Cycling

Things are always changing in Ukraine, and certainly a great deal changed since I'd last visited back in late-summer 2003.

One of things that caught me off-guard this time, was the large number of cyclists in Kyiv. Back in the day, you'd frequently come across a fellow riding from one village to another on a basic upright bicycle. (The kind of bike that is now tragically hip and on sale at the Jack Spade men's boutique on Bleecker Street in my hood for a crazy number of dollars.) Back then, the bike would be a beat up grey-black thing that was likely to have survived WWII. The rider would wear a cap and a worn blazer-jacket. I rarely saw a cyclist within city limits.

This summer, I saw many people zipping through the traffic on their mountain bikes. Several wore helmets. (!!) Some were doing some pretty technical maneuvers on the dirt trails on the banks of the Dnipro.

Apparently, cycling has hit Kyiv. Here is a short video piece about mountain biking in the mountains of the Carpathians in Western Ukraine.

Unfortunately, I never got a picture of someone cycling in Kyiv. Please post one in the comments section here if you happen to have one.

Get a phone

I survived less than a week in the new Ukraine and I got a cellphone (мобілька). Thankfully, Valera set me up with a flip-phone and a pay-as-you-go program on Life. He programmed in key numbers (e.g. his number, my mom's number, my dads' number). He set it to the loudest right and vibrate combo I'd ever heard.

I learned that cell-to-cell calls are free. Texting is unlimited. I picked my language to be English for commands and Ukrainian for texting. (Arabic and Japanese were also options.) To add money, all he had to do was go to an ATM-like machine and feed it bills. I'd get a text notifying me that my account was 'topped up' (as the Brits used to say in London).

Having a cell phone in Ukraine immediately made the entire visit totally new. Everyone else having a cell phone fundamentally changed the dynamic of interaction. Twenty years ago, I'd walk down Khreshatyk Street and wait in cafe to meet up with a friend. Frequently, you'd quote the Russian film and say 'Место встечи изменить нельзя.' (sic -- I don't have a Russian keyboard). I'd wait for an hour or so. Meanwhile, someone unexpected would walk in, carrying a shoulderbag with rolled up newspapers. Maybe I'd head off with him. Maybe we'd both wait around.

Now, when you get stuck in the (brand-new and inevitable) traffic jam, you send a text or make a call.

When you need to get from point A to point B, you call a cab service. They text you back with the make, model and lisence plate number of the car that will pick you up.

Revolutionary.
Loss of serendipity, but gain in productivity.