Back From Kyiv

Thursday night I took the overnight to Kyiv, hoping that it would be no colder than it has been here in N--. It has been something fierce, like -25 degrees Celsius. So cold, I knew better than to think about what it was in Farenheit.

My host mom packed me up, made me sit down and be quiet for about 30 seconds before we headed out to catch a marshrutka. This is apparently a Ukrainian custom that I had heard about, but never actually practiced.

Somehow, it did work. I had a lot of fears about who would end up in my coupe on the train, fearing that it would be three young men who've known each other for some time and would want nothing more than to drink vodka and harrass me. The other method of travel by train is the platzkarte, which I have taken before, but only with a group. I have heard it said that some volunteer women enjoy taking it more than coupe, because the whole train car is open, so if anyone bothers you, you can usually get an old babushka to tell them to knock it off. But before I left, I asked one of the volunteers in town, and he told me of a story where some dudes harrassed this girl and put toothpaste on her while she slept when she travelled platzkarte.

I decided that I didn't need to be that minty fresh.

My host mother at the train station handed me over to the dude who works in the car (the Russian word for it escapes me now) and made a point to tell him that I was a foreigner and didn't understand Russian. Thankfully, he was incredibly young and extrordinarily hot.

My coupe ended up being one middle-aged woman and two men, maybe in their forties. When the hot dude came to collect our tickets and ask what kind of sheets we wanted, I told him that I didn't want any, and before I knew it, one of the men in my coupe was buying sheets for me. I had explained to him and the other woman that I was American.

On board, I ended up getting a phone call from another volunteer and I talked freely. When I got off the phone, one of the men looked at me and asked in Russian, "you speak Russian or English?" I told him that I spoke English and he responded in English, "so do I." So we talked for some time. We talked mostly about our jobs, as many people have a hard time understanding what it is that I do here, and as he was a seaman, he had some interesting stories too--he was on his way to Africa. I believe he works for an oil company and that is why he needed to learn English, he works with a lot of Indians. And he's been to Philadelphia. Go figure.

He politely asked me if I drank beer, which I responded that I did, knowing full well that it would appear, as no Ukrainian man can resist drinking with a foreign woman.

In Kyiv, the weather was thankfully a lot warmer than it had been, and I had an opportunity to meet a lot of other folks, and see some others I had not seen in some time. I also got to collect some resources for my classes, as HQ has a nice resource center, and there are others in the city. The whole thing definitely made my trip worthwhile, considering that it was an extremely expensive trip for a volunteer to make. But of course, I didn't have to have Indian food, but man oh man, I wanted it!

On the way back I was lucky enough to have the company of another volunteer, so we could hang out in the restaurant car and discuss how hot some other volunteers are. I don't want to give the impression that he is shallow, because he's not. It's me.

So we arrived safe and sound back in N--, where I needed to tackle 2 lesson plans for Monday, my first day of teaching!

"Same Food for Years and Years, I Hate the Food I Eat"

While the host family situation has vastly improved, my cuisine choices have greatly decreased. Nearly everyday I am offered heaping plates of gretchka, what Ukrainians call buckwheat. It is also called kasha. It is a food staple here, I know, and as our medical officer has told us numerous times, it is unbelievably healthy for you. "You'd pay 10 bucks for this stuff at home!," she boasts. Personally, I wouldn't pay a dime.

Truthfully, I am the only American here that I know who just downright hates the stuff. Most people either really like it or merely tolerate it when it is served in the morning to them with a lot of chicken meat.

The other volunteers in town offer me tips to improve it, telling me how they like it best. "Put some gravy on it," "smother it with butter," and so on. But nothing works for me.

A few evenings ago I got served a plate of it along with two (tasty) ground chicken cutlets that vaguely resembled crab cakes. I was then given a bowl of bouillon soup with some chicken wings and some other meat part that I could not recognize. I immediately thought, well, okay, I can put the gretchka in the soup. This was a trick that Sveta back in K-- would do, and it worked awesomely. For whatever reason though, it just didn't do the trick. All it ended up doing was distributing the buckwheat onto two plates, hopefully masking the fact that I ate only a small portion of it. And let me say in my defense that gretchka is really, I mean really filling. I don't know why anyone would need to eat more than four spoonfuls of that stuff anyway. It's mealiness always makes me feel like I am going to explode.

One volunteer in town has suggested that I stage a protest, much in the same vein as his pre-Orange Revolution revolt against his food enemy, the weiner. Sick of eating them morning, noon, and night, this otherwise affable individual one evening had been pushed too far. Taking the aforementioned villianous object into his hand, he waved it around the table, declaring, "No more weiners! No more weiners!" His host sister translated, mortifying his host mother. But that did not stop her from serving them the next morning.

I would love to eat hot dogs all the time and on occasion will stare longingly at them as I pass by the street vendors on Sovietskaya. Then I snap out of it and realize they are on hardish rolls that are much too big and are covered in carrots and cabbage, and there is no ketchup in site. *Sigh.*

I suppose that I could take a happy medium and explain that I just can't stomach buckwheat, much like I can't eat little fishes like potato chips, but another part of me thinks, enough is enough, you know? I won't eat holideitsz, milk, little fishes, salo (pig fat), fish soup, and various meat parts that I can't recognize (ever since I ate pig lung, I've decided this just is a good stand to make). I just fel that I should at least attempt to eat everything else.

Of course that does only remind me of my first site visit here in November, when I was almost killed because I decided to eat mushroom soup. I'm from Southeastern PA, I know my mushrooms and energetically told them "da, ya loobloo gribby!" only to see that the "mushrooms" that I'd be eater were teh kind that you find growing on the side of trees, what is more commonly referred to as the other name for mushrooms, fungus. Oh, how I thought that I would die. It was certainly a deciding factor in my procurring a cell phone, for medical emergencies!

So the moral of this story? Enjoy your pizza, burritos, General Gao, crab rangoon, fajitas, steaks, pot roasts, lasangas, crab cake, and everything else, because it sure as hell beats buckwheat.

Basketball, Ukrainian Style

This past weekend was a fellow volunteer's birthday, so some of us took him out to a basketball game. Having only been to a few professional basketball games in my life back in the States, I have little experience to draw comparsions, but obviously, some things were similar and some things were different.

It is interesting how much basketball has been embraced practically the world over. Baseball has not really taken off in many places other than the Cuba and Japan, and American Football is barely even played in Canada, but basketball is an international phenomenon.

Our team had jerseys, but they only had numbers on the back of them, not the players name. They also seemed to range in age from about 16 or 18 to 40. Only one player that I could tell had a tattoo, and of course, they were all white.

While our team can definitely play a good game, they were playing against the worst team in the league, a team from a major city out west. Despite the lack of competition, I certainly enjoyed myself. The other volunteers had gotten floor seats, so we got to sit right in front of the action. Something that I would probably never be able to do at home in the States. One volunteer explained to me, "well, they are more expensive, but this is a special occasion." "How much?," I asked. 15 gryv. or about $3. That is the only thing that I really do appreciate about Ukraine in general. It seems that most cultural events of all types, concerts, dramas, movies, sporting events, are affordable for all people.

During breaks and half time, they also had their own dancers who would come out, wearing next to nothing, and do some gynamstic routine and dances, including some version of Queens "We Will Rock You" being sung what what sounded like 4 year olds. They similarly have some souvenir type items to sell, but focus more on the larger sport of Ukraine: football (or to you reading at home in the States, soccer). Supposedly N-- does have a football team, but I have yet to see or hear much about them, but I hope to check them out as well. Sadly for me, hockey is not a big sport in this Slavic country, and I will simply have to wait until I go home to enjoy it.

It seems that the N-- basketball team has made a new fan, and I hope to be able to go back at some point and see them play again.

Who sent package to Kyiv?

Anyone who recently (say, before Xmas) sent a package to me to the Kyiv address, please let me know what is in it. I won't be able to pick it up until I travel there in a few weeks for business and I need to know if it's heavy or what is in it so I can leave pack accordingly.

I encourage anyone to now just go ahead and send me anything to the new mailing address. Just e-mail me for it and I'll give it to you. Thanks.

Vanishing Act

So, for about a week now, my host family's friend has been commenting something about my appearance, but the only word I understood was the word "thin." I thought that she was commenting on the fact that I try to eat not to abundance here, which is a battle I don't always win.

Cultures in which food and hospitality are intertwined are really only fantastic in theory if you have a stomach like mine.

I had to have several conversations with my first host mother, Sveta, that yes, I like her cooking, but get sick easily, and yes, this happenings in America too, all the time. Her husband, Sasha, only understood this as a diet, and truthfully, I didn't care to explain to him as long as he got the general idea that I did not want to eat a lot. So I just assumed that this was the same case here, and that the host family friend thinks that I want to get thin. Whatever.

Then my new host mother started commenting on it and finally, yesterday, my host father and I had an extended conversation about it as he made me eat a breakfast of potatoes and chicken in a sort of stew. I've told them fifty times I never breakfast (sorry, but in Russian, breakfast is a verb). Not in the States, not since I was little. Never. My stomach is incapable of processing foold early in the morning. Thankfully, I had been up reading for a few hours and it was after 11am, so I figured fine, I'll eat. And again, I explain, "listen, don't give me a lot, I'll get sick." His response? Hey, you're at home, there is the toilet! Awesome. Just what I wanted to hear. Such sympathy.

So I do eat. And I proceed to get a stomach ache and he then tells me about all these thin comments using hand gestures.

Apparently, when I visited them in November, I was fat.

Then I come to them in late December and they think that I've lost a lot of weight. So now they take it as their personal mission to feed me till my pants fit again. I tell him, "well, my mom is sending me clothes that should fit," but unfortunately I only know the words for "my mother," "me," and "clothes," so the rest is gestures. Needless to say, they better get here quick before they will no longer fit!

New Address!

Well, this is exciting news to me! I finally went down to the post office after the various Ukrainian holidays and switched the names on the post office box that was left for me from another volunteer who finished up her service. Have I mentioned how fabulous the volunteers in town are?

Anyway, you can still write to me via the Kyiv address, the office will send letters, packages and such down to me on a biweekly basis, I believe. However, if you are sending a package, I would adamantly advise that you only use the address here in my town. I am going to send out an e-mail to some folks who have already asked about my new address, but if you would also like it, leave a comment here or e-mail me.

I also know that some folks are wondering what the heck could I use here in Ukraine? Well, I can tell you, but please also note that a lot of this stuff will come in handy once I have my own place, which should be in the end of March/early April, but you can start your grocery lists now if you are interested in spreading some international love.

SPICES: Ukrainian foods are notoriously bland. Tasty, but bland. Send chili powder, cumin, curry, cinnamon, anything that could really spice some stuff up.
SALSA: no, I am not kidding. Someone got an El Paso fajita kit and it was to die for.
Recipes. I'd love to hear about some tasty (and easy to make) foods that you are eating. Especially if they include potatoes, since that is about all I will eat.
Peanut butter. That stuff is always tasty
Books. Classics for students and library at my institution. You know, all those books you were told to read in high school. If you have any hanging out on your shelf that you won't read again (or ever) send 'em on over. I can make use to them, and you can send them now.
Tiny blank cassette tapes. The really small kind. I need to start practicing taping myself and Russian speakers for language use.
American Dictionary or Thesaurus. I should have packed this, but didn't. That small Merriam Webster business would be good.

Again, if you are interested in sending some stuff, please do not send it to Kyiv. Word is that things have to be searched through about 9 times before they make it to the office, where they are then opened again and looked at, and things just get 'misplaced,' you know, especially tasty or expensive things.

If you are reading this and thinking "yeah, right! I ain't sending nothing to her, sounds like too much trouble!" then at least write or send a post card from someplace you've been. That will also be useful for me in the classroom as well as make my freaking day, since I love hearing from all of you.

In the News

My position does not allow me to comment, but I thought that I'd pass along some news about what is going on here in Ukraine. This article doesn't really focus on Ukraine as much as it does Russia, but perhaps it can give you an idea of what is the relationship that exists between these two countries with an intertwining history, not always by force:

http://edition.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/europe/01/03/russia.ukraine.media.reut/index.html

The Ukrainians don't seem so worried about the shortage, as they have reserves, but it will be interesting to see what Russia's next move is and what the response will be here in Ukraine.

Finally Some Snow!

Because I now live in the south, on any given day, it can be expected that I am enjoying 10 degrees (Centigrade) warmer weather than Kyiv receives. This is awesome, in my opinion. Having always lived in the northern part of my own country, it's nice to live in the South for a change. I mean, there are no palm trees here, like there are in Crimea, but it's noticably different.

The other day though, I woke up and looked out of my window and noticed just a little bit of snow on the ground, covering up the mud, which is everywhere and gets my clothes really dirty. Everyone hates mud to begin with, but when you don't have a washing machine and have to do that stuff by hand, you begin to hate it even more. So, this little bit of snow was a welcome change to me, because, in my errorenous thinking, snow=hard ground. Not here, apparently. So on top of snow, there is still mud.

Since the last few days have been "holodnya" (cold) the ground has finally frozen somewhat, making it a bit more pleasant to walk around on.

Tomorrow is Ukrainian Christmas, and also my host mother's birthday, and also a party for the new volunteers in town, which includes me!

Family Matters

Okay, so I have a strong desire to be PC about everything, and by PC I do mean politically correct here, or at least culturally sensitive. As I have informed some of you, my second host family situation here has become less than ideal. Although I have vented privately about this matter to a large amount of people, a part of me still feels compelled to protect them in such a public space and to just simply hope that things will work out, or that I will be able to quietly vacate the premises.

But another part of me feels a certain obligation to be honest with those of you who read this and to let you know all the things that go on here, both positive and negative, especially because I don't find my circumstance to be particularly abnormal here, just that I find it difficult, and think that just about any volunteer would be bothered.

At any rate, things have been better these last few days, since through some miscommunication my host mother thought that I might be moving out. This was before she called my host father a scoundrel and told him that I would be moving out because of him. She did this in front of me, after we had had a conversation about their fighting and whether or not it influenced me. We used a dictionary and everything. There has been no physical violence, just accusations of alcoholism.

I actually like both of my host parents, each in their own way. My host mother is a delightfully vivacious woman who just wants to find love outside of her loveless marriage that it is clear she feels trapped in. They live life separately, from what I can tell, although in Ukraine, that means that they still live together and obviously fight. It has got to be tough, I sympathesize. My host mom has found a friend in Norway that she communicates with in English, and for whom I provide some translation for their exchanges. At first I was sort of... well... put off by this, but shoot, who am I to judge? My host dad is an affable guy who speaks to me using words I actually can understand and we talk about all sorts of stuff on a very elementary level. He's also an excellent cook. So, separately, these are awesome people. Together though. Well. You can only imagine.

There are two kids, who are typically not around, and again, who can blame them? The host bro seems to have a sort of disdain for me, and again, considering what the family is going through, who can blame him. The daughter, who is older and a student at the university where I will be, has been away for a few days, so we will see if things are different now around the house, and thankfully, she speaks some English. Again, we shall see.

The volunteers in town have been keeping me sane and take excellent care of me. I dare say that no other volunteer in this country has had quite the warm and generous welcome that I have had. So in that sense, things are very well.

Big Ups!

Yay! Yesterday I got an unexpected Happy New Year's phone call from Sue and Ed, and I was soooo excited to hear from them.

I hope that you all had a happy New Year and celebrated in regal style.

Ukrainians tend to do this celebration up big, as it is their biggest holiday of the calendar year. Doing it up big usually involves a tree (just like our Christmas tree) and tons, I mean tons of fireworks.

The whole night sky is alight with fireworks for almost the entire evening. It is not unusual to see about four different shows going on at once. It's crazy. It's loud. It's Ukraine.