Not Your (Average American) Farmers' Market

Yes, it has been many, many months since my last blog entry; mid-January to be exact. But with time running out on my Peace Corps experience, I need to get crackin'! So here is another slice of life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I hope you enjoy.

This is a tongue, people!

I lived in New York City for over ten years and I realized that New Yorkers love farmers' markets. What's there not to love? There are filled with products grown naturally on local farms, trucked in (or, perhaps bicycled in!), and sold by the producers themselves. Often these products are sold by young women and (bearded) men who are happy to tell you about how they left their financial job to get in touch with themselves and really live life. This is a perfect scenario for conscientious New Yorkers who get to buy fresh meats, produce and organic pretzels while saving the planet and supporting local farmers. All good things, indeed. I would sometimes visit the famous Union Square Market at Fourteenth Street and Broadway or the market near McCarren Park in Brooklyn. I'd peruse the fresh products that I frequently didn't have the money to buy (I went to C-Town Market instead). All was right with the world.

Heads Up!

I started with that little story to compare it with a real farmers'
market that you see everyday in Ukraine. It's not some in some cute little square in the middle of the city where everyone is fairly well-dressed, sipping on fair trade coffee and walking dogs. Many American's would not fall in love with farmers' markets here in Ukraine. Why?  First, there is the weather. The markets run six days a week, rain or shine or sleet. In the wintertime, the market is covered with ice and snow. That makes it hard to stand, but the temperature is the real problem. You need to keep yourself well-bundled as you trundle around the market, looking for the right mix of foods, trying not to fall and break anything (your newly bought eggs or your bones, for example). Fortunately, when the skies clear up in April, the ice melts. Thank God! Oops, now the all those ice patches are now mud! For the next month or two you have to slog around instead of skate. Finally though comes the warm weather. Yes, the sun beats down on the market, dries everything up, and...thus begin the dust storms. For the summer you must negotiate the heat, dusty winds, and the flies that descend on the fruits, vegetables, and the meats.

Pig Heads, Pig Heads, Roly-Poly Pig Heads

The next issue that would bug most Americans would be the lack of personal space. Many Americans, such as myself, love personal space. But there are numerous countries, like Ukraine, where personal space is much, much smaller. This is not a bad thing, just a fact. As an American, I've had to learn how to come to terms with people bumping into me from all directions. It is not easy but it is necessary in that I am the guest and I need to get used to the rules without losing my temper. And the market can be a very hectic place; especially on the weekends. As you walk through the aisles of stalls, people come at you from all sides. There are babusyas pushing through to get to the front of the line. There are children wandering aimlessly from their parents. And then there are the workers who push through boxes of vegetables and fruits with little regard to who is in their way. It came be a literal pinball machine at times with me as the bouncing metal ball. I think it's even more difficult when it is not crowded and people walk into me anyway. To survive a Ukrainian market you have to learn patience.

Salo and Hocks

 Finally, there is the last part most Americans cannot get by...the meat pavilion. As a meat eater, I was always checking out the choice cuts at the Union Square Market. The knowledgable vendors would gladly describe the delectable cuts of beef, chicken, bison, etc. with me. All their cuts where nicely arrayed and professionally wrapped. Very professional. Ukraine, totally different story. Most people do not get by the smell. It smells like slaughtered animals - truth in advertising. As you walk in the pavilion, the vendors are lined along connecting tables with their cuts lined up. Unlike the the nicely packaged meats we get in America, this is the real farm-to-table deal - every part of the animal is used and most of it is laying right in front of your eyes. It begins with the ever-popular salo (pig fat), and continues with loins, and ribs, and all the familiar cuts. Then comes the stuff we usually don't see: hearts, kidneys, tails, pig heads, pig ears, and some big old bloody tables filled with intestines and other offal. There are no special saws to make the cuts, pig and cow carcasses are chopped up using (blunt) axes and various knives. It's especially fun to see a pig carcass get hacked apart during the winter - chip, chip, chip! And if something falls to the floor, no problem, as there are any number of dogs that will come rushing over to clean up the mess. Or, they don't wait, they just hop up to the counter and pull down a bone.

Half a pig's better than a kick in the head!

So back to my original thesis: American farmers' market vs. the rest of the world's (or at least Ukraine's) farmers' markets. I do believe they hold an important function in our society but unlike in America, markets in Ukraine are not just for a weekend visit and an enlightened feeling of doing something good by buying 'local' or 'farm to table'. Markets here are a daily occurrence driven by survival. Yes, American farmers need similar support, but most Ukrainian farmers don't have other outlets to see their food. It is pure and simple, growing during the appropriate season and then trying to sell your products during the week. There are no fancy signs or packaging. You get your kilo of meat or veggies or fruits in a plastic bag that you usually supply yourself. You have to wade through masses of people in all sorts of weather. But there are so many upsides as well. You do get better products at the markets than in the stores. And it's a great place to meet people and, in my case, to practice my language skills. And most importantly, you get to find the vendors who sell the best products and feel like you are part of their personal community. I have spent many a day in the market and it is something I will miss when I leave. It's like an American market minus the artifice and smugness.

The nose(s) knows

And Then Suddenly It's (Orthodox) Christmas

Just when you think the holidays are over, along comes Orthodox Christmas. On 8 January, the Orthodox faithful head to church to profess their faith. Unlike in the West, Orthodox Christmas dispenses with shopping, presents, and Santa Claus. The Santa equivalent, Дідь Мороз (Grandfather Frost) comes on New Year's Eve to deliver gifts to all the good children. Orthodox Christmas seems to be directly about, believe it or not, the birth of Christ. Much like Western Christmas celebrations, Ukrainians go to church either at midnight or sometime during the morning. The service can last as much as three hours and there are no pews: everyone is standing. After services, families go home to celebrate with their families and to enjoy the day. For dinner families traditionally prepare twelve dishes that represent the twelve days of Christmas. Meat is not eaten, instead families will prepare fish. But the most traditional food seems to be a dessert called Kutya (кутя), a mix of berries, wheat, raisins, nuts, poppy seeds, honey, etc. This dish may go back to pre-Christian times and each ingredient symbolizes some aspect of life.  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kutia) This is not the only connection to days of Ukraine past. You will also see the Didukh (Дідух) in many town squares. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Didukh) This symbol, which often looks like a person, is made from wheat taken from the year's harvest. It is supposed to stay in a Ukrainian household throughout the winter as a sign of hope for a successful harvest in the new year. When the spring arrives, the didukh is burnt for good luck.  

Дідух and Дідь Мороз

Approaching Church 

This Christmas was freezing, reaching minus twenty-one degrees Celsius the night before Christmas. All hopes of going to midnight mass were thwarted by the cold, the blowing snow, and my midnight curfew at the dorm. When I awoke the next morning all was still expect for the blowing snow. During the night a storm had rolled in and filled the streets with snow drifts. Fortunately, the temperature had dropped to a balmy minus sixteen degrees Celsius. Determined to not miss the holiday I dressed warmly and ventured out into the cold. As I walked through the streets at nine thirty, I was struck by the stillness, the beauty, and the cold. I soldiered on, passing very few people, intent on seeing a Christmas mass. As I approached the church I could hear the prayers and the heavenly singing. I walked in the door, walked towards the main chapel...just in time for the mass to end and to see everyone head home. Rats!  Alas, all was not lost! Although it took another trip, I was able to get to the main cathedral to watch children sign Christmas Carols. Much like in America, these carols mix the religious with the seasonal. It was truly moving to hear children sing these songs even if my understanding is still far from perfect.

Children's Choir 

Cathedral Choir 

New New Year (Beware the Горілка)

When it comes to winter holiday, it is still important to distinguish between the "New" holidays (Gregorian Calendar) and the "Old" holidays (Julian Calendar). So, most Ukrainians do not celebrate Christmas on 25 December  (unless they are Catholic), instead they celebrate Orthodox Christmas on 7 January. But they celebrate the New Year holiday on 31 December/1 January not 13/14 January. Why the discrepancy, I have no idea. But there are some things I do know; no matter what day Ukrainians celebrate, it is always a freezing cold good time. And despite the amount of Горілка (vodka) I mistakenly drank, it was worth the night of celebrating.

Beware This Stuff! Горілка/Самагон

Most Ukrainian towns put up a (real or fake) New Year's Tree around 19 December and don't take it down until 19 January which is the Epiphany (Old Epiphany not New Epiphany). In larger cities like Zhytomyr, local businesses set up little huts in which they sell their wares. Usually you will find typical Ukrainian crafts such as woolen items, candles, honey, candies, and the wonderful медовука (a mead-like alcoholic beverage, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medovukha). Медовука, like any hard alcohol, is actually very smooth you just have to be careful how much you drink. But it is not as bad as the горілка or самагон, the homemade liquor that can blind you if you drink the wrong batch. In my case, I had the correct batch I just had too much of it.

 

         Lovin' Zhytomyr             

                                                                                    Where is Santa?

This year I found things a bit different than last year. First, there did not appear to be as much energy and excitement around midnight. Last year there were tons of people crowded around the tree and there was a big countdown with some fireworks and lots of noice and celebration. This year, I don't quite remember seeing as many people as last year and, for some reason, the countdown was scrapped. I didn't even notice it was midnight until people began hugging and toasting. But there were some positives. I found some really great food stalls that were not around last year. My favorite was Fat Papa by a young guy named Dima. He lived in Denmark for some years and wanted to set up a food truck in Zhytomyr. He's off to a good start as he had some of the best hamburgers I have had in Ukraine. And, though I never eat them in America, he made a great corn dog. But it was also at his stall that I had the dreaded самагон or whatever hooch he was selling. It was graded at 40% pure alcohol and apparently four small cups of that berry-flavored goodness was a bit too much for me. After meeting my friends they apparently watched me stumble home to take my punishment of too much celebrating this New Year.

       

              Band Plays On and On               

      

Seeking Warmth

                                                               

Fat Papa

Burger Time

So I survived another New Year celebration in Ukraine. Next up was a much calmer, Orthodox Christmas. But that will have to wait until next blog entry.....

  Happy New Year!

  

                                               Good Times, Good Friends 

                                   

                                                       

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!