I am sitting in my new Kyiv apartment. All windows are open to the balcon and the white, cottony bits that are dispelled by a tree are floating inn droves thru the air and forming small, puffy piles in the corners of the balcon. I am home.

The month of May has nearly passed and I never sat down to write here. After Orthodox Easter, came the first of May or Labor Day. This holiday is no longer the huge event that it once was under Soviet times, but it means that after Easter, people are off for nearly a week. Then on the 9th of May is Victory Day, referring to WWII, what in Russian translates to the “Great Patriotic War.” There were many Saints days as well and generally May is a relaxing time of year here, unless one is in Peace Corps training.

Personally, I was busy with Russian class, our internship and also participating in the holidays with Ira and Helena. We survived a minor disturbance, where Ira was offended that I didn’t ask if she could come along when I was invited to someone’s dacha. She wanted to go b/c she was interested in the family’s son.

In late April, early May, over a period of about 47 hours, spring struck and suddenly where all had been gray and concrete, barren trees studded with crow’s nest, there was an urgent green. Yards previously festooned with the entrances to the cellars where people store the produce they grow on dachas were carpeted in new grasses, weeds and flowers. The trees immediately had leaves. The suddenness was infectious and as Colorado has no discernable spring, it reminded me a bit of growing up in North Carolina, except for the sudden onslaught of this spring.

It has been unseasonably warm so far and by that I basically mean hot. People are complaining, but it is at least comforting to me to know that it is not normal here for the weather to switch gears from driving, biting cold wind and rain of early spring to a balmy summer heat. The temperature switch was oddly exhausting and I found myself napping when possible between coming home and homework and dinner.

On May Day, I went with Ira to the 20th birthday party of a friend of hers, Marina. Marina is an English teacher and speaks almost flawless English and I think I’ve almost convinced her that I really want to speak Russian with her, despite her superiority in English.

The 20th birthday is a very important one in Ukraine. There’s some significance about even numbers that I don’t entirely grasp, but the 30th and 40th birthdays are also important.

When I got home the day before May Day, Ira was home with her friend, Valentin, who is also a teacher at Ira’s school. We all went shopping for Marina’s gift at every shop along the main thoroughfare in Brovary. Ira had decided that champagne glasses were an appropriate gift and we were to split the cost. After looking in every shop, most of which had almost the same goods for prices that barely varied by a few kopecks, we decided on a set of champagne glasses that I will only describe as being blessed with a great deal of gold ornamentation, as are many goods and clothes here.

On the day of the party, I had to leave a meeting w/ fellow volunteers early to get home for the party and this caused no small amount of discord, set to a backdrop of a good dose of inter-group tension. Nonetheless, Ira, Valentin and I arrived at a party hall about on time for Marina’s birthday, carrying our gift, a fancy bouquet of flowers and Ira’s stereo.

A tradition here for birthdays is to say a set of phrases to the birthday girl or boy and they count how many are said: “I wish you: luck, love, a wealthy husband, a long life, etc.” I tried a new variant on Marina, wishing her the ability to find a good job and was promptly scolded back into the accepted format.

After greeting her family, we went into the room where a long table was set up and nearly choked with dishes of food: meat, salads, vegetables, pickles, more salads, bread. There were probably over 100 dishes of food on a table set up to seat about 20 or 30. There were bottles of vodka, wine and mineral water every 6 chairs or so. I have found that this is the traditional Ukrainian table setup for a party and it is so impressive to come in to such abundance, I imagine the intended effect.

Soon Marina and two of her friends joined us in the dining room. These two dayavushkey (young women) were also English teachers and eager to speak English. They sometimes were funny because they would correct each other’s grammar or pronunciation or choice of words. They also are fond of the phrase, “If I am not mistaken.” They have slight British accents and use British words like “trousers” or “flat.” I tried valiantly to practice Russian, but they were a tough sell. Luckily, there were people there that couldn’t speak English and Ira who knows I want to practice (and even may get grumpy sometimes if people won’t speak Russian with me) was sweet to speak with me sans translation.

A background drama that led up to this party: Marina met the other PCT (Peace Corps Trainees) at the party that Ira and I had. She got Tom, Larry, Larry’s host brother Andrei and Ira and I together at a café to formally invite us to her party the week before. On Marina’s birthday, Tom couldn’t make it b/c he got sick and was in Kyiv and Larry decided that he should work on the workshop and not go to the party, especially because his host brother also couldn’t come.

I don’t know what is normal for here in terms of parties and accepting or declining invitations. There was no way that anyone of us could have said no to Marina’s invitation, but it was no small scandal when neither Tom, Larry nor Andrei came. I had to explain numerous times that I didn’t know Tom or Larry before in America and that I couldn’t explain their behavior. Andrei was especially reviled because they expressed that his behavior was unacceptable for a Ukrainian.

There had been a previous scandal when Larry and Andrei blew off Ira and Marina when they’d made plans to see “Mr. Bean 2” in Kyiv. Thank God for all the homework I had that prevented me from going. I hate Mr. Bean and seeing that film dubbed into Russian with slightly annoying teenagers who won’t speak Russian with me would make me VERY GROUCHY.

Anyway, the stage was already set for more misunderstanding and I do think that Marina was genuinely (and understandably) hurt that these three didn’t show up nor phone to cancel. I find Ira and also Marina to be sensitive to insult and almost looking for it sometimes. I remind myself a lot that Ira is only 20 and as she is moody, I have to work to not take her mood personally. It is probably my comeuppance, as I’m moody and now I see what it is like to live on the other side of the mood. (good pun, if I do say so!)

Back to the party, after a short amount of time, we sat down to begin our feast. I sat with the teenagers, as I keep referring to these young people who not only work full time as teachers, but who also are full time university students, and often work at home, helping to cook and clean or take care of younger siblings.

Then the toasts began. First Marina’s mother gave a toast that brought tears to my eyes, not so much because I understood all of it, but because I felt a bit homesick. We lifted our glasses and then dug into the food. I had a couple of new dishes: 1. Shuba (fur coat) which is a salad with many layers of vegetables such as beet (I’m lucky to so love beets!), shredded potatoes, carrots, intermixed w/ a salted fish that’s not dried and in this version, a lot of what I found out later is excellent caviar. I hadn’t had caviar before and quite liked it. 2. Holodnaya (cold salad) which is uncolored, unflavored jello made from pork, salted w/ bits of pork floating in it. I tried a bit, but didn’t go back. However, I nearly ate an entire bowl of shuba by myself and when I found out the next day how much the caviar costs that was in it, I was more than a little embarrassed. In my defense, there were several bowls of shuba that were untouched when I left, so no one lacked for it.

We had several rounds of toasts, eating all the while. Then it was time for a break. We walked outside a bit, enjoying the now warm weather. We hung out in the room with a stereo and listened to Russian pop, my new fav music. Then it was time to repeat the toasting, drinking, eating part. I was surprised how comfortable I felt, or maybe how welcomed I felt. It is a big deal that people would invite me, basically a stranger, to a family celebration.

After the third round of toasting, drinking and eating, we took another break and I got to speak a bit with Marina’s mother, who was very sweet and kindly spoke slowly in Russian for me. It is a little difficult for me to speak b/c sometimes a small crowd will gather to listen to the Americanka speak and I get a tad nervous with all the attention. Marina was also hovering, making sure that I didn’t need translation. Of course I don’t understand everything, but when it is just conversation, it is more important for me to listen and reply and don’t need to accurately know all facts. At least that is my philosophy.

I also have realized in this time that I had gotten to be rather a language Nazi. I was very frustrated for a time when Ira was translating a lot, especially when I was super slow the first few weeks. She’d translate before I could think and I would despair that I’d never learn. We worked it out and now when she feels the need to translate, she’ll do it to easier Russian, which is very kind of her.

Again, back to the party, we had cake, coffee and more toasts, then I needed to leave as the hour was growing late and I had already negotiated with Ira that I could leave by myself. It is difficult to do anything without the group, although as I am here longer, I find that Ira and Helena seem slightly less worried that I’ll harm myself going alone somewhere. I have even been allowed to go to Kyiv by myself! I joke; it is endearing and also can be greatly frustrating. It also has been a lesson in how important it is to understand the “collective” mentality and one that I’ve made many mistakes in dealing with.

I was walked to the marshrutka stop by all the teenagers and instructed by Marina’s mother to phone her cell phone when I got home, as she warned me that many people had been drinking all day since it was a holiday. I think Marina worries about her minutes, b/c when I phoned, I only got out “privet” and Marina replied, “horasho, horasho” and hung up. I guess my accent gave me away again! :-D (a note: I found out that the first 4 seconds of cellular airtime are free, so people try to speak quickly and hang up by the 4 sec. mark)

The rest of the month was a blur of PC conferences, meetings upon meetings for our internship, studying, trying to do one new thing everyday, instead of class, internet café, trip to Spar (local posh grocery store).

On the 17 May, we gave our workshop at the Unemployment Center. I had volunteered to do the ice breaker and deal with logistics. I did so for 3 reasons:
1. To see how I liked this aspect of event planning
2. To get more interaction with the Unemployment Center staff and
3. To work on my own, to circumvent a particularly strong personality in our group, who was apt to either be very domineering about how everything should be done or very frustrated when people didn’t want to take initiative. It mainly worked.

Our workshop went well – we had 13 participants and the workshop was a brief overview of how to write a Business Plan and with a main emphasis on doing market research. We tried to use interactive exercises and had them break out into work groups a couple of times. My ice breaker was a simple one: I gave everyone nos. and asked them to find the people w/ the same number, thereby forming the groups they’d work in later, then once in group, introduce themselves and find 3 facts they all had in common, besides perhaps working together or living in the same town.

Watching the groups work was interesting as it seemed like there emerged a leader of each group and that what I think of as normal for working in a group, i.e. that everyone who wishes to may speak and their opinion or idea will be heard and noted, wasn’t entirely the case. Our LCF’s, Yulia and Ira, participated and later told us about their experiences. Yulia, for example, was told to pretend she liked sports for the ice breaker when she protested that she didn’t. I thought that there was a premium on finding a “correct” answer versus what I might call critical thinking, but perhaps I’m so expecting to find this here that I’m inventing.

Again my disclaimer that these are only my observations and in no way an attempt to write anything authoritative about “The Ukrainian People” or “Ukrainian Culture.”

A few days after the workshop, we all had our Language Proficiency Interview (LPI), which was an aural exam of our language ability after 2.5 months of intensive Russian. I reviewed and practiced conversing, with a special emphasis on toning down my natural inclination to try to explain concepts greatly beyond my language ability, the result of which is often a look of consternation on the face of my listener.

I tried hard to remind myself that this test was supremely subjective to allay my nervousness – I wanted to do well as a momento of the work I’d done studying and speaking and listening and more studying. But I also tried hard to remember that the fact that I can speak, understand and read to the amount that I can is a huge success, regardless of any test.

In any case, the first question the tester asked was what my name is, which I misunderstood to be a question about where I was living or how I was living, so I answered, what, here in Brovary or in Kyiv? We had a good laugh about that, then went on to converse for about 20 minutes or so.

After the LPI, we basically were done, except for one training by the medical office titled “Safety Day” in which we watched a video about sexual assault and then practiced some easy self defense moves.

I spent the last week packing, dealing with logistics, studying a bit, etc. We had a farewell dinner the penultimate night with Larry’s, Dan’s and my host families at Dan’s flat. I had initially been opposed to this, because I felt that our host families weren’t close, Dan, Larry and I had never gotten particularly close and so why did we need to bother our host families with this pretense?

However, it turned out to be a very pleasant affair and was frankly nice to have some ceremony of saying goodbye. I find that Ukrainians are very fond of certificates, particularly when these certificates are stamped. Yulia gave each host family a stamped certificate of appreciation from Peace Corps and then I gave a impromptu thank you speech in Russian and then tried not to cry. Yulia, always that master of subtlety and perception, patted my knee under the table when she noticed me trying to compose myself.

The next night was the real final night and I spent the day finishing up packing, cooking a meal for Ira and Helena and moving my luggage to Yulia’s for it to be transferred by Peace Corps vehicles later.

For our farewell dinner, I made a reduction sauce of pomegranate and cherry juice, w/ a little lemon juice, then cooked chicken and potatoes in this sauce. There were homemade rolls from focacia dough, a salad with “young” cabbage (the cabbage grown this spring and not allowed to get as big as it could - as opposed to all this “old” cabbage we’ve been eating since I arrived?), carrots, the great ubiquitous cucumber and some hothouse tomatoes. There were brownies with walnuts for desert and we toasted the meal with Ukrainian champagne, which I must admit is OK despite its sweetness.

We had a lovely, low key dinner and then agreeing that we were over-full, took a gulyat (stroll) around the neighborhood in the cool evening air.

In the morning, I hugged Ira when she left for school and Helena waited with me until the marshrutka we hired as a group arrived, kissing me three times as goodbye, then I fought back tears as I rode away from that massive concrete building that had sheltered me since arriving that rainy and cold night.

Back to Kyiv, back to the Piggy and for the first time since we arrived on March 6th in Ukraine, the whole of PC Ukraine Group 24 was back together. We had our close of training conference, replete with much information, feedback sessions and late night carousing in front of the Piggy.

We also found out the result of the LPI, on which I did quite well. There was only one category higher than the one I scored into and only one person achieved that classification. And, if you, gentle reader, will allow me to brag one moment more, there were 7 of us out of our group of 78, who scored into this category that I did. We’ll retake the test at the end of service, to gauge progress and also can optionally do it in six month increments to keep track of progress in the meantime.

On 27th May, we went by bus from the Piggy to the “Teacher’s House,” a beautiful, historic building where we were to swear in as PC Volunteers, no longer Trainees. The first president of independent Ukraine was there, Leonid Kravchuk, as was the US Ambassador, Carlos Pascual, who administered the Oath of Peace Corps Service. Three of our group gave the same speech, one in Ukrainian, one in Russian and one in English. There was a good brass band that played inspirational music, heavy on the Sousa, and about three sub-ministers from various ministries gave speeches that were blessedly short. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the ceremony, but again it was lovely to have an event to celebrate our transition from training to service.

Also present were our host families. We each could invite two members. Shockingly, it was the first time that this had been done and I hope it continues. It was a nice way to be able to publicly commemorate them and also for them to better understand what Peace Corps aims to do in Ukraine. Ira, being a political science student at university, was almost beside herself at having heard Leonid Kravchuk and Carlos Pascual speak. Mr. Pascual is leaving this post soon and it will be interesting to see what the new ambassador will do or not do.

After the ceremony, we had a brief reception with champagne, fruit, cookies and chocolates and milled around, trying not to faint from the heat. Ira and I caught up and though I found myself so strongly wishing that Christopher, my Mom and my Dad could be there, I was really happy that at least one person who was interested was there.

The next day, we all went to PC HQ, where we had more interviews and meetings, dealt with logistics and then all of us CEUME people met with the organization’s American director.

At about 3pm, Bogdana, my coordinator and guardian angel from CEUME, showed up with a taxi to whisk me and my baggage to the new apartment. Since I knew the address, I’d snuck over to the building on Sunday and had walked up to the 6th floor and stared at the door I thought was mine, as well as checked out the neighborhood a bit and the metro stop.

I am still dealing with feeling privileged and spoiled for not only being in Kyiv, but also now for having a flat that is quite close to downtown. I am somewhat getting over this. I didn’t expect or ask for any of this and all I can do is work hard, try to help however I can, be grateful and enjoy.

So, the flat is really nice. It’s a large one room, which means that there is one room other than the kitchen. This room serves as both living room and bedroom and is approximately 25 long X 15 wide of my size 7.5 feet. The kitchen is also relatively large and there is a balcon (the ubiquitous balcony that nearly all apartments have, usually enclosed in glass and useful as storage, small garden, area for drying clothes, etc.) that spans the entire width of the apartment, as the living room/bedroom and kitchen are side by side in the layout. The balcon is 26 X 5 of my feet. The only windows in the apartment are on the balcon side, which faces north west. There is good light in the afternoons and as there is no building close enough to block it, there is something of a view, if only of the tall tree that are around. It’s really quite lovely.

The kitchen only needs a few things in terms of cooking accoutrements and the bathroom has been redone and is REALLY nice. We have hot water and this is the first American-style shower I’ve had since arriving.

Many rental apartments are very different from in the US as the apt. owner is likely to leave many personal effects there, such as clothes, books, knickknacks, many dishes, etc. This apt. has almost none of these and to my UTTER shock, there is no rug hanging on the wall. There is a divan (couch pulled out into a bed) in one corner of the room as my bed and another divan as a couch, as well as a chair. There is the obligatory wall o’shkof, a big wooden and darkly stained piece of furniture that is a long series of shelves and a sort of armoir that serves as closet. This, too, incredibly, is sans landlord possessions. There is an old color TV that I haven’t yet figured out how to turn on, but will ask for instructions.

The kitchen holds the common linoleum table and the stools that are topped by embroidered seat covers. The cabinets have sweet periwinkle flowers painted on them and there are many cabinets and dishes. The refrigerator is charmingly vocal but clean and working.

The hallway entrance is pretty large and there is another shkof there for coats and shoes.

The piece d’resistence is of course the telephone. Hurrah!

I’m very lucky and so grateful to have landed in this lovely home.

Tomorrow I will go to work and today as soon as I can make myself get out of this sanctuary, will go explore the neighborhood, try to find a reasonable grocery store and also the way to the Dnipro river, which is quite close by.

Tune in soon for the latest installment, which I promise won’t be so long in coming as this latest one.