The Black Sea

Today we are headed out to the beach or as they say here, the sea. I can’t pronounce or even write the name of the place we are staying—but it is just outside of a town called Yalta. The journey was going well until they cashier told us that we were at the bus station only and we needed to be at the bus/train station—ah geez. So after Oksana talked the ticketing agent into selling us tickets anyway via cell phone at the other station. We ran bus tickets in hand to hop the next 104 back to the bus/train station we had past up on the way to the bus station. Yes its that confusing. Our bus was departing at 12:15, current time 11:30. This shouldn’t be too difficult. Oh contraire, contraire (I’m laughing even while writing this). You see it should have been a breeze however we accidently caught #104 going the wrong way. To go back to the bus/train station we needed to go under the street to the otherside. Of course it took us a while to realize this. As if through a portal of some kind we were suddenly in the countryside, beautiful hills and homes. It was the Brentwood of Simferopol just no chic-fil-a. We made up our mind to exit when we saw another #104’s heading the opposite way—the right way. The only problem is we were now in the middle of no where. (It’s a short drive in the Ukraine) Nevertheless we hopped off the bus and stood on the side of the dirt road, vast hills and tatar huts all around. Up the hill facing us were all the beautiful homes, and ta-tar huts, with goats and cows and sheep. Behind was a small village were locals were coming up the street to stand with us in the middle of no where. Hey at least with them standing here we know we are at a bus stop. Finally at 11.50 the bus came and we jumped on, headed in the right direction back to the bus station in hopes of getting to the train station by 12.15. In theory this should have worked but our bus stopped at least 10 times and by the time we were back to the bus station it was a little after 12. Fifteen minutes to go…do we stay with the bus or jump off and take a taxi….hmmm. Taxi! Travel tip: never tell a Ukrainian bus driver you need to be across town to catch a bus in less than 15 minutes unless they have 4-point seat belts and a crash cage. They take their job very seriously. In less than 15 minutes and 5 near head on collisions later we were at the bus/train station with 1 minutes to spare. Andrew ran ahead, then me, with Yuri in hand. Andrew managed to hook and land the correct bus and at 12:16 still huffing and puffing from the run, we were seated as the bus pulled out. Mission accomplished!
The ride to Yalta was beautiful. It was windy, hilly and along the mountains with glimpses of the sea at every few turns. Needless to say we were very excited. Oksana had spoken to the driver via cell phone when we got on the bus because our bus didn’t go to the ocean lodge so the driver would need to put us out on the side of the road where we could hail a taxi down the mountainside to the lodge. Somewhere in the trip however I noticed that they person she had told all this too was no the person driving our bus, weird. Easy fix, I dialed Oksana and handed the new driver the phone. After about another hours worth of winding roads the bus stopped and the driver motioned us off the bus. Hmm… imagine being dropped off on the side of I-65 and looking to hail a taxi. But wait there was a Lada (a soviet car) sitting under tree with the doors open and the driver was asleep or passed out in the driver seat. That’s definitely a Ukrainian taxi and he was not passed out just relaxing.
Within 5 minutes we were in the taxi headed to the hotel. It was really fun. Had we not been accustomed to Ukrainian accommodations, we may not have enjoyed it as much… but all things considered it was nice. It was like camping meets the ocean. Both are things Andrew and I enjoy but don’t come in a combo very much in the states. We stayed in little cabins reminding me of the movie “parent trap” the newer one with Lindasy Lohan. The showers and restrooms were outside like at any campground and there was a cafeteria for meals. I ended up really enjoying myself despite my doubts at first… This of course was Andrew’s dream spot—camping… at the beach! Who could ask for more…although even he wished the restrooms where nicer. The beaches were beautiful, although nothing like the ones in America. They were rocky with pebbles instead of sand. At first the substitution of rocks for sand brought mixed reviews from the peanut gallery (andrew and me) but eventually we both decided we actually preferred rocks in out back to sand in our crack.