On to the Border Lands

Ukrainian Famine Museum

The week before Kiev was a nightmare.  I had received very some forceful and unwanted attention from a client’s father who could not take “no” for an answer. Thankfully my bosses did not argue about it and removed me from the situation. But because I lost those teaching hours, I got extra kindergarten classes added on. Also, I had to do a trial lesson with children ages one and a half to two. It was not a success and once again I had to go through the whole spiel of how I had told the company during interviews that I refused to teach children that young because I am not qualified or comfortable teaching them. I’m beginning to sound like a broken record.

Finally, Friday evening came and I met my co-worker at Kievskaya to drink a few beers and prepare for the train ride. We departed from Kievskaya rail station (you may have seen it on “The Bourne Supremacy”) around 8:30 at night. We had bunks across from each other, so we could easily pass the time away comparing travel stories.  We rolled out our mattresses and blankets around midnight and went to sleep.

We were awoken by Russian guards sometime in the early morning to search our bags and check our passports—apparently something had spooked security, but the guards were quite nice about it. They cleared us for exit. An hour or so later, we reached the Ukrainian crossing where we were quickly cleared for entry. All of this was done without us having to leave our beds.

We reached Kiev around seven in the morning. Poor Kiev was hit with a very bad snowstorm and had more snow than it knew what to do with. It had no budget left to clear the snow and no immigrants to do it for slave wages. I had been assured that the weekend would be warm so down coats and snow boots were not necessary. By the time we reached my co-worker’s friend’s flat, we were soaked and exhausted from walking through feet of snow. My head hurt from taking a nice pile of snow that fell from a roof. I can’t win.

My co-worker and I got washed up and then braved the snow once more. My co-worker took me on a whirl-wind tour of the historic sites near my hostel and saw me fed and safely deposited at my hostel before going off to visit his friends. I met up with Kieran and Katy for a trip to the Lavra (caves) and Ukrainian Famine Museum.

Holodomor, or the Ukrainian Famine took place in the 30s. It wasn't a natural famine, brought about by bad weather. Ukraine was a major breadbasket for the USSR. This was the time of forced collectivization where all of the grain produced would be collected by authorities and evenly rationed out or sold for profit. The Ukrainian people began to go hungry. Not getting the rations they felt the deserved, Ukrainians quit growing grain as protest and the USSR let them starve. Millions of people died. The museum itself contained an altar, some farming equipment, and thick death notices from each province of Ukraine. 

We left the museum and went to the Lavra. Part of the church was built in the 11^th century and the catacombs date back to that as well. The three of us happily wandered through the snow and ice looking at the beautiful buildings. Then we grudgingly braved the icy descent down to the cave entrance. Somehow we all made it without falling, though there were several close calls.

The caves were nice and warm, keeping a steady temperature throughout the year that allows the corpses to become mummified and preserved. These corpses are covered with velvet so you cannot see them. We took a wrong turn—going with the pilgrims to the various underground chapels instead of the shorter tourist passage. This was very interesting, but extremely crowded with hundreds of people with genuflecting and kissing the coffins. We all had open flames too. I was waiting for the cave to go up in an explosion of burnt goose feathers and singed fur.

We did not combust, thankfully, and arrived back into the freezing air. We decided to meet my co-worker and his friends for some dinner. The restaurant was on the banks of the Dnieper River in a quaint shed. It is not just any restaurant, but a cat refuge. So cats jump into your lap and distract you with their cuteness while they try to sneak your dinner from your plate. I enjoyed Ukrainian beer, lamb shashlik, moonshine shots, and sala (bacon fat used as a chaser for moonshine) for a whopping ten dollars. Thank goodness I was kept busy by the cats and two interesting Ukrainian men, or I would have enjoyed the moonshine a bit too much.

I left early with Katy and Kieran to meet a friend of Kieran’s brother. He gave us a night tour of Kiev. We took the funicular up the hill to St. Michael’s Church and then walked (or slid) down St. Andrew’s Descent (a very, very steep hill). Unfortunately, I was just too cold to stand anymore sights and the lamb proved to be too rich. I left them and headed back to my hostel on Kreschatik street.

Kreschatik was busy despite the cold. Being the city center, couples and friends were out for dinner and clubs. I wandered up and down the street trying to get my stomach to relax. I finally gave up and went to the hostel. The hostel was off the main street, through an arch and in an unlit alcove. I was not so much worried about being jumped, but of the falling snow and ice off the roof onto the narrow path. I made it into the run-down tenement building and up the crumbling stairs, past the people sleeping on the stairs.

That’s the thing about Eastern European apartments. Looks do not matter, location matters. So the apparent buildings can be terrible—elevators don’t work, stairs are falling in, doors don’t lock, mailboxes are ripped from the walls and homeless people sleep in the halls. But as soon as you walk through the door into the apartment, the apartment is breathtaking. High ceilings, beautiful floors, new paint jobs, etc. This was the case with the hostel. The outside reminded you of Fagin’s humble abode, but inside you’ve stepped into a wonderful, new hostel.

I woke up (and everyone else too) early by falling off of the top bunk.  Since, I was down, I decided to just get dressed and finish up the site seeing. I went back to the cathedrals again. It was Easter Sunday in the West and I was going to challenge a fear. I decided to climb St. Sophia’s bell tower. The first tier was easy and I energetically started for the second tier.  I climbed and I climbed and I climbed. Then I met someone on the narrow, slippery stairs and it occurred to me that I’d have to get down after I made it up.  I looked up—I was still a long way down and yet, when I looked down, I was a long way up.  If I went up, I might not make it down until someone took pity on me and brought the nice men with guns to drag me down the stairs—and they wouldn’t be nice after climbing all those stairs. So I swallowed my pride and went back down the stairs.

I instead spent my time inside St. Sophia’s church. The church was built in the 11^th century and added onto in the 18^th C. It is quite impressive with the mix of 11^th C to 18^th C murals and frescos. I must have looked like an owl wandering the corridors gazing up and down and all around. When I looked at my watch, I had killed three hours wandering around inside the church. I left and hurriedly finished the tour before finishing my walking tour of historic Kiev.

I met my co-worker at McFoxy’s (Ukrainian fast food chain) near the train station.  We got on the train at 6:30. This time we couldn’t sit next to each other and we both had the top bunk. I barely slept, afraid I’d fall off the bed again. We arrived in Moscow at 9:00 to more snow. I hurried back to the apartment and prepared for my lessons.