Archive for the ‘Artemovsk’ Category

May

24

Nǐ Hǎo (你好) – Hello – Shanghai. And До свидания – goodbye – Ukraine

Greetings! Or, rather, Nǐ Hǎo.

I can hardly believe it, but I’ve successfully completed my service as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ukraine. As of one week ago today, I am an RPCV, or what those of us who’ve finished service call a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. (In PC there are a lot of acronyms.) I’m still able to vividly recall my first day, hours in Ukraine as a trainee more than two years ago, after being whisked from Boryspol airport to a quiet sanatorium in the small town of Desna outside Chernigov, like it was yesterday. Now I’m here in Shanghai, China with all that in the past. Wild.

Honestly, I still haven’t processed it all. Two years, while sounding like a long time, in reality passes like a train in the night. I think it’s going to take some time before I’m really able to sit down and figure out what it all meant and means to me, as well as how the whole experience influenced my life. Right now I feel as though I’m merely on vacation. Any day now I’ll be returning to my home in Artemovsk, right?

Fortunately – and unfortunately – no, I won’t be returning there. Yes, leaving Ukraine was bittersweet. I had some great times, but I experienced some extremely trying ones, too. I’d say Ukraine and I had a love-hate relationship. There were certainly times during the past years when I felt lower than ever before, but there were also times when I felt extremely proud, appreciated and as though I was a contributor to the development of the country. It was, at risk of sounding extremely cliche, an incredibly enriching, fulfilling and invaluable experience.

I’ll forever remember my time in Ukraine, especially a select few things. Visiting the Chernobyl exclusion zone was a fascinating look into a post-apocalyptic world. Traveling around the southern coast of Crimea with my girlfriend and swimming in the Black Sea among the many jellyfish and thonged Ukrainians was a wonderful getaway. Celebrating holidays with my Ukrainian friends and colleagues over incountable bottles of vodka and samagon was always an interesting cultural experience. These memories and many others I’ll forever cherish.

Now I’ve begun the next chapter. Let’s call it the China chapter. I’ve been in Shanghai one week now, and I can happily tell you that I’m enjoying it immensely. It’s not only wonderful to finally be living with my girlfriend of three years, but it’s incredibly fascinating to be living and working in the People’s Republic of China. If all goes according to plan, we’ll be living here at least a year, teaching, photographing and writing.

So far, deprived of a vast variety of food during my 27 months in Ukraine, I’ve eaten an array of cultural dishes from all around the world here in Shanghai. I’ve huffed down a delicious Reuban with a pale ale that put Ukrainian beer to shame, I’ve chugged 2-for-1 margaritas and fed my face with fish tacos and I’ve devoured an enormous amount of Chinese street food, including meat-filled dumplings, fried octopus and assorted vegetables and strange fruits. Since arriving I’ve been in a state of pure foodie bliss.

I’ve also seen more smiles in one week on the street than I did in during all of last year. The Chinese are incredibly friendly people. I’ve already made pals with the woman who sells produce down our lane, the guy who works at Toby Good Eats, a quaint food kiosk across the street, and a very talented cobbler who I bought a gorgeous pair of shoes from this afternoon. (The cobbler and I strolled down the street arm in arm in the rain discussing his learning to make shoes as a child in a leather factory operated by his father.)

So I’m off to a good start here in China and I’m looking forward to what’s still to come. But I’ll never forget the good times I had in Ukraine, the friendships made, the vodka shared, the borsch eaten, nor will I forget the many trials and tribulations. It’ll all forever be with me.

Consider this my last blog post here at The Borderland Chronicles. In the not-so-distant future I hope to start a separate blog for my adventures in China, as well as a new personal website highlighting my written and photographed work. If you’ve enjoyed this blog over the past two years, keep your eyes peeled for these news sites soon to come. I’ll post links on Twitter and Facebook once they’re up and running.

Apr

25

Getting through a Ukrainian birthday dinner

Oleg, center, with a stuffed bear on his head. He made it his personal mission to get me plastered. And he succeeded. He also invited me to butcher a pig with him at his dacha.

I’ve been hiding in my bedroom for about five minutes, standing over my bed with my head out the open window, and I’m inhaling and exhaling deeply, doing everything I can not to get sick from all the vodka I’ve drank during the past hour.

Then, from the other room, a heavily accented voice beckons. “Kree-ees,” it says, drawing it out in the middle.

I take one last deep breath, give myself a light slap to the face and then walk to the other room.

It’s Ira’s 23rd birthday, and her entire family has come over to the apartment I share with her and her boyfriend, my very good friend Igor, to celebrate.

Birthdays in Ukrainian culture are a very big deal. It’s typical to host a large dinner for family and close friends on the day of your birthday. And it’s important not to have empty space on the table during those dinners.

So for the past three days Ira and her friends, Ira, Ira and Tanya, have been baking, cooking, preparing elaborate mayonnaise salads and decorating the living room. They’ve also accumulated a table’s worth of booze. Every sort, from champagne to cognac, is represented.

The birthday dinner itself follows a strict formula. First, the dinner must be held on the actual day, or after, but never before. Once at the dinner, no one dishes up before everything is laid out, and no one drinks until everyone is present and ready to begin. A toast to the person whose birthday it is sets everything in motion.

On Monday night it’s Ira’s uncle Oleg who starts.

“Let’s drink,” he says, standing and raising his shot glass. The rest of us follow accordingly. “To Ira, my beautiful and wonderful niece on her birthday! May you have a long and prosperous life.”

Everyone throws back their glass of vodka, and we’re off to the races.

Plates are passed around, with the women scooping enormous helpings of everything onto them for the men. Discussions begin, with topics running the gamut from gossip to politics. The latter is one that I try to tread lightly on, because it has the power to ignite a firestorm amongst Ukrainians. And over the course of the next hour there are more than a dozen toasts, to the honored guest and just about everything else.

“I would like to make a toast to love!” Ira’s aunt cries out. So we all stand, clink our glasses and toss one back.

A few minutes later Ira’s father announces, “To the lovely couple – Ira and Igor!” Another shot down the hatch.

Not long after someone else shouts, “To women!” And everyone drinks again.

There’s a toast for men, another for Ukraine, one for friendship between Ukraine and America. There’s even one for me, for making it through the past two years. “It must have been difficult for you living with all of us,” someone jokes. All the while Oleg is watching my glass to be sure I’m drinking the shots in full. When I try to get away with just drinking half he calls me out.

“It’s bad luck to drink only half after a toast,” he explains. “Finish that now and let’s get you another.”

It’s after that next one that I escape to the toilet and then to my room. I need some air, and I need to stand up. I need to focus myself, because this thing’s not close to over.

But what I really need is to purge all this booze, drink some water and sleep. It’s a Monday night, and I have English lessons at 8 a.m. the next morning. Oleg, though, won’t let that happen. He’s made it his personal mission to fuck me up.

Somehow, sometime during my five minutes away, he’s acquired a new bottle of vodka. How the wretched thing materialized is beyond me

“Chris, you see?” he says, flicking his finger against the raised bottle of Nemiroff, his wedding ring clinking the glass. “This is just for you and me. For new friends!”

“Oleg,” I say, slowly shaking my head. “I don’t know. I just– ”

“No excuses. Only drinking,” he tells me, with a flick to his neck. “C’mon!”

Now I have no choice but to continue. His father, Ira’s grandfather, has sat me down on the sofa and is now holding my shot glass in front of my face, waiting for me to take it from him.

“You’re young and strong,” he tells me. “Everything will be OK.”

But after more than a dozen shots, I’m not sure if I believe him.

I finally get Oleg to let me take a break, but only after Ira’s aunt goes to bat for me, explaining to her husband in a rather patronizing manner that I’m American and I shouldn’t be held to Ukrainian standards.

“They can’t drink like us in America,” she says.

For the next several minutes I consume as much mashed potatoes, salad and bread as I can, in order to soak up some of the alcohol, careful not to overindulge for fear of becoming ill.

Living here for more than two years, you’d think I’d have learned all the tricks to surviving the Ukrainian birthday dinner. During Peace Corps training we’re even warned about it and taught ways to say no to alcohol. They tell us we’ll need to say “no” forcefully and at least three times for people to comprehend that we really don’t want or need anymore, or that we should think of a medical excuse.

But that’s just stupid. And the latter only works if you’ve not been drinking from the start. The former, well, sometimes you do want to partake, have fun and be lively. It’s not that I can’t take more than three shots, it’s that I don’t fare so well taking more than that in a span of just 10 or 15 minutes.

Three shots into the new bottle, I cut myself off, informing Oleg that it is now impossible for me to drink anymore without paying dearly for doing so. When he asks me what that means exactly, I make a vomiting gesture.

Tossing his head back in laughter while simultaneously patting me on the back, he finally gets it.

Thirty minutes and two pieces of cake later, Oleg and everyone else are gone. Igor and Ira do their best to convince me that going to a nightclub called Fresh is a great idea, but I make it no further than the courtyard in front of our building before I feel nauseous. Forget dancing, the simple act of watching someone dance might incite vomiting.

So I make my way back inside, stumble on my pants as I take them off to climb in bed, and hit the sack.

The next morning Igor and I bump into each other in the hallway. We leave for work at the same time.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Terrible,” I say. “How about you?”

“Like a Brontosaurus Rex,” he tells me. “I think we drank a lot of vodka.”

Mar

20

Our Ukrainian evolution

Our self portraits from my girlfriend’s first visit to Ukraine, till her last. Ukrainians are known for their expressionless faces in photographs, hence our attempt to channel that. Some of us expats call this look the “stone face.”

Artemovsk, Ukraine. October 2010.

Kiev, Ukraine. November 2010.

Kiev, Ukraine. October 2011.

Kiev, Ukraine. March 2012.

Mar

20

Shout outs on the street

Being a foreigner gets me a lot of shouts and hollers from people on the street, from people I know or who recognize me as well as from passers-by who might hear me speaking English to a friend or on the phone.

Students of the school I work at, other kids and even grown men like to shout out the few English words they know when they see me. “Shit! Muzzer Focker!” they often say. A long, drug out “Heeelllooo” is another common one. I’ve even heard someone yell just “pizza!”

Every once in a while I receive rather unwelcoming calls, such as the one a friend of mine and I were on the receiving end of in Kiev last week. “Fuck you, Yankee! Go to America!” The guy shouting it actually had fairly good pronunciation as well as a strong delivery. I thanked him and continued on down the street.

I get a whole hell of a lot of “I love you” calls, too. It’s usually young women throwing those out, and only after they’ve walked far enough past me that they can’t be recognized.

This is all part of living in a foreign land. I accept that. And, actually, I might even miss those shouts someday, being recognized. With my Close of Service conference beginning tomorrow, the clock is running out on my Peace Corps days. But I won’t be heading home afterward; I’ll be joining my girlfriend in Shanghai, China. There, I imagine the cat calls will continue. I wonder what they’ll sound like.

Mar

04

Every train ride, a roll of the dice

The drunk deaf boy squirmed and moaned in his aisle-side bunk above the devoutly religious woman with the white head wrap, who was sleeping below. His three friends had literally thrown him up there just five minutes earlier, then they went to have a cigarette in the back of the wagon.

Five young female students with two parental chaperones, on their way back from a weekend excursion in Kiev, sat on the two bunks below me, talking about the boy and his friends. The four boys, or perhaps young men – all must have been between 16 and 18 years of age, their pubescent faces marked with zits – and also deaf, had been drinking Obolon beer since the train left Kiev Pas station five hours earlier.

By midnight all of the boys were drunk, slurring their signs and disturbing passengers trying to sleep. I imagine that it wasn’t their intention to be rude and to be loud. Given the fact that they were all deaf, they probably had no idea how obnoxious the slamming of glass beer bottles on the table could be. And given how drunk they all were, they most likely weren’t aware that their ricocheting off the ends of the beds as they stumbled down the aisle awoke people from their slumber.

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, but these boys were, in fact, acting disrespectfully and pissing off everyone in the wagon, and it showed on the passengers’ faces. So when the police came by on a routine walk-through, cited the boys for smoking and drinking – both of which are illegal aboard Ukraine’s trains – and made them each pay 100 hryvnia (about $12.50), passengers erupted in a small round of applause.

The celebration, though, was interrupted by gurgling and moaning coming from the passed out boy on the top bunk. I knew what this sound meant, and I’m sure others did, too. I sat up to face the boy just as he vomited over the side of the bunk. The chunky, brownish-orange goop splashed onto the aisle floor, with some landing mere inches from the religious woman’s face. Passengers let out a collective, “Oooopa!” One of the girls sitting below me reached over and shook the leg of the religious woman to wake her up. Once the woman saw what had happened, she went for the police.

Two officers returned with the woman, with the boy’s friends in tow. Frantic signing ensued. The cops, unable to sign, simply shouted at the boys, “See what you’ve done! Look at this! Don’t you understand?” It took a minute for the officers to realize their messages weren’t getting through. So on a piece of paper one officer wrote something down.

The boys left after that, with the wagon attendent, and returned with a bucket of hot, soapy water. Then, with the help of one officer, they pulled the boy who’d vomited down from the bunk and told him to scrub the floor clean. When he finished, the boy was taken by another officer, and he didn’t return.

The train, meanwhile, had stopped at a station somewhere five hours east of Kiev, and it wouldn’t continue on its way to Donetsk until this problem was resolved. The police officers wanted the remaining three boys to come with them voluntarily. I couldn’t see what one officer had written down and shown the boys, but when the boys saw it they began frantically signing to one another and shaking their heads in a panicked sort of way. After about three minutes of back-and-forth between the officers and the boys, the officers grabbed the boys’ things and their arms and escorted them off the train.

At that point, I sort of felt bad for the boys. Yes, they’d screwed up, pissed everyone off and broke the law, but their punishment would probably end up being more severe than it ought to be. I turned to look out the window at them as they were dragged out into the darkness, toward a small shack illuminated only slightly by a small light positioned above the door. I was thinking about what fate awaited them in that dark shack, when the train lurched forward.

Despite the effort to clean up the mess on the floor, the wagon smelled like vomit the rest of the night. It was a sort of acidic and sour scent mixed with ammonia, from the cleaning products. Because of that, and because of the discussions passengers were having below me, I didn’t get much sleep.

A friend of mine who I spoke with about this said every train ride is like a dice roll. And this is true. While I’ve had poor experiences, such as this one, some of my fondest memories of my time in Ukraine will certainly be of conversations and interactions with people aboard the trains. But this last one is a ride I’m hoping to forget.

Feb

01

Too cool for school

Too cool for school. I mean that quite literally. With the temperature hovering around -24 degrees Celsius (-10 degrees Fahrenheit) this morning, most schools cancelled lessons all together. My school, however, thought they’d give it a shot and see how many students would show up.

In my first lesson of the day, usually a rowdy bunch of 28 12-year-olds, just 5 girls showed up. The teacher I work with was running around like a mad woman trying to figure out where everyone was while also dealing with parents of children calling her mobile to explain that they were keeping they’re kids home from school today. “It’s too cold to be outside today,” my partner teacher explained. “And some of the students live on the edge of town and would have to walk in.” (What’s funny was the number of phone calls from mothers worried their boys would catch their death if they were to go outside. Contrastingly, only a few mothers called to explain they were keeping their daughters home. And like I said, the students that did brave the weather to come to class were, in fact, all girls. I’m seriously beginning to question who’s tougher in Ukraine.)

Proof to the severity of this eastern European cold snap can be found with a quick scan of the international news. A Reuters story published yesterday reported that already 30 people have died in the past week. Most of those were homeless people, but still. I tried running some errands yesterday afternoon, but quickly gave in, turned back and went home when my snot and mustache froze just five minutes after stepping outside.

Being from the Pacific Northwest, I’m not used to this type of weather. We get rain, fog, and at worst maybe some sleet. But the temperature rarely drops below freezing, except for maybe a few times and during the night. Having spent the previous winter in Ukraine, though, you’d think I’d be prepared. But nothing prepares you for this extreme chill.

I’m home now, curled up in a blanket a few feet from my radiator. This is where I plan to stay for the remainder of the day. Maybe this afternoon I’ll make some mulled wine. Here’s to hoping it warms up soon.

Jan

17

9 tips for traveling by train in Ukraine

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.

Jan

13

Photo Essay: Beautiful rubble of rural Ukraine

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.

Jan

07

Ukraine’s places of worship

St. Michael’s Monastery, Kiev.

Svyatogorsk Monastery, Svytogorsk.

St. Sofia Cathedral, Kiev.

St. Sofia Cathedral from the bell tower, Kiev.

St. Andrew’s Church, Kiev.

St. Andrew’s Church, Kiev.

Church of St. John the Baptist, Lvov.

Kiev Pechersk Lavra. (Photo by BriAnne Wills)

St. Nicholas Orthodox Church, Artemovsk.

Nov

20

November images of Artemovsk

Mattison hops across the railroad tracks in Artemovsk.

The reflection of an apartment building on the edge of town.

Mattison lurking in the bushes along the river’s edge.

A pile of leaves burns in the middle of a village road in Artemovsk.

Colorful patterns and decorations adorn the homes of Ukrainians.

Artemovsk’s old wooden churches are colorfully painted and topped with golden crosses. (Photo by Mattison)

The painted entry gate of one of Artemovsk’s old wooden churches.