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May 31: Ivano-Frankisk Part 2

Sunday, May 31st, 2009

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Breakfast

 

In the morning I went downstairs for my free breakfast. It was such a treat to find a buffet where I could choose how many calories I wanted, rather than being subjected to an 800-1000 calorie morning.  I passed on the blood sausage and fried cabbage and even the scrambled/fried eggs. Instead I went for the yogurt and muesli, one tiny pancake with some jam, one deviled egg, and a touch of kasha (kind of like oatmeal). That was washed down with 3 cups of coffee made Turkish style.

The Park and the Lake

After breakfast I had another email session. Around 11:30 I finally got out of the room. I walked down Nezalezhnosti again, then walked down Vulitsa Shevchenka about 1 km to the entrance to Park Shevchenko. As promised, the park had undergone some renovation, so the entrance had a wide brick path that was lined with fir trees.  I caught part of a show for children (seemed to be advertising for or sponsored by a children’s magazine), saw the Taras Shevchenko statue, and then caught a glimpse of the lake.  I walked towards it and then started walking the path that went around it.

On the way I had my first encounter with Ukrainian missionaries.  A woman and a man started talking to me. I understood from their tone they were offering something, but I didn’t really understand anything until I heard the words “biblia” and “boha” (God), and something about reading something.  I said I already believe in God, but thanked them. They gave me pamphlets anyway and talked about how they are trying to convince people not to treat the lake like a wastebasket.

I continued walking, went over the footbridge to a tiny island, came back, and walked around the area where men were fishing.  I stumbled on the Park Hotel and Restaurant. I asked to see the menu, and though it was expensive it had fish and seemed like I nice place to eat. When I asked if I could sit outside, the waiter said yes but….the only words I understood next were “nemae” (there isn’t any) and “svitchka” (light? No electricity?). I wasn’t sure why I needed light to sit outside, unless there was no light/power to cook food.  Whatever it was, it was enough to send me on my way.

I continued walking until I got around to the area you could rent boats from, and a covered area that looked like it might have lunch.  But the boat rental sign said a rowboat is for “3-4 people”, and the “catamarans” for 1-2 people (paddleboats on catamaran-like twin supports) didn’t look easy or fun for one person.  The eating area only had drinks and snacks, not real food.  Instead I bought an ice cream bar and sat overlooking the lake while eating it.

Path to the City and Lunch

 

I backtracked 100 yards to a grass-and-dirt slope that led away from the lake toward a building that looked like it might be a restaurant.  I walked down the dirt path to Bavaria restaurant. Not only was it and the café next door devoid of people sitting outside, it seemed to be built on the site of a former quarry, or over World War II rubble.  Not a pleasant place to dine.  I walked on through a mini market (rynok) until I saw a Mango store sign and found myself at Hetman Mazepa street.  I could see the downtown churches to my left and walked in that direction. I soon saw Chelentano, the Ukrainian pizza chain, but decided I didn’t want a big pizza dinner.  Instead, I poked my head in the Belvedere café.

I looked at the menu and the prices were reasonable, the food Ukrainian, and the walls and bathrooms were clean. I ordered a salad with tomatoes and cucumbers (and sour cream) for 7 hr, fish covered with “vegetables” (peppers or tomatoes and onions) with rice (21 hr), and Truskavetska water (4 hr).

As I ate, there was a toddler walking around the café with her father watching her.  I tried to ask in Ukrainian how old she was but I was incomprehensible. I asked if I could say it in English and he said yes. He answered in English that she was 1 year and 5 months old.  He also said he was leaving in 2 weeks for New York to visit his brother in Brooklyn. I said I was in Philadelphia and he asked if I knew a priest at a church in Philadelphia. Of course I didn’t.  When I said I know Russian better, he switched over with me.  This was when I became aware that in this part of the world I was using first Ukrainian, then English, then Russian.  I also noticed he was willing to switch to Russian with me, whereas in the restaurant the night before the young man, I’m pretty sure, didn’t switch when I used Russian.  I don’t think it was a question of attitude, I think it was a question of age—some children born after independence in Western Ukraine don’t know Russian so they can’t switch over.

We talked until my salad came, and then the man and his daughter returned to their group table.  It was someone’s birthday, and everyone stood up and sang “Mnohaya Lita” (many years) in what sounded like 12-part harmony.  They either came directly from a church choir to the restaurant, or they were the Ukrainian version of the von Trapp family singers.  When they finished, everyone in the café including myself applauded.  I still get goosebumps thinking about it.  I was so moved I even considered giving him my email address and offering to show him around Philly if he came to visit. But that seemed to weird so I held my tongue.

City Museums

 

By the time I got outside again, it had cooled off considerably. I was glad I had worn fleece and carried a jacket even though today was considerably sunnier and warmer than yesterday.  I walked the short distance to church of the Holy Resurrection and peeked inside, then walked to the nearby art museum/church. The 10 hr entrance fee seemed like a rip-off given it was only 1 floor and the collection was really small and mainly religious art.  Still, there was an exhibit of art students’ metalwork that was impressive.

From there, I popped over to the regional museum. I paid my 1 hr entrance fee (children pay 50 kopeks) and saw a display of stuffed birds, reptiles, and a wild boar that my friend Eric would have appreciated if he were alive today.  I thought that was it so I started to leave, but the women at the entrance pointed me to another room. Suddenly the whole world seemed on display.  I can’t even remember half of what I saw in the museum. I know I saw traditional Ukrainian embroidery, including some winter gear I’d never seen before; a sign about a dictionary (with an explanation of the alphabet) developed in the 1800s by a Ukrainian researcher; a whole room about the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (УПА); a collection of professional-quality, artistic portraits taken as part of an exhibition sponsored by Canon; and chainmail.

My brain full, I walked downstairs and back to Nezalezhnosti. I didn’t linger to hear the 12-year old chanson in the main square; instead I headed to Kaffe Kimbo, recommended by Lonely Planet, for a cup of Americano.

Dinner and Dessert at Hotel Nadia

 

Before heading to dinner, I walked down vul Sichovykh Striltsiv to the place where you can make a telephone call “za kordon” (internationally) for 1 hr. a minute. Talked to my mother for the first time in three weeks.

I walked back to the Nadia delicatessen for one of my favorite treats, kuri grill (rotisserie chicken).  I got an “okorochok” (leg and thigh) for 10 hr.  I saw underneath the grill some round packages wrapped on foil.  I asked what they were, and found out they were potatoes. Of course I took some, and a breadstick (think Olive Garden without the oil), and a pickle, and a Slavytych light beer.

I took everything out on my Ikea tray to the patio, where I got one of the last tables. Never in my life have a seen a Ukrainian restaurant  so busy with different groups of people eating and drinking and smoking and chatting.  It was a joyous sight indeed, as it means people can afford to eat out instead of at home.

After dinner, I wasn’t ready to go back to the hotel room, but I didn’t want to walk back through the city. I walked towards the hotel entrance and saw the hotel restaurant also had a patio and an advertisement for a dessert menu. At the top was Crème Brulee.  It’s one of my favorite desserts/ treats, and at 15 hr I couldn’t not try it.

How can I describe the crème brulee?  The first term that comes to mind is earwax, but that is too wet and doesn’t evoke a sugary taste.  The next thought is the surprise of the club, I mean, “clab” sandwich I had in Kharkiv once, but the crème brulee served here at least bore a physical resemblance to crème brulee. The best way I can describe it is take Yukon gold potatoes, mash it/puree it finely, make it sweet insteady of potato-flavored, spread it thin in a large round dish, and top it with a sugar crystal crust.  Of course I ate it anyway, but I didn’t savor it.

I realized I needed to walk more to work off all the sugar and fat, so I decided to find the train station. I ended up walking first over a bridge to a small church that was having a service. The priest was talking (in Ukrainian) and people were coming and going, but I couldn’t figure out what was going on. I walked back to the train/bus station, and on the way back to Hotel Nadia found a memorial to WWII. It was the only such memorial I’d seen that mentioned “Radiansky Soyuz” (Radyansky is the Ukrainian word for Soviet), and the only one that talked about people fighting for the freedom of the fatherland.  It had a different feel from the WWII memorial in Dnipropetrovsk. It felt newer, and Ukrainian.

With that last adventure in Ivano-Frankisk, I returned to the hotel room to prepare for the next adventure, Yaremcha and the Carpathian National Nature Park.

 

May 31: Ivano-Frankisk

Sunday, May 31st, 2009

On the bus from Lviv to Ivano-Frankisk, I realized that Ukrainian drivers, unlike Moldovan drivers, have no fear of driving over roads with potholes (or maybe the potholes are smaller in Ukraine).  What I do know is that I had quite possibly the bumpiest three hour ride ever from Lviv to Ivano-Frankisk. It started off well, but when we got off the road to Chop (a major border crossing) it got really bad.  It reminded me of the time I visited Ft. Irwin and went bouncing across the desert in a Hummvee.  On the upside, I saw mountains for the first time since I could remember.

As we neared the town, I started to wonder how to get to the hotel. It seemed like the hotel was in walking distance from the bus station, but my bags were pretty heavy. I noticed the driver was making multiple stops in other towns, and wondered if I could get dropped off closer to the hotel. I asked the driver if he could stop near Hotel Nadia on Vul. Nazelezhnosti, but he didn’t understand.  Someone else on the bus understood though and said “I will show you.”  He asked the driver to stop and motioned for me to get off.

At this point I felt completely at this young man’s mercy.  I was on a quiet street loaded down with major, nearly broken down luggage and had no idea where I was.  But this being Ukraine and not Mexico or Peru (where taxi drivers can be accomplices in robberies), and being that I’m white, I felt the chances of danger were pretty slim.

The man, whose name was Volodya, walked me with my bags all the way to the hotel (approximately a quarter mile).  As we walked, we talked in English. He explained that he had a Ph.D. in paranormal psychology, “X-Files”.  His wife was working on a cruise ship, and he was studying English while living at home with their 5-year old son.  He also told a story about the company he worked for and something about Paul McCartney. (The problem wasn’t his English; the problem was it was hard to hear on the busy street with the sound of luggage wheels).

We arrived at the impressive blue and glass exterior of Hotel Nadia and I thanked him profusely for his help.  I went in and found out they had rooms available for 300 hr a night, including breakfast. There was also a discount at the restaurant and the beauty salon, and wifi–10 hr for 2 hours.  Since I had just lost my flash drive to a virus and had to send some stuff by email to the States for work, the chance to use my computer in the room was a Godsend.  The room was smaller than the one in Lviv and didn’t have a bathtub, but it was clean and modern and being on the 8th floor had a great view of the city.

I went down to the hotel delicatessen for an early lunch. As tempting as the “kuri grill” (rotisserie chicken) was, I went instead for the grilled boneless chicken skewer (shashlik), marinated eggplant/carrot/red pepper salad, and seaweed salad (or as it’s called in Russian/Ukrainian, “sea cabbage”, морская капуста). I sat on the covered patio and ate, feeling like the only person there who wasn’t drinking beer.

I went back to the hotel, checked my email, and got dressed to walk around the city. I was thinking I had to dress up what with it being Saturday night. Though many women were wearing high heels, ironically I felt like the only person who wasn’t wearing jeans.

I walked down Nezalezhnosti to the part that is pedestrian only. It seemed there were modern shops but also shops that were closed, under construction, or covered with graffiti.  I made it to the “egg fountain” and then walked wherever things caught my eye—a tall mall with a “panoramic” elevator; a building with a clock tower that is home to a museum I promised to visit the next day; a church I also promised myself I’d visit the next day; and several outdoor covered areas for eating and drinking.  I walked in a big circle and started heading towards the Old Town restaurant I saw, when it started raining.  Even though it was cold and wet outside, one wooden, covered seating area looked cool. It turned out to be the outdoor (biergarten?) portion of the Beer House restaurant across the street. I passed on the fajitas in favor of solyanka (ham soup), but they were out. I looked at the menu again and saw the words “bahchar”, which I’d never heard of, and “national dish.” I decided to try it. It was creamy soup with ham, and a side of horseradish!  I also ordered a cocktail with Bailey’s, Kahlua, and Cointreau. When the waiter brought it, he said something I couldn’t understand even after repeating it three times. Finally, I said, “po angliski?” He said, “Fire.” Ah, he was saying “pozharite”. He lit the drink on fire, then told me to drink it immediately and rinse out my burning mouth with a touch of soda.  Of course I chickened out on drinking it on fire, but the experience is memorable nonetheless. I moved onto their house beer, which had a nice smooth wheaty finish and was served in a glass that felt like a small barrel.  It was so fun I didn’t even feel the cold.   On the way back to the hotel, I stopped at a patissierie for tiramisu and green tea.  Then I climbed into bed and watched BBC World until it was time to go to sleep.