I walked down to the Arkadia Beach today. Its about an 8km walk from my hostel, through Shevchenko Park and down the beach trails to get there. It was a really lovely day. It kept cycling through warm sunny moments, and cool, breezy, grey and overcast moments. The weather hasn't yet decided if its spring or summer.
I took a few pics today, and finally uploaded a choice few to a new photo set on Flickr for this trip. Click on the picture below to see it.
I went to the central cemetery today, which was a trip to say the least. Since going to the Budapest cemetery with Luc and Kate on All Souls Day last October, hunting down the mammoth memorials of Budapest's famous faces, I have been fascinated by them. In Europe, cemeteries are generally buzzing places full of people, green with ivy and thick with flowers. The headstones are often huge sculptures and gothic arches that add to the eerie beauty of the whole place.
This cemetery was the craziest I have ever been too. Giant packs of dogs live there, and were running around in packs all over the place. And the stones are practically on top of each other. The place is thick and green and overgrown. Its startling.
They also play orthodox hymns on loudspeakers outside this massive church in the center. Ultra-spooky.
Folks also deck out all the graves in bright bundles of flowers, real and otherwise. Like on these niches.
And check out these guys:
Stephen linked me an article on EnglishRussia.com of Russian Mafia headstones that was really fascinating. Life-sized portraits of people holding cigarettes next to cadillacs. It was great. So, I took some of these pictures for Stephen, cause I know he needs something to do at 3 in the morning...
Ok, that last one is particularly creepy. If I had a child die, I dont know that I would want his or her larger than life mug staring at me like the Gerber baby for the rest of my life. Call me heartless, but I'm just not ok with it.
And I think this guy might have been married to a boat, or maybe his martini:
Do I Have "Sexpot" Written Across My Forehead, Or What?
Today was the weirdest day ever. Honestly. It's only 11pm here and I'm ready to just go to bed and be done with it.
For starters, I slept in. I slept in a lot. Till like 11:30. And then I had a really slow morning, which was nice, cause I was exhausted from this whole trip (still kinda am) and I went out last night AND there was a 7pm women's meeting at the community center that I wanted to attend. So, no waking up early for me. This was kind of exciting for me also because the last few days in the center have been BORING. I usually get there at about 9 or 930 and stay till 230 or 3. At that point, most of the action is over. The action doesnt actually start till about 12 either, so the first few hours that I am there are good for the occasional interview if a staff member happens to be passing through, but are often really slow. I have started bringing articles with me to read during the long down times. Well, apparently this morning, the morning that I was delighted to sleep through, was a doozie. The first busy day at the clinic, and I slept through it. Apparently, people were even running out of materials charts and intake forms. THAT'S how busy it was. And then after I got there, total jack went down for hours. I even started screwing around on the computer because there was nothing to do and no one to talk to. And then this blasted women's meeting, which I recently heard someone describe to the rep of a very prominent US benefactor of this organization as "pratically a movement," never happened, cause no one showed up. I asked Marina about the meeting yesterday, and she said that it's popular, but the attendance fluxuates a lot. "Like a storm," she said, laughing. Funny. Really.
Ok, then the weirder stuff. Near the end of the day, Elena, a staff member who has hardly said a word to me since I got here, came up to me and handed me an e mail address that she had written on a scrap of paper. "Here" she said, "This is from Dima, he wanted me to give it to you." I said thanks, then looked closer at the address and realized that I had no idea who she was talking about. I went back over to her office and said, "I'm sorry, who is this?" She looked at me as though I had just asked where the front door was. "Dima!" she said, "You were talking to him the other day and he asked me to give you his address!" Like...Duh!
I have no idea who Dima is.
After I gave up on the women's group, I went out for a beer with Andrei. Andrei is interesting. Allegedly, he works for this organization. In reality, he spends a significant portion of the day on translate.ru looking for the words to describe to me his particular affinity to philosophies of black magic and voodoo studies and his current course of training, or playing roll-playing games on the computer that involve fantasy lands with dwarves wielding large axes. You'd never guess, looking at the guy. He looks like a totally normal, boring 40-something dude with cable sweaters and a degree in engineering. Anyway, he had been inviting me for a beer for a few days, so I finally took him up on it this evening. His son was there too. He was excited or me to meet his son because he traveled a lot with his dad when he was young, and speaks many languages, and he wants his son to meet worldly people and learn new languages too--like english for example.
His son is 6. When we met, the kid pulled a lighter out of his pocket and starts playing with it. I immediately have flash backs to when I was 4 and found a lighter and was very clearly instructed by my mother that these were not for people under the age of 30 to touch or play with. I recall even thinking that people who carried them were somehow bad people until I was about ten. Andrei is not ruffled by this at all, and, in fact, pays no attention as his son starts pulling cigarette butts out of the coffee can used as an ashtray by the front stairs of the center and lights the little paper bits left at the end of the filter on fire. Then goes over to the telephone pole, rips down some ads, comes back, and lights those on fire, then steals his dad's empty cigarette pack, pulls out all the foil paper, and tries repeatedly to light that on fire. Oh my lord. My sensibilities were so offended. But, the kid was also filthy--brown sticky hands, dirty clothes, brown face--which told me that his dad lets him play and lets him play hard, which I have to admit I have a lot of respect for. I don't know what I did, but I was somehow deemed acceptable by the kid, because as soon as the three of us walked out towards a cafe to get a drink, his grubby little mitt shot into mine and clung on for the rest of the trip. With his other free, smelly, soot covered little hand, he kept feeding me cola jellies out of his jacket pocket. It was cool. We were pals.
Then, at the bar, we order a couple of beers, and the kid is totally swigging his dad's beer. He apparently drinks vodka too. I can't imagine a kid that young even tolerating the taste of beer, but this one is way ahead of the curve apparently. But then it gets even weirder, because we start talking about languages and school and travel (frequent topics of conversation when the only common vocabulary you have with someone in any of the languages you share are of the second year "Hola, me llamo Paco. Voy a la biblioteca. Me gusta mucho comer manzanas," variety). But then after a bit, the conversation veers towards how awful Andrei's wife is, how she lives with her brother and doesn't care for the kid, and how Andrei has been telling his kid about me at home, and how the boy allegedly goes "Oh papa! An American girl? A wife for you and a mom for me!"
Holy Jebus. I'm, like, so gone. Now.
So, I tell him I need to split and head home. We pay the tab, walk out, and it turns out that he and his kid live like 3 blocks away from me, so they walk the whole 20 min back with me. Awkward. But, on the way home, Andrei tells me another funny story. It appears that a SECOND person made an attempt to show up on my doorstep professing love. The first is not Andrei. The first, if you havn't heard the story, was this dude who's name I don't even remember, from our tour group to the catacombs last week. We had a nice conversation (first pleasant, easy conversation I have had in Ukrainian since I got here, actually) all the way back from the village that we drove to that day, and then the guides and the group parted ways at the hostel and he lingered all awkwardly by the door and then finally left. Monday night, he shows up at the hostel, totally unannounced, dressed up, hair slicked back, trying to talk me into going out to dinner with him. And he's so nervous that he's talking fast and I can't understand a word he's saying. Too bad. He was kind of cute. But I had been wandering the streets of the city with the mobile exchange all day so I was tired and filthy, had already eaten, needed a shower badly, and didn't have the energy to deal with any more foreign languages at the moment, so that whole well intentioned endeavor failed (women, you know? sheesh). Well, apparently this ALMOST happened again, because on tuesday, I met a client named Vova. Vova asked me where I was staying in Odessa. I said that I was staying at the Black Sea Hostel, which is true. Now, not only is this a very very new place, so few people, except maybe the really really active local hospitality club members, will have heard of it, but hostels are sort of a new phenomenon in Ukraine as well. The word "hostel" doesn't really translate. I have to explain to most people here what it is, and they are often still confused afterwards. There is a huge three-star hotel in the city center called the Black Sea Hotel, so when I tell people where I am living, they usually hear me say 'hotel' instead of 'hostel' and think I am staying there. Well, the next night, Vova apparently got good and liquored up, and trucked his way down to the Black Sea Hotel and tried to find me. I have this incredible image in my head of this dude stumbling up to the counter and being like "where do you keep your Americans!?"
So, yea, its been an interesting week to say the least, and today totally topped it. I mean, Ukrainian women are hot. Hot. And I have been the awkward girl, who dresses like a slob and spends her time misunderstanding everyone, generally being in the way and making all those clumsy mistakes that crack people up like trying to pay for my own drinks and waiting to be seated at restaurants and assuming that there is any philosophy here of 'standing in line.' Oh, and speaking Ukrainian but not Russian. That also makes me a weirdo. Several people have actually burst out laughing when they hear that. Yet, somehow, I have managed to procure that 'exotic appeal.' Only in Ukraine, I think, and in working-class post-industrial Ukraine at that, do I get to be the intriguing foreign girl that everyone wants a piece of. And its totally not any fun, which is a damned shame. It's mostly just nerve wracking because, while I can generally get by just fine, I don't have the language skills to handle these situations adeptly, or with any grace at all for that matter, so I generally end up either exhausting myself trying desperately to assess whatever situation I find myself in, or just standing around with my finger up my nose, while some dude next to me thinks he's working it and it totally golden.
I never thought I'd say this, but this actually makes me miss dating in highschool. At least then you didn't have all these stupid adult sensibilities, so when people showed up unexpectedly, drunk off their asses, at your hotel, it was funny.
And speaking of whom, I have joined forces with Duncan to start a new blog...its like an ugly child. No one but us will love it, but we will love it so hard.
It was glorious, and I am totally heartbroken that I missed it. It was on my birthday no less. There is no end to my frustration over this. I was planning on coming back into town for it, but Odessa is too far away for the weekend trip. But the pictures speak volumes. Some 50,000 people came out for the semi-annual BP event. These pics were forwarded to me by the lovely Alexis, who cleaned them from the Chi-town CM listserv
Budapest sees record long bicycle procession By: All Hungary News 2007-04-23 15:26:00 The "Critical Mass" (CM) bicycle procession held in Budapest during yesterday's Earth Day celebrations drew upwards of 50,000 participants, which organizers say made it the largest such event in the world, writes origo.hu.
When those at the front of the procession had already crossed the Petőfi Bridge to Buda and the Lánchíd (Chain Bridge) back to Pest, those at the end were cycling - or rollerblading, driving wheelchairs - under the Lánchíd on Pest's lower embankment.
The traditional "lifting of the bicycles" was also a little behind schedule, because the end of the procession did not arrive in City Park by the appointed hour of 7:00 p.m.
The fastest cyclists completed the 14-kilometer route in roughly one hour, and spent the rest of the afternoon picnicking and watching jugglers.
The idea for the biannual event, which aims to promote the use of people-powered transportation, originated in San Fancisco in 1970. In the years since nearly 5,000 non-profit organizations in more than 180 countries have joined the initiative. The first CM in Budapest was held in 2004, but similar events were organized in 1999, 2000 and 2001 which each drew 500 to 600 cyclists.
I mentioned this huge market that is right by the train station in an earlier post. I went down there today to take some pictures. I would say that it was successful. I came home with a kilo of pickles, dried parsimmons, and a whole kilo of white figs. Plus a ton of pictures that I am really excited about. The produce at this market was so beautiful. It looked like God himself breathed on this food. But a lot I couldn't bear to buy because I know that I'm not in my own kitchen and I don't have all the staples that are needed to prepare them well.
Anyway, here are some of the shots that I took there on the digital camera, the last one taken by Joanna, my adventure partner for the day. She is from upstate NY, and staying in my hostel as well.
The woman in this last shot was so wonderful. She, like many other women at the market, was selling picked cabbage and cucumbers out of huge plastic 70 gallon barrels. I asked her if I could take her picture (I got it on the Canon), and she blushed and laughed and said, "You want to take a picture of an old babushka like me?"
I also met a vendor who was selling pomegranates. He pulled me over, and told me to take his picture, then posed nobly behind his piles of fruit. I snapped a few, and then he asked if he could give me his address, so that I could send him a copy, to put up by his stand. I told him that I wouldnt have pictures for probably two weeks, but he said that that was great, so, hey, I hope they turned out ok!
After the market, we wandered around to the sea and passed a spring carnival that was open in the park between the station and the northern beaches. They even had a full on Strongest Man contest in the middle of the thing. I really wanted to get some pictures of it, but the crowds were so big that we couldn't muscle our way to the front.
It was also funny to realize that all of the carnival attractions were from Mexico. And I mean REALLY from Mecixo--made to be marketed and used IN Mexico
Please note that one is called "Mexican Casino" and the other one, the rooster, is saying "Ki-ki-ri-ki"
Honestly. It kills me. And I thought Romania was bad for bottom feeding.
In the evening I met up with a local girl named Vera, who took me to the pier out past the Potemkin stairs, and then took me for a beer with some of her friends from the university. They were really nice girls, all about 20, studying English at the university here in Odessa. They looked so Ukrainian. Big frilly fancy shiny skirts and tops and earrings and shoes that lace up to the knee with rhinestones and tons of buckles and flare. We talked for an hour and a half about getting married while they smoked skinny cigarettes and drank champagne at the bar. It was so rad.
Oh, and I also found out that football season has started here. The local team Chornomorets (чорноморец--it means, like, Black-Sea-ites) has a home stadium just up the street from me. They had a home game today, and another one next saturday, against the Kiev Arsenal. I am going with colors flying.
I played hookie today. I got to the center and had a headache and was sooo tired. I faked a migrane and went home after about an hour. And I came home to find that a group of kids from the hostel were planning a trip this afternoon to the catacombs. Which was awesome. But I'll get to that in a sec.
This is the van that I have spent a few days on this week: It runs ten different routes, two a day monday through friday with an outreach worker and a doctor on every route.
Here are a few shots from the beautiful neighborhood around the community center:
So, onto the catacombs. There are catacombs under Odessa. They run in a tangled labyrinth under the whole city. They were dug out over 130 years ago when builders were quarrying limestone along the black sea, and are estimated to be a total of 3000 km of unmapped tunnels. One fact that people often give you is that these catacombs are the reason why Odessa has no subway system, because they really do span underneath the entire city and beyond.
A couple from Switzerland who is staying in my room organized this trip, and brought a long me, and several other guests from Finland, Japan, Argentina, and Hood River, Oregon of all places. We got ourselves a humble translator and a bus which took us from the train station to a village on the north outskirts of Odessa, where there is a manned opening to the tunnels.
The entrance was all dressed up, with giant stairs down from ground level and a wide open entrance, which soon dissolved into tiny narrow passageways and small yellow light bulbs every 50 ft or so lighting our way.
We also had Svetlana, our ancient, Russian tour guide who walked around with a flashlight, talking in Russian over a microphone that was so loud we couldnt hear, despite the fact that she had been told that none of us spoke Russian. It was hysterical.
These catacombs are particularly important to Odessa's history, because during World War 2, nearly 2000 Russian partisans lived in these tunnels to hide from the Nazis. That large group lived in these caverns underground in hiding, barricading the entrances and sneaking food from the surface while undercover, for over two and a half years.
We find an old gun, the 18 yr old from Oregon picks it up, and the camera phones fly out of pockets at lightning speed:
There is a small 'museum' at the exit, which we had to climb up 5 flights of stairs to get back out to. The most prized item in the museum's collection is a handwritten letter by Fidel Castro which he wrote for the catacombs during his visit here in 1986. It speaks of the noble Soviet city, which protected its people and its way of life from the aggression of the fascists.
I met two women in the office, a young girl who answers the phones, and Oxsana, who I believe is a financial manager? Maybe? I cant be sure. They were terribly amused that I didn't speak Russian, but were very nice, and offered me tea as soon as I sat down.
After the meeting, Pavlo drove me and Marina and the older woman, who I thought was named Oleksandra, but I now think is Natalia to the Center Doviri. One funny thing happened before we got there. Pavlo came up to me with a box of papers, and said, "Jennifer, are you feminist?" and handed it to me to carry, with a huge smile on his face. The rest of the group laughed at his joke. Funny.
In the afternoon, I went back to the center, and hung out with the three blonde women who mother me. One is Ira from the other day, Plus another Olga and another Natalia. They speak only Russian, though Ira speaks enough Ukrainian for her and I to have a nice conversation on the steps about our college studies. The three of them seem to encourage each other in their mothering tendancies. They spent the majority of the afternoon haggling people over paperwork, answering phones, and feeding me and everyone else who waked by copious amounts of cake and teas with nearly a tablespoon of sugar in each small cup. I almost died from it.
This morning, I went on a wild goose chase with this guy named Sasha to the substitution therapy clinic. He invited me with him yesterday, and we left as soon as he arrived this morning. I didn't take any of my things with me, so he ended up paying for my bus fare, which I felt bad about. I need to remember to pay him back tomorrow, though he probably won't accept it.
A lot of the time, I felt like he forgot what language I understand and began speaking to me in Russian. Especially after his treatment I could barely understand a word. He was very loud with me too. He burst into the clinic and immediately introduced me loudly and repeatedly to everyone, before they could even see me, as someone from Chicago in America who was studying in Odessa for her dissertation. It was really disruptive and rather embarrassing for me. He kept insisting that I talk to people. Go ahead and talk to them, ask a questions and I will translate right now!
The smoke breaks out on the sidewalk are so good for getting to know the staff. We talk about school, about politics, about the music that the girls have on their phones. No one is on the job while they are out on the patio. Its fascinating.
This morning, I also went to the TB hospital with Max and Olena. It was interesting. The conditions were bad, of course. 5-6 beds in a small room. One man that we met was naked from the waste down and covered in bed sores and absesses. He had a catheder in that was running down into a plastic soda bottle under his bed. The rooms were cleaned regularly, but still fairly dirty, and most of the patients had food stashed around, so they could eat during the day. One man even had a carton of a half a dozen eggs under his bed.
After I tell him that there is a big problem with needle sharing in the US, Max asks, "but needles are very little money in the US, yes?" When I tell him yes, he says "So, why this problem?" I tell him that its because pharmacists wont sell to IDUs and the police harass them as well. He asks "Why do you not talk to the police? Here, our organization and police, we have cooperation." He shares this story with Olena, about police taking clean needles, and she looks shocked and horrified. She looks to me for confirmation, and says "Da?"
This morning, I went with Sasha to the substitution therapy clinic (where he gets his buprenorphine). He invited me with him yesterday, and we left as soon as he arrived this morning. I discovered that this clinic, the only one for substitute therapy in the city, is a matter of blocks away from where I am staying. I didn't realize that the large church I walked into with Max when Olena was going in for therapy the other day and the one that I took pictures in front of on my first day were the same. I met several people down there, and recognized at least half of the faces from DKD. Methadone isn't available here, but, according to a doctor I met the other day, can be purchased through pharmacies, but comes with a price tag of $100/gram. Despite the incredibly addictive nature of methadone, users here are asking for it from service agencies in droves. One man that I talked to during his dosing in the clinic said that this was a good program, and that maybe, if they are fortunate, they will get methadone there next year as well. It's interesting, considering that methadone is one of the most vicious, abusive treatment options that has been employed in the US. Its more addictive than heroin. Why, then, is it considered a solution to heroin addiction? It's ok to be addicted to a powerful drug that takes years off of your life as long as it leaves you capable of going to work everyday? And why are these opiate users so keen to get it?
Book vendors on the street corner.
There are young sailors walking all about the city. This one was a feisty one.
Location: Ukrainian Village, Chicago, Illinois, United States
I am addicted to donuts.
I love running around after dark.
I am a beer snob and a vodka nerd.
I change my hair color alot.
Sometimes junior highers make more sense to me than anyone else in the world.
I am really good at finding neat things in dumpsters.
I can fix your bike for you.
I people watch.
I keep plants.
Whatever I am doing, I would rather be in the water.
