My highlight so far was watching the 41st group of Peace Corps volunteers swear in. Not to sound sappy, but it was a moving moment when they played the anthems of Ukraine and the United States, and I looked down from the balcony at all the fresh faces of folks heading out to the field. Four years ago, nearly to the day, I was there, on the threshold pause of my all too short gulyat down the "toughest job you'll ever love" path and smiled to myself to think of my two years as a strenuous Black Sea hike through alternating seasons and weather patterns, intermingled with cascades of hot tea in NGO offices and interspersed with wild train rides to far-flung oblasts.
On a sunny Thursday, accompanied by a woman from my agency who worked alongside Sergeant Shriver, I not only saw a swearing-in ceremony in the midst of Peace Corps's (and USAID's) 50th anniversary, but I got to see all the fantastic staff from the Peace Corps office who supported and guided me along that two year hike, and I collected some wonderfully surprising news about my old post, Sevastopol. What a way to top off my second week.
Moving into my spacious apartment in the center of town, I soon became absorbed in the very hefty detail of what can only be described as fervent nest-making behavior. For one, I categorically abhor blank, white walls. I despise the echo of a nearly empty apartment. An empty room is like being assigned to purgatory, where there is nothing particularly pleasant or unpleasant and drabness rules the roost. My employers graciously supplied furniture so that at least I don't have to sit on the floor to watch television like I did for my first two months in my apartment in Washington. Talk about purgatory.
But the blank walls were an immediate problem. I could deal with the bedrooms: I have tapestries after all, I never settle anywhere without them. The study; well I do work in there, but I'm looking at my computer screen the whole time, so the walls to my back can wait. However, I spend a significant amount of time, lounging in the wood floor valley surrounded by the high blank mountain walls of the guilded living room. And the long, long hallway connecting the rooms of my realm was beginning to feel like the basement of a convent.
But luckily down on Andrivsky Spusk; a steep, winding cobblestone road beneath Saint Andres Cathedral, one can buy some superb artwork done by some of the region’s best artists. If you're not a true local, you won’t get a steal, likely, but you’ll probably walk away happy. Speaking of happy, there are a lot of paintings on the Spusk that there that look like Bob Ross had an especially happy afternoon (those who grew up on afterschool PBS know what this means, the rest, will be forever deprived of such happy trees and their clouds that live above them).
I walked past one painting with a tree perched on a rock above the sea, and recalled a hike I went on with some Peace Corps sitemates back in March 2008. It was in Crimea, way above Laspi where I photographed a bare tree perched by itself on a massive seaside granite monolith. (I took a picture of it and it’s on my blog posting for 9 March 2008). I bought it.
The second painting, I couldn't keep my eyes off of it, and as a consequence, paid the Russian-proficient tourist price. This one was done in Crimea as well, and I had seen this scenery a hundred times on long, pleasant walks along the cliffs of Balaclava. A small powered vessel, off by itself, leaving some unseen harbor, heading out to sea; the sun shines through the clouds above it; the painting is just the boat, its wake, the sea and the sky - nothing else.
For the long hallway, I picked up some old framed photographs of Kyiv for a few dollars each.
I could have posted pictures of these paintings, and even have the JPGs saved on my hard drive. But ultimately I decided against it because a.) someone who is creatively disabled may attempt a copy (for all I know there are hundreds already!) and b.) depriving my friends/family of these images would serve as yet another incentive to come visit.
Five Things I accomplished in my first month:
1. Renaissance, art. So I checked off wall art off my list of things I needed. Check.
2. Reinvigoration, muscular. Exercise was the next thing I needed. I joined a swanky gym that has a clean, clear, cold pool and three different kinds of sauna. Check.
3. Replenishment, household supplies and food; collected by lugging bags and bags and bags of groceries several blocks from the underground kiosks, produce markets, the commissary and large supermarkets over the course of a month, thereby also fulfilling #2 above. Check.
4. Refreshment, knowledge and practice of American culture so that I don't get rusty; well that is easy to achieve in this city in July; there was the Fourth of July Picnic by the US Chamber of Commerce in Spartak Stadium. Even in the rain, several thousand Ukrainians and some Americans showed up to eat hot dogs, watch a boisterous raffle and fireworks accompanied by pop music. Check.
5. Remember, Shashlik acumen. For all you folks who have never lived in a Slavic country before (my condolences), shashlik is the style by which skewered meat (pork is best for this) is slowly roasted over the coals of a campfire with onions and garlic. This is not shish-ka-bob as Americans know it. American shishkabob involves massive bell peppers and mushrooms and some sort of propane or chemically- drenched square briquettes. Once a carnivore knows shashlik, he/she will forever crave its tender insides and crispy, wood-smoked exterior.
I organized a few folks from work to join me on the Fourth of July on the sandy banks of the Dnieper River. First, though I needed to recall my marinade. Some keep their recipes secret, but since I didn't share with the internet public my paintings, I will now publish the ingredients of my fairly successful Fourth of Pork-U-LY Shashlik-A-Q marinade; apple vinegar, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, coarse black pepper, sea salt, red pepper, Tabasco Sauce, paprika, shashlik seasoning mix (sorry, this is not available in the USA) and garlic powder. Marinate for 18 hours in the fridge with onions and garlic cloves. Roast over open campfire alongside a river, accompanied by nice people and great music off your IPhone, on the first sunny day after two weeks of rain. Check.
Thanks Guy for the awesome pics. My hands were way too greasy to reach for my Blackberry.
