Monday, May 4, 1998

We are on the overnight train from Budapest, Hungary to L'viv, Ukraine There is nervous anticipation for both of us. I am entering another world and don't know what to expect. Father wonders what my reaction will be to this place that has been such a mystery. We look out the window before leaving the station. There is the general hubbub of train stations. Who else is in our first class car? By efficient German railway standards, this might be a third class car in a remote rail line. But it's okay and we have the entire cabin to ourselves. It is relatively clean. There is an upper and lower berth. The attendant will bring our bedding once we are underway. Father, in his usual style, has met a few of our fellow travelers. One American couple is setting up a small business development incubator in L'viv. He is on contract with a U.S. Government investment agency. The man is excited and optimistic about his ability to make things happen. Father is a bit more cautious, he knows more about the dynamics drive people and power in Ukraine. There is a bit of confusion about filling out customs forms. My Dad helps several passengers, including the Americans, translate and fill out their forms. It's best to do it properly so there will be no problems entering or leaving. The conductor checks our passports and forms. We will cross the boarder in the middle of the night. Better to have the details sorted out sooner than later.

We get underway, passing through springtime and Hungarian countryside. It is yet another pretty place that I hope to return to and explore. I had a Hungarian art teacher in college. He was a wonderful character. Other things I've seen and read about the country have piqued my interest. East Central Europe is intriguing. It's a place most of us know little about, an area dynamic with years of change as different empires rose and fell, the Greeks, Romans, Turks, Austrians, Polish, Russians, and others. The region's borders are constantly changing, but there are core groups of nationalities that cling to their heritage and identities as a separate people. This is more evident with the breakup of the former Soviet Union.

We have our bread, bananas and other goodies for evening snack. I settle in, looking out the window and listening. Father tells stories about growing up in Ukraine and about the country when he was young. Eventually we set up our beds, I crawl into the top bunk and we try to get some sleep. Around midnight I wake up to clunking but the train is not moving. It turns out that the wheels on the train need to be changed at the border. The track gauges are different in Hungary and Ukraine. It takes at least an hour to make the change. Then we wait for everyone to clear customs. A border guard looks into our cabin and checks our passport. We are passed and he moves on to the next group of passengers.

Tuesday, May 5, 1998

6:40 am on a slightly drizzly Tuesday morning, I am in Ukraine! We are met at the train by friends of Father and given a ride to our hotel. It is a nice place on the edge of a park. Our room has a wonderful view overlooking the lush greenery. We have a hot shower and prepare to go out for visits. Father arranged through a friend of a friend for a woman to give us a tour of the city highlights. She comes highly recommended. Even though Father knows a lot about the area, I think he wants to see what type of presentation the local travel professionals are making of Ukraine. The woman, a Mrs. Vera, brings along her son and a driver for this excursion.

Five of us pile into an old little blue fiat and head out. First we go to a church, Saint George. Father was helped there during the war; it is a special place for him. He goes off to look for some people and Mrs. Vera, her son and I go into the church to look. The inside is beautiful, filled with ornate carvings, painting and gold work. The weather outside is a contrasting cold, gray and raw. We walk briefly around the grounds then return to the car. Our next stop is the Polytechnic Institute. Father is involved in education and I like technology. We visit one of the computer departments. I think this excursion is beyond the normal realm of Mrs. Vera's traditional tourist routes. She is at a loss what to do with these Americans who just want to drop in and see something. Eventually we locate a classroom, speak briefly to a department head and looked in on a class. The class is in one of the CAD labs where the students are learning to design circuit boards. The students, age 18 to 24 are nicely dressed and healthy looking. The university has the usual feel of student hustle and bustle. I wonder how many of the students will find work with the CAD skills they are learning. There is no opportunity test the viability of their designs through prototyping or manufacturing.

After the university, we continue to an office where Mrs. Vera's son works. It is part of an organization, based in Boston, which sends overruns of books to other countries. There are a jumble of titles, from children's books to university textbooks. We look at them and are offered a snack of bread, cheese, team and even vodka. This is the first of many presentations of hospitality.

The people here share what they have, even what they don't have. They are friendly and generous. Our visits are an excuse to pull out the stops, bring out the food and pour out the vodka. This is a challenge on several counts. They put butter, sour cream and lard on and in everything. Dairy products are a staple in the rich Ukraine farming traditions. This diet is a challenge if you are trying to follow a low fat, low cholesterol way of eating. Like many other countries, farming methods include using questionable sources of fertilizer that can cause hepatitis and worse. Vodka is good for medicinal purposes, but neither Father nor I are big drinkers, especially at lunchtime. This limits our diet to tea, bread, bananas and oatmeal. That is what Father eats here. They think he is a strange because oatmeal is usually reserved as livestock feed, but those American customs are different. Each of the food offerings becomes a tap dance of confusion. Things are expensive and pay scales are miniscule. We don't want to burden our hosts. It is a dilemma.

Our tour with Mrs. Vera concludes with thanks, a handshake and proper payment. We go to the apartment of the sister of a good friend of Father's. Many of the Ukrainians in America have family in Ukraine. They form an extended cross-cultural community. The Ukrainians that came to America after World War II live a very different life than the ones that stayed in Ukraine. Now the two paths are re-converging. The differing experiences, politics, lives and methods of survival have created two worlds. Many of the Ukrainian-Americans returning on visits want to help. The Ukrainian-Americans and the native Ukrainians are going through a process of understanding the other, both philosophically and even verbally. The Ukrainian my Father speaks is from fifty years ago. Language is a living thing. The Ukrainian of today has been influenced by the time of the Soviets when Russian was the common language.

"Aunt Lida", sister of "Uncle Joe" my Father's friend, welcomes us with open arms. Her daughter, Oksana, met us at the train this morning. We sit and talk and sort of hang out. They are, in a way, extended family. It is a challenge because I speak no Ukrainian. Oksana speaks a bit of English, but she is shy about using it. We make hand signals and I practice smiling and nodding as if I understand what is being said. The apartment is nice, there are rugs and paintings on most of the walls and a TV in the corner of the room. It is a comfortable set up. Things are not as new as most things at home, but all the basics are here.

After a while, we go down the street to visit a nearby cultural museum. It is in a beautiful old building. The museum is filled with examples of Ukrainian folk art, embroidered blouses, carvings, metal and bead work. The colors and vigorous designs are wonderful. One of the women that work here gives us a tour. We are the only patrons for this look at the extensive collection. She speaks knowledgeably about the work, My Father translates as he remembers to stop and interrupt her. There are some paintings in an area upstairs. These also are filled with a life and creative expression. I'd like to know more about the artists. Ideas fill my mind about returning one day with computers, digital cameras and scanners to create a library of images of all this work. I'd like to capture the textures and patterns and symbols that make up these Ukrainian crafts. While she is talking, I take lots of pictures, thinking that the pictures can be used for my project idea, you never know.

We return to Aunt Lida's house for dinner. I watch the women in the kitchen as they make varenyki, potato dumplings. Small disks of dough are filled with a spoonful mashed potatoes. The edges are sealed. The finished dumplings are boiled. The varenyki are served with sour cream (more dairy). They are very tasty, even without the sour cream. With us at dinner are Aunt Lida, her husband, her daughter Oksana and Oksana's teenage son. Oksana's husband, a doctor, is working. The family is welcoming. I feel fortunate to have this connection into a family's life here. It helps me understand this country and who the people are. After dinner, we walk a bit, but it is cold, so back to the hotel for a good night sleep.

Wednesday, May 6, 1998

The sun rises over the tops of the trees in the park. Father and I are early risers. We get up, shower and dress. Father makes a local call, and as usual, speaks very loudly. There is a knock on the door. When I open it, there is a man there who is looking for Father; he recognized his voice in the hallway. He is an elementary schoolmate of my Father's from way back when. He now lives in Switzerland and is in L'viv to deliver boots and shoes for the needy. We go downstairs to have breakfast together. I listen as they compare notes and share stories. He jokes with me. It seems my Father has not changed much from when they were in elementary school together.

After breakfast we say our good-byes and leave to visit a local children's home for the blind. When Ukraine became independent, my Father, like many other Ukrainians throughout the world, wanted to help the new country and it's people. Many give money to various charitable organizations. My Father's style is different. Unfortunately, much of the money given in good faith ends up in the pockets of administrators or worse swindlers. As a child on his own, my Father received help from others and wanted to help children that are is similar situations. During his first return visits to Ukraine several years ago, he thought of working with one orphanage. It wasn't clear how to help best. He arranged for them to have a washing machine. This not only helped the children but became a source of revenue as a local washing service. They also wanted a pig. That investment was eaten several months later. It's the practical things that matter. If you don't have clean clothes and food to eat, everything else is immaterial.

In that spirit, my Parents developed an idea for eye care. Children cannot learn if they cannot see to read. As a career military officer, Father has years of creating and managing programs. Why not create a program to ensure that every needy child would receive an eye examination and eyeglasses if required. He created "The Committee to Assist Ukrainian Orphans and Children without Parental Care" It's a straightforward idea, but implementation has been a learning process for all sides. How many children are there and where do they reside? This starting point is the beginning of the challenge. Father's target audience are children that are orphans or without parental care. These children live in homes or internats. In a country with many financial challenges, the internats are one of many government programs who must struggle for funds and resources. The first challenge was to find out just how many internats exist, where they are located and how many children are in each one.

Ukraine is emerging from 50 years in a paranoid soviet environment. During that time, information was power and a weapon. You did not share, you did not tell, you stayed within your boundaries, you survived. The idea of gathering and giving out information for public consumption is very different. In the starting phase of his program, Father went all over Ukraine to establish the basic facts. "As of 1 May 1997, there are 145,151 children residing within 681 orphanages (internats) throughout the 27 administrative subdivisions of Ukraine. More than one-half of the children are either physically or mentally handicapped."

With these facts, a pilot program was established to develop the program and process. The pilot created a methodology for examinations, including the creation of a specific exam form and method of writing prescriptions. The prescriptions for glasses are filled at a Ukrainian eyewear factory. Funding for the program is handled through the Ukrainian Relief Committee in Philadelphia, PA. The details have been worked out and the program is now being implemented throughout Ukraine. Father communicates from home and returns to Ukraine occasionally to keep things running smoothly. The local Ukrainians don't understand why he wants to help those less fortunate. It seems that when you get ahead in the Soviet system, you leave behind the hoi-paloi and take what is finally yours, even if it is at the expense of others. My trip to Ukraine is a chance to learn about the country my Father came from and also about this project that means a lot to him.

 

A group of children in an internat.

The orphanage we visit is in a nondescript building in a neighborhood of apartment buildings. It is tidy and bright with the usual busy-ness that is present in all schools. We visit the headmistress and several of the classrooms. The children range from shy to boisterous, the difference is that many have patches on one of their eyes. The teachers seem to be caring and protective of their kids. Father finishes his business discussions.

We leave and catch a local minibus to an art and crafts market. Artists display all sorts of work and ranges of quality. There are embroidered blouses and table linens, carved wooden boxes, beaded necklaces, paintings, books and general brick-brack. I get a book with embroidery patterns. The blouses look pretty together hanging on display, dancing in the sunny wind. They are nice to look at but none appeal to me. We take a walk around the city and enjoy the sights.

The main thoroughfares are lined with handsome buildings. Funding to maintain and upgrade the area is a challenge, but gradually a lovely city is emerging. There is freshness about the place, some because of springtime. It's like going back in time, before merchandising and brand names were everywhere. The landscape is changing. Coca-Cola signs and cigarettes logos are gaining a presence in the landscape. We visit another new development, a local restaurant called "Stephanie". Friendly waitresses dressed in embroidered blouses serve us good food. They're not sure what to make of Father who interviews them about their lives, but take it with good nature. Father decides I need to rest while he goes off to pursue more business. Back in our room, I read and have a rest.

Thursday, May 7, 1998

The adventure continues. I'm not quite sure what the plan is, but I take my cue from Father. After breakfast we check out of the hotel and get in a car for our journey. Father has been fortunate procure a car and driver to take us around. There isn't much in the way of convenient public transportation. You can't rent a car. Our driver is a moonlighting policeman, all the better for us. Ukrainians aren't as mobile as we are in America. Transportation is expensive and for years, unless you had a reason, you were expected to stay put. The road infrastructure is limited, the maps sketchy and vehicles expensive.

Our drive takes us through a farm landscape bursting with springtime. Lilacs are in bloom everywhere. In the fields there are baby horses, calves, ducks, goats; the world is reborn. Our small car travels on two lane roads that are in moderate repair. We share the road with vehicles ranging from Mercedes to horse drawn carts. The Mafia owns the Mercedes. Weathered farmers drive the carts. Sitting on loads of hey in the back are wives, livestock, or children. The sky is a clear blue dotted with white puffy clouds. It is a quintessential spring day in a farming region.

We make our way to a town in the Carpathian region and meet briefly with the Mayor. My Father has a letter from Escondido, California, their sister city. My search for a bathroom is quite a process. Maintenance of public facilities is not a high priority. The facilities are functional, barely. At the conclusion of Father's meeting, we are encouraged to visit a cultural museum in the city. After a lunch in a nearby restaurant we look at the museum. Again, the local expert is happy to show us around. At the end of the tour, our guide becomes an entrepreneur. She takes us to an office to show us handwork available for sale. There are blouses, table runners and traditional dyed Easter eggs. I inspect the embroidery, but decline purchase. We buy three of the eggs and they pack them for us.

We push on to visit a local vocational school for the arts. It specializes in teaching traditional Ukrainian arts. The programs range from textiles and embroidery to woodcarving and metal work. There are wonderful examples of student and masterwork in their small museum. We spend time in one of the classrooms where a group of boys are working on carving projects. Many of them are following family tradition, their fathers or other relatives are artists and craftsmen. Talented graduates of the school can make a good living. Their work is valued for utilitarian, art, gift and symbolic purposes. It is wonderful to see a commitment to maintaining and developing traditional Ukrainian arts.

It would be fun to explore more of the area but we need to move on. We are staying in Pochiav tonight and it is a distance from here. Many of the homes we drive past are decorated with painting or metal work. I'd like to come back and take photographs of the variety. We drive on and on through the late afternoon. The maps are limited and we end up taking a wrong turn. The countryside is pretty, but we are all tired after a long day of traveling and visiting. We make it there before dark.

Pochiav is the town where my Father was born 70 years ago. We are staying with Vasyl and his family. He is my Father's nephew, my cousin. Vasyl is one of seven children of my Father's sister, Aunt Maria. She and my Father are the only survivors of their own large family. When my Father left Ukraine during the war, he never knew what had happened to his family. With Ukrainian independence, he learned the toll the war had taken.

Vasyl and his wife have two daughters, a teenager and an older daughter who is married. She lives with her husband in a house at the opposite end of Vasyl's strip of land. Across the street is a cherry orchard at its blooming peak, it is glorious. We have a bite to eat and talk. I listen, no one speaks English. The younger daughter is staying with her sister so I can sleep in her room. Vasyl's house is very comfortable, three bedrooms, a bathroom, dining area, and kitchen. It is quite modern, has gas for cooking and a telephone. These conveniences that we take for granted in America are expensive luxuries here. There is a long wait to have a gas line brought to the house. The fee is your portion of the gas pipeline in addition to the appropriate bribes.

Friday, May 8, 1998

Today we visit the grave and memorial of Father's family. They are not forgotten. Vasyl then drives us to his mother's house. Aunt Maria lives in a simple farmhouse in the middle of an orchard of cherry trees. They are in bloom. The house has running water but the outhouse is in back. She lives the straightforward farming life with dignity. She has raised seven children and now cares for her ailing husband. She is a strong woman. She is a survivor. Her daughter and one of her sons are there, my cousins. Everyone is emotional about the meeting. The tragedy of those who are no longer alive weigh heavy on her. I focus on the joy and thankfulness that we, who are here, enjoy the wonderful day and each other. There are smiles all around. It is difficult because we cannot communicate with language. Hugs say a lot. Our worlds are so very different, yet we are related.

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this. I grew up thinking I was one of a small family unit who traveled, moved and lived in a private world. There was no real other family, just us. We were independent, strong and had each other, my Parents, Sister and I. Here is a family I never knew about. How can I know them, how can they know me? What, if any, is the point of intersection. We go on in our familiar, and separate worlds. I wonder what they imagine mine to be? There is much I do not understand about theirs. I am glad for the opportunity to see and meet them.

 

Aunt Maria.

We leave Aunt Maria's and stop by for a quick look at where Vasyl works. He manages part of a clothing factory that makes housecoats and utilitarian garments. Right now they are working on a contract for military coats. Vasyl is nervous because there are few new contracts. They have enough work to get by for now, but times are tight. It is difficult to keep people working if there is not a steady stream of projects coming in. It is also difficult to get raw materials and the financing to purchase supplies. Even if you have the contract, you need cash to start. There is a while before the customer pays for the delivered merchandise.

Father is not one to sit around and relax. There are places to go and people to see. We stop to deliver a suit to a man who was a former classmate of Father's. Father tries to bring things that will be of use to people here. Unfortunately the suit is too small, but no worries, someone will be able to get good use out of it. Next, we have an appointment to meet with a local school. Originally, he thought I would be giving a presentation on technology to the students. Instead I have a very interesting conversation with one of the professors and a few of the students. They are bright and plugged into the information highway. We talk about technology and the things they are doing in their classes, creating web sites and desktop publishing. One enterprising fellow even asked about potential long distance work. You never know, getting paid would be the biggest challenge.

Our lunchtime attempt at a roadside picnic is overrun by swarms of mosquitoes. We beat a hasty retreat and return to Vasyl's house. On the way we run a few errands and pick up Vasyl's son-in-law, Slavco, from work. We are driving his car. At the house, we sit out back, looking at the garden. They show me around the different things that they have growing. For dinner we have borsht, kasha, salad and bread. Everything tastes very good.

It is almost eight in the evening and the sun is still out. In my room at Vasyl's house, I sit and look out across the street. In the orchard is a goat tied to a tree with her kid. Four little girls sit and play. Traffic on the road is sparse, an occasional car, pedestrian or horse and cart. Vasyl's yard has cherry and apple trees, grapes, lilacs, roses, tulips and strawberries. Two dogs lie in front of their doghouses. Out back there are chickens, rabbits, and pigs. The rest of the garden is planted with onions, chives, radishes, potatoes, cucumbers and flowers. This small piece of land is a source of food. The region's farming traditions are routed in practicality.

 

Fresco of a saint in the monestary in Pochiav.

Saturday, May 9, 1998

Another amazing day. We are up early and go to the weekly market and bazaar. It has the usual range of food, clothes, shoes and car parts. People arrive in an assortment of transportation. We walk there with some of the family and spend time wandering around looking at everything. Shopping complete, we get a ride back to the house. I sit, watch how the soup is made and look for cooking tips. Afterwards, we visit the large monastery in town. This is where Father was an altar boy. He learned about politics, religion and power from observing the actions of the priests. Miracles are believed to happen here. The church is a pilgrimage site. Groups of people come to be blessed and kiss the holy icons. There are also those who come for longer periods to be healed or to pray for special needs. We contract a tour guide to show us around. Father tells me stories about things he did when he was a boy and about the power dynamics of the monks, priests and bishops. I think his religious career was curtailed when he realized just how human those holy men could be.

 

A view of the monestary and surrounding landscape from the belltower.

When we return to the house, all is in preparation for a family gathering. Father is uncomfortable with the all-night, vodka-laden extravaganzas that are traditional celebrations. He has suggested instead, a more sedate, less alcoholic but still joyful afternoon get together. It is a varied collection of relatives. We take an assortment of photographs to record the occasion and then settle around the table. Everyone enjoys the goodies. Get togethers Ukrainian style are a chance to pull out all the stops, eat special food and make many toasts. My Father has always been a boisterous speaker with knowledgeable opinions on a variety of subjects. I find myself in a room filled with people just like him! Everyone is talking with great vigor, volume and conviction. I look around and notice the physical resemblance that runs through the group as well. Of course there is talk of politics, food, other relatives and general gossip. I don't understand much of it, but in a way, I get the gist of what is being communicated. I think the others don't quite know what to make of me. It's difficult when you can't talk to each other. We smile warmly at each other. I wonder how similar or different we really are.

Toasts are made, moments of thanks given and soon, everyone has gone home. We go with Slavco for a drive to visit another miracle place. It is a small church built over a spring. The waters from this spring are said to bring good luck and health. Vasyl's married daughter is trying to have a baby. Her husband Slavco hopes the water will help. We travel down country roads in the late afternoon sunshine. It is a lovely day. Eventually we come to a wooded area and make our way on dirt tracks toward the spring. We park and walk the last bit. It is a pretty setting, green woods, and soft loam under our feet. There are others picnicking at the pond by the spring. Some are even swimming. To me the water is far too cold for that. We look at the church. It is rustic and beautiful in its simplicity. The decorations are hand carved and the walls whitewashed. Icons stand out and embroidered clothes add color and texture. We fill our bottles with the special spring water and then take a walk through the woods, past creeks and other small springs and ponds. It is a favorite picnic spot and I can see why. Camping and picnics look like popular weekend activities, a chance to get out, go fishing and relax.

Between my observations of the country and conversations with my Father, I have come up with a plan to help Ukraine.

· Get a healthy population through good food and nutrition, proper health care and education about hygiene. Many people don't have basic health care or access to medications. The best medicine is prevention and being healthy with good diet, exercise.

· Support business development; don't tax it to death. Currently, any small entrepreneurial dream is squashed because of taxes, fees and bribes that need to be paid. The cost of licenses for a small parking lot and food service for tourist busses to the Pochaiv Monastery is more that any profit one could hope to make.

· Support foreign partnership and investments to help build a world class business infrastructure including roads, distribution, banks and technology. Is there some sort of master plan for this? Outside companies want access to new markets but goods cannot be delivered if there is limited transportation, storage and distribution capability.

· Invest in education, including history. Competition in a global marketplace requires an educated work force. The people here are smart, give them the basic knowledge, a sense of national pride and an environment to continue to learn.

· Encourage inter-departmental cooperation within the various Ukrainian government and businesses. Working smart can get lots more done.

· Develop natural resources including agriculture, culture, wood, coal, etc.

· Discourage corruption and criminal activities. Make crime something wrong not the only option for someone to get ahead.

· Look forward but remember the past. Have a vision of the country you want for your children and generations to come.

So, there are my ideas, we shall see how the country evolves. It will be interesting to see the changes that are sure to happen over time. These are good people, but there are good people in all of the places I have visited. It is amazing to know I am related by blood. They wonder how Father can survive in a foreign country like America. Why doesn't he come "home" they ask, but home is really America. In spite of the richness of Ukraine, the sights, sounds, smells and experiences, including relations, America is my home. This is part of the history that is the melting pot of the United States. I am so fortunate to visit but it makes me more aware of the blessings of my home.

The sun sets late again and the spring evening has a chill. I wander in back, looking at Vasyl's garden. There is a sense of peace at the end of the day. After dinner of leftovers from the afternoon's festivities, I get some rest.

Sunday, May 10, 1998

Today we go to Kiev. Vasyl and Slavco take us there. The several hour drive is through more countryside in its glorious springtime finery. Vasyl will drive the car back to Pochaiv. Slavco is taking a course in Kiev for the next few weeks. We meet Panne Helena in a parking area near Slavco's school. She helps Father with his

orphanage program in Ukraine. We will be staying in her apartment while we are here. I don't know where she is staying, she guards her privacy. We are welcomed with open arms and a generous heart. A friend of hers, who also helps with Father's program, has prepared a nice lunch for us when we get to the apartment. There is soup, varenyki, cucumbers, radishes and rye bread. Panne Hellena's home is on the seventh story of an apartment building on a busy street near other tall apartment buildings. As I look out the window of her balcony, I realize how little I know of the Slavic world. I don't know about their customs, beliefs or daily lives, but I am here to learn. The outside of the buildings look beaten up, inside this apartment, very comfortable. The homes I visit contain possessions and comforts that are not evident from the often-shabby exteriors. This world is a mystery.

It is Mother's Day and my Mom's birthday. Father calls, we talk and send our best wishes. It is so good to hear her voice. I am missing home and even though I look forward to visiting Ukraine, it is getting time to return to the familiar. Only three more weeks and I'll be on a plane home. I daydream about what I'll do when I get back. Maybe it's time for a new computer, to putter in the garden, and take time to digest all my travels. It is funny to spend five months not understanding most of what goes on, language, culture, everything. I've gotten by. I have a sense of the places I've been to and learned a lot about myself in the process.

We go into downtown Kiev for a look around. The public transportation is convenient and readily available. We catch a mini bus to the metro and then take the metro into town. There are lots of people going places. Few have cars so the public transit systems are well used. After a stroll through some of the main squares, we return to the apartment to rest. It is one large room with a separate kitchen and bathroom. The porch has been enclosed to make another small room. It is nicely done up, very comfortable. The couch pulls out into a bed that I will sleep on and another bed is made up in the porch room for my Dad. We are very lucky to she is letting us stay here. She also has a television and a wall of shelves filled with books and mementos. It is a home like many apartments around the world. Panne Hellena worked for the Soviets as a regional trainer and inspector. She is retired but her background is helpful for my Father because even though the Soviet Union is no longer, many of the bureaucratic procedures live on in Ukraine. Things are done in certain ways.

Monday, May 11, 1998

We get up, tidy the apartment, put the bedding away, get dressed and then have some oatmeal for breakfast. Father starts making phone calls and doing business. Panne Hellena and I head out to the riverside park and a walk around the neighborhood. The building themselves are tired and in ill repair. The streets and sidewalks could use a lot of fixing up as well. I image it's a matter of budget and priorities. The park runs along the Dnipro River and around an inlet where you can rent boats or swim on a beach.

When we return, Father is pacing outside waiting for us. There are appointments to be kept, people to meet! We quickly get ready and then take the bus to the subway station to go into town. The subway is very efficient and many of the stations are beautifully decorated with tile mosaics. Our meeting is in the Ministry of Education. I sit in the background while business is conducted. Afterwards, we go to a small restaurant for a bowl of borsht. Sitting at a table nearby, we overhear a conversation in English. Listening in, there is an American couple and a Ukrainian couple. As we leave, Father stops at their table to ask where they are from and what they are doing in Kiev.

When I hear their story, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. I know Father feels it too. They are from Wisconsin and are here to adopt a baby. Dimitri who they met through some mysterious connection is their local contact. They have paid some money and are ready to make another payment. They know nothing about the details of where or how they will get the child. They trust everything will work out okay. Father asks a few more questions. I can tell he is getting more upset. I realize that unless we are willing to get totally involved, we are better off leaving the transaction to follow its course, what ever that may be. I do hope everything works out for them.

My Father's program deals with orphanages, but he stays away from adoptions. There are too many opportunists looking to take advantage of trusting couples who cannot have children. There is an office in Ukraine that places a few children. It is a dilemma, how to fairly connect children needing homes with caring families that want to provide them. Another dilemma is the Amway program that is being pushed in Kiev. Panne Hellena does not understand why we are less than thrilled with her forays into business. In the States I have seen too many closets of unused sample products and sales literature to know that the promise of riches is rarely fulfilled. Few win the lottery. In general there are no get rich quick schemes. Most people in America get their money by working for it. We are very lucky to have the range of opportunities and the ability to have a system where hard work can pay off.

With the fall of communism, capitalism was supposed to stride right in and put a Buick in every driveway and a case of vodka in every pantry. Things haven't worked out that way. What people here don't realize is America's prosperity and problems evolved over a long period of time. There is corporate merchandising and channels of distribution, supply chains and resource allocation. Many of us work hundreds of hours for the goods we are enticed to purchase through sophisticated advertising. The system has its drawbacks but it also creates an environment of creativity and entrepreneurship. You don't have to be told what to do, you can create it for yourself. You can succeed and you can fail. If you are willing to take risks, you can create your own opportunity. This type of thinking is not the norm in Ukraine. This country has a legacy of a system where you were told, never asked. Creative "outside the box" thinking could lead you into a different type of box, a permanent end.

The contrasts provoke thoughtfulness and an American tendency to want to try and fix things, make them better, like our way. International businesses arrive in Ukraine thinking they can establish another franchise and move along. Institutional memories from the Soviet system have a different methodology; loans do not need to be paid back. It looks like things are getting worse before they will get better. Corruption rides rampant. The Mafia is a successful career path; they're the ones with all the goodies and the power. What are ethics and social responsibility? Why bother investing in infrastructure. What is the system for creating processes of ownership or registering legal transactions? Like Rome, America or Ukraine was not built in a day. In spite of all these issues, life manages to go on.

Father leaves us to give a lecture at the Ukrainian Military Academy. Panne Hellena and I explore the Botanical Gardens. It is heaven in lilac. Thousands of huge fragrant lilac bushes are at their blooming peak, unbelievably glorious. The smell hovers everywhere. There are all shades, from deep purple to lighter purple to delicate white. We stroll, enjoying the beauty, the views to the river and churches below. I've never seen anything like it. The weather is in harmony with the blossoms. It is a balmy warm spring day. We take the bus and then the Metro home. We meet Father there and have dinner before getting to sleep.

Tuesday, May 12, 1998

Errands and running around and more people to see, things to do. We go and check out the boat we will be taking on our cruise down the Dnipro River. Ukraine is in its tourist infancy and this is one of the nicer options available. Father wants so much for his daughter to have a wonderful experience. This is part of it. I am very fortunate. We board this Friday for an 11-day trip that will take us from Kiev to Odessa with many stops along the way. We stop by the cruise office to confirm our reservations and make sure everything is okay. Little by little businesses get established. We visit a nearby clothing factory that has contracts to make beautiful wool coats and rain gear for better western clothing firms. They have fancy computerized systems for cutting and assembling the garments. I wonder who is financing the organization. It is great to see business flourishing. They have a show room. I try on a few things, they are nice, but there is nothing I need or can't get back at home. I'm more interested in embroidery and other crafts.

Next stop; Father meets with two eye doctors during their lunch break. They are married and both husband and wife are in medicine. I fall asleep in the car waiting for them. When they arrive, we have a stroll in a nearby park and they discuss their needs for equipment. Father will do what he can to help. In his research about eye care, he has met a few retired doctors who know of equipment and supplies that might be useful. Afterward, we stop for lunch and then back to the apartment to regroup.

I am tired. It is difficult for me because I don't understand Ukrainian, feel I have no control and little understanding of what we are doing. This has caused some tension with Father. I have to let him know that just because I nod very knowingly this does not mean I understand what is being said. Often I get the gist of what is going on but I still want to know specific plans or where and why we are going someplace. It's a challenge to give up control when I've been calling my own shots for over four months. It's ironic, because Father is trying hard for me to have a good time. He can't know if I don't let him know what I want. It's the same old thing, nothing like a little communication to straighten things out. I think my tiredness and length of solo time on the road has increased my sensitivity. Father and I have always had a bit of a control tap-dance. This adventure puts two independent people in a very interdependent situation. We both want to have a good time and somehow we figure out a middle ground.

 

Panne Hellena and Father joking at the dinner table.

Wednesday, May 13, 1998

We have more errands to run and meetings to attend to. I'm glad to have this variety of experiences. It's a chance to peek behind the curtains of bureaucracy. We walk up stairs and down hallways of buildings where business transpires and meetings are held. It's a bit shabbier than those at home but the feeling is the same. We sit in a waiting room for a suitable time until our appointment is available to meet with us. We are offered tea, sometimes vodka, and we sit on utilitarian furniture while conducting meetings. There are a variety of mementos and other artifacts on the shelves or hanging on the walls. A secretary sits at a desk outside the office or somewhere down the hall. I get the sense there is the usual range of office politics. We are not so different after all.

The morning's meeting concluded; we stop by a bank that has a sign suggesting it will cash travelers checks. Of all the countries I have traveled, this is the only one without ATMs. I've seen one in a store but it was not working. Most of the money changing is done at little kiosks. It feels like some illicit transaction. Because of my Dad, I've not had to worry about sorting out the money here. U.S. dollars are the currency of choice. The bank we find is not an easy place to enter. There is a guard at the door and he demands to know what our business is. It's a good thing Father speaks Ukrainian because I never would have managed to get past the front door. Eventually we are allowed in. We want to exchange travelers' checks. Once we get to the proper floor and find the right office and correct clerk, we are able to conduct our business with no problem and get very favorable exchange rates. I am cashing the remainder of my travelers' checks, some for dollars and some for the local currency, Hryvnia. Managing money and getting cash is quite a challenge here. All currency, what you bring in and what you take out, is supposed to be registered with the government. I suppose it's so they can get a piece of any action. We take for granted our ease of commerce, with credit cards and ready cash easily available for our shopping convenience.

We return to Panne Hellena's apartment, eat lunch and rest. Petro is the man who has been driving us around Kiev. He is the son-in-law of Panne Hellena's friend who's been preparing meals. He has two children and a nephew. We want to do something fun for them so we are taking them out for a treat. McDonalds is part of the westernization of Ukraine. There are several in Ukraine, and like Coca-Cola, they are bringing modern merchandising to the former Soviet Union. The formula is the same in Kiev as everywhere else, hamburgers, french-fries and shakes. Father gets the goodies and we sit at the plastic molded table and chairs in the clean, glass enclosed establishment. McDonald's does what it does very well. I'm sure it has not been an easy task to bring this bit of Americana to Ukraine. Petro wonders why isn't there a place that serves good Ukrainian fast food, like borsht and varenyki. You never know; there is always a possibility.

In the evening, Father, Panne Hellena and I go to the home of the two eye doctors that we met yesterday. It is the woman doctor's father's 70^th birthday. We have been invited to share the festivities. A few other friends and the couple's 11-year-old son are there. The son is a capricious kid who speaks pretty good English. He takes his role as translator quite seriously. Several cards and poems of good wishes are read out loud. The young boy does a wonderful job translating the heart felt sentiments. It is an interesting evening. The guest of honor is a retired doctor who was very involved in dealing with the Chernobyl crisis. The slow pace of action by the government and the lack of public information during the crisis is tragic. No one knew anything. Kiev is just down wind and down stream from Chernobyl. People unknowingly had windows open, continuing their lives while everything around them was contaminated with radiation. They live daily with the fallout from the accident. Another challenge from the accident is the allocation of relief funds that poured in from people trying to help the victims. So much of the money has ended up in the wrong pockets. Even recently, Ukrainian communities in Canada and Australia host children they believe are from Chernobyl. Instead they find themselves with visitors who are spoiled, upper-class kids who were nowhere near Chernobyl.

The birthday festivities include much toasting, story telling and lots of eating and drinking. It is a glimpse into a loving family and a look at a man who lives a good life. I am honored to be included.

Thursday, May 14, 1998

Today we visit the Kiev Polytechnic Computer Department. I talk with a professor in the computer lab. He shows me the Ukrainian cultural web site they are working on. We discuss the internet, the work he and his students are doing, the different programs they use and software piracy. They cannot afford to buy the programs. Most of their applications are bootleg copies. They are available on the street in Kiev. Sellers have tables of CDs, some music and pirated versions of major software applications.

Our next stop is some culture at the museum. We walk through the collection of paintings. Father is being a good sport. This is not usually his idea of a good time. I am taken by the spirit and creativity of the Ukrainian artists. Their work is in a range of styles. Overall there is strength and vision in their work. Many of the paintings are quite striking.

After a lunch, Father leaves Panne Hellena and I to go window-shopping while he escapes for a meeting or another lecture. I'd like to get some embroidery fabric to practice while on the cruise. We go to a fabric store and look at all the various bolts of fabric, from polyester to wool and silk. They seem to be busy with lots of shoppers. I'm not sure how much is actually being purchased. Most of the fabric is imported from all over the world. I examine some cotton. It's the usual balance between value and function. Earlier, we found a shop that had embroidery thread. I got the traditional red and black to practice my Ukrainian cross-stitch. I have one pattern book that I got in L'viv. After getting a meter of white cotton, we look at books with pictures and descriptions of embroidery. I get one more book for my collection.

Feeling accomplishment with our small purchases, we return to the apartment to rest. Tonight we are going to the ballet to complete our day's full itinerary of culture. We meet Uncle Joe's brother at the theater. The four of us settle into our seats in the beautifully elaborate theater. Father buys a translated program from a local student trying to make some money. The performance is nice and Father doesn't snore too loudly. It's a lovely evening. Filled with culture, we take the subway back to the apartment and settle happily to sleep.

Friday, May 15, 1998

We hang out in the apartment, taking care of business. I read while Father makes some phone calls and sorts out papers. Our styles are very different. I have to remember to let go and not get so upset about everything. We each have our own ways of doing things. In just over two weeks I'll be home. For now, relax and enjoy this wonderful opportunity and experience. A good thing about family togetherness is I don't have the solo travel empty moments. I am glad to be here and very thankful for the chance to explore and learn about this country with my Father.

Panne Hellena is quite a jokester. She tells lots of tacky stories when we are sitting at the table in her small kitchen. I carry an image of her giggling. Father laughs as they tell another parable from their childhood. Like all kids, there were little singsong ditties that the kids told each other, often slightly risqué. She and Father remember different ones that sneak out in conversation at the table. It is a wonderful warm feeling. Even though I don't know the words, I get the gist of the mirth and rhyme in their words.

After lunch, we pack and head over to the boat to begin our cruise. When we get there, we are met with girls in costume holding traditional bread. A small band is playing music. We get our key and go to our assigned cabin. The next hour is spent exploring the boat and checking out the other passengers. We also arrange for Panne Hellena to join us for dinner tonight onboard ship.

Dinner is a pleasurable affair. The company is nice and the food is good. We are welcomed to the cruise by the travel coordinator. After dinner, a music group presents Ukrainian folk songs with great vigor and talent. Father and Panne Hellena know all the words. We enjoy the performance. There is a fair amount of nervous anticipation in our group. Father wants this to be a fun trip, Panne Hellena wants to be sure we are well taken care of. This is a good way to see the country. You have one place to keep all your things but the location changes. Also, all the food and transportation is taken care of. I plan to enjoy myself.