Straight From The Camel's Mouth

Pictures From Picking Mushrooms in the Woods

2007-12-11T15:29:00.000-08:00

In October, I went with Roma and his parents to the village to gather wild mushrooms. We went to Roma's grandparent's house and then climbed aboard his grandfather's horse drawn carriage. Actually, carriage makes it sound too fancy. It's really more of a wagon. Regardless, grandpa took us far out into the woods. We spent the day gathering. The first picture is from the wagon. The second is a bunch of mushrooms. The third is me with Roma's mom, Nadia. And the last picture is just me and my bouquet of mushrooms. It was a great day.

Pictures From My October Trip to Uman

2007-12-11T15:14:00.000-08:00

Back in October, Roma and I took a trip to the city of Uman to visit Sophiavsky Park. As you may recall, we unwittingly arrived in Uman on the "Day of the City." Both the city, and the famous park, were packed with people. There were no rooms available at any of the hotels in Uman so Roma and I saw the sites quickly and then caught a bus back to Bar. It was a long day. Note Roma carrying my black bag teaming with apples...

Pictures from the Summer Shotgun Wedding

2007-11-30T09:29:00.000-08:00

In July, my friends Serioga and Mariana had themselves a shotgun wedding. The wedding, pulled together in under a month, was a two day affair. The first day was the official ceremony and big reception with some 100 people. The second day was the church ceremony and a smaller reception at Mariana's house with just close friends and family.

(For a full account -- or just a refresher -- of the wedding and its customs, see the post titled Hot Days of Summer.)

Pictures Featured Here:

1. Serioga and Mariana (signing up for the ball and chain) inside the city building.

2. Family and friends outside the building after the deed is done.

3. Me, Sash and Alona with the bride and groom at the reception hall.

4. The best man drinking a shot of vodka out of the bride's "stolen" shoe.

5. Mariana customarily kissing bread held by her mother-in-law.

6. Traditional Ukrainian wedding bread.

7. Mariana, now a woman, holds her veil on the heads of all the single gals as they dance. Does this single gal look familiar to anyone?

8. Roma and the maid of honor crossed dressed and acting like an old married couple on the second day of the wedding.

9. All the friends gathered around the "old married couple." Please take a moment to look closely at "his" crotch.

10. The boys hoisting Mariana and Serioga up in the air on a bench. They hoisted until Serioga "paid ransom" (in this case a bottle of vodka...no real surprise there).

Old Camping Pictures

2007-11-23T19:48:00.000-08:00

Here are some old pictures from the summer. In July, on what turned out to be the hottest weekend of the summer, my friends and I decided to go camping. Things didn't go so well. It ended up being so hot and miserable that we only lasted one night.

The first picture is of the boys in the lake. They took a small wooden boat out fishing and, due to the enthusiasm of their singing, drinking and rocking to and fro, managed to sink it. The lake wasn't so deep, so they were able to wade their way through the mud back to the shore. It's hard to see, but they were able to save the vodka.

The second photo is of me with Alona, Anya and Sasha. We were sitting by the campfire drinking, shashleeking and suffering the mosquitos.

The third picture is of me and Alona sitting around the "table."

The fourth, and arguably best, is of Roma as he "tried out" my sleeping bag before we left.

Some Pictures

2007-11-22T13:49:00.000-08:00

Here are some pictures from the last few weeks in Bar. The first is Dima wearing the funny glasses that I gave him. The second picture is of me, Roma, Sasha and Alona with Sasha's brother and his friend. We were invited over to Sasha's parent's house to eat pigeon. While there, we engaged in arm wrestling competitions. It was cold.

Gearing Up

2007-11-07T04:45:00.000-08:00

It is snowing in Bar today. It's snowing and it's cold and I have a little more than a week left here. Suddenly my life is very surreal.

Last night I went over to Olga's house and had dinner with her parents. Olga, of course, is living in Arizona, studying as an exchange student, and wasn't able to make dinner. It was all right though; I figured she'd be a no show.

My dinner with Anya and Victor was the first of what will soon be many good-bye meals. Friday night I'll be gathering together my best Ukrainian friends for one, final vodka fest. True, I'll still have a week in Bar, but I don't want to have my going away party at the last minute. It'd be too sad. So I'm having it on Friday, at the restaurant Alyanc, while I still have a week to go.

Saturday, following the vodka fest, I'm going to the village with Roma and his family because it's time to kill the pig. I can't really think of a more culturally appropriate thing to do this close to departure. I will not, mind you, be helping or participating in the slaughtering of the pig. I plan to stuff my ears with cotton balls, bury my head under a pillow, and turn the TV up real loud. I've heard the death screams of a pig before and suffice to say, it's not an experience I want to repeat.

However...

I have also tasted the meat of a freshly slaughtered pig and it was downright delicious. Downright delectable. Downright an experience I'll gladly repeat.

Don't judge. You'd like it too.

In other news, it's really no fun moving when you're doing it all alone. Packing, moving, cleaning that final time are all things that I've historically done with friends, or parents. (Good times, right guys?) However, here, I'm flying solo, and for two reasons. One: As nobody I could possibly sucker into helping me has ever flown, let alone moved long distance, they really aren't much help. It takes a lot longer to tell people what to do than to just do it yourself. And two: It's sad, I've found, to pack, or talk about packing, with people who don't want to see me go. So it's a solo act this time around.

The cats definitely know that something is up. Well, that's not true entirely. Klitchko definitely knows that something is up. Phoebe seems relatively oblivious. A few weeks ago, both cats had themselves quit the adventure in Kiev. It was their first time outside my apartment and they were troopers. I took them to the state clinic where they got their rabies shots, their microchips, and their kitty passports.

Due complications with ticketing, I won't be able to bring the cats with me on the plane, so I'm shipping them to San Francisco a day or two before I leave. The logistics are still being worked out, and it'd be a lie to say I'm not stressed out about it, but I know that it'll all work out. No matter how stressed out I am about packing, leaving, saying good-bye, getting the cats home, getting myself and Jason home; no matter how overwhelmed I find myself in the here and now, the truth is that in 14 days, I'll be back in America.

And that truth, in the here and now, is utterly surreal.

Ukrainian Top 5

2007-11-02T03:43:00.000-07:00

Top 5 things I love about Ukraine

1. The singing.

One of my favorite memories of living in Bar is being at Sasha and Alona's house. It was Dima's second birthday and everybody significant to him had gathered to celebrate his life. Both sets of grandparents were there, as were cousins, aunts, uncles, godparents and friends. We sat around the table eating and drinking to his health, to his success, to his happiness, to all the goodness awaiting him in life. Towards the end of the evening, as often happens when lots of alcohol has been consumed, everyone started singing. Dima sat on the couch clapping his hands and smiling and I sat at the table trying my hardest to make the moment stand still. I love it when they sing and their voices blend together and it's so beautiful I want to cry. I love that the library of songs is inexhaustible, that everybody knows all of them, and that they have been gathering and singing around the table for generations.

2. The people.

Ukrainians are really good people. They are generous and caring. True, many a Ukrainian has driven me nuts these past two years; but none purposely or knowingly. I was on the train going back to Vinnystia after being in Kiev with my cats and I was sharing a coupe with two middle aged women. First, one snuck me a piece of chocolate. Then the other slid me an apple. Then the first gave me a banana. Then the second offered me some salami. It was very Ukrainian. No matter how much or how little they have, they will always offer it to a stranger.

3. The language.

As challenging as it has been, I have really come to love living in another language. There is something very amazing and beautiful about communicating with someone in their native language. I was at the store buying fruit yesterday when the saleswoman asked me if I was from Poland. No, I said, I'm American. She looked at me, smiled and said, "You're American? And you speak our language? That's wonderful." And it is.

4. Shashleeking.

Nothing beats rounding up all your friends, heading to the woods and having a BBQ. Nothing beats sitting around a picnic blanket, drinking vodka, eating meat, playing soccer or cards. Nothing beats looking around at the rolling hills and seeing a herd of cows off in the distance. Nothing beats a Ukrainian shashleek.

5. The cultural moments.

I love that Ukraine is Ukraine. It's not America, it's not Russia, it's not any other country. It's distinctly itself, and I love it. I love the cultural moments that result from it. Two weeks ago, I had my end of service medical exam. I was shocked, and a bit aghast, to learn that I have gained 17 pounds since coming here. When I told Roma, he responded: "That's great! See how you gained weight in Ukraine!" Later, Roma said to his mom, "Guess how much weight Sheryl has gained in Ukraine?" And later, his mom told Oksansa, and Oksana told her boyfriend. Just this week, as we sat around a dinner table with a bunch of friends, Roma nudged me and asked, "How much weight did you gain in Ukraine?" And then proceeded to tell everyone my news. I had to smile to myself because it was one of those cultural moments that is so not American, and so worth the smile.

Soon

2007-11-02T03:17:00.000-07:00

Jason flies over in 18 days. That's pretty unbelievable, 18 days. He was originally flying out to help me get my cats home but due to extenuating circumstances, the cats will be shipped early. So now, Jason is flying out to help get me home. And truthfully, I'll need the help. It's going to be really hard for me to leave.

I love Ukraine, and Bar, and living here. My experience has been amazing and remarkable, this last year in particular. And the truth is, though I'm ready to go back to America, I'm also really apprehensive. More apprehensive I'd say, than I was about coming to Ukraine.

Two years ago, when I was getting ready to join the Peace Corps, I had no idea what I was getting myself into; but I at least knew where I was going. The scariest thing about leaving here is that I don't know, specifically and concretely, what will be. I hate not knowing.

I worry about readjusting to life in America because I haven't just volunteered in Bar, I've lived in Bar. I have friends. I have family. I have Roma. I have so much to be thankful for and it's going to be really sad to leave it

Signs, Omens and Birthdays

2007-10-11T02:17:00.000-07:00

I've never been one to look for signs or omens or to think in terms of lucky and unlucky. I do, after all, own a black cat and he regularly crosses my path. With the exception of the time he set himself slightly on fire by jumping up on the stove, nothing bad has happened. So when my key got stuck in the door early, early Saturday morning, effectively locking me inside my apartment, I did not think: bad news, bad sign, can't take this trip.

After yanking and twisting and cursing, I got the key out of the door and headed over to Roma's house. His mom fed me a hearty breakfast of mashed potatoes and fried turkey.

"Do you want an apple for later?" she asked as we were getting ready to head out the door.
"Sure," I said, "I'll probably want an apple later." And with that, she shoved six apples into my bag.

The plan was to catch an early bus to Vinnystia where we could catch yet another bus to the city of Uman, one oblast (and 3.5 hours)away. Uman is the home of Sophiavsky Park, the most famous park in all of Ukraine. I have heard about the beauty of Sophiavsky Park since I first moved to Ukraine two years ago and have always wanted to visit it.

We had originally wanted to visit the park with our friends Sasha and Alona, but plans with them kept falling through and so Roma and I decided to take the trip ourselves, before all the fall leaves fell.

Roma and I decided to make a short trip of it. We would get into Uman around two o'clock Saturday afternoon, find a hotel, drop our bag off and then head to the park and spend the rest of the day walking around. Then, Sunday morning, we'd get back on the bus and head back to Vinnystia.

So stood the agenda when Roma and I and my bag full of apples left the house early, early Saturday morning. While we were waiting for the bus to Vinnystia, it started pouring down rain. It rained and rained and rained all the way to Vinnystia where we caught a bus to Uman.

Now if I were an omen kind of girl, I probably would have thought: key + torrential downpour = stay at home. But, I'm not that kind of girl. And so on we went to Uman.

Three and a half uncomfortable hours later, we arrived in Uman. As the bus was coming into the city, I scouted out signs for hotels.

"I saw a sign for a hotel back there," I said to Roma after we were off the bus.
"Back where?" he asked.
"Back there," I said, waving my arm wildly in the direction the bus had just come from.
"Well, there are taxis here, why don't we just take a taxi to a hotel," he said.
"Why take a taxi when I saw a sign right over there," I said again, waving my arm even more wildly than before.

And probably more because he wanted to stop my crazy arm waving from drawing any more attention to us, Roma gave in and we started to walk.

"See," I said, pointing up and feeling smug, "A sign for a hotel"
"A hotel that's a kilometer away," Roma responded.
"Well, that's not that far. Let's just keep walking," I replied.

And so we did. Roma and I and my bag of apples kept walking. In the distance I heard the sound of a parade, but didn't think anything of it. I was too focused on finding the hotel and being right to concern myself with any festivities that might be taking place.

Unfortunately, our walk to the hotel took us farther and farther away from the town. We were standing on the edge of civilization with no hotel in sight when I finally had to say,

"Well, maybe you were right. We probably should have taken a taxi to a hotel. We don't want to stay someplace in the middle of nowhere."

And with that, Roma and I and my bag of apples walked back.

Once in town again, we grabbed a taxi and asked the driver to take us to a hotel.

"That's going to be hard," he said, "Today is the city's birthday and I've never in all my life seen so many tourists."

It was true. It was the Day of Uman and literally thousands and thousands of people from all across Ukraine came by the busloads to celebrate the city and visit the famous park. We couldn't get a hotel room at any of the seven hotels located in the city nor could we rent an apartment for the night as I often do in Kiev. Nothing was available. The city was flooded with people. Of the 365 days in the year, Roma and I picked the single worst day to visit Uman.

The taxi dropped us off at the center of town where we made a last ditch effort to get a room for the night. But everything was full. I was frustrated and disappointed and though it made no sense at all, furious at our situation. I had, in short, a case of MFF (Mahaffey Family Fury). MFF is the sudden, inexplicable flare up of unnecessary anger or fury over matters beyond ones immediate control. It subsides as quickly as it flares up so long as the afflicted party is not egged on.

"What are we going to do?" Roma asked innocently as we walked past packs of happy people holding balloons and eating popcorn, "Are you listening? What are we going to do?"
"We're not going to talk for five minutes," I snapped, "Got that? Five minutes. In five minutes we'll talk about what we're going to do, but for now, I'm just angry."

Five minutes later, MFF gone, we decided to visit the park and then try to get a bus back to Vinnystia -- if there was one.

So Roma, I and my bag full of apples headed to the park. It was a beautiful park. There were lakes and fountains and flower beds and waterfalls and rose gardens and grass fields and trees in every lovely shade of Autumn. It was the most beautiful natural space I'd seen in Ukraine.

Roma and I walked around taking pictures and squeezing our way through the crowds of school children on class trips. And though we had but two hours to walk around before our bus left for Vinnystia, Roma and I and my bag full of apples had a lovely time.

Once back in Vinnystia, we had to call our friends to come pick us up because there were no buses to Bar. We waited for them in a pub where we drank beer and laughed about our luck and the fact that Roma and I and my bag full of apples probably should have seen the signs.

End of September Check-in

2007-09-26T01:30:00.000-07:00

September has raced by. Things are pretty good. My schedule at school is fairly relaxed and I have a lot of time to start doing the little things necessary to move. Things like going through my books and deciding which ones I'm going to lug back to the peace corps office for other volunteers to read, and which ones I'll just donate to my school.

Things with Roma have been good, most of the time. Each week has had its ups and downs, which is to be expected I suppose, when a departure date looms. Truthfully, I'm not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep seeing me. Each week seems to get more and more taxing for him. We'll see. I love him and I just want to be able to part of friendly terms.

Most of my focus these days has been on getting my cats home. This will involve a trip to the vet mid-october. Sharece has agreed to help me get my cats to Kiev when the time comes. It should be interesting.

The most exciting news of late is that I have a plane ticket home. My brother will arrive in Kiev on November 18th. We will spend the 19th and the 20ths seeing the sites, and then on the 21st, we fly home.

I know that I'm leaving very soon, but it still feels far away. There are so many loose ends for me to tie up at my site, and so much paperwork for me to fill out for peace corps. I can't believe that I've been here for two years. It's all very surreal at this point. Past that, I don't really have anything to report. I just wanted to check in say that things are going well and in LESS THAN TWO MONTHS (!) I'll be back in the states.

Hot Days of Summer

2007-08-02T06:15:00.000-07:00

The last few weeks have been HOT. The weather has finally cooled off, but for awhile, it was really, ridiculously hot. There were some days that were so hot that literally everybody stayed inside. Bar was a ghost town. Today the weather isn't so bad. In fact, it's rather nice out.

This past weekend our friends Mariana and Serioga got married. The wedding was a two day affair full of eating, drinking, and dancing. Weddings here are very different than weddings in America and it was, to the say the least, an educational experience. Among the differences:

1. In the morning, the groom and his family go to the bride's house because the groom must buy the bride from her parents. (Roma best be saving his Benjamin’s!)

2. The two then get into separate cars. Family and friends pile into other cars, all of which are decorated with balloons and streamers. They then drive in a procession to [the equivalent of] city hall. This is a noisy honk-fest. (Except if you're stuck in a car that doesn't have a working horn, like I was. In that case, loud techno music blasting from the speakers substitutes for the horn)

3. After the civil ceremony, everyone went to the park. It doesn't have to be the park though, just someplace outdoors and "in nature". There we drank two bottles of champagne and ate some chocolate. The bottles were then tied together and thrown into a tree, where they hang from a branch symbolizing...something. Well, that's what’s supposed to happen at least. In this case, the best man missed the tree branch and shattered the bottles on the cement.

Highlights from the reception include:

1. The bride being stolen mid-way through the afternoon by the grooms friends. She is taken someplace, by car, and the groom must find her.

2. The bride's shoes are stolen by the best man. Later, he must drink a large glass of vodka from the each shoe. (The glass is placed in the heal of the shoe. The vodka is not, as I initially thought, poured directly into the shoe)

3. The groom's mom takes off the bride's veil. She then puts a white scarf on the brides head to symbolize that she is now a woman. The bride then dances with every single girl at the wedding holding the veil upon their heads.

4. From time to time, everyone starts chanting 'horka! horka!' This means that the bride and groom have to kiss. Not just a peck mind you. They have to kiss while everyone counts and if the total is less than a count to ten, they get heckled.

Weddings are a two day affair. The second day there was a ceremony at the Orthodox church followed by a smaller reception at the bride's house. The second day was more fun, in my opinion, than the first.

Among the traditions from the second day:

1. A guy and a girl are snatched away. They return cross-dressed as an old married couple. It's very comical. Roma, because he is such a good sport, came out dressed like an grandmother. He was wearing slippers, an old black dress stuffed with sweaters, and a white veil that was his 'wig'. His face was made-up with badly smeared purple and pink makeup. His counterpart had a drawn on beird. She too had her shirt stuffed so that her stomach appeared large. Hanging from her pants was a carrot and two onions. I'm not sure why they do this, but it was really funny, especially because the groom's 50 year old aunt kept grabbing the carrot and squeezing Roma's sweaters.

2. The parents of the bride, followed by the parents of the groom, followed by the bride and groom themselves sit on a bench. Friends and family then thrust the bench into the air over and over until the parties agree to pay some sort of ransom.

In all, the wedding was interesting and fun. Unfortunately, it also gave me, Roma, and our friends food poisoning, but I'm told that it's an anomaly. Wedding don't always equal food poisoning-- only when they happen during the hottest days of summer.

***

Speaking of the hottest days of summer, A few weeks ago, when the heat wave was at its strongest, my friends and I decided to go camping. We went to Sasha's grandmother's village about 30 minutes from Bar. Just outside the village was a large lake with many small islands. We set up our camp on one of the islands.

The first day was fun. We got there in the late afternoon and the weather was cooling down. The boys fished, the girls swam and, as the sun sank lower into the horizon, the mosquitoes feasted. The next day was really hot, probably around 115 in the sun, and we found ourselves in a bit of a pickle as we hadn't brought enough water. The guys went into the village to buy some bottles, but were turned about from the ONE store because there was a wedding in the village the next day and all resources -- including mineral water -- were being saved for the wedding.

When the guys came back without water, we figured we probably were going to have to pack in up and head back to Bar. Then Sasha got an angry phone call from his mother. Apparently there was rumor flying around the village that we'd come to the lake to kill geese. Funny, since there were no geese at the lake.

Anyhow, at that point, we figured enough was enough: it was hot, we were low on water, and the village had turned against us. We packed it up and went home. As it turned out, it was a good thing we did. Sunday was the hottest day on record. Roma and I spent the whole day limp on the couch in front of the TV. I took three cold showers and I still was miserable.

***

Darcy and Matt are coming to visit me. They get in on Monday. We're spending the night and Kiev and then we'll head to Bar. I'm so excited to see them I can hardly contain myself. I'm also excited for them to meet Roma. It’s going to be a lot of fun.

Finally, the Update

2007-07-06T04:34:00.000-07:00

I really need to blog, but I haven't blogged in so long that I don't even know where to begin. A lot has happened in the last month: my parents came to Ukraine, Roma dropped a boiling tea kettle on his naked foot, Jennifer came back to Bar for a visit, we celebrated the fourth of July with fireworks and hamburgers, and Roma and I got engaged.

I'll work backwards.

Roma asked me to marry him and I said yes. We'd spent a really great day at the river with our friends. In the evening, we returned to Bar and were all sitting around a table at the park drinking beer, eating dried fish, and watching our friends' children play when he leaned over and whispered in my ear:

"I love you. I want you to be my wife and the mother of my children. Will you marry me?" It was a bit of a surprise, I'll have you know. Not a total shock, but a surprise.

Anyhow, to me, it was romantic, and sweet, and I'm smitten, so what else could I say but yes?

***

Perhaps because he will soon be a resident of the USA, Roma took to celebrating the fourth of July with vigor. He insisted we make hamburgers for our friends and drink beer because "that's what Americans always do in the movies" and Roma wanted to celebrate like "true Americans." And so, in the spirit of being "true Americans", after we ate, we went across the street to the stadium and played baseball. Unfortunately, the weather was against us and the game was called short on account of rain.

My old site-mate Jennifer and her sister Stephanie are in town visiting. In the evening, they came over with a homemade apple pie and we all waited out the rain. It finally subsided around 11:00, and we went back across the street to the stadium and set off fireworks. It was fun.

***

I've been really busy since my parents visit and since I got back from Budapest. While I was away with my parents, Roma dropped a boiling tea kettle on his foot and burned the top of it badly. He's fine now. His foot has scabbed and he's back at work; but for about a week and a half he was housebound and in pain and in my charge.

In that period of time, he discovered peanut butter. I don't know how many peanut butter and honey sandwiches I made for him, but I'm certain the figure was in the double digits. He'd never tried it before, and after he tried it, he immediately got on the phone to Sasha and Alona and said, "You guys have to come over and try this stuff!"

***

My parents' visit was great. We had a wonderful time. I was worried that it would be awkward for them, but it ended up just being fun. They really liked Roma and Roma really liked them. It was while my parents were here, and with their blessing, that Roma and my engagement became official.

Of course, their visit wasn't without its share of drama. Within two hours of being in Kiev, my dad was pick pocketed on the metro. He didn't lose much cash, and we were able to cancel all his cards immediately, so it was okay.

Our adventures included a trip to the sauna, a trip to the forest, an "excursion" around Bar, and yes, a meeting with Katia "the crazy lady" who was my host mom my first three months in Bar.

Katia's third question to my parents: "When do Yulia and I get to go to America?"
followed by: "Where's Jason?" and "What does he do?" and "How much money does he make?" and "Isn't my Yulia pretty, doesn't Jason want a girlfriend?"

You get the picture.

More later on my parents visit, the engagement, and Roma and my plans for the future. For now, my apologizes for taking so long to blog and a renewed vow to be better at keeping in touch.

Time to Fetch my Parents!

2007-06-08T01:26:00.000-07:00

In a mere matter of moments, I am heading to the airport to collect my parents. I'm so excited that I can barely sit here and type this. Their flight gets in at 1:30. The plan is to come back to the Peace Corps office, drop off their bags and then spend the afternoon walking around Kiev. In the evening, my friend Vadym is going to pick us up and drive us to Bar. Tomorrow we are going to have dinner with Roma's family. Then we're going to go to the sauna. On Sunday, we're going to shashleek in the forest near my friend Alona's village. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday we'll relax in Bar. Wednesday night we will take the train out west to Lviv. We'll spend a day walking around Lviv and then we're off to Budapest. They leave from Budapest on the 19th and I'll take the train back to Bar. That's the plan at least. I can't wait. That's all for now though, because IT'S TIME TO FETCH MY PARENTS!!!

Finally, Some Photos

2007-06-08T01:06:00.000-07:00

Here are some pictures from the last few months. The first picture is Roma and his sister Oksana. Roma is wearing the Laker's jersey I got him for his birthday and a medal he got for playing basketball when he was younger. He fished out the medal specifically for this photo.

The second picture is me and Roma holding our shashleek meat. It took awhile for the meat to cook so it was dark by the time we ate. During the day, we enjoyed nice weather and, as you can see in the fourth picture, the boys played cards.

The third picture is me with some of my friends. We were at the park in Bar. The last photo is of the cemetary in Roma's grandmother's village. On Easter we went to the cemetary and placed flowers and food at the grave of his relatives.

Heat Wave

2007-05-24T04:12:00.000-07:00

Well, school is wrapping up. The last official day is Thursday, the 31st, though really, it's just a day to have class parties. My last official day of the 2006-2007 school year will be next Tuesday. Monday is a holiday, (the Ascenion of Christ) and Wednesday I never have lessons, so that leaves me with two more teaching days. There's a happy thought.

We've had a heat wave here in Bar with the temperature hovering in the high 90's. This is rather unheard of for Bar this time of year. The heat wave usually comes in July or August, and that has lots of people talking. Rumours are going around Ukraine that there was a radioactive explosion somewhere in the country and that's why things are so hot. You can't exactly blame Ukrainians for being suspicious, Chernobyl and all, but Peace Corps has assured us that radiation levels remain unchanged. It's simply hot. No foul play. No conspiracy. And sadly, no AC. Thankfully I have a fan.

***

My favorite class is my 7A (NOT to be confused with 7B, they're a nightmare). On Tuesday we had our lesson outside, under the shade of an old tree. The class is all girls who LOVE to practice speaking English. They are my only class where I can speak entirely in English and be understood. They are my only class where it is difficult for me to get an English word in edgewise. They're fantastic, so on Tuesday, when the classroom was suffocatingly stuffy, we ventured outside.

We were standing in a circle tossing a ball around and asking/answering questions. They were happy. They were enthusiastic. Things were going along smoothly. Then about two thirds of the way through the lesson, things got a little wacky. Out of nowhere, and with no warning, a bird pooped on poor Marichka. It got her on the left shoulder and forearm. She squeeled and made a beeline to the bathroom. It took about 5 minutes for laughter to subside.

Marichka was a good sport about it. She laughed and then proceeded to twist every question thereafter to somehow include the answer: And I would kill all the birds!

Summer and Skirts

2007-05-16T04:57:00.000-07:00

Summer is almost here. The weather is warm, the trees and flowers are in bloom and my students are as disinterested in English as they've ever been. I understand, I was a student once too, but it's annoying as a teacher.

I'm getting very excited for summer, not just because I'll have no school, but because my parents are coming in June. I've been busy planning for their whirlwind tour through Ukraine (Bar, Lviv) and Hungary (Budapest).

***

Last wednesday, the 9th of May, we celebrated Victory Day. It's one of my favorite holidays because it is all about remembering the victims and the heros of World War II. In the morning, I joined the teachers at my school in a parade through town. There were hundreds of people in the parade. We walked through town to the first of two war memorials. Each organization walking in the parade put flowers at the foot of the statue. Then we walked to the park and put flowers at the war memorial there. There were speeches and songs and it was all very nice.

The weather was bad last wednesday: cold, rainy and very windy. Yet there were still festivities in the park. There were kiosks with food and drinks and ice cream and cakes. People picnicked despite the bad weather. My friends and I spend about 30 minutes in the park before we threw in the towel, opting for the warmth of my apartment.

***

Since the 9th, the weather has been lovely, hot even. Roma and I often meet our friends at the park and spend the evenings outside. Last week I had the misfortune of sitting down on a bench that had just been painted -- blue. I had a comical blue bench mark across the rear of my favorite black skirt. I wasn't alone. My friend Alona also had blue bench marks across her jeans.

Try as I might, I was unsuccessful in getting the paint out of my skirt...so I gave it to Roma's mom and let her work her magic. She managed to get the blue stains out by washing my skirt in gasoline. As you can imagine, I was thrilled. Now I'm just working on getting the gasoline smell out of the skirt. I fear that by the time I'm done with this task, I will have washed/gasolined my poor skirt to death. We'll see.

Apologies and Cat Pills

2007-05-07T04:14:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged in forever and I do apologize, especially to anyone waiting on the edge of their seats to hear about my basketball tournament. I realize that recently I've been really bad about blogging and sometimes weeks will go by and I'll write nothing until my mom finally says to me, 'Sheryl, are you ever going blog again?!'

I apologize.

The "regional tournament" was rather anticlimactic, especially since I didn't end up playing. Turns out the girls tournament was for those ages 12 to 17. Not exactly my age bracket. I'm not entirely sure why the coach invited me to play in the first place. He either thought I was much younger than I am -- which is flattering, I think... -- or he really didn't know that the tournament was for young girls. Regardless, I didn't end up getting to say "Get outta my kitchen!!" like I'd planned.

Roma and the guys we play basketball with during the week did play though, and they won. Big. I believe the score of their first game was 125 to 53 and the score of their second, 116 to 27. They're going to Vinnystia this weekend to face other "regional winners." So that means this week we have serious practice, not just open gym.

In other news, Pheobe became a woman. She's gone into heat on two seperate occasions forcing me to take drastic measures and put her on the pill. Locating kitty birth control was an adventure in and of itself, let me assure you. I knew that the pill exsisted, I just didn't know where to get it. But one morning, after a sleepless night of frantic, heated furniture rubbing, I made it my mission to restore peace and tranquility to my apartment.

I went to a pharmacy close to my apartment. I said to the woman: I have a cat and I don't want her to get pregnant. Do you have a pill for this?

She said no.

I went to the central pharmacy, the biggest one in Bar thinking surly, surly it must be there. I said to the woman: I have a cat and I don't want her to get pregnant. Do you have a pill for this?

She looked at me kinda funny and said: No. This is a pharmacy for people. You want to go to a pharmacy for animals.

She told me the animal pharmacy was near the bazar, but she couldn't be specific. I headed towards the bazar, stopping at every pharmacy I considered "near the bazar," asking for kitty birth control. The answer, and the funny look, was the same:

No.
No.
We only serve people.
No.

I did, in the end, locate the animal pharmacy proving that trial and error, and a general disregard for feeling foolish, works. (Now might be a good time to note that there are a bazillion pharmacies in Bar. I don't know why. There just are.)

Roma's family finds this story incredibly amusing. His mom has laughed and retold it several times. Apparently, the fact that I went from pharmacy to pharmacy asking for cat pills and miming pregnancy is...well, funny.

Easter

2007-04-13T01:27:00.000-07:00

I celebrated Easter last Sunday with Roma and his family. We had planned on going to the village and spending the night with his grandparents Saturday night, but that didn't happen. I can't say I was all that bummed either. I love going to the village, but I almost always have to pee at least once in the night and, well, it's a treck to the outhouse.

So Saturday and Saturday night were spent in Bar. Friday, in the day, I went to Vinnystia and met up with Sharece and Sandy. Sandy had invited Sharece and I to go to a Ukrainian Cultural Museum and make Pisenka, traditional colored Easter eggs.

The three of us arrived at the museum around eleven o'clock. Inside, women were already hard at work making Pisenka. (And by women I mean three ten-year-old girls.)
We joined them at a small table and started working on our eggs. Pisenka are made every year at Easter time, traditionally by women. Also, traditionally, when you make Pisenka, you are supposed to think only peaceful, good thoughts. So we did. Or at least tried.

Making Pisenka requires using an archaic looking tool, much like a stick with a tiny, tiny metal funnel on it. Using this tool like a pen, you heat wax over the flame of a candle and then draw a pattern or design on the egg. Everywhere that the wax touches remains the color of the egg. After drawing a pattern or design, you put the egg in dye, starting with the lightest color you wish to use. When you remove the egg from the dye, you then cover with wax everything you want to remain that color, then you drop the egg in another dye. You pull it out, cover with wax everything you want to remain the second color and so on and so forth. It's very tedius, but enjoyable. In the end, when the egg is covered with wax and you're done adding color, you hold the egg over the flame and wipe the wax off with a clothe.

We were at the museum making our eggs for nearly three hours. Midway through our Pisenka session, a group of school children came to the museum to watch and learn about this traditional Ukrainian art. In the blink of an eye, we found ourselves swarmed with kids, eyes all watching our every move. We were the "experts" working on our craft. Yes, us American "experts" (along with our ten-year-old couterparts) demostrated for these school children how to make Pisenka. It was pretty funny.

In the end, I made two eggs. They weren't as perfect as I had imagined in my mind, but they're nice. In all, coloring Pisenkas was really fun, and a veru nice way to spend the day.

With my Pisenka in hand, (or mor acurately delicatly wrapped in a plastic bag), I returned to Bar ready to celebrate Easter. I told Roma that I really wanted to go to church. I didn't go to church last year. In fact, I don't believe I did anything to celebrate Easter and if I recall correctly, it was depressing.

Early Sunday morning, at 5 o'clock, Roma, I and a basket of special Easter meats, cheeses, eggs and breads, went to church. There were hundred of people at the church when we got there all standing outside with their baskets of food. Everyone stood in two orderly, perpedicular lines that faced each other. These lines wrapped around the church and into the street, like a cue line that never moved. Everyone had their basket on the floor with a lit candle sticking out. As it was early, and still dark, this made for a very beautiful, very moving sight.

We waited with our basket for about thirty minutes for the Priest as he slowly walked the lines blessing people and their baskets with water. He walked by and blessed us and our basket of food. He was followed by women from the church choir singing songs a capella. The songs were beautiful. After we'd been blessed, we went back to Roma's house and waited for his parents to wake up.

Around 9 o'clock, we headed for the village. In the village we ate (a lot) and drank (a little) with Roma's Grandparents and his Uncle. Then we went to the cemetary. There were many people in the cemetary and, as always, it was bursting with the vibrant colors of floresent fake flowers which people had left on graves. We went to the graves of Roma's great uncle, great aunt and great grandparents. At each grave we too left fake flowers. We also stopped for two minutes to place speacial Easter bread and easter candies on each grave. I had no idea what to expect during our visit to the cemetary. I thought perhaps we would spend a fair chunk of time there, but as it turned out, we didn't. This is how our 10-12 minute visit went:

We walked to the first grave. Nadia layed down a napkin (which, to be specific, was a Christmas napkin that said 'Feliz Navidad') and placee the food on the grave. This food consisted of Paska, a special cake they bake only on Easter, a handful of individually wrapped chocolate candies and an orange. We then stood by the grave, for a minute or two, until Nadia collected the food and we moved on to the next grave, repeating the process. At each grave, we left a cup of water, a single chocolate candy and, of course, a bouquet of vibrantly colored fake flowers.

After the cemetary, Roma, his parents, his grandparents, and me all squeezed into the Lada and headed for another village to visit their cousin who had just had a baby. (And by just, I mean 5 days earlier.) It was a pretty funny sight, me, squeezed in the back seat between Nadia, and Grandma AND Grandpa. (Though to be fair to your visual image, Grandma was riding on Grandpa's lap.) We spent a few hours oogling over the baby and eating (a lot) and drinking (a little) and watching (uncomfortably enough for me and Roma who are NOT talking marriage) his cousin's wedding video. (A two tape set!)

We dropped Grandma and Grandpa off at the farm around six and returned to Bar around seven in the evening. Roma and I then went to visit his Godson, Dima, and our friends. We ate more and drank more and ate more... I ate so much on Sunday that I'm still full.

All in all, Easter was a nice day. It was nice to go to church, even if it was different than what I'm used to. It was nice to spend the day with a family, even if it wasn't my family.

Tomorrow I'm going to Vinnystia to say goodbye to my friends Sandy and Eric. Their service is up next week and they're returning back to the states. It's always sad to say goodbye to volunteers, but I'm happy that I got a chance to know them and I'm happy that they finished their service successfully.

Next weekend I've been invited to play in a "regional tournament" with the girls basketball team in Bar. The tournament, conveniently enough, is being held in Bar. I'm excited. It should be fun. I'm not sure the ages of the girls that I'm playing with, though I'm fairly certain they are 16 or 17. I keep joking that I've been recruited to play with the 12-year-olds. Regardless, I'm excited. It should be really fun.

Village Days

2007-03-30T02:29:00.000-07:00

Saturday will probably be a village day. There's lots of work to be done there this time of year, and I like doing it. It beats hanging around the apartment all day.

The village is where Roma's grandparents live. It's where his mother grew up, and before that, his grandfather. Like most, it's a small village, devoid of pretty much anyone between the ages of 18 and 30. Most of the people who live there permanently are in their 70's and 80's. Young people do not stay in the villages. They leave for larger cities and towns where they can find education and work. Few return, except to help their parents and grandparents with the harvest.

My first visit to the village was for Roma's grandfather's 78th birthday. We went via the family car, which is an old (perhaps 25 years old) Lada. It's a functional car, albeit loud and a bit like MTV's "Pimp my Ride" the before.

I've now been to the village three times and so far, this has been my experience getting there:

I squeeze into the back seat of the Lada with Roma's mom, Nadia. Roma's father, Tolic, drives us out of town, perhaps 4 kilometers, where we stop to get gas. After that, Roma drives and Tolic sits in the passenger seat critiquing while Nadia comments from the rear. (It should be noted that Roma's real name is Vadym. Roma is a nickname that I've always known him as and I always call him. But around his parents, it's Vadym)

Roma pulls out from the gas station...
Tolic: More gas, more gas!
Roma: I'm giving more gas.
Tolic: Watch out, car up ahead.
Roma: I see it.
Nadia: Oh Tolic...
Tolic: Don't hit the pothole.
Roma: I'm not going to hit the pothole.
(Roma clips the pothole)
Nadia: Oh Vadym, Vadym, Vadym
Roma: What mom, why oh Vadym?
Tolic: Drive on the other side of the road, there are less potholes over there.
(Roma goes to the other side of the road and clips a small pothole)
Nadia: Oh Vadym, Vadym...
Tolic: What are you doing Vadym?
Roma: You said to go over there.
Tolic: I said to go over there, not to hit the pothole.
Roma: Pa, you want to drive? Drive. You want me to drive, let me drive.
Nadia: Oh Vadym, Vadym. Sheryl, you should sit in the front and Tolic should sit in the back.
Roma: Good idea.
Tolic: I'll be quiet. I won't speak.....watch out for the turn up ahead.
Roma: Pa, I see it.
Nadia: Oh Tolic, Tolic, Tolic...

And so we drive.

About 30 kilometers from Bar, we turn off the main road (and I use that term loosely, because the "main road" is a narrow two laner full of potholes). We turn onto an old, cobblestone road, built for tanks during the war. It is only about 15 kilometers from the main road to the village, but it takes a long time. We have to slow down to a literal CRAWL as we drive along the cobblestone road. (I think I could probably walk faster than we drive this leg of the journey.)

It is at this point when it becomes impossible for me to hear/understand anything because it's so loud in the car. (For me, Ukrainian is best understood when it is spoken in a very quiet environment.) It is also at this point when Nadia usually becomes chatty.

Nadia: Bet you don't have roads like this in America, Sheryl. Do you have roads like this in America?

To me, her question sounds like: IEUREOK dkfajied OEiukd KDJOUE skeruo gh, Sheryl. DKjo k ldkfjou akdjf America?

***

The village house consists of three serperate buildings: a main house (three small rooms, no plumbing), a kitchen (one small room, no plumbing), and a small old house (one very small room, no plumbing, where Roma's grandfather grew up). On the property, there are two horses (used to pull the cart the grandparents use to get around town), two pigs (to be slaughtered some time after Easter), many chickens, turkeys and ducks, a guard dog named Jack, a cow (which I have yet to milk) and rabbits.

The last time I was at the village, I watched Roma's grandmother chase down a chicken and break it's neck. I also watched Tolic club and skin a Rabbit so I could eat it for dinner the next day.(Suprisingly tasty.) It's not all gloom and doom there though. I also got to run around the farm with Roma feeding all the animals, collecting eggs and clearing out poop from the pens. It was fun. I felt like Laura Engles Wilder.

***

Saturday will probably be another village day. Like I said, there is lots of work this time of year. Of course, the really hard work I'm not allowed to do. Roma's parents don't want me to work too hard. I'm constantly told, "Sheryl, smoke." (Not literally. It's just a Ukrainian expression.) But if I'm sneaky, and persistent, I can pretty much do any of the work I want to on the farm. And it's fun.

The Census will Show...

2007-03-23T08:34:00.000-07:00

Last week I recieved a rather large bill in my post office box. The ammount was 568 hryven, over 100 dollars. I had been expecting a bill from the post office, but not one quite so large. Last year, my PO box only cost me 25 hryven -- for the whole year. So, as you might imagine, I was rather shocked by the inflation.

I asked Larissa to help me figure out the bill. She took it to the post office.
"This bill is not yours," she told me the next day at school, "It belongs to the person who is now using your box."
"Oh," I said, rather confused, "Why is someone using my box?"
"Because it is no longer your box," she replied, "You must return your key to the post office today."
"Oh"
"You paid for one year and the year is up," Larissa continued, "and they gave your box to someone else."
"Oh"
"They said they will find you another box, but you must go return the key today," she said.
"Okay, I will. Thanks," I said, still a little confused.

After school I went to the post office and returned the key.
"Do you need another box?" the woman working asked me.
"Yes, please," I said. The woman then pulled out a large binder and flipped to the back where there was a list of all -- all 35 that is -- PO boxes in Bar. I looked at box number two, my old box, and saw that my name had been crossed off and replaced with someone elses.
"What about number 20?" the woman said.
"Okay," I said indifferently.
"Here, try this key," she said, fishing out a key from a drawer. It worked. I paid for the box and left.

Short story long: I have a new PO box number and it's number 20. My mailing address remains the exact same except instead of #2, send my letters to #20. Not so complicated really. I still don't really understand why I had to switch boxes when there are nearly 15 userless PO boxes, but that's Ukraine. And I can't fight Ukraine.

***

Next week was supposed to be Spring Break, but because we were under "quarantine" for ten days in February, we don't get the whole break. We have school on Monday and Tuesday; however, on those days we will be teaching lessons for Thursday and Friday. You follow? Monday I have my Thursday lessons and Tuesday I have my Friday lessons. Makes perfect sense.

Last week my teachers had to go around the city and take a census. No joke. The city was split into four sections and each of the four schools was responsible for taking a census in its respective section.

We had a big teacher's meeting at my school during the "long break" between the 4th and 5th lessons. (Our "long break" is 20 minutes.) The vice principal assigned all the teachers different streets. They were responsible for finding out who lived in the house, what they did, how long they'd lived there, the names of any children who might live there and the school which the children attend. The meeting lasted well into the 5th lesson, as there was much huffing and puffing about street assignments.

"I can't believe you have to go house to house and take a census," I whispered to Sasha, my fellow English teacher, "I mean, if you told a bunch of American teachers that they had to go house to house and take a census..."
"Yes, I know, it is ridiculous," Sasha said, "But it is our SSR legacy. It's not so hard really. And look at us, we're sitting here talking about it and the 5th lesson is almost over. The school is flexible with us, so we must be flexible with the school."
"I guess," I said, shaking my head.

No teacher ever came a knockin at my door. Hmmm... cracks in the system? Or does everyone just already know my business? Probably a little bit of both.

Happy Birthday Valya

2007-03-06T04:22:00.000-08:00

I have a young stalker, I believe I have mentioned her before. Her name is Valya, she's in the 6th form, and she just really, really likes me. She's always asking if I can go walking with her in the afternoons, or if she can come to my house and see my cats, or if we can meet on the weekends and hang out. She often makes "Best Friend" cards for me, or gives me candies, or small toys.

I have never gone strolling in the afternoon with Valya or had her over to my house, mostly because I haven't wanted to. But when she asked me last week if I'd go walking with her on Friday, and then told me it was her birthday, I caved.

So on Friday, I met Valya outside of the teacher's room. She was bouncing around with excitment, talking a mile a minute (in Ukrainian. Valya knows no english. She's a very, very poor student). I thought we were just going to go walking, but Valya had different plans.

"First," she told me, "We'll go to your house so I can see your cats. Can I see you cats? Please, I want to see your cats. I love cats. I don't have cats. I want to see your cats. Let's go see your cats...."

We went and saw my cats. Valya really liked them, Klitchko especially because he is sleek and black. She picked him up, swung him around, clutched him to her chest and snuggled him. Klitchko, to his credit, was a champ. He's not a snuggly cat except with me and even then, only on his own terms. Most people who try to pet him get a playful swat. But for Valya, he went limp and let her have her way with him.

We spent about 5 minutes at my apartment, after which Valya said,

"Let's go to the store so you can buy me a cake. Will you buy me a little cake? Do you like cake? I like cake. My mom bought me a cake yesterday but it's small. I don't think it will be enough when we go to my house and Alina, Vadym, Vicka, and Valentin come. We're having a small party. Did you know?"

I hadn't intended to buy a cake for the occassion, but again, I caved, and we ended up at the store. They all looked the same to me, so I told her to pick the one she liked. She picked a nice little chocolate cake that cost 8 hryven. Not a big deal at all, but it meant the world to her. She was beaming and telling everyone we passed on the street,

"Look at the present my American friend bought me! She bought me a cake for my birthday!"

We went to her apartment. Being there was awkward and depressing. It really explained a lot about her as a student and a person.

The first thing I noticed when I walked into her apartment was the stale smell of cigarettes. The second thing I noticed was that it was very messy and dirty. In my experience, this is very unusual for Ukrainian homes. I have been a guest a lot of places and I can honestly say that I have never been to a messy and/or dirty Ukrainian home. The walls had been stripped of wallpaper, but not thoroughly. I thought perhaps they were remodeling, but they weren't. There was also clutter everywhere, dust clumps on the floor, old food on the counters -- just general filth.

Valya's grandmother was there when we arrived, and I thought perhaps she lived there too, or at least came by in the afternoons to watch Valya and her brother. This wasn't the case. She had come by to use the bath, and stayed for mayber 20 minutes after the kids got home. She spent the whole time saying terrible things about Valya's mother. She accused Valya's mother of being lazy, of being a bad cook, of being a drunk, of being a bad mother, of being loose. She asked about Valya's father, and Valya replied:

"He only comes home when he's not drunk. But he is usually drunk and we don't know where he is."

Valya's grandmother never spoke to me. I said hello, but she acted like I wasn't even there. It was...awkward. After she left, I tried to help Valya set up for her party. She said she didn't know if her mother would be there or not. She wasn't sure where he mother was. I tried to help her tidy up and set the table for her friends, but she wouldn't let me do much. So mostly I could only watch and cringe as she did things like wipe crumbs off plates with a dirty old towel -- or with her skirt -- and put them out for her friends to use.

I had told Valya that I had to leave at 3 o'clock before we had gotten to her apartment. Eventually, three o'clock rolled around and I made my escape. I'm glad that I went, that I bought the cake, that I spent that *awkward *uncomfortable time at her apartment because it meant a lot to her. But I've gotta say, three o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

Yet Another Transportation Adventure

2007-02-23T03:53:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, I went to Kiev for my mid-service medical checkup. I went with my good friend Sharece, who has come to visit me in Bar numerous times, and two other volunteers.

Sharece and I met in Vinnystia the night before our trip into Kiev. We had tickets on the 6 am express train. I’ve taken the express train lots of times and never had a problem. I always stay the night with Sandy and Eric, catch a taxi to the train station at 5:30 am, and end up with plenty of time to stand around and stare at my watch. Sharece had never taken the early train, but I assured her that it was simple. No big deal. Bez problem.

We left Sandy and Eric’s apartment at 5:20 am, like I usually do when I take the early train, and walked to the taxi stand down the street. It was dark out, and rather deserted. There was one taxi idling at the taxi stand.

“Sweet, there’s our taxi,” I said, only no sooner were the words out of my mouth, then the taxi bolted off and disappeared down the empty street.

“Don’t worry,” I told Sharece as I fished out my cell phone, “I’ve got some phone numbers. We’ll just call for a taxi.” I called two different taxi companies, but neither had any taxis to spare. I called them over and over, until finally the operator screamed, “All our taxis are busy! Don’t call again!”

At this point, it was 5:35.

“Um, Sharece,” I said, “I can’t get a taxi, this street is deserted, and quite frankly, I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’ve never had a problem before.”
“Well, let’s just start walking towards the busy street over there,” she said, pointing.
“Okay, but so you know, that street is deceptively far away,” I replied, “ and I don’t know if we’re going to make our train if we don’t get a taxi in the next 10 minutes.”

So we started running up the dark, empty street. Just then, a taxi came flying down the road. We frantically tried to wave it down, but it just blew past us. We kept running, our big duffle bags banging against our hips, our noses running from the arctic morning air.

“It’s 5:43,” Sharece said, “let’s just try to flag down any car we can.”
“Okay,” I huffed, sticking my arm out as we continued running down the street like two crazies loose from the asylum. Nobody stopped.

Finally we saw two taxies idling at what appeared to be a taxi stand down the street. They were our last hope. We pressed on, though we were wheezing and sweating and sniffling from our morning run, and our shoulders drooped from the weight of our bags.

I reached the first taxi, opened the door and said, through gasps, “The train station.”
“I’m occupied,” the driver said, “close the door.” I looked to the other taxi and saw that it too was waiting for someone in the casino.

“Both taxis are busy,” I said to Sharece, “We’re not gunna make it. I don’t know what else we can do. That street is still a good half kilometer away.” We stood in the street, catching our breath, staring at each other.

“You need a taxi,” the driver of the second car said, rolling down his window, “I can call you a taxi.” He put a call into his radio and then said, “Ten to fifteen minutes.”

“We don’t have time,” I said, “We need to go to the train station now.”
“What time is your train?” he asked. Sharece looked at her watch, it was 5:53.
“In 12 minutes” she said, “At 5 after 6.” The driver’s eyes popped out of his head,
“Why aren’t you at the train station?! Twelve minutes!” he shook his head.
“All the taxis were busy,” I replied sheepishly.

Just then, the man who’s taxi it was, came out of the casino. He looked at us, and the desperate looks on our faces and said to the driver,
“What’s wrong with you? Take the girls to the station and come back for me, I can wait” We thanked him profusely as we climbed into the cab. We had 10 minutes.

“Ten minutes to make your train,” the driver said, laughing and racing down the street, “What’s wrong with your men? What’s wrong with your men that they let you sleep late and miss your train?!”

We made it to the train station in record time. We thanked the driver again and tipped him big for saving the day. He just laughed at us and said, “Next time, don’t sleep so long. It’s better to get the train than to sleep.”

So miraculously, with 3 minutes to spare, Sharece and I found ourselves standing on the platform, looking at our watches, waiting for our train to come…

***

The mid-service medical check up was easy. It took only a small part of the afternoon, but we had to stay in town for 48 hours to have our TB tests checked. I was, in case you are wondering “the picture of health.” No parasites, no unusual levels of unusual sounding words in my urine, no TB exposure, no cavities… Ironically though, not even 24 hours after I got a clean bill of health from the medical staff, I came down with a nasty flu-like cold.

After Kiev, I went back with Sharece to her small town. She’s been to Bar many times, but I’d never visited her at her site, and she really wanted me to come. So I told her I’d go back with her from Kiev.

I always take the train to and from Kiev. Sharece always takes a bus. It's a 5 and a half hour bus from the outskirts of Kiev directly to her small town. It's an old village bus that winds through the back streets, stops for every person who sticks out their arm, and smells like an old shoe.

The trip to Sharece's town was miserable, mostly because I was starting to get sick. My head hurt, my body ached, and I was dehydrated because I couldn't risk drinking water and having to use the bathroom. The bus made one 10 minute stop two and a half hours into the trip and that was it. I don't think it would have been so grueling if I hadn't been getting sick.

I ended up only spending one night with Sharece in her town. I went back to Bar the very next day and collapsed on my couch, where I stayed for the next 4 days. I called my teachers and told them that I was sick and wouldn't be coming in. Larisa's response was, "Well, have fun." Right. Fun.

Roma came by and brought me soup everyday. He also brought me milk and honey, which is a standard Ukrainian treatment for colds and flu. Really, if it hadn't been for him (and his mother's cooking) there would have been more than just one tearful call home to my mom.

I missed three days of school. On the third day, I was informed that my school had been shut down due to a flu "epidemic". All the schools in Bar were under "quarantine" for 10 days. Throughout Ukraine, schools have been under quarantine for the past couple of weeks. Apparently this happens almost every year in February when kids start to get sick. Last year there was no quarantine, but I guess that it was an anomaly.

(Funny thing-- schools were under quarantine on Valentines Day, but that didn't stop the Valentines Day dance at school no. 3, where kids from all the school gathered to dance and spread their germs.)

I'm feeling much better now, though my cold has proven tough to shake. I still have the sniffles and a little cough, but I'm off the couch and back among the living. School starts again monday. Sharece is coming on Saturday because it's my friend Ira's birthday and Ira loves Sharece. So that should be fun.

My apologies for being a blogging bum. My only excuse is that I was sick, and then a bit lazy. I promise to be better.

Pictures From Our Winter Shashleek

2007-02-08T01:51:00.000-08:00

Winter is here!

2007-01-31T04:09:00.000-08:00

Well, winter has finally come to Ukraine and I am delighted. I was starting to worry that we wouldn't get any significant snow this year, but we finally did. And everyone is thrilled. School this week has been excellent because my students, my fellow teachers and I have all been in great moods. In fact, so far as I can tell, the only one not enjoying the snow is Klitchko -- and that's just because he doesn't appreciate the piles of it on the balcony.

I got back to Bar from my ukrainian language classes on Saturday. I had a good time visiting with some American friends I hadn't seen in a long time. We hung out in the evenings drinking bear and playing games. One night we played a pretty "wild" game of Scattegories. I mean, after I caught myself screaming "HEIFER! HEIFER! HEIFER!" I had to put myself to bed. Like I said, it was pretty wild.

I continue to be happy with my language progression, so that's good. When I was on the bus leaving Bar to get to Kiev (via Vinnystia), a woman asked if anyone was going to Vinnystia. Without really thinking, I opened my big mouth and said, "I am!" This invited a more complicated conversation than I expected and resulted in me chaperoning the woman's 7 year old daughter to the Vinnystia bus station.

For most of the trip, I was under the impression that she was meeting family at the bus station. This was not the case. What I'd in fact agreed to do was help her buy a ticket to a village town, wait for the bus with her, and then make sure she was seated and safetly on her way. Now normally, this wouldn't have been a stressful situation, but I was under a pretty tight schedule to catch my train. Plus I could barely pronounce the name of the podunk village she needed to get to. In the end, I got her on her bus, caught my own train with minutes to spare and learned a valuable lesson: just because I understand, doesn't mean I need to talk.

In other news, I've been dating my friend Roma since I got back from America. Thus far our courtship, and I like to call it a courtship because he always insists on carrying my bags, has mostly consisted of evenings at the gym playing basketball. I did however, recently get myself invited to his house for dinner where I met both his parents. They were really nice. His mom cooked all my favorite Ukrainian dishes and then spent most of the evening telling me to eat more. A very Ukrainian (female) thing to do. And as for his father, well, I had a hard time understanding what he said because he barely moved his lips when he spoke. This, I have found, is also a very Ukrainian (male) thing to do.

His parents were very eager to speak with me, though they didn't always understand what I said. Many times I would say something, they wouldn't understand, Roma would repeat the exact same thing I'd said, and they'd get it. Then they'd make comments like, "You understand her Ukrainian." And he'd say, "Well, I've been listening to it for over a year."

Perhaps the highlight of the evening was the rousing rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" that I sang for them simply because they asked. I don't really know what got into me, maybe national pride? maybe the hope of another invite? maybe the desire to use my vibrato? Regardless, I was a hit. And I did land another invite, so I guess it worked.

***

If the weather stays cold and it snows a little bit more between now and Saturday, my friends and I are going to go skiing in the forest. I have my figures crossed that we get to go, because I missed the ski trip last year, but we'll have to wait and see. Regardless, three cheers for winter...

Tequilla Night with Anya, Ira, Yulia and Vova

2007-01-24T04:44:00.000-08:00