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My solution was to keep things simple, really simple. I found my compartment, laid out and decided that come what may when the split occurred in Lviv, I would stay where I was. I had a 50/50 chance, right? I should explain here how my luck generally works. For small things it's awful, toss a coin, I'll get it wrong, put a bet on at 89 minutes, someone will score, pick between still and sparkling water, I'll pick sparkling. I despise sparkling water. However, for big things, I'm jammier than a leprechaun sat in a pot of gold in a field of four-leaved clovers with exactly 7 birdcraps on his green hatted head. Besides, I was doing this for charity, karma owed me one.
I tried navigating my way through Ukrainian customs in the usual way with a bland nod and smile to every meaningless question. Question after question was successfully answered in this way and things were looking good. The next question came, bland nod and smile. There was a small gasp from the locals and the official's head jerked up and he repeated the question, a stern, serious tone suddenly in his voice. Yeah, I'd definitely done Something Wrong. A local tried to help, "You have drugs?" "No! Non! Nyet!" I cried, already hearing the latex gloves being pulled onto large, unsympathetic fingers. I shook my head, my arms, even my b******s swung for good measure and I unleashed the full wide-eyed, little boy lost look. Wait, no, not too wide, crap. The official studied me intently, nostrils flaring with suspicion as he decided my fate in a way only the former KGB can. Then all of a sudden, he relaxed and returned to his usual bored tone to reel off another question. I considered it. Bland nod and smile. He nodded back, right answer.
Questioning over, I settled down on my bunk and opened the bottle of water I'd brought with me. It was sparkling. I snarled a curse at the continued existence of sparkling water wished seeping haemorrhoids on any that drank it. For a top bunk on a decades old train on rattling rails, it was surprisingly comfortable and sleep came quickly. I woke at 6 the next morning and looked out of the window. We were at a station, it was not Kiev. I desperately scanned for a sign, hoping none bore the dreaded Odessa. "Kozyatyn" Phew, it wasn't Kiev, but it was on the way to Kiev, my luck had held.
The first thing you notice about Kiev is that everything is in Cyrillic. With most European languages being Latin or Germanic in origin, you can usually have a good stab at the basics when they are written. When the entire alphabet is different however, you have no chance. I followed the crowds to get out, looked for an ATM to get some hryvnia, my 7th currency, to complete Challenge 2. Immediately I was accosted by a fat, sweaty man in a string vest, trying to get me into his cab. I didn't want a cab at this stage, and I certainly didn't want to get into an enclosed space with this geezer. I shook him off and found an ATM, got my money and I was done. Norwegian Krone, Swedish Krona, Estonian Kroon, Latvian Lats, Lithuanian Litas, Polish Zloty and Ukrainian Hryvnia, all with photos and examples. I'd forgotten to pack a gold star so I settled for insufferable smugness and set off on Challenge 3.
The metro system featured a station called "Arsenalha", the London Underground features a station called "Arsenal". The real Arsenal have their stadium outside "Arsenal", would the logic hold? No. What I did find however was a bookshop, the owner of which after a fantastic bit of international charades managed to get the Arsenal Kiev website up for me. She found an address, wrote it down for me and directed me to take the 55 bus for four stops. I managed that with only a small b******ing from a babushka then alighted to find myself on a totally nondescript street. By now I was well off the edge of my map and essentially helpless. A young woman was walking down the street , hopefully she could make sense of the Cyrillic I has written down. I thrust the paper in her face, pointing at the address. "Oh hey" she said, "You need a little help?" Had she really just said that?
"You are from Kiev?" I asked.
"Yeah." Wow.
"Your English is very good."
"Well, yeah, I'm a professional interpretor."
YYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I proposed on the spot. "No ring?" she giggled, "In Ukraine you must have a ring". Curses, foiled. Still, I owe her that ring. She took me to the address I'd been given where we discovered it was a bakery that belonged to the owner of Arsenal Kiev, thanks Bookshop Lady. A couple of phone calls and it was discovered that Arsenal Kiev don't have their own ground any more and instead play their games at a hockey stadium in Boryspil, over 50km away. The Angel of Kiev suggested that I take a cab and she even called one for me so I wouldn't get ripped off as a foreigner. I proposed again. I still didn't have a ring.
Taximan was thankfully not fat nor sweaty and was appropriately attired. I explained what I needed best as possible and he made a phone call for some information, we set off. He put his radio on and we soon bonded, cruising down the Ukrainian motorway to the sound of Queen blasting out. Arriving in Boryspil, he stopped a few times for directions, most helpfully another young lady. "Ukrainian girls" he said with a orange toothed grin, "Beautiful". I stole a sidelong look at the girl walking away, he wasn't wrong. Down an unmarked side-street, we found the stadium. I'd spent a week, crossing seven countries, a sea and two time zones to get here. It was a crapheap. The gate was wide open so there was nothing stopping me strolling in and taking pictures of everything, it didn't take long. With the help of Taximan, I discovered that there was no club shop and my only chance was on matchday. The next match? A week away. Curses. But I'd made it to the stadium which was the important thing and I could try for a memento back in Kiev. I considered Challenge 3 done.
I opened Challenge 4. "Visit Andechs, Germany and take the Brewery Tour. Bring back a memento." Germany meant going back the way I'd come, which meant crossing the Polish border again. Ah, crap. Still, as we headed back to Kiev, I was in buoyant mood. Half the challenges were done and I was headed in the right direction at last. I didn't know where Andechs was, but as long as there was a brewery there, I was happy. On route, Taximan had a brainwave and took me to the marketplace to hunt for a scarf. I found scarves, hundreds of them. Ukraine, Dynamo Kiev, Shaktar Donestk, Barcelona, United, even the real Arsenal. But nothing for Arsenal Kiev. The most I got was "Arsenal Kiev is not real club. No one know this Arsenal. You want Dynamo!" I asked at every stall in the place, always no. I had no choice, I settled for Dynamo and a bottle of water. It was sparkling. I screamed my eternal hatred of sparkling water and vowed to hunt down anyone involved in its manufacture. By this stage, it was time for the real Arsenal to play City. I'd noticed an Irish bar earlier and headed there in hope. Success, they were showing the game. I settled down with a pint of Guinness (for the vitamins, honest) and watched the match. We lost 4-2. I may've said bad words.
I arrived back at the station with hours to spare until my 11ish train, enough time to get my ticket, get on-line and even grab a well needed shower. I tried a couple of booths but only succeeded in making the babushkas angry before striking gold on my third attempt. Pointing out the train I wanted on my timetable, she ran it through her system before shaking her head and pointing at her screen. There was no 11ish train, but there was a 8.20 train, half an hour away. Crap. She added up the price and showed it to me. It was more than I was expecting, more than I had. Cards were no good, I needed cash. I ran through the station seeking the ATM from earlier, passing an internet booth. My inner Scotsman took over and I looked for cheaper alternatives. There were no coaches for a week and no real alternative trains. I had no choice but to pay, so I grabbed the cash and headed back. She did the sums again and showed it to me. The price had nearly halved, pretty much what I'd expected originally. I looked at her, she didn't seem particularly bothered, I certainly wasn't. I paid the money and Rubbish Maths Lady gave me the ticket and babbled directions, including underlining a number on the ticket. Kiev rail station is vast, with two separate terminals. The Cyrillic displays were meaningless so I had to hope the underlined 8 was the platform I needed. I got to Platform 8, no mention of any train, let alone my one.
5 minutes left.
There was a small stall, with a woman standing guard. She wasn't going to come for nothing so I grabbed a bottle of water. As she approached, I waved my ticket at her and she obligingly took a look. Puzzled, she looked at the info board for Platform 8 then shook her head and shrugged. She couldn't help me.
2 minutes left.
"Ah", she pointed along the hall, something on the info board of Platform 6 had caught her eye. Sure enough, the symbols seemed to match and I ran down the steps to the platform, heart in mouth as I showed the ticket to the guards. They gestured me inside. Thank Christ, that was lucky. I flopped down on my bunk with a contented sigh and opened my bottle of water. It was sparkling.
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