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In Which I Come Over All Norman Tebbit
November 14, 2008 by Mike
Odessa
It's like being in Roosia.
When I venture to say 'Thank you' in Ukrainian, people laugh: this is most disconcerting. I have worked out why. They aren't laughing at my accent when I say Djah-kaw-yow; they're laughing because I'm trying to speak Ukrainian, here in Ukraine's fourth largest city. Nobody here speaks Ukrainian. They all speak Roosian. "I am Ukrainian because I was born here," they smile. "But my family come from Roosia."
I have asked the same question of everybody I meet who speaks English. Travel agents, waiters, shop assistants, museum assistants. "If Ukraine played Roosia at football [or volleyball, for the gals] who would you cheer for?"
The Norman Tebbit test of 'Britishness' comes in handy. Blimey, never thought I'd say that. But so far everyone has managed not to understand the question, or tell me they don't care for sports. Nobody will answer the question. I think it's because they don't feel cofortable telling me that the answer is Roosia.
This doesn't feel like Ukraine.
"Maybe in the villages near here, they speak Ukrainian," I've been told several times, "though I never go out to the countryside so I'm not sure."
"Nobody in my class at University/ in my apartment building/ in this bar speaks Ukrainian."
Now I say Djah-kaw-yow to raise a smile, before thanking them with a Spassiba.
--
Djah-kaw-yow, incidentally, sounds to these ears like a line from Iko Iko -- I've always heard it as 'Djak-a-mo feen-an-nay', even though the Internet tells me it's 'Jackomo fe no nan e'''. I tend to sing the Neville Brothers or Dr John version to myself, rather than Rolf Harris'
--
This is a city of Hummers, Mercedes and Maseratis. One of the long list of travel agents told me: "Tourists are amazed when they come to Odessa. All the cars are so expensive, ha ha. Everybody has a Bentley. My flat is worth $400,000. Ha ha ha."
But it is also a city of Ladas, Ladas and more Ladas. They cough and wheeze and they're dirty and they break down at the dirty side of the dirty, broken down road. I hear the travel agent's laughter every time a car belches.
--
Vehicle registration plates in Odessa all start with 'BH'. This reminds me of the BBC Radio 4 programme 'BH' -- as in 'Broadcasting House.' Which reminds me of my chum Helen, who works on the programme. Hello Helen :-)
--
Another thing about the number plates. (I know - I need to get out more.) Personalised number plates are clearly not provided here -- not like the UK, where magician Paul Daniels drives a car with the number MAG 1C, for example. And yet there is some leeway for personal expression, presumably by paying (bribing?) someone in the Registration Of Motor Vehicles Directorate. Because all the big, expensive cars, the Bentleys and Mercs and the 4×4s, have plates with some kind of pattern.
I'm guessing that
BH 8888 BH
cost more than
BH 2112 AH
or
BH 2244 AC
It was certainly on a more expensive car.
No Ladas have number plates with patterns, that I've seen.
I cannot believe I noticed this.
--
Saw the new Bond James Bond film.. dubbed into Ukrainian. Or Roosian. Either way, can someone tell him to stop flirting with M, stop explaining everything in long chunks of dialogue and start doing more of the moves. Walk the walk, James, don't talk the talk.
The Bond Girl is Ukrainian, apparently. A lot of the women here look like Bond girls, to be fair. They all get in and out of Bentleys with patterned number plates and kiss shaven-headed goons or men old enough to be their fathers. *sigh*
--
It is a city without litter. Like the woman who wouldn't ride her scooter a teensy-weensy bit illegally, people don't break the law.. or don't want to be seen to break the law.
--
It is a city of casinos -- neon-lit, open "non stop", there's nothing glitzy or glamorous about them. In fact, seen through open doors, they aren't casinos at all. Just a darkened, smoky room filled with slot-machines, peddling the hope of some kind of instant wealth, however meagre, to those who can least afford to lose their hrivny in a fixed game of chance.
--
The fashion here is for camouflage. Full army camouflage. It's like All Saints won the fashion wars. In the countryside, I can almost understand why someone who can only afford one set of outdoor gear, and who hunts to supplement his meagre income, would opt for camouflage. Here in the city, I wonder if it's a sign that the wearer is, or used to be, in the military. Or whether it's more sinister -- part of a martialisation of civil society.. in a country where a significant minority holds allegiance to a foreign government.
--
Lots of US shows on TV. Films like Conan The Barbarian and plenty of Van Damme that play up to that hard man/ camouflage image. Putin would be proud. The voiceovers are annoying. While the original voices can still be heard underneath, heard but not quite understood, a single male voice says all the men's lines and a single female voice speaks for all the women. Hard to follow when three or four men have a long conversation, say, or an argument. Especially as the emotional range of the voices is so limited.
"Dangnabbit, I left my sunglasses in the car" is delivered with the same passion and energy as "Aaaaaaarrrggghhhhhhh my intestines have been ripped out by that man-eating lion"; "Can I have a look at that ash tray?" sounds to me like "I lurve you, I lurve you. Leave your wife and children and run away with me to the Congo."
--
Has someone done a cover version of Stop! by Sam Brown this summer? If not, can anyone explain why I'm hearing this 20 year old song at LEAST three times a day? On the radio, in bars, in cars?
--
It must be confusing. TCH is a Ukrainian TV channel. That's Cyrillic TCH, so their website URL -- written in Latin script, of course -- is at TSN.ua.
--
There are armed guards in jewellery shops in the downtown area. That's armed as in *sub-machine guns* they stroke their huge weapons as they ogle the oligarchs' girlfriends, wives and daughters -- the only ones who can afford this bling. I can't confirm if these heavily-armed goons are police or army making some money on the side, or private security guards carrying unlicensed arms, because I wasn't about to walk into a shop to ask, not even for you, dear reader.
--
I'm in Odessa. Wow.
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By P Dawson | December 15, 2008 11:57 AM
Have only just heard about your trip through the EDP and this is the first reading of your blog. Wonderful to read intelligent, thought inspiring commentary. A great change from the usual personal rubbish on blogs. You really should have made a TV programme out of this trip. It sounds far better than 'Long Way Down' even though that was addictive. You have lived what others only dream about and it must have taken courage. Well done.