Sunday, October 18, 1998

I actually sleep fairly well, even though I am subconsciously aware of noises, track motion, and people moving in the night. I toss and turn the last two hours of the ride, thinking I will somehow miss getting off the train with Edward. I decide to wake Edward to be sure. He tells me not to worry, that the hostess will alert us, and to go back to sleep. We arrive at Novograd-Volynsky just at sunrise.

Sunday Market

Ilgam, Edward’s father, is waiting for us at the station. Edward sees that the nearby Sunday market is open, and says that if I hurry, I can do some fast shopping to maybe find some gifts for home. I have a half hour, he says. So off we go. We run into his mom who is doing grocery and sundry shopping. It is not a tourist market, but one for basic family needs. It is an amazing display. I see apples, zippers, pigs, goats, and cow heads. I see produce of all kinds, livestock too, household goods, cheese, bread and 1000s of other items for sale. The side streets are full of horse drawn carts, wagons, and people piling off buses from nearby villages. Edwards says that in old Soviet days, collectives and small villages had their own market days, but not any more since Ukraine independence in 1991. It is a sight to behold, but I take no photos – somehow it just seems too personal for me to intrude.

I race up and down the rows of foodstuffs and household articles, and am just about to give up, when I spy a woman selling beautiful hand crafted embroideries. With Edward’s savvy negotiating skills, I wind up buying four embroidered wedding towels for Tim, Matt, Kyle, and Claire to use someday. They are gorgeously made – must have taken her 100s of hours of work to make. I buy all four for only $15 US! I look one last time for some amber for Kathy, but no luck. It’s just not this kind of market.

Ilgam’s Home

Feeling good about my purchase, we climb into the Jeep. His dad takes us to his home near School #11, where I meet his fourth wife, Grandmother Nina, and his lovely seventeen year old daughter Victoria. Later, Edward tells me that this marriage has been a good one for his dad – over twenty years. He used to drive taxis and buses for a living, and when he later takes us back to Edward’s flat in his other car, I can tell by his dexterity of speed and maneuvering, that, indeed, he has had lots of experience driving.

Before we leave, his father shows me his greenhouse with great pride. He sells flowers, especially roses. I try and engage Victoria in conversation, but she is somewhat embarrassed to practice her broken English with me. But she does very well, and I praise her. She is near my daughter Claire’s age, so I ask her what her favorite singing groups are. She likes British singers, she says – Scorpion, Spice Girls, and Beastie Boys. She is wearing a Spice Girls t-shirt as a testament.

I am served a good breakfast, consisting of sausage, buckwheat, peppers, cabbage, squash, fried patties, cheese, coffee, and more cognac toasts! Once more, I have a great deal of trouble swallowing, but I am hungry, and force myself.

Sunday Picnic in the Country

We get dropped off back at Edward’s flat, and only have about 1 ½ hours to get ready to meet Yra and Valera, Edward’s friends, at noon for a drive into the country for a picnic. I use the bathroom, and freshen up after my long train experience. We walk to their house, and I play with their pure bred Siberian Laika named Naida, who reminds me of my own dog, Angel.

We squeeze into their small four seat Loda, stop to buy 92 octane gasoline for $1.25/gallon, and drive a little around town for me to take some pictures. We swing by the Ukrainian cathedral being constructed, the Afghanistan War monument (one of Edward’s classmates is on it), and a World War II marker to a Polish officer concentration camp where they were all executed. We slow down to look at a cooperative farm store (no collectives any more), which is newly formed and making a profit. Edward says that there are three others like it around town.

Then we head out of town. We pass many signs of industrial decay. Things have been pretty bleak for industry here since the fall of the Soviet Union. I see an empty metal factory, an abandoned military installation, and a ghost town of a train switching yard. We pass row after row of long buildings that used to be part of collectives, but now individuals are out harvesting their own plots, and plowing fields with their horses before winter’s grip settles in.

Valera whizzes past horse drawn carts and occasional bicyclists, and often drives down the middle of the white lines to avoid them. The roads here way out in the country are actually in better shape than the ones in town, to my surprise. In the city, the heavily used dirt roads are mostly ungraded with potholes full of water big enough to swallow a tank. The paved streets are lumpy and bumpy from frost heave and dozens of patch jobs.

The Marsh

We turn off the main highway and go way out on a dirt road of an old military reservation once used for tank maneuvers. We travel into an increasingly marshy landscape that finally gives way to full blown stands of tall steppe grass and small birches. Giant stork nests perch on abandoned utility poles or on top of dead trees. I have never seen such large bird nests in my life – each is as big a Volkswagen!

We get out of the car so I can have a closer look at this classic steppe vegetation. Valera tries to find some edible mushrooms for us to eat, but fails. He tells me through Edward’s translation that he hunts duck with his dog out here, and that the land used to be inhabited by German families until they were all moved to Kazakhstan by Stalin in the 1930s. He explains that Catherine the Great was of German ancestry and allowed 1000s of Germans to immigrate to Ukraine during her reign in the 1700s. I see old fruit trees among the native trees. He tells me that they are all that remains to indicate where 1000s of people used to live. He goes on to state that hares, wolves, pheasants, hedgehogs, and all sorts of birdlife thrive in the marshes.

We double back on the dirt road, stop to inspect a dead hedgehog (a first for me!), get back on the paved highway, go through several traditional looking villages, and finally enter some thick stands of mixed birch and pine woodlands. The colors are past their peak here, but we pull off into the woods where Yra finds two edible mushrooms!

National Delicacy Explained

We pile back into the car, follow the bends of the Sluch River, and then pull off, way off, onto a grassy field near the river. Yra lays out a picnic blanket; Edward builds a spit and fire pit; and Valera starts fishing with the largest fishing pole I have ever seen! He digs up some night crawlers for bait. I join him, but in a half hour, we only catch one minnow. By then the pork kabobs are almost cooked.

The blanket is covered with a wonderful feast of three bottles of Kyiv beer, one bottle of vodka for our toasts, several different platters with tomatoes, peppers, onions, cheese, bread, sauce, cabbage, and a plate full of meat slabs of “fat, ” red and black prepared.

It is then that Edward reveals to me the story of the uncooked fat. Only then do I understand why Valentina seemed hurt the week before! Edward asks me if I know what the national food of Ukraine is. I guess vodka. Everyone laughs. No, they say, it is fat strips - red or black, which are considered a delicacy. They explain that this is why some Russians label Ukrainians as “uncivilized barbarians” who like to eat greasy fat and bacon. I admit I am taken by surprise. I have already noticed that the pork from the spit is not lean by any means. I surmise that this taste for fat must go back to the Cossack days, or earlier, when such a meal was a must for getting through long travels or long winters.

So I boldly go where I have never been before. I try both kinds – the red and black, but it is hard for me to eat much, and I stop after a decent attempt. They appreciate me being a good sport for trying. Valera says that it’s an acquired taste, and that if you drink a lot of vodka it helps! I could not help but think back to when I had left untouched the uncooked parts of my bacon, which is actually the delicacy part! No wonder Valentina seemed upset. I had unknowingly disrespected their national food, which probably had cost a lot of money to buy. I made a mental note that ACCELS in Washington DC should have warned me ahead of time about their national food, so I not embarrass myself or my hosts.

Just then, it begins to rain, so we quickly break camp, put out the fire, load up, and hit the road. I tell them how much I appreciate the fun day out of town. The last two days have been simply an amazing experience for me and a great change of pace. I tell them the day is 11 out of 10, but I have to explain this American expression.

We finally arrive back at their tiny home. They have no children, but they are building a larger new home next door to their old one. The exterior is done, but not the interior. They tell me they are hoping for parent help to finish up, so they can move in soon. They ask me lots of questions about parents helping their children in America. Finally it is time to leave them. I give them some of my Arizona silver coins, a UA key chain, and a state Arizona pin as a thank you. They are very nice people who certainly went well out of their way to make me feel special today.

Edward’s Photo Album

Edward and I walk back to his flat. Ed’s mom isn’t home, so he decides to show me all his old photo albums from infancy to the Young Pioneers and his military years. He also shows me photos of his many friends in Bulgaria, Poland, and Lithuania, and his school pictures with Irina in most of them. He says he was in lots of drama productions, many of which slammed the United States back in the Soviet era. He points to his military photos and explains he was in for two years, grew a moustache and a beard in the 1980s (who didn’t back then – me too!). He explains to me that he is perhaps most loyal to his Polish heritage, and is not afraid to bristle to anyone who affronts his Polish ancestry. He states that he has had a falling out with one of his uncles because he has started to downplay his Polish heritage for more Ukrainian loyalty. I admit to him that all this nationalistic rivalry is something I cannot really understand, and that the closest America approaches what he is telling me, is maybe the intense regional loyalties of the South, New England, or Midwest, and maybe professional football. He laughs.

We end this discussion when he tells me that he once was in a Soviet training school in Lublin, Poland. He stands up, leaves the room, and returns with a Polish Red Eagle patch from Lublin and tells me, “Maybe your Grandfather Michael has Polish blood too! ”

Edward is really opening himself more to me as the days pass by. He has planned an extraordinary itinerary for me, escorted me to Lviv, showed me the Polish cemetery in Lviv, shared his father’s family and personal photos with me, and now has given me his Poland badge from Lublin.

Still Very Sick

It is now 9: 30 pm, and I am exhausted. The city has turned on the hot water tonight. Hooray! I can hardly wait to get out of clothes I have worn for two days on two train rides. I take a hot bath, and it feels so good! I am still not feeling very well, but the bath seems to help a little. My voice is still half gone, my ear still hurts, my chest feels congested, and I am blowing out gobs of stuff from my nose. I know I have infections going on, but hope I can still cope well enough tomorrow because I have another school to visit. It is the Gymnasium, their Advanced School in town. I need to be able to do interviews too, because Edward says that more reporters will be after me about my visit and Ukrainian heritage. The word is getting around, it seems. While we were in Lviv, I made the Saturday front page of their local gazette. It is an article about my School #11 interview session.