To fully understand my time in Kyiv allow me to introduce you to the marshrutka and the low light of my day.
The queue for the 215 begins near the metro stop, under the bridge, a few feet from a trash can and by a man hole cover on the sidewalk. It is important to know where the marshrutka you need stops so you can join the right line and hopefully catch the next one that comes along. They arrive roughly every 15 minutes, beginning early in the morning and stopping service around 9:00… 9:30…. 10:00 p.m. or basically whenever they get tired of running for the day. This form of public transportation is like van/taxi/mini-bus with cheap fare, around $.25 one way. There are three number 215 marshrutkas that take turns running the route: one goes to the metro, one returns from the metro, and one sits in the cul-de-sac and waits for the returning van; and so they cycle. These marshrutkas consists of 13 to 15 seats, depending on which particular one you get and the size of the passengers aboard. The fun begins when you are not one of the lucky ones to procure a place to sit because as long as there is still room, any room at all, people will still get on.
I remember one ride in particular that required some recovery time.
We joined the queue much to my dismay further back than desired, meaning we would have to stand. We seemed to hit rush hour as more and more people piled in. I was pushed into an awkward position in the middle of the vehicle. Not only were there many more people on board than common sense should allow but many of these people had personal items – bags, groceries, etc. – which were also brought on board. I quickly lost my ability to position my feet into a stance where I could balance instead leaving my upright position in the hands of my non-muscular arms.
One would think because of the crowd that falling would be impossible, but not so. To my left were the people I envied the most, those who were seated, and it was all I could do to not land in some poor, unsuspecting Ukrainian’s lap. My right hand was behind the back of the person beside me and barely grasping the edge of a seat while my left arm held onto the handle for a vent in the ceiling.
At the first stop some crazy person opened the door, looked in and decided that of course there was room for them too. I cursed my short stature as I lost my ability to freely breathe when the guy in front of me was pushed back, forcing my face into his spine and painfully extending my arm.
I held my breath and prayed as the marshrutka wove in and out of traffic and mercilessly made sharp turns. I knew that if I released my arm from the vent handle I could never maintain my fragile balancing act. I also knew there would be nowhere for me to put my arm since trying to bring it down would inevitably hit about three people in its decent.A few more stops and a couple of people exited. Still my feet could not move and my arm began turning into a useless appendage.
I am sure it was only ten minutes or so but it seemed to last a lifetime. Finally a seat opened up. I fell into it cursing public transportation beneath my breath. My arm made it out unscathed except a plaguing soreness that hung around for a couple of days.
That was the worst of my marshrutka adventures but certainly not the last.
