 Ukraine at Six, a Crossroads |
- Jimmy Buffet
Let the Reader beware! “Ukraine at Six, a Crosswords”, my chosen title this month is a red herring, a sucker title, a divagation if you please. But it is my right. I titled this column Latitudes & Attitudes some four years ago for a reason. Read the lyrics to Buffet's “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes”. I'm a Parrot Head.
It started on a Saturday night recent. A friend of mine and me on barstools at a local watering hole. A Brit of some Ukrainian extraction perhaps (he, unlike me, converses with the natives without resort to paralinguistics) by the name of Igor (perhaps a clue too) queried something on the order of, "How do you think this period in Ukraine will be viewed?" Ah, "Good question Igor."
Well no, I'm not sure. What period? Turns out the reference was to the last few years since Independence for Ukraine and, I guess, up to that current barstool moment. Now May 29 this year represents the anniversary date of my year six in Ukraine and Igor may have been here longer. Don't know. But, clearly it seems a "period" has to be left for definition to the historians. Nevertheless, Igor's question got me thinking. A period implies a beginning and an end, right. And maybe a crossroads that would portend a change and then a new beginning maybe?
Well I can see no crossroads. OK, maybe current movement in the Verkhovna Rada for completely altering the concept of democratic government as originally outlined in Ukraine's Constitution portends big change. And that guy Yuschenko maybe adds an element of uncertainty, maybe even suspense for some, to the coming election. But from my barstool that seems not relevant. And Igor, after a couple of beers topped with a couple of Long Island Iced Teas, probably wasn't headed in that direction either.
But, we both probably were reflecting on our past in this interesting place. In my six years there has been some change. While I don't count myself a veteran like a few still remaining here, it so far has been an entertaining ride. Those early pioneers, say 1990 and forward to about the time I arrived, have seen more drastic change. By that I mean from the "hardship" standpoint. The Kyiv I came to was not so dark and foreboding. I've suffered little from electrical malfunctions, no hot water (sometimes no water at all), dead bodies left in the street, the harsh intrusion and personal affronts to liberty from the police, or other similar such deprivation as told innumerably (sometimes insufferably) by those early worthies.
The Kyiv I came to had a number of decent places to eat, drink and make merry. Most places even had some resemblance of service. So, for me mostly it's been a nice place to live and seems to be getting better. So, rather than having a personal crossroads to think about I'll probably just keep on keeping on. Oh, altering a few things, making life's normal adjustments, the usual sort of thing ... and continuing to observe. I'll do that. But, it seems I'm staying ... In this country, if not necessarily in Kyiv, I think with at least as much certainty as I've had in the past. And it's not mere inertia that keeps me here I'm sure. I like the place, the people.
As I contemplate my time here ... as I reflect on this place I've been living, much comes to mind.
I remember New Year's Eve 2000 and the day that followed. I had had a desire to see the Carpathian Mountains. I believe the pretext for the trip was that computer glitch thing that was supposed to occur. Y2K? Was that it? Did they even have computers in those seemingly then-remote mountains? In the mountains we could cope. Note: this traveler is an old mountain man ... except when I'm a sailor and at sea ... a dreamer, I really am.
We were in a hotel. About eight of us. I think at about Hr 6 a night per. Big, fresh snow on the ground, unspoiled white and beautiful. A priest of some sort leads children in groups singing and dancing around a tall fir tree in front of the hotel into the wee hours long into the new year. Shashlyk cooked outside the next day, the rushing water of the fast-flowing nearby river sings for us. A beautiful experience. So what if none of the plumbing in the toilets in the hotel worked? The clerk who had totaled all our payments on her abacus filled water buckets to solve our plumbing problems.
Another time, another year. A six-day trip, again destination the Carpathians. A stay with a Hutsel family in their home. It's May. The dark night's walk to the house a half a mile or so from the road other than by single animal transportation. The slipping, sliding, falling down, baggage burdened struggle up and over the path that was mostly obstacle course after the rains. A colorful house with its interior intricately covered in wooden designs. Warmth, good cheer and much samagon.
The days follow: the clouds below, the greenery of the pastures, the goat, the cows both, numerous chickens, ducks, the dog ... the peace and rest.
The little town of Burshtyn, 94 kilometers south of L'viv. Home to Galena's parents, a sister, other relatives. A fossil based utility plant was built and a kind of planned Khrushchev addition to the town was progress some 45 or so years ago. Now just a town but with what is known in Ukraine as its own sea, a reservoir. A town dying. Becoming more dilapidated each year of my visits. A town like many in Ukraine. No decent medical care. No work. The wiser, smarter and more capable of the young people off to the larger urban areas or work in Poland under let's say "extralegal" conditions. Ah, the progress of man ... since independence. Glorious independence. Free at last. Mr. Peabody's coal train done towed it away.
Beautiful, wonderful L'viv. Svoboda, a boulevard named for freedom. The more large than magnificent Taras Shevchenko monument in the middle of the park-like center of Svoboda Street. The old and beautiful opera house seems to anchor an end of the interspace with a statute of a Polish hero at the other with Mr. Shevchenko between. The cobbled streets; the taxies long sans-shock absorbers. The many beautiful churches of varying types and structure. The mixed architecture, but together more European in feel than Kyiv. The people, the blue and yellow flags everywhere, the debate that always comes forth as people gather. I lived in L'viv for six months.
Only a beginning of the memories past. Other places from Dnipropetrovsk to Donetsk, Truskevets to Zhitomyr. There's Odessa and the cities and towns of Krim. The vast landscapes, the open skies. Ukraine. Just a few memories reflected here. Only a drop in a bucket of the places, images and people I've been around for these six years. This column could be book-length.
For some time now I've thought of seriously traveling this land. I think I might. Six years ago, just prior to receiving the telephone call that brought me to Kyiv, I was about to set forth in an old family van to travel the highways and byways of America. I was to visit the places I had been and not been. I was to renew my acquaintance with the land that I love so much.
The old van I was to travel in had over 300,000 miles on it.
It had been in the family for 19 years. "Bessie Lou" as Carolyn had called the old black and dented vehicle was her pride. Bessie Lou had been retrofitted after Carolyn. Now she had a retooled undercarriage, a new engine and a new transmission. The front glass had been replaced and no longer had the crack in it that had been spreading but gradually for years. The dents remained. The "Live long enough to be a problem for your children" sign stayed. Only Carolyn was missing. Her memory though, alive.
So now maybe another trip to contemplate. Not with ol' Bessie Lou. But the year-old red Niva will do. In technology its vintage is about that of Bessie Lou. It has a regular carburetor, points and plugs; it has no computers on board that have to be checked by computers for diagnostics in case of malfunctions; and when I raise the hood I can see the ground beneath the oil pan. All this portends for good to my way of reckoning.
So. Maybe that's the crossroads. I may trip out in Ukraine for a while longer.
Ah, the wisdom of Igor.
|
Read also previous issue' articles:
What it Was, Was Football
An American in Perish
The Baseball Way to Pleasure and Wisdom
What a Fine Mess
At My Table
The King is Gone- and So are You
|
| |
CONTACT US |
|
|
|
