·
Saturday, 31 December 2005 – New Year’s
Eve!
See you next year!
·
Friday, 30 December 2005
I am amazed to
read that friends back in the USA have already taken down their holiday tree
and are back to life as usual.
We have always
been the people who have holiday decorations up through the end of January (we
follow the rules of Advent for putting them up.).
We are just
getting into the holiday spirit.
Here in Ukraine,
the holiday season revolves around New Year’s Eve.
We are relaxed in
our flat, recuperating from the New Year’s Party at the library. The lights are low and I am relishing the
sounds of holiday music. We were not
able to access our stores of seasonal music until today. The music was “trapped” inside Mark’s
computer and required a new power supply to access it. Mark found a way around the problem today, so
we are happily listening to Christmas music.
It amazes me how much music sets the tone for the holidays. We sorely missed hearing holiday music.
The holiday party
at the library was quite a success.
·
Thursday, 29 December 2005
A Visit from a Web-Master
I woke this
morning, gazing up at the romantic, gauzy-white canopy my spouse recently hung
above our narrow bed. OK, I think it is
romantic – it is actually chemically treated mosquito netting, courtesy of
Peace Corps. There are no flying
insects this time of year, but Mark liked the idea of further defining our
sleeping space, so he used the mosquito-netting canopy to give the illusion of
privacy.
It is a fine
improvement to our cozy flat. It is
pretty and practical too.
In summer, the
canopy will serve its original purpose. With
no air conditioning, windows here are usually open in the hot, humid summer
months. Window screens are not
available, so the open window is a portal for all manner of flying creatures. The mosquito netting will be an asset.
(I am actually concerned
about cats wandering in those open windows too – I love cats, but there is a
potential for more than twenty neighborhood cats to walk in at will. If word gets out to the cat community at
large, other felines may decide to visit the crazy Americans. A few already perch on our windowsills to
catch the afternoon sun. Sometimes they
peer in and “meowl” at me through the
glass.)
This morning I
observed a Daddy Longlegs spider inspecting the top of the canopy above
me. There are, about a dozen resident
spiders in the flat. We have an
arrangement: they generally remain near the very high ceilings in our flat and
pose no threat to us. They dine on small
flying insects, so during the summer season, they are nice guests. They are reclusive and seldom visit the lower
half of the flat where we live. It is a
good arrangement.
I watched as the
tiny webmaster strolled across the mosquito netting and after completing his
tour he gracefully ascended the silken thread that is his link to home. He returned to the dim recesses far above.
I watched the
white netting flutter as a small breeze lifted the corner gently and then rolled
over for a short cat nap.
·
Wednesday, 28 December 2005
Introducing Father Frost & Snow Maiden:
New Year’s Traditions…
New Year’s Eve is
almost here and with it, a host of new traditions to observe. The New Year’s Eve celebration is one of
Russia’s oldest traditions and here in Crimea, just a few kilometers across the
Black Sea from Russia, the traditions live on.
Two of the main
symbols of New Year’s (Novigod) are Father Frost, King of Winter Cold, and Snow
Maiden. They have stepped out of Russian
folklore to brighten the holidays in this pert of the world. Ded Moroz, as Father Frost is known in
Russian, and the lovely young Snegurochka are hearty characters who love the
snow, ice and cold of winter. They
reside in the remote pine forests near Veliki Ustyug, far north in Russia at
the mouth of the Yug River.
Do not confuse
Father Frost with Santa Claus.
No, Father Frost
has met Santa Claus, and though they share a similar interest in bringing
pleasure to children of all ages and share other similarities, they are
distinctly individual. Of course, Santa
is associated with Christmas, while Father Frost is a New Year’s kind of
guy.
Father Frost is
about seven feet tall and is a slim man with a long white beard. He often wears a long red jacket with furry
cuffs and a matching stocking cap, but he prefers to wear the traditional blue,
a far more frosty kind of color.
As Father Frost he
walks along in the winter wonderland, he pounds the ground with his tall
walking stick. The tapping causes deep
frost to form. Father Frost loves to
freeze the ponds and rivers so people can skate and ice fish. He and Snow Maiden take special pleasure in
frosting window panes with lovely ice designs.
They are hearty individuals and delight in people who enjoy winter.
And who is Snow
Maiden? She once was a snow sculpture
who sprang to life and now brings holiday joy to girls and boys. She dresses in blue and on her head, wears a
seraphim of pearls and silver. She wears
a beautiful warm shuba (fur coat) lined with white fur. Snegulochka makes everyone happy; even the
sun smiles when Snow Maiden is around.
She lives with Father Frost in Veliki Ustyug.
If you visit
Father Frost’s home, you may see his magical mirror: old people who gaze into
the glass become young and young people who look, become more clever. Father Frost’s bed is piled with pillows, one
for each day of the week. They are not
stuffed with goose down, but are filled with the desires of children from all
over the world. When Father Frosts lays
down his weary head to rest, the desires inside the pillow fill his dreams with
activity. The good desires are
fulfilled.
Father Frost is serious
about his work. He says, “The more good
we wish each other, the better our life becomes.”
But Father Frost
and Snegulochka, cannot do it all alone.
He says, “I try to bring to life all the good desires of people. I want to see a peaceful, calm joyful
world. I want wars to stop and people to
be happy. But my own will is not enough,
only when all people living on the planet strive for this, from the bottom of
their hearts, will this desire be fulfilled.
Be kind to each other, and everybody will be happy.”
So, at midnight on
December 31st here in Crimea, there will be revelry and costumes; champagne and
chocolates, good wishes and fireworks; and of course, underneath the decorated
fir tree, Father Frost and Snow Maiden will leave behind a special gift for
those hearty souls who love the winter cold and all the joys that come with it.
I wonder what
Santa Claus will get from Father Frost and Snegulochka?
·
Tuesday, 27 December 2005
No one has change
in this country. It is difficult to
break a big bill (20 hyrvnia). Sometimes
you get change in goods – usually a handful of candy.
I like it:
chocolate as currency!
·
Monday, 26 December 2005
·
Sunday, 25 December 2005 – Christmas Day
·
Saturday, 24 December 2005 - Christmas Eve
Day
I remember once
laughing over an amusing story my Father-in-law shared concerning a woman who
donated a large number of tea bags to the church.
“They have only been
used once,” she said seriously.
Imagine
considering used tea bags as a legitimate donation. A used tea bag belongs in the trash, or
perhaps in a mulch bin.
I am not certain
how my Father-in-law handled it, but I am sure he was as gentle and diplomatic as he always is, even when
faced with this rather awkward situation.
After living here
in Ukraine for a while, I am wondering if the woman in Dad’s story may be a
Ukrainian.
I do not mean
anything humorous, unkind or cruel when I suggest this. On the contrary, I find Ukrainians to be
remarkably generous and willing to share everything they have. Ukrainians have been through so many
discouraging events in their history and despite it all they remain generous
and kind. They share what they have and
they are warm and thankful for what they have.
They have also learned to be frugal.
Using a tea bag
more than once is a common practice here.
People are careful about using electricity too. On a grant application Mark worked on this
fall, there was much serious discussion about what the electricity would cost
to run a single light bulb for three years.
They did the necessary math and included it in the proposal. We stayed with a family that scrimped on
toilet tissue by recycling newspaper.
They also unplugged their refrigerator during the icy, wintry months and
stored perishables on the screened in porch.
In the USA, we
throw away so many things. Here people
have learned, from necessity, to be respectful of many of their resources.
Here it is Christmas
Eve Day and I am remembering that woman and her used tea bags. Now, instead of laughing about a
penny-pinching grinch donating her used tea bags, I consider another
image. The donor shared what she had; the
real gift was her willingness to share.
On this night long
ago when the inn was too full to accommodate guests, someone offered them a
humble manger as a bed for their infant.
The willingness to
share what one has is all it takes to make a difference.
·
Friday, 23 December 2005
I got my First Fur Coat in the Peace Corps
It strikes me
funny that we get to dress better during our Peace Corps experience than we did
in the last two places we lived in the USA.
Frankly, I always
felt people where we lived dressed far too casually. They missed much of the fun in life since
khakis and polo shirts kind of sum up the attire there.
I wore my fur coat
(second hand, if you do not count the original furry owners) and tall boots to
English Club the other night. I even
carried the requisite plastic shopping bag.
A long coat, fur or leather are the usual attire for adult women in
Ukraine so I was appropriately dressed.
I must admit, I
felt a bit conspicuous when I left the flat wearing a fur. I had flash backs of Zha-Zha and Eva Gabor in
fur coats, speaking accented English and being the center of attention for any
number of reasons. My ensemble won the
approval of the library ladies and the members of the English Club too. They even acknowledged that I got a good deal
on the coat.
Mark routinely
wears a suit to work, tough occasionally he wears a sports jacket or a sweater
with a tie. During the winter months he
wears a cashmere overcoat and lately sports a Russian fur hat (also second
hand).
Regardless of the
weather or other circumstances, people here in Ukraine manage to show up
looking remarkably neat. Their shoes
shine, their pants are creased and it is obvious they have put some thought
into the clothes they wear. Whether they
are going to the market or to a restaurant, people dress well. I shudder when I think about people I have
seen in the grocery store back in America.
Summer in the City
“You say that now,
but wait till summer comes,” says my spouse.
I missed summer in
Ukraine this year, due to some medical matters, but Mark assures me standards
here in Kerch drop considerably when the hot weather of summer kicks in. People of all ages shuck their clothes and
really get comfortable.
“The attitude
seems to be, if you’ve got it flaunt it,” says Mark, “and lots of them flaunt
it, even though they obviously don’t have it!”
“We live by the
sea, so I expect to see some casual wear here,” I respond in a tolerant and
culturally sensitive manner.
Mark smiles and ends
the conversation with, “Let’s have this conversation again in August, when you
can see both sets of cheeks, even in the checkout line at the local store.”
I have heard other
PCVs discussing the “invisible” blouses students wear when the weather arms up
and I have seen the very, very, very short skirts young women wear in spring
and fall, but I have yet to experience Ukraine and Ukrainians in all their
exposed glory, in the summer months.
Deep in December, it is hard to imagine such a radical change.
For now, I am
happy to see the attractively dressed, confident people strolling through the
wintry streets. Lots of leather and fur,
spiky heels with pointed toes, and a sense of style that is infectious.
Check back with me
in approximately 180 days and see what I have to think then.
·
Thursday, 22 December 2005
Adventures in Papier-Mache
Sometimes I feel
like I am stuck on a desert island, re-inventing things I am accustomed to
having at hand. I do not think I would
be very successful at many aspects of re-inventing modern life on a desert
island, but I did mange to conjure up a bit of papier-mache to sculpt some
holiday items.
On New Year’s Eve
Crimean’s, don masks as part of the official attire for the holiday. New Years Eve seems to be a combination of
several of our American holidays with many diverse traditions including, masks,
costumes, fireworks, Father Frost,
decorating a fir tree, popping the champagne cork, singing around a bon fire,
talent shows, swapping gifts, eating and drinking waaaaay too much, caroling
through the neighborhood, etc, etc. We
are going to two New Year’s Eve parties so a mask is necessary. (Actually Mark is off the hook because he
gets to play Father Frost at one party – the staff at the library is designing
and making his costume – they have had him try it on several times this week
already!)
So, I am
experimenting with papier-mache to create masks for New Year’s Eve in Ukraine!
Last year in SC
when I was heading up a Brownie Troop we made piñatas for the Christmas
party. That involved wrangling the
efforts of several 7 year olds up to their eyebrows in squishy, messy, sticky,
gooey flour and water paste and tissue paper.
This year, I am aiming for something a bit more sophisticated and since
I have no children to supervise, I get to play n the squishy, messy, sticky,
gooey flour and water paste myself!
I hope I have the
ingredients right. It would be nice to
read a bit about construction techniques and pitfalls, etc. I miss having access to the Internet where I
can find resources easily and quickly.
Every project I tackle seems harder without being able to get
information or at least confirm details with my friendly Google search engine.
I mixed flour and
water and a bit of salt into a liquidy paste and immersed strips of torn up
“Newsweek” magazines in the mess. I
apply the strips over an overturned metal bowl (which I covered in a plastic
bag, just in case). I placed a large
serving spoon under the area where I anticipate my nose will be. Today I am experimenting, but if it works
well, I have several ideas for my final mask – perhaps a sunflower (very
Ukrainian) or a goose (Avian Flu escapee), or maybe a Viking helm complete with
horns (I could get yellow yarn and apply thick braids on either side just for
fun!).
Once my prototype
dries, I will use acrylic paint to detail it.
I am happiest when
I have a messy creative project going!
Next project,
which I am avoiding, is preparing some kind of entertainment for the
evening. Each guest must perform. Between my limited language skills and my
questionable singing talent, I am at a loss on what to do. Once again, I wish I could surf the Internet
for some inspiration – a humorous skit perhaps?
Maybe I will lead them in a version of the Twelve Days of Christmas
having each group sing a line…hmmmm, maybe I can do something with a kazoo!
In Ukraine, people
sing and dance at every opportunity. It
is a pleasure to attend a party and hear the sweet harmonies that pour out as
the guests sing with gusto.
The director
expects Mark to play his 5-string banjo.
I suspect this is just a polite request.
I wonder how it will be accepted.
He plays “old timey” style and generally does not sing along. Here when people play instruments they
generally accompany a sad song with lyrics about unrequited love or some other
gloomy topic.
Life here in
Ukraine seems more stripped down and hands on; people cook from scratch, sing
for their guests, entertain humbly and happily.
People live long on hugs and short on cash, to paraphrase an old
expression I used to guide me in raising my children.
Life is good.
·
Wednesday, 21 December 2005 – The First Day
of Winter
Outside fat
snowflakes fall.
I look past the
simple paper snowflakes Mark and I created and hung by threads in our window
and stand sipping my coffee. I smile and
for the first time in days begin to feel enthusiastic about something. The snowflakes tumbling down in a flurry are
large and theatrical. I watch for a few
moments and then with new energy begin my daily activities.
It pleases me that
the first real snowfall here in Kerch coincides with the first day of winter. The days will grow longer now. I am grateful for this and that knowledge
lightens my heart.
Suddenly I am
eager to begin the many projects I have outlined for myself. I no longer feel concerned about the urgency
of the outcome. I am ready to enjoy the
process. I will not let pressures and
stress steal my joy. Things may not go
the way I have planned them, but that is OK.
In fact, the element of joy is often associated with deviating from the
plan.
Some of the best
things in life result, not from our own plans or efforts, but through
unexpected events that catch us off guard.
Sometimes people are
caught up in their activities, agenda, timetables, or goals and fail to
experience the joy.
There is a trick
to joyful living: you do not pursue joy, instead you simply express joy.
Joy, beauty,
truth, love, spirit…all of these qualities are always present and just waiting
for us to express them.
So today, I am the
happy Snow Queen, enjoying life in my little kingdom.
·
Tuesday, 20 December 2005
Carving out Christmas
I am not ready for
the holidays. Sigh.
Sadly, Mark is in
the same mood too.
We are polite with
one another, but clearly, we each wish the other would take charge of the
events and build a holiday for the other.
There is a calm
part of me that know this too will pass and that the Christmas Spirit will dawn
full orbed. Even if we do nothing,
Christmas will come and it will be OK.
One of the
prospective PCVs in the Yahoo Group I monitor says, “It will be alright in the
end. If it isn’t all right, it isn’t the
end yet!”
I roll that
thought around in my mind for a while.
I am reading
(again) “Anna Karenina”. Vronsky is
struggling; he has won the thing he has so long desired, but he is not
happy. Tolstoy writes, “This fulfillment
showed him the eternal mistake people make when they imagine that happiness is
the fulfillment of their wishes.”
This holiday
season may turn out to be quite delightful.
We have (involuntarily) stripped away many of the activities and events
that often dominate the season. Even the
nicest traditions can obscure the meaning of the holy day. Without these distractions and pleasant
obligations, we will be free to actually meet the day with open hearts.
·
Monday, 19 December 2005
There is a
wonderful luxury in spending time alone.
Some people never seem to cultivate this habit. I strongly recommend the practice of spending
time alone, at least occasionally.
Warning: it can be addictive.
The past few weeks
have not afforded me much time to myself.
Though I am not suffering overtly from ill effects, I am aware that I
have “unfinished business”.
Since
mid-November, I have been around people and out of my element pretty much
24/7. That means compromises, consensus,
being polite and tolerant, sharing, being attentive, and a host of other
behaviors demanded of people in social settings.
None of these
demands is in and of itself bad, but the constant demand can leave one raw and
vulnerable.
My sisters and I
often joke about the need for a “pajama day” now and then – an unstructured,
relaxed day involving no great efforts and obviously a day when one can lounge
about in jammies, perhaps sipping coffee and reading a book by the
fireplace. A pajama day may be scheduled,
but generally, they are more effective when they simply happen. There is a recreational essence (recreation
as in to re-create) to a pajama day. Some people may use the term “mental
health day,” though that has connotations to me.
What I am feeling
is something more than the need for an unstructured day of ease without the
demands of other people. What I crave is
simply time alone to actively enjoy my own company. I feel over stimulated by people and the
world. I need distance and perspective. I need to remember who I am and touch bases
with what I believe.
Today Mark
returned to the Russian-speaking world after a rather lengthy departure from
it. The weeks in Kiev at the PC office
during the Avian Flu evacuation and the PC University training at Prolosok have
filled his head with English and now he must abruptly change gears. Reverting back to Russian after an extended
break is challenging and unsettling. It
undermines the confidence. Language
skills, like muscles, suffer from disuse.
We are both
feeling the strain.
The Christmas
holiday is almost here and we are not prepared.
There is no one here to help us celebrate or to choreograph events so we
can simply relax and enjoy. No gifts
have been bought or plans made.
Our Thanksgiving
this year, fell through the cracks and now our Christmas is looking rather glum
too.
·
Sunday, 18 December 2005
About Train Travel in Ukraine
I remember old
movies where glamorous stars traveled across America on the train. They dined at elegantly appointed tables and
slept in clever beds in Pullman cars. Happy
porters attended to all their needs. There
was some romance to the whole adventure.
Those are movies:
American movies; old, American movies; old, American movies with stars…
Long distance
train travel in Ukraine is inexpensive and reliable, but not exactly
comfortable or fast. It is better than
riding the bus. It can be a wonderful
opportunity for cross-cultural experiences.
It is usually a good opportunity to read a book (not in third class
where lights are dim) or just think.
It is not
glamorous.
The Disclaimer!
You can whine and moan
or you can make the best of these facts.
The trick is, as in most things in life, to find a way to make it an
adventure. You also need to be prepare
so you can handle things with good grace and have a game plan in mind. With that in mind, let me detail a few
observations about train travel.
On our 23-hour,
overnight, return trip to Kerch, we traveled in platskartny, third class (one-way
for one = 35 hryvnia or about $7 USD). No
other tickets were available for at least a week.
We usually travel
kupeyney, second class (51 hryvnia or $10 USD).
There are no first
class cars traveling the Kiev-Kerch-Kiev stretch of railway and there are also
no fourth class cars available.
Observations on Getting Tickets
Buying tickets is
a challenge here, probably not as challenging as it was during the Soviet era,
but still not what an American traveler is accustomed to. Getting things here often seems to be an
unreliable combination of who you know, how much you will spend and some magic
thrown in for to make it all gel. There
appears to be no real logic to the process (Sometimes I think it is simply
because we are outsiders or do not understand, but we have verified this with
several Ukrainians who tend to smile enigmatically and shrug before changing
the topic)
To obtain tickets,
you must go to the train station (or a travel agent) and wait in line. Tickets may or may not be available. There is disagreement among travelers about
whether it is better to buy ahead or to simply go on the morning of intended
travel. The cashiers hold a certain
number of tickets for last minute and do not sell any tickets during the hours immediately
before the train arrives.
You must show the
passport of each individual who will travel in order to buy tickets. Do not expect anyone to deviate from
procedures. Unlike in the USA where only
travelers have passports, here, all Ukrainians have passports – They are used
as a legal document for many practices.
I want to talk
about the train experience rather than the ticket buying challenges so I will
abandon this topic and move on for now.
Observations on the Train Trip
Arriving at the
train, we are pushed along by the crowd eager to board the train and get
settled in. Storage space, by American
standards, is at a premium. Most of our
fellow travelers have small, overnight bags and also the inevitable plastic
bag. Somehow they manage to accommodate
all their travel needs with very little luggage.
The Ukrainians arrive,
dressed well, in fine furs, hats and polished boots. They hang their coats, stow their bags under
the benches, and soon change clothes for the rest of the train trip.
In second class,
there are four passengers per compartment so the men step out while the women
change and then the women step out while the men change. In third class, you may get a lesson in what
kind of lingerie or undergarments those of the opposite gender wear as they
make their changes more-or-less publicly.
(I modestly changed under my bedding in my tiny bunk – an athletic
challenge to say the least. On another
trip I changed in the tiny toilet – also a challenge, though I was at least
horizontal, I had to deal with wet floors, etc). This whole performance repeats at the other
end of the trip when people want to arrive at their destination impeccably
groomed and attired despite spending 23 hours on a train.
Once everyone is
comfortably attired in sweat suits and slippers (no Ukrainian ever travels
without slippers) the food appears.
Somehow, these people who seem to travel light, always have a supply of
food and drink available.
There are porters
assigned to each car. They work in pairs
and often are a married couple. They
make the rounds collecting tickets and distributing packages of sheets,
pillowcases, towels and soap to those who care to rent them (8-10 hryvnia =
about $2 USD). Some travelers just forgo
those amenities or bring their own bedding.
The porters help
everyone settle in by offering each passenger a cup of tea. The tea arrives in a glass tumbler resting in
a metal cup holder. The tea bag hangs
over the side, and a small spoon is provided to stir in sugar and or
lemon. Some passengers prefer to bring
their own glass cups and tea rather than rely of the possibly dubious
cleanliness of the utensils offered.
(They also avoid the small fee because the hot water itself is
free.)
People typically
bring along provisions of dark bread, pickles, and sausages along with bottles
of beer or vodka. There is a small table
in each compartment in second class and it is usual to share provisions with
the other three people in your compartment.
In third class, there is no compartment and there are six people in
immediate proximity so you can expect to share with them, or at least make
sincere offers to share.
In second class,
there are two upper bunks and two lower benches in each compartment. Soon after eating, and a visit to the toilet
at either end of the car, the passengers in the upper bunks make up their beds and
crawl into their spaces to recline and read.
The people who will sleep on the bench below roll out their bedding and
can either read, sleep or remain up talking or playing cards, etc. The four individuals are cozy and quiet
behind a closed compartment door. Eventually
the lights go dim (you still have a light near your head if you wish to read,
etc) and everyone sleeps.
In third class, things
are more Spartan and life is livelier.
Since there is no compartment, you smell and hear everything. (Keep in mind, I have yet to travel in
Ukraine in summer, but without air conditioning, well, I will leave some of
those concerns to the imagination)
The bunks in third
class are smaller – narrow and short and headroom is reduced. Small bags fit under the lower benches, but
most baggage is stored on open shelves above the upper bunk. (The upper baggage area is less
claustrophobic than the upper bunks and I have heard sometimes people try to
stretch out there!)
More people share
the toilets in third class too.
People walking to
and from the toilets or the smoking area pass by you as you relax or
sleep.
Reading is third
class is less feasible because there is only the overhead light. When the car lights dim, it is impossible to
read.
When the train stops
at various stations, venders may board and sell magazines, ice cream, or fried
foods. At longer stops you can get off
the train and purchase food or use the public toilets in the station, if you
are comfortable leaving your things on the train.
On the Kiev-Kerch line,
we spend about 5 hours each way parked in a town in northern Crimea. This is a logistical problem that involves
waiting for an engine to take our few cars on.
It is a logistical problem for passengers too, if they are in third
class, particularly. The toilets are
locked while the train is in station. It
is also difficult to secure belongings in the train so passengers generally
remain on the train for the duration of the trip.
Having said all
this, I want to reiterate something I mentioned before: these observations are
intended merely to make a traveler aware of how things are. Many travelers have a delightful time on
board the train. In part, because they
know what to expect and come prepared to enjoy.
Bring a picnic, a
good book, a good sense of humor, and travel light!
I have been
reading Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina” on the train.
The individuals who people the book, often traverse Russia (Ukraine) by
train. I laugh as I read the passages
regarding train travel in those days. It
sounds so elegant, so refined…kind of like those old B&W movies I mentioned
earlier.
Maybe train travel
was just better in the olden days.
·
Saturday, 17 December 2005
Why Ukrainian women do not smile
I bought new boots
in Kiev.
Of course, it was
only a matter of time before it would happen.
Not many women can resist splurging on a pair of boots, once they spend
any time in this country. Beautiful,
fashionable boots are everywhere. They
are also practical, when you look past the spike heels and the very pointy toes
that are so popular among the younger women in particular.
I think Ukrainian
women do not smile much in public because they are wearing painfully pointed,
stiletto heels most of the time! You
think I am poking fun, but I am somewhat serious!
There are
advantages to the spike heels. You can
stride across ice and snow with style and confidence. I am sure the pointy toes offer some
protection should one need to serve up a swift kick to an aggressor.
The boots sold
here also have warm linings that are seldom available in boots sold in the
USA. Last year preparing for our
departure to Ukraine, I spent hours on the Internet investigating boots. There are many huge collections of footwear
available online, but generally, the boots did not meet all my criteria: warm,
stylish yet professional, and suited for walking.
The boots in USA
tended to be heavy looking and if they were warm, they tended to be less than
feminine looking. My host family was not
too impressed with the pair I finally showed up with last March. (After examining them T shook her head and
sighed. “Not warm,” she said in Russian,
“and not pretty. I show you how to
shop.”)
Another
occupational hazard of working in Ukraine is coat-lust. You cannot avoid it! Coats here are stunning, dramatic and warm
too. Fur is everywhere. It is warm and practical in a country where
walking and winter go together. In America,
we tend to avoid fur, but here it is everywhere. I feel a strange need to apologize to my
fur-bearing, four-legged friends, but they are born with elegant fur! Boots and coats are large-ticket items in
this country, but they are necessities too.
Furs are not limited to the idle rich or those with disposable income,
no people at all levels have some fur or leather to warm them on the cold
wintry days.
Whiling the away
the hours on our evacuation-train trip, A and I discussed our coat preferences
in some detail. We have similar
tastes. The ideal coat should resemble a
cross between the one worn by the
”Little Prince” and the one worn by “The French Lieutenant’s Woman”. A winter coat should be long and should be
fitted at the waistline yet should flare out as is reaches the ankles. We conjured up images of the ideal
coats. A, who will be leaving Ukraine this
spring, decided to shop for her coat during this opportune visit to the big
city.
So, A and I set
out coat shopping. We metro-ed to a huge
warehouse where hundreds of venders displayed coat after coat after coat. We wandered up and down the aisle admiring
coats and discussing pros and cons. We
were swayed by beauties that were not a bit like the criteria we discussed on
our train ride, but we resisted. It was
a bit like wandering through the pens at the humane society – you want to take
all of them home with you and cannot choose just one.
After hours of looking,
we lunched at a Ukrainian buffet (cabbage rolls, borscht, black bread and fresh
juice). Fortified, we set out
again.
This time we
deviated from the mission. The general
rule is this: buy the coat and then choose the boots. Unfortunately, the smell of leather lured us
into the boot venders section. Allegedly,
we needed to think about coats in a coat-free environment, so we innocently
wandered into the boot domain.
Of course, you can
see where the story is going.
Boot-lust-fever set in and before we knew it, we were trying on dramatic
leather confections and discussing prices and styles and, well, you know the
rest of the story.
My new, rather
conservative, black-boots are knee high with a small cuff at the top. The chunky heel is a modest 3-inches
high. They do not have pointy toes nor
spike heels, so most Ukrainian women would not find them to their tastes. I like to think of them as a cross between
pirate boots and equestrian boots. They
are warm and make me feel wonderful.
A chose a sweet
pair of black suede boots A is a
small-framed woman and much younger. Her
boots are girlishly cute with a bow on each toe. She also found boots sans spike heels and
without pointed toes. They suit her
well.
The coat mission
was temporarily aborted, but we each have our warm, stylish, new boots to
stride through the Ukrainian winter in.
·
Friday, 16 December 2005
Finish each day and be done
with it.
You have done what you could…
Tomorrow is a new day.
You shall begin it serenely
and with too high a spirit
to be encumbered with your old nonsense.
-
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Mr. Emerson’s
advice (above) is apropos.
We are home in
Kerch after an unexpected, sometimes delightful, often frustrating, 12-day
adventure to Kiev and back. (We were
evacuated by Peace Corps due to outbreaks of Avian Flu in Crimea – the
president declared a national emergency)
We arrived home
last night, completely broke once the taxi driver soaked us of our last bill.
Taxis here in
Ukraine do not have meters so one negotiates the price before setting foot in a
cab. We seldom take taxis for a number
of reasons; one of them being the negotiation process itself. It is useful to have a better command of the
language to really wheel and deal so we generally rely on the marshutka (route
taxi-vans which charges a flat fee of 1 hryvnia and drops passengers off at
designated stops)..
In this case, one
of our traveling companions, a very proficient speaker of Russian, made the
deal. For $25 hryvnia (about $12
American), the four of us and our luggage could be swept to our doorsteps
quickly. After almost 24 hours riding
“platscartny” (open seating with bunks on the train) we were eager to be done
with traveling.
The cab driver
dropped off our travel companions first.
He pulled up to our courtyard, hopped out and said (in Russian), “That’ll
be 25 US dollars, please.”
He hoisted our
luggage from the trunk. That “please”
did not sound very sincere I thought as I stood by, stamping my feet to keep
warm.
“Wait a minute,”
Mark sputtered, in his basic Russian, “You said $25 hryvnia at the station!”
“No,” said the cabbie,
“I said 25 dollars US. Pay up.”
The cab driver stood
between us and our suitcases. I listened
and noted (silently) how dark our street is.
Why is it there are no streetlights in this country? There are so many trees on our street and
they add to the darkness. I stamped my feet
again and wondered how Mark would handle this no-win situation.
In my head, I
tried to work out the math. Twenty-five
dollars American is about 125 hryvnia. (We
only make about 50 hryvnia a day, about $10.)
Wow! What a pricey cab ride!
Mark pulled out
the only bill in his wallet, the last of our cash (that’s another story, having
been declined cash at 15 ATMs in Kiev over the last few days!). He handed the cab driver that lone 50-hryvnia
note. He had expected to get 25 hryvnia
back which would allow us to stock our pantry, but that hope was now long gone!
I watched the cab
driver spit on the pavement.
“Thanks for the
ride,” Mark said as the scamming cabbie grabbed the cash, slammed his car door
and roared away, with all of our cash.
Welcome home.
Being taken
advantage of is unsettling and leaves a black cloud behind that threatens to
rain on our spirits. It is hard to let
it go.
Of course, this
kind of thing happens everywhere. Once,
years ago in Denver, Mark was held-up in front of our apartment on a fine
Christmas Eve. The robber took Mark’s
change and an engraved wristwatch I had given him the previous Christmas when
he was living isolated on Shemya. Another
December, in Austin, Texas this time, our truck windows were smashed when
someone tried to steal our modest car stereo.
There are plenty of situations where people have been taken advantage of,
violated.
What is rather
amazing really, is how many times we have met with kind, helpful people!
It amazes me how
well the world works. So many things we
do each day are based on trust and integrity.
And day after day, most people demonstrate integrity and trust and
kindness and joy.
Somehow, this sad
cab driver here in Kerch reminded me that we are blessed to be surrounded by
good people who care for one another and who help one another.
Good people surround
us. People who choose not to take
advantage of others, people who choose to be caring, kind, generous, and
polite.
I am so grateful
that the good outweighs the bad. I can
even find it in my heart to be grateful to this cab driver for reminding me how
blessed we are to have so many wonderful, kind, people in our world.
We are home. The avian flu evacuation is over and
Christmas is almost here. I re-read the
Emerson quote I started with and have put aside the nonsense of the day and now
I recall another Emerson quote:
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Next time I am out
on our very dark street at night, I will remember to look past the darkness and
see the stars (and I will say a little prayer of thanks for the lesson I
learned from our greedy taxi driver.)
·
Saturday, 10 December 2005
Brrrr – it is
about 25 degrees today. We are
“southerners” and are not used to the cold here in Kiev.
We spent our few
hours of Saturday sunlight (the winter sun disappears by 3:30) tramping around
at a huge open-air, used clothing market.
Despite biting cold, the vendors were busy tending to eager customers
pawing through piles of used clothes.
The hearty “Kiev-ians” do not seem to notice the cold.
The venders smoke
cigarettes and sip steaming hot tea as they bark out sales pitches to potential
buyers. They pace up and down as they lure
in customers. Stray dogs dart about,
snapping up scraps near the food vender’s stands. Old babushkas quibble over the prices, young
men in leather jackets speak urgently into their cell phones and stamp their
feet in the cold.
Despite the bitter
cold, tall, fashion-model-thin beauties stride along confidently in their short,
short skirts and tall spike-heeled boots while everyone in their paths steps
out of their way. It is like watching
the Red-Sea part. There is magic in
being a young, beautiful woman in Ukraine.
There are used
clothes everywhere. Wonderful suede,
leather and fur coats hang on the walls of these makeshift buildings. Tables hold piles of sweaters, blue jeans, boots,
and shoes. Booths line the street for
hundreds of meters in any direction.
On a warmer day, I
would have been in my element, but I am not prepared for the cold. I blow on my hands to warm them. I hang in there, but have a hard time
toughing it out. The wrong boots make my
life miserable and allow my toes to get too cold too soon. Cold penetrates through the leather soles and
it is like walking barefoot on ice. I
left my hat at the hotel, so cold pierces my feet and chases the heat straight
out the top of my head.
I pull my hand
knit scarf over my lips and nose and breathe through the wool. The smell of damp wool gives me a momentary
flashback to the long walk to elementary school back in my Iowa youth. The old wool scarves we wore would freeze to
our runny noses.
If it were not so
cold, I would be spending my inheritance on wonderful, funky used clothes, so
there are some blessings associated with cold.
I will definitely visit this bazaar again, when the weather warms up. (Will it ever warm up?)
I look forward to
thawing out in a hot shower at the hotel tonight.
·
Monday, 5 December 2005
The Train Ride North – The Chicken War
Refugees are on the Road!
Last night I was
rocked to sleep by the rhythm of the rails.
I awoke around 8 AM, scratched a clean space through the ice-covered
window and saw a thick blanket of snow covering the rich black soil of central
Ukraine. (Tolstoy says the soil is as
black as poppy seeds) Saturday in
Crimea, the sun was bright, the sky blue and the temperature close to 62
degrees.
I put on my
slippers and ricochet off the walls as I walk down the corridor of our train
car to the tiny toilet facilities. What
a relief to find them reasonably clean.
When I returned to our car, Mark has a cup of hot tea waiting for me.
We share our 24-hour
train ride in a "kupeny" with another PCV and a Ukrainian man who
spent some of the evening before proselytizing to us. There are times when not fully understanding
the language can be a blessing! Our
Ukrainian companion is already up and neatly dressed, anticipating his
departure soon. We lounge in our sleep
clothes for a while and when the Kiev city limits slide past our window, we quickly
change into street clothes and bundle up to face the brisk Kiev morning.
We pull into the
station around noon. Mark dons his long
overcoat and the warm Russian fur hat he bought at the bazaar Saturday. The other PCV and I follow behind him like
little ducks as he navigates through the crowd of taxi drivers trying to sell
their services to us. He looks Russian
in the hat. I anticipate some
interesting interactions with locals when they assume he is Russian or
Ukrainian.
Another Crimean
PCV who recently completed his service and had planned to remain in Crimea with
a friend through the holidays, met us at the station. We all trudged through the ice and snow and
were glad to arrive at the PC office where there was hot coffee and a warm cozy
lounge to collapse in.
The Crimean-7
(Avian Flu evacuees) spent the day there, waiting for various people to speak
to us about our situation. We read
e-mail, browsed the used book selections and swapped stories while we waited
for the officials to agree on what would happen next. At about 6:30 in the evening we finally had
our last briefing. They assigned us
various tasks to keep us occupied during our anticipated week-long stay.
We finally headed
off for dinner at a Korean restaurant and then onto the metro with all our bags
for the trip to the hotel. We checked in
around 10 and collapsed into bed.
·
Sunday,
4 December 2005
Avian Flu
Evacuation - or Goodbye Poultry Economic Development Project!
We just won an all-expense paid trip to Kiev! We got the call last night and were told to
get train tickets and head out immediately.
Pretty exciting huh? Actually, we
are being evacuated from Crimea due to an outbreak of Avian (Bird) Flu. Three Crimean villages have reported cases
and President Yushenko has declared a state of emergency.
We are fine, of course. This adventure
is simply a precaution by Peace Corps (and the American Embassy) and an
inconvenience and also an unexpected personal expense especially since we only
just recently returned from Kiev. On the
positive side though, Kiev is a delightful city and it will feel quite festive
this time of year.
We boarded the train north around noon and began the 24-hour trip to Kiev
where we will remain for at least a week.
The train from Kerch stops in one of the towns where cases are reported
so we will spend about 4 hours there.
Domestic poultry in suspected areas are being killed, burned and
buried. They are using napalm from the
Soviet era. The government is paying
bird owners approximately $3 per chicken and more for other kinds of fowl.
There are about 5 PCVs in this area of Crimea. A couple PCVs from sites on the Sea of Azov
(on the migratory path) are also being evacuated.
We packed up our leftover Thanksgiving turkey and boiled the eggs we
bought at market yesterday to eat on the train.
The turkey was a considerable investment and we have already eaten much
of it so if we were in danger of dining on a foul-fowl, it is too late to save
us!
We also decided to “smuggle” our little friend Ed the Duck out of Crimea
– can’t allow anything to happen to our favorite yellow rubber ducky can
we?
This is my second evacuation in 8 months.
Just lucky I guess! Hmmm, “they”
told me to pack for a week last time I was evacuated and that certainly
stretched out a lot longer than that. We
shall see.
·
Saturday,
3 December 2005
Bazaar Day…
Today we will be off to market.
Saturday at the bazaar is my pleasure. I have a sense of anticipation as
if I will find some wonderful treasure among the crammed booths and vendors
hawking plastic goods, fruit and veggies, used clothes and new clothes, shoes
and household goods, books, office supplies, flowers, plants and candies.
Despite the weather, the vendors are there and so are the shoppers. This is our Saturday trip to Wal-Mart, our
day at the mall. It is a social activity
as well as a necessity. I join in with
as much enthusiasm as the locals.
I patrol what I call the old people street first. There, women sit knitting and talking,
laughing with friends as they while away the day next to a blanket stretched on
the ground where all sorts of secondhand treasures wait patiently to go home
with a lucky buyer. The old men joke and
often have a fishing line in the canal behind this street.
Midway through the old people street, there are always a few people with
puppies or kittens for sale. Of course,
I have to stop here. I practice my
tentative Russian skills and always manage to have a good encounter – animal
people are kind. One day, I am afraid
there will be a sweet orange kitten who needs a home and I my have a hard time
walking away, but for now, I am happy to pet and coo at the animals there. I slip them bites from the tiny bag of cat
chow I carry in a zip lock bag in my pocket.
After this traditional starting point, the rest of the visit usually
follows Mark’s plan. Since he is the
faithful cook (I am merely the bottle-washer and occasional maker-of-desserts)
he has a list of culinary supplies to collect.
This week, I hope we will try our hand at making some Ukrainian dumplings
– either as a main course or as dessert.
Varenyky, dumplings filled with cheese (pot cheese/cottage cheese) or
fruit (often cherries) would be tasty. I
like Pelmeni meat dumplings too. I enjoy
recipes that call for playing with flour and making dough. We can use the rolling pin we purchased at
the bazaar where the train stopped for three hours enroute home from Kiev.
While Mark picks through fruits and vegetables at bazaar, I sometimes
wander over to look at the chickens, ducks and rabbits that are for sale nearby. Of course, I am a bit uncomfortable admiring
the beautiful rabbits which are intended for stew and/or fur, but they are so
appealing, so vulnerable and so trusting.
Why do I torture myself by even looking at them? I do not know, but somehow it seems sadder to
simply ignore them. I know they will
die, and so shall we. It does not keep
me from finding some joy in them now.
When we are exhausted, our shopping bags are too heavy to carry and the
cash is all gone, we will grab a bite to eat and a cup of tea and then hike
back across home to our cozy flat.
And we will be back to do it all again next week.
·
Friday,
2 December 2005
We Live in the
Bread Basket of Europe…
I read somewhere in my cross-cultural studies (or maybe in a novel or a cookbook,)
that Honore de Balzac, during his three year stay in Ukraine (1847-1850), counted
approximately 80 kinds of bread.
Ukrainian bread is outstanding.
For those brought up on pasty, pale white bread, Ukrainian bread is an
epiphany! It is hearty, full-bodies with
taste and textures that leave one longing for more. Slathered with butter it is even better. Most of the bread is made of whole grains so
when one indulges in a bread eating binge, it is actually good for you.
My favorite is "chorney kleb" (black bread). The huge, brown, crusty loaves call my
name. Most days I make my simple lunch
from a large, thick slice of this bread with the aforementioned slather of rich
butter. I take small bites and relish
the nutty, rich flavor. When I finished
with my generous lunch slice, I start thinking about the slice I will have with
my dinner. I look forward to my bread
experiences, with the enthusiasm usually reserved for good chocolate.
Yes, Ukraine is the Breadbasket of Europe. That is why I find it a bit frightening to
observe a phenomenon at the local kleb stores.
It is becoming difficult in our fair city to find the humble round loaf chorney
kleb that sets the gold standard for bread here in Ukraine.
Where is all
this “crummy” bread coming from?
Yes, even as I type, the traditional breads are disappearing and bland,
tasteless loaves of white bread are filling up the shelf space in the local
markets!
Mark visited three stores the other day in search of the usual loaf of
black bread. He came home with a sad
substitute – a small loaf of bread baked in a loaf pan typical of
American-style bread and though it was a bit brown, it was obvious that the major
ingredient was pale, refined white flour.
After one taste of this bland loaf, we set it aside and instead had
another bowl of soup.
Mark observed the other day that several women on the trolley-bus were
oohing and ahhing over a baton of bread poking out of one of the women’s
shopping bags. The women each tore small
samples off the bread and were delighted with this new treat. It appeared to be made of white bread,
twisted with some dark bread. More and
more, white bread is appearing in the markets.
At the bazaar, several vendors sell only bread products. As Balzac noted, there are many kinds of
bread available, but in the short time we have lived in this country we are
already noticing a decline in the quality and choices of bread available. The fine old breads are going by the wayside
and “new” breads are stealing the hearts and tastes of the next generation of
Ukrainians.
Scary imitation French baguettes, croissants and sliced loaves of dry,
white bread are infiltrating the stores.
I can only hope these interloper breads will be a temporary novelty and
that the good and faithful cooks and homemakers here in Ukraine will return to
the breads that gained them their title of Breadbasket of Europe.
Lunchtime is here so I will slip away quietly and relish my secret
pleasure while I can. Who knows, with
all the changes going on in this booming country, this may sadly be our last
loaf of chorney kleb.
·
Thursday,
1 December 2005 – Our House Sitter’s Birthday!
So much of modern life is a feverish anticipation of
future activity and excitement.
We have to learn to step back from this into the freedom
and possibility of the present.
- Fr. Bede Griffiths
Welcome to
December and the possibility of the present!
Living as we do here in Ukraine, as outsiders, somewhat isolated from
life by culture and language, we have breathing space. This is a luxury and I cherish it.
We have considerable autonomy and can structure our time and our lives in
ways that do not seem possible in the context of our lives back in the
USA. These luxuries may not even be so
available to us if we were really residents of Ukraine, rather than simply
transients.
Money cannot buy this kind of opportunity.
By being a seemingly dispassionate outsider with no immediate family,
friends, or history to confine, define or outline our choices, we are free to
choose in a way we can never be in our “real” lives.
This is an unexpected gift I cherish and hope to keep somehow, even long
after the moment of receiving is past.
Just Say No.
Sometimes, it is a matter of learning to say no. (NO is an acronym for New Opportunities,
while the letters Y-E-S stand for Your Existence Stops as in “Once you say yes,
you are trapped, so say no and run for your life!”)
In this breathing space we live in just now, we seldom have to exercise
the discipline of saying no. We can simply
live quietly and make our humble, happy choices with ease. We are outsiders with no ties to tie us down.
Our life is a
pleasant respite from the world.
We take our meals together and relish them rather than rushing off
somewhere. We choose to shop together
and make the choices as if we were investing in a stock portfolio. We walk often and we take time to sip coffee
together and simply talk. The TV, which
speaks only Russian and Ukrainian, remains mute most of the time. We seldom delve into our meager collection of
DVDs for diversion or entertainment. We
do not even get out the Scrabble board or Uno deck. We just talk to one another. Even after almost 35 years of marriage, we
have much to say and when we occasionally do not, the silences are companionable.)
I like how my days unfold here. Once
Mark escapes to his day at the library and his personal adventures, I fill my
blue mug with a second cup of coffee and read a bit.
Later, I take care of routine tasks, which I find meaningful and pleasurable
because I choose to accomplish them and I choose to take pleasure in them.
Then I move on to do some journaling.
I sip more coffee, find a sunny spot and begin to write. This journaling routine allows me to give
vent to my thoughts, capturing an essence of who I am at a particular moment in
time. It is a ritual I treasure and
recommend to others.
Next, I accomplish some work on professional and personal tasks and projects,
which often fall under the guise of coordinating, networking, developing and
planning, all of which seem to require computer time. There is danger in this activity, because I
can easily be consumed by details and the daylight will be gone from the sky
before I look up and realize my obsessions have stolen the hours I could be
enjoying in other ways.
There is time in each day for corresponding with family and friends. Usually it is in the evenings that I write
letters of e-mail. Often my spouse
downloads my daily e-mail from the flash drive and then heads out the door to his
tutoring classes, only to return a few hours later to find me still reading and
responding.
Each day, there is always time to just read. Reading is much like eating – I must find
time for it each day! There are
magazines and nooks trailing through the house.
I read a bit from Newsweek over morning coffee, later I find respite and
inspiration in the CS Sentinel. I read
snatches of news on my e-mail and try to stay current on the Ukraine Report
that provides extensive coverage (in English) on what is going on in our
current home. There are novels near the
bed and usually some non-fiction tome is fighting for my attention too. I read cross-cultural materials with
enthusiasm and schedule time to study a bit of Russian (I am lax at enforcing
my own schedule here!).
Between these activities, I also observe life and absorb the tiny
details, taking pleasure in them all. I
stop to watch the babushka feeding the cats on a rainy fall day. I eavesdrop on the customers who stand and
talk outside our living room window on their way home from the local
store. I take a stroll in the park
under sun-dappled chestnut trees and walk along the sea just to observe how the
sun and light play at different times each day.
I rise early to watch the birds congregates and listen to them making
strategic plans for the day as they perch high in the trees above. I smell the air, I sing along with the radio,
take pleasure in life and I give thanks for the abundance in my life.
Days slip by and I consider how long it has been since I painted or drew
or wrote a story. I have plans for
cooking projects and I have some knitting I would like to enjoy. I think f family and friends far away and
miss them, but know they are leading happy lives too and I smile.
This breathing space, bubble or time warp is a joy and a gift. It will not last forever, because soon we
will become ensnared in life outside our tiny circle. Commitments will deepen and opportunities too
will arise. I am not eager for this next
phase really, but change is inevitable.
Last night I
accidentally said “dah” when I should have said “nyet”!
One of our English Club members did some fast-talking last night and now Mark
and I are committed to a lesson in ballroom dancing! Me - with no sense of rhythm is a roomful of
Russians learning to glide across the floor with my cowboy leading the way…we
shall see.
This may be the beginning of the end for our precious breathing space, or
maybe it will just be a new beginning, a new opportunity.