Sunday, October 11, 1998

River Sluch Walk to Sunday Mass

After dressing we have breakfast prepared by Valentina. Edward has already been to the nearby well for our drinking water supply and made our strong coffee. He warns me that the water that comes though the pipes is not fit for drinking. I had noticed that it had looked greenish-brown the night before, and so did my bathwater that morning. However, the well water looks clear and clean. But I silently decide I will take no chances on drinking the water, unless it has been boiled.

His mom is gone to the store and eventually returns as we finish our breakfast of cabbage rolls, toasted rye bread, and squash pancakes with sour cream. She has bought some bottled water, but it is carbonated mineral water. She also purchased some locally grown apples and five jars of mayonnaise.

It is still raining steadily outside, so Edward decides we should skip the market and go to mass at the church. I do not want to break in my new boots in the rain, but it looks like I have no choice. Edward says it is a short twenty minute walk. Edward is extremely physically fit and after walking with him the day before, I figure his twenty minute walk is more like my forty minute one.

So off we go at 9: 10 am. It is raining harder, and we use umbrellas. The rain is knocking down 1000s of fall leaves in our path. It is disappointed that I have just missed peak colors the week before. By the time I leave, the trees will be totally naked for their winter’s rest, so my hope of a repeat Wisconsin autumn color fest seems dashed.

As I anticipated, Edward walks double my speed, and I have to walk my fastest to keep up. It is cold enough (about 45F) to see my breath in the saturated air, and I soon work up a good sweat under my jacket, sweater, long sleeve shirt, and undershirt. Being an Arizona desert rat, I seem to have over dressed. Then again, I figure that once we stop at the church, it might be cold inside, and I will be glad I have dressed warmly after all.

We keep playing hopscotch with the mud and rain puddles as we cross the major River Sluch. A passing car hits a puddle and soaks my lower pant legs and boots. Not good! We finally turn down the road that parallels the river’s curve to the church. We pass a military post and a Czarist era prison.

This is when Edward explains that Novograd-Volynsky has always been a military center. In the 1500s it was part of a defense line against Poland’s expanding empire. It was a bunker town in World War II protecting a River Sluch bridge from the Nazis. This bridge was critical in defense of Kyiv, and there were several battles staged in and around Novograd-Volynsky, he says. Most of the town was destroyed in World War II. But even before the War in 1936, Stalin blew up the two oldest churches (Polish and Ukrainian Catholic) dating back to the 1600s. Their site is now occupied by the Soviet built Palace of Culture in the old fortress square.

Holy Spirit Polish Catholic Church

We turn again, cross another bridge over a tributary of the Sluch, and before 10: 00 am we come upon the red brick church with its regional cupola influences. Inside, the pews (12 on each side of the main aisle) are filled with very young and old. I do not see many young adults.

There is no room to sit, so Edward and I stand at the back of the church for the entire mass which lasts over two hours. For me, it is like stepping back in time to the early 1950s in my old hometown of Tucson, Arizona, and Sacred Heart Church I attended as a boy. The mass is said in Polish by an old priest who reads the sermon in a monotone without looking up for over a half hour. Music is provided by a woman on an organ upstairs. I recognize only one song – the “Ave Maria.” Four altar boys are employed, and bells are rung during the consecration just like I remember ringing them as an altar boy.

During the long mass, I find my eyes wandering up the walls to the vaulted dome above. Paintings of Peter, Paul, other Apostles, the Holy Spirit, and many other saints hang on the upper walls. Red and white banners seemingly calling for the Holy Spirit hang next to a large crucifix on the back wall above the altar.

Large circular stained glass windows have cross patterns in yellow, green, blue, and red. One time the sun breaks through the dense rain cloud cover, and bathes one wall in vibrant rainbow hues. As the clouds outside scud by, the cross shape diffuses, then sharpens into crisp detail, which adds to the mystical feel of the mass.

Communion amazes me. The congregation kneels all over the church facing the center aisle and along all the back and side walls. The priest and altar boy move along in 1950s style placing hosts on tongues in open mouths. When the forward row is done, they repeat the procedure. I manage to receive communion in the first wave. After communion reflection, Edward motions me to go upstairs. It turns out we should have done this two hours sooner. There is plenty of room to look down on the crowd below. Edward notices that my wet coat is covered with white chalky paint dust from leaning against the wall downstairs, and tries to brush me off.

Incredibly, at the conclusion of mass, a benediction is held with a full rosary recitation. We don’t leave until nearly 1: 00 pm. But before we go, I ask Edward if I can buy a candle to light. He asks an elderly lady, and she directs us to the sacristy door. I meet the priest, and he sells me a candle after Edward explains that I am an American. He says to Edward, “America is great! ” I light the candle and pray for my host family, my own family, give thanks for a safe passage over and back, and trust in the Lord that all will go well, and that I will get the most out of this incredible opportunity.

When we exit the church, it has finally stopped raining. We return the way we came. Edward points out a new Ukrainian Catholic church that is under construction near the main highway bridge. He explains that the project is going slowly because of lack of money. I ask him why he isn’t Ukrainian Catholic instead. He explains that he has a Tatar-Russian father who got divorced when he was a boy, and a Polish mother. He was raised Catholic by his mother, and he is proud of the fairly new Polish Catholic Church built in the early 1990s. He goes on to say that the western half of Ukraine had at one time been part of the Polish Empire for 400 years, so Polish Catholicism dominates this region. He also tells me that the Ukrainian Catholics are a rather unique group in that in the 1400s-1500s they survived by practicing political expediency. They kept their mostly Orthodox rites, but recognized the Pope and Polish Jesuit rule of their parishes. Over time, they became caught in the middle – despised by Polish-Ukraine Catholics and Orthodox Ukrainians alike.

When we get to the main road back to town, the same one connecting with Kyiv, we cross over because Edward wants to show me the site of the original fortress, but then thinks better of it because it is near the concert site we will visit later that day.

So we go back to the flat. His mom has lunch prepared for us – cabbage rolls, garbanzo beans, carrots, fried squash patties, and tomatoes stuffed with onions and beets. I wasn’t very hungry, but I ate all I was served so as not to offend. I thought to myself, “If I keep eating at this rate, I will gain ten or more pounds while I am here, ” even though I figure we had walked several miles to and from church.

The Concert at the Palace of Culture

After lunch, I journal for a while. Around 4: 30 pm we walk two miles or so to the fortress square for the concert to be held in the 1972 Palace of Culture. It is an old auditorium showing its age that does not match its fancy name. It was built by the Soviets as a snub to Ukrainian history and religion. It stands in the old fortress square on top of the site of the bombed churches.

The concert is a 50^th birthday celebration for a woman who is co-founder and lead singer for the famous Ukrainian folk group about to perform. They are a town-based troupe famous all over the NIS countries for dancing, singing, and authentic native costuming. Her daughter, Irina, is a math teacher at Edward’s school, as are many of his students who learned to dance in the school’s choreography class.

We go inside. Edward points out many of his staff members to me, and they look at me with curious eyes that silently say, “Look! It’s the American Edward told us about! ” Many have their arms loaded with bouquets of fresh flowers. They heartily show approval for the beautifully choreographed and costumed acts, as do I. The sound system is excellent, and the swirls of reds, blues, blacks, and floral motifs are dazzling. The students do Cossack style dances that amaze me.

One dance in particular will forever impress me. This very emotional dance number uses three sets of dancers – young children, young teens, and young adults – who gradually fall in love with each other as time passes. The girls and boys who portray each stage of life are dressed exactly the same – girls in totally white dresses, the boys in black Cossack style blouses. The production is very well staged and moves me to tears, much to my surprise.

I sit next to one of the school’s math teachers. As a matter of fact, the entire math department at Edward’s school shows up in support of Irina, who dazzles the audience with her voice. All in all, I am totally overwhelmed emotionally. Somehow, I feel connected in an unexpected way. It’s almost like the music and dancing have spoken to some inner voice I did not know I possessed.

The Plaza

After the concert, Edward takes me around the Palace toward the River Sluch and a large plaza area. It is here, Edward explains, that the original churches once stood before Stalin blew them up. Now in the center of the plaza is a statue to Ukraine’s most famous poetess, Lesya Ukrainka who lived almost 100 years ago. Next to the plaza are the remnants of the original fortress walls still facing the river. A reproduction of the original watch tower is there, as is a drawbridge gateway. A rather distinct monument is there too – a giant bell tower in memory of the function this watch tower once served. Later on, Edward says he will give me a souvenir bell in honor of the town’s 750^th anniversary, a bell that is the town’s modern symbol.

Beyond the edge of the Plaza, is a breathtaking view of the river valley cliff face and tree-lined sweep of a giant meander. Trees are past their fall splendor, but the sunset’s glow gives an Impressionistic landscape feeling to it all.

Chance Meeting

We descend to the river bottom by a side road, cross over a low bridge, and head up the grassy slope on the other side. It is here among large eroded boulder outcroppings that Edward points across the river to the cliff just below the bell tower. There is a large tunnel-shaped hole hidden by trees and brush. He tells me that this is the entrance to a 20k long tunnel to a monastery that was dug in Kievan Russia times. It was a defensive security line through the cliffs, and it was incredible to think of the manpower it must have taken to build such a tunnel.

We proceed up the slope away from the river’s meander curve. We arrive at a muddy pathway, down which are coming a young girl and woman driving home five dairy cows before it gets dark. Their front legs are haltered with three foot lengths of rope. We pass through the center of the group without even a glance by them.

As we reach a leveling in the pathway that has now become a crude pot-holed road, a Jeep comes bouncing towards us. Edward whispers, “It’s my dad! ” The Jeep stops in front of us, and three people step out – his dad, a dark-skinned Russian Tatar, his wife twenty years his junior, and her daughter by a previous marriage. I am introduced, but Edward seems embarrassed by the chance meeting.

First Look at School #11

We say our goodbyes, keep going, and finally reach several complexes of Soviet-style apartment towers, but also a few newer-looking red brick ones. Edward explains the newer ones to me. These are the ones that Germany built with Bulgarian labor after the reunification of Germany. They house mainly military families who moved from East Germany. Best of all, a new school was also constructed to educate their children and the community-at-large. The school was finished in 1994, and is Edward’s School #11. He was hired when it first opened. Nearby is a new store.

We walk to the entrance and read the plaques on the wall in Ukrainian, German, and Bulgarian. Edward speaks with great pride about his new school. It already has gained a reputation as perhaps the best school in town, the most progressive and innovative, and a role model for the older schools, despite the limited resources facing the community.

We swing back through the older, drab, and crumbling Soviet built apartment complexes. Dogs and cats, and goats and cows, run and graze on the common grounds. As twilight deepens in the lead gray clouds, a huge flock of black birds swoops low over the tops of the towers and trees. They number in the 1000s and caw up a racket! I have not seen such a sight since the time I witnessed tens of 1000s of Canadian geese take flight over Horicon Marsh in Wisconsin.

We next walk along side a long stretch of rusting metal garages. They look like shabby self-storage units lost to time. Edward explains that most are now used as storage facilities, not for cars since the fall of the Soviet Union and Ukrainian independence in 1991.

We follow a lopsided white wall marking the edge of the military installation, and finally arrive back to the main road through town. We have made a large loop since leaving the concert. We cross the highway, pass a few market stalls selling miscellaneous grocery items, and then proceed up the muddy path to his apartment tower – the same way I had taken after getting off the bus the night before. The route we have taken from School #11 back to his flat will be the route I will take every day of my stay in Novograd-Volynsky.

His mom meets us at the door, and soon thereafter, we are eating dinner. I am not used to eating so much food or so often in America. She serves us tomatoes, cabbage, beets, carrots, squash, garbanzo beans, and a piece of pork in a soup stock. For dessert, we have bananas and apples with sour cream. It is a tasty meal.

After dinner, I realize how dead tired I am. I ask to be excused, journal a while, and fall into bed. What an amazing first day in Ukraine! I estimate I have walked well over five miles, stood for nearly three hours at mass, witnessed an uplifting traditional concert, and have taken a mental map tour of key parts of town. What more could I want for the first day in the land of my grandfather?