DAY 85 Since first contact with ‘The Pink Hotel’ the only person I have seen is the lovely Motherly Ukranian lady. I opened my door in the morning…she was there waiting in the hallway, “Mr Grady, Mr Grady” she beckoned me into her office. On her desk sat my clean, clean clothes…I nearly shed a […]
Since first contact with 'The Pink Hotel' the only person I have seen is the lovely Motherly Ukranian lady. I opened my door in the morning...she was there waiting in the hallway,
"Mr Grady, Mr Grady" she beckoned me into her office.
On her desk sat my clean, clean clothes...I nearly shed a tear. Not only did she do it free of charge but my favorite, airy blue pants which had ripped in the crotch area, allowing me unknowingly to flash the Back Gammon boys on Saturday had been sewn up. In the privacy of my room I shed that tear. I didn't but I was a bit too overjoyed for my liking. I think I need a night out with some English speaking peeps.
The Thumb was held aloft on the Outskirts of Lugansk at 1pm. An hour later I was in transit. A Ukranian fella who spoke enough English to let me know he didn't like the Russians and that the Police here are corrupt dropped me 100km West.
Amongst dozens of trucks it was a young couple who picked me up next. A further 100km on they innocently took a tiny turn off and dropped me miles from nowhere. My right knee and foot still offered pain... I hobbled 5 miles down the road to a set of lights at a rail crossing. A trucker in his early 20's pulled up. Again not a word could be understood from either side... nice chap though. He was heading 400km tp Porlatov. He managed to do 300km before he was legally bound to rest for 5 hours, he nodded at a Motel. I gestured that I would like to kip in his truck and stay aboard till Porlatov... it would give me a good chance of making Kiev tommorrow. He jumped through the hatch in the ceiling to his quaters and threw me down a pillow.