They are slim I think, because they
uniformly smoke and do not eat. I,
too, am slim and ex-military. And
from the smoking rarely eat, and on
occasion, can barely breathe.
Clothed now, the crowds are
leaving the beach. The older ones
are stuffed into oversize shirts and
shorts, the women in impossibly tight
jeans.
The young leave too, still beautiful.
The same scene is re-enacted by
similar people across our beautiful
world. The sea takes on a deeper blue
as the sun dips and the waves lap the
beach, clearing from the sand the
footsteps of a thousand feet.
A short walk back to the hotel and
over dinner I asked Alexandra of
the requirements of her religion. “It
always been this, from childhood. I
am afraid of sin and sinning. And I
drink to stop bad thoughts. I try to
stop drinking, but I cannot.”
Shoulders hunch, tremors through
her body and tears rolling down her
cheeks. I had thought this might be
the case, but I do not judge. I sought
to comfort for I am an alcoholic in
recovery and have been clean and
sober for thirty years. My journey to
sobriety was equal in both sadness
and eventual desperation.
We discuss Alcoholics Anonymous
and the path to sobriety but, drunk
again, she could not or did not wish
to listen.
The next day in the morning,
Alexandra admitted that her newfound
enthusiasm for motorcycling,
and Moto Gelato, had appreciably
diminished. The trouble, she noted,
was in her thighs. The vibration, on
the road, although probably helping
to reduce cellulite, was too painful for
her to go further.
I find the vibrations from Moto
Gelato oddly comforting, but then
my legs are like string with knots for
knees.
In an hour, she was gone to visit
with friends in Odessa, and thence,
I believe, on a bus to return to
Moldova.
The Coca Cola is cold, and served
in a plastic cup so thin it could be
reused as a condom.
No matter; it is not to be rushed,
this drink, for I have sweltered two
hours in leathers in 36 degrees of
heat, as measured on the continent of
Europe.
I have travelled here before. I was
searching then for the Black Sea ferry
from Illichivsk (now Chornomorsk)
to Batumi, Georgia; eventually found
and a voyage of three days enjoyed.
The road surface was bad seven
years ago. Since then a million tonnes
of trucks and cars have driven over
it and the repairs are yet to start. But
some things are new; bright orange
road signs warning of bad road
surface ahead.
Since Crimea was stolen by the
Russian Dictator, Ukrainians have
chosen Odessa and the surrounding
beaches and countryside for
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