Carpetblogger

Ask Carpetblogger: How Can Ukraine Increase its Appeal to Futbol Hooligans? NSFW, BTW

Dear Carpetblogger,

The Eurocup 2012 soccer tournament in Ukraine this year is finding that they have sold only half the tickets they should have by now. European soccer hooligan wannabes are blanching at the 500 Euro per night for three star crapotels. My question for you...don't Ukrainians realize that if they don't charge reasonable prices, nobody will come?

Yours truly,

Kpic

Dear Kpic:

Thanks for the question! We know that you, like us, care about both Ukraine and futbol so we're going to answer this question with more than the usual care and seriousness.

As you probably know, Carpetblogger devoted much of her youth to selling things no one wants, namely, Democrats. Therefore, we are uniquely positioned to help Ukraine address its issues.

Ukraine's government is run by a breathtakingly corrupt cabal of thugs, its economy is near collapse and its sullenly incompetent service sector is woefully unprepared to meet the high standards in cuisine and accommodation demanded by sophisticated world futbol fans. These negatives are hard to overcome, it's true. But Ukraine is not without natural advantages. As a market research professional, we encourage Ukraine to play to its strengths.

Ask Carpetblogger: Where Are the Ukrainian Cougars?

It's a fact that, many years ago, Carpetblog established itself as the go-to internet source for devushka fashion, to the point where we became known as the Wikipedia of Slutty Dressing. Those were the salad days of Carpetblog. They represented the height of our influence.

Since then, we left Ukraine and, to the detriment of this blog's SEO, delved into topics such as Turknology and importing booze and pork. Like the Ottoman Empire, Carpetblog went into a long, sloppy decline. Furthermore, on the aging lady scale, we inched away from Devushkastan and slid closer to, some have (uncharitably) argued, Cougartown.

Do you not know what a Cougar is? Do you live under a rock? Have you heard of Google?

Some have speculated that there's a precipitous drop in the physical fortunes of Ukrainian women post-age 35 (more accurately, we less genetically-gifted sisters -- ROWR! -- speculate). Surely there must be an intermediate stage between devushka and babushka! So we set out to answer the question "Where are all the Ukrainian cougars?"

We recently found ourselves in Cherkassy, which is the dead center of Ukraine, about two and a half hours south of Kyiv. It is a provincial, very Ukrainian city -- and we mean that not in the way Ukie nationalists mean it (a model European Ukraine that looks westward) but in the way Ukraine is now. It sits in the black-earth prairies, frozen for the winter, alongside one of the Soviet Union's largest hydroelectric reservoirs. Russian-leaning eastern Ukraine is just over the next snowy hillock and European western Ukraine seems pretty far away from here. Its slushy downtown is a grey post-war Soviet time capsule. Pulling out the Ukraine cliche handbook (shelved next to the Istanbul cliche handbook) it is the borderland where Russia and Ukraine melt, and residents speak a mix of both languages.

Also, there be Cougars!

Not only were we lucky enough to find ourselves in Cherkassy in the middle of winter, it happened to be "Old New Years Eve," or the Orthodox New Years. This meant that the town was decked out as if Christmas was just last week (it was) and everyone was looking forward New Years Eve celebrations instead of a cold Thursday night in the Dnipro Hotel, like we were.

Most restaurants that serve Ukrainian food are decked out like rural cottages, with fake thatched roofs, farm implements on the walls and lots of red and white embroidered schwag  draped across flat surfaces. This would be kitschy if it wasn't how every traditional Ukrainian restuarant -- even Ukie fast food places  -- is decorated. They also usually have a series of intimate dining rooms and small alcoves for private parties or uh, other activities. We had an early reservation at Taras Bulbas, a model specimen of the type, expecting a quick meal of salo (pure pork fat, pictured), swine shashlyk and a bit of vodka with colleagues.

If you seek Felis Concolor Ukrainis, head to Taras Bulbas in Cherkassy on Old New Years Eve. There were several tables of them, well-lubricated by sweet Ukie shampansky (which they freely shared) and ready to burn the place down. By 7:30pm. Taras Bulbas' house band consists of a young, crewcut, acned Ukrainian accordion player and an African tambourine player (welcome to heaven, here's your tambourine. Welcome to hell, here's your accordion) who whipped the place into a frenzy of anticipation for Dede Moroz (father Christmas, the Orthodox Santa Claus) and his trusty...wait for it...Rabbit of Good Luck.

The Cougars, dressed to kill in too-short skirts and tight shirts, writhed and wriggled to 70's western and eastern Ukrainian pop songs (our colleagues taught us how to tell the difference) and Russian  favorites (different still), just like Cougars in Americastan would to Donna Summer. Later, at least one of them was caught in a sex act in one of the private alcoves (memo to self: don't go exploring other dining areas at 9:00 pm in Taras Bulbas on Old New Years Eve. Also, be careful of the cougar sitting behind you.)

Having had three shots of "rye and honey" Ukrainian vodka before the first plate of pickles arrived, the evening was destined to be a short one for us. Since we're no longer in FSU championship fighting form, we stumbled into a taxi to return to the Dnipro hotel, relieved that Ukraine is big enough for both devushkas and cougars after all.

 

A Conversation About Buying a Suit in the FSU

It only took a short visit to Tbilisi -- our first trip back to the FSU in a year -- to make us realize that the FSU is our creative homeland. We have DOZENS (well, ok, four or five) posts ready to go in our head that were inspired by actual events over a long Thanksgiving weekend.

Maybe Turkey isn't as hilarious or maybe long-term Turkey expats aren't as entertaining as those who have been wintering in Kyiv for a half dozen years or more, but holy crap, we have a rich vein of ridiculousness.

Anyway! Let's get down to it.

We sat down with Borko of Nenand's Murse, an up-and-coming blog that explains things about Europe that Americans don't understand. And to be clear, Borko uses the Eurovision definition of "Europe," which pretty much includes Kazakhstan. Eurovision, of which Borko is a world-reknown expert, sets the gold standard, other than soccer, for things about Europe that Americans don't understand (American seven year-olds understand soccer, though. No one understands Eurovision).

Borko has been living in the FSU almost since it was the regular kind of SU, and believe you me, you can tell.  Here's a transcript of a conversation, which took place at an outside table at a bar in Tbilisi's Old City. Alcohol *may* have been a factor, but it was after 11am, so no flag on the play.

Borko (B):  "I bought two Hugo Boss suits in Kyiv, but I noticed a tag on the sleeve that said "Made in Bulgaria." I had to rip it off right away. I can't believe I bought a suit made in Bulgaria."

Carpetblogger (CB): "Did you notice anything else wrong with the suit?"

B: "No, why?"

CB:  "How shiny was it?"

B: "It wasn't shiny at all! It's Hugo Boss."

CB: "Right. My bad. Hugo Boss became the favored brand of oligarchs from Donetsk, taxi drivers from Batumi and gangsters from Varna by skimping on the shine."

B: "You're wrong, CB! Hugo Boss is a very stylish brand for suits."

We mulled the statement for a moment, thinking of recent insecurity experienced while shopping for skirts to wear to Paris. "Is this stylish or retarded?" went through our head, after it occurred to us that we have no idea what 40+ year old consultants whose "work" wardrobe consists primarily of yoga pants wear in "business situations" in normal countries.

But maybe we have more self-awareness than Borko. We think that making a bad shopping choice in Crapistan could be like, in 1985, wearing the JC Penny's galloping horse on your Catholic school uniform polo shirt -- rather than the real polo player -- only you wouldn't be painfully, horribly aware that what you're wearing wasn't quite right in subtle but important ways. Borko trotting around in a suit with a bit too much shine not only would not know that people were silently mocking him ("Where's he from? Kharkiv?") he would think they were admiring him and walk about with the confidence of someone who is tres a la mode.

Sure, tres a la mode in Minsk. (Do you not remember the principles of FSU fashion?)

CB: "Has anyone who doesn't live in the FSU examined that suit for shine?"

B: "No! It doesn't make any difference! Besides, I paid $600 for two suits. They're not shiny."

CB: "Oh, I think it makes a difference. Did you buy shoes to go with it?"

B (getting increasingly agitated at the direction the conversation): "NOT SHINY."

CB: "OK, I believe you. They wouldn't make anything shiny in Bulgaria."

We decided that Borko was in too deep and wasn't going to arrive at the correct conclusion without some assistance.  If we didn't take action, he was going to wear that Bulgarian Hugo Boss on K Street in Washington DC. While we would find that personally entertaining, we decided to graphically present his choices using a tool we knew he'd understand.

A scatter graph!

Even after this, Borko fought and fought, and even revisited the topic later in the weekend ("Brown suits can't be shiny!" ORILY?) but we knew the battle had been won.

We received an SMS tonight: "OK, there might be the slightest sheen on my Bulgarian "Hugo Boss" suit."

Carpetblogger offers fashion consultations for long-term FSU residents. Hourly rates apply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We Watch Sports

As many of you know, Carpetblog is an American-run operation. A female American-run operation. That means that our interest in almost all kinds of sport is surpassed only by our interest in, say, derivatives. Our interest in football is even more intense.

We've heard the arguments in favor of football and none are very compelling. Some have compared football to religion, which, while accurate, does nothing to enhance our appreciation for it. Lots of things are wildly popular while at the same time being screamingly boring.

Under intense pressure, and having not one better option on a Wednesday night, we succumbed and went to a bar, and not just to do what we normally do at bars. We went with the specific intent of watching Turkey play Germany in the 2008 Euro cup. If you want to understand how Turkey got there and what the achievement represents, there are plenty of other blogs that can explain it for you.

Because Americans view soccer/football as a game played by no one older than age 11, this is something of a watershed. Not that we've never watched a soccer game before -- alert readers will remember our monumental photographic achievements following in some aspect of the 2006 World Cup which involved Ukraine. We watched at least seven minutes of that game and joined the crowd celebrating on Maidan afterwards. We kept our shirt on, however.

 
It's true that there weren't as many boobies on display afterwards this time, and not just because the Turks lost. Unlike Ukies, Turkish women rarely take their clothes off in public.

We're not sure we can accurately characterize nature of the Turkey/Germany rivalry for Americans. It's sort of as if America played Mexico in some sport that we can't think of, with all the racism and divided loyalties it would inspire. As happens in a lot of countries, football exacerbates a particularly virulent strain of testosterone-driven nationalism here that needs little encouragement, even on ordinary days. People --particularly those with penises -- were pretty much out of their heads. Walking down Istiklal was like entering Magandalarstan!

The bar scene was grim. There were a lot of people actually watching the game, which we did not anticipate. No one wanted to chat. And they all devoted a lot of energy getting very excited about things that almost happened during the game, which is apparently very common when people watch football matches.

Don't misinterpret. We totally were rooting for the Turks. Anytime Turks want to wreak havoc in Vienna, Carpetblog is behind them. But really, our primary motivation for watching was seeing Turkey win, and hoping Russia would win, so they would play each other and we could root against Russia.

What Would Happen if Ukraine Invaded Rostov

Here's a recruitment ad for the Ukrainian army.

Though seriously, I don't know where they found those good looking army recruits. The devushkas look like they were imported from Kherson or Mikolayev in 1994.

Thanks to Josh for the heads up!

What The Hell Do They Mean By That?

Right before I left Kyiv in January of this year, I started a blog feature called "They Don't Really Mean it That Way, Do They?" In it, I plumbed the depths of the Ukrainian psyche and concluded that yes, when a semi-pro basketball team in Cherkassy is named the Monkeys, they really do mean it that way. At least for that one post. Then I moved to Istanbul and found I didn't have to spend as much energy figuring out subtexts.

It's hard being a foreigner, especially one without many language skills. When you come across things on the street, it can be really hard to know what the point is, even if its something rather mundane like a shop window or advertising (actually, especially if it's something mundane like a shop window or advertising). It's more than just language differences. It's also not understanding the visual cues and cultural contexts that help natives easily understand what is being communicated. To interpret and understand, I have to purge my mind of my western biases and preconceptions and think like a post-communist.

Here are a few things I've seen around town lately. I have sat and thought and thought about them, binging and purging my western biases and preconceptions and thinking so hard like a post-communist my hair turned CIS red. And still I say "WTF?"

This an ad for an Italian historical brand. Called "FACIS." Since 1932. I have a really hard time believing that there is an actual Italian luxury brand called FACIS created in 1932 (the brand I'm more familiar with appeared a decade earlier and is not quite as luxe). Google did not confirm the existence of this brand. If it is a some Ukie/Russian creation, I need to know who thought this name was a good idea. What are they trying to communicate? What am I missing?

Here's my favorite shop window. So little has changed in Kyiv over the last nine months that I was really relieved to see that at least something had been updated, even improved.

 

                     September '07                                                                                     December '06

Was the only infant mannequin they could find a black one? Why the identical expression of surprise on the young girl's face in both? Why the addition of the  poster to the background of the current iteration? Why? Why? Why?

Apparently, they do have a white infant mannequin. They used it in this equally inexplicable window display adjacent to the one above.

This one has a teddy bear, a deformed infant and a poster displaying what appears to be lingerie for eight year olds. I can't even try to interpret this.

In this picture, I know exactly what is going on. The girl with the white puffy things in her hair and the red and white striped shirt was our devushka at TGI Fridays, one of the worst restaurants in Kyiv. It does look like she is sitting down chatting with a customer at the next table, doesn't it? Oddly, that's exactly what she's doing! Just because you understand what's going on doesn't mean it makes any sense.

Finally, I saw this one right below the Pinchuk Art Center and in front of the Bentley dealership. I have no idea what's going on. That guy lying on the sidewalk is working -- he's not passed out or dead. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference around here.

Four Restaurants in Kyiv That Are Not Awful

The Producer says that Carpetblog has been so boring lately because I like Istanbul too much and am less bitter than I was in Baku and Kyiv. So the solution must be to send me back to Kyiv, right?

But now, here I go, about to say nice things about Kyiv in a post. I think this might be because I haven't figured out a way yet to re-articulate all the things that make me insane about the FSU in general and Ukraine in specific. I am out of practice. No worries. It will come back.

Anyhoo, this post does what no post on Carpetblog has ever done (except once. Well, OK, twice): speak favorably about a dining experience in Kyiv. What the hell is wrong with me?

When my local bitches told me they had discovered new restaurants since I left, I was skeptical. "They've been here too long," I sniffed.

But they are right about Etno, a new place on Pushkinska. Its African theme is a bit over-designed (I was disappointed to see that no retrograde Ukrainian attitudes toward race and ethnicity had manifested themselves in the decor) but the food was NOT AWFUL. Try the duck with pears and the warm goat cheese salad. The menu is also limited, which means a). some attention to quality (ha! That's hilarious) and b). no sushi.

Another good one: Vernissage. Apparently, though, it's not new. It's been on Adrivskiy Uzviz for years, which probably explains why we never knew it was there. Who goes to the Uzviz looking for a decent meal? Anyway, it's owned by a French guy and he watches those waiters like a hawk. It's small, cozy and charmingly decorated with offbeat art on the walls. It feels like a real French cafe. People who like steaks swear it's the best, most reliable steak in town. They also swear by its Thai soup, which is an odd  item at a French restaurant in Kyiv, but at least there's no sushi.

I've never given a shout-out to Himalaya Indian restaurant across from the Tsum, even though I ate lunch there once or twice a week for a year. It's not the best Indian food in the world but it's pretty good for Kyiv (it is run by a Pakistani, I think) and much better than anything in Istanbul. We liked it because it was one of the few restaurants in Kyiv that understood that some people needed to get in and out in an hour at lunch, but those people were not us. Not only did the devushkas recognize me, they honored my long-gone discount card without me even having to ask! Himalaya, you rock! And no sushi!

Finally, I would like to bestow the "Best Waitress in Kyiv" award. She works at BelleVue, part of a small chain of Belgian-style restaurants with good beer, OK but overpriced food and predictably bad service (in an effort to treat the symptoms but not cure the disease, tables have bells on them). We walked in the other day and she said "Welcome!" Then she said she'd bring a menu, WHICH SHE DID. She asked if we wanted beer, which we did, and she brought it RIGHT AWAY.  Our food was OK as usual but she frequently checked back to see if we wanted more beer. Unfortunately, she left before we were able to tip her generously, but I have been back several times since. She greeted me every time!

Don't get used to this.

It's September in Kyiv

And it's getting cooler. That means the skirts don't get longer but the boots get taller. If you're not familiar with the principles of devushka fashion, you'd better read up first.

We're in a shoulder season here in Kyiv. It's still too warm for cropped puffy jackets and pink fake rabbit fur, and black wool coats trimmed with dog fur are still a month or two away. Stiletto sandals are out, but stiletto boots are in, in, in. Tampon-string skirts are never out of fashion, nor are camel toe jeans.  Be sure to accessorize liberally -- winter, spring, summer or fall -- with sequins, crystals, rhinestones, fishnets, brass studs and superfluous buckles!

Let's take a look at what's hot on the streets of Kyiv this season.

While her tampon string was not visible, the tops of her stockings were.

Admire the whole devushka package here: Mobilichka in use, black fake handbag, lots of ruches and boots that serve as both hosiery and footwear!

Those heels are pretty low.

As an experienced Devuska photographer, I never produce quality work when I position myself in prime territory and wait for them. I do my most creative work when I rip my camera out of my bag, dropping pens and receipts on the ground, in order to capture an iconic devushka as she clacks by, supported by the arm of a much less attractive friend. A smart devushka knows that when promenading on Khryshatik on Friday evening, an accessory more valuable than an animal print catsuit is a less attractive friend.

Alas, sometimes quality suffers for spontaneity

If knee-high white boots are wrong, I don't want to be right!

Alas nothing is more fleeting than youth.

Iyi Bayramlar!

Ramazan started this morning, and when I was told that the "Ramazan Davulcusu" would walk around the neighborhoods at daybreak beating drums to wake people up in time for Sahur, the morning feast before the day of fasting, I suspected that was probably a quaint tradition that lived on villages, but not in cosmopolitan Istanbul.

Since double-sided drums are being sold at the local Carrefour, I shouldn't have been surprised when, at 4 am this morning, about five young guys walked all around the neighborhood beating their drums and singing Ramazan carols. Um, 30 days of 4 am wake up calls with drums? Sorry I'll be missing that!

I have other fond Ramadan (Ramazan is the word in Turkish) memories:

In Azerbaijan, I was traveling in the regions with a young staffer who was fasting. We stopped to meet with the head of the regional government and the police chief and other assorted criminals in Goycay, the pomegranate capital of the known universe. It was a typical Azeri meal with multiple courses served underneath the pomegranate trees at a wedding palace, with ample vodka and complicated toasting. The two people at the table who were fasting sat quietly while plate after plate of lula kabob and fish shashlyk was passed around the table.

The local ex-comm began the toasts. He started by toasting the beautiful women at the table (pretty much me), the martyrs, those who couldn't  be with us because they are dead -- all the usual suspects. He finished up by offering a toast to those at the table who were fasting for Ramadan. That pretty much sums up Azerbaijan for me, right there.

Last year, I was flying from Kabul to Dubai at iftar time (when the fast is broken, at sunset). The flight attendants handed out plates of stringy mutton and rice, accented with raisins and dates. Most passengers just stared it (so did I, but for different reasons). As the sun set over the empty dryness of the desert, the Ariana pilot announced that, since we were flying over Iran, fasters were obligated to wait to break the fast until Iftar cannons in Iran were fired. A few minutes later, the pilot told passengers they could eat.

So far, Ramazan in Ukraine has gone largely unremarked upon, except for this nugget. The meal on AeroSvit  (an enemy combatant in one of the worst cases of FSU rage in which I have ever engaged) had a little tag with a pig with a line through it. "How atypically sensitive," I thought. Then I looked at the meal. Now, it could be the case that the Ukrainians (or, more likely, the Turks) have learned to simulate ham absolutely perfectly -- identical in taste, appearance and texture. But more likely, Aerosvit served a plate of ham to a bunch of Muslims during Ramazan.

Ramazan bayramınızı kutlar, nice mutlu bayramlar dilerim!

If Southwest Airlines Had Flights to Kyiv

They would all be flying with empty planes if they started playing fashion police, like they did in San Diego this week.

Would you kick this woman off your dirty 737? We didn't think so

This woman is dressed modestly by Devushka standards. Those are MEN'S shoes, for crying out loud.

If that airline hopes to compete against Aeroflot, AeroSvit or even AeroDon (which btw, given Southwest's service standards, is a pretty fair match in the marketplace), they might want to dump the passenger dress code.

Southwest may not know it yet, but they are totally the official Devushka airline.

Carpetblog suggests: Southwest Airlines! Embrace your inner devushka. Is there that big of a difference between the LAX-LAS and KBP-IST commuter flights? No, there is not. Do a little market research. Don't fight it and stop trying to be something you are not.