The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

On the drive into Ivano-Frankivsk, through a tiny mountain village, we saw a cluster of large balloons, and a luxury sedan with tinted windows wrapped in white tulle. As we made our way slowly by, a family of four seemed to wave us in toward the festivities. I figured it was just a very well-signposted garage sale, but Merlin assumed it was a wedding. I think he was right - and sadly we didn't stop. Upon at our destination, though, we saw signs of nuptials all around again. Was this just a really big wedding?

Turns out, it was just a really big day for multiple weddings. All around town, (very) young couples posed by all the local sights. There were statues and sculptures scattered around and a fountain which you could stand under without getting wet. We thought it was a little strange that the bride was the one doing the pushing in this photo op, but we assume it was because she didn't want to get her dress dirty on a wrought iron swing. Or the dress didn't fit. It was quite a dress.Instead of dragging cans in back of the new couple's car, they dragged a whole other car! That's not actually true, but I wanted to find some way to include this fine example of something we've seen in each former Soviet country we've visited. In big cities, small towns, major highways, everywhere we go there are cars towing other cars with a rope. This great moment took place on a pedestrian walkway and, yes, the car being pulled is much larger than the one pulling. Merlin thinks it would be an excellent business opportunity to start a tow truck company in this part of Europe. Because, really, this is just so dangerous.

The center of town would have looked festive no matter what. There were carts selling toys, women making balloon animals and men renting out plastic cars for children to drive around. This miniature horse and cart was a big hit, much to the chagrin of the man leading it. All day long, we saw him walk back and forth with one kid or two or three. Between this and the princess-brides all around, these little girls must have been in heaven.
And the wistfully bookish girl had her little corner of the world, too...

Women dressed to the nines, possibly bridesmaids, walked around a big car-free space. It was most likely the first day of 2011 that the weather was suitable for seeing and being seen. The hats, scarves and mittens were mostly off. There was no ice or snow. It was a beautiful day for a wedding or three.

Then, there were the people just going along with their business as usual. The town was bustling with so many different types of energy, we felt like we'd landed in a carnival themed "Main Street Ukraine."

Skiing in the Carpathians

First of all, I have to preface this post by saying that it's not really about skiing in the Carpathians, because we didn't ski. We did stay at a ski lodge, and we did experience some of the trappings of the skiing life, but we didn't actually put skis on. This post is actually more about food than anything, I suppose, but that was our skiing experience.
The town we were staying in - Podobovets - was pretty remote. The approach road was snowy, steep and rutted. Most skiers hiked up from the "main" road below, or took four wheel-drive vans or horsecarts driven by locals. It's a very rural area, and nothing is plowed or sanded, so driving can get a little squirrely.
The base of one of the two lifts - both T-bars that look to date from the sixties. There are three trails, though only one was open because of the poor conditions. It was possible to buy one run, an hour's time, a half or a full day. The one-run, pay as you go method seemed popular, and a lot of the local skiers didn't seem to pay much of anything. The posted prices (which got as high as $20 for a full day), were put up strictly for the Russians and wealthier Ukrainians from the cities.
We walked to a neighboring ski area and found it to be a little more developed. There were a few trucks parked in the parking lot, renting equipment to the unequipped.
At Podobovets, old babushkas walk up from the lower village with thermoses of coffee, tea and hot wine, which they sell for a few cents per cup. They had pastries too, in large, plastic shopping bags.
More solid fare was served from the lean-to refreshment stand, where a woman grilled shashlik and baked potatoes. The meat was sitting right there, out on the table, raw and ready for the charcoal and dead-branch fire. Also on the table: a bottle of vodka, a bottle of pomegranate juice, some ham, a salad of pickled carrot and cabbage, a bag of bread.
My lunch, minus the potato, which Rebecca ate. It was served in the bowl with Brynza, which is a gritty, feta-like sheep cheese that the Hutsul people make. Inside the potato, Rebecca found a chunk of pork fat, which had moistened and softened the flesh like a pat of butter might. I had assumed the meat would be mutton, but it turned out to be beef. It was delicious and very tender.
We hiked a lot while we were there, and had a good time in the lodge at dinnertime. There were a lot of cats running around the place, and they were all very interested in Rebecca's grilled trout. Before she was done and the plate was taken away, there were five curious felines on the benches around us. A cat also came through the window of our room one night, confusing us.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Lviv, Ukraine is a breath of fresh air, in every contradicting sense of the word 'fresh.'
Fresh vegetables. Unlike other architecturally impressive cities, Lviv's buildings have yet to be pickled, marinated, frozen or dried in a way that makes them taste altered. In fact, a huge part of what seemed so fresh about it was its grittiness. Like carrots with dirt still on the roots. Crumbling facades and chipped paint hint at the sort of postcard-ready squares of Riga or Wroclaw.
The city was spared any major destruction during the wars of the past few centuries, so there's a veritable mini chronology of architectural history scattered about. Renaissance, baroque, classic, Art Deco, Art Nouveau, still standing in Eastern Europe. It really is amazing.
A fresh take on things. Every time an impression was made on us, we would turn a corner and find something completely new. On the way up a hill to the High Castle ruin, we saw a group of people crossing themselves at a nativity scene, complete with live sheep, we stumbled upon an alleyway art gallery filled with portraits of everyone from Lenin to David Beckham and we zig zagged around stray dogs to take a picture of this din-filled trailer on the side of the street. It was surprise after surprise and, luckily, the weather held up for us to just keep on exploring.
Fresh as a daisy. There's a big student population here, giving the city an electric energy, vigor. Even now, in winter, there were street musicians on the corners, people waiting for the opera ticket office to open and sidewalk art sales. This used book market happened every day around an enormous statue of Ivan Fedorovych holding an enormous tome (he was a typographer).
You can always count on students to throw a fresh coat of paint on something.
So fresh and so clean (clean). Eastern Europeans have a style all their own, but the residents of Lviv's style is refreshingly diverse. Heels like the ones above are the norm, like in Russia and Belarus. Even down cobblestone, icy hills, they pound the pavement. Women from their teens to their seventies where shoes that add about five inches to their height and fur of all colors, patterns, cuts, styles. Here, though, you're just as likely to see a sneaker-clad female or blinged-out Uggs. My arches rejoice in these sightings.
Fresh Coffee. I mean this one literally. After two weeks of instant coffee packets, having real, espresso-machined cafes just about everywhere is amazing. Cafes outnumber bars and restaurants here. The coolest one we've been to was called "Blue Bottle," located down an alleyway and marked only by - you guess it - a blue bottle hanging on a brick wall. That would sound too cool for school in most other places, but it was small and comfy and had this amazing sink in its bathroom. Viva la Lviv.

Lychakiv Cemetery

This massive cemetery in L'viv rises up towards a high knoll, with a lot of convoluted, twisting paths between the plots and mausoleums. It has a strange and complex history, involving various wars and countries.

The cemetery has been around since 1787, was expanded twice and has tens of thousands of people interred in its tombs. Much of what is there today, however, is fairly new or has been restored by Polish residents of the city - the cemetery is important to Poles because the defenders of the city during the first world war are buried here. After this region was annexed by the USSR, many of the polish graves were desecrated and the military cemetery was turned into a truck depot. In 1975, the place was declared a historic landmark and rebuilding began - though not with the express approval of the Ukrainian government.

Many of the more modern graves are adorned with fancy statues, often likenesses of the people underneath. We named this one "the Tom Jones of Lychakiv."

There are parts of the necropolis that are decidedly run-down - which is a good thing for a graveyard, I think.

The place must be very lush in the summer; there are vines and long, dead grass everywhere - also a number of nice old trees. Right now, though, the only color was supplied by fake flowers and by the odd painted statue.

These graves stood at the summit of the hill, all made of metal and very similar. They are from one short period during 1916, which is two years before the attack that was commemorated in the destroyed military plot. We're not sure which battle these soldiers died in, but their graves were apparently spared by the Ukrainians.

We were mostly alone while we walked around, but as we were leaving we noticed a few more live bodies getting off the tram. There are a few flower shops set up near the entrance, though most of what we could see for sale was plastic.

Sleeping in Soviet Style

We stayed in some pretty interesting places in Belarus. This was a state hotel hallway in the gloomy town of Nesvizh. We stopped into a building that we thought was a tourist office, but turned out to be some kind of Ministry of Information (apparently a different thing). The woman there was loud and frustrated with us - eventually she called her teenaged daughter and yelled at her to take us to the hotel. We ended up staying for only one night because it was rather mildewy and sad. The colors in the hallway were great.
We stayed in a few rented apartments because they're cheap and they have kitchens. It's fun to see how they're set up. One thing all Russian and Belarusian homes seem to have in common: tiny pictures hung very high up on the wall. This was our kitchen in Brest.
We stayed at a ski resort (but didn't ski) in Logoisk, which was a strange experience. There weren't many people at the resort, and those that were had a decided air of privilege and wealth, which was unusual in Belarus. The resort is owned, of course, by the government. We were surprised by the hours it kept - there was night skiing until quite late, but the lifts didn't start running until about eleven o'clock in the morning.
This is a smoke detector, we think.
This is the apartment we stayed in in Minsk, right in the heart of the city. Most hotels here are state run, and the prices can be absurdly high, which was another reason we looked for apartments. It was nice to have our own little space in the big city, with a supermarket close by and a nice view of Lenina avenue. Also, it was nice not to have to deal with rude and scary hotel staff - they are government jobs, and checking in can be a little like going to the DMV.
This was our kitchen in Minsk. Yes, all the rooms were color coordinated. The bedroom was orange, the kitchen was blue, the bathroom was green (very green).
Something we saw more than once: more elevator buttons than floors. This hotel had four floors and eighteen buttons. Our apartment building in Minsk had five floors and eighteen buttons. We usually took the stairs.
This was the first place we stayed, in Polotsk. I loved this cupboard thing. We were suspicious, often, that we were being put in bugged rooms. In this hotel, the receptionist told us that she only had rooms with two beds. After looking at our passports, she put us in a room a little separate from the rest, at the end of the hall, with one bed. Think that's really far fetched? Well, they still refer to the police as the KGB.

Things Belarusian People Like

Patriotic Billboards. 80% of the economy is controlled by the state, so it's no surprise that the primo ad real estate went to the country itself. Along with ones that showcased cops carrying babies and soldiers cuddling puppies (not really, but sort of) there was this series of I Love Belarus signs (top and bottom, above).
Deconstructed Bloody Marys. Every time we sat in a cafeteria, bar, bakery or public bench, there were people drinking vodka and tomato juice - never mixed, always in two separate plastic cups. At 9 a.m., in Novogrudok, we watched as a pair of fur-clad, older women ordered two cream filled pastries, two shots of vodka and two cups of tomato juice. Somehow, when a bloody mary is deconstructed like that (and being enjoyed well before 11 on a Tuesday morning) it strikes you as something a little different than your average brunch.
Uniforms. If you worked behind a counter in Belarus, you wore some sort of uniform. Sometimes it was a visor, sometimes an apron with fluffy white sleeves attached. At one cafeteria, the server looked like she had a doily pinned to her head and the manager wore a paper crown. It seemed a little degrading to tell you the truth.
Saving Electricity. We could never tell if a business was open, because the lights were always off or dimmed so low that it was impossible to tell they were on at all. This picture was taken inside a restaurant and was the norm. The dedication is very impressive though, especially as you walk through a museum and there is someone standing in the corner of every room flipping the lights on when you enter and off again when you leave. Then, they each sit back down in their chair and continue to read - in the dark.
Exact Change. This is the change we were left with after leaving. 1,980 BYR, which equals about 60 US cents. There are no coins and eleven different banknotes (10 - 100,000), which can be pretty tricky to get straight. So, usually, the cashier would just reach over and start thumbing through our stack of money to take what she needed, trying to get as close to exact as possible.

Monumental Brest

Brest is very close to the Polish border, and some say it is the most western of Belarusian cities because of this proximity. I'm not sure that Minsk isn't more western, but it certainly does feel more insular, tucked away in the heart of the country. Maybe because it's so close to the outside world, Brest has a decidedly monumental flavor, as though it is trying to prove itself as truly communist and nationalist. This is the statue of "Valour," a soldier's head carved from rock, an overwhelmingly large statement about the bravery of soviet men in the face of western aggression.

Brest fortress was the largest fortification in 19th century, its walls having a circumference of 30 kilometers. It was a major site in both world wars, and two regiments of Russian soldiers are famed for defending the fort for a month against an all out German attack. It is largely ruined, and it serves as a large war memorial. This is the entrance, which is unabashedly soviet.
This was the one place that we saw tourists in Belarus, but they all seemed to be either Belarusian or Russian. They come to Brest, I think, for reassurance and to experience larger-than-life reminders of the pride taken in persistence. After all, Belarus refuses to change. A lot of that has to do with the leadership and the heavy police and military influence in the county, but it also has to do with a people who chose a different path than others did, and are trying hard to make it work.
In the cold, cement-block district where we were staying, this strange thing sat beside the road. It is very Belarusian to me, because it feels like a vision from another era that overlaps with the present.
Passing through the fortress gate, soldier's songs and recordings of bombs and machine guns echo in the air. It's a haunting thing, and it is designed, I think, to create a sense of loss - a sense that everything that was once powerful and great about the soviet union has crumbled around this little country, that they are alone in the world, hemmed in by enemies who have attacked them before and old friends who have abandoned them.

The Fence Post

Belarus may still call their police the KGB and have a state run economy. Its presidential "elections" are questionable and our passport numbers were recorded and linked to every internet card we purchased. But, something that struck me as decidedly un-Soviet was Belarus' desire to make things pretty: like their fences.
It wasn't uncommon to see multiple fence patterns, conjoined around one piece of property. Some had geometric shapes other were striped or polka dotted. Many outhouses got their very own fence with a different pattern and color. Especially against the blank canvas of snow, it was pure eye candy.
We saw yellow, blue and green painted houses all through the Baltic, but nowhere have we seen the colors extend to fences and gates.
Each town seemed to have a color scheme, as if at some point, a truck came through with cans of paint and told everyone to get outside and be creative. I actually wouldn't be at all surprised if that's exactly what happened.
People really looked like they had fun with it. When we left Belarus and entered Poland, I told Merlin that it seemed to get so much poorer all of a sudden. His response was something along the lines of: "Nothing's painted purple."
It really is amazing how much a coat of fresh paint can do.