Under scrutiny

I woke up this morning to an e-mail about my blog post, “Getting Out”. It seems that a few PCVs who are still in Ukraine have taken issue with it, and reported it to PC. I was asked to either password protect my blog or be more “culturally sensitive” in my entries. A few people “defriended” me on Facebook, and one wrote harsh (and inaccurate) criticism on my Facebook wall, which I had to delete.

Perhaps I could have been more tactful when I wrote that entry. However, I was being completely honest, whereas usually, in my blog posts, I self-censor, because I am fully aware of the impact of what people write about other cultures. When a person is frustrated, however, the filters usually are removed. 

What I cannot help but think, though, is – who are these people, who think they have the right to sit in judgment on my experience?

Here is what I have to say to the people who have felt that they have the right to criticize me – before you cast stones, look in the mirror. Very few people in this world are so without fault that they have the right to criticize others. Also realize that we all have very different experiences – whether it is in Peace Corps, in every day life, or just on an errand to the grocery store. We none of us have the right to judge another. If you want to “defriend” me on Facebook, you are not really my friend anyway. If you do not understand where I come from, and the person I am, then we should not be in contact. I work every day to be authentic, to be kind, to be patient. Guess what – I am human, and sometimes I fail at my efforts. I don’t claim to be perfect, but I can say that I try. 

Can you say the same?

Adjusting

To pick up where I left off in my last blog…I realized as I was sitting there waiting for my flight that the ticket person to whom I brought my second bag did not put a claim tag on it – she just sent it down the conveyor belt. Maybe, I thought, there would be a miracle and my bag would be put on the airplane. This was highly unlikely, as there was no tag to tell the baggage handlers where to put the bag. I could not go back down and try to deal with the issue, as I had already gone through security and customs. I could do one of two things – stress out about it or hope for the best, and deal with it when I got to my destination.

The flights went rather well. The first one was operated by Ukrainian International Airlines – three hours from Kiev to Amsterdam. As I cannot really remember much from it, suffice it to say it was uneventful, and I read a good portion of the 900-page book I brought with me .

By the time we arrived and got into the airport in Amsterdam, however (and yippee, we taxied all the way up to the gate!), there was an hour and a half until my next flight departed – in other words, I had to get to the gate, because they were already sending people through security. I was scrutinized there – the guy asked me a lot of questions…apparently I don’t look as wholesome and innocent as I used to.

Something occurred to me while I was waiting for the flight though – there was a low hum of noise from people talking, and there were more Americans than I had been around in a while.

I have to give Delta Airlines credit – they had a really great crew on the flight from Amsterdam to Minneapolis. They were really personable and worked well together. At one point I went to talk to one of them to thank her and the crew for making my re-entry into the US pleasant, and I started crying. It was so nice to have people smiling, joking, talking and being really nice – and being genuine about it. She spread the word to the rest of the crew and they all stopped by to welcome me back to the US.

Luck was with me at Customs, too – usually there is a long line, especially on a Saturday afternoon. When we arrived, it was pretty deserted, and I only had to wait for one person to go before I went through.

I was not so lucky as far as my suitcase. As I feared, the suitcase did not make it, and I was told to go to the Delta luggage counter and file a lost claim for it. But before I got to the counter, I left the secure International Arrivals area, and there were my mom, dad, sister and niece waiting for me. My sister came running up and hugged me, and started crying (which made ME cry again).

After filing my suitcase claim (and telling them the whole story about the ticketing agents in Kiev), I headed out with my family for my first meal back in the U.S. – PF Chang’s. YUM.  Cheesecake Factory for dessert – talk about indulgences!

The past three days I’ve been trying to start sorting things out in my head – the transition to being back in the U.S., the uncertainty of ever seeing my suitcase and everything in it (both intrinsic and sentimental value), the excitement of being back among people I love tempered with the realization that maybe I did not change as much as I had (falling back into old habits with people).

This readjustment thing…it’s not so easy or straightforward.  My emotions have ranged from the elation of seeing my family and little excitement at being able to fit into a pair of jeans I could no longer wear before I went to Ukraine to my frustration at people not understanding or being interested in what I have gone through, who I am now (though I am still figuring this out myself) and the pleasure in people who work in Customer Service genuinely being nice to me.  The joy in being able to communicate my thoughts to the realization that there are some thoughts I will have to keep to myself because people just don’t get it. The fact that my being quiet when someone is talking bothers the person, because the person wants an enthusiastic response I am not able to give. The thinking that some of the things people worry about are really not that big of a deal, the distaste I feel when I see television shows that glorify the conspicuous consumption for which the U.S. is known. The realization that yes, Americans ARE loud! Our restaurants are loud, we speak loud, we always want to have noise around us. The fact that no matter how hard I try, certain people are upset when I try to communicate and reach them, and that I get upset by some of the same things that upset me before I left.

Like everything else about me, this readjustment is a work in process. Perhaps I’ll have some of it figured out before I leave for Suriname.

Getting out

This past week has been a week of decompression, which I did not realize but I needed. I was spending the week at a friend’s apartment in Kiev – he works for the embassy, so when I was in the apartment, it was like being in the U.S. However, when I stepped outside, I was definitely in Ukraine. Apparently, all of the stress of the past 27 months came up during this week, because for most of the week, I was exhausted, and being as I was in such a nice place, I had little motivation to do anything.

I managed to take care of all of my close of service checklist items without any stress (of course, I had already completed a number of the items prior to coming to Kiev).  I was also able to see some friends one last time, have some nice dinners, and shed some more of the ballast I had with me (I still ended up overweight, but apparently that does not matter because the airline did not follow the policy and just charged me a standard fee for the second bag – no overweight fee).

I also had the chance to do some reflection on the past 27 months, though that is all out the window at this moment, as I sit here at the Kiev Airport and write this blog entry. In short, I am more than a little irritated – 27 months of rude people and bad customer service finally took its toll, and I have had it.

The driver picked me up this morning at 6 a.m. The travel assistant originally said 6:40, but something told me to make it earlier. It was a good thing I listened to my instinct, because as we were driving through Kiev at a little after 6 a.m., the driver was pulled over by the police. This is more common than a person would think – the police pick a random spot and park, then pick a random car to pull over in order to “check its license and registration”. My driver was polite but told the officer that we were on our way to the airport and that I was a diplomat (hey, whatever works). We got away without paying a “fine” and ended up taking a detour because of something related to preparations for Euro 2012.

Next stop – the airport. Luckily, I thought, I am flying out of the new terminal, which is usually faster and involves less hassle. Not today though. Apparently a person cannot check a second bag without first going to a separate cashier and paying the fee. So I got up to the counter and asked for my boarding pass from Amsterdam to Mpls, since I already had the one from Kiev to Amsterdam (that’s a whole other story of being unable to print it out yesterday – hooray for “airline partners”, as you cannot use ANY of the sites to check in and get your boarding pass). I checked one bag and told her I needed to check a second, so she told me I had to take my bag over to the cashier and pay, and THEN she tried to keep my passport and boarding pass!!  I told her I was not going to wait in line again – her response? “Why are you so mad?” Um, TWO YEARS of bad customer service and rude people.  I told her I was tired of a country that made EVERYTHING difficult. Hah – how true my words turned out to be (did I jinx myself??).

I get over to the cashier, who said “five hundred ten grivna”. SERIOUSLY? I told her I only have dollars, and she said “you can exchange money over there.” Well, no, I am trying to get rid of my grivna, not get more! She let me use a credit card to pay, then I just went right back up to a counter and jumped in. Of course, this made the person who was about to get help mad, and confused the person behind the counter. The other young woman said “I was here before you.” I said “no, you weren’t – I already have my boarding pass”. Her response: “I didn’t see you”. Well, too bad, because I was already there. She and the agent looked at me like I was crazy, but all I wanted was for my bag to be checked and get out of there. Honestly, I don’t CARE if they thought I was rude – call it a personal weakness, or influence of this place.

Security…in reshuffling my bags I forgot that I had two nail files and a neat gadget/tool in my hand bags (they were in my checked bags). The security guy made me take out the box (they were at the BOTTOM of the bottom of the bottom), which meant I had to unpack EVERYTHING, and the box fell, which meant everything IN the box went all over the floor. So I had to repack the box and the bag, and he would not give me my tool back (it did not have a knife) because apparently I look like a dangerous criminal to them. I mean, REALLY? There is no way I could even ACCESS the tool, much less use it to hurt someone.

Finally got my bag repacked, and then made it to the passport agent, who took an extra long time with my passport, and when he asked if I work for the embassy, I did not say yes or no (trying to make SOMETHING about this easier). He still took a long time, but he was nice, and commented on my shirt.

So here I sit – at least they have free WiFi in this terminal. It is 7:55 a.m. in Ukraine and I could already use a drink, knowing that this is only the beginning of my long journey back to the U.S. Makes me wonder what else the day has in store for me – maybe it will be like last Sunday, which started horribly but ended wonderfully. I had a three-hour flight to Amsterdam, then two hours to make it through customs and then security (AGAIN) for my flight to the US. At this point, I’ll be honest – I just want to get OUT.

Saying goodbye to Kirovograd

There comes a time in each PCV’s service when she says goodbye to her community, colleagues, and friends. For me, that time came last week, during my final week in Kirovograd.

I have to admit, I was disappointed at how the goodbyes started. I had told my primary organization more than three weeks in advance when my final day would be, and I did not expect anyone to throw me a party, but I did expect SOMETHING. This, it turns out, was a mistake on my part. My second to last day I asked one of the women whether my counterpart would be in the following day. No, I was told, she is sick. Apparently no one thought it was important for me to have that information before I asked. My final day, no one said goodbye – the director, deputy director, people with whom I had worked on projects – no one. When I got up to leave, two of the women in the department wished me well, and that was that.

Like I said, I was disappointed. I had worked at this place for a year and a half, been there at least three days out of each week, done projects, trainings, virtual presentations, etc. and really had no goodbye. I left that day in not the greatest of moods – my feelings were a bit hurt, truth be told. I felt completely unappreciated.

After a nice dinner with a couple other Volunteers, my evening was looking better. The next day, I decided to get ambitious and pack one of my suitcases. That’s when reality really started hitting home – I was actually packing, throwing things away, cleaning up my place, NOT buying food because I did not want it to not be eaten by the time I leave.

On Thursday the university held a little goodbye celebration for me – a happy 180 from my non-goodbye two days previous. They had champagne, chocolate, and cake, sang a few songs for me, said some really nice things about me and my guest lectures, and then they

My gift from the students at the Technical University

brought out my present. What – present? Turns out, they had listened to me and remembered when I talked about going to western Ukraine (Lutsk in the summer of 2010 and the Carpathians in early summer 2011) and how I had not purchased a traditional Ukrainian blouse, or vyshyvanka, either time. So they purchased one for me! It was really nice to sit there with some of the students who had come to my lectures and to realize that I actually did have an impact on them, even though I did not realize it at the time I was giving the guest lectures.

My goodbyes continued on Friday, when I went to the Technical College and had cake and quizzes, and got my photo taken with the director and the students; later that afternoon I had a nice three hours with a woman from the Pedagogical University and one of the students I had gotten to know. We had a fabulous three-hour talk, and I wish we had had more opportunities for such talks during my time in Kirovograd.

My final day in Kirovograd – Saturday at Sasha and Alyona’s school. I had my last two sessions of assisting them with their English classes, then went to the banya for one last visit before my departure. I was happy to do so, after not having had a shower all week (I did the proverbial bucket bath because my water heater broke nine days previous to my moving out, so of course it was not repaired before I left). It was a happy and relaxing way to spend my final evening in Kirovograd.

Sunday dawned and I packed up the rest of my things. Luckily for me, my friend had come in on Saturday to help me. Unfortunately, a few things happened in the previous few days that seemed to set in motion a chain reaction of events that meant a challenge for me to get to Kiev. I wanted to make sure that I had seats on the bus to Kiev that I wanted to be on, so I had purchased the tickets three weeks in advance, and put the tickets in a place where I would be sure to remember them.

Unfortunately, I also had a habit of keeping old train and bus tickets to use as bookmarks. During my paper cleanup last week, I found what I thought was an old bus ticket envelope and threw it away. On Wednesday (which happened to be a holiday in Ukraine), I read something that made me think to look for my tickets. I could not find them. I started to panic, searched everywhere, and then, with a sinking feeling, I realized what I had done a week prior. I asked someone (native Ukrainian) whether she thought I would be able to get the tickets reissued, and she agreed to help me try the next day.

The following day, we went to the ticket office and unfortunately, I could not “prove” that I had bought the tickets (because in Ukraine the tickets ARE the proof of sale), so I got to repurchase the tickets (thus spending more money than I had anticipated, because I had budgeted pretty close for my final days in Ukraine). I was not a happy person but as there was nothing I could do to change the situation, all I could do was accept it, suck it up, and buy two new tickets.

I put THOSE tickets into my wallet, and was ready to use them the morning of our departure. Getting to the bus, however, turned out to be more of a challenge than we anticipated.

The morning of my departure, I asked the “concierge” at the dorm to order a taxi to pick us up at 10:15 (the bus left from the center of the city at 10:50) and was very specific in telling her, and making sure she told the dispatcher, that I had two LARGE suitcases, two people, and other bags. I repeated, and made her repeat, LARGE suitcases – two of them.

The car arrived, and was nowhere near large enough to accommodate the suitcases. So the concierge started yelling at the driver, the driver yelled back, the concierge went inside to call and  yell at the dispatcher. She came back out and I told her we did not have time to wait for another taxi, so we headed to the bus stop to get a marshrutka to the center. The driver waited for me to lift the suitcases and other bags in, and for my friend to do the same, and charged us double because of the bags we were carrying. That was the easy part. Getting off the marshrutka was the hard part – we got to the center and I got off with one suitcase, telling people to wait because there were more bags. The people, instead of listening to me and waiting, or assisting me in any way, pressed in closed to the door of the marshrutka.

Unbelievable.

By the time I got the second suitcase off, and my friend was coming off as well, I was swearing at the people in English because they were being so rude. Not a great way to start the trip. Then we walked two blocks, arriving at the bus stop as the bus was arriving. I showed the driver my luggage tickets, put the suitcases under the bus, got on the bus, and realized that I could not find the tickets. I felt that sinking feeling in my stomach again – asked the bus driver whether I had given him the tickets (he said no), went looking for them, did not find them.

At this point, I started breaking down – I couldn’t help it. Between purchasing the tickets twice, LOSING them twice (which was not like me at all – I am usually the person who does not lose these types of things), the taxi and marshrutka stress – I had had enough, and started to cry. I felt bad for my friend, having to deal with my mini meltdown.

Then the driver got back on and handed me my tickets – he said he had found them. I didn’t care where he found them – all I cared about was not having to buy tickets a third time. Luckily for us, the drive up to Kiev was uneventful – uncomfortable, with all of our bags, but uneventful. We found a taxi to my friend’s house quickly, and a driver who did not try to extort us for more money than he should have, arrived at my friend’s apartment, and found that not only did he help us bring the suitcases up, but he had already ordered pizza for dinner, which had arrived minutes before we did.

So here I am, my final week in Ukraine, having said goodbye to Kirovograd.

 

Beaten at the banya

One of the easiest ways for PCVs in Ukraine to integrate into their communities is the banya. It is a ritual which includes nakedness, steam, heat, food, and alcohol (though not all at once). I have, in my two-plus years here, read many an account and Facebook status that talk about peoples’ experiences at the banya. I myself went to the sauna a number of times, but before yesterday, not a Ukrainian banya.

Outdoors near the dacha

My friends’ parents have a dacha, and I was invited to go with them to take a steam yesterday after our day of classes. It would be great, they said – invite their friends from Kiev, my friend Meeghan, have some barbecue, have a steam, hang out and chat. I didn’t have to bring anything buy myself, and a sheet (though in the end I did not bring a sheet either because I don’t have any extra).

The dacha itself is nice, but to be honest, I would not live there. It is among other dachas, has two rooms plus a kitchen type room (with no stove and no sink). Apparently there is electricity, though they need to hook it up. It is kind of like a rustic cabin among others, some of which have been or are in the process of being modernized, others of which have been completely abandoned.

For people who don’t know what dachas are, they have a long history, going back to the time of Peter the Great, when dachas were were small estates in the country, which were given to loyal vassals by the tsar. Most dachas were nationalized after the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, and the nicest ones were given to those who were in political favor at the time (and taken away when the person fell out of favor).

Dinner at the dacha

After World War II, dacha development grew. Because the land was considered communal, and thus no one “owned” anything, people began to occupy unused parcels of land and use them for growing food and built structures on them – anything from the simplest shed to a rather nice (relatively speaking) house. Because these structures were unheated, usually did not have running water or heat, and were uninsulated, people did not usually live there year-round, but visited them in the summer. Most people who lived in cities lived in concrete multi-story buildings (which still exist in post-Soviet countries today) and liked to go to dachas to get close to nature (and grow food).

Pre-banya photo

After the Soviet Union collapsed, dachas were privatized and many (though not all) people still have the dachas, the ownership of which is passed through the family. For example, I know someone who inherited a dacha and small plot of land from her grandmother. The challenge with this is, if people do not use the dachas or move out of the city that the dacha is near, the dacha and land go neglected and can become targets for vandals and thieves.

The dacha we visited yesterday is, I believe, of the more traditional style, and attached to it is the banya – the real reason to visit! This banya has a place where you build the fire. The fire heats up the water and rocks inside the banya, causing steam – so it is not a dry sauna, it is more of a steam room (with wooden walls and benches).

Playing with the boys

But we didn’t start with the banya, because it has to be prepared (fired up, water brought in). We set up the table and the hammock (in which we all took a turn but was taken over by the two boys with us), had some wine, and took a walk (and ended up getting a bit lost. The ”roads” are not marked, and neither are the houses). I did not particularly want to eat before going into the hot room, but that was the schedule. We did not go in co-ed, but according to gender, so we were able to get the full effects by going in without any clothing of any kind (or any bathing suit).

While inside, another part of the tradition of the banya is that after sitting in the steam, getting doused with cold water, and sitting in the steam some more, you lay down on the bench and get beaten with a “broom” made of Birch branches (no I don’t have a photo of it, because I was not wearing clothing). But it was actually kind of fun – I lay there laughing the whole time I was getting beaten.

How can you top that?

We came back out, had another snack and a lot of water while the boys and men took their turn, then returned for another session – two was all I did, because as I said, I had a full stomach and to me, a full stomach and a hot room don’t go so well together. So I called it a night on the banya after two rounds.

After we all finished, we stayed for more wine and conversation. This is the kind of day I will miss when I leave.

Crimea, part two

Our third morning in Crimea was one of transport – back to Simferopol, to drop off our things and meet another PCV who lives in a nearby village. While we were waiting for him, we passed by a woman selling chebureki (also spelled chiburekki), and even though we had had our breakfast already, we had to get some because it smelled so good.

Late breakfast of chebureki, anyone?

Many people may not know what cheburecki is – it is a meat pie of sorts, that is native to Crimea and very popular. Like Ukrainian borscht, every person thinks that her recipe is the best one (I encountered this in Ukraine for two years – literally every person thinks her borscht is the best, and I would be asked when I tried them. I always agreed).  In any case, we indulged, and were ready to head out for the day.

On a side note – yes, the chebureki we ate was street food, and chebureki that is sold to the public is often considered such. I have been advised against eating such food from people, because, as they put it, “you never know what kind of meat is in it”. I tend to go on faith, because I don’t think people hear often eat dogs and cats…

And onward we went. As I had previously given my Ukraine travel book to a friend, I did not have information on what there is to do in Simferopol, and I was dependent upon my friend and the PCV who lived nearby to tell me what there was to do in the area. He suggested that we visit the Botanical Gardens. We liked the idea and agreed, but did not anticipate the problem it would turn out to be to find our way there.

At the Botanical Garden in Simferopol

The woman who runs the place where we stayed advised us to take bus 88 (after saying, “oh the Botanical Gardens in Yalta?”). However, after waiting for 15 minutes and being passed by numerous buses, none of which were number 88, we asked a few other people. The consistent response was “you mean the Botanical Gardens in Yalta?”. Apparently people in Simferopol either don’t know that they have a Botanical Garden there, or don’t understand why anyone would want to see it.

We were starting to ask every bus that came by when at last we found success, got on a bus and made it to the Botanical Garden. Having owned a house with a yard (which my mom “landscaped” for me), I learned a bit about gardens and planting different sorts of plants and flowers so they bloom at different times of the year. When we were at the BG, the tulips, lilacs, and irises were in bloom, but we saw a rose garden that will be really beautiful in about six weeks, as well as other cultivations. It was really beautiful, and I am surprised that more people were not there on such a lovely day.

Couldn’t resist a little photo session at the Botanical Garden

After a couple of days of running around, we were a bit tired, so exploring the botanical gardens was a nice way to spend a few hours. That was our big accomplishment on day three (other than finding a restaurant for dinner). I must admit that I was somewhat surprised at Simferopol – for a city that is the capital of Crimea, I expected…more, I guess. There were really not a lot of restaurants, and finding an ATM was a real challenge. Hmm.

Our final day we decided to take a field trip to Bakhchisaray, or the Khan’s palace. It was built in the 16th century and became home to a succession of Crimean Khans. The walled enclosure contains a mosque, harem, cemetery, living quarters and gardens. We were excited about it, because it seemed really interesting. When we got there, however, we were a bit disappointed. The entrance fee was 50 uah (more than many museums in Kiev), and the part of the palace we were allowed to see was very limited. We also were yelled at to get out of the way of some filming that was being done for a movie (my response was, if they wanted no tourists in the filming area, why didn’t they just shut down the whole place for a couple of hours?), and well, it just did not live up to our expectations.

At Bakhchysarai

That’s not to say it was not interesting to see a different bit of culture. Crimea is unusual because of the influences there – it is part of Ukraine, but as it is an autonomous republic, not part of Ukraine. The people there are also VERY specific about the fact that they consider themselves Russian. One woman noticed that we were looking for an ATM and started speaking with us. My friend Helen, who speaks Ukrainian, responded to her (I just said “no thank you” and kept going) and the woman said “WHY are you speaking Ukrainian? You must speak Russian here!” I asked “this is part of Ukraine, isn’t it?” and she ignored me, but kept on Helen about how no one there speaks Ukrainian (not true, actually – I saw signs in both languages and heard people speaking both languages). The woman was probably in her 60s, which explains her strong feelings.

Waiting for the train home…much less “fresh” than when we arrived four days earlier!

After our time at Bakhchysarai, we took a walk up in the hills around the city, then it was, sadly, time to return to Simferopol and pick up our luggage, then wait for our train back to Znamenka. We ran into two other PCVs by the train station – I have found that this occurrence, running into other PCVs, is not as unusual as a person may think. It seems to happen to me no matter where I go in this country. Probably has something to do with how many of us are in country (though that is changing)…

Thus ended our four-day journey on Crimea. I wish we could have stayed longer, but it was great to have the time that we did before I leave Ukraine.

Photos from our Crimea trip can be found on Picasa.

Crimea, part one

Last summer, I had the chance to spend a few weeks in Sudak, on Crimea. Unfortunately, because it was a work-related thing, I was in Sudak for the entire time, and did not get to see any other parts of Crimea, which I really wanted to do. As my time in Ukraine has quickly been running out, I suggested to a friend that she take a trip to Crimea with me.

“I can’t,” she said, “I just got back from Crimea, from visiting a friend. How about Poltava?”

Poltava? Well, I was less than enthused about that idea. I’ve not been there, but my heart was set on Crimea, as I have heard so much about its beauty. Luckily for me, she changed her mind when she found out that she had a long weekend coming up because of the Ukrainian May 1 holiday. So it was that I got our train tickets, and we made arrangements to spend two nights with a PCV who lives in Sevastopol, one night in Simferopol, and the final night on the train back to my site.

Planning for a trip here is a bit of a crapshoot, weather wise. It could be fabulous weather, or it could rain the entire time. Luckily for us, it turned out to be the former. We arrived in Simferopol and hopped on a bus to Sevastopol (after fending off numerous marshrutka drivers who were trying to gouge us – I offered 30 uah in response to their quotes of anywhere from 150-300. Hey, I know how much the bus costs!).

At Khersones

We arrived in Sevastopol and A came to meet us, then showed us to Khersones, the ruins of an ancient Greek city in Sevastopol. For those who are interested in Ukrainian history, Khersones is where Volodymyr the Great was famously baptised into Christianity in 989 AD, launching what would become the Russian Orthodox Church. Tatars destroyed the city in the 14th century, but excavations have revealed a row of marble columns a few metres from the shore.

What that means for me is photo opportunities, of course. They tried to get me to pay a 15 uah photo fee, so I put my camera back in my bag, and promptly removed it when we were out of their eyeshot. It was really pleasant to walk around the area, spend some time with A, and learn a bit about the history.

Day two – we got up early and headed for Yalta. My goal of the day was to see the Swallow’s Nest Castle, which I mistakenly thought was close to the center of the city. We found out differently when we got on a bus that took us on a winding road past a bunch of sanitoria. At one point, I figured we were close, and then saw a few souvenir stands. That was where the driver told us to get off. We were a bit confused, as the castle was nowhere to be found, but as soon as we walked over to the railing, we saw our destination. After following a man and his daughter down the stairs for a while, I was sidetracked by photo opportunities, and we bid them goodbye.

I was then sidetracked by the little man sitting in the only shade on the platform where we were standing. He was selling homemade baklava.

Mmmmm...homemade baklava

Now, I had been talking about getting some of the Tatarsky baklava for two days – I had some last year when I was in Sudak, and it was wonderful. However, try though we might, we were unable to find any in Sevastopol, and I was having doubts about Yalta. So I was very pleasantly surprised when we saw this man selling the baklava there on the platform with the excellent view of the castle. So we indulged.

Onward we continued toward the castle, stopping to have our lunch. It got windier and windier as we went, and at one point Helen said “I am sure that once we are up by the castle, it won’t be as windy”. Famous last words. It was even windier! As I was trying to go around the outside of the castle, the wind was so strong that it pushed me backward. This is not exactly a safe feeling at 40 meters above the water.

Swallow's Nest Castle in Yalta

The castle itself is tiny – only 10 m by 20 m. We did not bother to go inside to see the “museum” (few people there did). It is not famous for its size, however – it is famous for its location. It overlooks the Cape of Ai-Todor on the Black Sea – it is one of the most popular visitor attractions in Crimea and has become the symbol of Crimea’s southern coastline.

Thus the reason I wanted to see it – more photo opps. My trips seem to be filled with photo opps, and I took many photos of the Swallow’s Nest.

We also experienced one of those moments that will soon come to a halt for me – the American celebrity moment. We had been waiting on the overlook to take photos, and this group of Ukrainian teens were taking photos, and taking photos, and taking photos. Then they had the nerve to ask US to move so they could take MORE photos! I will admit, I was not very nice about it, even after they asked me to join them in the photos. After I took a few, they started talking to us, asking us where we were from, and asking to have their photos taken with us. Though they are from Krivy Rih in Ukraine (two hours from Kirovograd, my site), and we have a number of volunteers in that city, they had never met an American before that day. So we had a pleasant chat, and they went on their way, and we were able to get in a few photos before some families came up to the platform.

On the ferry back to Yalta. Behind us you can see the Swallow's Nest Castle

It was a moment which has not been uncommon here in Ukraine – as an American, you are different, and you are treated as special. People want to have their photos taken with you, to talk to you. It will be strange to be back in the US, where I am not viewed as special at all.

After our visit, we waited for the ferry back to Yalta – it was much faster and provided more photo opportunities – of the castle from the sea angle. Back in Yalta, we tried in vain to find a place where we could have wine on tap (again, I saw them everywhere in Sudak last summer), and finally settled on a bottle of Ukrainian “champagne”, then a stroll to a restaurant that is on/in a barge that is out over the water for a drink. Strangely enough, of all of the places in Yalta, two other PCVs who were in the city chose the visit the same restaurant and happened upon us while we were there.  Unfortunately, our visit was short-lived, as we had to catch a bus back to Sevastopol.

 

Hatred

Yesterday was YomHaShoah, or Holocaust Remembrance Day. It occurs on the 27th day of Nissan, which is a constant, but on the Gregorian calendar, the date changes. This year, YomHaShoah was from sundown on April 18th to sundown on April 19th.

The intent of this day being recognized is so that the world does not forget what occurred, the atrocities that were committed against the Jewish people during World War II. It is a memorial day for people who died during the Shoah. Most of them were Jewish, but some were Roma (Gypsies) and Slavs, political and religious dissidents, the handicapped, and gays and lesbians.

So it was that yesterday, there were news articles and memorials around the world, talking about this day and the importance of remembering what happened.

On the same day, there was a news article about a new museum that has opened in Michigan – the Jim Crow Museum of Racist Memorabilia.

Perhaps it is not a good idea on my part, but being as I have an ongoing curiosity about humans, I sometimes read comments that are written in response to news articles. In fact, I am pretty sure this is a BAD idea, because it seems that the anonymity that the Internet provides people seems to bring out the worst in them.

Why was I surprised to find hateful remarks? I don’t know – perhaps I thought that people would respect the absolute horror of the events that have occurred.

I was wrong. In comments sections about both events, I could hardly make myself read things that had been written – everything from as mild as “what about (X group) and what happened to them?” (Answer – this is a day to remember victims of the Shoah, that’s why) to wishing that the job had been finished, or in terms of the Jim Crow museum, wishing for the “good old days”, to people saying the Jews brought it on themselves, the U.S. is soon going to cease to exist, etc. etc. etc.

I wish I could say that seeing things, hearing things, like this does not bother me. I wish I could say it does not bother me when people who have not been exposed to other racial groups casually toss stereotypes (whether they mean it with malice or not), when they attack other racial, ethnic, religious, sexual preference, or any other group that makes a person different. That seeing such words, written by the cowards who hide behind Internet anonymity – the same ones who hid and hide behind white sheets – does not hurt me.

What I cannot figure out is why these words hurt me. Is it because they are a reflection of a deeper, more frightening trend? A trend that started…well, at the time when humans recognized that they are different from each other, but a trend which has grown louder and more visible in recent times.

Perhaps I should have been a Sociologist, because the tendency of human beings to focus on our differences rather than similarities, to hate instead of love, to strike instead of reach out, is something of a mystery to me. Examples in today’s society abound – trends in Europe that show increased intolerance toward people from other countries, the out and out attacks on women and minorities in the U.S., the constant and unrelenting hatred against religious groups that are not Christians, the caste systems that persist in countries – I could list hundreds of examples, and never have any understanding of why.

And to be completely honest, I believe that it would change me if I DID understand why, because then, perhaps, I would agree with them.

I know that theories as to “why” people hate abound – it is how we are raised, religious fanaticism, the tough economic times, and all sorts of others. To me, they are excuses, not explanations. Somehow, I cannot help but think that there is something inside us as humans that seeks to dehumanize others, in order to make ourselves more human, and our actions acceptable.

But my question is – why does it seem to manifest only in some, and not in others? Do we all have latent hatred that we just keep under control? Do we all hold resentments against a person, a group, a nation, that we blame for our misfortunes?

I certainly hope not. And I don’t know how to end this post but with one more question, which is scary and not easily answered – What does this trend mean, for all of us?

 

Authenticity

This morning I read a commentary on CNN, called “Take a risk and put your true self out there”. The commentary is about the author’s research into human behavior, and, more specifically, into the trait of authenticity. She argues that authenticity “has become one of those buzzwords that we love to hate,” and that it “entered the popular lexicon because it tapped into something powerful in our culture.”

I did not realize that authenticity had become a buzzword, and that people hated it. Nor did I realize that it has tapped into something powerful in our culture – what she calls a yearning for more meaningful interactions and less pretending. With all of the so-called “reality television” showing us the opposite, and all of the noise people are making in the press about one thing or another (especially politics), I wonder whether there really is such a yearning, or whether the fear in which we live is covering it up.

Though she takes a while to get to her point, she eventually makes it, talking about what authenticity is, arguing that it is a collection of conscious choices of how we want to live, of taking chances and being honest, being vulnerable, and and engaging with the world from a place of worthiness rather than a place of shame or “never enough.”"

Is authenticity a serious of choices? Do we choose to be who we really are?

Her essay made me think about a conversation I had with a friend of mine this past week. I am going through what all exiting PCVs go through – a process of separation, of preparing to leave our country. Part of the time I feel numb, and am just waiting for my exit day. The other part of the time, I am processing again, and it makes me think of so much – of who I was when I arrived, of the experiences I have had here, of the every day processing I used to do, the questions I used to ask, which I no longer ask.

This is not to say that I have the answers – more like, I have become more comfortable with the every day questions, and I see in my friends who have been here less time than me some of the things I used to fight, with which I used to struggle. However, of all of the changes I have undergone through this experience, I realize that the most important part of me has not changed – the authenticity with which I live my life.

Living your life with authenticity is not easy, because our society demands that we compromise who we are in order to achieve success. Those of us who are forced to compromise inevitably end up unhappy in our lives because we are not living them in an authentic way – we are not being honest about who we are. Either that, or we live our lives in an authentic way and end up very lonely.

I have a feeling this compromise is a common thing, given how unhappy people are. It is also then easy to attack others who try to live in an authentic way, because they scare us. People who are authentic scare other people – they are not always well-liked, and are often attacked for being an outsider, for being different in any way.

Back to the conversation with my friend. She told me that she had been praying for me, and how grateful she was to have me in her life. Needless to say, this is not something I hear very often, so I asked her to elaborate (it was a bad day, and I will always take the chance to listen to kindnesses – they are so rare). She mentioned my honesty, my directness, and my authenticity (though she used different words). She said she was glad she was able to look past what stops so many people, and leads them to judge me rather than to get to know me. She said that I truly treat people in the way I want to be treated – the golden rule.

Now, these are very kind words on her part. I cannot say I am perfect and always the kindest person – I do try, but I get in my own way, or I get reactive. But it is a constant process on my part to not do so – when I get an e-mail that upsets me, to not respond, but to realize that the other person is coming from a very different place than I am and that he communicates in a very different way than I do.  When I hear gossip and judging about another person, to clarify with the person saying it instead of becoming upset with the person for spreading it. To give people the benefit of the doubt, because I don’t know what is causing them to say the things they say in the way they say them. To really be who I am, and to be unafraid of being hurt by others.

Authenticity takes strength and courage – to be willing to undergo attack, or to have others avoid you, because of who you are.

The basis of what she said, and going back to what the CNN commentator said, about authenticity – I find it interesting that the commentator believed that it is a choice to live in an authentic way, because for me, it’s not – I cannot live in any other way. I cannot be dishonest, and intentionally hurtful to others. I can be direct and honest, which I am (and which I have found makes me rather unpopular) and have learned through the years to temper it with tact, because directness can be painful too. People aren’t really good at looking inside themselves and accepting the negatives – and we ALL have negatives. People want to think that pretending is better than being real. And in all honesty, sometimes I pretend too – because to be myself with everyone is too painful.

That’s fear speaking – my fear, the fear of other people, and it bothers me that there is so much of it in our world today, because fear is what all of these other behaviors stem from. Fear leads to cruelty, and as the commentator said, “Cruelty is cheap and rampant — especially when you attack and criticize anonymously, as technology and the Internet allow so many people to do these days.”

Why do people fear change so much? Why do we fear being authentic with others? Is it worse to be authentic and to be attacked or to pretend and to have something inside of you that dies a little bit each time?

The commentator said: “I believe there’s even more risk in hiding yourself and your gifts from the world. Our unexpressed ideas, opinions, and contributions don’t just go away. They are likely to fester inside and eat away at our sense of worthiness.

However afraid we are of change, the question that we must ultimately answer is this: What’s the greater risk? Letting go of what people think, or letting go of how I feel and what I believe and who I am? “

These are questions which we should all ask ourselves when we ask who we want to be, and how we want to live our lives. Because ultimately, it is not about what others think – it is about what each of us thinks, who we want to be, and what sort of impact we want to make in the world.

The impact I want to make in the world is a positive one. So every day I keep trying to live my life in an authentic way. Some days I am more successful at it than others. But every day I try, and that is all I can ask of myself.

What’s Next?

One of the questions you get as a Volunteer who is on her way out (as of today, I return to the US in 38 days) is “what are you doing to do next/where are you going now?”

It is not a question that most of us love.

This is a topic that came up at the Close of Service Conference (which was already almost three weeks ago!) – Peace Corps Volunteers don’t particularly like being asked this question because most of the time, we just don’t know. Some of us are going on to return to school for graduate studies (not me, as that was done a long time ago, unless I want a THIRD grad degree, and I am thinking no). Some of us are planning extended trips (anywhere from two weeks to three months) – that is another option that I decided to pass on, because I wanted to save my money for relocating and tiding me over while I conducted a job search.

Few of us have jobs lined up.

It is not unrealistic, that we don’t have employers waiting for us. After all, we are still in Ukraine, with anywhere from a month to nearly two months before we return to the US, and most employers who are looking to hire are looking to hire NOW, not a month or two in the future.

This is a concept that a few people here seem to have a hard time understanding. One person has been asking me since last fall if I have a job yet. I could not seem to get her to understand that most companies in the US do not hire nine months in advance. The government may TAKE nine months (or longer) to hire for a position, but I have not seen any company or organization that says to someone, “Hey, I’ll hire you next summer. Here’s your offer letter, see you then”, especially with the logistics of us being here, and companies being there.

This not knowing what is next, especially for those of us who are planning to relocate, is a rather stressful thing. Friends of mine are starting to ask for input on resumes, I have personally been sending out resumes and trying to widen my network where I want to live for a couple of months. I have been assured that all will change and that doors will open when I am physically IN the city of my choosing. I wonder.

At the conference, our Country Director suggested that we look at Peace Corps Response as a potential next step. At the time he said it, the words kind of went over my head and I did not pay much attention. Then I got home and opened the package we were given, and one of the top pages is about Peace Corps Response. Deciding that it could not hurt me to LOOK at what positions are available, I did so, and ended up applying for more than one.

I was surprised to receive an e-mail the very next day, from a recruiter who wanted to interview me for the position. Part of me was excited, and part of me was thinking “well, it is not the one I REALLY wanted, but I guess I’ll interview for it”. I also wondered why I did not hear from the other two for which I applied, because I KNEW I was qualified for them.

Turns out, there are a small number of people who are recruiters for the Peace Corps Response (PCR) positions, and they all know each other, and they have a pact to not interview a person that another recruiter is interviewing – no poaching, in other words. According to her, my resume/application was quite popular in the office (at least SOMEONE finds me qualified!).

A side note – what exactly is Peace Corps Response and how is it different from Peace Corps? It is pretty straightforward:

• PCR volunteers are usually Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs) and are always seasoned professionals. Peace Corps Response does not take people right out of college, as Peace Corps does. (This is not to criticize, merely stating facts). Some PCR positions are open to people who are not RPCVs – this is new.
• PCR positions are more defined than regular PC positions – it is a specific organization that approaches PC and asks for a volunteer with a specific skill set to do a specific thing. Usually PC positions (like mine) are not as defined, and you have to kind of make stuff up as you go.
• PCR positions are for a shorter time frame, rather than two years of PC. The positions for which I applied ranged from six to nine months.

However, even though the programs are different, PCR volunteers are expected to follow Peace Corps’ policies, have the trip to and from the country paid for and receive a small living allowance every month.

After discussing my experience with the recruiter and asking her some questions, she told me she believed I was a strong candidate, and sent me reference requests, as well as updated legal and medical questionnaires.

The good news is, I have not gotten into any legal trouble here, and am still healthy. She said she would try to get my application processed as a transfer, which would make paperwork (and the medical clearance) faster and easier than if they closed my file after I close my service, and then start it up again.

Now the only question was – would they be okay with the starting date I suggested? I told her that even though I end my service here on May 18, I cannot go any sooner than after June 11, as I made a promise to a very special someone to be around for her high school graduation on June 10.

Yesterday, I got the e-mail that my later start date was okay, and in fact they bumped it out even further.

In short, I have been invited to serve as a Peace Corps Response Volunteer in Suriname for six months, starting this July. I guess I will have to change the name of my blog!