Not a Peep

My first two-hour run was awesome! I went way the heck out of town but somehow found a highway that looped back, ran past my school, and all over the place. The wind out in the fields was ridiculously strong. My second two-hour run was accidental, and afterwards I was pretty sure I gave myself Achilles tendonitis. My heel had been hurting for a week since that run. I took a gamble on another loop road that didn’t pay off, finally asked for directions in a cemetery (I was informed that I was very far away from where I wanted to be), and had to turn back past all the tractors and trains and empty stretches of windswept fields with babuysias on bicycles I had seen before. (PCMO text update: I did inflame my tendon, but it was the “Tibialis Posterior” rather than the “Achilles,” thank you very much).

Palm Sunday is actually Willow Sunday in Ukraine, because willow branches are blessed instead. I went to the Catholic mass upon Lena’s invitation, but didn’t actually see her there till halfway through the service, so I sat in the choir with Kamilia. We both went for “Religion, Round 2” at our friends’ church (of the Nazarene), which was in Russian (but I understood some metaphors about girls in miniskirts and coaches in boxing rings). Several of my friends stood to speak at different points. I enjoyed the informality of the service, which was held in the same basement room where we have our English club. We all met up at Kamilia’s later, and Nadia came from Vinnystia! Dinner was followed by karaoke, and on the way home, Pasha said he could tell I was American by the way I walked, which oddly offended me (I like to pretend I keep the neon “Obvious American” sign to a dull glow). Then he explained it was because I don’t wear heels everywhere, and I couldn’t argue with that. As much as I admire pretty shoes, I’m not enough of a masochist to actually wear them on a daily basis.

I took the bus to school on Tuesday, an indicator of how much my foot was hurting. I sat next to my director and used the opportunity for some detective work on the Internet mystery (Financial or technical problem? Status: unresolved). On Wednesday in Kiev I scored a free shirt from the drop box, got my heel checked out by a PC doc since I was in the office anyway (he said nothing serious, just overworked), and explored headquarters, but the office was eerily empty, as all had gone to welcome the new group of volunteers arriving that day. I did chat a bit with the director, his wife, and the #2 guy on their way out, and had pelmeni with squash sauce for lunch with the HIV project coordinator. I then ambled through Kiev for 2 hours on my way to an embassy-sponsored training on using blogs and wikis in the classroom, most of which wasn’t new to me, but I’m still glad I went. I called Olga (the pregnant girl who gave me her coat in December) and waited for an hour to rendez-vous at the metro for an hour’s stroll through the botanical gardens. Her son is now one month old.

Next stop: Odessa! I found my way to the couchsurfing address, Susanna let me in to her apartment at 6 a.m., and then we both went back to sleep. Later we compared life philosophies before her friend came with precisely half an outfit, and then we strolled around the streets laughing at the looks she got. City of humor, indeed. I bought a ridiculous sparkly cowboy hat to avoid being totally eclipsed, but it kept flying off my head. We met up with more of Susanna’s friends and went to a basement practice room with dusty cement walls, floor, ceiling, and pillars; some played cards while others rocked out and I marveled at the serendipity of my life. Back at Susanna’s, we watched “South Park” in Russian, drank, and ate sunflower seeds. I am constantly in awe of the patience Ukrainians exhibit for gnawing at the shells to extract the tiny seed, over and over again, for endless hours of entertainment. I was also the only one not taking straight shots. Substances flowed free and pure. The next day I waited till 1 p.m. and she was still not up, so I left a note and went for a liberating solo stroll about town and along the Black Sea, and had a photo sesh at the Potemkin steps. I didn’t feel like being too touristy though, so I called Susanna on a whim and asked if she would cut my hair (she had mentioned before that she was a part-time hairdresser, so now I have bangs for the first time since kindergarten) and then I listened to another jam session before baking an apple crisp and rushing to my train. The pregnant daughter and her mother in my compartment were wearing matching sweatsuits for the journey. I’m pretty sure my feel smelled bad, but I’m sadly ok with being a smelly kid in Ukraine. Laundry especially is overrated.

I sought out flowers in Kiev for Olha before taking the elektrishka to Bilky and helping with the tail end of Pasca (Easter bread) baking. Olha and I caught up and made vareniky before I went to bed at 8 p.m., got up at 1 a.m., walked half an hour to Borova in the dark with our basket, placed it in the queue around the church, and went inside to stand for the (short) 3 hour version (some people come at midnight and stand all night). Orthodox interior design was what I’d call “divine chaos,” icons covering every inch of the walls with no apparent logic, and newcomers pushing forward to light candles and bump chins with a fancy icon on an altar in the front. The priests circled and prayed in a front room, occasionally popping out to throw a blessing at the crowd, which exclaimed and prostrated itself in unison (me doing everything backwards, Catholic style from left to right), and likewise whenever the chorus repeated, well…the chorus. There was communion for the really devout, and the rest got to kiss the cross. I welcomed the bowing as a covert forward bend (stretch and shake it out, hallelujah). The structure wasn’t as clear as a Catholic mass, but there did appear to be some kind of gospel, during which the priest entreated the congregation to understand their faith.

The blessing of the baskets was the most beautiful thing I have seen in Ukraine. As we stood in the dark cold and a light drizzle, a line of baskets lit by candles snaked around the church, and the priestly procession perambulated thrice before liberally dousing us all with holy water. We ate the main Easter meal at 6 a.m. (first the blessed things, beating our eggs, cutting with the holy knife, and saving the holy crumbs) and went to bed till noon. Ate, slept, ate. I hung out in pajamas with 2 old ladies all day, complaining about aches and pains and eating some more. It was a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend the holiday. Andrei the history guy/octogenarian and his wife came for a late afternoon visit, and then I caught the last train home.

On Easter Monday I went on a walk with Pasha, Slava, and Marina. In Ukrainian, the verb “to walk” is equivalent with the concept of “to hang out with,” but it also usually quite literally entails walking around town. I also formulated a theory on American obesity as opposed to the infuriatingly fatless European physique; it states that Ukrainians work harder for their food, so it takes longer and therefore they eat less. Case in point: symuchkiy, or sunflower seeds, are something of a national obsession here. Ukrainians keep handfuls in their pockets at all times, and expertly extract each individual nut from its shell with their teeth, one after another, without end. As an American who values convenience and quantity, I haven’t yet accepted symuchkiy as suitable snackage—it’s way too much work for way too little food. My friends drank juice and ate dried fish (to get at the meat of which you have to peel off the skin as well) and cheese, whereas I opted for prepackaged ice cream. Theory, confirmed. We sat in the park, walked around the island where the stadium is, and proceeded to get the song “Running, Running” stuck in each other’s heads.