A Black Sea Cruise: From the Ukraine with Love

by

Jerry Farlow

First, it was the mythical Jason, who crossed the Black Sea leading the Argonauts in
search of the Golden Fleece. After that came Greeks, Romans, Avars, Arabs, Huns,
Scythians, Mongols, and the Ottoman Turks, to name a few. They, of course, were not
looking for the Golden Fleece, but had bigger fish to fry. They were expanding empires,
pillaging cities, ravaging citizenry, and, of course, slaughtering infidels. Depending on
whom you were talking to, the infidels were the Greeks, Romans, Avars, Arabs, Huns,
Scythians, Mongols, and the Ottoman Turks, to name a few.

In light of the fact that the Black Sea has been at the crossroads of many of the world's
most formidable and bloody military campaigns, it is probably sacrilegious to point out
that if you were in the middle of the Black Sea a few months back, you might have
observed a spanking new luxury cruise ship steaming northward on its way to the old
Soviet ports of Odessa and Yalta. Upon closer inspection, you might detect a couple of
American travel writers sipping champagne and trying to take in as much Black Sea lore
as was humanly possible.

“I'll bet you don't know where Jason found the Golden Fleece," my wife asked. She knew
I hadn't the foggiest idea. “Colchis," she answered her own rhetorical question. “It's at the
eastern end of the Black Sea in present day Georgia."

Recently, my wife and I took a cruise of the Black Sea to the old Soviet ports of Odessa
and Yalta, nowadays Ukrainian ports, aboard the Renaissance III cruise ship. It is one of
a new generation of all-suite cruise ships that specialize in what is called “soft
adventure." You know, you follow in the steps of Kublai Khan during the day and return
to the ship for Roast Duck au vin blanc in the evening.
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The Black Sea itself is an adventure. I mean, here's an aberration of nature that teems
with life just beneath the surface, but below 400 feet becomes a dead zone due to the high
concentration of hydrogen sulfide from fissures beneath the sea. Whatever falls into the
sea, sinks down into the lower depths and, because there is no oxygen, does not decay.
And this process has been going on for thousands of years.

Naturally, the Black Sea is not black at all. The story goes that the name comes from the
fact that in Turkey, which lies on the Black Sea's southern coast, the strong winter winds
blow down from the north, swirling up the sea and giving it the appearance of a cold or
“black sea."

We, like Jason managed to cross the Black Sea, but instead of finding the Golden Fleece,
we found the “Pearl of the Black Sea," Odessa. Odessa is known to many Americans as
the city where many of the great Soviet violinists were born; Jascha Heifetz, David and
Igor Oistrakh, to rattle off a few.

As soon as we cleared customs, we were met by our Odessa Intourist guide, Tanya, an
intelligent, attractive young woman who was a sharp contrast to the stern, defensive
Soviet guide we had known ten years earlier in Leningrad. At that time our guide couldn't
let up extolling the virtues of the Communist state while constantly reminding us of the
many inequities in our own society.

“I could never live in America with your homeless people and racial problems," our
earlier Leningrad guide would tell us.

On this visit it was different.

“We have to learn market economy from you Americans," Tanya told us. “We don't
know free enterprise."

“America is best," people on the street would tell us. “Nothing works here. We have
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nothing."

“We have our problems, too," I said. “We have our homeless people and our racial
problems."

“No, no," they insisted in broken English, “America perfect."

We had read that Odessa is one of the truly beautiful, romantic cities of the world and we
couldn't agree more. We strolled with Tanya down shaded cobblestone thoroughfares,
amidst a montage of Baroque architecture. Although many of the buildings need some
cosmetic repair, Tanya told us the city is undergoing a massive face-lift for its 200th
birthday in 1994.

Odessa is the third largest city in the Ukrainian after Kiev and Kharkov and has always
been a melting pot and haven for political exiles. During the past century it has been a
center for emigre Jews, Greeks, and Bulgarians. Scientists will know Odessa as the home
of Dmitri Mendeleev, the chemist that developed the periodic table.

After completing our walking tour, Tanya took us to an official government store where
Westerners can buy hand painted Babushka dolls, caviar, bear caps, and Cokes. An
exquisite hand-painted, nested Babushka doll containing twelve smaller dolls sold for
$750 in the government store, while outside young men sold poorer quality ones for $30.
Street hawking was illegal a few years ago, but now it is only frowned upon. I asked
Tanya what she thought of the young men working the streets outside the government
store.

“They're unemployed," she told me. “They're hooligans."

“I thought you said you had to learn free enterprise and market economy," I said. I told
her that in the United States they would probably be called entrepreneurs.
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“You're probably right," she said, “But I still don't like them."

One of the young men on the street told me that the real thing that bugs the old
Communists is the fact that the “hooligans" make a lot of money. “We're called the
Russian Mafia," he laughed.

It has been said that Russia is a land of contradictions. This entered the minds of many
cruise passengers when Tanya took us to hear the Soviet Army Chorus (still called by
that name) and to see a troupe of Ukrainian folk dancers. One is bewildered, unable to
resolve the enigma of how a country can create such beautiful music and dance, yet can't
produce an adequate supply of soap and toilet paper for its people.

After the concert most people in the audience tried to purchase a tape of the army chorus.
Naturally, there was none to be found.

“We still don't know free enterprise," Tanya told me. “We can't even buy tapes of the
army chorus. You can buy them in America."

That night the Renaissance III cruised eastward along the Crimea, a peninsula that sticks
out into the Black Sea, to the resort town of Yalta where in 1945, the heads of
government of the three allied powers, Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin met to determine
the spoils of war.

Most students of military combat and literature know the Crimea as the location of the
most foolhardy action ever to take place in British military history. During the Crimean
War in 1854 as a result of a confusion of military orders, a brigade of light cavalry
charged directly into the mouths of Russian guns, thereby killing most of the helpless
soldiers. The incident was memorialized in Alfred Tennyson's epic poem, Charge of the
Light Brigade; Half a league: half a league: half a league onward, ...
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Nowadays, Yalta is the major summer resort for Russian and Ukrainian citizens with
“Greater Yalta," a complex of resorts and holiday spas stretching for nearly 50 miles
along the Crimean coast.

The next morning we arrived at Yalta and unlike past experiences in the Soviet Union,
we cleared customs and got our visas stamped by smiling officials in a few seconds. We
then headed for the boardwalk to visit with as many people that would talk with us. Ten
years earlier in Leningrad, people would turn their heads and hurry off when approached.
Now, in the age of glasnost we were often surrounded and asked our opinions on
everything from the crisis in the Middle East to whether Madonna wears a bra. I told
them I wasn't knowledgeable on the former, but on the latter it was a definite yes, but in
her case she wears hers on the outside.

I tried to buy a “Yalta" T-shirt but there were none to be found. The only shirts I saw
were Bart Simpson ones (Don`t Have a Cow, Man) or ones declaring that elemental truth,
“I Love N.Y."

Becoming weary of the many people that would crowd around us asking about life in
America, my wife and I found a secluded bench and sat down for a breather. Sitting next
to us was an old woman who was busily reading the comic section of a newspaper. Every
so often she would burst out laughing and would show the cartoon to us and explain it.
We couldn't understand a word she said but we laughed along anyway. After a while she
got up and nodded good-by. Knowing how consumer goods are in such short supply, I
offered her a pack of cigarettes. She thanked us to the point of embarrassment and then
sat back down. She then opened her purse and took out a tiny box and gave it to my wife.
My wife objected, but she closed my wife's hand around the box. She then thanked us
again for the cigarettes and disappeared in the crowd. After she had gone, we opened the
box and found two tiny earrings. Each was inscribed with the message, “With Love."

That night, as the Renaissance III headed back across the Black Sea to Istanbul, we stood
on the hind deck and watched the lights of Yalta slip below the horizon. It didn't take a
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wise person to realize that from an economic point of view things were not well in the old
Soviet Union. However, we also thought we detected signs of hope. One of the young
men that worked for Intourist told us that he planned on going into business for himself
and planned on running his own tours for the visiting cruise ships.

“I could give better tours than Intourist at half the cost," he said. “However, I do not have
money to get started." He told us he hoped to get started by borrowing money from a
cruise company. One of the “hooligans" that was selling Babushka dolls to tourists
outside the government store told us he wanted to buy a T-shirt machine and start selling
T-shirts to American tourists. These seemed like small potatoes, but with the rise of a
new generation, changes are in the air.