We started the multi-day celebrations of my darling husband’s birthday today. We were awoken at 7:15 by some friends calling to wish him a Happy Birthday - we are both accustomed to the fact that there is no sleeping in on your birthday! That was just the first of a slew of calls he will get all day long from friends, relatives, and colleagues.
We’ll be in Korosten for the weekend, celebrating Friday night with friends, Saturday with family. Sunday Igor is taking Michael to the forest for mushroom hunting. I, happily, can finally be excused from this activity. I just don’t get any thrill out of it, but Igor, his parents, and millions of Ukrainians anxiously await mushroom season and gleefully spend hours skulking through the forests in search of mushrooms. Me? I think it’s hot, uncomfortable, boring, and an endless battle against mosquitoes. Of course I’m more than happy to help with the eating of the delicious mushrooms! That’s more my kind of sport.
I didn’t manage to get his birthday present here in time to give him today (a digital camera ordered from the US), so today he got a new camera bag with a lovely picture of his soon-to-be camera. When I left for work this morning, he was already scouring websites to learn all about his new toy. It should be here in a couple of weeks, when a friend comes back to Kyiv. Nothing like a bit of anticipation!
The heat wave is officially over - and it’s freaking cold! The cat suddenly is interested in my company now that she’s cold - normally she tolerates us only because of our ability to open the refrigerator and spoon canned food into her bowl. But when she’s cold she becomes the nicest of lap cats.
Igor went to Korosten yesterday, and I’ll join him today. The car is in the shop because the motor burned out, leaving us without windshield wipers. It came as no surprise that they couldn’t find a new or used motor for our 1984 BMW, so they’re trying to repair our motor. Hopefully it won’t cost an arm and a leg, since the car itself is barely worth an arm, or a leg for that matter.
So I’ll be taking the bus to Korosten, something I haven’t done in quite a while. And for once I’m not too upset about that, maybe even a little bit glad ’cause it means I can work on my embroidery while someone else does the driving! I’m about half way done with my first cross-stitch. It’s got quite a few mistakes in it, but I’m plugging along. One important thing I learned is to not try to do it at 1:00 in the morning when I’m exhausted but can’t sleep - I ended up redoing the same little area about 5 times before I finally got it right. I couldn’t resist buying my next pattern yesterday. It’s got six colors (up from three with my first pattern), and involves two types of stitches, so it will be a challenge for me. But it’s relatively small, so I think it won’t be overwhelming. I looked again at the traditional Ukrainian patterns, for the ceremonial towels and shirts and things, but they are still way too intimidating. It’s fun to have something to work towards, though.
Speaking of goals - I went to Buffalo Expatriate’s farewell get-together last night (she’s moving back to the States). She’s been working with the International Organization for Migration, and doing research on trafficking and related issues. There was such an awesome, interesting diverse group of people at the bar. We went around the table introducing ourselves, with most people saying the usual “My name is…, I work/study at…”. One young Nigerian man introduced himself and said “I am going to the be president of Nigeria some day.” Talk about having goals!
But back to this weekend. Igor’s godson turned one this past week, and today is his birthday party. What do you wear to a first birthday party? I don’t think that this will be like an American baby’s birthday party, with lots of other kids crawling around and parents swapping parenting stories. I suspect this will be like most other Ukrainian celebrations - adult family and friends squeezed around a table overflowing with food, which will keep coming until long after you can’t eat another bite, and plenty of drinking and toasting. This would be the down-side of not having the car this weekend, as it’s always a great excuse for me to pass on the vodka shots when I’m “behind the wheel”. Maybe I’ll use the “I’m taking some medicine right now” excuse; that one usually works pretty well, too.
I guess it’s time to get myself together and head out to the bus station. Can’t wait to get to work on my cross-stitch!
I had a lovely birthday. Lots of nice phone calls and electronic warm wishes from friends near and far. In Ukraine, the birthday person is supposed to bring sweets in for colleagues, and I decided to bake a big batch of muffins Wednesday night to take to the office on Thursday. We had fresh wild blueberries and sour cherries that we’d brought back from Korosten, so I whipped up a couple batches. With only one muffin tin that bakes 6 muffins at a time, it quickly became clear to me that it was not going to be a quick endeavor. 3 hours later, I’d had enough of the hot kitchen and called it quits. Dad sneaked a couple muffins, but most of them made it to the office on Thursday. They were quite a hit, and once word spread throughout the office, it was a great incentive for folks to come visit us up on the third floor.
I was sporting the absolutely beautiful bracelet that Igor gave me - citrons and blue topaz, to go with the presents of the last 2 birthdays, a blue topaz necklace and blue topaz earrings. The set is complete! Dad bought me the cell phone I’ve been coveting for ages. My colleague Anna gave me a really cool cookbook, with Ukrainian recipes in both Russian and English, and the most beautiful, appetizing photos!
I told Igor I didn’t want to do anything fancy this year, no evening out, nobody over, just me and my guys at home. The sweeties that they are, Igor and Dad had a cake with candles waiting for me when I got home and they sang “Happy Birthday.” Igor cooked a fabulous meal (as always). I had requested zucchini pancakes (like potato pancakes, only made with the zucchini). Being the creative overachiever that he is, he made up an entirely new recipe and combined all kinds of vegetables for the pancakes - beets, carrots, zucchini, etc. They were both pretty and delicious!
After dinner, Igor did the most beautiful thing. He told Dad that in the Far East they have a tradition that a husband who is happy with his wife gives gold to his father-in-law. Igor said “I am very happy with Ann, and I want to thank you.” He gave Dad a gold ring, which fit perfectly on Dad’s little finger. Dad got a bit misty-eyed, and finally said “I don’t know what to say.”
I can hardly believe sometimes that this amazing and wonderful man is my husband, that I get to live with him the rest of my life. What pure joy!
I spent last week as a volunteer election observer, seconded by the US government to the election observation mission of the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe. It was a busy, exhausting and really great week. (By the way, I was officially on vacation from UNV and my volunteer work with OSCE was completely unconnected to my work with UNV.)
Most of the short-term observers arrived very early Saturday morning - airspace is less expensive in the middle of the night, so many flights arrive and depart in the capital Tbilisi at hours that I would prefer to think don’t exist. We landed about 4:00 am. After passport control, customs, collecting luggage, checking in with OSCE and finding the right chartered bus for my hotel, it was nearly 7 when I finally collapsed in bed. I slept a few hours, just enough to get me through the only full free day of the week.
My roommate in the hotel was an adorable young woman from Slovenia, Patricija. She and two of her colleagues from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Monika and Marko) made up the entire Slovenian delegation to the mission. They were all some of the nicest people I’ve met in a long time, and I happily spent much of my free time with them during the week. Patricija is a tiny thing, energetic and peppy - kind of like a perky toy poodle. I enjoyed her enthusiasm and optimisitic attitude as much as anything else in Georgia!
But Georgia itself was also really great. Everyone talks about the hospitality and friendliness of Georgians, and I certainly encountered nothing to challenge that legend. I had heard that not many people speak Russian anymore, so I’d been nervous I wouldn’t be able to communicate much with folks. It’s true not so many young people speak Russian these days, but pretty much everyone over 30 I encountered spoke Russian. Their accents were another story though! I took a short guided tour of one ancient church, conducted in Russian, and frankly couldn’t understand 90% of what the guide said. But she was a nice lady!
Saturday the Slovenians kindly adopted me into their group and we all agreed that the first place to visit was the ancient city of Mtskheta, the capital of the Georgian kingdom from the 3rd century BCE to the 5th century CE. We were so anxious to get on the road and do some sightseeing that we hailed the first taxi we saw, made him an offer for a half day of driving, and hopped in. Only after we settled in for the drive outside of Tbilisi did we start to take notice of what exactly we’d gotten in to. Monika was reading her guidebook and asked me to explain one phrase to her - it read something like this: “There are many private taxis, they are safe. But beware of beat-up cars.” I simply looked around and indicated the car we were in to explain the “beat-up” phrase. A couple times during the day, the driver couldn’t get the car started up and we had to push the car while he tried to pop the clutch to get it going. It became quite a joke for us, which of course was much funnier after we were safely back in Tbilisi, having cut short our plans for touring the nearby countryside after just two sites rather than risk getting stranded somewhere.
But those two sites were some of the most famous one near Tbilisi - the ancient capital with its beautiful Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, dating from the 11 century, and the nearby Jvari monastery, dating from the 6th century. Perched on a hilltop, Jvari offers a breathtaking view of Mtskheta and the surrounding hills and valleys. Just gorgeous.
Saturday evening we investigated the famous sulphur baths in Old Town Tbilisi. We visited three or four of them to compare and get the full scoop, planning to come back later in the week. Patricija and I went to one Tuesday night for a truly fantastic experience. The natural spring pours forth water at 50 degrees Celsius (122F), and in the small pools where you soak it is about 42-43C (107-109F). The tiled room is steamy, and the water feels absolutely great. We opted for the massage, which isn’t so much a muscle massage as it is a good thorough scrub down with a special woven hand mitt. You lay on a marble table, and the massuese rubs off so much dead skin you think you’re going to be just bare bones - but it feels great! My skin was soooo soft and smooth afterwards. We soaked, steamed, got rubbed down, soaked again - all in all, we spent an hour there and it was far from enough. We would have happily stayed several more hours.
Sunday the four of us decided to head out early to visit the town of Gori, about 80 km (50 miles) from Tbilisi. Why would we go to this sleepy town of under 47,000 people? It’s the birthplace of world-famous dictator Josef Stalin, and they’ve got a museum to him there. Too bizarre to pass up.
There’s not much I can add to Carpetblogger’s amusing post about the place. The museum is Soviet-style humonstrous, with cavernous halls. Among the many things I couldn’t quite get about the place was what the hell is actually in that huge building? The exhibitions we saw could not have accounted for even half of the space that had to be in there, judging from the outside. Did we miss the good stuff? And by that I mean did we miss the stuff that actually mentioned something about the fact that the subject of the museum was responsible for the death of millions of his citizens? I’m not asking for an analysis, even less a critique of him or his life. But I think what was most offensive about the place was the complete and total absence of any mention whatsoever that he might have done something a little bit bad in his life. I suppose I have to acknowledge that at least they didn’t say he was a good guy either. It was a rather mundane museum - facts, figures, photos, newspaper clippings, office furniture, family photos. You could almost forget the guy was a monster. The closest the guide came to mentioning anything approaching critical, and I’m sure it was more on account of a poor English translation someone gave her of the official tour, was when she pointed to a photo of Stalin casting a ballot and she said “And this is the first democractic election when Stalin elected himself.” I wanted to ask if they counted any of the other ballots cast in that election, or if it the one was enough to call it. I’d like to think it wasn’t just a poor translation but rather someone’s subtle way to sneak something more than the mundane facts into the tour.
I did learn a thing or two - Stalin was married twice and had a son. His second wife is actually still alive and lives in the US. They have a photo of his grandchildren visiting the museum.
They have Stalin’s personal railway car next to the museum, which is the length of two normal railway cars. It was relatively modest inside. The guide said Stalin didn’t like to fly and prefered to travel by rail as much as possible.
They also have the two-room house were Stalin was born and lived the first four years of his life. It looks to have been separated from whatever other construction it used to be part of, and the two rooms stand awkwardly in front of the musuem, under a stone and glass canopy. Stalin and his parents lived in just one of the rooms, which they rented from the people who lived in the other one. It was really small; hard to imagine a family living only in that tiny space.
In the end, I wondered if there might be something to the museum’s non-analytical take on Stalin’s life and reign. After all, everybody else only talks about the crappy stuff he did - but who knew he had a son and that his grandkids are still alive and kickin? I asked our driver what Georgians thought about Stalin. He said there are definitely people who hate him, mostly those who were repressed (go figure!). On the other hand, many Georgians see him as the great leader who defeated facsism and united a huge percentage of the world, and those Georgians are proud that Stalin was Georgian. Our driver also stated proudly that Stalin always made his first toast to Georgia - “He never forgot his motherland,” he said. I wonder if he remembered the ones he shipped off to Siberia?
And toasting in Georgia is a topic worthy of an entire blog post in and of itself, but that will have to wait for another day. It’s late, I’m tired, and the Georgian stomach bug that kindly accompanied me home hasn’t quite gotten the hint yet that it’s time to get packing. More later.
We spent the long weekend in Korosten to celebrate Orthodox Easter with Igor’s family. We also celebrated Denis’ 16th birthday (Igor’s nephew) and the 17th wedding anniversary of Oksana and Vova, Igor’s sister and brother-in-law and the proud parents of the handsome birthday boy. We knew it would be 3 days of eating, drinking, laughing, and relaxing, plus some tough moments as it was the first family celebration since the death of Igor’s grandmother.
We took our time heading up there on Saturday, spending the beautiful morning with a new colleague, her husband and their 1.5 year old daughter. They’ve been in Kyiv about 3 weeks, and are still trying to get oriented and settled in. We took them to the farmer’s market and the supermarket, and generally enjoyed getting to know them better. Their daughter is just as cute as can be, and they are a very nice couple- she’s just a year younger than me, and we seem to have a lot in common. I’m looking forward to spending more time with both her and her parents.
We took a roundabout way to Korosten, driving first to Ivankiv for a quick visit with my friend Valentina, whom I was supposed to visit last weekend, when car trouble nixed those plans. Valentina is an amazing artist, poet, and lover of traditional Ukrainian arts and crafts. Her real speciality is “floristica”, making beautiful pictures from dried flowers and leaves. She spends tens, sometimes, hundreds of hours on a creation - each unique, each very delicately and purposefully designed and created. The colors, the designs, the types of flowers and leaves, even the arrangment of the scene - it all is created in a specific way for good fung shui. Sometimes they are so detailed and so intricately crafted that it’s only when you look at a picture up superclose do you realize it’s not a painting but instead made from hundreds of tiny petals. They are really breathtaking. I am the proud owner of 3 of her works of art, my favorite of which is called “Sea Fantasy”, with two beautiful blue goldfish with billowing tails, swimming with a school of tiny fish in a coral reef. Just breathtaking.
I have about ten of Valentina’s pictures that I am trying to help her sell - she’s an extremely talented artist, but not so hot at business. She ends up giving away a lot of her pictures because she’s just so sweet and she loves to give people presents. But with two sons in university, she really needs the money. I’ve sold two of her pictures so far, and I figured her earnings would be especially useful now with Easter and the upcoming May holidays. I was also excited to finally see for myself her flower garden I’ve heard so much about. Did I mention that she grows all the flowers and dries them herself? Her house and yard were even more fantastic than I had imagined. She gave us a tour of her house, which really is more like a greenhouse at a botanical garden. Dozens of different kinds of plants in every room, each with a special trait and purpose. Every room also had stacks of books with bits of newspaper sticking out from between the pages - her drying method. She opened one book and casually flipped through probably twenty pages, each with one or two delicate petals carefully arranged and pressed. I can’t even imagine how many thousands - maybe millions? - of petals and leaves she has pressed and drying in her house! It was really amazing. It’s still too early for much to be blooming in her garden, a few tulips were up, but she pointed to different spots and described what would be coming up. I can’t wait to see that garden again in June or July! Selling Valentina’s pictures not only makes me happy that I can help her with some much needed (and well-earned) income, but I also look forward to seeing her and her garden when I deliver her money. After the short visit with Valentina, we enjoyed the drive through the countryside. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and it was fun to drive with the sunroof open.
We arrived in Korosten in early evening, had a light meal, and then headed to the family banya. Igor’s father built a parnaya banya (steam bath) years ago, but it hadn’t been in working order for a couple of years so I never could try it before. I’ve heard many a banya story, and was always quite curious about them, but have never had the opportunity to try a real Russian banya before. I was also especially curious about the infamous tradition of beating yourself with birch branches. I just couldn’t even imagine what it was like. Igor loves saunas and banyas, with an insane passion even. I don’t enjoy the dry heat of a sauna so much, but I occassionally go to a sauna with him mostly because I enjoy being with Igor and I like seeing the pleasure that he gets from a good long bake. He was excited to introduce me to his beloved banya, and in retrospect admitted that he got kind of carried away and should have introduced me more slowly to the experience. It wasn’t traumatic, it was just surprising and temporarily unpleasant.
The banya house has a two rooms, plus a small corridor lined with windows. The first small room has hooks for hanging up your clothes, a couple stools, and the small metal door of the wood-burning stove. The next room has a shower head hanging from the ceiling and a bath, and the door to their small banya, which is kind of like a closet. It is long enough for two people to lay end to end, and just slightly wider than a person. A small metal door at one end opens to a small wood-burning fireplace, from which a long, wide metal tube extends the length of the banya and which is lined along its sides with fist-sized stones. You open the wooden door and step up high to get onto the a long wooden shelf which is fixed right above the metal tube. I crawled up and in, not really crazy about the smallness of the space. The wooden shelf on which you sit was really hot and I found it very uncomfortable to sit on. Igor gave me a two-by-four board to slip under my bum, but that didn’t help with my legs and other parts touching the shelf. I was trying to handle it gracefully, he had such a huge grin on his face and was so happy to be sharing his beloved banya with me!
He told me to stretch out my legs, and then he started gently whacking them with a fistful of long birch branches covered with leaves, called a venik. The leaves had been soaking in water, and the aroma was really pleasant. But the whacking was a bit weird, I have to say. It’s like an exfoliant, scraping away the layers of dead skin cells as well as dirt and grim. After a short venik session, Igor filled a dipper with water and splashed the stones lining the metal tube. Steam billowed up and it was HOT. I couldn’t get out of their fast enough. That was the part that later Igor admitted he should have warned me about. The steam lasts just 15-20 seconds and then dissipates, but it was so intense it freaked me out. There was no way he was getting me back in that thing, so we took one of the requisite breaks. We sat in the first room with the stools and drank a glass of beer.
After we’d cooled off a bit, Igor was ready to go in again, but I still wasn’t feeling good about it. He explained the whole ritual (it really is a ritualistic process in the banya), how it works, what to expect, etc. You steam, beat yourself with the venik, cool off under the cold shower, sit in the resting room and drink and snack, and start the cycle over again. It can go on for several hours, until “you’re done”. How do you know you’re done? Your skin is good and red, and turns white when you touch it. There’s no set time for everyone, each person is different.
Igor steamed a few more times, and I threw the water on the rocks for him. He closed the door tight and I could hear him whacking away with the venik. Eventually he got me to go in again, but we agreed no more steaming rocks for me. He gave my back a good workover with the venik. I finished up and went back to the house while he stayed another ten minutes or so. “How was it”, his mom asked me. “Interesting.” When Igor came back in the house, I started to say the traditional post-shower phrase “s lyokim parom”. Anya taught me that phrase when I first moved to Tvarditsa. I remembering asking what it meant and she said she didn’t really know, it was just what you said to some after they took a shower or bath. Kind of like a “hope you had a good bath”. Literally it means “with light steam” but expressed in the Russian way of congratulating someone on the occassion of an event - as in “I congratulate you with your birthday” or “I congratulate you with your light steam”. Sounds strange, I know, and I could never understand the phrase - that is until I said it to Igor after his good steam! Nothing like a little cultural context to put some meaning into a language.
Sunday was Easter, which meant the end of the Great Fast (Veliki Post’), or 40 days when strict observers do not eat meat or dairy products. Igor’s father keeps post’ strictly (it is also observed during advent before Christmas), and usually Igor observes it just the last week before Easter. This year he decided to observe it for about a month. I don’t know who was more anxious for it to end- me or him. I swear, all the man could talk about the last week was meat. I think he was even dreaming about meat. Since I’m a vegetarian, he didn’t find much sympathy from me in his suffering, but I sure was suffering from his endless talk about every possible variety of meat.
Ivan went to church in the middle of the night (2 or 3 am?) for the Easter mass, loaded up like everyone else with his basket of food to be blessed by the priest. The rest of us got up around 6:30 to have the first big feast of the day. We start with the hard-boiled eggs dyed red (boiled with onion skins to make the special deep red color). Each person holds one egg in his or her fist, and then you tap one end of your egg onto the end of your neighbor’s egg, to see which egg cracks. Then you flip them and do the other ends. It’s fun to see who has the strongest egg, who’s egg can crack the most other eggs. Then you peel and eat. Then you dive into the overflowing table. There were a couple veg dishes added to the usual meat-laden menu for me, and I was quite content. Of course Nina fussed and worried that I didn’t have “anything” to eat, which was quite far from the truth. I did just fine, and I was happy to not over-indulge as often happens at these celebrations.
We sat around eating and drinking and talking for a couple of hours, then everyone retired back to their beds to sleep off the hard work of the morning. Around noon, Igor and I went with his father to the cemetery to make the traditional offering at the graves of departed relatives. Then we went to their village house to check on and feed the animals. Ivan bought a sheep last winter, which gave birth to a lamb the day before our wedding in December. He’s growing up fast, and both Igor and his father were speculating when he’ll be ready for shashliki (i.e., barbeque). It was a beautiful day, and Igor and I strolled around the field while he dad tended to the sheep and rabbits, enjoying the fresh air and quiet village sounds.
Back home, after another resting period, we headed next door to Oksana’s house for Denis’ birthday celebration. Turning 16 is an important event - you get your own passport, which is akin to becoming a legal adult in many ways. You are no longer just a note in your parents’ passports. Denis is a typical moody teenager, and the celebration was obviously more fun for his parents and grandparents, but he suffered through for a respectable amount of time and then was released to go hang out with his friends. We continued the party without him.
After a couple hours Igor and I were both ready to get as far away from food as possible. We decided to go for a walk in the beautiful park in the center of town. It was a sunny, warm day and it seemed like most of Korosten had the same idea as us. I still sometimes find myself scandalized to see people drinking alcohol openly the street, especially bottles of vodka at 8 in the morning (open containers are legal in Ukraine). Every once in a while though, I get a kind of guilty pleasure out of walking through the park with a beer. This was one of those days when I wanted to indulge, so Igor bought me a bottle and I sipped at it as we strolled.
The evening was quiet at home, everyone was satiated and relaxed. Monday we lounged in bed late reading our books. We started back to Kyiv around 1, driving through a light drizzle most of the way. I had a workout scheduled at 6 with Elena, and boy was it a tough one. I’m glad I planned it that way, though - it kept me motivated throughout Monday to take it easy with the food!
All in all, a very nice weekend. And Nina sent us home with enough leftovers for an army!
And summer=potatoes, and fall=potatoes, and winter=potatoes - at least in Ukraine. In spring, the country is obsessed with planting potatoes. (In summer it’s weeding the garden, including the vast potato patch; in Autumn it’s harvesting potatoes, which is much harder work than planting them; and in winter it’s eating potatoes over and over and over). Igor was called home by his parents to help with the spring planting this past weekend. I meekly asked if I should help to, and didn’t ask twice after he told me no. Instead, I planned an outing with my colleague and friend Elena.
After our usual Saturday morning fitness class, we planned to go about 90 minutes north of Kyiv to Ivankiv to visit my friend Valentina and to see a couple of the youth centers in the area. Elena is from Bulgaria, and although she’s been in Ukraine almost 2 years, she has not had much opportunity to travel outside of Kyiv. She’s heard me talk a lot about the youth centers and has expressed interest in seeing one or two of them. Perfect outing for a spring Saturday. Unfortunately, my car didn’t seem to agree. The good thing was that the car decided to stage its rebellion while we were still in Kyiv. I don’t want to even think what a nightmare it would have been to deal with a broken down car 100 kilometers from home!
It was the weirdest thing - suddenly, pressing the gas pedal caused no reaction in the car at all. The engine was running, but I couldn’t accelerate. Fortunately, we were able to coast to the side of the street to a not-too-busy spot. I called my mechanic, who called a tow truck for me. By the way, a tow truck is called “evakuator”, which for some reason I think is kind of funny. Anyway, after about an hour the tow truck arrived, hoisted the car up, and we enjoyed a pleasant chat with the nice driver on the way to the mechanic’s. Elena loves talking to taxi drivers, and I always find it amusing and entertaining to ride with her as she never fails to get a driver chatting. It didn’t take much to get this driver talking. He was particularly interested to know how much gasoline costs in the US. The last I heard, I told him, was that it was about $3/gallon, but I can never remember how many liters are in a gallon. Not to worry - he knew exactly - 3.8. (I just heard today that it’s up to $4/gallon.) It’s up to 6 hrivna/liter in Kyiv, which is about $1.20/liter or $4.50/gallon. When Ukrainians complain to me that they pay higher prices than in the US, I usually tell them they are lucky they’re not paying western European prices (i.e. $2.40/liter or $9/gallon as it was in Netherlands in February). But still, the prices are painful.
After dropping the car off at the mechanic and relieving my wallet of 318 hrivna (about $63), Elena and I were getting went in search of lunch. We ended up at a nice little Armenian cafe where we both got “lavash pizza”. It was fabulous, and along with a beer was a perfect way to chill after the stress of the car adventure. We were nearby the Botanical Gardens, which Elena had never been to, so we walked over in hopes of seeing the magnolia trees in bloom.
The line was ridiculous. In true Ukrainian fashion, on one of the first beautiful spring Saturdays, only one ticket window was working. The line snaked around several times, spilling out into the street. Even more brilliantly, only one gate was open and it was being used both for entering and exiting the gardens. The crowds of people pushing against each other in attempt to get into and out of the place would have been amusing if I wasn’t waiting to participate in the mayhem myself.
Once we finally got inside, we followed the crowds to the magnolia garden. I really regret that I didn’t have my camera with me! The tulip beds were gorgeous - and so many different varieties! We enjoyed strolling under the big pink and white blooms of the magnolias, and then found a quiet spot in the shade of a tall tree covered in delicate white buds. I don’t know what kind of tree it was, but the aroma was just perfect - kind of like honeysuckle. We sat and talked, enjoying the sunshine and tree’s perfume.
Sunday was gray and rainy, but tons of people were out enjoying the warmer weather, despite the drizzle. Dems Abroad got together to watch a recording of the Clinton-Obama Pennsylvania debate. What a load of garbage that was. Most of us left after the first hour when not a single question of substance, like about their policies, was asked. A thoroughly disappointing debate, which provide any information that would actually help one to make an educated decision about a candidate. Hopefully this primary mess will be over in a day, and then we can get onto the mess of the actual presidential election.
And as for the car, I didn’t really understand what the mechanic said happened , but he only charged 30 hrivna ($6) to fix it! We have now spent about the same on the car as we actually paid for the car - a hundred something to register it, and nearly 900 in tune up and repairs. Still, I can’t complain! We certainly couldn’t find another decent car for $2000. We might be taking our first long car trip/vacation over the upcoming holidays - stay tuned!
Oh, and the upcoming holidays are: 27 April, Orthodox Easter; 1-2 May, International Labor Day; 9 May, Victory Day. Most of the country gets all of next week off (28 April - 2 May), although UN only officially takes 28 April (for Easter) and 1 May as holidays. And many people will add on another week of vacation through 9 May, so the country is, for all intents and purposes, closed for 2 weeks in May. Igor and I, of course, couldn’t manage to organize ourselves in time to take advantage of all the free days, but we’re looking to take a few days right after the “May holidays”, which I hope will actually be better for us - everyone else will be back at work and we can enjoy some quiet, relaxing travels together. Let’s hope it works out!
Having recently gone through the US visa application process with my Ukrainian husband, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gleeful revenge when I read this article about the “new” visa application procedures Ukraine is introducing for foreign tourists. I’d love to see some of those State Department folks go through the humiliating (and expensive) hoops of fire that our embassies call “visa application process.”
After his interview with the embassy official, during which their goal seemed to be to trap even the likes of Mother Theresa in lies, Igor rather meekly said to me, “You know, after this experience, I really don’t want to go to your country.” And his interview was rather mild compared to the many horror stories I’ve heard.
I myself was left disillusioned and disappointed with my country, too. The What’s On article captures beautifully the standard practice of many embassies in Ukraine. Would we accept similar treatment of our own citizens?
As of 1 April, when the new law comes into effect, all foreigners wishing to visit Ukraine will have to undergo a complicated and extensive visa application process. The process of applying for a visa for Ukraine will have to be commenced a minimum of six weeks before travel… By the new law, it is also compulsory that the interview itself is as humiliating and degrading as is humanly possible, and that all applicants are treated with the utmost suspicion… It is necessary they prove (a romantic) relationship is ‘real’ and they will not be a flight risk… Applicants will also have to prove their earnings in their home country to further ensure they will return once their visa has expired… The visa fee will be $500 to start with, and this will be paid along with the initial application and will not be refundable should the application be denied, which is highly likely as, according to the law, at least 50% of applications have to be rejected.
And all this is only for visitor visas. Obtaining a work permit for Ukraine is already a difficult task that requires that all foreigners can only take a job here if no Ukrainian can perform the task to the same standard. Under the new law, this criteria is going to be much more strictly enforced, and the candidate will have to prove their suitability by providing diplomas, a CV, and by sitting a series of oral and written exams on the subject. Obtaining a work permit in no way guarantees a work visa to go with it, and the system of applying for such a visa will be even more rigorous than that of a visitor visa.
——
In another, non-April Fool’s Day, conundrum - how do I file my US taxes when my spouse doesn’t have a U.S. social security number? The most I can find on the IRS website is that my spouse should apply for one. Frankly, since we do not live in the US and neither of us earns money from a U.S. organization, I really don’t see the reason for him to get a SSN. Any ideas or suggestions, anybody?
Kruglik was the first youth center I visited, in February 2006, just a couple months after starting with Chornobyl Recovery and Development Programme. Coincidentally, Kruglik was the first youth center established under CRDP, in 2004.
As we toured the small one-floor building, I admired the plants lining the windowsills. I really enjoy houseplants, and in my house in Columbus I had a pretty decent jungle taking over my sunroom. One of the first things I noticed, and really liked a lot, in Moldova, and later in Ukraine as well, is that there are plants in nearly every office and store. They can range from the “fancy” potted plants you usually expect a business to purchase for its reception area, to simpler ones, obviously planted and tended by the staff, in clay or plastic pots (sometimes even in makeshift “pots” made from the bottom half of a one- or two-liter plastic bottle). I’ve seen most of the typical office plants - peace lillies, african violets, ficus trees - as well as ones I never would have imagined indoors - all kinds of vines (some that I would have thought of as weeds, actually), sapling oak trees, and plenty of other “wild” looking plants. I love that plants are so integrated into the indoors here.
In the Kruglik youth center, there was one interesting plant that I’d never seen before, and as I was admiring it, the ladies asked if I’d like a cutting to take back to Kyiv with me. I wasn’t sure it would survive the hour drive in what was one of the coldest winters on record, but I figured why not?
When I got home, I put the small cutting in a jar of water. Something like this:
A little over two years later, I now have two big pots brimming with the beautiful bushy guys.
And another pair of cuttings growing roots in the jar of water.
I’ve been to Kruglik probably three or four times since that first trip two years ago. I always admire the mother plant to my cuttings, and I always give an update on the progress of her offspring. The last time I was in Kruglik, in November 2007, I was startled to see beautiful little flowers all over the mother plant. I had no idea it flowered! I started to worry that mine had never flowered, but the ladies assured me it eventually would. It just takes some time for it to take root and be ready.
I have felt like that plant many times over the last few years - cut off, uprooted, replanted, not quite comfortable, slow to settle in, not ready to commit myself and bloom in this spot.
I know moving to Kyiv caused many of the same feelings in Igor. He had a good job in Korosten, he loved working with the Regional Development Agency, he was a well-known and well-connected man in town. He gave up a lot so that we could live together. He jumped in with both feet at his new job, though, and he was so busy with work that he didn’t have time to go back to Korosten for nearly two months. After his first trip home, I asked him how he felt, if he didn’t regret moving to Kyiv. “No,” he said. “But I don’t feel at home anywhere right now. Korosten is not my home anymore, but Kyiv is not my home either.” I knew exactly how he felt.
A few months later, when he was in Korosten without me for a weekend, I called him in the evening.
“I’m ready to go home,” he said
“What? You want to move back to Korosten,” I wasn’t sure I had understood.
“No, to Kyiv, to you. My home is where you are.”
During Igor’s visa interview at the American Embassy, the foreign service officer asked him why we had not applied for immigrant status for him. “Because we don’t want to live in the US,” he answered. “We want to live in Ukraine.”
As he told me about this exchange, after the interview, a realization came ove me. I am ready to make a home with Igor. I want to settle in and take root.
Believe it or not, the next day I saw the first flower on my plant.
OK, it’s a tiny one, not very strong yet, but it’s there. My plant has taken root, too.
A colleague of mine went to California last autumn to give birth to her first child. She herself is Turkish, her husband is American. He couldn’t be there the whole time with her, so she took her Ukrainian housekeeper, who we’ll call Irina (who would be the baby’s nanny when my colleague went back to work) to help her. The Ukrainian woman was thrilled to go to the US, it was a dream come true to spend a few months in glamorous, exciting, rich America, beyond belief that she was so lucky - and in San Diego no less!
She spent months on pins and needles, eager with anticipation. She packed all of her most fashionable and chic clothes - super-mini skirts, super high heels, the tightest most revealing tops you can imagine (”the more skin, the better” seems to be the motto in Ukrainian fashion).
Day 1, she wants to go straight to the beach. They settle in, spread out the towels, and she pulls out her cigarettes. “Smoking is not allowed on the beach,” my colleague tells her. Irina is dumbfounded. So she takes out a beer she brought along. “It’s against the law to drink on the beach” my colleague tells her, “and you actually have to follow the laws here,” she adds. Irina is becoming quite confused. A few minutes later, she starts to untie her bikini top for some topless sunbathing. “You can’t go topless here,” my colleague says.
Irina throws up her hands in digust. “America is free?! There is no freedom in America! This is ridiculous!”
Dreams and fantasies completely crushed, Irina was utterly depressed for the next two months. She stopped wearing make-up, dressed only in ratty jeans and an old t-shirt, and pined to get back to Ukraine where there is real freedom.
We had a fabulous week in Egypt. There are many tours arranged now from Kyiv to Sharm el Sheik and Hurgada, on opposite sides of the Red Sea. Although it’s not considered the optimal season, the sunshine and warm temperature sure beat the heck out of Kyiv in February.
We booked an “all-inclusive” trip through a local travel agency - charter flight direct from Kyiv to Sharm, 7 nights at the Oriental Resort with breakfast, lunch and dinner buffets, snacks throughout the day and unlimited local booze. We had heard that the Egyptian alcohol isn’t so hot, and apparently we weren’t the only ones who had heard - there was a rush on Duty Free at Boryspil airport as everyone stocked up on bottles of their preferred poison before departure. (We found the local beer and dry red wine to be just fine, although the hard liquor left something to be desired.)
Several people decided to dip into their stashes during the flight and get a head start on the vacation. One guy went to extreme, got thoroughly smashed on the majority of a bottle of Bailey’s, which may have contributed to him thinking it would be funny to harass the flight attendant and to tell her that he was planning to bomb the plane. None of the crew thought it was a good joke, though, and after being secured by the pilot, he was met on the tarmack by a personal Egyptian welcoming committee, aka the police.
After that dramatic start to our trip, we were pleased to settle in to our hotel for a quiet and relaxing week. We hit the beach right away
We were not disappointed! The sky was beautiful and cloudless, the water was crystal clear, the sun bright and warm. We spent most of the week on the beach or in the water.
No, that’s not the swimming pool - that’s the Red Sea!
The sea is very shallow by the shore, and rich with coral. Thus, most hotels have long boardwalks out into the water to get you to the deeper area where it’s not so risky to be barefoot. The coral is very sharp, so most people, including us, wear special swimming shoes when in the sea. It was like swimming in an aquarium - crystal clear water and the most beautiful, colorful fish you’ve ever seen. We had brought one pair of googles with us, and quickly bought a mask as well. The shops were so overpriced we decided not to buy snorkles, and we did pretty good during the week just holding our breath and getting short views of the underwater scenery. If we ever go back (which we definitely want to), we will buy good masks, snorkles and swim shoes in advance. The stuff on sale there was all extremely overpriced and of pretty poor quality. But we did OK with what we had, and were quite thrilled even with our limitations.
Sharm el Sheik is pretty much an artificial town. It reminded me of Las Vegas - this amazing oasis of life and luxury in the middle of the desert. Only Sharm has the Red Sea and beautiful beaches instead of casinos. But there is the long Palm-lined strip with countless resort hotels, lots of bars and shops and plenty of crappy souvenirs.
My first thought when we entered the hotel lobby was “Where are the women?” Of course there were female tourists, but it slowly dawned on me that there was not a single woman working there - not a one! Reception, bell hops, waiters and servers, even the housekeeping staff were all men. I mentioned it to our guide (a Russian woman who lives in Sharm 6 months of the year working for a Russian travel agency). She said no one is from Sharm, as it’s been developed as a town and tourist destination just in the last 15 or so years (with the real boom and growth only the last 7 years), so men come from Cairo to work there while their families (aka wives) stay at home. It was weird, even a bit creepy, to never see a woman working in the hotel or any of the shops in Sharm.
Sharm is located on the eastern side of the Red Sea, on the Sinai penisula. We were thus technically not in Africa, but on the land bridge that connects Africa and Southwest Asia. Across the main road through Sharm is quite a contrast to all the lush resorts:
This would be the desert that Moses and his people supposedly wandered in for 40 years.
We made a break in our suntanning to take a day trip to Cairo. And when I say “day trip”, I mean a 24-hour night-day-night trip. We left our hotel about 1:30 in the morning with a bunch of Russians and Ukrainians from a variety of Sharm hotels for the 500 km (310 mile) bus ride to Cairo. We crossed the Suez Canal, through a tunnel, and we were in Africa! After a couple stops along the way, we arrived at the edge of Cairo about 8:00 am. It took another hour and a half to get across Cairo to Giza and the pyramids. Our first impressions of Cairo were, shall we say, not the best. And they only got worse and worse throughout the day. Our guide told us that according to the law, property owners pay taxes only on completed buildings. Hence quite an incentive to never finish construction!
This was one of the more impressive examples we saw:
Here’s our first view of the Nile River.
And our first view of the pyramids:
I hadn’t expected that they are right in the city. Then again, I hadn’t realized that Cairo is a city of 20 million, so what was once a location far away is now in the city proper.
It’s hard to capture in a picture the magnitude of the pyramids. They are spectacular.
That little speck waving from his spot on a 2-ton “brick” would be Igor.
We went inside one of the smaller pyramids at this site, the final resting place of the wife of the pharaoh.
Our guide had suggested to try this one first before shelling out the $25 to go inside the big pyramid - and he was right. After the rather horrifying crawl down a very steep tunnel, we decided to pass on the 120 meter (~400 feet) descent into the big pyramid. This was adventurous enough for us:
So we had fun making silly pictures.
And exploring the area around the pyramids. Igor peeked down into an excavated pit and we were amazed to see 7000 year old hieroglyphs.
We moved onto the nearby Sphinx, where Igor continued to ham it up.
And encouraged me to ham it up a bit too.
The bottom half of the sphinx was preserved under sand for thousands of years, and the contrast with the wear on the top half that was exposed is quite distinct.
But if it looks this good even after 7000 years, can you imagine how amazing it was when first built?
We left the awe of the pyramids, and drove past this lovely view:
raw sewage being scooped up from a canal in the middle of the road. Now do you believe me that Cairo is a dump?
Ah, and of course what metropolis would be complete without donkeys?
I also saw some women washing clothes in the Nile River in downtown Cairo, but didn’t snap the photo fast enough.
We spent a couple hours in the Egyptian National Musuem. Unfortunately, no cameras are allowed inside the museum, so no photos from there. Igor was speechless as we entered the 110 year building - he later told me it had been his dream since he was an undergraduate history major to visit this museum. The collection is truly remarkable, but the condition of the museum and many of the collections was disappointing at best, shocking at worst. Many rooms were just a mish-mash of different cultures and different eras - Greek, Roman and Egyptian antiquities seemingly randomly cased together. Some cases had written descriptions in English, some in French, some in Arabic, many had no description at all. Built at the turn of the 20th century, it looked like most of the cabinets, displays and even wall signs were original. I started to understand why no one wants to return items to the Egyptians. The exhibitions in the British Museum, for example, certainly seem to be much better taken care of.
Nonetheless, it was a marvelous experience to be there. The Tutankhamen exhibition is fantastic (and is in one of the few updated and modern rooms in the museum).
We spent Thursday recovering from the exhausting trip to Cairo (we made it back to our hotel shortly around midnight), but headed out for another adventure on Friday: a day cruise on a yacht to snorkel at various coral reef sites in the Ras Mohammad National Park. The weather was chilly and windy, not exactly ideal for a day at sea, but we were excited and raring to go. We rented masks, snorkels, and fins.
About a million yachts, each full of tourists, headed out of the bay early in the morning.
Igor got sick almost immediately, poor guy. The gentle rocking back and forth of the boat just didn’t agree with him, and despite his nice tan he turned white as a sheet. He was rather miserable for the 40 minute trip to the first dive site.
We had a quick lesson on poisonous fish and other things to not touch in the water. The guide described one fish as giving you an extra super dose of Viagra - enough to set your heart racing to the extreme.
We arrived at our first dive site.
The boat stopped a bit out from the reef and drifted, as they aren’t allowed to drop anchor in this protected area. We geared up, and Igor jumped right in behind our instructor/guide, along with about 8 others from our boat. I think he was more excited to just get off the damn boat than he was to see the coral and fish.
I freaked out when I saw the deep water and rough current, and even though it was a relatively short swim to the shallower waters on the reef, I couldn’t overcome my fear enough to get in. I think the yacht crew had a good laugh at me chickening out.
After about 40 minutes at this site, everyone boarded back up and we headed across the open sea. That’s when everyone else, including me, got sick. There was apparently a storm out there somewhere, the only evidence of which we were aware were the huge and choppy waves. Igor and I discovered that our stomachs react to different motions. He hated the back and forth rocking, but didn’t mind the up and down, and I feel the opposite. “It’s just like a roller coaster,” he gleefully said. Exactly, and I hate roller coasters. And what’s even worse is that this was a one+ hour roller coaster ride with absolutely no way to get off. The crew distributed all the dramamine they had on board and it still wasn’t enough. It was one of the most miserable experiences of my life.
By the time we reached our second stop, I too was ready to just get off that damn boat no matter what. Fortunately, this site was shallower and the boat could anchor close to the reef. We dove in and swam for about 30-40 minutes. It was really beautiful. The surrounding view was also quite lovely.
As we had been bouncing across the sea, somehow the cook had managed to prepare a fabulous lunch. Igor was afraid to eat anything for fear of having it revisit on the next leg of the trip. The passengers took a vote, though, and opted to skip the third stop on the schedule so as to avoid another torturous roller coaster ride. So we stayed put for a couple hours and then headed back to dock.
As we drove back to our hotel, I got some good shots of the desert and mountains.
On Saturday we took a long walk along the beach, checking out the neighboring hotels. One hotel had an extra-long boardwalk, nearly double the length of all the others, which extended far out into the sea and to the very edge of the shelf.
The water was quite choppy from that faraway storm, but we could still see the colorful fish swimming in the shallows all along the dock.
At the edge of the dock we could easily see the dark blue line in the water marking the edge of the shelf and the steep drop into the open sea.
We were probably a good 500 yards out.
And the view was gorgeous.
Ah, this is the way to live.
The hotel grounds were gorgeous, too. And to think we’re in the middle of a desert!
Our would-be terrorist was on the return flight with us on Sunday night. He didn’t look worse for the wear, in fact, he seemed to have had a great week too. I always wondered who are the fools who buy all those crappy kitschy souvenirs? That guy, that’s who. He was loaded up with every single ridiculous thing you could buy. And he was happy. As were we.
Join a group of us in Ukraine in voting for Kyiv to become one of the 22 cities of the
world to be included in the new Monopoly World Edition game board. After much lobbying of Hasbro in Europe (ironically led by a Swiss gentleman living in Ukraine), Kyiv was included in the 68 city shortlist for voting - a major feat in and of itself.
Beginning today, you may log onto http://www.monopoly.com to cast your vote online. In fact, you may continue to do so each day until the cut-off of the contest on February 28, 2008. At the close of the online voting, the twenty cities that receive the most votes will become part of Monopoly history as the first cities selected to be on the World Edition game board. These cities will appear on the Monopoly board from highest rent property to lowest based upon the total number of votes received.
This is a significant development as this World Edition board game will be sold in over a hundred countries around the world and manufactured in 37 languages (including Ukrainian). This a great (albeit symbolic) way to get Ukraine on the international map!
Saturday morning, Igor had to deliver our passports to ZAGS at 9 am; I wasn’t really sure why, but I long ago stopped asking “why” about any of the things required by ZAGS. His friend Vlad showed up a little before 9 with juice, tea and coffee, and we invited the Americans to our suite for a breakfast of leftovers from Friday night.
We had arranged a tour of the Stalin-era bunker in the town park at 10 am, and most of the Americans headed off there while Julee joined me at the beauty salon on the fourth floor of the hotel. My wedding hairstyle had been the topic of much discussion for several weeks, with me quite adamant that there was no way I was going to get one of those insane and ridiculous ‘dos that Ukrainian women so adore. I lost the battle. Nina had been insistent that I get my hair done at the salon, and I finally figured it couldn’t hurt to try it, and if it was really horrible, I could always wash it out and do it over myself. I got a bad feeling when I saw the stylist - one of the most frightening women I’ve seen in a long time, with an atrocious hairstyle herself. I also soon realized that she was horribly hung over from the night before. She didn’t seem to like that it that she couldn’t understand what Julee and I said to each other in English. I was glad she couldn’t. She emptied half a can of mousse into her hands, and the fun began.
“That’s a lot of mousse,” I meekly commented.
“No, it’s not,” she growled. I quietly resolved to keep my mouth shut while I calculated how many washings it would take to get all that crap out of my hair.
The end result was a prickly, rock-hard glittery helmet on my head. The hairstyle itself was pretty stupid, and not all “me”, but I had to admit I really liked the glitter. I decided to see what Igor’s reaction was - if he laughs, I thought, I’m heading straight to the shower. He was too dumbstruck to laugh. I had a couple hours before the wedding, so I decided to try it out a while longer before making a final decision.
We checked the arrangements in the restaurant, checked that everyone made it back from the bunker tour, wandered from room to room for a few minutes, and suddenly realized that everything was actually under control, there were no emergencies or crises or anything at all to take care. The last hour before our wedding was the quietest and calmest hour of the entire week, and we hardly knew what to do with ourselves.
The closer the time came to go to ZAGS, the less sure I was about the hairdo. 15 minutes to go and I was bent over the tub prepared to wash and restyle, but still not sure since I really liked the glitter. Igor flipped a coin, and my fate was sealed to get married with a ridiculous Ukrainian wedding hairdo.
We met everyone in the hotel lobby. Igor informed me that we were supposed to drive to ZAGS in separate cars. “But it’s just across the street,” I said, confused (not for the last time that day). “Yeah, but we have to drive there in separate cars, and you should take Julee and your Dad with you.” So we drove literally across the street in one car, while Igor drove with his best man.
The guests started arriving in the small lobby of ZAGS, and we all stood around as we waited for the wedding ahead of us to be conducted. Eventually one of the ZAGS ladies directed me to a small waiting room, and Julee and another friend Olga followed me in. Julee, of course, was a bit curious to know what exactly would be expected of her as matron of honor; unfortunately, I couldn’t provide any helpful information since I had no idea what to expect myself. Olga tried to tell her a bit, and in the end, it was agreed that Andriy, Igor’s best man who doesn’t speak English, would give her hand signals when they had to do something and she would just follow his lead. I know this was more than a challenge for Julee since she’s all about planning and knowing the details, but she was a good sport and managed great.
About five minutes to our wedding time, and another ZAGS lady came in to the small waiting room and started running quickly through what we were supposed to do. There were questions about how to address me (”Ann” or “Ann Marie”?), where to put the stamp in my passport (more on that later), would I be able to follow the ceremony in Ukrainian, would anyone translate for the Americans, etc. I figured that all I really needed to understand was the word “cholovik”, after which I would say “tak” (”man/husband” and “yes”). The lady started to herd us toward the ceremony room, still gushing out instructions and details. I couldn’t help but laugh, and commented to Igor that it was just so Ukrainian! I had just enough time to tell him that in the U.S. we usually have a rehearsal of the ceremony the day before the wedding, and it was just so funny and typically Ukrainian to me that five minutes before the ceremony this lady was telling us all these requirements and specific things to do that she thought were so important and critical.
The ceremony itself was very short and to the point. In fact, within the first minute I heard the keyword “cholovik” and said my big line, “tak”. Then there was “druzhina” and Igor said “tak”. Julee and Andrei unfolded an embroidered cloth (like a table runner) in front of us, and we stepped onto it together. Tradition has it that whoever steps on it first will be the head of the household - which someone told me about only moments before the ceremony, otherwise I would never have been the wiser; instead I looked up at Igor and said “together?”, he nodded, and we timed our steps perfectly so that we are equal heads of household.
We went up to the table, signed our names on the two certificates of marriage and stepped aside. Our witnesses, Julee and Andriy, were called forward and they signed the certificates.
(Two weeks later, on New Year’s Eve, Igor’s mother suddenly asked me in what language I signed my name. “In English, of course,” I said. “And Julee signed in English, too.” For some reason, Nina found this quite amusing and she was still laughing about it on Orthodox Christmas, a week later, how we signed the Ukrainian wedding certificates in English.)
We kissed and sealed the deal.
The ZAGS lady said some more things I didn’t understand, and handed us two goblets of champagne. We drank. She took the embroidered cloth that we had stood on earlier and tied it around our hands.
We then walked over to our parents, and bowed to them three times to honor and respect them. I thought that was a really neat thing to do as part of the ceremony. (another nice shot)
And that was it! Ceremony over, the guests each congratulated us in the ZAGS lobby and then headed back to the hotel for the reception.
(and another nice shot, and lots more in that set from my brother; I especially like this one.)
The reception wasn’t quite ready, though, so we invited everyone up to our suite for a first toast.
There was an impromptu “receiving line”, and everyone congratulated us again, giving us flowers and cards.
I threw my bouquet, which was snagged by Natasha, the young friend who had kindly arranged the flowers for us. We joked that it was nice of her to “lend” me the bouquet for the 30 minutes or so that I actually held it. There were a bunch of little girls, and several older young single women, who couldn’t be left out of the fun, so I threw several more of the bouquets that friends had given to me. Watch out, boys, no one missed a bouquet!
The guests all headed downstairs to the reception, and Igor and I took a few minutes for a breather and to sort out the cards and gifts. We must have taken longer than we realized because suddenly Julee was back, telling us some lady was looking for us. We hurried downstairs, and that’s when I learned what a tamada is. More specifically, who a tamada is.
Our tamada was a woman from Chernihiv; and she worked kind of like a master of ceremonies, sometimes the title is translated as “toastmaster” , but she was much more than that. Her job, basically, is to make sure everyone has a great time at your wedding. What a brilliant profession! I don’t know how Igor’s friends found this particular tamada, but she was AWESOME and I will happily provide her contact information to anyone who looking for a tamada - and the best part was that she spoke English! Without her, we would have had two very bored and very separate groups of guests. But she was able to bring everyone together for dancing, games, and all kinds of craziness.
So, we came down to the hotel lobby and she was waiting for us and asked us to point out our parents in the hall. She brought them out to the lobby, too, and if she explained what was going on, I don’t remember now. The next thing I knew, she was in the hall inviting our parents to be greeted by the guests. Then she called us, and we walked in to the circle of our family and friends all applauding and cheering. It just felt so good, so nice to be with such wonderful people, sharing our happiness and joy with the people we love the most. Then the insanity started.
She instructed us to turn to each other and hold hands. She then said in Ukrainian the kind of vows we typically say at an American wedding - I will love and honor you, take care of you in sickness and in health, etc. Igor of course hammed it up.
She handed us a goblet, and we drank three times - first to love, then to happiness, then to a long and happy life together. She turned to the guests and said in Ukrainian “So, don’t you think our young people are a bit bitter?” To which all the Ukrainians responded loudly and in unison “Gorko! Gorko!” (Bitter! Bitter!) - a condition that can only be remedied by the newlyweds kissing for as long as possible.
We again paid our respect to our parents. Then everyone headed to the table to start the feast.
The cake was beautiful, and as we found out about 8 hours later, also delicious (although it did have prunes in it - why why why do Ukrainians think prunes should be anywhere near cake??!).
We ate, we drank, we danced, we played goofy games, toasts were made, we ate again, we drank again, we danced again, more silly games, more toasts. Fireworks. The singer and guitar player turned into gypsies and sang and danced.
(this was the incident that prompted Igor to later comment “We had everything except a bear and a fight!” Apparently gypsies usually come with bears (?) and a typical good Ukrainian wedding always has at least one fight - we weren’t sorry to have lacked either of these, though.)
The eating, drinking, dancing, games, toasts and other madness went on until nearly 11:00 pm, at which point the party moved up to our suite.
Jeff was a big hit, mostly because he felt up every woman during one of the silly games but also because he’s such a snappy dancer.
There was great cultural exchange throughout the day and evening. The Americans learned lots of weird Ukrainian traditions - Igor dancing while I pretended to play a reed flute (I found out only a week later myself that this has something to do with him learning to listen to me and follow my instructions);
(look at that hair not moving at all!)
yelling “gorko!” (in Russian) or “hirko” (in Ukrainian) to get newlyweds to kiss (my brother learned this one Russian word exceptionally well and really impressed Igor);
and that a tamada is a really brilliant thing to have at your wedding.
The Ukrainians learned that Americans tap their wine glasses to make the newlyweds kiss; the newlyweds are supposed to feed each other with the first pieces of cake;
and how to do the famous O-H-I-O cheer from Ohio State University (after which one of the guests created a new K-O-R-O-S-T-E-N cheer, which unfortunately wasn’t quite as catchy but was nonetheless full of cheer).
At some point late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, people left and we collapsed. Much to my surprise, it only took two washings to get the goop out of my hair.
UPDATE:
I forgot to explain the passport stamp. Ukrainians have two passports - a internal and an external. The first serves as your official identification document in the country, the second is your international travel passport. The first one you get when you are around 17, I think, and keep it for life. You add a new photo ever certain number of years, and all your important life events are recorded in the passport - marriage, divorce, children’s births. So, Igor’s passport is stamped on the “marriages” page with the appropriate information - married on 22 December 2007 to Ann Marie Merrill, citizen of USA. Since we don’t have these kinds of internal passports in the US, we used my international travel passport. I have a similar stamp on the last page, which states that on 22 December 2007, I married Mr. Ihor Pashinskyy (Ukrainian spelling, of course) and that my last name is now Merrill (since I opted not to change my name). The irony is that my passport expires in October 2008, and in the US that means getting a whole new passport. Fortunately, we also have an official marriage certificate that documents our new status. I hope the passport agency will let me keep this passport after it’s expired, though, since the stamp is kinda cool.
We arrived in Korosten around 5 pm. As we approached, I briefly ran through the plans for the weekend - dinner Friday at Igor’s parents’ house, wedding at 1:00 pm followed by reception on Saturday, brunch on Sunday at a friend’s farmhouse. Return to Kyiv early Sunday evening.
During my work and travels with the Chornobyl Recovery and Development Programme, I’ve had plenty of experience with the one hotel in town (the only decent hotel for about a 70-mile radius, I might add). Although a privately-run business, the administration still retains some of that old-world Soviet “charm”. Thus, it was especially delightful after the stress and drama earlier in the day to find that checking-in to the hotel was a breeze. The receptionist had a list of all the rooms reserved for us and handed me keys as I went down my list of guests. It was, by far, the smoothest part of the day.
While I took care of settling in the Americans, Igor went with Anya and Gresha to another very small private hotel nearby, called “Chateau”. It’s actually a restaurant, but there are two luxurious hotel rooms for rent there, decked out with individual saunas and small bathing pools (more like dipping pools, really, for plunging in the cold water when you are good and hot from the sauna). Knowing how hard Anya and Gresha work all the time on their farm, with almost no time at all to relax and enjoy themselves and each other, we had decided to make a small present to them and arranged for one of these special rooms for them for the weekend. I think they liked it.
Back at the main hotel, I was thoroughly impressed by the lovely third floor “lux” rooms. I’ve always stayed in the half-lux (what I would call “regular”) rooms, and once or twice, in a pinch, in a “standard” (aka, full crap) room on the second floor. We had rented the “apartament”, or suite, for ourselves, in anticipation of entertaining guests throughout the weekend. It was AWESOME! We had two gigantic rooms, a full-size refrigerator, dining table with 6 chairs, huge couch, big screen TV, and one and a half baths.
We had about an hour for everyone to settle in before heading over to Igor’s parents’ house for dinner. A fleet of taxis were called to transport us, and I arrived in the first car. I had tried to prep everyone a bit about what to expect - an overflowing table, lots of booze, more food than you’ve ever seen that will keep coming and coming, and toast after toast after toast. A few things about a Ukrainian dinner party that will be unusual for an American: the table should be so full that plates are stacked on top of each other; the host will make sure the guests’ plates and glasses are always full, even if there is no way the guest can eat another bite; it’s unthinkable to have so little food prepared that your guests actually eat it all; it’s a self-serve, family style table, and you use your own silverware to serve yourself and it’s perfectly acceptable to double-dip; there is no way the host would let a guest help clear the table, wash dishes, etc. I also said a word about the “facilities”, since there is no running water in their neighborhood. “The outhouse is a good one,” I said, “it’s just a bit challenging now because it’s so cold outside.” I am pleased to report there were no outhouse disasters.
Anyway, back to dinner. I had been nervous that the food would be too strange and unusual for the Americans. Silly me! I’d forgotten that Julee’s family is Polish, so the golubsti and pierogi were not only very familiar, but some of the kids’ favorite foods. Dick, as well, is of Slovak heritage, and Madeleine traveled in the Soviet Union, so both of them were familiar and happy with the food. Scott, Carina, Tayler and Tyler also seemed to do OK. I had been especially concerned about Kyle, since the food would be completely unfamiliar to him, but I quickly learned that if it’s meat, he likes it. He also absolutely loved Nina’s homemade dill pickles, which are by far the best pickles ever made on this planet. We ate, we drank - well, they ate and drank, while Igor and I tried to translate the 37 different simultaneous conversations. We took turns, almost like a tag team at a pro wrestling match, facilitating the conversations his father wanted to have, most of them with my father. Eventually, my brain more or less shut down, although Ivan was still going strong despite the large amount of vodka in him. I just couldn’t translate anymore, so I just asked everyone to laugh and trust me that his story was very funny. They thought that was funny, and Ivan was none the wiser.
Gifts were exchanged - these had been the topic of much discussion on two continents for several months now, with regular and frequent emails and telephone conversations dedicated to providing consultation to various parties about sizes, styles, etc. Kyle looked fantastic in his traditional Ukrainian shirt; the girls loved their sporty hats; Nina and Ivan were wild over their authentic American farmer overalls; Scott and Carina will be warm and toasty in their Carpathian wool blanket; Dad and Aunt Mary Ellin weren’t quite sure how they were going to get their paintings back to the US.
At one point, Carina, with huge eyes, said to me “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe how much food there is! I can’t eat another thing!” I laughed, and said “And this is just the first day!” Oh my god, I just realized that we are having a 3-day wedding. How the hell did this happen? What happened to our small and simple wedding?!
Another fleet of taxis was called to transport everyone back to the hotel. We stayed another hour or so, finally enjoying the meal ourselves and reviewing the details of the evening with Nina and Oksana - it was a complete and total success.
The wedding was awesome. I can’t say it enough times. Getting there was a little piece of hell, but once we made it, everything was fantastic.
To make the final days even more stressful, UN Volunteers had a workshop in Bonn for all the programme officers the first week of December. So, I had to spend the last full week before guests started arriving in another country, stressing about all the things I should or could be doing in Kyiv to get ready. The good thing, though, was that I got a great pair of shoes and a bunch of presents while in Bonn, plus I got to spend a day with my friend Jayne. The trip was good, but it was nonetheless not the best timing for me to spend a week away.
Igor, therefore, was the lucky one who had to go to Korsoten 10 days before the wedding date to confirm with ZAGS (the civil wedding registry place) that indeed we still wanted to get married - a rather bizarre requirement that can only be fulfilled in person exactly 10 days before the wedding (makes me wonder what happens if you want to change your mind, say 4 days before the wedding - do they somehow force you to get married anyway because it’s “too late” to change your mind?). We were technically supposed to go together to confirm our intentions (no phone calls, only in person), but Igor managed to get around this requirement, explaining that I was, in fact, not in the country, and for some reason they accepted his word that I still wanted to marry him (why could they accept his word about my intentions, but we couldn’t confirm by phone, email, fax, notarized letter or any other means except in person?!). Igor used the day in Korosten to finalize a bunch of other details, too.
When I called that evening from Bonn to see how the day had gone, I was impressed with the efficiency and thoroughness of Igor’s work. ZAGS confirmed - check. Hotel rooms reserved - check. Dinner menu set - check. Flowers ordered - check. Red, white and blue balloons - check. Huh? We’re having balloons? Live band from Chernihiv with an English-speaking tamada - we’re having a live band? And what the hell is a tamada? Fireworks salute - fireworks?!! All I could think was “Who is this and what have you done with my Igor?”
Four days later, back in Kyiv, I was still trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Before I left for Bonn, we had sat down one evening to go over the guest list, sort out the number of hotel rooms to reserve, etc. We were both shocked when the list reached fifty people - this was supposed to be a small, simple wedding! We couldn’t understand what had happened, and the feeling started to creep over me that we were losing control of this thing. One week until the wedding, I realized that it was all completely out of control - that this “small and simple wedding” was going to be anything but small and simple.
Monday afternoon the first guests arrived, my dear friend and matron of honor Julee, her husband Jeff and their two adorable girls Rhyan and Grace. Tuesday, the second group arrived, comprised of my father, his sister Aunt Mary Ellin, my nephew Kyle, and very dear friends Madeleine and Dick. Kyle, it should be noted, lives in Texas, which is basically a desert. He had never been farther than Ohio, and had never seen snow. Let’s just say that there were a lot of firsts for Kyle on this trip. Thursday, my brother Scott, his wife Carina and their two wonderful girls Tayler and Tyler arrived. Somewhere in between all those trips to the airport, I got my hair cut and colored, had a manicure, had a final fitting for my dress, fed people, tried to show them a bit of Kyiv, took them souvenir shopping, and dealt with various issues related to the apartments I had arranged for them to live in.
As luck would have it, Igor’s organization decided to have a huge reception that same week, and he was trapped at work morning to night every day. It started to become a joke amongst the American guests whether or not he was real, and whether or not they might finally see him at the wedding. I did my best to stay supportive of him, knowing that he was very stressed by problems at work, and I tried to handle as much as I could on the homefront by myself.
By Thursday night, though, I was at my wits end. I hadn’t sleep more than an hour or two a night for the entire week. I still didn’t have my dress, there were still two more guests to pick up on Friday at the train station, people had to be moved out of their rented apartments and all their bags moved to our apartment for the weekend, we had to be in Korosten by 6pm because Igor’s mother insisted on having everyone over for dinner Friday night, and Igor said he needed to go to work until at least lunchtime on Friday. We had the third fight in our two years together - actually it wasn’t much of a fight, it was more like me having a total brea
When I left for work this morning, he was already scouring websites to learn all about his new toy. It should be here in a couple of weeks, when a friend comes back to Kyiv. Nothing like a bit of anticipation!
