NEWS AND VIEWS

Summertime trip underscores that blue + yellow = green

by Natalie Mason Gawdiak

This story starts when I was 18 and, like many other Americans, knew nothing about Ukraine. By the time I was 19, I had married a Ukrainian immigrant enrolled in the same New England college I was attending. Before the end of my 20th year, my husband, Ihor, and I had the first of our four children, all of whom were given Ukrainian names and taught Ukrainian before English - to the dismay of my Irish American parents.

It was slightly bizarre that my first name, Natalie, was not a common name among the Irish and yet it is very common among Ukrainians. Years later, after I had learned Ukrainian and become fairly "Ukrainianized," my husband, Ihor, joked that God had made a mistake - that I was supposed to have been born Ukrainian, but since God does not make mistakes he had me marry one instead.

So, 25 years into our marriage, to celebrate our anniversary, Ihor planned for us to go to Ireland, the country of my heritage, but his father passed away and other circumstances prevented us from taking the trip. Then, as we all know, in 1991 Ukraine became free, so our next several trips abroad were to Ukraine, the first being a heady, wonderful trip in September 1991 to an optimistic place that loves music, poets, art, folk dancing, handicrafts, etc.

Forty years into the marriage, we thought about Ireland again and bought tickets for Dublin, my paternal grandfather's birthplace. I was given the task of planning our trip, but being busy with a full-time day job, I made only one reservation in Dublin for the first two nights and the last night of a 12-day trip, but that was all. I was never great with logistics.

When the day of the trip finally arrived, we still had nothing more than the booking in the Dublin bed and breakfast. Having studied some Irish literature in college, I knew I wanted to travel to the south and the west - to see the more "Irish" parts of Ireland that playwright John Millington Synge had written about. We chose Kilkenny (a craft center in the midlands), Kinsale (the southern port where the Spanish Armada had come to grief), and the Dingle Peninsula, before circling back to Dublin for our flight home.

All during our trip, we kept noticing parallels between Ukrainian and Irish culture - Ireland, being a land where people revere music, poets, art, folk dancing, handicrafts, etc. As we traveled by bus (the better to see over the high hedges lining most Irish country roads), we saw many stone remnants of cottages left behind by those who had died in Ireland's great famine of the 1840s.

The potato crop - the subsistence food of the poor - failed in 1845, 1846 and 1848, but, like the Ukrainian Famine of 1932-1933, there was deliberate starvation imposed from above: corn and other crops that did flourish were taken for export by the English landlords. Despite the famine, the English did not lessen the taxes, so for the Irish it was either starve or - for those who could afford to leave - emigrate, an option Ukrainians did not have.

We were surprised to learn that Ireland was once home to 8 million people, but because of the famine and subsequent emigration, the country lost almost a third of its population. The population, while now growing, is still just under 4 million.

The guides for our day tours were proud of Ireland's historic heritage and the fact that Irish Gaelic is now an obligatory subject in the schools. Final exams, in fact, must be taken and passed in Gaelic. English still predominates in most of the country, but signs are bilingual. Fortunately for the Irish, they did not lose their native tongue altogether, and they were able even to use English to great advantage in spreading knowledge of their literature and history throughout the world. In passing through Cork we saw a large group of teenagers headed by bus to an intensive Gaelic-language summer camp.

Irish and Ukrainian folk music often sound similar. We were tickled and surprised at a folk concert that we attended in the small seaside town of Dingle that one of the musicians, a cellist of half-Danish/half-Irish extraction, explained that she had just spent a year in Poland and so proceeded to play a Ukrainian folksong she had learned there. Danish? Irish? Polish? Ukrainian? Of course! Just what you'd expect at an Irish folk concert, right?

Another historic parallel between Ukrainians and the Irish relates to apparel - at one point in Irish history one could not wear the color green ("Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's goin' round? They're hanging men and women for the wearin' of the green!"). Wearing the color of the Irish nationalist movement led to a fate similar to that meted out by the Soviets on those who wore Ukrainian embroidered clothing or displayed a blue-and-yellow flag.

As our trip was nearing its end, I thought we might try to reach the wild Arans Islands, although I did not hold out much hope for it as both the weather and the ferry schedule were unknown to us. Looking at the map, we saw that a tiny village, which neither of us had ever heard of before, seemed to be the closest mainland point to the islands. We wended our way by bus to the minuscule village of Doolin, which was festooned with small blue-and- yellow checked flags. We assumed these were the colors of some local soccer team.

Doolin has basically one winding road on which there are a few shops, a few pubs, one church, some ruins, a few B & Bs and a few youth hostels. Grazing on the town's green pastures, outlined by stone walls, are multi-colored cows and a few horses. After landing at Cullanan's Bed and Breakfast, Ihor and I took a leisurely stroll through the village. The pace of life and the quiet were a balm for the soul. As we were slowly returning, we suddenly noticed in the window of one hostel - one of them read "Welcome Ukraine!" We, of course, were astounded at this and after photographing the sign, we rushed back to the B&B to inquire about it.

It seems that the Special Olympics this year for the first time were held outside of the United States, and Ireland was the host. Each city, town and village sponsored a different country. As luck would have it, we hit upon the region - in this remote tiny village in the far west - that was sponsoring Ukraine. Hence the blue-and-yellow flags we mistook for soccer pennants.

We took a bus tour to the impressive Cliffs of Moher, and then in the evening, we went looking to see if we could find any more traces of Ukraine, but the village seemed empty that night. The next morning, as we were at breakfast, we saw a large bus pull past our inn - with a sign in the back window reading "Ukraine." Our hostess joked that we had "missed the bus to Ukraine" and could now "not ever get home." The ferry to the Aran Islands was canceled because of rough seas.

After breakfast, we took one last stroll through the village before departing for our return trip to Dublin. The road wound down and around to a pub, a craft shop and another B&B. We stood at a fork in the road, like figures in Robert Frost's poem, and had a hard time deciding which road to take. We finally choose the left one. Walking up hill, we were passed by a small empty bus. I suddenly thought it might be headed to pick up more Ukrainians. At the top of the hill, there was a hostel, and leaving the building to board the bus were young people dressed in blue and yellow. We had finally caught up with one of the teams.

A joyful "reunion" followed, even though none of us knew each other. We chatted and laughed like old friends, stood for group pictures with youngsters and their coaches, exchanged addresses and many smiles, and bade each other good wishes and a safe trip home.

Shaking our heads in happy disbelief, Ihor and I started slowly walking back down the same road. We had chosen to come to Doolin at all only by chance. If we had taken the other road at the fork, we would have missed them. If we had lingered 5 minutes more over breakfast, they would have been gone. I guess God really did mean me to be among Ukrainians!

A little way down the hill, there was a lovely field with buttercups growing everywhere and the ruins of an ancient stone church far in the background. Grazing in the field were two beautiful, spirited horses, one brown and one black, who came to see if we had anything interesting to offer them - no, they disdained our dry scones - and with a carefree jerk of their heads galloped off, with their manes flowing, as if to show us how free they were.

How wonderful that feeling - freedom - if only both our homelands were equally able to experience it.

Copyright © The Ukrainian Weekly, October 19, 2003, No. 42, Vol. LXXI

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