· Saturday, 30 September 2006

My Toothbrush Looks Lonely …

Mark called last night and will call again tonight. He will be home again tomorrow. Time apart is good. It provides some perspective, a chance to consider who that loved one is and what you value in them.

Some time apart also lets you explore who you are too.

I curl up on couch rather than actually sleep in the bed when Mark is gone.

Resume Writing…

Well, our commode is shining and lots of housework is getting done as I avoid the activity I should be focusing on! I have a serious aversion to working on my resume, and may miss the closing date for the job, but at least the flat will be clean!

Even without the challenge of how to explain the gap in my career created by my medical separation from Peace Corps, my sporadic writing attempts, and my ”freelance” volunteering here in Ukraine, I find preparing a resume or completing a job application a tough assignment. I have had so many diverse experience and years of working and my education has been nontraditional too. Interpreting my military career so that it presents my experiences requires focus and attention.

It is good to start now. The position that has prompted me to start this painful process may not pan out, but at least I will be moving forward! Mark has about 9 months of PC service remaining here, so if I start now, perhaps I will have a resume I can be comfortable sharing, instead of a hack job thrown together in a panic!

· Friday, 29 September 2006

Being Punctual…

I left my flat 0610, rushing out the door, having one-sided conversations with myself about the limitations of the mortal concept of time as I strode along.

I remind myself: there is no time in Eternity. Time really is just a mortal concept; a useful tool perhaps, but it has no power.

I walked quickly; joyfully and prayerfully aligning my thoughts with that Truth.

I arrived at the bus station at 25, minutes before 7 - five minutes to spare. Usually we allow 40 minutes for this walk.

Last year when Mark and I went along on the annual Library Day Excursion, we were early, but we went to the wrong location! After a couple concerned phone calls (thank goodness for cell phones) and instructions in a confusing linguistic soup of Russian and English, we finally arrived, almost thirty minutes late! A few dozen library ladies stared at us as we arrived.

Mark and I are almost always about 15 minutes early for meetings, etc. so being rushed and late are uncomfortable situations for us. And of course here we have the feeling that we are representatives of what American citizens are like. (The feeling of being under a microscope or being ambassadors underlies almost every transaction during our Ukrainian adventures.)

The Library Day Excursion & Generalizations About Ukrainian Excursions…

I was on time, relaxed and ready to go. This year, someone else had the honor of being late! The bus pulled away about 15 minutes late.

Our original destination was a famous waterfall, which provides the ever-important health benefits that make it an appropriate destination for an excursion. Travel here in Ukraine seems to require something more substantial than simply going to see something because it is beautiful or fun. Usually some healthful, educational or edifying element is necessary to justify a visit. (Even a day at the beach is justified as a healthful venture rather than just a fun activity on a hot summer day.)

I wore my black jeans and walking shoes, expecting a hike under trees and on rugged terrain.

Typically, the destination was changed at the last minute - the military decided to have training exercises on the land surrounding the waterfall. So our revised itinerary involved touring several churches, some ancient city walls, a visit to an art gallery and a picnic at the beach.

Touring churches usually means being respectful by wearing a skirt, no lipstick and donning a scarf to cover one’s head. A picnic on the beach means lighter clothes and maybe even a swimsuit.

The weather changed from moment to moment so we stood for half an hour in a rain shower listening to an earnest guide detailing the history of a church and later stood in hot sun for 40 minutes as another dedicated guide shared extensive knowledge of another church. We visited six or seven churches and at each stop we received an extensive lecture prior to entering the building followed by more details once we were inside.

Guides here take their role seriously. Our excursion guide kept up a detailed, nonstop commentary for the entire hour and a half on the highway to Feodosia. We have observed this kind of attitude on all of the excursions we have been on since we arrived.

Following the lecture, the cameras come out. In my experience in Ukraine, the candid photo is a rarity. Everyone poses and everyone with a camera takes the same group shot at every site. If you do not have a camera, the polite gesture is to offer to take the group photo.

The mantra of “Not right or wrong, just different” flashes through my mind. Americans, used to having our own vehicles and making our own arrangements for the pursuit of happiness, have our own way of approaching sightseeing.

Picnicking on the Beach…

I had a fine day with the delightful library ladies, but the best part with them is when we sit down to eat. We ended the formal excursion with a picnic on the beach. Now the corporate culture of the library involves several work groups within the larger group – they refer to these groups as ”the collective”. At all the functions, I dine with the Library Director’s collective.

Each collective shares among the group whatever items they have brought along. Not exactly like a potluck, but sort of. There is never any organizing ahead of time. People just bring whatever they want to bring. (In past eras there were really not many choices so it was not necessary to be concerned about not having something – there will always be the same basic items.)

When we arrived at the beach we discovered a makeshift table already set up by previous innovative picnickers – a weather beaten board balanced on some large rocks surrounded by driftwood seats. There was evidence of a fire ring too.

The ladies quickly threw a tablecloth over the wood and began unpackingtheir plastic bags. The offerings include several kinds of apples, lots of delicious tomatoes and pickles, dozens of boiled potatoes in their skin, 5-6 sausages, loaves of bread, the very Ukrainian salo (garlicky pork fat), and many carrot, beet and eggplant pickled salads and chocolate bars. There are also bottles of sparkling water, cognac and vodka. Far more food and drink than we can consume and it all looks lovely and inviting spilled haphazardly across the table!

There is much laughter as we eat and toast one another. Most of these women have worked together for decades. The other collectives have younger women and I see that they play music and have beer with their meals. The camaraderie is consistent across the various groups. They giggle, poke fun, tell stories. Usually there is singing, but today that did not happen.

I shared the soap bubbles my daughter sent me for my birthday. What fun to watch them play.

I feel included, yet I am an outsider really, isolated by language and culture. This is not entirely bad. It allows me to enjoy the view in a way one cannot if you are an intrinsic part of it. This ”otherness” allows me to put things in perspective…I am in the forest and yet, I can see the trees! I am happy to watch and to sit in the inner circle and soak up the beauty of this lovely picnic among friends. I mentally compose photographs-a camera would violate the sacred and intimate nature of this kind of gathering.

These moments, and others like them, make this Ukrainian experience more than just a vacation…I am grateful for this opportunity to experience community in this intimate way.

· Thursday, 28 September 2006

8 AM: Mark’s distinctive black cowboy hat and his trench coat, unbuttoned and flying behind him, are still visible from our kitchen window as he rounds the corner to the street outside our courtyard.

He is on his way to Kiev for a 2 ½ hour IT meeting.

That’s 24 hours on the train each direction and a night in the yet-to-be-renovated rooms Hotel B. He will be home Sunday evening. Not exactly cost effective, but necessary. The PCV IT team is scattered around this country which is the size of Texas, so travel is inevitable. This particular meeting has been scheduled, rescheduled, canceled and then scheduled again, all in an effort to make it copasetic for all those involved.

PC Ukraine has about active 300 PCVs; more than any other country served. The Kiev staff includes about 3 US representatives and maybe 35-40 Ukrainians. They are support personnel and do not actually get involved in projects – they put the PCVs in a position to serve. The staff is responsible for placement, training, safety, security, medical, administration, logistics, legal, discipline, morale, and myriad other needs.

The life cycle of a typical PCV is 27-months. There are two training groups per year and two groups departing each year. It is a dynamic environment. Just managing the basics for those four groups is a full-time job for the staff. Those PCVs who are in-between initial training and preparation from departure (close of service) present another opportunity for the staff to serve.

There is a network of committees comprised of PCVs who help address some of the issues and provide feedback to management. The IT team is one example of such a committee. There is also an advisory groups, a committee that works on the PCV quarterly newsletter. There are several support groups too. There is a minority needs group and an over-50group, etc.

Why am I rambling on about the organizational structure and demands of PC staff. Well, maybe Mark’s trip is a trigger, but it may also be that my awareness is heightened by my own interests.

I find all this organizational background interesting. Perhaps my decades of military experience in training and development and my MA in organizational management make me mindful of what actually goes on behind the scenes. It is as dynamic as preparing a braodway show.

This is all on my mind because one of the small ideas I have nurtured for several years is beginning to burn brighter. The coals are becoming red and I am about to add some fuel. With our tenure here in Ukraine rapidly winding down, I am thinking about options. I found something that reflects my dream both in location, demands, and qualifications. So, while Mark is gone, I will prepare my application and we shall see what unfolds…

· Wednesday, 27 September 2006

Successful English Club…

I am always most satisfied when I find ways to get everyone who attends English Club to speak.

I move from satisfied, to happy, when I get them to relax and smile or laugh. They were comfortable, playful, at ease – in many ways people here are wary and suspicious. They are cautious people.

We also were able to share some language information and materials that are helpful, but it is the atmosphere that resonates for me. Trust and joy and gentle humor go a long way toward preparing the soil for the tiny seeds we plant.

I have a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote pinned to the wall of our humble flat (I had it, and others, on my work desk for most of my military life). As the years pass, this simple measure of success becomes more relevant, more meaningful, to me.

…To laugh often and much,

to win the respect of intelligent people

and the affection of children,

to earn the appreciation of honest critics

and endure the betrayal of false friends,

to appreciate beauty,

to find the best in others,

to leave the world a bit better,

whether by a healthy child, a garden patch…

to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded!

- R.W.Emerson

The meeting tonight was very successful.

Some things we have helped English Club members with…

How to help organize a gallery show – this man has talent

How to help someone land a job and a flat in another city?

How can I start a business here in Kerch?

How do I find grants and funding?

How to improve English language classes?

How do I get a credit card? …a bank account?

How do I use the computer to enhance my life? (find music, art, companionship, information, jobs…etc)

How do I find the courage (and logistics) to venture out into the world?

How to dream…how to laugh…how to think outside the box…(in a culture that values the group over the individual these are lessons that are not easily learned…)

· Tuesday, 26 September 2006

Embracing Abundance…

There are days when I feel as if I am a character in a delightfully crafted novel, penned by a happy author.

Some days I feel as if I am living inside a beautiful painting – a kind of Norman-Rockwell-does-Eastern-Europe look. Mr. Rockwell and his paints would have fun here.

On this fine fall day, it is easy to be here, far from the USA, friends, family, the familiar life, but, life is good.

It is not yet 10AM and already I have returned from doing some marketing at the bazaar across town. The bazaar is especially pleasant during the early hours on a fall day. I returned with all the important staples of life in Ukraine: chocolate (a kilogram of delicious Korovkas to share with the library ladies on our excursion Friday), flowers ($2 buys a lot of fragrant marigolds, colorful mums and some purple blossoms for contrast), and yarn (which may become cozy socks for my guinea pig, Mark – haven’t made socks before!).

As I strolled home past the Hero City monument, across Lenin Square and along the tranquil sea, trailing the perfumes from my bouquet, I made a point of looking around. Many of the outdoor cafes that popped up to take advantage of the small summer tourist rush (mostly Russians with family here in Kerch), have decamped now that fall is here. With children back in school and the venders absent, the seaside walk is quite nice. Fishermen come early and as they reel in their lines and start walking home, they nod and greet me (or ignore me). Many of them stop at a local bar to swap fishing tales with their friends. Others, like our friend V, will take a few fish home for his housecat and then change into his suit before heading off to work at the port.

Cats are an integral part of life here in Crimea. During summer months, they have been somewhat invisible, but now that the weather is temperate and the crowds have thinned, they are prominent again. I notice that the cats who monitor the morning anglers have finished their daily job and now seek out pleasant places to soak up the morning sun and nap awhile. I pause to watch a handsome orange and white cat leap onto a café table. A determined waitress rushes out to shoo him away, snapping a dishtowel as she pursues him off the premises. At another outside café, I see a pair of lanky kittens charmingly cuddled together around the base of a large potted plant – a photo opportunity for a cat lover.

I turn and look at the sea. The morning sun glitters on it and there is not a single wave. Russia, only a few kilometers away, is obscured by a light morning haze, which may, or may not burn off. Anyone not familiar with the peculiarities of seaside weather would be doubtful that some days Russia actually appears close enough to touch with an outreached hand. (I remember my own skepticism when, after a few weeks at my brother’s Malawi home, I had still not actually seen Lake Malawi from the bedroom window where it is reported that the view is outstanding! On my last day at the farm, I was rewarded with a glorious sunrise view from that very spot – the mountains of Tanzania beyond the glittering-blueness of Lake Malawi, bidding me farewell and burning a beautiful image into my brain.)

Now as I sit here on my soviet-era couch, tapping away on my laptop with the spacebar that fails to work, the scent of flowers wafts in from the kitchen where the blossoms wait in a sink full of cold water. Later, I will spend some time in my sun filled kitchen arranging them into small bouquets using various mismatched cups and drinking glasses as improvised vases. Then, I will sit down with a cup of coffee and a couple Korovka chocolates, admire my yarn purchases, breathe in the sweet perfume of my flowers, and read a few articles from the C.S. Monitor before I tackle some more practical tasks.

· Monday, 25 September 2006 (Russel & Kent’s’ B’Days!)

With our vacation over and the official workweek off to a start, I find a long list of happy demands on my time. Like a woman with many delightful children all calling for her attention, I find myself pulled in many directions. I have to remind myself to stay in the moment and allow the small pleasures and joys (the blessings) of life to dominate rather than to give in to the seeming bumps in the road.

It is noon. A bucket-load of laundry is flapping on the sunny clothesline, drying in the fine autumn air. The dishes are washed and in the cupboards and the floors are swept. I spent a long time just putting things away.

Some of the clutter is gone, but there are many things that seem to have no home yet. We have a few souvenirs from our vacation and there are some birthday and anniversary gifts that arrived in the mail. And there are the training materials Mark accumulated in Kiev.

Blessed with too much stuff…

Mark took this small flat just over a year ago and it was quite empty when we moved in. Now it is crowed with furniture, clothing, shoes, books, memorabilia, and the tools of daily life.

Living like this, that is, knowing when we will leave and that we must take only what we can carry in our two-bags-apiece, hundred-pounds-apiece limit, is challenging.

There are many things we will want to take home with us, but we will have to leave them behind. How do we pick and choose?

Editing, both in writing and in life, is not my forte.

You would think after over 29 years of military moves we would find this business easier. In all our moves, we have gone forward with many things that remind us of our various adventures. And, we have had to leave behind things too. The deciding and the logistics are never easy, but perhaps easier in a military community where you have proximity to others who are arriving and are happy to lighten another’s load.

Both logistics and culture work against us here.

I would simply give it all to a new PCV, but we have no community of PCVs to turn over our treasures to. We are hours from the nearest PCV.

Yard sales are not part of this culture. People give away what little they have. So why not give it away to local friends and acquaintances?

Well, in part, I am self-conscious about the embarrassment of riches we have.

I am aware that some of our purchases represent ridiculous, frivolous expenditures

I would like to, and probably will, find homes for our things by simply giving them away. This sounds easy, but Ukrainians seem to prefer giving gifts to accepting them. And our tastes are really dissimilar in ways beyond explaining.

I find this dilemma similar to how one feels when they have over-tipped and it is seen as an insult to the recipient – this is all very difficult to articulate, but my sense of cultural sensitivity is rocked by this whole dilemma.

This experience, living in a post-soviet world, makes me cognizant of how our capitalistic system affects our behavior and choices.

There is also the challenge of what to do with gifts we receive from our Ukrainian friends. As I mentioned, they are fond of sharing gifts. And did I mention that our tastes often differ? Ukrainians have lived in a world with few choices for so many years. Now with goods coming in from other countries, they are delighted by the razzle and dazzle. I have already received about 6 espresso sets, made in China and re-gifting them locally is really not an option.

So, as I begin to look forward to managing our departure from this wonderful home, I am still plagued with keeping our tiny abode tidy and livable.

Over the past few months I have corresponded (via e-mail) with many of the new PCVs in the training group that will begin their Ukraine adventures in just a few weeks. They are stateside now, packing their bags and will board the airplane in just a matter of days. They will arrive with high hopes and far too much stuff…

Imagine – our greatest “problem” seems to be abundance.

We Americans are blessed with abundance, yet we often turn that blessing into a problem….

· Sunday, 24 September 2006

Collecting the Birds…

Our parakeets, well, my parakeets, (Mark says he is not a “bird-person”) have had a vacation too. We took a marshrutka to the flat of one of our English Club members who offered to keep them.

She (I.) has an 8 year-old, blue parakeet that flies around the small flat chattering and cheeping happily. My previously cage-bound birds have learned about the joys of flying and freedom during the past 20 days! I felt a little like a mother whose child began to walk while I was away when I. told me about their first attempts at flight (they actually fell!) and their ultimate success at flying.

I found it interesting that I. used to mate birds – she knew her current bird when she was still in the egg!

While we were at I.’s Spartan flat, we somehow got into a discussion on discrimination and prejudice. It is interesting to hear the perceptions of people from this part of the world regarding life in the USA.

In this instance the generalization concerned the attitude of white Americans toward black Americans. We had quite a conversation on American history and diversity as well as politics. Maybe a good topic for English Club…

· Saturday, 23 September 2006

Is there Such a Thing as Train-Lag?

The day after vacation is always a little rough. We both woke up a bit stiff and still tired.

Mark decided to head over to the library for a few hours, partly because he is a conscientious kind of guy and partly because he can download our e-mail for the last 10-12 days.

I walked along as far as the post office where I collected the snail-mail: a couple unexpected packages, two cards (birthday and anniversary stuff) and some newspapers to keep me busy as I lounge on the couch, recuperating from vacation.

Catching-up on E-Mail…

My e-mail inbox says there are over 400 e-mails for me to sort through. I sit on the couch, laptop on my lap (hence the name laptop) and begin my vigil.

My approach is to basically follow the management advice about only “touching” a paper once. I start with the newest mail and make my way through, deleting, filing or providing a quick reply. There are many business e-mails which I group together – I will respond to them during “business hours” when I can give them the attention they deserve.

I spend a long pleasant evening in front of the flickering screen, catching up on news and humor from friends and family.

· Friday, 22 September 2006

Waiting for the Train in Joncoi…

After an uncomfortable night on the train, we arrive in Joncoi around 9. We say goodbye to Babba, who is breakfasting on her sausage and bread (see yesterday’s post), and stagger off the train under the weight our luggage. We do not have tickets to Kerch, the end of the line, because no seats were available when we booked our trip.

We check in at the ticket window to see what we can arrange. (Plan B is to catch the electrichka, a kind of electric short-run train, or a bus. Plan C is to get a room and try to get, out tomorrow. Plan D is the unofficial taxi - way too expensive so probably not an option) Luck is with us and we manage to get train tickets in a kupe on the Moscow-Kerch train leaving around noon and arriving in late afternoon.

There is no where to lockup our luggage so rather than tour the town or visit the local bazaar, we settle into the dirty, uncomfortable waiting room and to people watch for a few hours.

Cats and dogs wander in and out, sniffing at peoples bags and cadging food. The place is thick with flies. The room smells of sweat, urine and greasy food. I am grateful it is not crowded or hot.

Most of the other patrons look like actors in a depression-era film. I find myself wondering how old they really are and what their lives are like. These are hardworking people, their teeth flash with metal repairs, their hands are gnarled, their clothing is worn. The women are hunched and wear headscarves and shawls.

Much of the luggage piled around their feet is comprised of large, overstuffed plastic bags or the sturdy, ubiquitous plastic duffels we call”babushka bags”. (All over Ukraine venders use these bags to tote their various wares too and from market and many people use them for traveling too.) My tidy, red overnight bag by my feet looks out of place; the only color in a black and white film.

In Kiev and Lviv, both urban areas, the train passengers seemed more affluent, judging from their luggage and their attire. Among urban travelers you can sometimes see the wheeled carryon bags commonly used by airline passengers around the world. These are becoming available and popular, but they are still somewhat of a status symbol. They are really too large for train or bus travel. Storage space is limited. People travel very light. They are also impractical on typical Ukrainian surfaces – sidewalks are uneven and difficult to navigate. There are stairways up and stairways down – even when it would seem a stairway would be impractical or unnecessary.

Though they travel light, they carry food when they travel. Like the Babba on the train last night, there are sausages and bread, pickles and fruit, chocolate and juice tucked somewhere in their plastic bags or purses. I can smell them.

I hear some angry voices and look up to see policemen pulling a gypsy woman away from the ticket window. She spits and yells. They calmly hold her elbows and escort her out the door.

I bury my nose in a book, ignore the flies, and occasionally feed a stray cat from the small stash of cat chow I routinely carry in a zip-lock bag in my own handbag (I confess, I also routinely carry a chocolate bar, but no sausages!). A lame dog pauses by me. I give him part of the greasy snack I am not eating. He limps away on three good legs.

I hear a loud splat and look up to see the red guts of a very ripe watermelon splattered across the floor. It appears to have rolled off the bench. The disappointed owner gathers up the remains, keeping a chunk for himself, and disposes of the rest in a trash receptacle. Minutes later I watch as a person paws through the rubbish and happily extracts chunks of watermelon and begins to eat. I look away.

By the train I watch as a young man kicks a dog. People stare. This is uncharacteristic behavior in this country. Everyone is a bit shocked at the brutality of the kick. We avoid making eye contact with one another.

What kind of person kicks a dog?

Sometimes it is hard to overlook the dirt, filth, and poverty. Things are seedy, grimy, old, battered – the train, the people, the community.

I am glad when we finally board the train and leave this station behind. The heavy feeling lingers.

Racking Up the Rail Time: and the Grand Total is: XX Hours!

On the last leg of our train ride home (Joncoi-Kerch), I finish knitting the winter wooly scarf that I began at the start of the vacation (Kerch-Kiev). All the train time in between also allowed me to read two novels.

The trip from Lviv to Kerch was 30 hours, and we logged XX hours from Kiev to Lviv, plus XX hours from Kerch to Kiev (the last of the faster trips provided to summer travelers to and from Crimea) for a grand total of XX hours bouncing over the rails of Ukraine in the past 12 days. Yikes!

Poor Mark is making another business trip to Kiev and back in less than a week so he will add another 48-hours of rail-time to his September train accounts!

Hmmm, 4-6 September we spent about two days on the bus…maybe it is better NOT to keep track!

Needless to say, it will be good to be home!

(Mark pointed out that in a thirty day period he will have logged 7days of the month on public transportation and that is 24/7! Or, put another way, he will have spent the equivalent of three US 40-hour work-weeks on the train or long distance bus!)

Vacation is Officially Over.

The train pulls into the Kerch train station. We splurge on a cab to take us home in style. As the familiar sights of Kerch rolled past the taxi’s windows, I feel happy to be home again.

Dusty and Oscar, my favorite courtyard cats and good friends, meet us at our gate.

Vacations are nice, but there is no place like home!

· Thursday 21 September 2006

Leaving Lviv…

We check out of our luxurious digs in old Lviv, buy some sausage, bread, cookies and fruit for our 9AM train ride to Joncoi and then take a taxi to the train station.

We have a sunny kupe to ourselves and enjoy watching the Ukrainian countryside fly by outside the window. Around 1 PM, Mark slices apples and tomatoes, bread and sausage. A vender comes by and sells us a bottle of wine to complete our lovely picnic lunch in our cozy train car.

Our Knife-Wielding, Babushka Buddy…

Around 2, the train stops, and soon our compartment door bangs open. In walks a large, round, smiling Ukrainian Babushka, smelling strongly of onions and sweat. Our new companion informs us she is a type II invalid and will be traveling all the way to Kerch. (Something about her reminds me of old Miss Johnson, my home economics teacher back in high school.)

“Babba” eyes the upper bunk that has been assigned to her. She is not happy. The upper bunk will be a challenge for her. She speaks to the conductor who informs her that changes cannot be made. We hear the discussion of her invalid status. Babba whines. The conductor stands firm. Computers make the seat assignments and there is no way to make an adjustment. The conductor sighs and leaves.

Mark and I look at one another. Babba looks at us. Mark, graciously, if not happily, knuckles and kindly offers to take the upper bunk.

I am relieved that we will not have to actually witness the logistics of this formidable woman climbing into that narrow upper bunk.

About 3PM, our new travel companion produces, from the depths of her ancient, black, cracked vinyl purse, a large, greasy kielbasa wrapped in yellowed newspaper. She spreads a stained napkin on the small train table. She wrestles the lid off a small salt container and reaches in her bag again. She pulls out a loaf of bread and a massive pocket knife. She carves huge chunks of fatty sausage and places them on slabs of bread.

“Eat, eat,” she intones in typical Babba fashion, pointing at us with the blade of her knife and flashing her metal-work smile at us.

Since Mark made the bed swap, it only seems fair that I be the one who politely shares the meal with her. No matter that we had already eaten or that I do not care for fatty sausage, etc. It is a no win situation. I was trapped: when a Babba says eat, you just eat.

I nibbled at a piece of meat watching while Babba dips hers in salt and wolfs it down. She talks to me in Ukrainian as she eats. I try to ignore the bits of food that fly from her mouth. She uses the corner of the greasy napkin under the sausage to wipe her lips and then the knife.

Around 4, another companion arrives. About 5PM, Babba says goodnight and crawls into her lower bunk for the night. This leaves the newest travel companion sitting on the edge of Babba’s bed. It is her turn to bite the bullet. She crawls up into her upper bunk and calls it a night too.

Ordinarily there are reading lights in each bunk so one can simply retreat into a book if compartment-mates choose to sleep and you are trapped in an upper bunk. But the reading lights do not come on until dark, and at 5PM in September, it is not yet dark. (In fact, our reading lights turned out to broken anyway.) So, not only were we trapped with a snoring Babba in a small space smelling of sweat and onions and greasy meat, we also had no lights.

So, we all went to bed, roosting like chickens.

· Wednesday, 20 September 2006

Rainy Start..

Fall weather can be unpredictable, but nonetheless, fall is my favorite season.

Our plans for the day include several outdoor activities so I stepped out on the narrow balcony and breathed in the scent of petunias while I looked down at the street and the café below. It appears to be a fine day.

We cross the room, open the door to the hallway and stop dead in our tracks. We make eye contact.

“Is that rain I hear?” asks Mark.

I move swiftly back across the room, and once again step out on the balcony – rain. “Cats and dogs,” I reply. “In the street cafe below, people are huddling under the awning.”

“Change of plans?” asks Mark “Or shall we tough it out?”

. There is a Ukrainian proverb that says, if it rains when you are leaving, it is because the city does not want you to go. What a lovely thought. I like Lviv, and I am not eager to go, but this is our last day in Lviv and these “tears” are very inconvenient! There are things I want to see and do!

I remember an American proverb Mother used to repeat: “Rain before 7 quits by 11.” Not too helpful since it is already almost 10. Sigh.

Well, as my military training instructor said several times during Air Force basic training: “You aren’t made of sugar honey! You won’t melt in the rain!”

“Grab the umbrella and let’s go.” I say to my waiting husband, and head toward the door.

We are in luck. The rain stops as quickly as it began. By the time we arrive at the artist street market, the streams of water that turned the 750 year-old city’s cobblestone streets into slippery deathtraps have dried up and the sky is bluing.

Buying a Ukrainian Folk Shirt…

Despite the earlier rain, these hearty souls have set up their impressive displays of beautifully hand-embroidered, traditional Ukrainian folk shirts. The mission today, is to choose one.

It should be a pleasure to choose one and take it home.

But for me it is a challenge. It is akin to choosing just one pup or one kitten from a shelter with rows and rows of homeless animals. How does one ever choose one? The right one? Any one?

When given many choices, I am often inclined to simply walk away. (Want to sell me something? Make it exclusive or one of a kind!)

Another method of dealing with such decisions is to allow someone else to make the choice.

This seems to be a characteristic of my mother’s side of the family. My brother and sisters used to lovingly poke fun of this family foible.

When our delightful aunts would try to choose a place to eat lunch the conversation would circle around and around, something like this: “Where do you want to eat?”

“Oh, you know I don’t care, where do you want to eat?” demurs the second aunt.

“No, no, you choose, I really have no preferences and you are the guest!” replies the first aunt.

“No, I insist, you choose,” responds number two.

“Well, sister, I chose last time. It is your turn to choose.” Says aunt number one, smiling sweetly.

Heaven forbid if all the aunts were together trying to make a decision! Then of course when someone finally makes a choice the others would say things like the following.

,”Yes, Wong’s House of Rice is wonderful, if you like that kind of food. But we will go there! It will be fine.”

Or: “That’s a good choice! We haven’t been there since they had that food poisoning scare last year.”

Yikes…what a passive-aggressive bunch!

Have I digressed? Perhaps, but it ties in with what happens next.

At the artist market, Mark quickly finds a lovely shirt. The style suits him. It is fun to watch the venders hover around him, offering suggestions or adding accessories to enhance their choice of shirts and making adjustments to the collar and so forth.

I hang back a bit, trying to assess my own feelings on which shirt to claim as my own. None of them seems to call my name. I really want to walk away.

Suddenly Mark and the saleswoman turn tome. I am caught off guard.

Mark suggests I try one on. The eager saleswoman quickly removes my glasses and begins pulling a shirt over my head.

The neckline is too small. My head will not go through easily – I feel trauma like an infant might as it passes through the birth canal! My head is stuck; my arms are in the sleeves and are flailing about over my head as the woman aggressively tugs at the blouse.

We pause. People stare. I am conscious of being a foreigner. I am conscious of my large head. I am conscious of the makeup getting smeared on the neckline of this shirt.

The clerk suggests removing my hairclip. No, I say, the shirt is too small. The woman, eager to make a sale or perhaps sincere in her efforts, insists this is normal and tugs one more time.

My head pops through. People stare. The saleswoman holds up a mirror. I am self-conscious and my eyes tear up under the stress. Teary-eyed and without glasses, I cannot really see myself in the small mirror, but, I am not happy with the glimpse I get.

The sleeves seem too short. I think I would like the red and black shirt better, but my makeup has ruined this shirt and I am certainly not eager to try on another shirt and repeat this stressful episode.

Mark admires the shirt.

Ick.

This is not going well.

I just say yes and we buy the shirt.

The rain is gone and the Ukrainian skies are almost cerulean. Inside my head and heart, black clouds have rolled in a sudden storm is threatening. I do not want to spoil Mark’s day, but I have disappointed myself and am doing battle to keep from behaving like a tired child.

This should have been a fun experience, but somehow it has gone awry.

Castle Walk,

The hearty walk up the hill to the 14^th century castle ruins helps me regain my composure and perspective after the shopping “ordeal”.

Part of the climb includes stairs – I stop counting somewhere around 300. The bold yellow and blue Ukrainian flag snaps in the breeze at the peak of the hill. The panoramic view is worth the climb, but the castle ruins are a disappointment. (Friend E., warned us of this).

On the walk home we stopped at Gunpowder Tower (1555), near our flat, and had a drink. The edifice was where munitions were stored when the building was part of the fortress walls.

Dinner at E.’s…

Poor E. Every PCV who visits beautiful Lviv, makes a stop at E.’s flat and many stay the night. This gracious southern gentleman gets no privacy!

We had him over to our temporary digs earlier in the week for a “home cooked” meal and tonight we agreed to dine at his place. He is a transplanted lawyer from New Orleans. I suspect when the term ”Posh Corps” gets thrown around, E.'s flat and site are mentioned. He has a lovely location, for those of us who prefer an urban setting.

It was nice to relax and visit.

When we got back to our temporary home on our last night in Lviv, I turned on the satellite TV to an Irish channel which has a weekly”Girl’s Night”. It was fun to stay up late watching reruns of “Sex in the City” and the movie “Mr.Wonderful” while we packed up our things.

It has been wonderful to access English=speaking TV news all week too! One of the things I really miss about life in the USA is National Public Radio (NPR), but this TV access has been great!

I guess I may miss the great bed in this flat too!

Tomorrow we begin our return trek to far away Kerch and or return to Peace Corps life.

· Tuesday, 19 September 2006: Mom’s Birthday (1914-2004)

Jacuzzi in the Morning…

I have often said I consider taking a hot shower to be a mini- vacation. What can be more luxurious than lots of hot, hot, hot water and sweet-smelling soap?

The Jacuzzi is a nice start or finish to a day and this Jacuzzi is versatile. The flat has a few lovely, large, fluffy, white spa towels and even has heated towel bars! Typical of Ukrainian homes, the commode is isolated in a separate room making the bathing experience even more pleasant.

This flat also has a bidet, something we became accustomed to in the places we lived in Spain. This is our first exposure to them in Ukraine, but then we have been circulating in a Peace Corps environment up until now. This is a vacation!

The Day Unfolds…

The flat is only a few blocks from historic Rhinok Square (Renaissance buildings, lovingly restored – most of Ukraine’s historic architecture was destroyed during the Great Patriotic War and other battles in their bloody history.) where there are several museums. We spent a pleasant hour touring the Museum of Furniture and then spent almost as long in the wonderful bookstore near the entrance. Despite the fact that most of the volumes are in Ukrainian (some English and NO Russian!), we found plenty to engage us there.

In fact, Lviv is a city of bookstores. It could be because there are more than ten institutions of higher learning here. There are several publishing houses here too. It may also that Ukrainian nationalism is alive and well here and they are eager to get works published in Ukrainian, the national language of this newly independent country. In any case we wandered in and out of about 5 great book stores each day of our visit here! (Not to mention the Book Fair that was in town when we arrived!)

Lychakiv Cemetery Walk…

The highlight of this day is a leisurely visit to the cemetery. Yes that may seem strange, but it really is a place worth seeing. It is a historic landmark and reputed to be the finest cemetery in Europe. The elaborate and diverse styles of tombstones and monuments provide real insight into the various cultures that have claimed this city.

The Austrian-Hungarian Empire collapsed and bloody battles between Ukrainians and Poles ensued in the streets of Lviv. The cemetery is the final resting place honoring those who fought in a stunning, elegant necropolis. The row upon row of stones representing each soldier is a chilling tribute to those who gave their lives and is a reminder of the impact war has – each marker means a family who has lost someone.

We spent some quiet time here.

Butterflies visit and flowers bloom. Squirrels scamper about. It is a beautiful place. It is a sacred place.

I am reminded of how wonderful life is and how much joy there is.

I think of “The Spoon River Anthology” and wonder what these young soldiers would have to say.

Celebrity Cowboy in the Italian Courtyard…

We stop for Irish coffee in the Italian Courtyard in Rhinok Square before we wend our way home.

There is a party going on at a neighboring table. The guests cast a few looks our way when we enter, and then continue on with their lively celebration. Later we wander through the gallery and when we are about to leave we are approached by a well dressed man from the table of revelers. He asks if he may have his photo taken with the cowboy. Once again, it is Mark and his cowboy hat that create a stir.

This is not the first time, nor will it be the last.

As we pose with several Ukrainians, I have a sudden memory of a similar incident when my father visited us when we lived in Spain back in 1976,

Dad wore a large tan Stetson, a cowboy hat and a black suit. He was a striking man and may have resembled a celebrity, but it was probably the cowboy hat that attracted the crowd. We were wandering around the beautiful gardens of the Alhambra in Granada and a bevy of giggling school girls suddenly appeared, huddled around him, begged for his autograph and wanted their photos taken with him. More students arrived. Dad stood there with his wonderful smile lighting up his face. He laughed and let them snap away. Pretty soon the crowd dissipated and we resumed our quiet tour of the gardens.

Thinking of Dad, reminds me that today is (or would have been) Mom’s birthday. I linger over pleasant memories of Mom and Dad while the revelers continue to snap photos of Mark. Good memories and a pleasant moment.

Back in Kerch, the locals are used to seeing Mark’ cowboy hat, but here in Lviv, he stands out. People smile. Sometimes they say the word “cowboy” or “George Bush” or “America”…there is a moment of connection.

I have said before, if you want to meet people or start a conversation with strangers take a dog or a small child on a walk…apparently a cowboy hat is a good icebreaker too!

· Monday, 18 September 2006

A Lazy Day…

We wander through bookstores like kids in a candy store. I miss Barnes & Nobles and all the other mega-bookstores. Here there are few books I can really read, but also they seldom let you touch the books. Most stores protect the books from theft and filth by keeping them behind the counter. If you wish to look at a book you have to ask.

We lunch at McDs…don’t tell anyone!

The afternoon escapes us as we wander for hours and hours in a huuuuuuge outdoor bazaar near the beer factory. We look at kittens and bridal wear, household goods and clothes. Mark buys some embroidery materials and I find a scarf.

I love people watching at th