I used to think that all the stories of Karcev and Zhvanetsky about Odessa humor, conversations and intonations are such old good jokes that have little to do with reality. However, Odessa takes exactly 20 minutes to convince that this is all true: they really say it.

I wait for a taxi called in front of the airport building, suits a local bombardment, gray-haired, with golden teeth, over 60. Further without entering:

Will we go?
Thank you, they are following me.
Turn around to leave:
And will we wait? It’s as if they’ve placed a table on your arrival and hold it.

The arrival of Jora turns out to be an equally glorious guy. By the tenth minute of the trip, he already tells how they and the shurin, sending wives with children to their grandmother in Melitopol, shoot in Arkady a girlfriend and sweat 50 hryvnia into cowards striptease at the bar “here near”:
“You understand, in Odessa for one man with a sword, ten those who are without a sword. How else is it here.”

The beach. A couple is 50 years old. A man is going to shake the cover from the sand.
Missy be careful! Do not shake on the guys!
What kind of guys. Do you know they are from Russia?

Bar on the beach. I go for the second glass of quinoa. The Barman:
Do you just want to drink or is it really delicious?

When a stranger suddenly speaks to you on the street in a language that you do not know, there are three fundamentally different answers:
I’m not talking ski.
Do you speak ski?
I do not understand you.

In Odessa, in this situation, they respond as delightfully as possible:
Sorry, you don’t understand us.