Invited by drunks. Kowtowing to the doctor

“Well my Schnupsi, how’s your bottom? Is he ready to cycle again?” Tanja asks me. Due to the constant heat and chronic lack of sleep, I’m not exactly feeling great. I shake my head, a little embarrassed. “I think we have to stay with Luda for a few more days. It’s just not getting any better. Maybe we should see a doctor after all. To be honest, I think it’s hemorrhoids. I’ve been putting hemorrhoid cream on it for days but it’s not helping,” I confess. 50% of people over 50 suffer from this disease. At least that’s what it says on the package insert. But as I’m not 50 and eat well, I just don’t want to believe that I’ve got such an annoying thing now. What’s more, that would be a disaster for our bike trip.

A little later, we drive to Odessa to the dermatology clinic. As we enter the first floor of the run-down tower block, I feel quite different. The plaster is flaking off everywhere. The rooms are dark and it smells like hospitals do. “I don’t think I have hemorrhoids,” I am suddenly convinced. “Do you want to go again?” asks Tanja. “I don’t know,” I hesitate. “We’re already there. It can’t hurt if the doctor takes a look,” Tanja suggests. “Take a look? Should I show the doctor my butt?” I whisper. “Sure,” she smiles. I ask for a dermatologist at reception. The pretty woman leads me through a dark corridor, past waiting patients, in front of a rusty door sealed with soundproofing material. “Come in!” we hear as the receptionist knocks. An attractive doctor in her fifties greets us with a handshake. She asks about my complaints. I tell them about our cycling tip, the blistering heat and my itchy backside. “Well then, show me the spot,” she asks me. Tanja and I take a look at each other. I see her blink in amusement. I take off my pants and bend over to the front. “No, you don’t have hemorrhoids,” the doctor’s voice relieves me. According to her diagnosis, it is an allergic skin reaction. Caused by heat and friction. The dermatologist prescribes me an antiallergic, zinc ointment and another cream for the night. We have to pay 20 hryvnia (approx. 3.5 euros) for their services. The medication costs about the same. We say goodbye to the nice woman and take the bus back to our accommodation.

In the days that followed, I nursed myself and wrote about our experiences at the same time. Tanja can’t stand it in our run-down room and drives to Odessa every day to answer our emails. I admire her, because it takes her about an hour to get to the city center by bus and she has to change several times. Without a good knowledge of Russian, this is not always easy. Above all, it’s easy to get lost there.

Invited by drunks

In the afternoon, I leave my tower room to go to the toilet. A guest from Luda discovers me. He looks at me as if I were the Holy Spirit himself. “Privet”, (hello) he says, grinning from ear to ear and snapping his fingers at his neck. “Sto gram, (pronunciation for 100 grams of vodka) he says. I pretend I don’t understand him. He holds me by the arm. A Russian torrent of words pours down on me. “Sto grams. Come on, that’s not much,” he says, inviting me to drink. Since I’m in the middle of writing and don’t like vodka anyway, I kindly decline. “Man, sto grams. Come on. Come with me to my hut,” he doesn’t give up. “Please don’t. I still have to work,” I say with a friendly laugh. “Oh what work. You’re drinking sto grams with me now and that’s that,” he replies, blowing a thick plume of alcohol in my face. Then he takes my upper arm, shows how strong I am and how weak he is. He talks about working in Siberia and spending his vacation here with his family. That alone is reason enough to drink with him. Then Luda suddenly comes along. He loses his attention for a moment to ask her something. I use the time to free myself from his grip and disappear. When I come back from the toilet, he watches me like a guard dog. “Sto Gram. Come on now. Just sto gram,” he says, incessantly tapping his hand against his neck. It takes a while for Luda to hurry out of the house again and free me from my tormentor. She scolds him loudly, whereupon he leaves. I exhale with relief and return to our room. From up there I can hear Valerie, that’s the name of the drunken guest, speaking without a dot or a comma. An hour later, I have to go back downstairs. I manage to stifle my urge for another hour, but then the time has come and I descend to the inner courtyard. As the hostess, poor Luda has to listen to the drivel and bawling of her customer who has just turned his back on me. Although the man is very dense, he notices me and pounces on me like a vulture. He hugs me tightly and says something about a friend. Then he presses his head against my cheek. “Ah, there you are. Been waiting for you all this time. Come on, let’s have a drink. Sto grams. Tastes good. Come on. Sto Gramm,” he babbles and hugs me incessantly. Since I know that just one sip together won’t free me from him, but will make the situation worse, I refuse again. But this time I can’t break free from his grip. “Luda! I need your help!” I shout. Once again, she lets a needleless torrent of words rain down on the spindly man. He turns towards her and I disappear. Later, Luda tells me that he put 1000 hryvnia on the table for her. Just like that. As already mentioned, 1000 hryvnia (approx. 200 US dollars) is the average monthly income of Ukrainians. Valerie has a wife and two children. I see Luda giving the money back to his wife in the late afternoon. She thanks Luda warmly and asks her if she knows where her husband is. “He went to the pub on the beach,” she explains, whereupon the woman goes to fetch her husband.

Before Tanja and I sit down together on our cliff in the evening to enjoy the view of Odessa and the sound of the sea, we go shopping together in the village store. “Where are you from?” ask two Russians, visibly drunk. “From Germany.” “Ah! I was stationed there during my military service. A beautiful country,” replies one of them with a laugh. “Let’s have a drink together,” he invites us. “No thanks”, we say no. “Oh come on, just sto grams.” “No thanks,” we reply. Now the stronger of the two takes Tanja’s hand in his. “What a pretty woman you have. Come. You can’t refuse our offer. Just sto grams?” “No, thank you. We have to get back to our friends. They’ve invited us to dinner,” we parry. “Oh what? Just sto grams,” he now says emphatically and with a more serious expression on his face. “No. Please don’t. Honestly, we have to go to dinner.” “No!” he says, takes Tanja’s hand, kisses it and presses it to his forehead. Without Tanja having a chance to withdraw her hand, he presses it to his left temple, then to his right, kisses it again and guides it again and again to parts of his forehead. I feel a bit queasy, because I wouldn’t stand much of a chance against the two men in an emergency. “Come on now. If you don’t want to drink vodka then at least have a beer with us. We’ll drink it here in the store. It’ll be quick,” he doesn’t give up. “Really, we have to see our friends. They miss us already,” Tanja says with the friendly tongues of an angel and removes her hand from his iron grip. The younger of the two gives in and talks to his friend. He finally nods and we are allowed to leave.

In the evening, we sit down on our cliff as usual, drink a beer, snack on a few peanuts and watch the sea and Odessa under the full moon.

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