Kazantip: Ukranian for Party!

At 4:45 am, the sun reached over the top of the bar, re-igniting day 15 of the month-long party.

As a sliver of sun peaks over the club's courtyard roof, the melodic dance beat picks up its pulsating tempo again.  As if commanded, the bodies of two hundred or so dancers respond in unison, swaying and jerking scantily-clothed bodies back and forth on balconies, around a bar and in the beach's white sand.  The deejay increases the pace, sending the crowd back into a full-motion frenzy that the waning evening hours tried to extinguish.  By the time the sun's halfway over the building, the party is officially back at 100%.  Welcome to kaZantip and a small part of my first day in the Ukraine, some 18 hours after it began the day prior.

I've always wanted to visit Eastern Europe, so I couldn't resist the opportunity to follow a friend's recommendation and spend a few days at the 19th kaZantip festival in the Ukraine.  Fitting in nicely between time in Norway and Budapest, my three days along the Black Sea's northern coast passed in a blur.

During that time, I wanted to see a little of the country, meet some people and get a sense of how Europe's younger half compares with the likes of the western side.  After flying into northern Kiev and then to southern Simpferopol, an hour-long drive to Popovka easily accomplished all three before the festival even began.

My flight into and over Europe's second-largest country (after France) featured as many agricultural fields as the American Midwest, validating - to some degree - what I read earlier about Ukraine previously supplying a large percentage of Soviet Russia's agricultural needs.  On wheels, my two-hour drive highlighted the same Soviet architectural style that I saw in Riga, Latvia: plain, concrete apartments that only (literally) differed between their shades of gray.  This is a flat, bleak country in spots!

Along pot-holed streets, lower-middle class and outright poor road wagons, drove old trucks and stuck out faces that weren't made to smile.  One of these men was our cab driver, a nice guy whose personality betrayed his grizzly features.  A genial man, he spoke with a bit of a lisp, pronouncing "crazy" as cwazy and ranted about how he needed a better vehicle than his peetz ov sheet Folksvagon!

Once we arrived to the festival, my cab mates (three Italians) and I were given a much better introduction to the people whom, despite the international flavor of the advertisements, were about 90% Ukranian and Russian and didn't speak any English.  The language barrier hardly presented issues though; in most cases the music was too loud too talk over or the people too disinterested in conversation in the first place.

Where the language barrier wasn't an issue: Me and two of my Italian buds, Marco and Stefano.  

My second day featured the likes of (from right) Kyle from Wyoming, Roy from Australia, Statsya from Russia and Peter from Switzerland.  Kyle was one of two Americans I met.

Despite this lack of verbal communication, the physical component made the atmosphere inviting enough.  Between small parades, informal "weddings," dancing, smiling and just sitting on the beach, it was hard to feel like an outsider most of my 72 hours.

The early morning party at the Kiss FM bar.

The Foam Party, promptly held at 3 pm.

This club sat at the end of a jetty in the Black Sea.

Overall, this example of Europe's eastern half appears to be getting along, but - like Morocco - it is still a developing country and has a long way to go before it catches up with other EU members.  But in the meantime, they've developed an open culture for foreigners to participate (for at least one month out of the year).  If you're interested, just bring your dancing shoes and an open mind!