Saturday, May 16, 1998

We spend our first night on board docked at the pier in Kiev. It is a comfortable room; two single beds, a small bathroom with shower, and a closet. There is a window with a nice view of the city. We are set for an adventure. Breakfast is a buffet with eggs, breads and the usual fair. It's good, not extensive, but certainly more than enough for us. I wonder about the management and running of a ship in Ukraine. Basic foodstuffs and other goods are difficult and expensive to come by. Western tourists have expectations of certain levels of comfort that are not the norm here.

After breakfast, we're off for a morning tour of the city. Our group of English speakers consists of an Australian couple who was born in Ukraine, a Dutch couple and a pair of English students from Oxford. Our guide is energetic, informative and very positive about her city and country. She describes Kiev as a park with a city in it. In many ways she is right. There are parks and greenery everywhere. From a central square high above the river she describes the history of the founding of Kiev. We visit several churches including St. Vladimir's Cathedral. Lunch is served on board ship. The tour resumes with a visit to the Kiev cave Monastery. In the late afternoon a male chorus beautifully sings traditional Ukrainian songs in a local concert hall. The presentation includes selections ranging from religious to military to folksongs. Again, Father knows all the words. Many of the songs bring back very strong feelings for him. We don't talk about it, feelings are not something normally discussed. I know these ballads are very much a part of his past and who he is. There is passion and feeling for a homeland. My homeland is very much America. Songs like "God Bless America" are strong symbols.

Our boat leaves this evening. We begin our journey downstream on the Dnipro River. At dinner, we join one of the English-speaking guests and get to know each other better. It turns out that most of the passengers on board are from Germany. A German tour company aggressively sold this cruise. Members of the German travel company management are on the cruise as well. Overall things are fine. Because there are so few passengers that speak English, we are sort of out of synch. The other groups have a facilitator assigned specifically to meet their needs, in German. Ah well, we make the best of it.

The anticipation of home gets stronger for me. Up to now, I have been fine with whatever local food and facilities are available. NowI find myself craving a big bowl of popcorn and a rental video at home on the couch. Yup, it's time to head home. Most of it is mental preparation for return. After years of moving I've learned that as the transition time gets closer, I shift gears from present location to anticipation of the change. Usually it's a new place to live or work, now what once was familiar will be new or certainly different. I wonder what American culture shock will be like. I'll find out soon enough, for now, I'm enjoying my adventures in Ukraine.

Ceiling in a performance center in Kiev

Sunday, May 17, 1998

We have sailed to Kaniv to visit the museum and grave of Taras Schevchenko. He is a Ukrainian national hero who was a painter, poet and fighter for independence. We make our way through the beautiful park along the river to the museum on the top of the hill. The museum building is filled with examples of Schevchenko's work. Additional displays show a history of his life. He was a special man who raised himself from poverty to get an education in art and culture, living a full and passionate life. His beliefs in Ukraine and the rights of the people brought him banishment and prison. The poetry and art he created, in spite of his hardships, are symbols that help to unify the people of this new Ukraine.

It seems that Ukrainians are not fastidious when it comes to installing or maintaining bathroom facilities. When nature calls, it is not uncommon for someone to find the nearest bush and relieve themselves. In spite of this, I was a bit confused when Father insisted I visit the facilities behind the museum. A Ukrainian-American friend of his complained when she visited this museum there were no public toilets to be found. My Father is a firm believer in basics like clean socks, adequate food and suitable toilets for public tourist monuments, especially one as important as Schevchenko's. Father was here a year or two ago. He met with the museum director and arranged for something to be done about the situation. He is pleased to report to friends back home that the situation has been addressed. There are now adequate facilities available to meet the public's need for relief. We

take many photographs to document this. In fact, I understand Father purchased the toilets, had them delivered and installed on the site. The locals think this is unusual but then, Americans are difficult to figure out.

The ship docks at Kaniv for most of the day. In the afternoon, I wander around the park grounds, watching the other Sunday picnickers. There are some enterprising women selling embroidery, crafts and other souvenirs. I purchase one embroidered dress as an example of traditional embroidery work. The place has an abandoned feel to it. A building was at one time a cafeteria is empty and grass grows in many of the cement walkways. Hopefully the business of Ukraine will prosper and this park will be developed into an even nicer tourist destination.

Father joins me as we walk the grounds. He talked to the museum director and got an update on bathroom construction and other projects. As we walk, Father asks questions of some of the people we meet. A husband, wife and their young daughter are fishing on the banks of the river. Father asks them about their work, the girl's school and about their lives. They don't catch many fish, but it is a nice place for a Sunday afternoon. The daughter is in school and she says likes it. It is difficult because everything, even pencils are very expensive. They are nervous about the cost of living. Will they be able to keep their jobs?

We return to the ship to continue our journey. We aren't too thrilled with the cruise director for the ship. She is not doing what we think her job should be, taking good care of us. She is carries herself with superiority and only occasionally takes the time to give us information or patronize us like school children. In spite of all that, we manage to enjoy ourselves. We eat dinner with the Australian couple. They are truly nice people.

At times the family togetherness can get a bit intense. Both Father and I are solo travelers, more comfortable with setting our own pace and itinerary. Being confined to the cruise schedule is a challenge. Even so, I am so lucky to have this opportunity with my Dad. We both put our annoyances aside and focus on the adventure.

Monday, May 18, 1998

Today's optional activity is a visit to a local Ukrainian farm. Father and I decide to forgo this opportunity. We had a great time visiting Aunt Maria and the farming area around Pochiav. Instead, we explore the town of Kremnchuk. The day starts out sunny and windy but gives way to gray rain. It is cold. We take the bus into town and wander around in the market looking at produce and other goods for sale. In our explorations we find a barbershop. In the small, one chair establishment, Father gets a haircut. The woman with the clippers is classic. She seems very good at the social end of her business. Father and she have a great time conversing. I think she enjoys the strange American/Ukrainian and he likes learning about the locals. After a bit more snooping in town, we catch a bus back to the boat. I go back on board, Father stays on land to make a few phone calls.

There are no internet connections here. I wonder how friends and family are doing. It would feel good to have two hours of connecting, but I'll have to do without. I think of everyone. I wonder what sort of work I'll do when I get back.

What will it feel like to be home? Coming to Ukraine is like stepping through Alice's looking glass. Everything is backward and topsy-turvey. The basics, life, family, seasons are similar, but the attitudes and approach to life is very different. There is little evidence of individual civic responsibility. In the cities, the buildings look gray, devoid of ornamentation and unkempt. They are functional, but the form and its relation to any whole is not considered. An apartment block is just a block. It stands next to its neighbor along a street. All is functional cement. There are occasional trees and patches of land where random things grow. The quirky individual touches that give character and variety are missing.

Beyond the cities, the countryside has a timelessness about it. Many villages look as they have for centuries. The cycle of life goes on. Springtime is everywhere, fresh with the abundance of new growth. The landscape along the river is lush and green. This is a country with many problems and much potential. It will be interesting to see how things evolve. How will they deal with capitalism and the western television? Popular shows include "Santa Barbara" and "Melrose Place". What illusions do they have about rich capitalistic Americans?

I have a nap in the afternoon, read and then we have dinner. The after dinner activities include wine tasting. There are a few vineyards in Ukraine. New ones are being reestablished in Western Ukraine after being destroyed over the last fifty years. The climate in Ukraine ranges from the Mediterranean in Crimea to mountainous in the west to the vast plains in the bulk of the country. Ukraine is bigger than France and smaller than Texas. The climate is relatively moderate and good for agriculture. How will they prosper with these assets?

An old but functioning car.

Tuesday, May 19, 1998

Early this morning we pass through the deepest lock of our cruise. The cement sides of the lock are an arms distance from the side of the boat as we are lowered to meet the new level of the river. Today we will dock in Zaporizhzhya, the birthplace of the Cossacks. Our itinerary includes a visit to the "Cossack Glory Museum" and the Cossack horse show in the afternoon.

The museum documents the time of the Cossacks, when men were men, they rode horses, played music, and fought bravely against the oppressors. They fought for the rights of the individual, freedom from landowners and others who would keep them enslaved. As the stories are told, I imagine a rousing sound track of music, ranging from the thundering beat of horse hooves to the melancholy refrains of a lonely night around the campfire. Like American cowboys, the Cossacks represent physical-ness and a spirit of independence on which romantic tales are built. The museum is interesting collection of artifacts and pictorial descriptions of Cossack life. Our group of English speakers dutifully follows the guide as she explains the various exhibits depicting everything from Cossack initiation, to training, battle and celebration.

After lunch on the boat, a bus takes us across the river to an area that has a small house, some tables under a roof, horse padlocks out back and a large enclosed riding ring with benches under trees along one side. We wander around looking at the goats in one of the padlocks. Some of the passengers play with a puppy. Eventually we take our places on the benches. The show is an entertaining combination of showmanship, horsemanship and comedy. The performers, all men, are dressed in costume. They charge into the ring, galloping and whistling, sometimes standing on the horse, other times riding underneath it. A master of ceremonies, the Cossack ring leader commands the proceedings with his large presence and a big whip. It's an enjoyable show with lots of bravado and attitude. Afterward, we are invited to the tables to try a little vodka. It tastes closer to moonshine. They hope that a "happy" crowd will be more inclined to purchase souvenirs. We mill around, talking, looking and taking pictures. It's nice to see the local initiative to create a tourist attraction. It's fun, educational and it is also obvious that the men enjoy the excuse to ride fast and show off their skills. Everyone wins. There is a simplicity and straightforwardness about the entire event. Often, in the West, the presentations are so slick and staged that the human side and viewer involvement is diminished.

This trip to Ukraine makes me very thoughtful. It is an intense time with my Father visiting a place that has always been a mystery. The country and people are so different from the world I know. As in Asia, I feel fortunate to be American. I enjoy so much abundance. But it is not only the things; it's the infrastructure and way of life. I have options, I can get a job, choose from several jobs. If I have problems, there are government and non-profit programs that can help me. There are sewer systems and safety standards, social security and libraries. Most important, as an American, I believe in my rights as an individual and my abilities to make a difference. These are amazing blessings. Seeing environments where the people do not have them makes it all the more precious to me.

That said; Ukraine, Indonesia or other countries have things that we could learn from, especially in rural areas. I get a sense of rhythm and connection to life that Americans tune out in our busy daily lives filled with television and commuting to the office. One of the reasons I'm taking this trip is to find a better balance between the modern existence and the universal. The answers do not present themselves in flashing neon. Rather they dawn slowly through experiences, observations and over time.

Wednesday, May 20, 1998

The journey continues south toward the Black Sea. This is a great way to see a lot of Ukraine. This cruise, combined with the trips in the car gives me a chance to see more of Ukraine than most Ukrainians ever see. We dock in the city of Kherson. There is an older couple waiting to meet Father. They stand in the rain holding a bunch of flowers. They are from the first region that Father's eyeglass program sponsored. The peonies from the woman's garden are beautiful. They are delighted to see Father. I leave them to catch up on their news. I still don't understand Ukrainian. I'll meet up later with Father for the day's tourist activities.

Today we have a tour of the Dnipro River Delta. Just like the Mississippi or any marshlands, it stretches over miles of waterways, grass lands and mudpacks. Our small tour boat goes in and out of different waterways. We pass docks with small boats tethered to them. They lead to houses perched on the land. A dog barks as we go by, it is a gray overcast day. The wind and the cold make it hard to feel upbeat.

Our travels take us to a small fishing village. They are ready and anxious to accommodate the Western tourists. Our arrival is anticipated in the spirit of free enterprise. Embroidered blouses, dolls, carvings, scarves and other item are ready to fulfill our need for souvenirs. We are split into smaller groups and taken to a "typical village home" for lunch. The menu consists of vodka (more moonshine, it could remove paint), raspberry wine, bread, fish, meat, potato, cherries, walnuts, fish cakes, cucumbers, and more bread. We sit on long tables in a garden similar to cousin Yasyl's. Children with cards ask for addresses, interested in being pen pals? We munch, talk and afterward look at the abundance of spring blooming in the garden. There are some beautiful, huge peonies in full blossom. After lunch we stroll down the path to the dock and our return boat to the ship. I am aware of the contrast between the locals and us. It's strange to me, the notion of large group of tourists visiting a local village. It is commerce. We are here to learn more about the local people and they would like to make money for the privilege. What do we learn of each other? The meeting is brief. For me, it is easier to get to know people in smaller, more intimate groups and over a longer period of time. Sometimes I think set ups like this afternoon's lunch take on the flavor of the haves visiting the have nots in the zoo. It's all a point of view, because in the end, I hope our visit brings them some revenue. Maybe someone will set up a restaurant and a souvenir shop one day.

The ship is a nice haven from the cold rain. Father goes off for more meetings in town, I stay in the room to wash out a few things. I've notice I have more gray hair, very dry skin, and an occasional sore throat. When I get home maybe I'll go to the doctor. It will help to be back on a healthy diet, more veggies, a burrito or two and maybe even some tofu!

The Ukraine I am experiencing is a mix of impressions and words including; rich soil and natural resources, dichotomy of rich and poor, snappy dressers, well fed, gray dilapidated city street, parks with trees and flowers, industrial areas tired and in disrepair, confusion about heritage and history, creativity, generosity, paranoia, bribery, spunk, pride, change, hospitality, arrogance (ignorance), broken methods, unsanitary facilities, limited initiative that is not rewarded or penalized, old ways versus new ways, what are new ways? survival, the eternal of farmland and the harvest cycle, relatives and relations. It's a jumble of experiences and feelings, a history of richness and a need for change. What type of country will these people create for themselves? Are they waiting for someone to make it into something for them? Time will tell.

I enjoy the conversations with my Dad, learning more about his project and getting history lessons. His telling of Ukrainian history often differs from the one being presented by the Soviet trained tour guides we on this trip. Their versions describe a glorious victory in WWII for the Soviet Union and a period of prosperity that followed. This story is not well reconciled with the years of isolation and subsequent collapse of the communist system. History continues to be rewritten. My Father's Ukraine centric historical perspective includes a sense of national identity that the Soviets spent years trying to eliminate. The entire region of east central Europe is a dynamic landscape with shifting boarders and a variety of national interests from Ukrainian to Polish, Austrian, German, Russian, Turkish and beyond. Everyone wants a piece of the action, to be in power, to have control of this rich land and it's people.

Thursday, May 21, 1998

Our ship moves on, under way to Sevastopol. During the morning we rest, talk, read and have a cooking class! The Australian woman describes the food and lessons her Mother taught her about Ukraine. Food brings out so many memories and feelings of family and tradition. It is nice to hear her stories. We make a mess of the dough and practice making varenyki. It's fun.

We arrive in Sevastopol around two. The city is a busy port and scientific center. There are many ships at anchor, some with Ukrainian and some flying Russian flags. The breakup of the Soviet Union included an agreement that divided ownership of the ships. Now the challenge is finding funds to maintain the fleets. Different portions of the waterfront have been allocated to various holdings. There is rusting metal everywhere. The overcast weather does little to uplift the scene. We dock in the rain. A local military band greets us with as much fanfare as they can muster. It is both wonderfully sweet and terribly sad. The optimism of a brass band welcome amidst the cold wet gray town that has seen better days. We disembark and go on a city tour. The streets resemble other larger cities we have driven through, blocks of apartments and other official buildings with little or no ornamentation. Some of the prewar buildings show signs of decorative detailing, but the impression is uniform monotone. The major tourist destination in town is a panorama building. It is a large battle re-creation presented in the round in a huge donut shaped building. The exhibit is a combination of painting and sculptural artifacts. It is an interesting, ambitious piece of work. As you walk around the perimeter, various stages of the battle are revealed. The fact that the battle was ultimately lost does not diminish the vigor with which our tour guide presents the story. She is quite flamboyant herself with white hair dyed red. She demands our attention with her forceful narration.

When we return to the ship, Father goes off with some of the local education people to discuss his eyeglasses program. I join the others in our group to see the evening's concert by the Black Sea Fleet Ensemble. They are an extremely talented group. The professionally choreographed performance is greatly entertaining. In spite of the quality of the presentation, or maybe because of it, I have a sense of pathos about the entire event. The staging is very "Broadway show tune". My imagination wanders, creating an entire play around the performance. I watch the faces of the performers. What are they thinking as they perform? Do their minds wander to their own troubles; "Can I fix the leak in the house?" "How will I pay my bills?" "Should I ask Maria for a date?" "I'm hungry"….

I fantasize the screenplay that develops from their individual longings. Each thought becomes a vignette into the lives of the performers. Through their lives we see how times have changed for them, from Soviet days of military band glory to present day performances for tourists.

As we walk back to our ship, we pass bright lights. A movie scene is being filmed. It's not clear who the actors are or what the movie is, but it is very glamorous. We gawk for a while and eventually get back to our boat. Father returns with tales from his adventures. It's the usual assortment of mixed messages, he wants to talk business, and they want to celebrate his presence with a Vodka party.

Friday, May 22, 1998

The day is spent on an excursion to Yalta. Our bus winds through the beautiful island of Crimea. It is Mediterranean with lemon trees and scrub bushes more common to warmer climates. There is a different feeling, like a holiday place. The region has been a resort for the nobility from the time of the Czars to the rule of the Communists. We pass several large buildings and compounds that were developed during the Soviet time as clinics and health spas. Certain illnesses required curative treatment in warmer locations. It is beautiful. The views of the water below and the craggy hillsides are wonderful. The day is sunny and the air is warm, fresh and sweet smelling. We stop at Livadia Palace, former Romanov Family summer residence and location of the 1945 conference with Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill.

It's an interesting juxtaposition. The grounds are lovely, in bloom with springtime fullness. The location between the Black Sea beyond and the hills behind is spectacular. As our tour goes through the downstairs rooms, we see the table where the Yalta Conference was held, chairs ready as if in anticipation for more meetings. Photos and articles line the walls. It was here three men divvied up the world. You get this bit, I'll take that bit, and they can have something else. Their decisions shaped the boundaries of the world today and many of the conflicts. Choices were made with little regard to the religious or political beliefs of the peoples being lumped together. The photos show them all having a fine time in the nice setting.

Upstairs, we see the rooms where the last Czar and his family spent their "simple" summer holidays. The photos show a family reading, going on hikes in the nearby hills, posing at birthday parties and spending casual time together. It could be a well-off family home on Newport Beach in Rhode Island. The world has changed so much since then.

It is nice to walk the pretty grounds in the warm sunshine. Father enlightens me with more history lessons. This place is a more developed tourist location. Some of the local mothers have trained their young children to dress up in costume, sing a tune and dance for the tourists. They form a small group that prances for tips. Other entrepreneurs display handcrafts for tourist purchase. There are quite a few other tourists besides those from our ship. We chat briefly with a group from New England. They are on a cruise of the Mediterranean with stops on the Black Sea in Yalta, Odessa and Istanbul.

We reboard our tour bus, drive to Yalta and are given several hours to wander around this resort town. It is a seaside city with a history of serving tourists. The waterfront promenade is classic, with beach on one side and shops and restaurants on the other. We have lunch in one of the cafes and then stroll down the street, window shopping and watching the other strollers. There are three huge cruise ships docked at the end of the promenade. Their western passengers and multicultural crews add to the mix of nationalities on parade. The sunny weather and variety make it an enjoyable afternoon. In our explorations, we search for a place to make telephone calls. The Australians are trying to reach their sons, we think of giving Mom a call. A telephone office is found, but no one is home to answer our calls. Better luck next time.

We make our way back to Sevastopol and have a walk around town with the Australian couple before dinner. We continue our search to find a telephone. We wander around, moseying through the market. Eventually we find a communcations office. They even have some sort of internet connection. I can send a message but I can't touch the keyboard. How about that? We write out our message and a clerk types it into the computer. It's worth a try.

The evening is still light at 8:30 after dinner on ship. I stand on deck, looking to the area near the dock. Across the way are open-air discos, coffee shops and restaurants ready for a busy Friday night. Music blares loud from speakers. Young couples and groups of kids walk around. It's the universal scene of a night out on the town. I feel lonely, I'm not a big party animal but it would be nice to be out in the evening with a group of friends. Even so, it's fun to watch their goings on.

Saturday, May 23, 1998

This morning we visit the town of Bakhchisarai and the palace of a former Tartar Sultan. It underscores how many changes and rulers this country has had. Here is an example of a totally different culture that ruled the area for a time. Our tour of the palace takes us through harems and past a lovely fountain called the Fountain of Tears in memory of true love. The costumes and art displayed on the walls show a Middle Eastern influence. After the formal guided tour is complete, we wander the grounds and check out the crafts in the gift shop. I need to use the restroom and go in search of the facilities. Signs direct me to the worst bathroom I have seen on my entire trip, including Asia. I can handle the two foot pads over a hole, as long as there is running water and some attempt at cleanliness. This is a series of holes in a floor that had not been sanitized in any way for decades. There is no attempt at privacy, except for the fact that the facility is enclosed in a building. It is bad, a tree in the woods would be a better alternative. Unfortunately, I am not in the woods.

Life goes on. We make our way back to the bus and return through the Crimean hills to our ship in Sevastopol. Lunch is nice. We have gotten to know the Australians fairly well, sharing most meals together. I enjoy hearing about their lives and children in Australia. I find it interesting listening to her impressions of Ukraine after being raised for 50 years with stories and traditions from this land. The government should hire her to fix up the place for tourists. I remember standing on the ship's deck surveying the port around us and she observed that it would look so much better with a coat of paint and some planter boxes with flowers. She is right. Most of the cities could use a good sprucing up. But that is not a priority. This is more evidence of the differences between Australia and Ukraine.

It's interesting and sometimes amusing to watch the ship leave or come into port. The crew does not always operate with crisp military precision, but they eventually get the job done. We rest, read and talk in the afternoon as we sail to our final destination, Odessa. Tonight is the farewell dinner. Overall, the food on the trip has been pretty good, not huge portions, but more than enough for Father and I. Many of the German passengers do not feel the same way. They are much bigger people. Portions served in restaurants in Germany are easily double those being served on-board ship.

Father, being the inquisitive person that he is, has struck up conversations with the man in charge of meals on the tour. It turns out he was the former captain of this ship. He retired last year but wanted to keep working so he took this job. You can see the stress on his face as the new captain navigates through difficult passages of our journey. Like any organization, there is a hierarchy and politics. His new role has put him on the lower end of the power curve. It is a challenge after being in charge of the bridge. Our not so favorite cruise director is also a political animal. She avails herself of a first class cabin and spends her time at the Captain's dinner table. Dealing with the passengers is an occasional nuisance she tries to avoid. Other than being nosey about ship politics, we focus on enjoying our trip and the cruise.

Sunday, May 24, 1998

We dock in Odessa for the last full day of our cruise. Odessa is a large, more modern place with an international feeling. It is the third largest city in Ukraine. The port looks busy with ships unloading cargo and other cruise ships docking with tourists. The pier area where we are docked looks recently built with storage facilities and a passenger terminal. The sun is bright. There is a Sunday morning calm about the place.

Shortly after our arrival, we board busses for our tour of the city. We visit the Museum of Fine Arts, some churches and monuments. I think the woman leading our particular tour longs for the good old Soviet days where churches were just buildings and the Lenin statue was revered. We stop at a church. She pauses outside, tries to open the door, fails and goes on to the nearby statue of Lenin looking out over the harbor. She seems annoyed that we persevere and open the door to the church. Several of us go in and then join her later at the statue. There are varying reactions to Lenin's namesakes throughout Ukraine. Some statues have been taken down, street signs changed to more nationalistic names. In other locations, lack of action is attributed to limited budget or reluctance to change. Things have been left the way they were. Is this longing for the past?

In a waterfront park near some military monument, I notice a young teenager, outfitted in a uniform, slowly marching his way in a circuit around the perimeter area of the statue. His march is formal, goose-stepping. It is eerie for me, reminiscent of old clips of German goose-step marching. In the distance another group of student marchers appears. There is a ceremonious changing of the guard. Evidently, these students are part of a young military group. One of the rituals is guarding this monument. I admire their dedication, ponder their somberness and feel spooked by the thought of kids so young mimicking the military.

In the afternoon I walk through town with the Australians. Father is off pursuing some business. It is a wonderful, relaxed, sunny Sunday. The locals and tourists are out enjoying the fine day. Artists line the sidewalks in one of the parks. We look at the wide variety of paintings, jewelry and woodcarvings. There is a good-natured feeling about everything. Things are so much better when the weather is good. Odessa has a much more international, cosmopolitan feel. It has not been as isolated from the West for the last 50 years. There is also a sense of a pirate town, a place where anything can happen or be obtained.

 

Culture at the Opera house in Odessa.

Tonight is our last night on the tour and we go to the Odessa Opera House. It is an opulent building, all guilt and grandeur. We are dressed in our evening finery. I've put on my token dress. It's a lovely night. We enjoy the prospect of culture and a fancy night out. We take photos of each other to remember by. I feel sadness at the end of the tour and anticipation of my homeward journey. Tomorrow morning we go our separate ways.