Bakhchysaray (Back-chee-sa-rye)

Today my friend Barb and I are off to Bakchysaray (Back-chee-sa-rye). I just love the sound of that word. Apparently it means "garden palace." It was the capital of the Tatar Kanate dynasty from the 15th to the 18th century. Here a highly developed Islamic culture ruled the area. I know nothing about it so I am excited to be here. .

Fortunately, the Khan's Garden Palace has managed to survive the ages and Soviets destruction.
We arrive on a day that is bright and warm. Traveling here in October spares us of the hordes of tourists that come this way in summer months. In fact as we enter the main gate we are surprised to see so few others. It almost feels like we are having a private tour with attendants friendly and escorting us along the way.
The Palace is actually a compound composed of buildings clustered around a central court yard. While it is not as extensive and grand as Granada in Spain, it does have those wonderful turrets and intricate carvings of Islamic architecture.

Each building had its own function. Some were official buildings where ambassadors from far away could be received or other important matters handled. Others were living quarters where the the extended royal family lived and relaxed. There is even an entire building (only one of four to survive) dedicated to the harem.
I imagine life five centuries ago while walking through the maze of interlocking rooms or pausing at a fountain for a moment of reflection or soaking in the cool breeze of an outside garden tucked in a nook between buildings.

Here are a few pictures that will help you to imagine a little about people who lived so differently than we do.
A lovely fountain sits in the center of an even more lovely rose garden.

Ornamentation adorns buildings.

Intricate designs on ceilings are incorporated into rooms.

A typical passage way connecting different parts of the Palace.
A sitting room in the Harem.
A nook with a fountain.
The famous Fountain Of Tears. The advances of an ancient ruler were shunned by a polish beauty. His greif was so intense that carftsmen built this fountain as an outlet for his tears. Water drips from side to side portraying the duality of life - good and bad, joy and sadness and so forth. Russian writer Alexander Pushkin was so moved by the story that he wrote a poem about it. in 1823. To learn more about the fountain, go to http://www.hansaray.org.ua/e_obj_sls.html
Gold woven into material for royal garments.
Intricate carvings are everywhere.

Later that day, Barb and I take off for the 6th century cave city of Bakchysaray. I sure am glad I have gotten use to more walking. Today's hike is challenging. The first 20 minutes is a steep climb as we wind up the side of a mountain. I gasp, "It feels like a 30 degree angle." But like the tortoise in fables, I slowly make progress.
As we come around a bend, an amazing church reveals itself. It has literally been carved into the limestone rock along with cubicles for the monks. The Upensky Monastery got started by Byzantine monks in the 8th century. It was closed by Soviets, but since Ukrainian independence, monks have come to reclaim it.

As if on cue, the bells in the tower start to peal out a call to worship. Priests and lay people slowly climb the steps as if worship has already begun. I pause to listen and allow the devotion to God to surround me.

Our hike is just beginning. Next stop are the foot hills of the ancient Cave City - Chufut-Kale. Historical records are unclear, but people have probably lived here since the 6th century. The list includes Christianized Samaritans, Tatars, Turks, and the Jewish Karaites, a small sect

The steep climb to the the first caves is difficult, but I make it. Although no one, but Barb is around, I cheer my accomplishment.

Here are a few pictures of the vistas.

With dusk approaching, we scurry back down the hillside and discover that going down is almost as difficult as going up. But sights and accomplishments fill my memory. Say it again, "Bakchysaray (Back-chee-sa-rye)." - a garden palace and cave city. Places filled with history. What a privledge to be here.

Clickety-Clack

Train Station - Simferopol, Crimea

Parkland winding through Simferopol. It's so relaxing.

As the train moves forward, I am gently jerked from side to side. The monotonous wheel on rail clickety-clack surrounds me. It's almost hypnotic. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. I am on my way home from a three day vacation in Ukraine's southern most area - Crimea.

Outside a strip of small trees and bushes splash the landscape with Fall colors. I see oranges and yellows and reds and a few deeper purples. The vision from the train window brings to mind memories of New England that has been so much a part of my life. I think of family and friends and my co-workers with Community Catylist and AARP.

Beyond the colorful strip, deep dark fields spread out. Some have been freshly planted. Maybe it's winter wheat. I don't know. Now my mind says that I am in Indiana where I started my adult life and career. I think about my Hoosier friends and my children and the Lafayette Urban Ministry. .I smile. It's strange how you can be in several place at the same time. Present and past merge in a montage of memory. I am enjoying my travels.

Occasionally, small buildings, no bigger than tool sheds, cluster together and dot the landscape. They are the beginnings of homes. In Ukraine. land was owned by the State for many years and rules for individual ownership are yet to be settled. Having a small building on a piece of land is a step towards ownership, so I am told. Learn more from this concise report on the World Bank web site -

http://www.worldbank.org/html/prddr/trans/so97/ukraine6.htm

Clicking and clacking forward, I am traveling the length of Ukraine. I will be on this train for the next 15 hours. Ukrainian trains are on schedule, but they are not speed demons. I will travel about 500 miles at an average rate of 35 miles per hour. Of course there are stops at stations along the way that take up time, but still it is slow going.

I am not alone. Think Orient Express. Ukrainian trains are divided into compartments. Some are open to the aisle and others have a sliding door. I had an open compartment going to Crimea, but now I am traveling with a door.

There's a lower and upper berth on either side. It's rather spacious. When I think of how we Americans are stuffed into jets with 3 inches of leg room, I think Ukrainians know how to travel. I can spread out and lie down for a nap if I want. Later tonight, I will make up the narrow bed with clean pressed sheets. A pillow and blanket is provided too. I'll have some serious shut-eye. In the mean time I can stretch and relax.

I am sharing this compartment with 3 others. I introduce myself to my compartment community. "I am from America," I say as if there is a doubt. They know when I utter my first Russian words.

A young woman says little but an older woman tries out a few words of English. She is from Belarus. She has traveled with an assortment of bags. They are commonly called Babushka Bags for obvious reasons. She checks each bag very carefully to be certain all is in order. A middle age man is the last to arrive. He says something in Russian but I must say back. "So sorry, I do not understand." It's a phrase that I use often. He smiles and tries again, but it is hopeless. I just smile back.

Three days ago, I hooked up with my Peace Corps friend, Barb. She is placed at the Crimean Tatar Library and Cultural Center in Simferopol. The Crimean Tatar people have had a long history.

From ancient times to the 19th century Crimea and the Tatar people were a center of Islamic civilization. They had an uneasy time under early Soviet rule and after The Great War, Stalin deported the Crimean Tatars for allegedly collaborating with the Nazi occupation troops. As they were forcibly resettled, many died of hunger and disease .

In recent times, the Crimean Tatar people have begun to return to Crimea. They come with a strong identity and a desire to reestablish themselves on the land. Of course other people have been working the land since the 1940s. How all of this will be resolved is unclear. But people are talking and in our kind of world talking is a good thing.

Crimea Tatar history was never discussed in my high school or college. How about yours? To learn more, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crimean_Tatars or http://www.euronet.nl/users/sota/statshist.html




From Barb's home in Simferopol, we managed to pack in many charming experiences and wondrous sights. Like the afternoon when we finished lunch in an outdoor cafe and asked for a coffee.

Instead of receiving our coffee, We were ushered into a luscious den laden with sheep hides on low lounging sofas for a Crimea Tatar experience. While we relaxed and took in the atmosphere of the den, a man squatted before a fire pit and prepared traditional coffee. Soon small cups are placed before us and we take a sip. Mmmmm! A thick and dark velvet coats our tongues as we nibble on sweets and marveled how surprising a request for coffee can be.

We make Yalta our over-night base. It reminds me a lot of Atlantic City. Instead of a board walk, a promenade stretches along the Black Sea. Shops and restaurants and lots of glitzy touristy stuff line the way. It is a great place to people watch leisurely. Barb tells me that in summer the crowds are impossible because this is the hub for vacationers from Ukraine, Russia and Belarus.



Here is a picture of our hotel corridor. You might think it is nothing special. But you would be wrong. Hotel Otdikh (Relaxation) was a 19th century brothel for visiting governmental dignitaries. If walls could talk, imagine the stories....


Of course, Yalta was the site of the 1945 Conference where FDR. Churchill and Stalin decided on the shape of post war Europe. It is also the summer palace where the last Czar, Nicholas II, spent summers.

We find a marshrutka that will take us to Lavadia Palace or at least we think so. The driver speeds by a sign pointing toward "Lavidia Palace." For a moment we think we are on the wrong marshurtka, but fear not. The driver stops a kilometer or so later in the middle of the road. He points to a side road and tells us to walk down there. We walk. It's a beautiful day and we are going down hill. That's encouraging.

Around the bend we see a large white building. It must be the Palace. We do not see a tourist entrance, but still we start taking lots of pictures. Then we notice something strange. Up on a second floor balcony, a woman in a robe is sitting on a plastic chair reading the paper. We look more closely at the windows. This can't be the Palace, it looks like people are living here!

The mystery is solved when we walk further and come upon the real Palace Lavadia. Apparently the first building was some sort of sanatorium. I wonder how many others made the same mistake. When you do not know where you are going, most any destination can suffice. We have a good laugh.
The real Palace Lavadia!

The next day we go to a small village, Gurzuf. The guide book says it was a magnet for artists. We are delighted by its charming wooden homes and winding streets. There is even an impressive small church.




At the end of one street is a special treat - the summer Dacha of Chekhov. It is chiseled into the side of the mountain. We notice an unlocked gate at the end of a walkway and upon opening it, we descend into a secluded sanctuary of sea and rocks.

I cannot resist and take a little dip in the Black Sea - maybe the way Chekhov once did.

The next day we visited Bakhchysaray and stumbled into an Indian restaurant. But I'll leave those stories for another time.

Right now the daylight is nearly gone from my train window. And the low night lights on the train make typing difficult. I will soon join my traveling partners in a little snack (you bring your own and share) and then to sleep.

Good Night for now. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

Friendships: Then and Now

More than 40 years ago, I was in the Peace Corps, but only for a summer. I was training in the States to go to the Northeast region of Brazil. Instead of Russian, Portuguese was the language to learn. I wrestled with it. By the end of training, I was in the next to flunking-out group. It was a humbling experience and scary prospect.

Back then, there was no Internet or cell phones. I was told that uon arrival in Brazil, I could expect at least 6 months of isolation. Keeping in touch with family and friends meant letters written on tissue thin air mail stationary. Weeks could pass by before hearing from anyone.

Reel to reel tape recorders were as high tech as it got. In 1967 cassettes were just begin to appear on store shelves and few people had one. CDs and audio files were science fiction. I was equipped with a small reel to reel Sony recorder and was thankful that brother Warren and his wife Judy sent me music during training. My parents awkwardly tried to talk into a microphone sending a voice letter from home. I wished I had saved them.

The idea that this would be my only links to friends in a sea of Portuguese turned this 21 year old towards becoming a Vista Volunteer in El Paso Texas. I switched from Portuguese to Spanish. To the amusement of my Chicano colleagues, my mind mixed the two languages together. "Speak Spanish," they would say. Everybody would have a good laugh, but that's another story.

Peace Corp is different now. While volunteers can still feel lonely, we are not isolated. We are able to stay connected to friends and family on a regular basis. Thank you , Skype.

My brothers say that they hear from me more now than when I lived in a neighboring State. Surprisingly, my adventure in Ukraine has reopened friendships and reconnected me with friends from throughout my life. It's wonderful.

As I grow older, I cherish friendships.


Here is a picture of fresh new Peace Corps recruits. We are waiting at the JFK airport for our flight to Ukraine. In the months ahead, many will become good friends.




I have been adopted by some of the younger Peace Corps Volunteers. They have given me the nickname "God Father." I would be proud to have anyone of them as a "God Child." These future leaders have heart, soul and intelligence.


Fran and Barb are my two best friends. Both are amazing and accomplished women. Like me, they yearned for another chapter in the adventure of life and here we are sharing it together. We keep in phone contact and catologue the good, bad and ugly of being an "older" Peace Corps volunteer. Fran finds herself in far eastern Ukraine near the Russian border and Barb is in Crimea.


Every morning the pensioners gather at the picnic table in front of my apartment building. It took me weeks before I had the courage to go and introduce myself. I was intimidated by their number and caught in the silly trap of not wanting to appear foolish.

One day, I said to myself, "Get over it, Jud. Just do it!" So off I went with a package of cookies in hand to introduce myself. Each person was warm and welcoming. And even though I did not know all of what was said, I got the gist of it. I took a few pictures and had them developed so that each could have one. Now I feel connected. "Dobray Dehn," (Good Day!)


This is my apartment building. Count 4 floors up to my apartment! I have a balcony, but not enclosed like my neighbors. It is one of the many so called Khrushchev apartments.

During the terror of Stalin and the devastation of the Great War, many families did not have individual housing. They lived in dormitory clusters. In these overcrowded conditions, families were forced together. They shared the same bathroom (if there was one) and a kitchen. Some of the Communist Party faithful viewed it as an experiment in communalism. But for most of the ordinary population, it was not a popular living situation.

When Khrushchev came to power, he pledged to build an apartment for every family. The result is concrete blocks stacked 5 stories high and held together with more concrete like glue. Later bricks were used. Typically, the apartments consist of two rooms with a small kitchen (very small) and bath between.

Here is a link to learn even more about Khrushchev apartments. http://www.realussr.com/ussr/1951-1960/how-khrushchev-had-killed-the-vampire/




The Fall sees my first new project being realized. All summer long I have been meeting leaders in Konotop. Many expressed an interest in learning English. Slowly I got this idea to combine some leadership material from workshops that I have attended with teaching English. The result is a 10 week seminar called Leadership English. I have 8 students with the potential of others as the word spreads. Twice a week we gather to learn some English and discuss leadership. As you can see, it's a lot of fun too.

Yelana, Valaya and Vika take a break from planning Fall activities at the Children's Center. Here families with disabled children are welcomed and receive support. In a culture where disabilities are to be hidden at home, the Center is an important step towards visibility and normalcy.

Artur is working on a video project to highlight the abilities of handicapped people. He takes me to meet a young woman in a small village outside of Konotop. We travel by car weaving from side to side on the dirt path trying to avoid deep ruts. Clunk - sometimes we hit bottom.

We arrive at a modest Ukrainian cottage at the end of the road. Inside we meet the young woman in a wheel chair. She looks to be in her late 20s. After introductions, she opens a portfolio. Page after page shows dresses that she has designed and made.

I am astounded at the flair, diversity and quality. She could easily be designing for the Hollywood stars. I ask where she does her work. She points to a small bedroom with a small desk and a equally small sewing machine.

Imagine a woman - in a small Ukrainian village at the end of the road, sitting in a wheel chair designing and sewing magnificent dresses on her bedroom sewing machine. What a an amazing story.

Yesterday, I helped Artur write a grant for a social enterprise conference and he helped me buy a train ticket to Crimea. At the Center, I did some art work with the children. Upon arriving at home The pensioners greeted me with a hearty "Good Evening." Later at home Barb called to check-in followed by another call from Fran.

It's good to have friends - the ones who have known me for years and new ones here in Ukraine.

Chutes and Ladders

As a kid, I enjoyed the game Chutes and Ladders. I would play it for hours with childhood friends - Eddie Lutz, Bobby Healy or Connie Sue McLaughlin. With a simple throw of the dice, you could climb a ladder to higher levels or just as easily fall down a chute. In the middle of this board game was a giant ladder as well as a giant chute. Elation or dread awaited the throw of the dice.

Last week was a Chutes and Ladder week for me. It begins with a call to Luda, the woman who was my host during training. "I was thinking of visiting Chernigov if it is convenient," I say. Immediately she says, "Da, Da!," and I can hear the warmth and welcome in her voice.

All I have to do is buy a bus ticket.


My bus to Chernigov.

Throw the dice. I take time to write out a bus ticket script in my best Russian. I ask a Ukrainian friend to check out the wording and a few adjustments are made. She offers to go with me. "No, that won't be necessary," I boldly say. "I have to learn how to do this on my own." She smiles sweetly and says tentatively, "Okay."

Throw the dice. I am off to the Autobus Vokzal (bus station). With script in hand, I approach the woman behind the counter. It's enclosed in thick glass. Only a small slot with a revolving turn table is open between us. It's used for exchanging money for tickets. It feels a little intimidating. I bend down to speak through the hole.

"I am sorry. My Russian is only so so. But I would like to buy a ticket to Chernigov on Friday. What is the schedule on Friday? And I want a return ticket on Sunday. What is the schedule on Sunday?"

I know I did a very good job with my script. Now the ticket lady is suppose to tell me the schedule. I am even prepared with Russian words requesting that she writes down the schedule.

But then totally unplanned, the ticket lady goes off script.

Throw the dice. In rapid Russian she blurts out an unscripted response. I have no idea what she is saying. I ask in my best Russian for her to please repeat. The response gets louder. I still have no idea. A line is forming behind me - one, two customers and then three and four. I decide to step aside and collect my thoughts. Down the chute I go.

Maybe it's my quiet persistence, but the ticket lady smiles and jesters that she will make a call. I have no idea who she is calling, but I am grateful for the extra effort. Up a little ladder I go.

After some giggling and making a few notations on paper and selling a few more tickets to Ukrainian travelers, she says in her best English, "No ticket. Buy ticket Friday." She is trying to help, but I am confused. Why can't I get a ticket now? What is the schedule and what about my return? I never have such problems in America. UGH!

I leave the Auto Vakzal discouraged. Wild fantasies of being trapped in Konotop swirled through my mind. I have hit the giant chute and feel like I am starting all over. I buy a big chocolate bar with nuts and go home.

The next day with my Ukrainian friend, I go back to the Auto Vakzal. I smile at the ticket lady. She rememberrs me. of course, and smiles back. I feel disappointed that I could not get a ticket by myself. My ego feels wounded. But then in the midst of my self pity I get a big surprise. My Ukrainian friend tells me that because this bus does not originate in Konotop, tickets can only be bought day of travel.

Why? I am not sure. It's just the way they do it. Ukrainian schedules do not necessarily follow American practices. I think to myself, "How easy it is to forget that I am in a different culture and place. I have gotten use to Konotop and just assume it will be like America in the 100s of ways that I take for granted."

But then I am reminded, Ukrainians just do things differently. Of course!

Roll the dice. I leave the Auto Vakzal with no ticket, but I am feeling better. Eventhough the ticket lady had gone off script, I still was able to find out some information.

I love my Ukrainian family - Luda and her son, Andre.

On Friday, I go to Chernigov. I buy the ticket easily and get a return one with no problems. My Ukrainian friend text messages me to make sure I am okay. I am!

I have a wonderful time in Chernigov. My host family says that my Russian is improving. I beam. We even have a few conversations. They are not exactly college level, but then agian I think it's not baby talk either. It's up that big ladder I go to a new level. Throw the dice! Let's play.

My Borscht - Your Borscht

About four months ago, I was re-introduced to the beet as an adult. If you missed it, you can read about it in the Beet Goes On entry of this blog (May 2009). It was a tentative meeting. A bowl of Borscht and a beet, bean potato salad. I found myself enjoying both and looking forward to the next time.

Moving into my own apartment gave me the chance to experiment and create my own version of Borscht. It seems that everyone has a version. The joke in Ukraine is that a daughter cannot make her mother's and a mother cannot duplicate the grandmother's Borscht. Each is unique evolving over the ages.

Borscht is truly historic. There is debate about its origins. The Russians claim it and the Polish too. Even the Lithuanians try to make a case. But since I am in Ukraine, I cast my ballot here.

According to historians, Borscht probably dates back to before Christ with the Huns and Goths who roamed these parts. They used a weed type plant called Borshchivnyks. It's a wild leafy plant that was easy to scavenger and got used in a soup instead of cabbage. Combined with beets, the first Borscht was made and it has been evolving ever since.

To learn even more go to www.day.kiev.ua/155285

Some start their Borscht with a pork base. Others like beef. I prefer chicken because it is affordable in Ukraine on a Peace Corps living allowance. I can buy a whole chicken for about 30 hryvna - that's less than four dollars US. To learn about Ukrainian currency, check out
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ukrainian_hryvnia

I like to go to the Bazaar on a Saturday and get all the ingredients I'll need for Borscht.

Shopping the Bazaar is a happening. Instead of hopping into a car and pulling into the parking lot of the local mega market, I walk about a half hour to the Bazaar. Many others are headed in that direction or returning laden down with bags of fresh food and other purchases. I meet a new friend along the way and get an invitation to dinner tomorrow night. Walking has its advantages.

The Bazaar is a busy mix of vegetable stalls along with stationary, cosmetic, household goods, hardware and clothing sections. It's an outdoor Wall Mart with individual entrepreneurs selling their goods. Prices are mostly fixed so there is no haggling. It takes time to understand vendors as they mumble prices, but I am pleased to say that I usually get it the first time. Language progress!

Inside a long building are meat and dairy vendors. I use the same vendors each time. I was introduced to several during my first week in Konotop by the City's Director of Children and Family Services. It seems that in Ukraine having a personal relationship is an important and pleasant way to live and do business. You can be sure of quality, a fair price and a warm welcome.

I buy a chicken. I'll cut it up and use a leg, thigh and the back and maybe the wings for my Borscht. I buy beets about the size of oranges and potatoes a bit larger. I'll need three of each. Garlic, onions, cabbage and a few carrots complete the shopping list. This will be my dinner for the better part of the week. It's always better the next day and the next and the next.

Here's my recipe.

START WITH FRESH INGREDIANT

Chicken. If I don't buy a chicken, I'll use three thighs including skin.
3 medium size beets
3 medium to large potatoes
2 carrots about inch in diameter
medium cabbage
2 large onions
3 - 4 large garlic cloves
Bay leaves, salt, pepper.
Vinegar
Sugar

I always start by browning the chicken in a very large pot. I was taught by my host family to include the skin. The idea is to create a brown glaze in the pot as the chicken cooks. At the same time, I par-boil the beets, potatoes and carrots. Do not peel the vegetables yet. I usually boil them for about ten minutes. It's important to not over cook.

While everything is cooking, I cut up the onions into thin strings and crush the garlic. I use 3 or 4 large size cloves. It will not over power since you are making a large amount. But you can use less if you wish. It's going to be "your" Borscht.

Now it is time to assemble your Borscht. Remove the chicken when it has browned and left a nice glaze on the bottom of the pan. Sometimes I pour out some of the chicken fat if there is too much. Add onions and garlic and saute until translucent.

Cool the beets, potatoes and carrots. Peel them now. I use a mandolin to cut them into strands that are about 1/4 inch square, like mini French fries. If you do not have one, then either cut by hand or grate using a large setting

Combine beets, potatoes, carrots with the onions and garlic and the chicken. Do not de-bone or de-skin chicken yet. Add about 6 to 8 cups of water. I guess you could use 1/2 chicken stock if you have it. Add 2 - 3 bay leaves, 1/2 tsp of salt +/- and pepper to taste.

Cook uncovered on low heat for at least an hour. The liquid will reduce and the potatoes should thicken the broth. Remove chicken, cool and de-bone now. Discard any skin.

Shred a half head of cabbage and add to the pot. Sometimes I delete the cabbage. Your choice! Replace diced chicken and add 1/3 cup vinegar and 2 Tbls. of sugar. I like this sweet sour taste, but you could have your Borscht without it. Cook for another hour on low heat. When the cabbage is completely cooked and translucent, the Borscht is ready.

This recipe will serve four adults easily. Serve with hearty brown bread and a block of cheese. Some fresh uncooked vegetable, like small tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, pepper slices, pickled mushrooms, will complete your Ukrainian meal. It's easy to make. And for this born again beet lover, it is delicious.

I think I'll have some now. Join me!

Cold War in a Museum

It was not high on my "must-do" list, but Anton is eager to take me to the museum. All week long we traded text messages.

If you have never done it, texting takes time to learn. First you must adjust to typing with your thumbs. I have chubby thumbs. Then you have to find the letters that are imbedded in the keys of the cell phone. Remember the old letters on the rotary phones and how they use to be used in reaching your phone exchange? I still recall mine from childhood - Pilgrim 5.

Now these letters are used for texting. For example, to get a "B" on the screen, you have to click quickly two times on the # 2 key. If not quickly enough, you get two "As" instead. And of course this only works in text mode. Fortunately there is a delete key. I use it a lot.

Finally we agree on a day and time. Although it takes a couple of phone calls just to confirm details, we are off to the Konotop Aviation Museum.

Apparently, Konotop was a center of Soviet aviation. A military installation developed and built some fighter jets and a lot of helicopters. An air base nearby trained pilots. Throughout the Cold War, many people were employed at this military center. Konotop was a hub for the Soviet military industrial complex. Now-a-days it has been downsized to an aviation repair plant specializing, of course, in helicopters. The museum is comprised of a small office and five helicopters spread across a field.
"Do you want to take pictures?" asks the attendant. "Do you want to sit in one of the helicopters?" Our admission charge depends on the answers. It is common practice to charge according to functions. I noticed this practice at the art museum in Chernigov. Pictures were prohibited unless you paid an extra fee.

We opt for everything and pay less than a dollar US for admission. Now you can take a look at military readiness circa 1960 in the Soviet Union.

I find it fascinating to read about these helicopters. The tonage they can carry, Their range of travel and so forth. I get to thinking about the troops and bombs they were designed to carry.

It's 1960. The Cold War builds to a cerscendo and then wanes only to build to another cerscendo. John Kennedy and Nikita Khrushchev are our leaders. Propaganda from both sides fills our minds. American children hide under school desks cradling our heads against the unthinkable. I wonder what they do?

The attendant turns out to be the Director of the Museum. We get to talking. Nickolai explains, "I am the director, planner, worker, everything. There is no budget for more." He takes us on a bit of a personal tour. We get to climb into an old World War II bunker that is off to the side of the field. Two men are repairing it. They are volunteers. It should be open to the public next year. That's how this museum works. Nicholai makes friends and people volunteer. He is an engaging personality. I like him.

Nickolai invites us into his office. He shows me uniforms from the Soviet and Ukrainian Military. A picture frame holds photos of American Astronauts. He is proud to tell me that these pictures were taken in Space on the International Space Station.

Nickolai and asks me to sign the guest book. Many important people, like Ambassadors, Kiev officials and military leaders, have left comments. Here is what I wrote:

I am a Peace Corps volunteer and find your museum very interesting. I see that the helicopters were developed and built during the height of the Cold War. In 1961 President Kennedy had another idea. He started an organization called the Peace Corps to promote cross cultural understanding and peace. Maybe one day, the need for planes and helicopters will cease and they will only exist in museums like this one. Thank you for allowing me to catch a glimpse of the Cold War from the other side. Peace and goodwill...

Jud Dolphin
Konotop 2009

Anton offers to translate my comments into Russian. It's a strange feeling to be at a former Soviet military base surrounded by attack helicopters and talking about peace. But then again, that's one of the reasons I joined the Peace Corps.

The next day they are having a commemorative gathering of men who once worked and flew the planes and helicopters at his facility. Nickolai encourage us to attend. So Anton and I return.

Nickolai is holding the Ukrainian flag up front before about 250 people. He is very pleased to see us and gives us a nod and wink. Later he comes over and gives me a warm greeting with the traditional Ukrainian handshake and an embrace.

The program is a series of speeches and a moment of silence for those who have died this year. Each name is spoken in a solemn tribute. There are seven. I could easily be at a VFW gathering in America. We all honor those who have served.

Anton translates so that I have an idea of what is going on. I am struck by the comment of one older man. He says, "Military people have to do some awful bad things...." He pauses and then adds, "But remember...we are still good on the inside."

As I leave the Aviation Museum, my mind is filled with thoughts of the Cold War, Soviets, and Americans. I think about good people who sometimes have to do bad things. It's sad when people are haunted by the past. And this past was beyond individual will or control. "We are still good on the inside...." I have a lot to think about. Maybe we all do.

I'LL BE REMEMBERING

August 1st has always been a day that I remember. Back in 1956 when I was 11 years old, I had a dislocated hip pinned back into place during an operation that took most of the day. It was a pivotal event in my growing-up. Each year I give it a nod of remembrance.

This August 1st comes at the end of the work week. For me it's been a funky week. I was not feeling terrible, but not good either. In my life, I have come to accept these times and try to keep in mind that the sun will come out tomorrow. YIKES! That would make a great lyric for a song...huh?

I have been struggling with language. Well to be honest, I have been mostly ignoring language. I have not devoted much time to it. There is always something else to do.

For sure, I think about studying - a lot. I imagine opening a book or drilling through vocabulary cards. Like a computer, I'll never forget a word. I imagine having real adult conversations in Russian. And then, it's back to reality. I procrastinate. I always have a good reason to do something else.

My language tutor came by this week. The Peace Corps not only invests in 11 weeks of intensive language classes, but also provides modest funds for a local tutor. He is a great motivator. We have a two hour session. We have been working on the 200 most common Russian verbs. I know about 40.

I try to learn the sounds of these words in the context of a simple sentence. Russian sounds are mostly foreign to western ears and while there are some cognates, most words must just be memorized. Repetition upon repetition. In one ear and out the other. More repetition. It is not easy. At times every fiber in my brain rebels.

“Stop, no more!” I think that's procrastination reason number 11. “Forget it. You'll never learn Russian.” That's reason number 12.

Today I get up early with new resolve. No matter what, I will sit at my desk and study some Russian. I work through simple sentences and vocabulary drills for about 45 minutes. I feel better. I figure that if I only learn two verbs a day, I'll know all 200 in about 3 months.

“Yes I can! Yes, I can!” YIKES! That sounds like my first anti-procrastination reason and not a bad idea for a political slogan. If you want to hear some Russian, you can visit me or listen via this link http://listen2russian.com/index.html

I get to the office a little early and meet Valaya along the way. She has a son with special needs and is devoted to him and her younger daughter. Along with Yelena, she is at the Children's Center every day. They make a great team.

Today, she greets me with a special surprise.

Out of her hand bag, she pulls a set of keys for the building. As you can see, these keys are huge. They're like nothing I have ever seen outside of an old cowboy movie when the sheriff jails the bad guy.

Carefully, she explains how each is used. One is for the gate and two are for the door. One must be turned three times to lock properly. Another won't lock until you nudge the door a little. “Now, you try it,” she says. We go through all the mechanics of locking and unlocking the door and gate.

I never asked for keys, but apparently something has changed. Unknowingly, I passed from American visitor to someone who can now be trusted. “Here, these keys are for you.” Maybe I am making too much of the passing on of keys, but I like to think that trust is connecting me in lots of ways to my new friends.

Amazing things continue to happen. My funk is gone. I'm learning Russian a little more each day. And the gift of keys gives me new reasons to remember this time of year.

August 1st – I'll be remembering you again.

Aphorisms, Trains, and The Vice President

What aphorism would you use? Better late than never. No pain – No gain. Every break through starts with a break down. My Peace Corps friend, Fran, says this is a silver lining story. You be the judge.

The Peace Corps calls, “Would you be available to come to Kiev and meet with Vice President Bidden? The Vice President wants to meet with Embassy staff and Peace Corps Volunteers during his visit.”

I jump at the chance, although in the back of my mind I know there are hurdles. Up until now, I traveled with the Peace Corps arranging details. All I had to do was show up on time. Now I am on my own.

Well, not exactly. I call Annya and ask if she can meet me at the Vakzal (train station). She helps me figure out the massive timetable that spreads floor to ceiling across the entire side wall. It would be intimidating in English. It's in Russian.

Next morning with ticket in hand, I arrive at the Vakzal about 40 minutes early. When I ask the information attendant what platform for my train, I am told it has not been assigned yet or at least I think I am being told this. I wait and ask again. Still no answer. Time is growing short and my anxiety is increasing.

Outside, I see a train across the way. Action seems better than waiting so I hike to end of the platform and around to the cross-over. “Is this the train to Kiev,” I ask a man? He does not know. A glance at my watch shows only 6 more minutes to departure time. I feel the churning of anxiety inside. What to do?

Just then the man yells in Russian, “Platform one. Platform one!!” I don't have time to celebrate understanding what he said. Across the way, a train has just pulled in. I am not so good at running with my artificial hip, but let's say I am walking very quickly all the way around to get back to track one. The heart is pumping real good. Yikes, I just make it. I did not know it then, but this incident was a sign of things to come.

I travel on an Electrechka instead of a regular train because it is much less expensive. Of course, the Electrechka is crowded with people sitting on benches three across that line each side of the car. It's the way ordinary people travel.

Arrival in Kiev was on a platform away from the Main Terminal. I memorized the location so that I could get there on my return. I'm thinking this is a very smart thing to do – right?

I walk up a long flight of stairs to the Kiev Vakzal area. It's a crazy mass of vendors, cars, trucks, buses, carts, and so many people scattering in all directions at once, like a disturbed ant hill. Is there really order in what seems to be chaos? The contrast to laid back tranquil Konotop gives me culture shock. I feel engulfed.

With the help of a few other Peace Corps Volunteers that I meet at headquarters, I get to my hotel. Strangely, I notice my overnight briefcase is partially unzipped. Either it spontaneously opened or I was pick-pocketed in the Metro. My shave kit is missing. Even when you are careful, it may not be enough.

The next day the Vice President comes on schedule. A room of about 200 Embassy staff and Peace Corps volunteers greet him. He takes a few questions. We are able to ask about health care reform in the US. He says that despite the rumblings in the Senate, he expects passage. He says that this time many forces are coming together knowing that change needs to be made. After speaking, he thanks us for our work on behalf of the USA and shakes many hands. I feel proud to be in Ukraine on behalf of my Country.

The rest of the day I spend with a group of younger volunteers. “Let' just hang out,” they say. None of us has eaten breakfast and it is nearly 12:30 pm so we set out to find an Indian restaurant. Ukrainian food is not spicy and we all are thinking cumin and curry!
Unfortunately we do not find it. Later we discover that if we had walked one block more, we would have stumbled right into it. Mmmmm – lesson learned?

Instead we discover a delightful Ukrainian outdoor cafe tucked away from the busy street. The food is fresh and the atmosphere is ever so pleasant. We “hang out” over lunch for a long time. All of us have stories to share and everyone seems happy with their site placement.

One fellow says that he was thinking of staying over another night, but now he wants to get back to his village. “Sounds silly,” he says. “But I miss the kids and people.” We all smile. We know how he feels.

I pick up a few things at the Peace Corps office and scurry up to the Kiev Vakzal. I have about 30 minutes before the Electrechka leaves for Konotop. Remembering where the remote tracks are, I climb down the stairs to the platform. “No people. Am I too early again?” I think.

I notice people far away on the opposite track. I am thinking, savvy traveler that I am, “I came up on this side and maybe I must go back on the other. So I trudge up the stairs in search of a way to the other platform. There is no obvious way. I ask several people in my best (though not very good) Russian. I get sent here and there, but still cannot find stairs down.

Panic churns inside again. Time is running out. I ask another man. He points down the way and fortunately mentions “Green” umbrellas. I understand the word green and see green patio umbrellas surrounding a building. Immediately I rush in that direction. I find the stairs. Hooray!

But as you may already suspect, while I found the platform, I missed my Electrechka. Suddenly I feel sad like a kid who is lost in a crowd. Now what?

I feel depleted. I call my Regional Manager and she coaches me in securing another ticket on a regular train – one that is going to Moscow, but through Konotop. Thank you!

As I rumble along, I am thinking, “Well I will always know where and how to get the Electrechka. I know where the Indian restaurant is located. And I have a greater confidence, that even when I don't know what to do next, I am resourceful enough to figure something out. Mistakes will be made, but then again lessons learned” Fran says, “That's the silver lining.” I have to agree, but why must there be a break down before there is a break through. No pain - No gain! Ugh!

POTOM! POTOM!

Three young women accompanied me through a day of Cossack Culture and a lot of fun

World class folk dance and song

Here I am surrounded by Ukrainian culture...Beautiful.

The reconstructed Church within the Citadel

Here's a Russian word for you - Potom. Potom means - later, later, we'll look into it later. As the weekend approached, I was in a “potom” state with nothing planned. Then as often happens in Ukraine, a wonderful adventure unfolded. I found myself immersed in Cossack history, folk crafts, dance, song and the President.

“Would I be available for a field trip?” All week long, the Center hosted 25 children for a day camp. There is a mix of able and disabled children. Everyone is included and seem to get along well. Main streaming in Ukraine.

I ask for more details about the field trip. Immediately I am jolted put of my “potom” mood. I am told, “Tomorrow, we will go tomorrow!” I start thinking in another Russian phrase. “Why not, it will be fun.”

The trip starts with a very long walk to the bus station. At least for me it seems very long taking us about an hour or more. None of the children seem to mind and we climb on to a crowded bus for the trip to Baturyn. I'm a puddle of sweat.

Baturyn is a national historical site. Located on a bend in the Syne River, settlements have been here since prehistoric times. Starting in 1995, Ukraine invited a Canadian archaeological team to join in excavating the site. Now the Cossack Citadel and Church have been restored. A small museum tells the story.

Baturyn was one of the capitals of the Ukrainian Cossack state. In 1708, it became the center of an insurrection against Moscow's control. The Russian troops massacred Baturyn's military garrison and civilian population. Experts say about 11,000 to 14,000 people, but numbers can be exaggerated or diminished for political purposes. Prior to Ukrainian independence in 1991, any research into Baturyn's history was politically taboo.

Take a look at the pictures. The Citadel encloses an open space, the Garrison and Church. The huge crucifix commemorates those that died. So much work that has gone into the restoration. Imagine digging 3 story deep trenches by hand. To learn more, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baturyn

While I was exploring Baturyn history, Konotop was getting ready for Ukrainian President Yushchenko.

A new Ukrainian Orthodox Church near my home was to be dedicated. I had been watching its construction and even managed to meet the night watchman on one of my nightly walks. He told me that the Church was being constructed with donations from America. He was gleeful to meet me – a real American! I was like a representative of the thousands who had made this Church possible. Later I learned that the Ukrainian community in Chicago raised the funds since many of their roots go back to this region.

President Yushchenko shows up on schedule...well he is a fashionable ½ hour late. The crowd is excited. I am escorted by three lovely young ladies. I met Anya at the Institute where she served as my translators. A few nights later I met her two friends over ice cream at a local cafe. Now the four of us are walking through the crowd seeking a better viewing spot.

Suddenly, we spot the Directors of the Institute and the Director of the Technical School along with several of their associates. Both had recently returned from visits to Ames Iowa. They were part of some kind of educator's exchange program. I had told them that my brother, Warren, had lived in Ames for many years and that his wife, Judy, had been on the school board.

Maybe because of my Ames Iowa connection, I am warmly embraced. “Kak della? (how are you?)” Smiles, handshakes and hugs from everyone. It feels like a family reunion even though I have just met everyone a week ago. Someone says in Russian, “He's got a Konotop family now.” I smile broadly.

The Ukrainian Orthodox clerics pray and pray. The President speaks and promises to furnish and altar piece in honor of St Nicholas from his own funds. I only get to see the president from afar. My fantasy of telling the President that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer fades. It's high noon and the sun is getting real hot. All of us are wilting.

“Let's go, “ say my three escorts. “We want to take you to the Battle of Konotop festival. You will see real Cossack culture.” I did not know we were going to a festival when I started my day, but then again – “Why not. It will be fun!”

The Battle of Konotop was a part of a larger struggle between Poland and Russia. It happened in an era when Cossack tribes within this region were vying with one another for a broader national identity. To say that it was a time of external and internal tumult, is probably an understatement. You can read more at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Konotop

The Russians suffered a stunning defeat. And today some Ukrainians recall this battle in the current struggles for identity amidst Russian influence. Other Ukrainians just enjoy the festival.
Here is a short version of what I have learned about the Battle of Konotop. It has dead horses in it too. The Russian Calvary thought it would sweep through the area on its way to battling with the Poles. But unexpectedly they met stiff Cossack and Tarter resistance.

One day the Cossacks – Tarter alliance managed to take back a bridge that the Russian Calvary had used to cross the river. Stealthily they dismantled the bridge and used the lumber to forge a damn. Of course in this flat land, the result was wide spread flooding. Remember how Catherine The Great got stuck in Konotop?

The next day the Cossacks and Tartars staged an ambush. The Russian Calvary stumbled. The harder they tried the more enmeshed in the swampy landscape they became. Historians disagree but as many as 30,000 combatants may have been killed. And that's not counting the horses who also sucummed that day. Again Konotop means dead horses.

Politics and warfare aside, the Festival is stunning. A huge stage features Ukrainian song and dance. There is not a moment without a performance. So much pride is being exhibited in this cultural celebration. I am mesmerized. Click here and become mesmerized yourself.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUeam5Tqx0U

We wander through the Festival. “Won't you try your hand at archery,” says Annya? Men in Cossack gear have set up a target and a crowd is taking turns. It must not be so easy since I do not see many hit the target. I hesitate but she says, “wait here.” A few moments later she beckons me over to the line where people are awaiting a turn.

Standing there is Daniel, a young fellow whom we met on the Marshrutka ride to the festival.

What a ride. I count 48 people on the Marshrutka where there are seats for 16. We are stuffed. I do not have to hold on since human bodies hold me in place. Daniel hears my English and informs everyone that there is an American on board. “I love American,” says one woman. A young man offers me a swig of beer. Annya says that my presence added levity to what could have been a hot nasty ride.

Daniel is delighted to see me again. He tells me that I can have his place in line. I decline thinking that he has been waiting a long time for his chance. But Daniel insists. “You are my friend...my American friend.” Others push me forward and before I know what is happening, I am next in line.

Well, I did not hit the target, but I was close...real close!!! I think - Potom! Potom! Just wait until next year.