Roaming the Ukrainian Countryside by Van and Train

This trip report is part 2 of a 5 part series of my time in Ukraine. A previously posted story includes my service trip in May of 2012 when I had the fortune of being selected as a member of a U.S. delegation to help teach Ukrainian government officials about U.S. style local government. 

Our delegation consisted of me, from Illinois, Dave and Paul from Washington State, and Marcia from Washington DC. We all worked in varying capacities for local or regional governments or not-for-profit organizations. We were accompanied by Slava and Natalie, two Ukrainians who had earlier visited the U.S. as part of a U.S. Department of State reciprocal program. Please use the search function to find out more about this trip.

Our service trip wasn’t all business and no pleasure. We had a lot of time “off of the clock” while in the big cities or while in transit between them. MK joined us midway during our time in this fabulous country. The cultural exchange and learning experience to us as delegates was, I’m certain, just as valuable as the governance experience the Ukrainians were learning from us.

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Slava, our guide and host, and I arrived at his parent's house late one evening after a long day of meetings with various local officials. His parents were very kind and graciously invited me to spend the night. But first, we had to eat.

There was a table full of food waiting for us. The trouble was that I had just eaten a big dinner only a few hours earlier at a local restaurant. I had to be polite and accept their offerings fearing I would offend them if I didn't (wasn’t there and Andy Griffith Show episode where Andy was in a similar predicament?)

Slava's dad broke out the vodka, with each of us having the requisite four shots - one to goodwill, one to friendship, and the third was to the loyal and strong women who make us men stronger and more effective. The fourth and final shot, a hold-over from the old days, was to our horses, to make sure they are strong and healthy enough to take us safely home.  

Before retiring for the evening, Slava's mother asked what I would like for breakfast. She asked if I would want bread, jams, eggs, pancakes, blintzes, meats, cheeses, or fruit. I told her that some breads and jams, along with some coffee, would be just fine.

When I awoke, I was greeted by his parents at the breakfast table that not only had the breads, jams and coffee I had requested, but also a table full of eggs, pancakes, blintzes, meats, cheeses, and fruit.

Slava (l) and his parents outside their Kharkiv home

After another meeting with local officials that morning, we debated whether to see a choir and organ concert at a church we visited earlier, or to drive and go see the Russian border. The border trip got the most votes. We split up into two cars, one driven by Slava's dad, the other by Evgeniy, one of the area’s local government officials. Powerful storms erupted while on our way. 

Driving rain and high winds buffeted the car as we arrived at border control. Evgeniy used his influence to convince the unsmiling Ukrainian guards to let us briefly walk to the border. We were warned to bring only one camera and to take only a few pictures.  Luckily, we had umbrellas, but the running water on the pavement gave our shoes and socks a good soaking.

After examining and stamping our passports, the guards opened the gate and off we went to stand next to the Russian border. While we weren’t able to actually cross the border, we were close enough. I think that qualifies me to include Russia on my list of countries I have visited. Sarah Palin, eat your heart out!

At the Russian border

The next morning, we left Kharkiv to see a beautiful church that local villagers from the Borova region had built. We were greeted by two young girls, their heads adorned with flower-filled covers and dressed in white and blue tunics, the traditional clothing typical of their customs. They greeted us in English and gave us a big round loaf of delicious homemade bread made with ingredients from the nearby farms. The church looked as if it just came out of a Hollywood movie set. Its colorful onion shaped dome and intricate architecture stood out amongst the flat and expansive fields of wheat and other crops.

Village girls greeted us with locally produce bread

A bearded orthodox priest, the gold crucifix around his neck contrasting sharply against his grey robe, was waiting for us at the church’s big wooden doors. He proudly showed us a picture of Saint Nicholai and a small vessel in which there was apparently some skin or nail from the saint himself. The priest said that good health and luck comes to any that give the sign of the cross while kissing his picture and the vessel. Marcia and Dave gave this ritual a try. It remained to be seen how this will work out for them.

Back in the van, we drove like a bat out of hell over bumpy and pot-holed roads into a forested campground area. Everyone we had earlier met throughout the previous days, about two dozen in total, were there waiting for us. A big open fire was covered with grates on which shish-ke-bobs were roasting. Nearby was a table full of soups, fish, breads, cakes, potatoes and, of course, many bottles of vodka.

Wow! We gorged ourselves on this delicious spread. Soon, various toasts were exchanged between our hosts and ourselves. The man across from me, with two gold teeth in the middle of the upper row of teeth, insisted that I drink his homemade vodka, not the store bought stuff that was everywhere else on the table. His smile was one of a very proud man after I gladly accepted his offer.

After many more toasts, the singing began. What the songs were about, I don't know. But they were strong, proud, and heartfelt about either us as their guests, the wonderful country, or perhaps both.

A feast in the forest

Our new friends from the forest picnic

It was now late afternoon. We had to catch the train back in Kharkiv for our cross country trip to Lviv. We poured ourselves back in the van for the two hour trip back to the city. Slava's parents were at the train station waiting with our luggage. His mother of course had several bags of bread, vegetables and cakes to sustain us during our journey. We supplemented this with some bottled water and vodka we bought from an adjacent grocery store after we had exchanged more US cash into hryvnias, the local currency. 

It was very warm and humid on the train. We hurriedly boarded and found our compartment. I shared a four bed compartment with Marcia and two 30-something Ukrainian men. At first they were not very friendly. But in time, they used what little English they knew allowing us to share where we were all from and what parts of the country we had visited.

Bullet holes from WWII air raid still visible
in the train station

By boarding earlier than us, they luckily snagged the bottom two bunks and reserved them for themselves. That left the top two bunks to Marcia and me. It was a challenge to climb up into them, but once there, it was relatively comfortable.

Dave and Paul, on the other hand, shared their compartment with a young couple. He was a dour, stoned face Russian born in Siberia who knew very little English. She was one of those beautiful twenty-something Ukrainian girls we have seen everywhere, with a cute smile, pretty face, and a knockout body. Her English was pretty good as well.

She gladly gave up one of the lower bunks for Dave to use while she climbed up to the top bunk above her boyfriend's (husband's?) lower bunk. When I last left them after a short visit before returning to my compartment, Paul was sitting next to her and her computer while they were translating words on Google.

I slept fairly well, being lulled to sleep by the clickety-clack of the train. Our compartment partners left around 9:00pm last night, not to return to until 3:30 in the morning. They told us they were "Veezeetin frendz," somewhere else on the train.

The day dragged. When Slava said this was the slower train, he wasn't kidding.  At times, I could have walked faster. And don't even ask me about the bathrooms. Yikes!

I was thirsty for a beer but was rebuffed by lady on the platform several of us had walked out onto during a brief stop for fresh air. I held two cans of beer while I fumbled around in my pockets looking for my money. She didn't have change for my 200 hryvnia note, so she huffed with displeasure and brusquely grabbed the cans from my hands and walked away.

Later, my thirst was rescued by an old buxom lady that had been roaming the train’s hallway. She moved about with her cart full of drinks and snacks. My large banknote didn’t deter her as she had all sorts of change. She reached deep into her bosom to pull out a rolled-up handkerchief in which change for the larger notes was hidden. "For safe-tee," she said with a smile in her heavily accented English while pointing to her ample bosoms.  

The beer was delicious.