Archive for the ‘Sea Of Azov’ Category

Feb

20

Why do Ukrainians fear drafts?

My latest column in the “From the life of an American in Artemovsk” (Из жизни американца в Артемовске) series is up at газета Вперед. It’s titled “Why do Ukrainians fear drafts?” (Почему украинцы боятся сквозняков?). Of course at the website the column is in Russian. Below is the English translation. Enjoy.

Why do Ukrainians fear drafts?

Last summer, in the August heat, I was on a bus with two other volunteers on our way to visit our friend in Novaazovsk. People were packed into this bus like sardines in a can, many standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the aisle way.

The three of us occupied most of the rear bench seat. The temperature outside was somewhere near 40 degrees, putting the temperature on the bus somewhere near an unbearable 43 degrees. The trip would take about five hours.

The minimal free-flowing air on the bus came from a ceiling vent positioned near the front. It felt like our only lifeline. Leaning toward the center of the bus, into the airstream of that vent, was all I could do to keep from inhaling what felt like everyone else’s exhalations.

An hour into the trip, the vent was shut, my lifeline closed. Hot, moist, stagnant air. I felt panicky, overwhelmed with a feeling similar to that of being trapped under a dense pillow. Slow suffocation.

I wasn’t sure during the bus ride, when the woman closed the overhead vent, why someone would choose to cut off the only fresh air supply to a bus full of sweaty, overheated people.

Later, I told the story to a Ukrainian friend of mine. What she said to me made very little sense to this American.

“A cross breeze can make you ill,” she said. “It’s called skvazniak.” It might be an old Ukrainian superstition, but a lot of people believe it can make you sick and lead to death.”

Death? I was shocked. Letting your hair blow in the wind while driving down the highway is what many Americans live for. I looked forward to doing that very thing each summer while cruising Oregon’s Highway 101, tracing the curves of the Pacific coastline, chasing the sun.

I guess that doesn’t cross over into this culture.

***

In the same vein as skvazniak is the idea that drinking cold water will make you ill.

In America, we prefer our drinks cold, often times with ice in them. Iced tea, iced lemonade and iced coffee are just a few examples.

In my time in Ukraine, I can recall seeing ice just once (the kind used in drinks, not the stuff that forms on the streets in winter, which there is plenty of) and it was when I was at the apartment of another American volunteer. Her parents had sent an ice cube tray to her as a gift.

***

To my surprise, as miserable as it was, I didn’t die on that bus. In fact, no one did – not from heatstroke, or skvazniak.

I’m not a doctor, so I can’t prove whether gusts of wind can cause illness, just like I can’t prove that when that woman closed the vent on the bus she saved my life. All I know is that I haven’t died from driving in my car with the windows down yet. Perhaps I just have a strong immune system.

Aug

09

Beat the heat; flee to the sea

After attending a very interesting literary event in Konstantinovka with two other PCVs last Friday, in which the family and friends of a woman who survived the holocaust spoke about her trials, tribulations and eventual escape to America, all of which are discussed in a posthumous collection of diary entries, we got word that the summer camp we were to work at this week had been cancelled. Something about the director of the university breaking plans that had been made for months in advance, and attempting to extort some $4,000 from Peace Corps and the PCVs in charge of organizing the 8-day camp. And so, a plan was hatched. The two other PCVs and myself would visit two other PCV friends in the seashore town of Novoazovsk, about four to five hours bus ride south from my home in Artemovsk. After enduring multiple sweat-soaked bus rides and transfers in the sweltering 100-plus-degree heat, we arrived at Novoazovk, where we waded knee-deep in mud for 200 meters in order to find a spot in the sea deep enough to swim. That first night we cooked sausages and vegetables over an open flame, and drank beer and vodka with some Ukrainian friends well into the morning. When we finally crawled into bed, the sun began to rise, as did the heat. Each of us spent the early morning hours tossing, turning and kicking the bed sheets off of us in a futile attempt to stay cool.

After a large breakfast of banana pancakes and eggs, we made for the sea, this time taking a short marshrutka (route bus) ride to the tiny resort town of Siedove. Waiting for us there was a sandy beach of crushed shells, scantily-clad Ukrainians, shawarma (tasty Middle Eastern sandwich-type wraps) and a mud-free Sea of Azov. We filled the afternoon swimming, tossing the Frisbee and playing Durak, a Russian card game whose name literally means “fool.” Back at the apartment that evening in Novoazovsk, we cooked spaghetti, drank casually, some of us played cards while others read and relaxed.

In all, the weekend was a success. Despite the stifling heat and sad news of the summer camp cancelation, we all managed to enjoy ourselves. I may have even got a slight suntan.