But on a more positive note, I have a finished craft project to share. A few months ago, I stumbled upon this site with a crochet pattern for mini safety cones. My first thought was that they were the most adorable things I’d ever seen. And then I started reading about how people associate these orange cones with safety and protection. I realized that after a year and a half in Kyiv, my associations are totally different. Here, orange cones are either used to designate where one should not park - there’s absolutely no authority associated with this; it’s often business owners trying to keep cars off the sidewalks in front of their shops - or I’ve also seen them used by the traffic police as just another way to extract bribes. And I realized that Ukrainian orange cones would not be the happy-go-lucky cones that the pattern shows. They would be cranky…surly, even. And so I present to you, Surly Ukrainian Traffic Cones:

Aren’t they cute? In their own cranky post-Soviet sort of way?

The fabric store I ended up at was a rather large one that a friend of mine pointed out to me soon after we moved here. However, I remember thinking that all the fabric there was overpriced and had not made a trip back. Apparently after living here for almost a year and a half, my perception of “overpriced” has changed. I found quite a few things that I liked that weren’t terribly expensive. Granted, not JoAnn’s bargain section priced, but not too bad. But I was on a mission. And fabric/notion shopping here isn’t exactly a one-stop sort of experience, so here’s how it went down.

First I find the fabric. I haven’t a clue what it actually is, but it’s a little shiny, a good color, has good drape, and comes from Japan (that much I could read on the label). Then I figure out how to get the attention of the guy behind the counter. There’s no moving the sample piece from the wall, so I point frantically and say “this” repeatedly until he figures out exactly what I want. He asks me how much and I tell him 4 meters. (I think I bought way too much, but I forgot to take into account that I’m using a pattern from the 1940’s and apparently fabric wasn’t as wide back then? Oh well, maybe I can make a camisole out of the leftovers.) Then I pay him and head upstairs - which actually involves going outside - to look for notions.

I take my bag of fabric to the woman behind the thread counter. She takes it from me and picks out thread that matches. That’s right, there’s no touching of the thread. I have to say, she did an awesome job, though. I suppose if that’s what you do all day, you get pretty good at it. So I pay her for the thread.

Then I take my fabric and thread and head to the zipper counter. I again hand my fabric over and manage to say “I want a zipper, but I don’t want to see it.” (This was the closest I could come to saying “invisible zipper” with my limited Russian. She seemed to get what I meant.) She pulls out the closest colors they have and shows me that they don’t have an exact match. But she’s nice enough to explain that there is another store across the street that sells a wider variety of zippers. So I take my fabric back and head to where she’s directed me.

Turns out it’s another “All for Sewing.” And this one’s the size of a closet. So I figure out what zipper I need and then stand back to see what the procedure is here. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be one. So I push my way to the front and shout out what I need at the first available opportunity. My tactics work and my shopping is complete!

All of that took about an hour and a half. I’m so glad it went well, but I’m not sure if my nerves can handle another fabric shopping trip here any time soon. But that will give me a good excuse to “catch up” on buying new fabric when I get back to the US.

Last weekend we all took a trip to the Crimean Peninsula. We flew the unfortunately named Wizz Air, which allowed the four of us to fly for the price of one on the competitor’s airline, but being a budget airline it meant we did not have assigned seats. So the parents got to see just how pushy and obnoxious Ukrainians can be. Shawn and I impressed them by pushing our way far enough up to be in the second group allowed on the plane. (When in Rome, right?) That was only the beginning of our weekend experiences with Ukrainian transportation. We had several white-knuckle taxi experiences, including when our driver decided to pass a car while it was passing another car - on a two lane country road. And we checked out the bus stations in Sevastopol, Yalta, and Sudak - including their squat-toilet restrooms. (I thought they weren’t so bad, but my mother, having never been to China, did not agree.) Shawn did a good job describing the various locations we visited over the weekend, so I won’t describe it all here. But here are some photos:

The Khan’s Palace and Holy Assumption Monastery in Bahkchisarai

The “beach” in Yalta

The ruins of a Genoese fortress and the Black Sea in Sudak

Back in Kyiv, we did a tour of Pirogovo, which I had visited before, but it was nice to have an English guide this time. And we also took a walking tour of “Old Kyiv,” which happens to be the neighborhood we live in. Once again, our guide was great and pointed out a lot of things that I either had never before noticed or had no idea what it was. So I felt like I learned just as much as my parents. Our final adventure was souvenir shopping along “The Spusk.” Until my mother said, “Whoa, I need to catch my breath,” I had forgotten that my parents would not be used to the art of bargaining for souvenirs. But besides the first booth where she paid full price for everything, she did really well. It helped that we went at the end of a really hot day and the booth owners were desperate for sales at that point. I even managed to get myself a little something.

So now I would really like to know exactly what my parents have to say about Ukraine. Besides the fact that we’re crazy for living here. It will be interesting to see what stories they tell and what really left an impression on them. Maybe it will be that the police wear big hats. (Dad, I honestly don’t know why — maybe they have big heads?)

But how? One theory is that there is a day in every devushka’s life when she wakes up and is suddenly, tragically, a babushka. Her stiletto thigh-high boots have been replaced with ankle-high nylons and plastic house slippers; her breasts have shifted much too close to her waist; her Louis Vuitton handbag is now a plastic shopping bag filled with miscellaneous garbage; and, of course, her overly-dyed bleach-blonde hair is now back to its natural brown, streaked with grey, and tucked in a trademark babushka scarf.

I bring this up because I was a little worried that today would be that day for me — I am now (*gulp*) 30-years-old. Granted, I would not call myself a devushka — in Ukrainian terms, I tend to dress more like a middle-aged mother of three (that is to say, sensibly) — so I didn’t expect my downfall to be quite as extreme, but I have been feeling as of late that this birthday is more than just a number. I know, I know, I’ve always said that I wouldn’t be one of those people who gets all freaked out about turning 30, but now it’s here and it’s a little worrisome. Not that I feel any older, really, it’s just that I thought I would have things a little more figured out by now. That I would “have my shit together” as they say. And let me tell you, mine is all over the place.

This last year has been a pretty rough one for me. It goes well beyond culture shock and into the realm of having to do some serious work re-defining myself. Not an easy thing. But I’m getting there — I’m feeling better about who I am, the decisions I make, and where (literally and figuratively) that takes me. I feel like I still have a long way to go, but since I didn’t get things together for this milestone, now I have nothing but time until the next one. I’m sure I’ll have it all figured out by then…right?

Today is such a rainy day. Even Laika doesn’t want to leave the house. Every time we get to the bottom of the stairs and I throw the door open, she just looks up at me as if I’ve asked her to jump into a pit of hot lava. And then I’m forced to remind her that she’s the one that has to do her business outside and I’m the one that should be angry. At least she’s been calmer since Shawn decided to start her on a new diet. Throwing half a chicken down on the balcony and watching her chomp on it isn’t the most pleasant thing, but I feel like we’re already seeing some benefits. Most importantly, some calm time in the afternoon. There were days in the past she would literally be running circles around me while I stood screaming for her to please, for the love of god, just lay down. These were not good days. So the fact that she just went into the living room and laid herself down for a nap is pretty great.

I had a Ukrainian Life realization earlier this afternoon. I was working on cutting out a pattern for a summer dress, and our housekeeper came in and asked if it was from Burda. After I finally understood what she was saying (trust me, “Burda” with a Ukrainian accent is not easy to understand), I showed her the pattern envelope and said I bought it online. She looked confused and asked if the pattern pieces came out of the envelope as well. I suddenly realized that I have never seen individual sewing patterns here. So I asked her and she verified that the only patterns available are in Burda and one other magazine. How sad is that? To only have access to whatever patterns are printed in those two magazines each month? So then I pulled out my big box of patterns to show her how it works in America. She seemed to think our system was much better until I mentioned the difference in price. Burda magazine costs about $3 here and comes with about 30 patterns each month; my Amy Butler pattern was $11.95. Again life comes down to economics. But who can put a price on the memories I have of sitting in the fabric store thumbing through pattern books with my mom searching for my next great 4-H project? I’ll stick with the American way.

Yes, I’m probably a little too excited about this development. But just let me have the little things, okay? Somehow the fact that a coffee place has finally acknowledged that people might want to have coffee to go gives me hope that things are moving forward here. Slowly forward.

So, yes, there’s the pushing. But there’s also scowling. People scowl here for no reason other than the fact that it’s what you do. As a Midwesterner, who grew up learning to be kind to everyone, it’s quite off-putting. However, I learned quickly that if I tried to smile at someone, I was only going to get an even bigger scowl back. So now I scowl. I’m developing a wrinkly spot between my eyebrows.

And what’s the one positive thing that could come out of going native? I could improve my Russian speaking skills. Unfortunately, the pushing, scowling, and general unpleasantness of my daily encounters has led me to stop using Russian at all. Improving my speaking skills seems like so much work for almost no positive outcome. So I’ve been reduced to pointing and stuttering most of the time.

Well, at least I’m still leaving the house. That’s something, right?

As with everything in Kyiv, I would sum up the experience as being so close to what we consider “normal,” yet not quite right. The game itself was pretty normal. I mean, they are a part of Euro League and 3 out of 5 of the starters were American, so it couldn’t be too terribly strange. I did like the 10-minute quarters, though. It kept the game short enough that we were able to get home and get the puppy to bed on time.

However, the surroundings of the game were a little strange. First of all, there was a large television screen at one end of the court that ran a continuous loop of commercials without sound during the game. (The really sad thing is that I didn’t find this all that strange - it’s a situation that exists in many businesses, restaurants, and even on the Metro here. But for those unacclimated to Ukrainian culture, it would probably seem weird.) The second oddity was the fact that most of the fans sat stoically in their seats, still wearing their winter coats (for those of them that hadn’t left them at the coat check right inside the entrance), for the entire game. Our section had some cheering fans, but most of the “VIP Section” looked like it could have fallen asleep at any time.

But by far, the highlight of the game (at least for the men in our group) was the cheerleaders. They treated the crowd to a dance during every timeout and between quarters. The majority of the dances involved several, let’s say, suggestive motions to the crowd. And these ladies were quite bend-y. Disturbingly so, considering that most of them looked anorexic. But they did burn a lot of calories running back to the dressing room to change for every dance. That’s right, they went through 8 different costumes during the game. My personal favorite (as far as over-the-topness) was one of the last. They came blazing across the court in what initially appeared to be thongs with strings hanging off them “covering” their lower half. Shawn was quick to point out that they were not thongs, but flesh-colored bikinis. Oh, well, excuse me!

The past month has been pretty interesting, though, because all the parties are campaigning like crazy. Huge banners have been attached to the sides of buildings and light posts, and small tents with flags have been popping up everywhere. The tents seem to be the major campaign vehicle here - they’re in the color of the party and people sit inside handing out small flags, pamphlets, etc. This past week has been especially interesting since tent villages have been taking over different parts of the city. Party of Regions has taken over Maidan with their blue tents and huge stage and BYUT (Bloc Yulia Timoshenko) has taken over the public square near our house. One morning last week, on a walk with Laika, I turned the corner and was startled by the sea of white tents with red hearts on the sides.

 

Yulia definitely wins in the marketing department, in my opinion. Not only does she have a better logo than the other blocs, her bloc has distributed tons of swag. And I have been thoroughly involved in the business of swag collecting this week. I’ve managed to gather small flags from 3 of the groups, but I hit the jackpot last week walking through the BYUT tents.

One of the reasons I hadn’t gotten much up to this point (other than what had been given to me by a friend in the Political section at the Embassy) is the fact that once I open my mouth, it is painfully clear to the people handing out swag that I am not Ukrainian, and therefore will not be voting. However, last week, I threw myself in with a group of Ukrainians, kept my mouth shut, and just grabbed as things were thrust into the crowd. Pretty clever, I know. And I don’t feel bad about it now that I’ve seen several babushky taking stuff by the bagful - which I assume I will soon see being sold on the street. Anyway, I scored a bandana, several bumper stickers, regular stickers, and, drumroll please…a pretty sweet t-shirt.

Due to popular demand, here’s a photo of the above mentioned t-shirt in all it’s glory. No, Yulia does not look like a cyborg in real life, but apparently she’s really into flowers. The back of the shirt says “Veer-yu” - it means “I believe” in Ukrainian and is a clever use of her initial (”yu” is one letter in Cyrillic). Very clever.

So that’s about as involved as I’m getting in Ukrainian politics. Shawn, on the other hand, is currently out in the field preparing to monitor the elections in his quest to spread democracy. It should be pretty interesting. There’s already a rumor that one of the parties is paying the equivalent of $10 a vote…not illegal, but also not really in the democratic spirit. Hopefully he gets to witness some other funny business during the 24 hours he has to stay awake and alert. I’m sure he’ll be excited to share his experience on his blog in the coming week.

(Postscript: It is 8pm on Saturday evening. I just came back from taking Laika on a walk and can hear the rally around the corner from our building. I have 5 words for you: brass band playing “La Bamba.” Excellent.)

Here in Kyiv, Shawn and I like to frequent various cafeteria style restaurants. It’s a good way to try different foods for very little money. Granted, the standard of food is, well, cafeteria-like, but where else can you get a 3-course meal with beer for two people for under $10? Your standard line-up in these places is: salad, soup, main dish and side, dessert, and beverages. So that’s the order I’ll work in…

Salads

The main thing you need to know about salads in Ukraine is that mayonnaise is king here and the only salad dressing you would ever need. The secondary thing you need to know is that anything can and will go into a salad. Oh, and I should clarify that there’s really no such thing as a lettuce salad here. You can get one at McDonalds, but I wouldn’t recommend it. And occasionally a “fancy” restaurant will try to Americanize a salad by throwing a leaf of some sort of greenery in the bottom of the bowl. But your typical salad is going to be chunks of random things covered in mayo. For example, a few weeks ago, I had a “Crab Salad” that consisted of imitation crabmeat, corn, cheese, broccoli, and pineapple…in mayonnaise. I was doing okay until I came to that first piece of pineapple…

Soups

The main dish that Ukraine is famous for is borscht. It is normally a dark red color, as the base is beets, and usually includes dill, cabbage, potatoes, and one piece of meat. I assume the single piece of meat is a throwback to rationing during Soviet times. There’s also green borscht here, which is good, although we haven’t really figured out exactly what’s in it (we’re not picky about our food). There are lots of other soups available, but we’ve stuck mainly with the borschts. No cream soups that I’ve noticed, but you are highly encouraged to put sour cream on your borscht (and any other dish that doesn’t already have mayonnaise).

Mains and Sides

I know, I know, everyone thinks that the main dish here is Chicken Kiev. While it is widely available here, there is another popular option: A piece of pork pounded into submission, breaded and fried. Called a cutlet here, it’s pretty much a tenderloin for my Hoosier readers. Sometimes it’s topped with things: tomatoes, mayonnaise and cheese, or pineapple. If you’re in the mood for fish, deep fried fish patties are a good option, although sometimes you get a bite with a bone in it - I get the feeling maybe they cut down their prep time by just throwing the whole fish into the grinder. Other dishes include golubtsi (stuffed cabbage rolls in tomato sauce), vareniki (boiled dumplings stuffed with meat, cabbage, cheese, or even cherries for dessert), mlintsi (very much like French crepes), and deruni (potato pancakes). Speaking of potatoes, that’s the main side dish, in every conceivable form.

Dessert

With the exception of mlintsi with honey, I have yet to actually eat any dessert in Kyiv. This is because their idea of dessert involves putting unflavored gelatin on top of cake, sometimes with fruit embedded in it. Maybe it’s just my theatre background coming out, but it all looks like prop food to me - shiny and not actually meant for human consumption. I always wondered why grocery stores even sold unflavored gelatin. Now I know that it’s so that Ukrainians can ruin what appear to be perfectly good cakes with it.

Beverages

Beer is cheap, tastes okay, and can be consumed at any time of day. As with most foreign countries, you can easily get Coke, Coke Light and Fanta at most restaurants. However, it’s usually more expensive than the beer. And there’s no ice (take note, Dad!). Of course, there’s vodka, which most people here seem to consume by the bottle, possibly because it doesn’t cost much more than the beer. And then there’s the thing that I didn’t expect, but find very exciting: the variety and affordability of juices. You can get the juice of practically any kind of fruit here, often fresh.

So that’s Ukrainian food. I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface, but seeing as I’ve just spent an hour on this lengthy post, that’s probably enough. I hope that I’ve whetted the appetite of those of you trying to live vicariously through me!