BBБ (Bags, Bottles, Банки)

George Carlin had that great routine about how we live our lives in and around boxes. If you have not seen it, please do as it does a nice job of summing up our complicated lives with one simple observation. I had a similar epiphany (wait, I should wait two more weeks for that, I think) as I looked around my apartment the other night. I realized that my life in Ukraine revolves around Bags, Bottles, Банки (jars). Without these three objects my life would be eminently different...and damn near impossible. Let me explain.

Unlike in America where we receive plastic bags for almost every purchase, Ukrainians follow the European model of charging for every bag used at a shop. While in America we talk about changing for plastic bags in order to save waste and clean up the environment, in Ukraine it is a simple case of economics: people don't want to have to keep buying bags. Every kopek counts! Therefore, bags are purchased then used, reused, rerereused, and then reused one more time for good luck. Despite my best intentions, I don't always carry a bag with me so over the past year my collection has accumulated. I now have two big bags that house all the rest of my smaller bags. It used to be only one bag serving as home base but the collection kept growing and growing.  And while I only use three or four of these bags at most to do my shopping, I'm unwilling to give or throw the rest of them away. I've gotten the Ukrainian mentality of holding on to things in cases I may, just may, need them in the future. And this is not such a bad thing as it keeps me from wasting. Still, I feel that by the time I leave I will have a few dozen more plastic bags in my kitchen. Or perhaps I only started with two and they started reproducing.

Bottles are also in large supply in my apartment, specifically they are in my kitchen and my living room. Similar to the reasoning of plastic bags, Americans don't want to use plastic to cut down on waste and improve the environment. Ukrainians, on the other hand, use bottles for so many things. First, the water is not fit for drinking in Zhytomyr so it behooves locals to save their bottles and get them filled at fresh water filling stations.You can either have a person fill your bottles using a hose and a funnel or you can use a machine that takes your money and pumps out water.  I always make sure I have six five liter bottles of fresh water filled at all time for cooking and for drinking. Second, you never know when the water is going to go out. A few months ago it was announced the government was going to shut down the water in the entire city for three or four days so they could work on the pipes. Everyone had to make sure they had not only enough drinking/cooking water but water for cleaning dishes and flushing toilets. This time we had a warning so we were prepared. Other times you wake up in the morning or middle of the night, turn on the water and....gurgle, gurgle. It's a horrible sound to hear especially when you need to flush the toilet. So, I make sure I always keep several gallons in the bathrooms for that unexpected "pipe renovation".

The final "B" is only really a Ukrainian "Б" and it stand for Банки or jars. As with bags and bottles, you never know when you will need a jar. Whenever someone gives me homemade preserves or something from his/her garden, it will inevitably come in a jar with a plastic top. Also when I buy fresh honey at the market, it comes in a.....jar! So over the past months my jar collection has multiplied faster than a cage full of hamsters. And I learn a very important rule, never throw out a jar! The woman who works the desk of the dormitory was sure to chew me out when I tried to put some jars in the trash. Perhaps that's why I never throw them out.

Is it possible to break down life into simple concepts like boxes, bags, bottles, and Банки? Perhaps not, but it is a nice way to summarize my life in Peace Corps. And I don't have to carry around a small roll of toilet paper in my back pocket like I used to do. Plus, that's not a "B" and would not have fit into my nifty use of alliteration in the title.
                                                                                                                                                                 

Fit to drink and cook with

Waiting for jam and honey

                                             

Bags, Bags, Bags....

Do not drink! Use for flushing! 

                                             

Making a Run for the Border

Once again, posts are getting fewer and further between.  I guess this is a good thing since it means I am very busy in my final ten months of Peace Corps Response in Ukraine. I had hoped to post once a week but the time and inspiration were not always there. But after I began clearing out photos from my phone I found some pretty good shots...and inspiration.

This past October I went to the small town of Berehove, which is on the border of Hungary (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berehove) to run a 10km race/fundraiser that was started by another Peace Corps Volunteer many years ago. Like any good Peace Corps project, this one has long outlived the service of its creator and has been carried on by his organization. There is now a new PCV at the same site who encouraged others to come, support here site and run in the race. I was very happy I went as it was one of the best trips of my PC service.
As with most trips, travel was overnight on a train. After twelve plus hours on the train I arrive in Mukachevo, another small city in the west of Ukraine. From there it was a one hour plus trip to Berehove with a marshrukta full of other PCVs. Everyone on the mini-bus was staring at the crowd of noisy Americans who suddenly invaded their tiny part of the world. As we rumbled along the road several locals starting chatting with us and we responded in our best Ukrainian. Despite their surprise, these Ukrainians were more than willing to tell us where to get off the marshrutka, perhaps a bit too willing as they gave us the wrong information. Just as we were crossing the street, heading towards the empty field we were told to cross (this just did not seem right), a young woman came running off the bus to tell us to hop back on. Crisis and/or possibly new adventures averted! We traveled down the road a few more kilometers until we came to the right spot.

Berehove, was unlike anything I have seen in any part of Ukraine. The key to this was that the area bounced between Hungary and Czechoslovakia in the pre-World War Two period. When the Soviets did finally encompass the area into the USSR, they apparently left much of it untouched. At least in the immediate town there are small cobbled and dirt streets lined with one floor houses. There are fewer Soviet-style apartment blocks that popped up when Stalin brought in his decorators. The city square also retains its Central European feel with its open spaces and non-Soviet style buildings. There is also an artistic feel which was reinforced by the array of umbrellas which hung over the central square. The other oddity was the linguistic and cultural vibe. No longer was this a battle between Ukrainian and Russian; rather, it was a battle between Ukrainian and Hungarian. Despite the years of separation Hungarian is still strong in this region, so much so that the town has been given its pre-Soviet name of Beregszász. Walking down the streets you could hear people communicating in their own version of Ukrainian with a definite Hungarian feel. Or, they just spoke Hungarian. 

Regardless of the language, our hosts made us feel right at home. The PCV's host family lived in a beautiful house right across the road from a cemetery. Unlike many Ukrainians, this couple has extensively traveled so their worldview is a tad more broad than many of their countrywomen and men. They had a garden where they grew everything from sunflowers to wine and they had a coop full of chickens to boot. They make their own array of wines and alcohols which they were quite generous in sharing. I also discovered that they make their own pizza from products from their garden as well. After a year of subpar pizza, it was great to taste these awesome pies. (Yes, love was the main ingredient) Finally, they were kind enough to house at least seven very energetic PCVs for two days!
The race itself was a blast. It was not timed nor was it there for big prizes. People came from both sides of the border to run in a race that raised money for an organization that, amongst other things, works with Internally Displaced People (In this case, Roma). They had food and water waiting for the participants and we thoroughly enjoyed the races that took us through literally cow country. After the race we were treated to a concert by a local Hungarian singer who seemed to really get the crowd going. We then finished the day with a soak in the local hot springs, a visit to a local winery (there are everywhere!), and that famous pizza dinner. 
If I was able to extend my PC service one more year, I would definitely return to Berehove for the run and, most of all, the people. My only regret was not being able to spend more time in the area, and to get over the Hungarian border. It is tantalizing to be able to climb a hill and see a new country just a few kilometers away. And that Budapest in only a few hours beyond that....Soon, in the spring. I guarantee. 

A Return to Biķernieku Forest (Riga, Latvia)

Ah, yes, the posts are coming fewer and farther (further?) between. But that is not necessarily a bad thing. It actually means I am quite busy here at my site in Zhytomyr, Ukraine. As I begin my second, and final year as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer, I plan to spend as much time working at the university and preparing a long-term plan that will continue after my departure. What that is, I know not. But in the meantime, I have a backlog of adventures to report upon.

Last February I made a trip to Riga, Latvia (http://rlopcukraineblog.blogspot.com/2016/02/memorial-run-bikernieku-forest-outside.html). It was cold, windy, and wonderful. I had a great time and I made sure to schedule another stop when I visited the Baltic countries during the summer. I especially wanted to spend more time visiting the Biķernieku Forest which lies just three kilometers from Riga city center (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bikernieki_Memorial) When I went in February it was hovering below zero and I decided to run out and back. Since the site is not well marked I had trouble finding the official memorial; rather I found one of the many marked burial sites. It certainly was moving but there was no coherence. Now that I had the time and the temperature on my side, I decided to do some more exploring. With my camera in hand and my backpack filled with snacks and water, I headed out to the forest. This is what I found....

I discovered that the official memorial is somewhat well-marked, that is if you know where to look in the first place. There is a map that explains the layout of the site and a pathway which leads from the road to the forest. In the center of the memorial there is an altar under a gazebo-type sculpture. Surrounding this centerpiece are slabs of granite which are sticking out of the ground much like gravestones, perhaps reminiscent of a Jewish cemetery, perhaps. In a curious note, the stone comes from the Zhytomyr region where I am currently living. As you walk amongst the rows of slabs you see the names of cities where (I'm guessing) many of the victims came from. Or perhaps there are there to names cities where Jews were persecuted and exterminated. I was unsure and there was no information to help. Although it was summer, I was once again the only person there. So there was an eerie quite as I walked around the memorial. I think I was moved the most by the various stones that sat on different parts of the memorial, many of which were marked by names and dates. But that was not the end of my exploration.

I decided to move further into the forest, away from the memorial. Although there are many marked trails, there are other paths that are smaller and more overgrown. As I wondered further in, I began to think about the people who were brought here: all of them innocent, most not expecting their ultimate fate. There were more posts emblazoned with the Star of David. To the side, a bit off the path, were filled-in pits with grave-like stones marking something or someone. Then what looked to be a flower caught my attention, buried beneath the underbrush in the trees. That is when I found the unofficial memorials. Off in the thicket or beside a tree under some weeds I began to find makeshift graves. Stones or flowers were laid out in rectangular fashion to mimic a gravesite. Were those that were murdered buried under these stones and flowers? Or were these sites randomly placed by someone who wanted another way, another method to remember those who perished? And who made these markers? Was it someone who knew much but did not want to tell? There were so many questions that I wish someone could have answered. But no one was around. And to me that was what made me sad. Here is a place more people should visit. (Depending on your count) thirty or forty-six thousand people should be remembered on a daily basis. But here was another former Soviet Republic Holocaust site that was not advertised in travel guides and not marked on any road sign. To find a place like Biķernieku Forest you had to know what you were looking for. And even if you did speak the language, chances are the locals might not even want to admit to knowing about the site. 

Anyway these were the thoughts passing through my mind as I stumbled my way through the overgrowth. The forest was peaceful, almost too much so. As heartbroken as I felt, I was glad I returned and hoped to return again in the future with friends and family. But I had to be going. It was only noon and I had to get back to town so I could catch a train to return to Salispils, the next step of my journey.

Biķernieku Forest 

The Path In

Introduction to Memorial

The Main Site

Altar with Memory Stones

Gescher, Germany with Marked Memory Stones

Massacre Site?

Marker with Dates

 Unofficial Grave

 More Unofficial Graves Off the Beaten Path

 Order Amongst Disorder

 Barely Visible 

 Not Forgotten - Deeper in the Forest

 More Memories

 Not Forgetting

Candles and Stones

Day of the Deruny (День Дерунів)

There was "Day of the Jackal", "Day of the Locust" and there was even the "Day of the Dolphin". But none of these movie titles prepared me for "Day of the Deruny" (День Дерунів). Yes, this is the seventh year in a row where the city for Korosten (Коростень) in northern Ukraine (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Korosten) hosted the Festival of Deruny (https://discover-ukraine.info/events/central-ukraine/zhytomyr/2383) aka, potato pancakes, aka latkes. While I had heard whispers of this magic festival when I first returned to Ukraine last year, I did not dare to hope it was real. But as summer began to turn to autumn, the whispers became a deafening roar as more and more Zhytomyrites began shouting the praises of the impending pan-fried potato festival. I decided there was only one way to find out how wonderful...or not...this festival really was. This is what I found.....

As is always the case with long-distance traveling, my morning began with a trip to the bus station where I found my way on to a world-famous marshrutka for the ninety-minute trip to Коростень. Since I had heard of the festival's popularity, I thought I'd take an early marshrutka to avoid the crowd. Good idea as I actually got a seat! As the wheels began to roll on the maxi-bus I closed my eyes to be lulled asleep by the gentle roll of the wheels on the asphalt. Well, that was the thought, anyway. I did indeed close my eyes but that was to settle my stomach from the musty, greasy marshrutka smell. Any hope of totally falling asleep was soon dashed as the wheels thudded along the asphalt. I truly believe I was on the worst road in Ukraine. Yes, it was in one piece without any major potholes, but it was far from smooth. I was fortunate not to have eaten any tongue before getting my mitts on some deruny.

Fortunately, the trip was soon over and I arrived at a town...that was still setting up its festival. The festivities officially began at noon but when I got there at eleven, the vendors on the main street were still setting up their wares and the games and attractions were still being inflated/assembled. In hindsight, this was the perfect time to be there as it was still relatively quiet. So I wandered the main street until I came to the beautiful Sofiivska Park where the main festival was located. Here too, the vendors were setting up and cooking their deruny. I took the opportunity to sample a few of the pancakes. To be honest, once you have had one...or twenty, you get the main idea. But I did have a nice variant that was potatoes mixed with carrots and garlic. As I wandered the pathways, I admired the sounds and smells of delicious food being prepared. I must have wandered for quite some time for as I looked up, the park was getting quite full. And this was only the beginning! By the time I had walked the majority of the pathways, it was two o'clock and the music was starting and the crowds were pouring in. This is where my head began to swirl.

For someone who does not like crowds this was probably not the place to be. According to friends, last year's festival attracted over 25,000 people. Looking at the park on this day I had no doubt that the number was higher. In true Ukrainian fashion, people were wandering around and bumping into each other without so much as a thought. Luckily my time in New York City prepared me for this exact situation. But the sheer numbers of people, buoyed by alcohol and a punishing sun, made the situation a bit intolerable at the end. I think every single spot of grass or rock was taken up by a festival-goer. So in addition to having no place to walk, there was no place to sit. It was at this point, I decided to go home. Leaving on an earlier marshrutka was also a good idea. I was not jammed on with drunken deruny lovers, instead I got a nice seat for the bumpy ride home.

Overall, I was very happy to have attended the festival. The food was excellent and it was the perfect opportunity to see Ukrainians let loose and enjoy themselves. I saw many friends and students from the university and was able to enjoy the last of the summer weather. Some questions were left unanswered though; like, out of all the cities in Ukraine, why does Коростень host the festival? I'm pretty sure this was not the place where deruny first were created nor is there some international deruny cooking school in the city. I also wondered how they can keep holding this festival in this tiny park. It was way too small to hold such a large number of people. This was not helped by the Ukrainian tendency not to pay attention to where one sits or where one walks. I found I always had to be on my toes unless I wanted to get bowled over by an entire family. Finally, I wonder what will become of the festival in the future. I see some great possibilities for attracting an international audience. This would be one of those events that could be featured on a cooking/travel show. Perhaps there is something an enterprising Peace Corps Volunteer can do for this festival of deliciousness...I wonder who will answer the call?

 Deruny with a Smile

 Cookin' Up them Deruny

 The Greasy Meat Boils

 Even the Pumpkins are Dressed for the Festival

 Healthy Potato Pancake Variant 

 As Advertised!

Guns Are the Tongues

It has been quite a while since my last blog. Sorry, I have not be slacking off; rather, I have been traveling in Scandinavia, the Baltics, and around Ukraine (but more on that in another post). I also have a new computer (thanks Dad and Mom for the help!) so these updates should come much more frequently. As I begin my second, and final year as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer, I hope to be able to share more of this great country, its culture, and its people. So without further ado...

August 24th was a milestone day for the Ukrainian nation - it was the 25th anniversary of Ukrainian independence from the Soviet Union. When I was here twenty years ago independence was still fresh and I did not sense the feeling of historical importance and immediacy. But with the war starting to bubble up in the Donbass and Russian accusations of Ukrainian sabotage in Crimea followed by a mass of Russian troops on the border, this years celebration of independence had a greater sense of patriotism, and uncertainty. I decided to leave my small city of Zhytomyr and head to the capital of Kyiv to witness the festivities.  This is what I found:

It was a grayish, rainy day when I boarded my marshrutka for the two hour ride to Kyiv. I was up early enough that when I arrived in the city at 0900, the streets were kind of empty. I was expecting people to be up early, preparing for a day of celebration. Instead, I think most citizens were taking advantage of the day off to catch up on sleep. As a precaution against any type of anti-government violence, Peace Corps not only required me to get permission to come to the city (standard procedure) but requested that I stay away from crowds. This may sound disappointing to many but since I have an aversion to crowds and being unnecessarily bumped, this directive was very easy to follow. But what Peace Corps or I failed to anticipate was the "unanticipatable" (new word). I consciously avoided the main thoroughfare, Khreshchatyk (Хрещатик) and Maidan Nelzalezhnosti (Майдан Незалежності) and settled in the lower city of Podil (Поділ) to await my friend. But then it happened! Or shall I say They happened.

As I was standing next to a coffee shop I heard a rumble. It was slight and far off in the distance. But as the minutes passed the rumble became louder and louder until it became a near deafening roar. I though perhaps street cleaners were out, washing the streets before the festivities. But I was nowhere near the parade route. Then I noticed the crowds gathering along the streets. When I went over to investigate, I was met but the site of a battalion of tanks coming down the road. Despite the warning from Peace Corps to avoid crowds, said crowds and tanks came to me!  Although I had seen tanks used as monuments in nearly every Ukrainian city, I had never seen an active tank, no less dozens of them. But there they were roaring down the street, positioning themselves for the parade which would take place at the top of the hill. The citizens were waving and taking pictures as the tanks turned the corner, only to be followed by light artillery and then heavy rocket launchers. I stood there stupefied. Part of me was in awe at the sight of these powerful machines and the strength they exemplified. Another part of me was frightened for the exact same reason. These were the machines that were helping keep the rebels and the Russians at bay but, at the same time, they were also indiscriminately killing people. I could see why the Ukrainian President wanted to display his country's might at this opportunity but it also made me worried. I'm used to seeing fireworks exploding harmlessly in the sky instead of watching armed machines rolling down civilian streets with men and women who might soon be called into battle. There seemed to be many contradictions on this most important of days. On another note, the amount of smoke that those things kicked out was overwhelming. I was left choking for air and had to stand back as I felt a little bit dizzy. 

Thankfully, the day was not just about tanks and missiles. As the parade ended, Ukrainians began filling the streets and enjoying the day. The sun came out and more people appeared. Khreshchatyk was shut down and people were able to walk and take pictures and just enjoy themselves. There was a stage at the Maidan that was used as a viewing platform for the President and his honored guests. Now people were walking around it, taking pictures with the Ukrainian flag as a backdrop. I also walked around the hills behind the Maidan where much of the violence of the February 2014 Revolution took place. There were memorials of the fallen as well as flowers and even a small church. I even saw some bullet holes that still remain in street lamps. Makes Independence Day here feel all the more real. Further on down the street there was, for some unknown reason, a motor bike and drag racing exhibition. I'm not sure the connection to independence day but the smell arising from the burned rubber reminded me of the tank smell. It was best to move on. After walking all day, it was time to stop and have a bite to eat. A beer or two later and a fairly good hamburger was a nice way to end my time in Kyiv. As I arrived back in Zhytomyr around 2100, the party looked like it was just getting started. People were walking the streets, buskers were playing their tunes, and there was a concert going on in the main square. But it was time for me to head home and reflect on my day.

What did I get out of Ukraine's 25th Independence Day? I had many mixed feelings. I was excited to see that, despite the tensions from the Eastern part of the country and Russia breathing down its neck, Ukraine is soldiering on. There is a defiance in the air but it is also mixed with trepidation. I believe that the people feel the pressure from Moscow and they are worried about their larger, more belligerent neighbor. But they also want action from their own government. They would prefer not to be at war and to see the bodies arriving home. They are also tired of corruption and would rather have definitive answers to social and economic problems rather than tanks and patriotic slogans. Before Ukrainians can truly feel independent they need to feel secure both outside and inside of their borders.

Here is some information on the ceremonies:  http://www.reuters.com/article/us-ukraine-crisis-independence-idUSKCN10Z14T.

Please enjoy the pictures as well. Feel free to leave comments so I know you are out there reading and (hopefully) enjoying.

 A tank in Podil, Kyiv. 

 Tank column approaching. 

 Heavy artillery rounds the corner.

 It's missile time!

 Patriotic Faces of the "Heavenly Hundred"

Cross marking those killed in February 2014 Revolution.

 "Who defends (delivers?) him/herself shall be free".

 One of the stages on the Maidan. Ukrainian Idol? 

Found me an angel in the city. 

Journey Through the Mountains

I recently completed a journey from Zhytomyr in Central Ukraine to Rakhiv in the Carpathian Mountains. When my business was completed I then walked over the Ukrainian border at Solotvyno to Sighetu in Romania (home to the late Elie Wiesel). This trip I hope to discuss in further detail later. But the real Peace Corps part of the journey occurred when I returned to Ukraine and had to find my way back to Zhytomyr. Let's just say my journey did not take me the "way the crow flies"; unless the crow's radar is on the fritz.

My journey began at 5 AM when I woke up in Sighet and headed for the border. Of course I took a wrong turn and ended up half a mile away from the border crossing. When I finally found my way I had to hustle over the border in order to make my marshrutka (maxi-taxi). My path would take me from the town of Solotvyno to the city of Ivano-Frankivsk (IF). From IF I would take a train to the western city of Lviv and finally another train to Kyiv. My final leg would be a marshrutka ride from Kyiv to Zhytomyr. It would be a lot of traveling in the increasingly muggy summer weather. If all went well then my ride from Solotvyno to IF would take five hours and once that was over the rest of the trip would be a can of corn. This being Peace Corps, the "if" loomed large.

The good news is I made all my connections and the views of the mountains were great. Then there was the not unexpected bad news...the marshrutka ride. To understand the dynamics of the marshrutka is to understand Ukraine itself. There are certain unwritten rules that one is supposed to know (or quickly learn) when riding in a marshrutka. First, have patience because marshrutkas will stop at every other lamppost to pick up passengers. Like many things in Ukraine transportation is supposed to be workable but not necessarily efficient. Get in, squeeze on, and let the driver do his business. You get to your destination about on time but not necessarily in comfort. So, in order to make money the driver will squish on as many passengers as possible. People will be standing in the aisle and nearly hanging out the doors but no one will actively complain. Second, be ready for anything and anybody. Being a mountain route there were many farmers climbing aboard. This can mean they may have bags of vegetables they want to sell at market or perhaps they may be carrying a chicken in a cage. Luckily none of that happened here. But there were many smells emminating from around the marshrutka. Like in many countries bathing is not a daily routine so someone working in the fields all day...smells like somebody working in the fields all day. No judgements just a fact. You have to suck it up and try not to breathe too deeply. This leads to the most important rule....at any cost don't open the windows!

Closed windows on marshrutkas are the bane of Peace Corps Volunteers' existence. Every summer there is a reverberation down the spine of our collective back when the subject of marshrutka travel arises. Despite years of science and common sense that proves otherwise many (but far from all) Ukrainians believe that a cool breeze will make you ill. It's somewhat understandable in the cool weather when you are told to bundle up but in the summertime the same advice boggles the mind. So when you are on a marshrutka in the middle of the summer heat no one dares open a window even if the whole van is dying of heatstroke. If you dare to break this unspoken convention you run the risk of being chewed out by an old woman or an old man and perhaps a mother with a baby. I've always hoped I could improve my language skills so I could tell people that there are more germs multiplying in the heat than there are coming through he open window.

This was my experience as the marshrutka wound through the mountains towards IF. I was lucky enough to get a seat in the back but had to shove my backpack between my legs. To the right sat a young woman to the left, near the window, sat an old man. At first all was well: it was a cool morning and the roads were rather good. But as the sun rose higher, the roads got more curvy, and more people crammed on the marshrutka, the temperature spiked. As I looked to my right, the young woman dabbed her forehead with a napkin. I could see she was getting green around the gills. When she fished a plastic bag out of her purse I felt that it was car sickness time. But she hung on for hours as we all did. As I looked around the marshrutka I could see how miserable everyone looked, dripping with sweat under layers of clothes. Finally the woman asked the old man near the window to open it. He reluctantly agreed and made a lame attempt at opening the tiny window. I seized the opportunity and helped him get it open. For the next five minutes a cool breeze filled the back of the marshrutka. Then the old man shut the window! I was not surprised but I was still upset. Finally people were feeling better and he let old superstitions take hold. I didn't even attempt to speak in Ukrainian and went after him in English but to no avail. Did anyone else attempt to say anything? Of course not. Perhaps fear of questioning the wisdom of an elder overtook them but either way we had to sit in the ever-festering heat for two more hours. I did the only thing I could do - I gave him the stink eye the rest of the way!

This is just a 'mildly crowded' marshrutka,

Foot bridge from Solotvyno, Ukraine to Sighet Marmatiei, Romania. 

Jesus statue right before the Ukrainian border crossing into Romania (are they telling us something?)

Neatly organized haystack as seen on both sides of the border. 

Carpathians in Ukraine

Mountain Houses

Will Not Forget Babi Yar...If I Can Ever Find It!

It's been over a month since my last post but I am back to tell more of my adventures as a second time Peace Corps Ukraine Volunteer. Hopefully all my computer and Internet issues have been solved for the time being. On to the update!

As I have come to know Kyiv better I have tried to move beyond the better know historical attractions located in the downtown area. This time I was ready to go to Babi Yar, the site of one of the first and worst massacres of the Holocaust. The problem seemed to be less difficult than looking for similar sites in the Baltics, for example. In Riga I had to do copious online research and then plot and plan my way on maps. There were no signs nor information in guidebooks. Conversely, Babi Yar is mentioned in guidebooks and there is ample knowledge by locals that the place does indeed exist. But physically getting there from the nearest metro station was a chore. First, the ravine where hundreds of thousands of Jews, Roma, mental patients, etc. were brutally gunned down is located in a park across a busy road. But there are no signs that say this. Second, there is another part of the park right next to the metro station  where other monuments are located. Once again there are no signs or maps to show visitors where to go. For such an important piece of history is this a coincidence, an oversight, or a passive aggressive way to pay lipservice to remembering (while discouraging people from actually finding the site)? It's hard to know...or is it?

Until Ukraine became an independent nation in 1991, there was severe omissions at Holocaust sites such as Babi Yar; specifically any mention of Jews. Remembrance sites talked of 'Soviet Citizens' who are died at the hands of Nazi oppressors. But time after time Jews were purposely not mentioned even if the site contained a majority of Jewish victims. The post-Soviet leaders tried to rectify the situation by building a menorah memorial and having Jews mentioned at the main monument at Babi Yar. But, after searching for the menorah (which was torched on the first night of Rosh Hashanha in 2015) I came to find that it was at the far end of the park....in a parking lot! Additionally there was not much more information regarding the monument and the importance of remembering it's victims. For an event that many claim was a testing ground for the Final Solution, this omission seems bewildering.

Fortunately, I was finally able to get orientated. I spent a blazing hot morning walking from one side of the overgrown park to the more manicured main massacre site. Looking at the site today and you can understand why the Nazis used it. The ravine is long and wide and at one time the site was covered in forest. And of course it was on the outskirts of town. But even though it is now surrounded by busy streets and large apartment buildings people walk by and don't seem to notice. Just like in 1941, citizens don't pay it any mind. I think that is a shame. The Babi Yar's of the world need to be remembered. And the way to remember is to let people know it is there and encourage them to visit and share their memories. Menorahs in parking lots won't do the trick.

More on Babi Yar: http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/Holocaust/babiyar.html
                              https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babi_Yar

Menorah memorial at Babi Yar...in a parking lot far from the massacre site. 

Cross with further explanation of the site. This, for some reason, is much closer. 

Inscriptions in Hebrew.

Main memorial at Babi Yar, built during Soviet times, I believe.

Another view of the Babi Yar Memorial. Note the three plaques describing the events. 

Third plaque that actually mentions the Jews intead of only "Soviet Citizen" on the other two plaques. You do the math. 

What Do You Know, a Post About Salo!

Monday was a monumental day for me here in Ukraine; culturally and culinarily speaking, that is! Despite having eaten it many times this was the first time I bought the national food, salo (сало). For those of you lucky enough to be in the know, сало is pig fat. Yes indeed, a nice (maybe not so healthy) slice of fatback with or without the skin. Of course this sounds terribly disgusting to most non-Slavs but it is the national dish for a reason. It was initially the food of the peasants as it was easy to cure and store for long periods of time.  In times of trouble, and there have been many over here, the people could always survive off of сало. And what made it so great (other than coming from the pig) was that it could be spiced with paprika, garlic, or salt to give it an extra flavor. People could also cook with it, add it to sausages, or make it into a spread to put on bread. There was also firm belief that сало would improve your skin, help ward off heart attacks (!), and dispense of a nasty tooth ache. Over time сало moved beyond the peasant lands to becoming a popular food with the general population. Nowadays the best way to buy сало is to go to the main meat market and choose from a dazzling array of choices. You are encouraged to pierce the сало with a small pointed utensil that is available for use by all. If it is too firm do not buy it, I am told. Once you get your prize how it is up to you how to eat it. For me the best way is to cut a piece, put it on bread and chow down. But don't forget to wash it down with a nice frosty glass of kvass (квас)!

More about Salo - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salo_(food)

Salo...as a delicacy? - https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/mar/06/salo-ukraine-national-obsession

 Сало with a touch of Meat

Washed Down with Квас 

Behind the Doors of 'Number One'

How often we walk through our cities and towns, past buildings that display no sign of their purpose. I never ask myself what is behind the door of the yellow house on the corner or the imposing building on the main street. We might actually be surprised or shocked at what goes on behind closed doors and high walls. This is certainly the case with One Lonstsky Street in Lviv.  Starting in 1918 with the Polish and ending in 1991 when the KGB skipped town for good, this nondescript building with the high walls was a prison and, virtually, a death camp for political prisoners. Today, if you know where to go, it is a museum of remembrance for future generations. I was lucky enough to read a few guidebooks and look at some maps so I knew where to find the National Museum and Memorial to the Victims of the Occupation. (http://www.lonckoho.lviv.ua/)

Much like memorials to the Holocaust in Riga, memorials to those killed by the NKVD and its successor, the KGB, are often difficult to find. Whether it's from a conscious decision (http://www.lucorg.com/news.php/news/4554), negligence, or a will NOT to remember, I am unsure. Either way, it took some time to make my way to the museum on a street I had walked upon in January. At that time I was looking for the Cat Cafe but little did I know that the building I was standing beside while waiting for a tram was the same place the NKVD killed between 1,300 and 1,700 political prisoners in late June 1941 as the Germans were preparing to roll into town. Many of these prisoners were Ukrainian nationalists, from religious orders, or people at the wrong place at the wrong time. (http://www.kyivpost.com/article/content/ukraine/lviv-museum-recounts-soviet-nazi-atrocities-66675.html). It's not surprising I didn't identify the place as a museum since there were no markings on the wall besides a wreath adorned with blue and yellow ribbons and flowers. (Clue #1) The real entrance is around a side street where you find an entrance with some printed information and a flag over the door.

When I went to the museum on a Saturday afternoon, I was one of the only people there. It was free of charge and a man in what I took to be a police officer's uniform let me in with a polite greeting. Once inside the place looked as it should, uncared for. The wooden floors creaked and paint was peeling from the walls. I had a feeling that this was intentional as much as for a lack of funds to pay for renovations. Either way, the effect was chilling. There was no doubt this was a prison. Walls were papered over to keep out the sun and cobwebs filled what passed for toilets. Then there was the door leading out to the courtyard. While there were plenty of exhibits in English, many were not. I was trying out my Ukrainian when I was approached by an older woman who appeared to work there. Oksana, as she was called, initial spoke to me in Ukrainian but soon switched to English. As we chatted she offered to show me around. She was a wealth of information and her English was very good despite her objections to the contrary. What she could not explain in English she said in Ukrainian and we split the difference. I was thankfully she offered to show me around as I got to see some places that are not open to the public;  including the basement where the condemned waited to die.

I will not go on and on but it was an important experience on my trip to Lviv. This is a city that has been tossed between the Poles, the Soviets, the Germans, and the Soviets once more. The previous governments still do not seem to want to invest in these types of memorials to events that need to be remembered and discussed. It has been suggested that recent events in Ukraine could have been prevented or altered if discussions about the Soviet past had been taking place. (https://euromaidanberlin.wordpress.com/2014/04/01/kgb-archives-in-ukraine-will-be-open-to-public/) Regardless, this is a place that more people, especially Ukrainians, need to see.

Papered-over Windows - No light in or Out

Door Out to the Courtyard

The Long Hallway

"Luxury" Quarters

From the Photo Room

Inside Looking Out

Bathroom Facilities

Propaganda Room

Sinks and Peeling Paint

Once You Go Out, You Don't Go Back In

In the Cellar

The Padded Room

Solitary

Wall of Death