Eclectic Trips

Today is sunny, warm and breezy- perfect. It’s the end of August in Odessa, and I am visiting for a few weeks.  I was born here, and moved to New York  when I was 15. I returned two Summers ago, fell back in love with Odessa, and keep coming back.

My friends from London are in town, and I am showing them around. It’s Jon and Bryan’s first time in Odessa, and they’ve had an “interesting time” so far.
“Last night we went to a night club in “Arkadiya” and got stopped by a young policeman” Bryan shares their adventure stories.
“He asked us if we have our passports, and when we said no, he replied > “Oh, this is big problem!”
“What can we do?” we asked. “You can give me gift” was his reply”.
200 Hrivna later, my boys have decided that Ukrainian police is corrupt. I guess every country has it’s vices.
We walk on Deribasovskaya- a lively street lined with cafes and shops. Lots of young people congregate on Deribasovskaya- laughing, reading, hanging out in McDonald’s. The city center is lined with cobblestone streets, and many young girls wear heels… the heels get ruined quickly, and the cute noise of the exposed metal of the young ladies’ shoes knocking on the sidewalks- “klock klock klock” becomes Odessa’s soundtrack. “Kompot” is our lunch spot – good food and great people watching. They also serve Kompot- a fruit punch made from boiled fruit and berries. Ukrainian food is delicious- potatoes are a staple, “blinchiki” – exquisitely thin crepes, plenty of soups, meat, fish and hearty “goulash” style dishes.

My city is green, streets are lined with trees. There are no high rises in the center- the architecture is old world style, with French and Italian influences. Restoration is taking place everywhere, and the newly restored buildings sparkle, but the ones that haven’t been restored are my favorite, retaining their old world charm, complete with the peeling paint, and babushkas sitting in the old dvoriki. ” Such a beautiful city” Jon says. “Reminds me of Paris, but smaller”. I’ve heard that before, but to me Odessa seems more alive than Paris, greener…simpler… but just as beautiful. We stroll down Primorski Boulevard, past the statue of Duke De Richelieu- Odessa’s landmark. Below the Duke is the magnificent “Potyomkinskaya stairs” which is basically a grandiose set of stairs- excellent for some good hard exercise. You can walk down the stairs to Odessa Sea Port, and If you dare walk back up the stairs, it should fill your fitness needs for the day. Another option for the cardio challenged- escalator. We skip the whole thing, and instead walk over to the most charming spot in Odessa -Tyoschin Most. “The bridge of the mother in law” is near the Wedding Palace, and newlyweds get padlocks inscribed with their names. They lock the padlocks on the railings of the bridge, and throw the keys in the water below…this act should symbolically solidify their union. Tyoschin bridge has a special aura about it- it has heard so many love stories, and witnessed so many unions being forged. We sit on the bench and enjoy the beautiful Odessa August, then I put my friends in a cab making sure they don’t get overcharged. We are meeting again for dinner and dancing later, and I  look forward to showing Jon and Bryan more of my city- at night.

The red light indicating that I was running dangerously low on gas has lit up a while a go, and I was starting to get more than mildly worried. The highway was closed. We were not moving- at all, not even a touch and go bumper to bumper misery, for which I would have been eternally grateful right about now. There was a serious accident a few miles up, and we wouldn’t be moving until they cleared it up. The question I was now asking myself is whether my car will be moving at all when it was time to move. I tried to distract myself by thinking about dinner. We had plans to go for Mexican food with friends tonight- something I was looking forward to all day. My mind started drifting a bit, as it tends to- “Guacamole and cheese quesadillas, margaritas, yum! I won’t run out of gas, I am sure we’ll be moving any minute now. That quesadilla in Playa Del Carmen was definitely one of the top culinary delights i’ve ever experienced.”

It’s funny how every time I think of Mexican food, I inevitably think of our friend’s beautiful beach wedding in Playa Del Carmen. We were only there for 3 days, and it was one of the most whirlwind, and most memorable trips. There were 25 of us, and we all stayed in the same sweet boutique hotel, which brought on memories of Summer camp. Hanging out in other people’s rooms and drinking Modelo, trying (not very successfully) to organize day trips, and waiting for everyone for way too long to get together for dinner- all good campy fun. The beaches in Playa were beautiful- clear turquoise water, soft sand and pinacoladas. Towards the end of the first day my husband and I realized that eating on “the strip” was for suckers, and taking along 2 of our more adventurous friends wondered off looking for “signs”. As the houses got progressively smaller, the peeling paint more noticeable, and cruise-ship passengers with oversized “to go” drinks disappeared from view, we stumbled upon this tiny treasure. I don’t remember the name of the place, nor am I sure it had a name. There were no English menus, and the waiter, very friendly, but looking a bit surprised came up to us prepared for difficult communication. My Espanol is mui mui mal. But luckily I speak near perfect “restaurant” and “cab” Spanish, and though I know I sound pretty awful, I am not shy. We had one of the most delicious, fresh, perfect in every way meals, and paid something around $45 for the 4 of us, with drinks, and dessert. The word got out, and at our next meal here we were joined by 4 more friends, and so on until it was dinner for 25 the following night. It was the same waiter every time, and when he saw the crowd of us coming down the street, the surprised look on his face turned into an all out wonder- of course they didn’t have 25 menus, but we made do.

The traffic was finally moving. The hope of not running out of gas in the middle of a huge highway on this 90 degree day was starting to seem more realistic. I cursed myself quietly for everything I have done wrong this day. Snoozed an extra 20 minutes, and didn’t stop for coffee on the way to work, which usually makes my day go not as smoothly as it should, nor did I stop by the three gas stations I passed by. “Later”. “Later”, however I  was running late for dinner and margaritas, and figured I had just enough gas to get me home. So now I was in this predicament-all because of the cursed “snooze” button.

The evening of the wedding we walked to the beach through a winding path lined with picturesque  houses painted pastel colors. There was the simple, beautiful and deeply memorable ceremony with shamans blowing in conch shells and everyone dressed in white. The  sky changed a thousand different colors from soft peach to crimson red with the setting sun as our friends said their vows. The dinner that followed was a true feast, complete with a wild performance in Mayan theme. We came back to our hotels as the sun was almost starting to rise, drunk as much on the beauty and uniqueness of the evening, as on mezcal.

The accident was all cleaned up, and we were driving full speed now. I still didn’t have the time to go home and change, and drove instead straight to El Rancho Grande to meet our friends. As I drove up to the restaurant, I made a mental note to talk to my husband about planning a trip to Playa Del Carmen some time very soon- to visit it’s azure water beaches, laid back life and most delicious and simple food.