The aftermath of the party was a broken
laptop, no more apartment arrangements and on less friend. Though,
before Pavlos left for London, he did call, apologize and wished me
well. I had to figure out what to do. My finances were beginning to
dwindle (I accept donations by paypal!), I couldn't keep making large sacrifices like this. I needed
something fast. I stared blankly at the map hanging on the wall in
the hallway, as though I were memorizing every alley in Kiev. Maps
help my clear my mind, give me order and structure, I could gaze at
maps for hours. Maybe I needed to go to flight school and become a
navigator – that's the kind of love I have for maps. Not making
them, per se, but reading them.
A man was looking at me. He was shorter and thinner than I was, with a sharp, angled face, like that of a lean horse. “What are you thinking?” he asked. I recognized him from the hostel the week before. He was still staying there. We had exchanged a few words previously, but not in real conversation. I could tell his English skills were at a minimum. “I hear, no talk,” he said once, explaining his English skills. “But I want learn.”
“My laptop just got busted and all my information was on it. I mean, not all of it, I keep backups, but there was stuff on it,” I told him in Russian, but with not so many words. “I mean, this story I've been working on is on it. The last two months of work. I've been lazy about backing it up.”
“I have a friend, he might be able to help.”
“Thanks man,” I told him. I introduced myself. He told me his name was Roman. “See if he can. But in the mean time, I've got to get to my friend's house. I'm waiting on some documents there. I can see if I can save the information myself. Also, I need to find a new place to stay. Something a little more permanent.”
I left Roman then and went to visit Alex and Katsia, where I was having the original invitation mailed. I sat down at their kitchen table, sipping on tea and letting the time pass in conversation. “I still don't see why they need the original,” Alex was saying.
“Yeah, I don't really get it either. I mean, they issued it, why can't they just look it up and see it's legit?”
Katsia chimed in: “But then, there's all that stuff that the American government does too. They take a couple hundred dollars from everyone, and when they refuse entry, they don't give back the money. I had a friend, who had everything lined up to do the work and study program, the Americans didn't let her into the country and she lost her money.”
“Yeah, I don't really care for how we run things, either,” I said. “It's all reciprocal, the worst we treat other people, the worse they treat Americans. That's what an Azeri guy in Vienna. He worked at the Azeri embassy and asked if I had ever been to Azerbaijan, since I speak a little. I told him, 'No way, it costs 150 dollars!' And he said that they were just being reciprocal. But if you want people into your country, if you want tourism, if you want maybe for one day for the American government to be nicer, then you should let Americans in for cheaper. And anyway, look at all the aid money we're dumping into Azerbaijan. 150 dollars? What's in there that's worth so much? That's what Russia charges. I'd rather go to Russia! And Turkey is only something like thirty bucks.”
Alex and I tried to plug my laptop into his monitor to fix it, but it only went blank and made sounds. After powering it up and down enough times, we finally grew tired of it and Alex realized he needed to get back to work. So I sat back down at the kitchen table, waiting more for the package while I talked with Katsia.
As we were talking, the package came. It was well after one o'clock though, so I couldn't go directly to the Russian embassy. “It's probably too late though,” I told Alex and Katsia. “The lady said it'd take two weeks, and now I'll be going in on Tuesday. It'll be after the New Years, no doubt.”
“Maybe they'll work with you,” Alex said, “you should go ahead and try.”
“The route this took was crazy,” I said. “I checked online for it. It could have gotten here overnight from Moscow had they just put it on a train. Instead, they flew it to Leipzig, then to here and it took 5 days. Isn't that insane? Leipzig!”
I made it back to the hostel, still feeling down on my luck. Roman was there, telling me that his friend could still try to fix the computer. “But it will cost probably six or seven hundred grivna,” he told me.
“If he gives the information to me on a working hard drive, this is okay,” I said. “I mean a hard drive that I can use with a USB, then I'm not really losing money on that.”
“Yes, of course.” I turned to go, Roman caught me. “Also, you know, I was going to move into a place in the Obolon district. There are two rooms there, if we both stay, then it would be about two thousand six hundred grivna a month each.”
“So about three hundred dollars each,” I said. “Sounds perfect. Can I see the apartment before?”
“Of course, you can see it on Friday.”
I gave him my hard drive and told him I could see him the afternoon of the next day. That night, the hostel owner helped me to order a new laptop, which took a couple of additional days. In the morning, I went back to see the Russians. It was the same lady at the desk, I knew that no sob story could work with her. “Look,” I said, handing her the documents, “I got the original.”
“Two weeks,” she said.
“But I need to get there before New Years,” I said. “I've been trying for months to get this visa.”
“Two weeks, that is the rule. I told you last week you could come in by Friday and have it by New Years.”
“But they didn't send it by Friday,” I said.
“So you won't get it by New Years. Two weeks.”
“Nevermind, I can't go then. My friend is leaving on the third to Austria, so there's no point in getting the visa and going then. And the invitation is only good until the fifteenth, so I won't even get to see my friend almost at all.”
“I can't help you, that's the rule.”
“I can't pay more to speed it up?”
“No, you are not a resident of Ukraine. If you were a resident, you could have it in three days.”
I left the embassy with mixed thoughts. On the one hand, I couldn't get the visa, but on the other hand, I was going to get some affordable housing, so maybe things were looking up for me, I couldn't tell. I met Roman later that day at a cafe. He gave me a hard drive and told me that it would only be thirty grivna, for the drive and for the labor.
“You're kidding me, that's crazy cheap,” I said. I gladly paid him and took the drive.
We met again on Friday, so that we could discuss the apartment. “The landlady told me,” he said, “that the occupants are still there. They're foreigners and they're leaving on Monday. That's when their flight takes off, so you can't really see it yet.”
“Okay, no problem,” I said.
“Also, maybe you can lend me some cash? I need like eight hundred grivna. I'll just put it a part of the rent, so you won't have to pay that much rent.”
“Yeah, sure, that won't be a problem either, I'm just happy to get a place. I've got six hundred grivna on me now, I can't give you eight though.” It didn't seem improper at the time to loan him some money, especially if he made good on the apartment.
On Sunday, Roman had disappeared without a trace. I had gone to a party on Saturday night and woke up late the next morning. His things were gone from his room and he was no where to be found. I asked the owner if she had seen him, “No, not at all today,” she said. And then later, another worker who I had been becoming friends with, told me while we were drinking at the bar together, “We need to find Roman. Not only does he owe you money, but he hasn't paid for a whole month at the hostel! That pederast!”
A man was looking at me. He was shorter and thinner than I was, with a sharp, angled face, like that of a lean horse. “What are you thinking?” he asked. I recognized him from the hostel the week before. He was still staying there. We had exchanged a few words previously, but not in real conversation. I could tell his English skills were at a minimum. “I hear, no talk,” he said once, explaining his English skills. “But I want learn.”
“My laptop just got busted and all my information was on it. I mean, not all of it, I keep backups, but there was stuff on it,” I told him in Russian, but with not so many words. “I mean, this story I've been working on is on it. The last two months of work. I've been lazy about backing it up.”
“I have a friend, he might be able to help.”
“Thanks man,” I told him. I introduced myself. He told me his name was Roman. “See if he can. But in the mean time, I've got to get to my friend's house. I'm waiting on some documents there. I can see if I can save the information myself. Also, I need to find a new place to stay. Something a little more permanent.”
I left Roman then and went to visit Alex and Katsia, where I was having the original invitation mailed. I sat down at their kitchen table, sipping on tea and letting the time pass in conversation. “I still don't see why they need the original,” Alex was saying.
“Yeah, I don't really get it either. I mean, they issued it, why can't they just look it up and see it's legit?”
Katsia chimed in: “But then, there's all that stuff that the American government does too. They take a couple hundred dollars from everyone, and when they refuse entry, they don't give back the money. I had a friend, who had everything lined up to do the work and study program, the Americans didn't let her into the country and she lost her money.”
“Yeah, I don't really care for how we run things, either,” I said. “It's all reciprocal, the worst we treat other people, the worse they treat Americans. That's what an Azeri guy in Vienna. He worked at the Azeri embassy and asked if I had ever been to Azerbaijan, since I speak a little. I told him, 'No way, it costs 150 dollars!' And he said that they were just being reciprocal. But if you want people into your country, if you want tourism, if you want maybe for one day for the American government to be nicer, then you should let Americans in for cheaper. And anyway, look at all the aid money we're dumping into Azerbaijan. 150 dollars? What's in there that's worth so much? That's what Russia charges. I'd rather go to Russia! And Turkey is only something like thirty bucks.”
Alex and I tried to plug my laptop into his monitor to fix it, but it only went blank and made sounds. After powering it up and down enough times, we finally grew tired of it and Alex realized he needed to get back to work. So I sat back down at the kitchen table, waiting more for the package while I talked with Katsia.
As we were talking, the package came. It was well after one o'clock though, so I couldn't go directly to the Russian embassy. “It's probably too late though,” I told Alex and Katsia. “The lady said it'd take two weeks, and now I'll be going in on Tuesday. It'll be after the New Years, no doubt.”
“Maybe they'll work with you,” Alex said, “you should go ahead and try.”
“The route this took was crazy,” I said. “I checked online for it. It could have gotten here overnight from Moscow had they just put it on a train. Instead, they flew it to Leipzig, then to here and it took 5 days. Isn't that insane? Leipzig!”
I made it back to the hostel, still feeling down on my luck. Roman was there, telling me that his friend could still try to fix the computer. “But it will cost probably six or seven hundred grivna,” he told me.
“If he gives the information to me on a working hard drive, this is okay,” I said. “I mean a hard drive that I can use with a USB, then I'm not really losing money on that.”
“Yes, of course.” I turned to go, Roman caught me. “Also, you know, I was going to move into a place in the Obolon district. There are two rooms there, if we both stay, then it would be about two thousand six hundred grivna a month each.”
“So about three hundred dollars each,” I said. “Sounds perfect. Can I see the apartment before?”
“Of course, you can see it on Friday.”
I gave him my hard drive and told him I could see him the afternoon of the next day. That night, the hostel owner helped me to order a new laptop, which took a couple of additional days. In the morning, I went back to see the Russians. It was the same lady at the desk, I knew that no sob story could work with her. “Look,” I said, handing her the documents, “I got the original.”
“Two weeks,” she said.
“But I need to get there before New Years,” I said. “I've been trying for months to get this visa.”
“Two weeks, that is the rule. I told you last week you could come in by Friday and have it by New Years.”
“But they didn't send it by Friday,” I said.
“So you won't get it by New Years. Two weeks.”
“Nevermind, I can't go then. My friend is leaving on the third to Austria, so there's no point in getting the visa and going then. And the invitation is only good until the fifteenth, so I won't even get to see my friend almost at all.”
“I can't help you, that's the rule.”
“I can't pay more to speed it up?”
“No, you are not a resident of Ukraine. If you were a resident, you could have it in three days.”
I left the embassy with mixed thoughts. On the one hand, I couldn't get the visa, but on the other hand, I was going to get some affordable housing, so maybe things were looking up for me, I couldn't tell. I met Roman later that day at a cafe. He gave me a hard drive and told me that it would only be thirty grivna, for the drive and for the labor.
“You're kidding me, that's crazy cheap,” I said. I gladly paid him and took the drive.
We met again on Friday, so that we could discuss the apartment. “The landlady told me,” he said, “that the occupants are still there. They're foreigners and they're leaving on Monday. That's when their flight takes off, so you can't really see it yet.”
“Okay, no problem,” I said.
“Also, maybe you can lend me some cash? I need like eight hundred grivna. I'll just put it a part of the rent, so you won't have to pay that much rent.”
“Yeah, sure, that won't be a problem either, I'm just happy to get a place. I've got six hundred grivna on me now, I can't give you eight though.” It didn't seem improper at the time to loan him some money, especially if he made good on the apartment.
On Sunday, Roman had disappeared without a trace. I had gone to a party on Saturday night and woke up late the next morning. His things were gone from his room and he was no where to be found. I asked the owner if she had seen him, “No, not at all today,” she said. And then later, another worker who I had been becoming friends with, told me while we were drinking at the bar together, “We need to find Roman. Not only does he owe you money, but he hasn't paid for a whole month at the hostel! That pederast!”
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