High time to visit Ukraine, so said a series of ads on TV. And considering the country co-hosted Euro 2012 in June, it has never been a better time. Vitaliy told me that before the football tournament, one would more likely than not be scratching one’s head trying to make sense of the strange looking alphabets on street signs and buildings. Some guide books suggest learning the Cyrillic alphabet, so that you can familiarise yourself with your surroundings. And they were right. It made me feel that much smarter too when I could show it off, which I wasted no time in doing. In fact, the first word I learned before getting to Kyiv was ‘kurka’ – chicke – and for a very simple reason. I need to know what meat I might put in my mouth (since I don’t eat beef).
But if all you have is a couple of seconds before the words flash past you on bus displays, it might prove to be virtually pointless. Thankfully, Euro 2012 meant the addition of signs in English in all metro stations and most streets. People are generally helpful too so getting lost is a temporary state of mind.
I was trying to find my way to Pyrohovo (home to an outdoor Museum of Folk Architecture and Life of Ukraine) but had little luck finding the bus. Asking around didn’t seem to help either. Ivan and a girl at the bus stop where I was loitering around delivered me to my destination: Ivan told her over the phone where I had to go, and she walked me to my specific stop. Stay here, she gestured. Bus number 172. A couple in front of me confirmed the information. But soon enough, they left me standing there alone (I’d told the nice girl to continue on her way). Minutes later, a woman walked up to me and started rattling something in a mix of Ukrainian and Russian. I look at her, puzzled. She realised I don’t speak the language. And while realisation dawned upon her, a bus sluggishly pulled up and my attention is diverted. That looks like my bus, I thought to myself.
Jumping into the bus, I asked anyone who would care to give me an answer: ‘Pyrohovo?'
‘Da, da.’ A woman with a group of children answered and waved me in.
I never thought I would one day be glad to be able to read Ukrainian.
But if all you have is a couple of seconds before the words flash past you on bus displays, it might prove to be virtually pointless. Thankfully, Euro 2012 meant the addition of signs in English in all metro stations and most streets. People are generally helpful too so getting lost is a temporary state of mind.
I was trying to find my way to Pyrohovo (home to an outdoor Museum of Folk Architecture and Life of Ukraine) but had little luck finding the bus. Asking around didn’t seem to help either. Ivan and a girl at the bus stop where I was loitering around delivered me to my destination: Ivan told her over the phone where I had to go, and she walked me to my specific stop. Stay here, she gestured. Bus number 172. A couple in front of me confirmed the information. But soon enough, they left me standing there alone (I’d told the nice girl to continue on her way). Minutes later, a woman walked up to me and started rattling something in a mix of Ukrainian and Russian. I look at her, puzzled. She realised I don’t speak the language. And while realisation dawned upon her, a bus sluggishly pulled up and my attention is diverted. That looks like my bus, I thought to myself.
Jumping into the bus, I asked anyone who would care to give me an answer: ‘Pyrohovo?'
‘Da, da.’ A woman with a group of children answered and waved me in.
I never thought I would one day be glad to be able to read Ukrainian.
No comments:
Post a Comment