My Adventures in ...

2004-02-04T08:33:00.000-08:00

February 4, 2004

I haven't been writing for a very simple reason. I am expecting a baby and I am very busy with this change in my life. I kept this news to myself because I was (and still am) very much afraid to lose this baby. I am now into my fifth month, so I am making it public. God knows, I can hide my belly any more.

For the past few months I have been writing a bit, so you can check my other blog on all pregnancy related stories: http://roadtomotherhood.blogspot.com

2003-10-27T11:27:00.000-08:00

October 27, 2003

I haven’t been writing since the blackout, but then it is the only exciting event that happened in Toronto since I came back. I really haven’t been doing anything deserving to qualify as an adventure. My life generally consists of work, cooking, grocery shopping, laundry, gym, dining out (when I don’t feel like cooking, which is pretty often), and occasional movies. So, this is a story of my post blackout no-adventures.

On occasional movies

For the period of past 2 months I can recall four movies. I might have watched more, but they must have been so mediocre that they did not left any imprint in my memory. Of those four that did, the first prize goes to “The Whale Rider” – brilliant and moving coming of age story set in beautiful New Zealand coast.
The second movie worth mentioning is a Montreal story “Mambo Italiano”. It is a movie that is very in tune with two important themes in Ontario – acceptance of gay relationships and intergenerational conflict within immigrant families. Plus, it is a light comedy often compared with “My Fat Greek Wedding”.
The last two spaces are jointly shared by “Underworld” and “The Order”. The Underworld is a war between vampires and werewolves movie. The Order is a story of good and evil within church setting. Both movies are visually dark and low budget. They both are not the best movies but good beginnings for TV serials, and that is definitely what they were made for.

Toronto Fashion Week

I should have watched less of Fashion Television. Many things were compared with the sausage factory at one time or another (including government and the UN). The basic concept of this comparison is that if you have ever been inside the sausage factory and saw how the sausages are made you would never eat one for the rest of your life. Well, now I can add the fashion shows to the list of sausage factory comparisons. If you ever been on one fashion show you might feel serious reservations to going to see another one ever again.

I have been on a few fashion shows before and I had very positive memories about every one of those trips. When I was in my early teens, my mom tried (unsuccessfully) to develop some fashion sense in me. One of her methods was taking me to the fashion atelier in Kaliningrad to see the soviet-styled semi-official fashion shows. I don’t think those shows brought any fashion sense in me, but I have really warm and happy memories of those events. It was something of a mother-daughter activity.

Much later, after I moved to Canada, I got to see another fashion show. In our early stages of dating we went for an Ecological Fashion Show. As I was mostly preoccupied with my company, I have only vague recollections of dresses made from rubber tires and milk cartons.

With Toronto Fashion Week advertised as an event of the year, I decided that we’ve got to go to see at least the Closing Night Gala. Plus, I really felt it is my last chance show off my new outfit from India before winter. Afraid to be late I dragged my husband at precisely the time mentioned on our 25-dollar tickets. Indeed we were just in time to see previous free for all show of accessories. I can understand why it was free: the girls from local ballet school dribbled on the podium ‘wearing’ cell phones and glasses.

To my fury, we spend next two and a half hours standing outside the front door to the show room (at least it was inside the building) waiting till the room will be set up for ‘our’ paid show. All this time groups of people were allowed to get in under the pretext of being the press, the sponsors, the boyfriends and girlfriends of the press and sponsors, the mother and grandmothers of the press and sponsors, the aunts and uncles of the favourite hamster of the grandmothers of the press and sponsors; the list continues … And all those poor idiots like me who actually bought their tickets spent hours waiting when they will be allowed to get in. Of course by the time we were allowed to enter, the room was swamped with better-connected people. We found unoccupied seat of some sponsors and pretended to be them. Fortunately, no one tried to evict me from there. I think it was very clearly written on my face that whoever tries to do that will get additional show with many censored expressions performed by me.

Anyhow with only three-hour delay the show began. I had never heard of that ‘famous’ Catherine Brule or as ‘famous’ singer Glenn Lewis. The dresses shown might (with a huge doubt attached) have looked better if they were made from a quality material. Unfortunately, they were made from the lousiest material imaginable. The quality of the work matched the quality of the material. I could only watch the screen over the runway showing the walking models with disbelief: how such junk can look so good on the TV screen?

Two additions brightened up the show: the plastic performances by the male and female gymnastics artists. I have to say if we wanted to see those performances we could have gone to one of the strip clubs along Yonge Street in downtown Toronto. Still, compare to the rest of the show it was an improvement.

After waiting for the show for nearly three hours, it did not last nearly enough to appease my foul mood. I am never ever going for the Toronto Fashion Week even if they pay me.

2003-08-15T09:41:00.000-07:00

Blackout in Toronto

As you all know by now, yesterday, August 14, 2003. Toronto, New York, Detroit, and many other cities had a complete blackout. We lost power. As all lights and computers at work went off, I walked home amongst thousands of walking people. It was complete and utter chaos. Subways and streetcars had stopped; cars were running out of gas and being abandoned on the shoulders of highways. As the traffic lights went off the intersections were manned by the Good Samaritans trying to ease the gridlock by directing the traffic.

All stores were closed except some corner stores whose South Asian owners did not see anything wrong in doing cash business under the candlelight. They were doing a brisk business on water, candles, flashlights, and portable radios. Rabba Grocery stores true to their 24/7 notices remained open on the same cash-only basis. Every Rabba store near my house posted an employee to direct the line up of hundreds of people trying to buy water and dried foods. The scene was unpleasantly reminiscent of earlier perestroika years when sudden money exchanges and inflation threw thousands of people to stock up on anything with long shelf life.

Many people I know already have water and power, but my apartment does not. Since yesterday afternoon we are sitting without either unable to flash the toilet or to make a cup of tea. There is no news or anything to do. I came to work in spite of the Declared Provincial Emergency. My office has power and water, which at the very least means that I can make my tea, wash my hands, and read the news. Though in reality I came to work simply because I having to access to information I had no idea that there is an emergency.

Reaching home I was relieved to find that one elevator remained powered by the emergency generator; hence, I don’t need to walk up to my 37th floor. I also found that we have no candles or bottled water or any food. During the Y2K period I used to stockpile all sorts of emergency supplies under the quiet chuckles on my loving husband. Due to our multiple location changes there is nothing left from my emergency supplies at exactly the time we needed it. Who knew? Remembering the huge line of people trying to get to the nearby Rabba we run to stock up. Surprisingly the shopping went in an orderly fashion.

On a negative note we realized that another thing we did not have among our emergency supplies is emergency cash. We found that we have US dollars, British pounds, Indian rupees, Thai baht, Ukrainians grivnas, and lots of other types of money, but no Canadian dollars. As we both belong to a group of people who believe in plastic, neither of us normally has any cash in hand. You can always take cash from a cash machine if you need it providing, of course, if there is power. Who would have guessed that cash dispensers require power to operate? Apparently, not I. As a result of inability to predict province-wide blackout, we were left with 40 dollars of cash for two of us. ‘Survival supply’ shopping left us with half of it.

Fortunately, the pizza place next door felt that there is a business to be made and continued to take credit cards and make pizza. We took full advantage of this situation.
The streets were full of people. I have never seen so many people just walking on the streets, sitting on the open patios listening to the radios and swapping the rumours. The downtown looked more alive than I have ever seen it. The overall mood was rather festive as people prowled the streets in search of hot food and water. With nothing to do in their houses and with no air-conditioning working, people we looking for reassurance and comfort with each other.

Coming back home, we bought a huge candle with picture of a St. Joseph. Under its deem light we went to sleep hoping that it all would be back to normal tomorrow. It was not. Morning there was still no water (and still there is none) or power. Splashing my face with water from the bottle, I can only think why there is a surprise that there are riots in Basra? They’ve been sitting without water and power for a month. If I don’t get water by next week, there will be a riot here too.

2003-07-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

Montreal: the last bastion of Europe in North America

The calendar tells me that I came back to Toronto from the grand trip of Asia only three months ago, but I feel that I have been here for ages. By the end of last week my desperation for any change of scenery became so pressing that I declared that going ANYWHERE is better than staying in town. Manoj gave up and instead of taking me ‘anywhere’ suggested a mini-vacation in Montreal. Since we both have been there before, the purpose of this trip could be succinctly described as ‘eat and sleep’ holiday.

For Europeans, driving more than five hundred kilometres for weekend trip might appear strange, but in North America it is quite normal. This distance would have normally taken us 4.5 hours (and it did on the way back), but not on the way to Montreal. Even skipping from work an hour earlier did not save us from the ‘cottage crowd’. Every Friday the great number of Torontonians head off out of Toronto to spend weekend in their cottages. Cottage could be described as a little house somewhere in a forest up North where people go fishing, swimming, hiking, etc. It is similar to Russian ‘dacha’, but no one grows potatoes out there. Anyhow, every Friday this crowd literally floods the highways reducing the speed to a crawl. Our attempt to sneak out of the city before the tide hit the road had failed. It took us more than two hours to drive thirty kilometres out of the city. We made it to Montreal only by eleven spending more than 6 hours driving.

My most favourite activity in Montreal relates to food. In this vibrant and alive city you can go out at midnight and find a nice restaurant that would serve a superb French cuisine. After distinctly Americanized Toronto where the only place you can have meal after 10 p.m. is Chinatown, European Montreal feels like a breath of fresh air. At least to us, sitting on the open patio, munching perfectly roasted duck, sipping red wine, and listening French language mixed with Moroccan music, it felt like we are back to our beloved France.

People-watching from the patio forces to compare demographics of Toronto and Montreal: both cities mirror the demographics of the respective empires of origin. Toronto is an Asian city with visible minorities outnumbering the ‘majority’ and with Mandarin becoming the second most spoken language after English (followed by Hindi). The majority of newcomers to Canada settle in Toronto. The wave of immigrants from Hong Kong, Mainland China, Taiwan, India, Sri Lanka, etc. gave the city its distinctly oriental flavour. Every time I come back here after spending some time in Europe nothing hits me more than the numbers of people from East and South East Asia. On the contrary, Montreal is Caribbean cum Arabic cum African city with immigrants from former French colonies imprinting their cultures: it is a city of Lebanese, Moroccans, Algerians, Jamaicans, Congolese, etc. If in Toronto you go for dim sum, in Montreal you look for your kebabs.

2003-07-16T08:31:00.000-07:00

On Geeks and Trekkers

Or Once you Have Their Money, Never Give it Back
Rule #1 of The Ferengi Rules of Acquisition

I have been whining about never having a chance to go to any of my beloved anime conventions. So, my husband sneakily pointed out that there is a Star Trek Convention happening in Toronto. I think he was trying to kill two birds with one stone: (1) to remove me from home so he can get some quiet study time and (2) to be able to say “See, you’ve gone to a convention before” next time I try to whine about not going to some other convention. In any case, he just wanted to make me happy.

Well, after first “Nah” reaction, by the end of Friday the 11th I decided that I have to do something drastic to uplift my developing depression. And what can be more drastic in peaceful Toronto than a Star Trek Convention? So, after getting home from work I was dropped off at Regal Constellation Hotel near the airport. I could not persuade my husband to join me, but he still did not mind spending more than an hour to drive me to the convention place. Another thirty minutes standing in a line up for registration, and I was off to the first panel discussion on Gundam Saga. I think it is a first time in my life I found other adult people (I do consider myself an adult, though it has been questioned) discussing subject of Japanese anime series with serious faces and passion.

Few more anime-related discussions later I was off for dinner. The open café at the hotel featured a variety of Vulkan, Klingon, Ferengi, and other assorted races. As I was sitting alone, I was joined by a nice member of a Klingon society of Montreal who gave me an enlightening overview of Klingon pronunciation and writing. He also informed me that Klingon is very close language to Welsh and demonstrated that with series of phrases.

From him I found, and later conformed by visiting a Klingon literature booths in the dealers' room, that there is indeed The Klingon Dictionary: Klingon – English, English – Klingon. I remember laughing at this guy in Fraser TV series whose aim in life was to write that dictionary. Apparently, someone named Marc Okrand already did.

Checking Amazon provided this description:
[The Klingon Dictionary is the first comprehensive sourcebook for Klingon language and syntax, including fundamental rules of grammar as well as words and expressions that illustrate the complex nature of Klingon culture. It features a precise pronunciation guide, rules for proper use of affixes and suffixes, and a small phrasebook with Klingon translations for essential expressions such as "Activate the transport beam," "Always trust your instincts," and the ever-popular "Surrender or die!"]

Another book that attracted my attention at the dealers’ room was The Klingon Hamlet. I think the poor Shakespeare is turning in his grave at this Amazon.com editorial:

[“For too long, readers throughout the Federation have been exposed to The Tragedy of Khamlet, Son of the Emperor of Qo'nos, that classic work of Klingon™ literature, only through inadequate and misleading English translations. Now at last, thanks to the tireless efforts of the Klingon Language Institute, this powerful drama by the legendary Klingon playwright, Wil'yam Shex'pir, can be appreciated in the elegance and glory of its original tongue.”
...
“For non-Klingon speakers, there is Shakespeare's original text, an English-language introduction, and detailed endnotes, very wittily presented. These put forward the case that Shakespeare himself was a Klingon, and underline the essentially Klingon nature of this famous play, with its themes of honor and revenge. In creating the tragic figure of Hamlet, with his very un-Klingon propensity for brooding and procrastination, Shakespeare is believed to have been commenting on a culture becoming alienated from its traditional warlike virtues, and we are told that most Klingons find it a deeply disturbing play.”] Disturbing indeed. Though I found more disturbing the fact of publishing a book of Shakespeare in Klingon.

After such an enlightening dinner I attended few profound discussions of concepts of romance in Buffy series. It is amazing just how many people remember all the names and episodes of this and many, many other sci-fi series. The Buffy heckling party was immensely popular. You know how sometimes you watch a movie and you really want to say what you think about one scene or the other? Well, during this show you can. And lots of people did.

I did not stay for the full length of Klingon karaoke, though I think I can appreciate some songs better after listening them in Klingon language. I wish the original singers heard that too.

Anyhow, leaving the hotel I found my husband engrossed in a lively discussion with couple of blue haired Sailor Moons. For those who don’t know who Sailor Moon is – it is a character from a Japanese cartoon.

I did not attend the following two days of the convention. One day was sufficient. I have to admit it is a great pleasure to know that there are many geeks in the world and many of them are a lot geekier than I.

2003-06-30T14:22:00.000-07:00

On Being Proud

When Canadians talk about Canada the recurrent word is “proud”. You hear a lot about proud Canadians, proud Ukrainians, proud Arcadians, etc. If you live in Toronto the word “proud” takes on a slightly different colour during the last week of June – the Pride Week. It is the time to don your pink boa, violet stilettos, a wig, leather pants and be “proud”. I feel strongly for the rights of all people to do whatever they want in the privacy of their bedroom as long as they are consenting adults. Combine that with the love to party; and I have missed only one Pride Parade since coming to Canada.

The Parade is a culmination of weeklong parties, events, and parades. This year’s events were scaled down because of SARS, which scared not tourists but rather sponsors, who got scared that SARS would scare tourists. At the end the tourists were there, may be in less numbers that before, but still in significant numbers, but the money were not. The floats were scaled down and, as we heard some onlooker saying, it was “tamer”. Still, the leather men were predictably in leather, the Latin American groups were recreating Rio carnival, and the members of the nudist community were wearing appropriate outfits. If you are asking what outfits they would be wearing – think again – and not all of them should be ‘dressing up’ that way.

Unlike the previous years the weather was perfect: cloudy and nicely cool. The drag queens sufficiently numerous, entertaining and being close to outnumbered by politicians. With upcoming mayoral elections most of the potential candidates came to woo the votes of the gay community. It is a community that votes and has a disposable income to donate.

One thing I love about Toronto is its tolerance and air of freedom. In this city you can truly be yourself. The only other city where I felt the same way was London.

2003-06-23T15:06:00.000-07:00

On being back to Toronto.
Ten Things. Number Two: the Length of Holidays.

Coming back to Toronto in seriously depressing. Most of my friends could not find jobs in Toronto and have moved back to there home countries or at least went there for extended vacation. Other friends had babies, bought houses and moved to suburbs. First Friday in Toronto I spent sitting at home trying to figure out what to do. After spending two years in France, England and Ukraine being double and triple booked every Friday, getting used to going out every night and coming home no earlier than 11 p.m. on a regular basis, it is very hard coming back to Toronto only to realize that there is no company to hangout with. Coming back to Toronto from Ukraine and suddenly realizing that you can’t afford many things you used to take for granted there. Taking a taxi every time you felt like is out of question. Wondering into ‘that new bar down the street for a cocktail’ is also quite expensive.

Can’t say anything about work. We all got collectively sworn to secrecy the first week of being here. It is all right and I am getting paid. But I can’t take any time off till Xmas, and even than I am getting only 8 (eight!!!) days. The answer to my old question, why normal Americans don’t travel – they work. How can you travel when you only get 10 days off a year???!!! Why can’t we have 30 – 45 days like Europeans do? And then we all out here get all surprised why Germans and French are the most traveled nations? Well, we could travel too if we get there vacations. In any case, with two, hopefully, weddings coming up next year – I can’t even take a day off to go to Ottawa or NY for weekend. No matter how much I like this job; I don’t know how long I can handle not being able to do anything I like outside of it. Being at work 8 to 6 every day leaves very little time for personal life.

So, on this rather depressed note, I am leaving work to do laundry and cook. Welcome to Toronto: city of homeless, fat squirrels, and overworked stressed people.

2003-06-20T14:04:00.000-07:00

My Adventures in Seoul
On the City of Diligence

In the Geun jeong jeon, the mail hall of the Gyeongbokgung palace, there is a wooden placard with words “a diligent king can govern the world while an idle king cannot”. If I have to use one word to describe Seoul, the diligence is the word I would use. I reach Seoul in the unholy hour of April 24th. As my flight to Vancouver was leaving in the evening, I felt it is my duty to get the most out the twelve-hour break between the flights.

Luckily, having Canadian passport frees the holder of the visa requirement. Korean immigration officials obviously felt that I am not planning to disappear in Korea and allowed me in without any questions. The information tourist office armed me with the map, explanation on where to get a government-run bus tour of Seoul, and a suggestion that 50 thousand won would be sufficient for a day.

Short stopover at a cash machine and I had the mentioned amount in my wallet. Few minutes later I was sitting in a company with two other people in a bus speeding towards Seoul. One hour of flying via raised in the air highway brought me in the middle of the city.

One day is not sufficient time to give a conclusive opinion on any city. But those six or seven hours wondering the streets of Seoul could only place the city under the heading: “decent place, looks grey; conclusion - pending further research, first impression – inconclusive”. After first 6 hours in Bangkok it got elevated up to the ranks of “city where I would like to live” in the company of Mumbai, London and Paris. (Don’t forget that my definition of “live” is “stay in one place for two-three years”).

After hot and sunny Bangkok, the drizzling rain with temperature in its low teens did not help to improve the greyness of downtown Seoul. Another, after weather, disappointment came with language. After being able to easily find fluent English speakers in India and Thailand (whatever the accent) it was difficult to accept that in some countries people still speak their native language. With all my adaptability to other cultures English-language chauvinism kicked in no time.

In addition, regardless of absence of SARS in Korea, the tourist numbers have dropped dramatically. I was the only person to take a City Tour. The number of guides was cut and English-language guides suffered the most, as with absence of English-speaking tourists they were not needed. The only guide available spoke Mandarin to the obvious enjoyment of elderly Chinese couple that joined the bus later. After I made the most of audio guide I elected to do the hop in hop off bit, and left the bus at the Gyeongbokgung palace. Inside the palace was swamped by hundreds of giggling, squealing girls on their official school trips to the palace. I don’t know why they all chose that particular day to visit the palace, but hordes of Korean girls in their ‘sailor moon’ outfits were very excited to see a non-Asian person. Even in India I have never received so much attention.

Unfortunately, it looked like every retirement home for women in Korea picked that day to visit the palace. Being surrounded by hundreds of little Korean grandmas asking “You – OK?” did not add to my being OK. I did not sleep for more than two days before coming to Seoul. I was tired, sleepy, hungry, wet, and cold. I certainly did not feel ok. I guess I did not look ok either. Escaping the grandmas was easy, but any response towards school children, especially boys who appeared soon after, provoked cheerful happiness of their part, and I guess, on mine. With all their lack of English, Korean people happened to be friendlier that I could handle at that moment.

The Palaces in Seoul are also different from Bangkok. Instead of fury of brightness, there is a solemn sobriety of straight lines and monotonous colours. The Gyeongbokgung palace is, in particular, a maze of walls and courtyards. There are no (or very few) rooms. It is even more open than the temples or ancient family houses in Kerala. Wondering around under the drizzling rain I could not help wondering what did the ancient Koreans do in winter? Seoul is not in tropics. I saw very little covered space in that palace (a bit more in others). Was it a summer palace? I still don’t know, but if it was not – I sympathize.

After getting out from one of the Palaces, I decided not to wait for the next tour bus, but walk to the next bus stop. It looked so close on a map – just across the road. Well, if I thought it would be easy, I was so wrong! I have never been in a situation when I was in a middle of the city and I could not cross the street. I would definitely not recommend a jaywalking in Seoul to anyone. In front of me there was an 18-lane highway somehow marked on my map as a street. After spending good thirty minutes running back and forth trying to find just how to cross the ‘street’ I gave up and went to wait for my bus. There were hardly any people. Throughout the whole day, I haven’t met anyone who spoke even passable English (including a tour guide and people in the tourist information office) with the exception of the girl at the tourist information desk at the airport. I have to say that to me it looked like all Koreans move only by car. I hardly saw any pedestrians. Most of the roads I saw were wider and more congested than highways around Toronto. Of course, I saw only a very little part of Seoul, but it did not feel like home.

What can I say about Seoul? I can’t say I liked it. It was OK, but it is definitely not on the list of top twenty places I would like to go. The experience of being there had nothing in common with overwhelmed excitement of being in Bangkok.

2003-06-19T19:31:00.000-07:00

Ten Things I Hate about Toronto. Number One: Parking Enforcement.

Remember the teenage flick "Ten Things I Hate about You"? Well, it is the only title I could think of when naming this story. I am pushing aside the next installment of My Adventures in Bangkok to produce this rant while the emotions are fresh.

The background: yesterday my husband parked his car at a street-parking place. He diligently paid the fee at the machine and placed the receipt on the dashboard. The receipt is showing that he paid at 17.15 and it is valid till 17.36. When he got back to the car, he found a parking fine ticket issued at 17.21. He got fined 20 dollars with the ticket saying that he failed to display the parking receipt on the dashboard.

Since I am the one usually insisting on paying for parking, I got a job of calling to the Parking enforcement authority to deal with it. They sweetly informed me that since the parking ticket says that I failed to display the parking receipt, the parking enforcement officer could not see it. After I suggested that they shouldn't hire visually impaired personnel, I've been told that if I have a problem with the ticket I can go to court.

Oh, there is nothing more I'd like to do right now than sue them. The practical side of it is 'slightly' complicated. There are three courts that deal with this matter (and many other matters) in tiny four million city of Toronto. Two of them are 'mildly' put it – very far from my house or my office. The last is simply far. Now, to get the court date I need to come to the court in person and I have to do within 15 days from the date when the ticket was issued. My working hours are longer than their. So, to get to the court, I have to take a day off. Being a contract employee I get only unpaid days off. Hence, if I elect to go to court I will lose a day's pay. Notwithstanding, that my contract specifically prevents me from taking any time off till Xmas. The conclusion: I can't go to court no matter how much I'd like to.

Even if i do take a day off and go to the court to get a court date, I will have to come back for that day for the hearing of my complaint. It means taking another day off. Meaning – if I elect to argue the validity of the ticket it is going to cost me two days of pay, with is definitely more than 20 dollars of the fine. If I choose to get a lawyer to do it, it will again cost me in legal fees.

That is exactly what these parking enforcement officers are counting for: the procedure of arguing against the fine is too costly for most of people to follow through. Absolute majority would elect to pay the fine. So, did I. It does not stop me from being furious.

Even if I decide that moral satisfaction is worth more than legal fees, what is the guarantee that I will get it, regardless of the fact that I have a valid parking receipt in hand? As far as I can see: very low. It is my word against his. What is the probability they would admit that they issued the wrong ticket? What can I say on that? Sorry for not taking a picture of my car with receipt displayed? Sorry for not guarding it against parking enforcement? Or sorry for paying for parking in the first place? I am not going to! What is my probability of getting fined for not paying? On average – not very high. So, if I regularly don't pay for parking I will get fined once in a while, but, hey!, I am not going to be worse off. Fines would average themselves out.

What about that nice enforcement agent who shamelessly wrote a parking fine, while looking at my receipt? He gets a cut from every parking ticket he writes. He knows the probability of me going to court is low. Even if I do, he can always say I am lying. I have nothing (other than my paid receipt) to disapprove it. Even if many people who got 'erroneous' parking tickets go to court, the worst thing that can happen to him is he would not his merit pay increase next year. Big deal! He'll make more cash in percentage of fines he gets.

If I was in Russia I could have gone to one of my classmates working in a police or court or prosecutor's office. The whole thing could have been swiftly dealt with. Alternatively, I could have gone to 'Russian-style conflict resolution' organization (police officers and former military personnel are often participate in those) and that enforcement officer would have thought long and hard about issuing another ticket like that. In India I would have found someone who knows a boss of that enforcement officer. I would have gotten an apology and the guy reprimanded. In France I got a ticket once. I parked in a taxi parking space and the parking enforcement waited for me to return to the car for three hours to give me a ticket. I deserved it and I paid it. Anyway, it was less that the parking would have cost me. In Canada I am helpless. All I can do is write this rant and mail it to couple of Toronto newspapers.

There was a movie where an old lady asked a parking enforcement officer: "Do you think your mother would be proud of what you do?" I'd really like to ask this question to the officer who wrote my ticket.

2003-06-19T06:44:00.000-07:00

On Being in Bangkok. Part III
Being a Tourist

I was always proud of my ability to understand any English accent. Hey, I used to give advices to first level Chinese students at the International Student Centre of Seneca College. Apparently, I was wrong. Trying to understand Thai accent requires practice. On average, I could understand about forty percent of what I’ve been told. Any ESL (English as a Second Language) nation has something special in their accent. Thai can’t pronounce ‘sh’ in the beginning of a word. Instead, they say ‘ch’. So, it takes a while to guess that ‘chop’ is actually a ‘shop’ and ‘chow’ is a ‘show’. But since you constantly hear these two words, you’ll get the meaning pretty fast.

‘Chow’ is a particularly common word in some areas of Bangkok including Sukhumvit, the area where we stayed. I wonder what answer the ‘chow’ sellers expected from my husband asking him for a ‘chow’ in front of me. Well, they surely did not get the one they wanted. While wondering through the ‘live-chow’ area I discovered that many of them actually have menus of services offered. I would not dare posting the x-rated items from those menus, but I did not even know that many of those entries are physically possible. What is even more appalling that there are plenty male tourists from all other the world who do not see anything wrong with ‘enjoying’ the offered services.

Wondering around Bangkok you can’t miss beggars quietly sitting in the shade of bridges. They don’t ask; just silently wait for a donation.

Being a tourist takes you along the sites marked on a tourist map. For our dinner destination we picked “Cabbages and Condoms” – a restaurant started by Population and Community Development Association to support its reproduction clinic. The motto of the Association founder, former Thai’s Health Minister, Mechai Viravaidya, is "birth control should be as cheap as vegetables". Both institutions are inter-mixed together. Posters and information brochures remind you of the purpose of this place. At the end of the dinner you get a condom instead of traditional candy. On the way out check the store where you can find very alive-looking condoms’ bouquets. The last but not least – the food was great.

Being a tourist for me means palaces, museums, and temples. My better half usually runs to hide when I am in the ‘sight-seeing’ mood. Moving from one place to another in Bangkok is easy. For all complaints of local people, however justified, on the traffic jams, the infrastructure is very developed. Nicely air-conditioned sky train takes you along the main routs within minutes. Travelling above the ground make those trains a nice, and probably the cheapest, way to view the city.

If you want to travel where the train does not go, you can take a tuck-tuck. That is certainly an experience that a tourist can’t miss. Do you remember commercial with Pierce Brosnan where he takes a tuck-tuck in Bangkok? That is exactly how they drive! Taking tuck-tuck guarantees a-la-James-Bond experience flying through the maze of the alleyways of Bangkok: full-speed weasel through the traffic jam, no fear, just hold for your life!

Whatever mode of transportation you choose you will eventually end up in one of Bangkok’s marvellous temples. In order of my preference, I recommend Grand Palace, Emerald Buddha, Reclining Buddha, Wat Arun, and Golden Buddha. I did not particularly like the Golden Buddha, but it is very interesting to see five tons of gold in one place. In my mind it is another brownie point to Thai people, I can’t imagine this much gold remaining unmolested for any significant period of time in Russia. Though it would be quite difficult to move or dispose of it, so it actually might survive even there.

The Grand Palace takes the first place without any doubt. Temple after temple covered with statues, frescoes and mosaics with any type of Buddha imaginable looking somewhere in an abstract space. Even though most of the Buddhas are relatively new they have an aura of ancient traditions around them. The Emerald Buddha is an exception. It is really ancient. It is actually made out of jade but its beauty and age make it priceless.

Dropping my 108th coin in a metal vessel of a prayer row at the side of the Reclining Buddha I wished for return to this beautiful place.

You know when you are in Bangkok when:
· Your jaw is hitting the floor every five minutes;
· Your mouth is permanently open;
· Your eyes are permanently crossed from trying to look at all directions simultaneously;
· You feel permanently high.

I have to say: it was a truly amazing experience.

2003-06-16T14:19:00.000-07:00

On Being in Bangkok. Part II.
The Heaven and Hell of Shopping.

“Hello Sir! Do you want underpants?” - this question asked from a side of a very busy street packed with sellers caught me by surprise. How do you answer such question when it is long past midnight, you’ve been walking for hours and the only thought on your mind is a bed at the hotel? “May be later” – is as good way as any of saying NO. It does not deter street-sellers from trying. In Bangkok they are everywhere.

Walking anywhere one has to negotiate his way through the maze of tables, booths, and carts with right about anything being sold. The myriad of sellers does not decrease cleanliness of the place. I would not say Bangkok is spotless, but it is certainly surprisingly clean considering the amount of street trade.

Things that one should not miss when going street shopping are: food, CDs, ‘designer’ handbags, and watches. Street food is cheap and delicious. Fried or baked fish, chicken, chicken sate (10 bat for 3 sticks), juice, fresh fruits are the absolute minimum one has to try. I also found that, apparently, there is food I can’t eat: fried cockroaches. There is a limit to how adventurous I am. Though people seemed to enjoy them very much – crunching fried insects like Russians crunch their sunflower or pumpkin seeds.

CDs are another ‘not-to-miss’ item. You can buy any (and I mean ANY) music CD, software, movie video CD (to play on your computer), or DVD. There is a shopping mall in the middle of the city where hundreds of sellers offer anything you want – just ask. I always had rather uncertain attitude towards pirated stuff. On the one hand, the creators of the software, music, movies, etc, should get paid for their work. On the other hand, can you afford to pay few hundreds and often thousands of dollars for software you need? Should a music CD really cost 25 dollars when you like only one song from it? Would you resist temptation of buying DVD with a movie that has not been released in North America yet? Well, to make the story short – Bangkok (as well as the rest of Asia) is a heaven for pirated CD shopping. I have to say, that it is a heaven for a legal CD shopping as well, as even copyrighted CDs and DVDs cost significantly less compare to the identical product in North America or the UK.

The third shopping item is ‘the designer’ handbags (and other designer things). As we were told on multiple occasions: it is ‘the original copy’. The quality of a product is often identical to the quality of copied original as many of Thai factories simply sell the additional product after supplying the foreign companies. Louis Vuitton, Fendi, etc bags and purses are sold on every corner. I did not buy one as I found one very lovely, original, purse by local Thai designer with the price tag of only 10 dollars.

Watches are another product susceptible to ‘the original copy’ shopping. You can find really ANY watch you want. Walking through the market we stopped to check the Rolex watches. As we tried to leave the table we were stopped short by the offer of a seller that if we don’t like anything on the table he can get us ANY other watch from the Rolex catalogue for the same price (about 30 dollars) within 5 minutes. He produced an original, about inch-thick, Rolex catalogue. We did not buy any Rolex watch there, even after the price dropped from 1500 bat to 300, but if we wanted we could have found any (or at least nearly any) brand in existence. As for quality, those who remember my Casio watch – it’s been more that a year and it still works just fine.

Bangkok is a heaven for any kind of shopping – nearly any European designer has an outlet here, as well as many great Asian designers. It is a paradise for anyone with size below British 12. For those of us whose waistlines are sufficiently wider, shopping opportunities become severely limited. Most of my shopping attempts consisted from one line: “Do you have ANYTHING that will fit me?” The only section of the mall (and I am talking about huge six or eight store shopping mall) where I could buy any clothing was special ‘tourist’ section: those brightly coloured pants and skirts that allow spotting a tourist from a kilometre away. I was not that desperate. (Plus, I already had enough of that stuff from India). However, the absence of appropriate sizes does not mean that ‘people with body’ can’t get dressed nicely. Tailoring is accessible and comparatively affordable. The quality is great and speed of work is fantastic. One of the things I love about ‘third world’ (I so detests this term) is the availability of personal services. Tailoring is one of them.

Another important moment about shopping in Bangkok (or on any other ‘third world’ country) you have to shop where local people shop, and not to do so in tourist areas. The purse that I bought in an overheated maze at a weekend market for 500 bat was displayed with the price tag of 3000 bat at the airport. Secondly, even moderate bargaining generally reduces price to one third of the original. Though it depends on many other factors. In short, to anyone going to Bangkok I recommend going with an empty suitcase: you’ll have enough chances to fill it.

2003-06-09T14:52:00.000-07:00

On Being in Bangkok.
Please Pay your Respects to His Majesty the King.

I thought long and hard how to name this story. I narrowed it down to two lines each of them containing the sole of Bangkok. The first one, the one I ended up choosing is a phrase I heard at a Thai movie theatre. Sitting in a comfy soft chars enjoying our popcorn and coke we were stunned to be greeted by soft hymn. The movie screen kept showing photos of the Thai king and the Royal couple: “Please, pay your respects to his majesty the King”. Every single person in a theatre was up standing for about 5 minutes the music played. There were no enforcers. I can’t imagine anyone in North America for whom every person in a movie theatre would leave his popcorn and stand for 5 minutes, maybe the Pope or Archbishop Tutu. Maybe - being a key word.

The amazing amount respect shown by people of Thailand to their king is entirely genuine. The central street features huge portraits of the king and the queen. My mind kept supplying the visions of Lenin statues that used to litter main squares of all Russian cities, but the awe in the voice of the tour guide kept overriding it. Driving through the wide avenue he kept showing us the portraits of a King. A normal bespectacled guy in a suit holding a photo camera was looking from the portrait at the traffic around.

It is hard to imagine the Queen of England dressed up in a normal dress holding a camera. The King of Thailand is presented as people’s king. He is not a part of history. He is a part of normal everyday life of Thai people. He is a keeper of balance, of stability, of unity of Thailand. He deserves the respect shown to him by his people.

2003-06-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

Indian Snippets

Going through my notes on trip to India, I found two little snippets that never made it to the adventure stories. Hence, this little addition:

(1) I got bitten by an ant. The bite became red and sore and itchy. In addition to sympathy and soothing cream, I got lectured for ‘wondering around in tropical jungles’. The upsetting part of it is that all ‘wondering’ I did was walking about seven meters from the house in a back yard!

(2) Driving in the night we saw two twinkling red lights at a very strange height. Moving closer we found two elephants walking peacefully along the highway slowly waving their tails with bicycle light reflectors attached to them.

2003-06-04T14:20:00.000-07:00

On Leaving India

Deciding on a return flight had proven complicated. The SARS reports on TV had pushed us to avoid Singapore and look for another way to fly to Bangkok. With rather limited choices available from Kerala, we picked Sri Lankan Airlines. It was the cheapest ticket costing us about half of the cost of Air India or Indian Airlines flights to Thailand. In addition, Sri Lankan Airlines gave us all expenses paid stopover in Colombo. Our 22 hour break between flight was classified us a technical break. The airline has offered to pay for a hotel, drive to the hotel and back, and food. It sounded like a good deal, and it was.

But before getting to Sri Lanka we encountered one of the longest security checks at Thrivandram airport. Apparently, due to the long-standing conflict with Tamil Tigers, the flight to Colombo is considered to be a high risk. Remembering that Colombo airport had been bombed not that long ago, I did not protest (much).

It took only three scans of luggage, two body searches (one at the airport and another at the entrance to the plane), and two times opening the hand luggage (one at the airport, and another again at the door of the plane). Poor security officer at the airport: he had no idea what the metal chain belt is.

Flying toward equator I was thinking of India. It is a country of opportunity. Life there is booming. Hotels in Kerala are growing like mushrooms after the rain. New bridges link islands around Cochin making travel faster and easier. Four lane highways and finally (and hopefully) subsiding labour troubles are slowly attracting business.

Unfortunately, labour troubles are still there. Couple of years ago the High Court of Kerala banned bandh – lively practice of threatening businesses into shutting down for a strike. This popular among various groups practice includes closing down national highways, shops, services, etc. The joy of business owners was not long-lived. The practice was reborn with minor modifications under the name of hartal.

The labour practices are not the only thing harming business. For all its active investor-aimed marketing, government of Kerala had managed to add its share of ‘support’. On the 1st of April hotels greeted us with depressed signs “Sale of alcohol is prohibited on a first day of every month by the decision of Kerala government. Please, bear with us”. After Ukraine, it was rather painful to find out that beer is an alcoholic drink and, therefore, is not served. Memories of drinking beer in the middle of Independence Square of Kyiv earned Ukraine a brownie point.

Nevertheless, things are happening. There is so much of life in the air you feel dizzy from the sensory overload.

P.S. I have to make a special note of appreciation to the Sri Lankan Airlines. They were good. The hotel in Colombo was very nice. Everything was well organized. It is surely an airline I would fly again. Did I mention it was half price of Air India?

2003-05-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

On Temples and Elephants

Due to the cancellation of the trip to India by my friend, I did not have any special sightseeing plans for my time in India. 'Taking easy' was the motto. Taking easy in my case, normally, is sightseeing or 'seeing temples and relatives'. Fortunately, April is a month of temple festivals, so one does not need to leave the home to see god. During a temple festival, god or his image leaves his temple for a visit to all houses in his area. The idea is that the whole year people come to the house of god, but once a year god comes to each house. He comes on an elephant accompanied by priests and musicians. Its image and an elephant all dressed up in flower garlands and gold. Each house fills the basket with grain for the elephant and each member of the household puts money in a special vessel (for that I was given a two-rupee coin).

A journey of god out of his temple is a colorful, somewhat pompous but very honest affair (reminds Russian icon-carrying processions, a lot like "Krestovi xod"). Since people don't have too much of entertainment here, a temple festival becomes a big event for the community with music, dances, performances, and food, while still maintaining religious significance.

The day after my arrival the big temple nearby had been completing its festival. Ambalapuzha temple is a home of Krishna who leaves his temple for ten days a year. Elephants carry him from his home temple to another temple where he takes a ritual bath in a temple's pond. The last night of the festival the elephants carry him back to his home. The journey takes all night not because of the distance. The procession stops every few meters where dancing, singing and praying continues, moves few meters and stops again. Five placid elephants walking in one line occupy half of the width of the national highway. Accompanied by priest and a drum-beating musicians, they seem to be oblivious to the world and to the surrounding cacophony. Sweet smell of incense, burning coconut oil and elephant dung fills the air. The night air is hot and humid. It seems you can feel the heavy torrents of smell drifting and mixing around you. You feel like you are walking on the bottom of the ocean, water is all around and envelops you. Fine buzz of insects cannot be heard from behind the noise of drums and people. The crowd is making its own buzz reminiscent of a bee-hive. The torrents of people move around in an ocean of sweet smells of Indian night.

Among the crowd there is a police coordinating the traffic. After all, it is a national highway. Passing trucks and car slow down regardless of the police to pay their respects to Krishna.

I get dressed in a traditional Kerala saree – white with a golden stripe – and join the crowd in a company of my husband and his parents. We go through the crowd of mostly males the majority of whom look like they have nothing better to do in life than hang out with their friends. Further research suggests that this is not the case. They are just guys who are out for an occasion having fun with their friends. Elephants keep walking indifferently on a highway along the path marked by the coconut-oil-burning lamps. Each lamp is put by the one or the other household. Priests keep pouring coconut oil in lamps. The coconut oil is paid for by devotees as an offering to god. We walk all the way to the final destination of the procession, the Ambalapuzha temple. All along the path, 3 or 4 kilometers, there are offerings of bananas, grain, oil, etc., in front of brightly decorated houses with every member of the household sitting on a front porch waiting for the arrival of the god to their gate. With every other house blearing its own music through the loudspeaker.

The temple itself looks like a center of carnival. Right beside the entrance a concert of traditional music is happening with people listening to the performance while waiting for the arrival of the elephants. At that point they still had to wait for another 4-5 hours to the elephants to complete their 3-kilometer journey. Inside the temple is dark and peaceful. The huge pond lies quietly in the night mirroring the light coconut lamps.

According to the legend the king ordered an idol to be brought to his palace. At some point the carriers of the idol put it down to have a rest. By the time the people rested the idol became so heavy that they could not lift it. The priests suggested that Krishna has chosen the place where he wants to sit. The king wisely elected to build the temple at that place.

Ambalapuzha temple is not only famous for its idol but even more so for it rose payasam – desert-like drink made of milk, sugar, rice, cashew nuts and cardamom boiled over a very long period of time. It is truly divine as its temple festival.

P.S. Apparently, there were local TV crews filming the event. I've been told that they followed us for awhile. Not every day you find a white girl wandering in the middle of the night at a temple festival in a white sari.

Guruvayoor. On elephants and temples.

My exposure to Kerala temples would not have been complete without a trip to Guruvayoor. Krishna temple in this town follows the tradition of not allowing certain people to enter it. In this case the singled out for non-entry group is non-Hindus. By definition if you are white – you are non-Hindu. "Some animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than the others." There is some complicated procedure to gain access to the temple, but without it nothing can persuade the priests to allow a foreigner to enter. I was warned in advance, so I did not bother embarrassing myself by trying to get in. It is not a first time that I was not allowed to a temple in Kerala on the basis on my skin color/religion.

Guruvayoor is a famous pilgrimage center with its Krishna temple drawing scores of devotees. According to the legend, Shiva freed his place to let Krishna to have his temple there. The Shiva temple is just a kilometer away from Krishna temple and it has no limitations on foreigner entrance.

Guruvayoor was full of people. It is a place full of hotels and sellers. All life of the city revolves around temple. Among the hundreds of people wondering around I have not met a single foreigner for two days we were there. I can't recall any other place where I have been stared at that much.

There is a big roofed space in front of the temple. People sit and sleep there. One end of it is the stage. Every day there are speeches, dances, and music happening. I've been told that in order to graduate from, for example, dancing school one must perform on that stage in front of god and all the people. During the night many people who cannot afford a hotel sleep under that roof.

Town of Guruvayoor is also famous for its popadams – dry bread things that get crunchy after being deep-fried. I ventured out on my own while Manoj went to the temple to do a bit of popadams' shopping. Outside the temple I got accosted by few Tamil girls – I have never seen a mallu (Kerala person) begging on the street. All beggars I've seen in Kerala are not local (no offence, just an observation).Being in India (or in Ukraine) teaches not to take human suffering close to heart. You can't help everyone. Giving money to a street child in India can be embarrassing if not outright dangerous. The minute the kids see money in your hand, you will be surrounded by a crown of them, all asking for money.

With the help of my non-existent Malayalam I got my 'uru musambi juisse' (one orange juice). Malayalam is the language of Kerala. It borrowed many English words. Many of these borrowed words get modified in a very particular way: the last consonant gets longer and firmer. For example, glass becomes 'glaSS', car – 'caRR', etc. Sometimes I could get away by using English word modified this way to make myself understood.

The trip to Guruvayoor would not have been complete without visiting the elephants. Two-kilometer drive outside the town brought us to a place where all temple elephants are kept – all 62 of them. In the middle of the territory we found a 600-year old house with carvings. It used to house a family of 65, and now being converted into museum. Its old kitchen is still being used for preparation of food and aurvedic medicine for elephants. One of the keepers giving us a tour of the facilities showed the rice soup being made for a very old elephant who lost his teeth to age.

In Guruvayoor I saw more elephants than during my whole prior life. Some of them were working on clearing the woods, but mainly they earn money by being attraction for the tourists. The keeping conditions could be better, but they are certainly better than conditions in a zoo.

I never knew that there are many different types of elephants: long legged from Indian North, short and cute from Assam, medium size with big floppy ears from Kerala.

Before leaving we complemented on a beautiful frescoes in the old house. "Those are new", told us our guide with pride, "Made them for a movie. It is very popular place for movies". I just hope they did not forget to mention this fact to the BBC TV crew that was suppose to shoot a documentary there or the new legend will be born.

2003-04-08T12:02:00.000-07:00

On War versus Cricket

After long and tiring journey I had finally reached my destination. India greeted me with pleasantly deserted streets – the final match between India and Australia in World Cricket Cup was just beginning. To remind you a friend who was supposed to be coming with me cancelled at the last moment. Many more people did the same due to the fear of war and growing anti-American sentiments. At the moment of my arrival the only anti sentiment was anti-Australian: they were beating India. The whole family of friends with whom we were staying was glued to the TV screen, which gave me a chance to sleep. When Australians score when above 300, I was waken up by our hostess: "I can't watch it any longer. Sachin Tendulkar is out. Our only hope is rain. If it starts they will cancel today's score and there will be rematch tomorrow. Let's go shopping."

The streets were still relatively empty save for a few very upset people who, like us, tried to drown they sorrow in shopping and groups of men sitting in a tight circle in front of the small TV-sets placed on the sidewalk. Some were praying. "Don't laugh. There are at least half a billion people in this country who are praying for a rain in Johannesburg right now". Then, when we were inside one of the stores, someone told the rain had begun, people started hug each other and jump with joy. Unfortunately, rain did not last long enough to stop the game. India had lost the game.

Indians are passionate about cricket as much as Brazilians about football (if not more). The government had promised tax exemptions to all cricket players, who are among the most known and rich people in India. Cricket matches between India and Pakistan induce such emotions among fans that till recently their matches had to be played in Toronto. When India beat Pakistan during this year's World Cup the celebrations were bigger than Diwali. I've been told that the sky was lit with fireworks and crackers all over the country.

Remembering fears of my friends in Kyiv about how the war would affect traveling to India, all I could think when boarding the train: who cares about war when India is playing cricket?!

On Traveling in India

Well, there are three modes of transportation I am going to touch: a train, a plane, and a car. I had never taken a bus in India, so I can't say much about it. Flying in India is expensive and it is an understatement. The cost of flight from Kochi to Delhi is 14,000 rupees (300 US dollars) one way. Indian nationals can receive a discount by buying the tickets 21 day in advance and, thus, decreasing the price to 8,000 rupees. Foreign nationals are deprived of that option. Flight from Kochi to Bombay is 7,000 rupees one way. The cost of train between these two cities is 3,000 rupees. Feel the difference. So, the majority of people prefer to use the train. As a proper Indian couple, we boarded the super-fast, super-lux. I took one like that before. Apparently, I had forgotten that the best Indian "super-lux, super-fast" is remarkably similar to the third class trains ("platskart") in Ukraine. The most memorable impression about Indian trains is overchillied monotonous food. It reminded me of an old Russian joke: newly married daughter calls her mother: "Mom, what do you do with lunch if daddy does not want to eat it?". "I give it to him for dinner, dear". I also can't forget the curtains instead of the door and tons of mosquitoes. If anyone had a good dinner it was mosquitoes – my blood must have tasted like a delicacy. On a positive note: my husband promised that we are not going to repeat this adventure any time soon. He suffered even more than I did from the whole "taking a train adventure".

Driving in India deserves its own story. I might write more about it later, but I am trying to just give some highlights of my current journey right now and I really can't avoid writing a few words about it. When I first time came to Paris, my immediate impression was: "It is Delhi minus caws". Well, any big city in India is Paris plus cows, people, dogs, other assorted animals, rickshaws, trucks, and any other imaginable types of moving vehicles. The new Kochi-Trivandrum four-lane highway is full of all of the above-mentioned. Local people continue to treat that National Highway (as any other tar road) as an old village pathway. I've been told that in Bangkok the government installs a tall fence to prevent people from crossing the highways. I've been also told that this idea would be impossible in India due to the distances. As far as I can see, the amount spent on kickbacks to politicians and trade unions, and on overpayment to contractors would have been sufficient to build a fence as well as pedestrian crossings. The Indian Times wrote an article "Blood on the Roads" calling all drivers to follow the rules. I personally believe that the pedestrians should follow the rules as well. Another Russian joke comes to mind: "I haven't bought a car yet, but I already hate pedestrians". On a positive note, Kerala drives have significantly reduced the amount of honking. I also have seen some road police. I haven't seen them giving a speed ticket to anyone, but their presence makes the drivers more cautious.

A bicycle, as well as a scooter, is a family vehicle. A family of four can travel on one: elder child right after the wheel, than father who is doing actual driving, behind him the mother holding the younger child. This arrangement of people can be encountered happily driving in an opposite direction on a highway. I guess it is for them there is a sign - "Left is Right".

To conclude today's edition of "My Adventures":

You know that you are in Kerala when:

* You park your car in an "Infant Jesus Parking Lot" (Infant Jesus seems to be very popular out here. I have also encountered Infant Jesus Medicals and Infant Jesus Public School.)
* The only gym in town has a sign "Swami's (bachelor's) gym: body massaging and vibrating motor"
* Every hundred meters you see sign "Kalla. Toddy shop" (kalla or toddy is local alcoholic drink made from coconut sap). That sign is a first written sign in Malayalam any visitor learns to recognize.
* Every third hut advertises itself as a Computer Institute
* Every other palm tree has a red flag tied to it
* Every other evening you find group of males yelling something unintelligible in the load-speakers so loudly that you wonder why does the sound wave not break the windows. (Usually it is some sort of political rally going on)
* Every first day of the month you can't buy alcohol because government declared it 'a dry day' (to the annoyance of tourists and hotels)
* One of the most popular local dishes is beef chilly (Cow is a holy animal for Hindus)
* A temple has no problem playing songs by a Christian singer but would not allow him to enter the temple because he is not of Hindu religion.

2003-03-30T04:26:00.000-08:00

On Capitalism in Ukraine: the Rant

Last weeks in Ukraine have been filled with work, partying, and last-minute running around. As a result, I did not have a chance to write some thoughts on my experience being in Ukraine that I planned to write a while ago. I am doing it now. This part of "My Adventures in Ukraine" is not supposed to be funny. It is written in a rant mode. It is a free flow of my thoughts and observations on modern Ukraine and changes brought by perestroika.

When former Soviet Union republics embraced capitalism the leaders of the Soviet Union had no idea what they were doing. When Gorbachev started the perestroika, all he knew that the country couldn't go on like that. Something needed to be done. He thought that small cosmetic changes would do the trick. He was so wrong. One stone thrown in the dunghill of Soviet economy left us all in a lot of dung. No one knew what to do and where to go. All we knew that "we want changes". When someone asks me what the perestroika is for me, I always remember Viktor Tsoi's concert in Moscow in 1988 (or maybe it was 1990) and thousands of people singing with him: "Our hearts demand changes. Our eyes demand changes. In our laughter, in our tears, in the pulse in our veins there are changes. We wait changes." This song symbolizes the perestroika for me. We knew we wanted something to change – we did not know what.

After the launch of perestroika, Soviet Union as a country began to stumble somewhere in an unfamiliar future. We could see other countries on TV but we knew very little about them. We wanted to build capitalism and democracy from scratch without having a history of building them and without knowing what they are. When I left Russia in 1997, I could already see that what is being born here is not what capitalism and democracy is in the West. The little mutants of democracy and capitalism born in the former Soviet Union had little in common with what the West expected us to produce.

Coming to Ukraine in 2002 I found the more or less developed forms of so-called post-perestroika democracy and capitalism. What I see here scares me. The capitalism in modern Ukraine as it is in modern Russia exists in its most vicious form where everything has monetary value. Everything has a price tag and can be bought and sold, and is being bought and sold. I AM exaggerating to make a point, but the reality is so close to the exaggeration it is heartbreaking. Nowhere else the transition from the poor but more or less equal state to lawlessness combined with a huge gap between rich and poor was so fast and so apparent.

People feel their powerlessness in everyday life. They do not live; they exist. Amartya Sen's theories of human development make painful sense here. People need choice, need the ability to realize their dreams. Here to realize your dream you often have to step over your principles. I could not deal with it. The country of Leo Tolstoy and Dostoevsky is gone. The newborn mutant is ruff, rude, vicious, street-smart, initiative, inventive, and agile. It will do anything to realize the promise of better life brought by perestroika.

It is very visible when looking at service industry. The service industry in the West is interested in your money, but they want to provide you with something in return. They provide you service for money. In Ukraine, the service industry is interested in your money. Period. They are interested in providing you with as little service as possible for your money, and best with providing you with no service. Cheating is a praised trait – it is called inventiveness. You are a hero if you find a way of skimming money off someone.

To illustrate my point I want to tell a story of my friend getting sick in Ukraine. After coming back home from Canada she got a flu and since she does not speak either Russian or Ukrainian she asked me to help her to call the doctor. I had no idea what we are getting ourselves into. After the first visit from a doctor she got medications against cold, but two days later she was getting significantly worse, and we had to call the doctor again. First of all, each visit costs 100 US dollars. The medical center sent 4 (!!) doctors to examine her one after another "to make sure the diagnosis is correct". They wanted to put her in a hospital. Terrified, she refused and she was getting medical attention at home. Every day they would tell her horror stories about how dangerous her "disease" is and that she really needs to see another doctor/ to do another tests/ to do another injection etc. – and obviously to pay for each of it. I was in the middle of it – feeling that half of it is not needed, but being afraid to refuse in case I am wrong and it is needed. Thank god our medical insurance covers it, but there is no way local person can afford the medical treatment. When I read the statistics about the decrease in life span of local people, I can understand why. One of the reasons is the poverty of state-run medical system and absence of affordable private medical care. It might be better in Kyiv but outside of it the free medical care does not exist at all.

When my grand father had to have an operation, the family had to pay for every little thing used in the operation – for cotton pads, for gloves, for doctors' time, syringes – everything. My relatives were telling me that the nurses sell part of the things people pay for to have an operation to substitute their income. My relatives had to come to the hospital everyday to bring food and to feed my grandfather, to bring and change the bed sheets, to wash him etc. The nurses would not do anything. I would really like not to get ill in Ukraine. I can't really blame nurses and doctors for trying to make money from desperate people, they also have families to feed. The bleak reality breads the vicious circle of survival. Darwinism has prevailed in the former Soviet Union – "survival of the fittest" is the way of life.

When I was writing a final report to the organization managing our internship, there was a question on how my personal views changed after being here. All I can say, that if anything, I appreciate Canada a lot more. It might be less adventurous and a bit boring, but the education is good and the medical services are free and accessible. The social infrastructure is developed. One can live normal life in Canada even if one is not rich. One can live normal life in Ukraine only by getting an expat salary and only in Kyiv. Outside is a murky world, which I don't understand and I don't belong to. I had a great time in Kyiv getting my relatively comfortable living allowance, hanging out with other expats, and knowing that I will be gone from here in 6 months. I don't want to be an ordinary Ukrainian. Getting miserable salary of less that 100 dollars a month, being helpless from government abuse, being harassed every time I want to travel abroad.

There is almost no chance for a single Ukrainian girl to go abroad – she will be branded a prostitute and denied visa on the spot without explanation and reason. I have seen a number of people who were. A friend was trying to get a visa to visit another friend in Germany – she had to bring the documents that she is leaving a 1-year-old son; that she has a job, an apartment, a husband, a mother, a cat, and a university to return to. And it still took her number of trips to the German embassy standing in line on the street waiting to get in, than returning for the interview, being harassed just for wanting to get a five-day visa to visit her friend who invited her. I am glad I have a Canadian passport. All I need is to buy a ticket.

The further writings are the somewhat-modified parts from my final report to our Canadian organization.

On the Reverse Culture Shock

Going to Ukraine I experienced something that can be described as Reverse Culture Shock. It is expected that the interns will have one going back to Canada, but I had one coming here. Having lived in Canada for last 5 years, I had already forgotten how complicated life could be. It is very easy to take for granted the pleasures of life such as hot water and heating. It was very stressful to be back to the post-soviet lifestyle and mentality. I appreciate Canada more now than before this internship.

On the Language Issue

As a person who was born and grew up in the former Soviet Union I did not expect to have any problems coming back to one of the former Soviet republics or to have any difficulty in adjusting to life in Ukraine. There were many things I did not expect.

Russian is my mother tongue. It is different from Ukrainian. When I was a child, Soviet Union was still in place and Russian language was dominating throughout the country. After the independence there has been a revival of Ukrainian language. I read about it, but I did not expect to see the extent of this revival.

Surprisingly, the language presented a problem. Since the majority of local people grow up with good knowledge of both, Russian and Ukrainian, languages, they often do not understand that someone who speaks Russian might not be able to understand Ukrainian. While Russian remains the main language of every day life in Kyiv, Ukrainian is the language of the official communication. It is the language of all official documents, media, and pubic officials.

On What I Actually Did in My Placement

Overall, I have been participating mostly in the research and analytical work. My research activities have been concentrating in a new (for the Project) development areas: cooperatives, grain marketing, retail and wholesale markets, and weather-based index insurance.

With regard to research questions, I have been mostly working with, and under supervision of, the Regional Deputy Manager and with the Marketing and Supply Chain Development Specialists. With the Marketing and Supply Chain Specialist I worked for the Grain Marketing Seminar where I presented the Canadian grain marketing system.

My analytical work has been mostly supervised by the Monitoring and Analysis Specialist. I participated in the organization of the in-house Consumers’ Behavior Survey and in the analysis of its results. I also contributed to the analysis of the results of the Marketing Survey done by Ukrainian Marketing Group for the Project. The list of the respondents of this Survey has included a wide specter of agribusinesses such as processors and sellers of agricultural products. I presented the section on the sellers of fresh and processed agricultural products (supermarkets, grocery stores and wholesale markets) at the Project’s presentation of the results of the Survey to Ukrainian journalists, representatives of businesses and government officials.

In addition, I participated in various activities of the Project such as the Green Tourism Seminar and visits of foreign experts. Moreover, I have been included in all internal project activities such as “Marketing in Agriculture” training organized for the Project by the International Institute of Business and the Project's Retreat workshop. From the beginning I have been treated as a part of the team and have been included in all aspects of work and social life of the Project.

Conclusion

The past seven months I have been enjoying Kyiv and my internship there. It has been challenging and exciting. I am sad to move on. Kyiv is a nice to live in and it is always hard to move once you get settled and comfortable somewhere. I am happy to reunite with my husband again even though I have no idea what lays ahead. Whatever new adventures my life brings I will keep you posted.

2003-02-27T01:13:00.000-08:00

On Going Out in Kyiv. Part II.

Few days after the party I received a phone call: “Did you see today’s What’s on? NO??!! Just look at the page 38! Better yet, let me read it …”.

“Kyiv’s romantics were out in force this past Friday to celebrate 14 February; St. Valentine’s day … Highlights included an A-list party down at Nobel restaurant...” (What’s On, No.6, 21-27 February 2003, p. 38). There was a picture of that guy in an emerald green shirt – apparently he is some famous DJ!

Well, I guess we picked the right party to celebrate our Valentine’s day.

2003-02-19T03:34:00.000-08:00

On Going Out in Kyiv or
The Party Where We Were Not Supposed To Be

Friday night February 14 – the day dreaded by all single people – the Valentine's Day. In Kyiv I have two good friends. Two of us are temporary 'single' with our significant others not being currently present in Ukraine. The third friend has declared that she will not allow us to sulk in private, and we will have our own party. Thus, all dressed in clubbing gear we assembled at her place. Our planned point of destination was club "Opium", where we planned to go numerous times but have never made it yet.

At 11 p.m. we decided that it is too early to go to a club, so we first should go to a bar. Last week we went to this new bar/restaurant, "Nobel". With its stylish design and a cocktail menu it has a very London/New York feel to it. When we arrived there, it looked nothing like a quiet bar where we had our cocktails a week before. The first giveaway was a mob of people trying to get in. After just paying for a cab we did not feel like going somewhere else, so we used our secret weapon.

Side-note: all clubs, bars, pubs, etc. in Kyiv exercise a 'face control'. Essentially, it means that if the bloke (sorry, the bouncer) at the entrance does not like your face he would tell you that the place is closed for a 'private party' and would not let you in. This problem is normally solved by (1) speaking English only, (2) sending a cute looking female to negotiate a passage for herself and her friends.

The big mob getting ready to storm the place and the big bloke at the door suggested that we are not going to get in without negotiations, so we send a friend (our secret weapon) who had the highest chance of succeeding to do so (meaning: good-looking female, native English speaker). The rest of us were blending in the background. She has been told that the place is closed for a private party, but after a bit of smiling she got an admission for all of us. The easiness with which we were allowed to get in should have cautioned us.

After having our cocktails and dancing we started looking around … At that point we realized that it was indeed a private party, and it was an invitation-only for a reason. First of all, we were the only North Americans. We found few Europeans: few Italians, couple of friends from one of the European embassies who got the invitation through some friends, couple of Croatians, but no North Americans.

There were a lot of 'weird' people with very strange dress-sense, like one guy wearing an emerald green silk shirt and golden boots. Remember Goldmember from the James Bond movie? That is exactly how he looked like. There was another woman who deserves a few lines for her outfit. She without hesitation gets an award for the weirdest costume I have seen in Kyiv. The first thing, which attracted our attention, was the red faux-fur skirt, very short with zigzag hem. She was also wearing mid-thigh high black pointy stiletto boots. There was also some sort of sweater with lots of holes in it. Her hair were done with pressed stars (like she used a curler presser with star shape). And she has a fur handbag.

The other strange thing was a number of cute looking Ukrainian men. Ukrainian men are generally not good-looking. But there were a lot of cute Ukrainian men in that bar. There were quite a few gay people. All people new each other. There were muscular somberly dressed men inconspicuously standing here and there not moving throughout the whole evening. There were number of people under the influence of drugs. At some point a friend suggested that we should not leave our drinks unattended at any time (just in case if it gets spiked).

Ukrainian women do have a tendency to look trashy. Not all of them do, but a fair share. Some foreigners first coming here think that they all prostitutes. It is not true. Many of them just don't know where to stop cutting their skirts. But after being here for some time, one begins to spot representatives of the ancient profession, and I am not talking about journalists. At this party, there were a lot of prostitutes and they did not look cheap.

In a few hours we decided that we've got enough and got ready to leave only to find out that the exit door is locked and the guy guarding it does not have a key. He called someone to open the door, but it still took a few minutes for the key to arrive. The door was immediately relocked once we left. Outside the police guarded the door. There was still a mob trying to get in. The sidewalk nearby was covered with parked cars the majority of which were new Mercedes and BMW brands. It very much looked like we spend our time out at the coolest party in town.

Overall, the party at "Nobel" got the following awards:
(1) the highest number of prostitutes per square metre
(2) the highest amount of money (men with money) per square metre
(3) the highest number of good-looking Ukrainian men in the same time and space.
(4) the highest number of weirdoes per square metre on any party I have been in Kyiv.

We had a good time, but we left with the impression that we've been at the party where we were not supposed to be.

2003-02-17T07:06:00.000-08:00

On Indian Visas. Part II.

I wish I did not have to write the part two of this story, but I am not that lucky. Jumping to the conclusion: I did get the 6-month multiple entry visa. Halleluiah!

Coming back to the beginning or, to be precise, morning Friday 14th of February: According to the website of the Embassy of India in Kyiv , it suppose to work from 10.30 to 12.30 p.m. Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We arrived at 11.35 at the door of the Embassy. We rang a bell since it is normally locked. The door guy informed us that the embassy is already closed for visitors. Indeed there was a schedule taped to the door informing that visitors’ hours are till 11.30. Hence, we need to come back on Monday. After seeing our puppy eyes, the door guy deign to concede our plea to, at least, look if our visas are actually ready. After looking at our receipts he declared that it is CLEARLY written on the receipt that we suppose to come back at 5 p.m. None of us guessed that the little hieroglyph in the corner of the receipt meant 5 p.m. Personally, I thought it was some sign in Hindi ‘for internal use only’. Apparently, it meant 5 p.m. The help from the door guy ended at this point. At least he was nice to mention that one of us can pick up all passports if she has the receipt. Since two of us had to go back to work (we actually have to take time off work to go to the embassy, if you did not guess), the third friend went at five to get the passports. Since it does not say when she has to be there (like from 4 to 5 or from 5 to 5.30 or anything of the sort), we suggested her to be there precisely at 5 p.m. Unfortunately, the place is rather remote and she got 15 minutes late getting there. The embassy was deserted. Fortunately, she was able to persuade the door guy to call an officer dealing with visas and get our passports. Surprisingly, the date on all of them is actually 5th of February!!! They were ready 10 days before we went to the embassy for our passports. No one called us to inform about it.

Well, I am glad that I got at least this visa. I’ve heard about some Canadian guy who was refused Indian visa in Ukraine and had to go to Canada in order to go to India for vacation with his girlfriend.

P.S. I’ve been watching wonderful advertisement of Indian government on the BBC news promoting Indian tourism. Organizing the work of Indian embassies abroad would have done a lot more for promotion of Indian tourism, ‘cause I would have rather gone to Thailand if it weren’t for my family in India.

2003-02-17T06:32:00.000-08:00

On Current Activities

I have been concentrating on venting off on specific topics and left out the actual updates on what I am doing these days.

My internship project has picked up nicely. I am writing part of the report on the results of an all-Ukraine survey my organization did in December. It is really big and very interesting project with lots of data. I will present the results of the part of the survey related to the food sellers (supermarkets, wholesale markets, and grocery stores in Ukraine) to the journalists.

I am also doing an on-line course with the World Bank on corporate social responsibility. I wish I would have done that course last year when I was writing my dissertation. Doing this course I found a lot of new and interesting information that would have made my dissertation better. I guess better later than never.

2003-02-12T08:09:00.000-08:00

On Indian Visas and Ultimate Bureaucracy

Background: My husband is from India. His parents still live there. I have been in India four times. I have traveled a lot when I had my Russian passport, I still travel a lot with my Canadian passport.

Out of my prior experience getting Indian visa is one of the most unpleasant and difficult things to do, regardless of the passport one is traveling with. They do give you a visa, but they will make you suffer. It is most surprising considering all the effort of Indian government aimed at increasing inflow of tourists in India.

The major reason for a miserable way the Indian embassies treat people is the policy that if a person wants to get visa in a country that is not a country of his citizenship, the Indian embassy in the country of his/her citizenship should issue a permission to issue visa to this individual. I spend last 6 or 7 years not living in a country of my citizenship, whatever it was or is at a particular point in time. Therefore, every time I apply for Indian visa I have to go through the ordeal of one Indian embassy trying to get in touch with another Indian embassy to get the permission to issue a visa.

A side note: Indian embassy in London is a pleasant exception. It is one of the most organized and efficient embassies, even considering the huge line up one has to go through to get in.

My husband used to take care of this inter-embassy communications or, to be precise, miscommunications between Indian consulate in Toronto and Indian embassy in Moscow. As a general rule, Indian consulate in Toronto did not have a right fax number, or it would not check if Moscow receives the request; Indian embassy in Moscow had fax in a different building than the person who was needed to reply for that fax, the fax would get lost somewhere on the way, etc … Both times I applied for visa in Toronto, it ended with my husband sitting for two or three nights (don’t forget the time difference between Moscow and Toronto) on the phone figuring out the person responsible and coordinating the process of getting the clearance for my visa. By the way, I am talking about normal 6 months tourist visa out here. My husband actually made a friend in Indian embassy in Moscow this way. The second time I applied for visa in Canada, this fact made our lives much easier.

Coming back to why this theme came up in “My Adventures in Ukraine” series. I can’t handle this freezing winter any longer, so at the end of my internship I decided to go to India. Couple of weeks ago two of my friends and I went to the Indian embassy in Ukraine to apply for visas.

On a negative note: the embassy is located in the middle of nowhere very far from the center.

On a positive note: taxis in Ukraine are comparatively cheap.

On a positive note: the line up was very short.

On a negative note: they send us to find a Xerox to make a copy of our passports. How difficult would it be to actually write that you need a copy of a passport on a website of the embassy? Apparently, Indian embassy can’t possible find a web specialist to add one line of plain text to its website.

On a positive note: the bookshop nearby decided to make some money and bought a Xerox. A woman making our copies told us that the embassy got “very arrogant and mean” and they will “drink our blood” before issuing our visa. Direct translation from Russian often produces very interesting phrases …

Considering that it is my fourth visa I wanted to get a long term (like two or three years) visa, so I can travel to India whenever I feel like without going through the hassle of getting another visa. First off all, the nice man (the lack of women in Indian embassies is very visible) at the counter told me that my Canadian marriage certificate is not valid. Apparently for it to be valid it has to be certified by the Indian Embassy in Canada! I wonder if Canadian government knows … The High Commission of India in London did not have a problem with my marriage certificate. Since my marriage certificate is 'not valid', they can give me only the 6 months visa. Deciding that something is better than nothing, I agree.

Guess what? The Indian Embassy in Ukraine needs a clearance from the Indian embassy in Canada to issues a visa to a Canadian citizen applying for a visa in Ukraine. So, we are told to return in two weeks for visas.

On a positive note: they don’t keep your passport if you don’t want too. In Ukraine the police has a right to detain any person for up to 72 hours (3 days) if he/she fails to produce an identity document of the spot. The only recognizable identity document here is passport. So, having a passport can be essential.

The coming Friday I am going to the embassy for my visa. I hope I don’t have to write a Part II to this story.

2003-02-11T01:09:00.000-08:00

Thank you Khodadad for suggesting to post all "My Adventures in Ukraine" e-mails in one place, so those who missed some can read them all. Hopefully I can write more and you can read them faster. Have fun.

2003-02-11T01:07:00.000-08:00

February 3, 2003

Dear friends,

It has been long time since I posted any new Adventure stories. I have been really busy, but I have been writing a bit. I was hoping to write more before posting them, but decided to post whatever is ready right now. Enjoy, and I appreciate your comments.

On flying in Ukraine

At the end of December my husband and I decided to go to visit my grandmother.

The dominant intercity form of transportation in Ukraine is the train. It is relatively comfortable, relatively cheap and relatively reliable. Unfortunately, my opinion is supported by the majority of locals. By the time I decided that it is the time to buy the tickets to go to Nikolaev where my grandmother lives, there were no tickets left. Everyone wanted to travel at the end of December and the only tickets available were in the third class. I could not torture myself, so I told my husband that I couldn’t torture him and bought the plane tickets.

On the day of the departure we arrived an hour in advance due to my usual paranoia of being late and missing the plane. We spend next hour awaiting the registration in a frozen airport. When the departure time arrive and the registration did not, I went to enquire about the flight. The airport manager had no idea about anything other than her make up, and certainly no idea about our flight. By that time we already met all 4 other passengers of our flight. As another hour passed we found out the plane is not going anywhere due to the fact the company who owns it did not pay the airport fees. The eventually found representative of the airline declared that money were paid but got lost on the way. The airport refused to let the plane go till the receive the cash.

My fellow passengers voted to change tickets to Odessa (town about two hours drive from Nikolaev) and take a taxi from there. After a half an hour of trying to get her computer on-line, the ticket sale clerk sweetly informed me that (1) I cannot change my tickets because I did not buy them there. I have to buy a new tickets at her office, and the airport manager can issue an official letter allowing the company that sold me my current ticket to issue a refund; and (2) flight to Odessa is full. One of the fellow travelers tried to calm me down with word: “Don’t you worry. We’ll just wait for the pilots to come and then talk to them. I once flew in a luggage compartment with 18 other people. Don’t worry, we’ll get to Odessa”.

From the flying in a luggage compartment we were saved by another fellow traveler, who happened to be a representative from Nikolaev in the state parliament, Verhovna Rada. He called the ministry of transportation and within half an hour the plane took off. On the way he told us a story that when the Ukrainian President Kuchma went to visit Nikolaev, the airport antenna was stolen just few hours prior to his arrival. Stealing objects made from non-ferrous metal and selling them is a major source of income all over Ukraine. Apparently the airport antenna looked too irresistible source of non-ferrous metal to pass up. Kuchma’s plane had to be landed by hand signals, since there were no way to communicate with the plane.

Our sky adventures were not over. Since I did not know when we are going to arrive I told my grandmother that there is no need to pick us from the airport, we can get a cab. Or so I thought. We landed at the huge gray cement box of an airport only to find it completely deserted. Ah old lady sitting at the registration desk was the only alive person in the building. Her response to our question where we can get a cab was encouraging: “Run fast, there are couple of cars at the entrance - may be you can catch one ad persuade them to take you”. As you can guess, there wasn’t a single car left near the entrance when we got there. From the front door all we could see was a beautiful field covered up to the horizon with white fluffy snow and not a single car in sight. Next five minutes passed in a discussion on how difficult would it be to walk four kilometers through the field to my grandmother’s house. My sun-loving husband was definitely not impressed with such perspective and neither was I. Fortunately, the gods were smiling at us and a car appeared from nowhere. The driver only looked at us and before we could plead him to drive us, told us to sit in the car till he checks in his sister to fly to Kyiv. In another ten minutes he drove us to the porch of grandma’s house. Thus, the travel was over.

P.S. On the way back, the flight departed without any trouble. The same people’s representative was flying back to Kyiv. Thank God for Ukrainian corruption!

On expats (expatriates)

Expat is a national of one country working/living in another. A friend told me once that there are three kinds of expats working in developing countries: missionaries, mercenaries, and misfits. The Ukrainian landscape presents all three types. (As any generalization, this classification is rude and unfair to many wonderful people working in the development. I don’t want them feel under appreciated and mistreated; and I definitely don’t want to insult anyone.)

Missionary: a foreigner who honestly thinks that he can change something, make world a better place, etc. They normally work in remote locations while getting paid nearly nothing. American Peacecore volunteers can often be enlisted to this category unless they belong to the last one. Hey, with our internship allowance I could be enlisted as one. There are many wonderful people in this group. However, I just want to quote a phrase that another friend has told me. It was heard during a discussion in one international organization about volunteers: “if you pay peanuts, you get monkeys”.

Mercenary: in developing countries they can be described as a foreigner working and living in a poor country while getting (usually) their ‘developed home-country’ salary. Their prime reason is money – old-fashioned dollar. Like Europeans that used to go to work in India and Africa couple of centuries ago, new generation does the same. I would be the last person to criticize them: to afford a really nice lifestyle here one needs less money than in the so-called ‘developed’ world. I actually like this category – they usually have a clear idea what they are doing and why.

Misfit: the domineering category. Financially can belong to either of the above categories. The psychological background is what separates them from the two categories above. These are the people who want attention and/or power. Many of them can be described as losers. These are the people who were small fish in a big pond back home. Coming to Ukraine they suddenly find the situation reversed, and they love it. They embark on a power trip and become often unrecognizable to those who knew them at home.

Absolute majority of this category in Ukraine are males. A guy who would have never been looked at twice suddenly finds himself surrounded by beautiful women who were always way out of his league. He starts badmouthing them, becomes arrogant and mean. The best example I have seen in Ukraine so far was forty something year old, Australian male who came to Ukraine for holiday and decided to teach English here for undetermined time. I have never seen the guy with the same woman twice. However, I have seen him with underage girls.

The worst kind of all is an American male coming to Ukraine in search of a wife, or so he says. It is usually a man in his late forties or fifties. He has relatively low or no education. He works in a dead end, boring, meaningless job in the US. Here he tries to project ‘I am a very successful American businessmen planning/doing business in Ukraine’ image. He thinks he is a god’s gift to women and acts accordingly. He hits on any female below age of 25. He badmouths North American women constantly. Usually comes on a numerous ‘marriage’ visits, meets number of women during each of them, and leaves without picking one.

The sad part is these people comprise a relatively high percentage of foreigners and especially Americans here. The result of the exposure of local people to this category is that it creates impression that the majority, if not all Americans, are like that. People from this category, while hardly visible at home, give bad reputation to all Americans abroad. I wish all those normal people, who actually make up the majority of population, start traveling more to show that they exist.

On celebrating New Year.

When I was growing up in the Soviet Union we did not celebrate Xmas. New Year’s Eve was a big thing. Few days in advance we would buy a Xmas tree (or set up a plastic one) and decorate it. Mom would spend the whole of December 31st cooking. I would be sent to sleep in the afternoon, so I can stay up all night (which usually meant 2 a.m.). Guests would arrive at 11 p.m. We all will be sitting around the table full of delicious food watching TV, talking and drinking champagne.

After perestroika began, two Xmas celebrations have been added to normal Russian person’s calendar of celebrations: western Xmas on 24th of December and Orthodox Xmas on 7th of December. Russian people (as any other normal people) do not pass up the reason for a party. Don’t forget another Russian tradition to celebrate so-called ‘old new year’ on 14th of December (the New Year’s Eve according to the pre-revolution calendar). All together it gives a proper excuse to party from 24th of December to 14th of January to all Russians, Byelorussian’s, and Ukrainians.

I’ve not had a proper Russian-style New Year’s Eve party since I moved to Canada. First of all, my Hindu husband does not celebrate it, and, secondly, I usually end up in India exactly around this time. Salted herring, champagne and Xmas tree are not commonly accessible things out there. A coconut palm is not an appropriate substitute for a Xmas tree.

Being in Ukraine, I have decided that I am going to have a proper New Year’s Eve. After mild harassment, Manoj had acquired a miniature spruce that was solemnly installed in a bottle. Being very happy about our first family Xmas tree I lost all restraint and covered it with the amount of decorations sufficient for a lot taller tree. As a friend remarked, the result was a very Indian looking tree – all gold and red, and totally invisible from under the decorations. Still we had our first tree!

I spend the whole day cooking. Looking back at my childhood, I begin to appreciate my mother’s efforts. After the full day of cooking and cleaning I have been exhausted. Evening we sat with our full plates to watch TV. We were invited for dinner at a friend’s place. The idea was to go there for an hour and head off to the Central Square where the big concert was happening and wait for a countdown. To make the story short, all of us left my friends’ place at 1 a.m. It was something about 20 below. It was freezing. The Independence Square was covered with broken champagne bottles and severely drunk people. By 1.40 we were back to our place, where all food I cooked was appreciatively consumed. In total, we had a proper Russian New Year’s Eve, and I am NOT showing the pictures.

The next part is coming soon.

Take care,

Lidia

2003-02-11T01:06:00.000-08:00

November 21, 2002

Dear All,

The new installment of my adventures has indeed been delayed by my busy schedule. Lots has happen and I will try to cover the major events.

The first social event worth mentioning was the Diwali party. Missing my husband and his Indian friends led me in search of something Indian in Kyiv. I found a community. It is certainly a tiny community compare to the one in London, but it is here! One of my newly found Indian friends brought me to a Diwali party. The festival of lights was celebrated by some 30 – 40 Indians and their Ukrainian wives. I have never seen so many mixed Indian-Ukrainian couples in one place. We had food, speeches, songs, dances and even threw few fire crackers on the heads of innocent bystanders at the central street of Kyiv. To make this evening even more memorable I managed to demonstrate my limited Malayalam vocabulary to present malayalees to leave them open-mouthed.

The amount of work did not allow many out of town trips. Still, we (meaning me and four other interns) managed to squeeze a day-trip to Chernigov. By sheer accident we picked a perfect day. When I woke up the whole world was cover with the ten inch blanket of snow. Chernigov is the second oldest town in Ukraine and home of 25 percent of its historical monuments. There is nothing more traditional than eight hundred year old churches covered in brilliantly white snow. It makes an absolutely stunning view. In addition we discovered a cave monastery undeservingly forgotten in favour of the one in Kyiv. Even though the Chernigov caves did not have any mummified monks on display, they were doubtlessly grander.

Unfortunately, Chernigov, as most other Ukrainian towns, has one big problem – nonexistent service industry. For supposedly tourist place it did not have any tourist facilities. It did not have decent maps, transport or cafes. At the end of the day we were happy, wet, cold, and hungry. So, on the trip back we went local and spend three hours of a minibus ride drinking beer with kolbasa (Russian sausage) and bread. As someone remarked – “The Snickers bar has never tasted so good”.

However, the grandest event of the social life had been The Marine Ball, the ball organized by the US Embassy in order to celebrate the anniversary of the creation of the US Marine Corps. Armed with a new dress, a scarf and a purse I decided than I should go all the way and do my hair as well. I had curls!!! After the cake cutting and the US ambassador speech, the stuffy crowd and the atmosphere of forced primness melted away. At that point I went home since I needed to get ready for a work-related trip to Kherson. I have to say that I feel genuinely sorry that I missed the rest of the party since everyone describes it as ‘the night to remember’.

My work life for the last three weeks had been centered around the upcoming (and now passed) seminar “Tendencies of Ukraine’s Grain Market Development”. It was supposed to become the pinnacle of my ‘grain involvement’. As the most junior member of the team I got stuck with the job of making 200 copies of the seminar handouts. Fortunately for me the office printer broke down at the last moment and this pleasant job fell on the Kherson office. The unlucky office manager in Kherson had to spend the whole weekend printing and binding those 180 copies. I did 20 of them in Kyiv, so I know exactly how miserable she must have been feeling.

The seminar had began without a single empty seat. The presenters were very interesting and knowledgeable. I have met a person who could be considered a very useful contact. Side note: Many people think that working here is a great networking opportunity. If one works in the UN or the UNDP or put in the position of the project management – than one might have an opportunity for networking. When one’s main activity is internet research, networking becomes an issue of personal courage and initiative. After a three months being here I can easily count all useful and/or interesting people I have met.

It was also very interesting experience of the public speaking. I made a presentation on the Canadian grain marketing system. I’ve been told I did a good job, and the Swedish participant (who is the biggest Swedish grain trader) asked if I used to work for a Canadian Wheat Board. I’d wish! I’d prefer to work for Cargill though …

After four days in Kherson, I feel the need to relax, which I plan on doing this weekend.

Let me know if any of you have any specific themes you want me to cover in the next installment, which should be coming in another 2 weeks.

The last announcement:
I am not coming to London for graduation. Manoj is coming here !!!! He is going to be here till January 13 (I am doing little dance out here).

Now the side notes:

On service

I was actually thinking of simply leaving a few blank lines instead of writing anything to make my point absolutely clear. The concept of service hasn’t made it to Ukraine yet. The so-called ‘Soviet Style’ service has entrenched deeply and does not show any signs of surrender. The absolute majority of people working in service treat customers as a nuisance. They project superiority and look at you as if you have distracted them from some incredibly important activity. Often they are outright rude.

On Fitness

Since I came to Kyiv, one thing I have been missing more than my husband is the gym. Deciding that at least this is the one thing I can change, I went in search of a gym, an aerobic class or some other form of physical activity. I began by calling all fitness centres I found on the Internet. Three thousand dollars a year membership fee sounded way out of my league. The next step I checked was the newly opened fitness club near my work. The price was a bit more reasonable. ‘Only’ 100 US dollars per month for three one hour classes a week.

I figured that there must be something more appropriately priced to fit my meager living allowance. A friend suggested attending the modern dance class for only 80 grivnas a month for 2 one-hour classes a week. It sounded like a great deal, and I went. It took me one hour to reach a school building somewhere on the Left side of the Dnipro river in one of the so-called sleeping areas (areas of the city where people go to sleep. There is normally nothing other than huge apartment complexes).

The class took place in the hall of the school. Instead of the age group from 18 to 50 as the advertisement promised, the average age of participants was around 16. The modern dance was a hip-hop. It was something similar to “Romeo and Juliet of the West End” with the speed of “Riverdance”. On the positive note, it was a great workout. I could not move for two days after that. The class ended at 10 p.m., and after scrambling to get out from the area considered pretty dangerous even for locals I decided it was not healthy to come back for that class ever again.

Last week I thought that I finally got lucky when I found a ‘fitness’ class in the health centre right beside my house. Here I have to make a side note. When I used to study that one of the biggest problems in the Third World countries is the lack of information, I did not really believe it. I do now. No one volunteers information here. Any information about anything is difficult to obtain. I have been living near that ‘poliklinika’ (soviet style health centre) for almost three months and I had no idea that they are running the whole range of classes. It took me near one hour of very patient questioning of the office woman (mind you, I estimated her age to be around 90) to find out that there is indeed a general fitness class twice a week. She would not give me any details, but she did give me a phone number for the instructor. After getting that instructor on the phone I managed to sign up to a first free class. She would not give me any other info about the class though.

Last Thursday I went there. The age of the receptionist should have cautioned me. The instructor was not much younger if at all. Have you ever seen the aerobics class taught by the great-grandma? I have now. She could not move much since her knees were hurting. The music was of the late forties, and all her explanations ended with naming an exercise. Exercising on a cement floor using a ‘mattress’ thick as a cotton bedsheet did not improve the feeling of my spine. But the last straw was the yoga exercise. Laying on a dirty floor, looking at the gray ceiling, listening about feeling of happiness spreading through my body felt way to close to a mockery or a direct insult. I am certainly not going there again.

Another friend has asked if I want to go for a Latin dance class. All I can say is “to be continued … ”.

Take care and have a great time,

Lidia

2003-02-11T01:05:00.000-08:00

October 31, 2002

Dear All,

It has been again three weeks since I e-mailed you the last installment of “My adventures in Ukraine”. The time has come to write the next chapter. Enjoy.

My attempts to organize people to go together outside of Kyiv have finally proved not be futile. It is amazing how difficult it is to get a group of people to do the same thing at the same time. Even if this groups has only 10 people. The idea was to enjoy the Indian summer and journey to the 18th century park called Sofievka famous for its collection of plants.

To go to Uman’ (the town where the park is located) we needed at least 4 people, minimal number to get an official tour guide. Since the only common language among the interns is English, we needed a tour in English. Due to the triple cost of the English tour, some of the people opted out of the trip. Other s had ‘better’ things to do. Additional scouting added to our company my supervisor and her boyfriend; thus bringing the total number of participants to 9. Getting up at 5.30 on Saturday morning to catch a three-hour bus ride was worth it. The trip was great. The weather was warm, leaves yellow, shashlik (fried marinated pork) tasty. We had fun.

The next day looked nothing like the bright cheerful day we had at Uman’. We, meaning all CIDA volunteers, were up, again, at 7 a.m. on Sunday morning to provide our services to the Canadian embassy organizing the Terry Fox charity run to collect money for cancer research. So, poor little me dressed up in yellow tee-shirt on top of the black jacket spend good 5 hours frying hamburgers, making them, serving them and then cleaning the mess. All these activities were executed under the rain, which alternated between pouring and drizzling. We were cold, wet, but definitely not hungry. McDonalds had donated 650 hamburgers for the event. Due to rain there were about 200 runners. Everyone had a chance to eat as many hamburgers as he/she was capable of consuming. The situation was not any different with respect to pizza and beer.

The story of my participation in the run received unexpected conclusion two weeks later when picture featuring me and two other people was published in Kiev’s newspaper. I have to say, I did not look my best while frying hamburgers under the rain! Unfortunately, this picture did not go unnoticed in my office, where I am still being teased for that silly hat and yellow tee-shirt. And Paul, the editor of that section of the paper and last year’s intern, misspelled my last name! At least, in my case he misspelled only one letter. The girl in the middle of the picture has nothing to do with the name written underneath.

My work represents a mixture of very interesting activities and mundane tasks. Among the first category was a two-day “Marketing in Agriculture” training. It totally changed my perspective on what agriculture marketing is. I did not realize how much more could be hidden under the word ‘marketing’. There is a lot more than advertisement and packaging to it.

The upcoming seminars on grain market and cooperatives are taking up a lot of time. It looks like all the research I’ve done on grain marketing was not useless after all. My paper is going into the seminar materials, and I might have to do a presentation as well, in front of 200 or so people. As long as I don’t have to speak Ukrainian I am fine. My attempts to speak Ukrainian in the office were met with roars or laughter. I am not doing a stand-up comedy show in front of 200 people. My gender seminar seems to be pushed into unidentified future, which is kind of a pity, since I already got used to the idea of doing it. But there is plenty of other work to do.

Unlike my work, my social life was pleasantly quiet, which does not mean I was getting home early. Even the 12 people group breaks down into smaller subgroups that tend to spend time together. Thus, I have been spending a great deal of time in a small, 4-people (me and 3 other interns), subgroup of those whom I can call my friends.

With that smaller group I got to visit an Indian restaurant. I have to admit that I missed Indian food. I did not expect good Indian food in the middle of Kiev. After consuming mutton biriani with, especially ordered out of the menu, paneer makhanwala I changed my opinion. Indian food does exist in Ukraine, and it is good. On the less positive note, it was the most expensive meal I had in Kiev so far. 14 US dollars for a meal might not sound too much, but my normal meal does not go above 3 dollars, so Indian food is out of my menu for now.

The rest of the outings were devoted to introducing one of new interns to our favorite Kiev hangouts and having food at my place as well as other people’s places. My house is becoming a place to eat on Sundays, and it has regular visitors.

The heating has not improved, and I went to discuss that issue with house maintenance worker. From him I found out two important things: first of all, it is my fault! I am responsible for insulating my windows. Since I did not do that, I have no right to ask why the heating is so poor. (I have spend the next evening sticking insulation material into the window frame. It did get a bit warmer, but not much.) Secondly, there is a special high-tech device installed in our building that regulates the temperature of heating water according to the temperature outside. I tried to find out what algorithm is used by that high-tech device cause it seems to be an equation sign. The temperature in my apartment is way too similar to the outside environment. My sense of humor was not appreciated.

That’s all for today. With work taking up bigger share of my time I don’t have that many events to write about. I am thinking about coming for the graduation. I booked the tickets to London, but I still don’t know if I would come.

Take care,

Lidia

2003-02-11T01:04:00.000-08:00

October 18, 2002

Dear All,

You haven’t received any of my ‘official’ updates for three weeks. I have been busy. My work has picked up its pace. I continue working on the overview of the grain marketing systems, and began to look at the organization of cooperative banks and new generation cooperatives. It is the major research things I do. I have to admit I am learning a lot about the way the grain market operates. The New Generation Cooperatives are also quite interesting theme to research.

The highlight of the first week of October (Eirini – I do want to make you laugh) the delivery of watermelons to the Canadian embassy. We do have demo fields in Kherson. So, we distribute some of the harvested produce to maintain the positive relationships with friendly organizations. As a Canadian intern I was assigned to deliver the ‘seasonal’ produce, namely watermelons, to the Canadian embassy. So, freshly washed watermelon with attached sticker proclaiming that he was grown by the farmers of Kherson with the support of our Project was photographed in the hands of embassy’s representatives. They were happy. We got cute pictures. Watermelons were consumed during the pub night by Kiev’s Canadians.

The highlight of the second week of October was a trip to the State Committee on Standardization. One of the things we are trying to do is to collect and summarize information on grain standards in Ukraine. The absence of compatible with the rest of the world standardization of Ukrainian grain is a big predicament for local exporters. My, and one other guy working on the issues of the grain market, aim was to acquire the newest standards from the responsible state department. Acquire is an appropriate word since they don’t give you those standards for free. You have to pay for them. You can’t even look at them for free. To view 7 document, you have to pay 18 grivnas (3.4 US dollars). The only thing you can view for free is the list of act and document, from which you can guess which once are going be useful.

Anyhow, to get into the building I had to go through a security check where I to show my passport to receive a special pass which allowed me to enter the building. Middle aged woman with the eyes full of her superiority, who wrote my pass, explained that “this is an office of special regime”, which painfully reminded of some KGB organization. Inside the building did not anything like somber ‘regime’ organization of the Soviet Union. After crawling through the wires hanging off the walls (the building is under maintenance) I made my way into the little room where another women of pre-retirement age with the similar air around her gave me a lecture on the search of needed documents and the methods of obtaining them. Apparently to actually get the papers in hands I had to fill in the special request, after that I will get another paper that I can take to one specific bank, where I can pay. After that I have to bring the paper from the bank back to the office in the Committee. They will give me another paper that I have to take to another office, and in a day or two I can get a photocopies of the documents I requested.

Not being discouraged, I had the list of the documents in only two hours of search. It took the nice women in that office only another three hours to calculate how much I have to pay to those document. After spending all these time sitting on a rather uncomfortable chair in an office without heating, I gave up of the Ukrainian bureaucracy and got our office manager to do the rest. To my pure horror I found all these documents on Internet two days later.

The highlight of this week, the third week of October, was the power cut, few of them to be specific. These repeating events lasted from the bigger part of the day on Monday to few hours a day on Tuesday and Wednesday. Hence, my work of cut short. The power cut in my office means: no computer, Internet, heat, light, lift, water (the electric water pump does not work without electricity), and phone. As you can see, there is very little one can do sitting in my office without electricity. On a positive note, I was not sitting in the lift when the power went off. Imagine sitting in the cold box (1x1) without light with unfamiliar stranger/s from 1 p.m. till 9 p.m. (the hours we were without power on Monday), yelling once in a while “somebody get me out of here”. Even if you are not claustrophobic, you will become one. No one comes to get you out of the lift till the power is back on. Not doing any work in a cold office is still a better option. So, I consider myself lucky.

My social life was more settled than usual. The major event was the trip to my grandmother, who lives in a village on the South of Ukraine. All the trains in Ukraine are nicely scheduled allowing night travel to any destination. Thus, after work on Friday I boarded the train and left for Mykolaiv. Next two days was a blur of relatives and food, more relatives and more food. I have some twenty odd relatives living in the same town and few villages nearby. Since, they have not seen me for over 8 years, they all wanted to see me and do something nice, which essentially ended up being ‘Let’s feed our thin Lidia” weekend. I gained two kilograms, which currently I am trying lose (unsuccessfully). It was really nice to see everyone again. All my cousins have grown up so much, I could hardly recognize some of them. It was also sad to see my grandparents to age so much. Ageing is one of those things you know about but don’t want to believe in till it hits you close to home. I am glad that I got to see my grandparents because I can’t predict how long they are going to be with us. I returned on Monday morning to go straight to work from the train.

Party wise, we had two birthdays here. I organized one of the parties, which was nice fun event in a bar called Garage with live band playing. The other birthday party consisted of a trip to ballet and a nice bookstore/coffee shop. This trend is only coming to Ukraine and is very popular.

The last weekend I accompanied my supervisor on “The Ukrainian Tourism Exhibition”, which gave many ideas where I would like to go but did not help to find out how I can afford it. The purpose of our trip was to check all companies dealing with green tourism, and to see the representatives of ‘our’ Kherson region. On the way back we got lost, but eventually found our way. The day ended with nice housewarming party organized by one of other interns, which was taken further into some club, which happened after I already went home.

Sunday, I finally decided to cook a big meal that could be consumed for the duration of the coming week. My expectations did not materialize. Indeed I cooked mushrooms with sour cream, potatoes and meat. Have you seen that some people have sixth sense when it comes to food? Like the minute you cook something you have guests? I had three people in my house by the time I finished cooking. They came independently of each other and without prior announcement. At least I am happy that I have not totally lost my culinary abilities, since they really liked my mushrooms. (They are all still alive as well).

Cooking is also a nice way to increase a temperature in the apartment. We already had snow here. The temperature is around plus 5 right now. The central heating was suppose to start last week. I’ve been told it did. I also found out that the water distribution in the heating system of my house goes from top to bottom, meaning the hot water first goes to the top floor and then flows down the pipes. Unfortunately, by the time it get to my third floor, it is lukewarm. So, unless they radically increase the temperature of that water, I am facing rather grim prospect of very cold winter outside and inside of my apartment. On a positive note, I am getting a second heater, the cost of which will be discounted from my rent.

The two big upcoming events are a marketing training, where my organization is sending me, and the trip to Uman’, which I am organizing together with one of my Ukrainian friends. Both of these events will come in the next installment of “The Ukrainian Saga”.

I am very happy that you all appreciate my part organizing skill’s in London. I’d wish I was there to organize our post graduation party. I am actually thinking about coming to London, but it is still just a thought.

I have included few people in this mailing list who were not here before. Please, let me know if you don’t want to receive “My Adventure in Ukraine”.

Take care,

Lidia

2003-02-11T01:03:00.000-08:00

October 1, 2002

Dear All,

I think you deserve another update on my adventures in Ukraine. I hope I can provide as much entertainment as the last time. My life is indeed challenging and a lot is happening here. Last two weeks starting September 16th were rather somewhat boring at work and exciting in the sphere of social activities. You know me.

At work I have continued doing research on grain market. I think by now I know everything written on the Internet about wheat boards, common agricultural policy etc. If any of you have interesting links or articles or any other information about anything to do with wheat, grain, grain market, grain marketing organizations, grain trade, farm bill, wheat boards, Cargill, companies that trade wheat, etc – please let me know. Anything of the sort would be very appreciated.

The highlight of the first of last two weeks was a research on consumers’ behavior. Sounds cool, isn’t it? Two of us, junior underlings, went to a local supermarket to bug people about filling in our questionnaire. Never thought it could be so much fun! It was. We split people by gender. The guy who was doing it with me dealt with girls. Actually it was his job. I simply volunteered to help him. I took over male customers. They react on me a lot better. It was amazing to observe the interviewer bias in action. The previous set of questionnaires were done by my male colleague alone: all people who filled them are girls from 18 to 25 age group. Two of us doing it together: half people participating are males!

Last week I went to Kherson for a seminar on Green Tourism. Who does not know what it is – explanation – if someone is desperate to get in touch with rural life, he can go to some farm and stay there doing fishing, hiking or working there. We are trying to promote this as an alternative source of income for local farmers.

The minute we got loaded on a train we found out that there thirty odd people going for the same seminar in the same train. I was explained that green tourism got its name from ‘the green snake’ (zelenii zmii) – which is sort of funny way of saying alcohol. After the night of heavy drinking – with me trying to explain that I don’t drink – we arrived to Kherson at 5 a.m. Another hour and a half drive and we reached our destination – a village named Malaya Kahovka where the seminar commenced.

At this point I found that I will have to translate the whole seminar to our Swedish participants. It would not have been that bad if the seminar was in Russian, but it was in Ukrainian, which I do not know! Unfortunately, there was no one else who could have possibly done any translations, who I had to do it. It was really not that bad. Many people from Kyiv speak ‘surzhik’ – mixture of Russian and Ukrainian – which I can understand quite well. Other people told me what they are going to say during the memorable train ride, so I knew what they suppose to be saying. But few people were from western Ukraine – I had no idea what they were saying. Worse, people did not make any pauses for the translation. So I had to try to understand what they are saying, translate and continue listening at the same time.

My social life is blooming as usual. The highlight of the first of two weeks was a football match “Dinamo Kiev” vs “New Castle”. Joe – there is only one football – and it not what you guys play in America. Anyhow Dinamo won two : nil. The meager group of New Castle fans stood there surrounded by the riot police in full gear and 80 odd thousand Dinamo fans. It was great despite the rain. The other highlight was a ballet: rather traditional production of “Vikings”. The Opera House in Kiev is beautiful and dancing men in tights are fun to watch. Lots of house parties (not in my house though) filled the spare time. Among the cultural activities I went to Pechorskaya Lavra – a monastery complex in Kiev with underground caves where mummified monks lye.

This week there are two birthday parties to attend to, one of which is organized by me. Unfortunately it is not my birthday so I am not betting a present. We are going for a ballet again – “Sleeping Beauty” this time. Next weekend I am off to the south of Ukraine to visit my grandmom.

That’s all my news. I am always happy to hear from you..

Lidia

2003-02-11T01:02:00.000-08:00

September 16, 2002

Dear All,

I have arrived here, meaning Kiev, on September 1st. Leaving Manoj alone in London is rather depressing. Next day, Monday September 2nd, I went to my host organization's office. Somehow they got this strange idea that I can work as a part of legal team. I simply can’t believe it. Out of FOUR of my degrees they have decided that I should work with my oldest one. I have TWO master’s degrees and I am still being put into a legal team. It did not work out very well. First of all, Russian law is very different from Ukrainian. Second, I have never worked with land laws or any agricultural laws in any language or country. So I pretty much know nothing about it. Third, and most important, I don’t know Ukrainian language. It IS different language. It is NOT Russian. I can’t read it. I can guess somewhat what it says, but I don’t understand half of it. Anyhow I have spend three days reading legal documents in Ukrainian, which did not cure my depression. After that I got two days off for apartment search.

As you recall one of last year’s interns posted a note that he is leaving with this wonderful Ukrainian family that would love to have another intern for next 6 months. I though what a lovely idea – two hundred dollars and I don’t have to worry about food, washing and looking for a place. The reality was VERY different from description. First of all, Keith is a nice guy but he’s got quite an imagination and he can’t hear. So, sounds don’t bother him. On the contrary I am very sensitive to sounds. So that family was getting up at five in the morning, and so was I. Considering that I am not a morning person (by any means) that did not make me happy. The place was also run down. I simply could not live there. One week of total stress, few phone calls to real estate agent, few hundred dollars less in my wallet and I moved to a nice ‘odnokomnatnaja’ apartment near Pechorsk (quite central Kiev). It is a one room apartment newly redecorated with all new furniture and appliances. Not much place for guests since it has only one bed, but just perfect for me. I finally have a place where I can live for next seven months, and if someone decides to visit I’ll figure something out.

The next stage of the show was my organization sending me to their other office in Kherson for three days. Don’t get me wrong – Kherson is rather nice place. It is just remote. The overnight train journey was not nearly as bad as I feared it to be. Actually it was quite all right. I have spend three days going around farms of southern Ukraine trying to persuade Ukrainian farmers that there is no need to make a proper Ukrainian out of me – meaning I don’t drink gorilka (homemade vodka). At the end I had to settle on local wine, which happened to be not bad at all. Food there is great though. Everything is natural. Tomatoes smell like they suppose to. You can eat them like apples.

I was back to Kiev on September 12 just in time for ‘official’ CIDA arrival briefing. Few of other interns had their luggage lost so they were not in a particularly great mood. After very silly tour main Kiev street we were taken for ‘official’ dinner. Out of all places it had to be a proper Irish Pub: expensive and very slow. As if there are no nice places in Kiev where they serve Ukrainian food!

There are 13 interns including me. I am the only Russian there. 3 guys – one speaks Russian since he managed to spend 6 months studying it in St Petersburg, and two don’t speak either Russian or Ukrainian. Other 9 girls all belong to Ukrainian Diaspora – all know each other and all speak only Ukrainian and no Russian. Two of them will be out of Kiev. I really don’t see myself making good friend there. Though I guess I can hang out with the guys and couple of girls.

Out of two weeks I am here, I went clubbing twice. Really nice club too. There places to go out here. But you would not believe how girls dress here or how they jump at foreign guys. Guys here become very cynical. Any foreign guy can have pretty much any girl he wants or many or change them every week, which almost all of them end up doing.

Kiev is very beautiful city. Lots of fantastic churches. I think I am going to enjoy this aspect of Kiev. Last Sunday I went to the street where they sell souvenirs. There are so many nice things I want to buy. But Kiev is not particularly cheap. It is certainly cheaper than London, but prices are comparable to Toronto. Unfortunately my salary is not.

Coming back to the timeline: last Friday we had ‘official’ lunch at Canadian embassy. They really do take care about Canadians in Ukraine. Gave us lots of advices and suggestions. There is also a Canadian embassy pub night 2 times a month.

On Sunday we got conscripted by the UN to work for their Race for Life. They had organized a Run to get money for AIDS hospice in Kiev. I spend the whole day setting up table, doing registration, and giving away condoms. We even tried to give them to the policemen they were not keen to take them though. We even showed how to use them – on a bottle. It was fun.

So, today I am back in the office. I got an assignment that I think I actually can do. Some research on grain market and wheat boards. They gave me two weeks for it, so instead of working I am procrastinating and writing this e-mail. I will also be doing training on Rural Women Leadership Development. Can you imagine ME training somebody in gender issues. That was one of those topics I was never interested in. Now I am suppose to organize a seminar and a pep talk. And it actually sounds not bad.

I hope you all are not upset to get a collective e-mail. But you know I would have recycled it otherwise. So at least I am being honest. I am sorry I am not writing as often as I should, but I really don’t have time.

Let me know if either of you are coming to Kiev.

Take care,

Lidia