The Southern Route

Caucasian notes by Oleg Kushaty from A to Z

Having journeyed through Egypts and Turkeys, Russians compare domestic and foreign holidays. Mostly in favor of foreign ones. For the same money, as they say, you get different service, and even different sea, sand, water, wine, fruits, vegetables, and so on.  In this case, Ukraine remains the younger sister of Russia. A vacation in Crimea does not differ much from a vacation in Gelendzhik. And yet many Russians, Ukrainians and Belarusians come here - those who have not been lucky enough to receive the profits from selling oil or gas, diamonds, timber, weapons or drugs, who live on post-Soviet salaries and love the sea. That is most people.

I also went to the Ukrainian coast. I had quite a nice holiday. The water turned out to be the same as at the Turkish coast, just a little bit cooler. The sun shone lavishly. People around seemed similar to those at Sharm al-Sheikh - with their problems and shortcomings. At the seaside there is no time to work. But I found the strength to write something.

 On the sea with a mirage

The train moved under the rumble of the railway station and the trills of mobile phones. Almost all the people seeing somebody off and the departing passengers were calling. Some of them hurried to impart news to those whom they were going to, others to those whom they were parting from, although many of them were still standing on the platform.

“Milka! A conductor gave us a bed for free!” screamed a girl of school-age into a cell phone.

“Nobody gives anything for free - this all is included in the ticket price,” came a voice from the next compartment.

“Come on, grandma. Yes, you, get quickly to your shelf!” sounded now from another compartment.

“Give me a hand, sonny. I haven't got to such a height for quite a long while.”

“Be careful, grandma, don't you trot with your socks. You should be thankful that we are raising you and not pulling down!”

A company of young passengers in vests giggled. At their table, everything was ready by that time - several bottles of vodka and snacks. The young ones, it seemed to me, had stocked up for a long time.

“There will be enough to Tula and there we'll buy more,” one of them commented as if to my speculation.

“All the same, Tula won’t be so soon – it’s about three hours...”

In the last compartment of the second-class carriage a large family found enough room for themselves. There turned out to be twice as many family members as their were berths. The conductor did not worry about it. A woman, nearly 50 years old, entered our compartment. She put her bag on my, lower, berth and started making the bed on her, top shelf. I was driven by noble impulse.

“Do you want to change places?” I asked the woman.

She glanced at me in a surprise from above.

“Is it possible?”

“Of course!” Nobility filled me with determination. I even started seeking a pretext for new gentlemanly deeds.

The woman settled herself on the lower bench, laid out her belongings and threw my forgotten purse to the top shelf.

“You, take your things!” The tone of her voice suddenly turned out to be different. “And get up, please, from my bench - I need to lie down.”

The rest of the way, that is a little more than 24 hours, I spent on the top shelf - reading, lunching, dining, drinking tea, looking at my fellow travelers. However none of them ever invited to sit on their bench.

“We are approaching Kharkov!” the conductor shouted so that all the coach passengers could hear him. “Prepare your declarations, there will be customs and border control! Here is a 30-minute stop. Nobody should leave the carriage.”

All the doors turned out to be closed. Except one, leading to the platform. Here I was spotted by an old woman, selling food on the platform.

“The first sale of the day, dear, should be done,” she looked at me pleadingly. “Beer, lemonade, mineral water!”

“But we are shut in, ma'am!”
“No problem! Come here, my dear, come from the vestibule to the passage...”
"I opened the heavy door and stepped onto the rounded iron sheets.
“There are a lot of holes in the floor.” The old lady managed my actions knowingly. “Reach your hand out. Take your beer, now your mineral water.”
“Ma'am, the bottle of mineral water does not go through!”
“Wait, sonny, do not worry. Girls!” she called to the old ladies standing nearby.
“Help us! Move the carriages apart! Dear, do not you loiter, grab your mineral water! You've done it! For us old ladies, it is quite difficult to move these cars.”

Through the aperture of the passage, I gave the hryvnias to the old lady.

"The first sale of the day!”

After Dnepropetrovsk, the sun began to scorch mercilessly. Only then everyone noticed that air conditioners in the carriage were out of order. The conductor advised to open the windows. We managed to open only two windows - the rest of them were faulty. Passengers, sweating, appealed to the conductor for help. The conductor replied philosophically.

“Where are you going, dear? On vacation?  It is a service we have - we'll steam you out during the way, and you'll get straight into the sea when you get there. These impressions will stay with you for keeps!”

The train was creeping southwards, toward the Black Sea coast. By the evening there appeared an azure stripe on the horizon. Many thought that it was the sea. But I was sure that it was a mirage. Our man must suffer much to have his rest by the sea.

What surprised me the most during the holiday

A new railway carriage with faulty air-conditioners. More than 24 hours we were riding in stuffy heat - almost 40 C during the day, and 35 at night.
An old lady on the top shelf of the second-class carriage.
Coast residents, who hasn't swum in the sea for years.
Used women’s sanitary pads in a changing booth.

Barbecued mussels - small creatures capable of purifying several thousand tonnes of sea water by passing it through themselves. These barbecues are said to be greatly loved be ecologists.

Dogs that lord it on the beach at night, and bark fiercely at the first bathers.
Drunk driving of pedal boats among frightened swimmers.
Beer prevailed over vodka, despite the craving for the drastic eventual result.
Ukrainian beaches without young Ukrainian girls.
I was told that in the summer they move to the opposite coast, to Turkey, some for rest, some for work.
The favorite amusement of holidaymakers is to come into the sea knee-deep, call a friend and to ask happily: “Do you hear the sea swashing?”
And then these people talk about something for a long time and with concentration, wandering along the shore, and trying to show to everyone that they are serious vacationers, not those passengers from second-class carriages.

Oleg Kushaty, exclusively for VC