I was invited to a picnic by my girl friend from South Africa, Carien and her students from another English Language school. On Saturday morning we convened at one of the many monuments in the city. (This one dedicated to Ukrainians who fought for the communist revolution here, I believe. Also known as “those who protect the refrigerator”*, due to the manner in which the figures are sculpted from one huge chunk of stone, they do look rather frozen. ) After gathering our full numbers and purchasing the necessary food and drink items from the local store we boarded a minibus (mashrutka) and headed out of the city. After a journey of 30 minutes or so we came to the edge of a forest. This was my first time in the Ukrainian forest and it was a sight to be seen indeed.
Rolling little hills (what passes for ski slopes here in the winter) which was mostly covered in birches with some aspens and evergreens sprinkled here and there for as far as the eye could see. The Slavic people are very much in tune with and enjoy nature and therefore everyone was out on this fine first day of spring. After a while we managed to find a nice shady spot and the men set out searching for twigs to start the fire with while the womenfolk chatted and prepared some salad and cold dishes for munching.
This would be a good time to note that I was in fact invited to two ‘picnics’ this day. I figured I could easily make it to both as in my naïve little mind, a picnic lasts for about 2-3 hours. However that is not so here. Nothing is very quick in this culture. From picnics to getting visas and travel tickets there is always a queue, either physical or metaphorical.
It was quite an honor to be witness to the traditional forest picnic. Picture it – 15 people, some old friends, some new and some strangers. All gathered on a beautiful sunny day in the midst of a birch forest in Ukraine. The men without shirts stoke the bon fire and drink beer with the occasional toast of vodka. They tell anecdotes as they tend to the fire. The women gossip happily, chopping vegetables, doing impromptu hair cutting sessions, and building flower chains from the multitude of dandelions around them. After about an hour or two of building an enormous fire and letting it die down to just ashes we finally begin to cook the shashlik (shish-ka-bobs). [Obviously at this point I gave up the idea of a second picnic.]
Again the men take charge as they create a make-shift grill with stones, which they found lying around our campsite and metal rods brought with us. The first round of meat is cooked and like ravenous dogs we dig in. The wine/beer/vodka is flowing and the noise grows louder. Yes! I admit it! I sampled a bit of the indispensable liquid and had three shots of vodka. However, I managed to cut myself off after the third one by remembering all those horrifically embarrassing nights in Petersburg when I didn’t know how to say no to $1 drinks.
After the second round of food we sat down to digest the feast. In between little bursts of rain, we (they) sang songs in Russian. And some people took little strolls through the forest, myself included, feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood just waiting to find my wolf. (Found it by the way – another story for another time, perhaps after the vodka flows again.) Then we all played a bit of charades. Finally we packed everything up and made our trek back through the forest to where the mashrutki awaited us to bring us back into the city. And thus ended the first picnic in the forest that signaled the beginning of Spring!
The day before this picnic I was invited to a Buddhist Center here in Kharkov. Strange to hear I know, but it’s true. So after the picnic I had promised one student (who could in fact be a teacher that’s how advanced he is) that I would return for another night of meditation and lecture. It was very interesting and calming. I enjoyed the atmosphere of the place and people I met there. Though I can’t say I’ve converted just yet as the mass chanting in Russian with spurts of Sanskrit kind of put me off, as in I had to try very hard to control my fits of laughter. That and I’m not quite prepared to throw off supposedly following one religious figure (the Pope) for another leader (the 27th incarnation of this sects lama). All in all it was a great day filled with good memories.
*Not direct translation.
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