Bonnie and Clyde

I once had a wife with a knack of destroying shoe stores. There was a trail of debris including shoes, boxes, tissue paper, etc, from where she entered to the exit. You could almost see Al Bundy cowering in the debris.

But, I never saw anyone do a bank before Виктория. Banks can be very frustrating in Киев.

I shipped my motorcycle on a container ship from NY harbor. I received notice that it made port in Одеса. (Odessa) I had to pay the freight jockeys to offload and manage the paperwork for customs, etc. So, I needed to wire money to their bank.

The bank in Киев had Western Union, but I couldn't use it without an account. I couldn't get an account because I wasn't a citizen. So, my lady, Жанна, opened an account. She never had a bank account before.

After a couple of hours of humiliating frustration and reams of paperwork including photocopies of passport and dozens of signatures, she went berserk. Her concern was a broken fingernail. Mine was attracting police.

We were finally successful at transferring $500--. We went to Глория Кафе to celebrate. The people there just love the Yankee biker tramp and my Russian lady. We told them she's Bonnie, I'm Clyde. We do banks. They rob us. We danced and drank the evening away.

It must be the license plate!?

What is it about a Dirty Old Man on a rusty old motorcycle from Wyoming? What am I supposed to do, throw rocks at 'em? This is in Зализныи Порт, a little resort town on the Черное Море. (Black Sea)

It must be the Wyoming tag. They say: "He's not from around here!" It is a curiosity in Ukraine, Russia and Moldova.

Look! Somebody touch me!

Of course, it sounded something like: "Luke! Sowmbahdy towch mih!" in that heavy, dripping with sex, Slavic accent. The language barrier was broken by her use of English. Local dialect or accent was not a problem. Heck, I can even usually understand a Texas drawl. I heard her words loud and clear. But then, there is the problem of idiom.

I looked around, then informed her that we were alone. We were resting from our day, sitting on a bed of pine needles in one of several forests in greater Київ, Украіна, (Kiev, Ukraine) drinking пиво. (beer) She hiked her blouse out of her waistband, exposing the small of her back. Again: "Look. Somebody touch me!" So, I looked. Sure enough, there was an area reddened by her scratching.

I had no idea who I was looking for. She used the freshly opened bottle of пиво as a pointer. I decided to refer to some good old American maritime idiom: "Honey, can you say: 'two sheets to the wind?'"

She answered: "Two sh**s..."

"Never mind!" I interrupted: "If you ever go to America, you may want to avoid saying that in public!"

With a puzzled expression she exclaimed: "Ooo, I wet!"

Unsuccessfully, I tried to stifle my laughter. With all the diplomacy I could muster I suggested: "Do ya think it might have something to do with all the пиво you just poured down your butt crack?"

"Boot crock?"

"Never mind, honey."

From my perspective, anointing female flesh with beer does not corrupt it in the least. She was stretching her waistband behind her in invitation. With an air of chivalry, I took the plunge, trying to locate "somebody" by braille. It was fruitless, but not frustrating.

We finally managed to safely park the bottle. She went in with her free hand, promptly withdrew it and showed me.

"See, somebody!" she said.

There were the mangled remains of a little red ant between her thumb and index finger. The disembodied head was still trying to bite her finger.

WOW! In my long and checkered life I thought I had seen or heard most everything. Here, an inebriated Russian woman took me into the woods and taught me in my own language the polite way to say: "Adamant bit harass." What's not to love about this place?