Why Does He Live in Zhmerynka?

We meet again, so soon, and the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. When last I left you I was in Kyiv, and was trying to figure out how to spend my day. I had my meeting which was fine, and everything is on the up and up. But, the most enjoyable part of the day in Kyiv, was the train ride home. Grabbing my ticket on the Kyiv-Odessa line I met a couple guys on their way to Odessa for a vacation.

These guys were police officers from Siberia. They were from Lake Baikal, which is one of the largest fresh water lakes in the world. They also, kindly, have given me an open invitation to visit the lake. An invitation which I very well may take up after service is over . . . Every now and then the Trans-Siberian Railroad calls my name, but only every now and then.

As Siberians, these guys spoke Russian. I learned, poorly, Ukrainian. So, I was communicating to them in the most broken of Russian, but ultimately I was relatively successful, which I was a bit proud of. However, luckily, in the dining car on the train we met a man, Sasha (Sasha is a nickname for Olecksander, the Russian/Ukrainian version of Alexander), who spoke fluent Russian, English, and Spanish, and he became our friend and translator.

Sasha, himself, was a pretty interesting guy. He was born in the Ural Mountains (in Russia), lived for a few years in Cuba, and now is a resident of Odessa. Also, he was drinking a water glass full of cognac, and I don’t know how but it didn’t seem to affect him in any way. I still don’t know why cognac is so popular here, but it is such awful stuff, in my opinion.

But, it is pretty common here to share what you have in terms of food and drink with those on the train with you. So, my Siberian friends decided to share their duty-free gin with me. . . And it seemed more of a requirement, than a suggestion. If you decide not to drink with someone here, especially if you are a man, it is frequently thought that you do not respect the person. Not wanting to be culturally insensitive, I, of course, chose to imbibe with my new found friends. Because I did not have anything to offer, it was determined that I would pay for the mixer, and a snack in the dining car. I bought a bottle of juice, one orange, and one bottle of Bojormi (special Georgian mineral water) for the hefty sum of 75 hryvnias. In converted terms this is just under $10.00, but in real terms here, this could buy me three pizzas at the local pizza place in town, it could buy me three meals at McDonalds (these are expensive options), this could buy me groceries for 3 days . . . needless to go further, it was usurious. Those cross-cultural experiences, however, are priceless (not the good kind of priceless which actually has value, but priceless like a mother’s love).

The Siberians, as I mentioned, were policeman, but they also seemed pretty typical of what I now picture as Siberia. One was ethnically Russian, the other was ethnically Asian, he had the appearance of a Kazakh (the real kind, not the Borat kind). They were also outdoorsmen. Baikal is one of the largest lakes in the world (I believe it is second behind Lake Superior, but don’t quote me) and it is also the deepest lake in the world. It seems like a pretty wild place. I use wild here in the same way we describe the “Wild West.” I think it is appropriate to note to my American audience that Siberia is not a snowbound wonderland. It actually does have seasons, and warm summers. But, as we know, winter is brutally cold there. They showed me some pictures of the area, and some videos on a cell phone, and it looks beautiful. A bit like what I picture in Montana, or the Canadian Rockies, minus the mountains. The video showed them hunting. And, you should have seen the elk they took down, it was phenomenally large. The end of the video was eating the liver raw and having a round of drinks, I assume vodka. That part was unappetizing, but it was pretty cool to see.

The conversation became much easier when Sasha appeared. There was a lot less gesturing, and then actually talking. Being that we were relatively close to Victory Day, that became a pretty animated topic of discussion. They wanted to know what we, as Americans, thought of Victory Day, and of course how we viewed the Soviet Union’s contribution to the war effort. I think, and I may not be representative, that our complete anathema towards communism and socialism, and its deleterious effect on the human spirit and independence leads us to undervalue the role of the Soviet Union in the Allied victory. I said that, as well. It should be mentioned that there is not generally the same view towards communism and socialism here, as there is at home. There are some people who even look back to those as the “good ole days.” I often wonder if they just forgot about the brutality of the purges, or if they just chose to remember the good times, but I don’t understand that view. However, we did agree, that the fact that American troops were invited to march in Red Square, Moscow for the Victory Day parade is definitely a step in the right direction for U.S. – Russian relations. Hopefully they continue to improve, and someday I can go to Russia without paying way too much for a visa.

My favorite part of our discussion was when the Siberians asked “well, why does he live in Zhmerynka?” They couldn’t understand why an American would leave America to live in a small town in Ukraine (not just Ukraine, but anywhere). Instead of asking me, Sasha decided to explain, and I feel pretty well my motivation. He answered “why did Captain Cook sail to Australia? Why did the Russian explorers go to Alaska, and California? Why did they go through the deserts of Central Asia? The Russians and the Anglo-Saxons (don’t tell my Irish, and Italian ancestry) are great peoples. Why did they go? Are they crazy? Maybe, yes, but they are great peoples. They want to see the world, because it is there.” I really liked that answer, too. Other than being called an Anglo-Saxon, I thought it was pretty valid answer. Of course, I think he was considering Anglo-Saxon Anglo-American, or perhaps just American, but I’ll take it. If you’re going to call me a great person, I’ll always take it.

It really was a petty phenomenal train ride. I enjoyed myself greatly. I meant to post this sooner, but got pretty busy school-wise, and then came the birthday. I will probably write more about that at a later date. We will see. But, in other news, I will be going to the Tchaikovsky museum on Monday. It is about 20 minutes from my town, and it is one of the great composer’s residences. It was here that most of Swan Lake was written, so I will give you my impressions, and maybe even some pictures, as well.

That's all I know for now,

Peter P-B Meegan (notice an Irish, not an Anglo-Saxon surname)

Why Does He Live in Zhmerynka?

We meet again, so soon, and the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. When last I left you I was in Kyiv, and was trying to figure out how to spend my day. I had my meeting which was fine, and everything is on the up and up. But, the most enjoyable part of the day in Kyiv, was the train ride home. Grabbing my ticket on the Kyiv-Odessa line I met a couple guys on their way to Odessa for a vacation.

These guys were police officers from Siberia. They were from Lake Baikal, which is one of the largest fresh water lakes in the world. They also, kindly, have given me an open invitation to visit the lake. An invitation which I very well may take up after service is over . . . Every now and then the Trans-Siberian Railroad calls my name, but only every now and then.

As Siberians, these guys spoke Russian. I learned, poorly, Ukrainian. So, I was communicating to them in the most broken of Russian, but ultimately I was relatively successful, which I was a bit proud of. However, luckily, in the dining car on the train we met a man, Sasha (Sasha is a nickname for Olecksander, the Russian/Ukrainian version of Alexander), who spoke fluent Russian, English, and Spanish, and he became our friend and translator.

Sasha, himself, was a pretty interesting guy. He was born in the Ural Mountains (in Russia), lived for a few years in Cuba, and now is a resident of Odessa. Also, he was drinking a water glass full of cognac, and I don’t know how but it didn’t seem to affect him in any way. I still don’t know why cognac is so popular here, but it is such awful stuff, in my opinion.

But, it is pretty common here to share what you have in terms of food and drink with those on the train with you. So, my Siberian friends decided to share their duty-free gin with me. . . And it seemed more of a requirement, than a suggestion. If you decide not to drink with someone here, especially if you are a man, it is frequently thought that you do not respect the person. Not wanting to be culturally insensitive, I, of course, chose to imbibe with my new found friends. Because I did not have anything to offer, it was determined that I would pay for the mixer, and a snack in the dining car. I bought a bottle of juice, one orange, and one bottle of Bojormi (special Georgian mineral water) for the hefty sum of 75 hryvnias. In converted terms this is just under $10.00, but in real terms here, this could buy me three pizzas at the local pizza place in town, it could buy me three meals at McDonalds (these are expensive options), this could buy me groceries for 3 days . . . needless to go further, it was usurious. Those cross-cultural experiences, however, are priceless (not the good kind of priceless which actually has value, but priceless like a mother’s love).

The Siberians, as I mentioned, were policeman, but they also seemed pretty typical of what I now picture as Siberia. One was ethnically Russian, the other was ethnically Asian, he had the appearance of a Kazakh (the real kind, not the Borat kind). They were also outdoorsmen. Baikal is one of the largest lakes in the world (I believe it is second behind Lake Superior, but don’t quote me) and it is also the deepest lake in the world. It seems like a pretty wild place. I use wild here in the same way we describe the “Wild West.” I think it is appropriate to note to my American audience that Siberia is not a snowbound wonderland. It actually does have seasons, and warm summers. But, as we know, winter is brutally cold there. They showed me some pictures of the area, and some videos on a cell phone, and it looks beautiful. A bit like what I picture in Montana, or the Canadian Rockies, minus the mountains. The video showed them hunting. And, you should have seen the elk they took down, it was phenomenally large. The end of the video was eating the liver raw and having a round of drinks, I assume vodka. That part was unappetizing, but it was pretty cool to see.

The conversation became much easier when Sasha appeared. There was a lot less gesturing, and then actually talking. Being that we were relatively close to Victory Day, that became a pretty animated topic of discussion. They wanted to know what we, as Americans, thought of Victory Day, and of course how we viewed the Soviet Union’s contribution to the war effort. I think, and I may not be representative, that our complete anathema towards communism and socialism, and its deleterious effect on the human spirit and independence leads us to undervalue the role of the Soviet Union in the Allied victory. I said that, as well. It should be mentioned that there is not generally the same view towards communism and socialism here, as there is at home. There are some people who even look back to those as the “good ole days.” I often wonder if they just forgot about the brutality of the purges, or if they just chose to remember the good times, but I don’t understand that view. However, we did agree, that the fact that American troops were invited to march in Red Square, Moscow for the Victory Day parade is definitely a step in the right direction for U.S. – Russian relations. Hopefully they continue to improve, and someday I can go to Russia without paying way too much for a visa.

My favorite part of our discussion was when the Siberians asked “well, why does he live in Zhmerynka?” They couldn’t understand why an American would leave America to live in a small town in Ukraine (not just Ukraine, but anywhere). Instead of asking me, Sasha decided to explain, and I feel pretty well my motivation. He answered “why did Captain Cook sail to Australia? Why did the Russian explorers go to Alaska, and California? Why did they go through the deserts of Central Asia? The Russians and the Anglo-Saxons (don’t tell my Irish, and Italian ancestry) are great peoples. Why did they go? Are they crazy? Maybe, yes, but they are great peoples. They want to see the world, because it is there.” I really liked that answer, too. Other than being called an Anglo-Saxon, I thought it was pretty valid answer. Of course, I think he was considering Anglo-Saxon Anglo-American, or perhaps just American, but I’ll take it. If you’re going to call me a great person, I’ll always take it.

It really was a petty phenomenal train ride. I enjoyed myself greatly. I meant to post this sooner, but got pretty busy school-wise, and then came the birthday. I will probably write more about that at a later date. We will see. But, in other news, I will be going to the Tchaikovsky museum on Monday. It is about 20 minutes from my town, and it is one of the great composer’s residences. It was here that most of Swan Lake was written, so I will give you my impressions, and maybe even some pictures, as well.

That's all I know for now,

Peter P-B Meegan (notice an Irish, not an Anglo-Saxon surname)

There is a Spring!

As I mentioned, when last we met, this is a country of extremes. I meant this in terms of the change in weather between winter and spring (and truly it is completely opposite in spring, it is not yet summer). I suppose this can also be seen in other aspects as well, but I would prefer to only discuss the setting of our story

During winter, among other things, I was new to my surroundings; the weather was always bad; I was always cold, regardless of where I was; and it was just generally I will admit I was unhappy. I mean this as in actively unhappy, not simply a lack of happiness, but the state of being completely not happy. There are, of course, other reasons for this, than simply the weather, including the usurpation of my independence, by way of the usurpation of my own apartment. I was then sent to live with a family, and that was interesting. Living with a family that is not your own is a difficult task, and I challenge anyone who disagrees with my statement.

But, like during my teens, I am engaged in a landscape full of mood swings. This is with both the population, and the land itself. I am now full engrossed in a joyous time of, as the cliché we use when describing Spring in English class states, the world is full of new life. The country literally bursts out from the doldrums of winter in which a permanent state of gray encompasses the entirety of the country, even Kyiv (which I think is a phenomenal city), to a country full of deep blue skies, and deep green forests. The flag of Ukraine is a line of rich sky blue over a line of a bright yellow – this symbolizes the rich fields of grain under the big blue sky – and I have not yet seen these fields, but I am looking forward to it with bated breath. But, what I have seen is, as I mentioned earlier, the deep green of fertile fields which are beginning to sprout, trees thick with new leaves, and sunny weather.

When I mention the landscape of winter, I should say that at times even it is beautiful. But even these times are fleeting. As with any place, under a fresh coat of snow the country is gorgeous and I would even say inviting. But, that fresh snow soon gives way to the dirty slush caused from cars, and walking, and the ice makes even the slowest walking, and shortest walks a challenge. At night it will glimmer in the moon like the laughing eyes of a bully, just ready to put you down, and mock you while you are there.

However around the middle of April the weather started to do an about-face. I started going once a week to Vinnitsia, which is the closest “big” city to me, I will readily admit a major drawing point was the availability of McDonalds. But one of the best aspects of this trip was travelling through the country. The city itself literally sprouts out of nowhere . . . it goes farm land, farm land, farm land, big city, farm land, farm land, farm land on all sides. Going every weekend I was able to see the transformation of winter to spring in a really dramatic fashion. I did not think about it at the time, as such, but really it was a veritable saving grace when I wasn’t happy with my living situation, and I wasn’t happy with my surroundings. But, suffice it to say, this has changed with time and the season.

I think a good description of the landscape in my neck of the woods would be to picture the area of farmland between western Massachusetts and Connecticut out to Ohio. I’m speaking from the perspective of Interstate 80 or 90, I don’t recall which we used to take on our road trips out to the Chicago area. But, that is definitely what I was reminded of. Perhaps it is just because they are both farm areas, but even the terrain seems to be similar. I’m no botanist, so I cannot tell you whether or not the flora is exactly similar. I know one of the main crops here is wheat. Also, I’m not familiar yet with the fauna of Central Ukraine, so I cannot speak of those similarities either. I do know there are many wild pigs, I won’t say boars, because they are pretty small. There are deer, but mercifully, a negligible amount of Lyme (’s?) Disease. Also, I saw a snake the other day when I went fishing, it was relatively small, and I did not get a good look at it. We also have, thankfully, mosquitoes. I couldn’t imagine what I would do without mosquitoes for two years.

When I tell people here I love spring they immediately ask when my birthday is, and when I tell them they say “you must love spring.” I don’t understand this. I, furthermore, do not understand the Ukrainian love-affair with the birthday. I do not understand the importance of a birthday, and why I should be congratulated for being born. When it comes down to it, I literally did nothing to be born. Then again, I’m probably just a party-pooper, and this has no bearing on the point at hand.

So, what have I done since the weather has improved? Well, as I mentioned last I have spent 2 days playing soccer, and then spent some time at our softball weekend. I have gone picking wild garlic. It is pretty delicious, and we made a salad of wild garlic, hard-boiled eggs, and mayonnaise. It might not sound good, but it really is; mayonnaise is put on almost every salad here. We have also gone shashlyking (basically barbequing) twice. Once was with chicken wings, and in a local forest. The other time was while we were fishing. The fishing here is a bit different than what I’m used to at home. At home, of course, it is casting, reeling in, and casting again. Here the fishing is what is called “cane pole” fishing. We literally cast the line, and then just hang out and watch it. When the bobber goes under we have a fish, and we swing in the line. It was different, but still a good time. Shashlyking seems to be, at least with other volunteers, the best of the Ukrainian traditions. It is delicious, it is fun, and it is done outdoors during the nice weather.

I’m hoping, for my birthday, to shashlyk. It is probably my favorite food in Ukraine, either that or holuptsi which are cabbage leaves stuffed with a combination of rice, and ground beef. Luckily, being that May is the month of long weekends, and holidays I will have a nice three day weekend in honor of my birthday. This holiday is Trinity Sunday, I don’t know the history, or real purpose of the celebration, other, of course, than the fact that it celebrates the Holy Trinity.

In more disconcerting news, I read an article today about Texas’ Education Board. The evangelicals, and conservatives in that most reasonable of states is not happy with the liberal bias in current history and social studies text books. As such, they are planning to rework history a little bit to make sure the minds of Texan youths are not poisoned. I will not go into their points, but it is a very interesting article and you can find it on The Guardian, the British newspaper’s, website. I’m curious to see what anyone else has to say about this. (As an example they wish to paint Thomas Jefferson, and his separation of church and state as a minor figure in American history. . . and I should mention, they think that the separation of church and state is a myth.) I wish I had another emotion other than puzzled bemusement, but I don’t.

But I will leave you with the fact that as this is being posted I am in Kyiv. I have a meeting, but the time of that meeting is flexible, so I’m not sure what I will do. I have found a fantastic Irish pub in Kyiv, and I may go there. Kind of a birthday treat, though it is bad luck to celebrate your birthday before it occurs here. We’ll see. I have trouble rationalizing spending 150 hryvnias (about $20) on lunch . . . even if it is fantastic, and comes with Guinness. I may also go to either Maidan Nezalezhnosti (Independence Square) or Kreshchatyk, two main centers in Kyiv which are very nice. The options are unlimited, and luckily I have flexibility in my return trips, because there are many trains that stop in my town. So, that’s all I’ve got.

Be good,

Pete

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.