Chapter One

Our Trip Begins

After a year of planning, our trip to Ukraine was finally about to begin. We could barely control our excitement. We had lists of places to visit and things to bring. We even had our visas. This, in itself, was quite a feat. Let’s go back several months.

Bobby came to New York in the spring and we went to the Ukrainian Consulate at 240 East 49^th Street to get our visas. We had heard horror stories about how difficult this would be and wanted to start early in case there were problems. We downloaded the directions from the consulate’s website on the Internet and read through them carefully. We thought we had all bases covered. The trip to New York City from Joan’s house, which normally takes about an hour and a half, took almost three hours. This was probably an omen, but we ignored it. When we got to the neighborhood of the consulate, we couldn’t find a parking spot. We drove around the block looking for a parking space and, after half an hour, gave up and put the car in a nearby garage. We walked down the block only to learn that the consulate office was closed. There was a piece of paper taped to the door stating, in Cyrillic, that the office was closed for an unannounced holiday. Fortunately, a young woman came by seeking admittance too and she was able to read the sign and to get a man inside to come to the door. We asked if he would give us the visa application form. We retrieved the car after nine minutes in the lot and, $22 later, we had little to show for our effort but the application form. Bobby signed hers and left it and her passport with Joan when she returned to CA.

It took two months before Joan was able to return to the consulate. In the meantime, we changed our itinerary and needed a new written invitation from Ukraine before Joan could try again. It would be necessary to present our plane tickets, our passports, our itinerary, the invitation, the fee in a money order and two passport sized photographs. If any part of this wasn’t perfect, the visa application would be rejected. The office is not open every day and only in the morning. We had only eight days before our trip was to begin and we were getting nervous.

Joan: I took the train to the city on the Tuesday before our departure date, planning to arrive well in advance of their opening so I would have time to work out the kinks if there was a problem. There was already a considerable line outside the building, actually two lines, when I arrived. I joined one line, unable to ask if it was the right one because no one spoke English. After waiting half an hour, the door to the consulate opened and some of the people on my line were admitted to the building. The guard told me to wait on the other line. My line was only for people returning who had messed up their applications on previous days. The second line was now three times as long and I was at the end. Yikes! I was beginning to become concerned when no one came out of the building for what seemed like a long time and no one on my line was admitted. It was 98 degrees and 98 percent humidity in New York and everyone was standing in the blazing sun. The line finally began to move and, after a two hour wait, it was my turn. Thank goodness, the office was air conditioned.

I was admitted to a small room with only a table and two chairs and a large sign I took to be instructions for filling out the visa application. It was written in Cyrillic. One wall had a glass window with a number one pasted near the top of the glass. It was divided down the center and the right half of the window had a number two pasted near its top. By watching what was going on, I figured out that I was to approach window number one when it was my turn, present all my papers and pray. The woman at this window spoke English. She processed our papers and told me to wait on the second line for the woman at window number two. This woman didn’t speak much English. I had two FedEx envelopes with me with labels made out so that our visas could be delivered to our homes quickly. I explained to the first woman what I wanted and this woman explained it to the second woman. I was given a receipt.  It was written in Cyrillic and I hoped it was for our passports, which they kept. The plane tickets were returned to me and I was told I could leave; everything was in order. I asked the first woman to have the visas delivered in the FedEx envelopes on Saturday. This way, Bobby would be home from work and her passport would not have to sit outside her house all day. The woman said they would be sent out Friday and delivered on Saturday as per my request. I called on Thursday to confirm that the visas would go out the next day and be delivered on Saturday. The woman I spoke with checked, said yes, that was what would happen, and hung up. I sent Bobby’s plane ticket out FedEx on Thursday as well, requesting it also be delivered on Saturday. Bobby called me Friday morning to tell me her visa and plane tickets arrived before she left for work. So much for planning. But we weren’t complaining. Compared to the stories we had heard of the difficulties others had getting their visa, this was easy. Now we were ready. There as nothing left to do but pack.

After our trip to Slovakia in October 1999, we thought our trip to Ukraine would be physically easier, even if the conditions might be more primitive. In Slovakia, we had climbed steep hills, crawled under cemetery fences and through gates. We cut down trees and spent days clearing underbrush in abandoned cemeteries. We used eight cans of shaving cream and a squeegee in an effort to make the letters on the decaying tombstones stand out for photography. Compared to that, we thought we would almost be tourists in Ukraine.

We had contracted for a guide, Olek, who would pick us up at our point of arrival, Rzeszow (pronounced SHESHOV) Poland, negotiate border crossings, arrange accommodations, drive us to all the shtetls, and who spoke English, Ukrainian, Russian and Polish. He came highly recommended. But one never knows if others have the same requirements. We hoped for the best.

In case you are wondering, we could have flown to Lviv in Ukraine but it would have been necessary to do this on Ukraine Airlines. We decided we would rather fly to Rzeszow on Polish Lot Airlines and drive the extra miles to Lviv, especially since Alex was happy to pick us up wherever we wanted. We could have flown to Kyev (the Ukrainian spelling of Kiev) but this is quite a distance from where we wanted to be. Rzeszow seemed like a good choice.

One of our other choices would have been to ride the train from Warsaw to Lviv with stops for train changes in Rzeszow and Przemysl (pronounced PSHEMISHEL with an almost inaudible P). The train track in Ukraine was laid before the turn of the century. Maybe our ancestors took this train on their way to their port of debarkation for America. The track in Poland is a different gauge than the track in Ukraine. Apparently, today, when taking the train from Poland to Ukraine, the train crosses the border in the middle of the night. It is lifted off its undercarriage by a large crane and deposited on the undercarriage of a Ukrainian train on its track before continuing. It sounded like an experience we could not miss. Unfortunately, it would have taken us five days to get to Lviv this way and we didn’t feel we had that much time. We were disappointed, but opted for the faster trip, only three days by air.

Joan’s husband had been hearing horror stories about anti-Semitism in Ukraine and about rampant criminal activity. Supposedly, one could be killed for a pair of jeans. We were warned about wearing jewelry and encouraged to have Hepatitis A shots. It sounded scary. But we’d also been reading reports on the Internet about people in the Jewish genealogical community who had been there and had wonderful experiences. We decided it would be fine, packed our peanut butter and crackers, chocolate bars, rolls of toilet paper, passport, plane tickets, maps and list of the shtetls we wanted to visit. We were ready!

Bobby came to New York a day early. The time difference is so great between LA and Ukraine - ten hours. This gave her a day to adjust to the three hour difference between NY and LA. We left New York on Wednesday, August 2^nd, 2000 from JFK at 5:50 PM. It felt as though we had been planning this trip forever and we were both excited to finally be on our way. After a seven hour flight, we arrived in Frankfurt, Germany on Thursday, at 8:15 AM local time. We were tired, a little spacey and impatient to continue. Unfortunately, our layover was very long. We waited six hours for the next flight, on Polish Lot Airlines to Warsaw (Warshawa in Polish, pronounced VARSHAVA). We were able to wait in the executive lounge and that made things a little more comfortable, but six hours is still too long when we really wanted to be in Ukraine, not Germany.

We were not sure what to expect on Lot but the plane was a 737, a jet, and relatively comfortable. We enjoyed the beautiful European scenery below us, mostly farmland and forests. The one hour flight went by quickly. We were reminded how small Europe is. We went from Western Germany to Eastern Poland in one hour. It takes five hours to cross the United States from New York to Los Angeles.

They served a meal but we can’t really tell you what it was. We had some kind of cheese, several slices of sausage or ham or meat of some kind, what our kids used to call “mystery meat,” a roll, and a chocolate. Little of it was recognizable but we were hungry and ate anyway. It was good practice for what we expected in Ukraine. We landed at the Warsaw International Terminal where we exchanged some money. We anticipated having to pay for a taxi ride to the hotel in Rzeszow and back to the airport (12 kilometers each way) at the end of the trip. We tried to exchange only enough money so as not to have leftover coins. The exchange rate was five zloty to the dollar.

Again we had a long layover, four hours in Warsaw. We had to go from the international terminal to the domestic terminal. Here, none of the signs are in English and none of the Polish is recognizable. But we managed to find our way and to dodge the taxi drivers who wait outside the doors of the terminal and won’t take no for an answer. We waited the four hours in the Warsaw Domestic Terminal. There was nowhere comfortable to sit and we were antsy by now. So close and yet so far. Finally, we boarded the ATR (a propeller plane, 31 passengers) of Polish Lot Airlines for the 40 minute southbound flight to Rzeszow. Again we were fed. This time it was a hero roll with the same cheese and meat, one thin slice of each, and one leaf of lettuce and one slice of tomato on it. Hunger is a wonderful thing. It is amazing what one will eat with enough motivation.

This was a night flight. Bobby slept while Joan sat glued to the window. As she watched the countryside, she realized how very far we were from home and how very isolated we were. There were very few lights on the ground, just miles and miles of blackness. And we weren’t even in Ukraine yet.

There is a six hour time difference between NY and Rzeszow. It was 10:30 PM, Thursday, August 3^rd. We figured we had been traveling for 23 hours on a lot of adrenaline and very little sleep. We were exhausted.

The Rzeszow Airport is tiny; one runway and one small building. We exited the plane on a rickety staircase, found the building, followed our fellow passengers and retrieved our luggage. We both travel light, with only carry-on luggage. But the plane was small enough to necessitate our giving up our bags for this flight. The baggage handlers didn’t speak English, we didn’t speak Polish and a lot of sign language ensued until they checked our tags against the baggage vouchers we’d been given in Warsaw. We found a taxi outside the terminal, the only one, and prayed we were making ourselves understood as we got in for the ride. It was a rainy night, the roads were slippery and dark, very deserted. We hoped we wouldn’t be taken for a tour of Poland along the way. The taxi had a meter and the fare turned out to be as we had expected. So far, so good.

The Rzeszow Hotel is a large, unornamented building of maybe six or eight stories. The lobby is sparsely furnished, with few comfortable places to sit. We didn’t care. We wanted to get to bed. Fortunately, the receptionist spoke some English and was expecting us. We were given a room on the third floor and proceeded to the tiny elevator for the ride up. The hallway and room were musty, mildew. Not a good sign. The room was so dark and smelly that we felt the floors must have been wet. But the bathroom was clean and bright, the toilet paper was relatively soft, and we were asleep in an instant. 

Chapter Two

Rzeszow and Lviv

Friday, August 4^th: Morning came far too quickly. As in most European hotels, a buffet breakfast is included with the price of the room. Much of what was offered seemed inedible but we found bread, yogurt, cheese, those meats again, coffee and tea. We saw what was supposed to be orange juice but wasn’t. There were soft boiled and sunny side eggs, lots of mayonnaise-y salads, cereals of some kind, and dried fruits. It was certainly not as extravagant as those we had seen in the Western European hotels, but we did not lack for something to eat.

We arranged for Olek, our guide, to meet us in the hotel lobby at ten. Our first surprise came when we paid the hotel bill. Olek had given us hotel rates for all the places we would stay and this one far exceeded our expectations. We had to pay. Fortunately they accepted Visa. When he arrived, we asked him about the room rate only to learn that he had stayed at a much less expensive hotel nearby so that he could be in Rzeszow to pick us up at ten and the rate he had quoted was for his hotel, not ours. This would be the first of several interesting discoveries about hotel rates. It also made us a little concerned about our guide and what the rest of the trip would be like. But there was nothing we could do. It didn’t take long before he had completely charmed us both.

Olek is a delightful man who loves to laugh. He is extremely knowledgeable about the history and culture of the countries in the area, speaks wonderful English, was thoroughly prepared to take us to all the places we had requested visiting, made it clear from the outset that he would do just about anything to make us happy and, most important, knew how to navigate the border crossings.

We left Rzeszow immediately, anxious to get to Ukraine. We drove though several small towns and through Przemysl, (pronounced PSHEMISHEL with an almost inaudible P) a larger town. This is where Olek’s father was born. We got a history lesson as he drove and we were happy for it. We learned about the conditions under which his family had lived and about the differences between living in Poland versus living in Ukraine. We stopped in Przemysl so that Olek could pick up a part for his Volkswagon Passat. Many items are not available in Ukraine or are much cheaper here. We saw a cathedral being restored. It was right next door to the auto parts store and next to that was a very old house and then a trailer looking house. In front of the older house a woman, a babushka, was sitting on a chair. She was watching a small child. A young woman and two children were taking turns roller blading in the parking lot where we had parked. It was strange to see so many diverse things all together. They obviously don’t have zoning. The older and more modern cultures peacefully coexist. Only we seemed to think it odd.

The countryside in Poland consists mainly of farms and rolling hills. The only thing we had to compare it to was Slovakia. The houses were similar but here they were often decorated with tile or other ornamentation. We also saw brick houses. There was more farm machinery, more cars were on the road. There was more advertising, billboards and more stores. We saw the occasional religious icon on the side of the road like those we had seen in Slovakia, but these were generally smaller and less elaborate. The highway was one lane in each direction but occasionally opened up to two lanes. In most instances, it was well paved with few ruts or potholes. But it was not a superhighway or freeway by any means.

We had heard horror stories about people taking three days to get across borders in this part of the world. Olek assured us this would not be the case. As we approached the border crossing, we saw two long lines of cars, motorcycles and buses, perhaps half a mile in length. Most of these were older models and we were glad to be in Olek’s modern, comfortable car. Instead of parking at the end of the line, Olek drove his car to the left and joined a short third line. We were the fourth or fifth car in that line. We were concerned that those in the longer lines would storm his car for “cutting to the front of the line” but he assured us this would not be the case. He kept saying, “Don’t worry. Everything is all right.” He said it so many times we really DID begin to worry. But we were his captives, had nowhere to go, so we just sat and watched. It was fascinating.

There is a shack at the first checkpoint and the border crossing guard was dressed in Army style fatigues complete with boots, beret, hand guns and rifle. He controls a gate that he can raise to allow the cars and buses to enter the first area. We noticed a lack of trucks, especially trailer trucks with supplies like those so prevalent in the States. Every once in a while, a truck or car would come through the gate on the far left of us, going in the opposite direction, exiting the border crossing from Ukraine to Poland. We wondered why so many were leaving and none seemed to enter. We were not moving. Olek kept going up to speak with the guard and soon other cars and motorcycles began forming a fourth line to our left. There was lots of jockeying for position within a very narrow corridor. Cars edged up within inches of each other and we were constantly concerned there would be accidents. The people seemed excitable. Not knowing what was being said, or what would happen if one car scraped the other, was making us edgy. But Olek kept saying, “Don’t worry. Everything is all right.” And we had to believe him – sort of.

Every once in a while, the border guard would single out a car and send it to the back of the longer line, or require that a car be parked on the dirt patch to the side of the road. We couldn’t tell why this was happening. Olek explained that the guard has absolute power. Bribery is rampant, if not overt. The guard would accept surreptitious bribes. He could do whatever he wanted. Since Olek frequently crossed the border here, he felt he would be given some consideration and was not at all concerned about the commotion going on around us.

After about an hour, five cars were let in through this first gate. We were among them. Olek was given a small piece of blue paper with the number of people in the car written on it. He had to surrender this piece of paper as we went through the final gate into Ukraine. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

It is truly impossible to describe how clever these people are about jockeying for position. Only one example is what happened to us next. A car that had been parked alongside ours, on the left, had four people in it. The three passengers were standing around when the guard raised the first barricade. One of the men positioned himself directly in front of our car and would not move. As Olek tried to inch forward, the man still would not move. It became clear he was making sure his friend’s car would be able to get in front of ours. Olek would have none of this and started blowing his horn and leaning out the window, yelling for the man to move. The man turned around to face us. He was very angry. He lifted both his fists above his head and then pounded them down on the hood of Olek’s car causing two large dents. Olek was furious. But he needed to be careful. He didn’t want to cause a commotion to frighten us and because it is not wise to draw too much attention to oneself at the border. But he was not about to let this drop.

He pulled his car up to the first checkpoint where we waited in another line for our passports to be scrutinized. The men in the other car had pulled off to a parking area on the side and had disappeared, possibly to find a restroom or some food. Olek went over to their car and pounded on their hood, making the same kind of dents in their hood. Of course, when they returned, they were not at all happy. One man pushed Olek and he pushed back. We were sure we were going to spend the second night of our trip in a Polish or Ukrainian jail. The various Ukrainian bus drivers and drivers of Ukrainian cars offered to help Olek. Later we learned there had been suggestions about calling the police but he elected to defuse the situation in deference to his American clients. We were beginning to worry that the men would be waiting for us on the Ukrainian side of the border. Fortunately, this was not the case.

It was getting to be time for us to approach the passport control guards. They looked us over, made Bobby remove her sunglasses, checked our passports and visas and stamped them. Then we had to walk to a different shack where a woman sold us medical insurance, a necessity before being allowed to enter Ukraine. It cost $8.50. We have no idea what it was for or if it would help if needed. We had been warned about the poor medical facilities, lack of hygiene, supplies, and medicines by our standards, and hoped we wouldn’t have to use this insurance. Joan’s medical insurance form is shown below.

After that, Olek drove his car forward a few feet and stopped at the customs shack. His papers were checked but we didn’t have to get out of the car and they didn’t search our luggage. He parked the car in a parking area and walked back to the first gate with the box containing the car part he had just purchased in Przemysl. We couldn’t figure out what he was doing because he had explained that he bought this part for his own car. Now it appeared as though he was going to give it to the guard. But after about ten or fifteen minutes, he returned with the box and declared we were free to go through the whole process again on the Ukrainian side. We asked about the car part and he explained how bribery works in this part of the world. He can’t overtly give the guard a bribe. But he can show him the car part. And if the guard finds money in the box and takes it out, no one would see him take it and both parties would get what they wanted. Olek wished only to be remembered the next time he crossed the border at this place.

We got through the Ukrainian checks without incident, repeating the passport and customs process, and finally drove through the heavy blue gates into Ukraine after surrendering the small blue piece of paper that said we had three people in the car.

We immediately noticed the difference. Of course, the most obvious difference is that the signs are all written in Cyrillic instead of the Latin alphabet. The roads are poorly paved. The houses are not decorated. There are few signs advertising merchandise, far fewer cars, more cows, goats, chickens, ducks and turkeys in the road and there are more horse drawn carts. We saw many houses and buildings that had been started and abandoned. Many houses are in a poor state of repair.

As we approached each town, we saw its name printed on a rectangular sign. This was also true in Slovakia. Joan decided she wanted to learn to read Cyrillic and immediately started with the town names. We think Olek must have been rolling his eyes and gagging at her pronunciation. It became a pattern for Joan to try to pronounce the town’s name as we drove along, for Olek to correct her, for her to try again, for Alex to correct her, for Joan to try again and for Olek to try to keep from driving off the road as he laughed at her ineptitude.

Many of the letter combinations are very difficult for our American mouths to form. It really never got much easier. Even when she knew what she wanted to say, Joan had difficulty. Another problem is that, in Ukrainian, the accent is on the last or next to the last syllable in most words. She hadn’t realized it but we usually place the accent at the beginning of the word. So even when she knew the letter combinations and could pronounce them, she were still getting the emphasis wrong. We were glad that Olek enjoyed her mispronouncing so much. He laughed the whole time we were with him. It’s a good thing she’s not sensitive.

One of the first towns we passed through was Gorodok (pronounced HORODOK with the accent on the DOK). We wanted to visit a town called Gorodok and were all excited to find it so quickly until Olek explained that the word actually means “little town” and that there are many towns with this name. Oh well!

After about an hour’s drive from the border, Lviv (pronounced so that the L is almost, but not quite, silent and the “i” is a cross between the “i” in lift and the “o” in “of”) comes up suddenly. Before it there is really nothing but farmland and very small villages. All of a sudden there are Soviet style apartment houses, lots of people, all with a cow on a rope or tether, cars, a traffic circle with cows grazing in the center and on the sides, and then the cobblestone streets begin.

Lviv has an electrified trolley system. There are two trolley cars joined together, riding on a rail in the center of the street. Cars must navigate around them on either the right or left side. If people want to park their cars, they just abandon them in the street, lift the hood as though there is a mechanical problem, and walk off.  No one seems to get excited about this and there aren’t enough cars in the streets to cause a huge problem.

The people were very attractive, well dressed. The women wear either long slim dresses or skirts and tank tops. Many wear high heeled sandals. The babushkas wear layers of floral prints that don’t match or dark colored clothing that seems randomly selected. Most wore sweaters, even though it was hot. Of course, there was the ever-present babushka. The men are also well dressed in slacks and shirts. We didn’t see any sloppy young people or young boys in baggy pants. Just about every street has people with food or garage sale type articles laid out on the sidewalk. It’s like a perpetual market day. We saw produce of every description being sold including a surprise, watermelons.

Lviv reminded us of parts of Paris. There are narrow cobblestone streets, old buildings about three stories high with balconies and tall windows. Most of the buildings are stone or with some kind of cement-like facing. They are painted light colors, such as yellow, pink, light blue, coral or tan. They are solid, impressive buildings. Many appear to be quite old. There are also many green spaces and parks, most of which have statuary commemorating soldiers’ victories or war glories in some way but a few are to memorialize writers and poets or fallen leaders.

Our cousin Boris Bekelman, son of Mendel, lives in Houston TX. But he lived in Lviv before emigrating. He asked us to take a photograph of his former house: Ploshchad (Square) Danila Galitskogo, Dom (Building) 6, Kvartira (Apartment) 10. Olek knew the street and drove us there. It is across the street from the oldest fire station in Ukraine. The fire station has been continuously used for 150 years. In fact, Boris and his parents lived in the fire station for one year when their apartment was being renovated.

We photographed the apartment house and the fire station, a beautiful old brick building. Boris also asked us to look up Simon Gruzberg, an artist friend of his. Olek had checked to see if he was still alive and learned Simon died July 17^th, just two weeks before our arrival.

Olek took us to his own neighborhood to change some money. They were offering a rate of 4.30 hryvna (pronounced like the burnt onions that are made when you make chicken fat, GRIVNA, only with an “h”) to $1. When he realized Joan had traveler’s checks, it became necessary to go to another place. We went to a hotel in another part of the city where she turned in her entire stock of traveler’s checks for hryvna, losing something in the commission and a bit more because of the venue. But we expected to find no place outside of Lviv that would accept a charge card, check or American money and we didn’t expect to be back to any large city until it was time to leave. Olek pointed out the new McDonalds on the corner.

After a quick drive around the city, Olek took us to the Grand Hotel where he had booked a room for us for the night. He probably thought we needed a rest and he most certainly was exhausted after listening to Joan mispronounce words for the past few hours. Since he lives in Lviv, we told him he could go home to see his very pregnant wife and nine year old son while we unpacked and rested.

At 6:30, Olek picked us up. We walked to a lovely little restaurant named Amadeus where Olek helped us order a delicious dinner. The restaurant is small, only about ten very small tables. They were covered with lace cloths but there were no napkins. All over Ukraine, this seems to be the custom. There is a paper napkin holder in the center of the table where one can take a small napkin if it is needed. We ordered bottled water and a soup called soylanka, a traditional and delicious soup made of thin red broth, several different kinds of meat, pickles, lemon, vegetables, black olives, bay leaves, cloves and other things we don’t want to know about. It was delicious. Joan had trout, potato pancakes and Kyev beer. Bobby had sturgeon with morney sauce and caviar. It was a wonderful meal. We thought it might be our last.

After dinner, we walked around the neighborhood with Olek, trying to read signs, learning about the history of Ukraine, Lviv and of the buildings in the area. We walked through an old Jewish area. Olek told us Jews had been living in Lviv since the 1200’s. We saw a former Jesuit monastery, several cathedrals, an area of protected historic buildings and the place where a statue of Lenin used to be. He told us it had been torn down by the people. On a street of historic buildings there is a black building. The story is that it has been painted other colors but the building always reverts to black on its own and the present owners have finally given up. It’s black. We also saw the oldest pharmacy in Europe. It was from this corner that distances used to be measured, so many kilometers to Kyev.

You might notice that we took many photos of churches and monasteries. That’s because there are many churches and monasteries in Lviv and we found them to be especially interesting. Olek told us the two religions in Ukraine are Roman Catholic and Russian Orthodox. The church for each religion is distinct in style and Olek was able to point out which church was for each religion without any difficulty. This was not quite so obvious to us.

Our hotel faced a beautiful plaza that had a statue of a famous Polish poet whose name we can’t remember and a modernistic sculpture shaped like a wing with figures on it.

We walked down a lovely promenade to the Opera House. The promenade looked like a mini Champs Elysee. We passed benches where men were playing chess, saw couples strolling hand in hand along the promenade, and saw electric cars people could rent for their small children to drive on the plaza. It was a delightful evening. We were impressed with the beauty of the people and their relaxed demeanor. We noticed very few young people we would call “punks” and no people we found threatening. We saw some people wearing jeans. Bobby decided it would be all right if she wore hers without fear of mayhem. What a nice surprise!

By nine, we were exhausted and ready for bed. Our room, room 412, was really “grand” as the hotel name implies. It was a large room, with high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, red and gold brocade drapes with sheer curtains underneath and matching red and gold brocade bedspreads. The bathroom was large, European style, with complementary supplies including bottled Kyev water (pronounced MORSHENSKA) - with gas. You can tell it is carbonated by the little bubbles on the label.

We were also given a complimentary bottle of champagne. It was placed on a cut glass tray. There were crystal flutes too. We took the champagne and presented it to Olek so that he and his wife Natanya could have a toast after their child is born.

We were feeling badly that Olek would be driving us around the countryside when the birth of his second child was imminent. He seemed not to understand our concern explaining that this was his job and that his wife understood that. By the way, she is a cardiologist. There is no interventional cardiac surgery in Lviv. If one requires an operation, it is necessary to go to Kyev. The salary for Natanya’s services is very low. Olek says it is almost like doing charity work.

Now back to the Grand Hotel: Our beds were turned down and we were left two chocolate bars on the pillow. This was nothing like what we had imagined. The room was $110 per night, pricey by Ukraine standards but this was one of their “cheap” rooms. There are different prices for Ukrainian citizens and for foreigners, the latter being double that for citizens. This was true when Bobby went to Moscow and St Petersburg ten years ago. It must be one Soviet practice the Ukrainians kept. Olek told us the hotel is owned by a Jewish man who lives in another country; we’ve forgotten which one. So far, our only complaint was that the bottled water had gas.

Chapter Three

Lviv, Volochisk, Khmel’nitskij and Krasilov

Saturday, August 5^th: We ate breakfast in the hotel dining room, having the usual buffet but this time with a more extensive assortment of foods, some of them recognizable. One of the most pleasant surprises for Joan is that Lipton tea (with a yellow label but the same flavor) is served all over Ukraine. Bobby was disappointed that there is no diet Coke or diet Pepsi anywhere.

It was interesting to listen to the conversations around us. Many people were part of a group from Canada who were touring Ukraine by bus. They had already been to Kyev and were leaving that day for parts south, including Kamenetz Podolsk, a place we would be visiting later in our trip. At some tables, the conversation was in English. At others, it was in Ukrainian. Some of the larger tables had several conversations going at the same time that kept jumping from Ukrainian to English and back. It was confusing but interesting.

We stopped a couple from this group and asked them about their trip. They were both born in Ukraine but left as children. Both spoke Ukrainian at home as children and could still speak the language but now spoke unaccented English. We were envious of their language ability. We were feeling very lost on our own. We stopped at a small concession outside the restaurant to buy post cards and through sign language and the very few words we knew, like one (pronounced ADEEN) two (pronounced DVA) and thank you, (pronounced DYA-KOOYOO with the DYA almost mumbled and the accent on the KOOYOO) we made our purchases, 50 kopeks for each card. We were very proud of ourselves but we were certain that without our guide, it would have been impossible to make this trip.

Olek met us at ten. We asked him to take us to the post office so we could buy stamps to mail off the post cards. While Bobby and Olek were in the post office, Joan stayed with the car so that our luggage would not be stolen.

She saw a wedding procession making its way through the streets. The lead car was an ordinary car holding the bride and groom. The groom was driving. The hood was decorated with two intertwined wire hearts wrapped in alternate layers of red and white crepe paper. There were two balloons tied to the radio antenna and the door handles had foot long crepe paper streamers on them. There were several other cars following the couple’s car, each with balloons tied to their antenna and crepe paper streamers on their door handles. Olek said that the wedding couple often has two dolls on the hood of their car instead of the hearts.

After this we drove through Lviv on our way to Krasilov (pronounced just as it is spelled but with the accent on the IL). We saw many streets with local markets, many people on foot, the ever-present trolleys and then some trolley buses. They are trolleys on wheels instead of riding on a rail or track. It took us about half an hour to get out of the city. The buildings end almost abruptly and the road becomes a highway of sorts. The highways are really roads with one lane in each direction. They have a shoulder that is just the edge of the pavement and could be either grass or the lack of grass that results when many cars are pulled off the road in one spot.

As we exited the city, we suddenly became aware that there were no more cobblestones. We started to see what looked like housing developments with partly built brick houses in various stages of completion. Most of them appeared to be abandoned. Then we started to see farmland and gently rolling hills.

We stopped outside the city for gas. The gas station looked like something out of the 1920’s. Behind it there was a water tower upon which two storks had built a nest. We commented on this and Olek explained that this was how the babies in Ukraine are delivered .We were surprised at the universality of this concept. Later we saw many more storks in nests. Although we have lots of babies in America, we had never seen a live stork, only the wooden ones people put on their front lawns to announce to their neighborhood that a boy or girl baby had been delivered to their house. Our storks must have covert training.

After getting the gas tank filled, we proceeded. Joan practice reading the names of the towns on the signs and Olek enjoyed her terrible efforts. Bobby had e-mailed Olek a list of the towns we wanted to visit and he planned our trip in a way that made it possible to visit them all. We were in his hands.

We continued to drive along, fascinated by the procession of unusual vehicles on the road. We’ve previously mentioned the horse drawn carts carrying huge loads of hay or being used to transport people. We were charmed, but nervous because many people smoke, even those sitting high up on top of the pile of hay in the cart.

The bus stops are shelters, built with three walls and a roof. Each stop has the name of the closest town on the roof. And each is completely covered with elaborate mosaic designs or pictures. In a country that is so poor, we wondered why so much money is spent on these shelters. Each design or picture is unique and some of them are quite elaborate and beautiful.

Most of the countryside is farmland. There are gently rolling hills and areas of forest, but most of the land seems to be devoted to farming. We believe many of the collective farms from the Soviet era are still functioning.

We were fascinated by the huge mounds of hay in the fields. They were perfectly formed and resemble a Tootsie Roll more than anything, in gigantic proportions. Each must have been two or three stories high and as long as three or four trailers parked end to end. Some of them had a rectangle of earth turned around them to prevent fire from reaching the hay. Joan wanted to climb to the top of one and mess it up. We discouraged her.

Our first stop was in Volochisk in Volyn County. This was the last town that Benjamin Kalick and his wife Clara Broitman Kalick lived in before coming to America in 1923. Clara’s great grandparents were Wolf (Zev Ari) Broitman and Ida (Chaia) Maschtalier. Our great great great grandparents were Wolf and Ida.

Except for the main street of the town, none of the other streets are paved and most have deep ruts filled with water. We drove, or rather crawled, through the streets, gawking at the houses and people. Many of the houses are decorated with mosaic tiles or with carved designs. We saw communal wells at the street line and many times we saw women drawing water to bring home in buckets.

Every house is surrounded by a fenced yard that is completely filled with fruit trees, flowers and vegetable gardens. We saw apple, pear, plum and cherry trees. We were surprised that the same flowers growing in New York grow here: zinnias, dahlias, sunflowers, roses and marigolds. We saw willow, birch and many varieties of fir and pine tree. We also saw a tree that resembles mimosa but has clusters of red berries. Olek told us it is the KALENA, the symbol of Ukraine. We thought the climate would be more harsh since we were at the 49^th parallel and New York is at the 41^st. The 49^th parallel separates Washington, Montana, North Dakota and Minnesota from Canada. It is far north of New York City but the flora is very similar to that in Joan’s backyard.

Olek explained that one of the positive side effects of the collapse of the Soviet economy is that the birds, fish and wild life are returning because the factories are no longer running and, therefore, no longer spewing filth into the environment.

The typical houses in Volochisk are similar to those in many other towns we visited. We saw many partially built brick houses abandoned when they ran out of money after the collapse of the Soviet economy. The fences surrounding each person’s property are very attractive and each one is different.

The bus terminal in Volochisk was beautifully restored. We saw no people there and there is no evidence that is being used.

We asked about older buildings in Volochisk. Olek found some which he thought might have been built in the 1930’s or 1940’s. They were in very bad shape but as far as we could tell, were still inhabited. There were none left from the time when our ancestors lived here.

A whole separate chapter could be written about the buildings in the photos of Volochisk. They are called Khrushcheka after Nikita. They were originally put up as cheap temporary housing during the Khrushchev era but show no sign of being torn down or the people being relocated. They are ugly, greyish tan high-rise apartment houses of more than ten stories. Each apartment has a terrace that is used for hanging clothing and linens to dry. Many of the terraces seem to be in such bad shape we wondered why they didn’t fall off the building. We also wondered how people could trust walking out on them. Olek said the apartments are very small, about 900 square feet, and cost the equivalent of a few hundred dollars a month. In most cases, the area around these buildings is also very unattractive with little vegetation even though the rest of the area is very lush and many varieties of plants grow quite easily here. We saw these Khrushcheka in many medium sized towns. In other places, we saw Soviet style buildings, although some towns had both. The Soviet buildings are equally as unattractive but seem to be more solidly built and did not provoke the same disgust in Olek.

We drove around Volochisk to an area of single family homes. We stopped at one house where a young woman was washing her floors. She carried a baby on her hip. Olek needed a little persuading but he finally asked the woman if we could see the inside of her house. After a little coaxing, she agreed. She said she was embarrassed because it was Saturday, cleaning day, and her house was not in order. We told her we wanted to see what a Ukrainian house looked like, and we would not judge her as a housekeeper.

Her house consists of four rooms, almost completely unfurnished. There is a small kitchen but no sink since no Ukrainian house has running water. She has patterned linoleum floors and patterned wallpaper. Oriental rugs hang on the walls. The bedroom has two narrow, pallet-like, single beds against one wall, a crib and one single bed for their first grade daughter on the opposite wall. One other room has a large wooden piece with plates, glassware and decorative pieces in it and a couch. The other room has no furniture. There is a decorative clock on the wall in one room and all the windows have lacy curtains. The house seemed bare. Outside there is a single car garage and an outhouse in the yard. The entire property is fenced. We thanked the woman, told her how beautiful we thought her house was, and gave her a handful of colorful magic markers for her children. She seemed pleased. At least we’d like to think she was.

After driving around to see the town, Olek stopped people on the street to ask if there was a Jewish cemetery. We were directed to the old brick factory. We made several false turns but were finally rewarded. We came to what seemed like a deserted building with a high brick wall around it. There was a security guard in a shack so we asked him if the Jewish cemetery was nearby. He told us the fastest way to get to it was to walk through the factory.

Before going on with this story, now might be a good time to digress. We had been watching Olek, a very jovial and friendly man, speak to several people on our behalf. He spoke very quickly and with what seemed to us to be a lot of passion. The two people engaged in conversation always seemed to be having heated discussions. It appeared as though there were angry words being exchanged. They would stand very close to one another, get very excited and gesture quite a lot. At first, we were puzzled, because we didn’t think the content of the conversation warranted such emotion. We suspected that, since Olek was asking about Jewish people and Jewish cemeteries, anti-Semitism was playing a role in the heated exchanges. It took a while for us to realize that this was not the case and it was just the nature of Ukrainian conversation. The people speak very quickly, with lots of emotion and at very close range. Americans seem to need more space and are threatened by the passion and gesticulating. It would be easy to imagine how problems could start between people who didn’t understand the cultural differences.

Back to the brick factory: The security guard called the factory manager who led us through the deserted building and out the other side. He showed us a monument on a mound high up a set of stairs. We learned that this was a monument to people killed during WW II. It was in the middle of an untamed field, with high weeds growing up the steps and almost to the monument itself. Olek translated the inscription for us. There was no mention of Jews. The manager told us, through Olek, that the son of an SS guard involved in the killing had returned recently to see the monument. He also told us that there were many graves on the side of the hill but all were invisible because the weeds were so overgrown.

Behind the monument there were row upon row of greenhouses. We asked about them and the manager took us to see the cucumbers growing in them in well-ordered rows. Some of the greenhouse’s panes of glass had been broken recently in a storm and there was no money to fix them. After this crop of cucumber was finished, the greenhouses would be abandoned. It seemed a shame. Olek had been telling us about how much trouble the people were having shifting from a Soviet economy to a free economy. This was a very clear example. No one seemed to have any idea how to “fix” things, to make it better. The manager gave us some cucumbers to eat. They were delicious.

We asked the manager if there was an old Jewish cemetery in town but he didn’t know. He did say there was one Jewish man living in Volochisk. He is Mr. Isaacs, a former teacher. We headed back to the main street to find him. Olek parked and went up to one house he thought might be the right one from the description he was given. He was directed to another house, and then another, but Mr. Isaacs was not at home. While we waited, we watched the people sell their wares on the street. We were amazed, again, at how well dressed these people were. A woman directly in front of us was selling fish from a galvanized bucket. She was wearing leather pumps with low heels, velvet straight legged pants and a lace top. We saw almost no women in pants unless they were what we would consider dress pants. Even the children wore dresses. Several had very ornate ribbons or lace bows in their hair. It looked as though they were going to a party but this was their daily attire.

We were surprised that these people did not have more Slavic features. I think we both expected it. Any one of these people could have been transplanted to America and could not have been picked out of a crowd as “foreign.” Even in many parts of Europe, the people have a distinctive “European” appearance. Here they are attractive and well kempt, but strangely “normal” looking to us. I guess this says more about our preconceptions than about the Ukrainians.

We decided to proceed on to Krasilov without waiting for Mr. Isaacs to return and without looking further for the old Jewish cemetery. So far, no one seemed to know where it was or in what state we would find it. Without Mr. Isaacs, we didn’t hold much hope. It was getting late and we still had a long way to go.

The countryside is beautiful and unchanging. For the entire time we were in Ukraine, we saw huge fields of corn, wheat, kasha (buckwheat), mowed hay, sunflowers, and other produce, rolling hills, some small areas of trees and occasional towns. In the towns, the people set out a small stool with a pail of potatoes or apples or other produce in front of their houses. One could stop and buy vegetable from them. It confused us, however, because the whole street is lined with identical stools holding identical buckets holding identical produce. How is one to figure out which to buy? Sometimes a babushka sits on another stool, impassively waiting for a customer. We never saw one. We wanted to buy something, but didn’t know what we would do with a whole bucket of potatoes.

From the edge of the road, there was usually a patch of grass and then a short buffer of trees before the start of the farm. Everywhere we drove we saw either young or old people watching their one cow graze and wandering flocks of chickens, ducks, geese and turkeys. Joan decided that her goal was to have a cow and spend the day watching it graze. It seemed like the ultimate escape from our overstressed lives.

As we drove along, we saw many horse drawn carts. Some were filled with tall mounds of hay but others were being used for transportation. The horses were in good shape and were beautiful animals, unlike the nags used in the US as farm animals . We saw motorcycles with tandem sidecars and drivers wearing canvas helmets saved from the war. There were few cars on the road.

Every once in a while Olek would be signaled from a car coming in the opposite direction that there was a police trap ahead. The signal is the same as here. A driver flashing his lights. Once we were stopped. Olek said, “Don’t worry. Everything is all right.” By now we were prepared to believe him. He told us that the police like to stop people driving newer cars. They check their documents to make sure the car isn’t stolen. If the person is speeding, a bribe can be given to avoid a ticket. The police also seem to know which are the cars driven by gangsters and they don’t stop these. Many gangsters carry concealed shotguns or AK 47’s, Kalashnikovs, next to their seat and will fire upon the police rather than show them any documents. Fortunately, this was one experience we avoided.

After another stop for gas (BENZIN in Ukrainian), we continued on our way to Krasilov. We drove though an area high on top of a hill where we could see Khmel’nitskij (pronounced KMEL-NIT-SKI with a sort of throat clearing sound to the K) on one side and another town on the other. Both were filled with ugly Soviet style apartment houses and only had more attractive single-family dwellings as we reached the edge of the town. The houses here were mostly brick or painted cement and some quite large and modern looking.

Larger signs for a rayon (pronounced like our word RAYON but with the emphasis on the “ON”) almost like our counties. The towns have smaller rectangular signs like the one you’ve already seen for Volochisk. The photo on the right was taken from the top of the hill between Khmel’nitskij and another smaller town as we approached Khmel’nitskij. We took it to show the many rows of Soviet style apartment buildings and the typical condition of the major roads.

Khmel’nitskij is a large city and a rayon. More about this city later. We came to an area with wide paved streets, three lanes in each direction, and traffic lights. Here the traffic light turns yellow and then red but it also turns yellow just before it turns back to green. Fortunately, there aren’t many cars on the road and traffic regulations are quite relaxed. People seem to drive however they want. Bobby “helped” Olek drive for most of the trip. (Bobby is the consummate back seat driver.) She was exhausted.

As we neared the edge of the city, we came to a traffic circle. On the far side, there was a park with a huge monument. The statues were of several soldiers raising their guns to the sky. We saw bridal parties having their pictures taken with the monument as a back drop. This seemed strange to us but Olek explained that it is very common. The brides were in full bridal costume, gowns and headpieces with veils, and the grooms wore dark suits or tuxedos.

Just in front of this park there was a bus stop. Many people were waiting for buses and several of them were trying to hitch a ride. They don’t put out their thumbs as we do. They just stick out an arm and wave their hand. Olek told us several of the women trying to hitch rides are prostitutes who will service the men who pick them up and then will hitch back and service the next man on the way back. We looked but never could tell who these women were. Everyone seemed so attractive.

After this traffic circle, we were nine kilometers from Krasilov and ready to be there. We would stay at a hotel in Krasilov for the rest of our trip and make excursions from there. Although it was very far from many of the towns we wanted to visit, it was centrally located, very charming and this lovely little hotel had running water.

One of the things we learned quite early in our trip is that running water is almost nonexistent except in the large cities. There are very few restaurants and even these few don’t have bathrooms. We carried bottled water with us but sipped sparingly. Bobby was really adventurous. She availed herself of the “facilities” at several places. She calls it “Turkish Standing.” Basically this means there is an outhouse with a hole in the ground dug to about three feet deep. One stands over this hole and does what is necessary. Some of these shacks have torn bits of paper hanging on a hook or left on a shelf for one’s personal use. We carried packets of tissues and we were glad to have them. Joan took the camel attitude. Keep it for the long haul and get rid of it when you can.

But, once again, we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Chapter Four

Krasilov

Krasilov has one feature unique in the area. There is a Renault repair shop here. The man who owns the shop also owns the 20 room Paradis Hotel. In it he houses the mechanics who come from Germany to fix cars in his shop and the people who come from all over Ukraine and Russia to get their car repaired. We were glad this man was so far sighted. The hotel was very comfortable in a Danish modern/European sort of way.

There is a town square in Krasilov. In this square there is Town Hall and a community center with a restaurant on the top floor. While we were there, a wedding was going on at this restaurant. We heard singing and laughter. Olek explained that the wedding could go on for two or three days and that everyone at the wedding would do the singing. There would probably be no professional entertainment. The guests would provide their own entertainment. Joan wanted to see it but she was discouraged from interrupting the wedding. At various times, wedding guests and the bride and groom would come out of the building and stand on the steps. Joan was satisfied that she got to see the outfits of the bridal guests and we were all pleased to see happy people enjoying themselves.

In the center of town square there is a statue of Lenin. Olek was unhappy to see a statue of Lenin anywhere and clearly showed his displeasure every time we passed this one. To the right of the community center/restaurant there is a wall with bas relief sculptures. Olek told us these depicted traditional folk stories. They have to do with harvest, family and love. To us the pictures seem almost Thai or Asia.

Olek was a constant source of information, inspiration and humor. To say we learned so much is a gross understatement. He taught us about the culture, the history, the people, the religion, the language, the literature, the art. Need we go on? Without him this trip would not have been possible 

We stayed at the Paradis Hotel, Krasilov Ukraine. Our room was on the top floor. Our dormered window overlooked the main entrance. Our room was comfortable, clean and, most important, had running water and a shower. We were in heaven.  Our beds were actually one bed with two mattresses, down pillows and a down comforter. We are both allergic to down and slept with a towel over the pillow each night.

Since it was in the high 80’s every day, and only cooled down to the 60’s or 70’s during the night, we were very warm. One could either use the comforter or nothing. No top sheet or light blanket. Of course, there was no fan or air conditioning. Well, we wanted to “experience” Ukraine and this wasn’t the worst we expected. There was no screen on our window. We tried to keep it open as long as possible, but spent the last few minutes of every night killing the myriad of flying insects that decided to join us. The yellow walls looked polka dotted by the time we checked out.

The staff at this hotel was unbelievable. There was a room across from our room where a woman sat all day at either an ironing board or mangle and ironed everything used in the guest rooms including the towels. When we left the room to go to breakfast, she immediately came in and cleaned the room and changed the linens. The last few days we were there, the hotel ran out of tea. Joan would sit down at our breakfast table, realize she’d forgotten to bring down her tea bags from our stash of essential supplies, run up the three flights of stairs to get one, and the room would be half clean. The woman always looked fresh. She was always beautifully dressed, and never seemed too hurried or tired. She was often in the room across the hall, ironing, until after eight o’clock at night.

The hotel has a restaurant. Since there aren’t many restaurants anywhere else, we ate breakfast there and dinner there most nights. One of the first questions people ask us about our trip is if there was enough to eat and what we had to eat. So we will tell you about the food.

There was a breakfast waiting for us every morning when we came downstairs. We would tell Olek what time we wanted breakfast and we suspect he told the hotel staff. We always found the table set for the three of us. There was a plate with slices of cheese, ham or kielbasa and some kind of sausage-like meat. The meats differed many days. Some tasted like summer sausage. Some tasted like Jewish salami. There was always a basket of sliced breads. Some days there was light brown bread and some days the bread was a light yellow. We don’t know what any of it was but it was always very good. One day we were served jelly. Most days there was butter. There were usually brown eggs, often soft boiled but sometimes they were sunny side up or in omelet or frittata form. If we didn’t ask for a specific kind of egg, they just chose for us and served one whatever way they liked. There was usually fruit yogurt, European style. It is not as sweet as our yogurts and that was fine with us. We could order coffee or tea until the tea ran out. Once or twice we were served juice. One kind was called multi vitamin but it was actually a blend of mixed fruits. Another time we were served peach or pear juice. We came to realize that the food supply was spotty. They served us what they had but they didn’t always have everything. We never went hungry and we always felt the food was fresh. We didn’t worry in the least about getting sick.

During the day, we are not in the custom of eating lunch. The breakfasts filled us up sufficiently that we would forget about food and wouldn’t remember to offer to feed Olek. He never complained. Two or three days, he asked if he could stop at a store to buy something to eat. We were embarrassed that we hadn’t fed him. There is little one could buy but he found cookies, crackers, bottled water and sometimes Coca Cola.

One day, toward the end of our trip, we realized we hadn’t eaten any of our emergency stash of food including the peanut butter or crackers. So we suggested we have a picnic. We’ll tell you more about the picnic later. At the end of the trip, we gave our leftover food to Olek.

We toured the villages all day, returning between six or seven, exhausted, filthy, and happy. After a few minutes to clean up and go to the bathroom, we’d meet in the hotel dining room for dinner. The dinner menu was extensive but not everything was appealing or available. Ukrainians eat lots of meat – usually pork and very fatty cuts. There was also beef on the menu and the chicken offered was almost always chicken legs. Joan asked why they didn’t serve more breast meat and Olek explained that, years ago, when George Bush was president of the US, he sold our surplus frozen chicken legs to Russia. Now the people have a taste for chicken legs and continue to import them.

Very often we ordered fish. There was trout and sturgeon and haddock on the menu. The area also has many mushrooms and so the food is often prepared with a mushroom sauce. Potato pancakes are a traditional food so we ordered them several times. We could also get mashed or French fried potatoes and sometimes rice. We were most surprised to find salads on the menu. Every night we had a salad of cucumbers, red peppers, tomatoes and/or cheese in a very light vinegar dressing. It was really delicious.

One night, we saw a man at the next table eating something out of what appeared to be a bean pot. Joan decided she needed to know what it was. Olek told us he was eating pirogies and that they are usually very good, a traditional Ukrainian food. We both decided to order them. They come stuffed with cheese and can be ordered either sweet or salty. We had one order of each. We found the sweet to be too sweet and the salty to be too salty. We asked for a large dish, poured both servings into it, mixed the sweet and the salty pirogies together, and ate a really strange dinner that night.

The restaurant (RESTAURAN in Ukraine) was also a bar and they have live entertainment most nights. The band had two keyboardists, a violin or fiddle player and a singer. They were excellent. Olek told the musicians we were Jewish, Americans, and were enjoying their music. They played Hava Negila for us. Olek told us this song is often played at Ukrainian weddings. He knew all the words, even though he is not Jewish.

Twice, because we had eaten elsewhere, we had dessert at the restaurant. We taught them to make chocolate ice cream sundaes just the way we like them; no whipped cream and lots of chocolate syrup.

Truly, throughout out trip, we found virtually everyone working very hard to accommodate our every wish. No request seemed too difficult or unusual. We found no hint of anti-Semitism or anti-American sentiment. If it was there, it was so well hidden that we could not detect it. Perhaps Olek protected us from that, but we don’t think so. We think the Ukrainian people are kind and generous and warm, wonderful people.

Okay, enough. Back to Krasilov. After dinner our first night in Krasilov we walked around the town. You’ve already seen a photograph of the town square so you know this is not a thriving metropolis. But it is a fairly large village. It is on the South Bug River (That’s the English transliteration of the word. The Ukrainian word is pronounced “BOOG” and the first letter actually looks like a spider). The approach to the village parallels this river. It is charming. Then one goes around a traffic circle and is confronted with apartment houses, the market (RENOK in Ukrainian) and some stores before approaching the deserted town square with the large statue of Lenin in its center. There is a dahlia garden in front of this statue but the rest of the square is so barren and bleak, the flowers do nothing to brighten up the area.

The hotel is about half a block from this square. After dinner, we walked around the town. After seeing the wall with the folk art sculptures and the community center/restaurant with the wedding, we walked down some of the town’s streets. We came across the building in the photograph, which is a school. Outside the building there are two statues. We photographed one, of a girl. The other is of a boy. Olek told us these symbolize the youth movement every child was expected to join during the Soviet era; a sort of communist utopian ideal that starts with the indoctrination of the children.

We also saw a bulletin board with photographs and blurbs about workers who were being singled out for their hard work. These photographs were at least ten years old but nobody had bothered to take them down. They were from the Soviet era. The square had a large building that was the local administrative office, Town Hall, with the Ukrainian blue and yellow flag flying outside, and a movie theater, but we saw no sign that it was being used.

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