Victory Day

So, here we are. It is the eve of Victory Day; Victory in Europe, of course. I am sitting in my apartment (it is 10:30 PM) and listening to fireworks being let off on the town square, which is about two blocks away. This evening I attended Zhmerynka’s Victory Day parade. Unfortunately, when I heard we were going to the parade, I expected it to be similar to the 4^th of July parade, or any other parade back home, where I could sit on the side of the street talk and watch. But, I had to jump in, and walk with the parade, I will not say march, to the park in our town. Our parade was met by a lovely torrential downpour, and I was drenched to the bone. The distance we walked could not have been more than a mile or so. Our parade reached its end at the foot of my town’s monument to the Great Patriotic War (1941-1945) which is flanked by a tank monument to its left. We then listened to a number of speeches and patriotic songs. Some was in Ukrainian, and some was in Russian, and I understood very little of it. I will admit, I preferred my school’s celebration for Victory Day, which took place yesterday.

Victory Day is a very serious holiday here. We have a three day weekend, as well to celebrate. World War II literally took place across this country; Hitler’s eastern front bunker was in a town about 40 km from where I live now. The fascists, as they are called here (only fascists, rarely Germans, and never Nazis, or my favorite German National Socialists), literally overran the towns throughout Ukraine, Zhmerynka, and my former town Kaharlyk included. I must admit I enjoy the way this is celebrated in Ukraine. Such a formidable and important feat deserves recognition. For Victory Day, Soviet history, and Ukrainian history are one and the same. The holiday honors, now, the defeat of the Germans, but is not used to glorify “the cause.” As I become more entrenched in my Ukrainian life, I am interested to see the intersection between Ukrainian and Soviet history. (As an aside, a large city in Ukraine just put up a large monument to Stalin – read a little about Ukrainian history to understand the implications of this. I’d say it is similar to Liberia putting up a statue of Jefferson Davis.)

On to some less subjective news, let’s catch up a bit. I’m, as I said, sitting in my apartment, and yes that means I now have my own apartment. It is a palace. And it is all mine! Most of the apartments in town were put up during the years of Soviet Ukraine, and are all pretty stock, but this one is from tsarist times (that is the same as czarist, and means back when the Russian czars still ruled), and just oozes the decadence of a non-communist society. I have “Little Ole Wine Drinker, Me” by the late, great Dean Martin, and am enjoying a mug (the only thing I have to drink with) of Moldavian wine – it is deathly sweet, and I do not mean that in a good way. Last weekend, I was travelling, and I read The Sun Also Rises. Hemingway has made it okay for me, as a man, to drink wine – of course, only if it is a red, strong wine.

But, on to last weekend: For me, last weekend started, in earnest, on Thursday. On Thursday I went up to the Special Olympics football tournament in Vinnitsia. We played football, and by football I mean soccer, with the Special Olympians for Thursday, and Friday, and it was a blast. Two of the best days I’ve had in Ukraine, I would say. The Special Olympics here, however, is a bit different than it is back home. Back home the Special Olympics is for people with special needs. Here, there were some people with special needs, but it was more of a “special circumstances” qualification. I mean this because some teams were full of able-bodied kids, but kids from an orphanage. One of these teams, I’d wager could have beat my high school team – then again when I say my high school team I mean the junior varsity team, because I got cut from varsity senior year, and I suppose every year before that, too (not that I’m still bitter, or anything).

I do not have much contact with special needs kids in my school, and by much I mean any. It was enjoyable to do a little work, and I should hardly call it work because it was a lot of fun for me, with them. I know Special Ed. has a high burnout rate, because it is exhausting, and demanding, but it seems that it must be incredibly rewarding, too. My volunteer-friend, and I jumped on to a team from Kremenchuk, a city across the Dnipro, in the Poltava oblast. We have been invited for a visit, and I hope we do at some point. I had a great time with them. And, for those of you that are facebook friends with me, you can see a picture of me with a Kremenchuk representative, Sveta, on the fbook. Sveta may have been the best juggler at the Special Olympics tournament – juggling in the soccer sense.

I would have to say, however, that the most memorable experience was Friday evening, when I was officially “Ukrained”. There is no official definition for the state of being “Ukrained,” but when it happens to you, you know. Friday morning we went to the bus station. It was softball weekend in Kirovograd, and we wanted to make sure we would get a bus ticket there. I should preface this by saying that people in ticket booths, and cashiers in this country, and I suppose the entire service industry are famously, and sometimes it seems, go out of their way to be, unhelpful. “Service with a smile” does not exist here. But, anyway, we went to the ticket counter to get a ticket to Kirovograd, and when you read Kirovograd, don’t read how it sounds just read “big black hole in the middle of nowhere.” When we asked for our ticket the woman said something really fast, and then told us to come back at 21:00 (9PM), and we could buy tickets on the bus. But, they would not be able to sell us a ticket in advance it would have to be on the bus. So, we went back to the bus station that evening to get tickets on that 9 PM bus . . . and when we asked for that bus the lady looked at us as if we had offended her honor. There was no 9PM bus, how could we even imagine that there would be! So, after, a bit of arguing, and “what are you talking about, the woman told us to come back and get a ticket for this bus” we decided to get tickets for the next morning at 7:30.

The real issue with this, was not, of course, the failure to get a ticket. We were able to get a ticket the next morning. The issue is the fact that this caused us three hours worth of unnecessary travel time, and it also prevented us from spending time in Vinnitsia with the other volunteers up for the Special Olympics. But, it happened, I made it through, and perhaps now I’m even stronger for it . . . which, if you’re keeping score at home means I’m wicked f-ing strong.

We did, ultimately, make our way to our destination. The reason? The reason is because I’m a Meegan, and that means I don’t do things half way. But really, the reason was because we found another bus the next morning. This meant we had to wake up at 6:00 AM on a Saturday, in order to take a train to the city, in order to take a taxi to the bus station (by way of McDonald’s, and a McBreakfast) and to the bus station. The bus is an interesting trip always . . . regardless of how far you are planning to travel. Our total journey was about 350 km but for some reason it took 9 hours to reach our destination. This equals about 40 km an hour, which is close to 25 mph. Nobody has ever called the buses here efficient. The trip, however, was a beautiful one. This, as I heard a seasoned volunteer explain, is a country of extremes. From the extreme depression of winter, and endless snow and gray, and clouds comes a spring which explodes in phenomenal colors. Full of life, and wonder, so that even a cynical Papa-Bear, like myself is impressed, and rejuvenated.

Unfortunately, once we got to Kirovograd, we were unable to find the softball field. It was pretty late in the afternoon, anyway, so we decided to grab a pizza, the juice of the barley, and wait until our friends called. We were pleasantly surprised when our friends made their way to the pizza place we were at, though I’m sure the employees were not all that happy. We, as Americans, have a habit of talking, and talking too loud, not to mention, talking in that damned English language. The pizza was good, and I have been able to say that very, very, very few times about pizza here in Ukraine. After the pizza we made our way to the city center. The city center has a mixture of Soviet-style (read bland), and pre-Soviet buildings, and is not quite beautiful, and not quite ugly, but I don’t know if I would call it anything in between, either. We spent most of Saturday night in the city center at beer tents. Beer tents are, I imagine, somewhat like beer gardens are in Germany. They are not the famous Oktoberfest tents, that Pat Mulligan, One Man Party Dan Moriarty, and myself once enjoyed, but they are really just large party tents with open sides and tables and chairs underneath. We were not waited on by servers, but there were a number of kiosks selling different beers from the area, and we were able to ask for the poison of our choice, and to get on with the enjoyment of it. We ended the night at a club in Kirovograd. I cannot tell you the name of it, but I can tell you that I had my dancing shoes on. I can also tell you that the gas station close by did not have Pringles, but it did have the ability to get me lost in a strange city for 2 hours. But, as is usually the case when I am reveling, I was able to find my way home unscathed. (I like reveling, it is one of my favorite euphemisms – I expect that you all understand what this means, if you do not, you will when you are older.)

The next day, I woke up feeling like a million drummers had beat on my head all night. But we had softball to play, and after dragging myself out of bed we were able to make our way to the field. I have never been very good at baseball, or anything that requires good hand-eye coordination, and this was no exception. I managed to swing on the first pitch every at bat I had, and did not get on base once. I also managed to fall in a hilarious manner while trying to field a ground ball. Luckily, I fell in front of the ball and was able to get it into the infield from my backside, but it wasn’t my greatest athletic achievement. Between games, I was also interviewed by a Ukrainian journalist. He asked a number of things in regards to victory day. One was what we, as Americans, knew about the Soviet Union, and their importance as an ally in our victory over fascism. The other important question was whether we celebrate Victory Day, on May 9^th. Of course, we do not, at least not in North Kingstown, or Rhode Island.

After the softball, and an embarrassing defeat to the Ukrainian team, we went to an orphanage next to the field. The point of the weekend was to raise money for the orphanage, and we were given a performance. There was dance numbers put on by the girls, and by the younger boys, and there were feats of strength, including an international push-up contest. I was selected for the international push-up contest, but unfortunately the director saw the fire in my eyes, and called it off before I could bring home the gold for the good ol’ US of A. There were also a number of relay races, and other such activities. Tug of war became a true battle, as well. This was capped off by a game of soccer. It was an intense game from the first whistle. The Americans lost 3-2. I take full responsibility for the loss. I was completely unable to find goal. I put 5 or 6 balls off my head, and within 6 inches of goal. But, alas, each one of those missed, and the weight of defeat fell upon my shoulders. It was, and is, unfortunate, but hopefully I will be able to get through this latest painful chapter in my relationship with soccer.

I should mention, that last weekend was International Labor Day. We had both Monday, and Tuesday the first, and second of May off. That was why I was able to make such a trip. May is a wonderful month here, because we have three long weekends. The first weekend of May, the second weekend, of May, and the fourth weekend of May are all long weekends. It is a nice way to enjoy the good weather. After this winter, there is nothing I love more than the sun on my skin. Though after last weekend my face was about as burnt as it ever has been, but it was just, damn nice to be in the sunshine.

In other news, yesterday at the café in town I was reading For Whom the Bell Tolls (it tolls for thee, by the way, John Donne told me). I spent about two hours there, and had my evening meal there. About an hour later the girl behind the counter came over to my table and I’m not sure, because she only speaks to me in Russian, not Ukrainian, but she asked about the book, and I told her a few mumbled words, then she said something I completely did not understand. In about five minutes she came out with a drink for me. It was a pina colada, and it was on the house. It was pretty awesome, and I really appreciated the gesture. Maybe it was the “valued-customer special,” but at any rate it was pretty cool.

That is all I know for now, though. Also, while it is Victory Day here, it is Mother’s Day back home. So, Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers I know, thank you for all you do, and all you put up with from thankless, exhausting children like myself, and my siblings.

Be good,

Pete.