THE THINGS WE DO...: What I did on my summer vacation (05/24/98)

THE THINGS WE DO...

by Orysia Paszczak Tracz

What I did on my summer vacation

I worked, and it was one of the most delightful jobs I ever had. It wasn't really work - I had planned, organized, and led a tour of Ukraine. Not an ordinary tour, but one specializing in folk art and culture. As I told my "fellow travelers" in one of my newsletters to them, this was a very selfish tour, because I had planned the itinerary primarily for myself, to see museums and exhibits, to meet craftspeople, to see actual folk art and, of course, to shop. They could come along with me.

As with most plans, only a bit of all this was realized. Our tour leaders in Ukraine told me that there were not enough hours in a day, and days in a week to physically see and be everywhere that I had listed, especially in August, when many individuals and institutions in Ukraine are on vacation (or, as we found, helping family in the villages with the harvest). At one point, one of the leaders asked, "We have only three hours remaining in this city. Which museum do you want to see?" It was heartbreaking to choose only one. Often, I had to carry out "lively" discussions with our Ukrainian tour leaders, because they could not understand how I could possibly choose to eliminate a particular, very important, museum and select another one. My choice was the folk art, even though so many other fascinating places were left aside.

As it was, at 17 days, this tour could only take in a few days in Kyiv and the area, and particular parts of western Ukraine. We were on the go from early breakfast to evening, with only a few hours of free time some days. Ideally, a tour lasting half a year would just about satisfy my interests, with at least a month each in Kyiv, Lviv, and the Carpathians, at least a week in Pereyaslav, a good week just to go through in detail the museum in Ternopil, with as many stops along the way as I wished, and as the spirit moved us.

What a group we had! People from across Canada and parts of the U.S., including some non-Ukrainians. It was a highly-educated group, with an interest in folk art, although not all were folk artists themselves. We benefited by having pysanka writers, embroiderers, folk art collectors, a potter, and four weavers among us, all thrilled to meet and see the work of their fellow artists an ocean away. It was wonderful to see how the weavers and potter instantly gravitated to their respective objects of interest in a museum or market, as if pulled by a magnet.

There was so much to buy! Our Ukrainian guides could not get over how much we bought and still wanted "just one more shopping stop, pleeease!..." From authentic antique folk costumes to a designer modern dress inspired by folk art, from traditional to modern ceramics, to gerdany and smoked black pottery, to (Lord help us!) the Ukrainian-style matryoshkas, we shopped. As we discussed the merits of folk art versus kitsch, Kolya Yaremko of San Diego remarked, "There's kitsch, and then there's schlock," and a great phrase was born. Another great phrase surfaced in a conversation on whether something was worth it. Since our group was not only bilingual, but also "half-na-piv-lingual," the reply came that "it was very varta" [varta means worth it]. So "very varta" became our mantra for many incidents along the way.

Impressions? Beautiful, spectacular place, with wonderful, beautiful, elegant people. But the explosion of commercialism, with cigarette billboards and Coca Cola umbrellas all over reminds one of the downsides of capitalism and "freedom." How can you see the glory of Kyiv through all the Lucky Strike and Marlboro signs?!

It was maddening and depressing to experience the rudeness and boorishness of the Russian-speaking women controlling the entrances to St. Sophia, the Pechers'ka Lavra museums, and other holy Ukrainian places in Kyiv. They seemed purposely antagonistic to those wanting to enter these museums and churches. No courtesy, no hospitality, no service sense at all - as if they were irritated that Ukrainian-speaking people dare to even want to see Kyiv at all.

If there are signs of hope for the future, it is the proliferation of babies in carriages and toddlers on promenades with their parents. A former Kyiv resident, now in Winnipeg, had one comment on the babies: She asked if I saw them in Kyiv, or in other cities. I had to admit that most of the carriages and strollers were in Ivano-Frankivsk, Ternopil, and Lviv. "Not in Kyiv, of course. People are still afraid of the effects of Chornobyl," was her sad reply.

Many in our group noted the physical beauty of the people, men and women, old and young. It was definitely something noticeable, and a satisfying aesthetic experience. The ice cream vendor outside the hotel in Rivne, Volyn, was a young woman so gently beautiful that I stopped just to watch her. A young architect in Ivano-Frankivsk could have been a character in a kozak film, with his beautiful eyes, high cheekbones, and mustache.

We were in Kyiv for the feast of Makovey, in the Carpathians for Spasa, and in Lviv for Independence Day. Each time, whether city or countryside, people were celebrating, and traditions lived. Bouquets, baskets of fruit, poppy-seed buns, embroidered shirts, harasivky (woven collar ties), all marked the special days. Some of our group had bought embroidered shirts along the way, and for Independence Sunday we wore them to church. We were not the only ones. As the parishioners filled up the church, most wearing embroidered shirts or dresses, Kolya nudged me and whispered, "Hey, they're all from our tour group."

There are so many memories, so many special moments, that picking one or two is impossible. The unexpected ones were especially moving: the funeral procession along a country road in the mountains, the wild mushroom lunch in Yaremche, our invitation to a rehearsal of the Homin Choir in Kyiv (directed by Leopold Yashchenko), the Independence Day concert in Shevchenkivsky Hai in Lviv, the landscape, and the people, the people, the people.

Within our group, we became friends and family. We all wept with joy as one of us (a descendant of pioneers) was greeted with a kolach and a bouquet in the Ternopil hotel parking lot by a relative many generations removed. This greeting is definitely not a staged event. We met other individuals who within moments were no longer strangers from another continent, but "svoii," "ridni," our own, kin. We sang, ate, drank, shopped, danced, laughed, cried, and complained (about small inconveniences which we would soon leave behind, but which remained big hardships for those experiencing them daily).

A personal moment of serendipity for me was the stop for diesel fuel somewhere near Rohatyn. As the bus randomly pulled up to one of the now frequent gas stations, people at the back shouted to me. When I looked out towards the gas station, there alongside was a diner-type trailer, all brightly and cheerfully painted in a Ukrainian motif, with big letters proclaiming "Bar Orysia!" This had not been planned, the driver just needed to stop for fuel, and here it was. I should look into a franchise.

Some of the experienced travelers in our group were inconvenienced by inadequate facilities and service here and there along the way. But after some of the inconveniences we experienced, we were truly impressed with the modern dramatic restroom in a new restaurant in Kolomyia. Truly a highlight. But hey, this was an educational experience, time travel over a few centuries - from medieval to modern facilities. I have heard of tourists who photograph the worst toilet facilities they see - just cannot imagine why someone would want or need to do this.

Like childbirth, one forgets the pain and remembers the result. We were surrounded by beauty - of the people, the landscape, the cities and towns, the architecture, the details - and this is what I remember more than the inconveniences. There were the elegantly dressed women in the cities, the babunias selling flowers at Kaniv and in Ternopil; art even extended to the arrangement of the salad vegetables on a plate and the pattern on the surface of the salt in a salt cellar, the touches of folk art and humor on all kinds of buildings (including window grates and village bus shelters), the lush kalyna, the living traditions in urban and rural life. Ukraine is truly a beautiful place. No wonder so many greedy neighbors have coveted her over the centuries. I can't wait to go again - in July this year, when the varenyky with vyshni (sour cherries) are in season. Once you've tasted them, nothing else compares.