Easter in Lviv 19/04/2009

We get to the train station only to be told there's no service until 17:00. It would have been nice if the lady working last night would have told us that when we asked about the train schedules. So marshurtka it is.


The marshrutka ride wasn't nearly as pleasant as the train ride. It took us through the ugliest parts of Ukraine. Plains that made Oklahoma look picturesque, decrepit homes with metal roofs that could have been in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and the worst roads I've ever been on.

Once we arrived in Lviv city center, Alecander led us down streets that looked like World War II aftermath.



He wanted to show us a small store with Yiddish and Polish writing.


On the way to Lychakivske Cemetary, Klaudia pointed out a proto-vending machine. For 25 gryvnia you can use a communal cup to get water. 50 gryvnia gets you "juice" of some kind. Worried about hygeine? Turn the cup upside down and give it a quick water rinse.


One block before Lychakivske Cemetery is the Polish- built medical school. You could easily imagine 1950's medical students hurrying to class or studying on a bench underneath a cherry tree.


Lychakiske Cemetery was studding. Hills haphazardly piled with gravestones greeted us.



We made our way around the paths until we came to the Ukraineian memorial to its fallen soldiers in the war against the Poles.


While it's beautiful from a distance, as you approach it, you can see the price that was paid to have this memorial so close to the memorial for the polish soldiers.

I wondered how many bodies lay under the memorial and how many graves were disturbed to build this monstrosity. What was even more infuriating was there was a grave-free site less than 100 meters away. The Ukrainian government tried numerous times to have the Polish memorial destroyed, the Poles even had to rebuild it it a few times.

The Polish war memorial, now hidden behind the Ukrainian one, feels more like it was built to honor the fallen soldiers.




After the cemetery, we wandered around the city seeing the colorful, traditional dress worn by the locals for Easter. After seeing the ancient Armenian cathedral with it's haunting murals, we went over to the BDSM themed cafe, Masoch.


While it was cute and tastefully done, I was taken aback to see people bring their small children inside. I couldn't imagine what would happen if a child happened to stop to look at the wrong picture.

The waitresses wore their traditional shirts under their leather corset uniform. It was an interesting clash of cultures. The coffee was strong and the salads were DIY. The meat and veggies came on a wooden chopping block with a hole in the middle, elevated over a bowl of dressing. You chop up your meat and veggies, then dump them down the hole into the dressing bowl. When we were finished, our check came to us in a high-heeled shoe.

After that, we wandered the streets, were chased by an old woman who heard Klaudia's Polish accent, and searched (with no luck) for an open grocery store. We boarded a painfully slow tram to the train station. They waved goodbye as I boarded my first night train.

As I entered the car, I realized the woman at the train station had sold me a third-class, not second-class ticket. I was struck with fear at first. Lonely Planet had warned people not to use the the third-class cars. The train was also packed. I traded with someone for the top bunk and I surveyed the carriage to see if I'd have to stay awake the whole night or if I could sleep. I quickly realized that everyone was decent, if not totally drunk, and that Lonely Planet had greatly exaggerated the problems with third-class.

The temperature on the train slowly rose as we traveled through the night. At 6:45 the next morning, the thermometer claimed it was 73 degrees, but it felt like it was over 90. It was also very muggy in the train, making it extremely difficult to sleep. By the time we reached Kyiv, it was allegedly 78 degrees, but I was boiling inside my skin. It had to have been over 100.

4/18/09- Yaremche

A marshrutka piloted by an insane or suicidal driver took us up into the Carpathian foothills. We passed villages that were either picturesque or something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Like everything in Ukraine, they were one of two extremes.

We roasted the entire way since the old women in the marshrutka would shiver if we even cracked a window. Alexander told me they always do this, even in the heat of summer. He also told me his name for these old women: hamsters. In an odd way, they do resemble a hamster. They are all bundled up (despite the temperature) and they have bags in both hands which adds to their round, hamster-like profile. Try as I might, I can't get the comparison out of my head.

We survived our trip to Yaremche, and went about exploring the town. Soviet monuments were everywhere. The Ukrainians are very ambivalent about their past. In some places they've done their best to eradicate their Soviet past, in others it's still on display; either as a point of pride or due to apathy and practicality.

Behind this Soviet solider is a cross. Surely an unintended irony.


A block down the road was a memorial to the victims of the Soviets and the Nazis.


We walked up to the emerald-green Prut River.

This waterfall was once bigger, but the Soviets tried to destroy it with dynamite.

4/18/09- Ivano-Frankivsk and the Carpathians

The train ride alone has made this trip totally worth while. I can't even begin to describe the beauty of the countryside. There's farmland, there's marshes, there's valleys all with silver and gold- topped Orthodox churches dotting the landscape. I tried to take pictures out of the train window, but most didn't turn out. I also caught my first glimpse of the Carpathian mountains. Mountains I've wanted to see since reading Dracula for the first time.

I met Klaudia at the train station, and after dropping my things at her flat we went to the Ukrainian market.

Rabbits with fur only on one foot (to prove they were rabbits? to show they were healthy?), chickens that were beginning to mummify, and quartered pig heads were all on display.

After the market we wandered around the downtown area before boarding the bus to Yaremche.

4/17/08- The People of Lviv

A giggling girl took a photo of me while I was taking a photo of the cathedral. I've gotten many odd stares or people pointing at me since coming to Ukraine. There's nothing malicious or condescending in their stares or laughs, I apparently just amuse them. The people here really are fantastic, I do like it here.

I met two Americans, a Canadian and a Ukrainian for dinner. We ended up dining in the same place I had my lunch. Tyler, one of the Americans, had come from Krakow where he'd been teaching English. He was on holiday before packing up and moving somewhere new. Tracy, the Canadian, was a real sweetie. She'll be staying with my host in Kyiv the day after I leave. Nataliya, the Ukrainian, was incredible and super-intelligent.

Then there was Max, the other American. Max.... I don't know quite what to say about him. He was a total embarrassment to me as a fellow countryman. He claims to like Ukraine, but has nothing good to say about the country. He has nothing good to say about any of the Slavic countries, just that they recently "stopped eating rocks", and Ukraine would never go anywhere as long as "chess was a spectator sport." He insulted Nataliya's choice of degrees, saying that one of the problems with Ukraine is people are over-educated in worthless subjects. The night was a whole bunch of me burying my face in my hands and trying to steer the conversation into an area that Max couldn't insult.

I did pull a "John" a couple of times and snuck in a few questions I knew would betray his ignorance without him realizing it. I knew it would be pointless to argue with him, he'd only end up saying more things that would make me want to crawl under the table and start talking in an affected accent ("I'm really not American, I swear"). The next day I wrote an email to Nataliya apologizing for Max's appalling behaviour, assuring her that her degree was a good one, not all Americans are like that, and Max is an idiot.

My wish to disappear was partially granted when the power went out for about 30 mintues. Everyoe in the restaurant cheered when this happened. No one came to explain or apologize, the waitresses just brought candles to light the staircase and business went on as ususal. Welcome to Ukraine. As Klaudia says, "don't worry."

Salo

Salo is raw pork fat. Lonely Planet alleges that salo is a Ukrainian favorite. According to the Ukrainians I met, it's not, it's only sold to gullible tourists. Unfortunately, I didn't find this out until after I'd eaten it. This salo was frozen and covered in chocolate. It tasted like chocolate- covered bacon and was the consistency of stringy, frozen butter.

Three bites into it my stomach protested and threatened a full systems reverse if I continued eating.

4/17/08: Exploring Lviv

Lviv surprises me at every turn. These streets just aren't what you expect in a struggling, Eastern European country. The streets are clean, chess is being played in the park, kids laugh, the buildings are in good repair. I was hassled mercilessly by gypsies in Berlin, but there wasn't a beggar in sight here in the city center. With the constant reminders people gave me about the country, I wasn't expecting this.

Then I turn a corner.

This is the Lviv I was expecting to see, but it now came as a shock. These buildings should be abandoned, but families still live in them. The streets have been torn up, and no one has bothered to replace it. Despite the disrepair, it was still relatively neat and tidy. There wasn't any trash on the streets and people tried their best to keep the decaying buildings looking as nice as possible. It was another one of those times when looking at another culture brought mine into sharp focus.

I walk up to High Castle Hill, where there was no castle but it was a wonderful vantage point to look down upon the city.


To the south I could see the tops of churches and buildings both old and new.

To the north were the scars of Communism. Block housing rips haphazardly through the landscape and in typical Communist fashion there was little regard to aesthetics.

Unlike in Poland where the block housing is decorated with bright colors and shapes, it stands unapologetically as a testimonial to the country's history.

4/16/08: "Don't Worry"

We are given a form to fill out detailing where we are going, who we are, ect. I leave the where I'm staying part blank. I'm not sure what I should put or how strict they'll be. I'll be in a hostel this evening and the next, but then I'll be with couch surfers. I'm a little nervous since I'll be leaving a different way than I came in, so I'm not sure what to write.

The woman comes back and in broken English tells me to write in where I'll be staying. I try to explain that I'm not sure what to write, that I'll be traveling around the country, staying with couch surfers. At this point I'm so flustered I can't even think to mention that I'll be staying at a hostel this evening.

"Lviv! Lviv! Hotel Lviv!" she starts yelling at me over and over. I quickly scribble this in while a smattering of snickers comes from the back of the bus.

After the border guard leaves, I leave the bus and meet two CSers. They ask me if I still want to find a bathroom and I get my first taste of Ukrainian life. They are students from Poland and two of the most fantastic people I've ever met in my life.

We still have a long wait and a long ride ahead of us, so she offers to help me find a bathroom. I get another taste of what life is like in Ukraine when we run into a very drunk customs guard who points us in the direction of toilets we are allowed to use. At this point I really don't know if I should laugh or be terrified.

"Don't worry," Klaudia tells me. This would be a phrase I'd hear a lot of this day.

Before we enter the bathroom she warns me about it. It's a squat toilet and not the cleanest one either. She tells me most of the toilets in Ukraine are the squat kind. She gives me a few pointers for successful peeing then waits for me outside.

I walk in and am immediately hit by a wall of stench. I don't want to mouth breathe because I don't want anything from the bathroom in my mouth. Not even microscopic things. I breathe shallowly and do my best to hurry. Everything in the bathroom is wet, so I'm also trying to maneuver around without making contact with any surfaces. Suddenly my mom didn't seem so paranoid when she uses a tissue to touch anything in a public toilet. I'd have done the same, but my backpack was on the bus which contained my emergency supply of kleenex. I decided instead just not to touch anything. I kicked open the stall doors with my foot until I found a suitable place to squat and didn't bother to close it. I was actually glad these were squat toilets and not the regular kind. It was easier to keep my body and my belongings safely away from the wet grossness.

I gave it the good old college try, but was unable to to make my trip to the dark, wet, stinking bathroom worth it.

On the way back to the bus, the CSers tell me about the bribery system here on the boarder. Drivers from "rich" countries, like Poland, are shook down. If the driver doesn't have any money, the border guard will take sausage, beer or anything else that strikes his fancy.

"Don't worry," says Klaudia.


After an incredibly long wait, we're on our way. The roads are scary. We barrel down this tiny, potholed road that is shared with pedestrians and tractors. In my experience, people in Central and Eastern Europe have an odd logic when it comes to driving. The smaller and more decrepit the road, the faster they drive on it. I remind myself that busses drive this road every day and I haven't seen one that's overturned and burned out on the side of the road. I'll be fine, and even if I'm not, there's not much I can do about it.

I distrace myself with the scenery and the conversation, which is easy to do. I laugh as my new friends tell me stories about life in Ukraine and I'm struck by the diversity of the scenery. We pass glistening, silver- topped Orthodox churches, midievel looking ruins, villages which are picturesque and others that are in shambles. Most of the signs are in Cyrillic, but a few kiosks sport signs with badly translated English.

As we are traveling, Kaudia points out the holes and hiding places people use to smuggle cigarettes. Cigarettes are dirt cheap in Ukraine and a popular way to make a living is to take these cigarettes to other countries and sell them.

We finally arrive in Lviv just after nightfall. The bus lets us out in front of the central train station which is a beautiful work of Polish archetecture and is surrounded by food kiosks. I help the CSers with their luggage and they help me buy a ticket to Ivano-Frankivsk, where I'll meet them in a day.

A man in his late 20's with a cut that runs from his mouth up his cheek joker-style stands behind me in line. I try my best to inconspicuously distance myself from him, but he just keeps moving forward (like people do when they are waiting in line). The guy is almost too surreal to be scary. He's wearing a paper-boy hat and clothes that make him look like he came right out of a 1920's gangster movie. The scar, however, keeps me from staring at him too closely. That's the kind of scar you can only get in a few ways.

The surfers helped me secure a ticket to Ivano-Frankivsk and now we were off to find my hostel. We hop on a tram that came from Eastern Germany circa WWII (don't worry), and off we go. We travel down cobblestone streets, past restaurants and night clubs. I have no idea what it will look like in the daylight, but at night Lviv was beautiful.

We get off the tram at the town square. Lviv's nightlife was completely unexpected. It was more like something you'd see in Eugene, Oregon, than something you'd expect to see in Eastern Europe. Young and old were hanging out, playing drums, there were fire dancers and everything was completely mellow. No hard partying, no craziness; just people enjoying life on a beautiful spring night in the plaza. I would have liked to have spend longer in the plaza, but the hour was late and I still needed to check in to the hostel.

We circle around a few blocks before Alexander asks for directions. The hostel is quite well hidden, but we find it. I get my keys and find out I have a room all to myself. The lady at the desk apoligizes for this several times asking if I'm sure I don't want to be in a more populated room. No, no I'm fine really. I only have one day Lviv and way too much to see. I need a good night's sleep.

4/16/09: The Wild, Wild East

The passports have been returned and we're now waiting just inside the border. The customs officials need to go over every inch of the bus to make sure no one is smuggling anything into the country. The bus is packed with bug sprayers, laundry detergent and vegetables. There's an interesting mix of people on the bus. A few Polish students, several Ukrainian woman with big hair and black and gold shirts, and lots of alcohol.

One of the women re-sprays her big hair and does some primping in the driver's rear-view mirror. She then digs into her bag, pulls out a scrap of ham, then starts insisting someone try it. The two women in front of me keep trying to politely decline it. Finally, one of them takes the proffered chunk. She holds the pork like it's a used Kleenex and quickly searches for something to wrap it in.

Another woman starts complaining that she lost something. She looks in the air vents on the floor and the holes in the ceiling where the air conditioining and reading lights once were. She never did find what she was looking for.




Some of the passengers go off in search of a toilet. I join them, since I don't know when I'll find a toilet again. We get yelled at for going to an unauthorized area. All of us turn and leave except the pork woman. She argues with the border guard and keeps trying to explain that she just needs to use the bathroom, that she must use the bathroom. It's a funny sight, but I keep walking back to the bus. I do not want to get caught up in the ruckus.

Shortly after, the bus starts up again and I think we are on our way. Unfortunately we only drove about 20 meters before stopping again.

4/16/09: To Ukraine

Warsaw:
It's almost 7:00 a.m. and I'm at Warsaw Central station. I am bloody tired. The woman who runs the Polish school kept me up until well after midnight. My repeated attempts to excuse myself for my long day ahead were useless. I hope I can snag some sleep on the train to Przemysl, I have no idea when I'm going to get to the hostel.

On the train to Przemysl:
My train will arrive at 14:20. This should mean I'll be in Lviv before nightfall. I'm really looking forward to crossing the border. It will be interesting to get out of the EU and Schengen.

I haven't seen much of the Polish countryside, I've mostly been traveling through the woods. The few glimpses I've gotten are anything from picturesque to decrepit.

***
The granny in the compartment with me is looking at me with curious amusement. Kind of like I come from another planet. I definately stick out here.

Przemysl:
Border crossing time soon. I didn't find one of those yellow busses, but that's okay. The bus I'll be taking says "Lviv", so it should get me to my final destination. This is a bit scary, however. No English anywhere. I've gotten used to at least young people speaking English, that doesn't seem to be the case in this part of Poland. It certainly won't be the case in Ukraine. I'm definately not in Kansas anymore!

Poland/Ukraine Border:
The customs official looks like he stepped right out of the Soviet Union, exchanged his red star and red hat band for green. I so want to take a picture of him, but I don't dare. He's already been eyeballing me. He doesn't seem to like my passport very much. I don't know if it's because it's an American passport or because I have blond hair in my passport photo. With everyone else, he gave their passports only brief glance befor collecting them. He took a long, hard look at me and my passport then asked me my birthday. I think my disticntly American English convinced him more than my answer.

He dissappeared with all the passports. It's pretty unnerving to be without my passport so far from home.