The not-so marathon

In mid-April I ventured to Zacarpatska (Beyond the Carpathians), ostensibly to run a half-marathon, but really to enjoy the wine festival and the company of other volunteers. Alia and Megan got on a train at midnight only to discover people asleep in their assigned bunks; then they realized the ticket lady had sold them the wrong ticket, so they had to get off the train! Beregovo is a gorgeous town on the Hungarian border that feels much more like Eastern Europe (it even has a different time zone!) than the rest of Ukraine, ethnically, linguistically, architecturally, and culturally (the fact that there even was a wine festival is telling). The day of the race was so beautiful that I momentarily contemplated running the half just to continue admiring the scenery (the route followed the rolling foothills of the distantly visible snow-capped Carpathians, with vineyards and flowers blooming, green buds on the trees and a blueblue sky), but then I decided that drunk pasta dinner wasn’t the best pre-race prep, and opted instead for the 10K. I was in awe of the volunteer who organized the event: 40 runners got bibs and breakfast and dinner tickets for two nights at registration, we had a walking tour of the town and were set loose to sample the wines before the pre-race pasta dinner, on the course there were water stations and at the finish a beer tent (with PB&J sandwiches!), and a celebration dinner/wine tasting/award ceremony concluded the festivities. I consider it a good day when my kids hand in their homework or correctly formulate a question. Erin, on the other hand, has half a million in grant money from the EU. Still, there were the usual last-minute changes and minor glitches (it took 3 hours to feed everyone at the award dinner, and our 5 star hotel had only 2 beds for 3 people, so we made one big bed and had a slumber party) that reminded us this was Ukraine. Alia and I had a picnic by the riverbank in Mukachevo (smoked fish and pickled peppers on fresh bread) before heading to the station. On the train ride back, we said goodbye to vacationland as it slipped past the window and we returned to the “real” heartland Ukraine we know and love: cold, wet, gray post-Soviet industrial home sweet home. Spring still had not sprung at that point, so the difference was marked. As I stared out the window I saw haystacks with big wooden poles stuck in them, goats and cow herders, burning fields, and a golden sunset over the misty mountains Dracula once called home. A word of advice: don’t use your fancy expensive sleeping bag in steerage—it’s unbearably hot since the trains are always sweltering, and too much of a curiosity to avoid a conversation with your traveling neighbors, who are drinking beers and saying some things you don’t understand and some things you pretend not to understand as you burrow into your self-imposed sauna and ignore the occasional pat on the feet as they carry on carousing in the compartment around you—keep in mind it’s only 9 pm, but your train is getting in at 6 am and you have work at 8.

What is your favorite landscape and why?