Blog
 

Aishe Restaurant & Yalta

Our flight to Simferopol is just an hour and a half–much better than a 12-hour train ride (although we may take the train on our return, depending on the prices).

So much to tell.  We stop for lunch at Aishe, a marvelous Eastern cuisine restaurant in Simferopol, and the director treats us to a wonderful, multiple-course feast, ample for any army tramping through–warm bread, beef noodle soup, rice and meat pilaf, shish kebabs, tartar salad, beef-filled pasta, and green tea to wash it all down.  Oh, but I skip the best (and most important part) of the meal.  First, a joke, as told to us by the translator.  Yesterday, the Americans went drinking with a group of Russians, and they thought they would die.  Today, they went drinking with a bunch of Russians, and they wish they would have died yesterday.

Of course it’s rude to refuse (just try; it doesn’t work!).  And it’s straight vodka, mind you!  (Worthy, where are you when we need you?)  So, in total, I think we get off easy.  Dan does two shots; I do three.  And strangely enough, I don’t even feel it.  Maybe I’m Russian after all.  Or it is all that delicious bread and food that soak it up?

On to Yalta.  Our car climbs the mountains to descend to the other side.  The translator points out Bear Mountain, and indeed, it looks just like a bear dipping its head into the Black Sea for a long drink.  The houses are like barnacles clinging to the hillsides.  We drive through the city center where a fruit and vegetable market has gathered throngs.  We stop to look at an apartment, and find out (to our astonishment and disappointment…only because Dan has limited vacation days) that we will be here at least 3 weeks!  As you know, we’ve been here already for two.  This requires a major mind adjustment for us, since we won’t be home to pay bills or do any of the necessary end-of-the-month tasks.  [The fact that Summit Adoption has accepted no blame in any of this is like salt on an open wound.  More money.  More time we don’t have.  More of everything.  But of course, we will make the best of it.  We have to.]

We arrive at our hotel, after figuring out that, all in all, the room is a better price, we’ll have internet access, and be near to the city center.  The director and translator are staying in the same hotel, so communication will be easier.  Immediately, we walk down the street to find some water (you have to drink bottled water everywhere), then meet up with the director and the translator for a “walk to the sea.”  Translation: they’re going for a swim; we’re not, because we don’t have swim suits yet.

The Black Sea shoreline (for swimming and sunning) is an unusual thing.  It’s covered in rocks (smooth and large, at least from a distance), and every inch of the beach is covered with beach towels.  There is no space to walk, the result of which is that many are standing.  We walk a little further, and realize, soon enough, that the translator is walking past all these crowded beaches to pay a fee to be on another section of beach that is a little cleaner and definitely not so crowded.  We leave them to their beach and continue walking down the walkway, lined with kiosks, juice bars, and restaurants.  We think, if everything works out tomorrow, we will need swim suits and workout clothes (the hotel has a workout center and pool) and tennis shoes.

We walk down along the wharf, and what sights!  There is a Ukrainian ship (a cruiser of some sort…part of the Black Sea Fleet) that is in port.

The Yalta Rally is going on currently, which is their version of Monaco’s Grand Prix, so they have cars in the square, with two girls all dolled up and posing with any guy wanting to get his picture taken with them.  [Brad, you’ll like this: the cars are all souped-up Subarus; we realize too late, though, that the rally is over tonight, and we haven’t gotten any pictures for you!]

The wharf is busy, teeming with people of all sorts.  Dan and I can’t wait just to sit and people-watch.  [I know, we’re crazy that way, but let me tell you, you can always come up with good characters, whether it be in fiction or in screenplays!]

Before we go to bed, I see, out of our window, a distant mountain that’s turned pink in the setting sun.  It reminds me of that psalm that says (my paraphrase), “I look unto the hills from whence my help comes.”

I like that.  And I know that we both feel that right now, the night before our second orphanage meeting.

Leave a Reply