We just opened a jar of tomato juice, and I just wanted to share the flavor…

Rich, aromatic, full-bodied, chunky, sweet, pulpy, ruthlessly red with off-yellow seeds, and very-very healthy. I could taste it. Anyone could taste it. It is undeniable. So fresh and alive, it’s easy to tell that it leads to good life.

It contained nothing but tomatoes: crushed from our own vines, and canned according to ancient Ukrainian tradition. OK, I made that part up – but it sounded good. I’m sure it’s just ancient tradition that has been (also) passed down, generation to generation, in this Ukrainian locale.

It was real, it was wow, it was freshly delicious – without a doubt, there’s nothing malicious. Chilled in the refrigerator and straight into a glass – it tasted as if we had canned some pizzazz. It didn’t need pepper, didn’t need salt, didn’t need sugar, and definitely not malt. No additives, no preservatives, not fortified, not mortified. It was sunshine in a glass – pure – with class.

I have to admit that I noted some impurities. Actually… perhaps, there were small specks of dirt-uities. Nope, there was not grit or crunching – thankfully – just a few tiny black flecks, for palatable munching.

My wife said it was flavor, and I believe her.

So fresh, so real, so full of life… should I have more?

I think I just might…….

Long live the помидор

According to Soviet tradition (though perhaps originating elsewhere, historically – probably religiously oriented), children do not get their hair cut until 1 year of age. Similar to orthodox Jewish tradition where it is 3 years, I believe. Thus, and to the chagrin of my wife, I have been insisting that we do not cut his hair. No trimming, no nipping, no plucking, no clipping. Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow (like one of my favorite Eric Clapton songs).

Of course, I’m not Russian or Ukrainian or even close. If anything I think there’s some Polish and German in the heritage. But since we are in Ukraine, and since our baby was born here, I think it is appropriate to honor some of those traditions. My wife thinks I’m crazy. She wants sooooo badly to cut the bangs because they are hanging in his eyes. But my MIL says it is absolutely a tradition to not cut a child’s hair until their first birthday. I kinda like it.

So we’ve turned to hair gel. Just a couple of days ago I was wondering why my boy looked like a 50′s “greaser.” I was told by my wife that she couldn’t take it any longer, and his hair had to get out of his eyes. So… here is a picture I took today of the little dude. Oh, and still no teeth as you can tell. We are thinking about baby dentures unless they come in soon. Are there such things as “toothless babies?”  I don’t think so… but supposedly hyperthyroidism is a potential cause of very early or very late tooth appearance.  But no other signs of this, so… Enough of the medical talk… here’s a pic from today.

Oh, and HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY – if you like in that kinda stuff…

I’ve determined that Soviet culture either doesn’t mind, and maybe even encourages, spitting. Yep –> whoever, wherever, whenever, whyever.

Why is whyever not a word?

It’s quite surprising to me because I was brought up in a culture where spitting was shunned – frowned upon. Only disgusting animals spit – like monkeys, camels, and snakes, among others. But here in a former Soviet Republic, I see humans doing it routinely – in the Fall, in the Spring, Winter or Summer – no matter.

Historically, chewing and spitting has been a part of everyday life for eons (I’m guessing). Just as a single example that comes to mind, nowadays it isn’t too hard to find a spitting contest – particularly of things like cherry pits. But please be careful, spitting can be dangerous.

There’s something raunchy, rough, tough, and overall “masculine” about the ability (and willingness) to spit. Am I right? In general, it seems to me, you are perceived as a “tough guy” if you can spit. For example, if you have power over someone else, you can exert that power in an absolute way: spit in someone’s face, and they can’t/don’t do anything about it. Gross! And Insulting!

However, at least based upon my upbringing, there’s something disgusting about noticing people spit. It’s considered impolite, and generally inappropriate if you can avoid it (particularly in a public place). Personally I really struggle with all the spitting that goes on here. Knowing what I know about disease and germs and such, having people walking in front of me when I’m downwind, and they go off, turn their head 90 degrees, and proceed to spray saliva into my headwind makes me gag. YUCK! It’s happened more than a few times. With the incidence of tuberculosis here, I’m sure I’m seropositive by now.

Sure… everyone feels the desire (once in a while) to gargle one up, snort one back, scratch one off the back of the pharynx, mix it up in the tonsil area, and hurl it (preferably downwind) through semi-pursed lips, creating enough force to eject the scourge as far from oneself as possible. Well, at least I think everyone does that once in a while – maybe not. But I admit it, I too enjoy it occasionally – and there is something satisfying about picking a target that’s outside of your normal range, and hitting it as if it were a laser-guided projectile.

To get to my point… it’s one thing to see a burly construction worker release a lung cookie after working up a sweat.. but what I find particularly disturbing is witnessing a finely dressed, attractive, young, apparently sophisticated woman hocking a loogie that would tip the scales at a solid 20 grams. I’ve always considered women to be a more refined version of men. I guess I’ve always thought that women had the mental capacity and restraint to do it when others are not around and/or watching. But that opinion has changed upon living in Kyiv. Here I see women doing it all the time. Old ladies, young ladies, babushkas, nuns, teenagers and supermodels. It’s bizarre to me. I don’t know — maybe I’m overreacting. I’m thinking you have to see it to believe it. But seeing apparently sophisticated women spit, and not giving an iota of thought as to what they just did in front of a crowd of people, is seriously bizarre to my Western Eyes.

For whatever reason, there is just something about spitting (expectorating) that is generally acceptable here. People also do it to be gross, and to demonstrate their semi-intentionally unrefined (peasant-like) nature. Indeed, there are a lot of immigrants from the country. Nevertheless, we-all-live-in-a-yellow-submarine, yellow-submarine, …. whoa, stop…. sorry, I digressed. We all live in a capital city, with millions of people, in big buildings, public transportation, personal vehicles, plenty of infrastructure, glass, concrete, etc…  With this in mind, I would like to think that we don’t live in the wild anymore. But obviously, some people still do.

It sucks that while walking to and from the metro station I find myself avoiding off-colored saliva bombs that litter the sidewalks. Green, yellow, clumpy and/or loose – there are all kinds of expectorations. Also, I’m sure a lot of this “spitting business” has to due to the absolutely ridiculous number of smokers here. Regardless, looking down and seeing phlegm littering the sidewalk is kinda gnarly, don’t ya think? I mean, if you are gonna spit, why not spit into the street, or off into the bushes/dirt? Why spit right on the sidewalk directly in front of oneself? There’s something to it, I tell you. Something ingrained in the culture that makes it both acceptable and “normal.”  I really don’t think the majority of people even thing about it for more than a split second – it’s part of the culture.

But referring back to the title of this post, seeing women do it just boggles my mind. My view has changed.

I’m telling you, it’s not hard when you see babushkas hocking loogies.

Fine, getting sprayed by spit undoubtedly elicits a sense of disgust by anyone in the way. But now, even the thought of stepping in it sends shivvers up my spine. From my perspective, whatever is on my shoe generally ends up very close to, or in, my apartment. Damn… maybe I’m gonna start leaving my shoes outside – or maybe I’ll create a sanitizing door mat hmmmm….

Nasty.

Enough for now, back to studying…

So I have to confess something. My BIL (brother in law) is a very sweet guy. Considerate and caring, simple and genuine, and he possesses many endearing qualities. However, note that BRAINPOWER is NOT one of his strong-points alluded to in the aforementioned list. Nor is vision, insight, understanding, logic, comprehension, aptitude, intelligence, cleverness, awareness, wisdom, ability, forethought, or knowledge.

My wife told me this story, and I could NOT believe it. Really… I was stupefied. In truth, I could believe it, but I didn’t really want to — and I had to see it for myself before accepting it as reality. To me, it’s something you might see on a reality TV show: real, but surreal.

Now as I tell you about this little Home Improvement episode (it really does remind me a bit of the TV show), I’m sure you will undoubtedly say “I know someone like that.” So it’s not as if this is a uniquely Ukrainian quality (or deficiency). It definitely happens elsewhere on the planet. After all, he had to have acquired the ability to perform such fixit feats from experiences in his past (parenting, childhood, teenage years, work (furniture design), etc…. and YES, he does design furniture, which makes this EVEN HARDER TO BELIEVE.

However, this is a true story, it DID happen to our family, and it DID HAPPEN AT OUR FAMILY SUMMER HOUSE (Dacha). For me, this is like “hitting below the belt,” and strikes a bit too close to home than I’d like to admit. But then again, I’m submitting this family secret to the entire internet-connected world through my weblog.

This being said, I’d like to state, for the record, that Andre is a brother-IN-LAW. And there is no, lest I repeat, NO SHARED BLOOD between us. Alrighty then…

Here’s how the story goes…

The summer house outer door (there are two doors at the entrance) tends to expand and contract with changing seasonal influences. In the fall/winter, it absorbs moisture from the surrounds (air) and, consequently, expands a bit. Sure, sure, the door was never hung quite perfectly anyway (many years ago), so when it expands a bit, the door swells to the point where it begins to bind in the door jamb. Initially just a little snug, it did seem to be getting worse as the Fall progressed. No BIG deal, but it did become more and more difficult to close the door completely – and subsequently, opening it became less easy as time wore on.

So one solution is to fix the hinge(s) so that the door hangs properly! What a concept!! But that would require WAY too much effort. Removing the door, unscrewing the hinges, re-surfacing the jamb and/or chiseling away a bit of wood (if needed), re-attaching the hinges, and re-hanging the door. Whoa — soooooo much effort (not)! Incidentally, this was done without my knowledge or supervision, when I was on holiday back in the USA.

Another solution –> you can see below. Simply shave off the offending edge of the door so that it doesn’t bind in the frame anymore. I think he pulled off about 2-3 mm.

Well, that worked for a little while, but of course the door continued to expand with the onslaught of moisture included in the Ukrainian weather.

So the next idea is the real shocker. Shaving the door, though not elegant or pretty, seems like a logical approach, right? Especially if it’s just a “summer house,” and the cosmetic appearances of most everything out in the Ukrainian countryside is a bit “rough around the edges.”

Anyhow, the door is fabricated from several pieces of wood, needless to say. It appeared that the joints between the peripheral boards were the primary culprits of the expanding problem. So BIL reckoned that putting brackets on the door might prevent further expansion. Plus, if we squeezed the door together before installing the brackets, we may, quite possibly, eliminate the the door’s unshapely inadequacies altogether.

Of course, we didn’t have the proper brackets — which is why I balked at the idea when I was asked to fix the door before my trip to San Diego. But, that didn’s stop BIL.

So from the outside, this is what our door looks like. Pretty standard, I suppose.

From the inside, it looks like this:

So you can already see the finished product: Brackets (8) have been installed on the inner surface of the door in an attempt to hold the door “together,” preventing further expansion.

Now I have to say, it even looks OK. Perhaps it’s not the most attractive solution, but remember, we are at our summer shack, I mean house. It’s still a work in progress, big time, and someday if we need to buy a new door we can do it. But for the time being, perhaps slapping on some brackets (however flimsy they may be — and trust me, they aren’t made of the thickest steel I’ve ever seen.

Nevertheless, from a birdseye view, all is OK. Good job Bro!

Upon closer inspection, below is a close-up photograph of the bracket (top right one).

Note how the door doesn’t even look like it’s coming apart, but what the hell — let’s mount some brackets anyway. We have them, and we have the screws, so why not.

Well, how do I say this ?????….

Above is a screw on the left, and a nail on the right. Right?

Sure, it’s obvious.

And don’t you know…

… you use a screwdriver (above, left) to install screws, and a hammer (above, right) to install (hammer in) nails.

I think this is pretty straightforward, and something we learn in kindergarden (or earlier). Am I right?

Well on this day, the day the brackets were installed, BIL was running a bit short on time. Plus, it was a bit cold, and he couldn’t be bother to find the screwdriver. And, it was tooooo far to walk the 10 meters to look for the drill, and way too difficult to try to find an extension cord.

Soooo, have you guessed it yet?

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

Tick,

Tock,

* * * * * * * * *

That’s it,

Time’s up!

* * * * * * * * *

I SHIT YOU NOT…

Andre HAMMERED IN THE SCREWS TO MOUNT THE BRACKETS

He couldn’t be troubled to extend the energy required to find/use a screwdriver, and he was too lazy to get the right electric tools for installing the brackets properly.

So, I have to say it again, with my eyes closed, hands covering my face in despair, head lowered in front of me…

HE HAMMERED THE SCREWS

I don’t even know what else to say. I am completely dumbfounded, and even though he’s not a blood-brother, I’m ashamed. What in God’s name was he thinking? Does he NOT know that threads on a screw are intended to SLICE their way through the wood — and that is the ONLY way that they would/could function as a screw? Holy-moly.

Am I alone on this one? What is going on? Where am I? What am I doing here? Somebody help!!!!

Get me OUTTA HERE!!!!!   Mommy!

If he would have killed himself while installing the brackets, somehow, he just might have won a 1st place Darwin Award.

These people celebrate in a way that is completely foreign to the USA. Forget about the vodka and hot chicks wearing next to nothing in the after hours dance clubs….

This is unregulated, unsupervised, unrestricted, unaccompanied, unwieldy, untamed, unconditional… celebration of the new year.

with fireworks, that is…

It is currently approximately 2:30am (Jan 1, 2009, in Kiev — though it’s still 2008 in the USA), and the fireworks are STILL going strong, all over the City of Kiev. I didn’t get to experience the vastness of the celebration when living on the other side of the Dnipro River, last year. Sure, sure… I saw some fireworks, and I enjoyed them.

But the view from our new apartment is, relatively speaking, OUTSTANDING. We have close to a 225° view if you move from the bedroom to the living room/kitchen.

There are fireworks going off all over the City. Anyone can buy them, anyone can deploy them, anyone can set them off, and everyone can enjoy them.

I hate to say it, but at one point it looked like the landscape view of Baghdad on CNN back in 2002. Lights flashing as explosives went off over all parts of the city. Flashes of light so far away, that you couldn’t hear the sound — but you could definitely see the combustion.

Still, as I write, fireworks are surrounding the environment around us. It is both brilliant and beautiful. It is not like a single celebratory display at the local town center. More like a thousand displays ALL OVER THE CITY. I’m not kidding. I can only assume this will proceed until dawn. Most people stay awake until the sun rises on the new year. I would consider doing so too, but I’m old, and don’t really feel the need to do so… this year.

Well, maybe I’ll set my alarm…

Happy New Year…. and…  С Новым годом!

So I still haven’t put together all of the images I’d like to show you regarding my trip to the USA. So, for the time being, I thought I’d just catch you up on my life in the last week.

We pretty much go out every day to the market. Do the usual — buy food, pick up any household items on our list, and get the blood circulating a bit.

Christmas was WHITE this year. Yep, it’s been hovering around -5°C, and it snowed a couple of inches (5cm) on Christmas Day (December 25). We can see a chapel out of our window. It is for the hospital immediately behind it — and I suppose that’s where services are performed when someone passes away in the hospital.

I grabbed a bit of snow from the window sill, and made a snowball for Whitey. Yes, it was his first snowball ever. Put it in the tub, and he batted it around for about a minute – and then got bored.

We went for a walk, and I had to snap this picture of the snow sweeper. Basically it is a modified tractor. I guess most snow sweepers are… but this really looks like it was rigged from something that used to be in the potato field somewhere.

On Christmas day, I finally got all the ingredients together for the banana bread I’ve been talking about. I hopped on the net and found what looked like a damn good recipe. Indeed, it turned out great.

The bananas were COMPLETELY BLACK. I thawed them from the freezer for a day, and they were perfect.

Yes, we had to even go out and buy the pans for the bread. We really don’t have very much in the house, but it’s getting there, slowly but surely.

The final product:

We also put up some “Christmas” lights. They are BLUE LED’s. Pretty cool… and kind of expensive… but they have 8 modes, are 21 meters long (the string of 400), and criss-cross around the house. It makes for a nice atmosphere, I think.

Just after Christmas, I busted out all the makings for one of my favorite foods: Burritos. Yep, I brought all the necessities for making good burritos back with me from the USA. Well… I forgot (very unfortunately) the Jalapeno peppers — but everything else I got. Tortillas, refried beans, taco seasoning — all of which cannot be found here.

Here I was about half way through my 3rd burrito

And then today, NEW YEAR’S EVE 2008 (to be 2009), we had the outer door to our apartment fixed! Wooo-hoooo. That’s great news. We have a magnetic door to the building that keeps out the unwanted, most of the time. But in fact, it would be relatively easy to sneak in if you really tried. Then, when you get up to our floor, there is a door that separates the elevator from the 4 apartments on our side of the building. It has been broken since we moved in at the end of October.

Why today? Why would it get fixed on NYE?

I’ll tell you. It’s because of all the days of the year, NYE is the day with the HIGHEST AMOUNT OF HOME BURGLARIES!

No shit!

The neighbors finally ponied up to get the door fixed. Everyone knows that half (or more) of the apartments in the City are vacated on this night. PLUS, everyone is drinking and could care less about what else is going on around them. Thus — this leads to the highest crime rate of the year.

Unbelievably, when we asked the neighbor that was fixing the door, he said: “yeah, it’s because it’s NYE.” Damn… crazy!

Anyway, I’ve got to go eat some dinner and begin my drinking for the night. The family came to our house tonight, so we don’t have to worry about our stuff — but the family’s stuff is subject to a raid. Hopefully the neighbors will keep an eye out for the rest of the family jewels in Troeschina.

So here are pictures of our doors:

The fixed door:

The outer door lock — not that looks matter at all, but damn it looks bad.

And then you get to our door, which has two dead-bolts. Hopefully I don’t have to stand inside the door with my butcher knife in my hand. Actually… I think I’d prefer my 9-iron. That would hurt!!!

OK, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

We close the door on 2008 –>

… And open all of the doors (actual and metaphorically speaking) to 2009:

Cheers!

Love and Happiness to Everyone in the New Year

* 2009 *

She’s pregnant, and everyone knows it.

Shockingly, people are even offering their seat to my wife on the subway. I never thought anyone here would be so kind. Alas, I was wrong. I’ve seen it several times just in the last couple of days. Nice people…  that obviously know what it’s like to bear children. Even with all the winter clothes on (because it’s -5C), it’s still quite obvious.

It’s big, but it’s beautiful. And there’s no doubt that it’s going to get way bigger in these final few months.

If anyone has any sage advice for a father to be – please leave a comment!

OK, Fall is unofficial again. It’s back to Summer-Fall.

It is supposed to rain a bit today, but it has been beautiful recently. Beautiful enough for some FANTASTIC Mushroom hunting –> keep an eye out for a post coming to a nearby blog sometime soon.

But today I wanted to touch on a fact of life around here. Everyone is bracing for winter. Evil, cold, blustery, bitter, winter (зима). You can see it on the faces of the people wandering around the market.

But perhaps more obvious than peoples expressions, which clearly reflect their discontent with the disappearance of Summer/Fall and the arrival of the looming winter, is the characteristic clothing that people are now wearing. A few weeks ago we had a cold snap (less than 10°C for almost 2 weeks). The winter jackets came out; the rain gear came out; the umbrellas, boots, and dark and heavy clothing. In a fortuitous twist of weather fate, for the last week it has been beautiful –> touching 21°C or more on the Centigrade thermometer (70°F on Fahrenheit, for you English Types). Hell… that’s practically summertime!!!

Yet, people are still wearing their heavy clothing. Sure, maybe the summer clothing has been put in a box in the closet or something… but dude — bust that shit out again, I say. I was thinking to myself that if this were July (and 21°C or higher), people would be outside shirtless, meandering around the liquor stands in flip-flops and shorts, drinking beers and smoking cancer-sticks, and pretending to be loving the summer life in Kiev. The fact that it’s 21°C in July doesn’t make a difference — they are enjoying the temperature.

So what IS the difference?

O’ –> for October.

Crazy, but I think it’s true. Just because it’s October nobody even thinks about wearing shorts! No, it’s not windy. No, it’s not cold. Very interesting Daniel-san – the psychology of living in a place with real seasons. People interpret the weather differently depending on what month of the year it is!!!

This being said, I think I’m gonna wear some shorts today — and everyone can mock the crazy American (if I actually leave the apartment). What’s the difference between July and October if the weather is the same? Why not try to re-invigorate that fading tan on those arms and legs? I’m pretty sure I’d be wearing shorts in Santa Barbara right now.

Funny how the knowledge of the impending cold has the capacity to influence attitudes and behaviors

So, I’ve heard of wooden spoons. Particularly popular in midieval times… but wooden forks? Yeah, yeah… sure, sure… of course there are wooden forks, and wooden knives (I think).

But have you ever used a wooden fork?

No, not the big kind for mixing a large salad… and not the pseudo-fork that you use or stirring a pot of spaghetti. I’m talkin’ a regular old fork.

^ ^ ^

Well, we have two of them, and we use them regularly. My only fear is what I know about bacteria. What grows between the tines? What grows in the wooden crevices within the superficial/exposed plant fibers? Especially knowing how my mother-in-law washes dishes, this becomes a semi-serious health concern.

But, in the end, I use it occassionally. I had never used one before, I don’t think. Sure, I’m guessing that they are normal practice in many parts of the world, but since metal (or plastic) forks have become common utensils in the USA, I’ve never seen an actual wooden one.

OK, so fires this week probably won’t catch. The fall weather has reared it’s rainy face. All week. Ugh!

The picture below was taken last week, but it makes the point, regardless of our current weather situation.

Fires are everywhere during the summer.

The picture is taken FROM our balcony. The charred area was undoubtedly begun by a lit cigarette butt. (Remember — approximately 75% of people smoke here. OK, maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but it is extremely high). My wife even suggested that some people start them on purpose. Why? I mean… Why?

The funny thing is that people walk right by the flames without flinching. I’m not sure if they even notice it. Kinda like a passing butterfly… it’s just part of the scenery.  I’ve seen countless fires along the sides of the road while driving out to our dacha. Smoldering, spreading, creeping and crawling fires that simply consume the dryness.

No firemen. No trucks. No water. No concern.

Weird!

I guess Ukrainians know that 99% of the time the fires will simply burn themselves out, as long as they aren’t proximate to forests, houses, oil tankers, etc. Who cares about individual little trees or structures without four walls, right?

It’s weird… to watch open fires burn without seeing anyone concerned, in the slightest. I guess it probably happens in other third world countries. Oops, I guess Ukraine is technically considered 2nd world, but you get the idea.

WITH ALL DUE RESPECT.

It was a neighbor that passed away…

No, I didn’t know him. In fact I don’t really “know” any neighbors, though I do recognize some.
Anyhow, this post isn’t about me, it’s about the man that passed away — and how interesting and different Russians (Ukrainians) approach the passing and burial of their loved ones.

People die all of the time, obviously. Just like little ones are born all of the time. “The circle of life.” And this circle is quite evident in the concrete jungle in which I live. For lack of a better word, I live in a slum. It’s not dirty or nasty, per se, but it is a concentrated with semi-poor people, and the environment has undoubtedly decayed into what I would say is an unattractive neighborhood, where the quality of life is surely sub-standard in comparison to Western ideals. But more importantly, there is a rotation of people. There’s obviously lots of breeding going on… and surely there’s also lots of elderly passing on.
The man had lived in the [attached] building next to ours. So what’s the big difference? Russians (at least around here) have ceremonies for the dead at their houses. Well, I’m not all that sure about the ceremony part – I’m sorta guessing that there’s some sort of wake that goes on inside –> but the official passing of the body from this world into the next (if you believe in that sort of thing) really begins at the family home. Even if the person did not pass away at their home, the body is brought BACK to the home, and prepared for burial. Again, in this case it was in one of the neighbors from an apartment in the adjacent building.

I don’t want to profess that I know much of anything about funerals, and honestly, I know even less about Russian ones. But I thought it would be a meaningful post to share a bit of what I see around me. I’m sure this is a daily event around here, but this is the first I’ve seen directly in front of our apartment. I’ve seen several ambulances, but only one other funeral. Several months ago at another building in our complex, I was returning from the store and noticed many (semi-formally dressed) people had gathered around the building’s entrance. There was a band playing VERY somber music. Indeed, it was a funeral. I was surprised that funerals were happening right here, in front of our homes. I was interested in what was happening, but I stayed far away and just listened to the band for a few minutes. Definitely — a reality check. And then today, this morning, I saw another funeral – in the building immediately next to ours, whose entrance we can (almost) see from our balcony.

From what I’ve gathered, Russian funerals originate in the family home, with the extended family, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances visiting the residence on the day of the burial. The body is placed into the casket within the sanctuary of the home (probably with only family in attendance), and is then carried outside to the hearse. Surprisingly, to me, they often have open caskets. And the dead are exposed for everyone to see and visually “say goodbye” to. I thought about it for a moment, and realized there’s no way the casket would fit in the elevator (which is quite small in our very typical concrete Russian “hives”). So I’m assuming that the casket is carried down through the stairwell. My wife told me that it is generally it is carried by family members and close friends (similar to elsewhere, I suppose).
To be honest, my curiosity about the event peaked when I saw the hearse back up into the lane in front of our building — an unusual approach. I didn’t know what was going on. I was just peering out of our balcony, and I saw the small bus intentionally reverse into the lane in front of the building. “Why would someone do that,” I asked myself. Then I saw ~20 people or so gathering at the entrance of the building. I’m embarrassed to say that I thought it was a wedding, and the bus was for transport! Then I realized that people were not very joyful at all, and many were wearing black. I then noticed that the hearse (basically a small bus) had all of its window shades drawn – so that you could not see into it at all — and I thought that was a bit odd, indeed. All of my observations took place withing about 15 seconds, and I quickly realized it was a funeral, not at all a wedding.
I couldn’t actually see the door to the building, so I couldn’t tell exactly when things were happening. But sure enough, soon after the hearse stopped I saw people line up on either side at the rear, and the driver of the hearse opened the back hatch.

A young man held up a small (paper-sized) framed picture of the deceased. It was from yesteryear, when the man was in the prime of his life. Most of the women wore scarves on their heads, and many men had scarves tied around their arms. Others held flowers or supported standing wreaths. The top of the casket came out of the apartment building entrance first. And then the man in his final resting place. I took a couple of pictures with the utmost respect, only to share my experience with others that, like me, have never seen or really experienced such an event. I blurred the man’s face to maintain anonymity, in respect of him and the rest of his family.

I was moved, emotionally. I know that people die. But in my experience (in the West), death is something that people don’t want to be too close to. Here, it’s a bit more raw – where outright displays of emotions – respect and adoration – for the man (or woman) that has passed is allowable, and even fostered in a final exposed exodus from one’s residence.

May this man, and all men, women, and children that have lived on this earth -

Rest In Peace.

I saw something on the Marshrutka (the little yellow city shuttles) today that I have never seen in the USA, though I’m sure it still happens in small towns and such. It was without question, a very introspective moment for me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it on a public bus in America.
I was going into the City (Kiev) to meet up with my wife and some friends, and I was listenin’ to my iPod with my Coopers cap and shades on. I was sitting on the left side of the busy, a couple rows behind the presumed grandmother. The bus, as usual, was somewhat crowded, and all of the seats were taken. Most people cherish their seats on these buses; remember that there are always 2 lines when waiting — one for sitting, one for standing. Therefore when you get on the stuffy often crammed-like-sardines shuttle buses, you (generally) get what you wait for, seat or aisle.

So on this day, all was usual. The bus was full. An older lady, most likely already a grandmother (babushka), was sitting in the solo seat behind the driver. The seat is unusual in that it is oriented sideways and faces the aisle of the bus. I believe it was added after production, just to offer an additional sitting spot. The older woman was sitting contently for her ride into the City. Just then, a couple of stops after I got on (and somehow got a seat), a young mother and her ~18 month old got on. Now remember, that people wait for seats – so it is quite unusual for someone to act upon their chivalrous thoughts [of giving up a seat] (though it does occasionally happen). Anyway, the mom and baby had nowhere to go because of the already stacking bodies in the central aisle, and nobody was giving up their seat. It’s a rough world out there, ya know.
The seated grandmother offered not the seat itself, but indeed, a place for the child to sit: on her lap. The mother immediately agreed without hesitation, concern, thought, worry, or creepy consideration of possible ulterior motives by the very genuine (looking) older lady. The child, also without hesitation, nor demonstrating any hint of questionable affect, turned and allowed the grandmother to lift him straight up and softly placed the little lad onto her right knee.

The mother was relieved, the child was exhibiting standard kid behavior, and the grandmother was hinting at a smile (though, sadly, the vast majority of Russians don’t [typically] smile unless they’ve been drinking).

Nevertheless, the scene was incredibly touching. Yeah, yeah, I know… I’m a softy. But it really was quite adorable. The grandmother was happy, the kid content, and the mother relaxed. Of course the mother kept an eye on the child… but honestly, I think she was relieved to not have to worry about her kid getting squashed during the ~20-30 minute ride. The grandmother was only slightly perturbed by the child’s lack of interest in her. She tried in vain to elicit an approving glance from the kid – but it was not to be had by this generous babushka. The kid was either drugged or completely oblivious to the fact that he was sitting on some stranger’s lap. Or, it was such a typical phenomenon in this culture, that looking up and acknowledging the conscientiousness of the lap-offering person would really just be considered a bonus for the offerer – should he or she be wanting it.
In the end, as we approached our final stop (where most people get off), the mother smiled and said balshoi spaciba (thank you very much), picked up the toddler, and exited the bus. The smile from the grandmother was reciprocated, and a good deed was done. The kid never looked up at the old lady. Crazy… but everyone was happy, healthy, and satisfied = without a creepy or questionable motive entering consciousness.

I’m even from a very liberal and friendly state (if you ask me); but nevertheless, at least in my experiences, that simply doesn’t happen (anymore) in the USA. Perhaps I’m just out of touch with the small town atmosphere in the U.S., but I’m fairly sure I would NEVER see that on a BART train, no matter how packed it was. As you might expect, I’m experiencing many cultural differences. This one came through loud and clear. Hopefully I can take the best from both worlds (cultures) and incorporate them into my being in the future — and contribute to a better world

Peace, Joy, Love, Happiness, Pup-n-Taco.

I saw some kids buying cigarettes and beer yesterday. I swear, they couldn’t have been more than 15 years old – tops. There’s no reluctance by any salesperson to sell to “minors.” But then again, I’m not sure if there even is such a thing as a “minor.”

I asked my wife, and she said “well yeah, of course; it’s 16.” “Oh,” I replied.

There has’nt been a single thing I’ve seen thus far (over a year) to suggest that there would be a legal age for anything. Especially if you have cash in hand.

Anyhow, these two freshly-crowned teenagers were just like any other kids walking to the corner store to buy a jawbreaker, bubble gum, soda, or a bag of Doritos. But in this case, they each walked away from the corner stand with a liter of beer in their grips. As they walked towards the park, they twisted off the plastic caps and began pickling their livers – at the ripe old age of 15. It’s kind of sad.

Seriously…. That’s 2 for 2. Two days in a row, right out in front of my apartment building, there were 2 dumb-ass accidents.

It’s a very typical 3 second incident. 1) We hear cars accellerating more than they should be. 2) We hear tires screeching for about 1 second (maybe even a horn). 3) We hear impact (“BLAM”). 4) We hear Russian swearing, from one driver to the other. 5) We subsequently hear horns honking, because the traffic backs up.

Crazy drivers are abound. Actually, STUPID drivers are abound. I have been wondering why they all suck so bad. I’ve come to realize that it’s because they aren’t used to driving… historically. ONLY the very fortunate few (hard working with a well-paying job) had vehicles prior to dissolution of the USSR. So, unlike in America, there have NOT been generations of car drivers –> and thus, there’s little to no comprehension of driving etiquette, skidding, speeding, inherent dangers, etc… which is normally passed on from one driving generation to the next. Moreover, because up and coming drivers in the States grow up in conditions where driving is SANE, they themselves become more sane drivers when they obtain their driver’s licenses.

ALL* OF THE UKRAINIAN DRIVERS ARE BASICALLY “NEW” TO THE SPORT. Note the asterisk next to “ALL.” The “Old-Timers” driving the 1970′s Lada’s and Volga’s are generally excellent, courteous, and aware road companions. Those older drivers have been behind the wheel a while; they know where they are going, they know what they are doing, and they know how to get there without killing anyone.

Now I don’t necessarily declare myself an expert driver, but I’ve been pushing the pedal for 23 (official) years now… with no accidents (one crash on the motorcycle). Not only that, but I’ve spent the last 10 years hanging onto handlebars on 3 continents — which had made me quite aware of all kinds of drivers. So for those reasons and others, I feel like I’m a pretty good judge.

To give you an idea… The Ukrainian (and Russian) drivers park wherever they damn well please. Totally annoying. They drive wherever they damn well please, too. The end of pavement does not mean the end of the road. Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. Drivers turn whenever and whenever they damn well please. They STOP their vehicles wherever they please — like on a highway, or on a bridge — just to have a look over the edge. Seriously. Totally F’n retarded. They drive into oncoming traffic ROUTINELY. They drive on the wrong side of the road, and UP OFFRAMPS. They drive on sidewalks. They drive on train tracks. I’m not kidding. They pass on blind curves. They drive within inches of each other. They think a 0.07 second gap is plenty. They split lanes with full-size cars. They think rain enhances traction. They don’t think.

Furthermore, the bigger or more expensive car you have, the more rights you supposedly have. The people driving Land-Rovers, Mercedes, and BMW’s think they are absolutely privileged, and everyone should move out of their way, as if parting of the Red Sea. Really… it moves down the ranks from there. If you have money, you own the road. Why, you may ask? Because if you hit somebody (or even if they hit you), and they have a lot of money or a beautiful car — you could very well give up your entire year’s salary just to fix their bumper. So… basically it means to get out of their way.

Oh, and then there’s the young punks. They think of themselves as invincible — but really are careless, reckless, loony, stupid, self-absorbed, hot-shot, ignorant, retarded, foolish, naive, moronic drivers, and without question –> should not be allowed to handle such a heavy piece of machinery. But once again, if you have money, you can buy a license, so what does it matter? Moreover, if you get stopped by a cop, you can buy yourself out of the ticket. So… who cares???

Perhaps even more stupidly, NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY (perhaps 5% at best) of people wear their seat belts. No kidding. They think that holding onto the steering wheel will prevent them from flying through the windshield. Ha!!!! They need to see Red Asphalt.

Oh yeah… and you have the punks who rev, burnout, spinout, and then race their cars up and down the city streets and parking lots at 3 in the morning. Back and forth… for hours until the sun rises. You’d think the cops might care, might come by and break it up – but no. Fair warning to pedestrians… do not walk at night wearing dark clothing.

For what it’s worth, the bus, trolley, and marshrutka drivers are generally quite good. The obey most laws, and drive relatively sanely. Relatively. Taxicabs on the other hand are a total hit or miss. I’ve been in a couple of taxis where, I swear to God, I thought there was a really good chance I may not make it home in one piece. So recklessly stupid, I cannot even begin to explain. It pains me just to reflect upon those times — I wish I could strangle those assholes — they don’t deserve to accept peoples lives into their own hands. But hey, all you have to do is put a taxi light on top of your car, and you are a legitimate cab. Ha!

Alrighty… almost time for bed. Happy 4th of July!

I have to say, Russians love their flowers. Sure, sure… every culture (that I’ve experienced) around the world appreciates the simple beauty of Spring flowers. They represent the essence of life in the plant kingdom and beyond.

All around Kiev they are planted, nurtured, and cared for in places that you wouldn’t (per se) expect them. There are plenty of places where where there’s nothing but concrete, rubbish, detritus, garbage, junk, trash… it looks as if nobody cares about the spot, and nothing is going to get cared for there — but then, then you see a beautiful patch of Lilies in the middle of nowhere. And right then, you look over, and see a shortened and old brooded grandmother on her hands and knees, watering and tilling the soil that supports these phenomenal expressions of natural beauty.

I can’t say that I’ve taken many pictures of those flowers in the middle of nowhere, but I have taken quite a few at and around our summer house.

Here’s a selection:

These are from our potatoes:

And the rest of the pics below are from the field. In just a small area were I busted out the camera, I saw several small and very beautiful flowers as part of the ground cover.  There are many more, but here are a few pics.

Ahhhhh — I wish you could smell them all too. Maybe someday

Well… they turned off the hot water. Yep. OFF. Like none, non-existent, nothing comes out, nada. And in typical Russian (Ukrainian) style, there was NO NOTICE. Where we live, there are no hot water heaters. It is all centralized, and gets pumped into the buildings. Sure, a few people may have heaters (electric, on-demand water heaters) hooked up to their cold water just for situations like this, but not many have this — and we certainly don’t.

As I said, in typical Russian style, two days after the water was turned off there was a piece of paper taped to the space above the mailboxes saying that the hot water will be off until July 8. That’s another 2 weeks. Which if you can read between the lines, and again, knowing how inefficiently things actually get done around here — I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s off for another week past that, at least.

The worst part –> It’s not even that warm (outside air temperature) in Kiev yet. The Summer hasn’t “hit.” Some days, perhaps late in the afternoons, it does get warm — but it definitely isn’t July/August-type warmth. I think that there are still a few communities on the Left Bank that have hot water — maybe we should just go and raid their homes — They do the maintenance in a few phases.

Actually, I think my brother in law has the right idea. He, without notifying any of us, went out to the summer house with his girlfriend after work, and spent the night –> where there’s warm water now! The little snake, rat, varmint, gopher — menace to the golfing community.

The Reason for this turn-off:

The Government turns off all the hot water in order to do yearly maintenance on the pipes, filters, valves, heaters, etc… Fair enough, because I’d like the water to stay warm all winter long, and without interruption. In fact, our buildings are heated using water running through radiators in all the rooms… so it’s quite important that the whole system works properly — but damn, 3 weeks (or more) of cold showers –> Ugh?

I think they also like to save money (and not have to pay for the gas to heat the water). Who knows, really.

Either way, I’ve only been averaging a shower every 3-4 days (or more) anyhow — so what’s the big deal if I miss a half a dozen showers, and wait for the warm water again?

Whoa…

where’d she go? I lost Mom.

Baby, where did Mom go???

Oh… there she is… it was so hard to spot her with her big cat camouflage on.

but seriously, this is one of her favorite outfits. She wears it all over the place. Here’s a pic from last night, in the kitchen.

And trust me… she’s not the only one in Kiev to dawn such patterns.

I routinely see hot chicks (thankfully), grandmothers, kids, moms, peasants, and businesswomen… seriously, it’s quite funny. They love the animal patterns. The BIG CAT patterns. I think they see it as sexy. You know, like Farah Fawcett kinda sexy.

Not only that, but you see this dress everywhere. In the country, in downtown center, at the market, at the open-air markets, restaurants, shops, bus stops, beaches, airplanes, park benches, etc… It really cracks me up when I see what must be a 90 year old lady at the bazaar wearing all leopard. I’ll try to snap a pic next time.

Cheers!

There’s a common number required for drinking vodka in Ukraine: 3

The rationale is fairly straightforward, but I still thought it was funny. First of all, this is something you don’t usually see in the States, but is commonplace here. Three grown men sitting (or standing) around a small picnic basket type something-or-other, placed carefully under a tree, on some grass, occasionally discreet, but not always. As an observer, I know this is a somewhat planned meal (drink) because of the way the blanket is laid out and glasses are positioned in front of each person. Not everyone carries around a personal glass – so somebody must have been thinking ahead.

I kinda think of it like 3 little kids playing “tea” together. You know, when you are 5 years old, and you ask the neighbor’s kids on either side of your house to come over for a “tea party.” It’s for this reason that it strikes such a funny chord in me — as I see grown men sitting around a tree, with a little blanket placed on the grass, sitting around getting sloshed.

The above is just a re-enactment, as I’m highly reluctant to break out my camera and photograph 3 adult men around a vodka bottle without knowing who they are, and that they won’t take offense to my picture-taking…

Anyway, the reason for 3 people is straightforward:

#1 The normal bottle contains 750 mL of booze.

#2 Divided by 3, this is (for you math experts), 250 mL each.

#3 250 mL (or one glass) is the optimal amount of alcohol to get the average man drunk.

#4 Price is not a determining factor! It has much more to do with amount. One is trying to obtain that perfect level of inebriation, whatever the (usually cheap) cost is.

#5 Two people is NOT enough. That is TOO much vodka, and you may hurt yourself walking home. Moreover, drunk people always argue — and 2 people are highly likely to get into a fight, which obviously has poor consequences for one or both men.

#6 Four people is TOO many. If you are not satisfied with your drunkenness, dissatisfaction can easily turn into violent actions towards your recently corralled buddies.

#7 Next point –> You don’t have to do this with friends. If you need a third person, you simply ask any able-bodied man you spot in front of the store, just before the big (daily) purchase. Hell, it can be a good way to make new friends.

#8 Also, three is a reflection of the spiritual trinity. Many things in Slavic culture revolve around the number “3″. I could give you lots and lots of this, but I’ll save it for another post.

Suffice it to say that when you are needing to get your goat on, just pool together $4-5 for a bottle, grab a few cups, find a couple of mates and a nice spot on the grass to lay your blanket down.

So I woke up and headed to the kitchen.

Today on the menu, for some reason, Piroshki. What happened to my 3 weeks of oatmeal?

Nevertheless, today it is cabbage. In order to set up the story I need to explain. We often purchase shredded cabbage at the open bazaar. We bring a ~1L “tupperware” container with us, for easy filling and no waste. The cabbage at the bazaar is piled in buckets, generally red and about 5 gallons in size. The sellers often mix it up as you walk by – perhaps to tickle your interest. If/when you stop at a table, briefly, and intently, you are to peruse the selection. There are generally 3-4 types of shredded, marinated, spiced, and/or pickled cabbage for sale. It’s up to you to decide which you’d like. Oh, and incidentally, there are usually 3 or 4 sellers of the same (perhaps slightly varied) kapusta for sale. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s all the same owner

So, right there in the open, you ask to taste it. The seller says “da, da, kanieshna” (yes, yes, of course).

Now if the seller is caring and/or polite, he/she (generally she, see right — a very nice woman) will assist you in your tasting. She will mix the cabbage, flip it a bit, grab a well-used fork, dig it into the optimal part of the mix, and point it towards you. You are then expected to grab a bit (or all of it) with your fingers, and plop it into your mouth… and enjoy. She then immediately takes the fork back into the bucket, gives it a fresh tossing, and removed the fork to the dirty table on which the bucket rests, primed for the next visitor/taster. This goes on all day long. Every so often she replenishes the current bucket with the “back bucket”, making it appear as if she has lots of fresh, juicy, tasty kapusta for sale. Hey look… there are some whole cabbages in the background of the picture!

Anyhow, if she is busy or not polite, you just dig in. YEP! You ask, but then just grab some of your favorite(s) with your fingers, right out of the bucket. I’ve seen it done a hundred times. Only God knows where those fingers had been before the first bucket-dip. It’s just one [more] of those things that you just have to forget about if you want to stay sane, and remain ever-more appreciative of your healthy immune system.

When you choose your favorite one, and you accept the price (which, actually, is one of the first questions asked), you hand over your container. The seller gives the bucket-o-cab a good mix, and fills your tupperware (or puts it into a plastic bag). At the end of the cabbage filling, she asks if you want juice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone turn down some cabbage juice. So she reaches down to her trusty ladle, and pours about 100mL of juice into your vessel. This extra fluid insures proper hydration, and pure happiness for all the bacteria.

So there’s the background…

Today, MIL took the aging (I’m guessing) cabbage out of the refrigerator, and sautéed it until golden brown. Kinda scary that all to often, when I discover that I’m eating something slightly unusual, I remember about the foodstuff that was in the back of the fridge for a couple weeks – and needed to be eaten. Shit.

Or, maybe I’ll get the shits, again. Today’s cabbage-for-breakfast episode might become one of those days, I’m afraid.

Which reminds me… again, without warning, they shut off our water. MIL called someone, and they said: “oh yeah, the water is shut off every Thursday from 9am-1pm.” WHAT? Since when? Was anyone told about this? NO! And they (the people on the phone) acted as if this has always been the Thursday morning policy. Crazy place I tell you. Glad I wasn’t in the shower. I’m sure there’s some stupid reason for the rationing, but finding out exactly what that is would be difficult, riddled with fabrications and assumptions, and may or may not be anything resembling the truth by the time it passes to our (little-people) eardrums.
Also, as an aside… while we were eating breakfast MIL grabbed something [else] unidentifiable out of the fridge and asked my wife if she wanted to eat it. She declined, needless to say. I’m sure it was identifiable in some way, but I couldn’t tell what it was given the 3 seconds I got a stare. MIL ALMOST put it back in the fridge, but decided it should be for the “sabaki” (dogs), and tossed it out the 5-story window. I guess that is our garbage disposal right there. In truth, though, all the food does get eaten by critters. There should be a sign on the side of the building warning passersby to be careful of falling food.
Anyhow, MIL sautéed the kapusta and set it aside. She then made a dough and rolled it out, and cut some circles. She took a dollop of the kapusta and placed it into the circle of dough; then folding the edge over and pinching it together like a potsticker. There they remained, on a slightly floured plate until boiling.

The piroshki are boiled for about a minute or two, until the dough starts to thin to the point at which you can see the dark color of the cabbage filler peeping through. You get 3 or 4 on your plate, add a bit of butter (masla), and enjoy.

Truthfully, they are good. And I don’t worry about what I’m eating. But the fact remains that the filler does come from buckets at the bazaar, then sits in the fridge for a while, and subsequently gets fried and boiled. Mmmmm, mmmmm, goooooooooooooooooooood!

Gotta get to work…

It’s a common question in the States in between or after meals. Here in Ukraine, the common warmed drink is tea. Perhaps not surprisingly called Chai (чай) in this part of the world.

There are multitudes of flavors of teas at the open markets and the supermarkets. Some of them (extremely inexpensive ones) taste a bit like hay, while others are more flavorful than almost any tea I’ve had anywhere. Far better than in Australia, where I spent a couple of years drinking tea regularly.

Furthermore, you can get really expensive teas that are super excellent, and quite potent (and pungent). They are, unfortunately, significantly more expensive. I suppose like anywhere in the world, you pay for quality.

Similarly, coffee is very expensive. Perhaps even more so than in the United States! Trust me, I was shocked too. If you go out to a decent coffee shop, perhaps with a barista, you can expect to spend $5 on an espresso. This seems somewhat palatable until you consider the value of the money, with the Hrivna being 1/5 the value of the Dollar. Then, it’s stupid. But I guess the “new rich” can afford it.

I think I’ve only had one cup of coffee out and about. It was good… but not that good.

So, I’ve made the switch. Yep… I drink only tea now. I may have considered continuing my addiction when switching countries, but in addition to it being expensive, there simply aren’t as many coffee shops here. Especially where I live — there are, like, none. Really.

The cupboard does have a jar or two of freeze-dried coffee. Interestingly, this crap is quite popular here. But man, it reminds me of the 70′s; entertaining dinner guests in the living room following the meal, serving up butter cookies with a pot of boiling water and some Folger’s Crystals. Yuck.

I tried (or rather, needed) the dried nuggets for my first couple of weeks here. After that, though, I just couldn’t do it any longer, and I began drinking loose-leaf black tea more regularly. I have really come to like it a lot. And I really like that it doesn’t have nearly as much caffeine. Not that I don’t like the rush, but I really don’t like feeling dependent on a “cup of joe,” either. I don’t find myself needing a cup of tea at all. Sometimes I don’t have any… and you know what — I don’t get a headache to remind me that I need some caffeine. I like that a lot!!!

Honestly, I didn’t really notice this need for caffeine until I visited the USA over Thanksgiving. I (admittedly somewhat eagerly) began enjoying espresso’s and cappuccino’s in my Mom’s kitchen every morning. Wow were they good. Fresh, hot, concentrated java. In fact, I started having one in the afternoon once in a while, when I “felt like it.”

All was well until I returned to Kiev. I went straight back to my black tea. I didn’t notice anything really unusual at first. My tiredness was attributed to jetlag. That worked for a couple of days, no problem. But my tiredness in the afternoon was recurring and pervasive. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out. Did I have a virus? Was I feeling the effects of a seasonal affective disorder? Why am I so exhausted?

About ten days following my return, I finally started feeling better. Then, after ~2 weeks, the light bulb lit. Oh my God, “it was the coffee.” I had, without actively choosing to do so, re-kicked the coffee/caffeine addiction. Holy Crap! That was it… without a doubt.

I am now completely humbled by the power of this small alkaloid. I knew of it’s stimulating potential, but I had no idea that I would feel truly sluggish for weeks after stopping it.

It has been about 6 weeks now, and I haven’t had a cup. Not sure I want to, either! Plus, I think tea is better for you