2006 TRIP TO RUSSIAN AND UKRAINE, PART 4: CHERNIGOV AND MOSCOW
In a large classroom at the school, Director Ludmilla tells us that more than 100 teachers serve 1500 students in grades 1-11. She acknowledges FIPE and our visit and then asks our sons, who’ve just filed in with the 20 awardees, standing along the back wall of the room:
"Would you like to stay longer in Chernigov?"
"Would you like to stay longer in Chernigov?"
“Yes!” says Owen. John: “I don’t know," and then quickly: "Yes!”
Bill makes appropriate remarks and then come the awards. The winning students are mostly girls--fresh-faced and lovely--who smile broadly as their names are called. I take photos as they shake hands with Bill, to rounds of applause.
One of the awardees gives us a ceramic candleholder with tea light and says: “We hope this candle will burn in your home and in your hearts, and remind you that you are also in our hearts.”
After lunch with the students, Bill and I hop on a packed mini-bus with two teachers who will show us some historical sites. I ask about their means of transport, as neither owns a car. Helen rides a bus. Irina walks to work--an hour and a half each way: “If I didn’t walk to work, I would never get outside for fresh air as my day begins early and ends late.”
After lunch with the students, Bill and I hop on a packed mini-bus with two teachers who will show us some historical sites. I ask about their means of transport, as neither owns a car. Helen rides a bus. Irina walks to work--an hour and a half each way: “If I didn’t walk to work, I would never get outside for fresh air as my day begins early and ends late.”
The women speak with pride about their Cossack ancestors who ruled here from the 1600s up to the late 1700s, at which time Chernigov became an administrative center of the Russian Empire. We offer to take them to tea, but they’ve talked with our host Misha, who thinks we should have a rest prior to a 7 pm meeting with Dr. Karetta--director of the local hospital and the man who did the primary triage after the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster. He has links with FIPE, and Sherrie Howey made arrangements for the meeting. How grateful we've felt for all the advance work Sherrie did on our behalf!
Back home, during tea with Misha and Galina, a call comes to say Dr. Karetta can't meet us. We're relieved. Our energy--at the end of this two-week marathon--is flagging. "Oh good," says Galina, "We've been planning an outing to the forest to cook a special fish stew for you. But first you must rest!"
Around 6 pm, we spray ourselves with DEET and head for the woods, toting food and supplies, joined by friendly neighbors Ciril and Tonya. Just 3 blocks from the house we come to a birch forest. The air cools pleasantly as we enter the quiet world of tall trees, stepping on a carpet of green grass.
The forest seems to go on and on in all directions, but after 10 minutes we reach a small clearing where a large log lies near the remains of a previous fire. Misha and Ciril chip bark and split thin strips of wood from the log while the women chop previously peeled potatoes, carrots and onions. Misha goes in search of the right piece of wood to make a stand for holding the large pot.
The forest seems to go on and on in all directions, but after 10 minutes we reach a small clearing where a large log lies near the remains of a previous fire. Misha and Ciril chip bark and split thin strips of wood from the log while the women chop previously peeled potatoes, carrots and onions. Misha goes in search of the right piece of wood to make a stand for holding the large pot.
Before long the pot is boiling with the vegetables and a grain that look like quinoa. Soon the fish will be added, but meanwhile we lounge on the blankets and start in on brown bread, cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, and something new to me as an appetizer--sallow (cured pork fat). I hesitate on the sallow...
"Try a little with some bread and vodka," says Misha.
"Try a little with some bread and vodka," says Misha.
This is our last evening in Ukraine and I join in the toasts, taking just small amounts of vodka. Each couple has brought a bottle of a favorite birch-flavored variety. We have five toasts over the course of the meal...each merrier than the previous one...always concluding with “Za zdorov’ye!” (To your health!). The stew is delicious--seasoned at the end with a special spice mix and fresh dill. After eating we sing and make jokes, laughing heartily in unabashed comradery.
Galina and I walk back to the house with our arms around each other. After goodbyes to Tonya and Ciril, we two couples sit at the table and have strawberries, chocolate, and more vodka--a red pepper variety, spicy but pleasant. I'm aware that I may pay for these last 3 small shots, but we're all in a gay and loving mood that continues until we finish the vodka and strawberries and kiss goodnight around 11.
June 27: It’s 4:30 am. I have a headache and my stomach soon rejects its contents. I drink lots of water, and then doze off for a few hours. Bill is still asleep when I get up to pack and organize gifts for our host families--scarves for the women, t-shirts for the teens, and Colorado-themed key chain bottle openers, US flag napkins, and post cards for the men. These things seem so inadequate, but they’re the items we were advised to bring.
Galina has made another big breakfast. Sallow is part of the fare…ugh. Galina offers several kinds of medicine--for head, stomach, and a cough that's coming on. Each med is in a small bag, with a Russian label. I take all, along with a little food, and--per Bill's advice--a little vodka.
Misha and Galina present gifts: Vodka!…one bottle inside a ceramic holder in the figure of a dashing Cossack plus a spare, a box of chocolates, a beer mug for Bill, and a picture book of Chernigov. We give them our gifts and Bill does his best--as he’s been doing faithfully for three days--to express in Russian our heartfelt thanks, telling them once again how much we would love to host them in Colorado.
“We will see,” says Misha.
Back at the school for a meeting, we're early and find Ludmilla and some of the teachers dancing and singing boisterously in a hot, airless office.
"We're practicing for graduation," chuckles Ludmilla, wiping her brow.
Bill, who's been teaching in a community college for over a decade, knows well the heady feeling of "school's almost done for the year! " He takes photos of the animated group. The women have laid out tea, coffee, and chocolates on Ludmilla's large desk, but first we visit the school's newsroom, holding artfully-displayed traditional clothing, collages of historical events, and photos of graduates notable for war service or other endeavors.
During our brief business meeting, in which Misha and Galina participate, Ludmilla expresses the desire to see more student exchanges--just a couple weeks in length--so youth can directly experience each other's cultures.
"We're practicing for graduation," chuckles Ludmilla, wiping her brow.
Bill, who's been teaching in a community college for over a decade, knows well the heady feeling of "school's almost done for the year! " He takes photos of the animated group. The women have laid out tea, coffee, and chocolates on Ludmilla's large desk, but first we visit the school's newsroom, holding artfully-displayed traditional clothing, collages of historical events, and photos of graduates notable for war service or other endeavors.
During our brief business meeting, in which Misha and Galina participate, Ludmilla expresses the desire to see more student exchanges--just a couple weeks in length--so youth can directly experience each other's cultures.
Natasha--our guide in Kiev, whose son attends this school--is present to serve as translator, so we can finally express more fully our thoughts and feelings...
Bill: "Misha and Galina have been the most wonderful cultural ambassadors, and we're so deeply grateful for their hospitality. Jan and I want to help with student exchanges, and we would very much enjoy serving as hosts."
Me: "We know that our sons, whom we've hardly seen (they laugh), will have been greatly impacted by this visit and we're anxious to hear from them--as much as they are willing to share (more laughter)--about their experiences."
Ludmilla: “I’ve heard how well your sons have integrated with the students.”
As we're about to leave, Ludmilla lifts from her desk a small, hinged icon set of the Virgin Mary flanked by the angels Gabriel and Michael. "I don't remember who gave me this," she says, "but knowing it was given in love, I give it to you with love."
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| Ludmilla's gift |
We get to the train station with just 20 minutes to spare for meeting John’s and Owen’s host parents to say thanks and give gifts. Bill takes photos on the platform and then we board and stand at the train window for 5 minutes with 12 pairs of eyes looking at us intently--several of them overflowing with tears. We blow kisses and wave goodbyes as the train starts...and then stops abruptly.
Ludmilla has stopped the train. She forgot to give Bill his requested copies of the winning essays, and now hands them to him in a plastic sleeve.
The boys start talking as their friends run alongside the train, waving goodbye.
Owen: “The girl in the turquoise top is the one I like.”
John: “Let’s come back next year. Owen and I will start saving our allowances.”
Bill: “Mom and I can match that.”
John: “I’m going to learn Russian before then.”
Owen: “This was the best part of the trip. Everything else was a waste.”
Bill: “Mom and I enjoyed the rest, but this was the best.”
They talk on about their new friends and how wonderful their hosts were.
John: “The little babushka at my house made my bed every day and arranged my clothes and bags carefully by my bed. And every evening when we got home, dinner was on the table.”
Me: “I’m sure you didn’t throw your clothes on the floor.”
John: “No, and I thanked them a lot and gave Babushka my leftover money. What gifts did you give them?”
“Scarves, t-shirts, and small souvenirs of Colorado.”
“Babushka will like a scarf.”
On the train I read all the student essays and am touched by the eagerness of Ukrainian youth to embrace their expanding world while remembering and honoring their roots. They look with hope to the West, but seem to have an awareness of some of our excesses. Like young people everywhere, they’re experimenting with life and trying to figure out what they believe.
June 28: At the Moscow airport, we discover our camera is missing. We search everything, including our very tired brains, to try to figure out what happened. We’re all upset, and the boys and I are especially sad for Bill, who bought the camera for this trip, took most of the photos, and feels the loss deeply. We won’t be able to make a photo album for Galina and Misha or send photos of the awards ceremony to Ludmilla.
But…we have my journals, a calendar from St Petersburg, and the photo book of Chernigov. And rich moments are imprinted on our minds and in our hearts. I picture Galina’s sweet, smiling eyes as she says to me, in perfect English: “I love you” ...and Inna’s approving, loving look as she tells us: “Owen made breakfast this morning--omelet and bacon." I'll not forget Misha’s direct, blue-eyed gaze as he says: “Janette, I’m going to dance with you,” nor Ludmilla’s insistent, purposeful: “Now, back to the issue of student exchanges.”
I remember the brightly painted shutters on old wood houses, the blue of the lakes where we swam, the deep green of the birch forests, and the golden domes of churches sparkling in the sun. Perhaps in the future I’ll take fewer photos and instead take in more deeply life's passing moments.
A few years after the trip, our Russian friend Katya gives us a book about her home town Vladimir (her mother helped us during our visit there). Not having the Chernigov book at hand while writing these memories, I've gratefully used here some photos from the book: Vladimir: Glimpses of the City (1995). While reading the book again, I find words that can apply not only to cathedrals created by man to the glory of God, but to we ourselves--however beautiful or broken--created by God to hold his glory:
The ancient cathedrals "are not only 'monuments' on the UNESCO World Heritage List, not only 'properties to be restored.' They strike the string of inborn Truth and Beauty in us, the children of the rationale age. Pause, passer-by."
A few years after the trip, our Russian friend Katya gives us a book about her home town Vladimir (her mother helped us during our visit there). Not having the Chernigov book at hand while writing these memories, I've gratefully used here some photos from the book: Vladimir: Glimpses of the City (1995). While reading the book again, I find words that can apply not only to cathedrals created by man to the glory of God, but to we ourselves--however beautiful or broken--created by God to hold his glory:
The ancient cathedrals "are not only 'monuments' on the UNESCO World Heritage List, not only 'properties to be restored.' They strike the string of inborn Truth and Beauty in us, the children of the rationale age. Pause, passer-by."
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