Color me Grey and then...

The sun will come out tomorrow....Like an old vinyl record stuck in a groove, I have been singing that song for 19 days. We're in a terrible weather pattern. That's right 19 days without sun. I wonder if the Russian language has a collection of words for cloudiness like I've heard the Eskimos have for snow.

Every day I open my eyes hoping to see something other than grey. Even the day light that seeps through the blanket of clouds is gone by about 3:30 pm. Night comes early and stays long in these parts.

It's true sometimes the weather teases me. Today it's a pale grey instead of the thick foggy grey or the deep dark grey or the wet raw grey. I think the clouds may part, but no. The weather is consistently grey...grey....grey.

The streets are a mess. Many of our roads in Konotop are unpaved. Rain digs into the dirt and gravel spreading little ponds and streams every where. Mud slimes across pathways making it difficult to walk. Yuck, I am slipping and sliding. Just look at my shoes

Ukrainians pride themselves in a neat appearance. So even though the grey wet weather makes it hard, clean shoes are expected. I got the message last week when a colleague asked if I needed a new pair of shoes. "No I don't think so," I said. "I just need to clean mine." She smiled.!



While Konotop has been wrapped in a wet grey blanket, my work at the Hearts Of Love Children's Center has sprung forward.

Every week I get to oversee an art session with the children. It's becoming rather popular with as many as a dozen kids at a session. They are all ages so it's challenging giving direction and doubly challenging to do so in Russian. The children take great delight in correcting my Russian language attempts.

We have been concentrating on flowers and sunny pictures. Do you think the weather is a factor? I look forward to Fridays. We all laugh and paint and have a good time.

About a month ago, Yelena (volunteer director of the Center) asked if I would help them develop a fund raising plan. She explained that they needed funds to heat the Hearts f Love Center.

There is bare minimum heat. While I have not guaged the temperature, I think it is hovering around 50 F degrees most days. I know that my nose gets real cold even with three layers of clothes and a skull cap. Everyone keep their coats on.

Fortunately, the grey cloud cover has also meant warmer than normal temperatures. So for now, we are spared the frigid winds and have a small reprieve from massive heating bills.

I am delighted to be asked to help with fund raising plans. The request comes out of the blue or is it the "grey."

I think it's a result of just consistently showing up every day and pitching in however I can. I think it is a result of people at the Hearts of Love Center being open to trying some new ideas. I think it is because more and more children are coming along with winter.

Whatever the reason, I take the weekend to pull together some ideas. I want the plan to be adaptable to Ukrainian conditions and over time, to build financial capacity. I am pleased with how the ideas flow and even translate them with the help of Google translator (a little Internet gadget that can come in handy.)

At a meeting on Monday, I lay out some suggestions like starting a Friends of the Center program, holding an Open House Celebration and identifying a few Major Donors. I pitch the idea of asking businesses for donations for a live and silent auction so that we can build our relationships with them. I included a few next steps.

Several weeks pass. I begin to wonder if this fund raising plan is stuck in the muck

But unknown to me, many conversations are taking place.

It seems like Ukrainian planning is less formalized than American. Ideas perculate until a kind of consensus emerges. At least that's what I think is happening at the Hearts of Love Center.

My suggestions are passed around and spark discussions until enough people are on board to move forward. "Can you help us with a training too," Yelena asks? She and other volunteers are nervous about asking businesses for help.

I couldn't be more delighted. I put together a training drawing upon my experience with the Lafayette Urban Ministry and my Legacy Work. The following press release summarizes our next steps.

Press Release

Contact: Yelena Yushenko, Volunteer Director of Hearts of Love Center and Charitable Fund

Here in Konotop children with special needs and disabilities are emerging from the shadows of isolation. They are discovering possibilities for a good life.

Their story may be one that most Ukrainians do not know. In former times, the old saying of out of sight and out of mind was practiced widely. Disabled children were expected to stay home or placed in institutions.

Even today in many communities, the sight of a disabled child in a public place is rare. Public awareness barely registers and understanding of special needs is minimal. A family with a disabled child can anticipate a life time of struggling with few resources, feeling helpless and coping with growing despair. The whole family system is affected - mother, father, brothers sisters and grandparents.

But in Konotop for the first time ever, the Hearts of Love Center is inviting their entire community to become aware and understand more.

On December 4th at 16:30 hours, they will hold an open house celebration in honor of the International Day of People with Disabilities. This special day recognizes the achievements and contributions of people with disabilities.

"We want to raise awareness," says Yelena Yushenko, volunteer director of the Hearts of Love Center that serves about 60 disabled children and their families. "We want Konotop to see the possibilities of our children. And how a little help can make their lives better."

As part of the open house celebration, the community will have a chance to meet families, see crafts that the children have made, and enjoy some entertainment and refreshments.

A highlight will be an auction just in time for holiday gift giving. Area businesses are showing their support by donating goods and services. People can bid on electronics, dinner for two at a local cafe, a massage and even a clown birthday party. Many crafts will also be on sale. Yelena and her team of volunteers hope to raise enough money to purchase 200 gifts for the children of the Center as well as others in the community with special needs.

This event is the beginning of building on-going local support for a cause whose time has come. "We are working hard at recruiting at least 100 new friends for the Hearts of Love Center during this event," says Jud Dolphin, US Peace Corps Volunteer who works at the Center. With more friends aware of the Hearts of Love Center, we can broaden understanding and develop new programs. Maybe one day we will have the resources for a much needed computer center and connect these special children and their families with the world."

###

Wish us all well and remember us in your Thanksgiving Prayers.

Oh by the way, the sun came out today for several glorious hours.
.
n

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!