Monday, December 21, 2009
And about the holidays here in Ukraine: The really big holiday is New Year’s—“novie gode.” That is when the family gathering, big feast, gift giving all happens. Santa Claus comes in the form of St. Nicholas I believe, and people decorate “Christmas” trees. It happens on Dec. 31st like in America, and at midnight the president comes on all the TV stations and gives a welcome to the New Year. Plus there are fireworks, all night gatherings, champagne toasting, partying in the streets, etc. Or so I have been told—will have to report on what really happens, at least in my part of this world.
Christmas is observed on January 7th, the Orthodox Christian date. It is not such a big holiday, and in the Crimean Tatar community it is, of course, not celebrated at all. Pretty much everything closes between New Year’s and January 7th, and there is much partying. A lot of PCV’s take this time to travel and maybe I will do that next year, but this year I wanted to be here in my community and hopefully be part of the celebrations. I do have presents planned for my neighbors and assume I will end up at their houses on New Year’s Eve, but which house and when and how to negotiate all of that does make me a little nervous. Just got to relax around it and figure it will get worked out in whatever way it is meant to. My American Christmas Eve and Christmas will be pretty much business as usual, though I will be having dinner on the 24th with a fellow volunteer who is heading out of town. And that weekend there is a party at one of the PCV’s sites which I think I will go to.
It has been snowing all over Ukraine and apparently causing a lot of havoc in various places. But here in Crimea we have been having rain, a little snow which quickly melts, and ferocious winds. Apparently this is par for the course for winter in Crimea, though usually there is some snow. Serdar keeps hoping. I do miss the snow, miss skiing, miss being out in the woods in that beautiful low winter light casting shadows on the snow. The rain let up for a bit yesterday, so I went for a walk and headed up into the forest and then out onto the bluffs. The distant mountain peaks were covered in snow—gave my spirits a lift. I, of course, immediately began pondering how I could get to that snow and where I could find some cross country skis. The skiing is probably not possible—apparently there is some skiing here on the highest mountain, but no cross country skiing and no place to rent any kind of skis. But maybe I will figure out a way to go there and least tramp around in the snow.
I am in the midst of several grant writing tasks, so it is probably good that I am not going anywhere over New Year’s. It is a struggle, as always, to communicate enough to know exactly what I am supposed to be writing, but now I feel that if I can get the gist of the meaning, I can take if from there. I have quit trying to be true to their words for the most part, because the translation available is just not adequate enough. This experience certainly has given me an insight on how hard it must be to do literary translations—how do you take the beauty of the written word and translate it into another language and retain that beauty? What a deep understanding one must have of a language to accomplish such a task.
Saturday was my six month anniversary here in Crimea, a marker along this journey. Several of my PCV friends refer to the marker as how much time is left in their Peace Corps service—18 months for the people in my group—and there seems to be a sense of relief that it is going fast and they are getting through it. But for me, I feel almost a sense of panic—a fourth of my time here gone and I feel I have accomplished so little; the hopes/expectations I had for my language knowledge at this point haven’t been met; but most of all, I think how can I possibly leave my neighbors when my time here is done? Always I try to put these thoughts away and concentrate on the present, but the grief I feel at the thought of never seeing Neshet and Lenora and Serdar and Safie ever again makes me know how attached I have become to them. But I also feel that they will somehow stay in my life. Serdar, for sure, will make it to America, and I know I will come back. And sometimes I think of staying here if there was work I could do. IF I become fluent in the language—and that is a big if. I go from hopeful to totally discouraged about my language learning progress. I had some notion that I would just be able to chatter away by this point. I guess because people here gave me that idea, and also some of the other PCV’s seem to have learned very quickly. But it will be slower for me, I know now. I don’t think I have much of an aptitude for language learning. But I keep plugging away and feel joy at every new word I recognize and say.
Tonight is the longest night of the year, and then the sun will start its slow journey back. I think of my friends in Minneapolis celebrating the solstice as we do every year and know how close we all are, despite the miles that separate us. Much love to all of you on this Winter Solstice in Crimea.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Siyare with her two best friends
I’m starting to get behind in my blog writing. It has been almost two weeks since my last post. I don’t have any exciting adventures to report, as my Crimea exploring days are over for awhile as the darkness and cold settle in. We have about an hour less light here than Minneapolis, which means the sun doesn’t come up until after 7 and sets a little before 4. Not enough time to travel to one of those beautiful hiking spots. And winter is starting to happen, though so far no snow and temps in the 40’s. However, maybe that is what winter means here in Crimea, though everyone keeps saying that it does indeed snow. But I read on Facebook of everyone shoveling out back home—the first snow storm of the season—and it makes me homesick. How I loved that first real snow of the winter and the beautiful blanket it laid over the city.
Last weekend I went to a meeting of PCV’s in Crimea. About ten of us came to the meeting, which for me and other folks in my area, required a 4-hour bus trip, as it was in northern Crimea. One of the PCV’s from my group is a guy in his 30’s who was in the Peace Corps first in Russian and got kicked out of there (when Russian kicked out the PC) and then again in Georgia and got kicked out of there when Russian invaded Georgia. His goal this time around is just to complete his service. He came into Simferopol on Friday night and stayed over at my place, and then we took the bus in the morning to the meeting. It was a good gathering—there sure are a lot of smart young people in the Peace Corps. I was the granny of the group, of course, older than all their mothers, I’m sure. But I feel pretty much at ease with them, except when they start talking about movies and music, and then it’s kind of like listening to Russian conversations. In other words, I don’t have a clue what they are talking about. And they all seem to be able to sleep just about anywhere. The ten of us crashed in one of the PCV’s fairly large apartment (by PC standards), which meant three rooms. I shared a room with two women and one man, though I curled up on the sofa bed in the corner, so I had the best spot. The old gal deserves something, I figured.
Northern Crimea is much different than the south. Very flat, endless farm fields. I’m not quite sure of the farm ownership now, but during Soviet times they were all collective farms. So there are vast unbroken fields. The people who worked the farms then, and now, live in the nearby villages, so you don’t see the farm houses scattered on the land like you do in American farm areas. The fields are green with what I assume is winter wheat coming up, also some fields had a very leafy plant, which I couldn’t distinguish from the bus window. Got to wondering if it was radishes, as there has been a spate of them recently in the bazaars. Though a field that big of radishes is a little hard to imagine….
My neighbor’s daughter, Siyare, turned twenty-two last week, and then Lenora and Neshet’s Safie turned twelve last Sunday. I never quite know when to go anywhere. I know I was expected at both events, or at least I assumed so as we had been talking about the birthdays, but there never was a specific invitation, which is so Ukrainian, and so hard to get used to. In America I pretty much did not go to people’s houses unless invited. But here you just show up, I think. The night of Siyare’s birthday I went over there a little after I came home from work to bring her a present. I kept angsting (not a word I know, but I’m sure you get the idea) about when to go and finally just went. Well, it turns out there was the preparations going on for some big party of Siyare’s friends and Maya (the mom) was frantically cooking and had enlisted Lenora’s help. I tried to pitch in, but seemed to be more in the way, so I just sat down and wondered what I should do and if I was invited. But I knew they would be offended if I left, so I just stayed for the whole event, and of course, it was great fun, once I relaxed and quit worrying about it all.
And then Sunday I had the same angst about when to go over for Safie’s birthday. I thought I had timed it pretty well, but when I went there, Lenora was just starting to make manti for dinner. This time I did help her, which I enjoyed. Manti are these artfully made large dumplings stuffed with meat or sometimes squash and steamed in large stacked steamers (which she had brought from Uzbekistan). Eventually some of the relatives showed up, though that seemed unplanned, also. I gave Safie earrings that my friend Robin had gotten in America—made by Navajos—and she really loved them.
Not much happening this week, and maybe that is good. Went over to Neshet and Lenora’s last night and ended up feeling so depressed about my inability to communicate very well. And I got the feeling that Neshet was feeling pretty frustrated too, though I could, of course, been totally misinterpreting him. My six-month anniversary of being here in Simferopol is coming up in another week, and I had so thought that I would know the language better than I do. But I will keep plugging away, despite the temptation to give it up, because some day I want to have real conversations with the people I have come to care about so much.
Tonight was the second meeting of the English Club I conduct at the nearby university, and I know it gave me a boost to be able to speak English (these are all fairly fluent speakers) and talk about issues. Since World AIDS Day was December 1, we spent the time talking about truths and myths concerning AIDS. It was so interesting to hear what they had to say. Ukraine has the highest HIV infection rate in Europe, and they were all aware of that.
Getting tired, I think I will end now. Much love to all.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
My birthday dinner. That's Dima, a Russian friend of PCV Grace's, on his right. My friend too.
The library staff wishes me happy birthday with flowers.
My office mates, Nadjye, Refika, and Fatma, give me a Turkish coffee maker.
Lenora and I on my birthday.
But I do want to get caught up with my blog. My birthday celebration continued with a celebration of sorts at the library Monday morning. It is the tradition here for the birthday person to provide sweets and coffee for the whole staff, and then a lunch for one’s office mates. I got the lunch together the night before despite being exhausted from quite the day of hiking—traditional American food of potato salad and pasta salad, plus bread, cheese, and fruit. I decided I would get the cakes, etc. once I got to the library. However, it turned out, sadly enough, that the father of one of the women on the staff had died the night before, so several people were going to the funeral , and we wouldn’t have the big staff birthday gathering. But at some point in the morning, most of the staff did come in my office with flowers which the director presented to me with a little speech (also part of the tradition), and we still had a nice luncheon in the office, complete with some wine! I was sad about the death of Zarema’s father, though. I had met him when I went to her house for dinner. Even though she is only 33, he was in his early 80’s, not uncommon among the Tatar families, which meant he had seen much tragedy in his lifetime, as he would have been a young man when the deportation happened. He had been sick and died during the night, and apparently it is Muslim tradition that if someone dies during the night, they must be buried before noon the next day, unless family have to travel, which is why the funeral was so soon. Zarema is one of my favorite people in the library, and I feel so bad for her. The pain of her loss is so evident on her face.
The following weekend (November 22nd) was Serdar’s 16th birthday. He made a point of making sure I was going to come to his house to celebrate, which made me feel good. He went bowling with his friends during the afternoon (yes, there is a (as in one) bowling alley here in Simferopol), and then the dinner was in the evening and another neighbor friend joined us. As is often the case, I didn’t quite get the information correct and thought we weren’t actually having dinner, so I ate dinner before coming over. But, of course, we did end up having a big dinner complete with Lenora’s home made French fries, Serdar’s favorite. I always seem to be showing up for meals when I have already eaten. But I always eat anyhow, as it would offend them not to. Sharing food is a very big deal around here. However, I did tell Lenora that I had misunderstood and eaten before I came over, which is a sign of how comfortable I feel with them.
This week passed so quickly. Monday I discovered that I somehow had lost my bank card, which is how we get our money here. It is a cash economy and credit cards are rarely used, and I’m not sure they even have checks. So my cash card is my link to having money. I was pretty good about not obsessing about it all day. I kept thinking that perhaps I would find it once I got home, but no luck. So I dug out the paperwork, found the number to call to block the card and luckily they spoke English, made arrangements to go to the bank with someone who could translate for me, and the next day took care of it. I still don’t have a new card, but it should show up this week. So not too bad, plus it meant I got to spend some time with Arzy (the translator), whom I like a great deal. She helped me shop at the bazaar for a new umbrella. And that umbrella led to a realization of my aging, because when I got home and was looking at it, I realized I didn’t have the strength in my hands to close it easily. I took it back to the woman at the bazaar the next day thinking maybe something was wrong with it, but no, it was my hand. She could easily close it. When she saw I struggled with it, she said something about “problema” and then pointed at her hands, saying Russian hands, and then found me a different kind of umbrella that was easy to close. Ah well, at least my feet are going strong.
The major event of this week in the American world is that it was Thanksgiving. In my world here, it was also a holiday, the Muslim holiday of Kurban Baram, or the Festival of Sacrifice, which is at the end of the Mecca pilgrimage. If I understand it correctly, it is when Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son for God, but because he showed such great love, God told him to sacrifice an animal instead. Or something like that—a Biblical scholar I am not. Anyhow, it is traditional that Muslims slaughter a sheep or goat and give it to their family and friends and poor people. Or give whatever they can afford. In my case, I think it translated to receiving some yummy pumpkin stuffed dumplings (called manti) that evening from one of my neighbors.
Thanksgiving Day also found me attending my first ever Muslim religious service. In the library in the morning they said the “mullah” was coming for a prayer service at the library. All the women were busy finding head coverings—Zarema had brought several scarves for people. They were assuming, I think , that I wouldn’t want to go, but I did and used a bandana to cover my head. The mullah turned out to be a young man dressed in a business suit with a small fez on his head--how living here among these Muslims has attacked my stereotypes of Islam. Before that day, when I thought of a mullah, I thought of a white-turbaned, long-bearded man. But his singing of the prayer in Arabic was familiar to me from listening to the call to prayers, and I found it very meditative. After the service, when we had sweets and coffee as we seem to do after every event at the library, I found out that it was a prayer service for the people who had died in one’s life.
Other events of this week: Tuesday was a reception at the library in honor of a famous Crimean Tatar writer who had died the previous year. There were cookies, cake, and tea and coffee every where, including our office, and many older Crimean Tatars came to the library. They were all speaking Crimean Tatar and I couldn’t understand anything of what was being said, but it was wonderful to watch their faces. And then yesterday (Saturday), I spent much of the day with my neighbors. I was hanging out my laundry in the morning, when Server (my landlord) said something about guests. I thought about it and decided he was inviting me over when their guests came as it was relatives I have met. It was a gorgeous day and I really wanted to go hiking, but decided I should stick around and see if I was correct. Well, finally I decided that maybe I was wrong and put my shoes on to take off, when Maya knocked on the door and said to come over. I was so glad I had waited because she would have been so offended if I hadn’t been there, but I really need to get these invites figured out. Had a lovely few hours with them, including talking with the somewhat English speaking 13-year-old granddaughter, and a tasty meal of Crimean Tatar dishes.
And then last evening I spent a couple of hours with Lenora and Neshet and Serdar and Safie. Neshet was showing me old pictures of his family. His parents were born in 1924 and 1928, so they were grown when the deportation happened. He was born quite a bit later—he is 44. His father never made it back to Crimea and died in Uzbekistan and his mother died shortly after returning to Crimea. There was a picture of them the day they got to Uzbekistan and another picture of his mother with Serdar as a baby. How ancient and sad her face looked. I also learned that Lenora, who I thought was an only child, had a sister and brother. Her sister died at two years of age from an illness, and her brother died at eighteen from a “catastrophe,” which I assume means some kind of accident. Her parents are still living—I have met them both—and this knowledge makes me think of them too, and the tragedies they have faced in their lives. More and more, as my knowledge of their world increases, I am feeling a part of Neshet and Lenora’s family, and it is such a gift to me.
Well, I have managed to go into a third page this time, so I think I will end here. Nothing like a rainy afternoon to spend a lot of time ruminating. But I need to get some work done, and also some kind of walk in before the darkness comes (4:00 these days). Much love to you all.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
A little rundown on what I am doing these days, since mostly I talk about my weekend hiking excursions. Because of the high (relatively) cost of housing here in Simferopol, I am working with three sites, instead of the usual one or two, because they all put money towards my housing (as does the Peace Corps and now, me). It seemed manageable at first, but now it is starting to feel a little out of control, though there is nothing I want to give up doing. Three mornings a week I teach a small English class to some of my co-workers at the Gasprinsky Library. One day a week I conduct two English clubs for kids at the Childrens’ Library, and one day a week (starting this week) I conduct an English club at the Crimean Tatar University for university students and adults. All of which take a lot of preparation, especially since I have zero experience in any of this. I am also working with the artists on two grants and with the Gasprinsky Library on a grant. Plus I continue to research funding ideas. My current research is in the Islamic world because apparently there is a lot of money in some places (like Dubai) for Islamic cultural projects. And then there is the one afternoon a week I spend with my Russian tutor. Actually, I only spend a couple of hours with her, but it takes a half hour to get out to her place and a hour to get home. So there you have it, my life in a nutshell that is sort of making me nuts!!
But what I really want to write about is my birthday weekend which was last weekend. My first birthday in Crimea. Birthdays are a big deal here, so I anticipated something happening, though I wasn’t sure what and Ukrainians are not very into advance planning. Somehow everything just seems to happen. So here it is, Saturday morning, the day of my birthday, and I still don’t really know what I will be doing. I do know that PCV Grace is going to show up around noon so we can go hiking the next day, and that she does. We head down to the bazaar to do some food shopping and run into Lenora, who gives me a big birthday hug and says to come over in the evening to celebrate. Hooray! A plan! And then later in the afternoon, my other favorite neighbors, Maya and Siyare, came over to have some tea and cookies (which luckily I thought of to get at the bazaar in case they showed up), and brought me a little present. Dima, a young (22) Russian friend of Grace’s, showed up later with flowers for me, and we all went over to Neshet and Lenora’s, where Lenora had prepared a big feast—pizza with chicken, cheese, and tomatoes; a fish, onion, and mayonnaise kind of pie (I know it sounds awful but it really is tasty); various tomatoe and eggplant type relishes; mashed potatoes; and many other treats. Not a Crimean Tatar dinner, but very tasty. Plus she made a great fresh apple cake for dessert. It was a very fun evening, and since Dima is quite fluent in English, we had a really good interpreter.
The next day was our hiking trip we had planned to Eski Kermen, one of the cave cities, and supposedly the most interesting. Serdar, Grace, and I headed out about 7:15 am, met Sam, another PCV, at the bus station and took off. Two bus rides got us to the small village nearest Eski Kermen, and then it was a 6 km walk. But it was a beautiful walk through the rolling pastures as we made our way to the steep bluffs. Eski Kermen, built in the 6th century, is located high on the top of one of the bluffs, with wonderful views of the valleys and distant mountains. Like all the cave cities of Crimea, it was built on the bluff as a natural fortress to defend the town against invaders. There were many caves hollowed out of the limestone walls, multi levels and rooms, windows looking out into the distance. There were holes in the ceiling to catch the rain and to funnel the smoke of fires. Some of the caves were used for burial, some were churches. Supposedly, there are more than 400 caves at Eski Kermen, though we only saw a few.
There was more to explore, but while sitting in one of the caves having lunch, it started to pour down rain. I was the only one with rain gear, so we waited out the rain a bit, but when it was obvious it wasn’t going to let up, we took off anyhow and continued to explore. However, everyone got increasingly wet and the wind picked up, so we decided to head back. Dima had come out to meet us, but we were all too wet and cold to continue to explore. As it was, we missed the earlier bus back to town and had to wait 1 ½ hours in the cold and dark for the next bus. Finally got to the bus station in Simferopol around 7pm, the bus to Ak Mechet (where I live) wasn’t running, so we had to take another bus and follow Serdar on some back trail to our houses. By the time we got home, we were all very exhausted, but everyone agreed, it was a great day, and that we had to go back and explore when we had more light and it wasn’t raining!
Well, I wanted to report on the rest of my birthday celebration at the library on Monday, but I think I have run out of steam, so that will have to wait until my next post. Plus I need to get some dinner made (potato soup) and some studying done, as I meet with my tutor tomorrow.
Love to all from this now old-enough-to-retire hiking babe.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Struggling this past week with my growing apprehension about the fact that I am at three sites, none of which have had a PCV before, all of which want me to get money for them, and now they are beginning to get it that maybe that isn’t going to happen in the way they had expected. Besides my ongoing issues with one of the artists, I also had a meeting with the director of the Children’s Library who thinks I should be able to raise donations from the U.S., because that is what she was told PCV’s do. When I explain to her that they need a project to raise donations for, she just sort of rolls her eyes. And then at the Crimean Tatar Library, I know Nadjye is under pressure from the director to produce grant money, and so keeps fruitlessly searching on the internet instead of pursuing the smaller amounts of money that are available. Though today she did start working on one of those grants, so that was gratifying to see. I just have to keep remembering that it is a process, that what I can to is to help them along in that process, and if it doesn’t produce results this time, then maybe it will pave the way for the next PCV to work with them. I have to keep reminding myself that I have only been here (in Simferopol) about 5 months now, and that isn’t a very long time.
Wednesday afternoon now. I decided to stay home from the Children’s Library and nurse my cold a bit, especially since the English Clubs aren’t really happening (had one kid show up last week) due to the quarantine. Doing some laundry, sipping some coffee (I now have a little stove top espresso maker thanks to Lenora who dug it out of her cupboard for me), trying to get caught up on emails, and cleaning my house. Turns out I’m going to have guests tomorrow. My friend Debbie and another older PCV I don’t know, Suzanne, are going to come into town for the day on their way to somewhere else. I knew they had planned to spend the night, but they decided to make a whole day of it and celebrate my birthday a few days early. So, what a treat! Maybe I will take them to the nearby cave city.
Last Saturday Serdar (I found out I have been spelling his name wrong—it’s Serdar instead of Sirdar) and I took off on another adventure. I had asked him if he wanted to go hiking, and he said sure and then we sat around with Lenora and Neshet and discussed where , or rather they discussed it, and came up with going to the fortress at Sudak, a town on the coast I have wanted to visit. It is a 2-hour bus ride from here, which was a little more than I had planned, but of course, I agreed. And what a great time we had. It was just the two of us—Saphye is at her grandparents in their village. We took a marshuka to the train station, got tickets there for a bus to Sudak, and then in Sudak took another marshuka to the fortress. On the ride to the fortress, Serdar struck up a conversation with a couple who lived nearby, and the guy was very excited about me being an American. I, of course, did not have a clue what was going on, but when we got off the bus he wanted Serdar to take a picture of us—he with his arm around me—and then he walked us to the entrance of the fortress and convinced the ticket cashier to give us free tickets! And we exchanged contact information. He clearly had been drinking some, but I think he was harmless and just an exuberant soul. Serdar kept rolling his eyes at me but was very excited at the free tickets.
The fortress was built by the Genoese in the 14th and 15th centuries mostly with Tatar workers. Much of it is still standing, and it is quite an impressive structure, with a long, 2 meters thick and 6 meters high, wall, and many towers. What is most amazing is its location on a towering cliff face above the sea. The views were absolutely stunning—of the village below with its curving beach, the surrounding mountains, the beautiful blue sea. We perched high up on the rocks and ate lunch and just marveled at our surroundings. And also, as Serdar said, at what it must have taken to build such a structure in that location.
After exploring the fortress, we still had some time left before our return ticket to Simferopol. Serdar wanted to explore a nearby village and mountain because he had heard it was very beautiful, so we headed out in that direction, but I convinced him we really didn’t have enough time to get there and back. Ah, the exuberance of youth—too bad it had to be reined in by old lady me (as I called myself). But instead we made our way down to a rocky beach below the cliffs the fortress is perched on. It was such a gorgeous day and there were people actually swimming, so Serdar decided he wanted to get in. Well, neither of us had brought swimsuits, but we just stripped down to our underwear (I had a nylon tank top on) and got in! Serdar went all the way in, but I just sort of waded in up to my thighs. It was really cold water, and I decided I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day with totally wet underwear. We hung out on the beach for awhile, and then headed back to the bus station. It was dark and cold by the time we finally arrived home that night, but a “very good day,” as Serdar said. How lucky I am to have such a wonderful young friend.
Uh oh, it is clouding up and looks like it might rain. Better go out and get my laundry and hang it up inside. There are so few hours of sun now, anyhow—only about 9, even less than Minnesota. I have a hard time thinking where I am at is further north than Minnesota because the climate is so much milder, but latitude wise, it is.
Much love to all from the land of wonders.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The last ten days have had its ups and downs. One of the highlights of last week was the birthday of Refika, one of my office mates. There was quite a hoopla surrounding it at the library. I don’t know if that is the typical celebration, or if it was something to do with Refika and her position here. Anyhow, in the morning there was cakes and coffee for the whole staff as we gathered in the reading room, and the director and other people gave her flowers and offered toasts. And then over our lunch break, she and another woman in the office spread out an entire lunch for the four of us in the office, including sweet wine. Quite the treat, though something made me a bit sick later in the day. It was a lovely celebratory day, and I felt so included.
Another wonderful event of last week was a presentation of a new book published by a local Crimean Tatar publisher. The reading room was packed with people, including a television station filming the event. As best as I could tell, the book was a collection of old Crimean Tatar music that someone had collected. Some very old Crimean Tatar men were in the audience (men who would have been living in Crimea before the deportation) and one of them gave a speech at the beginning. Everything was in the language of Crimean Tatar, so I didn’t have a chance at understanding, not that I would have caught that much of the Russian. But it didn’t really matter, because the real event was the music. There was a small band—clarinet and what looked like traditional instruments—a drum that reminded me of the Irish drums and 2 stringed instruments, one with a very long neck, the other about the size of a mandolin and held upright. There were three singers—a man in his 50’s/60’s, a woman also of that age in traditional dress, a younger woman. They all had wonderful voices, and after singing solo, they joined in the end in a haunting song that many people in the audience knew and sang with them. I sat there thinking of the ancientness of this music and culture and how eternal music can seem as it unites us across the barriers of language and culture. I felt very thankful and privileged to be there.
The rest of the week was my usual—working three days at the Gasprinsky Library on various projects, mostly a grant for one of the artists; one day at the Children’s Library where some kids showed up for the English Clubs despite it being a school holiday; and Friday my day of meeting with Enver and then my Russian tutor.
I had my first weekend in quite a while with no visitors and no plans. The weather wasn’t conducive to hiking much, so I spent it reading, doing laundry (love all my heat pipes to dry my clothes on), food shopping, cooking, visiting some with the neighbors. I did manage a 2-hour hike Sunday afternoon on the nearby bluffs, being blasted by the wind, but still loving being there. And a funny thing happened. A guy passed me and I actually said something to him in Russian without even thinking about it! And he understood me, and I understood him! All I said was cold, huh? And he said he was fine, but it was the fact that it just came out without me making a plan of what to say. So I am progressing, slowly like the tortoise, but that is my normal pace, I have to keep remembering. I do reach the top of the mountain (usually), it just takes me a while.
A down side of my work right now, is that both the library and the artists continue to have this expectation that I will find them grant money, and are disappointed and/or angry (in the case of one of the artists) that I haven’t. Nadjye spends her days searching the internet for grants, something I have already done, and I want to say, “don’t you think we should concentrate on writing the grants that we do have a chance of getting instead of these endless fruitless searches?” (especially when she can’t read most of what she is looking at) But I know she is under pressure from the director to come up with big money. I just don’t think it is out there, and I have run out of places to look. I would just like to get on with the work of it.
And then there is Ceitabla, one of the artists, who I haven’t seen for weeks, but sends me emails telling me how disappointed he is, and isn’t this what I am supposed to be doing as a PCV, and in the meantime doesn’t do his end of the work of writing a grant. I really want to just start ignoring him, but I know that isn’t a helpful approach. Many times it just feels so impossible to communicate about all of this. He sends his emails in Russian, I put them through google translator, and then write my response and also run it through google translator. Who knows what we are really saying to each other?? But I do think we get the gist, if not the finer points, and the gist is definitely that I haven’t lived up to his expectations. He clearly had unrealistic expectations, but still, it isn’t a good feeling. Hard not to get defensive. But, as always, it is good practice in…patience, not taking it on, just letting him be what he is.
Have written enough for now, I think. Maybe I will try a little research (or maybe not) before I head out into the colder night and on home. Last night I got home much later after helping the director’s daughter whom I like a great deal, teach an English class. It was very cold and dark when I got home, after walking quite a ways from the bus stop, and all I wanted to do was curl up in my warm house. But a couple of minutes after I arrived, my neighbor came over and invited me to her house. And because I never turn down invitations, over I went, and what a treat it turned out to be. Much of her extended family was there—all Crimean Tatar, some who now live in Russia, and it was so interesting to be with them, listening to them talk (I could understand a little and there were a couple of sort of English speakers). I was clearly the American on display, but I didn’t mind. Besides, Maya fed me some of her great plov and there was some shots of Russian whiskey that warmed me up. A good time—
Here is a link to a NY Times article recently about the Crimean Tatars. What a surprise to see it—
With love from Crimea.
Ps. I posted some pics from the children’s library.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Last weekend, though, the weather was still balmy and beautiful. Sirdar and I had talked about trying to go hiking at a Crimean park called Bolshai Canyon, the “grand canyon” of Crimea. We were unsure if the marshukas actually went there, but we thought we would give it a try. A couple of days later I went over with the map, and Neshet said if the weather was good, then he would drive and we would all go. So that’s what we did, which was a good thing, because when I was there, I realized that the buses don’t go anywhere near it.
Bolshai Canyon is not what you think of when you think of the Grand Canyon in America. It is a deep wooded ravine that follows a tumbling creek climbing up through a steep walled canyon to a beautiful pool, deep enough to swim in. The trees had all turned to their fall colors, the air was warm, and I was with the people I love the most here—Neshet, Lenora, Sirdar and Saphiye. We had a grand time. When we got up to the pool, there were people there, so we scrambled up the steep hillside and perched ourselves somewhat precariously on logs and had a picnic. I had brought bread, cheese, and tomatoes, but they, of course, had brought all kinds of food—a roasted chicken and the wonderful Crimean Tatar break baked over an open fire.
Neshet and Sirdar wanted to try and get to the top of the canyon walls and we tried to follow them, but Lenora just had on slip-on leather shoes and was having too much trouble with her footing. So she didn’t want to go on and Saphiye and I ended up stayed with her. We made our way back down to the creek and hung out at the pool, waiting for them to come back down. It took awhile, but they did eventually show up. Sirdar said they had made it to the top, but it was “pretty scary.”
We followed the trail back out, drove home, and then they invited me over for fish grilled outside over an open fire pit. It was dark by then, the moon was out, and it was just kind of wonderful, standing with them in the back of their house, looking out over the other houses to the distant fields lit by the moon, talking and sharing our lives. How lucky I am to have them in my life.
Here is a poem I want to share with you by Cengiz Dagci, who is a Crimean Tatar writer living in London—
a tree which is
supposed to die,
not to get greener
and not to give
Since the day that
there wasn't any day
of this tree, but
again new branches
came out of its body.
These branches were
not allowed to grow
and were chopped
again. But branches
came out again.
At the end,
this tree is chopped
at its root,
and thrown away
on a lonely, desert
But again new
come out of this body
and get longer and
longer, and they
to the land where
this tree was planted
one thousand years
Sunday, October 18, 2009
It’s been an eventful last few days. Friday I did a television interview at the Gasprinsky Library (the Crimean Tatar Library). A local television station wanted to do a program on Peace Corps Volunteers in the area, so they came and interviewed me and another volunteer who lives and teaches in a small town near Simferopol. I went over to my neighbors to watch it tonight, and I think it turned out pretty good, as best I could tell. I was interviewed in English and it was translated into Russian for the show. They showed a lot of the library which seems like great publicity for them. I hope they will be happy about it—will find out tomorrow.
Someone who is NOT happy is one of my artists from the NGO I work with one day a week. The NGO is basically two artists who want funding for their projects. One of them I work with weekly, and we seem to be progressing okay, having applied for one grant which we didn’t get, but now working on another grant. The other artist, however, I see less frequently, and he seems to think I can get him $40,000 to produce a Crimean Tatar traditional music festival and as soon as possible. I tried to lower his expectations to a level that I thought it was possible to find funding, but clearly I wasn’t successful. This weekend he sent me an email stating his disappointment, that as a Peace Corps volunteer I am supposed to find them funding, etc. etc. I knew he had been given false expectations and wasn’t very happy about how things were going, so I wasn’t too surprised about the letter. The real problem is that they contribute towards my housing cost, and if they no longer want to work with me, there will be that much less I have for housing, which is already a problem. And, of course, I can’t really explain or discuss much of this with him. I did return his letter using a translation program. Hopefully it at least gave a facsimile of what I was trying to say. You never know with those programs. Tomorrow I will show his letter to Najye and see what she has to say. She is friends with them and signed them on as one of the organizations I would work with. And probably told them I could get them funding, as the Peace Corps is pretty careful not to say that. Always an adventure, here in the Peace Corps.
But on to happier events. Which is this great hike I went on Saturday with my young PCV friend who was here for the weekend and Sirdar, my neighbor kid friend. We decided to go to the cave city of Tepe Kermen (Fortress on the Summit), though we only had a vague idea of how to get there. We took a bus to the nearest town, and then got on a very dilapidated bus that went by the village nearest the cave city. A large group of backpackers got on which we weren’t too thrilled about, but it turned out they were going in that general direction and showed us the trail up to Tepe Kermen. We never would have found it on our own. It was quite a climb to get there, but the cave rooms were so interesting and the views spectacular. Like many of the cave cities, Tepe Kermen was inhabitated between the 5th and 15th centuries by different groups of people. The mountains of Crimea tend to have a number of plateaus on their summits, so they were easily defendable places to live. And the soft limestone made it possible to carve out dwellings. In this cave city there was a Christian altar carved into one of the caves.
While exploring the caves, we encountered a group of six hikers. Turns out they were led by a 64-year-old woman, who with her 27-year-old daughter has hiked all over Crimea. The daughter spoke pretty fluent English which is how we started talking with them, and we ended having lunch together and then followed them on a route back to the town. Up and down the trails, the 64-year-old led the way at a pace that even 16-year-old Sirdar had trouble keeping up with. And what a spirit she was—didn’t want to stick to a wider road, but wanted to go off “into nature.” We eventually ended up on the edge of a high cliff, where lo and behold, there were ancient steps carved down to the forests below. It felt safe—there was a handrail to hold on to—so down we went and then bush wacked through the forest to the monastery near Chufut Kale that I had been to only a few days previously with Jud. What a great time we had hiking with them, and of course, when we all got back to Simferopol, I made sure I got their contact information. I so hope I get to do more hiking with her—a kindred spirit in Crimea.
So that’s it for now. Wonder what this week will bring…
Love from Crimea.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Once again I did some Crimean touring, this time partially as the guide. Jud, a fellow PCV that I became friends with in training, came down for a few days to see some of Crimea. He stayed with me, and I took a couple of days off from the library. He came in on Saturday, and we walked around the city—down the lovely (as long as you are able to overlook the ubiquitous trash, something I have gotten quite good at) parkway along the river that winds through the center. Stopped at one of my favorite bookstores which sells books mainly for people teaching English, and then walked through the section of the city that is cordoned off from cars, pass the obligatory Lenin statue. It is quite a lovely city, as I saw it through Jud’ s eyes. Later we went out to my house, walked around a bit out there, had some leftover plov my neighbor had brought over the previous night, and then dropped in on my other neighbors for a chat.
Sunday we took the bus down to Yalta on the coast and found an old hotel (used to be a brothel in the 1800’s) at dirt cheap off season rates. Went to see Lavidia Palace, the summer home of the last czar and where the Yalta Conference was held in which Roosevelt, Stalin, and Churchill met to divide up postwar Europe. It’s quite an imposing structure overlooking the sea, though we took the back way in and thought the first building we saw was the palace. Turned out to be some kind of nursing home. We do have lots of pictures of it, though. Spent the evening walking around the waterfront in Yalta, having dinner on a replica of a Greek galleon built out over the water-very touristy, but pretty tasty, and when I got cold they gave me a fuzzy blanket to wrap up in!
The next day we took a bus to a nearby village on the sea which is where Chekov had his dacha—a little one room cottage which has been lovingly preserved. It had a beautiful little rocky beach in front where Jud took the opportunity for a swim despite the cold water, while I hung out, contemplating the sea. Walked the steep winding streets of the village, and then caught a bus that took us all the way back to Simferopol. Decided to have dinner in the city and found an Indian restaurant that I had heard about which is located in the dorm of the medical university here where a lot of foreign students go. In our quest to find the place, we ended up being escorted there by a student from New Delhi and had dinner with him and his buddies. A great connection—they invited me to some Hindu festival this weekend, which I might go to.
The next day we headed out to Bakhchysaray to see the Khan’s Palace and the cave city of Chufat Kale, which I had been to before. The palace was beautiful and very interesting. It housed the Crimean Khanate, the governing body of the Crimean Tatars, when they ruled Crimea from about 1500 to 1800. Part of it is still an active mosque, and we were not allowed in there, of course, but the rest has been turned into a museum with some signs in English. One of the areas of the palace was for the harem. Except for the obvious drawbacks of being in a harem, it wouldn’t be so bad to spend your days lounging around in a beautiful setting with a bunch of other women. (Nothing like seeing history through my western, modern eyes).
It’s Thursday night now and I am fading once again. Cold in my house—no heat yet—so I am huddled by the space heater. Tomorrow morning I have a television interview(!) about the Peace Corps, and then PCV friend Grace is coming for the weekend and we are off hiking on Saturday with Sirdar to another cave city, I think. Trying to do a lot of exploring before the winter everyone keeps warning me about sets in. Right now it is gorgeous here, despite the cold nights.
One thing that felt so good about this past weekend and travelling around so much, is that I was able to communicate enough with people to navigate the transportation, hotel, restaurants, etc. Jud was impressed by my language skill. However, today, my first day back at the library, it was all squashed as I struggled to communicate with anyone, and just wanted to scream by the end of the day. A very bad language day, as we say here in Crimea. But tomorrow will be better…
Love to all from my Russian and Crimean Tatar speaking life.