I have successfully managed to be the root cause and subject of a heated debated of what felt like the majority of the commuters on a packed public transit bus. The longer I stayed silent, the more aggressive and loud the debate grew. It was head spinning, foreign speaking, and as usual, left me confused.
If the weather is an accurate representation of my mood (which adds up since my lowest point on my trip was when I arrived in Ukraine after a sleepless night bus to the cold early hours of a Monday morning), then Wednesday afternoon was sunny and warm. I only had a few days in Lwiw, Ukraine, and as I counted down my last few hours in the country, I grew to really enjoy it. Whether it was the friendly people and their knowledge of Winnipeg, poutine, and Winnie Pooh, or the extremely low exchange rate, I was happy to have spent at least a few days here.
The €20 that I exchanged into 340 Hryvnias when I arrived never seemed to diminish. Consider a high end breakfast and coffee near the main square only cost the equivalent of $2.64.
As I prepared to catch a bus to the airport, I still had a relatively sizeable amount of cash on hand. For once though, I was going to leave ample time to allow me to get to the airport. After I loaded up on snacks from a nearby corner store, I saw my bus waiting at the stop. In no rush at all since there would be many more on the way, I still felt I wanted to catch it, so I did a light jog and hopped on the back doors just as it pulled away. The bus was packed, as were my hands full of delicious treats: a banana (a travelers most convenient fruit), a juice box (you can never stop being a child), a container of yoghurt (creamy goodness), and a mystery cookie (still waiting to see if it was a worthwhile purchase).
I struggled to maintain my balance as the bus accelerated, hands full and a heavy backpack on my shoulders. I was able to pack my food into my bag, but to have any chance of making it to the front of the bus to buy a ticket, priced at the equivalent of 18 cents, it would require for me to take out my bag of dirty socks to clear a path.
If the weather is an accurate representation of my mood (which adds up since my lowest point on my trip was when I arrived in Ukraine after a sleepless night bus to the cold early hours of a Monday morning), then Wednesday afternoon was sunny and warm. I only had a few days in Lwiw, Ukraine, and as I counted down my last few hours in the country, I grew to really enjoy it. Whether it was the friendly people and their knowledge of Winnipeg, poutine, and Winnie Pooh, or the extremely low exchange rate, I was happy to have spent at least a few days here.
The €20 that I exchanged into 340 Hryvnias when I arrived never seemed to diminish. Consider a high end breakfast and coffee near the main square only cost the equivalent of $2.64.
As I prepared to catch a bus to the airport, I still had a relatively sizeable amount of cash on hand. For once though, I was going to leave ample time to allow me to get to the airport. After I loaded up on snacks from a nearby corner store, I saw my bus waiting at the stop. In no rush at all since there would be many more on the way, I still felt I wanted to catch it, so I did a light jog and hopped on the back doors just as it pulled away. The bus was packed, as were my hands full of delicious treats: a banana (a travelers most convenient fruit), a juice box (you can never stop being a child), a container of yoghurt (creamy goodness), and a mystery cookie (still waiting to see if it was a worthwhile purchase).
I struggled to maintain my balance as the bus accelerated, hands full and a heavy backpack on my shoulders. I was able to pack my food into my bag, but to have any chance of making it to the front of the bus to buy a ticket, priced at the equivalent of 18 cents, it would require for me to take out my bag of dirty socks to clear a path.
I reevaluated the necessity of personal space, and began to drink my juice box. I figured once I had some elbow room, I could open my still full wallet and pay for my fare from the driver. Before I was given such a luxury, a disguised ticket controller with no English emerged from the blob of people and showed me her badge. While I thought I'd just be able to pay her my fare, it became quickly evident she wanted to fine me 40 Hryvnias, slightly more cash than I had. This is when bus passengers quickly started forming sides to the debate. On one side, although there was no possibility of any physical division on a crammed bus, was whether to give me a warning or make me pay the fine.
In all honesty I wasn't trying to evade a fare that a Caribou (perhaps one day this name will catch on) would settle back home, but I didn't have the cash to make up the $4 fine. Generally the younger generation argued in my favour telling me in English not to pay, as it wasn't really fair, while simultaneously arguing with the elders on the bus. It was such a modest fine, but the principal of paying twenty times the fare was the center of the debate.
While I refused to pay, and couldn't meet the fine if I wanted to, I let the debate evolve for a few stops. I don't know where these other loud voices came from, but they were certainly adding to the argument.
The controller kept pointing to the 40 she had written on her hand, with clearly no sympathy nor ability to hear my argument. To no avail, the young generation was giving in. I figured I'd pay what I could, half the fine, and see if that would suffice. All that got me was my understanding she understood 20 was half of 40, as she wrote a 20 on the side of her index finger as though she was making a hand puppet. Next thing I know a young guy who passionately argued in my favour, pulled out a twenty to pay the remaining amount. He then went on to apologize for what happened and the situation I had gone through. It was this warm hospitality I received that seemed to also match my mood.
For the record, by the time the bus arrived at the airport, the number of passengers went from somewhere around 70 to 2.
In all honesty I wasn't trying to evade a fare that a Caribou (perhaps one day this name will catch on) would settle back home, but I didn't have the cash to make up the $4 fine. Generally the younger generation argued in my favour telling me in English not to pay, as it wasn't really fair, while simultaneously arguing with the elders on the bus. It was such a modest fine, but the principal of paying twenty times the fare was the center of the debate.
While I refused to pay, and couldn't meet the fine if I wanted to, I let the debate evolve for a few stops. I don't know where these other loud voices came from, but they were certainly adding to the argument.
The controller kept pointing to the 40 she had written on her hand, with clearly no sympathy nor ability to hear my argument. To no avail, the young generation was giving in. I figured I'd pay what I could, half the fine, and see if that would suffice. All that got me was my understanding she understood 20 was half of 40, as she wrote a 20 on the side of her index finger as though she was making a hand puppet. Next thing I know a young guy who passionately argued in my favour, pulled out a twenty to pay the remaining amount. He then went on to apologize for what happened and the situation I had gone through. It was this warm hospitality I received that seemed to also match my mood.
For the record, by the time the bus arrived at the airport, the number of passengers went from somewhere around 70 to 2.