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Author Topic: My Trip Report: Part 12  (Read 1501 times)
MarkInTx
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« on: June 11, 2002, 04:00:00 AM »

Chapter 12:  "Day Five – In Which I become a Tourist"

As we start the next morning, I have decided that it might be a good idea if we make it out to see something of Kiev besides the restaurants and the apartment. I tell Victoria of my plan, and she calls, Olga, the lady who rented us the apartment. She gives Victoria the name of a guide who says he can come over and meet us, and take us to see some of the highlights. He charges $8.00 an hour. That is actually cheap by American standards, but I have adjusted my thinking now, and I find that a little expensive.

I’m sure there’s someone who will do it for $3.00 an hour… but I don't know who, and I decide that a couple of hours of a guided tour is a good thing, so I tell Victoria to set it up.

She tells me that we are to meet him at 2:30 by the monument in the square (which is right out the front door of our apartment.)

That leaves us the morning, and we are out of food. So, off we go to the market. (First, of course, Victoria must get suitably attired. Since we are only going to the bread market, she slips on modest two inch heels, and spends a mere fifteen minutes getting her make-up ready.) She still looks better than anything I’ve ever seen at Albertsons, and out the door we go.

If you’ve never been shopping for food in the FSU, get ready, It is nothing like the good ol’ Supermarket back home. They have small shops and all of the food is behind the counter. (The wedding rings were more accessible than some of the food!) You have to ask for the food by name which pretty much leaves you out of luck if you are a foreigner. Luckily, I have a native with me, so I can just whisper to her and have her translate.

And, if you are waiting for them to ask: “Paper or Plastic” you're out of luck… as in Russia, the bags do not come with the groceries. Victoria, like all women, carries a plastic bag in her purse.

We have an interesting moment, as we are in the food market. She keeps asking me what I want, and almost all of the food is so foreign to me, I don’t even know what to say. So, I keep deferring to her judgment. Suddenly, I see a food I recognize: Good Old Coca-Cola! Actually, I am a Pepsi man myself, but I can’t pass up a chance to order a food I actually know.

I tug on Victoria’s sleeve as she is talking to the “Grocery Matron” and I whisper “and have her add two cokes, too.”

She looks at me oddly. “Two Cokes?”

“Yes,” I say, and I point in the general direction.

“You are sure? Two?”

I can’t understand what the problem is. “Yes, two.”

She says something to the woman. The woman is handing over the groceries, and as Victoria is putting them in the bag, I keep looking for the Cokes. Nothing. Victoria starts to pay the woman (she asks me for the money, first, of course. I am the official purser…) and I still don’t have my cokes.

“And two cokes,” I say.

She nods. “Yes, I got them,” she says.

Now I am puzzled. “No, there are no cokes in there.”

The woman is watching us fascinated. She knows we are disagreeing about something, but she doesn’t know what.

Victoria reaches in the bag and pulls out some foil wrapped cookie biscuit things. “See?”

I look at the cookies. “What’s that?”

“Coke,” she says… only this time I notice that she pronounces it: “Kook.”

“No,” I say, “Coke. Coca-Cola.”

That’s the magic word. The woman behind the counter knows Coca-Cola. “Ahhh, she says reaching behind her, and grabbing a bottle. “Coca-Cola!”

“Da!” I say, and she beams at me. I hold up two fingers and she hands them over.

Victoria starts laughing. She pulls the cookies out again. “It is Kook,” she says.

“They look good,” I say. “Keep them.”

And back to the apartment we went for breakfast.

Kouks are not bad, by the way. And they go fine with Coca Cola, although they are actually much better with coffee.

After we’re done with breakfast, I retire to the bedroom to lie down. I am slowly getting over jetlag but this eight hours time difference thing takes some getting used to.

Victoria finished cleaning up and comes into the bedroom. “What time is it?” she asks.

I look at my watch. “It is 12:30,” I say. “Why?”

She climbs on the bed beside me. “12:30 and you have not made love to me yet today!” she protests.

Goodness, how did I let the time get away from me like that?…

Later, as we are getting ready for our tourist jaunt, I ask Victoria how we will know our guide when we meet him.

“I told him what I am wearing,” she said. Which is fairly remarkable since she has changed clothes twice since she has talked to him. “Also, he will be carrying a brown bag, and holding a newspaper under his left arm.”

I blink.

It’s something out of a spy novel. Now if he just walks with a slight limp, I think we’ve really got something!

It has started to drizzle now, which is a bit of a concern since we were going to go sightseeing outdoors today.

Our guide is a few minutes late, but we have found that if you stand right under the monument that you really don’t get wet so its OK.

The three of us pile in a cab and off we go to visit “The Holy Assumption” (Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra).

[Aside to BarryM… you really need to go to this place, since you are a devout Russian Orthodox… I’m just a lowly Protestant, and even I found the place awe-inspiring… Get on a plane man! Just go!]

The Monastary was built on top of a labyrinth of catacombs. And 12 monks emptied them out and made small cathedrals in them. Then, on top of all of this they built a huge, gold-topped church. It is amazing.

More amazing still was that the whole place was bombed to the ground during World War II.

The Ukrainian government rebuilt the whole thing to exact specifications six years ago. Every brick and every gilded edge was recreated faithfully.

They did this while the Ukraine economy was pretty much in the toilet, to the tune of millions and millions of dollars.

As I stared in awe at the incredible beauty and rich culture of the place, I wondered about that decision.

There is no doubt in my mind that America would have NEVER done that. Not even if we were in the mildest of recessions. For that matter, even in the boom of the century, I can’t imagine us spending tax dollars to rebuild a church. (And a Russian church at that!)

But there was such culture and history there. It is part of the soul of a country that really needs a soul. (Poor Ukraine seems to have spent much of its history being invaded by one nation after another…)

But who could make that decision when poor people are starving in the cities?

What price, Culture?

And as I thought of that, and I stared at the gold plated everything inside the temples, I thought of the poor people who gave their money to the church so it could build gold cathedrals… It was a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, I marveled at a people who wanted to build such a beautiful temple for their God, on the other hand, I remember how Jesus threw money changers out of His temple… and I was not quite sure if the incredible buildings I saw fit in with my idea of God and worship or not.

But it was breathtaking to view.

Incidentally, the strangest out of the world experience… I walk around the corner of the bell tower (the tallest structure in Ukraine) and What do I see? The pavilions out back are covered with the Sprite logo! Yes… there is Sprite product placement at this sacred place! And I also saw a Kodak Picture spot sign.

This is how America would have financed it, isn’t it? No need for tax dollars, or taking money from poor people… we just will sell corporate endorsements! “This Sacred Place brought to you by… Sprite! Obey your God… and then Obey your Thirst!”

It was a very unusual day for me as I fought a host of conflicting emotions.

One other item… When we went down to the catacombs, the Russian Orthodox consider this a very holy place. (I have to say that it felt somewhat creepy to me. They have the bodies of these mons mumified and on display. There is this one monk's whithered black hand that is visible and while I was there I saw a woman crying and praying and kissing the glass above the hand. A strange blend of Christianity and ancestor worship, it seemed... though, of course I am not of the Russian Orthodox faith...)

Anyway... in order to enter, women must have their heads covered before we go in. Victoria refused to buy a Babushka. It made our guide (who was clearly Russian Orthodox) very uncomfortable. They had quite a conversation, and finally he went in and talked to the monks. When he came out, he nodded, and handed her the baseball cap he was wearing. She put it on her head and we went inside.

Incidentally, I don’t think she did it out of disrespect for the Russian Orthodox faith. I think she just resented having to buy a “souvenir” in order to enter. (It was mighty convenient how they had babushkas for sale right there. Along with postcards and magnets, of course.)

When we are done with the tour (which lasted over an hour by the time we had seen everything) We were supposed to head to the outdoor museum, where Ukrainian Folk items are on sale. Sort of like Williamsburg, Virginia. But the drizzle had gotten worse, and I decided that we will do it another day.

I pay the guide and he heads off, leaving us to find our own way back.

Victoria is watching him go with a bemused expression.

I ask her what is so funny, and she says: “He was talking to me in Russian while you went to the men’s room. He wanted to know where we met. If I met you at an agency? I told him no. And then he asks me if I am going to meet other men later? I tell him no again. That you are the first and the last man I meet. He asks me why I am with you, and I tell him because I love you.”

She thinks it is all pretty funny. I thought it was pretty cheeky from a guy I just tipped pretty well for an hour and a half worth of work.

So… back to the apartment. (After, of course, our typical discussion of the merits of a Taxi versus a Metro ride-n-walk. I pull trump card on her a lot in these discussion. “We will do it my way. Listen to your man. He knows what is best.”)

On the way home, I put my arm around her, and she snuggles against me. “See,” I tell her, “you cannot do this on the metro.”

She smiles and is quiet for awhile. Finally she looks up at me and says with a smile: “I think I know enough English already.”

“You do?”

“Yes, according to my man, the only English I need to learn is: ‘Yes, my husband!”

I laugh. Well… it’s a start…

After we get back home, I pour over Whats-On while she takes her bath. Tonight, I decide that we will go have a big night out.  We head over to Maximym Casino. It is a LOT farther from down town than I thought. It costs 40 hrv to get  there. ($8.00! Are you kidding me???)

It is a casino, lounge, restaurant, bowling ally, billiards, strip club and discothèque, all under one roof. And when we arrive, the place is absolutely dead. We easily get a table to ourselves. The food is good, and the service is excellent (because we are about the only people there.) The meal comes to about $50. Victoria just shakes her head.

“When people ask me how was Kiev, I will tell them: It has very nice restaurants!” she says.

After dinner we go to the disco. It is ladies night, so Victoria gets in for free. I pay 50 hrv (ten bucks).

We get a table and wait for the dancing to start.

Gentlemen, if I were not there with a beautiful lady, I might have gotten into a lot of trouble. There were three guys there and about twenty women. Well, girls, really. They were probably 18 – 22 years old. And they all came to dance!

Of the three guys, two of us weren’t dancing. Me, because I was too busy holding my lady close, and one other guy because he was already pretty wasted.

The one poor fellow did his best, but the ladies were dancing him to death.

We watched for about an hour or so, and we never did get on the dance floor. I am the type of dancer who needs a lot of bodies around me as shields to lose my inhibition. And I was actually worried that if another lady there made a pass at me that there might be trouble.

So, we headed back home, where Victoria danced for me again, and I realized that not one lady I saw all night could move like that…

The night ends… not better than the last (thank God… like I said… if so, it would have killed me…) But we have reached a very good altitude, and we have peaked.

My week is over half-way over, and I don’t want to think about what that means…

I hold her against me, and we sleep…

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Richard
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« Reply #1 on: June 11, 2002, 04:00:00 AM »

... in response to My Trip Report: Part 12, posted by MarkInTx on Jun 11, 2002

I can attest to what Mark has said about about the Perchskaya Lavra: it is fantastic.

As Mark noted this is a very holy place to Orthodox Church.  This means that one must dress appropriately.  Short pants and skirts are not appropriate.  I saw both men and women required to cover there legs.

My only regret is that I did not get to see this place until my third trip to Kiev.  I would highly recommend a visit to this place.

I was a Russian studies major in college because my family comes from Eastern Europe (Lithuania, Russia and Ukraine). On my three trips I go to see many places and things I had only read about.

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Ramblin
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« Reply #2 on: June 11, 2002, 04:00:00 AM »

... in response to My Trip Report: Part 12, posted by MarkInTx on Jun 11, 2002

When I was there at the end of last May, I noticed even more so than the time I was there last September that it is much more commercialized.  I had that same exact thought while touring the place about Jesus overturning the money changers.  To me, it is not a holy place at all, sure the gold and paintings are nice to look at but it is really just a tourist trap.
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MarkInTx
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« Reply #3 on: June 11, 2002, 04:00:00 AM »

... in response to The Lavra, posted by Ramblin on Jun 11, 2002

Well... I don't know that I would call it a "tourist trap."

There were no T-Shirts that said: "My mother got to tour the holy place and I all I got was this lousy tee-shirt" for instance...

The commercialization was fairly well contained to the courtyard.

And, as for it "not being a Holy Place" I guess that depends on your faith.

Like I said, I found the bodies of the saints -- preserved under glass for all time -- a bit creepy, but it certainly wasn't done for commercialization... There was no photography permitted there at all.

I, personally, didn't feel like I had been standing on holy ground... but clearly some of the people there did.

It did emphasize to me the enormous difference between my beliefs and the Russian Orthodox's, however...

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