Today I had what is perhaps my most successful shopping trip in Kyiv to date. It probably helped that I had really low expectations going in. In fact my mom was on standby to purchase the needed items in the States and ship them to me if today had been a total bust. But I was triumphant in finding fabric and notions for my dress for the Marine Ball.
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My parents have come, gone, and survived to tell the tale of their adventures in Ukraine. Well, technically, they are still en route to Indiana, but I told them that once their plane left the ground in Kyiv, they were back to being my brother’s responsibility as far as I was concerned. I think they fared pretty well: there was one twisted ankle and I think all four of us suffered from heat exhaustion one day, but no one got hit by a car or screamed at for being American, so I’m happy with that.
I have an on-going discussion with Shawn and other friends here as to how exactly devushky become babushky. For those of you not intimately familiar with post-Soviet life, a little explanation is in order. Directly translated, “devushka” means “girl” and “babushka” means “grandmother,” however, the everyday meanings of the words are much deeper than that. On the street, devushky are the young women wearing stiletto heels, unimaginably short skirts, and walking with an air of overconfidence. To the untrained American eye, they can appear to be “ladies of the night,” however this is not so — at least in the conventional sense. On the other end of the spectrum are babushky who usually appear to be older than time itself, dressed in the most awfully mismatched outfits, and can be found selling things on the street that they themselves have obtained for free (such as rotten apples or last week’s newspaper). Because of these extremes and the generalizations that go along with them, women in the middle of these groups age-wise tend to blend into the scenery until you find yourself pushing into one on the bus. And so it appears that women here must quickly fall from devushka-hood to babushka-hood.
So it’s been a while, I just realized. I guess not much has been happening…the usual day to day stuff. We did celebrate our one year anniversary in Kyiv last weekend. Well, not so much celebrate as look at each other over the dog sleeping on the couch between us and say, “Well, we’ve survived a year.” Then turned back to watch Bear on Man vs. Wild eat a scorpion. We’re not ones for fanfare.
Breaking news - Kyiv, Ukraine. Coffee lovers in the capitol city were stunned earlier this month as local chain “Coffee House” announced that they would begin allowing customers to take their coffee with them, rather than drinking it in the cafe. Coffee ordered “to go” will be placed in a small paper cup with a plastic lid so that customers can conveniently carry it with them to work or, more likely, a park bench. The introduction of the lid feature will allow Ukrainians to have their coffee while smoking and talking on their cell phone without the fear of spills, which has long been a problem with MacCoffee from kiosks (previously the only coffee available in this “to go” style). Local expats are thrilled that they will no longer be required to struggle with drinking hot beverages at “Coffee House” through a straw from an awkward glass without a handle.
I have a confession to make. A few days ago, I pushed a woman on the bus. Like the back of my forearm met the center of her back and I pushed. Hard. In my defense, pushing is a way of life here, particularly when it comes to public transportation. But I am ashamed at my overwhelming feeling that I have, in fact, gone native.
Last night we attended our first sporting event in Kyiv. BC Kyiv (BC stands for Basketball Club - everything’s a “club” here) took on Benetton at the soviet-style Palats Sportu arena. Unfortunately for us, it was not one of the Wolves better showings, as they lost 73 to 89. However, there was much amusement to be had by the crazy Americans in the 12th row.
No, not Barack, Rudy and Hillary. I’m talking about Viktor, Viktor, and Yulia. That’s right, this weekend is the highly anticiapated Ukrainian national elections. For those of you that don’t follow Ukrainian politics closely (like me), check out The Kyiv Post…or this. What I do know of the politics here is confusing, so if you don’t really get it, don’t worry. Bottom line: elections are this weekend.
So I’ve decided that maybe I haven’t done a very good job so far of describing what average Ukrainian life is like. Believe it or not, not every day is all George Michael concerts and buying puppies on the street. So I’m going to start a new series of posts here called “Realities of Ukrainian Life” (based on the title of a class I took at FSI called “Realities of Foreign Service Life”) and I want your input. Post a comment and let me know what you’d like to know more about Ukraine. For this week, I’m starting with Ukrainian Food.
Anyone that travels knows that every country has slightly different traffic laws. Well, except for countries that have a total lack of traffic laws. Even though Ukraine appears to fall into the category of countries without laws, they do actually exist. And one of the first laws we were warned about is that when an accident happens, no one involved is allowed to move their cars. At all. Even to the side of the road in order to allow traffic to pass. As you can imagine, this does nothing to help the already horrible traffic in Kyiv.