7. Germans and others
I get to Odesa through a German friend of mine who happens to live here. He, in turn, is here through yet another German guy - Alex - who part-times lives here, has his business venture set up here, and has invited him to work for him. Same happens to me - I also end up working for Alex, at least for the first year.
This, in turn, ensures my automatic integration into the local German community. Or German colony, if you can call it that. And in a way, it is that. For the crowd is pretty small - especially now, during the war - but intertwined for better or worse.
Everybody knows everybody, and all the time everybody has a good idea of who’s in town, who’s out of town, and who’s expected to visit. There is, of course, a good exchange of information via social media - Facebook groups and Telegram - but the main form of communication is still the weekly face-to-face, which takes the form of the good old Stammtisch, as it does everywhere else in the world where there are Germans away from home.
Stammtisch is an umbrella term for a phenomenon that can take many different forms, depending on the circumstances: Stammtisch can be pretty formal, sometimes even have a thematic presentation and a pre-agreed theme or agenda, Stammtisch can also mean regular gathering of the people of a particular field or area of work and expertise, yet again a Stammtisch can be more like a club or just a circle of close friends or acquaintances.
In Odesa, it is an extremely informal regular meeting, where anyone who is prepared to spend an evening interacting in German is welcome. And so, every Wednesday evening, a rather motley crew gathers at the tavern owned by Natalya, who used to live in Germany. The usual crowd consists of Germans living in Odesa, their wives or partners, a few rather random Ukrainians who want to practice their German, and quite often Germans passing through, who in wartime are mostly either journalists, aid workers, or some really curious and adventurous tourists. However, they visit rarely enough to cause big excitement for a long time to come.
Generally, however, the same faces are present, and the crowds are not very large. This means it’s always possible to find a few local (small) entrepreneurs enjoying beer and dinner at the Stammtisch. You might also encounter a pensioner working in a friend’s company regaling others with tales of his conquests among Ukrainian women. Additionally, there’s the IT guy, who has been living in town for almost 20 years and serves as the heart and soul of the Stammtisch, acting as its main organizer. He often tries to steer the conversation towards intelligent or at least current topics. Finally, you’ll find some other regulars, like the German friend who introduced me to Odesa in the first place, and myself, of course.
Natalya is also a member of the group, who sometimes sits down at the table herself - mostly to curse her ex-boyfriend, who used to go to Stammtisch but avoids it now. Instead, he’s posting pictures on social media of romantic moments with his new sunshine, who is also the secretary of Mr. more-than-a-little-dubious-looking-ventures such as the alleged development of artificial intelligence (which, of course, requires money, and is what the company is currently in the process of gathering over cold calling would-be investors) or offering super-cheap micro-loans (no comment necessary here).
It makes one, of course, ask if this is really a representative picture of the foreigners sitting in a country at war? The temptation is to say “yes” - it is mostly a collection of oddballs and (ex)criminals. But luckily, the truth is not that simple. Of course, no one is in wartime Odesa quite by chance or by accident. Everyone either has a very good reason to be in Odesa or, conversely, a very good reason not to be in their own country or, more broadly, anywhere else but Ukraine.
In most cases, this reason is just work. Or, more generally: making a living. The working pensioner lives and works in Odesa because it provides him with the best possible income, where the already for the Ukrainian conditions royal German pension is supplemented by a local salary. The IT man has been living and working in Odesa for 18 years - he has a family here, he owns his own apartment here as well as another one he rents out. This is his home.
But some others - like me - work here in companies that are, in a way, making a profit from the war. Specifically, a situation where the local currency exchange rate in comparison to the euro and the dollar is low, and with it all local costs as well, making it possible to pay the foreign company’s local workers a nice wage in local terms and still offer a competitive product in the western market.
And some are of course a mixture of everything: avoiding foreign law enforcers or creditors, they have set up here a venture which has become successful enough to offer them a cozy way of life, sometimes even making them respectable members of Ukrainian society.
Regular guests also include a former investment banker who had eventually had enough of the corporate world and is now dedicated to helping Ukraine - every couple of months he makes the rounds of the towns near the front, delivering medical supplies and stopping off in Odesa on his way there or back, apparently resting his nerves and telling fascinating stories about his latest excursion, or occasionally reminiscing about his youth, which took him to New York, London, and Hong Kong. Listening to these stories, one is always reminded of “Wall Street” and Gordon Gekko…
A different kind of colorful character is a wealthy farm owner from East Germany, who is also aiding Ukraine by delivering humanitarian aid to various cities. In between these endeavors, he spends his time in Odesa, lounging around and enjoying the company of the local mademoiselles in industrial quantities. To each his own…
Sort of the opposite of the latter gentleman is Jan, an IT man who regularly arrives from neighboring Moldova. He doesn’t have a residence permit in Moldova, which means that every three months Jan is forced to leave the country. As he has usually no need nor interest in going to Germany, he simply boards a bus and arrives in the Ukrainian Riviera. Often his visits, which are supposed to last a mere couple of weeks, stretch into months - “Odesa won’t let me go” - but Jan is always extremely relaxed.
He spends his time in cafés, visits out of curiosity local cheap eateries and diners, dutifully goes into the blast shelter during an air raid, drinks only non-alcoholic beer even when sitting at the Stammtisch, and repeatedly admits how he does not approve having sexual escapades here. “You know,” Jan once explained, “these women here in Odesa may look beautiful, but that’s a facade, in reality, many of them have all sorts of diseases.” In other words, Jan is a bit of an oddball, and as such, he fits in perfectly.
Apart from a rare conflict, the local Germans and the regular visitors form a tolerant group. They help each other with advice and support, and are much more understanding than they would probably be at home or in their “natural” surroundings - each person’s past, background, and previous activities are his or her own business, and there is an unwritten rule that such matters are discussed only as far as the person concerned wishes.
And that seems to suit everyone and ensures harmony. And it fuels gossip. Which, admittedly, remains anecdotal. Probably everyone knows that he or she too is the subject of rumors, conjectures, half-truths, and legends. And no one is seriously bothered that this is the case. Because, after all, we are all part of the same bunch. For better or for worse.
Casual guests include Kaspar, 35, who fights in the International Legion and visits Odesa once in a while to buy some equipment for his unit. He will combine this holiday with a visit to Stammtisch. Thickly tattooed and muscular, his slightly cramped demeanor eases after the third beer and he soon becomes the center of attention. Questions rain down from right and left, and Kaspar answers them graciously.
In the course of the story, it turns out that he himself is half-German, half-American, having studied history and religious studies in Germany, worked in various countries in odd jobs just to finance his travels, and served in the US Army. So - a very colorful figure indeed.
Kaspar is also quite merciless in describing the realities of the ongoing war, where many Ukrainian units have been in combat for a year without rotation, and equipment is in short supply. “In our legion we are much better equipped,” Kaspar admits with some regret, “and I don’t like it at all.” Kaspar also describes real battle experiences like having to carry a 30-kilogram mortar over the hillsides, his toes freezing and his back dripping with sweat, or staying in the trenches full of rats, where the soldiers warm their cold hands in the smoky glow of the small Hindenburg lamps, and the damp shelters where they find some protection from enemy fire. “But of course, there is no protection against the direct hit of a 155-millimeter cannon.”
Apart from a rare conflict, the local Germans and the regular visitors form a tolerant group. They help each other with advice and support, and are much more understanding than they would probably be at home or in their “natural” surroundings - each person’s past, background, and previous activities are his or her own business, and there is an unwritten rule that such matters are discussed only as far as the person concerned wishes.
And that seems to suit everyone and ensures harmony. And it fuels gossip. Which, admittedly, remains anecdotal. Probably everyone knows that he or she too is the subject of rumors, conjectures, half-truths, and legends. And no one is seriously bothered that this is the case. Because, after all, we are all part of the same bunch. For better or for worse.
Casual guests include Kaspar, 35, who fights in the International Legion and visits Odesa once in a while to buy some equipment for his unit. He will combine this holiday with a visit to Stammtisch. Thickly tattooed and muscular, his slightly cramped demeanor eases after the third beer and he soon becomes the center of attention. Questions rain down from right and left, and Kaspar answers them graciously.
In the course of the story, it turns out that he himself is half-German, half-American, having studied history and religious studies in Germany, worked in various countries in odd jobs just to finance his travels, and served in the US Army. So - a very colorful figure indeed.
Kaspar is also quite merciless in describing the realities of the ongoing war, where many Ukrainian units have been in combat for a year without rotation, and equipment is in short supply. “In our legion we are much better equipped,” Kaspar admits with some regret, “and I don’t like it at all.” Kaspar also describes real battle experiences like having to carry a 30-kilogram mortar over the hillsides, his toes freezing and his back dripping with sweat, or staying in the trenches full of rats, where the soldiers warm their cold hands in the smoky glow of the small Hindenburg lamps, and the damp shelters where they find some protection from enemy fire. “But of course, there is no protection against the direct hit of a 155-millimeter cannon.”
I also ask him who he is with in his unit, and a list follows: three Koreans, two Belarusians, a Canadian, an Australian, an American, a Dutchman, a Swede... I may not have remembered them all. “What about Estonians?” - “No, I haven’t met any Estonians. But a Latvian.” Kaspar also remembers a Swedish woman fighting in a front-line unit as a kind of curiosity - “There are plenty of women in our unit as well as in Ukrainian units, but she is the only direct front-line female fighter I have ever seen.”
The meeting with Kaspar reminds us all, not of something that we would otherwise forget - regular air strikes, drone attacks, and missile attacks on Odesa do not let us forget it - but of the somehow distant fact that we are still living in a country at war. The fact that we are treating Kaspar himself as a kind of curiosity, overwhelming him with questions about a world that is unknown to us, shows that we ourselves are the curious ones.
Apart from the Germans, there are other fascinating characters living in Odesa. For example, the city also has its own little French and Italian colony. I understand, without personally knowing most of them, that the Italians and French are predominantly concentrated around their respective restaurants and bars. In other words, restaurant owners, barkeepers, chefs, and food and wine importers. One of the most remarkable Italians in Odesa is of course Ugo, who is the founder and editor in chief of Odesa’s only English-language newspaper, the web-only The Odessa Journal.
With foreigners also come foreign companies. Or vice versa. It is a bit of a chicken or egg question, but anyhow, there are also a number of foreign companies operating in the city, despite the war. I have already mentioned one of them, the German one. In addition, there is a Danish engineering firm run by Henrik, a charismatic and vivacious Dane - the very same who was holding a lecture on good manners to the girls in a cocktail bar in a previous entry of the same blog.
There is also at least one major American business venture in the city - an office outsourcing firm with more than 300 employees, headed by Americans but most of the staff are local. There are, of course, other Americans - journalists, aid workers, and certainly people with backgrounds in the military and other state structures.
The city also has quite a large Middle Eastern community: Turks, Azeris, Lebanese, Syrians. They are not frightened by some war, and business - the most visible parts of which are related to catering and market trade - is going merrily on.
It is hard to say how many Muslims there are here, but in addition to the older and smaller ones, there is a large and fairly new mosque and Arab cultural center downtown, built in 2000. There are also plenty of halal butchers, grocery shops, and kiosks selling Middle Eastern goods all over Odesa.
Despite the war, Odesa’s universities are not short of foreign students. Most of them come from the Middle East or the Indian subcontinent. Again, it’s hard to put an exact figure on the number, but there are enough to make one notice them regularly on the streets.
Even though Odesa is not as international a metropolis during wartime as it used to be, foreigners do not shock or surprise people here. There are people of all colors speaking a wide variety of languages, and the fact that I speak Ukrainian poorly doesn’t stand out as something unheard of. Sometimes people start speaking English or Russian to me; sometimes they just try to understand what I am trying to say. Usually, it works.
The meeting with Kaspar reminds us all, not of something that we would otherwise forget - regular air strikes, drone attacks, and missile attacks on Odesa do not let us forget it - but of the somehow distant fact that we are still living in a country at war. The fact that we are treating Kaspar himself as a kind of curiosity, overwhelming him with questions about a world that is unknown to us, shows that we ourselves are the curious ones.
Apart from the Germans, there are other fascinating characters living in Odesa. For example, the city also has its own little French and Italian colony. I understand, without personally knowing most of them, that the Italians and French are predominantly concentrated around their respective restaurants and bars. In other words, restaurant owners, barkeepers, chefs, and food and wine importers. One of the most remarkable Italians in Odesa is of course Ugo, who is the founder and editor in chief of Odesa’s only English-language newspaper, the web-only The Odessa Journal.
With foreigners also come foreign companies. Or vice versa. It is a bit of a chicken or egg question, but anyhow, there are also a number of foreign companies operating in the city, despite the war. I have already mentioned one of them, the German one. In addition, there is a Danish engineering firm run by Henrik, a charismatic and vivacious Dane - the very same who was holding a lecture on good manners to the girls in a cocktail bar in a previous entry of the same blog.
There is also at least one major American business venture in the city - an office outsourcing firm with more than 300 employees, headed by Americans but most of the staff are local. There are, of course, other Americans - journalists, aid workers, and certainly people with backgrounds in the military and other state structures.
The city also has quite a large Middle Eastern community: Turks, Azeris, Lebanese, Syrians. They are not frightened by some war, and business - the most visible parts of which are related to catering and market trade - is going merrily on.
It is hard to say how many Muslims there are here, but in addition to the older and smaller ones, there is a large and fairly new mosque and Arab cultural center downtown, built in 2000. There are also plenty of halal butchers, grocery shops, and kiosks selling Middle Eastern goods all over Odesa.
Despite the war, Odesa’s universities are not short of foreign students. Most of them come from the Middle East or the Indian subcontinent. Again, it’s hard to put an exact figure on the number, but there are enough to make one notice them regularly on the streets.
Even though Odesa is not as international a metropolis during wartime as it used to be, foreigners do not shock or surprise people here. There are people of all colors speaking a wide variety of languages, and the fact that I speak Ukrainian poorly doesn’t stand out as something unheard of. Sometimes people start speaking English or Russian to me; sometimes they just try to understand what I am trying to say. Usually, it works.
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