I had asked her to tell me a story. Something action packed, preferably with misbehaving nurses from the Asia-Pacific region. A sort of ‘romantic comedy’ if you will. She gracefully declined and requested one of her own. Absent any culturally specific or health care related references or characters. Little does she know I’m not that deep.
. . .
While some aren’t as seasoned as I,
the morning after still came terribly quick. And as crazy as it may seem, I felt absolutely fantastic. Headache-less. A natural host specimen of tasty, high quality Russian vodka, I am. I felt so good I could plunder a Georgian and pillage their cattle. Yeah, that’s right. I just made an obscure, off-colour reference to the 1974 feel-good, family Cinematic Blockbuster, Blazing Saddles.
In short time, our bags were packed and we were off to Kyrylivka, a 3-hour drive down to the Sea of Azov. And if you ever get the chance, I would recommend a few hours driving in rural Ukraine. It’s like real life Grand Turismo. Only you can stop on the side of the road to piss and buy fresh watermelon.
Prior to my arrival I knew we’d be roughing it in Soviet style beach homes. I just didn’t know it would be a complete 3rd World Gypsy Shithole. We rolled in with no reservations, spending the next 2 hours going from property to property just looking for a room with a shower and a toilet. The beach, entertainment and housing facilities stretched for a few kilometres, every other shack was a bar, a club, a shop with beer and condoms, peppered with shacks on stilts, shoddy camps, and sand covered in shards of broken beer bottles.
We settled on a room, 10 feet by 20 feet with 3 cots, a fridge, small table and a “shower,” which would later serve as “toilet.” Enough room to share with Ms. Baku, her sister, her Mother, her nephew and the typical amount of luggage 3 women would be packing. Out back were the toilet, shower facilities and sinks to wash hands and do dishes. The toilet facilities being of the Asian persuasion.
The first day was barely passable. You could walk in, hold your breath, and safely take in breaths from your mouth through your shirt. For the next 3 days, it seems the waste was treated with severely decomposing bodies, and to take in a breath from your mouth would start with a sharp sting and painfully linger in your throat for a few hours. Feedback from a few guests from neighbouring properties would be that we were some of the lucky ones. Several fellow beach goers found their way into our facilities, not so much for necessity as was out of pursuit of luxury.
. . .
While some aren’t as seasoned as I,
the morning after still came terribly quick. And as crazy as it may seem, I felt absolutely fantastic. Headache-less. A natural host specimen of tasty, high quality Russian vodka, I am. I felt so good I could plunder a Georgian and pillage their cattle. Yeah, that’s right. I just made an obscure, off-colour reference to the 1974 feel-good, family Cinematic Blockbuster, Blazing Saddles.
In short time, our bags were packed and we were off to Kyrylivka, a 3-hour drive down to the Sea of Azov. And if you ever get the chance, I would recommend a few hours driving in rural Ukraine. It’s like real life Grand Turismo. Only you can stop on the side of the road to piss and buy fresh watermelon.
Prior to my arrival I knew we’d be roughing it in Soviet style beach homes. I just didn’t know it would be a complete 3rd World Gypsy Shithole. We rolled in with no reservations, spending the next 2 hours going from property to property just looking for a room with a shower and a toilet. The beach, entertainment and housing facilities stretched for a few kilometres, every other shack was a bar, a club, a shop with beer and condoms, peppered with shacks on stilts, shoddy camps, and sand covered in shards of broken beer bottles.
We settled on a room, 10 feet by 20 feet with 3 cots, a fridge, small table and a “shower,” which would later serve as “toilet.” Enough room to share with Ms. Baku, her sister, her Mother, her nephew and the typical amount of luggage 3 women would be packing. Out back were the toilet, shower facilities and sinks to wash hands and do dishes. The toilet facilities being of the Asian persuasion.
The first day was barely passable. You could walk in, hold your breath, and safely take in breaths from your mouth through your shirt. For the next 3 days, it seems the waste was treated with severely decomposing bodies, and to take in a breath from your mouth would start with a sharp sting and painfully linger in your throat for a few hours. Feedback from a few guests from neighbouring properties would be that we were some of the lucky ones. Several fellow beach goers found their way into our facilities, not so much for necessity as was out of pursuit of luxury.
