Monday, May 25, 1998

Panne Hellena is here with Peter, the friend's son-in-law who is driving the car. They meet us early at the pier. We are driving north back to Kiev. There are a few business stops along the way. It is a chance to see more of the countryside. I'm not sure where we are headed. I'm along for the ride and the experience.

Our first stop is an eye institute in Odessa. The woman who heads it has agreed to meet with us briefly, to learn about Father's program and hopefully work with him in some way. We wait outside the building, which is a multistory, box like clinic on a pretty tree lined street. Patients, many with patches on one eye, go in and out. The air is fresh and springtime warm. Eventually she arrives. We find an empty office to use for our meeting. Like other meetings, I sit in the background, observing the dynamics and body language. It is interesting to watch the interplay, how Father describes his program and the listeners reaction.

The message about the eyeglasses program is communicated. Hopefully, there will be positive next steps. We drive north through more beautiful countryside. Ukraine is a rich and pretty farming landscape, especially in the spring. I imagine the snowy cold winters can be pretty miserable. The buildings have limited or no central heating. For now, we travel on, stopping at lunchtime in a field on the side of the road for a scenic, tasty picnic. This feels very native, the bees buzzing, crops growing in the field around us. By late afternoon we reach our destination, the city of Kirovorad. Father is meeting with some of the local representatives and visiting an internat here. I wait in the car with Peter while Father and Panne Hellena talk with one official. We are parked near a street corner, next to a group of flower sellers. The roses they sell are flamboyantly showy with stems at least three feet long. The flower shipping boxes are from Ecuador. It seems an odd import when so many other things are needed. I wonder if the bananas that are sold by many street vendors are part of the same influx of goods from South America. My next thought questions the other products, like drugs, that might be included in the shipments? I saw a television show before I left in December describing the drug problems in Ukraine and other former soviet countries.

The rose sellers are doing a fairly good business. Customers range from two teenagers buying a single rose each to bouquets being wrapped for gift presentation. One man buys an entire supply from a seller. His parcel with over two dozen roses is huge and quite impressive. From the joking that goes on with the customer and vendors, I wonder if he is proposing to his girlfriend, celebrating a special event, or trying to get back into good graces. He makes a grand statement in flowers.

There is an "of the moment" sense in how people spend their money. Spend and enjoy it now for who knows what tomorrow will bring. There is not the same approach of frugality and rainy day mentality that is encouraged in puritanical parts of America. When someone gets a bit of money, they buy a car, throw a party, get drunk. If you borrow money, no one really expects to pay it back, the "loan" is more a gift or a bribe depending on the circumstances.

Father and Panne Hellena return. We follow a car leading us to tonight's lodging, a room in a university dorm for visiting teachers. The adventure continues. It's not the Ritz, but a functional set of rooms with kitchen and bathroom facilities. The building is one in a group of similar multistory residences; there is even a radio in our rooms. We set up the leftovers from lunch, boil some water for tea and enjoy a dinner picnic.

Tuesday, May 26, 1998

We are up early, dressed, packed and ready to go for another day. Our first stop is a visit to the local internat. They are very similar from place to place. This one is another two-story building in a residential area. The kids look happy and active. The caretakers and teachers seem positively interested in the children's well being. Father is here to review progress, discuss the eye examinations given to date and to address any issues.

Our next stop is a local high school in the area. Peace Corps volunteers are teaching English here. We meet two of them, a woman and man, both nearing the end of their two year time in Ukraine. After a general conversation, I talk to the woman while Father converses with the man. She describes an interesting situation. The high school kids she teaches are bright and share many of the traits of kids everywhere. The dilemma is what happens after graduation. In the old system, students were told what they would do, steered into assigned studies and vocations. Now, there is no infrastructure to replace the old system, few if any jobs to apply for. The mind set here is not geared for entrepreneurship. The result is anorexic girls angling for marriage and get rich boys aspiring to the Mafia. A few years later, there are married couples with kids, no jobs, and little respect for monogamy. Birth control is by abortion, and relief is found in alcohol. It's a bleak picture. She has hope for the strength, creativity and intelligence of the people. It will take time before new systems and ways of thinking are in place. She and her colleagues have given two years of their lives to help make that happen.

The local Education Minister insists that we join him to visit a very special place. He has gone off to make arrangements, to find people. We sit outside his office building and wait. Father is not much of a waiting type in any circumstance. He paces, checks, wonders and is just about to leave when the fellow comes hurrying out, having found a car and driver to take him. We get in our car and follow as he leads us into the country. We are visiting a museum dedicated to drama. We drive on and eventually go through a gate that reveals a lovely wooded setting and a small cottage. It is here in this compound that many famous actors met in the past to converse, think and enjoy themselves in the country. There is hope that the location will evolve into a modern retreat and theater workshop. We are shown the grounds and house where the artists lived. It is filled with photos and memorabilia. It's interesting but too remote to become a big tourist attraction.

After time in the small dark cabin, we emerge into the sunny courtyard. We stand around waiting. I can anticipate what is happening. As usual, the locals want to use our visit as an excuse for a party. Some of the women have been cooking up a storm. The Minister has at least two bottles of Vodka in his briefcase. Father's blood pressure is rising. Both Panne Hellena and I sense a difference of opinion about to explode. I suggest to Father it might be a good thing to let it slide for once. It's lunchtime, a nice day and we all have to eat anyway. We've spent this much time here, what harm will another hour do? Blood pressure retreats and we find ourselves around a table in a gazebo in the woods. The table is filled with varenyki, cabbage rolls, sour cream, roasted potatoes, tomato, cucumbers, apples, egg pancake things, and of course Vodka. The Education Minister, local internat director, drivers, museum guides and we enjoy the good spread and the time together. The mosquitoes aren't too bad. A toast is raised to thank Father for the help he has given for the region. These folks know how to have a good time. They are genuine in their thanks and admiration for the work Father is doing. They realize he wants to help and has their best interests at heart.

Too soon it is time to go, the drive to Kiev is ahead of us. We say our good byes and make our way north through more of lovely countryside. I think Ukraine and the former USSR is a place most Westerners will not really understand. There is a fatalism mixed with influences from Asia, the Middle East, and Europe. It is a very different world that has been isolated from us for the last fifty years. Century old classic vignettes still exist. Our car passes horse drawn carriages on the two-lane "highway". Women work in the fields. I look out the window and see a collection of kerchiefs and hoes. Baba's (Grandmothers) attend churches filled with gold. They police appropriate respectful behavior while inside holy buildings. The icons are fiercely protected. Visitors are charged for the rights to photograph. The priest drives by in his limousine the lady wears rags. There is such a dichotomy between the rich and the poor. Yet the rich feel no responsibility for anything beyond themselves. Everyone blames "them" for all the problems. Maybe an American cowboy will ride in to save the day and shower them with riches that are the American Dream. What is not understood is the Dream is built on generations of hard work. The individual has an opportunity and a responsibility to create their own better world, at least some do. Will that be understood and become a mindset here?

Eventually we arrive in Kiev. Panne Hellena is still generously letting us use her apartment. A nice meal is waiting for us. I feel very fortunate to receive such kindness.

Wednesday, May 27, 1998

Countdown to departure, I'm looking forward to going home. The morning is a rainy, quiet restful sort of time. I play cards and putter around while Father runs errands and does business. Later, Panne Hellena and I go into town to do some last minute souvenir shopping. Mostly it's an excuse to get outside, go into town and have one last look around. There is a street where many craftspeople display their work, everything from nested dolls to carved boxes and embroidery. I get some brightly painted wooden plates. We walk through the park, enjoying the greenery and the nice spring afternoon. We try and converse but it's difficult because we don't speak each other's language. Panne Hellena and I get along fine. She is maternal in her desire for me to be happy and have a good time. She is older than my Mom and does not have children of her own, but she lavishes affection on others.

 

A street vendor proudly sells brightly painted wooden plates.

We return to her apartment. Panne Hellena's friend has prepared a wonderful dinner. It's a feast that includes some very delicious cherry varenyki. We partake quite heartily and enjoy this last night celebration. I have mixed feelings about leaving. Ultimately, the visit is about the people who have been so genuine and kind and opened their hearts and homes. I have learned much about and from them. I try and let them know that even though we will not be together, they are in my heart. I am truly thankful for all they have done. Good-byes are never my idea of a good time.

Thursday, May 28, 1998

It's 6:30 in the morning and Father is on the phone, taking care of business. I wonder what the folks think about his calling so early. Eventually I get up, get dressed and tidy up the place. Time to get packed and ready to go, we are taking the train to Warsaw this afternoon. I hang out, reading and getting organized while Father heads off to have one last meeting.

Amazing, it's the end of May and the conclusion of my five months on the road. It seems like forever. It seems like hardly any time at all. I've had a really interesting time in Ukraine and a great trip all around. I wouldn't change a thing. I could keep going but I don't need to right now. It's time to digest all I've seen and done and figure out how it fits. What the hustle and bustle of home will feel?

Father returns. There are last minute details to take care of. The challenge is met for getting everyone and everything into the car for the ride to the train station. We find the right train and our cabin. Water, juice and bananas are purchased for the trip. We hug and sigh and give thanks and say goodbye and then, the train pulls away from the station. The metropolitan Kiev gives way to countryside as we head West to Warsaw. We're going there for the weekend. It's a halfway point to Frankfurt where I have a plane reservation for June second. We talk and then we sleep. Father is coming down with some sort of cold. Hopefully rest and lots of juice will help him feel better. Travel has a way of provoking illness. Father goes and goes and goes until he gets home and them boom, time to catch up on all the rest and sleep that's been missed. That's usually a pretty good formula for getting sick.

The countryside rolls by. The clack-clack of the train is hypnotic. I am so thankful for my experiences in Ukraine and on the trip in general. We pass through farm fields, alongside rivers, I look out and see families having picnics in the grass. We speed west away from this world and into another. The day ends with fading colors. In the middle of the night, we spend several hours at the border switching wheels and passing inspections by border guards and customs agents.

Friday, May 29, 1998

Warsaw Central Train Station, I am in the underground McDonalds waiting for Father as he sorts out a place for us to stay. It is very early in the morning. I sit with my cup of tea and watch the people go by, starting their day. The security men stroll by, a worker mops the floor. People come in waves, depending on which train has just arrived. Shopkeepers open their stores. It is always difficult to wait. I wonder what is going on, is Father all right, where is he? I am stuck in this spot with the luggage.

I watch the commuters on their way to work. They are nice looking people. I daydream about seeing my nieces, eating burritos and frozen yogurt. My mind wanders to all the various forms of transportation taken on this trip, airplane, bus, taxi, metro, walk, van, train, ferry, cruise ship, becak, tuk-tuk, funicular, walking. I've not taken a balloon or a horse. It's been a wonderful journey, a grand adventure.

Eventually, Father strides back in all smiles. He has found us a hotel nearby, deluxe and a good deal! We do think alike. As we walk down the street to the hotel, he tells me of the conversations he had with various desk clerks, trying to find comfort and economy. We settle into a very nice room on one of the upper stories of a high-rise modern hotel. The joys of western luxuries, clean bathrooms and running hot water. It is fantastic!

We have our showers, get cleaned up and refreshed and set out to explore the town. One of the reasons we came to Warsaw is to meet a publisher who writes about Ukraine. We find his office and see the neighborhood. On the way, we stop in a nice place for lunch. Father practices his Polish. I am lucky to that he knows so many languages! We return to the train station to buy our tickets to Frankfurt for Sunday.

We are signed up for an afternoon tour of the city. It's a great way to get an overall feeling for the place. Our tour picks us up at the hotel. After collecting all of the errant passengers, we set out to see the city sites. We are led through a beautiful park. The guide tells us stories of Polish Princes and glory times. Then we drive over to "Old Town" which is a rebuilt area in the center of town. It is a testament to how a city and people can rebuild their world after the tragedies of war. As we continue on the tour, it is clear how much of the city and how many people were destroyed during WWII. It was not left as ruins, but rebuilt into a bustling vibrant modern city. It's an interesting place, a crossroads of entrepreneurship and opportunity. East meats West and makes an alliance that somehow works. Our last brief stop is at the memorial for the Jews who were murdered during the war. Because we started late, we have to move on quickly from the site. Some of the tourists are disappointed. They came specifically for this part of the tour.

Father and I ask to get off at Old Town. We wander around, looking in shops and have dinner in a nice restaurant in one of the squares. It is a nice warm spring evening in a lovely place. The locals and tourists stroll past our table. Father tells me about Polish history and this part of the world. He describes other things about his projects. We talk about politics, family, and all sorts of stuff. I try and understand the dynamics of what makes this part of the world. There have been so many rulers and regimes, so much war. There is a strength and spirit that survives and rebuilds.

Saturday, May 30, 1998

We have a great breakfast in the hotel and then head out for more exploration. I always like seeing the local market. There is a large flea market on the other side of the river. We catch a bus and join the throngs that crowd this stadium turned commerce center. There are hundreds of stands, jammed next to each other and up the hill. The goods range from clothing to car parts, old treasures to new junk. We make our way through the alleys, looking at odds and ends. We are searching for a nice piece of amber jewelry for Mother. We look at the few pieces and bargain with a fellow for two that are nice. Maybe they can be gifts for other friends. There is one pin in the hotel lobby shop. So far, it is the one we will get unless we find something better. The fun is in the search. The market is too much. We make our way to the bus stop and with the help of some locals, figure out which bus to take back to Old Town. Father as usual has a great time striking up conversations. They ask him where he is from and comment on his Polish. It's good fun all around.

People appreciate when you try to communicate and get to know them. We ask them about good places for amber and are told to check out a certain street. Armed with instructions, we make our way to Old Town.

We walk down the main, fancy street, looking in all the windows. Eventually, we make our way to several stores filled with collections of amber. There are amber statues, pins, bracelets, earrings, lamps, necklaces, all sorts of varieties, from awesome to awful. Finally, we find just the right thing. Success, but first we must have lunch to contemplate our options. Now this form of research and searching out options can drive Mom nuts. Father and I are definitely on the same wavelength when it comes to finding the right thing. It must be quality and good value. After lunch, we agree, that piece is the most beautiful, the right size, the special one for Mom. Fortunately we get to the store just before they close for the afternoon.

In our side street wanderings, we find an internet café. I convince Father to get connected, briefly and send messages to the folks back home. The proprietor hovers. He is an unlikely technologist. His friend talked him into putting computers into his coffee shop. We pay up, finish our required beverage and move on.

Back at the hotel time is given for an afternoon rest. Father has a nasty cold and I don't mind taking a break either. Father is always go-go-go until it's time to stop. In the evening, we have dinner an older hotel down the street. The dining room is lovely. It's a formal room, just the thing for ladies in long lace gowns and gentlemen in coattails. The mood is somewhat skewed by the modern music playing on some squawk box in the back, but never mind, we enjoy the ambiance. There is one other table occupied. We are early diners. I hope the dining room gets busy later.

Sunday, May 31, 1998

We get up, take our morning showers, and have a nice relaxed breakfast downstairs. I wrap a few goodies for train-ride meals. Back upstairs to pack, we continue our debate whether to taxi to the train station or huff it. Again it's the value proposition. The train station is a few blocks away, we have all our stuff to lug, Father has a cold, the taxi drivers are a rip off. In the end, we take our time, working our way down the street, through the underground walkways. We've found a way that avoids most stairs. We justify the silliness as our morning exercise. Yeah, right, we are just being cheapskates but it's a game both Father and I play. We make it to the station with plenty of time to spare. Father stays with the luggage while I go off in search of beverages and bananas for our trip. Eventually I find the right place. I return to find Father antsy. He is not a waiting type of person. He never is good staying in one place, unless he's asleep. We find the right platform and eventually our train arrives. I had been hoping for some modern German train but we end up in a comfortable, older car. Once again, we settle into our cabin and look out the window at the pretty springtime countryside. I'd like to come back some time and get to know more of the area. The entire region of East Central Europe is a rich and beautiful, filled with history and creativity. We sleep, we talk, we look out the window, the kilometers clack on by. All too soon, we find ourselves in Frankfurt. It is very early morning in the main train station.

Monday, June 1, 1998

Father goes to exchange some money and check out the train schedule to the airport. With German efficiency and common sense, there is a train that goes directly there in a few minutes. We get on the train and shortly find ourselves in the modern German transportation hub. At the Singapore Airline counter, I learn there is room on the flight today. I can get on the plane that leaves in a few hours. It's the same itinerary I would take tomorrow. They can confirm me all the way to San Francisco. Oh my, I'm glad to be going but it's a bit of a rush emotionally. I had thought Father and I would have another day together. I take a quick shower in the Singapore Airline lounge and then meet up with Father for one last hug. He has found local USO facilities that can help him. He prefers to see what deals he can stir up on the spot, not wanting to tie himself down to a specific schedule.

 

Parting ways with Father in the Frnakfurt Airport.

We hug, one last travel photo, and then, I'm wheeling my suitcase and going down a corridor alone, back to home. I'm not sure what Father will do, but as usual, he'll work something out. It feels so strange to leave like that, one minute busy and traveling and on the train together, a few hours later, separation.

I find my gate, my plane, my seat and settle in for the long ride home. I'm tired and missing my Dad and my mind is all a jumble. Is the last five months coming to an end? Am I really going home?

Three movies and food and my book and an occasional nap keep me occupied. I don't want to think. There is too much to feel. Modern travel deposits me early afternoon in JFK airport in New York. I've got a four-hour layover before catching my flight to San Francisco. I get to the payphone and call everyone. I'm back on American soil, there is no place like home. To keep busy, I visit the bookstore, have a hamburger in Friday's. Yup, I'm home. This is such a different world. I can eat the salad, drink the water, and understand the language.

The flight to San Francisco is uneventful, transportation in the sky. Two wonderful friends meet me at the airport. It is great to see them. We talk and share stories and they ask questions and I ask questions and it feels so good to be here. We get to my house and talk some more. I feel like I'm in water. I didn't sleep much on the train from Warsaw and then got right onto the airplane. I'm not sure what time it is. I know I'm in California. My house feels different. It will take time to get used to everything, to get my body back on this time schedule, to figure out which end is up.