Winter is here!

Well, winter has finally come to Ukraine and I am delighted. I was starting to worry that we wouldn't get any significant snow this year, but we finally did. And everyone is thrilled. School this week has been excellent because my students, my fellow teachers and I have all been in great moods. In fact, so far as I can tell, the only one not enjoying the snow is Klitchko -- and that's just because he doesn't appreciate the piles of it on the balcony.

I got back to Bar from my ukrainian language classes on Saturday. I had a good time visiting with some American friends I hadn't seen in a long time. We hung out in the evenings drinking bear and playing games. One night we played a pretty "wild" game of Scattegories. I mean, after I caught myself screaming "HEIFER! HEIFER! HEIFER!" I had to put myself to bed. Like I said, it was pretty wild.

I continue to be happy with my language progression, so that's good. When I was on the bus leaving Bar to get to Kiev (via Vinnystia), a woman asked if anyone was going to Vinnystia. Without really thinking, I opened my big mouth and said, "I am!" This invited a more complicated conversation than I expected and resulted in me chaperoning the woman's 7 year old daughter to the Vinnystia bus station.

For most of the trip, I was under the impression that she was meeting family at the bus station. This was not the case. What I'd in fact agreed to do was help her buy a ticket to a village town, wait for the bus with her, and then make sure she was seated and safetly on her way. Now normally, this wouldn't have been a stressful situation, but I was under a pretty tight schedule to catch my train. Plus I could barely pronounce the name of the podunk village she needed to get to. In the end, I got her on her bus, caught my own train with minutes to spare and learned a valuable lesson: just because I understand, doesn't mean I need to talk.

In other news, I've been dating my friend Roma since I got back from America. Thus far our courtship, and I like to call it a courtship because he always insists on carrying my bags, has mostly consisted of evenings at the gym playing basketball. I did however, recently get myself invited to his house for dinner where I met both his parents. They were really nice. His mom cooked all my favorite Ukrainian dishes and then spent most of the evening telling me to eat more. A very Ukrainian (female) thing to do. And as for his father, well, I had a hard time understanding what he said because he barely moved his lips when he spoke. This, I have found, is also a very Ukrainian (male) thing to do.

His parents were very eager to speak with me, though they didn't always understand what I said. Many times I would say something, they wouldn't understand, Roma would repeat the exact same thing I'd said, and they'd get it. Then they'd make comments like, "You understand her Ukrainian." And he'd say, "Well, I've been listening to it for over a year."

Perhaps the highlight of the evening was the rousing rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" that I sang for them simply because they asked. I don't really know what got into me, maybe national pride? maybe the hope of another invite? maybe the desire to use my vibrato? Regardless, I was a hit. And I did land another invite, so I guess it worked.

***

If the weather stays cold and it snows a little bit more between now and Saturday, my friends and I are going to go skiing in the forest. I have my figures crossed that we get to go, because I missed the ski trip last year, but we'll have to wait and see. Regardless, three cheers for winter...

Tequilla Night with Anya, Ira, Yulia and Vova

Hair Affairs

I dyed my hair this weekend. Nothing drastic mind you, it's just a few shades lighter, more golden if you will. I like it, but it appears I'm the only one. Popular response to my "big" hair change has been rather disappointing.

Upon seeing me in the light of the dance club, my girlfriends gave me a collective: "Oh, you changed your hair. Why?"

Upon seeing me at school, my fellow english teacher said: "Oh, you changed your hair. Who made you do that? It's...strange. Not American."

Upon seeing me at our basketball game, my friend Roma said: "You colored your hair? It looked better darker."

Had I not basically been a blonde my entire life, I'd probably worry that I'd made a huge mistake. But, really, it wasn't until I came to Ukraine that my hair turned so dark and my skin so translucent. So my critics can just shove off...

***

Last week, my friends and I drank the bottle of tequilla I brought back for them. To my great surprise, they really enjoyed it. I think it was the excitment of the process (salt lick, shot, lime) that they liked so much. They said they "loved" the tequilla but they sure made some awful faces as it went down.

Long after we finished our bottle of tequilla, we were still practicing "the tequilla process," only with vodka instead. All night long they were licking salt, taking the shot, and eating (not just sucking, eating, in its entirety) lime. It was really funny. I've joked with people that years from now, an anthropologist pursuing a doctorate at Harvard will be researching the odd vodka drinking "process" found Bar.

***

I've kept myself rather busy since my return from states playing sports. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday evenings I've been playing basketball. Thursday and Sunday evenings I've been playing volleyball. I've also been tutoring one of Yulia's friends in English. She's a sweet girl who just wants practice listening and speaking and I couldn't say no.

Tomorrow I'm going to Kiev to spend a few days studying Ukrainian language. I'll try to post some pictures from tequilla night while I'm there, but I can't promise anything.

Back in Ukraine

So I’m back in Ukraine after two and a half wonderful, relaxing weeks with family and friends in California. It was really great to be back in America -- land of convenience, customer service, flavored food, and of course, English.

It took me more than 24 hours from the time I arrived at the San Francisco airport until I walked into my apartment. As you can imagine, I was exhausted, still kind of am in fact, especially since my friends missed me and have wanted to spend lots of time with me since my return.

Why are you so tired? They ask me; and though I’ve tried to explain the concept of jet lag, they don’t entirely get it. They’ve never changed time zones or traveled on an airplane where unlike the train, you don’t get sheets and a pillow and the chance to have a good night’s sleep.

I flew Delta from San Francisco to New York and then from New York directly to Kiev. Though I was excited to come back to Ukraine, it was difficult to say goodbye to my family. I had such a nice time with them. So from San Francisco to New York I reflected on my amazing family, and from New York to the mid-Atlantic, I reflected on my amazing best friend, who lives a mere subway ride away from JFK. By the time I reached the European continent, I let go of my familial longings and found myself excited to get back to Ukraine – land of inconvenience, no customer service, flavorless food, and of course, broken English.

Funny incident on the plane:

Many Ukrainians were on the flight to Kiev, and in the terminal, there were a lot of people speaking Russian and Ukrainian. I had a window seat on my flight, and a 50 something American woman was already sitting in the isle seat when I boarded. When I got to my row, I said, in English, “That’s me,” and pointed to the seat. She got up and let me in. I fumbled around with my huge, Ukrainian winter coat and decided, after I sat down, that I wanted to stow it overhead. She saw me and said, loudly and VERY slowly while pointing, “Up? Up? Up?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said as she let me out again, “Thanks.” I sat back down. She started fumbling with her seat belt, which was wrapped around the armrest between our seats. I lifted the armrest and untangled her seat belt. “Da, da, da [Russian for ‘yes’],” she said, and then slowly and loudly, “Thank you.” It was then that it dawned on me that this woman thought I was Ukrainian, or at least that I didn’t speak English. I reached up and closed the overhead air-vent. “C-o-l-d,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself and giving a “shiver.” I just kind of smiled at her and turned my attention out the window. I figured that correcting her would only invite unwanted conversation.

The plane was late to take off, so the flight attendants had time to pass out immigration papers for non-Ukrainian citizens to fill out. The form is basic: name, passport number, visa information, and contact information while you’re in country. I pulled out my passport, which is labeled as a Peace Corps passport, and filled mine out immediately. When I finished the woman turned to me and said, “You’re a peace corps volunteer? Me too.” There are so many volunteers in Ukraine that it’s virtually impossible to know who all of them are, so I wasn’t all that surprised. Amused though, by the whole situation, especially the slow, loud English she spoke to me.

So I’ve been pretty busy catching up with people since I’ve been back in Bar. My friends came over the day after I got back and we drank the bottle of whisky I brought back for them to try. As I predicted, they hated, but still drank the whole bottle. Go figure. I think tonight we’ll tackle to tequila. Again, I predict they’ll hate it; they are very loyal to their vodka. Still, we’ll probably finish the bottle.

Last night I went with my friends Sergiy and Vova and played volleyball with a bunch of men. I haven’t played volleyball in a long time, so I was a bit rusty, but it was still fun. The men played passionately, yelling at each other, chucking the ball high in air, kicking across the gym; it was all very amusing. Not as amusing as the fact that when their team rotated off the court, many of the men took the opportunity to smoke a cigarette outside.

“What are you doing?” I said to Vova, the first time he headed out. “You’re EXCERSICING. Don’t you see how ridiculous that is?”

“I know Sheril,” he said, “but this is Ukraine. You forget where you are.”
“No, Vova,” I said, “I assure you, that would be impossible.”