The Borderland Chronicles

My first two days in Germany were spent in Hamburg, which turned out to be a gorgeous, wildly unpredictable city with wonderfully polite people, quaint cafes and thousands of bicycles. Being from Portland, I felt like I’d stepped into a sort of alternate PDX universe, just with German as the language and better architecture.

As you’ll see from the photos, it was cold and snowy. In fact, it was the coldest it’s been there in nearly two decades. As a result, the city’s Outer Alster Lake froze over, providing an awesome surface for winter festivities, such as skating, playing hockey and, well, just plain old sliding about.

Reeperbahn Street is home to Hamburg’s infamous red light district. Neon lights illuminate the street at night, making it possible for drunken pub crawlers to make their way around. Twice while strolling along the street my first night there I was solicited for sexual favors (I politely declined each time). While searching for the apartment where I would couch surf (see the white and orange concrete building in the right of the photo), I passed a gorgeous transvestite, who was leading a group of young partiers into a night club. Dressed as a drum major, she led them with a whistle and baton.

Peeps shows are everywhere on Reeperbahn. Pay for a peek.

I spent my first morning in Hamburg aimlessly wandering the city. Walking along the riverbank proved to be a nice view. Small ice-breaking ships motored alongside harbor cranes.

Walking along the river led me eventually to Outer Alster Lake, which had completely frozen over. Thousands of Hamburgers (Yes, it’s unfortunate, but people from Hamburg are called Hamburgers. And yes, they’ve heard that joke before.) came out to skate, slide and just be atop the lake. Kiosks setup along the shore sold gluvein, crepes and bratwurst. It was a perfect winter wonderland.

Bikes! We think we’ve got a lot in Portland. In Germany bicycles are everywhere, and people ride them all year round – rain, sleet or snow.

Being the massive Beatles fan that I am, I set off to find the first venues the band played together as The Quarrymen. The Indra was the location of the guys’ first gig.

The Quarrymen also regularly played at Grosse Freiheit.

Posted in Germany, It's Cold!, Travel |

In case you needed further proof of the extreme weather conditions in eastern Europe, there’s this video that shows the Black Sea near the port of Odessa frozen over. The last time this happened was back in 1977.

Oh, and that creaking sound you hear in the video… that’s the ice.

You can see photographs of the frozen sea here.

Posted in History, It's Cold!, Odesa, Ukraine |

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.

Posted in Artemovsk, Culture, Donetsk, It's Cold!, Life, School, Teaching, Ukraine |

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.

Posted in Culture, It's Cold!, Konstantinovka, Public Transportation, Ukraine |

We’d heard about the beauty in western Ukraine, but had never seen it for ourselves. A place more reminiscent of European cities like Krakow and Prague than of Kiev and Kharkov. It wasn’t only foreigners, but Ukrainians, too, who crooned its praises, proud to call it a part of their country. So over Christmas, my girlfriend and I sprung for kupe (second class) tickets on the fast train (8 hours) west to Lviv to have a look around for ourselves.

What we found was a charming place, with architecture representing all European styles lining narrow, cobbled roads, mansions of former royals, castle ruins atop a hill with a panoramic view of the city – even an ice rink. Church bells rang out as we roamed the city center early Christmas morning in search of our rented apartment. That night, we stumbled upon an illuminated Christmas tree, which stood at the foot of the Opera House. Around us festive kiosks sold mulled wine, sweets and handicrafts, while carolers sang songs.

Lviv, or Lvov, or Lwow – maybe you’ve heard it called Lemberg – sits just north of the Carpathian Mountain range in western Ukraine, a few hours east of the Polish border. Over its 755 years, it’s been a part of Austria, Poland the Soviet Union and Ukraine, it’s been invaded and occupied by the Tatars, the Germans, the Soviets and others. It’s had a tumultuous history, but one that’s yielded quite a bit of character.

After checking into our apartment, my girlfriend and I went out in search of a market where we could gather what we needed for a modest Christmas meal. Selection was slightly limited, but we ended up with a whole chicken, a few kilos of potatoes, onions and garlic, and some broccoli to add some green to the mix. We also managed to find cinnamon so that we could prepare some mulled wine of our own. Back at the apartment that evening, wearing our Santa hats, we cooked it all up and enjoyed a relaxing evening away from the stresses of work and home.

We hit the streets early the next morning to see what the city had to offer. We strolled back through the market on our way to Castle Hill, observing an array of skinned animals ready to be cooked, fresh eggs and milk, as well as an assortment of pickled vegetables. After a 30 minute hike up the hill, we were rewarded with a view overlooking the entire city. Overhead the Ukrainian flag flapped in the wind. In the distance a train’s horn whistled. For a moment I felt completely at ease. I also felt extremely small, as one usually does looking out from such a vantage point.

The Market Square was bustling with life. Streetcars rang their bells at slow crossers, people haggled with vendors over the price of books, children howled as they glided across the ice rink. More holiday kiosks lined the streets, selling nutty treats, caramel apples and an array of hot drinks. We stumbled into the Lviv Historical Museum at Rynok #6, which houses both the Royal Mansion Museum and the Italian Courtyard, two stunning design achievements. Afterward we climbed the many hundreds of steps up the city hall bell tower to take in a view of Old Town. Before the sun set, we stumbled into a few churches. Photographs of their interiors couldn’t do them justice. We watched as people lit candles, crossed themselves and said prayers.

The next day was more of the same. While exploring Old Town, we stumbled upon Masoch Cafe, as in Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, whose named spawned the term we all know today as masochism. The author of Venus In Furs was born in Lviv – then Lemberg – in 1836. We stopped in for a drink and a quick bite and observed a waitress dressed in a maidens outfit of old whipping three young men with a leather whip as they left.

In the evenings we cooked and drank, watched films and read. In all, it was a very relaxing holiday. Until the last day.

We had to be out of the apartment by noon, even though our train back to Kiev didn’t leave until 9 that night. So I awoke early to clean and pack. But halfway through my cup of coffee, something began feeling wrong. Not something, actually, but my stomach. I tried eating some oats, drinking some water. That only made it worse. I lied back down in bed for a while longer. Still, no improvement. It got worse as we walked from our apartment to the train station, where we’d planned on stowing our bags while we spent the afternoon and evening in the city before our train that night. But when we arrived at the station, I found myself in a light sweat, chilled to the bone and curled in the fetal position on a waiting hall bench. Clearly, I was ill.

From what, I’m still not sure. But the next nine hours in that train station were among the worst of my life. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let me just say that running to a paid squat toilet every 10 to 15 minutes for nine hours is extremely uncomfortable. Worse yet, this same behavior continued for the duration of our overnight train ride back to Kiev. Suffice it to say I didn’t get any sleep.

Sickness aside, the trip was a fantastic holiday away, and one that reminded me how beautiful and interesting this country can be. If Odessa is the Pearl of the Black Sea, then Lviv must be the diamond in the rough that is Ukraine, or something like that.

Posted in Culture, Food, Holidays, It's Cold!, Lvov, Public Transportation, Russian, Tweets, Ukraine |

Kiev’s Central Station on Christmas Eve, moments before my girlfriend and I boarded our train to Lviv.

A kiosk at Lviv’s holiday market sells handicrafts and souvenirs.

Christmas sparklers.

Workers on a lunch break at the foot of Castle Hill.

Atop Castle Hill.

Lviv as seen from the bell tower in Rynok Square.

The Black House, located on Rynok Square, was built for Italian tax-collector Tomaso Alberti in 1577. Today it houses part of the Lviv Historical Museum.

The Italian Courtyard, located inside the Royal Mansion Museum.

Ice skating in Rynok Square.

(Photo by Bri)

A rabbit at the market, ready for your pot.

Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, author of Venus in Furs, was born in Lemberg – now Lviv. The term known today as masochism was derived from his name.

A nude woman inside the chest of the Leopold von Sacher-Masoch statue.

A headstone at the historic Lychakiv Cemetery.

See more photos from Lviv here.

Posted in Culture, Holidays, It's Cold!, Kiev, Lvov, Travel, Ukraine |

To all our friends and family around the world, we wish you all the best this holiday season.

Now we’re off to Lviv to celebrate!

Cheers!

Posted in Holidays, It's Cold!, Travel |

Morning in Rynek Glowny, the main market square, in Krakow, Poland.

Street musicians play near Krakow’s Rynek Glowny.

An artist sells paintings in Old Town Krakow.

Inside Rynek Glowny, the main market in Krakow. Booths here sell handicrafts, including jewelry, wooden toys and various souvenirs.

A jeweler straightens his earrings inside his booth in Rynek Glowny. Precious stones, such as amber, a very popular here.

Nuns out for a stroll in Old Town Krakow.

Bri at the foot of Krakow’s Wawel Castle.

Pigeons fly overhead at Krakow’s Rynek Glowny.

Bri perches atop a stone wall on the grounds of Krakow’s Wawel Castle.

More photos from Krakow, Poland over at Flickr.

Posted in Culture, Flying, Holidays, It's Cold!, Krakow, Travel |

“Salute” Restaurant and hotel in Kiev’s Pechersk neighborhood.

Skaters ride at the foot of a monument of revolutionary hero Slava in a city park.

Flowers sit at the base of a religious icon at a church building near Kiev Pechersk Lavra.

A man practices a form of spiritual relaxation in a Kiev park.

Inside Kiev’s Zoloti Vorota (Golden Gate) Metro Station. Online travel mag BootsnAll recently named it one of the most beautiful subway station in the world.

Kiev’s main drag is Kreschatik Street. On weekend nights the road is illuminated and open only to foot traffic.

Despite a national ban on public drinking in 2010, many people continue to consume alcohol on the streets. “It’s just our culture,” a Ukrainian friend of mine explained.

Posted in Culture, Environment, It's Cold!, Kiev, Life, Public Transportation, Travel, Ukraine |

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.

Posted in Artemovsk, Culture, It's Cold!, Life, Travel, Ukraine |