Coney Island, Ukrainian Style
The last time I had been to Hydropark, the local summer beach on the Dnipro, women wore their underwear to swim and stood stategically around the beach, positioning foil reflective sheets carefully toward their faces, attempting to get as much sun as possible. Things have changed since then, but a trip to Hydropark is still an inevtiable reminder that you are in the FSU and maybe, just maybe, you like it.
The crowds are heavy, kiosks selling soda, beer and ice-cream are scattered every few feet, but best of all, the air smells sweetly of grilling pork and fresh adzhyka (Georgian spicy tomato sauce). Wandering around, every inch of the waterfront is claimed by sunbathers or fisherman, and usually the areas are not distinctly separated.
The dress has improved significantly since the late 90s, the last time I frequented Hydropark, but it's not clear if that's for the best. Relatively good looking women wear string-bikinis with thong bottoms, heavier women stick to more modest two-pieces and men of all sizes prefer European-style speedos and/or underwear. There is no shortage of gelatinous, pasty-white flubber.
Perhaps more so than on a normal, weekend day, there are a lot of young men who are clearly three sheets to the wind by mid-day. Beside the carnival section for children that I wouldn't wish upon the spawn of my worst enemy, stands a crane bearing the weight of an elastic cord for bungee jumpers and other suicidal types. Other activities include a fake firing range and a series of ping pong tables. By the end of the day, everyone piles onto the metro and the smell of beer and sweat is overwhelming.
You might not see the beauty in all this and you probably find it fairly revolting, but this is the cultural experience you never get from museums and churches and guidebooks. Moments like these are the highlights of living abroad.
Today was definitely not my last day at Hydropark.
The crowds are heavy, kiosks selling soda, beer and ice-cream are scattered every few feet, but best of all, the air smells sweetly of grilling pork and fresh adzhyka (Georgian spicy tomato sauce). Wandering around, every inch of the waterfront is claimed by sunbathers or fisherman, and usually the areas are not distinctly separated.
The dress has improved significantly since the late 90s, the last time I frequented Hydropark, but it's not clear if that's for the best. Relatively good looking women wear string-bikinis with thong bottoms, heavier women stick to more modest two-pieces and men of all sizes prefer European-style speedos and/or underwear. There is no shortage of gelatinous, pasty-white flubber.
Perhaps more so than on a normal, weekend day, there are a lot of young men who are clearly three sheets to the wind by mid-day. Beside the carnival section for children that I wouldn't wish upon the spawn of my worst enemy, stands a crane bearing the weight of an elastic cord for bungee jumpers and other suicidal types. Other activities include a fake firing range and a series of ping pong tables. By the end of the day, everyone piles onto the metro and the smell of beer and sweat is overwhelming.
You might not see the beauty in all this and you probably find it fairly revolting, but this is the cultural experience you never get from museums and churches and guidebooks. Moments like these are the highlights of living abroad.
Today was definitely not my last day at Hydropark.
posted by RedSonja at
9:51 PM
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