Istanbul Nightclub DJ's get no First Amendment Protections

We spend the night partying at a famous Istanbul disco, whose best feature, in my opinion, was the seven story winding staircase one need ascend to gain entry. This is of course serves a warning, meant to give unwitting customers a chance to turn back before being exposed to DJ’s that are intermixing Ray Charles, with Middle Eastern music that might satisfy only the most rhythmically impaired- the songs had no beat whatsoever.
I had heard good things about Istanbul night life, and this place was packed, but authorities in New York City would have closed down the place and fined the owners hundreds of thousands of dollars on music selection alone, First Amendment be damned. (And they’d be right to)

The next morning we start by investigating the touristy part of the city.  We stop by the Grand Bazaar, a gigantic complex of small shops selling everything from trinkets, to T-shirts, to antiques, to masses of gold.
Gamze is proud of the fact that Turkey both sells and produces some of the best counterfeit name brand clothing in the world. “We’re #1,” she brags, “It’s almost indistinguishable from the real thing. "Gucci" is of course on full display.

 I see an antique dagger with a scabbard decorated in heaven, prominently displayed in a shop window. It turns out it is 80 years old, and the owner wants $2,000 for it, a price I visibly recoil at.

“Can I just film the dagger?” 

            “Sure,” he answers disappointedly, without moving to get it for me.

             “Could I hold it while I film, please?”

             “Just film it through the window.”

             Obviously we’ve all experienced this before, storekeepers whose only interest is how much money they can extract from you. I have to say, in my two visits to Istanbul, it’s more pronounced here than elsewhere.

                “You know what, you’ll never be a great salesman until you can greet all your customers with love. You’re just concerned about numbers, I assure you when you become interested in the heart first, and making that connection with someone, your numbers will follow.”

A quick look at the Grand Bazaar

                We take a ferry to the Asian side, then bus after bus after bus, til two plus hours later, we finally arrive in Gamze’s neighborhood. Public transport here is ridiculously packed, the vehicles ancient and dirty;  often smelly.
                The jammed streets and highways create awful amounts of pollution; at times it can be hard to breathe, as air regulations that we have in America, which Republicans rail against as bad for business, are non-existent in Istanbul.


A crowded Turkish bus- almost entirely male

                We get to the last leg of journey, a small bus that waits until it’s completely packed with sardines before leaving. It costs about eighty cents to climb the steep hill, Gamze’s house at its pinnacle. This middle class neighborhood is at Istanbul’s highest point. My view of the city is far reaching.

                Wanting to show up with a gift for Gamze's mother, we stop by a roadside stand selling baklava. 20 something pieces fit into the 5 lira box, quite a contrast to an earlier offer when we had stopped in one of the numerous sweet shops in town, and I had asked to purchase one piece of baklava to try.
                “No no, minimum order four pieces, 10 Lira.” (almost $6)

                Just another rip-off attempt. The shopkeeper saw a tourist and immediately tried to take advantage. It's in mankind’s greedy nature to extract as much from any situation as they can, rather than act fairly and plan for the long term. It’s symptomatic of how we treat, not only our business dealings, but our environment, politics, and relationships. I've even heard of people so shortsighted they would trade humanity's universal freedom of speech, which people have paid for with their lives, for which wars have fought, just to shut down an Istanbul nightclub because of their horrendous music. But he'd be right.

Me, Gamze, and her awesome Mom, Birgu

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The Beatles/Michael Jackson Ramadan concert - Istanbul, Turkey

I’m absolutely elated that someone's waiting for me at the airport besides the FBI (which is usually the case.) Gamze tells me the fastest, and cheapest way into town is the metro, which rolls right into the airport. Wish we had one in LAX! I drag my bags through the barriers, and onto the trains, changing twice before arriving in Taksim Square, which is one of the two big tourist areas of Istanbul.

“So, we can stay here, or we can go to my house,” Gamze offers.

“Where do you live?”

“On the Asian side, two to two and a half hours away, depending on traffic.” Wow! She came two and a half hours for me.

“Well, I’ve done enough travelling for today, let’s stay here."

“Okay, let me call my Mom and make sure it’s okay with her.”

“Umm … wow. How old are you?” 

“19.”

“Okay … call away.”

Checks out. We check in. Immediately venture out. Gamze starts her tour. She’s done research! She’s written down history of the Istanbul sights to see! She’s taking her role as tour guide very seriously! I must have a reputation as a demanding tourist.

Gamze's cheat sheet notepad with Turkish touristy info

This sweet girl is also a brain. Turns out she's going to the University and majoring in mechanical engineering, one of only 5 girls versus 100 guys entering the program.
"Is that why you chose the major?" I ask.

"No," she giggles, "I really love math, and physics, I'm really good at them."

I look at her dubiously. "Come on ..."

"Really!"

"You realize," I remark, "All the boys are going to be waiting on the school steps for you, and when you arrive will surround you like a Disney Princess, and you can laugh at the sky, accepting their apples, then point to a few of them individually and say, 'Today you get to carry my books; you can walk my dog; and you, you lucky guy, get to buy me lunch.'"

A quick visual of Taksim Square

The only transportation inside the mile and half long stretch called Taksim are public trolleys. It's loud enough to make their approach difficult to hear, which forces me to yank Gamze out of the oncoming path of one at the last moment. "You saved my life! How can I repay you my hero?" she dutifully asks.
She's already agreed to go skydiving tomorrow so I respond, "Sorry to tell you this, but I'm likely to fall back to even tomorrow."

Going to Church
Taksim Square, even during Ramadan, is crowded. Taking a break from surfing the waves of people, we step into a stunning Byzantine Catholic Church.

Byzantine Church ceiling

I think to myself of a girl in the Czech Republic who told me that cathedrals are built so gigantic, in an intentional effort to make you feel small and worthless.
Sitting amidst the majesty of the heavenly ceilings, towering above my physical form, my breath taken by beauty, my mind ceases as beingness remembers its infinite nature within.
Quite the opposite of small and worthless, I feel the vast expanse that simply is, that I am. I feel on fire.

Ramadan Beatles
We continue to the Bosporus, a narrow waterway separating the European side of Istanbul from the Asian. (It's the only city to span two continents) The sun is starting to descend. A giant tent by the water has a longer line around it than there would be if all the Beatles were to be re-united, and playing a free a concert at this exact location, with Michael Jackson as their opening act.
"The government provides free meals during the evenings of Ramadan, which are served inside the tent," Gamze explains.
"You mean thousands of people are willing to wait in line for hours, just for a free meal?"
"Well, it's not so much for the free meal, it's for community and Ramadan camaraderie as well."
So of course, we get into line- by which I mean, we cut; deep, close to the front. Looking around, I'm surprised. Am I really the only white person who likes the Beatles and Michael Jackson.
Should I feel uneasy waiting for free food with all these people so different than I? Maybe I should choose to feel like a fish out of water. Fox News has taught me how warlike and short fused these Middle Easterners are. I shouldn't like these people.
Just thinking about it gets me mad. Now I'm almost hoping someone confronts me, maybe I can do my gay street tough Seinfeld impersonation to really infuriate them. (If you don't get the "gay street tough" Seinfeld reference click here for a brief video.)

Turkish guy: "Wait. What are you two doing?"
Me: "What does it like we're doing? We're cutting the line."
Turkish guy: "You can't cut the line. I've been standing here for hours."
Me: "Look, you want to get hurt? I don't think you want to get hurt, cause if you want to get hurt, I can hurt you. So just, back off, okay."
I turn around and pat Gamze on the head.
Turkish Guy: "What is this? This is outrageous!"
I whip around in disbelief.
Me: "What is it your not understanding. We're cutting the line, and that all there is to it! Okay?!"

Unfortunately, the Turks reacted just the opposite, they welcomed us. There I am, chatting it up in barely understandable English with people incredibly happy to make my acquaintance. No doubt having a white boy in line with them was an oddity, but they were so warm and friendly; this is just wrong, isn't it?.
This is the Middle East baby. I'm cutting the line. According to Fox News, Al Qaeda is sure to kill me on the spot, maybe turn it into a video. I'm exposing my throat here.
But these people are so warm, they want to laugh, meet me, enjoy themselves. I'm dancing around, playing with kids, several Turkish girls asking if they could take their picture with me, exchanging stories, laughing at almost everything. I didn't have a good time in line, I had a great time.
The majority of people in this world, as I've said before, just want to the chance to lead a good life, be loved, and love others. You come with that energy, people almost always reciprocate in kind.

When the sun finally sets, water is guzzled in unison by all. It must have looked like we were shooting a commercial for Evian. It's their first sip of liquid of this hot summer day.
Morsels of food are shared by all. I myself offering my bag of figs I purchased a couple hours earlier. Within a minute, they are gone.
The line starts to move, people pouring into the tent. Despite our incredible talent at cutting, (90% of the line) it still takes a half hour to get inside.
The meal is simple and cheap, with hungry Turks digging in, concentrating on their food. I don't feel like eating, I won't remember the meal. I don't even think I'll remember Michael Jackson moon-walking on stage right now.
I had way more fun simply waiting in line.


Check out a brief vignette of our waiting in line and our meal

"Ramadan Blessing" 

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Mental Patient Escapes to Istanbul

Kazantip, Ukraine

“Are you crazy?!” It’s not so much a question as a statement you’d make to someone who’s wearing his Bellview Mental Hospital sweat suit, while you listen to a radio report about an escaped mental patient, while watching him use a Chihuahua as a towel to dry himself from the fierce rainstorm he's hallucinating. I mean, for Christ's sake, at least use a bigger dog man!  

“Booked a ticket to Istanbul yesterday. All accommodations here sold out from tomorrow night on.”

“Well Jesus, stay with us already. Making the trek all the way out here, and leaving right before opening night would be like wining and dining a super-model for a month, and getting up to leave during foreplay,” comes his response.

Since he puts it that way ... I certainly don't want the derisive scorn from my mates associated with making a such an unmanly mistake! That plus the fact that he’s already on the phone with Bellview authorities trying to return them their rightful property ... I readily agree to his offer.

I had met a Turkish girl in Odessa who seemed quite excited to show me around Istanbul, but right now I am seriously considering missing my flight, something I’ve never done. It's unlikely I’ll ever be out all this way to experience this party again.

I return late from my meet-up with the Russian Models and receive a text telling me the offer of accommodations is void, that they are truly unable to fit any more people into their overstuffed room here in Kazantip.

Internet has been down all day, not an uncommon occurrence out here, and I have no place to stay tomorrow, and I have nothing prepared for Istanbul, and no way to book. 

I wake-up a few hours later. Still no Internet. I have little choice, I get in a cab, drive two hours to the airport. Convince the VIP Lounge to let me use their Internet. I log on and there’s a Facebook message from Gamze (Turkish girl) stating that she’ll pick me up from the airport, “write me back to confirm you’ll be here,” I excitedly start to reply, when my lap-top crashes.

Since May the hard drive has told me it was planning to self-destruct. Every time I have logged on I get the warning, “Hard Drive Failure Imminent,” and now apparently was as good a time as any to follow through on the threat.

My computer won’t come back to life. Great, now I am going to show up in Istanbul with no computer, no place to stay, and Gamze refreshing her Facebook page, thinking me a rude, monstrous putz for not even bothering to reply.

I tinker with my computer as long as I can, zero success, race downstairs to my plane, becoming the last passenger to board. 

Bye-bye Kazantip

Istanbul
I'm flying by the seat of my pants yet again, an hour and a half later landing at Atta-Turk Airport. I think to myself I leave too much to fate, that a little preparation would go a long way. Now I have wasted all this time, energy, and money getting to a city I wasn’t inordinately fond of last time I was here, and the reason that I came likely won’t even want to speak to me. Stupid Internet. Stupid computer. Stupid me. Maybe I do belong in Bellview.

With all these thoughts circulating my mind, I take a few conscious deep breaths, hoping to delay my own imminent hard drive failure. I have weaved my way through the long passport control line, and walk out into Big Bad Istanbul, trying to predict which scam the taxi driver is going to try to pull on me ---

“Richard!!!” comes the voice.

I turn to my right and look. There’s Gamze! Oh my God, she came to the airport! What if I hadn’t come?! Now I'm excited. Who cares about organization. Who cares about preparation. Everything works out for me. I live charmed life. I give her a big hug and dance around for a second. Happy feet!
As we walk away together, a commotion ensues behind us. I turn around and see some burly authorities with "Bellview" stenciled on the back of their uniforms affixing a straight jacket onto a struggling male they've pinned to the ground who's yelling, "You've got the wrong guy! You've got the wrong guy!!"


It's a near certainty he's right.    

Mental patient rides lion in Istanbul

Russian Models Like American Eyes (Kazantip, Ukraine)

The sun takes a bow and disappears over the horizon as the citizens of Kazantip Nation applaud. As we approach the end of the week long lull between the Sports Games, and "opening night," things have started to pick-up, with more and more people arriving daily, including a perfectly formed golden haired being who's decided to descend from Mount Olympus and join us.

Aphrodite

I see Aphrodite and her cute friend at a bar on the way out. I walk up and say hello. The Goddess of beauty speaks some English, her mortal name Vera. She introduces me to Svetlana, half Russian, half Korean, both models journeying here from Moscow for the festivities. Svetlana understands some English, but speaks almost none. I get to know them as much as I can, but the conversation is stilted, the language barrier making communication difficult as it has for me the entire week.  

Svetlana

The next night, my last in the Z, I am dancing in the Marlboro Lounge (yes, smoking is alive and well in Europe.) A pretty Gypsy dances by, casting her spell on me, my eyes following her, enjoying watching her groove -- 
"AYE! AY! What the fuck are you looking at?!" her boyfriend yells at me in Russian, understandable in any language.
"Allright dude, chill, it's Kazantip."
But he doesn't chill, he goes on yelling, posturing. I open my palms to the ground and press down, trying to to calm him, but this volcano keeps erupting, spewing fatal amounts of egoic possessiveness all around him.
I know if it was me I would have smiled, possibly said, "I'm glad you appreciate."
Now it's his fourth breath, and he's still erupting, screaming, threatening. The volcano is attracting attention over the loud music. I'm in awe of the massive size of this guy's frail ego. So this is where the Hitlers of the world come from. He finally pipes down, and I scoot a little away, trying to continue dancing, but I'm looking over my shoulder to see if he's going to come and try sucker punch me or something. It's time to go.

I walk down the beach, watching people dance, kiss, and enjoy themselves, yet I'm letting my thoughts and fears about some idiot take me out of the present moment. Is this really how I want to leave Kazantip?

I climb atop a dome shaped bar, enjoying the laser light show while I look out at the sea, the unceasing luminosity of the stars once again washing away my sense of self, my self-importance. I meditate there for a good half-hour, before a group of four joins me, toasting the night in celebration. They pour me a glass of champagne.
My thoughts have shifted from worried and disturbed, to silence, and the radiant love and appreciation of the moment that comes with it. Now I am ready to leave.

As I walk towards the exit I see Vera and Svetlana in the same bar as yesterday. Unhesitatingly I approach, smile, and say hello. I'm just there, present, enjoying their company.
Fifteen minutes pass, Vera looks at me, and speaks to Svetlana in English for my benefit. "He has American Eyes, doesn't he?"
"I do?" My eyes have been called green, shiny, cat, bright, but this is the first time I've heard a nationality ascribed to them. "What are American Eyes?"

American Eyes?

"Look at you," answers Aphrodite, "You're always smiling, your eyes are shiny, it's like you have no problems, how do you it? Are you always like this?"
"I'm in Kazantip, talking to two beautiful girls, on a warm night, under a starlit sky. How could there be any problems Now?"
"Are you always this happy?"
"I was being threatened a half hour ago, I wasn't all that happy ... but that was then, this is Now. Why should I let that affect me and poison my interactions with you?"
"Do you have such a great family or something?"
"My family is very small, I rarely see them."
"Maybe it's that you don't have to see your family that makes you so happy."
"No, I feel joy, cause I am here, now, speaking to you. It's been a process for me, and I'm not always like this, but what problems exist for you right now? Not in your mind. When you let all the problems that exist in your mind go, there's nothing left but the beauty of this moment."
"Eckhart Tolle," she says, quantifying it so the mind can understand, make sense of it, make it less threatening to the ego, "I'm reading that book in Russian."
"Great, and the power comes in being able to apply it. It's still work in progress for me."

Vera, writer, Svetlana

I sit there in silence, I have little else to say. My heart is open, and I realize that despite being from Mount Olympus, she's human, with her own doubts and insecurities. She believes herself to be mortal. Her body, yes, her soul, her consciousness, no.
I think about my ex-girlfriend Maria, from the same heights of gorgeous, yet how much anguish still existed inside her. People would see her, and be struck by her outward appearance, yet never take the time to find out how she felt inside, and how her own ego would convince her that her past affected the now, and how often the present moment would be poisoned by her fears and judgements.
She's no longer with us, by her own hand. I think it about it and feel sadness well through me. I allow that to pass, breathe in deeply, look at Vera and Svetlana, and feel into the beauty all around me, the same that is inside.
They smile at me. When anyone allows themselves to be fully present, when our bodies and hearts vibrate with the same frequency of the Universal Love, people and beings around you unconsciously recognize this, and it help awakens, if only for a moment, the same vibratory frequency inside of them.
American Eyes are just a symptom of this energy. Describe it as you like, divine love, God, even Eyes Americano, those words are just a sign post pointing to the ultimate truth. The Buddhists have a saying, "The finger pointing to the moon, is not the moon."
One day mankind might reach the moon. I'm glad to be able to reach it, if only on occasion. Anybody that wishes to join, is more than welcome.

Sex, Drugs, Electronica, and a Bliss Attack in Kazantip

Kazantip
The party began almost twenty years ago when some wind surfers at a summer competition started a bonfire on the beach and added music. The celebration grew and grew, day by day, summer after summer, until today it is the premiere party in Eastern Europe, lasting from the end of July to almost September.
The party consists of two parts, one being the recently added sports games, an eight day event, the former Soviet Bloc's answer to the American X-Games; the second being a huge rave, where Kazantip Nation attracts in excess of 10,000 youth a night.
There's a very small subset of Eastern Europeans that can afford the $250 for the month long KaZantip ViZa (everything here has a "Z") , not to mention additional money for lodgings, transport, food, alcohol, drugs, and the vacation time needed to make the long journey out to the middle of nowhere. Why do they make the trek? Aside of probably the nicest, least polluted beach on the Black Sea, it's like pilgrimage for youth, the Mecca of raves, something you can always say, "Yeah I did that."
Many compare being here to Burning Man in the States, or the party in Ibiza. Over the years this two square kilometer "nation" has really built up some infrastructure- bars, restaurants, sculptures, a skyway, and stadiums that line the beach. It's actually quite impressive.
Many of the creations in Kazantip are modeled after drawings drawn-up by Soviet engineers who imagined what life would be like on the moon; from the rocket ship below-

nest of eggs atop spaceship in Kazantip

to the Star Wars like moon like residences- Kazantip

(check out this video of the scene in Kazantip- from day to night)

Drugs-
A plethora of drugs exist. I was warned not to consume any drinks that didn't come straight from a bartender as they could very likely be spiked, namely with Speed.
Fortunately, I never have to worry about being offered drugs, I know I'm not cool enough. (plus I don't speak Russian)

kazantip Bar on "skyway"

Sex
Boobs. You'll see lots of boobs on the sand here. I told you it's a nice a beach, right? It's clothing optional in the Z.

yes please

However, due to the huge expense associated with Kazantip, the majority of girls that arrive are attached. According to Dmtryo, very few Ukrainian women can afford to make it here on their own, but that doesn't mean hooking up is unlikely.
In my last post, I told you I was viciously attacked by mosquitoes at dusk, and while purchasing my pass to the sports game portion of the party ($25) I was taking my revenge on the little vampires resting on the walls, swatting about six of them while i waited for my ViZa to be created. I turned around and exchanged eye contact with a blond girl who was looking at me horrified.
"What are you doing?"
"Killing vampires."
My ViZa is ready so I walk away, probably looking like a weirdo in her eyes.

She sees me on the dance floor the next night. "Hey, you're the American that was killing mosquitoes!"
"Maybe."
"Can I talk to you?" she asks.
Great, now I have to explain my Hitler like actions towards these blood sucking parasites. She takes me aside, and sits down with me, but thankfully insects are the last thing on her mind.
She's a 25 year old Russian diplomat, hence the good English, recently divorced, and is here to party cause she's "too young to stop drinking and having sex." And that's what she's here to do ...
  

Flying bicycle- Kazantip

Electronica
24 hours a day, disc jockey's are playing electronic music in every bar on the beach. Aren't grooving to one DJ, walk twenty seconds, you'll find a different flavor. Unlike city clubs, even in the evenings, you'll find very little male/female grinding, most people are trance dancing by themselves, and there are some really excellent dancers here. I don't happen to be among them, but I love it when I allow music to take over my body, and I just let go. When thoughts cease, the dance of pure expression take place.

Bliss
I'm trying to decide whether to stay for the rave portion of the party, and pay the $250 for the new ViZa. Outside the ticket office, I run into Kate, a Russian girl. She and her friends are leaving in a couple days, and can't afford the fee. She strikes up a conversation with me and invites me to hang out with them. When people invite me to do something fun, I'm usually a Yes Man.

Me, Kate, and two Russian friends

We go and get some Koniak at the local store, and head to a neighboring beach. No English is spoken aside of Kate, who speaks poorly anyways, so I'm just enjoying their company. We're the only ones there and it's well after midnight. The sky here is clear, and outside of the lights coming from the party area, the entire region is shrouded in darkness for fifty miles in any direction.
I have never seen so many stars. It's magnificent. 

Stars in the night sky above Kazantip (Big Dipper)

As I sit there with my new friends, looking at the night sky, and its glowing stars, I think about how I am created of the same energy that created the dynamic lights that illuminate the cosmos. Their size, the billions of miles of distance, their age, and me, a tiny speck of a microcosm of this vast expanse of space, yet in total unification. There is no separation, I feel part of a greater whole.
Tears roll down my eyes, a release of whatever negativity might have been in me, the problems of my mind dissolving as the purifying gratitude of existence washes over me. Some people have panic attacks, I get bliss attacks. Right Now, is holy. I need nothing, there is only deep peace and love. Kate looks over at me. I smile. "I see the Universe in your eyes,"
I whisper back, "You're no different than me, are you?"

The Center of the Middle of Nowhere- The Clean and Beautiful Crimean Peninsula, Ukraine

We get off the train in Simperofol, and take a bus towards Kazantip. The moment we're out of the terminal, the driver stops and picks up a new passenger in what is certainly a pre-arranged plan to bypass the full fare, a way for the driver to augment his meager income. Along the way, he picks up several more paying hitchhikers- common in the Ukraine.

There's almost no civilization over the two hour ride, just vast expanses of flat, largely barren ground. It's hot outside, so I purchase three ice creams at a stop, and try to gift them to my new friends Viktoriia and Dmytro, but they refuse the sugar. I'm not eating three of these ...
I hand one off to the cliche fat guy sitting next to them, and start scanning for another worthy candidate. I spot a small boy 50 feet away whom I walk to. He shakes his head at the offer.
What? Seriously?
The ice cream cost a dollar, and given that Ukrainians earn $500 a month, this likely isn't an everyday treat. I return and relate my surprise to Dmytro who opens his eyes wide, and warns that someone is going to call the cops on me. I guess it's been awhile since I wasn't allowed to take candy from a stranger. I sit down for a moment and ponder what to do with my rapidly melting gift.
My answer approaches, it's the little boy nodding his head excitedly, extending his hand; he smiles enthusiastically as he walks away with his treat.
Minutes later, like any narcissist, I check in on my work and observe the boy sharing the ice cream with his sister. I smile at his parents who nod back. There will be no police line-up today.

Kazantip- not exactly on the map
At last we arrive in Kazantip, located on the Black Sea in the Crimean Peninsula of the Ukraine, in the center of the middle of nowhere. Surrounding Kazantip (which technically is just a large gated party area on the beach) are two tiny towns and then a vast void of nothingness for a fifty mile plus radius.
The woman who owns the small apartment building we're staying in, its tiny rooms essentially just a bed and bathroom, explains that all money is made during the summer months, the rest of the year the area is a complete ghost town. She makes enough during the summer, she tells me, to be able to to hibernate through the winter.
The rooms rent for $25-$35 a night (depending on if you have AC) and go up in price when the party in Kazantip really kicks into gear. They'll also be happy to cook for you, and meals are very reasonably priced, the food fresh, grown locally, and all organic; farmers here can't afford pesticides. Thank God right.

(I'm also introduced to a Ukrainian beverage called "kvass." Learn a little about in this video.)

The people here are much friendlier than Kiev. The waitress who served me was absolutely elated when I taught her how to say, "Enjoy your meal," in English. Every time she served me over my week long stay she would proudly use the phrase and walk away with a huge smile on her face.


(just see how desolate my surroundings are, as I explore the area)

Communistic Storefront
The grocery store of the neighboring town is managed like a relic of Communist Times, a model of complete inefficiency. You wait in line, and when you finally make to the front, you tell the clerks what it is you desire, they go and get it for you, then come back to the counter and ring it up. Five people in line ahead of me buying less than five items each, and I waited 15 minutes just to purchase a bottle of water. Only one line of course. In fairness, they don't call it "the express."
The only logical reason for this set-up that I could think is how common theft appears to be in the Ukraine, and this is an attempt by the shop to combat it.
I'll tell you this, leave something out in the Ukraine, kiss it good-bye. Left a bottle of water atop my suitcase lugging it around Simerafopol, come back two minutes later, I'm going thirsty. Leave my flip-flops beside some other shoes while I run on the beach, come back, and have to walk barefoot back to my lodgings.

My strategy for purchasing anything in the Ukraine was to put whatever I was buying on the counter, or point to what I needed, let them tell me in Ukrainian how much I owed, nod my head as if I understood, pull some money out of my pocket and pray they gave correct change. At no point should you open your mouth. The moment they realize you're American, here comes the surcharge.

Clean and Beautiful
The weather is warm, and the sea refreshing, the water an almost tropical blue and surprisingly clean and translucent. Being out in the middle of nowhere, there is zero pollution and the sky is crystal clear. This isn't a beach of Southern Thailand, but it's far nicer than I expected.

The Black Sea in Crimea- Kazantip is clean!

Mozzie Magnet
I go at sundown to meditate on the beach, which is normally a great plan in Los Angeles, but not the best idea here. Within two minutes I've been viciously attacked, and am left with what I consider to be massive injuries- twelve mosquito bites. I beat Usain Bolt back to the motel.
My whole body is in utter despair, I don't have enough hands to scratch where I need. It gnaws at my mind which I feel like tearing out of my skull so I won't feel the burning itching sensation over every square inch of my body. There is absolutely no relief from this. I'm in the center of the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an army of mosquitoes, and no way out. I wonder what drew me all the way out here begin with. I must be insane.
Dmytro sees me scratching. "Don't you know how active mosquitoes here are at dusk? Everyone hides til it gets dark. Only an idiot goes to the beach at this hour. Didn't you wonder why you were the only one out there?" He leaves shaking his head.
I think about what he's said and look at the bright side. At least 'idiot' is a big step above insanity. I feel a little relieved. An encouraging word can do wonders now and then. Thanks Dmytro!

Mosquito magnet, Dmytro (sunburnt), Viktoriia

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Riding The Crazy Train to Kazantip

I never know where I am going to end up next; heads I go to the former top-secret Nuclear Submarine Base city of the USSR, Sevastopol, tails I head west to Bulgaria ... *Heads*

I purchase one of three remaining tickets at the train station and my eleven hour window leaves me ample time to go for a run one the shores of the Black Sea.

The beaches of Odessa are not nice, the waters of this port city dirtied by the huge cargo ships arriving into the deep water harbor. Venture more than a few feet off the beach and you likely won't be able to stand. I'm not sorry I came to Odessa, but I'm certainly ready to move on.

Losing My Computer
The owner of my hostel is a very nice, very tall Polish girl named Silva. She calls me a taxi, and has arranged for me to stay in her boyfriend's hostel in Sevastopol. She scribbles some directions on how to get there from the train station on a piece of paper as the cabbie calls to say he's downstairs. She hugs me good-bye and sends me on my way.
Ten minutes later I am at the train station. I grab my backpack, jiggle my suitcase out of the trunk, and pay the cabbie. I take four steps towards the tracks and stop cold, something is dreadfully wrong ... My computer bag is not slung over my shoulder. The taxi is gone! Fuck! That's my life support.
What can I do? Silva gave me that paper, maybe her phone number is on it. Just the number of her boyfriend Adam in Sevastopol.
RING, "Hello."
"Adam! Your girlfriend put in me in a cab to come to come visit you, but I just left my computer inside!"
"I'll call you right back."
Two minutes later my phone rings. "Hey, it's Adam, they called the driver, meet the taxi back exactly where he dropped you off, he's on his way."
Oh my God, am I going to get lucky beyond belief? Others might describe him as an old man driving a beat-up taxi, but I see a noble knight, riding in on his trusted white steed to save the day. I quickly open up the back door, my black and white striped computer bag still there. I'm beyond relieved. I pull 50 grivnas out of my wallet and hand it to him as a tip. Gratitude crosses his face, he takes a deep breath and extends his hand to me, wanting to thank me for my generosity.
I have to be honest, a little quick thinking, caller ID, and an ample amount of good fortune is all that saved me. I never expected to see my computer again. A few minutes later, the taxi would have picked up another fare, and the passenger would have likely seen the computer as a month's wages. Honesty is far more difficult when you're poor.

The Beach in Kazantip- way nicer than Odessa

The Crazy Train
My ticket is printed in Cyrillic, and I have no clue where to go, or what car I'm in. There is almost zero English spoken here. An agent is stationed in front of every car checking tickets. They don't even make a cursory attempt to speak English, they just point me in a direction and send me on my way. Might as well be playing "hot or cold" with my eyes closed.
Eventually I find my car and hand my ticket to a surly female employee. She takes it, motions for me to get on, but won't hand me back my voucher.
"Huh, what proof do I have when I'm on the train that I paid?"
There's not even a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She's impatiently waiting for me to board. I clearly can't argue with this wall, I'll have to take my chances.

This is an overnight journey lasting twelve plus hours. Each compartment has four bunks, two on each wall, and I have to assume I just choose an empty bed since I have no ticket telling me which is mine specifically (not that I could read it anyways.) I open a random door, stow my suitcase, brush my teeth, and climb into bed as it's well after midnight.
An hour later I'm dead asleep. The door opens, it's Surly. She looks up at me and yells at me in Ukrainian.
"You took my ticket! I paid," I retort  to whatever she said.
She's clearly unhappy with me, and motions for me to come down. I can't imagine the others in my compartment are thrilled that their sleep being is disturbed by this ruckus. I need to find someone here that speaks English. I'd also like to win the lottery.
I am made to understand that I'm an idiot for getting into the wrong compartment; like that's my fault. I gather my luggage, double checking my computer bag, and head down the corridor with her. She opens the door to another room and ushers me in. "Wouldn't it have been easier just to put the other person in my place?" Wasted breath.

There's a young couple in this room who speak, can it be, some English. Dmytro and Viktoriia introduce themselves, they're casino dealers from Odessa, working on Celebrity Cruise Lines, an American company, on vacation, thus back in the Ukraine. It's late, we'll talk in the morning.

Change of Plans
Dawn arrives and everyone's up an hour later. We start chatting, they're quite nice and amicable people.
"You're out here, in the middle of the Ukraine, alone?" Dmytro asks.
"Yup."
"You're brave."
I don't see what's brave about it. If I die, I die, no big deal, but it's not the first time I've heard this refrain. I think of brave as traveling around the Mexican/US border and telling everybody you're DEA, but maybe that's just suicidal.
"Why are you going to Sevastopol? There's nothing there except a naval base," explains Dmytro.
"Where are you guys going?" I ask.
"Kazantip. I'm going there to learn how to kite surf, and there's a big party electronica party there."
"That sounds more fun than a naval base."
"I'd say do."
"Mind if I join?"
Dmytro looks at Viktoriia, they shrug their shoulders.
"Sure, we'll even call the woman at the place we're staying and see if she has an extra room to rent,"
That's called changing plans on a dime. Brave? Crazy? Or just a impulsive? One thing's for sure- I never know where I'm going to end up next.

Euro Cup, Bad Runways, and Gypsies

Kiev- Euro Cup 2012
As I'm sure you know, Europeans are nuts about soccer, or these crazy cats call it- "football." Ukraine and Poland are sharing the hosting of the 2012 Euro Cup, with the championship game to be held in Kiev. Ukrainians are beyond excited. There's no escaping it either, no matter where you go billboards, graphics, and T-shirts remind you of what's coming. Nowhere is this more apparent than Kiev's center, where a huge stop watch counts down the 350 days left before kick-off, second by second.


Euro-Cup Countdown billboard in Kiev

It was assumed that Odessa, Ukraine's second largest city, would undoubtedly be awarded at minimum a group stage competition, possibly even a semi-final match, and when the head of the European Soccer Commission announced he was personally going to Odessa, its citizens began an early celebration. Today they regret he didn't arrive by train ... 

The Odessa Airport

Odessa Airport

My friends Dmytro and Viktoriia, from Odessa, describe a rather bouncy landing on a recent return home, one that will remain lodged into their minds forever.
"So we're in a small plane, about to hit down in Odessa, and I do mean 'hit.' As we approach what constitutes a landing strip, all twenty people on board start praying and kissing the crucifixes they've worn specifically for this occasion, and we touch the ground and bounce sideways, then we hit a hole, which pops us the other way, the baggage compartments open up, stuff's flying everywhere, we're like a top rattling from side to side, trying to decide which way to ultimately fall. The wheels hit one side, the plane jumps back to the other, which is good, because with every bounce we're slowing down, the bad news is my head's involuntarily rammed into the seat in front of me. Then we hear a giant screeching sound, and I look outside my window, and see our wing dragging on the ground as a brake. Now I'm certain death is imminent, so I close my eyes and hold on tight, before we finally come to a stop. There's a moment of silence as we wait for the gas in the engines to explode. The captain rushes out of the cockpit, opens the door, looks outside, turns to back to us with a surprised look and states, "Hey, our wing is still attached, how about that."
"Seriously?"
"That's the Odessa Airport," Dmytro replies, "a giant, uneven, pot-hole field. It's like landing on a farm."
I stand up, turning into the pilot: "Watch out! A cow!!!" I exclaim, earning heavy chuckles from the rest of my audience, but not Dmytro and Viktoriia who are still living out the nightmare in their heads.
"That's not funny," retorts a smirk-less Viktoriia, "it's too close to the truth."

So the head of the European Football Commission experienced a similar "landing," and the city of Odessa was reportedly crossed off the list of suitable cities before he even exited the plane.
Even twenty years later, most of Eastern Europe still does not have the infrastructure to rival the West.

Gypsy Tales

Gypsies, also known as "Romas" as the majority of them are based in Romania, are dark skinned and of Indian heritage, and considered a plague throughout Europe. My friend Zuzana from Prague, describes a Czech bus stop as a family of Gypsies approaches. "Everybody instinctively puts two hands over their purse."
She'll readily admit Czechs are a little racist, but when it comes to Gypsies, she, an educated and intelligent lawyer, doesn't hold back, even when trying to be politically correct: "For the ten percent of Gypsies who are actually decent people, I'm sorry, the other 90% ruin it for them."
And believe me, she's not alone. No matter where I went, I never heard a single nice word coming from a European about Romas.
Interestingly, the two countries where the rhetoric is most dialed down? The Axis countries of Germany and Austria.
Why? The human tendency of when erring so badly in one direction, the backlash shifts you to the other extreme (drunken womanizing gambler to Born Again Christian.)
 Let's say, just for arguments sake, the Germans made a few mistakes over the last century, what with starting two world wars (winning none), declaring themselves the superior race, and killing half the population of Europe to prove it, which even the most stubborn and prideful German of today will admit were "minor errors."
Actually, that's me being totally unfair, the Hitler Youth of yesterday has given way to shamed and overly politically correct politicians of today, where if you say anything remotely bad about another race, people will point fingers and call you a Nazi, no matter whether or not the content of your speech has any basis in reality.

I meet Ingo, an Austrian investment banker who's used his two weeks vacation to motorbike from Vienna all the way to the Black Sea and Kazantip. He's a very likable, funny guy, and a good story teller.
He related the following two stories about Gypsies in his native Austria.

Lift No More
To deal with it's Gypsy infestation, one Austrian town decided it was better to build them an apartment building, which quickly became known as a breeding ground for rats.
Romas are notoriously filthy, and when the lift stopped working, rather than wait for it to be fixed, they decided the elevator shaft would make an excellent garbage chute, Take the trash out to the dumpster? Why? The lift is so much closer. A week later, when the city finally sent a mechanic to fix the elevator, the workers found the shaft completely stuffed with garbage, from top to bottom.

And if you've ever been to India, this story is totally consistent with what you'll see there. I swear to God, atop many many Indian houses ten feet high, is twelve feet of trash. It must be genetic.


Gypsy family

New Store
Romanian Gypsies have their own mafia. Part of their racketeering business consists of sending out Gypsy beggars to Western Europe, with the majority of revenue making it's way to the top. Ingo's friend, Marcus, being of Romanian descent, had a favorite grocery store in his in Austrian town that he swore sold the freshest and tastiest produce. He would refuse to shop anywhere else.
Then the Gypsy beggars started arriving. Everyday he would walk into his favorite store and get mercilessly hassled for money. Everyday he would ignore them. After two weeks of this, he finally grew tired of it, and hoping to shop in future peace, exploded at the beggars, answering them in Romanian to be certain they would understand, "NO! Stop bugging me! You will never get anything from me! You fucking gypsies, stop fucking asking me for money every time I come in, do you fucking understand?!!"
You could hear a pin drop in the store. For a moment no one moved. Then came the response ... Sadly, it did not end well for Marcus.
The Gypsies were excited. They gathered round Marcus, and just about hoisted him on their shoulders in victory. "Hey! You are one of of us! You are Romanian! We like you very much! Come have a beer with us!"
Marcus's response, "Fuck. I've got to find a different store."