Who would think on a day that I slept in, didn't go to school till 11:30, and had nothing planned except to see my possible future apartment, I would have so many thoughts? Of course I don't have the patience to formulate them into a coherent essay, so here comes random rapid fire.
The young English teachers are really anxious to be good hosts, catching me as I finished my internet session yesterday to ask if there was anything they could show me in the community, anything the could help with, anything I wanted. A really nice gesture, and I wish I had been more on my toes and in a thinking mood, but the internet always leaves me melancholy and worn out.
My new office used to be occupied by a senior Ukrainian teacher. I feel bad taking her space, and none of the other young teachers have their own work space. But the way that the senior English teacher explained it is that I am their guest, and everything is for the guest. I don't deserve that sort of treatment, but Ukrainian people are generous, to the point of incredulity. People will offer time they don't have, food they can't afford, and anything else they can think of. Everything for the guest. How long will I be the guest? After realizing that I didn't want to try too hard to get out of that office, because I actually really appreciate having a work space that is mine, I can shut the door, work in solitude, silence, I offered to at least share it with two or three other teachers, but they said that wouldn't work because then all of the teachers would want to have a semi private office. So here I am, not even having tasted salt water, they don't even know if I teach English good, and I'm up on a pedestal, the honored guest.
Since I ran out of English books, the elder Hanna offered to lend me some of hers. Hadn't heard of the authors, but apparently everyone in University studying English were required to read them. Then I went out on my own the music school, just walked in and started exploring, each door labeled according to what instrument was taught there. Just as I found the door that said скрипка (violin) out walked Marta, one of the three violin instructors here. She was wonderful, taking me over to the other building and introducing me to the director and other string instrument teachers. I simply wanted to meet some musicians and perhaps find an opportunity to play for fun. They apparently do have a piano quartet, but of course the worldwide viola shortage has also struck here. I offered to play viola, but they don't have one. Tomorrow I am going to meet with them at a less hectic time, and Saturday I will observe some sort of concert. The director gave me the conductors phone number in сокал (Sokal), where there is an actual orchestra, of some sort. Ideally I will create or join some sort of chamber music group here in town, to avoid the 45 minute trip to сокал. I am very excited with the possibilities that opened up so quickly. Musicians are wonderful.
One major preplanned event today was a visit to my potential apartment. One of the English teachers owns it, and is going to move into her mother's apartment so that she can rent it out to me. Actually, the school is supposed to provide me with housing, but apparently can apply to the PC for some money, which I'm sure they're doing, or why else would you want to cram into one apartment with your mom and two kids. The apartment is spectacular, recently remodeled, bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, balcony (5th floor), and windows on both the east and west sides of the building. The building is really ugly on the outside, picture a rectangular grey borg space ship, or any other soviet bloc apartment. When the Ukraine gained independence, occupants of what had been government assigned apartments simply took ownership, claim staking style. The only problem is that no one owned the building, and I don't know about the particular case of this building, but it seems common that the building and infrastructure that were communal, such stairwells, elevators, outside doors, and fire escapes are no longer communal, but also not now in private ownership. This means I will not be using the elevator, and the lights in the stairwell are burned out, the outside of the building looks like crap, the water coming out of the faucets is rusty, and the hallways are a bit dirty.
From what I hope will be my apartment, I can see all four of великів мостів (tried to put genitive ending on the name to show possession, but I'm sure that's not quite right, I'll try in English) Velyki Mosty's religious establishments. Russian Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Catholic and a long abandoned/burnt/bombed Synagogue. My lack of spelling skill constantly amazes me. The Synagogue was of course destroyed by the Nazis, some residents saying that it was burned with the remaining Jews inside, but others saying that all of the Jews had already been rounded up or escaped when it was gutted. There used to be a vibrant Jewish community here, but now apparently there are none. Being in a place with such vivid memorials to death, pain and war bring a sense of awareness that I never felt in the United States, even at the Vietnam Memorial. There have been many wars fought on this land. WWII was particularly brutal because both the Soviets as they first gave up Ukraine to Germany, and then Germany as the Soviets regained territory, practiced 'scorched earth'. They wanted to leave no possible resources for the advancing enemy, so everything was burnt and destroyed, twice. And of course the nazi genocide, executions of 'conspirators' by both sides. Then Lenin and Stalin? No words.
Tchaikovsky wrote a great violin concerto, even if he was Russian, and various Rus empires have sucked the blood out of Ukraine multiple times. Right now listening to a recording of Jascha Heifetz that gives me goosebumps every time. And now perhaps time to address the incongruence I've found in Ukraine.
On my way home from checking out the apartment, the town fire truck passed me, small blue light rotating on top. Then just past the stadium I see black smoke billowing up through the frost covered trees. There were already many bystanders watching silently as a hopelessly under equipped fire department tried to stop a family's house from burning up. The family meanwhile was frantically throwing all of their belongings out of one of the back windows. The lack of credit/high interest rates have made house insurance almost non-existent, and certainly not affordable. All young men were helping, going into the smoky house holding their breath, and coming back out with armfuls of clothing, pictures, dishes, sheets, and a clock. The first small truck had already emptied it's water tank, and the second didn't look very big. The firefighters were not well trained, the hose getting tangled and the signals as to how much pressure the man on the roof wanted confused. Not that I know much about fighting fires, but it seems that you should aim at he base of the fire. The man with the hose didn't seem to be aiming at all, just spraying water in through the upstairs window, where the smoke was coming out. Their was also a bucket brigade from the well in through the back window, where the belongings were coming out. A man was climbing the power line pole, and clipped the lines going to the house. I felt helpless, there was no fire hydrant, the second truck was running out of water, leaving only buckets. I wanted to help, but had no idea what the gas situation was, and simply was not willing to be a hero and risk my life to save material property, especially having just seen on the news the aftermath of a gas explosion. That was about as much as I had time to see, because the principle of my school grabbed my arm and said it was better not to watch as she led me back to the school. She had come down the street to see why the power had been cut.
So where am I going with all this? I'm in a house with every modern amenity except for internet, I am about to move into a beautiful apartment, yet the fire department has trucks from 1960 and no breathing apparati. The town has no fire hydrants, pot hole repair, street lights or library. Everything is holding together in Ukraine, but there are cracks. I can't tell yet whether those cracks are getting smaller or larger. Of course the longer I'm here the more I will notice, which will skew my view. And not to say that the US doesn't have any cracks, which may also be growing, sending us toward hard times.
Indoor soccer was cancelled tonight because the upper class' Christmas performance was pushed back thanks to the power outage, and the performance is in the sports hall. I was really excited about the apartment, then hesitant about having less language practice, but then tonight when my host dad did not believe that I could make pasta for myself, did not think I knew how much oil I wanted with the onions, and no, I didn't want salt in the water, and yes I can dump the boiling water into the colander without burning myself. I've been making pasta since I was 10. Just because I speak and read like a child does not mean I think like one, or cook like one. I think some of the constant supervision is due to curiosity, how do Americans do it, but there is also just a lack of belief that I can live by myself. Patience. January 23rd, I'll be on my own. Up too late again, will probably be good to live without a computer for a while. I'm typing this in Andre's room, my host brother, he only comes back on weekends and holidays from University in L'viv. Not sure when I'll actually post this monstrously long monstrosity.
