On New Year's Eve, for some ludicrous reason, I decided to hit up my local Ukrainian version of Wal-Mart. It's called "Tam Tam," and I've been apprehensive about it from the moment I entered in search of a large, reasonably priced bowl out of which I can consume large salads (I've still not found one). Tam Tam has everything. Well, mostly everything (it doesn't have peanut butter or burritos, but mail me all the burritos, please).
Peace Corps prepares you to live at an economic level far less comfortable than many Americans are accustomed to (whether they realize it or not), and the eeriness of living in the midst of this one-stop-super-shop lies in the illusion—the illusion that I can have whatever I want, whenever I want. But I can't. That's the problem, the thing, the reality. And neither can most Ukrainians.
I left Tam Tam with a block of cheese and a resolve to never enter Tam Tam again (at least not during major holidays), along with the question lingering in my mind—"how in god's name is this sustainable?" Well, as basic economic principals would confirm, it's not. And that's all I'll say about that.
Last week my department held its annual New Years party, and I was welcomed (quite warmly) by my new colleagues. We met at a restaurant, and the table was set with a wide array of salads, bread, meat, cheese cognac, vodka, and wine. I wish I had brought my camera, but I wanted to avoid awkwardly taking photos of my friends' food. However, in lieu of, here is a photo of the University at which I work.
I have learned two things about Ukrainian parties: 1. Even when you think you're done eating, you're not, and 2. prepare to give a delightful, meaningful, and sophisticated toast.
I've heard from my Ukrainian friends that "toasting is a skill and an art"—a skill and art I have by no means mastered. I listen to others' toasts—all in Ukrainian, so I only understand so much—and they always seem to be so beautiful and thoughtful. And when the American stands up to give a toast, the audience gets very excited. What WILL she say this time?!
Here's how my New Years 2013 toast went:
Colleague: "Sandra, its your turn to give a toast!"
Me: "Should I stand up or sit down?"
Crowd: "Stand up!"
Me: "Should I do this in English or Ukrainian?"
Crowd: "Ukrainian!"
[And here's how it probably translated]
Me: "Um...Thank you, thank you very much, my uh... new colleague(s) and my new friends. Thank you. I love Lutsk and am very happy to work with you all. Uhhh...So...thank you very, very much." (There were probably 2 or 3 more "thank yous" in there).
And the crowd roared. We all drank to my string of "thank you"s and the reassurance that they would, indeed, help me with my Ukrainian/Russian/whatever I want. I'd be embarrassed, but they love it so much, what else can I do but roll with it.
So we ate, and we ate, and we drank, and we ate some more. And what they don't tell you is that you have to dance. I don't want to dance. "But you must! It's a Ukrainian tradition."
"what do I do?"
"Get in the middle of the circle!"
So there I was, right in the middle of the circle, everyone around me is swaying and clapping along with the jaunty accordion music. I whispered to my friend, "What do I do?" and she said "just go like this" and she twirled around. Right. So I twirl and I sway awkwardly, and I looked down at my shoes, and I noticed the dirt (it was a particularly muddy evening). Never in my American life would I care about mud on my shoes, but here there is a preoccupation with footwear on a national level. Believe you me, I have seen men and women, young and old, stop whatever they're doing at work, on the street, at the bus stop, in a cafe—to clean their shoes. And as I looked at the others dancing around me, I carefully observed each of their shoes, noting the precision, shine, and cleanliness as they moved around me.
Perhaps it was because I didn't want to dance anymore, or perhaps its because I've assimilated more than I realize, I'll never know. But at that moment, all I could see was the mud. I did what any self-conscious person would do—I made my way out of the circle and into the sidelines, just to clean my shoes with a baby wipe. Happy New Year, Ukraine. I'm now one of you.
Happy New Year, friends. I love you all.
And yesterday, in the peacefulness of a new year and new hope, I took some photos.
I left Tam Tam with a block of cheese and a resolve to never enter Tam Tam again (at least not during major holidays), along with the question lingering in my mind—"how in god's name is this sustainable?" Well, as basic economic principals would confirm, it's not. And that's all I'll say about that.
 |
| My office is on the right, you guys |
I have learned two things about Ukrainian parties: 1. Even when you think you're done eating, you're not, and 2. prepare to give a delightful, meaningful, and sophisticated toast.
I've heard from my Ukrainian friends that "toasting is a skill and an art"—a skill and art I have by no means mastered. I listen to others' toasts—all in Ukrainian, so I only understand so much—and they always seem to be so beautiful and thoughtful. And when the American stands up to give a toast, the audience gets very excited. What WILL she say this time?!
Here's how my New Years 2013 toast went:
Colleague: "Sandra, its your turn to give a toast!"
Me: "Should I stand up or sit down?"
Crowd: "Stand up!"
Me: "Should I do this in English or Ukrainian?"
Crowd: "Ukrainian!"
[And here's how it probably translated]
Me: "Um...Thank you, thank you very much, my uh... new colleague(s) and my new friends. Thank you. I love Lutsk and am very happy to work with you all. Uhhh...So...thank you very, very much." (There were probably 2 or 3 more "thank yous" in there).
And the crowd roared. We all drank to my string of "thank you"s and the reassurance that they would, indeed, help me with my Ukrainian/Russian/whatever I want. I'd be embarrassed, but they love it so much, what else can I do but roll with it.
So we ate, and we ate, and we drank, and we ate some more. And what they don't tell you is that you have to dance. I don't want to dance. "But you must! It's a Ukrainian tradition."
"what do I do?"
"Get in the middle of the circle!"
So there I was, right in the middle of the circle, everyone around me is swaying and clapping along with the jaunty accordion music. I whispered to my friend, "What do I do?" and she said "just go like this" and she twirled around. Right. So I twirl and I sway awkwardly, and I looked down at my shoes, and I noticed the dirt (it was a particularly muddy evening). Never in my American life would I care about mud on my shoes, but here there is a preoccupation with footwear on a national level. Believe you me, I have seen men and women, young and old, stop whatever they're doing at work, on the street, at the bus stop, in a cafe—to clean their shoes. And as I looked at the others dancing around me, I carefully observed each of their shoes, noting the precision, shine, and cleanliness as they moved around me.
Perhaps it was because I didn't want to dance anymore, or perhaps its because I've assimilated more than I realize, I'll never know. But at that moment, all I could see was the mud. I did what any self-conscious person would do—I made my way out of the circle and into the sidelines, just to clean my shoes with a baby wipe. Happy New Year, Ukraine. I'm now one of you.
Happy New Year, friends. I love you all.
And yesterday, in the peacefulness of a new year and new hope, I took some photos.
 |
| Light on the river |
 |
| You can't see it from here, but to my left there is a man urinating |
 |
| Abandoned amusement park |
 |
| Celebrating in the square |
No comments:
Post a Comment