Despite going verrryyyy sllooowwlly yesterday evening it was clear the train driver was on a promise as we must’ve sped up during the night as we were certainly bouncing along. So much so, that I had to catch myself from being thrown out of the narrow bed.
Quick brew from the samovar and we pull into Simpferopol station. Think Butlins changeover day and you’ll have a feel for Simferopol station. It is heaving and glad I’ve arranged a transfer through the hotel in Yalta as my driver greets me off the carriage with my name on a bit of paper. I follow him through the melee. There are lots of rubber rings, armbands, buckets and spades being transported by the locals to the Black Sea resorts.
This is their Blackpool, Skegness, Brighton, and Torquay.
The car is a Ford Scorpio, (remember them) and we’re obvioulsy upmarket as it’s a Ghia….with 325,000km on the clock. We lurch all the way there on the 2hr drive, in silence, as driver speaks no English and my Ukrainian isn’t what it once was.
Through the tree lined avenues of central Simferopol, the landscape opens up onto a plain before we drive (still lurching) up and over the mountain range that separates it from the Black Sea and descend to the resort of Yalta.
Due to a monumental cock-up on my travel dates and having made certain bookings before and after the Yalta extension I only have a few hours of this afternoon here before leaving first thing tomorrow morning. For expediency, I deal with the hotel concierge who books me a private car to take me to the Swallow’s Nest, some 20mins away along the coast road.
She tells me it costs UAH200 and the driver will wait whilst I visit. I assumed you simply drove up to the Swallow’s Nest. Oh no.
Discover it’s some distance from the road across a ravine (for want of a better description). It’s hot. Very hot. I can see that it entails walking down a lot of steps, then up a lot of steps the other side. And vice versa on the return. Driver points me in the direction and I waltz off only to find someone grabbing my elbow a minute later. He’s got a better idea. You can drive to the Swallow’s Nest – well nearer than we are now – and he keeps saying “Sanitoro”. Quite. Jump in car and drive around the headland into a gated entrance – I assume this to be the goods delivery entrance for the various restaurants at the Swallow’s Nest – he takes out a UAH50 note shows it to me and goes to a kiosk. I’m under the impression that there’s an easy way to the Swallow’s Nest and it’s going to cost me an extra UAH50…….through the sanitorium (there you go). He returns and I make sure he’s without UAH50 so I know he’s paid. He’s not and has it rolled up, secreted in his hand. Ay up, here we go, think I, getting ready for that little argument over the extra we’ve not paid. From what he gestures and his very limited English, I work out that the goods entrance is closed as there are so many cars up there they’ve ran out of space. Back we go to where we were. There’s a further alternative to the steps but this is instantly dismissed. A zip wire. Yep – the longest zip wire I’ve ever seen spanning the ravine straight onto the Swallow’s Nest. Steps it is.
Return to car the way I came noting the few psychos that have chosen the zip wire as their means of getting across. The original UAH200 was for Swallow’s Nest and back but I ask the driver if we can stop at the Livadia Palace as it’s enroute.
No problem. I’ll argue over the money later (for which I’m fully trained and qualified to do!).
Livadia Palace was, amongst other things, the former summer holiday home for Tsar Nicholas II and family. Obviously, they had no need for it after 1918. In 1945, it was used for the Yalta Conference between Churchill, Stalin & Roosevelt. It’s an enjoyable visit especially as there are displays on the Yalta Conference.
Returning to hotel we now have the task of agreeing the final account. Driver has his mobile in one hand and starts tapping numbers into it. I have the figure in my head. Will it be higher (more than likely) or will it be lower (I doubt it). He’s taking the whatsit as his phone screen has the number “550” tapped in. You can…….. I tap in 300. He taps in 400. I tap in 300. We agree at 300.
At night, the promenade is much busier than it was in the afternoon and there’s a real buzz. They’re all on holiday and it’s a great atmosphere. Apart from the ubiquitous “statues”, buskers, furry animals for photos (which includes one red squirrel) and jugglers, there are flower girls dressed in traditional costume and large baskets of bouquets. I stop and ask one girl if it’s alright to take her photo. She nods her approval, places the bouquet in her hand in the basket, carefully arranges the flowers in said basket, checks her dress is neat, straightens herself, looks up at camera, poses properly and gives a warm smile.
Further on is the Yalta Astronomy Club. There’s a number of telescopes pointing in the direction of Saturn and as I have an interest in such things and as the attractive young female astronomer had a nice scope and smile I see the celestial body.
Shall miss Ukraine.
Swallow’s Nest
Across the bay
Swallow’s Nest
Being humid, being hot, being sticky, being a lot of steps, it’s hard work. Half way down are lads holding a peacock (yes, a peacock), an owl, a falcon and a fluffy rabbit. You can have your photo taken with them. Er, no thanks. After 15-20mins of huffing and puffing and passing every souvenir stall known to man, a hot and sticky Englishman arrives at the Swallow’s Nest. Surprisingly small. The only way inside is to pay a fee for the Salvador Dali exhibition, it’s a fairly basic interior.
Swallow’s Nest
