Flat Stanley II – The wedding and hanging out
July 15,
We got to Kyiv (the capital) with no problems on our train. We met some other American friends of John and then took the subway to a bus station so we could get the bus to a village which roughly translates as “Glory of God” in Ukrainian. It is about 2 hours away and the bus was VERY HOT!! Traveling in Ukraine in winter or summer can be very tiring.
Peace Corps Volunteers work for 2 years in a foreign country but before they start they have 3 months of training. They learn about the culture, traditions, history and spend a lot of time learning the language. John lived in a village for training, and a good friend of his, Kaleb, lived in the next village. During training, volunteers live with host families and Kaleb fell in love with his host sister. She is nice and pretty and the same age as Kaleb. Today we are going to their wedding. There should be lots of interesting traditions.
*****
WOAH! What a great time. It’s late but the wedding and party were so interesting. First, we all met at Kaleb’s host family’s house. John, the other new arrivals and I cleaned up, and then we went into the yard. Kaleb had to stand outside the gate and “buy” his bride from Lena’s (his new wife’s) cousin – it must always be a male brother or cousin who does the selling. It is like a joke or a play but an important part.
[Editor’s note: in this whole process of mailing off Stanley and photocopying his journal, I seem to have lost one of the pages. I will fill in as best I can: After paying a pickle, some money and a couple of other random things from the small cousin who was a bit terrified of his big responsibilities (there were no other eligible, older candidates), Kaleb went inside the house to be stopped by Lena’s sister with a poster colorfully drawn of all their important dates. In order to get past her, Kaleb had to identify what happened on each day. Then upstairs they did the traditional bread and salt thing with their parents, which I believe I described in the other wedding post, last year. Then we went to the hall for the official ceremony. Lena’s town only has one church left after Soviet times and they aren’t so foreign friendly. They wouldn’t let Kaleb marry there unless he presented Baptismal certificates of his God parents, and they were there. Everyone thought this was absurd, and we think they were just putting up obstacles. So they will marry in a church next year in the States. The signing ceremony was the state substitute during Soviet times. When the weather is nice, they are scheduled one after another. We had to wait for the previous one to finish. Then they bring us in, it’s nice, but quick and we go out the side door to make room for the next. There on the terrace we toast and congratulate.]
Next, we get in the cars and drive like a big train to famous places around town to take pictures. Usually the pictures are just of the couple but everyone goes and there are group shots sometimes.
After about 2 hours of this we go to a restaurant that has been reserved for us. Sometimes couples will do it at home outside or at a school cafeteria. There are 2 long tables set with many places and LOTS of food and then one table at the end with places on only one side plus the cake and a traditionally decorated bread. The bride, groom, best man, maid of honor and parents sit here.
We sit down, toast to the marriage and begin eating. There are very many toasts. Each male member of either family toasts and sometimes grandmas and aunts too. Each of the American guests did a toast. John and two other volunteers did a lot of translating to English for Kaleb’s family or to Ukrainian for everyone else. Then later there is dancing and music for some time and then more eating and toasting. They only drink alcohol while they are toasting, not in between, and then everyone drinks together.
This second time that we sat down there was a competition where one table would sing a Ukrainian song and then we would sing an American song. Chris, one of Kaleb’s other friends, sings very well and plays guitar. He was a big help. Then we sang the National Anthem and the Ukrainians sang theirs and we all decided not to go on. There were other games too – during the party people would “steal” the bride, and then Kaleb must dance or do other tasks to “buy” her back.
Finally, everyone was tired and we had eaten so much so we went home to bed.
July 16,
Weddings in Ukraine usually last 2-3 days. So today we got up leisurely, had a nice breakfast on the veranda and then got dressed to go back to the restaurant. Kaleb wore an embroidered shirt today which was done by Lena’s grandmother. Lena wore a nice outfit, but John said that he had been to another wedding where the bride wore her dress, veil, and everything the second day too! I forgot to write about how they cut the cake yesterday. The cake was big with swans on top. They symbolize marriage here. It was very delicious but they didn’t cut the special bread; that was for today. I also forgot to write about Lena’s veil. There is a special tradition during the party where her veil is removed and her hair tied up in a white handkerchief. It symbolizes her no longer being single and all old ladies wear handkerchiefs here. It used to be tradition that young women would have very long hair until they were married. Then at the party the husband would chop it off and the ladies of the family would tie her hair up in a big bandana and she would wear it in public from then on. They don’t do this anymore but very long hair is still seen as very traditional and very beautiful.
So today we went back to the restaurant, ate a lot more, the parents toasted, and Kaleb and Lena had a special thanks for them. But first the food. They love sausage and there are many types; there is also fresh cut vegetables, cheese, many salads mixed in mayonnaise like potato salad, marinated olives, mushrooms, tomatoes and then they bring hot food – soup called borsht (it has beets and sour cream in it), chicken with piles of potatoes, liver, and “holubtsi” (which are rice, meat and vegetables wrapped in cabbage leaves and boiled). Then they bring sweet pancakes like crepes with sweet cheese or fruit rolled inside. It is all so good! When they bring the sweet things Kaleb and Lena have a kind of tug of war with the traditional bread where they each try to pull off a bigger chunk with only their teeth. It shows who will be the leader at home. They were pretty equal. Then they cut the bread, and everyone takes a piece. On top of it are bread crusts shaped into flowers, plants, rings, and they represent different blessings for the couple.
So then there’s more dancing and eating and toasting and finally we pack up and go home. John and I decided to stay one more night so we said goodbye to the other volunteers at the bus station and went home to relax. Lena’s family asked us to stay and they are so nice. Ukrainians are known for their warm hospitality. They have a big house with a field that stretches down to the river. They have potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, beans, squash, onions, garlic, zucchini and lots of flowers growing plus apples and cherries which grow on trees. The cherries are sour but they make delicious juice.
We went all down to the river and had a picnic. We went swimming and made barbecue shish-kebabs. Kaleb’s family got going telling stories of when he and his brother were little and John had to translate them all. I almost forgot, at a wedding often the guests joke that the food is bad tasting and so they chant “sour.” The couple then must kiss to make things “sweet” again. This happens a LOT, plus after every toast, and sometimes even the best man and the maid of honor have to kiss!!
July 17,
The next morning we all got up early because Kaleb’s brother had a morning flight form Kyiv and everyone else was going to go sightseeing in Kyiv for the next few days. Lena’s family rented a van for everyone. They dropped John and me off in the next village, and we went to see John’s host family. We just hung out. John’s brother was the other one who got married and they will have a baby in two more months.
Then we took a bus into Kyiv and caught a ride with the Director of Peace Corps in Ukraine out to a conference site. John had missed the first part of theconference because of the wedding but the 2nd part was a language review. A lot of John’s Peace Corps friends were there and it was almost like school because they go to classes on Ukrainian grammar and speaking.
That night they watched a really bad horror movie in Ukrainian. It was Ukraine’s first homemade one, most movies are from the USA or England, France, Italy, Russia, or Spain. I hope they get better.
July 18,
More classes today. All day. It’s tiring. We did learn how to can jam at one and the movie tonight was strange but interesting. It was about Cossacks. They have funny haricuts. They were kind of like Ukrainian knights a long time ago.
July 19,
Today was the last day of the conference. There were more classes in the morning and some private tutoring time. Then John and I decided to go to another village by the Dnepr River to visit some friends.
We took a short bus and met them all at the beach by the river; the river is very big and there is a dam so it is even bigger here. It was warm and nice to swim in.
At the bus stop we got soft serve ice cream. You pay by the amount! They weigh the ice cream in the ice cream cone and then charge you for how much. We stayed that night with another Peace Corps volunteer and her host family. John had been there once before. We had dinner, listened to the radio, looked at photos and talked till bed. Ukrainians love to look at photos.
July 20,
This morning we got up slow. It was nice to sleep in. We picked berries off the tree for juice and we helped to feed the chickens, turkeys, and ducks. The little ducks are very cute. Then Baba Halya came over. Baba means Babusya which is the word for old lady or grandma here, but it isn’t rude to call someone that. They respect age very much. Babusya in Ukrainian looks like: Бабуся.
Baba Halya decided she wants to come with us to help us learn about Ukraine. Then she wants to go to the USA to learn a bit. Her village is very small. Everyone still farms most of their food and there are no big buildings. There are only about 2000 people but people have lived here for 10,000 years! They have lived here longer than people have known how to farm, longer than we have had bread!
She took us to an archaeological dig in town where they have found the skeletons of some of these people. Then she took us to a museum in the next village named after the Trepylya people. They lived here from 7,000 – 2000 BC. They were the first to farm. The museum also had exhibits on other people that had lived here. Vikings had sailed down the rivers from the north and people like Greeks up the river from the South. It was very interesting and so much history.
Then John took us all to the train station in Kyiv and we caught another overnight train to his town.
A TALE OF TWO TURKEYSBy Nicole Clausing
This story is a bit over-dramatic, but it makes me cry every time I read it. I have carefully kept it, much like the frozen fire chicken you are about to meet, since last December, when it was circulated among us, Peace Corps volunteers here in Ukraine. I don’t know if it is legal for me to post, but I couldn’t help it. I don’t know if Ms. Clausing was a Peace Corps volunteer, but there are many things in this story that suggest such. Beyond that, with a few place name changes, the whole story – complete with sunflower seed shells and language brown outs - could totally have happened here.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I miss you all most on this day.
Even though it was speaking English, I wanted the voice in my head to go away. "You're forgetting something," it murmured as I stepped off the train in Shijiazhuang. "Didn't you have another bag?" it asked, more insistently, as I dodged touts and money- changers on my way to the bus stop outside the station. By the time I was boarding the local bus that would take me to my friend Sarah's apartment, the voice was bellowing like a Red Guard. "Hey, you left something on the train!"
Halfway to the teachers' college where Sarah taught English, 175 miles southwest of Beijing, my day flashed before my eyes with sudden clarity. I remembered taking a bus from the Qiao Yuan hostel to Tiananmen Square. The Beijing bus had been so packed that sardined riders in front passed their one-mao bills hand-over-hand to the fare collector perched in the back.
I remembered walking from the square to the friendship store on Jianguomenwai Boulevard. There had been crunching locust-tree leaves underfoot, and the crisp air smelled like coal dust and candied crab apples.
I remembered picking up a box of Australian chocolate cookies and an over-priced, under-fed frozen turkey from Hong Kong. I remembered tucking the bird under my arm like a clammy football and trotting off to the central station, where I just made my train.
I remembered getting on the local bus in Shijiazhuang, feeling strangely light in spite of the frame pack on my back and the daypack slung across my chest. It was then that I understood what the nagging voice in my head was talking about: Out there in the darkness, chugging through the Chinese countryside, nestled cozily in the overhead storage area where I'd stashed it so a conductor could sweep up sunflower-seed shells and cigarette butts, was my Thanksgiving dinner.
Brandishing the cookie box before me like a protective shield, I knocked on Sarah's door. "Hi, I brought cookies!" I yelped, hoping this would make my friend forget our deal: Sarah had promised that if I found a turkey, she would find a way to cook it.
Sarah considered my maniacally proffered gift. She also eyed my suspiciously light baggage. "You forgot something, didn't you?" she asked. I replied the way anyone who'd just ruined her first Thanksgiving away from home would have: I burst into tears. Sarah responded by doing the very last thing I expected: She laughed until she needed to sit down.
As soon as we both could speak, we agreed that it was too late to do anything that night. Sarah, in fact, seemed to feel that although we'd lost a turkey, we'd gained a great holiday-gone- wrong story that shouldn't be spoiled with a happy ending. I however, tossed and turned on the couch for hours feeling like the world's biggest turkey myself. I'd spoiled Thanksgiving. I'd wasted a piece of meat that had cost more than most backpackers spent in a month on food. If I ever returned home my mother, who effortlessly orchestrated a 10-dish dinner every Thanksgiving, would undoubtedly disown me. And that's assuming I was even allowed back into my home state of Massachusetts. I slept fitfully that night, haunted by visions of puritanical authorities in buckled shoes sentencing me to wear a scarlet letter for the sin of Absent-mindedness.
Early the next morning I set off on a borrowed bicycle, armed with directions to the train station and a command of Mandarin about as reliable as the local electricity: adequate as long as I didn't ask too much of it, but flickery, and prone to abrupt shutdowns.
Conversational circuits blew almost immediately at the station information booth. "You left what on the train?" the attendant asked incredulously, "You'll have to go talk to security," she snapped, and slammed the window shut. The brownout continued at security. "Did anyone turn in a frozen turkey?" I asked the matron at the desk. She sighed and rummaged half-heartedly through a box of thermoses, ceramic mugs, and other train detritus. "No, no turkeys here," she said. "Try the information booth."
I pedaled dejectedly back to Sarah's, trying to cheer myself up by imagining my dinner being discovered by one of the starving Chinese children American mothers like to invoke to make their kids eat, but it didn't help.
Sarah seemed almost relieved that the bird had not come home to roost. But because I felt so terrible, she volunteered her semi-bilingual neighbor, Mr. Yan, to help me talk turkey with security.
Talking about turkeys, incidentally, has not always been possible in China. Mandarin has a well-established word for chicken: "ji". But the more recent introduction of turkeys required a new word, and the neologism chosen was "huo ji", meaning, literally, "fire chicken."
My understanding is that the "fire" part is meant to convey something like the English prefix "mega," or "deluxe." All I have ever been able to picture, however, when I hear the phrase is a rocket-powered Henny Penny doing screaming barrel rolls over her henhouse, shooting flames from her tail like a MiG.
For this reason, the conversation with security quickly became one of the most surreal I've ever had in my life. "Can you describe the fire chicken?" asked the first security officer, who looked like he ate railroad stowaways for breakfast. "She says the fire chicken weighs about five kilos," translated Mr. Yan. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he kept it together. "Where did you last see the fire chicken?" asked the second officer, almost completely successfully swallowing a smile. "She left it in an overhead rack in a hard-seat car on Tuesday night...right?" Mr. Yan said, glancing at me for confirmation. "Yes, ta shuo de dui," I nodded, as solemnly as I could, desperately fighting back an attack of the giggles.
The men soldiered through the rest of their discussion. I struggled to keep up, biting my tongue every time the words "fire chicken" jumped out at me. Afterward, Mr. Yan explained to me that he'd learned that the train I'd been on had changed course at Shijiazhuang and was now bound for the province of Inner Mongolia. My backward bird looked to be heading north for the winter. "I'm sorry," Mr. Yan said as kindly as he could while trying not to laugh. "I don't think they're going to find your fire chicken."
Thanksgiving day passed with no sign of the wayward bird. I moped through Friday and most of Saturday until finally the god of feathery edibles decided I'd suffered enough. Returning from an errand, Sarah and I skidded our bikes to a stop in the dusty, brick-strewn courtyard in front of her building and saw Mr. Yan beaming in the doorway. "Guess who called," he said, trying to sound casual. "The train station. They found your fire chicken."
An hour later I was holding my well-traveled turkey in my arms. It was still frozen. By the next morning, the prodigal little bird was thawed, stuffed, trussed, and wedged into a portable oven that Sarah had somehow gotten her hands on. The giant egg- shaped device looked more like a beauty-parlor hair drier than an oven, but it did the trick, and several hours later, Sarah and Mr. Yan and I sat down to an inexpertly carved but perfectly cooked Thanksgiving turkey. We served it doused in a lumpy giblet gravy, accompanied by powdery rolls, banana bread, gluey mashed potatoes, and litchi-fruit salad. We washed it down with Sprite. It was the most modest Thanksgiving I'd ever been part of, but I can't think of a single meal I've ever been more purely thankful for.
A lot has changed in the 13 years since that Thanksgiving. Sarah got married and moved to New Zealand. (She also became a vegetarian -- our ultra free-range turkey turned out to be the last one she ever tasted.) Sarah goes back to China periodically and reports that the Middle Kingdom we remember of bike lanes and old women tottering on bound feet has taken such a great leap forward that I wouldn't recognize it. Certainly China wouldn't recognize me, more amply padded than in my backpacking days, and showing some gray in the blond hair that Chinese children used to dare each other to touch.
Even our idea of Thanksgiving has changed. The cozy story I was raised with in Massachusetts, the one with the friendly natives and grateful pilgrims, has been supplanted -- in progressive circles, at least -- by a more complicated tale of mutual distrust and limited contact. I accept this revised version, but it has always seemed to me a shame that that first Plymouth Thanksgiving didn't work out better. Because as I learned in China, it could have. Every part of the story -- the bumbling new arrivals, the face-saving locals, the improvised feast, the sharing of unfamiliar foods, the gratitude -- it all could all have happened. I know because it all happened to me.
[Used by kind permission. Copyright Nicole Clausing 2005.]
www.Airtreks.com
Flat Stanley I – The trip to John
Many of you have asked what I do here in Ukraine. Well this was a fun project that I did with a class near Chicago. There is was a children’s book many years ago about a character named Stanley. One day he was squished flat by a falling billboard, and was very distraught, but then he discovered that he could be mailed, and off he went on great adventures. And enterprising teacher turned this into an elementary class project, and now Stanley travels all over the world, keeping a journal, and goes home to tell the class about it. I kept one (of 21) that were sent to another PCV here in Ukraine for a few months this summer. I think you might find it interesting and it is easier to explain about what I do and about Ukraine when you read it from day to day. My school year is much the same as the summer; it is just more constant, where here I have days of nothing really that I have to do, and then weeks of extreme activity. During school it is more balanced. There is always something going on, but it isn’t usually as intense.
The first part is by Eartis, the student in the states that sent this Stanley. The next part is by volunteers in Crimea, Mark and Ginny Pulver (
www.pulverpages.com), that received them all and then mine. I have taken out all the place names where volunteers live as is requested by Peace Corps for our safety; sorry if that makes some things more confusing. Baba Halya is a paper grandma that the Crimean volunteers included along with a paper cat.
Please excuse my switching of tenses, and spelling mistakes. I have tried to type just what was in the journal by all those that wrote (Eartis is in 4th grade, I think). I will try to intermix Stanley posts with the real blogs I prepared on the various events, and one day maybe you can see the photos with Stanley in them. I have quite a few.
May 25, 2006
Dear Journal,
Hello my name is Eartis and I have a friend named Stanley. Today Me and Stanley rode the bus to school. It took a half hour to get there. A couple of weeks ago, me and stanley had field day. Field day is when three different schools go against each other. Here’s the things we do. We do long jumps, high jumps, softball throw, ball socket throw, 50 yard dash, 220 race, and cross country. Me Eartis I was in the 220 I got in first place. Oh I forgot to tell you about what we learned we do divied, multip, adding minus and we read, study spelling words. We have recess. We wacth movies sometimes. When it rains we have recess inside.
Yesterday it had started to rain I was at in the house borad. I said to myself what can I do my little sister was mad yesterday, because I couldn’t find her jump. I said there’s nothing to be mad at because it’s raining now so it’s to late. Then that’s when my little baby cousin came in and said I wants to watch backyardagains he’s only 2 years old to. So I put backyardagains in the DVD player. Then he said Eartis watch backyardagains and while I was watching backyardagains I was thinking what am I’m going to do on my summer vaction so now every in school I think what am I’m going to do on my summe vaction. What are you going to do? Love, Eartis
Dear Journal, 11 June 06
Today we went to the bazaar in Crimea. This is a big outdoor marketplace. Boy was it crowded! I bought this journal to write about my vacation in (Editor’s note: the previous entries were on loose-leaf paper. They don’t have that in Ukraine. All students keep notes in little soft cover notebooks which is what this one was.)
I am staying with a nice couple who live only 1 block from the Black Sea. I hope I can swim there.
I will write more tomorrow. I am very tired – I think I have jetlag.
Stanley
Dear Journal, 12 June 06
There are lots of stray dogs and cats here. I like dogs and cats but it doesn’t seem safe for them to live outside running loose. There are about 15 cats in the courtyard where the Pulvers live. I saw about 10 dogs. People feed them scraps and no one seems afraid of them.
I can write my name in Russian letters станлый = Stanley
Some of the letters look backwards to me, but the Pulvers showed me on the alphabet chart. Russian is like a secret code! I wonder if I can learn to speak Russian if I study. Maybe Eartis will help me!
More tomorrow - Stanley
Dear Journal, 13 June 06
We did lots of stuff today but my favorite thing was helping Mr. Pulver with his video project on the computer. He showed me lots of tricks people use to make movies. The video he is editing is going to help Ukrainian teachers be better teachers. Teachers from the USA are part of the Peace Corps to help teachers in Ukraine. Tomorrow I will tell you about the fort and other stuff. Good night! Your friend, Stanley
Dear Journal, 14 June 06
We visited Mithridate Mount today. There is a stairway up the mountain and it has 432 steps! We were all out of breath when we got to the top. We had a picnic there and enjoyed the view. There used to be a Greek City on the mount. Now there is a tall monument to WWII. It looks like the Washington Memorial in Washington DC. We took lots of pictures.
Your friend, Stanley
[editor’s note: I had two Stanley’s at first, but I passed one along; from comparing the two I surmised, and later checked, that Virginia kept 21 separate journals for 4 days. That is a LOT of work, even for short entries. Each journal was different]
July 8
Today I met my new host, John. He is from Florida, but now he lives in a town in the Lvivska region of Western Ukraine. It borders Poland and they speak only Ukrainian in this area. It is near the mountains and is very different from Crimea where I stayed with Ginny and Mark.
We traveled by overnight train to a camp in Kharkiv which is a Russian-speaking area rather far from where John lives. He had never been to an area like that in Ukraine so he went to help with a camp. He wanted to see how things were different in Eastern Ukraine.
The camp was put on by other Americans but all the campers were Russian–speaking Ukrainians. We broke into teams that represented different countries. I was on the team of South Korea. At the end of the week all the teams came together and pretended to be the United Nations. We had to solve different world problems.
We also taught the campers how to play Ultimate Frisbee. They liked it very much. We played on the beach of the lake, where the camp was, almost every night.
July 14
After the camp, we took the “Marshrutka” back to Kharkiv. A marshrutka is a small mini-bus that carries about 15 people. They get very crowded and hot in the summer. Ukrainians are afraid of draft breezes, so they don’t open any windows.
When we got to Kharkiv, we had to wait for our train for awhile, but in front of the station there is a big water fountain that had lights and water that changed along with popular Ukrainian Pop music. It was interesting to watch and listen to as we waited. Then we got on the train. There are two classes of train cars for sleeping. One has little rooms with 2 sets of bunk beds and a small table and window in between. It has a door you can lock and the bathroom is at the end of the hall. The other is just a long train car with bays of bunk beds. Each bay has six beds. There are no doors or privacy so this class is cheaper.
International Youth Municipal Hearings
I was very impressed by this conference which was being conducted for the second year. It is a very young town, created by the Soviet Union 40 years ago, but the town has incredible youth programming. The city and donors pay for the conference and it was very well organized. They had logo’s and billboards, even goodie bags like an American conference. The hotel was quite nice and this was all what I had expected last year when I started going to Ukrainian events, but I had been very disappointed then.
The experience started when I was called the NIGHT BEFORE by my program manager and asked to do a speech at the opening ceremony. The conversation went something like this:
-John, we’d like you to speak at the opening ceremony about what is like to work with youth in Ukraine, what are their strengths and why is empowering them important.
+Ok, how long do I have?
-Three minutes?
+ Wow, that is a lot to cover in a short time! I will need to work with the translator for a few minutes before the ceremony starts.
-Well, actually, we feel that your language is so good, that we want you to do it in Ukrainian.
+ (long, disbelieving pause) Uh…This is for tomorrow right? I am not even at home where I could work with my tutor on this?!
-Well, give it a try.
+ uh,…ok…
-(click)
[We get 130 Ukrainian Hryven a month from Peace Corps to work with a tutor. That is equal to $26 or about 13 1-hour sessions]
Needless to say, I was a bit nervous. So the next morning, off go the folks to the airport and I meet my Ukrainian counterpart, Roman- a friend who works with the Ukrainian Scouts, at the train station to take a bus 4 hours to the conference town. On the way, there was a movie, “Failure to Launch.” It caught my attention because of its antithetic Ukrainian themes (not a big deal to live at home with your mother caring for you; BIG deal if she should think of getting rid of you), so I asked Roman his opinion. That really hadn’t got his attention at all; he was more surprised by amount of sports in the main character’s life than by anything else. He asked if we really spend so much time playing. I honestly don’t know about the average guy, but it looked a lot like my life in college, and what I hear from you young professionals without families, so I said yeah. How do you all feel? Did anyone see it?
Also, on the ride, we stopped at a café for a break, and I sought out the shade nearby. Roman was surprised that I wouldn’t want to stand in the sun, being from Florida and all. It was a hot day and a hot ride, so I was enjoying the shade, thinking that most people from Florida would probably do exactly the same. This reminded me of the time that Liam (from Florida) and Jon (from Michigan) came to visit one winter in Philadelphia and we spent all day walking around the very cold city. Jon finally asked if we could go in somewhere, and we were so surprised at his lack of endurance to the winters we thought him accustomed to. He replied, “Yeah, but we don’t spend all day walking around, OUTSIDE. We stay in where it’s warm.”
At the conference site, on the banks of the Dnepr River, we found a Barbara Bay, a monument to construction workers, and a huge statue of Stalin. Roman is a die hard nationalist and an instigator. I thought he would be a bit better in this professional atmosphere, but I could see already at registration (a thing unique in itself here) that I was to be disappointed. There was a student camera crew interviewing in coming participants. The mike was stuck in my face almost as soon as I walked in the door, and I tried to get out of it, but after Roman’s rant about the Stalin statue, I thought I should try to redeem our town. I ended by saying my favorite thing in Ukraine (a question invariably asked) is the national potato dumping dish (a response that invariably gets a laugh and approval – though what they really want me to say is the women)
When we get to the hall for the opening ceremony, there are like 300 people there, plus ministers from the national government and the Ambassador from Indonesia. I was more nervous, nor was I even really sure what I was going to say that was both meaningful, short and in coherent Ukrainian. I pulled it off. They seemed very satisfied. I was less so. The worst part was that when I heard the mayor making comments to the ambassador who were seated on the stage nearby I lost my train of thought completely. I think he was commenting on my language skills, but it ruined me. I wrapped up clumsily, but was able to bring my point home when they put me on the spot to speak at the closing ceremony. It got a good laugh at of the conference organizer. She had quite a strong personality.
That night there were fireworks for Ivana Kupala, a big religious holiday for John the Baptist that was thrown over the pagan summer solstice. For me it was like the 4th of July. The weather was beautiful and there was a disco with a good DJ. We danced and had a great time.
The kids of this town, as was made apparent through presentations, dance numbers, videos and just talking with them, are so well adjusted kids; there are so many activities to encourage them to develop and excel, from breakdance to student parliament. The president of Ukraine will be from there one day, I’m sure. There programs might be better than the States because they has such focus and support from in the community; if they could train and finance volunteers, Ukraine wouldn’t need me or my youth development program.
The next day, we continued the sessions. We had been divided by choice into committees of different themes whose goal for the conference was to discuss Ukraine’s current situation, possible projects to get youth involved and policy suggestions to the government which would then be compiled by the volunteer moderators and really sent to a special council of the government that was also over looking our Peace Corps project. I was on the economic development and entrepreneurship committee. It was very interesting to discuss economics in a former socialist republic. As Americans, we try to raise money like a business for NGO’s. They wanted to establish rules for business to give to NGO’s.
That night was the last game of the World Cup. Ukrainians bill themselves as great soccer fans, and they do like to play, but they are not fantastic and as fans there are more like front runners. The Ukrainians had been knocked out 2 rounds earlier, so everyone else was at another disco, while all the Americans, who have a worldwide reputation of not liking soccer, were watching the soccer game. Then, just in the very exciting last minutes, the TV crew from the fist day came in to my room. They let themselves in on account of us not hearing them over our screaming at the last second, for the goal. They still didn’t get it, and wanted to interview us some more and question why we weren’t at the disco.
Even though we looked out at the river the whole time, it was only after the conference ended that I got to enjoy the real beauty of the water. There was a small community center yacht club (ie.free) but they were done for the day when I got there. I probably could have pushed with money but I had 15-year-old Dima, a member of the local youth administration, in tow, and I thought it a bad example. He wanted to take me on a tour around town, which ended up meaning clear across town (2 hours walk) in Kino’s (after I had said I didn’t want to go far) to see a mining operation (ie. building complex). But he was so excited that I couldn’t stop him. And in the evening I did get to swim (finally).
I felt a real connection to the whole experience, but more importantly, I felt the future and possibility of Ukraine.
My 26th year
The other day, I started a new year of my life and I was struck by several things.
I have reached the average age of marriage in the USA, though I have never been quick on the draw, slow and methodical is more my way.
I like to think of myself as a minimalist, not a materialist, but I know I am hard to buy for. I am not sure if the gifts I received and so enjoyed prove my practicality or my hypocrisy. I got a fountain pen, 6 fine stemmed wine glasses, and a spoon to replace the one lost in “Ode to a Spoon.” The gifts were all very thoughtful, and things I probably would have never bought myself, and so they will be well used. I also got one of the corniest knick knacks I have ever seen – a 6 inch ceramic cow from my 11th graders.
I received many nice wishes from all over, thank you.
I have been shaving for as many years as I had not.
The next several posts are inserts into the “Journey of the Toothpick.” Then Stanley will tell his account of the same events for a while.
Thoughts about being at home
Over the course of the summer, I was home for two short trips of 72 hours or less. These are some of my thoughts and the events that caused them. I don’t know if I would call them culture shock, but they have something of that flavor.
People here wanted to know what I told you about Ukraine; what you asked; what was my favorite meal. They also commented after my trip in February, that it was obvious that the weather had been good because I was sunburned. That comment only lasted a week, and in fact, I was only a bit tan, but they don’t have a different word.
On the plane from Warsaw, Poland (pronounced Varshava in Polish), there was a German and a Pole sitting behind me. They started talking in their common language- English- in stereotypical accents. They spoke about Speedy Gonzalez, Chuck Norris, and the Cheesecake Factory. It was quite funny, really. They talked about how Americans complain about high gas prices when comparatively they are so low there, and how so many drink coffee all day, and how they don’t get the fascination with Starbucks and the like. It was their fascination with America that I couldn’t quite get.
This and other events (like KatieTarr/Schuessler’s fabulous reception dinner) got me thinking of my American food favorites – Apple pie, dorritos, rice crispy treats, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal cookies, barbecue sauce, lobster mashed potatoes, ricotta cheese (OH, it is so good!!!), root beer, turkey, stuffing, meatloaf, pumpkin pie… I also greatly enjoyed nice wines at Katie’s dinner, and getting to see a much waited for movie, in English, on the big screen. I was so happy Pirates was still playing. We take such little things for granted. I will fight for our American cuisine which everyone is so quick to say doesn’t exist.
People in the keys spontaneously burst into song, much in the same way as characters in musicals… or Ukrainians who have been drinking a bit.
While driving in the USA, I made SO many u-turns. I realized I don’t miss those or 8 lane surface roads (of course this was outside of Atlanta, one of the worst American cities for traffic).
I made SO much trash, and ate so much junk food – chips, soda, milk shakes. I probably had more in those few days, than the whole last year I lived in the USA, but I also realized how much garbage and packaging comes with it all. I did get to enjoy fresh bagels, ice tea, and publix subs.
In the Publix Grocery check out (oh, how I love Publix) in Marietta, GA, I was struck at the ridiculousness and friendliness of Americans. Where as if you ask a Ukrainian, he will tell you how to get to something that he isn’t even sure of himself; I asked where the closest movie theater was; Sando had told me, but I am in the habit of asking at least two individuals because of the Ukrainian fact above. Also, I was amazed at how far he said the closest one was. Well, this distance made it hard for the check out girl to describe it, until a bagger came over to try to help. Hearing their discussion and disagreement of the best way, another teller joined in. By the end, 6 people were trying to all give me directions by committee! It was very nice of them but a bit of disaster, I tried to wrap of the conversation politely, and then I ran away. I found it with Sando’s directions, after a few more U-turns.
I stopped at the library for free internet which was so fast, but you are only allowed 30 minutes.
We weren’t lost yet as we went to the wedding in mountain country NC, but it was late and dark, so we stopped to ask at a local gas station just to get a better judge on distance. Well they weren’t too sure, but these boys with a thick accent said they knew and that we should just follow them, because they couldn’t explain (see story above and feel free to comment on Americans inability with directions). Well, they veered quickly from the directions we had and were going very deep into the dark mountains. At one point they pulled over and asked the road name again, argued a bit and then turned around to take us even deeper in another direction. We got a bit scared, and I still thought I knew where we were, so Sando drove slower and slower over the twisty roads, which was easy to do, and they were going quite fast, and when they disappeared around a far curve ahead, he quickly did a nice 3 point turn and we gunned it back. We got there fine, but we were pretty scared they would come following us for some sort of redemption.
The hamburger scene from the Pink Panther is hilarious. People here are always complaining that Americans don’t eat well and like hamburgers too much, but actually going to a MacDonald’s in this country is a much coveted and celebrated event.
Meagan and Claes Bell’s wedding was so beautiful. Just had to say that. Oh, and Brutus (their big boxer dog) at the reception was a perfect touch.
I always have more trouble returning to Europe by plane. In Atlanta I waited 1 hour and 40 minutes in the check-in line. In Miami, they tried to convince me that my reservation had been cancelled because I had never flown there in the first place! They actually asked if I still had my boarding pass stub from the flight over! How else would I be standing there?
The London airport had a book by a prestigious publisher that said Ukraine has a city called Leningrad, and that English is the US official language.
Coming back...
... to Ukraine after being home, and starting school again(!), these were some of the thoughts that hit me:
- I came back to Cyrillic signs, which I feel are so much easier to read than Polish
- Many people the first few days back asked about my mustache or oseledets, everyone from teachers to friends to shopkeepers that I regularly frequent. I was surprised several times by how curious and interested people were, especially those who usually don’t have anything to say to me. The opinions were mixed on whether I looked better with it or not, but I think the jury would definitely say that I achieved the goal stated in the Osoledets post. [editor’s note: Katie, if we had stopped by that Friday night, you would have seen it, but I shaved it the day before your wedding because I didn’t want to take attention off you.]
- Going from camp to school was hard. I understand camps very well; they are really my home turf. There, I was a respected elder among friendly, fun colleagues; we were all working towards one goal, on one wavelength. School politics have none of these factors, neither do high school boys and girls who are high on hormones. Sometimes I feel like I am back in school, or that it might be easier if I was.
- Funny things happen everyday here (at least, definitely more interesting). For example, a man told me and a woman after the fourth bus went by that we need to walk up the street a bit for it to stop, and then he flagged one down just 10 feet from the discussed spot, but it wouldn’t for us 20 feet further (we had walked on faster, and we then continued with the woman cursing under her breath).
- Being back here is back to being the most interesting person around, by the general consensus. I personally preferred the loss of status and notoriety back in the USA.
