Yes, I realize it's been almost a month since my last blog. And unfortunately for you, this won't be a long entry, either continuing tales from New Year, Christmas past or present or starting fresh tales from the past few weeks. The reason for this - I'm going away for the weekend! To where you ask?.... I don't know actually.
I thought Darren and I agreed upon a nice dinner and a movie for my birthday, since we're not rolling in dough now. I knew that he was up to something from the beginning of planning but I just thought it'd be a surprise trip to the symphony in Oxford or a reservation in a really nice restaurant. Oh no, Darren does not do things in a small way. Last night he came to me, feigning disappointment and asked if it would be alright to skip the dinner and movie night as "we just can't afford it" he states with fairly good fake sadness in his voice. Instead he says, we have to leave early this morning (although, surprise, surprise - we're already late from the original leaving time!) and we'll have to pack enough stuff for two nights and three days. Ok..... where to?
"Manchester, or maybe just Chester, or the Peak District, North Wales." The limey bastard is throwing everything at me but the kitchen sink in his attempt to through me off the track. (But I have a very strong suspicion that we're off to the Lake District in north England.)
Anyways, it's already been a good birthday starting with my birthday morning doughnut and I already opened two of the four presents he got me. So far I've received both Bridget Jones' books (which I picked out with Darren in the shop) and the actual Love Actually dvd! (Rather than my Hong Kong rip-off including Chinese subtitles.)
So now I must do my ablutions and get heading off into the sunset, or rather off into the North. Have a great weekend everyone, I'm sure I will!
Oh, and Happy Birthday to me! (Turning 25 isn't all that bad, is it?)
Friday, February 10, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
AT LAST -- St. Ives or Bust!
Ah, December… glorious December, literally the 10th month oddly placed at the end of the calendar year as good old number 12, just to confuse. One thing we weren’t confused about is what to do when that last elusive day slips by and becomes not just a new month but a whole new year as well. Cheesy intro, I know, but you gotta start somewhere…
So there we were, Darren and I, sitting at home one day staring at the walls because we’ve reached the stage where we can no longer stare at each other’s ugly mugs, when the phone rang. (To be honest, we were probably debating the semantics of which is more proper – “aluminum” or “aluminium” or where to put the emphasis on a name, for instance Mau-REEN or MAU-reen. Because we’re just that interesting…) Well you get the idea, we were at home when the phone rang and it was Darren’s mate, Matt. He had come up with a great idea for UFOria’s first big trip of the year – take a group down to St. Ives, Cornwall for the New Year celebrations there.
Great idea! And we were off… designing posters, handing them out in the streets, leaving hundreds in all the university campuses. Unfortunately all our efforts were for naught as not one person contacted us. Luckily for us, Darren has about 100 friends who all love to travel together. And in the end the 16 passenger seats of the minibus were taken up by 14 of Darren’s friends, me and my friend Brooke who traveled all the way from Tennessee for the occasion (she didn’t know when she first bought her tickets that we’d be adventuring down to the southwest coast but she was up for the journey as were the rest of us). Alright, so we didn’t get full paying passengers that we could gouge for the big bucks, but we had people we knew and could have fun with. (See online photo album at my Kodak Gallery for verification of said fact.)
The long story short is this: Darren, Brooke and I picked up Dave, Sally, Lou, Stu, Anya and John from Dave’s place in the minibus early on New Year’s Eve morning. Then we hit the highway (a.k.a. motorway) and met with Dave B. and Lynda who brought Pete and Dtor (couple from Thailand, not brought from Thailand but London) and Matt K. and Kel (Kerry) brought Matt W. and Nuala. And thus Abraham begat Cain and Moses begat Jeb… yadada ya, that’s when I fell asleep.
The 6 hour ride down to the coast was taken up by chatting with Brooke, navigating and feeding Darren (not sandwich in his hand) and munching on food bought from service stations.
At last we arrived at our wonderful little hostel in Penzance about 7:30pm on New Year’s Eve and donned our costumes.
About 9pm the illustrious host of the hostel drove another minibus full of other residents into St. Ives where the party was a-happenin’ and we followed in our minibus.
So there we were, Darren and I, sitting at home one day staring at the walls because we’ve reached the stage where we can no longer stare at each other’s ugly mugs, when the phone rang. (To be honest, we were probably debating the semantics of which is more proper – “aluminum” or “aluminium” or where to put the emphasis on a name, for instance Mau-REEN or MAU-reen. Because we’re just that interesting…) Well you get the idea, we were at home when the phone rang and it was Darren’s mate, Matt. He had come up with a great idea for UFOria’s first big trip of the year – take a group down to St. Ives, Cornwall for the New Year celebrations there.
Great idea! And we were off… designing posters, handing them out in the streets, leaving hundreds in all the university campuses. Unfortunately all our efforts were for naught as not one person contacted us. Luckily for us, Darren has about 100 friends who all love to travel together. And in the end the 16 passenger seats of the minibus were taken up by 14 of Darren’s friends, me and my friend Brooke who traveled all the way from Tennessee for the occasion (she didn’t know when she first bought her tickets that we’d be adventuring down to the southwest coast but she was up for the journey as were the rest of us). Alright, so we didn’t get full paying passengers that we could gouge for the big bucks, but we had people we knew and could have fun with. (See online photo album at my Kodak Gallery for verification of said fact.)The long story short is this: Darren, Brooke and I picked up Dave, Sally, Lou, Stu, Anya and John from Dave’s place in the minibus early on New Year’s Eve morning. Then we hit the highway (a.k.a. motorway) and met with Dave B. and Lynda who brought Pete and Dtor (couple from Thailand, not brought from Thailand but London) and Matt K. and Kel (Kerry) brought Matt W. and Nuala. And thus Abraham begat Cain and Moses begat Jeb… yadada ya, that’s when I fell asleep.
The 6 hour ride down to the coast was taken up by chatting with Brooke, navigating and feeding Darren (not sandwich in his hand) and munching on food bought from service stations.
At last we arrived at our wonderful little hostel in Penzance about 7:30pm on New Year’s Eve and donned our costumes.
About 9pm the illustrious host of the hostel drove another minibus full of other residents into St. Ives where the party was a-happenin’ and we followed in our minibus.
He showed us a cool place to park the beast while we ran wild through the streets. We all broke into different sub-groups to divide and conquer our night. Some went straight to a pub to begin with drinking their dinners, others stopped for a Cornish pasty to line their stomachs first before the liquor flowed. Then the food party finally, after much searching and being turned away by burly bouncers, found a pub of our own for the night –
At first it was so crowded, you couldn’t stick your toe in the door. Then it thinned out and we managed to cram all of our group in, as you can see.
With one minute to go before midnight, suddenly some folk wanted to be beach front as the fireworks went off. So they bolted, through the door, down the street, turn right at an innocuous hidden alley and down the steps in time to hear the bells chime and the people cheer. The remainder stayed in the warm pub and counted down the clock with other drunkards, no fireworks but a fireplace. I was a bit confused as to what the plan was and thus ran out the door initially with the others but then realized Darren and a few stayed in the pub and so at 00:00, 1 January 2006, I was running back through the door and into Darren’s arms.
Now, I’m not overly superstitious, but I’ve heard that how you spend New Year’s is a sign of how that year will turn out for you. For example, last New Year’s eve I was in Ireland smooching a random Italian (who, turns out didn’t speak English) and this year I’ve had more boys falling at my feet than in the past few years combined (not just Darren, there are others but for now I have eyes only for one).
Ummmm… anyways… after closing down the pub at 2am we headed back through the gale winds up the windy lanes to the minibus, and from there went back to the hostel for a rest.
Dinner time – To Be Continued……
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Averting Disaster
I want to make it known that for the past two weeks since the Christmas and New Year rush I haven’t been sitting on my ass not blogging and not attempting to either. Therefore I will bring you into my world of the past weeks so you may be less inclined to be angry at my long blog silence. First, obviously there was the run-up to Christmas which saw Darren’s temp job ending and our mad rush to finish present shopping and other errand running. Then there was the Big Day and the subsequent week when Darren and I didn’t return to our home for three full days (two more than originally planned). And finally to my joy, Brooke joined us for the New Year’s week, so that obviously was spent touring as much of Britain as possible, as well as taking a trip of 17 people down to almost the very tip of southwest England for New Year itself.
After we returned from the coast and Brooke left, and I mean right after, both Darren and I got horrendously sick. We were sprawled on our little couch for two days staring at the tv and eating soup only (bear in mind that Daz doesn’t watch tv much, in fact he didn’t own a television until I arrived here, so he must’ve been super sick to watch 8 hours of it in one go!) After that I spent the next few days trying desperately – and failing horribly – to transfer pictures of the festivities from my camera to my computer to Darren’s computer (which was the only one connected to the internet). Unfortunately, for some strange, yet undiscovered reason every time I transferred the pictures over to his computer, they wouldn’t open, but the computer would decide of its own accord to shut down the file and thus the pictures.
That is what I’ve been dealing with until two days ago when I finally decided it would be easier to reinstall Microsoft Windows XP English Edition on my computer and see if that corrected the problem. Let me backtrack a bit… while I was in Ukraine my laptop was acting up and doing odd things, therefore my good friend Sasha – computer programmer extraordinaire – decided to reinstall windows and at the same time partition my drives so that I’d have a c:/ and an e:/ drive. What this means is that all of my personal documents, photos, programs, etc. would be kept in the e:/ drive while only the windows installation files would be in the c:/ drive. Well, becoming completely fed up with the non-compliance of photo transfers I spent Wednesday night reinstalling windows on to what I believed to be the c:/ drive, thus saving all my files and wiping away the horrid Russian bootlegged version of Windows.
Once Darren and I had debated for over an hour (at the commercial breaks of a very enlightening and heart wrenching program about the torture methods at Guantanamo Bay) about what to ‘name’ the computer (one of the last steps in the installation process) and finally decided upon Asimenio (Greek for silver) I pressed the last few ‘Next’ buttons and off it went. At the end of it all, the computer looked like a newly washed and waxed car – well the innards of it looked that way I’m sure, the outside was still a bit dusty from non-use.
Then I happily clicked on one of the several links to My Documents and as it opened my heart sank… no documents. Then I tried another route… nothing. As the reality started to sharpen in my mind an invisible hand grabbed at my heart. Everything started to go black… I got up from the couch, where Darren was still sitting talking with his mom over the phone, and ran downstairs. It was then hyperventilation set in and I just wanted to crawl out of my skin.. “this can’t be happening.. I didn’t just erase ALL of my files.. all my pictures from since I left Colorado.. all my essays and research from DU.. no, it can’t be true.. but there’s nothing there!! Not there! I looked… it’s…… all……… GONE!!!!!!!!!”
At this point Darren had come down to figure out what the hell had just happened. I tried to blurt out as best I could in between sobs and short breaths that I’d accidentally erased my files with the new version of Windows. He wasn’t buying it though… he kept being optimistic and hopeful, kept saying “There must be a way to get them back.” “They can’t be all gone darling.” Finally annoyed by his disbelief and overtaken by the mourning of being bereft of my life’s work, I grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs to show him my irreversible blunder. This time I went straight to the e:/ drive and there sat 4 folders where before there had been 3, one of these was a Windows folder, evidence to me that I had placed all the Windows files on the e:/ drive wiping off my files. Then Darren asked me about one of the other folders which said quite plainly – My Documents. It didn’t look the same as my old link, the icon was plain rather than stylized. I clicked thinking – “what’s the use, it will be blank” when suddenly… all of my files began to appear, slowly but surely each and every document, all the folders full of pictures, films and programs. All I could do was look at Darren and say “Oh.”
After we returned from the coast and Brooke left, and I mean right after, both Darren and I got horrendously sick. We were sprawled on our little couch for two days staring at the tv and eating soup only (bear in mind that Daz doesn’t watch tv much, in fact he didn’t own a television until I arrived here, so he must’ve been super sick to watch 8 hours of it in one go!) After that I spent the next few days trying desperately – and failing horribly – to transfer pictures of the festivities from my camera to my computer to Darren’s computer (which was the only one connected to the internet). Unfortunately, for some strange, yet undiscovered reason every time I transferred the pictures over to his computer, they wouldn’t open, but the computer would decide of its own accord to shut down the file and thus the pictures.
That is what I’ve been dealing with until two days ago when I finally decided it would be easier to reinstall Microsoft Windows XP English Edition on my computer and see if that corrected the problem. Let me backtrack a bit… while I was in Ukraine my laptop was acting up and doing odd things, therefore my good friend Sasha – computer programmer extraordinaire – decided to reinstall windows and at the same time partition my drives so that I’d have a c:/ and an e:/ drive. What this means is that all of my personal documents, photos, programs, etc. would be kept in the e:/ drive while only the windows installation files would be in the c:/ drive. Well, becoming completely fed up with the non-compliance of photo transfers I spent Wednesday night reinstalling windows on to what I believed to be the c:/ drive, thus saving all my files and wiping away the horrid Russian bootlegged version of Windows.
Once Darren and I had debated for over an hour (at the commercial breaks of a very enlightening and heart wrenching program about the torture methods at Guantanamo Bay) about what to ‘name’ the computer (one of the last steps in the installation process) and finally decided upon Asimenio (Greek for silver) I pressed the last few ‘Next’ buttons and off it went. At the end of it all, the computer looked like a newly washed and waxed car – well the innards of it looked that way I’m sure, the outside was still a bit dusty from non-use.
Then I happily clicked on one of the several links to My Documents and as it opened my heart sank… no documents. Then I tried another route… nothing. As the reality started to sharpen in my mind an invisible hand grabbed at my heart. Everything started to go black… I got up from the couch, where Darren was still sitting talking with his mom over the phone, and ran downstairs. It was then hyperventilation set in and I just wanted to crawl out of my skin.. “this can’t be happening.. I didn’t just erase ALL of my files.. all my pictures from since I left Colorado.. all my essays and research from DU.. no, it can’t be true.. but there’s nothing there!! Not there! I looked… it’s…… all……… GONE!!!!!!!!!”
At this point Darren had come down to figure out what the hell had just happened. I tried to blurt out as best I could in between sobs and short breaths that I’d accidentally erased my files with the new version of Windows. He wasn’t buying it though… he kept being optimistic and hopeful, kept saying “There must be a way to get them back.” “They can’t be all gone darling.” Finally annoyed by his disbelief and overtaken by the mourning of being bereft of my life’s work, I grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs to show him my irreversible blunder. This time I went straight to the e:/ drive and there sat 4 folders where before there had been 3, one of these was a Windows folder, evidence to me that I had placed all the Windows files on the e:/ drive wiping off my files. Then Darren asked me about one of the other folders which said quite plainly – My Documents. It didn’t look the same as my old link, the icon was plain rather than stylized. I clicked thinking – “what’s the use, it will be blank” when suddenly… all of my files began to appear, slowly but surely each and every document, all the folders full of pictures, films and programs. All I could do was look at Darren and say “Oh.”
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Quick quick update!
Well... here it comes again. Another quickie. Let's just say the run-up to Christmas was hectic but fun. Met many friends of Darren's (see future entry: The Merry Men of Nottingham) and spent the whole Christmas weekend with his family (other future entry: Blood is Nuttier Than Water). Tomorrow my friend Brooke will be visiting me for a week here in England where I shall attempt to show her all highlights of the English countryside starting with Stonehenge. She'll also be joining us on the New Year's trip to St. Ives (see UFOria site for further details) for a fabulous fancy dress party (British for costume party) in the streets! Therefore do not look for frequent updates for a wee while as the holidays continue to be a whirlwind. I promise to make up for the lapse with wonderful tales after New Year. Until then, everyone enjoy the festivities and have a great New Year's Eve!!!
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
BACKLOG Chapter 3 – Abingdon
At last it comes time (going in reverse of course) to show off my new little town, in the daylight! Well first let me give you a little history of the market town of Abingdon.
Abingdon was occupied in prehistoric times by settlers of the Bronze and Iron ages. It was a flourishing town in the Roman period, which in turn gave way to a Saxon settlement. The earliest documents tell of a hamlet called Sevekesham sited at a ford of the Thames. Hean, nephew of King Cissa was granted land for founding a Benedictine monastery called Abbandun (Hill of Ebba) at the same time as his sister Cilla founded the Nunnery of Helnestowe on or near St Helens Church, the principal church in 675AD. When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries in 1538, Abingdon Abbey was the 6th richest in Britain.
The Monday market has existed since 1556. The Michaelmas Fair (now known as the Ock Fair) was originally a 'hiring mart' for those seeking employment.*
Abingdon is supposedly the oldest town in Britain, though a few other places also claim that honor. Basically the town is OLD. There are some ruins in the middle of a park and one near the library (pictures of those to come later) that attest to the age of this quaint little overgrown village. But for now I shall present to you what images I have been able to catch, so let the viewing begin…
*Courtesy of Oxtowns.co.uk, also see Wikipedia.
Abingdon was occupied in prehistoric times by settlers of the Bronze and Iron ages. It was a flourishing town in the Roman period, which in turn gave way to a Saxon settlement. The earliest documents tell of a hamlet called Sevekesham sited at a ford of the Thames. Hean, nephew of King Cissa was granted land for founding a Benedictine monastery called Abbandun (Hill of Ebba) at the same time as his sister Cilla founded the Nunnery of Helnestowe on or near St Helens Church, the principal church in 675AD. When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries in 1538, Abingdon Abbey was the 6th richest in Britain.
The Monday market has existed since 1556. The Michaelmas Fair (now known as the Ock Fair) was originally a 'hiring mart' for those seeking employment.*
Abingdon is supposedly the oldest town in Britain, though a few other places also claim that honor. Basically the town is OLD. There are some ruins in the middle of a park and one near the library (pictures of those to come later) that attest to the age of this quaint little overgrown village. But for now I shall present to you what images I have been able to catch, so let the viewing begin…
*Courtesy of Oxtowns.co.uk, also see Wikipedia.
View of Market Square and St. Nicholas church (this was where the festival rides were from the last entry)
Looking down the little strip mall, the heart of shopping in Abingdon. Unfortunately I think they tore down whatever beautiful architecture was here and redeveloped the lot in this not-so-classic 1970’s style… progress sucks sometimes.
County Hall, built in 1678/82, it was once the home of local government now turned museum. A rather interesting sight is watching local dignitaries throwing buns from the roof of the building for crowds in the market square during days of celebration – they even have examples of the types of buns thrown in the museum itself. Very strange…
4 East Saint Helen Street, home to me and Darren, the little window front was the Little Basement Museum but has since been closed due to safety reasons... don’t worry Darren and I are safe as we live 46 steps up through the heart of the building, residing in the spacious attic flat. (Translation – we live in a tower and with my hair growing longer by the minute, I’m beginning to feel like Rapunzel.)
View from our living room window – the only one that isn’t a skylight that is.
A beautiful set of lilies presented to me from Darren the day I returned to him!
One red rose was given as well, placed romantically so on the bed next to welcome home presents and a poem – She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron.
Monday, December 12, 2005
BACKLOG Chapter 2 – God bless us, everyone!
Being part of a small town (or medium town according to Darren) does have its good points. One of which are the fun little celebrations that brings everyone to the town square – yes, we do have a definitive town square. Because there isn’t much else a-happen’ throughout the year, Abingdonians must cling on to what they’ve got, that being an annual lighting ceremony to kick off the beginnings of Christmas madness. There were lights, cameras, fairground rides, candy floss and toffee apples (British for cotton candy and candy apples). And best of all there were people dressed in good olde English style! (Sorry no pictures of them abound here as I forgot to take some…)
But take a look at the festivities visited upon my sleepy little country town…
But take a look at the festivities visited upon my sleepy little country town…
The Town Square, replete with carnival rides and carnival food!
An semi-aerial view of our flat (can’t really see our windows as they are just skylights atop the white building with bay windows, we are above the second set of blue trimmed windows.)
The main street, High Street, all done up for the holidays!
A look down the little shopping strip in the center of town.
And finally the church at the end of High Street, we pass by this lovely place to get to the grocery store.
Note: All these pictures were taken atop the County Hall, in the middle of town. We could see as far away as the distant lights of Oxford as well as peer into our little home just across the street. (County Hall and the rest of Abingdon will be explored in the next edition of – The Next Great Adventure: The Return to England.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
BACKLOG Chapter 1 – Thanksgiving Goodness
Finally I’ve pulled my head out of the sand or perhaps out of another place too inappropriate to be named in a G-rated blog. Oh, what the hell?! Just say it… finally I’ve pulled my head out of my ass and am at last blogging again. At least for one more time in about a month or so. Since I have been so rude as to exclude you from the stories of the past few months, I hope to make amends by bombarding you with many tales all in a row, with lots and LOTS of pictures as requested. Running from more recent events back towards my brief days in Crimea, I will bring you all into my little world and attempt to gain your respect and love once again.
So to begin, I shall go back in time to a great American Holiday. A day of thanks and giving but mostly of food!
So to begin, I shall go back in time to a great American Holiday. A day of thanks and giving but mostly of food!
Due to the sad fact that Darren had never experienced a true Thanksgiving Day feast, I decided (rather gave him no option) to celebrate it this year and do it right, i.e. with all the trimmings!
The facts: we (I) made mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, corn (unfortunately not on the cob), cranberry sauce (ok, ok, it was store bought, give me a break!) and the pièce de résistance – slices of turkey breast stuffed with stuffing and topped with a brown gravy. And for dessert, a sweet potato pie! It was my very first sweet potato pie and it was made because we couldn’t find any pumpkin here (the Brits aren’t huge fans of such typical American fare).
Well as you can see it was indeed a feast for two and it only took me about 2-3 hours to make all together. Of course it took Darren about half an hour to devour it all – enough for two full helpings each and no leftovers hanging around for a month staring at us from the refrigerator!
To top off the night we enjoyed a wonderful bottle of Ravenswood Californian Zinfandel. After we wined and dined it was time to sit back and let everything settle… Overall it was a lovely evening, of course there were things missing from it – first and foremost a pumpkin pie (which by the way, a week later we found cans of damn pumpkin filling in another store!), no parade, no giant family get-togethers. On the other hand there were some things that were pleasantly absent, for instance no football blaring in the background, no mad dash to the malls for the after Thanksgiving Day sales (ok, well I actually do miss that one! I’ve been reduced to not only sewing my rapidly deteriorating socks but now my pajama bottoms and only pair of surviving pants as well.)
Anyways, I’ll leave you with a few things I’m thankful for and a few more pictures to prove that I, yes, Dacia Suzann Dyer, CAN indeed cook an edible and rather delicious I might add, Thanksgiving Day dinner!
I’m thankful for: family, friends, Darren, adventures in traveling, international calling cards, and a good home-cooked meal.
P.S. The lovely flowers in the background was a surprise no-occasion gift from my lovely boyfriend, awwwww... he's so sweet!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Momentous occasion
Finally...
... as a howling wind screams it's freezing fury through a clanking pair of rusty iron cemetery gates while a single black crow cries in hoarse rage at the black and bleeding skies...
...as a lithe athletic panther smoothes a speeding path through jade jungle, blending it's nature into nature like an indigo streak running through a Maya Indian's natural dye weaving...
....as a small boy stoops to pick up the winning winter conker that will forgive his weeny frame for months through unrivaled opportunities to say 'stampsies' to his envy eyed entourage...
....as an overworked and lonely office worker finds a moment of serendipitous calm to enjoy self directed sexual contemplation staring through the mirror lens of her skyrise prison,
A minibus will make it's arrival in Abingdon, oh ancient Abbandun of yore....
...and on that day the bus will know what it was built for....
To be the beginnings of a great company called - UFOria.
That's right folks! Darren has gone and done it! He bought a 2000 Ford Transit 17-seater minibus!! We went up north on Saturday to a little place called Huddersfield to big up the bad boy and took a nice little drive through the Peak District; sightseeing, practice driving, photoshoots, just generally breaking 'er in. Just after sundown we stopped at a little pub called Snake Pass Inn, being located at Snake Pass. There we enjoyed a delicious traditional English roast dinner and recuperated for a while. Discussing all the wonderful and challenging work yet to be done in creating a minibus business from scratch. Speaking of which, it is time now to leave you and continue on with that little adventure...
Me outside the minibus being pummeled by the Derbyshire wind!
... as a howling wind screams it's freezing fury through a clanking pair of rusty iron cemetery gates while a single black crow cries in hoarse rage at the black and bleeding skies...
...as a lithe athletic panther smoothes a speeding path through jade jungle, blending it's nature into nature like an indigo streak running through a Maya Indian's natural dye weaving...
....as a small boy stoops to pick up the winning winter conker that will forgive his weeny frame for months through unrivaled opportunities to say 'stampsies' to his envy eyed entourage...
....as an overworked and lonely office worker finds a moment of serendipitous calm to enjoy self directed sexual contemplation staring through the mirror lens of her skyrise prison,
A minibus will make it's arrival in Abingdon, oh ancient Abbandun of yore....
...and on that day the bus will know what it was built for....
To be the beginnings of a great company called - UFOria.
That's right folks! Darren has gone and done it! He bought a 2000 Ford Transit 17-seater minibus!! We went up north on Saturday to a little place called Huddersfield to big up the bad boy and took a nice little drive through the Peak District; sightseeing, practice driving, photoshoots, just generally breaking 'er in. Just after sundown we stopped at a little pub called Snake Pass Inn, being located at Snake Pass. There we enjoyed a delicious traditional English roast dinner and recuperated for a while. Discussing all the wonderful and challenging work yet to be done in creating a minibus business from scratch. Speaking of which, it is time now to leave you and continue on with that little adventure...
Darren and our mascot Marvin the Martian at the wheel of his new toy!
Me outside the minibus being pummeled by the Derbyshire wind!
Darren and I at our pub dinner, he looks startled, doesn't he?
(He was too busy enjoying his roast.)
[Sidenote: British English vs. American English - those silly Brits have about 10 different ways to say "dessert", all of which confusing and beating around the bush. Examples include: pudding, sweets, and dessert. They also say "tea" to mean the evening meal. No wonder good ol' George went mad, who can blame him?]
N.B. - The introduction of today's blog was generously and unknowingly donated to me by Darren's friend Pete from Thailand. He used it as his own intro to a recent email announcing his return home for the Christmas holidays. I'm not one to shy away from stealing the works of true genius. Therefore - Thanks Pete! Look forward to meeting you!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Chapter 23 – Crimea
The Black Sea. Second home to Kharkovites. First home to jellyfish. After finishing my last class in Kharkov, I finally got ready for hopefully one week of seaside and mountains. We all met at the train station, about 40 students and only half a dozen teachers. After an eight hour train journey to Simferopol, we took a three hour suburban train to Sevastopol, from there we hired minibuses to convey us to our seaside campsite. Eventually, thirteen hours later, we arrived. Well kind of.
We had arrived at the top of the hill and our camp was another 10 minute drive (or 20 minutes walking) along the scary, ultra windy, decrepit rocks and dirt (no pavement in sight) which was the road leading down the side of the mountain. Most of the students started off to camp, while the teachers waited for the ‘car’ to come pick up all the baggage we brought. One car load later and our transportation was broken. From there on out it was the beginning of one long suffering nightmare that turns rosy colored in hindsight.
I and three lads, one teacher and two young students, carried the last lot of luggage down the windy road, up the little hill, clambering over rocks and falling in to massive pot holes until at long last we got to ‘camp’. It was a nice little campsite with the requisite outhouse, picnic tables as cafeteria and old-school heavy cloth tents on wooden planks with stinky wafer-thin mattresses. All in all it looked cobbled together, like some old army regiment ran away and left all their equipment behind but it was brightened up by the blue and yellow (color of Ukraine’s flag) plastic tarp over each tent and the ‘canteen’.
We had arrived at the top of the hill and our camp was another 10 minute drive (or 20 minutes walking) along the scary, ultra windy, decrepit rocks and dirt (no pavement in sight) which was the road leading down the side of the mountain. Most of the students started off to camp, while the teachers waited for the ‘car’ to come pick up all the baggage we brought. One car load later and our transportation was broken. From there on out it was the beginning of one long suffering nightmare that turns rosy colored in hindsight.
I and three lads, one teacher and two young students, carried the last lot of luggage down the windy road, up the little hill, clambering over rocks and falling in to massive pot holes until at long last we got to ‘camp’. It was a nice little campsite with the requisite outhouse, picnic tables as cafeteria and old-school heavy cloth tents on wooden planks with stinky wafer-thin mattresses. All in all it looked cobbled together, like some old army regiment ran away and left all their equipment behind but it was brightened up by the blue and yellow (color of Ukraine’s flag) plastic tarp over each tent and the ‘canteen’.
– Speaking of hindsight – Now would be an appropriate time to relate that it was much nicer than I make out. It was simple, efficient (except for when the unusually heavy rain set it and one of the cloth tents was soaked for a day or two) but overall Ukrainian. Being from a well off neighborhood in a typical suburban city in one of the richest countries in the world, I’m rather spoiled (to say the very least) and therefore imagined a flatish landscape dotted with the latest in poly-fibre-ethymol-lokdjoewqae tents. Not having camped all that often in my mollycoddled life I didn’t really have a clear idea what to expect, and thus my imagination ran wild with images of American camping movies. And this is where the disillusionment from above comes from. In reality it was a rocky and uneven site with treacherous boulder-rocks poking into the paths all around (I guess you would call that nature…?), but well organized into little groups of tents and felt like little neighborhoods in different parts of camp.
“Where are you at?”
“Oh, we’re seaside view. And you?”
“We have the mountain (and outhouse) in our backyard.”
“I’ve heard there are good schools in that area.”
Although I give more credit now to the setup of camp, I must say in no uncertain terms that under any circumstances do I enjoy the smell or experience of an outhouse. – End of hindsight – continuation of narration…
The days themselves passed in strictish fashion, beginning with breakfast at 7:30 which usually consisted of a strange mix of overly cooked and buttered pasta, super overly buttered bread (one slice per one person!) and if lucky some sort of meat like food. The drink was a nice tea or compote juice. After breakfast we had the choice of going to the beach, which most people did most days, or our own free time. Then about 10:30 anyone who really wanted to learn could return to camp for our 2 hour English lessons. They were themed lessons centering around celebrities, holidays, English traditions, cards and card tricks, and random things that we could come up with on the spot. Each lesson had a lecture part – the nitty gritty of language learning, a project – building little arts and crafts in groups hopefully using English to communicate, and finally learning a song that usually had some connection to the theme. For instance, I taught “The Shape of My Heart” by Sting on the day that we did cards, after I learned the words for myself for the first time that morning! (I also taught a little about tarot as well that day which everyone seemed to enjoy.)
Moving along, after lessons was another strange meal, which luckily sort of, wasn’t just strange to me, but the students also found the concoctions given us by the camp leaders a bit odd. Also luckily, there was a mini general store on the camp site so you could buy essentials like instant coffee, chocolate, chips and alcohol of course. After filling ourselves up again we had yet more free time lasting from about 2:30pm to 7pm when dinner was served. Some people used the free time to return to the beach, I often took naps or tried to read or write in my journal but wasn’t too successful. After such a strenuous afternoon, we had to revitalize again. Dinner usually had a soup to start and then a meat based entrée with tea. If we could capture enough people after dinner we would do a ‘Team Challenge’, a sort of team building, mini English lesson usually more active than the lessons of the day. It would last for about an hour or so before we finally let everyone off for the night to do what they wished… drink, go to the beach and skinny dip, play cards, make a mini disco, what have you.
Now that you have the general idea of camp life, I’m going to reminisce some more by reliving those glorious days and take a wee bit of a nap (‘kip’ in BE, British English). Next time look forward to details of the excursions taken in Crimea (in brief) and life in Abingdon (including pictures). Until then next time folks!
P.S. Here are some pics to stave you off until then…
The mountain I climbed... more than once
Chilling on the beach with Bogdan
My roommate...
Crimean mountains
Three Black Sea Mermaids
Me and Sergei Ivanovich
Our piece of beach
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Chapter 22 – Ukrainian Woodstock
Keeping up on my promise there is one last story of Kharkov before I went to the Black Sea and beyond that should be told and that is the story of my first ever music festival!
Picture it: Late July in the western Ukrainian plains. A large stage back dropped by a lake and the forest behind. Before the stage a large hill that soon would be filled to the brim with enthusiasts, novices (like myself) and music lovers in general, all gathering at this place in one moment to share in the beauty of nature and experience the energy and power that is music. I was invited to this annual festival by Sergei Ivanovich, a true lover of music. He left early in the morning in order to not miss a drop of fun. I had to work in the morning teaching two conversation groups. After I finished imparting my bit of knowledge into my eager students, I went home to change and get myself ready for good times!
The moment I stepped in the door of my flat the rain came and came hard. I was grounded for a while as I had neither heavy coat nor umbrella. Thus I missed out on much of the event including the portion when the Prime Minister herself made an appearance at the celebrated event. Finally the ran had let up enough that I was able to run from my flat to the metro station without looking too much like a drowned rat upon arrival. There was a bus station in the far Southeast part of Kharkov (I lived in the more western part) so it took about a half hour or so just to reach the bus station with the special buses that would take awaiting fans to Pechenivsky Pole (the venue). At long last I had arrived and managed to find what I thought to be the correct bus.
It took me and 5 others outside Kharkov, farther and farther a field than I had been before (especially alone). One by one the other passengers left the bus in random places sometimes near towns, at others times in the middle of nowhere. I was beginning to think that I had gotten on the wrong bus and I was headed to Russia or Poland. Eventually there were 4 fairlyinebriatedd blokes who got on board at one of these random stops and they, in their drunken drawls, were talking about the music festival I was trying to reach. I was calmed a little but now distraught at the sketchiness.
After about one hour we arrived. There was nothing resembling a stage where the bus dropped us off but there were miles and miles of cars and masses of people moving in the same general direction. I decided it would be best to follow them. After a nice little hike I climbed over a small hill and saw it - my very first music festival! It was a combination of regular festival, with stalls of food and other non-essential items but at the far end of the field next to a large steep hill there was the stagerepletet with gigantic screens on either side. It was great!
I managed to find Sergei Ivanovich who kindly bought me some food and then we went and staked out some places close to the top of the hill. We listened to Moldavan and Romanian guest bands and then watched some cute acts ofgymnasticss by Ukrainian girls and then we got into the really good stuff. Traditional and modern Ukrainian fare. My new favorite band - VV (can't remember what it stands for) but the lead singer was awesome, energetic, fun, enthusiastic, and most impressive of all was that he played about 5 different instruments includingaccordionn and ta da - Violin!!
After that the fireworks started. They had them over the lake, there was a bit of delay as they had to clear the road bridge before they could let off the fireworks but they finally made it and it was cool. I had my 4th of July after all - a few weeks late. Then they had a few more good but not overly remarkable acts and that's when the rains returned this time harder than before. Luckily Sergei Ivanovich was prepared and had an extra umbrella for me. We started to make our way back to the buses and waited for one that would take us to Kharkov, the only hitch was, none were going there! So we eventually pushed and shoved our way onto a bus going to Cheguyev... close but not quite. From there Sergei negotiated a taxi for us and we rode the extra half hour in a bouncy Lada.
By the time we got back it was three in the morning and the metro was closed. Taking a taxi back to my place from the very south side (where we were dropped off) would have cost an arm and a leg so Sergei kindly invited me to crash at his place. I watched a bit of cable on his tv, played with hispsychoticallyy energetic cat and then passed out asleep. In the morning around 10, he made us breakfast of pelmeni (like ravioli) and sandwiches. Then he walked me to the metro station and off I was back home. All in all it was a great time and a good first experience at a music festival. I hope to go to more and since Darren is beyond obsessed with music (as evidenced by his 400+ cds, which I organized and alphabetized!!) I'm sure we'll be going to many a concert and festival.
Picture it: Late July in the western Ukrainian plains. A large stage back dropped by a lake and the forest behind. Before the stage a large hill that soon would be filled to the brim with enthusiasts, novices (like myself) and music lovers in general, all gathering at this place in one moment to share in the beauty of nature and experience the energy and power that is music. I was invited to this annual festival by Sergei Ivanovich, a true lover of music. He left early in the morning in order to not miss a drop of fun. I had to work in the morning teaching two conversation groups. After I finished imparting my bit of knowledge into my eager students, I went home to change and get myself ready for good times!
The moment I stepped in the door of my flat the rain came and came hard. I was grounded for a while as I had neither heavy coat nor umbrella. Thus I missed out on much of the event including the portion when the Prime Minister herself made an appearance at the celebrated event. Finally the ran had let up enough that I was able to run from my flat to the metro station without looking too much like a drowned rat upon arrival. There was a bus station in the far Southeast part of Kharkov (I lived in the more western part) so it took about a half hour or so just to reach the bus station with the special buses that would take awaiting fans to Pechenivsky Pole (the venue). At long last I had arrived and managed to find what I thought to be the correct bus.
It took me and 5 others outside Kharkov, farther and farther a field than I had been before (especially alone). One by one the other passengers left the bus in random places sometimes near towns, at others times in the middle of nowhere. I was beginning to think that I had gotten on the wrong bus and I was headed to Russia or Poland. Eventually there were 4 fairlyinebriatedd blokes who got on board at one of these random stops and they, in their drunken drawls, were talking about the music festival I was trying to reach. I was calmed a little but now distraught at the sketchiness.
After about one hour we arrived. There was nothing resembling a stage where the bus dropped us off but there were miles and miles of cars and masses of people moving in the same general direction. I decided it would be best to follow them. After a nice little hike I climbed over a small hill and saw it - my very first music festival! It was a combination of regular festival, with stalls of food and other non-essential items but at the far end of the field next to a large steep hill there was the stagerepletet with gigantic screens on either side. It was great!
I managed to find Sergei Ivanovich who kindly bought me some food and then we went and staked out some places close to the top of the hill. We listened to Moldavan and Romanian guest bands and then watched some cute acts ofgymnasticss by Ukrainian girls and then we got into the really good stuff. Traditional and modern Ukrainian fare. My new favorite band - VV (can't remember what it stands for) but the lead singer was awesome, energetic, fun, enthusiastic, and most impressive of all was that he played about 5 different instruments includingaccordionn and ta da - Violin!!
After that the fireworks started. They had them over the lake, there was a bit of delay as they had to clear the road bridge before they could let off the fireworks but they finally made it and it was cool. I had my 4th of July after all - a few weeks late. Then they had a few more good but not overly remarkable acts and that's when the rains returned this time harder than before. Luckily Sergei Ivanovich was prepared and had an extra umbrella for me. We started to make our way back to the buses and waited for one that would take us to Kharkov, the only hitch was, none were going there! So we eventually pushed and shoved our way onto a bus going to Cheguyev... close but not quite. From there Sergei negotiated a taxi for us and we rode the extra half hour in a bouncy Lada.
By the time we got back it was three in the morning and the metro was closed. Taking a taxi back to my place from the very south side (where we were dropped off) would have cost an arm and a leg so Sergei kindly invited me to crash at his place. I watched a bit of cable on his tv, played with hispsychoticallyy energetic cat and then passed out asleep. In the morning around 10, he made us breakfast of pelmeni (like ravioli) and sandwiches. Then he walked me to the metro station and off I was back home. All in all it was a great time and a good first experience at a music festival. I hope to go to more and since Darren is beyond obsessed with music (as evidenced by his 400+ cds, which I organized and alphabetized!!) I'm sure we'll be going to many a concert and festival.
Friday, September 30, 2005
No Excuse
There are no excuses for my long blogging absence therefore I won’t try to make any. As for an update, well I’m still in Abingdon (still 6 miles south of Oxford) and I’m applying for jobs with companies and the university there. Darren and I signed up for internet access this week and should hopefully be connecting sometime in the next few days. At that point I will upload all the photos I can of Ukraine and Germany along with getting back on the wagon of updating frequently. There are many stories to tell… and I will try to tell them in a timely fashion from now on! :)
P.S. Thanks Stacy for giving me a virtual kick in the ass!
P.S. Thanks Stacy for giving me a virtual kick in the ass!
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Cop-out Blog
Well, this is going to be short and bitter. (Not everyone likes sweets you know.) I'm alive and well and currently residing in Abingdon with Darren. We pretty much have things set up, except a television (I'm going through the shakes and withdrawals right now) and internet access at home (thus the recent lack of communication because my lazy bum couldn't make it to go to the library during it's short opening hours in order to wait forever for 20 minutes of internet time). Therefore pictures and stories of the insane amount of travel covered in the past few weeks will be postponed until such time as I am inspired to transcribe it all (i.e. when I stop wondering at the weirdness of the town "centre" closing and and being deserted at 5pm and start working on all the tons of things that need to be accomplished). Until then... as they say in Ukraine: poterpi! No, not potpourri!! Poterpi - suffer.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Help, I'm in a nutshell!
Well, tonight I leave on a midnight (12:15am to be precise) bus ride to Kiev Boryspol airport. I'll arrive about 7am tomorrow and then have the morning to buy last-last-minute souvenirs in the historic district of Kiev before I take a flight about 2pm and go to London where Darren will meet me. I'm now just finishing some errands around the city and trying to keep calm as I attempt another big move. I think I'm going to have to make my stay in Abingdon a loooooong one as my heart can't take any more moving. Three long distance moves in one year is MORE than enough. So watch out Darren - you're getting a hanger-on whether you like it or not!!
Must run now... look for updates and replies to email in about a week once I've settled in and found internet cafes in the quaint English countryside town.
Must run now... look for updates and replies to email in about a week once I've settled in and found internet cafes in the quaint English countryside town.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Sevastopol, Crimea
Hello all!! I'm now, finally back into civilization - for at least a day. To catch you up really quickly. I have finished the first session of the summer language camps. Much to my dismay, I was required for the beginning half of the next session. Meaning I'll be in the Crimea until the 27th of August rather than returning to Kharkov today. I was dismayed at this because, in case I forgot to tell you, this is my last week in Ukraine (at least this turn around). That means I'll have another three days here in the south, then travel back up to home of Kharkov and be there for only two days (thus attempting to cram last minute errands into half the time I expected). From there I will need to travel overnight to Kiev, and catch my plane to London on the 30th.
Well... so things aren't working out as I had planned... that's nothing too new now. After the initial disappoint of this news I finally managed to travel to an actual city in Crimea (see title) and get to internet, shops and something other than mountains and sea - ancient Byzantine ruins. Details of all my adventures will come, once I return to England. So now my spirits are in better shape and I must now return to the wilderness (hiking down a mountain to get to my seaside camp) and begin the next camp tomorrow. Now at least I have the energy and motivation to do so.. but I still don't have time to do everything in Kharkov. That will be the next bit of 'adventure' to figure out. Keep you posted!!
Well... so things aren't working out as I had planned... that's nothing too new now. After the initial disappoint of this news I finally managed to travel to an actual city in Crimea (see title) and get to internet, shops and something other than mountains and sea - ancient Byzantine ruins. Details of all my adventures will come, once I return to England. So now my spirits are in better shape and I must now return to the wilderness (hiking down a mountain to get to my seaside camp) and begin the next camp tomorrow. Now at least I have the energy and motivation to do so.. but I still don't have time to do everything in Kharkov. That will be the next bit of 'adventure' to figure out. Keep you posted!!
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Chapter 21 – Long overdue update!!
In about three hours time I will be on a midnight train (departing at 9:30pm actually) heading south to the Black Sea. I’ll be going with my school to a summer language camp for students, in my usual role as native English speaking teacher. However I do hope to catch a bit of sun, fun and free time while there. I’ve been given much advice on where to go in the Crimea and what to do… it’s now just a matter or time, will and ability. I’ll be gone for approximately 9 days (give or take depending on the situation with another native speaker taking my place for the final camp in the last week of August). Therefore I won’t be able to check emails/post more deliciously exciting blogs during that time. I’m very Excited to be seeing another part of Ukraine and hope to get to Yalta (and Odessa, which is NOT in the Crimea).
Upon returning from the Black Sea, I’ll have one last week to finish sightseeing around Kharkov, taking all the pictures I didn’t get a chance to take earlier and saying goodbye to all the friends I made here during my short five-month respite from Western Europe. At which point I’ll take a midnight bus from Kharkov, on August 29th, to Kiev. I’ll have the morning to do very, Very last minute shopping in the quaint tourist district in the center of the capital city and then head back to the airport to catch an afternoon flight on August 30th bound for London via Prague. Around 5:30pm, I’ll arrive at London’s Gatwick airport – that is unless the employees there decide to strike, in which case I’ll probably enjoy the lovely airport lounge in Prague for a good few hours or days.
From there I will move to Abingdon, a picturesque and charming little town a few miles south of Oxford. After that… we’ll I’m not sure exactly what I’ll do except that I will enjoy hopefully a bug-free existence and find some work to pay my rapidly accruing bills. As well as preparing to take part, if accepted, in a work exchange program in Moscow next fall. (More on that crazy adventure to come.) For now I have to get to the train station before everyone leaves without me and I have a repeat of the terrible adventure in Ireland when I missed the departure of the tour group. Goodbye for now! See you (virtually at least) in a week!!
N.B. Due to the lack of communication in the coming week, I’ve added several posts to the blog today to give my avid readers plenty of material to hold you over while I sunbathe on the Black Sea. Look forward to next week when tales of the seaside holiday will be posted!
Upon returning from the Black Sea, I’ll have one last week to finish sightseeing around Kharkov, taking all the pictures I didn’t get a chance to take earlier and saying goodbye to all the friends I made here during my short five-month respite from Western Europe. At which point I’ll take a midnight bus from Kharkov, on August 29th, to Kiev. I’ll have the morning to do very, Very last minute shopping in the quaint tourist district in the center of the capital city and then head back to the airport to catch an afternoon flight on August 30th bound for London via Prague. Around 5:30pm, I’ll arrive at London’s Gatwick airport – that is unless the employees there decide to strike, in which case I’ll probably enjoy the lovely airport lounge in Prague for a good few hours or days.
From there I will move to Abingdon, a picturesque and charming little town a few miles south of Oxford. After that… we’ll I’m not sure exactly what I’ll do except that I will enjoy hopefully a bug-free existence and find some work to pay my rapidly accruing bills. As well as preparing to take part, if accepted, in a work exchange program in Moscow next fall. (More on that crazy adventure to come.) For now I have to get to the train station before everyone leaves without me and I have a repeat of the terrible adventure in Ireland when I missed the departure of the tour group. Goodbye for now! See you (virtually at least) in a week!!
N.B. Due to the lack of communication in the coming week, I’ve added several posts to the blog today to give my avid readers plenty of material to hold you over while I sunbathe on the Black Sea. Look forward to next week when tales of the seaside holiday will be posted!
Chapter 20 – Дай Бог Здорова!
Sitting alone on a park bench outside the usual internet café in Shevchenko Park drinking a beer, eating a hot sandwich and enjoying the dusk, I contemplate life in Ukraine, England and in general. Old ladies and men hover around the young and cheerful loiterers, such as myself, in expectation of something. Perhaps money, perhaps a chance to dole out wisdom gathered through a tough life of stable Soviet times and the transition to an unstable ‘democracy’ to this new generation of materialists.
I finish the now cold ham and cheese sandwich and down the last drop of Obolon Sobornaya. Suddenly I see an old woman rushing towards me, and I understand what it is she wants, after months of observation of this unique and intriguing culture. The beer bottle. She wants neither money, nor pity, nor to give advice. She simply wants the nice green glass that could mean an added few copecks to her measly pension. As I hand over the bottle she says in a weak and hoarse voice, “Дай Бог Здорова!” “God give you health!”. I smile and head into the cafй to check what’s new in the cyber world of electronic mail, pondering whether it is ironic or not that she asked God to give me health after I effectively killed dozens of brain cells and put my liver to hard work with the 5.4% brew. Ironic I decide, but interesting.
I finish the now cold ham and cheese sandwich and down the last drop of Obolon Sobornaya. Suddenly I see an old woman rushing towards me, and I understand what it is she wants, after months of observation of this unique and intriguing culture. The beer bottle. She wants neither money, nor pity, nor to give advice. She simply wants the nice green glass that could mean an added few copecks to her measly pension. As I hand over the bottle she says in a weak and hoarse voice, “Дай Бог Здорова!” “God give you health!”. I smile and head into the cafй to check what’s new in the cyber world of electronic mail, pondering whether it is ironic or not that she asked God to give me health after I effectively killed dozens of brain cells and put my liver to hard work with the 5.4% brew. Ironic I decide, but interesting.
Chapter 19 – Liberation Day, 23 August
After months of depravation, oppression and overall depression, at last the day long awaited for had come. The German army is pushed out by brave Soviet men and women, leaving Kharkov to its inhabitants again to begin rebuilding their homes and lives. A day that will forever be remembered, Liberation Day, 23 August 194…?
Well I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t here then or even born for that matter. But I do know that it is a very important date, even more so than modern Ukrainian Independence Day which follows immediately after on the 24th of August. Also I know there is a statue to commemorate this great day. I know this because now I live opposite of that giant of Soviet art.
That’s right folks… I moved… again. The 1st of July brought not only the insane heat we’ve been experiencing but also it brought Sasha to my flat to help transport my overabundant belongings from Cold Mountain to 23 August. I now live with one Ukrainian girl who is a student at my school. We share a two bedroom, first floor flat, without balcony but with an automatic boiler. Yeah!! No more scary lighting of ancient gas boilers! Also we have fairly consistent running water, which is a feature I lacked in the very first flat I lived in. She has a television with cable, including the beloved BBC World Edition news and she lets me watch it whenever (unlike scary Babushka who used to lock the door thus prevented my acquisition of news from the outside world).
That’s the positive features. The negatives: More bugs (cockroaches, spiders and freaky little refrigerator bugs) than I’ve EVER seen in a single household I’ve lived in, including a terrifying mutated 4-legged giant spider who decided to move into my bathtub for a while. Eventually I explained that the flat was for humans only and placing him on a newspaper, I released him to the wild again (put him outside my flat where insects belong!). Another downside is the bed, I’ve traded sleeping on the living room couch – which was surprisingly comfortable – for a super old and thus indented twin size bed. That’s okay I suppose, they have chiropractors in England.
Overall it’s a good situation, the bathroom and kitchen have been retiled, although there is no bathroom sink (just the pipes protruding from the wall where one would go) and so brushing my teeth in the bathtub is the norm. For the past few weeks my roomie has been in the Crimea, so I’ve had the place to myself for a while. It’s also right across the street from a Huge and Expensive supermarket as well as an extensive and cheap outdoor market (where I now normally shop). This flat is closer to the city center and thus work, so I can sleep in even later and still get to work relatively on time.
It was hard moving again and for a while I doubted my choice, but it has been a good experience learning about another part of the city and I have finally been able to keep up with world events such as the bombing in London, the IRA declaration of cessation of fighting and the Discovery success. Now as my time rolls to an end here (see post Long Overdue Update) I will say goodbye to all my flats and hope to move to an apartment where all things will be in one place (i.e. a bathroom sink IN the bathroom, a bed that doesn’t roll me into a ball shape, a boiler that needs no help to start itself and most important – NO MORE BUGS!!) Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?
Well I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t here then or even born for that matter. But I do know that it is a very important date, even more so than modern Ukrainian Independence Day which follows immediately after on the 24th of August. Also I know there is a statue to commemorate this great day. I know this because now I live opposite of that giant of Soviet art.
That’s right folks… I moved… again. The 1st of July brought not only the insane heat we’ve been experiencing but also it brought Sasha to my flat to help transport my overabundant belongings from Cold Mountain to 23 August. I now live with one Ukrainian girl who is a student at my school. We share a two bedroom, first floor flat, without balcony but with an automatic boiler. Yeah!! No more scary lighting of ancient gas boilers! Also we have fairly consistent running water, which is a feature I lacked in the very first flat I lived in. She has a television with cable, including the beloved BBC World Edition news and she lets me watch it whenever (unlike scary Babushka who used to lock the door thus prevented my acquisition of news from the outside world).
That’s the positive features. The negatives: More bugs (cockroaches, spiders and freaky little refrigerator bugs) than I’ve EVER seen in a single household I’ve lived in, including a terrifying mutated 4-legged giant spider who decided to move into my bathtub for a while. Eventually I explained that the flat was for humans only and placing him on a newspaper, I released him to the wild again (put him outside my flat where insects belong!). Another downside is the bed, I’ve traded sleeping on the living room couch – which was surprisingly comfortable – for a super old and thus indented twin size bed. That’s okay I suppose, they have chiropractors in England.
Overall it’s a good situation, the bathroom and kitchen have been retiled, although there is no bathroom sink (just the pipes protruding from the wall where one would go) and so brushing my teeth in the bathtub is the norm. For the past few weeks my roomie has been in the Crimea, so I’ve had the place to myself for a while. It’s also right across the street from a Huge and Expensive supermarket as well as an extensive and cheap outdoor market (where I now normally shop). This flat is closer to the city center and thus work, so I can sleep in even later and still get to work relatively on time.
It was hard moving again and for a while I doubted my choice, but it has been a good experience learning about another part of the city and I have finally been able to keep up with world events such as the bombing in London, the IRA declaration of cessation of fighting and the Discovery success. Now as my time rolls to an end here (see post Long Overdue Update) I will say goodbye to all my flats and hope to move to an apartment where all things will be in one place (i.e. a bathroom sink IN the bathroom, a bed that doesn’t roll me into a ball shape, a boiler that needs no help to start itself and most important – NO MORE BUGS!!) Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Chapter 18 – Staryi Saltov
Alexander – Александр – Alex – Саша (Sasha)
In Russian the diminutive for Alexander is Sasha, like in English it can refer to a person of female of male gender. In this case it is a male student of mine named Sasha. You may wonder why I chose to give you the etymology of the name instead of just telling you the story of Staryi Saltov, but you see it’s all about setting the mood… drawing you into this rather uneventful story… did it work? Well hopefully if you’re still reading thus far.
About two months ago I met Sasha when I visited his class (part of my role here as ‘native speaker’ is to visit other teachers’ classes and be an audio aid). After the class he and I started talking about international travel, student organizations, etc., exchanging phone numbers in the process. A few weeks later we met again randomly in the main park area behind Lenin (his statue that is). We spent about four hours talking and translating a Russian song into English. After that we started to met more frequently, he came over to my money-pit flat (the second flat I lived in, that is) and worked on my computer, since he’s a programmer here and knows his stuff. He also gave me some movies – American films dubbed, Dubbed! in Russian. I Hate dubbing but Russians Hate subtitles and therefore all movies are, sometimes half-assedly, dubbed into their preferred language.
Moving on, about a month later Sasha invited me to his birthday party at a lakeside resort called – dan da DA! – Staryi Saltov. Very popular with summer vacationers. I was one of a dozen privileged friends to make the hour long trek outside of Kharkov to a reserved old-school wooden cabin. There was my Sasha and his girlfriend Ira, his best friend, Sasha and girlfriend Katya, then another Sasha and his girlfriend Yulia and then Kostya and Natasha (can you tell the popular name here?!).
As the boys started gathering wood and setting up for the BBQ, Katya and I laid on the shore for a while soaking up the sun. The only problem with this idyllic scene is the fact that I have no shorts at all and was wearing long black pants on June 23rd in Ukriane (i.e. HOT). After a while however we headed back to the cabin and as everyone was gathering we ate, drank (yes, vodka was involved again) and were all very merry. The lingua franca was Russian, except for a few occasions when Sasha or some other of his friends wanted to practice their English and of course when Britney Spears was blasting on the stereo!
When the food was mostly finished and the drinks were running low the dancing started. I cannot lie, I took part in all aspects of Slavic birthday traditions from the insane number of vodka toasts (to your birthday, to life, to friendship, to drinking, to anything-so-long-as-we-have-booze!!) to the philosophical chats (conducted in Russian which raised my confidence in my language ability) to the crazy karaoke (which apparently is Very popular here) and the makeshift club dance party.
It was a damn good time until about 2am when my stomach, liver and kidneys all went on strike to protest my abuse of them. I couldn’t sleep (rather, I couldn’t lie down as the room would spin and stomach churn in a most horrible foreshadow of things to come … up that is). After drinking about a litre and a half by myself of water (which the boys pulled from a nearby spring) and about a half dozen trips to the loo (the bushes behind the cabin) I was eventually able to lay down without too much trouble. The next day came late and I felt like shit, understandably.
The one tradition which I tried and refused to finish was the Ukrainian Hangover Cure – after waking up, drink another beer in the morning and the pain and anguish will disappear. Yeah, right! I had about a sip of the beer Sasha opened for me and decided that was one custom I couldn’t hack. So it was back to the good old water and time prescription for me.
That day was spent recovering, sitting on the shore and dipping toes into the no-so-clean water, eating and chatting with some more friends who finally came by bus. We played some fun games, this time in English as the newcomer friends all spoke it proficiently. Also I went on my first catamaran ride on the lake! (Pictures to come, I Promise!!) It was fun except that my stomach was still teaching me a lesson by its protest and bobbing up and down on a lake wasn’t the best way to ingratiate myself to my knackered organ. Eventually the scary landlady pushed us off after yelling at us about the trash and state of the cabin (which was exactly the way we found it…) we left for the city once again.
This time the one guy with a car had left earlier in the day and the rest of us, six altogether, had to hitchhike our way home. I left that to Sasha as he negotiated a price with a random car that stopped by the road. (I love how you can get anything in this country if you just have money. Complete strangers will take you near to where you want for just about 20 gryvnia… aahhhh capitalism at its best.) Arriving back near the metro we finally parted and went our separate ways, Sasha and Ira off together and I to my home to rest for the remainder of the day and pray for a quick recovery, or if not quick at least full recovery. And yes, I did recover and haven’t touch vodka since… well maybe that’s not entirely the truth… but that’s another story for another time… stay tuned!
In Russian the diminutive for Alexander is Sasha, like in English it can refer to a person of female of male gender. In this case it is a male student of mine named Sasha. You may wonder why I chose to give you the etymology of the name instead of just telling you the story of Staryi Saltov, but you see it’s all about setting the mood… drawing you into this rather uneventful story… did it work? Well hopefully if you’re still reading thus far.
About two months ago I met Sasha when I visited his class (part of my role here as ‘native speaker’ is to visit other teachers’ classes and be an audio aid). After the class he and I started talking about international travel, student organizations, etc., exchanging phone numbers in the process. A few weeks later we met again randomly in the main park area behind Lenin (his statue that is). We spent about four hours talking and translating a Russian song into English. After that we started to met more frequently, he came over to my money-pit flat (the second flat I lived in, that is) and worked on my computer, since he’s a programmer here and knows his stuff. He also gave me some movies – American films dubbed, Dubbed! in Russian. I Hate dubbing but Russians Hate subtitles and therefore all movies are, sometimes half-assedly, dubbed into their preferred language.
Moving on, about a month later Sasha invited me to his birthday party at a lakeside resort called – dan da DA! – Staryi Saltov. Very popular with summer vacationers. I was one of a dozen privileged friends to make the hour long trek outside of Kharkov to a reserved old-school wooden cabin. There was my Sasha and his girlfriend Ira, his best friend, Sasha and girlfriend Katya, then another Sasha and his girlfriend Yulia and then Kostya and Natasha (can you tell the popular name here?!).
As the boys started gathering wood and setting up for the BBQ, Katya and I laid on the shore for a while soaking up the sun. The only problem with this idyllic scene is the fact that I have no shorts at all and was wearing long black pants on June 23rd in Ukriane (i.e. HOT). After a while however we headed back to the cabin and as everyone was gathering we ate, drank (yes, vodka was involved again) and were all very merry. The lingua franca was Russian, except for a few occasions when Sasha or some other of his friends wanted to practice their English and of course when Britney Spears was blasting on the stereo!
When the food was mostly finished and the drinks were running low the dancing started. I cannot lie, I took part in all aspects of Slavic birthday traditions from the insane number of vodka toasts (to your birthday, to life, to friendship, to drinking, to anything-so-long-as-we-have-booze!!) to the philosophical chats (conducted in Russian which raised my confidence in my language ability) to the crazy karaoke (which apparently is Very popular here) and the makeshift club dance party.
It was a damn good time until about 2am when my stomach, liver and kidneys all went on strike to protest my abuse of them. I couldn’t sleep (rather, I couldn’t lie down as the room would spin and stomach churn in a most horrible foreshadow of things to come … up that is). After drinking about a litre and a half by myself of water (which the boys pulled from a nearby spring) and about a half dozen trips to the loo (the bushes behind the cabin) I was eventually able to lay down without too much trouble. The next day came late and I felt like shit, understandably.
The one tradition which I tried and refused to finish was the Ukrainian Hangover Cure – after waking up, drink another beer in the morning and the pain and anguish will disappear. Yeah, right! I had about a sip of the beer Sasha opened for me and decided that was one custom I couldn’t hack. So it was back to the good old water and time prescription for me.
That day was spent recovering, sitting on the shore and dipping toes into the no-so-clean water, eating and chatting with some more friends who finally came by bus. We played some fun games, this time in English as the newcomer friends all spoke it proficiently. Also I went on my first catamaran ride on the lake! (Pictures to come, I Promise!!) It was fun except that my stomach was still teaching me a lesson by its protest and bobbing up and down on a lake wasn’t the best way to ingratiate myself to my knackered organ. Eventually the scary landlady pushed us off after yelling at us about the trash and state of the cabin (which was exactly the way we found it…) we left for the city once again.
This time the one guy with a car had left earlier in the day and the rest of us, six altogether, had to hitchhike our way home. I left that to Sasha as he negotiated a price with a random car that stopped by the road. (I love how you can get anything in this country if you just have money. Complete strangers will take you near to where you want for just about 20 gryvnia… aahhhh capitalism at its best.) Arriving back near the metro we finally parted and went our separate ways, Sasha and Ira off together and I to my home to rest for the remainder of the day and pray for a quick recovery, or if not quick at least full recovery. And yes, I did recover and haven’t touch vodka since… well maybe that’s not entirely the truth… but that’s another story for another time… stay tuned!
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Chapter 17 – Trip to the Zoo
A few weeks ago now (sorry for the extreme delay) a student and I went to Kharkov zoo together. Ostensibly, for me to give him information on America as he was planning to go and work there for a while in July or August, as well as also to show me the zoo – one of the main attractions here. First however we had lunch at a nice little pizzeria in the park and chatted about US and every day life there. However since I’ve been away for so long, it was quite a task trying to remember what every day life is like there, but it was a good exercise for me so as to not forget completely. After gorging on some delicious pizzas we went to the zoo – about a 5 minute walk away from Freedom Square.
Excitement mounted as he paid for the tickets (a few gryvnia) and we crossed over the threshold. We enter and I look around with interested, foreign eyes. The zoo is much smaller than it’s counterpart in Denver. (By the way, the US sister city of Kharkov is actually Cincinnati.) We make our way past food stalls in the middle of the path and turn right to find the bears.
Recently renovated, the enclosure for the black, brown and polar bears (oh my!) still seemed to my western trained eyes as small and sad. The area was about half the size of that from the Denver zoo and was shallowly filled with really nasty green water for the black and brown bears and slightly less green for the polar bears.
We then went on to visit the snake and other creepy crawly things room, which was housed in what seemed an old bomb shelter – dark, deep beneath the earth with not much ventilation. I decided that if the children I saw here weren’t scared and running out of the building screaming, then I should try to be tough and emulate them. I saw some pretty amazing turtles, though again in cramped quarters. Luckily there were no spiders in this part so all was well unless one of the snakes decided to make a run of it and escape, which none of them did. Moving on we went to see the bird keeps.
There were the usual parrots of all color and size, then some owls and of course… chickens?! Yep, in case you’ve never seen a chicken on a farm you can come to the Kharkov zoo. Next to the chicken coops were the cages for the foxes. This seemed like a bad idea to me, like have a cat hospital next to a Chinese restaurant but hey, maybe it works for Ukrainians. Saw some foxes in a bit of a sorry state and smelling foully so we quickly moved on to the big players – tigers and lions!
Well, I won’t go through each and every animal we saw. Basically there were a lot of typical zoo animals like elephants and tigers, as well as some not so typical animals like wolves, Mongolian horses and a strange little black RUOS’ (Rodents Of Unusual Size). After seeing most all of the animals we headed towards the exit discussing the sad state of their habitats and life philosophies more generally. At the exit we parted company. Now I may cross of the zoo from my list of “things to see in Kharkov” list – one down, a hundred more to go!
Excitement mounted as he paid for the tickets (a few gryvnia) and we crossed over the threshold. We enter and I look around with interested, foreign eyes. The zoo is much smaller than it’s counterpart in Denver. (By the way, the US sister city of Kharkov is actually Cincinnati.) We make our way past food stalls in the middle of the path and turn right to find the bears.
Recently renovated, the enclosure for the black, brown and polar bears (oh my!) still seemed to my western trained eyes as small and sad. The area was about half the size of that from the Denver zoo and was shallowly filled with really nasty green water for the black and brown bears and slightly less green for the polar bears.
We then went on to visit the snake and other creepy crawly things room, which was housed in what seemed an old bomb shelter – dark, deep beneath the earth with not much ventilation. I decided that if the children I saw here weren’t scared and running out of the building screaming, then I should try to be tough and emulate them. I saw some pretty amazing turtles, though again in cramped quarters. Luckily there were no spiders in this part so all was well unless one of the snakes decided to make a run of it and escape, which none of them did. Moving on we went to see the bird keeps.
There were the usual parrots of all color and size, then some owls and of course… chickens?! Yep, in case you’ve never seen a chicken on a farm you can come to the Kharkov zoo. Next to the chicken coops were the cages for the foxes. This seemed like a bad idea to me, like have a cat hospital next to a Chinese restaurant but hey, maybe it works for Ukrainians. Saw some foxes in a bit of a sorry state and smelling foully so we quickly moved on to the big players – tigers and lions!
Well, I won’t go through each and every animal we saw. Basically there were a lot of typical zoo animals like elephants and tigers, as well as some not so typical animals like wolves, Mongolian horses and a strange little black RUOS’ (Rodents Of Unusual Size). After seeing most all of the animals we headed towards the exit discussing the sad state of their habitats and life philosophies more generally. At the exit we parted company. Now I may cross of the zoo from my list of “things to see in Kharkov” list – one down, a hundred more to go!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Chapter 16 – The fool: Tarot Readings in Russian
Since high school and university time, I’ve been aware what a party pleaser it is to have tarot cards with me and that many people love to have their cards read, whether they believe in them or not. When I went to Russia, during junior year of college, I made the mistake of leaving my cards at home in Denver but luckily managed to find another deck there in St. Petersburg.
This trip I was smart enough to bring one of my decks. I also managed to pick up a new, interesting and bit more complex deck in London. I read a little bit in England, but since I’ve been in Ukraine and the cat got out of the bag that I read tarot, that has been my extracurricular activity (unfortunately I didn’t think enough to charge for it). The twist? Well I have to do it mostly in Russian as two of my most frequent requests for readings come from Kostya, the night security guard (whose day job is history teacher at a local secondary school) and Sergei Ivanovich, the assistant director or financial director or something for the school. (I’m not entirely sure what his job is in fact, I just know that he’s the husband of Katya, definitely the director of the school and that he pays me. I guess that’s all I really need to know, right?) Although Kostya knows English well enough to have some normal, basic conversations, the vocabulary for tarot is something he lacks in English and therefore I resort to Russian to try and explain. Whereas with Kostya it’s more a matter of Russlish, with Sergei Ivanovich (who knows “I go home”) I have to do all the reading in Russian.
As exciting as that sounds it’s actually rather difficult and there was a while when I read the tarot cards for just about every teacher in the school, except for one Julia who is quite religious and believes it is the work of the Devil. (That was a little awkward conversation.) Most other people however have been satisfied with their readings and it definitely is good practice for me as I learn that you don’t necessarily need a specific word as long as you can describe around it and get the point across.
Case in point – I was telling Kostya that he fears oppression or that he was being oppressed… something to that effect. But I didn’t know the word oppressed (угнетать, in case you were wondering the same thing). Well in order to explain the feeling, I said quite innocently the very simple and obvious fact that “the Soviet Union oppressed its people”. Kostya stared at me and asked “Why the Soviet Union?!” I told him that’s what we learned in school in the United States and certainly it must be true as we don’t learn propaganda in the land of the free. He laughed and said, “We learned that the United States oppressed its people!” So there you have it boys and girls… all the world needs in order to understand each other and dispel misinformation and the party line is a little intercultural communication via the Cards. Perhaps that is the route to world peace; except for those who believe I’m going to burn eternally in Hell for associating with the Devil’s work… well, maybe not world peace then.
This trip I was smart enough to bring one of my decks. I also managed to pick up a new, interesting and bit more complex deck in London. I read a little bit in England, but since I’ve been in Ukraine and the cat got out of the bag that I read tarot, that has been my extracurricular activity (unfortunately I didn’t think enough to charge for it). The twist? Well I have to do it mostly in Russian as two of my most frequent requests for readings come from Kostya, the night security guard (whose day job is history teacher at a local secondary school) and Sergei Ivanovich, the assistant director or financial director or something for the school. (I’m not entirely sure what his job is in fact, I just know that he’s the husband of Katya, definitely the director of the school and that he pays me. I guess that’s all I really need to know, right?) Although Kostya knows English well enough to have some normal, basic conversations, the vocabulary for tarot is something he lacks in English and therefore I resort to Russian to try and explain. Whereas with Kostya it’s more a matter of Russlish, with Sergei Ivanovich (who knows “I go home”) I have to do all the reading in Russian.
As exciting as that sounds it’s actually rather difficult and there was a while when I read the tarot cards for just about every teacher in the school, except for one Julia who is quite religious and believes it is the work of the Devil. (That was a little awkward conversation.) Most other people however have been satisfied with their readings and it definitely is good practice for me as I learn that you don’t necessarily need a specific word as long as you can describe around it and get the point across.
Case in point – I was telling Kostya that he fears oppression or that he was being oppressed… something to that effect. But I didn’t know the word oppressed (угнетать, in case you were wondering the same thing). Well in order to explain the feeling, I said quite innocently the very simple and obvious fact that “the Soviet Union oppressed its people”. Kostya stared at me and asked “Why the Soviet Union?!” I told him that’s what we learned in school in the United States and certainly it must be true as we don’t learn propaganda in the land of the free. He laughed and said, “We learned that the United States oppressed its people!” So there you have it boys and girls… all the world needs in order to understand each other and dispel misinformation and the party line is a little intercultural communication via the Cards. Perhaps that is the route to world peace; except for those who believe I’m going to burn eternally in Hell for associating with the Devil’s work… well, maybe not world peace then.
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