to find a cafe that was open. He continually apologised as he searched high and low for an vender at the early hour, despite our pleas that we were quite happy to grab a coffee later! What a nice guy.

We ended up at a supermarket, due to Mackey wanting to take advantage of the prices of cigarettes. Marlboro, Marlboro lights, Camels, and many of the other international brand names were being sold for a shocking 75 Griva! (This works out to be about 49 pence a pack). That's a very strange thing i've noticed - the comparative prices of objects. For example, in the UK - cigarettes are expensive, £6 a pack at the local shop. To put this into perspective, a carrier bag in the UK costs what… 10pence at the most? So you could have sixty carrier bags for the price of 20 cigarettes. In the Ukraine, however, we found a small corner shop that sold a carrier bag for 2 Griva. (Fags cost 8 Griva). Where else on the planet could you buy 20 cigarettes for the price of 4 carrier bags? Very very strange. 

One more quick example - a packet of every day wet wipes (the travellers essential). Keep in mind that 20 Cigarettes cost about 7.5 Griva, and a carton of 200 cost 75 Griva. The wet wipes? 50 Griva. That's right, either buy the wet wipes, or get 160 cigarettes. This place is mad, and no wonder so many people smoke (and chain smoke at that…)

The supermarket, a typically Ukrainian affair, was more just pallet racking stacked floor to ceiling with yet more peculiar pricing on even more peculiar items. We did find a cafe at the top though, not open for another 20 minutes, but we sat and waited - mainly due to the air con, and they seemed to be cooking interesting things for breakfast. This eventually consisted of strange meaty tortelini, along with some deep fried dried cheese. Oh, and cream - they seem to have cream with everything here (breakfast lunch and dinner).

Once we'd received a phone call from Mike and the Mechanics (that's not his real name), and gave us the bad news. A suspected broken torsion bar. Not the end of the world for the UK, but Citroen had the foresight to never introduce the Saxo into the Ukraine. it was the first time Mike and co had ever even seen one. Will and I should never be trusted to buy a car again. The only solution? To go to a Car Bazaar on the other side of Odessa, a good 60km away, and ask around there. Getting there would be tricky, but it was Rusi - the guy could sort anything out. And as good as his world, he got in contact with a friend who offered his chauffeur skills. Rusi offered his place for Will & Mackey, as i'd have the money, and off we went in search for the magic torsion bar replacement.

This turned out to be a nightmare, and once again, Rusi and friend went completely above and beyond what was asked of them. The car bazaar was a strange place - a village made out of old shipping containers, and some of these buildings were 3 or 4 containers high, unsympathetically welded together where possible. One night touch though, was many had double glazing - windows and doors. Very peculiar place.

Signs crowded the narrow walk ways amongst the containers, each an obstacle to avoid, but also to take notice, for they  pointed you in the direction of the shipping container resident that would know about your brand of car. As suspected, there were 2 container shops that had the Citroen sign outside, and both had little in the way of torsion bars for a 2001 Citroen Saxo 1.1 Forte. They did, however, say they are exactly the same as the one used on the 106s - find one of those, and we would be happy. Unfortunately though, this is not the happy ending we know you were looking for. Not only did we traipse the maze of the village and spoke to dozens, Rusi and friend also then drove up and down huge swathes of industrial park around the city, stopping off at every single breakers yard going.
We were at a loss. No car, stuck in a Ukrainian city, and using alarming amounts of our money staying at hotels. Rusi though, never gave up. He bought the Ukranian version of Auto trader, and set about making phone call after phone call to every advert that mentioned France. Eventually we found that single person in the whole country had one, located in the capital city of Kiev - and we quickly placed the order and were promised a next day delivery…

Meanwhile, in the adventures of Mackey and Will…. Rusi had let them stay at his flat, on the 9th floor of a Soviet tower block, just about affording ocean views if you precariously hang out of the balcony. On the lift going up to the top floor, which shrieked and shuddered under the weight of 4 people, we all noticed a very horrible smell. The three Islanders subtly shot glances to each other. A shockingly horrible smell. It turns out that someone had passed away on one on of the floors, and the decomposing smell filled every corridor and lift shaft that it could. 

Rusi showed them in, but apologies for he had nothing to keep them entertained - 100 channels of Ukrainian TV and a view of the city. I don't think this mattered - when I got back after the torsion bar hunt, having spent 3 or 4 hours racing around Odessa, Mackey and Will were happily asleep.

We basically had 24 hours to waste, before the part would arrive. Rusi liked this, it gave him a chance to show us his favourite part of the city - the night life. Back to our hotel we trundled, begged and received another couple of rooms, and had our second shower in two days. This is luxury. Rusi was to come and collect us at 10.30pm - he'd said earlier that it would be much better if we went in as the 4 of us, that way we wouldn't have any bother from the security. A 10.30pm start is very late for us island boys - at this point, we're usually on the dancefloor at the New Inn, or under the complete direction of Pete the Marshall and his Jagerbomb orders. We headed down to the hotel bar, and had a few cold beers in the still warm evening (temperatures had reached 34 that day.)

Beer, another thing that doesn't cost a lot. A large beer, probably bigger than a pint, was about 75 pence. 

10.30pm and Rusi comes to collect us, for the 10 minute taxi drive to the sea front, where the ToGo club awaited. It looked like something from the Flintstones from the outside - windows were just holes in the walls, all made to look very cave-esque. Quite a number of people gathered outside, ready for it to open, as there was some famous guy singing. We have no idea who he was though, despite sounding English, other than we knew he was staying at our hotel. We saw him getting his photograph taken with the receptionist - I just assumed he fancied her, as I did.

We were glad to see the inside of the club looked exactly as it should from the outside - basically a funky cave, but huge. Despite the ticket prices being about £10 each (which is a considerable amount for a club night here), it was packed. As soon as we walked in, we were greeted with shots of Angry Mexicans, prepared by the rather skilful barmen. The place was reputed to be the most expensive in the city, and by the end of the night, we  very much agreed - but, we've done a week of nothing but driving and no drinking; it was time to let our hair down.

Rusi introduced us straight away to three or four Ukrainian women, who along with everyone else in the club, looked incredible. They all loved our English accents, and many wanted to chat. More and more cocktails went down, and Will and I hit the dancefloor. Looking back, I think we did well, and did our nation proud. In reality though, through sober hindsight, it could have been very very different. 
Lots wanted to know about the rally, as Rusi had mentioned it. We tried explaining using a combination of loud words, and hand signals.

My absolute favourite was Will telling someone 

WE (collective pointing of the three of us)
DRIVING (universally accepted steering wheel motion)
TO (two fingers held aloft)
MONGOLIA (Pointing far in a very random direction)

I think they all recognised the word Mongolia - but it was the TO bit that got them. As we explained to him after, two and to aren't phonetically joined anywhere but the UK. Hence why many were wondering why were were driving to Mongolia twice….

We got kicked out of the club at about 4.15am, all in very good spirits as i'm sure you could imagine. We genuinely had an awesome time, made lots of new friends, and got propositioned a lot. I'd write about that bit, but not really suitable for the PG audience we're aiming for! But, the party hadn't finished yet - walking on the beach, a bar was happily collecting the club evictees, and laying on yet more drink. We think we stayed there till about 5.30am - it was certainly light by the time we got back to our hotel (how we got back, none of us know. I woke up with a Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of my room door (which happened to be next to reception), and no idea how it got there. From the beach bar to when we awoke at 10am, we remember nothing.

Mackey and Will's room was equally suspicious - their bathroom door was locked, but they were both in bed. A few bangs on the door, almost fearing the worst. What had they done? Who was in there? Were they expensive?!! Luckily though, a tooth pick later and we had the door open, but no one was in there. All in all, a most excellent night.

We'll leave it there today folks - i'm still a blog post behind, and use my precious few hours in the back seat to update!

Until next time..….