Crimea; check.

I miss Cameron. Firstly, there's a guilty feeling because I can't explain to her that I'm not dead (fingers crossed for ESP though). Then, everywhere I go, there seems to be two stray dogs to every human inhabitant. It's nice to share my scraps with these poor things, but I'm still a bit concerned what would become of my hand, were it to reach out and pet one.

There's also a ton of stray cats wandering around, but they can go become doglunch for all I care. Every time I toss a piece of bread or cheese their way, they give it a suspicious sniff, then shoot me this evil glare, and then smugly back away. It reminds me too much of human coldness, I suppose. Drop a favor for a stranger in a big American city, and watch the little sniff they give that morsel of kindness, and then the manner in which they back away back into anonymity. Not everyone, but just enough to be disheartening.

By contrast, it hasn't taken long for me to notice the "Slavic hospitality" that every Russian/Ukrainian I meet goes on and on about. Offer a piece of gum, and you have a drinking buddy for the night. Offer to share your beer, and man, tis a party! Moving past the jokes about the "Slavic smile" (that half-gruesome, half-pitiful look usually reserved for funerals of those one didn't know well), there really are big hearts just under the surface. And not to sound too jaded, but it can also come in quite handy at times. When, in Kyiv, I couldn't for the life of me find my hostel, I spent the night in an internet cafe polishing IR skills/learning vodka toasts with a group of young Ukrainians, including the employees. I think it was because I complemented someone's taste in music. No cats here, just those pups who gobble up the favor and stick around to show their appreciation.

Anyhow, on Monday I went diving off of some WWII sub wreck that I know nothing about, thanks to our entirely Russian briefing. Our second dive was great though, squeezing through little nooks made by the eighty ton boulders that have, over time, hopped off of the sharp cliffs of the Crimean coast. No more geological formation on dive day, I'm pleased to report. Spent the evening chatting up a Dutch divemaster who's making a year-long diving journey. Sounds good to me, but, we know that it would. After dinner we made a nice little trek up to the sea-cliffs, measuring their height with the aid of a stopwatch and a few abandoned wine bottles... 247 meters.

Tuesday was my long-awaited Yalta excursion. Yalta itself was pretty much what I expected; Myrtle on the Black Sea. After hiking along the blubber covered pebble beaches for two hours, however, I found the tiny staircase that led up to the Lividisky Palace, location of the Yalta/Crimean Conference. The Czar portion of the history was a yawn, but the first floor was just oozing with historical significance. Every room had a little plaque that read something like "This, the Waiting Room, was where FDR and Stalin met on the third day of the conference to discuss Japan," etc., and I loved it. Anyhow, with the trip back to the center of Yalta, this was pretty much a day. The Swallow's Nest, a picturesque "castle, jutting off the cliffs into the Black Sea," turns out to be a chi-chi little restaurant about the size of my foot. The prospect of hiking another two hours to see a Mickey Mouse castle didn't really appeal, so I bought a postcard.


Tonight, I've gotta see where I can get to by bus or train. I'll try not to end up in Moldova. I'll mention Belarus in the next post.