TOP 3 best (omni) restaurants
1. Khevron, Odessa, Ukraine
2. Café Pushkin, Bakhchisaray, Ukraine
3. Rustic, Baia Sprie, Romania.
TOP 3 worst border crossings
1. Lithuania – Belarus
2. Belarus – Ukraine
2. Ukraine – Romania
TOP 3 most English spoken
1. Lviv, Ukraine
2. Vilnius, Lithuania
3. Sighișoara, Romania
TOP 3 accommodations
1. Casa Olarului, Baia Sprie, Romania
2. Hunting House, Kujbyshevo, Ukraine
3. Hotel Telecom Guest, Vilnius, Lithuania
TOP 3 most impressive cities
1. Minsk, Belarus
2. Odessa, Ukraine
3. Lviv, Ukraine
2. White Stork
4. Western Jackdaw
5. Barn Swallow
⭐ Drove through the Carpathian Mountains during thunderstorm
⭐ Swam in the Black Sea
⭐ Sat in the chair of a missile base command centre
⭐ Saw the elusive city of Minsk
⭐ Bribed a police officer in Ukraine
⭐ Climbed the Potemkin Stairs in Odessa
⭐ Saw a white stork in a nest on the roof of a house
⭐ Saw a flock of bats flying over us on a dark forest road in Transylvania
⭐ Visited a crypt in Transylvania
Cases of blatant animal suffering witnessed
😡 a man striking a horse hard with the blunt side of a pitchfork (Bonțida, Romania)
😡 multiple cases of tying horses' legs together (to prevent them from wandering away, one assumes) in Ukraine, Moldova and Romania; saw two horses hopping down a road with legs tied in Romania
😡 dozens of strays everywhere, the majority of them ill and/or malnourished
😡 dog strongman contest; the animals were made to pull very heavy loads, and kept alone in small cages inside cars. Judging by the picture in the event poster, the dogs are pumped with steroids. (Gmina Wasilków, Poland)
Things the border guards inquire after or search for
- girls, tasers (Ukrainian; Belarus to Ukraine)
- petrol (Polish; Ukraine to Poland)
- gifts for guards/Finlandia vodka (Ukrainian; Ukraine to Romania)
Belarus and Poland
Most white storks:
Easiest hotel to find:
Vila Chesa, Romania
Most difficult hotel to find:
Vilari Guest House, Ukraine
Most horse carts:
Strategic Missile Forces museum, Pervomais'k, Ukraine
Most insane memorial:
Dzyarzhynskaya Hara, Minsk, Belarus
The cemetery of the Church on the Hill, Sighișoara, Romania
Best overall service:
Best starry sky:
Greatest bird density:
Most epic memorial:
Батьківщина-Мати (Mother Motherland), Kiev, Ukraine
Most impressive church:
The Church of the Saviour at Berestove, Kiev Pechersk Lavra, Kiev, Ukraine
Highest temp 30°C (Polish-Ukrainian border, day)
Lowest temp 13°C (Kujbyshevo, night)
The hotel yard has been turned into a flea market. I'm momentarily tempted by a modern German military jacket, but decide against it.
Driving. Crossing borders like they don't even exist. A borderline surreal radio program in Lithuanian, with sound effects and solemn, powerful voice acting.
Driving. Partially skies, lush fields, wonderfully boring roads. Crossing another border, shooting at the deserted station, gleefully defying the obsolete rule against photography. A BMW caught speeding equals schadenfreude. Finns on motorcycles. "Peintbols Pif Paf". Passing the dam, back on the Via Baltia. "Moses taps (tm)"
Driving. We're in a bit of a hurry now, it seems, if we're going to catch that boat back to Finland.
Driving. Thinking about the journey and what a great experience it was. Came up with a short list of places to see next time in Romania. (1. the Danube Delta
2. Brasov & surroundings)
Sailing. Food is so strangely expensive. People are strange and speak with tongues I know. This floating-bar part of the trip is such a nosedive to reality. So is the drive from Helsinki to Turku. It's beyond odd to watch the sun get up again at 1:30 AM.
So much to do now. Clothes to unpack. Car to clean up. Over a thousand pictures to go through. Seitan to eat. Cats to comb.
Well, I'm back.
I love the smell of mould in the morning, especially when it's right at the level of my nose.
We tour the old Lviv on foot, merely scraping the surface of all the things this city has to offer. Flea markets, alleyways, churches, marketplaces, parks, palaces, museums, cobblestone, pavement, statues, monuments, townhouses, manors, old and new, from 18th century to 21st. Nearly everything about the city speaks more West than East to me, but with a twist that's completely unique. It's too bad we're constantly in a bit of a rush.
Crossing borders to Poland takes quite a while, apparently because at one point they completely forget about us and we have to go knocking after our passports to get going.
Poland is mostly what I remembered, and bears a striking resemblance to most of Ukraine. Fields, towns, fields, trees, fields. I leaf through the Polish part of a phrasebook and find the pronunciation actually mostly doable. Mostly.
Today seems to be the official get-hitched-day, since both in Lviv and in Poland we spot couples (with entourage) and cars decorated with pink ribbons and/or balloons.
Driving in Poland is surprisingly uneventful. Roads are in mint condition, straight, and traffic is low. I'd be bored if I wasn't thankful. It comes to mind that actually, with these roads and what most houses and other buildings look like, Poland is starting to look a lot like Germany, probably due to EU standardisation. S.O. says how this seems to be the EU's agenda—to make everywhere like Germany. And that sounds kind of familiar... Well, my only wish is that they never pass a directive limiting the appearance of bus stops.
The only hotels available in Bialystok, the originally planned cite of accommodation, are four and five stars and therefore far too expensive, so we booked a cheap hotel at Gmina Wasilków some ten kilometres north of there. Arriving at Nad Zwelem proves easily the single most surprising experience of today; there's a dog strongman—strongdog?—contest going on right here on the on the grounds (this facility serves both as a shabby hotel and a camping area). Dogs bark and people shout and cheer and laugh drunkenly. It's not exactly a nightmare, but something very close to one. Our room is silly-shaped and very big, and the bed springs have definitely seen their better days. The dog contest seems to know no end, the barking continues, and it's nearly midnight. Posting this tomorrow at dawn when we leave for Tallinn, because the Wi-fi only reaches the common areas and I'm dead tired.
We're almost done at the guesthouse, raring to go, when the ceramics artist's son offers to show us around the workshop. He's apprenticing for his father. And by gods the artist is skilled! Both the little and large figurines and statues and the vases, pitchers and oil lamps are impeccably crafted. There's even a self-portrait there. We indulge ourselves on his very affordable wares, then hit the road.
Up the hill we go, towards Sighetu Marmației and the Ukrainian border. The serpentine road is shaped like a cooked wheat noodle at the bottom of a soup bowl. By the road runs a lively stream, in which father decides to dive. We drive through some very pretty villages, and every now and then we spot a huge stork's nest on top of a pole, usually with one adult stork and at least two young 'uns. I've now seen more storks on this journey than I can count.
At Sighetu Marmației we visit the Memorialul Victimelor Comunismului și al Rezistenței, a communist-era prison turned into a large museum and a memorial for the victims of communist oppression. Small booklets are available in English, and we dash through the chilling hallways, and peek into the cells now displaying parts of the exhibition—apart from the two solitary confinement cells which are pitch-dark, in the middle lies a set of shackles, and there's nothing else.
We're in a bit of a hurry, because you never know how long it's gonna take at the border, and this time it does take quite a while. In the end, we get through. Immediately the road is full of holes and bumpy all over. It's just like in Carelia. Seeing a small bunhc of road repairspeople inspires a spontaneous cheer in both cars and we wonder if there's some kind of fund we might donate to. Feeling quite shaken, possibly a bit stirred. Wel-sodding-come to Ukraine.
The rough roads go on for what seems like forever. Hours upon hours of wobbling here and there is seriously getting on my nerves, and I can only imagine what it's like in the Toyota (father's, sister's and brother's vehicle), what with it being old, low-set and clunky. I must say I'll be surprised if all our precious ceramics survive this party. Finally joining the smoother M-06 feels like flying.
Western Ukraine gives off a slightly different vibe compared to the east side. Once the mountains are behind us, factories and other industrial buildings constantly dominate the skyline, but the landscape mostly consist of fields and petrol stations, just as before. There's more churches either newly finished or under construction. Lviv is supposedly more Central Europe than Kyiv, and the unofficial culture capital of Ukraine.
Arriving at Lviv at dusk, we're first greeted by very large and very ugly Soviet-inspired concrete apartment blocks. A bit further and closer to the centre the view slowly changes to include some more variety in architecture. Unmistakably a Central European city. The hostel is much crappier than expected, but it is of little consequence.
Once again, we sit at a restaurant at the end of the day, and have to wait for the food quite a while this time. When the dude at the next table lights up his third cigar, I call it a night and go to bed.
We leave Târgu Mureș with slightly damp clothing (I think they forgot about our laundry at the hotel until this morning), heading towards Baia Mare via the following castles:
1. Kemény Castle, Jucu de Sus
2. Bánffy Castle, Bonțida
3. Kornis Castle, Manastirea
The winding road takes us through villages; some people are dressed traditionally, and a particular fashion seems to be a wide-brimmed hat, some kind of a suit, and a gigantic moustache. More sheep than before, and nearly as many horse carts as there are cars. In Râciu we drive past a strange little parade with schoolchildren, people of all sorts carrying large crosses, and the flags of Romania and EU. At nearly every crossroads is a small shrine-like construction, usually complete with a colourfully-painted crucifix.
Fields here aren't as lush as before, as the more fertile grounds are past us and also it's clear that the most powerful agricultural machines and tools aren't available here.
Those EU flags really are everywhere. Clearly displaying some serious EU pride here.
As a huge herd of long-haired goats nearly leap in front of our car, I realise I may have mistaken them for sheep earlier. Definitely seen sheep too, just probably fewer than I thought at first.
Kémeny turns out to be both small, boring and off-limits, but Bánffy of Bonțida is interesting. Its construction was started in the 1500's and finished two centuries later. After years of neglect, all the buildings are nearly ruins, but they're reconstructing it now—there's builders hanging around and about the place. There's much to do, but both what's left of the original and what they've already built is looking mighty fine.
Kornis Castle is nothing more than a ruin, but a particularly attractive one for one detail: the old gateway is guarded by two unicorn statues. Yes. Unicorns. With the horns made of steel and hence mostly intact. Next to the castle ruin is a neglected mansion, probably dating back to the mid-19th century, with two horses grazing on the yard. Tall pines, broken windows, caved-in roofs and tall columns all together give a slightly haunted feeling.
It starts raining when we get back on the road for Baia Mare. Passing a nasty-looking accident. The road's good, but it matters little if you're driving recklessly.
Our hotel, or guesthouse, for tonight is Casa Olarului, a potter's house, and as picturesque as they come. Father and I go scouting up the nearby hills, to find out about a curious-looking spot on the topographic map. It turns out to be pasture for the most part. The way up is incredibly beautiful, dashing through a thick forest of tall, slim, bamboo-like trees, on an old stone slate road. We run into some Italian tourists while up there, beyond a mine and a skiing centre. I'm further away taking pictures, but apparently they're quite the travelers—they've been to Finland, and to Turku, even.
The grande finale for tonight before bedtime is a restaurant called Rustic, which lives up to its name and is strangely in line with the aesthetics of our pensionat which, by the way, we have entirely for ourselves.
Tomorrow we'll be leaving Romania for Lviv, Ukraine.
Today brought us the unarguably tourist-y but very gratifying Sighișoara, the birthplace of Vlad Tepeș, and its Medieval citadel. We climb the furrier's tower and the clock tower, visit the incredible Hill Church and its crypt—"Visit a crypt in Transylvania, check!"—and the adjacent atmospheric cemetery. The church's friendly guide apparently speaks every European language, and presents the church like a Romanian David Attenborough. He also recommends us the town of Brașov and the strange salt mines of Praid. At this point I know I have to return to this country, preferably sooner than later. Next year, maybe!
After Sighișoara, we take a quick turn at the little hamlet of Biertan, sad but not surprised to notice the castle has closed for today; then, we travel back to Târgu Mureș, take a stroll around town, sit down for a while in a café (they all seem to double as bars in Eastern Europe), and return to the hotel, preparing for an early start tomorrow.
We went for a drink (and ended up doing some grocery shopping in a 24/7 market) after midnight in the very sleepy Chișinău. Monday is, unsurprisingly, not the busiest night of the week.
The hotel apartments were quite comfy, apart from the little maggot friend I found in our bed. Meh, as long as there's Wi-fi.
Moldova is very rural, most of it fields and cows and goats and tractors and hills and vineyards and fantastic landscapes wherever we go. (Other animals: ducks, dogs, chickens, horses drawing carts or grazing, various birds of the Corvus family, one family of turkeys, and very infrequently, sheep.) A friendly billy goat I'm trying to photograph nibbles at my hand with its flabby lips. TomTom is firmly of the opinion that there are no roads here. Radio plays energetic folk music and international hits.
Crossing borders is relatively easy, and roads improve immediately.
România is beautiful, what can I say. Plenty of houses look brand new and people look well off, if a touch surly. Mushrooms and other goods are sold by the roads. Horse carts aren't uncommon, and there are lots of wells in every village we drive through. Towns and cities look and feel very different, chaotic and grungy but interesting and occasionally also very impressive. Churches, shrines and monasteries are everywhere. Here and there they fly the EU flag together with the Românian flag.
There's a storm brewing as we reach the Carpathian Mountains, but so far only one ruin of a castle sighted. The lightning strikes inside a cloud a few times, rain pours down on and off, thick mist blankets the tall pine trees and nearly touches the ground, and I can't remember the last time I was so overwhelmed by the landscape. Words simply fail me. The moment I saw the mountains I knew I'd always wanted to see them. Transylvania, a (mild) storm, some bats—only the castle is missing.
This part of Transylvania is partly Magyar; most signs are in Romanian and Hungarian.
We stop by a large field to admire the rainless thunder light up the entire sky. (Yes, there are pictures.) Hope we'll still get inside the hotel at this time of night, with all these delays...
This hotel is the only one we've been to that advertises itself well ahead, so it's laughably easy to find (unlike a few others); just follow the huge sign and the flashing neon lights!
A lazy morning, then to the Malibu Beach of Odessa! It's the beachiest beach I've ever been to, white sand and blue sea and everything. After bouncing up and down the big, crashing waves, we go and have lunch at a kosher restaurant called Chevron. Everything's awesomely delicious, and we practically roll out of the place. Little brother dearest bumps his head for the third time today.
We wander through the Prymorskyi Boulevard to the statue of Richelieu and the famous Potemkin Stairs, then wander back, and turn our cars towards the mysterious white spot on the map that is Moldova. Rather than driving through the separatist area of Transnistria, we take the slightly longer route and take Chișinău from the south. The shortcut way isn't available, at least not to us, but the slightly longer one is.
The fellows at the ukrainian side of the border are strangely intimidating in a laid-back sort of way. And, indeed, they "expect presents from Finland". Insert nervous laughter here. On the moldovan side, things are far more official but fairly smooth.
The roads to Chișinău are mostly pretty good, and, conveniently, there's a separate road for horse carts, so we don't have to compete. Gas station toilet is a hole in the ground.
We arrive at our destination after sundown.
The star pictures turned out alright. We clambered a small hill to get a good view over the village and the mountains. Also woke up every guard dog along the way, and witnessed a return home by taxi and subsequent argument between (presumably) husband and wife.
Khan's Palace is half bewitching, half disappointing, the former because it's quite large and ornamental, with many different buildings and rooms to inspect, and the latter because it's packed with tourists, and because it's been rebuilt so many times there's precious little to see of the 17th century it was originally built in. The Fountain of Tears is there, though, with a Pushkin bust beside it. We dine at Café Pushkin—we're more or less dragged there by an enthusiastic local fellow, but the cozy terrace and hanging vines have us at hello, anyway. A very zen stray cat approaches our table, promptly jumps into dad's lap and settles there, only moving when he gets up.
The narrow street's completely blocked by a tourist bus and a herd of cars, so we try taking the long way round, only to discover that the only way through the village is via said blocked Lenina St. so we just waddle through like everyone else.
The drive to Odessa is uneventful, apart from driving a little too fast before a bridge; playing the foreigner's ignorance card and paying a fine (20€) settled the matter nicely. Starting to get a real taste of Eastern Europe...
Daylight reveals our hotel to be in the middle of some quite beautiful mountains. Not bad. We drive down to Balaklava and tour the submarine base, which is exactly as magnificent as expected, with large hallways, the dank, musty smell of water and concrete, and sound effects to further liven up the experience. Inspired, I buy a stripy sailor shirt, of which there is an abundance—apparently a typical Crimean souvenir. We also take a small stroll around the small harbour, marvelling at the beauty of the bay and the Crimean mountains. People are fishing, swimming and sunbathing at the harbour, cats and dogs trod around lazily and nap on chalk stone stairs.
Trying to find a panorama hill, we end up in the Malakhov hill museum, instead, but it's an interesting display, nonetheless.
Ah, Ukraine, the land of war monuments, endless fields, nutty drivers, and elastic toilet paper.
The greek ruins of Cherseson and the basilica of St. Nikolaus are next on the agenda, and we spend hours admiring gardens, strolling through ruins and watching swallows and other small birds by the strand. The basilica is actually very new, rebuilt since the original one was devastated during WW2, (mostly) finished in 2001, and gives the overall impression of a tourist spot and not much else. There's a mass going on upstairs, however, which we stare at and listen to for awhile.
On the other side of the bay is a beautiful park and a boulevard, which we inspect thoroughly, then have sushi for dinner at an amazingly inexpensive restaurant with English-speaking waitstaff. At some point, a guy dressed as a cowboy and two ladies in golden sequinned mini-dresses make a sales pitch at us, and all we understand is that it's about a drink called Olmeca. After sundown the boulevard is filled with party people and loud music, there's even a karaoke stand in the park.
Two very small foxes run by the road back to the hotel.
We hope for a clear sky so we might be able to shoot stars a bit before retiring for the evening.
Godsdammit the Tactical Missile Museum was worth every hryvna. Not only were the tactical vehicles, heavy machinery and missiles outside incredibly impressive, but we also go to go inside the actual base, walk the cold concrete tunnels and climb ladders and cram ourselves into a tiny lift and end up in the bloody command centre itself, 35 metres below surface, and there was the red button of doom on the keyboard of doom, blinking lights and switches to flick, and we got to sit in the actual seat where the komendant sat. The guides were old military guys, which was very apparent from how they spoke and behaved, but under there they suggested all kinds of cool photos we could take (by speaking Ukrainian and waving their hands a lot)—and boy, did we.
As soon as we left the missile museum, we were taken by a massive rainstorm, and knowing the locals would be about as safe to drive among as nuclear warheads, we took a small break by a flooding petrol station. Heading south now. A hailing strikes, too, and we wait some more.
Lightless cars bug us severely, and surpassing lorries proves difficult at times. Slowly but steadily, the vegetation shifts from very familiar to familiar to slightly strange, and at times the landscape greatly resembles northern, rural Italy. Indeed, the word 'rural' describes the southern part of Ukraine quite precisely, as the vast fields (sunflowers, wheat and corn) are only sparsely punctuated by little villages, and in them, people selling goods on both sides of the road. Stray dogs wander around nearly every petrol station and market stall, crows and hawks fly over our heads, and butterflies flutter on and beside the road. There's a hillock with a numbered door in the field every now and then, presumably a bunker. The golden light of the setting sun forms a ukrainian flag together with the perfectly blue sky.
A few close calls happen with the traffic, specifically after nightfall in Sevastopol', where we also see the aftermath of a small car crash.
A vigorous search, consulting the map, and several language barriers later we arrive at the small village of Kujbyshevo near the mountains, our destination for tonight (and the night after that).
This hostel is incredibly shabby. What better way to start a day than a dry shower and a toilet that doesn't flush? Yes, there's currently no water in this damn hostel.
Amazingly enough, there's yet another raw restaurant available, and even our omni company likes what they've got. After that, we plan a little, and walk through the city centre to the Dormition Cathedral to see the cave monastery. Unfortunately, we arrive too late, and take a stroll around the historical site around the cathedral instead. It's hot day, and we're all dripping sweat, walking up and down the old stairs and ramps around the monastery gardens. Sister buys a traditional embroidered shirt. Failed to buy a card. Still haven't sent any cards, but I promised, so I shall.
We loiter around town, and visit a high-end restaurant called Whisky Corner, and confuse the very polite and orderly waitstaff by ordering silly things like fries and fruit. The fruit plate is huge (700g, they always state portion sizes in menus here), and I'm given a fork and a knife. So there I am, in a fancy ukrainian whisky restaurant, cutting mega-sized grapes in half with a knife and fork, marinated in a whole day's worth of sweat and dust, feeling like one big exclamation mark.
A random guy asks us for light, then pot, but we haven't got either. Back at the hostel, I'm happy to notice the water's back. We'll try the caves again tomorrow, as well as The Great Patriotic War Museum and adjacent previously mentioned ginormous statue, called Mother Motherland.
A quick stop to get some cakes to boost us up, then off to the border we go. Sparrows have built nests between and under the ceiling structures, and they whoosh above the queuing cars and lorries. Past the initial check-up the radio only plays Belarusian schlagers.
The amount of paperwork it takes to get to (and out of) Belarus is simply incredible. I keep thinking, "This is why EU. This very thing." They check our luggage every chance they get, and stall us due to some minor details in our documents, but after two hours we're done with it all and on Belarusian soil. It's warm. Fields and meadows everywhere. The road is brand new and in excellent condition.
Horse carts, doll houses, broken-down houses, storks flying over our heads, little rivers, forests. Cows, sheep. More cows. People working in the fields. Warnings for potential speeders ("Your licence will be revoked"). This country is extremely flat, and the highest point stands at 250 metres high.
TomTom takes us through Valožyn, which has us confused a while, but I consult the map, and everything is in order.
Overall I get the feeling that this country is run on strict rules and regulations, with little tolerance for deviants of any kind.
Approaching Minsk, the first thing we see are enormously tall buildings at the horizon. The closer we get, more buildings appear, then suddenly we're smack-dab in the middle of a 60's inspired science fiction metropolis, with buildings tall as the sky, neatly in rows, streets pristine and colours harmonious. Some SU era houses look unpolished—in fact, everything only seems to be either brand new or Soviet, nothing is older or in-between. I begin to understand what a belarusian fellow told us at the border. "You must visit Minsk", he'd said, "beautiful city, new city!"
We meet with my family by the Palace of Republic, a ginormous multi-column building that is impossible to miss, even amongst the other pompousness that is this city. We shoot some pics at the plaza, then we must carry on with the journey. I dread that we have yet another border to cross today.
The southern side of Minsk offers far less dramatic views, and sci-fi turns into modern Europe. Soon we're back at the countryside, with the endless fields, road construction sites and colour-coordinated cow herds. The police randomly stops both of our cars to check our documents. A little dog is trying to cross the heavily trafficked road, which breaks my heart. Everyone drives quite recklessly here, and there are lots of new cars on the highway.
Our plan now is to drive straight to Kiev, Ukraine, ETA 2:45 AM. The evening proves uneventful, and we watch the sun set at around 10 PM. This part of Belarus resembles the Carelian Russia in many ways, from the colourful but shabby houses to the weird bus-stops and the constant sightings of smoke from, one assumes, burning trash. The only significant difference is the quality of the road.
The four stages of Belarus are: 1) field 2) forest 3) tiny village, and 4) Minsk.
When we cross the border, the cars get sprayed with disinfectant. Getting out of Belarus is surprisingly painless, and into Ukraine the only additional nuisance (besides the mosquitoes) is an officer who searches both cars and asks strange questions, such as if we've got tazers, or either girls or drugs in our car—the guy's pronunciation was quite interesting. Well, we had none of those in any case, and got to be on our way.
It's stupid o'clock and still we drive towards Kiev, current ETA being 4:31. It sure paid off to get those two good nights in a row. Roads here are more random chance than in Belarus.
First impression of Kiev: shabby. We arrive at 3:51 AM, ogling at the blinking lights, lorries parked in the middle of the road, and very dodgy buildings. This looks a lot more like Russia than Belarus, only messier. Huge billboards dominate the cityscape. Some new buildings resemble the sci-fi ones at Minsk. On the other side of the river Dnjepr is clearly the newer and cleaner part of the city, also one mind-bogglingly gigantic statue. Clearly, this city has it all.
I'm posting this update a little late, since our hostel's Wi-fi didn't reach our room or, specifically, my bed.
11 hours of sleep. We have breakfast at the incredibly picturesque hotel yard.
Driving through the sleepy Vilnius towards the border, we spot plenty of construction work, and notice how the roads worsen the closer we get to Belarus. Just before the actual control we're told we need an entry ticket from "a yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow wagon" one kilometre backâthis turns out to be a tiny construction shack slightly off the road. A young guard hands us a small ticket without saying a word.
Waiting. A crucial document is missing, so we have to go back, (queuing on both ends for approx. 2 hours for nothing) and arrange so that we get the bloody paper delivered from Finland by tomorrow afternoon. We get a proper old-fashioned road map, since TomTom only recognises two roads in the entire country of Belarus. Sister, brother and dad get to go cross through, eventually, and travel ahead to Minsk; our visit there shall be brief.
My S.O. and I go find a hotel wait for the delivery. We wander around Vilnius, shooting pictures in old town, and find an excellent raw vegan restaurantâjust think of that!âwhere we dine ourselves silly on soup, sushi, lasagna and pizza. A short trip to a local supermarket/ shopping centre, then back at the hotel. Lithuanian TV is in no way more interesting than I expected.
Tomorrow we'll just hang around until the letter arrives, queue at the border for hopefully no more than two hours, and meet with the rest of our troupe at Minsk; then we drive through the white spot on the map of Europe that is Belarus, and spend the next night and several days at Kiev.
Napped all the way from Turku to Helsinki, having spent the night packing and tidying. A nightingale was trapped inside the tax free shop, between the window and soda cans. The buffet served mostly meat, but sister let me have some of her watermelon slices. Brother attempted death by bacon.
Saw a huge stork's nest, with the stork, standing there like nobody's business. Forgot how to language at gas station, but S.O. found beebi porgand there. Walkie-talkies randomly pick up russian channels. I have to constantly feed the driver with chocolate to keep them awake. Crossing borders just happened, no controls nor queue. A wind turbine had dropped its rotor on the field. "Moses taps drow" —sorry if that was rude.
Roads aren't half bad. BMW drivers are reckless and we warn each other whenever we spot one. Always give way to an east-European BMW. A motorcyclist decided to practice slalom on the motorway. Small falls of rain wake us up from the sun coma.
Another border in sight, and with it the remains of the day. I'm tired, but I sing along to my favourite tunes and watch lighting crack. Stupid jokes (selfish shellfish etc.).
Dozed off after finding a set of old jets and woke up in Vilnius just before arriving at the hotel. A nice, clean place, with a very friendly English-speaking receptionist. Wi-fi. Dad, sister and brother went shopping.
Exhausted. Need sleep.
* Miesten vaatteet = mieheksi ja/tai maskuliiniseksi itsensä identifioiville ihmisille suunnatut valmisvaatteet
Motiivi: tyylin päivitys ja aikuistaminen
Näkökulma: henkilökohtainen estetiikka, toissijaisesti yleisempi tyyli ja muoti
Lähtökohta: maskuliininen presentaatio
Havaintopaikat: Stockmann, Carlings, Dressman, satunnaiset
Kauluspaidat ovat ruudullisia. Kaikki. (Yksi pilkullinen. Pilkullinen!) Ne, jotka eivät ole, ovat haahon värisiä.
Tummansininen, vaaleansininen, tummanpunainen, vaaleanpunainen, beige, harmaanruskea.
Yksittäiset hyvät värit yhdistetään järjestään karseisiin väreihin.
Merkkivaatteet tunnistaa siitä, että ne ovat jonkun merkkisiä. Merkin on esiinnyttävä vaatteessa mahdollisimman suurin kirjaimin kirjoitettuna ja mieluusti monessa paikassa. Tokihan haluan antaa ilmaista mainosta vaatemerkille - ei, ei ilmaista mainosta vaan peräti itse maksaa siitä, että saan mainostaa vaatemerkkiä. Mainitsinko jo, että merkkivaatteessa merkin on oltava koko vaatteen pointti eikä muuta suunnittelua tarvita?
Villa ja nahka. Selkeä yliedustus. Etenkin villa.
Laadukkaat materiaalit. Kankaat keskimäärin naisten** arkivaatteita paksumpia ja kestävämpiä.
Järkeviä(kin) leikkauksia. Tarpeeksi pitkiä hihnoja ja lahkeita. Tarpeeksi tilaa laskeutua (myös istuvissa leikkauksissa). Poislukien telttamallit.
Kiistaton maskuliinisuus. Yleisellä tasolla tämä on myös kohdassa "Uhat".
Naisten vaatteet = naiseksi ja/tai feminiiniseksi itsensä identifioiville ihmisille suunnatut valmisvaatteet.