The Borderland Chronicles

If there’s something Ukrainians born in the U.S.S.R. pride themselves on more than their mosaics, it’s their cosmonauts. So I wasn’t so shocked during a visit to Konstantinovka to find the sides of bloc apartments along aptly named Cosmonaut Blvd. adorned with mosaic images of Soviet cosmonauts, including the renowned Yury Gagarin – the first human in space.

The buildings, built sometime during the 1960s, have seen better days. Many of the tiles surrounding the mosaic images have fallen off, leaving the building with a sort of scarred look. But the mosaics themselves remain mostly intact, if a bit faded.

After nearly two years here, I’m afraid a lot of the novelty I felt upon my arrival has worn off. Few things surprise me anymore. I’ve slipped into a life of routine similar to the life I had back in Portland. I think this would happen if you stayed anywhere long enough. But when I come across things like these images, remnants of a strange past – in this case, a Soviet past – that sleeping part of my mind that was once awed by everything around him is awakened.

“I live in the former Soviet Union,” I thought to myself when I saw the mosaics. “Wild.”

In Ukraine, sometimes arriving to your flat in one piece is the ultimate survival.

I’ve dabbled in off-roading, tried my hand at cliff jumping and grew up attempting an array of precarious tricks behind a speed boat on multiple apparatuses. But none of these things have raised my anxiety level and forced me to clench my teeth like riding in a Ukrainian taxi during winter has. Why I still opt to do it, I have no idea. I guess they still get me from point A to point B quicker than a bus, and I value my time more than my safety.

Winter in Ukraine means tremendous amounts of ice and snow, much more than this Pacific Northwesterner is used to experiencing. But it’s still not enough to halt traffic. Back in Portland, with any amount of snow on the ground, cars cease to move, sometimes right in the middle of the road. People opt to stay home, working remotely, or they call in sick. The media labels a storm that brings two inches Snowpocalypse.  School is cancelled and the fun begins. Here, though, life continues on as normal. Children go to school, people commute to work and taxis rage on the pockmarked streets, despite the facts that the roads aren’t visible and that they’re covered in ice and snow.

After spending a weekend away, tired, hungry and with a large pack strapped to my back, I chose not to wait an hour and a half to cram into a small bus that would take another hour and a half to get me home, and instead asked a taxi driver if he’d mind giving me a lift. “Of course,” he said. “No problem. This is my job.”

My first indication that this might have been a bad idea came just moments after we pulled out of the bus station parking lot, when slowing for a red light our breaks locked up and we nearly slid into the gas truck in front of us. As the light turned green I took a deep breath and wrapped my hand tightly around what a friend of mine likes to call the “oh shit” bar, or that handle just about the window of the front passenger seat.

We turned onto the highway, slightly fish-tailing, and the Lada began to make a chugging sound. Had this been my first cab ride in a Lada, I would have asked, “Is this normal?” But I knew that it was. A series of hills, dips and turns followed, each one more frightening than the last. At one point the snow was coming down so hard I couldn’t make out anything more than a few meters in front of us. I wondered how my driver could see where he was going. Was it simply reflex? Had he ridden these roads so many times he could navigate them in his sleep – in this? I hoped so.

The wind didn’t help. It blew like it would be the last time it would blow, with ferocity. My passenger side window kept getting smacked with drifts of snow and every so often the car would swerve, not because of the ice – though it did that, too – but because of the gusts.

I ran possible scenarios in my mind. We spin out, lose control and smack into a tree. I’d be OK, because I opted to wear my seatbelt. The driver, however, would go straight through the windshield. In another, I imagined an oncoming car losing control and crashing head on into the Lada, sending us flipping and rolling into an embankment. No one would have lived.

As we came over the last hill there was a small break in the storm, enough to make out the lights of a small village, which I recognized as Krasne. I knew that if we could make it to Krasne we’d make it home, to Artemovsk. We were just about there when another Lada pulled out in front of us.

There wasn’t much the driver could have done. If he’d have hit the brakes, we’d spin out and lose control, like in the first scenario. There would also have been a good chance of smashing into the rear of the other Lada. So what he did do was probably the best decision, though it scared me so much my entire body stiffened, and in that moment I think my heart may have skipped a beat. Instead of the brakes, he used the gas, accelerating and riding the shoulder of a road so densely covered in snow that I was uncertain where the road ended and the field began. Nonetheless, it worked, and we zoomed on by with no problem, except for a minor fish-tail the moment he hit the gas.

With my apartment in sight, I breathed a sigh of relief. When asked how much the ride cost, he answered more than what he’d originally said. “Because of the snow,” he explained. I felt like I should have gotten a discount. But there was no talking him down.

Sometimes the ultimate survival can be making it off a sinking ship, or living to tell about a harrowing adventure to the peak of a mountain. And sometimes it can simply be a cab ride home.

Nescafe 3 in 1 TURBO, for when you need a little something extra.

Before March of 2010 I’d never drunk instant coffee, never even had a taste. Sure, I’d had the cheap stuff. Folgers was a mainstay in my suburban childhood home. The garage was lined with the empty cans. My father used them to store nuts, bolts, nails and screws. As I got older, about high school age, I developed a taste for slightly better coffee, although I should say that it was my younger brother at age 10 who first asked for a French press for his birthday. It was rare for us then to drink coffee before school, but on the weekends we’d open a fresh bag of beans, grind them down for the press and enjoy a pitch black cup with our eggs and bacon.

By the time I entered college I was drinking two cups a day, sometimes more. Coffee was a necessary evil. Luckily, living in Portland, it was easy to get my hands on the really good stuff. I was a regular at Stumptown’s S.E. Division location, and from time to time I’d make it into the S.W. 3rd shop. My love affair with it continued a few years later when I moved downtown and got a job at Oregon Business Magazine. The office on S.W. Broadway wasn’t far from the Ace Hotel location, where I spent many a lunch hour sipping freshly pressed Hair Bender and preparing for interviews.

My palate used to quality java, I panicked when I arrived in Ukraine almost two years ago to begin my Peace Corps service and found my only coffee options to be Nescafe and Jacobs Original or 3 in 1. I knew that any coffee sold in small, one-serving packets at the check-out counter would never compare to the organic, dark-roasted grinds I had back home.

But you’d be surprised how well your palate adapts when your choices are shit and shit. Now, every morning with my two eggs over easy on toast, I drink a tall mug of it – and without cringing.

That said, there have been care packages from my parents over the past couple years that came with some of Portland’s finest coffee. And when they do, I make it last, saving it for those slow, heavy-eyed mornings when the snow drifts come up to my knees  and the thermometer reads just 10 degrees.

My uncle on a train from Kiev to Donetsk after our excursion of the Chernobyl exclusion zone in June 2011.

Besides being an affordable and comfortable alternative to buses and planes, trains are a great way to travel in Ukraine. Routes traverse the country in all directions – and often. The landscapes passing outside the windows, too – rolling steppes, seemingly endless fields of sunflowers – aren’t bad.

What’s tricky is purchasing tickets as a non-Russian or non-Ukrainian speaker.

Hiring a translator is a possibility (www.kiev-interpreter.net, www.handy.com.ua). Most have daily fixed rates, but some will offer hourly rates, which typically run about $25 per hour. They’ll help you purchase tickets, show you around the city, and pretty much help with whatever arrangements that you might otherwise have difficulty making.

A cheaper alternative is purchasing train tickets online (www.e-kvytok.com.ua). The site requires you to register (it’s free), but after that it’s fairly easy to navigate. It also has an English language option.

When you are ready to plan that train trip, there are some other things to consider.

Tips:

Three days before I was expected by a group of friends to be in Crimea, I marched into the ticket office and asked politely for round-trip tickets to Dzhankoi. The woman working behind the counter insinuated that I must be crazy. “You leave in just three days – in August – and you think there will be tickets?”

Perhaps because I was an American who didn’t know better, having only been in Ukraine for a few months then, she humored me by showing screen after screen of full trains. At about the fourth screen, a late-night train she said would certainly be booked, though it could have something available, she found an empty seat.

“You won’t want this one,” she said. “It’s very bad. A top bunk, and next to the toilet.” Desperate to meet my friends at the Black Sea, I told her it would be fine, and booked it.

Three day’s later I wished I’d taken her advice. Stuck on a cramped top bunk in 100-degree heat, mere feet away from the toilet, I thought about what could be worse and came up with nothing.

I did make it to Crimea, though it was by far the most uncomfortable train ride I’ve had here.

1. Purchase tickets well in advance. You can do this online or at any train station in Ukraine. Tickets aren’t so difficult to come by in winter, except on weekends. But come May, everything through till October books up quickly. Also, it’s widely known here that the mafia buys up tickets to destinations like Lvov, Odessa, Kiev and everywhere in Crimea to later resell on the black market at higher prices. So keep this in mind when planning your summer trips.

*

As I mentioned before, I once got stuck with a seat near the toilet. Throughout the night the slamming of the door and the stench of stale piss constantly awakened me. Toilets are awful everywhere, true. But the train toilets here are made of steel, which in winter makes them cold as ice and in summer hot as hell. What’s more is that instead of sitting down on them they’re meant to be squatted over, as if you were using a proper squat toilet. Except these aren’t squat toilets, but normal looking bowls.

On a trip from Kiev to Donetsk, after eating a doner kebab that didn’t agree with my stomach, I spent 12 grueling hours hovering above one of these. With the train bouncing to and fro, many people miss their mark while doing their business, resulting in a festering mess around the bowl and on the floor. This is what you smell if your seat is too near. I wish I could tell you that my aim, unlike many others, is true. But that wouldn’t be the truth.

2. When purchasing train tickets you can choose your seat, so purchase tickets away from the toilets.  Lower numbered seats are toward the front of the car. I suggest seats between one and 24 to ensure a better smelling experience.

*

After a daylong excursion through the Chernobyl exclusion zone all I wanted to do was board my train, make my bed and pass out. Unfortunately, I’d stayed in the zone longer than expected and had to rush back to Kiev in order to make my train, sprinting all the way to the wagon. When I made it to my seat I was greeted by a family who’d arrived first and taken the liberty to spread their dinner out on the table. More than that, they’d filled the lower compartments meant for my luggage with theirs and occupied part of my seat, preventing me from making up my bed. They spent almost two hours eating and playing cards before resigning to their respective bunks. Only then was I able to catch some shut-eye.

3. Arrive early to your train. If you’re cathing a train from its originating city wagon attendants will often allow you to board 30 minutes or more in advance. This will allow you time to settle in and stow away your belongings before everyone else boards.

*

Only once did I board a train without anything to entertain me. I was leaving Donetsk for Kiev, a 13-hour ride, and I didn’t realize my mistake until it was too later. Luckily, I had some talkative bunkmates. An older woman and her daughter were traveling together to Kiev to see some relatives and, after hearing me speak to the conductor about a cup of tea, asked me where I was from.

“You’re not ours, are you?” the older woman asked.

“No,” I said. “American.”

“Opa!” she exclaimed. And for the three hours before lights out, as well as the three hours after waking the next morning, we spoke about life, culture, traveling and more. She even offered up a relative’s time to show me around. I politely thanked her and her daughter for their company when the train arrived. This time around, I thought, I got lucky.

4. Bring something to help pass the time. Crossword puzzles, an iPod loaded with podcasts (my favorites include Radiolab, This American Life, The Moth, Slate’s Culture Gabfest, NPR’s Fresh Air and Foreign Dispatch Podcast, Real Time with Bill Mahr and the BBC World Service Documentary Archive) or a book.

*

Ukraine’s trains are mostly old and dirty. On top of that, they’re poorly cleaned. On a trip to Kharkov from Artemovsk I was removing my shoes before getting in bed. After doing so, I slid them beneath my bunk, like usual. But I’d forgotten a pillow, which was situated atop an empty bunk across the aisle. Without putting my shoes back on, I walked over to fetch it. That’s when a babushka reprimanded me.

“Young man,” she said. “This floor is dirty, and you could catch disease walking around like that.”

I told her I’d be fine, that I wouldn’t do it again. She responded to that by waving her finger at me and telling me I needed some slippers. “Like these,” she said, gesturing to hers.

5. Bring slippers or flip-flops, footwear easy to slide on and off. That’s what Ukrainians do. Best to fit in. Also, hand sanitizer. Pack it.

*

On a train from Kiev to Konstantinovka I watched as two women unpacked a plastic sack filled with sausages, cheese, bread, tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, varenyky and fried chicken onto the kupe table. They dined together for over an hour, washing everything down with a bottle of vodka and some juice. Staring at my Snickers bar and bottle of water, I wished I’d done the same.

6. Bring something to eat. Trains don’t offer much in the way of food. Wagon attendents do pass by, but not with much more than overpriced chips and nuts. You’re expected to bring your own.

*

On a train from Konstantinovka to Kiev I shared a kupe with a man who told me about his time in prison. Arrested for hooliganism, he spent nearly three years incarcerated in an eastern Ukrainian jail. Our conversation included a fascinating lesson on prison tattoos, culminating in a sort of show and tell. Before turning in we shared some bread and vodka. He even wished me goodnight.

7. Don’t be afraid to converse with fellow passengers. Some of the most fascinating conversations and lessons on Ukrainian culture I’ve had occurred while riding the rails. Plus, Ukrainians are great conversationalists.

*

A friend visiting from New York was on the train with me for the first time in Ukraine. We had no intention of drinking alcohol while aboard, having spent most of the previous night out doing just that. But three English-speaking Ukrainian men had other plans for us. They pulled bottles of beer from their packs to share with us, and we chatted well past lights out about cultural traditions, keeping one eye on the wagon door in case the police passed by.

8. Drinking aboard the train is great fun and an essential part of the experience. The secret is not to make it too obivous. Ukrainians often times hide vodka in flasks or juice bottles. You could also keep your beer at your side rather than on the table in plain view. Technically, it’s illegal to drink aboard the trains. But many people do it, and almost everyone tolerates it. Just don’t be an obnoxious tourist and all will be well.

*

In August of 2010, I had some friends over for the weekend at my apartment in Artemovsk. Over dinner and drinks, my pal Walter told me a funny story about a train he’d taken from Djankoi to Lugansk.

“It’s hot, right, because it’s summer and the trains are crammed full of people,” he said. “So I take off my pants, fold them and set them on top of my shoes next to the bed. Then I go to sleep. When I wake up in the morning, they’re gone. No idea where they ran off. I made it to Lugansk, but without any shoes and pants.”

9. Keep your bags tucked away and your valuables on your person. Having a bottom berth is best, since you can stow your luggage directly beneath you. Riding the trains in Ukraine isn’t particularly dangerous, nor is there a great risk of having your posessions stolen while you’re sleeping. But these things do happen from time to time. When it comes down to it, just use common sense.

Crossing of the Dnieper. (Переправа через Днепр).

Political commissar. Stalingrad. (Политрук. Сталинград.)

Monument to the civilians killed by the Nazis. Kiev Region. (Памятник мирным жителям убитым фашистами. Киевская область.)

The photographer, Arkady Shaykhet.

Born September 9, 1898, in Nikolayev, Ukraine, Arkady Shaykhet grew up to be one of the most famous Soviet photojournalists and photographers of the 20th century. His photographs of The Great Patriotic War (WWII), including the series Two Views of Kiev, at the time were known as ‘artistic reportage.’

As a staff photographer for the Soviet magazine Ogonyok (Light), his photos were often used as cover art. In 1926, along with a friend, he started Soviet Photo. Beginning in 1930, he worked as a freelance photographer for USSR in Construction. The magazine was known for its progressive style, which included full-page photos and even fold-out pages. Each issue, published in Russian, English, French, German and Spanish, was an elaborate artistic creation. The magazine’s main role, though, was to inform readers outside the Soviet Union of the construction going on within it, and to portray the country as an emerging superpower.

Over the years Shaykhet’s images have been shown in galleries from Moscow to New York City. He died in Moscow, aged 59, on November 18, 1957.

You can see more of Skaykhet’s photographs here and here.

I was recently contacted by Matador Network to put together a photo essay that represented the eastern Ukrainian region that I’ve called home for the past two years.

Beautiful rubble of rural Ukraine was the result. And while you’ve seen many of the 20 photos here on The Borderland Chronicles, there might just be a few that’ll be new to you.

While you’re there, check out the other pieces I’ve published with Matador.

I finally got my hands on a copy of The Other Chelsea – A story from Donetsk, a documentary film by German director Jakob Preuss. Having lived in the Donbass region – where the film is set – for the past two years, I found it to be a very accurate and fair depiction of the culture and mindset that exists here in eastern Ukraine.

The film follows a Donetsk coal miner and a city assemblyman during the run-up to the UEFA Cup in 2009, which was won by Donetsk’s football team Shakhtar (Miners), owned by billionaire oligarch Rinat Akhmetov. The Other Chelsea examines the stark contrast of the region’s working class and political elite as well as that of east and west Ukraine.

With multiple film festival wins and nominations, The Other Chelsea is well worth the 86 minutes, especially if you’re interested in football, corruption and eastern Europe. The film is mostly in Russian, with some parts in German and English, but English subtitles are provided throughout.

The Interfax-Ukraine news agency reported this week on a project that will bring new and innovative technologies to secondary schools throughout Ukraine.

The Open World project, which Ukraine officially rolled out yesterday, will be implemented in 704 schools around the country, including schools in rural areas.

The Interfax-Ukraine story lacks significant details regarding what exactly the program will entail, but any help rural schools can get is a step forward for education in Ukraine.

Many schools here lack what most would consider bare necessities – blackboards, chalk sticks, projectors, computers, Internet and even books enough for an entire class. In some 12 classrooms at a nearby village school, where I taught for 10 months, four were without chalkboards and all were without chalk sticks. Students actually went to local quarries to find pieces of calcium carbonate to use in their place.

Whatever the program provides to the secondary schools involved will no doubt be a big help. And hopefully in the not so distant future the rest of Ukraine’s public schools will receive the same assistance.

In Ukraine, apparently, splashing blue paint across a billboard of the president could result in jail time.

Ukrainian police are looking for those responsible for defacing billboards in Kiev, Lvov, Rivne and Zaparozhia of President Viktor Yanukovich.

Earlier this week, the billboards were found with blue paint splattered across the face of the president. Authorities have said that those responsible could face charges of minor hooliganism or criminal hooliganism, offenses that range from large fines to a handful of years in state prison.

Other crimes considered hooliganism include assault, arson, hate crimes and fighting between football fanatics.

At least the paint was one of the national colors and not, say, blood red.

You can read the story over at the Kyiv Post.

The latest news in what has seemingly turned into an annual battle over gas in Eastern Europe is Ukraine’s desire to cut the amount it imports from Russia in half, according to Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.

Ukrainian Energy Minister Yuriy Boyko has said that in 2012 his country will reduce the amount of natural gas it uses by 50 percent.

Boyko said the country would only consume some 27 billion cubic meters (bcm) of gas this year, down from the 54 bcm total Ukraine used in 2011.

Such a reduction means that Ukraine would only need some 16-17 bcm of Russian gas.

The problem with this is Ukraine already agreed to purchase some 33 bcm of Russian gas, which officials at Russian gas giant Gazprom say it will need to pay for in full.

In the past, squabbles between Russia and Ukraine over gas left Ukrainians without heat during cold winter months and stalled transport to the rest of Europe.

Further reading:

Russia shuts off gas to Ukraine

Russia-Ukraine gas disputes