"It comes when it comes, it goes when it goes and it gets there when it gets there."
This is why I mentally say to myself when dealing with Ukranian public transportation. Actually, I'm really impressed with Ukranian public transportation: I can get anywhere in my city, oblast or country rather easily and cheaply (although not necessarily quickly) and I really wish America had a system quite as good.
But there are times, like this weekend, that I have to chant the mantra. I went to Kirovograd this weekend for a meeting, a seven hour trip. Unfortunately it's only five hours from Kyiv, which mean no overnight trains, only overpriced buses. After getting into Kyiv from Zhytomyr (having just found out they raised the marshrutka prices 4 hrivna; high fuel prices are really hurting Ukraine right now), I was told they wouldn't have any buses to Kirovograd until the evening, putting me into Kirovgrad at 1:00 AM and way too late.
A bus was due to leave in 5 minutes though, and I incessently bugged the ticket taker about an open seat until it turned out there was a cancellation. This put me in the last seat in the back right corner of the bus, where someone had curteously piled boxes. The bus was crammed full, being one of the older buses, designed for midgets with no arms. The windshield was also cracked (a requirement here, apparently) and the drapes and overhead rack covers were made of the same upholstry-patterened faded cloth you see on every other bus, albeit this time it was green. After putting the boxes in the aisle (and getting yelled at by the people who the boxes were now beside as if this truly inconvienced them) I discovered that a reinforcement pole had been welded directly beside the seat, precicely where a quarter of my body was supposed to be. This left me in a subtle control war with the guy in the next seat as whenever one of us stretched, the other would get their shoulder against the back of the seat instead of having to lean forward. When he had his shoulder against the seat, I literally could not have my arms against my body because it would mean one elbow in his stomach, the other against the pole, so I just gripped the overhead rack with both hands, waiting for him to stretch and then I would regain control. And what I told myself continously was: "you're in Peace Corps. It could get a lot worse. Toughen up and stop being annoyed."
After about two hours and a few stops later, some people got off the bus and I grabbed their seats, the normally cramped confines suddenly feeling extremely spacious.
Coming back from Kirovograd the next day, I thought I was in heaven. I was shocked at the 53 hrinva price back when I bought my ticket in Kirovograd, because it had cost only 35 hrivna coming down. The price difference, I found, was because my bus was brand new. It was also quite late, which is why I found myself repeating the mantra: "it comes when it comes."
It did come, and it was the nicest bus I'd ever been on in Ukraine. New seats, new everything including a TV showing the newest movie from Russia that everyone's been talking about: "9 Rota" (9th Company) about a group of Soviet soldiers fighting in Afghanistan. The movie was really good and I was getting into it when the TV suddenly shut off and the bus lost power.
How ironic: the ghetto bus makes it and the brand new one breaks down. We sat on the side of the road for about 20 minutes, the driver turning the engine on and off, trying to get the bus to move. Every once in a while it would slowly rock forward and then the engine would go off.
It is testement to the equanamity of the Ukranian people that no one said a single word or asked a single question. We all sat quietly and looked out the windows. The driver offered no explanation and called no one on the radio (if he even had one). I repeated the mantra "it gets there when it gets there".
I stared out the window. It was 5:30 PM and already getting dark, the days shrinking as we get closer to the solstice. Most of the leaves have turned and are really rather pretty. I've never lived in a place with real seasons, have never seen the leaves turn red and orange and yellow. Everything in Florida is evergreen. The trees in Oklahoma seemingly go from verdent to bare to back again instantaneously. Every other place I lived I was too young to remember, every other place I visited was visited in summer. Some of the reds I was lookign at were truly spectacular, too, the leaves were ablaze. Beside the road, four cows, attended to by two babucias, munched on grass. I've come to believe that anywhere at any time, if you are on a bus and look out of the window in Ukraine, you will see grazing cows being guided by old women holding sticks.
As the bus kept not moving and no explanation was forthcoming, I kept telling myself to not get annoyed, that this is a part of life, that expectations kill, that I would get there when I got there. And eventually it worked. I stopped paying attention to the shutting on and off of the engine, stopped being annoyed and zoned out. Eventually, I realized that, with much grinding, a gear had been achieved and finally the bus started moving. It stopped again about five minutes later but, with more engine going off and on and more loud grinding, we got on the road and didn't stop until Kyiv.
Kyiv was more mantra: the marshrutkas don't leave until they are full. Depending on the day and time and luck, this could mean every ten minutes or once an hour. I was the first on my marshrutka and took its time filling up. Tired and wanting to be home, I told myself: "it will leave when it will leave."
I have yet to achieve that traveller's inner peace. I still have the tick-tock of American punctuality in my blood. That is to say, official things should be punctual. I, of course, never am. Forty minutes later, though, the engine started and, two hours after that, I was finally home.
"It comes when it comes, it goes when it goes and it gets there when it gets there" and that's how you live in Ukraine.