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.

A Little Bit of Filler

I really want to update my blog right now . . . but I'm trying to decide what to write about. So, I think I will give you some filler for now. I have been reading a bit since I've gotten to Ukraine, and I came across the following two quotes which I feel very strongly about. Two quotes I think I can truly stand behind. One is from Teddy Roosevelt, and the other is from Lt. Thomas Meehan, a pilot killed during World War II.

First, from ol' TR: "We all look forward to the day when there shall be a nearer approxmation than there has ever been to the brotherhood of man and the peace of the world. More and more we are learning that to love one's country above all others is in no way incompatible with respecting and wishing well to all others, and that, as between man and man, so between nation and nation, there should live the great law of right. No ability, to strength and force, no power of intellect or power of wealth, shall avail us, if we have not the root of right living in us."

I'm just going to drop these here, I will not give a commentary, but let me know what you think. Lt. Meehan's was from a letter to his wife before he died:

"We're fortunate in being Americans. At least we don't step on the underdog. I wonder if that's because there are no 'Americans' - only a stew of immigrants - or it's because the earth from which we exist has been so kind to us and our forefathers; or if it's because the 'American' is the offspring of the logical European who hated oppression and loved freedom beyond life? Those great mountains the tall timber; the cool deep lakes and braod rivers; the green valleys and white farmhouses; the air, the sea and wind; the plains and great cities; the smell of living - all must be the cause of it.

"And yet, with all that, we can't get away from the rest. For every one of our millions who has that treasure in his hand ther's another million crying for that victory of life. And for each of us who wants to live in happiness and give happiness, ther's another different sort of person wanting to take it away.

"Those people always manage to have their say, and Mars is always close at hand. We know how to win wars. We must learn now to win peace. Make the world accept peace whether they damn well like it or not. Here is the dove, and here is the bayonet. If we ever have a son, I won't want him to go through this again, but I want him powerful enough that no one will be fool enough to touch him. He and America should be strong as hell and kind as Christ."

I enjoy, and agree with both of these greatly. I'll try to get something else interesting for you

Best,

Pete

Happy Easter and a Few Thank Yous.

My Dear Friends, and Confidants:

First, a word regarding my April Fool’s joke . . . WHAMMY! I am aware there was concern for my mental health, and safety, and I do appreciate your concern. However, with something as serious and personal as a mental breakdown I would not publish it in such a nonchalant fashion, especially on Facebook. This would be a little too gauche, even for me. Secondly, for all those who realized it was, indeed, an April Fool’s joke, my thanks for not blowing the whistle, though I did have delete a number of comments. I will end this portion by stating that as a Meegan, I am unable to do things half-way, I am as stubborn as my father. For that reason, I will not be leaving before my time is up. So, November 2011 – here I come!

I would next like to send some thanks. I have sent a few letters, but seeing the current state of Rhode Island, I would imagine they are probably floating somewhere around the food court of the Warwick Mall. I should, of course, have sent emails primarily. The first group I would have to thank is the Family Services department at Tuition Management Systems. At the beginning of March I received a package from my colleagues. Its contents were month-changing. It was full of Haribo gummy bears (the absolute best gummy bears on earth), honey mustard, both from Wendy’s and from Stop & Shop. Two jars of Folgers instant coffee – better than Jacobs (pronounced yakobs here, because we don’t have a ‘j’ in our alphatbet). And, of course, the venerated University of Rhode Island Rams “Let’s Go Rhody!” athletic towel. And, to rub salt in the wound, Pedro informed me it was from the game in which the Rams beat my Friars this season. . . Needless to say, based on the other contents I have forgiven Pedro. But, I do truly give my thanks to my co-workers. It was very kind of you, and I truly appreciate it.

Secondly, my thanks go to Mr. Frazier. I hope by now the letter I sent would have arrived, but our postal system is not as expedient as one would like it to be. From Mr. Frazier I received a bobble-head doll of Marvin “Bad News” Barnes. Coincidentally this arrived on a Wednesday. The weekend before I received the bobble-head, I had been talking college basketball with a fellow volunteer, and Marvin Barnes was one of our central topics of discussion. My volunteer-friend is an old fan of the ABA and the team from Louisville, so was familiar with Marvin Barnes, as well as Ernie D. But, the funnier aspect of my receipt of the bobble-head was the response of the family I live with. They looked at it, and said (in Ukrainian): “very nice . . . is that Obama?” I had a hard time stifling my laugh at that statement. The bobble-head, for the record, is wearing a basketball uniform, and not a presidential-looking suit.

Thirdly, and finally, I must send my thanks to Diane Schaefer. I, this week, received a parcel which included a very nice collared-shirt, an Easter-appropriate light bluish-green, and the book Invictus. The book is what inspired the movie that has recently come out. I have seen the movie, but the book has the benefit of being able to clearly illustrate the back-story that set’s the stage for the Springboks improbable run to the Rugby World Cup title. I am hoping to finish the book by the end of the weekend, or if not, by the end of the week.

Stories like this, are very thought-provoking for me. I remember in college, even as sports fan, thinking how silly it was that people would make a living as a sport’s commentator. I remember thinking “can’t these people do something productive with their lives?” Stories like this, Invictus, and the movie Invincible – the movie about the local boy that starts playing for the Eagles – can show the power of sport on a community, or a country, in the Invictus case. As I have learned here, people need diversion, and they need entertainment. Thankfully sport is available for that. It can help us forget about slugging through the day-to-day and that is a valuable thing. There is not much that can cross ethnic, language, political, and religious barriers as much sport. So, as adidas says: “Long live sport.”

The other side of the coin that a book like Invictus illuminates is in regards to, at least in my case, my own personal convictions. Sitting and reading the book while it discusses the people that look like me is an interesting practice. The author asks “whether the average citizen of the United States, Canada, or Australia, had he or she been born in apartheid South Africa, would they have behaved much differently?” It is an interesting thought. It is very easy to have our convictions based on our history, but would I be bold enough to stand for my convictions in this case? Would I have the strength of character to stop talking about it, and start acting? To be honest, I do not know whether or not I would have the scruples to take the stand. I hope I would, but hoping and doing are much different things, as I have learned here in Ukraine.

My most common complaint is that people here talk about things getting better without acting on the fact. A friend from high school has a tattoo “Acta non Verba” on his arm – Actions not words. I am trying to make this a foundation of my own worldview. Perhaps that is what Peace Corps is for me . . . but I suppose, like my father, what I do may never be enough to satisfy the demon I call Catholic guilt. Easter, of course, is an appropriate time to think about these issues.

So, my apologies for taking this opportunity to wax philosophic . . . In other news, last night I went to the “Polish Catholic” (read Roman Catholic) church for Easter mass. The mass here is a practice in concentration and a test of my mental strength. I had to stand the entire two and a half hours, except for the times when I was able to kneel on the cold, hard, uneven, wet floor. At one point while we were kneeling I think the priests sung the name of every saint ever canonized. Also, because there was so much I could not understand, and the traditions within the mass are a bit different from our own, I was not aware I had to push and shove to gain position (like everywhere else in Ukraine) for communion. Unfortunately, last night I did not received the Eucharist, so I won’t even have the check mark next to my name up in heaven . . . I hope St. Pete will let me in.

Of course, I am interesting in celebrating the resurrection, so tonight with some friends in town we will go to a nightclub in Vinnitsia. I have not yet been to a nightclub in Ukraine, so it should be interesting. But, today is a joyful day, so we might as well end it with a party. I’ll update the blog regarding that, as long as it is appropriate. That’s about all I have for now. I will admit my displeasure in seeing Duke in the Final Four championship game, however, and here’s hoping for the Butler Bulldogs.

Thanks for reading, enjoy time with your families today, whether you celebrate Easter, or not. Just enjoy your time.

Go Friars, and Христос Воскрес (Christ has Risen),

Pete

At Long Last

So, I have failed to update in about a month and a half. But, in my defense, it was a short month, and March does have 31 days, so it isn't all that long. This brings us to the point of why I do not update more regularly. First of all I am busy. I figured, when I came here, that I would have my classes and maybe an extra hour or so a week of English clubs. This has turned out not to be the case. My class load is not all that difficult. It is 18 classes a week. This, however, is coupled with a plethora of English clubs, both at school and outside of school. These clubs increase my output to another at least 7 hours a week, and sometimes more. These are, of course, classroom hours, and do not include planning time. I also have a Ukrainian language tutor, and I end up going to his apartment usually 3 or 4 times a week, though I don't necessarily study Ukrainian every time I go.

But, I'm aware that some people may, in fact, be interested with what I have to say. So, full of self-importance I will humor you. Perhaps, another thing I should write, is that if you regular read, please become a follower on the blog. A larger number of people there will motivate me to update this on a more regular basis. I have written a few times that I do not edit these posts before I publish them. This is still the case, and part of the reason I have not been updating regularly. Because, though I do not edit, I also have difficulty half-assing (I think that is the scientific term) these, because I know they will be read by at least some people. So I have been given a list of potential topics by a friend, and will try to hit on those within the next few weeks to months. We'll see how it goes. First things first, I am in good shape, relatively healthy, in relatively good spirits, and still committed to my service; so I've got that going for me, which is nice.

I should probably give a general description of my town. I do not think I have yet given one of an adequate nature, just a few sentences here, and there. First, if you are interested in seeing the pictures please go to the following links. I have put these here myself, and they are not viruses. I have pictures of Kaharlyk, my first town here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2084642&id=17600435&l=b3c382b84d This includes my house there, the family I lived with, and some of the people in my cluster.

I have pictures of Kyiv, the capital of Ukraine, and a beautiful city: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2084546&id=17600435&l=b1bcb1a759

And finally an album of pictures from Zhmerynka, my new home town. These include some students, my first apartment, where I no longer live, my favorite graffiti in town, and also some pictures of Yulia Tymoshenko from the politically rally she had in my town: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2085177&id=17600435&l=639854595a

But, in my time here I have been on a number of trains. To Kyiv a few times, and I will be going again tomorrow. To Vinnitsa, the largest city in my close proximity, and to Ivano-Frankivsk, a city in western Ukraine where I had a meeting. It frequently seems that I'm riding through a watercolor, or a north country American town about 90 years ago or more. Full of snow, tin roofs, and wells, and outhouses. Outhouses are more prominent in the smaller villages, I have not seen them in my town. And, luckily I have not had to use one yet. I have even seen a number of horses, and horse drawn carts in smaller villages. They look like the one the Tinker in Ireland had (Matt and Dad would remember that, and I'm sure a few of you have seen the picture). But, seeing the horse carts does always remind me of the Guinness Storehouse (for the record, a great beer, but a poor museum).

My town, during the depths of winter looks like I imagine the North Pole would if it were truly the North Pole of the children's books which depict Santa's village. With the snow ubiquitous throughout the winter (it recently made a hiatus, but has returned this weekend) and Christmas/New Year's lights throughout the town the duration of winter, including light-up stars, lights in the shape of trees. And, in the back roads of the town, the snow was never taken off the roads, and they would be solid with snow, with small houses close together on either side of the road. Much different from what would be seen in an American town, but a bit fascinating to see. I even saw someone navigating through town on cross-country skis this winter. I had to do a double take. I could not believe that on one of the main roads in the town center someone would be able to go on cross-country skis, but I was pretty happy that person could.

I think the pictures would do a better job describing my town than I can. But, the town has a residential area, and a center. The center is large, and has a square which is anchored by an Orthodox Church on one end, and the Town Rada (town hall) on the other. There are a number of shops, and stores in town. Some large, some small. We have a large supermarket, in the center, and a number of bars and cafes. The town, is size-wise a good deal smaller than North Kingstown, but has a higher population. It is organized differently, though. In North Kingstown we have Wickford, and then long Post Road as the base of our commerce. It would be difficult to do everything necessary by walking, but here the center has everything we need, and it is entirely walkable. Everything is much more centralized in the town. Like in my previous town, there are a tremendous amount of dogs, and many of them are street dogs, including one that likes to chase after me and snap at me when I'm on my way to school.

As you will see, if you look at the pictures, the town is dominated by a number of boxy Soviet-style apartment buildings, as well. The apartment buildings are the biggest difference I notice with my town, and a town of a similar size back in the states. There are just so many apartment buildings, while at home they are pretty much solely in larger cities. But, just look at the pictures. I am getting tired. So I'll sign off here. I'll try to be quicker to update in the future, if there are any topics you are curious about please let me know. My email address is peter.meegan@gmail.com

That's all I know for now. Go Friars (next year)

Pete

Powered Off

Hello again, and my apologies for not updating sooner. I planned on it, but I am a busy man. This last post has been in my notebook for a little more than three weeks now waiting for me to get motivated enough to type up and post. This documents one of my darkest experiences in Ukraine, literally, and as it has already been written, I am transcribing it verbatim, and not changing tenses because we are three weeks past the point:

It is Saturday morning (January 8^th) 11:30. I have been without power for the last 22 hours. The reason? There is none I can think of. It is only my building and the small shop next to us which are without power. I have, since last night, gone to my window many times to look enviously at all the other buildings with their bright lights shining through the mist. Perhaps they are lighted just to spite me. The trouble is my difficulty deciding what to do.

Last night I went to the internet café. I was able to download my favorite NPR shows. I was also able to download a plethora of interesting articles from Foreign Policy and the Economist. I was expecting perhaps a few hours without power, but it had to be back on by 10:00 PM, right? Needless to say I was sorely disappointed. I am still sitting here completely powered off. Again, for a second time I am pre-writing by hand. Again it is unplanned. When I am finished at the internet café I listen and read what I have downloaded back at home, on my computer. Unfortunately my computer battery has been completely and totally exhausted.

To make matters worse my cell phone has no juice, my short-wave radio is out of gas, and I have maybe 5-10 more minutes until I am in complete silence with just my thoughts – a scary proposition. I would easily be able to survive without these luxuries, don’t get me wrong. But, when usually I can use them, and then I have expansive periods where I can see them just not use them: oh, woe is me.

So this leaves me in a “what do I do?” state. I could go to the internet café, but I really do not enjoy spending time there with kids I may soon teach playing killing games, it is disconcerting, and as a true American I don’t like the lack of privacy. I could walk through town, but a gray mist is thick in the air, and I can no longer see more than 10 or 20 yards out of my window, plus the ground is covered with a filthy gray slush that drenches the bottom of the legs on my pants, and gets in my shoes, too. I can’t go to a café and sit and drink coffee, because its all instant coffee here, so that would be just awful. Bars are not an option either. Not only is it considered inappropriate for a teacher to be in a bar here, but bars are a bit different. There is not a bar-scene where people go for a drink. To go to a bar means an attempt at erasing the previous week from memory, so it is really a poor look for me, especially in my town.

This is where I stopped writing. I started reading by flashlight which was okay, but I didn’t even really enjoy the book. It turned out to be an entire 2 and a half days without power. And there was just no reason for it! No big storm, or anything of that sort. But I did learn the importance of keeping cell phone, iPod, and short-wave radio completely charged in case I go through this again. The minute the lights turned on, was however pretty amazing, especially considering how long I had been without. It was just about the time that I would have to start using the flashlight as well.

In discussing this with a fellow “Turkmen Reject” (the name we have so affectionately given ourselves; if you ever feel bad about anything just think about the fact that Turkmenistan decided I wasn’t good enough for it; that should put any self-doubts into perspective.) we were talking about how embarrassing it was to be complaining about this as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Especially as a PCV that was prepared to go to Turkmenistan. The difference, however, is that at least if we were in a more rustic country we would be well prepared for this sort of situation. We would have such outlandish things as candles, and camping lanterns, and things like that. Needless to say I am not looking forward to rolling black-outs if, and I have heard it is more accurately when, they come.

But, I suppose we all have our crosses to bear, and mine was a prolonged period without power. It would have been a lot better if I hadn’t had to read a bad book during the meantime. I did, however, make it through, and maybe I’m even better for it, but I sincerely doubt that.

I know it has been three weeks since my last post, and I do have plenty to write about so look for a few updates this week. That’s all I know about this, for now, though.

Goodnight, and Go Friars,

Pete

Little Victories

From 4,500 miles away I am still basking in our win over St. John's. In a little apartment in Zhmerynka any news, especially such good news is welcomed readily (this was written before the Louisville game, but who really expected a win against Louisville?). Today, at the internet cafe I was scolded for watching highlights of the game, and told I am not permitted to stream video – this is probably a safeguard against what those who frequent an internet cafe might watch.

As I write this – for the first time I am pre-writing by hand – I am sitting on the Electrichka, the electric, or local train on my way to eat a Christmas Eve dinner with my counterpart, and her family. Hopefully, in my memory years from now this will outshine the December 24th/25th Christmas Eve/Christmas I had . . . remember, holidays are no time to spend alone.

I was planning on reading from one of the last books I have remaining, Once there was a War by Steinbeck, on this shorty voyage, but for some reason felt the urge to write. I opted against journaling this because I feel journals, too are written to be read by others, and I just wish to remove the false sense of privacy around it. In my opinion, there is no reason to write if not for posterity, or at least for current relations. Perhaps I am just cynical about intentions, but I'll make no bones about the fact that I enjoy people reading my rambling, jumbled, sometimes barely half-thought out judgments, observations and insights. It gives me a false sense of self-importance the selfsame (one of my new favorite words) sense of self-importance for which I generally don't like bloggers. I heard somewhere, sometime that we all become (perhaps eventually) what we either hate, or pretend to be. I should start writing down the proverbs I hear, because sometimes I mix and match, this might be an example.

However, after that long and mostly unnecessary explanation I will get to the point. I really just want to gloat about the fact that I was able to negotiate the train station, getting a ticket, and getting on the right train all by myself. Aren't I cool? I also expect everyone that reads this to be extremely impressed. I have not yet become totally inconspicuous here, thought, and I just blew my cover answering my cell-phone and speaking English. But, maybe I will never have cover as the only person here that wears khaki pants, and one of the few people with a beard. Someday I will get a pair of black, shiny pin-striped pants, a big furry hat, and jeans with a million zippers, and then I'll really fit in. I have a buddy here that says all I need is a jacket with a fur-lined hood, and I'll have an invisibility cloak I just can't make that jump yet, those jackets still look too “hood” for my taste.

I must admit, I wish our time was not 7 hours ahead. I am really looking forward to seeing how our Friars fare against Ricky P's Louisville boys. Two wins in a row would drive me crazy, after embarking on my self-imposed exile for the two rebuilding years the P.C. program will have (only another year and a half of rebuilding). Luckily we have Rutgers coming into town this weekend, and we get DePaul next week. I will wait with bated breath until I am able to wake up in the morning and get the news. (For the record, I am aware we lost to Louisville by 22. This was written before the game. However, once the team knows they can play with some of the best, in a big name program even if just for a half, eventually they will be able to do it for the full game. I'm sorry, I am a born and raised Friar fan I have always been an optimist.) But, as I mentioned earlier, it is the little things that get me through the day.

On a completely unrelated note: someday I hope to have a few gold teeth, or really at least one. I don't know why, but I really enjoy them. Although, I feel they give a sly cunning tint to one's appearance (sly and cunning here are not seen as derogatory terms here, as they are in the States). But, who knows? A boy can certainly dream. They are like the foreign version of a grill (the kind a rapper wears, not the Weber you cook burgers on). It is one of my smaller aspirations. I don't ask for much.

In case anybody cares, or is wondering, which I'm sure is relatively unlikely the two songs of the week are “Smith Hill,” the same Smith Hill on which I spent my college days, by Deer Tick, and also “If You Want to Make Me Happy” by Alan Jackson. It is a wonderful song about cathartic heart break. It is the country song from the jokes, about being left by a woman, but luckily she didn't take his dog, or truck, just his heart. I'm not sure if I have written previously, but my music taste has shifted far more to the folky-bluegrassy-country end of the spectrum. The songs that I feel are uniquely American, which don't really have equivalents here.

In other news, I read much, and listen to music much when I am not at school. The first term has not ended yet so I do not have my own classes to plan and prepare for yet. I am looking forward to getting into the nitty-gritty of teaching. So right now I am pretty much biding time, helping do what I can, but not having the full control of a classroom that I would like. As I mentioned at the beginning I am reading Once There Was a War by Steinbeck. These are articles that Steinbeck wrote as a war correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune, he wrote these articles during World War II. Part of the reason I decided to write instead of read, is that I know how this book ends. Pretty similar to the feeling I had when I read through the Bible in college and high school. It is a very good book though. It does not describe the action scenes of a war, those are best represented through Hollywood dramatization. Instead he, similar to how he worked with his novels, he tells the stories of the ordinary every day reality, the unspectacular aspects of war and of soldiers. Not the unspectacular aspects of soldiers as individuals, but the unspectacular aspects of their duties, changing the oil of an airplane, for example. It is not war reporting that one would recognize as much as it is reporting about the people who are at war. And, perhaps Geraldo could take note of this, he does not mention troop positions, and he censors himself for the most part. . . journalistic responsibility who wouldda thought it?
When I'm not reading, or listening to music, or at the internet cafe checking my email, and checking out my Friars, I have been listening to NPR news. Morning Edition, All Things Considered, The Writer's Almanac and also StoryCorps. It is very comforting to hear news from home. The same news I listened to on my drive to work every morning. It is very comforting, but it is also can be very disconcerting. Sometimes we can forget that the world goes on as normal even when we are away from home. I forget that my friends still go out and have fun, without me, my family still has the same parties for Christmas, for football games, still go to P.C. basketball games, and generally the world keeps turning. And this is true on the international level as well. Just because I'm not home does not mean that there are still terrorists in the world, and there are still very real threats to American security and well-being. To be honest, it is a bit humbling.

This is all I have for now. I still have some news that I want to hear, and I want to do some reading. Soon, I will write a better description of my town for anyone that cares to read. I will humbly attempt to give my best Steinbeck impression and paint a picture in your head. But, I still refuse to edit or proofread, so whammy.

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch, (oh yeah, and Go Friars!)

Pete

Little Victories

From 4,500 miles away I am still basking in our win over St. John's. In a little apartment in Zhmerynka any news, especially such good news is welcomed readily (this was written before the Louisville game, but who really expected a win against Louisville?). Today, at the internet cafe I was scolded for watching highlights of the game, and told I am not permitted to stream video – this is probably a safeguard against what those who frequent an internet cafe might watch.

As I write this – for the first time I am pre-writing by hand – I am sitting on the Electrichka, the electric, or local train on my way to eat a Christmas Eve dinner with my counterpart, and her family. Hopefully, in my memory years from now this will outshine the December 24th/25th Christmas Eve/Christmas I had . . . remember, holidays are no time to spend alone.

I was planning on reading from one of the last books I have remaining, Once there was a War by Steinbeck, on this shorty voyage, but for some reason felt the urge to write. I opted against journaling this because I feel journals, too are written to be read by others, and I just wish to remove the false sense of privacy around it. In my opinion, there is no reason to write if not for posterity, or at least for current relations. Perhaps I am just cynical about intentions, but I'll make no bones about the fact that I enjoy people reading my rambling, jumbled, sometimes barely half-thought out judgments, observations and insights. It gives me a false sense of self-importance the selfsame (one of my new favorite words) sense of self-importance for which I generally don't like bloggers. I heard somewhere, sometime that we all become (perhaps eventually) what we either hate, or pretend to be. I should start writing down the proverbs I hear, because sometimes I mix and match, this might be an example.

However, after that long and mostly unnecessary explanation I will get to the point. I really just want to gloat about the fact that I was able to negotiate the train station, getting a ticket, and getting on the right train all by myself. Aren't I cool? I also expect everyone that reads this to be extremely impressed. I have not yet become totally inconspicuous here, thought, and I just blew my cover answering my cell-phone and speaking English. But, maybe I will never have cover as the only person here that wears khaki pants, and one of the few people with a beard. Someday I will get a pair of black, shiny pin-striped pants, a big furry hat, and jeans with a million zippers, and then I'll really fit in. I have a buddy here that says all I need is a jacket with a fur-lined hood, and I'll have an invisibility cloak I just can't make that jump yet, those jackets still look too “hood” for my taste.

I must admit, I wish our time was not 7 hours ahead. I am really looking forward to seeing how our Friars fare against Ricky P's Louisville boys. Two wins in a row would drive me crazy, after embarking on my self-imposed exile for the two rebuilding years the P.C. program will have (only another year and a half of rebuilding). Luckily we have Rutgers coming into town this weekend, and we get DePaul next week. I will wait with bated breath until I am able to wake up in the morning and get the news. (For the record, I am aware we lost to Louisville by 22. This was written before the game. However, once the team knows they can play with some of the best, in a big name program even if just for a half, eventually they will be able to do it for the full game. I'm sorry, I am a born and raised Friar fan I have always been an optimist.) But, as I mentioned earlier, it is the little things that get me through the day.

On a completely unrelated note: someday I hope to have a few gold teeth, or really at least one. I don't know why, but I really enjoy them. Although, I feel they give a sly cunning tint to one's appearance (sly and cunning here are not seen as derogatory terms here, as they are in the States). But, who knows? A boy can certainly dream. They are like the foreign version of a grill (the kind a rapper wears, not the Weber you cook burgers on). It is one of my smaller aspirations. I don't ask for much.

In case anybody cares, or is wondering, which I'm sure is relatively unlikely the two songs of the week are “Smith Hill,” the same Smith Hill on which I spent my college days, by Deer Tick, and also “If You Want to Make Me Happy” by Alan Jackson. It is a wonderful song about cathartic heart break. It is the country song from the jokes, about being left by a woman, but luckily she didn't take his dog, or truck, just his heart. I'm not sure if I have written previously, but my music taste has shifted far more to the folky-bluegrassy-country end of the spectrum. The songs that I feel are uniquely American, which don't really have equivalents here.

In other news, I read much, and listen to music much when I am not at school. The first term has not ended yet so I do not have my own classes to plan and prepare for yet. I am looking forward to getting into the nitty-gritty of teaching. So right now I am pretty much biding time, helping do what I can, but not having the full control of a classroom that I would like. As I mentioned at the beginning I am reading Once There Was a War by Steinbeck. These are articles that Steinbeck wrote as a war correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune, he wrote these articles during World War II. Part of the reason I decided to write instead of read, is that I know how this book ends. Pretty similar to the feeling I had when I read through the Bible in college and high school. It is a very good book though. It does not describe the action scenes of a war, those are best represented through Hollywood dramatization. Instead he, similar to how he worked with his novels, he tells the stories of the ordinary every day reality, the unspectacular aspects of war and of soldiers. Not the unspectacular aspects of soldiers as individuals, but the unspectacular aspects of their duties, changing the oil of an airplane, for example. It is not war reporting that one would recognize as much as it is reporting about the people who are at war. And, perhaps Geraldo could take note of this, he does not mention troop positions, and he censors himself for the most part. . . journalistic responsibility who wouldda thought it?
When I'm not reading, or listening to music, or at the internet cafe checking my email, and checking out my Friars, I have been listening to NPR news. Morning Edition, All Things Considered, The Writer's Almanac and also StoryCorps. It is very comforting to hear news from home. The same news I listened to on my drive to work every morning. It is very comforting, but it is also can be very disconcerting. Sometimes we can forget that the world goes on as normal even when we are away from home. I forget that my friends still go out and have fun, without me, my family still has the same parties for Christmas, for football games, still go to P.C. basketball games, and generally the world keeps turning. And this is true on the international level as well. Just because I'm not home does not mean that there are still terrorists in the world, and there are still very real threats to American security and well-being. To be honest, it is a bit humbling.

This is all I have for now. I still have some news that I want to hear, and I want to do some reading. Soon, I will write a better description of my town for anyone that cares to read. I will humbly attempt to give my best Steinbeck impression and paint a picture in your head. But, I still refuse to edit or proofread, so whammy.

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch, (oh yeah, and Go Friars!)

Pete