Zaporozhye

Things you should know about Zaporozhye:

1. The famous ZAZ (Zaporozhye Auto Zavod) factory was recently closed, so no tours unless you come bearing contract potential.

   

   the famous "Zaporozhets"- about the size of a classic mini

2. The main drag, Prospekt Lenina, is Europe's longest boulevard at 17 K start to finish.
3. Sotsgorod, the idealized socialist community built by the Metallurgy factory in the early 30s (with  street names like "Entusiastov" because workers were supposed to be so thrilled to go to work at the plant each day) is mostly gone, and, given the length of Prospekt Lenina, we never wandered down to look for its remains.
   
4. The Zaporozhyan Sich (fortress) on Khortitsa island was just okay. It was freezing and grey and most of the Cossacks were in hiding from the cold. Thus, no manly displays of athleticism for us...though there were good poppyseed bliny to be had in the cafe. 

   

   Welcome to the Zaporozhyan Sich

   

   Jason at the entrance

   

   View from Inside- the church in the background is consecrated and functioning.

   
   

   

   I pressed my own copper coin by beating on it with a mallet

   
   

   

   We found a Cossack! 

5. The conference was about as organized as one would expect. Jason would show up at meetings only to discover that they'd been cancelled or moved or moved and then cancelled. 

   

   A fine example of Soviet construction at the University

   

   Jason looks thrilled.

6. We did, however, get the honor of staying in a dorm. It wasn't a "Euro-remont" (modernized) dorm, either. It was the a la soviet single toilet shared by us and four other rooms plus a single shower I am hereby blotting from my memory. We did, however, have 2 single beds, a tv, a dorm fridge, and a tea kettle. Everything smelled of kielbasa and catsup. The disturbing amounts of dust, grime and stains-with-no-name will linger until I am able to scrub my eyeballs with German efficiency in a few days. Our immediate neighbors included a Bulgarian exchange student and a...well, let me just say Jason and I were brushing our teeth (at one of the communal sinks) at about 8 o'clock on the first night, when what should occur? what is the worst thing you can imagine a dorm neighbor doing? (well, okay, that kind of runs the gamut...) He started playing electric guitar. But not headbanging rock n roll. Lounge music like "Besa Me". Turns out he was an old fart in his 60s. I got the additional honor of seeing him in his briefs. yay, me. He serenaded us nightly. 

   

   In case things go terribly wrong at the dorm, there were instruction for how to make your own gas mask...

   

   Communal Hall give us the warm fuzzies

   

   Communal Sinks

   

   Someone kindly left air freshener for communal use

   

   I didn't quite capture the hair and mildew everywhere, the broken tiles, and the hole in the wall...

   

   Bedroom- our sheets were numbered with major marker...in the middle of the sheet. 
7. The conference was mainly for Journalism students and all the Fulbrighters were Political Scientists except for one guy who is a PhD candidate in Journalism... AND grew up speaking Ukrainian (whaaa? actually, I talked to him one evening at the obligatory dinner-fueled-by-vodka-toasts. he had an interesting family history). In any case, we got this amazing anecdote out of an ethics class he is teaching to journalism students in Kiev. He asked the students what they would do if a company came to them and offered them money to write nice articles about their company and a degree of exclusivity in the advertising. All the students said they would take the money because (...wait for it) companies/firms/business always has the best interest of people in mind. When he gave them the same scenario, but changed business to government, they bristled, talking about the corruption of the government and saying they were on the take. The thing to consider is just how bad the government has to be before you start thinking that business is good and fair and has your best interest at heart. We were all left slack-jawed. 



Part of the Conference group- the ones that braved the weather to see the Sich

8. The train to-and-fro was about four and half hours of smokers, babushkas, and Ukrainian rap longer than Jason could take on a grimy, retro-fitted Soviet train. I wanted to burn my clothes after we got there, but had the return trip to consider... 

   

   A comfortable ride on the train

Plumbing

Nuff claims innocence

So, I am standing in the shower the other day and I called out to Jason, "Hey, uh, the shower's filling up with water..." So, I starting digging around in the drain, which falls distinctly into my "bleh"category. Long hairs globbed together with soap and fluff and oils (unidentified and just plain part of the water that squirts out from the wall... I try not to think about the industrial chemistry floating downstream and then into our bathroom). It is just not what you plan on doing when you get into the shower.

In any case, it was completely random. Earlier showers had been free of issues and the those since then have, as well. We determined that something had happened further up the line and was playing havoc with our shower. Especially after the water pressure dropped to nil a few times.

And just so you know: I always use a tonic/alcohol solution after I wash my face, or it will break out. Yeah. I forgot to use it the other day and woke up to a "surprise!" pimple in the middle of my cheek. So, just imagine the oil and bacteria crawling around in our wa-wa to begin with.

Last night, however, was the topper. We went to the gym, came back sautéed and decided cleanliness was better than being a giant salt lick. Jason jumped in first, while I started dinner (curried lentil soup over some rice). Once he emerged to monitor the rice, i jumped in, sudsed up and promptly lost all hot water. No really, just like the movies and cartoons. I'm squealing in the bathroom with my toenails rapidly turning blue (snow melt no doubt contributing to the water temperature), Jason comes to investigate, and I swear I was forced,  to squirt him with the shower head in order for him to fully appreciate my situation. Our pilot light had/has gone out. I finished my shower by taking deep breaths (better to eeeek! with) and searching out my inner polar bear. (incidentally, my "outer" polar bear, 'nuff, thought it was terribly amusing... as, did, I suspect, Jason, who rapidly left the room albeit wetter than when he'd entered).

I am not that worried about our situation. I am hopeful that it will just flip back on at some point just as randomly as it flipped off. I would also note that the apartment smells less like gas without the water heater running. Jason is searching the internet trying to figure out how to light it without blowing up the building...

Maybe we'll just call the landlord.

In which I got sick and Jason paid a "fine"

So... we both got sick last weekend, but for whatever reason, Jason got better and I did not. I had, as the Brits euphemise, a "jippy tummy" for a good week. I kept thinking that it was my imagination, so I kept plugging on despite the pain. We had a meeting in Kiev to attend, so off we went. TMI warning: read the rest of this paragraph at the risk of wanting to gouge out your eyes. I think, though, that when I got diarrhea in the National History Museum in Kiev... and all they had were squat toilets... and then I realized that there was no TP... except for the pamphlet I had in my back pocket that some schmoe had handed me when we came out of the metro... Yeah, it's times like that, that you think... okay, well, first you go "Oh sh@t!" and then:  "Hmm...maybe I'm still sick. That would certainly explain a few things." So, forgive me for not writing, but I was probably in the bathroom (Still TMI- sorry!).

We went to Kiev for an Education USA seminar. They are a branch of State and their offices are below the Fulbright ones in Kiev. They were training advisors from all over the FSU and Europe and we were asked to talk about applying to graduate school along with a two others who'd been roped into it (a Ukrainian guy who is a professor of Electrical Engineering at the Rochester Institute of Tech in Rochester NY and another Fulbrighter from Buffalo State). I contacted our grad school and they sent me a powerpoint and some details that I shared along with my personal experiences. Jason talked about the role of chairs in the process, the influence of the administration (what? from a Political Scientist??), and the process in general. I got this picture of shoes for sale at a nearby magazine. I know, I know... I'll have to get a pair for the flight home:

In our "spare" time (we were there for about 36 hours!)- we visited the, e-hem, National Museum of History and the National Art Museum. Both were located a short walk from our hotel- the Sunflower B&B. (If anyone comes to visit Kiev, we'll stay there) We had wanted to go to a Cossack village, but the weather turned and we didn't feel like traipsing around a pseudo village in the mud (incidentally, we are going to the real Zaporozhye Sich stronghold out on the island of Khortitsa in another week).

In any case, visiting museums has an interesting challenge that is absent in the west- the little old ladies. So, in each room and hallway that you enter sits a little old lady/security system. Now, I don't think they could actually stop me if I wanted to dart away with some Napoleonic War memorabilia, but they do watch you like a hawk (unless they are asleep or talking on their cell phone), so you feel an obligation to dutifully stop at each display and see if you can decipher any of the Ukrainian. Sometimes they stop you and point out stuff- "you've got to look at the fill-in-the-blank" and, if you get lost in the warren of rooms, there is always one to point you in the right direction. It is what it is... and I now know more than I wanted about the currency of Ukraine from pre-history up to the contemporary era.

Jason is now official- he has his "green card", which is actually blue and looks rather like a passport. He managed his final step before we left for Kiev- registering where he lives at the "ZhEK". Well, the registering at the "ZhEK" went fine, but they sent him to the police who found "irregularities"...irregularities that could be remedied by starting the entire process over OR a floating fine. Jason was advised by our real estate broker to pull out some cash and make it visible. The 200 Grivna (about 22 dollars) was enough that they used their "discretionary authority" to sign off on his residency. Jason asked about a receipt and he was told that they were closing for the day and he could come back tomorrow... He ran into a student from India, who was having similar problems, but his "irregularities" were costing 50 Grivna. He shook his head and said it was just like India.

NOW: it is my turn. We are going to Frankfurt at the beginning of April to begin my visa process. We could not until Jason was official. I have to do it outside of Ukraine. We were advised that some foreign countries and cities are "transit points" and cannot offer the specific service we need. I wrote to several embassies and consulates and Frankfurt was the only one that wrote back and knew what I needed- much to Elizabeth and Thomas' chagrin! I did like their message back about costs, though, it gave me a price in USD and said something about the person at the consular desk knowing for certain- ha ha! I translated that to "they have some discretionary authority if they find irregularities"...

This last Saturday was the last day of "Maslenitsa" or Butter Week, which is the Orthodox Slavic version of Mardi Gras. Now, begins Lent, which ends at Easter the first Sunday in May. We kept hearing music and whooping from our windows. When we got to the fancy, peanut butter-carrying grocery store, we found out why: there was a Maslenitsa festival in Freedom Square under the watchful eye of Lenin. So, there was a whole section serving up blyni, crepes, which is the traditional celebratory food, and various folk music groups and dancers, etc. Jason snapped a few photos with his camera phone...

The pillar says: Wide Maslenitsa

Jason loves the Easter Chicken

Some poor schmoe trying to climb the greased pole to get to the prizes up top... he almost made it.

Lenin watches over some folk singers...

Kleopatra Beauty Salon

We survived our first Kharkovian haircut at the Kleopatra Beauty Salon with no major incidents. We decided to give it a try, having found one website that had some reviews of local places; Kleopatra had the best reviews. I had to look up the words: cowlick (vykhor) and ringlet (I can't remember, but it had nothing to do with the phrase to turn around and was the same whether the curl was vertical or not), because, let's face it, they are not words you use every day.

I was kind of sad to see Jason's long locks go. When he got up in the morning, he had this rather mad Ludwig Von Beethoven look about him with what is left of his receding hairline standing straight on end. Now, however, he is neatly trimmed. The only flub with his haircut was the question of whether or not Jason uses a "mashina". We both thought she was asking about hairdrying and said "no". However, in retrospect, she may have been asking about using a razor to trim his hair. She did the job with a series of scissors. In any case, his hair is neatly trimmed and looks about like it usually does.

Mine went perfectly fine as well. We showed her a few photos of what I usually look like, and indicated chin length and off she went. She did part of it wet and part of it dry, just like at home.

The interesting thing, however, was my gamble with my eyebrows. It has been a while since I've had my brows done, but they offered the service and I decided to do it under my usual motto (for such situations) "hair grows". I figured, at worst, I'd end up with brows a la Marlene Dietrich. In any case, she moved the chair to a wall, gave me a pillow and had me slink down and lean on the wall, while she attacked my brows BY HAND. Yep, no wax or sugar involved. She plucked and trimmed using tweezers, a brush, and scissors. Please note: I did not cry.

French Toast

We had half a loaf of bread left so I made French Toast this morning. Our eggs are fresh from the farm... if slightly less than sanitary.