C'est Lviv

It’s hard to even say what I did in Lviv at this time.  There wasn’t a whole lot going on—it was chilly, rainy, deserted.  In fact, all I really felt like doing was eating soup in the hostel.  Well, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a bit of a whiz in the soup department.  I can eat an entire pot of soup in one sitting.  I’ve been known to eat more.  In fact, packaged soups are one of my guiltiest pleasures, And I usually add something edgy like frozen peas, or diced ham to the packages (and extra baby shell pasta, obviously.  I can’t even imagine a life without baby shell pasta).  Anyway, while I was cooking and eating this soup, I was introduced to a man in his 70s on holiday from the UK who absolutely loved inserting himself into any conversation arguing any statement a person made.  He was drinking something like vodka and V8, or Pepsi and V8, or vodka and Pepsi or…something gross.  It could have been just Pepsi.  Or beer and sprite?  Anyway, it was gross, and he was also asking me lots of weird questions, some of which involved what I am doing with my life.

Well, not much.  I can definitely let you know that 2010 has been the year of taking from society.  He was wondering why I was in Eastern Europe and asked about my studies and then lured me into an argument on ethnicity and linguistics and seemed surprised that I knew anything about the two, considering I only studied geography.  And he said something about maps and didn't understand why I like them and that old maps are not interesting, and then said, "Do you suppose it would be possible, then, to create a map that shows where all the language groups are?  Now that would be interesting."

I stared at him blankly.  Yes, it exists.  It's called a linguistic map.  It's a thing.  

"Yes, that would be interesting if someone could make something like that."

Someone can. 

He didn't believe me, but anyway, this occupied very little of our actual conversation.  He was more focused on talking about the girlfriends he had littered throughout the Ukraine.  He was on his way to meet one of them. Like, for the first time.  He said he had met all of them online through some dating service (you know the one, we all get the emails and google advertising) and now he was going to meet one or more of them.  Some of them had kids.  Anyway, he also told me that he wants to move to Ukraine because the exchange rate was so good.  He's right, it's fantastic, but that's neither here nor there.  The issue I immediately identified was that likely these women were not necessarily looking to stay in the Ukraine. He also expressed serious reservations about the woman who already had some children.  He said he'd also like to have his own--"I may by 67 but I have NO problem in that department, don't you worry."

Okay, good, because your virility is one of my chief concerns.  

Anyway, all this lead me to believe he had absolutely no idea what he was getting into and I could only hope to be there when it all unraveled.

Apart from this I just wandered around Lviv, hung out with a couple of expats, went to a great underground WWII bunker bar, and ate at Puzata Hata a lot.  Like, too much.  And I went to get my jeans fixed because there is nothing I like more than getting services I thought were only for rich people done in Eastern Europe.  They have such high quality cobblers and seamstresses!  You’re literally losing money by not taking your clothes there for repair. I walked into a tailor shop and asked the seamstress to fix my jeans (which, by this point, had holes in the knees, pockets, crotch, and seat.  In fact, these jeans retained almost zero of their original structural integrity).  She told me they would be ready the next day.  In what follows is a hilarious exchange—entirely in Russian—that only captures a glimpse of how amazing and glamorous my life is:

Rory: Hi, I need these jeans fixed.
Seamstress: Okay, I need you to change into other pants and then give me the jeans.
R: Okay, well I will change into these gym shorts I have.  Right here.  Right now.
S: Okay, well the jeans will be ready tomorrow.
R: Okay…but these are my only pants.  So I can’t leave until they are finished.  Because it’s winter.
S: Okay, I’ll need to rearrange my schedule to accommodate you.*
R: Okay.
S: Okay, so it will still take a while.
R: Okay, that’s fine, I have about a third of War and Peace that I really, really need to finish.
S: Okay, so you really want me to do this, like, right now?
R: I mean...yes.

And she did and the jeans were perfect.

*I presume this is what she said.