If there are two things my city of Lugansk is best known for, it would be scammy marriage tourism and being the most Soviet city in Ukraine. I know. Not the most inviting of labels. Still, every place has got to have something, and for a city that was once known as Voroshilovgrad, Lugansk definitely rocks what it's got!
All mail-order brides aside, living in a place that still celebrates its glory days with the U.S.S.R has been incredibly interesting, and has especially made me grateful that I paid attention when we read "Animal Farm" in high school. I mean, there's nothing that gets you in the mood to celebrate the working-class proletariat like hundreds of strategically placed hammer and sickles and few dozen statues of Lenin around town:
From about the 1930s until the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 90s, artists were almost all state-employed and were expected to produce propaganda-driven artwork that celebrated the valor of hard work, ennobled the common people, and glorified that classic idea of the motherland.
The Soviet (or Socialiast) Realism style--highly realistic and overly muscular men and women overcoming struggles and performing great feats in work, sports, and education--is the artwork we're perhaps best familiar with from this time. You should really see the stuff that's painted inside of my gym!
But there are some classic examples around town of the lesser known Soviet murals that are a bit Egyptian-esque (profile faces with full-front bodies) in their celebrations of the common hero. One of our university buildings has a great one dedicated to the plight of learning (with a little help from the words of Lenin) and hard work on the path to a diploma:
And this one on a sports complex downtown. From the Russian words I know, I could actually make out that this says something to the effect of "We make (win) the record (prize) for our beloved motherland." Oh, Soviets:
Nine months here in Lugansk has definitely given me a new appreciation for all things Soviet, especially the art. And what about all those mail order brides? Well, that's a whole other blog post...
As a Kansas gal growing up in the heart of German Mennonite country (as well as having a husband who is of Mennonite heritage), I'm no stranger to homemade glorious filled dumplings. In my neck of the woods, they're called varenika. They're stuffed with cottage cheese and smothered in ham gravy, and are well worth the time and work it makes to prepare them (and they are pretty time consuming at that!).
Of course, the origin of these tasty treasures is right here in Ukraine, where the Mennonites took up residence after fleeing from persecution in the Netherlands and Switzerland in the 1700s (only to later cross the pond and arrive in the Sunflower State in the 1870s). Thinking I knew everything I needed to know about the stuff, I instead got schooled pretty quickly about this proud Ukrainian dish. For one, they are known as вареники (varenyky) here. Second, they can be stuffed with a variety of fillings from cheese, potatoes, and cabbage, to cherries and berries. Thirdly, ham gravy? What ham gravy? Finally, compared with the Mennonite version back on the plains of Kansas, they are quite simple to make.
Luckily for me, I was invited by my Russian teacher, Nadia, and her friend Ira to try my hand at them (although, admittedly, I spent a bit more time taking blog pics than actually helping out. Details):
Fresh sheep cheese from the local market is my favorite filling! We also made ones with капуста (cooked cabbage):
Lovely ladies and varenyky masters:
Whereas I can usually only gorge on about 3 or 4 varenika at a time back home, Ukrainian varenky are much smaller (and aren't flooded by a sea of ham gravy...which is actually just a little bit disappointing):
After filling and pinching, just drop them into boiling water with a little oil for about 8 minutes...
And voilà!
The perfect comfort food in a comfort-food based society! And while Ukraine tends to always be in some kind of argument with its giant neighbor to the east over things such as gas lines, NATO, land, and which country truly invented borscht, even the Russians themselves will admit that Ukraine has a pretty good thing going with the awesomeness that is varenyky.
The two countries who share the title for the World's Worst Nuclear Disaster, Japan and Ukraine, have both been homes for me. Living in Japan during the earthquake, tsunami, and resulting Fukushima accident last year brought to my doorstep a kind of tragedy, desperation, and hopeful bond that I hadn't experienced since 9/11. Mention the 1986 accident at "Chernobyl" ("Chornobyl" in Ukrainian) here in Ukraine, and it tends to naturally evoke the same kinds of feelings.
I wanted to learn more about just what happened 26 years ago, and used one of my long train stopovers in Kiev a few weeks ago to visit the National Chernobyl Museum in Podil:
An ambulance and liquidator vehicles parked out front welcome you to the museum:
Hovering over you as you walk up into the main part of the museum are the original signs from 76 villages whose unfortunate fates lied within the radiation-soaked evacuation zone, resulting in their abandonment:
The museum itself is a fascinating collection of over 7,000 artifacts, photographs, documents, ephemera, and personal belongings of those who died from radiation exposure which had, up until quite recently, all been strictly classified from the holdovers of Soviet secrecy:
The town closest to the exploded nuclear reactor was Prypiat, located a mere 3 kms away. Following the accident, however, the townspeople were not immediately informed due in part to the Soviet Union's failure to grasp the severity of the accident, and their desire to conceal it's scale once understood. The people of Prypiat went about their daily business with dozens falling ill with uncontrollable fits of coughing and vomiting, as well as migraines and metallic tastes in their mouths.
It wasn't until, over 1,000 kms away in Sweden that the radiation levels set off alarms, that two days after the event on April 28 the Soviet Union admitted that an accident had, indeed, occurred. Although the rest of the world was slowly catching onto the situation, the Soviets were too busy crafting messages for the state television broadcast of the Russian Federation that made sure no one got too hot and bothered by the whole thing (from Vremya):
"There has been an accident at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. One of the nuclear reactors was damaged. The effects of the accident are being remedied. Assistance has been provided for any affected people. An investigative commission has been set up."
There was a good time-lapse lava-lamp-esque video of the path of the nuclear cloud from Chernobyl, and shows the scope of things by the time it actually reached Sweden and was made public:
Prypiat's evacuation began on April 27 at 2:00pm. Less than three hours later, all 53,000 had been evacuated to Kiev or nearby areas. Everyone was told to bring only necessary items such as documents, money, and a little food as they would be gone, at most, only three days. The residents were never allowed to return:
Today, Prypiat is a full-fledged, post-apoctolyptic ghost town which you can actually go to with a pre-arranged government tour. Although I probably won't be heading to the actual exclusion zone on my own (as cool as it sounds, it's something I've realized that even I'm too cheap to partake in with its $170 price tag!), seeing the before and after photos in the gallery were pretty fascinating; everything from hotels, main streets, and kindergartens are today just overgrown shells of their former lives:
(City sign and downtown Palace of Culture)
(Main road and apartments)
(Kindergarden and hotel)
One of the best parts of the musuem for me was a display of posters centered around the design them of "The World Since Chernobly and Fukushima." There were some incredible designs linking the two:
I didn't realize how emotional I would feel after coming upon the area that played more of a tribute to the disaster in Japan, but seeing it took me back to that day over a year ago when the earth started to move and didn't seem to want to stop for us. Watching on live tv as the tsunami rushed upon shore in Tohoku like a cloud of black smoke, and hearing of the daily radiation fears from Fukushima is something that I'll never forget and will always be connected to:
Walking out of the museum, you pass by the same set of town and village signs with a red stripe through them signaling your exit (as is common here in Ukraine). The addition of the black background, however, reminds you of the ghosts you leave behind on your departure:
I have to say that Kiev's Chernobyl Museum is definitely one of the most interesting places I've been here in Ukraine. Part historical account, part tribute, and part preventative plea, it's definitely hard to walk out of the place without nuclear reactors on your mind (and new added doubts about the food you're going to be eating) and the curious struggles and tragedies of man in your heart. If time, money, and/or radioactive sensitivities keep you from visiting the real Chernobyl exclusion zone here in Ukraine, this is one case where I think the safer option can prove just as interesting.
For the majority of my time in Ukraine, I've been dwelling in the Kansas-like steppe of the east, which seems to be geographically flatter than a freshly cooked blin (Russian crepe). Once our May holidays rolled around, I couldn't wait to get back out to the bumpier parts of the country located out west in the Carpathian mountains (you can check out my first visits to this region here and here). A 30-hour slow, Soviet train ride, quick rest in Lviv, two trains that never showed due to an accident, about 5 hours of waiting in a train station, and a last-minute 6-hour bus resulting in 48 hours of travel time was all it took to cross this country (basically, the time I could have flown to the States and back...twice!), but once I arrived in the cool mountain air, blooming flowered trees, and deep in the essence of "real" Ukraine, it was all worth it:
I was able to get in a couple of really nice solo mountain hikes while I was in the area and, as it's still a bit on the fringes of tourist season, I had them mostly to myself (but not without a few necessities for the mountains in this area):
Of course, I stayed once again with our Ukrainian family at On the Corner B&B in Kolomiya. It was so good seeing everyone one more time (the last time being our amazing Orthodox Christmas celebration), and I especially had a good time with Vitaliy and Anna on our little road trip through the area:
We made it to the early morning market in the little village of Kosiv, and it was the perfect way to spend a gorgeous Saturday morning in the mountains. This market provides the culminating pulse for the surrounding villages as a place to buy and sell house goods, clothing, auto parts, fresh fruits and vegetables, meat and dairy products, flowers, shoes, handicrafts, and even tombstones! The energy here is fantastic:
Anna and I with bags of sheep cheese!
I can't seem to get enough of the country churches and colorful cottages, the pristine little farms, the women in traditional garb and headscarves, and the simple beauty of a place that is partially lost in time, and partially trying to jump into the present through tourism.
When Jacob and I were last here for Christmas in January, I fell in love with a batik painting that Vitaliy and Anna had from a local student artist from Kolomiya. We ended up commissioning a batik of our own from her and it turned out just gorgeous! I got to meet her mom (as the artist herself is currently at school in Poland), and I couldn't be happier with how it turned out:
A perfect representation to take home of everything that I love about the Carpathians all executed with some gorgeous dyes. The photo really doesn't do the vivid colors justice:
For my last journey out West (at least on this Ukrainian adventure), I couldn't have asked for better weather, hiking, people, coffee, or conversation--the perfect getaway no matter how long it takes you to get there!
