Fritz & the Kiev Rebellion

Hotel: morning...
on lost luggage and piles of watermelons

16.07.13

 

Arrived at Odessa airport to be ushered into what looked like a large, plastic conservatory. This was the luggage collection room-or more accurately, the luggage scrum. Rather like a jumble sale where passengers fight to upgrade to that very desirable samsonite bag before it's been located by its owner.

 

A surprisingly irate woman official oversaw the whole process by waving her arms and shouting in Ukrainian. Whatever it is that she wanted us to do, it was clear we weren't doing it.

 

At this point we realised that some...in fact all...of our luggage was missing... There ensued a long wait to fill in forms followed by a swift car ride across town from the airport to the hotel with Andrey, our lovely festival chaperone who had met us at the airport.

 

Languorous bodies rested against cars in the warm night air and talked and smoked on street corners where huge piles of watermelons lay in late night market stalls, manned by bored looking melon sellers. Neon Cyrillic blared out from the corners of buildings and beautiful but haughty women picked their high-heeled way across pitted tram tracks. By the time we reached the hotel I'd already given my heart to Odessa.

 

Grand, palatial buildings with wedding cake icing sugar stucco line tree-bordered streets in the town centre. Fairy-lit plane trees and urns of delicate flowers give onto streets where flower sellers in outrageous princess dresses parade between horse-drawn tourist carriages. There's a delicious anarchy to the street scammers who have set up contraptions to raise money by challenging passers by to hang from their arms or capture wine bottles with fishing rods & win 200 hryvnia.

 

We found a street-side restaurant on the main street that was playing Louis Armstrong. The berry & cinnamon liquor & birch lemonade are particularly good.

 

One thing that can be said for having only the clothes you stand up in: never stuck for what to wear to the festival after party. We headed out at gone midnight to find a room full of live music & an enthusiastic crowd - Wednesday's stage for us - before walking back to the hotel.

 

We failed to find the sea or the Potemkin steps, but it's true that these things are probably easier to find in the daylight.

 

As for the missing bags? Quiet Loner has a theory that Fritz, my bruiser of a 1960s guitar I picked up in Denmark last year, led a rebellion amongst our baggage in Kiev and is currently heading for the German border...

I hope not. We have a gig to play.

 

 

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