Pictures From Picking Mushrooms in the Woods

In October, I went with Roma and his parents to the village to gather wild mushrooms. We went to Roma's grandparent's house and then climbed aboard his grandfather's horse drawn carriage. Actually, carriage makes it sound too fancy. It's really more of a wagon. Regardless, grandpa took us far out into the woods. We spent the day gathering. The first picture is from the wagon. The second is a bunch of mushrooms. The third is me with Roma's mom, Nadia. And the last picture is just me and my bouquet of mushrooms. It was a great day.

Pictures From My October Trip to Uman

Back in October, Roma and I took a trip to the city of Uman to visit Sophiavsky Park. As you may recall, we unwittingly arrived in Uman on the "Day of the City." Both the city, and the famous park, were packed with people. There were no rooms available at any of the hotels in Uman so Roma and I saw the sites quickly and then caught a bus back to Bar. It was a long day. Note Roma carrying my black bag teaming with apples...

Pictures from the Summer Shotgun Wedding

In July, my friends Serioga and Mariana had themselves a shotgun wedding. The wedding, pulled together in under a month, was a two day affair. The first day was the official ceremony and big reception with some 100 people. The second day was the church ceremony and a smaller reception at Mariana's house with just close friends and family.

(For a full account -- or just a refresher -- of the wedding and its customs, see the post titled Hot Days of Summer.)

Pictures Featured Here:

1. Serioga and Mariana (signing up for the ball and chain) inside the city building.

2. Family and friends outside the building after the deed is done.

3. Me, Sash and Alona with the bride and groom at the reception hall.

4. The best man drinking a shot of vodka out of the bride's "stolen" shoe.

5. Mariana customarily kissing bread held by her mother-in-law.

6. Traditional Ukrainian wedding bread.

7. Mariana, now a woman, holds her veil on the heads of all the single gals as they dance. Does this single gal look familiar to anyone?

8. Roma and the maid of honor crossed dressed and acting like an old married couple on the second day of the wedding.

9. All the friends gathered around the "old married couple." Please take a moment to look closely at "his" crotch.

10. The boys hoisting Mariana and Serioga up in the air on a bench. They hoisted until Serioga "paid ransom" (in this case a bottle of vodka...no real surprise there).

Old Camping Pictures

Here are some old pictures from the summer. In July, on what turned out to be the hottest weekend of the summer, my friends and I decided to go camping. Things didn't go so well. It ended up being so hot and miserable that we only lasted one night.

The first picture is of the boys in the lake. They took a small wooden boat out fishing and, due to the enthusiasm of their singing, drinking and rocking to and fro, managed to sink it. The lake wasn't so deep, so they were able to wade their way through the mud back to the shore. It's hard to see, but they were able to save the vodka.

The second photo is of me with Alona, Anya and Sasha. We were sitting by the campfire drinking, shashleeking and suffering the mosquitos.

The third picture is of me and Alona sitting around the "table."

The fourth, and arguably best, is of Roma as he "tried out" my sleeping bag before we left.

Some Pictures

Here are some pictures from the last few weeks in Bar. The first is Dima wearing the funny glasses that I gave him. The second picture is of me, Roma, Sasha and Alona with Sasha's brother and his friend. We were invited over to Sasha's parent's house to eat pigeon. While there, we engaged in arm wrestling competitions. It was cold.

Gearing Up

It is snowing in Bar today. It's snowing and it's cold and I have a little more than a week left here. Suddenly my life is very surreal.

Last night I went over to Olga's house and had dinner with her parents. Olga, of course, is living in Arizona, studying as an exchange student, and wasn't able to make dinner. It was all right though; I figured she'd be a no show.

My dinner with Anya and Victor was the first of what will soon be many good-bye meals. Friday night I'll be gathering together my best Ukrainian friends for one, final vodka fest. True, I'll still have a week in Bar, but I don't want to have my going away party at the last minute. It'd be too sad. So I'm having it on Friday, at the restaurant Alyanc, while I still have a week to go.

Saturday, following the vodka fest, I'm going to the village with Roma and his family because it's time to kill the pig. I can't really think of a more culturally appropriate thing to do this close to departure. I will not, mind you, be helping or participating in the slaughtering of the pig. I plan to stuff my ears with cotton balls, bury my head under a pillow, and turn the TV up real loud. I've heard the death screams of a pig before and suffice to say, it's not an experience I want to repeat.

However...

I have also tasted the meat of a freshly slaughtered pig and it was downright delicious. Downright delectable. Downright an experience I'll gladly repeat.

Don't judge. You'd like it too.

In other news, it's really no fun moving when you're doing it all alone. Packing, moving, cleaning that final time are all things that I've historically done with friends, or parents. (Good times, right guys?) However, here, I'm flying solo, and for two reasons. One: As nobody I could possibly sucker into helping me has ever flown, let alone moved long distance, they really aren't much help. It takes a lot longer to tell people what to do than to just do it yourself. And two: It's sad, I've found, to pack, or talk about packing, with people who don't want to see me go. So it's a solo act this time around.

The cats definitely know that something is up. Well, that's not true entirely. Klitchko definitely knows that something is up. Phoebe seems relatively oblivious. A few weeks ago, both cats had themselves quit the adventure in Kiev. It was their first time outside my apartment and they were troopers. I took them to the state clinic where they got their rabies shots, their microchips, and their kitty passports.

Due complications with ticketing, I won't be able to bring the cats with me on the plane, so I'm shipping them to San Francisco a day or two before I leave. The logistics are still being worked out, and it'd be a lie to say I'm not stressed out about it, but I know that it'll all work out. No matter how stressed out I am about packing, leaving, saying good-bye, getting the cats home, getting myself and Jason home; no matter how overwhelmed I find myself in the here and now, the truth is that in 14 days, I'll be back in America.

And that truth, in the here and now, is utterly surreal.

Ukrainian Top 5

Top 5 things I love about Ukraine

1. The singing.

One of my favorite memories of living in Bar is being at Sasha and Alona's house. It was Dima's second birthday and everybody significant to him had gathered to celebrate his life. Both sets of grandparents were there, as were cousins, aunts, uncles, godparents and friends. We sat around the table eating and drinking to his health, to his success, to his happiness, to all the goodness awaiting him in life. Towards the end of the evening, as often happens when lots of alcohol has been consumed, everyone started singing. Dima sat on the couch clapping his hands and smiling and I sat at the table trying my hardest to make the moment stand still. I love it when they sing and their voices blend together and it's so beautiful I want to cry. I love that the library of songs is inexhaustible, that everybody knows all of them, and that they have been gathering and singing around the table for generations.

2. The people.

Ukrainians are really good people. They are generous and caring. True, many a Ukrainian has driven me nuts these past two years; but none purposely or knowingly. I was on the train going back to Vinnystia after being in Kiev with my cats and I was sharing a coupe with two middle aged women. First, one snuck me a piece of chocolate. Then the other slid me an apple. Then the first gave me a banana. Then the second offered me some salami. It was very Ukrainian. No matter how much or how little they have, they will always offer it to a stranger.


3. The language.

As challenging as it has been, I have really come to love living in another language. There is something very amazing and beautiful about communicating with someone in their native language. I was at the store buying fruit yesterday when the saleswoman asked me if I was from Poland. No, I said, I'm American. She looked at me, smiled and said, "You're American? And you speak our language? That's wonderful." And it is.

4. Shashleeking.

Nothing beats rounding up all your friends, heading to the woods and having a BBQ. Nothing beats sitting around a picnic blanket, drinking vodka, eating meat, playing soccer or cards. Nothing beats looking around at the rolling hills and seeing a herd of cows off in the distance. Nothing beats a Ukrainian shashleek.


5. The cultural moments.

I love that Ukraine is Ukraine. It's not America, it's not Russia, it's not any other country. It's distinctly itself, and I love it. I love the cultural moments that result from it. Two weeks ago, I had my end of service medical exam. I was shocked, and a bit aghast, to learn that I have gained 17 pounds since coming here. When I told Roma, he responded: "That's great! See how you gained weight in Ukraine!" Later, Roma said to his mom, "Guess how much weight Sheryl has gained in Ukraine?" And later, his mom told Oksansa, and Oksana told her boyfriend. Just this week, as we sat around a dinner table with a bunch of friends, Roma nudged me and asked, "How much weight did you gain in Ukraine?" And then proceeded to tell everyone my news. I had to smile to myself because it was one of those cultural moments that is so not American, and so worth the smile.

Soon

Jason flies over in 18 days. That's pretty unbelievable, 18 days. He was originally flying out to help me get my cats home but due to extenuating circumstances, the cats will be shipped early. So now, Jason is flying out to help get me home. And truthfully, I'll need the help. It's going to be really hard for me to leave.

I love Ukraine, and Bar, and living here. My experience has been amazing and remarkable, this last year in particular. And the truth is, though I'm ready to go back to America, I'm also really apprehensive. More apprehensive I'd say, than I was about coming to Ukraine.

Two years ago, when I was getting ready to join the Peace Corps, I had no idea what I was getting myself into; but I at least knew where I was going. The scariest thing about leaving here is that I don't know, specifically and concretely, what will be. I hate not knowing.

I worry about readjusting to life in America because I haven't just volunteered in Bar, I've lived in Bar. I have friends. I have family. I have Roma. I have so much to be thankful for and it's going to be really sad to leave it

Signs, Omens and Birthdays

I've never been one to look for signs or omens or to think in terms of lucky and unlucky. I do, after all, own a black cat and he regularly crosses my path. With the exception of the time he set himself slightly on fire by jumping up on the stove, nothing bad has happened. So when my key got stuck in the door early, early Saturday morning, effectively locking me inside my apartment, I did not think: bad news, bad sign, can't take this trip.

After yanking and twisting and cursing, I got the key out of the door and headed over to Roma's house. His mom fed me a hearty breakfast of mashed potatoes and fried turkey.

"Do you want an apple for later?" she asked as we were getting ready to head out the door.
"Sure," I said, "I'll probably want an apple later." And with that, she shoved six apples into my bag.

The plan was to catch an early bus to Vinnystia where we could catch yet another bus to the city of Uman, one oblast (and 3.5 hours)away. Uman is the home of Sophiavsky Park, the most famous park in all of Ukraine. I have heard about the beauty of Sophiavsky Park since I first moved to Ukraine two years ago and have always wanted to visit it.

We had originally wanted to visit the park with our friends Sasha and Alona, but plans with them kept falling through and so Roma and I decided to take the trip ourselves, before all the fall leaves fell.

Roma and I decided to make a short trip of it. We would get into Uman around two o'clock Saturday afternoon, find a hotel, drop our bag off and then head to the park and spend the rest of the day walking around. Then, Sunday morning, we'd get back on the bus and head back to Vinnystia.

So stood the agenda when Roma and I and my bag full of apples left the house early, early Saturday morning. While we were waiting for the bus to Vinnystia, it started pouring down rain. It rained and rained and rained all the way to Vinnystia where we caught a bus to Uman.

Now if I were an omen kind of girl, I probably would have thought: key + torrential downpour = stay at home. But, I'm not that kind of girl. And so on we went to Uman.

Three and a half uncomfortable hours later, we arrived in Uman. As the bus was coming into the city, I scouted out signs for hotels.

"I saw a sign for a hotel back there," I said to Roma after we were off the bus.
"Back where?" he asked.
"Back there," I said, waving my arm wildly in the direction the bus had just come from.
"Well, there are taxis here, why don't we just take a taxi to a hotel," he said.
"Why take a taxi when I saw a sign right over there," I said again, waving my arm even more wildly than before.

And probably more because he wanted to stop my crazy arm waving from drawing any more attention to us, Roma gave in and we started to walk.

"See," I said, pointing up and feeling smug, "A sign for a hotel"
"A hotel that's a kilometer away," Roma responded.
"Well, that's not that far. Let's just keep walking," I replied.

And so we did. Roma and I and my bag of apples kept walking. In the distance I heard the sound of a parade, but didn't think anything of it. I was too focused on finding the hotel and being right to concern myself with any festivities that might be taking place.

Unfortunately, our walk to the hotel took us farther and farther away from the town. We were standing on the edge of civilization with no hotel in sight when I finally had to say,

"Well, maybe you were right. We probably should have taken a taxi to a hotel. We don't want to stay someplace in the middle of nowhere."

And with that, Roma and I and my bag of apples walked back.

Once in town again, we grabbed a taxi and asked the driver to take us to a hotel.

"That's going to be hard," he said, "Today is the city's birthday and I've never in all my life seen so many tourists."

It was true. It was the Day of Uman and literally thousands and thousands of people from all across Ukraine came by the busloads to celebrate the city and visit the famous park. We couldn't get a hotel room at any of the seven hotels located in the city nor could we rent an apartment for the night as I often do in Kiev. Nothing was available. The city was flooded with people. Of the 365 days in the year, Roma and I picked the single worst day to visit Uman.

The taxi dropped us off at the center of town where we made a last ditch effort to get a room for the night. But everything was full. I was frustrated and disappointed and though it made no sense at all, furious at our situation. I had, in short, a case of MFF (Mahaffey Family Fury). MFF is the sudden, inexplicable flare up of unnecessary anger or fury over matters beyond ones immediate control. It subsides as quickly as it flares up so long as the afflicted party is not egged on.

"What are we going to do?" Roma asked innocently as we walked past packs of happy people holding balloons and eating popcorn, "Are you listening? What are we going to do?"
"We're not going to talk for five minutes," I snapped, "Got that? Five minutes. In five minutes we'll talk about what we're going to do, but for now, I'm just angry."

Five minutes later, MFF gone, we decided to visit the park and then try to get a bus back to Vinnystia -- if there was one.

So Roma, I and my bag full of apples headed to the park. It was a beautiful park. There were lakes and fountains and flower beds and waterfalls and rose gardens and grass fields and trees in every lovely shade of Autumn. It was the most beautiful natural space I'd seen in Ukraine.

Roma and I walked around taking pictures and squeezing our way through the crowds of school children on class trips. And though we had but two hours to walk around before our bus left for Vinnystia, Roma and I and my bag full of apples had a lovely time.

Once back in Vinnystia, we had to call our friends to come pick us up because there were no buses to Bar. We waited for them in a pub where we drank beer and laughed about our luck and the fact that Roma and I and my bag full of apples probably should have seen the signs.