18 June 2003
17 June
Today I went to a huge children’s store to buy a sort of gag gift for Amy and Charlie and their new-ish baby, Benjamin. I won’t reveal the gag gift til later, as I’m just mailing it now. The store had recognizable things like Fisher Price and Leggo toys, Crayola (I smelled the crayons and got stared at suspiciously), and less familiar things, like an entire wall of very realistic-looking guns.
I’ve been making myself walk around my neighborhood after work before dark, to familiarize myself and also not spend hours and hours alone in my apartment, obsessively reading. Tonight my destination was the produce market and then after dinner, the baby store.
I have been a bit obsessive lately about grocery shopping, as in I like to go everyday. The interactions at the market are very satisfying – friendly, I get to practice Russian, it’s food and they give out samples! The huge supermarket right by my house is also a source of hours of entertainment. I smell shampoos, try to read ingredient labels, look at all the new and strange products, as well as feel triumph when I find a familiar one, such as Balsamic vinegar. I still haven’t brought myself to buy the US-priced olive oil, but I know I will eventually break down. The sunflower oil is locally produced and quite nice. There are several varieties, ranging from dark and flavourful (but BAD BAD BAD for baking – brownie disaster) to light and without a distinct taste (on the contrary, quite good for baking – decent brownies).
I could talk about food for days, so I’ll move on.
Last week, while doing laundry, I hit my head on a light fixture and it turns out got a small concussion. I realized this when I saw that part of my eye was extremely bloodshot, so I called the PCMO (medical officer). I had sort of forgotten that I’d hit my head, which may have been part of the concussion thing. Anyway, I ended up staying the night at Expat Palace and doing laundry in the machine there. Oh, luxury! The eye cleared up in a few days, but the running joke among some of the PCV’s here is to ask me how many states there are in the Union, from when they were supposed to be on head injury watch for me.
It is also sweet cherry season, to be followed later by sour cherry season. I am almost sick of strawberries and am trying to switch to trying to eat cherries everyday til I’m sick of them, too. Then it will be another fruit’s turn at the market. However, the glut of berries gives me the ability to make berry intensive things like strawberry granita, sort of like gelato and really, really good w/ a little vodka as a slushy cocktail. Mmmm.
Today I also met my local militsia (police). Per PC procedures, my Regional Manager, Irina, and I went to the militsia office just one block from my building and asked to speak to the highest up person we could to introduce me. We got a pretty high up guy judging by his office and suit. He actually was really nice, but I kept having some weird visions of Russian Dragnet, which interfered greatly with my ability to take the proceedings seriously. Like so many things in my experience here, this meeting was one more stop on the surreal highway. Sometimes I am a little overwhelmed or maybe just impressed by the simple facts: I am riding in a Landrover with diplomatic plates, speeding around Kyiv to our next militsia meeting.
Anyway, back to this reality, Officer Friday asked us if we wanted to meet the officer in charge on the blocks where I live, so we went over to a satellite office that just happened to be open for two hours when we were there. Both officers couldn’t seem to believe that we didn’t want anything from our visits, but just to have them know I was here and meet me. They were nice and surprisingly friendly. I’m glad that I already know when to not smile here, as these were meetings to sit and look tough and confident at.
Sometimes I am somewhere that I can see a view over this city and over the grey Soviet apartment blocks, the gilded church domes and the ugly modern brick apartment blocks, a huge blue sky spans and my heart breaks to try to know this place and learn it all. I wish that I could embrace it all and it would become like home to me, but I know it is take time and it will always be other or maybe not or maybe only sometimes.
Time for bed. No more strawberry slushy vodka treats or more slather like the proceeding may follow. Good night.
14 – 16 June
I could smell the strawberries before I could see the bazaar. It was early Sat. morning, the first time that I went to the market before the afternoon. I was surprised that many stalls weren’t yet open at 7:30am. It is strawberry season and when something is in season, the market is flooded.
My vegetable and fruit bazaar is a long tent that covers the many tables of produce. There is a money exchange, a bread seller, a nice young man from Uzbekistan (do I sound like I’m 80?) selling dried fruits and nuts who likes to speak English with me, and then probably 100 or more tables of produce. Outside the tent are more people and sometimes their prices are better, perhaps because they don’t pay a fee to be in the tent. There are always many babushkas (grandmothers) selling flowers, the odd hen, herbs, whatever they could grow or raise somewhere, and as I walk by, they call out, “Deidushka (young woman), come see my (insert product here).”
In addition to the produce bazaar, there is a semi-permanent bazaar that has stalls selling dairy products, crackers and cookies, household cleaners and soaps, etc. There is the best cheese there and every time I go back, I see more sauces, cans of olives, new cookies or crackers.
I bought 2 kilograms of strawberries at the bazaar – a little more than 4 lbs. for about $3. I bought that and also a box of chocolates to bring to Ira and Helena’s house, for on Sat. I was going back to Brovary for the first time since moving to Kyiv. We’ve talked a couple of times on the phone, and Ira invited me for lunch for her birthday. She’d said something about coming in the morning then staying til the evening, but I reminded her how I get tired and that I’d come for the day or so.
When I got home, I realized I’d bought not entirely ripe strawberries and decided to leave those at home to ripen and buy riper ones at the market near Brovary. I packed up my plastic bag and headed out to my first home in Ukraine.
At Lisova market, I found cheaper and riper strawberries and again bought 2 kilos. I was really excited on the familiar marshrutka ride to visit with Ira and Helena. Arriving in Brovary, I bought a pretty bouquet of white lilies, and thus properly armed with chocolate, strawberries and flowers, I walked up to their flat.
I realize in retrospect that going to visit them is the first time since I’ve been here that someone’s really, really happy to see me. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I don’t mean that I’m not making friends, but everyone is new and they just haven’t realized yet the depth of their feelings for me. In time they will, but in the meantime, having Ira and Helena hug and kiss me and generally be super excited to see me was so wonderful.
Helena has gotten a new job in the same department w/ a pay raise and Ira is finishing up her semester as a student and her classes as a teacher have already finished. I found out that on the last day of classes, it is traditional for students to give the teacher a flower. Ira was surprised that she received almost exclusively red roses. They both were very curious about my job, apartment and Helena in particular if I was eating properly.
It turned out that I had completely misunderstood Ira’s invitation, besides the fact that it was Ira’s birthday and that I should come before lunchtime on Sat. They had invited me for the weekend and were planning that I’d stay til Sunday afternoon. I had already arranged w/ Mom for her to phone Sat. night, so couldn’t stay. I felt bad, even though I was sort of glad to not have to stay. One full day is really enough. Always leave them wanting more is my motto.
We had a lovely lunch with: Vica (Ira’s friend), Petr Sr. and Katerina, (great aunt and uncle, but called grandmother and grandfather), Petr Jr. (Petr and Katerina’s grandson who is my age), his girlfriend, Yulia.
Petr Sr. is quite the flirt and told me during lunch that he thinks I’m pretty, but he’d like it if I was bigger. He indicted his chest at this comment, so I think he may have been alluding to something, but maybe I’m misreading cultural symbolism. Kidding, of course, I suppose if he wasn’t cute and old (75) and speaking Russian/Ukrainian, I would label him a pig. He somehow gets immunity from how I usually judge men who tell me I should have bigger boobs. He also kept adding “To our American friends!” to the end of every toast, even when someone else made it. He actually was very entertaining and good natured about the girls giggling at him. (me included, of course)
There were the usual toasts and eating fest and Ira’s favorite sweet, sweet red wine, some kind of rose desert stuff. Helena made golubsi, or cabbage rolls (YUM! Pass the smetana [sour cream]), chicken fillet, young (new) potatoes with dill, parsley and mayo, the crab, corn and onion salad that is Ira’s favorite, as well as cheese blini, cucumbers and then a cake that Helena made, plus the chocolates that I’d brought. A Ukrainian table is always well-laden for guests, and it might be traditional to worry if there’s enough unless the table is utterly choked with food, as Helena did. There of course were copious leftovers.
I was a little nervous about going into a no-English zone after a couple of weeks of no studying and almost exclusive English speaking. It was fine, however, and even Katarina, who has been a strong critic about my Russian, instead of commenting on how poorly I speak and reminding me how much better my friend Carrie speaks, said that I was speaking better than before. Go figure. I think I felt so comfortable w/ everyone that this helped a lot. When I feel scared, nervous or insecure, even things that I know cold come out wrong.
After that lovely day, I headed back to Kyiv and a bad phone connection w/ Mom, but at least I got to hear her voice. This is probably the longest we’ve ever gone without talking and yet it seemed so normal to talk to her. I even managed to stave off tears til after we hung up! I was so proud. Actually, it was a day of conversations with both parents, b/c Dad had phoned me at 2am Sat. morning, having gotten a wee confused about the time difference. It was also nice to hear his voice, despite my tiredness.
I think one isn’t properly living abroad until someone has phoned at an inappropriate hour.
Sat. night I went over to fellow PCV Susan’s “Expat Palace,” a four room renovated flat with kalunka (hot water heater) and cable TV that her organization is putting her up in until they find her a suitable apartment. Brian and Lani were in from out of town and I ended up sleeping over to avoid an expensive taxi ride home. We all made breakfast in the morning and talked and talked and talked. It was lovely. I’ll attach photos shortly of all of us cooking, then talking, then brushing our teeth.
Sunday night I was supposed to talk to Dad while he was visiting with Nanny and Sam was with him, but he couldn’t get through. Sundays are difficult days to phone here.
Monday was an Orthodox Catholic holiday, Holy Trinity, and all weekend in the markets people were selling 3 foot long grassy reeds that were to be put in homes. I need to go to a service here sometime. The churches are really beautiful, round domes and gold covered. The icons are especially beautiful.
I went into work for a half day despite the holiday, as I have a deadline. I’m quite enjoying work and am learning a ton. I am finding that even though I had trepidations about whether I’d find Business Management Education interesting or not, it seems that how it relates to this developing educational and economic systems is utterly fascinating. I may yet be a development junkie.
The organization has two offices and one is directly across from the Presidential Administration and an old building called “the House of Monsters” for all the stone sculptures of bizarre creatures on it. The secret police have an office right next to ours, and their office isn’t labeled (duh, SECRET police) but there is a sign for shoe repair. I thought it was a cover and was telling one of my coworkers about seeing a man go in with shoes in a bag, but she told me it also is a real shoe repair. It’s still a great cover.
I will get to go to a retreat for our organization in Odesa the last weekend of June, ahem, my birthday!! I am very, really excited to explore beyond Kyiv Oblast. Odesa is supposed to be a beautiful, vibrant city and I’m staying 2 days beyond our retreat at a fellow PCV’s apt.
I could smell the strawberries before I could see the bazaar. It was early Sat. morning, the first time that I went to the market before the afternoon. I was surprised that many stalls weren’t yet open at 7:30am. It is strawberry season and when something is in season, the market is flooded.
My vegetable and fruit bazaar is a long tent that covers the many tables of produce. There is a money exchange, a bread seller, a nice young man from Uzbekistan (do I sound like I’m 80?) selling dried fruits and nuts who likes to speak English with me, and then probably 100 or more tables of produce. Outside the tent are more people and sometimes their prices are better, perhaps because they don’t pay a fee to be in the tent. There are always many babushkas (grandmothers) selling flowers, the odd hen, herbs, whatever they could grow or raise somewhere, and as I walk by, they call out, “Deidushka (young woman), come see my (insert product here).”
In addition to the produce bazaar, there is a semi-permanent bazaar that has stalls selling dairy products, crackers and cookies, household cleaners and soaps, etc. There is the best cheese there and every time I go back, I see more sauces, cans of olives, new cookies or crackers.
I bought 2 kilograms of strawberries at the bazaar – a little more than 4 lbs. for about $3. I bought that and also a box of chocolates to bring to Ira and Helena’s house, for on Sat. I was going back to Brovary for the first time since moving to Kyiv. We’ve talked a couple of times on the phone, and Ira invited me for lunch for her birthday. She’d said something about coming in the morning then staying til the evening, but I reminded her how I get tired and that I’d come for the day or so.
When I got home, I realized I’d bought not entirely ripe strawberries and decided to leave those at home to ripen and buy riper ones at the market near Brovary. I packed up my plastic bag and headed out to my first home in Ukraine.
At Lisova market, I found cheaper and riper strawberries and again bought 2 kilos. I was really excited on the familiar marshrutka ride to visit with Ira and Helena. Arriving in Brovary, I bought a pretty bouquet of white lilies, and thus properly armed with chocolate, strawberries and flowers, I walked up to their flat.
I realize in retrospect that going to visit them is the first time since I’ve been here that someone’s really, really happy to see me. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I don’t mean that I’m not making friends, but everyone is new and they just haven’t realized yet the depth of their feelings for me. In time they will, but in the meantime, having Ira and Helena hug and kiss me and generally be super excited to see me was so wonderful.
Helena has gotten a new job in the same department w/ a pay raise and Ira is finishing up her semester as a student and her classes as a teacher have already finished. I found out that on the last day of classes, it is traditional for students to give the teacher a flower. Ira was surprised that she received almost exclusively red roses. They both were very curious about my job, apartment and Helena in particular if I was eating properly.
It turned out that I had completely misunderstood Ira’s invitation, besides the fact that it was Ira’s birthday and that I should come before lunchtime on Sat. They had invited me for the weekend and were planning that I’d stay til Sunday afternoon. I had already arranged w/ Mom for her to phone Sat. night, so couldn’t stay. I felt bad, even though I was sort of glad to not have to stay. One full day is really enough. Always leave them wanting more is my motto.
We had a lovely lunch with: Vica (Ira’s friend), Petr Sr. and Katerina, (great aunt and uncle, but called grandmother and grandfather), Petr Jr. (Petr and Katerina’s grandson who is my age), his girlfriend, Yulia.
Petr Sr. is quite the flirt and told me during lunch that he thinks I’m pretty, but he’d like it if I was bigger. He indicted his chest at this comment, so I think he may have been alluding to something, but maybe I’m misreading cultural symbolism. Kidding, of course, I suppose if he wasn’t cute and old (75) and speaking Russian/Ukrainian, I would label him a pig. He somehow gets immunity from how I usually judge men who tell me I should have bigger boobs. He also kept adding “To our American friends!” to the end of every toast, even when someone else made it. He actually was very entertaining and good natured about the girls giggling at him. (me included, of course)
There were the usual toasts and eating fest and Ira’s favorite sweet, sweet red wine, some kind of rose desert stuff. Helena made golubsi, or cabbage rolls (YUM! Pass the smetana [sour cream]), chicken fillet, young (new) potatoes with dill, parsley and mayo, the crab, corn and onion salad that is Ira’s favorite, as well as cheese blini, cucumbers and then a cake that Helena made, plus the chocolates that I’d brought. A Ukrainian table is always well-laden for guests, and it might be traditional to worry if there’s enough unless the table is utterly choked with food, as Helena did. There of course were copious leftovers.
I was a little nervous about going into a no-English zone after a couple of weeks of no studying and almost exclusive English speaking. It was fine, however, and even Katarina, who has been a strong critic about my Russian, instead of commenting on how poorly I speak and reminding me how much better my friend Carrie speaks, said that I was speaking better than before. Go figure. I think I felt so comfortable w/ everyone that this helped a lot. When I feel scared, nervous or insecure, even things that I know cold come out wrong.
After that lovely day, I headed back to Kyiv and a bad phone connection w/ Mom, but at least I got to hear her voice. This is probably the longest we’ve ever gone without talking and yet it seemed so normal to talk to her. I even managed to stave off tears til after we hung up! I was so proud. Actually, it was a day of conversations with both parents, b/c Dad had phoned me at 2am Sat. morning, having gotten a wee confused about the time difference. It was also nice to hear his voice, despite my tiredness.
I think one isn’t properly living abroad until someone has phoned at an inappropriate hour.
Sat. night I went over to fellow PCV Susan’s “Expat Palace,” a four room renovated flat with kalunka (hot water heater) and cable TV that her organization is putting her up in until they find her a suitable apartment. Brian and Lani were in from out of town and I ended up sleeping over to avoid an expensive taxi ride home. We all made breakfast in the morning and talked and talked and talked. It was lovely. I’ll attach photos shortly of all of us cooking, then talking, then brushing our teeth.
Sunday night I was supposed to talk to Dad while he was visiting with Nanny and Sam was with him, but he couldn’t get through. Sundays are difficult days to phone here.
Monday was an Orthodox Catholic holiday, Holy Trinity, and all weekend in the markets people were selling 3 foot long grassy reeds that were to be put in homes. I need to go to a service here sometime. The churches are really beautiful, round domes and gold covered. The icons are especially beautiful.
I went into work for a half day despite the holiday, as I have a deadline. I’m quite enjoying work and am learning a ton. I am finding that even though I had trepidations about whether I’d find Business Management Education interesting or not, it seems that how it relates to this developing educational and economic systems is utterly fascinating. I may yet be a development junkie.
The organization has two offices and one is directly across from the Presidential Administration and an old building called “the House of Monsters” for all the stone sculptures of bizarre creatures on it. The secret police have an office right next to ours, and their office isn’t labeled (duh, SECRET police) but there is a sign for shoe repair. I thought it was a cover and was telling one of my coworkers about seeing a man go in with shoes in a bag, but she told me it also is a real shoe repair. It’s still a great cover.
I will get to go to a retreat for our organization in Odesa the last weekend of June, ahem, my birthday!! I am very, really excited to explore beyond Kyiv Oblast. Odesa is supposed to be a beautiful, vibrant city and I’m staying 2 days beyond our retreat at a fellow PCV’s apt.
2 – 8 June
The first week I was going to work, Carrie, fellow PCV, stayed with me. She's probably the person I’ve gotten to know best and it was fun to have her to ruminate over the events at work and process it all. She is also a development junkie, but unlike me, has been studying it in earnest for some time now and is a delight to talk about all the complexities, contradictions, abuses, trends, meanings, etc., of development work and being an American.
We cooked, hung out, listened to music, read, and generally enjoyed time in a free space, that is my apartment and not home stay.
On Sat. 7 June, Carrie and I went to a festival organized by the other NGO that my organization’s Ukrainian director runs. It was held at an open air museum that consists of houses and villages constructed to replicate traditional housing from different Ukrainian regions. It is a beautiful area away from the city, all green, rolling hills, horses and wooden homes with thatch roofs. I want to go back to picnic sometime soon.
We spent more time wandering around the grounds and eating shashlik (shishkabobs) so I can’t report authoritatively on the festival, but there were tons of people in Ukrainian traditional dress and craftspeople selling their wares. Lots of beautiful but expensive embroidered fabric and clothes.
To get to the festival, I had been told a marshrutka to take, but this info turned out to be wrong. No one on the street knew anything, so we started stopping other marshrutkas and asking them. We weren’t sure how this would be received, but to our utter gratitude, not only were the marshrutka drivers perfectly happy to stop their vans and try to figure out where we should go, the passengers got into the act.
Then we got on the bus they directed us to, asking the driver and his ticket taker how to get from their route to the museum. They not only didn’t ask us to pay, but the ticket taker walked us to the next transport, an electriska (electric trolley bus) to make sure we would get to the right one. I was surprised at this care, for sometimes people seem hard and unmoved, particularly in this big city.
The first week I was going to work, Carrie, fellow PCV, stayed with me. She's probably the person I’ve gotten to know best and it was fun to have her to ruminate over the events at work and process it all. She is also a development junkie, but unlike me, has been studying it in earnest for some time now and is a delight to talk about all the complexities, contradictions, abuses, trends, meanings, etc., of development work and being an American.
We cooked, hung out, listened to music, read, and generally enjoyed time in a free space, that is my apartment and not home stay.
On Sat. 7 June, Carrie and I went to a festival organized by the other NGO that my organization’s Ukrainian director runs. It was held at an open air museum that consists of houses and villages constructed to replicate traditional housing from different Ukrainian regions. It is a beautiful area away from the city, all green, rolling hills, horses and wooden homes with thatch roofs. I want to go back to picnic sometime soon.
We spent more time wandering around the grounds and eating shashlik (shishkabobs) so I can’t report authoritatively on the festival, but there were tons of people in Ukrainian traditional dress and craftspeople selling their wares. Lots of beautiful but expensive embroidered fabric and clothes.
To get to the festival, I had been told a marshrutka to take, but this info turned out to be wrong. No one on the street knew anything, so we started stopping other marshrutkas and asking them. We weren’t sure how this would be received, but to our utter gratitude, not only were the marshrutka drivers perfectly happy to stop their vans and try to figure out where we should go, the passengers got into the act.
Then we got on the bus they directed us to, asking the driver and his ticket taker how to get from their route to the museum. They not only didn’t ask us to pay, but the ticket taker walked us to the next transport, an electriska (electric trolley bus) to make sure we would get to the right one. I was surprised at this care, for sometimes people seem hard and unmoved, particularly in this big city.
