No, No, Not The State, The Country!

I’m going to admit right now I am living a truly awesome life, in every sense. I’ve been given the huge honor and privilege to work with the program Teach and Learn with Georgia. I will be in the country of Georgia teaching english in a village for the next year. I arrived on December 5th and spent a week in orientation getting to know some of my fellow volunteers and then we were picked up by our host families and scattered through out the country. I was sent to a small village about a two hour bus ride from the capital. I had no idea what to expect, except I was told I would be living with a family with a mother, father, two children and a grandmother in a two story house with an outdoor bathroom an toilet, what ever that meant. The family was warm and welcoming, watching out for me, without being over bering. The house by American standards was not up to par, minor things really, like no microwave. (How am I suppose to cook my tv dinners? Oh wait I get cooked real food here.) However coming into this I knew what to expect and the only thing that really threw me was the fact that my toilet a dirt covered stone slab, with a hole cut into with two stone blocks a little bigger then bricks that were strategically placed around said hole. Ahhh yes a squat toilet ladies and gentlemen. I would also like to say that I have very proudly mastered using it, kind of, but that is a story for another day. Houses in Georgia tend to not look the best from the outside, maybe they need a paint job or some broken siding or what not, but the inside is always well taken care of. (I will come back a domestic goddess) My house had chickens in the yard that were free to roam around, and a big fluffy dog that was always chained up and would bark when ever anyone comes or goes. There was also a decent sized garden with a few remnants of the past growing season.

The village its self was a good sized place with no less then six shops carrying mostly basic foods and goods. The few main roads were paved, but in disrepair and always covered with cow, horse, and donkey manure. The other roads were dirt and often had big pools of muddy water or the ones that went down hills, little streams had been carved out of them.

The village has two schools and I worked in number two, which was in major need of restoration. There is no central heating and all of the classrooms have wood stoves. Most of the teachers and students keep there coats on all day, however the classrooms for the younger children always seemed to have a roaring fire going, which was so hot I was afraid a few times that my boots were going to melt when I sat close to it. I also have a sneaking suspicion that the students in the older grades are too cool to be cold, there for don’t make much effort to keep the fire going. The students are in charge of the classroom fires and some of these kids have mad skills. I bet some of these seven year old boys could beat any of you in a competition of fire building. The school had three floors and the third one was mostly abandoned, except for a computer lab and the head teachers office. That left about eight or so classrooms with there doors nailed shut. I of course tried opening everyone and an old science room at the end of the hallway opened, probably because the rest had nothing in them and I snuck in to look around and take pictures. I don’t really know what happened at my school so it was like that, but with my passion for sneaking into rundown and abandoned places I was more then ok with it.

My village is about 10 or 11km to the next town, so it takes me about an hour and a half to walk, not stopping to explore somewhere and take some pictures. Now living in Georgia with no internet access at my house and a relatively short work day of between three and four hours, leaves me with a lot of time with not a whole lot to do, so this walk in America that may seem pointless and tedious is a godsend. On the walk it leads through flat farm land and pastures, that are filled with animals and there good natured herders that always seemed more then happy to see me. Most of the time they asked if I was a journalist because of my camera, (yes I am here to cover the daily herding of your cows back to the barn for the night. How did you know?) or they knew that I was the new english teacher. Everyone in the village knew exactly who I was and what I was doing at all times. It sounds a little creepy, but I cant get kidnapped with the whole town watching now can I? Also anytime on my walk cars would pull over multiple times and try to convince me that I didn’t have to walk, I could ride in a nice automobile with them to town instead. Not the point of a walk, but these people don’t really understand exercise just because. It was ok because I would just gesture to my camera and explain that I was out taking photos and they were more then happy to let the crazy American go on her way.

Eventually on walk I come to a river that signals I am on the outskirts of the next town over. The river this time of year is mostly dried up and has a bed of mixed stones. I walked in it one day for a little bit and was just struck by the beauty of it all. A dirt road runs the length of the river and dead grassy plains stretch on and on, up into pine tree covered hills that give way to snow covered mountains.

It was so peaceful walking until I couldn’t hear any man made sounds and finding a rock to sit and just enjoy everything. Sitting there I realized how relived I was by my situation. For a year I don’t have to be consumed with all the things I loath, like mass consumerism and keeping up the Jones’s. No Entertainment Tonight telling me the latest Kardashian news. I don’t have to worry about my appearance as much as I would in America. I can wear the same cloths three days in a row and no one will care. The time spent putting on make up in the morning is gone, except for lip balm and maybe some mascara. My students and fellow villagers won’t think twice if I show up to school like this. Also I don’t need it as much for reasons of things like circles under my eyes, because I get 10 glorious hours of sleep a night. Showering once every four days great. It’s cold so you never really smell and my hair looks so much better a few days after my shower. It gets a little darker so its this nice deep reddish orange and so shiny. I think my hair truly feels healthier or I’m just telling myself this. Not having the internet at my finger tips 24/7 is actually quite relieving. My family in Maine has my Georgian phone number so if they really need to get a hold of me they can call. I feel a lot calmer already and I am really looking forward to the next year. I’m in a beautiful country with beautiful people with my camera and chaining the world and I couldn’t be happier about my decision to come. Random village photos I wanted to share:

18 Hour Lay Over In London On The Way Home From Ukraine

When you have traveled, seen and experienced as much as I have, sometimes its easy to become jaded, especially when in a place like London. Last night I flew in to Heathrow for my eighteen hour layover. I stood in line waiting to go through customs, experiencing slight culture shock as a flight from Africa had appeared to have gotten in right before mine from Helsinki. I stared a little bit, but the native dress that some of the passengers had on was intriguing, as I work in a clothing store so I am always looking to see what people have on. I also was trying to play my guess what country they are from game, failing horribly as I could only tell what continent they were from. I know some of them were staring back at me, probably wondering where the hell I was from, with half my hair shaved off and a shirt that’s mostly in Ukrainian, except for “Wiz-Art”. Basically I look like a hipster rockstar, which made me slightly worry about going through passport control and think that I had drugs on me or something. It was my turn to go through and I got a white late 20 something guy as my inspector. He asked how long I was going to be in the country and I told him one day. He asked where I was coming from. Ukraine. He asked what the purpose of my trip to Ukraine had been, at this point I had been traveling for almost 24 hours, a 15 hour train ride from Lviv to Kiev, a plane ride from Kiev to Helsinki and now London. That morning on the train I had, had about six shots of vodka for breakfast and I am going to blame it on that, but I just said “I went there for a guy.” I know I shouldn’t have, as I am suppose to be serious and mature when going through customs, but I just had to. He started laughing and asked me smiling, if it had been worth it. I said yes, blushing. Now some of you may be wondering who this guy was, well you can guess, but I will nether confirm or deny any guesses.
My passport was stamped right after that and moved along to baggage carousel, I looked for a few moments, not spotting my pink and white poke-a-dot bag and went to ask if it had just been checked through to Boston. It had. Just my luck. The clothes I was wearing, I had, had on since Thursday and it was now Monday (yes I know that’s kind of nasty, but they didn’t really smell, until now.) All of my toiletries were in my checked suitcase too. I though to myself oh well, its not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. I am sure I could have gotten my bag if I had started crying or something, but I didn’t really feel like dragging it around London.
I fallowed the singes to the underground, located Gloucester Road Station, on the Piccadilly line, and got on the nice modern train, compared to Lviv’s trams. I choose to stand with my camera in my hand, and my classy L.L. Bean signature collection backpack on, looking like a photographer rockstar. I am sure that’s what the people in my car thought, if they didn’t then clearly they aren’t in the know of awesomeness when they see it. I took a few shots when the doors would open if there was something that interested me. The late afternoon was dreary with rain falling lightly and typically depressing.
When I got off at my tube stop, I clomped in my red cowboy-boots, through a strong mist, in the direction towards what I hoped was my hostel. I had a feeling that I was going to wrong way, so I stopped to ask a few passerby's, but one issue with London is that it is such a tourist destination that most likely when you stop someone, they are not going to be from there, which was the case this day. I ended up stopping this short petite lady in her late 50’s, with a red umbrella that looked too big for her, even though I thought she might be put off with the way I look. She didn’t live in London, but she knew where Queen’s Court was and fallowed me until I found it.
I checked into my hostel that for some reason was full of loud French and Italian speaking twelve year-olds. I was tempted to turn around and head back to Heathrow and tough it out in one of the terminals until my plane took off at a little passed noon the next day if it meant I would have to hear them play tag all night.
I got my key and took the lift up to the 6th floor and found my room. It was a nice four bed dorm with a sink in it. I tried to charge in my laptop, only to find out that England has different plugs then the rest of Europe. Bravo England, really lets have a slow clap for how much seance this makes. So I went back down to the lobby to get an adapter and also ask where the closest Gap was, so I could hopefully get a new shirt and maybe even a pair of jeans. The girl laughed at me and said they were closed, it was a bank holiday. Bank holiday? Really!? At this point between the luggage, plugs, and now everything being closed I thought it was one horrible joke. I had planned on getting some sight seeing in, but I had, had enough and decided that just getting dinner would be ok. It was too cold to wonder around without a jacket on anyways. I walked a little down the street looking at places to eat and I found a Middle Eastern dinner type place, that also served fast-food type food. I ordered fishcakes with chips, oddly enough it came with a side of beans. I normally never eat fish, but I knew that it would be horribly processed, barley tasting like the real thing and I was in London, so I just had to have fish and chips because its what any good tourist would do. The food was edible, but I seriously hope the Middle Eastern cuisine was loads better, it looked it at least. When I went up to pay the guy at the counter started smiling and laughing a little and went “Ok I’m sorry but I have to ask why your shirt is covered with lipstick kisses.” I then started laughing too and told him that I had a wild drunk night a few nights back and gave him a sweet mischievous smile, thanked him and walked out the door. The funny thing is that those kisses aren’t from a girl, but a guy who stole my lipstick when I was putting it on the other night and started putting it on himself and then we ended leaving lipstick kisses everywhere. There were even some left on a friends bathroom mirror, I don’t think he’s found them yet.

After I left the dinner I went to a Tesco Express. I was so excited to be back in one, as I had fallen in love with the grocery store when I was in Prague two years ago. I have an odd obsession with grocery stores in general, maybe its because my dad works for one and I grew up getting dragged into them when a new one was built or hearing about new products and lines that were coming out. When I travel its one of the first places I go when I get to a new town. Most of the time I don’t buy that much, but I like to see what they have. On this excursion I bought a two liter bottle of water and headed for the chocolate, walking passed the Krispy Kreams that I slightly lusted for. I ended up with two Aero chocolate bars, one was milk and the other was mint, and to my delight the mint one was bright green inside. I also opted for a bag of Cadbury Chocolate Buttons. I normally would not have chosen something so normal, but I had seen them on an episode of a TV show that was about the postal service in New Zealand and someone had sent a package of them with ecstasy hidden inside of them. I knew there wouldn’t be any drugs in mine, but I still went with them.
I went back to my hostel and settled in for the night with my chocolate and started photo editing. This might stress some people out, but normally it calms me and puts me in a better mood, which I needed with the balmy weather. I decided to go to bed around midnight and set my alarm for 7am.
The next morning I woke up around 5:30 to a shining sun. I decided to get up, not fully aware of what time it really was and take a shower, even though I was just putting my dirty clothes back on. A guy in my room let me use his shampoo, and I found some body wash. I was excited to see that the bathroom had a towel heater in it and I put my clothes on there too, mostly so they wouldn’t be balled up on the cold floor. I took my shower and when I was putting my cloths back on I bent down to pick something up that had fallen and my upper arm on brushed the heater, burning myself. I swore out loud and looked to see that it probably wasn't going to be that bad of a burn. I moved into the main part of the bathroom to use the hair dryer and opened the window wide so I could the soft rising morning sun the roofs of the houses surrounding me. I went back to my room, gathered my camera and then got the lift down to the lobby. On my way to the tube I passed a Parisian bakery where the smell of fresh bread came wafting out. I stopped and looked at the window in at the baguettes, pastries filled with jam and chocolate and empty spaces that would be soon filled and then emptied again by hungry early morning Londoners.
I made my way to the ticket machine and tried to figure out which ticket option would best suit my excursion of the day. Given that I had limited time and did not have a map of London I got a pass that would let me ride unlimited all day. I decided to first go to see Westminster as it was the closest. When I got off at the stop I had to walk down a long tile hallway that took a turn and sunlight replaced artificial light. I could see the London Eye on the left side of the tunnel and I just started running. The river shown in the morning sun and I turned around and there was Big Ben. I don’t know what over took me but I started gasping, and teared up, and my hands started doing that waving flapping things that women do when they are having a strong emotional response to something. I have never really had a strong yearning to go to London so my reaction was quite unexpected, but highly enjoyable at the same time because I know I will never forget it. I started taking pictures trying to capture the essence of being there to share with other people, mostly my close family back home as I am the one who keeps pushing them to travel more. It can get lonely on the road at times and I want to share moments with people I care about. Please take note that, that was not an open invitation to travel with me. I am still highly selective and probably always will be.
I started walking on a bridge that went from the Big Ben side of the river over to the London Eye, sometimes I walked facing forward and then I would turn around and walk backwards and snap a picture. Since it was only around 6:30am the only other people on the bridge with me were joggers and runners, who probably thought that I was coming back from a night of clubbing. I walked to the bridge that was in one of the Harry Potter movies, for those of you who don’t know I am obsessed with Harry Potter. While walking on it I thought I felt it sway a little bit and was worried about the Death Eaters coming and blowing it up with me on it. Thank goodness that didn’t happen and I disappeared once again into the depths of the Tube.








Buckingham Palace was next on the list. Walking from the station the street was lined with shops selling everything William and Kate’s smiling faces could be plastered on. I walked passes signs telling me that “Trespassing is a criminal offense”. Sadly since it was stated in English I couldn’t take a stroll on the palace grounds in hopes of spotting Harry and when upon getting caught, play the stupid American game that I can pull off in Ukraine. When I reached the front of the palace it didn’t over whelm me or fill me with any kind of emotional response. It just looked like a really huge European government building with a gate around it. It also was early in the day so the guards that stand in front were not there and I think that was also a bit of a let down, but on the bright side there were not that many tourists to get in the way when I was photographing.

I knew that time was running short so I started heading down The Mall, which runs through a park, ending up in Trafalgar Square. I decided that I was going to head to King’s Cross Station to find Platform 9 and 3/4.
Yes I am a Harry Potter fanatic. The whole tub ride there I kept checking my watching, knowing that I had very little time to get back to the hostel to check out on time and make it to the airport. As soon as I got to King’s Cross I rushed to platform 9, only to find out that they were doing construction on it, meaning my picture was a no-go. (Rumor has it that there was a place in the station where a trolly is half stuck in a wall and has a sign that says “Platform 9 and 3/4”, I however only found this out after my trip.)
With no time to feel defeated I ran back and hopped on the tube, back to my hostel. I stood impatiently in my grungy clothes, listening to Lady Sovereign on my ipod, praying that I would have enough time to get to the airport when I noticed a guy looking at me. He looked like he was in his early 30’s, black with dreads and in a proper suit, not some cheep one that you sale at JCPenny’s because you have to go to court for your baby daddy hearing, but a nice one that you went to Saks and dropped $500 or more on. He was eyeing me all up and down and I just looked away and smiled to myself. I thought I looked horrible that day, without makeup, hair not done and close to a week in the same clothes, apparently not to this guy and I was going to take that as an epic win for the day. He shortly got off a few stops later and I was left to dwell about what could have been, had I lived in London. It probably would have included me singing Britney Spears “Womanizer” or something along those lines.
I got off at my stop and went back to the hostel to return my stupid plug adapter and check out of my hostel. I went back to the bakery that I had passed a few hours earlier at the start of my early morning romp. The place was now packed and a long line almost to the door had formed, which suited me just fine as I pulled all of my coins, up to count how much money I had to spend. I looked over all of the pastries and settled one that had apricots on top of it. I can’t say that I am a huge apricot fan, its not from dis-liking them, but more never really being exposed to them. In the States its all about apples and in Maine blueberries. I honestly have no issue with this as when done properly apple pie and blueberry muffins are delicious. I also got a poppy baguette and one of those little pasties with chocolate inside. After I left with my over indulgent goodies, I went to Tesco and bought a liter of orange juice to drink on my forty minuet tube ride back to the airport, where I made it to my plane with plenty of time to spare.

Simply Happy Again

Another trip to Lviv, more changes to my life. I know some people may think that if everything on this journey doesn't go according to plan, then it has all been a waste. That is not the case at all. I feel that at times I have a unique out look on my life that may make people call me naive or stupid. At times I have put my heart out in the open, this trip is not an exception to that, then again I tend to put my heart into everything I do. A lot of people question why I would take such risks only to end up in tears some of the times. Without this sorrow how could one know what happiness truly is? You would never have anything to base things off. Being an American I feel that we tend to only look at the big things in life and forget the little things. We hate to be alone and out of comfort zones.
My favorite day back in Lviv so far was when I took a Marshook bus (84a) to the end of the line, something I also did this winter. It took me to the edge of a forest and a small village. I started to walk on one of the paths in the woods, and as I wandered I removed my head phones from my ears. Sounds from civilization drifted away the further I walked into the freshly budded maze of trees. The chirping of birds and the soft beating of my sandals on the ground below filled my ears. I walked in a half circle, by the time I had looped around to the village I had taken off my long sleeve shirt and walked onwards in a tank top, something I would never do in America for fear of what people would say about my imperfect arms. The soft moist earth of the forest, turned dry and sandy in the exposed lane the twisted through the houses. Hens and pot belly pigs scurried in front of my path. The smell of cow manure filled my nasal passages and I breathed in deeply, not being able to recall the last time I had smelled such an organic, natural smell. The houses grew further and further apart, small gardens turned into fields that horses and cows grazed in. As I continued on my walk I bent down to take off my shoes, collected them in my hand and swung them gently as I walked through green grass, underneath bright blue sky that was determined to change my ginger hair to strawberry blond and my skin red. After two hours or so of walking I laid down in the think grass of a meadow, only to be covered quickly by ants, getting up I shook them off and any regrets I had about choosing that particular spot. Those little insects, urged me to carry on, with my walk in perhaps a place that I could not have better thought up. I turned around on the lane and walked back from where I had come. I stopped and plucked a dandelion and stood and blew the seeds into the wind, like I did when I was little. Euphoria bloomed from deep inside of me and radiated from my toes that squirmed in the sandy dirt, to my face that was raised to the sun and soaking in its warmth. A gentle breeze was the only thing to disturb me and remind me that I had to get back to the confines of the city before dusk. I sat down when the houses started to grow in numbers again and put my shoes back on my aching feet. Oh the bus ride home, thoughts of my dirt stained feet and sun burnt shoulders escaped me, as I sat with my head pressed against the side of the window and dozed in a sun drunk slumber smiling to myself about my day.
The small, simple experiences I have on my travels and the attitude I put forth are the things that make the journey what it is. Taking the time to be alone and listen, uninterrupted, to what the world is saying can make the all difference in life and should be done in copious amounts, especially when one is at there lowest, because that is when it could make the biggest difference and have the greatest affect.

The Cold War Just Got a Bit Hotter

For those of you who have do not know me too well, and have not witnessed the obsession that happens when trying to pick out a new piece of clothing for my wardrobe let me tell you its not pretty. I think on many occasions my co-workers at the Gap want to kill me when I have asked them for the third time if the jeans I have on look ok, because you know it really changes in five minuets and also do they just look ok-ok, or like amazing ok. I have to go around and ask every single person in the store, just so I know that it really looks good and that someone just weren’t trying to be nice. (or get rid of me.) That is all for just one pice of an outfit in a store that I know like the back of my hand. Now imagine me in a place that is as foreign as say Ukraine for example, oh right that’s where I am, and that I am trying to put a whole outfit together for a certain Greek’s birthday party. Panic is what ensues. Now to be fare I really don’t think that any of my friends here are going to call me out on wearing something that they has seen me in before, but I really do enjoy dressing up, alas in Maine I never really have an excuse to get this dolled up and if I am going to dress up there we all know I am going to be rocking a dress for the L.L. Bean Signature collection, because that’s what people from Maine do. (Seriously though check the stuff out. Its amazing if you like Maine preppy style.)
Luckily last weekend I was looking through the sale racks at Zara and the first dress I saw I fell in love with. I already have leggings to go under it and of course I am going to be rocking it with my red cowboy boots. (For those of you who are not aware those are by far my favorite boots ever and they go with everything.) Now I just needed a jacket or cardigan to go over it.
On Wednesday I decided to check out the second hand shops to find the perfect thing to match. I set off on another balmy day towards the street that has a bunch of second hand shops on it. Ice had formed in patches on the sidewalk, covered by a layer of that gosh darn cold mash potato snow and most of my walk was up hill and took probably twice as long as it would in the summer. I stopped part way up the hill to take photos of a children’s play ground. I am drawn to places like this as my mother runs a day care in our home, so its just engrained in me to take a gander. Its a really good thing that I was born a girl not a creepy looking guy, or people might question my motives for lurking around such places.
The park has different brightly painted animals that are used as the bases for the playground equipment. I am sure that back in the day these looked amazing, there are little pieces of tile that have been painstakingly applied, probably by hand, to each creature. Or real animals were covered in concrete and then forced rolled around in a bunch of chicklets. My bet’s on the last one. These things are pretty life like.
There were a few children playing on the playground, which was refreshing to see as some of my fellow ex-pats and I joke that they keep the kids here locked up and don’t let them outside. Honestly though it has gotten to the point that when I see a child, its like seeing some mythical beast. I think some of the real reason I don’t see that many children is that I am living in the center of a city and young families tend to not live here for a number of reasons, the biggest on probably being the cost of living. The other reason is that less and less people in Ukraine are reproducing. The government here has started giving out incentives to have babies. For your first child you get 20,000 UAH (a little over $2,500) which is a lot considering that the average year salary in Ukraine is under $10,000. Also when you have more children the money they give you goes up, like for the second child it is 30,000 UAH I believe.
I finished up taking pictures in the park and went back to my mission of finding something to go over the dress. I walked into one store thinking that it was a second hand store and looked one of the price tags and it said 400UAH ($50.00) for a sweater. I turned around and walked out and closed the door and then started laughing. Clearly not the place I was going for. I found a shop that looked more promising, and went in and started looking at the dresses. (I tend to wear them at one of my jobs a lot so if I can find some for really cheep I am game.) I came across an old Gap dress from 2004 and it made me smile for some reason. Ok so maybe I do miss my job there a little bit, or a lot, but I won’t admit it to them. Crap I think I just did. The shop was pretty full of people and I didn’t really feel like scouring racks looking for this piece of clothing that was in my mind and would most likely never find.
I went back out and continued to make my way up the hill towards the train station and the big market. I decided to try my luck with taking some photos of people here as I had been slacking on this part for my project. Taking photos of people in general I find super intimidating and over here its even harder. I started out taking a picture of a baba selling something on the street to a lady.
I wondered into the market, trying to stay out of everyone’s way and I realized that my lens had fogged up and I quickly hurried into a corner trying to get it back to normal. I never know how long I have before someone stops me and asks what I am doing so I try to make it in and out of shootings fast. I wondered around the meat counters, which is probably one of my favorite things to look at. In America our meat comes in nice little packages with next to no hint of what it might once have been. We only tend to buy “normal” parts, when’s the last time you saw hearts, or a pigs head shrink wrapped and for sale in the grocery store?

I hate the fish section of the market and try to get through it as fast as possible. All those dead beady little eyes looking at you. Most of the fish here is sold in these frozen hunks, with the scales are still on. I don’t know how you would even began to cook something like that and I don’t really want to think about it. There are still bones in there too, I am sure of it. The isles paths in between the stales are always cramped and I hold my camera bag up so it won’t get any fish guts on it. I would end up in a germ frenzy, freak out and end up rubbing hand sanitizer all over my bag or something messed up like that. I have also been frightened a few times when I am looking at the fish, its like a horrible car crash that you have to look at, and they aren’t frozen and there gils are still moving. I talked with my Australian professor friend here and he assured me that the fish don’t feel a thing, that their brains aren’t big enough. I still think its gross. They also sell fish here a vacuum sealed bag. Again scales, bones and everything. I need to move on before I vomit all over my MacBook. Pretty sure that’s not covered in the care plan and I really don’t want to carry this thing smelling worse then a dead fish back to America to the Guineas Bar at my local Apple where I am sure to get some odd questions, that I may not want to answer. “Um you mean you threw up on your laptop because you were writing about dead fish that people consume?”
I made it through that maze of slime and found myself at a stall that sells cakes and cookies. Most of the time I glance, but keep on walking. That day I stopped when I saw what looked like a chocolate cake type pastry with coconut on it. If you have been reading all my blogs you know how I feel about chocolate, well kids if there is one thing I love more then chocolate it is chocolate with coconut. The guy running the stall was helping another lady with her selections so I waited patiently for him to be done with her. I was trying to size him up, if he was going to be mad at me for being a foreigner, but when it was my turn he surprised me by being extremely nice to me and even smiled, which is rare for anyone in Ukraine that you don’t know. He worked with my limited langue skills and silly gestures that I have become accustom to using. It should be interesting to see if I am still doing them when I get home. On the other hand I am sure that I would be able to take anyone down in a mean game of charades at this point in time.
I walked through the part of the market selling fruits and vegetables, and most of them looked pretty bad off. That is the thing about Ukraine though, you will see stuff for sale in America that looks like its bad to us, but in reality its still good. Its whats under the skin that matters. Get it, under the skin? They also don’t appear to grow anything in the winter months in green houses and they don’t import that much from other place. I hope you like cabbage, apples that look like they’ve been used in batting practice, oranges from Spain, potatoes, and pickled what ever you like.
I left the big market and went outside and saw a smaller open air market that I decided to try out. On my way there I got this excellent picture of an old baba by mistake, I was trying to get something else that I have completely forgotten what it was by now, but she walked in front of me. Also when I was stepping off the curb to cross the street another old baba was trying to make her way down a snow covered ramp. I held my arm out incase she needed to grab on to it if she slipped. She gave me a huge smile and seemed really grateful as most people here only seem to look out for themselves. It was just one small thing that I wouldn’t think twice about doing. We all have grandmothers and I’m pretty sure I’ve never met someone who thinks that theirs is a horrible person, it just doesn’t happen so everyone look out for a grandmotherly looking person in your life this week.

I went into the market and started taking a few pictures trying to be as un-obvious as possible. I saw this great looking old man walking towards me with a tea kettle in his hand and I got so excited. This is the stuff I live for over here. I ended up getting a shot of him and all of a sudden out of no where this guy came up behind me and touched my arm to get my attention and then started shouting at me. I tried to calmly explain to him that I only spoke English and he kept yelling and gesturing to my camera. I could see that it was a lost cause so I walked off in the opposite direction, not looking back. I got to the edge of the market and walked to the other side of the street and I finally looked back and he was standing there watching me with a menacing scowl on his face.
I was in shock, so many emotions were running through me at that point in time. I dwelled on it the whole twenty five minuet walk back home and at first I had to hold back tears, then it turned to anger. Half of me wanted to go back and yell at him, that he was the reason that people thought badly of Ukraine or maybe just tell him to F* off. That’s a pretty universal word. I think I was more disappointed in the fact that three weeks into my time in Lviv and no one had treated me in such a way and this guy had to go and be a complete jerk for no apparent reason. I reached my street and stopped at Big Burger and got my horribly fattening hot dog lunch and went back to watch Glee as I ate and de-stress.
I talked to my hostel owner about the event a little later on in the week and he was shocked by the whole thing, I on the other hand was still really confused. He said the guy may have thought that I was a spy. I was like, Eddie come on. How long ago did the Cold War end, you can’t be serious? He was and told me that with some people the feelings still run deep. I ended up repeating the story to some of the Peace Corps volunteers the next day and they agreed that the guy probably did think I was a spy. Apparently it is more common the further East you go for people to think this way. One girl said that at the school she teaches at one of the students parents are positive that she is one. I was still skeptical of how people could think this of me. I was like, I am a twenty-two year old who speak no Russian or Ukrainian, I am just here doing a photography project for my college back home, and I am living at the Kosmonaut hostel. Her reply, that’s a great cover don’t you think?

All right Obama if I really am spying for you I am going to need a few more things to properly complete my mission.
-I want accesses to a bath tub that has hot water once a week complete with a Lush bath bomb of my choice.
-I’m going to need more fresh fruits and vegetables, so that means a bigger food budget.
-A personal chef/ body guard that can use the cover of being my boyfriend.
-An apartment in the city center would be nice too. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just livable, but also I’ll keep my room at the hostel as a cover.
-One friend of my choosing flown over every three weeks for a week so I don’t miss home too much.
-A new pare of Gap jeans every three weeks and a new top once a week.
-A top of the line digital camera, with a bunch of different lenses, and the biggest memory card possible.
-Diplomatic immunity for any little indiscretions I may get myself into.
-A Starbucks needs to be built here as soon as possible and when I ask for a venti coffee they know what I am talking about and I can get it in a to-go cup.
-A $100 chocolate budget for a month, make that every two weeks to be safe actually.
-A trip to Amsterdam every six weeks to rest up and take time to stop and smell the roses, ahem tulips or some other liberal country.
-Immunity to vodka, so I can't get drunk and talk about American secrets.
-Maybe a cool spy name too.


(Just me in blending in with the locals and that's how I looked for the party. I just used a sweater that I already had.)

I Never Said Being An International Photographer Superstar Was Going To Be Easy: Part Two

Tuesday was a day of great change for me. I ended up getting my hair cut and it’s shorter then its been in years. I feel free in an odd, but amazing way. It is also quite the experience to have your hair cut by someone that speaks no English, but one of the girls at the hostel wrote down ruffly what I wanted, to give to him and and through limited communication it worked out great. I must say though getting your hair cut in a foreign land in not for the faint of heart. It could have gone horribly wrong. (New hair in photo, because I know you all want to see it)

I stopped on the way back to the hostel and get another 6 liter jug of water. When I got to the door one of the guys was working and just like last time I showed up with my water he insisted on carrying it to the kitchen for me. I started to give my feminist speech but quickly stopped and just handed it over. I’ve learned to pick and choose with my tough girl battles and everyone wins if I just let him carry the stupid water. Maybe next time I’ll just bring him with me to the store so I don’t have to carry it the five blocks home. I sat in reception that afternoon and talked to him about America and showed him Craig’s List and explained about the dangers of some of the categories. He is really set on moving to Chicago and being a gym teacher. I guess Chicago also has quite a big Ukrainian immigrant population so it makes since for him to choose that location.
Pizza sounded good for dinner that night, so I braved the cold and went out. I decided to go for pepperoni as I thought it was a safe bet, well I bet wrong. I was sitting there and I saw the girl walking towards me with a pizza covered with peppers. I just thought, shit that’s mine. Sure enough it was. Welcome to Ukraine. I should also probably stop and explain this “Welcome to Ukraine” phrase I keep using here. When anything goes wrong, for the most part instead of getting upset I just say it and laugh it off. They probably thought I was insane when they cleaned up after me and came and saw every single one of those peppers sitting on the tray after I had picked them off. I won’t be going back there incase they remember me. The pizza wasn’t that good either so I don’t mind.
I went back to my hostel and started to pretend to prepare for my Skype meeting with my teacher. I think I really was just finishing Harry Potter, same thing really. My friend Chad ended up calling me to ask if I wanted to go out and get coffee or something to eat, I said yes of course as I had a few hours to kill before my meeting and he’s pretty good company. Chad picked me up at the hostel and we quickly realized that a lot of places were about to close and it was really cold out. We ended up deciding to go get kebabs to take back to the hostel. On the way there Chad noticed that I didn’t have any gloves on.
Funny story about my lack of gloves, I lost one of them when I was out shooting in Lychakiv Cemetery, last friday because my teacher had warned me about my hands getting too cold. This cemetery is a massive, over grown, ill kept in some parts, hilly maze of crowded tomes. The cemetery started in 1787 for the upper class of the city for the most part. It eventually grew to include anyone who wanted to be burred there. For those of you who don’t know Lviv use to be a part of Poland (but for the love of God you probably should not mention that here) so the older tome stones are in none other then Polish and then it switches to Ukrainian, then Russian I believe and then back to Ukrainian. If I got any of that wrong please feel free to correct me.
The shooting Friday was less then ideal. It was snowing, sometimes just ever so lightly, but at one point it started coming down really heavily. I was cold by the time I got there and had already walked for about forty minuets to get there, for some reason I thought it was only a twenty minuet walk. When I got to the gate I went into the little hut and tried to buy my entrance ticket. (Yep, they charge you to see dead people.) I guess it was the wrong door and they pointed me to the next one over. I opened it and there were three doors leading off. I just thought, oh forget it and walked back outside. No one stopped me so I walked quickly to the left side and into the depths of the cemetery before anyone saw. I started shooting and got quickly overwhelmed and lost my focus, trying to capture anything and everything. I walked on the snow covered paths, trying to cover as much ground as I could, so I wouldn’t miss anything. My gloves were in my pockets and I would put them on every so often to warm up my hands and then take them off and put them away again. I had just climbed up a hill to get a picture of some angel grave stone and I reached for them and found that I was down to one. I was having a crappy day to start with so this was just the icing on the cake for me. Fuming I decided that I had, had enough of shooting for the day and retraced my steps trying to find my precious mitten. With no such luck I stomped off to the tram stop and got on the wrong one, that required me to walk through the city center instead of being dropped off one street from my hostel. I uploaded my pictures and went through them all and wrote them all off as crap, that wasn’t really the case but a funk had over taken me and wouldn’t let go so I just went with it.



By Sunday I had come to my senses and over analyzed what had worked and what didn’t and was ready to win over the cemetery this time. I had also noticed a way to get in that did not require me to pay, not that I did the last time. There is a path in the back that the locals seems to use so I just fallowed suit. This time I didn’t try to photograph the whole cemetery in one go and focused in on the smaller things. They also do this really cool thing over here where they put picture of the decided on the grave stones. (Someone take note that I want this on mine, but who are we kidding, I’m never going to die.)
I ended up walking around trying to find ones that looked like people I know, messed up I know but its not like I could find people with the same name as me. Pretty sure there aren’t too many Emilys over here.
In Sunday’s shoot I went through maybe a tenth of the grounds, if I was lucky, but I found it much more enjoyable and reminded me to keep my focus on the small things, not just the big picture. Its all those little oddities that make Lychakiv what it is, even if it could use a serious sprucing up.







So incase you forgot why I started talking about the cemetery it was because Chad noticed that I didn’t have any gloves on. He started to take his off to give to me, but this was one of those times I was going to fight chivalry. He’s from Athens and not use to the cold like me and as much as I really appreciated the gesture and thought it was incredibly sweet, I did not want him to have to deal with the freezing temperature. He then insisted on holding my hands until we got where we were going. Win.

I Never Said Being An International Photographer Superstar Was Going To Be Easy: Part One

Coming over to Europe I knew that my trip would not an easy relaxing all inclusive resort vacation. I knew that I would face trials and tribulations my whole way. I also knew that it would be worth it and as I am nearing the end of my time it Lviv this fact is really coming to light. I also know that I will not fully be able to see the whole worth for some time. It may take years for me to fully see how I have changed but I know it will come, perhaps slowly little drops of realization trickling in, but those drops will develop into a deep pool of understanding.
Ukraine is one of those places in the world, much like Maine, that I feel thats tests you in every way, especially in the winter. This past week the weather has been horribly relentless. It has turned cold, to the point that even walking with my thermals on during the day my legs go numb if I am out too long. We have also had light snow almost everyday. In Maine we wouldn’t really even think about this kind of snow, but streets and more importantly side walks don’t get properly cleared off. The snow has turned into this brown sticky mush that is like walking in cold mash potatoes. I have my nice wide Sorrel snow boots that keep my feet warm and grounded for the most part, however because of this mash potato snow, it gets stuck in the groves of my boots and when I hit the sidewalks made out of black cobble stones that are horrible slippery, I slip every time without fail. I have yet to fall, clearly I didn’t get my dad’s horrible balance. Most of the time I just laugh it off slipping and sliding around sometimes even make small game out of it. What else can you do really, I mean I could go around with a huge blow torch melting the snow in front of me as I walk, but I have a feeling that might be frowned upon here, guess I’ll just wait to get back to Maine to try it.
Despite these less then ideal conditions I somehow still end up walking everywhere. On Monday there was a glimmer of sun in the sky and rushed into a panic to get myself together and go out and shoot. I walked to the bus stop and wait anxiously for the next number 71, looking up at the sky to make sure that the sun had not run away from me again. The bus pulled up and I paid my 2UAH (25 cents for you Americans) and took my place standing in the front holding on to one of the seats so I wouldn’t fall. The bus was decently crowed, but honestly not too bad compared to some of the sardine like conditions that I have been jammed into. I looked out the window patiently waiting to see the park that I was going to shoot in. I ended up getting off at the stop after I should have, but it worked out better because all of the walking for the most part was down hill. The other stop would have been uphill obviously, and since I spent my whole childhood walking uphill, both ways, to school in the freezing rain, I feel the right to be a little lazy now that I am an adult. I walked through the pure white snow covered park, basking in the midday sun, over come with euphoria of a magnitude that has not been seen on a Monday for anyone for quite sometime. It was probably a very good thing that it was mostly deserted as I was grinning ear to ear and possibly laughing to myself a bit, and I am sure they would have dragged me off to some mental institution or thought that I had gotten an early start of my vodka consumption. I hurried to the amusement part of the park that was shut down for the winter and started taking pictures. One of the thoughts that ran through my head was, Are these rides really safe? I see a lot of rust. I need to see these things in action sometime. I also did not sneak into this place, they just leave it open during the winter, so the thrill factor was a little low, but still over all interesting subject matter and enjoyable shooting.


I finished up at the park and walked down the stairs to the street and looked up the hill to where the bus stop was that I had gotten off, (and when I say looked up the hill I don’t mean I could see it from there, just looking in the general direction.) and then looked down the hill to where I knew there was a bus stop, but I didn’t know its exact location. I chose to go down. I was not ready to fight with a snow covered hill, when I need to be out shooting. I walked along for about fifteen minuets and found the stop I was looking for, the one I should have gotten out at in the first place, and waited impatiently for the next 71 bus to take me out further into the country side and eventually where it would end its run at the King Cross mall. My bus finally came and I climbed on to the over crowded thing and held on for dear life with both my arms tightly wrapped around one of the metal poles. I was standing on the top step of the stairs, with my feet half off trying to balance and not fall like an unexpended mashooka rider. Falling would meant that I could put away my big “American” forehead stamp that I slam on my face, so people are aware of my origins. Its not like my general lack of Ukrainian would be a dead give away that I wasn’t one of them in the first place or anything, but I digress.
I road in my sardine can, oh excuse me, bus, for a few more stops and then I got off at an area I had scoped out a few days before. There were some industrial ruins around and just general horribly run down places. I walked towards the first abandoned building and saw that there was a big wall surrounding it and I decided that the lighting wasn’t that great right now and it just wasn’t going to be worth it. I looked across the street and there was a complex that looked like some of it could be uninhabited, but again there was a huge wall and I knew there was no way in hell that I was getting in. I turned and started walking in the direction that my bus had gone off in and decided that I would just walk the rest of the way to the mall and take photos along the way. I started walking and about an half hour had passed, and I thought to myself “It’s not that much longer. I’ll be there soon.” Well as I walked through the suburban country side that half hour turned into an hour and then an hour and a half. I should have just gotten on one of the buses that passed by, but at this point I was obsessed making it to the mall by foot and making sure that I did not possibly miss something that I could take a picture of. I have also developed this odd need to walk a lot every day it seems. Its a really good way to get to know the city I have found and also its a way for me to clear my head. Also I was too cheep to pay 2UAH (25 cents people) for the fare. Oh God Ukraine you have made me horribly cheep, oh what I’m like that back in the States too?


Once at the mall I got my lunch, even though it was passed 4pm at this point and then I went about some shopping. I finally got a proper winter scarf that is also doubling as a shawl, it kind of makes me feel like an old lady, but I’m ok with that because its warm and was only 49UAH (about $6.20, gosh people get your abacuses out so I don’t have to keep doing math). I then went to this huge store which is basically like a super Wal*Mart. I ended up drifting into the DVD section and buying Twilight: Eclipse. I do not know what compelled me to buy this horrible movie that I hated the first time I saw it except for the fact that it was only 52UAH (about $6.60) and it is also dubbed in Ukrainian and Russian which may turn out to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. I also tried to find the Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, but got completely ignored by two workers who clearly saw and heard me try to ask for help. Maybe I should have looked for a flare gun in there hunting section.(Seriously though there was no hunting section so this was not a true Wal*Mart). That might have gotten there attention.
I am now going to admit to you all what I have become addicted to over here. Buying chocolate. I tidied up my room the other day and the amount I found was astounding. Its become this horrible addiction. God forbid I run out of it apparently. See the thing is I am buying more then I am eating and I forget about a stash and then come across it later on. Its all really good too, much better then Hershey’s. I think right now I have at least five unopened bars, at least three opened and a bag of assorted mini chocolate bars. I hope customs doesn’t have a limit on it, if someone could check up on that for me it would be grand. Also someone is probably going to break into my hostel room and rob me of my scrumptious goodies, which I may not be opposed to so I don’t have to lug 5 pounds of the stuff back with me. I ended up buying even more that day at the Ukrainian Wal*Mart. They still appreciate the ability of pick your own mixed bulk candy here. I can’t read any of the labels as none of them are in English, but I look at the pictures and I decide what to get by prices. The most expensive chocolates are about 80UAH per kilo (that breaks down to about $3.65 a pound). Cheep ass me goes for the ones that are about 50UAH per kilo ($2.85ish a pound) In all I spent about $8.25 at the Ukrainian Wal*Mart. What a bargain shopper I am!
After that I went out to find a bus back to the city center. This bus driver seemed to be in a horrible mood. At first I thought that I just had my American stamp on my forehead again, but he drove like a mad man puffing on cigarettes, (yes bus drivers here sometimes smoke while driving. I wonder what would happen if I just lit up in the bus?) honking at traffic, and he even got into an argument with a passenger over God knows what. Seriously if people are worried about my safety here, its one of these bus rides that I would be most likely to die in I feel.
I made it to the city center, and I was still on my Harry Potter mission. Make fun of me if you will, but it brings me so much joy even at the age of 22. I ended finding it and payed 52UAH for it and was really tempted to buy the Justin Bieber CD at the store too, but I stopped myself. I also have Bieber fever. My mental age just keeps getting lower in this blog.
Moving on from those embarrassing facts, I ended up getting home to the hostel a little after 5 and spent most of the night eating chocolate (shocked? Shouldn’t be.) watching Harry Potter and chilling with the Peace Corps kids staying at the hostel. I cannot tell you how good it was to be able to hang out with a group of Americans that know what you are talking about when you make a reference to something in pop culture and a few of them had even been to Maine, so I got to bask in the glory of my state. It also gave me some insight in to more Ukrainian culture. One of the guys talked about how he had managed to get a computer for one of the teachers in the school he’s working at through a grant and the teach just uses Word to type up quizzes that in turn, she also still writes on the board. He has repeatedly offered to show her how to do more, but she doesn’t want anything to do with it. Similar stories were also shared by the other volunteers. Its hard to change things when people don’t want it. I also learned how much free time they end up having and what do they do with it you ask? They watch movies and TV. It is common for them to have multiple external hard drives, one for music, one of TV shows, and one for movies. When they get together for conferences and such they end up swapping, so they have enough entertainment to last them until the next time they all get together. It also made me feel a little better about my recent DVD purchases, even though I am sure if I had hit one of them up they would have had it, well maybe not Twilight because it was all guys here.
They also told me how a lot of people where they work and in there villages think that they are incapable of feeding themselves so they always get all this food, jars of pickles, potatoes and invites to dinner. One guy told me how one of the teachers always packs an extra sandwich for him everyday so he doesn’t go hungry. They all appreciate it, but also find it amusing that these people keep fussing over them.
We got on the subject of holidays and how much Ukrainians love to celebrate the most random of things, like when I leave to come back to the States on March 8th, I am going to be missing Women’s Day. Basically from what I’ve gathered it is a mix of Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day, and Labour Day back in America. Traditionally men give small gifts to the women in there lives and it started off as a celebration of the working women. I vote that we bring this holiday to America, so whoever shows up at the airport to pick me up make sure you have something for me and we will start this holiday off on the right foot. I also heard about someone’s first Easter in Ukraine. They had just arrived here a week or two earlier and they were living with a Ukrainian family and on Easter morning he got woken up way before dawn and they all piled into the car and drove for over an hour in the country side, appearing to be going to the middle of nowhere. They ended up at a church and had Easter service and then they went off to someones house to eat and drink, vodka of course. This was repeated several times at various homes, until about mid-afternoon when the Peace Corps volunteer was dropped off back at home and the family did not reappear until a few days later. He assumed that they just continued on doing this. He also mentioned the massive Easter baskets that they get that are filled with practical food items that never seem to end. You just keep reaching in and things keep coming out. He called it “a friggen Mary Poppins basket”.
Here a great thing they also do in schools. If 20% or more of the student are absent they close down the school for quarantine. I asked how long this normally lasts and they say however long they feel like. Maybe its just evil me, but don’t you think that the students might get together and all plan on being sick on the same day, so they get vacation? If they haven’t they should.