Walking back today from the morning walk with Sydney, I looked over and saw something brightly colored in a small lot that is in front of a neighboring building. Formerly, the lot was full of rusting playground equipment and surprisingly minimal trash, some junkie graffiti. Today, there is a beautiful, brightly colored, brand spanking new children’s playground set up. A lemon yellow daisy towers over a sand box, there are swings, slides, those climby things kids love. The sunny beauty of it, juxtaposed with the gray day and all the depressing sights in this post-Soviet landscape just broke my heart with its implied hope for the future.

Living here, sometimes only when I leave do I realize how thick the mood is, how little hope people have sometimes, how much their spirits have been crushed, generation after generation.

That said, of course there are hopeful people and events here, but this overall spirit is part of what made last year’s Orange Revolution so special and dear in our hearts – what is more hopeful and forward thinking than revolution?

I stood and gazed in wonder at the playground, tears rolling down my cheeks, each one carrying the weight of what I see each day, what I hear. Thursday night’s taxi driver, a former sports champion during Soviet times, telling me, “There is no future for my children. We have no hope.” And me pressing a paltry extra 5 hryvna in his hand and saying, “I believe there is a future in Ukraine for your children. Goodbye, good luck.”

The last time we left the country, in September to go to Ireland, I walked through the Amsterdam airport, on the verge of tears (ok, anyone who knows me knows I’m rather easy to tear up, so please take these tales of woe with that caveat) just for being in a place where it feels like everything is ok.

Of course, everything is not ok in any one country, but the outward trappings of an airport where nice things are for sale and services run pretty smoothly is a start, a balm for the soul. Sometimes I feel like a wimp for feeling thus, but whatever, I’ve put in nearly three years working and living here so I must not be too wimpy.

There’s also something intrinsically different about the way people are here. It’s not just the famous Slavic not smiling, many European cultures aren’t smilers the way Americans are. There’s something I don’t pretend is quantifiable or in any way perhaps not in my head, about the spirit of Ukrainians.

I feel a weight, an old wound, a darkness that shrouds this place, at the same time as there is great beauty and ancient, ancient history. Perhaps the antiquity of this civilization is part of the darkness. Few old things stick around without hurts and aches and deep secrets. Maybe it’s hard on someone from a young and comparatively naïve culture to live in an old one that’s been beat around for a few centuries.

I do believe there is some truth to the idea that the history of oppression, misery and just plain geographical bad luck affects today’s Ukrainian. If every generation has had some major loss, back to time immemorial, certainly this must affect how people view the world, how and what they teach their children, how their governments are run, what food they eat.

I’m babbling. It’s time for a proper coffee and to begin this Saturday.

Walking through the metro, Friday afternoon in November. First I go down the stairs, dodging people, passing a small, non-descript puppy drugged and sleeping on the stairs, small hair clips in his fur, a sign in front of it asking for money to be put in a hat. Then past the pretty girls, slender, teetering on heeled boots with zippers, dangling bits of fur and heels thin and pointy enough to be weapons.

The underpass is crowded with people smoking, selling flowers, tables full of random electronics. I pass the long line of maybe 15 flower sellers, a woman seated on a low stool wrapping a new bouquet. In front of the line of flowers are women beckoning to passersby, “Come see our roses. Please look at this bouquet.”

The underground is a warren of tunnels, rows of shops set into the walls, small fast food restaurants selling baked potatoes, pizza and Ukrainian food. After the flower sellers, I pass by the entrance to the metro station, Maidan Nezhalesnosti. People stream in and out of the entrance and exit doors, the heavy glass doors that are nicknamed the “widow-makers.”

Along the glass wall that separates the entrance and exit to the metro is empty but for a line of people lounging against it, looking rather worse for the wear, smoking, drinking, some visibly drunk. Today there’s a young woman holding an older woman who is crying and repeating a phrase I can’t catch amid the low hum of thousands of conversations around me.

Past the metro doors, the portrait artists have their easels and portfolios set up. Amidst the photorealist portraits of attractive women and adorable children is the occasional model. I’ve never seen anyone sit for a drawing but someone must sometime.

After the artists is a table full of partially cured sheepskins, white and black, one cream color.

Soon I’m already at the stairs leading back up the street, having crossed a major intersection diagonally via the underground passage. The night is cold and slightly foggy.

It is just after work so many people are walking along Kyiv’s main street, Khreshiatik, talking, sitting at small outdoor cafes, smoking and drinking beer or coffee. The kiosks are on the right hand side, while shops line the left side. Khreshiatik is famous for the chestnut trees that line the pedestrian part.

Across from Tsum (the former Soviet department store, Central Universal Store), Christopher is waiting for me. We walk to a local restaurant for dinner. OK, I’m feeling homesick, so we sup at TGIF on substandard American fare in a kitschy decorated restaurant with the standard techno music washing over us all.

Random note from today. Lately, we have received hundreds packages of information materials, books, brochures, posters, etc. As a result, we’ve asked for lifting help from the guards at our office, who work twenty four hours day, seven days a week.

While they’re not employed by IOM, they are super friendly and helpful, and always go out of their way to go above and beyond their job description, something not always present in a post-Soviet work force. (No one got fired during Soviet times, unless one was a political dissident, then “firing” meant off to the gulag.)

The IOM office has four floors and we often are moving things from the basement to the third floor, where my office is. It’s a lot of stairs. Those guards aren’t spring chickens.

It struck me as very indicative of my life here as I was writing a reminder into my mobile that reads, “Buy vodka for guards.”

I no longer remember if giving thank you gifts is as important in the U.S. as here, but in Ukraine, it’s crucial to maintaining relationships. If it were a woman I was giving a gift to, I would give some scented lotion, flowers or chocolates. (Have I rhapsodized enough in this space about the wondrous substance that is Ukrainian chocolate?)

However, for a man whose hobbies I don’t know, vodka is the gift of choice. :-)

I write this in our kitchen. Tonight we renegotiated rent with our landlady, Svetlana, the eccentric pianist you’ve seen portraits of. She surprised us by not asking for something exorbinant, as we had expected. We managed to agree on a very reasonable rent.

I love our flat. It’s funky and while I regularly curse the old toiler smell that no amount of bleach can banish for longer than a few hours, it’s big, comfortable and a fabulous location. I can walk to work in 20 minutes, we’re near a lovely park, and two metro stations.

We overlook a small tree grove between a Soviet behemoth building, part of the Arsenalna complex, and a noveau-riche apartment highrise.. The sun hits the trees at dusk, now at 9pm due to our northern latitude, and the highrise’s glass panels reflect the sunset.

Sydney is laying at our feet, Christopher is playing his PSP, latest toy, and showing me how cool it. We’re listening to new Beastie Boys and BBQ is cooking on the stove, sauce courtesy of a friend who had it shipped from Georgia.

This life is so comfortable now. I still am in love with the international mixture of daily life, despite the concurrent daily frustrations of living in said international environment.

I wonder if one day I won’t love it anymore, but in the meantime, I’m so lucky to get to do this and that I have Christopher who supports me in it.

It has been a very long time since I posted here. Some of you have complained and is gratifying to me to anyone reads my words with interest. Much has happened, so I’ll give a brief update before a longer treatise about recent travels, soon to be accompanied by photos.

• Orange Revolution. I work and live in downtown Kyiv, so walked through Maidan Nezholeshnosti (Independence Square that you likely saw on TV if you saw any news coverage of the revolution) nearly every day in Nov. & Dec. ‘04. You can read tons about the revolution online, so I’ll just focus on my experiences. The spirit of people on the street was so beautiful and hopeful during this time. I was so grateful to be here to see what Ukrainians are capable of, to see a people stand up and quietly and firmly say “No more” to that level of corruption. Some highlights that I observed while walking around, which I did many days and nights:
• Being asked by upteen Ukrainians if I was here to support the revolution, after they’d heard me speaking English on the street. I would always reply, “yes” because in a roundabout way, I am here for that sort of support, just that I came a year and a half early.
• Inadvertently ending up in a line that turned out to be for the “tea and cookies” tent on Maidan and receiving said treats. (the organization was such that there were food stations, medical tents, prayer tents among other basic services provided to the thousands of protestors all along Khreshiatik Boulevard – after having spent a year and a half thinking that Ukraine wasn’t a culture very used to planning, the fast and efficient organization to support protestors was awesome)
• Watching and listening to Ukrainians shouting, “Police are with the people!” to hundreds riot police as they filed out of more than 25 buses to protect the Presidential Administration building. Later, a snow truck was stopped by protestors that had documents being smuggled out under a blanket of snow from this building.
• Seeing all the people from all over Ukraine walk around and sightsee in Kyiv while they were here to camp out on Khreshiatik. Many Ukrainians can’t afford to travel and for them to come to Kyiv was a big trip.
• Getting chills listening to everyone around me sing the national anthem almost every day on Maidan.
• Watching all the impromptu groups of citizens form to talk about the days events on the street. There was such a strong sense of community and camaraderie during this time even among strangers.
• Peace Corps service ended on 27 April 2005.
• I continue to work at the International Organization for Migration (IOM - www.iom.org.ua). I’ve been working there since Feb. 04 as the Public Information Officer and will continue to do this job, just no longer as a PCV. I love my work and still can’t believe some one actually pays me to do this job. I also am particularly grateful not be facing the “now what?” question so many PCV’s face after service ends.
• We just got a dog! Sydney is a 2 year old chocolate lab that our missionary friends, the Buckaways, needed to rehome for a year while they return to the U.S. She’s so sweet and is my first dog who is somewhat easy and calm. :-) No offense to my dear, dear Hawk-star, who is living the good life in Southern California with Christopher’s parents, Gerry and Donna.
• Apropos of nothing, I learned that one is only supposed to have one space between sentences. Because I learned to type on a typewriter, I didn’t learn until now that when typing on a computer, there’s only one space.

Now on to recent travels…

Odesa

Christopher and I went to Odesa for the long Orthodox Easter weekend. We took the train down and as usual the inexplicable “Train Hunger” hit me shortly after boarding our kupe (2^nd class cabin for 4 people).

Let me explain. I have found that as soon as the train starts rollin’ down the tracks, I get a powerful hunger. Sweets, salty snacks, whole picnics are required to sate my appetite. Luckily, I had planned for this eventuality and had a bag chock full of chips, fruit, chocolate and my obsession, sour skittles.

Perhaps some of you readers don’t know about Ukrainian trains. In general, they are great, comfortable, efficient in that one travels at night, waking at destination.

We always travel “kupay” (2^nd class compartments) but buy all 4 seats so not to risk companionship with those drinking, smelly, farting or snoring, all of which I experienced before. You first find your train car, then show your tickets to the conductor. Then you haul up the little ladder, enter the narrow hallway of the car and find your compartment.

If traveling w/ strangers, you identify your bunk, upper or lower, right or left, then stash your stuff. After the train gets going, the conductor will come around to collect tickets and ask if you want to purchase sheets. Sometime later, she/he returns with the sheets and asks if you’d like to buy some beer, tea, coffee, cappuccino (horrible instant stuff from a packet, lest you dream of some fancy barrista brewing frothy coffee beverages).

There is a coal-burning stove at one end of each car, which smells delicious if you like the smell of coal burning and I do. Each car has its own conductor and I’ve found them to be friendly and efficient.

The only real downside to traveling by Ukrainian train is the bathrooms, which seem to get rather wet as the trip goes on and sometimes it’s not water. The toilets flush directly onto the tracks. Ick.

We arrived early in lovely Odesa and got to the hotel recommended by our friend, Lani. I’d called ahead to reserve a room and upon checking in, found that they still employ an old Soviet “business” practice of charging 50% more for the privilege of doing so.

When the hotel clerk was explaining this to me, I had a moment I have sometimes when I hear something inexplicable and don’t think I understand the Russian. But in reality, I just don’t understand the concept of what is being said. After checking some essential vocab in the dictionary, I confirmed that indeed the Hotel Passage does charge 50% of the room’s price for reserving ahead of time.

Still, the Passage is a lovely grand dame, right downtown and a huge old building with a grand, marble staircase and ceilings to heaven. The room was large, the bathroom basic and “un-remonted” (remont is Russian for “remodel”) and we had to push together two twin beds. There were lovely windows that I sat in to read and watch the busy street below.

The hotel is right across from an Orthodox church that has recently been rebuilt after being destroyed by Stalin. When we went in the Saturday before Easter, there were workmen still sanding and drilling to finish the elaborate main alter.

We spent three days walking around Odesa, eating lavishly and enjoying the luxuriously decaying city. A southern port city, it reminds me of another decadent and slightly decaying French city, New Orleans.

One day, while photographing the old Governer’s mansion, also not yet remonted since independence, a woman approached me and asked why I was taking pictures of that building. I sort of expected her to launch into the history of the building, because this has happened to me in other places in Ukraine. People are often very knowledgeable about and proud of their history, deservedly so.

This woman, however, really wanted to know why I wasn’t taking pictures of things that were, in her words, “Truly beautiful.” I told her that I believed that this building, which while closed was really not under such bad repair, was “truly beautiful.” I had been trying to capture the symmetry and beauty of a long set of columns in a portico. She said in a rather aggressive tone that I was another one of those foreigners who took pictures as keepsakes to show people back home how ugly Ukraine was.

I was surprised by her tone and accusations and wish in retrospect I’d broken out the oldy but goody that I use when people bewilderedly ask why I’m here when America so much better? I always say that each place is different and that in America we also have problems with poverty and freedom and basically that the U.S. isn’t a perfect place. Here I would have added that some of our historic buildings aren't in good repair.

Western Ukraine

After Odesa, we returned back to Kyiv and I met with my friends, Lani and Brian, also Peace Corps Volunteers, who served in Chernihiv, a town a two hours drive north of Kyiv.

Brian was sick, so he backed out on our trip, but Lani and I boarded a train bound for Uzhgorod the same day Christopher and I returned from Odesa.

We had prepared for the train hunger, including a bottle of not entirely dry local white wine. Lani and I sat and talked until sleep overcame us.

We woke in the morning to beautiful green scenery rolling by. The Ukrainian Carpathians are round, old mountains, and somewhat remind me of the North Carolina Smokey Mountains.

Our first destination was Uzhgorod, very near the borders with Slovakia and Hungary. It’s a beautiful old city that was until World War II part of the Austria-Hungarian Empire. People there speak Ukrainian, Hungarian, and a dialect of Ukrainian specific to the region that is very melodic.

We went to a sanotorium that I’ve stayed at before, Svitok, which is on a road that is locally known as “Millionaire’s Row” for the big houses that line the winding uphill. There’s a little café across the street that serves good coffee for less than a dollar and it’s an easy walk to downtown and the castle in town.

I remembered from my last trip to Uzhgorod that there was a local crafts store and Lani and I went there. I bought a beautiful piece of hand made pottery from a local “master.”

There’s a great central market that sells amazing bread, veggies, fruit and cheese. On the outskirts of the market sellers were lined up selling plants for gardens and dachas and it was fun to walk along and identify veggies, herbs and various bushes.

We later went to the castle which also has a museum in it with several interesting exhibitions. The castle houses an Orthodox monastery and has several rooms with furniture from the bishop who lived there. In each room in Ukrainian museums there is usually an old lady who guards the room. They often sit on chairs at the corner of their room and read, knit and watch museum goers.

In this room, the guard lady was friendly and began to tell Lani and me about the room and general history of the castle. She started in Ukrainian but switched to accent-less Russian once we spoke Russian to her. After the history part, she asked us where we are from and then we asked her about her family and life in Uzhgorod. Her husband in Soviet times worked at a factory (I can’t remember what kind now) and her son still lives in town. They have a dacha outside of town she said, pointing to nearby hills visible from the window in the room where we stood. She told us about a better time during Soviet rule, a time of affordable kolbasa and milk, of health care and yearly vacations.

We then went upstairs to a room with Carpathian musical instruments. There is a form of bagpipe and lots of string instruments, as well as long horns that remind me of something from the Alps.

My favorite room has clothes from different parts of the area – beautiful embroidered shirts, belts, pants and skirts. There are bulky jackets made from shorn sheep skins. I was struck by how similar indigenous embroidery is in disparate parts of the world. Think of Andes, Central American, Thai, Southwestern American tribal handiwork. Side by side with this art, there are so many similarities.

After the castle, we went down to a little café called, “Under the Castle” mentioned in Lonely Planet. There we had a form of goulash that was super yummy. The toilet for the café was in a little room just off the narrow, cobbled stone street.

We wandered around town for a few more hours, Lani buying some kids books for her nieces that teach the Russian alphabet. We arranged to meet a Peace Corps volunteer working in Uzhgorod at a river-side café that I remembered serving cold beer on tap and good “shashlik” (meat shish kabobs marinated and grilled). While waiting for Tom to arrive, two young university students began to talk to us. Speaking Ukrainian, they asked us if we liked the “holupsti” in Ukraine.

I heard the word for “dove” that also refers to the cabbage rolls dish, but Lani told me it was another Ukrainian word, slang for “guys.” I sort of realized these kids were picking us up and after two years of little male attention in that way, I was kind of shocked. They asked us if we wanted to walk around town with them and then they’d show us the best disco in town, much better than anything in Kyiv, they assured us.

We declined the offer, but chatted with them for a while. I just have no practice flirting in Russian, unlike Spanish, as I got a lot of practice in Costa Rica, where the men were much more attentive, to a fault really.

Mukachevo

From Uzhgorod, we took a marshrutka to Mukachevo. This western city has a really nicely maintained castle and is larger than Uzhgorod. It wasn’t as friendly and we’d heard that it has a sizable mafia presence, due to the close by border and all the power running a border crossing brings.

We dropped our bags off at the temporary storage place by the railway station, bought tickets for the afternoon electrishka (electric train) to Lviv and moved on to explore Mukachevo for a few hours.

We found a friendly café to try another kind of goulash and some homemade kolbasa. We made our way to the castle by another marshrutka and climbed up the hill to it, overlooking a valley with small churches shining gold in the sunshine and cozy homes overrun with green around them.

The castle was one of the few historic, tourist-oriented places I’ve been to in Ukraine that had more than a smidgen of information written in English. In fact, not only English, but also Hungarian and Slovakian. I was impressed.

Back to the train station after escaping a sudden downpour into a “produktiy” (food store) for train supplies (food, wine, water). There on the walls of the train station were posters for pesticides to eradicate the dreaded “Colorado potato beetle.”

Often when I tell people here I lived in Colorado, people would launch into the scourge of the beetle from Colorado. In Soviet times, urban myth had it that this pest was intentionally introduced into the Soviet Union by America to ruin the agriculture might of the people. People still scold me sometimes, usually jokingly.

On the electrishka, we were told that the tickets we had bought for 1^st class seats for the 6 hour ride were actually for 2^nd class. The train cars were packed and the conductor assured us that when a 1^st class seat was available, we could move up and pay the difference.

We found our seats and began to put bags above our heads. Two women, appearing to be mother and daughter sat in the two seats opposite ours. As we arranged bags, the older lady began to fret that there was no man to put our bags up and how could two women manage. The daughter very adroitly tried to distract her mom with jokes. After hearing us speak English, the mother began to question why we weren’t in first class.

I was also beginning to feel grumbly and pouty, but tried to not fall into that spoiled foreigner way of thinking, of wanting to be in the nicest place and have as little to do with the locals as possible. The 2^nd class seats were quite comfortable and in the end we started talking to the older lady. She had the normal questions about us, and then began to tell us about her family. She told us about her two daughters, one of whom she was traveling with. The one they had just visited is an “invalid,” or disabled in Russian. The woman told us about a protestant church that had a minister who’d healed her daughter to the point where she could walk.

Apparently, the other daughter was also slightly disabled, but the lady said that despite this, “She was a quick learner” and was a teacher.

Soon after, the conductress came to move us to 1^st class seats and the mother shot a look at her daughter and said, “I told you so!” Sometimes it’s funny to hear something so familiar in another language and cultural context.

The 1^st class seats were in the dining car, which had big windows and tables. The afternoon light began to grow long and we were passing through the mountains. We had a train feast – cheese, bread, “bear’s blood” wine, tomatoes and cucumbers. As we began to cut and assemble our feast, a parade of people started through the car, gypsies looking for money or food. There also were Roma families traveling that weren’t begging.

I decided to give a trio of kids some bread and cheese early on, not yet having caught on that there would be a steady stream of hungry kids. As I was getting the offering together, a big guy speaking Russian on the other side of the car began yelling at the kids to leave. When I handed them the food he bellowed loudly at me, “Don’t do that!”

I told him that I would do what I wanted. He asked me if he came to my country, would I feed him, too? We exchanged a few more words then stopped. I think he was angry because he’d been telling the kids to leave, then I undermined him by giving them food. Whatever.

Later, when Lani was photographing the scenery and us on the train, the same loud, drunk guy came over and wanted us to take a photo. He ended up sitting with us the rest of the way, sharing his homemade wine and alternately squeezing in beside me or Lani on the one person benches.

He was gregarious in a way that reminded me of Latinos more than Slavs and while he wouldn’t tell us directly what his job was, he would say he worked for the military. He was dressed in western-style clothes and had a Scottish business school Tshirt on.

I think his name was Sergiy, but honestly, I don’t remember. He was very suspicious about the whole “Peace Corps Volunteer” gig and I don’t think we adequately convinced him we weren’t making big bank in Ukraine. He kept asking, what do you get out of it?

As the trip wore on, and the bottle emptied, Mr. Personality began to get a little touchy feely. I know, big shock. He also kept giving me noogies, so when he got up to say goodbye to a friend, I scooted over so Lani could share in the joy if he returned.

He of course did return and began anew to noogie and even to attempt kisses. Ugh.

Lviv

When the elektrishka arrived in Lviv, he grabbed Lani’s bag and we all began to walk towards the city. At some point, he began to get really aggressive, demanding we come with him. I distracted him, laughing and jumping around until I was able to get Lani’s bag away from him.

I then grabbed Lani and we ran to a taxi, while Mr. Secret Drunk Guy ranted and stalked off. I didn’t know the address where we were going, and had dropped my phone earlier and it wasn’t working properly so couldn’t call our friend Nancy to get directions., I had to sms her, much slower.

While I had hoped to jump in a taxi and speed away, we instead sat in the taxi while I tried to get across that we needed to go towards the center and that the guy over there was threatening us.

It was really funny, b/c we didn’t go anywhere for a while and by the time we did, Dorkface had disappeared anyway.

Once we did get started, the taxi broke down about two minutes from the train station. The taxi driver got on his CB radio and said, “My taxi has broken down and my clients don’t know. Please send another car quickly.”

Yeah, stupid foreigners think it is normal for the taxi engine to sputter, then to stop in the middle of a dark road while the taxi driver tries to restart his car. I guess he thought we were unaware because we were so calm and laughing.

To his credit, very quickly a working car pulled up and took us to our destination.

We arrived at our friend, Nancy’s corner and she was waiting for us. Nancy is the consummate host, so despite the hour (nearly midnight), she was ready to chat about our travels and get us properly accommodated.

Lviv has running water 4 hours per day – 2 hours in the morning and 2 hours in the early evening. Nancy has a system of buckets and pails full of water for the rest of the day, for washing faces and hands, for flushing the toilet, etc.

Lutsk

After Lviv, we took a marshrutka to Lutsk with our friend, Devon. On the marshrutka was a seriously drunk guy whose village Ukrainian I couldn’t even begin to decipher. He was very interested in Devon and his nose was bloody and the stench on him was deep, old and lifted by the under note of digested vodka. As he got off the marshrutka along the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere, I saw he was clutching a large bag of beet seeds, or all they called something else besides seeds?

Anyway, we had but a few hours in Lutsk before our train left to return to Kyiv. We spent it exploring the really charming city, supposedly very much like a Polish town, and the lovely castle there. Sort of by mistake we took a tour of the catacombs of a local Catholic cathedral. The tour was given by a darling young girl who kept switching into Ukrainian from Russian, despite trying to speak Russian with Lani and me.

In the evening, we boarded the last of our trains to come east, to home, to Kyiv.

A Piano Lesson with Svetlana Petrovna

As you may have seen in photos of our flat, we have a piano and our landlady, Svetlana Petrovna, is a concert pianist. We have three portraits of her in the living room depicting her playing the piano.

She is a bit effusive and often said when picking up rent that she’d like to teach me to play the piano and that she wanted Christopher to teach her to speak English. I just thought it something she said, but last week she called and asked me to come to the “conservatroi” (said as if in French, despite that we were speaking Russian) for a lesson. I accepted, but must admit to feeling not entirely up for it, unsure how it would be. I enjoy her brief visits to the apartment, but was a little leery of spending quality time. Plus I’ve just started taking lessons again with a lovely woman named Luda, and felt like it might be too much.

However, we pay a fabulous price for this place, so I thought it in our best interest.

A couple of nights ago, she dropped by the apartment to pick up rent. We had a few friends over for dinner and she stayed, drank a glass of wine, then entertained us with three or four songs. She plays very well and is quite dramatic at the keyboard. It was lovely and doubly entertaining to have her playing live and with the paintings of her playing all around us.

Today, I found the National Academy of Music after some trial and error. I first went to what I thought was the academy, but saw it was the Federation for Russian Writers. I asked a man smoking outside if he knew where the Academy was and in broken English and some Russian, he explained where it was. He looked the part of disheveled writer, hair mussed and unwashed, and apologized in Russian that he hadn’t spoken English in ten years.

From there I found the academy. The “conservetroi” has a beautifully restored exterior and is on a street with many luxe shops and cafes. Inside it has a broad staircase and I climbed to the third floor and found Svetlana in studio 49, as promised.

She was with another woman and I told them I would wait until the finished. The woman turned out to be a vocalist and sang a few opera tunes as they rehearsed for an upcoming concert. I sat behind them watching the sunset over the buildings opposite us and listened as they quickly ran through three or four songs. Afterwards, Svetlana gave me some music to study and promised to return soon.

I wrote out the notes, as I’m still not very comfortable reading music and went through the song a bit. She returned and she showed me hand positions. The other woman returned and while they discussed some matters, I practiced more. Then they asked me to resolve a debate about whether the ribbon pin the other woman was wearing was for “Anti-AIDS” or something else. This is when I realized I don’t know “breast cancer” in Russian and had to pantomime something to that effect. Then they asked me which colors meant what, and I explained that at least in the U.S., pink is for breast cancer and red is for HIV/AIDS.

After that, Svetlana took me through two songs and with her accompanying me, the music sounded so beautiful and professional! It turns out she is a great teacher and we had a lot of fun. I’m excited to continue with her and I’ll keep studying with Luda also. It’s sort of like a double lesson, as neither speak English. The only problem is that they use “do ree me fa so la” instead of “c d e, etc.” for notes, but I’ll get it eventually. Well, that’s not the only problem, in that music theory vocabulary I don’t even know in English, but again, whatever. I came to be challenged and a little uncomfortable and so I will be!

A couple of weeks after returning to Ukraine, we planned a reception. We invited close to 50 people, friends from our work, from Peace Corps, etc. I catered it myself and was lucky to have a couple of girlfriends help me cook and shop, as well as Christopher’s shopping, cleaning and arranging the apartment. The day of the reception, I came home at lunch to finish cooking, put the food out, etc.

About 40 or so people came throughout the evening. I was really honored that so many of the people I work with came. Even though we specified in the invite that we didn’t want presents, people of course brought them. A couple that were really highlights: several of my coworkers brought us a painted container of salt and an embroidered fabric. Ukrainians love to give long, elaborate speeches and toasts, as I’ve likely mentioned before. Lecia, a very sweet coworker, represented the salt-gifters and told us how salt is representative of many things in a marriage – seasoning, that life will not always be sweet, prosperity, etc.

The other gift, perhaps my favorite because of its creativity, is a flowering plant, the "Flower of Love" that Christopher’s student, Lena, gave us. As Stephanie quipped, I hope that I don’t kill that flower. No pressure!

Christopher set up the computer to show a slideshow of photos from our wedding and the trip home and he played the wedding mix music as well. Everyone looked at our photo album, beautiful images taken by our talented and generous friend, Stacy Moore.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written here. Christopher and I went home to the U.S. for a month in July/August and had our wedding. (See wedding photos) The wedding and time spent in CO, TX, NC, SC and NY with family was amazing, stressful, beautiful. Many emotions come to mind. Stephanie suggested that I write a screen play about the wedding and its preparation, fraught as it was with disparate, interesting characters (i.e. our families), juxtaposition of said characters as well as the situations that arose from these encounters. Maybe I will, but it likely won’t be a public document. Smile.

It was particularly difficult trying to see all the people that are important to us and unfortunately this proved quite impossible really. Being home in general was simply pretty relaxing, and I didn’t experience the reverse-culture shock I’d expected. We ate tons of good food and spent quality time being good consumers. I felt so hungry to stock up on shoes, books and toiletries, perhaps because everything is so plentiful and understandable at home, versus here.

Since returning, my work has become very busy. Towards the end of our visit, I began to look forward to returning to work, which I felt good about, not having known before going home how I’d feel about returning. Both of us were ready to come back to our “Little America” as we call our apartment and our work here.

Rather quickly after returning to work, I became embroiled in a political problem of sorts with an organization that works in the same field as the organization that I am working with, International Organization for Migration (IOM). I have been working on the communications for the Ukraine mission and part of my work has been a counter-trafficking information campaign. A component of this campaign are ads placed in employment sections of newspapers advertising hotlines that provide information about services for people who are considering working abroad, as a way to educate them about potential dangers of becoming trafficked. Traffickers sometimes advertise in these newspapers and with a large percentage of Ukrainians working abroad (estimated to perhaps be as much as 5-6 million of Ukraine’s 30 million population) people need information to protect themselves.

This is a very skeleton explanation of the problem. For more detailed information, look at IOM’s website at http://www.iom.int.

What came to pass was that the mission failed to inform the organizations that run the hotlines about these ads. It was an oversight that we corrected as soon as we realized it, but this organization took this opportunity to attack IOM, as it has done many times in the past. For some reason, this org began contacting international donors, organizations and embassies accusing an unknown source of placing ads that discredited the hotlines. Given the content of the ads, it seems a strange accusation to me. Nonetheless, we spent the better part of two weeks having meetings, drafting letters and other damage control acts trying to inform our partners about the situation and clear up misunderstandings and correct erroneous information. It culminated in a meeting with partner organizations and the deputy chief of mission of a European embassy who said something about me in this meeting. I didn’t really take it personally, although I felt sort of awkward sitting at the meeting and tried hard to sit impassively and not let shock show on my face.

Mainly, I took a lesson away from this meeting. When there are big budgets involved and some perception of power and territory, people do not always act in the best interest of their cause. I already knew this, but I needed to experience it firsthand to really learn it. It is important knowledge if I continue to work in the development world at this level.

I felt tremendous sadness about the above fact. At the same time that we were dealing with this, victims of trafficking were still coming through our offices, receiving reintegration assistance and other support and their harrowing stories of the atrocities committed upon them kept the utter political nature of “Advertising-Gate” in perspective. I am tremendously lucky to work with real activists who deeply believe in their work and work hard to help the people who have been trafficked as well as to try to improve legal recourse and social society to decreases the prevalence of trafficking.

That’s the first installment of Ukraine, Part Deux. I feel like it’s part two after having returned from being home again. More later, gentle readers.

A quick note to alert the media that there are new photos of my bridal shower!

We're leaving this weekend to return home and I'm trying to be patient as I finish up work, buy gifts, do all those things when leaving for an extended trip, PLUS there's the little matter of our wedding. :-) I'm just super excited and enjoying the time, in between necessary bouts of panic, tears, etc. C'est le mariage.

Back to attacking the word to-do list, followed by attacking the personal to-do list.

xo,
wendylu

Good day, gentle reader. Christopher and I just returned from a relaxing weekend with our friends, Kristen and Jordan, at my piano teacher, Luda's, dacha. A dacha is a country home where people often grow vegetables for the winter and go to relax and breathe fresh air. Luda and Pavel, her husband, as well as their two sons, Anton and Andry, were wonderful hosts. Their dacha is in a small village in Poltava Oblast, on a clean river, the Vorskla. We swam in the river, walked in the forest and fields, picking and eating wild strawberries, then ate meals made of fresh vegetables from their and neighbor's gardens. We had shashlik, (shishkobabs) on Sunday - see photos that Jordan took from the weekend. We drank samohon, the homemade vodka, then were mercifully saved by the sons to go visit a fishing hole with some friends. 7 or 8 or us packed into a VW Jetta and swam in a dark watered pond, speaking Russian, Ukrainian, English, beer. :-)

Later that night, we went out again with the youngins', walking around the village, drinking the ubiquitous warm beer. There was to be a dance later at a community center and after some prodding, Jordan agreed to sing karaoke. He graced us with a strong rendition of "My Way."

I still marvel at people's willingness to open their homes to random foreigners, to share what they have without reserve and with joy.

A couple of brief updates.

I’ve been working gangbusters and just completed preparing for and assisting deliver a counter-trafficking law enforcement practitioners conference. It was so interesting on so many levels, to meet law enforcement officers from Belarus, Moldova, Russia, Ukraine, England, Australia, etc. etc.

There’s info about the conference, among many other things, in the newsletter I’m helping IOM produce. Email me if you’d like a copy.

Another note – remember the “photographers” I wrote about earlier, who take one’s picture, then mail it? I was feeling adventurous last week and stopped to talk to them. After verifying that my understanding was correct, I got my photo snapped, gave them my work address (which has changed and is updated on the Contact section of my website), and am still waiting for the photo. We’ll see if it’s a scam or not.

It’s summer here and the see-through white pants are back! I have seen at least 5 different specimens of thongs, up close and personal. Not to sound horrible, but at least Ukrainian women tend to have nice, trim bums, because one sees so much of them in warm weather.

I went to Uzhgorod last weekend with my fellow PCV, Susan. On the train, we met new PCV’s on their way to Uzhgorod, where they will live for the next two years. Boy, am I jealous! What a beautiful, relaxed, European city, full of diversity (i.e. not everyone is Slavic/white) and people speak lovely accented Ukrainian and Russian, in addition to Hungarian, Romanian, maybe some Slovakian. We visited a castle, beautiful outdoor museum, took photos of charming houses with beautiful exteriors, pretty façade details. We drank beer at outdoor cafes and Susan kicked my arse in checkers. Very relaxing.

That’s all for now. Hope to provide photos at some point soon.

A quick note that I decided against appearing on the TV show, b/c it seemed somehow just weird (duh, i know). I began to be afraid that it somehow would not be a good thing for a Peace Corps Volunteer to do, especially if the woman who is being proposed to doesn't want this. I sort of regret missing a potential adventure, but that just means I'll need to create my own adventure this weekend! :-)

New photos of our new flat are up on the site!

Happy May Day weekend,
wlu
xoxo

Hello world.

It’s a beautiful spring Thursday in Kyiv, before the first of three holiday weekends this May. Now that I’ve told my family, close friends and Peace Corps, I am happy to announce that Christopher, who moved to Ukraine last July to be with me, and I are engaged. We hope to marry this July in Colorado.

Christopher is teaching English at two private schools to adults and editing a daily e-newspaper. I’m so proud of the way he’s adapted and thrived here and that he would leave behind a good life in Colorado for the vagaries and uncertainty of life and work in Ukraine of all places, speaks to his great intelligence and spirit for adventure. Obviously, I’m a big fan.

If I can be indulged a moment, I’ll tell the story of the proposal. Under subterfuge, Christopher took me to Mariinsky Park, where we run some mornings, to a spot overlooking the Dnipro and Podil neighborhood, a pretty neighborhood that wasn’t bombed during WWII and therefore has older buildings intact. When we arrived to that spot, he bent down on one knee and produced a velvet box w/ a beautiful, emerald-cut, 2 carat garnet set in white gold ring. I said ok to his question.

Thanks for allowing me a mushy moment in this very public place. We’re in the process of getting his security clearance for Peace Corps to allow the marriage and otherwise enjoying our lives here as always.

One more story, a quirkier one. I have been asked to appear on a reality TV show called “Everything for You.” The premise of this show is for guys (occasionally girls) to set up an elaborate ruse by which to propose in a very public way to their beloved. Sometimes girls say no and it’s just awful to watch, but isn’t all reality TV? It’s a train wreck we can’t seem to turn away from.

The show’s representative, Lena, claims to have been recommended me by someone at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. This is the government agency where all foreigners living here are required to be registered. I’m leaving Saturday to take a train to a Western Ukraine city to film the first installment and I will “play” a foreigner in need of a translator at a castle. The girl will be there because her friends are in on the gig. I hope to get a tape to show people at home.

I’ll write full details about the trip and the scenario after it airs, as I’d hate to somehow ruin the surprise before hand. I hope she wants to be proposed to!

Over and out,
wlu
xoxo
Hello world.

It’s a beautiful spring Thursday in Kyiv, before the first of three holiday weekends this May. Now that I’ve told my family, close friends and Peace Corps, I am happy to announce that Christopher, who moved to Ukraine last July to be with me, and I are engaged. We hope to marry this July in Colorado.

Christopher is teaching English at two private schools to adults and editing a daily e-newspaper. I’m so proud of the way he’s adapted and thrived here and that he would leave behind a good life in Colorado for the vagaries and uncertainty of life and work in Ukraine of all places, speaks to his great intelligence and spirit for adventure. Obviously, I’m a big fan.

If I can be indulged a moment, I’ll tell the story of the proposal. Under subterfuge, Christopher took me to Mariinsky Park, where we run some mornings, to a spot overlooking the Dnipro and Podil neighborhood, a pretty neighborhood that wasn’t bombed during WWII and therefore has older buildings intact. When we arrived to that spot, he bent down on one knee and produced a velvet box w/ a beautiful, emerald-cut, 2 carat garnet set in white gold ring. I said ok to his question.

Thanks for allowing me a mushy moment in this very public place. We’re in the process of getting his security clearance for Peace Corps to allow the marriage and otherwise enjoying our lives here as always.

One more story, a quirkier one. I have been asked to appear on a reality TV show called “Everything for You.” The premise of this show is for guys (occasionally girls) to set up an elaborate ruse by which to propose in a very public way to their beloved. Sometimes girls say no and it’s just awful to watch, but isn’t all reality TV? It’s a train wreck we can’t seem to turn away from.

The show’s representative, Lena, claims to have been recommended me by someone at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. This is the government agency where all foreigners living here are required to be registered. I’m leaving Saturday to take a train to a Western Ukraine city to film the first installment and I will “play” a foreigner in need of a translator at a castle. The girl will be there because her friends are in on the gig. I hope to get a tape to show people at home.

I’ll write full details about the trip and the scenario after it airs, as I’d hate to somehow ruin the surprise before hand. I hope she wants to be proposed to!

Over and out,
wlu
xoxo

Some days, I have a story to tell without much preamble or background.

Many days I walk during lunch along Kreshiatik Street, which is a wide boulevard and the main downtown thoroughfare. There are many stores along it and the only way to cross the street is via underground passageways, where people sell food, clothes, souvenirs.

Right before Maidan Nezoleznoshti (Independence Square), in front of the central Posht (Post Office), there are a group of young men who have an interesting entreprenuerial activity. They wield cameras and notepads, and approach people to take their picture, which they promise to mail later when it is developed. Almost everyday they approach me, "Deivushka, deivushka (girl - it's an acceptable form of address in Russian), let us take your picture." Sometimes I tell them I do not understand, which they then switch into pidgeon English, sometimes I just keep walking. I can gauge sometimes how I look that day by their interest, because I perceive them to be more likely to approach me when I'm lookin' good. :-)

In any case, it's a small business enterprise, if dubious, and it's better than the people who have monkeys, ponies or owls that one can take a photo with. Some friends and I decided that we ought to set up a business on such thoroughfares to charge people to take photos with a real, live American! We get stared at so much that we might as well make it pay.

That's it. It's a warm, spring day and I'm working on a press release, a newsletter, a website. This weekend is Orthodox Easter as well as "Catholic" Easter. Christopher and I will go to one of the churches to see the early morning service and enjoy the three day weekend.

Tonight as I slowly walked up the escalator at Arsenalna metro at 20:30, returning home from tutoring and working, I realized that I wasn’t exhausted as I so often am by this time of night. I tried to remember the last time I thought to myself, I’m sooo tired, and felt it deep in my body and spirit and couldn’t remember!

I thought back through the winter, back to the previous spring when we’d just arrived and how tired I was during training, then a slight reprieve during the summer. I feel as if a fog has lifted. The weather has been warmer and the sun shines longer each day. I think maybe that in addition to having reached another level of acceptance and acculturation, just having the winter waning helps me. I have exercised through out the winter and tried to get the prescribed hour of natural light each day, but I think I may have been affected nonetheless by the season. And everyone says this was a mild winter!

Today as I walked outside in the 50F air, in the sunlight at 18:00, I remembered back to training in Brovary and how it seemed that every day I looked up another foot, literally looking up from watching the ground for the ubiquitous holes and mud puddles. How each time I looked up more, I saw something new, something I could read and understand, or a smiling child or even just a patch of blue sky. I remembered how much hope and comfort those small sights gave me. I thought of this because today in the light and warmth I felt myself looking up again.

I thought about how I’ve been wearing a brimmed hat all winter, a wonderful black velvet hat that Christopher’s Mom, Donna, sent me. It is a stylish and warm hat and keeps snow off my face. Now that the weather has freed me from that hat, and I’m no longer concentrating on the ice, I begin to see new things again. Today I noticed for the first time that the building where I meet my Russian tutor has a wonderful Soviet mural depicting people dancing, doing “labor” and sports. I saw new flowers in the underground passages where people set up tables selling goods. The babushkas have new produce. Even though the growing season hasn’t really started yet, there’s a hint of verdant things to come. It’s joyous, it’s the beginning of spring.

Sure, we may not yet be done with winter, but spring has shown itself and the end is in sight. We have made it! My first Ukrainian winter is writing its finale. Oh, thoughts of the market to come – berry season, the smell of strawberries hitting my nose as soon as I near the bazaar, then later watermelon. But I get ahead of myself. Today is just right. It’s this blessing I receive and I’m grateful.

love,
wendylu

Here’s my day – I hope I it is interesting for you.

7:00 mobile phone alarm goes off, reset for 20 min. later. Think about my strange dream that involved the plane I was flying on being hit by a missile. Hawk was in it, which was nice.
7:20 get up, shuffle around
7:45 Christopher and I make it out the door to the cold, snowy morning, walk 4 blocks to the track at the Design and Technology University. Run for about 20 min. and decide we get extra points b/c of wind chill factor. Bird Man is there and it seems like he spends less time than usual in his speedos, pouring water over himself.

Return home, do stretches, pilates, drink coffee, shower, etc. Make it to the bus stop by 9:45, run to catch a trolley bus, then get off at Arsenalna metro stop, run to catch a marshrutka. Make it to IOM (http://www.iom.int) by 10:10, miraculously.

Since I’ve only been working there a little while, the guards at the door don’t know me yet, so I explain again that I work there. Upon arriving at the third floor (no lift), where I work, I see male co-workers running around with flowers – Monday is perhaps the second biggest holiday (first is New Years), “International” Woman’s Day (mainly celebrated in CIS). Since Monday is a national holiday and therefore a day off, the men are doing their duty on Friday. I’ve no sooner set down and said “hi” to my coworker Lisa-Jo, than Sergey, an attorney, presents me with three beautiful tulips. Flowers are presented in odd numbers on happy occasions, even numbers for funerals. Women’s day is observed by giving all women and girls in your life flowers, presents and chocolates. We also had an email from the “IOM Men” wishing us a happy woman’s day.

I worked from 10:00 until 14:00 at IOM, finishing up a proposal for ad agencies to bid on a big counter-trafficking information campaign on buses, trams, billboards as well as TV and radio PSA’s (public service announcements). Lisa-Jo, who is from South Africa, had a DVD that her brother produced from Christmas home movies and after watching that, I went to the bathroom for a cry, because I felt so homesick afterwards, even though it was someone else’s family in Africa.

After leaving IOM, I walked down Chreshiatik, the main street in Kyiv. IOM is located at one end of Chreshiatik, at Independence Square (Maidan Nezoleznoshti), and I walk to nearly the other end, to get to my other job, my original organization, CEUME. Not 15 seconds at my desk, and there’s Volodiya, our tech guy, who presents me with a cream colored rose and makes a short speech, wishing me love and happiness and success. Did I mention that one has to kiss the flower giver? Luckily Volodiya is nice, doesn’t smoke and isn’t lecherous.

I work for a couple of hours, testing our new website (nothing’s working, what is that programmer doing??), then find resources for the business English training that I’m teaching this evening on writing resumes and doing interviews. At 16:30 we have a staff meeting and after about 30 minutes of people reporting on work and upcoming events, our directors tell us that we’ll continue the meeting in the café downstairs. We go down to the restaurant which is in the next building and which has a black, pot-bellied pig as a mascot. It sleeps in the restaurant. This café is in a style very much in vogue in Kyiv, which I call “Early Village Fantasy.” It’s a kitschy rendition of what a “village” home would look like if a gay designer came in, cleaned up the 40 years of grime normally associated with rural life and put in little chachkies everywhere. There is more china on the wall than 5 families could use, lots of drawings of cows and robust women, gingham and lace adorn every edge. The salad bar is designed like a well – well, I could go on but I will spare you, gentle reader.

Anyway, Pavlito (of “vaginal American” fame) has a clipboard w/ a some writing scribbled on it and a big bucket of flowers waiting by our long table. The whole staff sits down, we’re brought a really nice Georgian red (I’m wishing at this point that I didn’t have to teach and could have more than sips). There’s a nice spread on the table of salads, meats, bread. After we have wine, Pavlo begins calling the ladies up one by one, and presenting us with a flower, and a brief poem about why each one is like her flower. They gave me carnations dyed red white and blue. I’ll let you figure that one out.

Then we ate and drank, and every so often a man would make a toast to the ladies. These toasts are lovely and ornate and I understand barely half, especially when in Ukrainian and not Russian. There was a funny discussion in Russian about the two words for “hot” – one is for things and one is for people. My coworker, Sveta, says that sometimes men can be “hot” using the word for things and it has the same meaning as in English. I say that sometimes men can also be delicious and by my colleague’s reactions, I think this might be dirtier than it is in English. Pavlito asks me if I understood the conversation if I knew what I’d said. I’ll have to ask my tutor is that was a faux paus. Apparently it was funny, because it was repeated several times around our table. Eventually I steal away to finish my prep work for the class and to go to the school.

I arrive at the school, greeted my other friend, Sveta, who runs and owns the English school. We make copies, I meet a teacher there who studied in Charlotte, NC for high school. The class goes well, they’re lively and we have a fun discussion, then I had them split into pairs to practice interviewing. They knew more than I thought they would about resumes and interviewing and it was interesting to hear about their experiences.

Afterwards, at 21:00, Sveta and I chatted for a while, and she gave me an enormous box of chocolates as a thank you for teaching the class. I told her she doesn’t have to give me chocolates every time I teach a class, but she just blinked enigmatically. I really must make hanging out w/ her a priority, because she is so cool. She’s someone I would like anywhere in the world, if that makes sense.

Now 22:30, I’m home, eating popcorn (thank you, Julie and Frieda!) and Christopher is reading his “graphic novel.” I’m so happy to be home and wearing my slippers and sipping a beer. I’m also so happy to have had the fortune to land in this country, to have found the work and people that I have. I’m not trying to pretty it up, I get tired and sometimes negative about this place, and I will mention without comment that the government shut down the Radio Free Europe station, sometimes I wish for the ease of America, but I always come back to being grateful. I guess when I stop that, if it happens, it’s time to book passage home.

love,
wlu

A quick check in on this frosty Monday. Lately the weather has been gray, snowy each day. The trees are pretty and covered in ice and children look healthy with red cheeks and brightly colored hats. It is slowly getting lighter a little longer each day, but still it is difficult for me to get up at 7am when it is pretty much pitch black.

Today I ran at my local track and some of the "Soviet calistenics" folks were there, including a guy Christopher and I dubbed "the Bird Man" due to his penchant for standing in the middle of the soccer field surrounded by pidgeons, wearing only his speedo and holding a 6 liter jug of water.

Anyway, there he was today, wearing only his speedos and a smile! Barefoot!! I laughed out loud - crazy Slavs! His birds, however, are smarter and are lately to be found huddled over warm manhole covers.

I promise to write about my holiday travels soon! In the meantime, keep warm and don't forget to vote in your primaries, then get ready for Nov. 2! And, read www.michaelmoore.com for an eloquent essay that explains why I'll be voting for Wes Clark on that date. Remember, Regime Change Begins at Home!

xo,
wlu

A quick note to let any of you still holding on and reading my occasional postings that I have several exciting episodes coming up! I have to tell you about Thanksgiving in Prague (super duper!), Christmas in Krakow (amazing!), New Year's in the Carpathians (spectacular!) and a few other ditties. Right now, I'm in a language refresher conference with Peace Corps and am getting in touch with my inner language geek. I heart studying this darned language.

Hope you all are enjoying the New Year and Happy Year of the Monkey in advance! Wish you all could come to my Chinese New Year party on Fri. - see www.evite.com and search using my email for details if you're curious!

xo,
wlu

A Cross Cultural Moment

Today when talking to Sasha, the CEUME’s director, in his office, I noticed a color brochure with the picture of a dean of a university here in Kyiv, one of CEUME’s partner institutions. It was an advertisement for his 60th birthday, which was also today. It was in Ukrainian, but I think it was detailing his accomplishments, etc. I asked Sasha about it, wondering why the brochure was made and if the 60th birthday has some special significance here. Sasha explained that 60 is the age that people can retire and get pensions, but that this gentleman would continue working. There was to be a big party at the university that he would go to. This dean has worked with CEUME since it’s beginning and has been a major proponent of business education reform in Ukraine, so he is a close colleague for us.

Later in the afternoon, Sasha and a couple of coworkers returned from the party, and they began talking about going shopping and getting a bunch of food. Shortly afterwards, I went into the office kitchen to investigate what was going on. We sometimes have small parties on Friday afternoons, with wine and cognac, and cheese, cold cuts, pickles, olives, bread, and a sweet. Svita, my coworker, informed me that we would be having a “table” to celebrate the dean’s birthday. Surprised, I asked if he would be there. No, she replied, but we’ll toast him in his absence.

Soon, I was being called from my computer: “Wendy, come here. It’s time to drink vodka.” (That’s a joke because we never drink vodka, being predominantly women)

A lovely spread was on our conference room table, nice cheeses, ham, pickles, pickled tomatoes, olives, bread, mushrooms and a cake, with wine and cognac to drink. It is customary when drinking with people to give toasts, so Olga first, then Sasha, then Svita, gave long and inspirational toasts to the dean, extolling his virtues and wishing him a long life.

For me, this illustrates so many characteristics that I love here: ceremony, using any excuse to celebrate, recognizing individuals publicly, love of long toasts.

So where to begin again? I’m trying to write more frequently, b/c the more time that passes, the harder it is to describe all that has happened.

Winter has begun and we’ve all begun steeling ourselves for the long gray. I run in the mornings, in a beautiful park near my apartment. It borders the Vohovna Rada, or national senate as well as one of President Kuchma’s residences. It also overlooks the Dniper and there are two vistas that I pause at each time I pass them. There is an older man who rides his bike each day in the park, followed in loping strides by his huge German Shepherd. One day, after our first and only snow, he was walking and I asked him where his bike was. It was a ploy to meet his dog and it worked. Now when he pedals by me, he calls out “Good morning” to me, alternating between Russian and English.

I feel a sense of accomplishment whenever I make a connection with people here. It’s partially just because this is a big city and probably some cultural components, but in any case, even though it’s a small thing, I’m grateful for my biker and his dog. That and the tailor, the nut lady on the street near work, the money changer, the people who will indulge my need to converse with them. Oh, and let’s not forget the nut and spice guy at my bazaar and the very nice lady who waxes me. Fine, they’re all people with whom I do business with, but it’s a start. I do have nice relations w/ coworkers and occasionally bring in something baked to share or try to bring back a small present from trips out of town for them, as they do.

In the middle of November, my organization had its fifth annual national conference in the eastern city of Kharkiv. It was my first trip to the large city, which is very Russified and still has a huge Lenin statue in the middle of its square, which is Europe’s largest. The conference’s theme was increasing connections between business and business education and we had over 200 participants.

My role was smaller in this conference than in the Summer Institute in July and this conference was more people, but only three days. As usual, I was a little surprised at how nice things were, things such as food, both quality and quantity.

Getting to Kharkiv was interesting. Our flight was cancelled, so the group of us, CEUME staff as well as 4 faculty from Poland and 1 dean of the Northwestern Kellogg School of Business, jumped in taxis to see if we could catch the overnight train. No luck. So we jumped back in taxis and hightailed it over to Arizona’s, a TexMex restaurant. After a lovely dinner (this restaurant is out of my PC budget, so it was especially nice to indulge in margaritas and nachos, as well as the ubiquitous fajitas), we jumped in a rented marshrutka, or large van, complete with driver. At one a.m., after stopping for more fortification (champagne, juice, fruit, tissues and gum), we were driven overnight to Kharkiv, arriving just in time to wash up and begin opening to conference. Yawn.

What else about the conference? Some of the speakers were interesting and because we had simultaneous interpretation, I was able to follow the discussion and speakers. We had full group sessions, the break out groups on subtopics of the main theme, then a couple of plenary sessions with the full group. In one of them, we had representatives from Phillip Morris Ukraine, who donates a lot of money to non-profits in Ukraine, Microsoft Ukraine, as well as a Ukrainian brewery and bank speak about what they do to foster connections between business and biz ed. Interestingly, the Microsoft representative went through the entire Microsoft product line before talking about the training and education opportunities that Microsoft offers. The Phillip Morris rep admitted that cigarettes are damaging to health, something one would never hear in the US from a company PR person! I’m a pretty literal person and expected people to talk about the subject at hand, so was a little surprised that people didn’t really. I found out afterward that the subject had been confused to be social responsibility of business, which was one of the small group subjects.

One the first night, we had a big forshet, or buffet, at a beautiful old building by a no-longer used race track. There were the usual long tables of huge amounts of food, as well as champagne, wine and beer flowing. Our forshets are unusual in Ukraine because we have standing buffets, where as it is more traditional to have people sitting at tables laden with food. The benefits to the standing are socializing and networking, which are skills still being developed here.

It was nice because many people had been at the Summer Institute and remembered me from the simulation game. It was fun to see these people and made me feel rewarded that they wanted to talk and to hear about what they had been doing since the summer. A couple told me they’d used the business simulation game in their classes, which of course thrilled me. That night I felt as if I was doing something that was contributing, or at least part of something important. Those little moments carry a lot of weight in less clearly defined times.

I am kicking myself that I didn’t bring my camera to the conference, but I will do so in the future and take copious pictures.

I just wanted to tell y'all that it is SNOWING LIKE CRAZY!!! I just was discussing this with my coworkers and they reminded me of the impending five months of winter. On one hand, it's really beautiful out, on the other, it's 4:45pm, nearly dark and SNOWING!!! It's just 27 Oct.!!!! I need a drink. Oh, wait, that's a big sign of winter depression. I need a vital carrot juice. With 100 grams of horilka (vodka). :-)

Today's observations...

I have been running in a beautiful, nearby park in the mornings lately. As I walk there, I pass all of the street cleaners, many women in colorful head scarves, sweeping leaves off the sidewalk with their homemade brooms, made out of tied together twigs. The leaves are falling so quickly now and I try to remember to look up a lot, knowing that the trees will soon be starker.

I also pass by many people walking to work, dressed in dark coats and hats, some with children, most with the ubiquitous "packet" or heavy plastic shopping bag that is the carryall of choice.

The park has a very ornate palace of sorts, which is one of the president's many residences throughout the city and country, and a great view of the Dnipr and east of the city. I love to pause a moment there, looking at the mist or seeing what the sky is doing where it meets the earth.

There are many people out walking their dogs and today one woman's female rottweiler took an interest in me as I ran by. I'm never been remotely afraid of dogs, but they speak a different language here and so I'm more cautious with them. Dogs tend to stay close to their owners and are more circumspect of humans. I have observed some people kicking or hitting dogs and have heard stories about this as well, so it may contribute to this.

The dog's person reassured me, saying that while some of the breed bite, her dog didn't. After letting the furry friend smell me, I started to run again and she leapt up, wanting to play. It was nice and shockingly didn't get me all verklempt about my Hawkstar, so far away.

The other observation: I'm riding the marshrutka to work, a short drive fortunately. Looking out the window, getting teary about some personal nonsense, when I spy a billboard advertising a vacuum cleaner, with the word "sucker" spelled out in Cyrillic. It's all so ridiculous here sometimes and those moments of levity and humor help tremendously.

I've perhaps finally acknowledged that I might not catch up from Aug. on the blog and that this should not prevent me from beginning to write regularly again. I miss writing here, but somehow have felt that I shouldn't until caught up....

NEWS FLASH! Photos are up. Check 'em out!

Today is our first snow and it's so beautiful. Big, dry flakes that are actually starting to stick. Today I ran before it began to snow. I've begun to run in a lovely, nearby park and am so grateful that there are still leaves on the trees. It's been a sort of gradual process to fall, though the temperatures have been getting low - near freezing - and today, the white stuff!

I'm feeling a little melancholy today and hope that this won't be a refrain this winter. I'm a little scared of winter, the unrelenting gray, the frozen tundra, the frozen toes, the wind, the paucity of fresh foods. But, the snow is beautiful, there are banyas (steambaths) to visit, I can run the stairs in my building... It will be fine, but right now the thought of the unknown is a bit scary.

Work is going well. I'm trying to model some time management behavior - it drives me crazy how so many projects that I work on or see are driven by panic management. Planning is sparse and the other PCV's and I are working on infrastructure.

So much is topsy turvy, through the looking glass in the development world as I see it. As always, I will speak in generalizations to avoid trouble. There's a decent amount of money being given out by the US (via USAID and the State Dept. on a gov't level and by private foundations like the Soros Found.), by the EU and then by various European Governments, among other sources. Some organizations get large grants to run specific projects, to run their operations or to divvy up to other, smaller orgs.

Sometimes the following occurs: misappropriation of funds, outright stealing, creation of power bases and fiefdoms, autocratic rulers, etc. I don't think any of this is going on at my org, but sometimes I am surprised at the lack of infrastructure in the org, considering our level of funding.

I am trying to observe, but I am probably judging. I wonder often about how money is being spent, how programs are implemented.

Anyway, as I was running today and thinking about how happy I am that my skin is really clear now, it struck me: am I just here to enjoy a nice apt., dinner parties w/ expat, PCV friends? Isn't it time to get my hands dirty, so to speak? My org allows me the sometimes stifling luxury to operate in pretty comfortable circumstances, but really, I'm here to work and sometimes be uncomfortable. Not the old, tired, "I'm not suffering" line, but just that I would like to find some work in another org that is a little more grassroots and tied to something I feel strongly about.

I am so boring today - I'll write back when I have something to describe again.

I'm still catching up, but will post tidbits as the mood strikes...

25 Sept. 2003
Today I’ve had a discussion w/ my office mate, Pavlo, who I nicknamed “Pavlito” from the Spanish, and who speaks excellent English. Ever since I called him a “dork” and he looked it up online and got very offended (hey – I didn’t know it meant “dick”), he asks me language questions. Today has been on the subject of political correctness and how to call people with different characteristics. Some excerpts:

Pavlito: “I read that there is special feministic vocabulary to describe men and women, like ‘Vaginal Americans.’”
Me, choking on the tea I just sipped: “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘vaginal Americans?’”
Pavlito: “Yes, and men are called ‘penile Americans.’”
Me, trying to be adult and not snicker b/c he just said “penile:” “Pavlo, that is crazy. A few people may say that, but it definitely isn’t in common usage.”
Pavlito, who never believes me after the dork debacle: “But maybe in your village they don’t say this, maybe they say this in other cities.”
Me, getting indignant because he always believes random internet sources over a REAL, LIVE Vaginal American: “Pavlo, nobody says that. I’ve never heard anyone say that, ever. Really.”

Then we had a discussion about overweight people, who he heard should be called “alternative appearance.” I told him that fat and overweight were ok, w/ the latter being the polite variant.

Then on to developmentally disabled, who we no longer call “retards.” In Russian/Ukrainian, they say, “invalids” for physically disabled people, so many Ukrainians say “invalid” in English.

He also asked me why so many people in America are overweight. I told him that’s an excellent question, but I speculate that processed food, lots of it and little exercise contribute. Ukrainians tend to be quite lean, along the French model, despite some of the diet being rather heavy. Take salo, for example, the straight pork fat that is beloved. Or all the sour cream. Mmmmm, sour cream.

I digress. Language is always very interesting to me, as is Pavlito’s impressions of Americans and what I gather he’s learning from me. I realize that I’ve taught him “shut up” (for when he’s teasing me about being a spy, which grows wearying), but nothing too bad otherwise. It’s sobering to realize that I really am a representative of Americans, and even in Kyiv may be the first American anyone has closely worked with. I try not to take it too seriously, but it is something I try to remember when I’m having a bad day.

Where to begin today? I recently read a book written by a fellow PCV from Group 24, Christina O’Keefe’s Finding Francis. (Order it online at www.amazon.com - it’s a worthwhile read) It’s a sort of memoir and it made me think a lot about writing, about what I’ve been doing in this space. It felt uncomfortable to acknowledge that this blog, hell this whole experience, is a lot more about me than anything else.

But, I also realize that this is a common human condition – we are inherently selfish and I’m comfortable fessing up to it. I also take a more Ayn Rand-esque view of the word “selfish” in relation to people. Being selfish has a bad rap, but I believe it’s hardwired in us and serves survival purposes.

Further, I decided when I chose to come here to that I would do the kind of work I wanted to, because I know I’ll be most effective doing what I want. That means that I don’t do development work that I don’t like. At the same time, I also need to be challenged and need to actively cultivate that in my life and not seek the easier, more comfortable paths.

Finally, this is MY blog, MY life and everyone is welcome to write their blog as they see fit and live their life as they wish. I’m not sure who or what I’m being defensive against, but it’s been on my mind and now it’s out.

Back to the reports. I’m walking up the steps from the passage under a major street, buy flowers from a babushka, bargaining her down from 3 to 2 hryven, then enter the metro. There’s a crumpled, gray babushka sitting and begging right before the escalator down to the train. I realize that I move the flowers to the hand away from her, as if to hide them, and feel shame for my health, my youth, that I can buy trifles like flowers.

There’s the young girl on the other metro stairs, trained to repeat, “Thank you, please help me,” for hours to the passersby. On the next underpass stairs, a mother slumped over, cradling her child, not even bothering to say anything, a plastic cup in front of her.

Then on the street, all of the fashion, the Russian and Ukrainian floating past me, me catching mainly connector words as opposed to full sentences. The young women wearing tight, satiny pants, the supremely pointed shoes that are the rage this summer carrying their light bodies. The men wearing black and gray, toting their murses. (man purse)

On the marshrutka, I try to give my money to the driver, who has turned off the engine and is reading a paper. He ignores me, so I try humor to get his attention to take my one hryven. When he does notice, he says shortly that the conductor will take my money and I take a seat, thinking unmentionable thoughts about culture, manners, generalizing 55 million people in my moment of bad humor.

Last week, I took my first vacation! Christopher, my boyfriend, has arrived from Colorado and after a couple of weeks here in Kyiv, we set off to western Ukraine.

We went to Lviv, Ivano Frankivsk and a village in the Carpathians, Yaremche. We stayed with fellow PCV, Chris, in Lviv and got to enjoy the party she threw for Tina O’Keefe’s book release. Tina read from Finding Francis and we all enjoyed Chris’ gazpacho and great mix of people. It was really cool to have not just PCV’s and Americans there, but also Ukrainian coworkers and new friends.

Lviv is a supremely beautiful city, the center all cobblestones, old buildings, churches, neo-classical architecture, coffee houses, breweries. Christopher and I counted 3 dogs that were trained to carry baskets through the streets. One was a beggar’s dog and had a sign asking for donations, but the other two seemed to be civilians. Curious.

After Lviv, we took a 4 hour marshrutka through rolling countryside to Ivano Frankivsk. Why are the haystacks cylindrically shaped, supported by poles, ranging in shape from “soft serve ice cream” to “Christmas tree” shapes? We saw horse drawn carts carrying people, livestock, produce. At one town, little beggar boys boarded the marshrutka to sing a song, then beg for alms. One had what looked like a congenital birth defect and had flipper-like hands with one or two digits on each misshapen hand. He stood in front of a row of people, clapping his arms together and repeating, “Please help me, please help me,” until someone gave him some kopecks and he joined his cohorts on the street.

We were supposed to meet up with a PCV friend in Ivano Frankivsk (IF), but I hadn’t written down the name of the hostel where we were supposed to stay and meet. IF turned out to be a larger town than I’d expected and the taxi drivers didn’t know the hostel. They kept trying to send us to an expensive hotel, but I finally convinced them we wanted cheap. They told me one to go to and gave walking directions.

I’m not great with directions in my native language and am much worse in Russian/Ukrainian. We walked for some time, Christopher silent and brooding, me hungry and worried. I asked a woman on the street and she indicated that she’d walk us there.

We backtracked about a kilometer (oops) and then I noticed the HUGE billboard advertising the hotel. The women kept walking us to the hotel despite the signs, past train tracks, past garbage heaps, past a big soviet-style apartment building, past burning garbage heaps, to the hotel. It was really nice of her to go out of her way to walk us and we thanked her as she quickly walked away in the dusk.

The hotel had a utilitarian feel, but seemed clean and I tried to sort out the pricing structure. It was the first time I’d been confronted by the old tiered pricing. A room for non-Ukrainians cost just over 3 times as much as for Ukrainians! We asked to see a room and while it was very clean, but the toilet was on another floor and the whole hotel had no hot water.

I’m glad that Christopher intervened and vetoed that place, because we ended up staying at a really nice, Western style hotel that cost $1 more than that place, and had a lovely private bath and hot showers. Even the obnoxious Canadian gymnast convention that had shrieking girls drinking too much downstairs couldn’t dampen our enthusiasm for the place.

The next day we tried all day to phone Scott without success. I even phoned PC HQ in Kyiv to get his office address, but when we went to find it, the building that should have been that number was being demolished. Disheartened, I perked up when Christopher bought me an ice cream on the street and we decided to cut our losses and head to Yaremche that evening.

We went to a kiosk I’d seen advertising tourist info. I asked there for said info and she gave me a piece of paper and told me to phone the number on it. I did so from a pay phone, asking the info center what they knew about accommodations in Yaremche. The woman on the other end asked me where I was, which seemed a strange way to answer my questions. She offered to come down and give me the information in person and sure enough, five minutes later, she showed up by the kiosk with information in hand.

The language question is even more interesting in Western Ukraine to me, where they really speak Ukrainian. Here in Kyiv I think I hear so little pure Ukrainian, or perhaps when I do I’m catching the parts that sound enough like Russian that I don’t notice. But in Lviv and IF and later Yaremche, there were many times when the accent and vocabulary were distinctly different. I felt happy for these people to have a separate language from Russian. Nonetheless, when I was dealing with people, they easily switched from Ukrainian to Russian when we spoke. Or sometimes I would speak Russian and they Ukrainian and we’d make do that way. I think of this tangent because after this tourist info woman spoke Ukrainian to my Russian, she made sure to say “Dasvidanya” which is distinctly Russian.

After getting tourist info, we went to the train station to purchase our tickets. It was only my second time buying train tickets and the whole process is still very intimidating to me. I had my Ukrainian phrasebook ready and steeled myself for the waiting, the curious looks at our backpacks, the outright staring sure to occur the moment I open my mouth.

Christopher was having a bit of culture shock. The pushing, staring, whispering and pointing and such were getting to him, and he was reacting angrily. Granted, maybe no one understood what he was saying, but I felt a little uncomfortable, despite also understanding how uncomfortable it can be to be singled out.

By contrast with his newness and adjustments, it was interesting to note how much I have grown accustomed to such things. While I probably will never enjoy being jostled and I’m definitely never going to enjoy being cut in front of in line anywhere, I’m somewhat accustomed to crowded public transport and being a “star.” In fact, there’s even a syndrome for expats or PCV’s when they return to the US and are no longer “stars.” Even if they didn’t enjoy the attention that being different brought them, suddenly they are very ordinary and there’s a vacuum where all the attention to their every move used to be.

The train station still makes me nervous because one waits for a long time, then has a short amount of time with a generally taciturn railway employee and there’s always people trying to push in and ask questions, especially when they hear the slowness of my speech. Plus I have to be really careful to make sure I understand what they’re saying because changing a rail ticket would suck.

In any case, the railway employee was actually sort of friendly, but told me that I couldn’t buy tickets that day for the coming Saturday. I tried to ask several ways, but each time she told me I couldn’t. She said I would have to buy them the next day.

I got out of line, then decided to verify that I understood correctly. The second time around, she explained using large hand gestures and creative dance interpretation that one can only buy tickets 3 days before the train leaves. Despite having a database on her computer, she was unable to tell me whether there were actually tickets available for the train we wanted.

This turn of events meant that we needed to stay in IF one more night, then buy tickets the following morning. Christopher also reacted rather strongly to this ridiculous rule, which also contrasted nicely to me how passive I’m getting when people tell me things such as this. We realized later that we could have tried bribing her, but I really don’t want to contribute too much to that culture. A chocolate bar of thanks here and there, sure, but outright bribes are icky.

We trooped back to the expensive expat palace, braving the Canadian gymnasts one more night.

More to follow…

14 August

I'm still catching the blog up to present, but today was such a beautiful day that I wanted to write while it's fresh.

I took the metro from work to the language school where I'm taking a weekly Russian group lesson. Today as I rode up the metro escalator, I noticed that almost everyone was carrying bouquets of dried flowers and also that many arrangements contained poppy flower pods, the part where people make heroin from.

Inspired since I was going to class, I asked the woman riding next to me in Russian if today was a holiday and if so, what kind was it. Strangely, I wasn't annoyed when she replied in English, as I usually am in the language tug' o war. She told me that today is a religious holiday when people bring these flowers to the church to be blessed. She didn't explain why and I didn't think to ask, but she did say that the next week was a day to bring apples to the church to be blessed and that the apples would be best after this day.

I suppose that these holidays are pagan rituals absorbed by the orthodox church, celebrating an end of summer and a bountiful harvest. I'll try to get more info on these holidays.

As we said goodbye at the top of the escalator and I entered the bright summer afternoon, I was overwhelmed by the sight of lines of women selling dried flowers and by the scent, as many of the flowers were herbs gone to seed and flower. There was basil, oregano, mint, wheat, poppy pods, marigolds, zinnia, among hundreds of others. For nearly ten minutes, I walked down the street by these vendors, and compared the different selections and colors and smells.

There are times when this country is so beautiful that I ache from the sight and this afternoon was such a time. The metro stop is also right by one of the botanical gardens and to get to the language school, I walk on a path through it. The whole walk to class was highly pleasurable.

It's just that life here becomes routine, so much so that I begin to forget at times that I've ever lived anywhere else or that the whole world isn't like this. I'm not explaining this well; but sometimes when something so striking as today's flower fantasia happens, I'm jolted out of a mundane acceptance of this life and realize that I'm living in Ukraine! I'm far from home! Excitement and adventure in the world! Woo Hoo!

Right, it's late and time for bed. Goodnight, all.