Where is everyone?

D's cousin came to town on a business trip this weekend. "Where is everyone?" he questioned as we walked along the banks of the Lopan river. "The train station this morning- deserted. The metro- echoing. The streets- empty. Where are the people?" D and I shrugged. I hadn't really noticed fewer people out and about. "Probably in Crimea" D answered, "enjoying their summer vacations."

Past and present

Ukraine: always a mix of the old and the new!

Kharkov Tour I

Holodna Gora church. Construction began on June 24, 1892. Blessed on October 23, 1901.

One sunny afternoon in May we meet with Jack, a former student who had offered to take us on a tour of the city. We meet Jack at this church in Xolodna Gora. Dressed in white linen pants and a white polo shirt, this day he looks every inch the doctor that he's poised to become. It's a pleasant surprise to see not only him at the meeting point, but also his friend Yaroslav and his sister and brother-in-law, also doctors, visiting from Africa. (It's popular for Ukrainian doctors to work abroad in order to earn more money, as salaries for medical professionals here can be between $100 - $300 US a month. If Jack ends up going abroad for work I'll always remember all the effort and enthusiasm he put into this- and the next- tour!)

So, when this city tour was proposed I thought it would just be a casual thing, Jack pointing out whatever he noticed as we wandered the streets. Instead, after the introductions and nice-to-meet-yous, he pulls out two handmade and bound tour guides: Харьков- сегодня и сто лет назад. Kharkov today and a hundred years ago. 20 pages of old photographs and background info! With these in hand, we enter the church grounds and circle the building. There's a priest in black outside on a bench and women covering their heads with scarves as they approach the imposing front door. Children play nearby, girls skipping together, boys crouched under a tree. Passerby cross themselves on the street as they walk down the sidewalk. I still feel timid around Ukrainian churches.

Stadium

Next we head to a stadium/field perched above the city. Xolodna Gora, cold mountain, is not quite a mountain but definitely a hill. My favorite version of the naming story involves a Russian tsarina passing through town and bestowing the name upon the hill. No idea if that's even remotely true :p Anyways, through a rather large hole in a concrete barrier and voilà, we arrive at the viewpoint.

Our group admiring beautiful Kharkov!

I could easily spend all day here. Several people appear to be doing this: couples chatting over picnic baskets, teenage boys drinking beer and kicking around a soccer ball. But soon enough it's time to leave to continue the tour.

We hop on a tram and for about 18 cents ride down the hill, over the train tracks, and along the highway until the tram stops at the Lopan river. Here we see citizens lazily rowing around in little rented boats, which ends up inspiring another adventure later on. The red-and-white-striped Annunciation Cathedral, one of Kharkov's main cathedrals, is a short walk away along the riverbank. I cannot stop photographing this amazing church!!!

Built in 1888, blessed in 1901.

Then back across the river to take a stroll through this open air market. It looks like a good place to get souvenirs and artwork. Not far from the vendors is Kharkov's eternal flame monument to "those who gave their lives in the October revolution."

Apartment Therapy, Part II

Without further ado, the new apartment!
(or click here for the whole story)

The entryway.
Lots of storage : )















The living room (it's a 2 bedroom apartment):

Like they say, it's all about the details-

1) chandelier 2) AIR CONDITIONER! 3) book collection left behind
There's a nice reading corner too. It's been a long, long time (try never) since we had one of those.

The Neighbors

Story One

In the elevator, yesterday.

Mean lady, abruptly: Are you living on the #th floor?

D, shocked: Yes.

Mean lady, demanding: How much do you pay for rent?

D, shocked again: Uh, 3500 grivna.

Mean lady, snidely: Oh, I had clients who were willing to pay 4000 and the owner turned them down. I'm a realty agent myself.

And then the elevator stopped and she stomped off. 

Story Two

Our building has a вахта. The proper translation is probably desk attendant but if you've ever encountered one, you know they're more like stone gargoyles that have suddenly come to life and decided to fiercely guard their territory. I first encountered this strange race in Siberia as they religiously policed the entryway of our dorm. They shouted all day at the rambunctious 18 and 19-year-old students, made people wear little booties over their shoes, and rarely allowed anyone who looked over 25 in the building. They couldn't tell us apart (Gunhild, Anna, and me, the three blonde foreigners) but because of their advanced age I couldn't tell them apart either. If you had a late night (as in, any time after 11PM) you had to push a little buzzer and wait for them to wake up and let you in the building. There was a local legend about one student who froze to death a couple winters back because the вахта didn't let him in. I remember one particularly cold winter night (this was Siberia after all!) when we got back from a club at 3 AM and yes, thought we would freeze to death too before the вахта finally woke up, found her tapachki, and shuffled her way over to the front door.

The next time I met a вахта was in a hotel in 2007, vacationing in Crimea. She sat at a desk downstairs all day long. One day (several days after we arrived) we asked her for more toilet paper for the room and she refused, saying that the hotel was like a bureaucracy and the housekeeping department was closed for the weekend and we'd have to buy our own. Or wait until Monday. Her exact words! :p

And finally, there is a вахта crew at the school I teach now. Most are benign except for this one evil lady. When she's guarding the exit I have to slink against the wall to not attract her attention.

So, yeah. We were kind of surprised / horrified to walk up to our new apartment building, arms full of stuff, and suddenly be investigated by this sharp-eyed woman. When we first came to view the apartment it was nighttime and the вахта was off-duty. I didn't even notice the little glass office on the the ground floor. But there she was, questioning us in broad daylight like we were in a police line-up as we juggled bags from one hand to the other. Eventually she relaxed a little and another вахта came up. She'd noticed the plant I was carrying and asked if I like flowers, which led to where was I from, etc, etc. And since then both ladies have been quite nice (although there's a third I haven't met yet). The flower lady even gave me a jade plant (“the tree of love” she called it) and another leafy plant so that I would “have good impressions of Ukraine.” I'm just relieved to have passed the вахта test for once!

Story Three

We were leaving our old apartment building on the outskirts of town. As we each wheeled a duffel bag down the sidewalk, a man who looked vaguely like an off-duty Santa Claus asked “Going on vacation?” This man often spends his evenings sitting on the bench in front of the building, as most people do. Since it's so hot inside people like to spend their evenings gossiping outside on benches, spying on observing other people. This man was a regular attendee to these gossip sessions, along with his dog- the fattest dachshund I've ever seen in my life. I never know if it's proper to greet this group or not. Usually what happens is they fall silent as we walk by, watching us, and then resume their conversation as soon as we pass. Suspicious, right? Anyways, “Moving? Why?!” he bellowed, offended. “To be closer to her work” replied D, referencing my work but not exactly telling the truth. “Where's she work?” he returned. As soon as we revealed the name of the school I teach at, he simultaneously said “But you can't get any closer to it than living here!” and b) “I've been trying to enroll my daughter there! Wait, wait!” and he made a call on his cell, told his daughter to turn off the potatoes and come downstairs and meet this English teacher. (Pssst: Katusha is an endearing nickname for Katherine.) “Katusha!” he practically shouted, “you mean we've had a real English-speaking American living here all year and we don't get to meet you until you're leaving??!!!” His daughter was sweet and shy and excited to meet us and within a few minutes the mom had shown up too. We ended up exchanging phone numbers, although I'm not exactly sure for what purpose.

Apartment Therapy, Part I

The last sunset from this balcony

It only took a day to get a new apartment. The story is much longer than that, of course, but in the end we saw the apartment and paid a deposit for it the same afternoon. Now, a week later, we've almost moved everything in and are ready to finally spend our first night here.

We spent ten months in the little school-arranged apartment at the end of the metro line. It was fine: tiny, cozy, and orange. There was a broken couch/bed that functioned as a bed but refused to be a couch, a dilapidated armchair, and two kitchen chairs. Having a guest over meant that someone had to stand, so guests usually didn't come :p Still, that sparkly orange wallpaper made up for a lot! Around month eight though, after a long series of plumbing incidents finally culminating in the leaky ceiling of our downstairs neighbor, the place started to lose its charm. We wanted a fresh start and a change of scenery.

Goodbye, old apartment!

D had been involved in Kharkov apartment searches before. He acted as interpreter several times for T, one of my colleagues. T and D met one afternoon with Dima the realty agent, a very young guy in an oversize parka who was far less than thrilled to find out that T was a foreigner. “Why didn't you tell me this on the phone?!” he blew up. “Now I've got to make a phone call” he shouted as he stalked off around a corner.

Road repair

Last weekend D noticed some guys filling up holes in the road with leftover construction materials.

Hmmm.... a viable solution for fixing potholes?
You be the judge.