Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 79 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
Sherrill, Ukraine, 2013
Sherrill, Ukraine, 2013
The two girls might have been sisters, just out of school, pink-cheeked, one blonde, one brown-haired, sixteen and seventeen in their first jobs as waitresses on the Lomonosov as it maneuvered along the Black Sea coast and up the Dnieper River, their clever smiling faces bright with ambition and optimism. They had grown up in a better, more promising, world than their parents and grandparents had known and, using their language skills and wits, were eager to make the most of its opportunities. I often wonder about them when I remember the trip that Sherrill and I took through Ukraine in 2013.
Odessa: "Birth of the New Era" Ukraine Airlines ferried us from London to Odessa, then—with the help of a young woman who saw that we were struggling to communicate—we took a taxi from the tiny airport to the 19th century Ayvazovsky Hotel in the old part of town. The next morning, starting at the wide hill-top square that overlooked both the bay and the gawky hotel planted by the Communists at the end of a graceless pier, we hiked down the broad, profoundly evocative, 192 stairs that descended to the port—the Potemkin Steps made famous in Eisenstein's epic film Battleship Potemkin. We might have been transported to another world, one accessible only in black and white movies. Then we discovered a bizarre statue of a muscular baby ripping its way out of a concrete shell, supposedly representing the birth of a "new era."
Sherrill & Tom, Pushkin statue, Odessa At the ship, Sherrill and I met our friend Tom, who had traveled with us in 2007 along the Dalmatian Coast from Slovenia to Athens, and now had joined us again. That earlier trip also had been through countries adjusting to a new, recently liberated, society. Some, such as Croatia, were finding it easier than others, notably Montenegro and Albania, and, as always seemed to be the case, young people found it easier than the older folks.
The 200 year-old Odessa catacombs that hid resistance bands during World War Two could have been from another old movie, but even more fascinating to us were the great caves at the Black Sea military port of Sebastopol, still the biggest maritime base for the Russian and Ukrainian fleets—and Russia's only warm water port. Deep underground, we explored huge caverns that had been a secret nuclear submarine installation during the Cold War, even a vast underground dry dock for submarines. Although these caverns no longer were used, the port still was an active military base, so we weren't allowed to take photographs outside the caves.
The 200 year-old Odessa catacombs that hid resistance bands during World War Two could have been from another old movie, but even more fascinating to us were the great caves at the Black Sea military port of Sebastopol, still the biggest maritime base for the Russian and Ukrainian fleets—and Russia's only warm water port. Deep underground, we explored huge caverns that had been a secret nuclear submarine installation during the Cold War, even a vast underground dry dock for submarines. Although these caverns no longer were used, the port still was an active military base, so we weren't allowed to take photographs outside the caves.
 Sherrill on the Black Sea |  Bruce off-shore from Yalta |
We sailed from Odessa to Yalta's wide bay, forested mountains descending in front of us to the blue-edged white crescent of the city—a resort town of 80,000, rather like Santa Cruz, but with a port for ships. We toured the bulky white palace built for the czar in 1911 where the final World War II conference was held in 1945 and heard a lot about how Roosevelt was so sick that he gave in to Stalin's plotting and lying. The Ukrainians still resented that they ended up part of the USSR. Then Sherrill, Tom, and I took a taxi to a small graceful house surrounded by gardens in the low hills above the city—where Anton Chekhov spent his last years, writing some of his most well-known plays and stories, still crowded with his furniture, clothing, and random possessions. We could feel that his spirit lingered there, that it might even pick up the pen resting on the stained desk blotter.
 Courtyard of Yalta palace where FDR, Churchill, & Stalin met in 1945 |  Chekhov's house, Yalta |
Across the garden, in a discreetly tucked away visitors' center, a large room displayed historic photographs of the playwright and his life in the theater. A group of women visitors sat on folding chairs while a plump middle-aged woman gave an impassioned presentation in Russian, shawl draped dramatically around her shoulders, describing and acting out with great emotion scenes from the plays. On a screen behind her, large letters declared in both Russian and English: "Chekhov—the Tennessee Williams of Russia."
Sailing on the Black Sea and up the Dnieper River through the heart of Ukraine was the best part of the trip for Sherrill. The stops along the way to visit various towns, churches, palaces, and historic sites were interesting, but moving along the cloud-speckled water under the transparent blue sky, watching the variegated colors of the shore pass by, feeling the caressing motion of the four-deck river ship, made her the happiest. The river flowed down to the sea, but—passing through five locks—we chugged against the current all the way up to the 1,500 year-old capital city of Kiev, called in Ukraine "the Mother of Cities."
Sailing on the Black Sea and up the Dnieper River through the heart of Ukraine was the best part of the trip for Sherrill. The stops along the way to visit various towns, churches, palaces, and historic sites were interesting, but moving along the cloud-speckled water under the transparent blue sky, watching the variegated colors of the shore pass by, feeling the caressing motion of the four-deck river ship, made her the happiest. The river flowed down to the sea, but—passing through five locks—we chugged against the current all the way up to the 1,500 year-old capital city of Kiev, called in Ukraine "the Mother of Cities."
Cossack horseman During the trip, Sherrill, Tom, and I became friends with a couple from New Jersey with whom we instantly felt at ease. A year later, Sherrill and I had dinner with them at a restaurant overlooking the San Francisco waterfront and expected to get together with them in the future. However, shortly after that Sherrill became sick, changing our plans.
The names of the cities along the way sounded as exotic as the sights we discovered in them. Two that I especially remember: Kherson , founded by Catherine the Great and home to the fabulous Cathedral of St. Catherine, and Zaporozhye, where we discovered Neolithic goddess figures displayed in a park and where the Cossacks stunned us with their skillful, frantic, insane horsemanship. Every town had raised a huge monument to the Great Patriotic War against the Nazis and Lenin's stolid bulk was on display more often than we'd expected.
The names of the cities along the way sounded as exotic as the sights we discovered in them. Two that I especially remember: Kherson , founded by Catherine the Great and home to the fabulous Cathedral of St. Catherine, and Zaporozhye, where we discovered Neolithic goddess figures displayed in a park and where the Cossacks stunned us with their skillful, frantic, insane horsemanship. Every town had raised a huge monument to the Great Patriotic War against the Nazis and Lenin's stolid bulk was on display more often than we'd expected.
The sun was shining and autumn leaves glowed red and orange gold. The young parents romping with their kids on a Sunday afternoon in a Kiev park, taking photographs with their mobile phones, could have been in California or England. However, this new, free, society was hard for older generations who struggled to survive in it. I remember robust older women, red-cheeked in their kerchiefs, reduced to selling lottery tickets or their family treasures, even sweeping and raking in the public park. They missed the old ways, but admitted that the new world was better for young people.
They remembered that although the Ukraine was considered the bread basket of the Soviet Union, 7 million of its people, mostly children, had died of malnutrition because Stalin insisted that the grain it produced be exported. Peasants were shot if they hid grain for their families. One old lady in Kiev, her little body hidden under her kerchief and raincoat, constantly rearranged her treasures to tempt people who might pass—bulky socks and scarves that she'd knitted, an old table lamp, several ashtrays of varying sizes and shapes, dishes and glassware that had survived from once complete sets, small figurines, a bust of Lenin, Communist medals. We didn't need any of it, but Sherrill and I wanted to give her a few hryvnia.
"Okay," Sherrill told me, tugging at my shirt collar. "but not Lenin."
They remembered that although the Ukraine was considered the bread basket of the Soviet Union, 7 million of its people, mostly children, had died of malnutrition because Stalin insisted that the grain it produced be exported. Peasants were shot if they hid grain for their families. One old lady in Kiev, her little body hidden under her kerchief and raincoat, constantly rearranged her treasures to tempt people who might pass—bulky socks and scarves that she'd knitted, an old table lamp, several ashtrays of varying sizes and shapes, dishes and glassware that had survived from once complete sets, small figurines, a bust of Lenin, Communist medals. We didn't need any of it, but Sherrill and I wanted to give her a few hryvnia.
"Okay," Sherrill told me, tugging at my shirt collar. "but not Lenin."
 Neolithic goddess, Zaporozhye park |  Autumn leaves, Monastery of the Caves, Kiev |
"Babushka" selling flowers by old tram, Kiev Our hotel was wedged into a corner of a steep, twisting Old City street among art nouveau and neoclassic buildings and some gold-domed churches. Despite the bombing during World War II, a lot seemed to have survived. We visited a large museum dedicated to Ukrainian history and several small museums, including one focused on the eccentric history our hotel's hillside street.
Walking along the city streets and boulevards, sitting in a basement cafe, exploring shops and museums, we were struck that the people of Kiev dressed almost entirely in black, often black leather (or faux leather) jackets and dark blue jeans. For the most part, the clothes were of cheap fabrics and badly made, but the large men we saw standing in small groups near expensive black automobiles wore the real thing. In smaller cities we'd visited, we'd noticed thirty year-old Russian Lada cars, often decorated with dents and rust, but here we saw shiny Mercedes, Porsches, and BMWs, although ordinary people crowded onto antique buses and streetcars. Kiev was a city of contrasts, rich or poor, new or old, powerful or weak, ordinary citizens or those with "contacts."
Walking along the city streets and boulevards, sitting in a basement cafe, exploring shops and museums, we were struck that the people of Kiev dressed almost entirely in black, often black leather (or faux leather) jackets and dark blue jeans. For the most part, the clothes were of cheap fabrics and badly made, but the large men we saw standing in small groups near expensive black automobiles wore the real thing. In smaller cities we'd visited, we'd noticed thirty year-old Russian Lada cars, often decorated with dents and rust, but here we saw shiny Mercedes, Porsches, and BMWs, although ordinary people crowded onto antique buses and streetcars. Kiev was a city of contrasts, rich or poor, new or old, powerful or weak, ordinary citizens or those with "contacts."
Despite all this, we often were told that "life will get better. It just takes time."
Maybe a woman we met outside a small chapel near the Yalta waterfront best symbolized this optimistic spirit. When we peered through the open door into the ornate Orthodox chapel, she rushed out, showing her single tooth and gums in a smile and asking in simple English where we were from. When we said America, she grinned even more broadly.
"Amerrrica!" she shouted. "New Yorrrk!"
And she told us that once upon a time she had danced at Radio City Music Hall. Did she expect us to believe that she'd been a Rockette in her youth? Well, why not? Her husband was dead, now, and her children were gone, but she insisted that life was good.
Woman selling aprons, Kiev
Maybe a woman we met outside a small chapel near the Yalta waterfront best symbolized this optimistic spirit. When we peered through the open door into the ornate Orthodox chapel, she rushed out, showing her single tooth and gums in a smile and asking in simple English where we were from. When we said America, she grinned even more broadly.
"Amerrrica!" she shouted. "New Yorrrk!"
And she told us that once upon a time she had danced at Radio City Music Hall. Did she expect us to believe that she'd been a Rockette in her youth? Well, why not? Her husband was dead, now, and her children were gone, but she insisted that life was good.
Woman selling aprons, Kiev
Ukraine, like Russia, was filled with widows because men there died years before their wives, chiefly because they smoked and drank so much. Independence from the Soviet Union created hope for the future, but also hardship. The change was especially hard for men, women told us. Suddenly, they didn't have jobs and couldn't support their families. Women frequently became the major providers in their households, which drove the men to drink even more. We saw posters urging men to say no to drink, but the campaign didn't seem to be working. The average Ukrainian male died before reaching sixty.
No vodka! poster, Kiev
No vodka! poster, Kiev
When we were there, Ukraine presented two faces, like those ancient Greek masks, smiling toward western Europe on one side and toward Russia and the east on the other. Everyone was equal under the Soviets, but—as George Orwell pointed out—some were more equal than others. Most of those under 40 wanted to embrace the West, now, abandon the patronage of Russia, and escape the corruption still plaguing their country by joining the European Union. Some older Ukrainians, though, feared the materialistic values and lack of morality in the West. In Kiev, we saw a parade of priests, nuns, and Orthodox church members carrying banners denouncing homosexuality. Earlier, we'd discovered that orthodox Ukrainians did a lot of crossing and candle burning, although not as much as we'd seen in Bulgaria.
"Taking Care of the Hungry Man"
"Taking Care of the Hungry Man"
Tee shirts for sale, Kiev "When it was obvious that the Soviet Union was collapsing," somebody else told us, "the Communist party bosses here were the first to love the free market—and were all for business and industry to go private, as long as they got their share."
Several times, talking with people in Ukraine, we heard how the former Communist leaders quickly dominated the new government and snatched control of major industries and utilities during the privatization process—embracing the future by using tricks from the past. This was an irony that the great Ukrainian satirist Mikhail Bulgakov would have appreciated. Bulgakov struggled against Soviet censorship though his whole career. His greatest work, the novel The Master and Margarita, wasn't published until 26 years after his death in 1940.
Several times, talking with people in Ukraine, we heard how the former Communist leaders quickly dominated the new government and snatched control of major industries and utilities during the privatization process—embracing the future by using tricks from the past. This was an irony that the great Ukrainian satirist Mikhail Bulgakov would have appreciated. Bulgakov struggled against Soviet censorship though his whole career. His greatest work, the novel The Master and Margarita, wasn't published until 26 years after his death in 1940.
When we visited Bulgakov's house, number 13 on a winding hillside street in upper Kiev, we saw a parade of young men and women not only visiting the rooms in which he lived and wrote, but also taking photographs of the house, the plaque on its facade, and the life-sized statue of the writer in a small garden. They took turns posing with Bulgakov, their arms around his shiny bronze shoulders. This rebel from a bygone era spoke to young Ukrainians all these years later.
Before we left Kiev, Sherrill, Tom, and I gave ourselves a splendid, typical Ukrainian dinner at a hillside restaurant in a wooden 19th century building with traditional scalloped trim that looked out over much of the city. It probably was overpriced, but still was an enjoyable way to say goodbye to Kiev and Ukraine. I'm not sure which of us ordered what, but I remember green borscht with nettle, dumplings with mushroom sauce, goose pate (that was Sherrill), duck breast, and Chicken Kiev. Plus a local wine and to finish local cheeses and Cake Kiev.
Before we left Kiev, Sherrill, Tom, and I gave ourselves a splendid, typical Ukrainian dinner at a hillside restaurant in a wooden 19th century building with traditional scalloped trim that looked out over much of the city. It probably was overpriced, but still was an enjoyable way to say goodbye to Kiev and Ukraine. I'm not sure which of us ordered what, but I remember green borscht with nettle, dumplings with mushroom sauce, goose pate (that was Sherrill), duck breast, and Chicken Kiev. Plus a local wine and to finish local cheeses and Cake Kiev.
 Brochure for Mikhail Bulgakov home, Kiev |  Bruce with statue of author Mikhail Bulgakov by his house in Kiev |
Soon after we returned to California, Russia invaded the Crimean peninsula and eastern Ukraine, claiming that they were there to protect the rights of Russians who lived there. The scenes flashed across the globe: the massive police and military reaction against the citizens who dared raised their voices against the Ukrainian Old Guard. Independence Square in the capital of Kiev was transformed from the bustling center of a busy city that we saw in October into a potential battle zone.
For more than 20 years, Ukraine had struggled to get its arms around its new independence—the first time in its long history that it had been independent. Or was it independent? That was the question that many Ukrainians were asking. Was the country a province of Russia—or was that where it was headed? Despite the corruption and threats, the Ukrainian population seemed determined to pull through, this time.
For more than 20 years, Ukraine had struggled to get its arms around its new independence—the first time in its long history that it had been independent. Or was it independent? That was the question that many Ukrainians were asking. Was the country a province of Russia—or was that where it was headed? Despite the corruption and threats, the Ukrainian population seemed determined to pull through, this time.
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
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