Why We Stay Two Years

As I get deeper into my second year as a volunteer, the more grateful I am that my contract stipulates I spend at least two years at my site. As I experience similar situations as a year ago I see how much more capable I am at dealing with them and how much more productive I can be. But there are other reasons as well that prove two years is better than one.

I can honestly say if it weren't for the second year, I would have accomplished nearly nothing during my tenure as a volunteer. My first fall in Ukraine saw me struggling. I was fighting with my school creating frustration on both sides. I was accomplishing nothing and my school seemed to be making sure that was the case. Spring brought a new perspective and I gave in to my school's way of doing things. However, no matter how hard I tried to make them happy nothing really happened, though progress was made and a status quo was established. Summer saw break throughs and my school was finally impressed with some of my projects. Now the doors are wide open. Not only am I allowed to do projects that before wouldn't have stood a chance, but I receive true support.

Part of the success I'm experiencing is due to time. It took ages for my school's and my expectations to finally meet somewhere in the middle. Now that my school is comfortable with me and I with them we have a productive working relationship. But I've also developed as a volunteer and can do my job better. I speak much better Russian which helps immensely. I know where to look for support and who to talk to in order to get things done. Plus I have a few successes to hang my hat on to prove I'm not just blowing hot air.

The result of all this is that I'm scrambling to pack as many projects in to my remaining time as possible. I'm trying to make up for last year and turn my defeats into victories during this last school year. Projects that failed miserably last fall stand a fighting chance. Projects that saw some measure of success are being improved upon. And I'm boldly embarking on new projects that still probably don't stand a chance, but are worth a shot. If not for the second year I would have left this place frustrated wondering about the meaning of life.

I'm also realizing I made some hasty judgments in my first year. You'll remember in one of my previous blogs I mentioned that Ukrainians seem to let the land lay fallow before winter and make no effort to prepare anything before snow falls looking forward to spring. Well, I was wrong. Last fall was miserable. It rained everyday and the first snow fell early in November. It was terribly cold terribly early. This fall has been much milder. The sun shines way more than rain falls. Snow isn't even in the picture on these beautiful crisp fall days where everything seems to glow. The result of such fine weather is that everyone is raking leaves and burning all the trash collected with them. The work has been feverish for over two weeks now. Had I not been around to see a second fall, my first, more negative, theory would have held. It takes time to really understand what's going on around you. This isn't the only instance, and I despair at the thought of what naivety would be unmasked by five years in this country.

Two years have also given the opportunity for acquaintances to become true friends. I am happy that I have found several Ukrainians I enjoy spending time with and talking to. I did meet most of them last year, but knowing I would be spending another year here made me much more apt to make the effort to pursue deeper friendships. Furthermore, some people I met but did not attempt to get to know very well have become good friends this second year. It honestly took either them or me time to get the courage to make an attempt at friendship. We quickly find that we've been missing out.

I'm sure all volunteers would agree with me, two years is necessary. Most would advocate an even longer term, as is evidenced by those extending their service for up to an extra year. Have not doubt, two years is a long time and we feel it as strongly as you at home. But in order to accomplish what we came for, whether it be lasting change, cultural understanding, or new relationships, time is necessary. We didn't come here to visit. We knew we were making an investment, and it is one that has payed back tenfold.

The Summer 'Recap'

Well, it’s been a long time, and a lot’s happened this past summer. I know a lot of you aren’t big fans of the ‘recap’, but I feel one’s necessary to even begin to move forward. Unfortunately there’s not one major theme that can tie everything together. But my summer has definitely been one for the books, and lived up to every expectation I had.

I began in early June by holding a leadership school for the 5^th through 8^th grades at my school. My site mate Mattison helped me out, and we conducted short lessons and activities on leadership. The lessons went ok, except for one day the kids were just stubborn and massive pains. The setup wasn’t ideal – around 50 kids at a time stuck in an auditorium on the first days of summer break. Luckily the lessons only lasted about 45 minutes. It was the first time I and my school found something major to work together on, and the first time I think they really took me seriously. I actually felt their appreciation, which is a big success.

Through a lucky miscommunication and an executive decision by my director, I got ‘stuck’ babysitting the 1^st through 5^th graders during their school day camp. At first it was assumed I was incapable of handling the rugrats in Russian for 4 hours a day. But they don’t realize I operate on around a 5^th grade level, and there are plenty of different ways to communicate besides words. I had a blast and got to know the kids that had more or less been hidden from me due to reservations based on my language abilities. It was a ton of fun and most likely opened up some opportunities. Most of all, I garnered more approval from my school.

Then there was some blissful time off. I went out to Lviv and got to see the Polish side of Ukraine which was really Western and beautiful in contrast to the stark, Soviet East. I got to go rock climbing and camping. Me and Mattison put our bikes to work as evidenced by the necessity to allot 30 extra minutes every ride for repairs. We probably found every swimmable pond in a 30 mile radius.

Then I took off for Russia. I met up with a group from my church in Ringgold down in the Caucasus Mountains and helped with a summer camp. I got to really practice my Russian and put my Peace Corps training to use while teaching football and ultimate Frisbee. The camp site was beautiful, right next to a river and in view of snow capped peaks. I made some amazing friends and really felt like I was with brothers and sisters. No floods this time, but a nasty stomach virus spread through all the Americans, starting with me. I was lucky just to suffer for one night, but there was one moment where I looked around and lonelily wondered where all the Americans had gone. They were all holed up in the hotel on the premises of the conference center where we had our meals and meetings. Luckily everybody was healthy enough to travel to Moscow and on to home.

Moscow was excellent. Did the typical tourist stuff with the group around Red Square. Then I spent some time with an acquaintance in one of the outer areas of the city. I hoped she would just let me explore on my own and let me rest from my exhausting time in the mountains. No. She wanted to show me her favorite parks, both of which were massive and nowhere near her apartment. But they were amazing and beautiful and she was a brilliant guide. I finally got the gist of Moscow summer life with people lolling about on the grass, playing sports, strolling at glacial paces I find impossible to mimic. Muscovites love their parks and cherish the sun. As for resting, my hostess graciously allowed me to nap for a couple of hours in a park since her apartment was too hot, and then took me to the gym at 10pm. Around midnight we had coffee, then we went to the grocery store. I was exhausted and ready to pass out, and she finally let me go to sleep. The next day I took a marvelously air conditioned speed train to St. Petersburg.

In St. Petersburg I ran myself ragged. In the 5 days I spent there I probably saw what most people would comfortably see in a week and a half. But with the basic absence total darkness, it was too hard not to lounge in a park reading a book past 10pm. I missed most of my meals except when I could grab a little street food, started my day early, and collapsed late. St. Petersburg is a baroque Disney World. Luckily, baroque is my favorite style, and I just couldn’t get enough. The palaces located away from the city looked like fairy tales with sprawling English gardens. The czars really didn’t get the concept of modesty. My only issue with St. Pete was that it was so disjointed and difficult to get around. It wasn’t a very cohesive city, like Moscow. But then again, it wasn’t planned to be. Of note, I ate all of my meals in wonderful fast food restaurants I haven’t set foot in for over a year. Pizza Hut, Subway, KFC, just to name a few. The best ones were the restaurants that had drink machines that would let you fill your cup with as much ice as you wanted, a phenomenon I’m not sure exists anywhere in Ukraine. You might think it’s sad or pathetic that I didn’t go for more native cuisine, but let’s be honest. I eat borsch every day at school, and it really doesn’t get more complex than that. Forgive me for going for comfort rather than the norm.

I came back to Ukraine and had a couple weeks to recover before I began work at a couple of camps. However, the camp for which I was the activities director got canceled at the very last minute due to soviet style extortion. I was disappointed, but it gave me some more time to relax, like I needed it. I went out to central Ukraine for Camp LEAD, which was focused on leadership, as the name implies. I worked like a dog to explain concepts like stigma and discrimination to high schoolers, but they were troopers and I wanted to bring them all back to my school with me. I had a blast and got lots of much needed practice teaching in front of a classroom.

Then school started. Having met with my director and assistant director, it seems we’ve finally struck middle ground for what the school wants from me. They realize my limitations, but understand it’s not a lack of effort. So they are finally making concessions that will hopefully lead to a more successful semester. I’m also working on a grant to create a communications center for the school where they can write newspapers and record radio broadcasts. The thought of their American bringing them money has definitely increased my approval rating.

Then out of the ashes Camp HEAL came back into existence. It had to be scaled back, but it was still a great success and I got to perform the duties I was so looking forward to. As was Camp LEAD, Camp HEAL was extremely exhausting. But this time I was working with university students and developed some closer relationships, especially since their English was excellent. Camp HEAL covered some major topics such as leadership, HIV/AIDS biology and transmission, human trafficking, and healthy lifestyles. The participants also had to write, film, and produce a 30 second PSA about a topic from the camp. To test students’ comprehension of topics, we had them prepare a lesson plan from one of the topics covered at the camp and teach it to other students from their university. The camp only lasted 3.5 days, but it was intense and left some lasting impressions on the students. Plus, they now know tons of ridiculous games I and the other counselors taught them. So it wasn’t all work and no play.

This summer, as you probably heard me complain, was unbearably hot. I don’t understand how a place that experiences -20 F temperatures in winter can see sustained +100 F temperatures in the summer. Believe me, the infrastructure is better designed to handle -20 than +100. But the temperature quickly dropped. Now we’re in the 50s and 60s everyday, much to my dismay. I love fall, but not in September. At this rate it’s going to snow in October, and that’s not okay. We’re making the best of it. Me and Mattison put in 140 miles on the bikes this weekend, thanks to a 70 mile group ride which featured some Dutch people and a trip down into a massive salt mine. We’re even trying to pretend it’s still warm enough to swim, going for quick dips in ponds after warming rides. We’re not really convincing ourselves well though. It’s not cool when things go numb. So now my life is heading back to order now that all the camps are over and school has started back. But I’m on the downward slope – 10 months to go!

Two Wheels

This spring and summer have been all about the bike. After a long and terrible winter, it’s been super therapeutic to be out in the sun for hours rolling through the Ukrainian countryside. It’s been so interesting watching the seasons develop out in the fields. I’ve gotten tons of exercise and have seen more of my region than most Ukrainians I know.

As you should already know, I have two bikes here: a single speed Ukrainian clunker called Belo and a slightly better-than-walmart mountain bike called Arty. I’ve more or less given Belo to my site mate Mattison and I ride Arty when we go out.

Most of our rides are completely adventurous. We take off in one direction out of the city, set our internal compasses in one direction, then take whatever dirt roads catch our interest. These rides have really opened up my eyes to the beauty of the steppe. Rivers, hollows, hills, plains, villages, ponds, pastures, cows, goats, forest, babushkas, and wheat. Tons and tons of wheat. We’ve seen it all. We’ve watched the fields change color. We’ve gotten stuck in foot deep mud. We’ve navigated through herds of cattle. It’s definitely back country riding.

Sometimes we here about natural wonders nearby and head out to find them. There are these natural white cliffs that for some reason poke out of one hill in a city not too far away. But they’re not typical stone. The best I can describe it is a kind of chalk. It makes for a rather gorgeous sight. They are easy to access and climb around, so it’s easy to get a good view from the top. We also found this small canyon nearby which has cliffs of its own. The access trail was a pretty good drop which made things interesting. There’s a nature preserve and a lake which has also been excellent to ride around.

Here lately, we’ve taken to linking up cities. We’ll pick certain cities or villages and take off on long circuits. The longest we’ve put together so far was 60 miles. We look at a map before we go but rely on the locals for the rest. It’s excellent to walk up to a taxi stand and set off an argument about the quickest way to get to X on a bike. Of course the initial reaction is “you want to go WHERE?” And then there’s “you’re coming from WHERE?” We’ve had some really interesting conversations. But we’ve never been hopelessly lost.

A few weekends ago we went on an organized ride put on in a neighboring city. It was focused on touring the history of Orthodoxy in the area. So we went to significant villages and churches, saw a couple crosses, and listened to a priest or two. Unfortunately we didn’t understand much of the history that was related to us. The organization of the ride was great. We had the full support of a lead car and a SAG wagon. Water was provided as well as any mechanical aid we needed. The pace was miserably slow, so we ended up being on the bike for around 10 hours including all our breaks. Near the end of the ride we turned off the road and found people cooking over a fire and setting up a picnic in a small clearing in the forest. We were surprised when we learned they were cooking for us. They had Ukrainian kulesh, porridge, fried fish, cucumber salad, the works. We were hoping for hotdogs and hamburgers, but this was much more culturally appropriate, of course. There were nearly 30 people from around the area on the ride and everybody made it all 40 miles. Me and Mattison had to ride 10 miles each way to get to the start so we ended up having another 60 mile day. The ride was free, so from what we gathered, it was a local Orthodox church reaching out to the community.

We’ve met a local mechanic in a nearby city and have made friends with him. It’s been interesting going and just sitting at his shop and watching the community come by and get their bikes fixed. He really knows his stuff. He makes building a wheel, one of the most technical and difficult repairs a bike mechanic can do, look like child’s play. It’s so obvious his shop is an integral part of the community. Everybody who comes in seems to know him. And a look around the city shows that cycling is popular, and I would bet our mechanic friend Andre has a lot to do with that. He’s let Mattison and me work off our debts to him. If we need him to fix something for us, we’ll take care of his more minor tasks while we’re waiting. Once he did a quick fix on my bike for nothing, or else I had saved up some credit somewhere.

Sometimes I feel like Arty has saved me. I’ve come out of a deep dark place from this winter and bike rides have been the only thing that gives me a lasting fulfillment. It feels so good blowing off energy and regaining muscles. It’s done wonders for my mood and state of mind. It’s also opened up parts of summer I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy otherwise. For example, our last couple rides have simply been to test out the different ponds in the area. I thank God for my bike and the ability to ride it. It’s made all the difference.

Presence

At the moment, if you ask me what one thing has been the biggest key to any success I've had in Ukraine thus far, I would tell you that mere presence can make all the difference.

I came in like gangbusters with training, energy, motivation, ideas, and ideals. Well that didn't get me very far. I thought I was doing everything the way I was supposed to, furthermore, like my school wanted me to. After a while, it became obvious that the harder I tried the more the projects I attempted slipped away. This led to much frustration for both parties, both feeling like we'd been given a raw deal by Peace Corps - me feeling like I had an uncooperative site; my school feeling like they'd been given a crappy volunteer.

Largely due to my Ukrainian Peace Corps manager's advice, I made being present at my school a priority. That meant going to school even when I had nothing to do; going to English classes and sitting in the back even though the teacher didn't allow me to help; going to staff meetings which are often in Ukrainian, a language that eludes me even more than Russian. And most recently it meant going to events that I wasn't even invited to.

On May 9, the former Allies except America celebrated Victory Day over the Nazis in WWII. I haven't experienced this holiday anywhere else, but I can't imagine it's observed more furtively than in the former Soviet Union. And rightly so, as the Soviets sacrificed millions of their citizens and massive swaths of their lands, more than any other single country during the war. Though if you ask a veteran here whether the Soviets needed America's help to defeat Germany, you're likely to get a resounding no. Victory Day is possibly the biggest point of pride for a former Soviet, the day they saved their own country and ideals from oblivion. This year marked the 65th anniversary of that day.

I was able to gather from teachers at my school that our students would be hosting a ceremony at a memorial in a tiny village nearby. I learned what time the bus would be leaving for the village and told them I would be there. Much to their surprise I actually showed up at 8am on a Sunday morning to catch a rickety old bus with students to go to an obscure village with no obvious motivation to do so.

I noticed the assistant director in charge of the ceremony was panicking slightly, and found out nobody had a camera to document the event. It just so happened I had brought my camera and I scored major points as the assistant director gave covert head jerks and finger points to make sure the proper photos were taken throughout.

As the students were getting ready, my school's director came over to me and offered that I give a short speech during the ceremony for the veterans. I of course was completely unprepared and was luckily allowed to give my speech in English and have it translated. I spoke about how Americans understand and respect the sacrifice the Soviet Union made in WWII. I told about my grandfather and how he fought against the Nazis, just as the men I was standing in front of had. I spoke of the solidarity between two rival nations that must always be remembered on a day when peace returned to the world.

That my grandfather was a veteran of WWII was rather surprising to those who I work with. I think they were actually impressed, and were willing to admit that perhaps I might understand a little bit about what this holiday means to them.

At one point I and the students gave flowers to the veterans and villagers. I found an old man who was wearing a 'California U.S.A.' trucker hat who didn't have a flower and gave him mine. I didn't realize the significance of this until later.

After the meeting, the entire village was bussed back to our school where the typical celebratory appetizers and spirits had been arranged. We ate and toasted and the mood moved from somber to joyous. Some of the women began singing a song, and immediately the entire room swelled with the voices of the villagers joining in 'Katusha', the song most Soviets associate with WWII and their victory. I brought out my camera again and began to video them as they sang. A couple of the women noticed and threw their arms around me and made sure that the revelers sang at least 5 more verses so I would have plenty of footage.

I looked down my table and noticed the man I had given my flower to was near the end. I caught his eye and he smiled and nodded at me. I went back to my mashed potatoes, and the teacher I was talking to was beckoned by the man to speak with him. When she returned she explained to me that the man was very thankful to me for giving him the flower. It was the only flower he was given, this man who fought so bravely to give himself the right to quietly pass his days in a small village in Ukraine, in freedom. We stood and toasted to each other and exchanged a furtive handshake. As he made his way out of the room he picked a few of the petals off the flower and gave them to me. I was almost beside myself.

As more people trickled out of the little cafeteria, the ladies began singing again. You could hear in their voices the jubilation and the pride at what their country had accomplished. It was so beautiful, the emotion so deep and real. I couldn't take it anymore. I broke down into tears and was completely overwhelmed by emotion. The mayor of the village I was talking to clapped me on the back and said, "It's a beautiful holiday isn't it?"

So it was that merely showing up made for one of the greatest experiences I've had in Peace Corps so far. My presence was unexpected, but I could tell it was appreciated. Who knows how this one day will pay off in the future. It's learning these subtleties that is helping me slowly but surely make something of my work.

Only Today

I've been neglecting writing the requisite post describing the wonders of spring and the burgeoning of life in Ukraine after such a dismal winter. It all seemed too cliche. But I've come to realize the Ukrainian response to spring illuminates a deeper mentality some would say is peculiar to Soviets.

In one of my favorite accounts of the Soviet Union, Off The Map, there is a dialogue between an American and a Soviet woman. When an American woman expresses her wish for pancakes every day like the ones she has just tasted, the Soviet woman replies, "It is wasteful to think of tomorrow...tomorrow is only tomorrow and it will come and you cannot change it." The American woman questions, "Then you never think of tomorrow?" "I wait for tomorrow. I see only today," is the Soviet's answer.

Beginning the week before Easter, Ukrainians exploded in a torrent of work. The snow had melted only a very few weeks before. People began raking yards, burning piles of what they raked, painting curbs, shoveling and sweeping dirt off streets, patching potholes, installing new storefronts to shops, washing cars, on and on. After this was all accomplished, tilled earth began appearing everywhere. Almost any patch of available ground became the foundation of some form of garden. I imagine all these gardens have been planted by now, but the fruits of such labor have yet to be realized, except where the barren stalks of recently planted flowers are waiting to burst into full bloom.

It is as if Ukraine has awoken from a long slumber, much like any place I can imagine that experiences a true winter. But not so much as waking from sleep, as rising from the dead. The difference these past few weeks have made is night and day. If I ask myself what visible efforts Ukrainians made to prepare for winter, I could not point to any. Last fall it was as if everything stopped in time. Roads were washed to ruin, trees cut down and left where they fell, yards overgrown with weeds, roadsides covered in trash, and worst of all, manhole covers crumbled and left wide open. I found a few of these the hard way.

I think back to my American memories of frantically trying to get everything ready for winter. I remember my family toiling for days in the yard making sure every leaf and acorn was cleared. We meticulously covered the pool and added appropriate chemicals to the water. Those of us who had boats or other such summery toys took the proper precautions for what winter might do to them inside garages. Exterior vents were covered. Water pipes were insulated. All of this done so either nothing would be ruined over winter, or reconditioning would be made easier in the spring. I'll never forget the joy of only having to pull off the cover of the pool, set up the filter, and add a little water during the first heat wave of the year if the pool had been winterized correctly. And nothing was worse than trying to mow the yard the first time if the leaves had not been raked the previous fall. But everything done in preparation for winter was done with the expectation that spring was imminent, and winter only to be endured.

The way Ukrainians have treated their work this spring seems as though no spring were expected. Why pick up the tree if there's no guarantee of spring? Why build the roads to withstand winter if there's no guarantee for winter to end? And what is lost if nothing is done before winter? If spring does come, it can all be taken care of then. Life is dealt with as it comes. Problems are addressed when they need to be, but not before.

Now, don't mistake this for procrastination or laziness. The moment Clean Thursday came before Easter, everyone, I mean everyone, began working with a zeal any American would envy. It was as if my city suddenly became aware of the mess and was embarrassed by it. It simply exemplifies to me the mentality to live for today, for the moment. If that moment is good, it will be remembered, even glorified as will soon be shown by the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the victory of WWII. But to work ahead is pushing it. The bitter sting of disappointment is still strong in the former Soviet Union of failed hopes for tomorrow.

Evidence of 'только сегодня (tolka sevodnya)', 'only today', is everywhere, whether it be the white paint on curbs already washing off, or the factory worker standing at the ATM pulling out every penny in his account on payday. It's been difficult getting used to living and working in this mindset. But maybe with time, a little bit of 'завтра (zaftra)', 'tomorrow', a much more poetic word in my opinion, will creep into the frozen Soviet mindset.

Life as it is - One year in Ukraine

It's getting real a little more everyday. I'm leaving the sense of adventure and entering Ukraine as real life. I was waiting for a train with a friend who still marvels at what we're doing. "Does it ever just blow your mind where you are, what you're doing?" Honestly, at this point I just do it. Hopping a train to Kiev overnight for 13 hours is as exciting and novel to me as driving from Atlanta to Ringgold. Just another trip. I think my friend's point is that it's weird that somehow with our infantile Russian we managed to find our way to the train station, in the dark, and find the right platform to ride a train 13 hours filled with strangers in a foreign country, and it's become second nature. The new is wearing off, but with this normalization comes the progression of relationships.

I've advanced from being the object of wide-eyed amazement from kids at school to being greeted casually with the equivalent of "whuzzup" and handshakes. It's difficult walking down the hall as 30 boys from 5th to 11th grades attempt to shake my hand. And all I want is to pee. I really feel as though the kids like me, like I'm their friend. I'm not sure how important such relationships are to the goals of Peace Corps. The ability to throw a football doesn't really translate into enabling a kid to become a skilled worker, or does it? It's not like these kids aren't loved. I'm not dealing with AIDS orphans who are never held. But there's still something that seems so valuable in being able to connect with the kids at my school and show them how much I love them.

Every day at school I fall a little more in love with my students. They really keep me on my toes. Every now and then my 6th grade boys behave like, well, 6th grade boys. I'll be sitting in my office, writing copious unnecessary though required documents for my director, when after a short knock 5 boys burst into my office, further disgruntling my office mate, the building manager. In high pitched, chipmunk Russian:

"Ben, give us the footballs," says the boy who eats the ice off puddles.

"No, today's not your sports club day, it's class 7a today."

"But Ben, please!" says the freckly boy surprisingly called 'Dave'.

"No, I'll play with you guys on Friday."

"But Ben we don't have anymore classes and we need to learn how to throw footballs better," begs Ice Boy.

"What did I say?"

"Please Ben," boys in unison.

"Get out of my office, Galina Genadivna's getting mad," with mock severity, but sincere paranoia at what the woman across from me will do if they don't leave in 30 seconds.

"No."

"Yes."

"No. Give us the frisbees instead," cunning Dave attempts.

"No. I'm playing frisbee with 7a."

"Then give us the footballs."

"You'll lose them, no way."

"No Ben, we'll be careful."

"I said no, now get out," standing, herding the boys out of the office.

"Ben you're mean," says Ice Boy holding on for dear life to the door frame.

"Let go," I groan, and the little punk slips back into the office, grabs my bike helmet, and runs out.

I try to get mad. I try not to grin as I half-heartedly chase the gremlin out of the school. I just can't do it. I can't get mad, I can't be mean. They're too funny, too innocent, too much fun. I head back to my office, shaking my head and smiling, and a few minutes later Ice Boy bursts back into my office, hangs my helmet back on my bike, stops to wave, chirps "Bye Ben," in English, and runs out.

My job has turned me into a glorified P.E. teacher. The new volunteers who teach 20 hours of English a week hate me when I tell stories of playing ultimate frisbee with 6th graders most every day. Those volunteers are busy planning, teaching, are out accomplishing tangible results while I play, laugh, occasionally yell, and accomplish seemingly nothing. Even when I do broach the subject of English I play. I have English club instead of lessons and attempt to find as many non-traditional ways to teach English as possible in 45 minutes. This includes doing the Hokey Pokey and playing I Spy.

But this is just my day job. The storm is mounting, and I might actually find myself busy over the next year. I'm planning a week-long day camp for my school about leadership in June. I'm on the director's committee for a camp about HIV/AIDS prevention in early August. I'm a counselor for a camp the last week in August. I've just started planning a major project with grant funding in which I and another teacher will be doing trainings for our teachers, students, and parents on HIV/AIDS prevention, who will then go to the smaller schools throughout the county to train those students. This project will likely last until next January. And I'm in the working group which focuses on Peace Corps Ukraine's healthy lifestyles initiative, which has its own projects which support volunteers.

I'm quickly approaching my one year mark in Ukraine, and with 15 months to go it's not exactly downhill. One year really means I'm just now truly integrating and it's time to get down to business and put together some semblance of a project that will hopefully leave me and my community with a feeling of significance when I leave.

As a side note, I have truly experienced winter. We're having the winter of a decade here. "I'm so sick of this winter. We've never had this much snow this long," bemoans a naive young Ukrainian. "Ah, we had winters all the time like this 50 years ago," a wizened grandma proudly proclaims from the next seat on the bus. Still, this is apparently the worst winter in several years, and I have the privilege of suffering through it with the best of them. It's still hovering around freezing everyday. I go to bed with clear streets and glorious dirt showing. I wake up in the morning and everything is white again. By midday everything is clear again. But it's better than being in the north where there is still a foot of snow on the ground.

I just hope I don't have to stand outside a church for Easter in sub freezing temps.

Happy one year to me and the rest of Group 36!

Christmas 2009 (December 24 - January 7)

Hey everybody! I’m really, really sorry it’s taken me so long to get a blog post up. My trip over the holidays took a lot out of me and then it’s taken a month to get settled back into school. So I finally have enough brain power left over after a week to put something new up.

I'll start with my Christmas. Well, I got a site mate right before Christmas, who has an incredible amount of stuff in common with me, the most important of which is cycling. It’s nice having an American just across the city, especially one who’s easy to get along with. He and the other new kids weren’t allowed to leave site during Christmas, so we kinda worked together to host a big long Christmas party for all the volunteers in the area. We ended up with 8 people in my apartment, with a couple people sleeping over at his. Basically, we cooked, baked, and spoke English to our hearts’ content. For Christmas day, we went to the local bazaar, drew names, and had 30 minutes to spend the equivalent of $2.50 on gifts for each other, secret Santa style. Later, after we cooked a massive Christmas dinner with apple pie for dessert, we had a riot exchanging our gifts. It really made me feel like we were back at my house doing Robbins annual Christmas party. It'd been a while since I'd thrown a party like that and it felt really good. We started on Christmas Eve, and the last of us left on Sunday. I went to Kiev on Sunday for a flu shot and to fly out to meet Austin in Prague.

I left Kiev for Prague on December 29. My trip started off rough because we got 6 in. of snow the night before I left Kiev, then 6 in. during the day leading up to my flight's departure. When I magically arrived at the airport after a slippery bus ride, I was met by a wall of people dazed and confused about what was going on at the airport. The airport had been closed and thousands of people were stranded in the relatively tiny Kiev airport. My flight was scheduled for 2:45, and started check-in at 2:30. I thought to myself, surely it won't be on time, I've got plenty of time to get through the airport. I was standing with hundreds of people in passport control when a woman came and announced that those going to Warsaw (my connecting city) needed to ask those in front of them to cut line cause you're gonna miss your flight. I didn't even ask. I jumped up front, threw my passport down on the desk to the officer's dismay, and sprinted off to my gate. My flight left a miraculous 30 minutes late, just in time for me to make my connecting flight. Then I got super confused in the Warsaw airport and thought I missed my connecting flight. Turns out I had just forgotten to set my watch back an hour, meaning I had plenty of time.

Landed in Prague, figured out the ridiculous Czech currency, figured out how to get to the hostel, and decided to make a detour through the old town square. Milled around there, took some pictures at night, in the snow, and watched the clock for the first of many times. Feeling like life had finally paid off, I started off for the hostel. The further I went, the more I realize my hostel was in the redlight district. Sure enough, the entrance to my hostel was guarded by bouncers of the cabaret that shared the same entrance. Instead of having a callbox, or buzzer, or something sane like that, guests must, at all hours, call the host's cell phone to be allowed in the first time. Well, since nobody could tell me how to make a phone call in the Czech Republic either on my cell phone or a pay phone, I spent the next hour trying to figure out how to get in. After finally getting the hostess to come down and paying a $100 deposit I never got back, I went to bed. I had to cover my head with the blanket to block out the flashing lights from the cabaret across the street, and plug my ears with my iPod to drown out the droning music from the floor below. It was a well earned night’s sleep.

I spent the day browsing the Christmas market and went to meet Austin at the airport, I took him back to the hostel, and we hit the town. We ate on the square at a traditional Czech restaurant. We established the routine of searching for the most amazing hole in the wall Czech restaurants every night. During the days we killed ourselves running around the city checking out all the stuff there is to see. Saw several gorgeous gothic churches, climbed the tower overlooking the astronomical clock, laughed at the thousands of people who gathered every hour to watch the anticlimactic show at the astronomical clock, realized we often watched too, so maybe we're just as dumb, and went through, what I consider the highlight of Prague, the Jewish museum. I'd never been in a synagogue before, much less one that was 500+ years old. There was a really tight district where all the Jewish residents of Prague were centered. The coolest part, and I'm not morbid, was the cemetery. There were thousands of grave markers piled on top of each other because the thousands more dead were buried in layers in a very small area. Some of the markers dated back to the 1400s.

Somewhat exhausted, we set out to search for dinner before New Years. We had a terrible time finding a place to suit our tastes and our wallets. We walked ourselves silly till we finally stumbled upon this little quiet place in a cellar. Got down there and new we'd found the spot. We were surprised by the number of people already down there eating so early. Had our best dinner in Prague by far. After dinner we rolled our overfed selves around Prague trying to kill the last few hours of 2009. Then we headed out to watch fireworks from beautiful, ancient Charles Bridge. In the crushing mass of people we found our spot while dodging exploding M80's, and realized the people standing behind us were Ukrainian. I struck up a conversation in Russian and realized they live not too far from me. I was asked all the requisite questions: Do you like our Ukraine? Why of all places Ukraine? Have you found a wife there yet? We made friends, and I felt vindicated: if I'm not celebrating New Years in Ukraine, at least I can celebrate it with Ukrainians. Then all hell broke loose. The moment the church bells throughout the city rang in the New Year it seemed everybody had some form of pyrotechnic disaster in their hands to let loose. There were fireworks exploding everywhere. Complete sensory overload. Explosions flashed, bells rang, people shouted, the earth shook. I'm pretty sure I had shell shock afterwards. Then, in the words of Tolstoy, there was a massive movement of people from west to east, then east to west. All the people on the bridge decided to see what was going on in the square, and all the people in the square wanted to be on the bridge. It was like swimming upstream in all directions. Austin and I found the square looking like a war zone, large swaths of cobblestone cluttered with the debris of all the fireworks, some still erupting. People didn't dare enter the hostile zone, and we were sure to skirt the no man's land. We meandered around a little more to check out the mayhem, and finally walked in revelry back to the hostel.

We poured ourselves out of bed the next day to get Austin to mass to atone for our most recent sins, and fulfill Holy obligation. In the mental smoke lingering from the night's fireworks, we got lost and missed mass in a really important church. We ended up just shooting the breeze with a really cool monk who spoke 12130984 languages. He loaded Austin up with souvenirs to take back for his entire seminary, many of which became 'take one please' at the entrance to the cathedral. We milled around that part of the city, had some good lunch, and then headed up to Prague Castle, just in time to be late for everything. All we could do was walk around the grounds though we were dying to get into the exhibits. Only major failure we had the whole trip, and probably would have killed us if we had made it into all the galleries. Something to go back for I guess. Highlight of my last night was when I haggled a guy down $20 on a ceramic beer stein in Russian.

We left for Munich on January 2. Getting on the train to Munich, not surprisingly, wasn't easy as they didn't post the platform number until the moment we boarded. The train ride was super relaxing as we rolled through the snow blanketed countryside of Bohemia and Bavaria. Got to Munich and life felt normal for the first time in 9 months. Despite everyone around me speaking German, I got that inexplicable, indelible feeling I've had in New York, London, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Durango, Nashville- I could live here, I'm comfortable here. Munich was a surprising blend of modern with ancient. There was plenty to see, and it was interesting that there were as many German speakers in every church as foreigners. After we got checked in to our hostel, which blew us away with modernity and cleanliness, convenience and overall logic, we headed out to find dinner, and stumbled across Hofbrauhaus, the epic beer hall, and got our first taste of Munich. We had to charm our waiter with sideways glances and well timed head nods to get any attention from our waiter (it was worse than flirting with a pretentious woman- one wrong smile might signify desperation and we might never see him again) and the oompa band played songs that somehow everyone else knew. That pretty much sums up the spirit of Munich. The next day we actually made it to mass, went to a museum filled with Renaissance paintings, then started ticking off sites around Marienplatz. Next day we headed out to Nymphenburg Palace which gave us our fill of Baroque. We walked all over the neighborhood around the palace, which was really cool, but only out of necessity because we were lost again while looking for food. The place we settled on, after walking in a huge circle, had me call upon my meager German abilities to get us through lunch as the waitress didn't speak English. We headed back to the old town and walked through Residenz, another palace.

It was hard to say goodbye to Munich. Austin headed out early the next day and I got to see some other parts of the city, unplanned and whimsical, the way I do best, the only way. Had an uneventful flight home. Trudged through another foot of snow in Kiev to the train station and an overnight train ride later landed back in Konstantinovka, on Orthodox Christmas morning, January 7. It was an amazing trip and another epic New Year’s Eve. Austin and I are really setting the bar high for future New Years.