Traveler, Writer, Aquarius, Peace Corps Volunteer
The evidence
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The badges came out before I really understood what was going on. All I knew was that a bear-like shadow suddlenly swept over me like a total eclipse. The very sunny bus had emptied and in an instant become quite dark. Okay, I was wearing sunglasses, so it was already a little dark. But I defintely did not imagine that the light dimmed when the Ukrainian giant in the black trenchcoat whipped out the worn black leather and flashed his government ID at me.
I couldn't make out what he said to Tonya, but it sounded like "carrots sleep yesterday blue chicken." As the argument escalated, I looked around at my fellow clustermates and then at the giant's henchman, this squirrelly, narrow little man with close-set coal-like eyes and a nose that was more of a beak than a probiscus. The girls in the group were, uh, what's the word? Oh yeah, freakin' terrified. Cassio seemed nonplussed, but I think he just didn't want to deal. As for me, well, I was on the pissed-off side of the bar, 'cause I had no desire to be mistaken for a schmuck tourist who doesn't know his ass from his elbow.
"You speak English?" Andrei the Giant asked.
"Yeah."
"Give me your ticket."
I turned to Tonya. "What's going on?" Tonya, suddenly a combustible stew of angry, frustrated, recalcitrant, and embarrased, explained that these men were Transit Authority and were fining us ten griven for not stamping our tickets.
A little explanation on riding busses in Kyiv. See, it costs 50 kopecks for a ticket. The way it works is you get on the bus, it takes off, and then this woman comes around and you buy your ticket from her. Kind of like riding the train. But here's the rub: on the sides of the bus, say above every third seat, there is this inconspicuous little black box, about the size of an ink cartridge, containing a stamp. Apparently, it's not sufficiant just to have a ticket, which is one price for everywhere you want to go. No, you have to buy the ticket and stamp it, ostensibly to prove you're ticket is valid, which would seem to me to be self-evident, as I just bought the friggin' thing and it's one price fits all.
So Andrei the Giant and his sniveling little cohort, who I'll call Mr. Smythe, where going to charge us ten griven for not stamping our tickets. Let me add a little more color for you. They were sitting on the bus when we got on, watched us purchase our tickets, waited until the bus emptied, and then dropped the net. Son of a bitch, we were getting taken. Well, I had no desire to pay ten griven for a 50 kopeck ride. That's like paying ten dollars for something that costs 50 cents. Okay, except that ten griven is like two dollars, so it's really not that bad. But y'all understand, right? The only thing to do was confront the Hulk in Black man-to-man and argue my ass off.
"Look, this is ridiculous!" I asserted. "You were sitting right there! You saw us purchase our tickets!"
"Ten griven," he said. "Your tickets aren't stamped. This is my job."
I shot a look at Tonya, partially searching for help and partially throwing daggers for not knowing better. She's supposed to be the guide, for Christ's sake.
"Well, I don't have ten griven," I said (like that would work). "Tonya, call Peace Corps. I don't care if nobody can do anything! Fine, take us to the friggin' police station and we'll straighten this mess out!"
By now a crowd had gathered and a scene was developing. "Tonya," I said, "what's the deal?" She explained that we were at our stop and the bus wouldn't move (and neither would Andrei the Giant and Mr. Smythe) until we antied-up our 10-spot. Well shit. There's nothing I hate more than acquiescing. "Ten griven each," Andrei repeated. "It's my job."
I wish the story would have turned out differently, but I, along with my colleagues, paid the bogus fine with our legit duckets. Tonya insisted that if she was by herself she wouldn't have paid. Maybe. In any case, my first trip to Kyiv taught me two valuable lessons: one, always take the subway or walk -- buses are for suckers; two, don't rely on anyone, even locals, to get things right. Like the boyscouts say, semper paratus. Do it yourself.
In the end, Kyiv wasn't all bad. We had dinner at a lovely restaurant called Taras and later saw an old opera about this woman and her peasant village and love and marriage and all the stuff that operas are made of. We had another close call with our trip back to Ukrainka. The last mashutka (minibus) was supposed to leave Kyiv at 10:30, and we didn't get off the subway until about 10:40. While we walked to the stop and contemplated taxi fare or the long train ride, the Fates smiled on us and it turned out the mashutka hadn't left yet.
But then, oh then, those fickle Fates, pranksters of Olympus, put just enough people in line ahead of us that all the seats were taken when we got on. "Whatever," I said. "I'm standing." The driver over the overstuffed mashutka, thankfully, didn't put up much of a fight. After the bus fiasco, I was prepared to stand there all night until he took us home. We just had to sit on the floor until we passed a certain checkpoint area, and then it was cool to stand. Mission accomplished.
So I think I'm going back to Kyiv this weekend, this time sans group, this time to play a little bit more. Hopefully, things will turn out a little better this time. But hey, at least it keeps life interesting.
Happy Halloween America.
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