June 1: Yeremche
Tuesday, June 2nd, 2009<!–[if !mso]> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } <![endif]–>
The Suitcase Part I
In the morning I asked at the front desk about luggage repair (remont sumki); the clerk said she knew a replace to repair bags (i.e. purses/handbags) but not big suitcases. She asked another, male employee to look at my bag, and he suggested using crazy glue to get the wheel casing to stay on. I knew the way I abuse bags even crazy glue wouldn’t save it, and resigned myself to buying a new suitcase. I mean, it was Samsonite but it had outlived its warranty by almost 2 years and it was probably my fault for stocking up on alcohol in Moldova so I couldn’t really complain.
I walked around the neighborhood until 10 a.m., when the stores open. (On Sundays stores are closed or have shorter hours). I looked in a place called Colby. The clerk showed me a suitcase that was nice and had good wheels and would probably fit on a train. But it was not a rolling duffel bag. I walked to another store thinking they might have a rolling duffel bag or even a luggage cart. But the salespeople there were bitchy, and the Colby people were nice, attentive, and tried to find something that was good for me.
I went back to Colby to make my purchase. I took out my credit card and they said their machine wasn’t working. They suggested I go to a bankomat (I mean, ATM) nearby. I wasn’t sure how much money I had in there, and I really wanted to get to Yaremche and not spend extra time dealing with the bank. They then suggested I leave a 20hr note in the suitcase as a deposit, and they would hold it in the back room for me. I could come back the next morning after 10.
The Bus to Yaremche and the Unexpected Gift
I walked the half kilometer from Colby to the bus station, and found a bus heading to Yaremche. On the way the bus passed villagers tilling fields, boys riding bikes down dirt roads, ducks or geese, chickens, and cows. There in the bus with a view of this valley at the foot of the mountains, I understood the meaning of the words “idyllic” and “pastoral”.
When we arrived at the Yaremche bus station, I had no idea where I was except that I was closer to the mountains than before. I went to a shop at the bus station and bought a map (8 hr). I sat in the bus station office, opened it, and realized it was a map of the REGION. Yaremche was one big blob, with no street or sightseeing markings. I worked up the nerve to go back in and say I wanted to exchange (peremenyat’—though maybe I could have said obmenyat’ here?) the 8 hr map for the 15 hr map—the 8 hr didn’t have enough information. Another man asked what kind of info I wanted. I said I wanted street names, directions to the waterfalls.
The man behind the counter found a map with street markings, said something I didn’t understand, then in English said “present.” I was stunned. I took it, thanked him, and started to walk away. Then he asked me to wait and gave me my 8 hr back! All I could say was thank you again (in Ukrainian).
Guljat’ po-Yaremchy (Walking around Yaremche)
Looking at the map, I decided to follow a short bike trail to something marked with a sun logo, which I assumed meant a point of interest. As I walked though, I couldn’t figure out how the road I was on could be considered a bike trail, and I couldn’t see any points of interest except a river, a hillside covered with fir trees except for one bald spot, and a house with a family of goats.
I walked back to the main road (the one the bus came in on) and went past hotels, cottages, tourist information, and a museum that looked closed. I was getting hungry, and when I looked up address of the restaurant Hutsulshchyna in my guidebook, I couldn’t find the street on my map. I figured it had to be near the main road, but I hit a point where it seemed like I was hitting the edge of town. I saw a new-looking brick café-hotel-bar with smoke coming from an outdoor pit. That could only mean one thing—shashlik!
I sat in a plastic chair and alternated between watching the older man cook the thick chunks of meat on a skewer that looked 2 feet long and an inch wide, and staring at the fir-covered hills in the distance.
Soon 200g of pork shashlik was put on my plate along with sautéed onions, ketchup, and mayo. I took a bite and it was the worst shashlik I’d ever had. The thing had been cooked until it was shoe leather. I couldn’t taste the spices I smelled. Still, I was happy to have food and the after-lunch tea I drank while bundled up and looking at the mountains some more.
After lunch I walked around two “souvenir bazaars”. I was both happy and sad I’d bought stuff in Moldova, as I’d never seen such souvenirs in Ukraine and surely buying them would have made my suitcase too heavy and my wallet too light. Especially tempting were the warm-looking coats, vests, blankets (probably made of sheepskin), knit socks, and woven bags that reminded me of Peru. I did buy a small bag (15 hr) of tea made of loose dried herbs and berries; I remembered well the tea brand Karpatsky Chai (Carpathian Tea) and figured the real thing would be even better.
Looking at the map, another “point of interest” seemed to be nearby. Maybe they were waterfalls? I decided to try to be brave and go off-road, following a well-worn dirt path that other people seemed to be walking on, and tried to follow the sound of rushing water. Still, I felt nervous. In the city, I can find landmarks and street names. In the woods I felt completely helpless.
I passed a natural wooden table surrounded by tall trees where a group of friends were eating lunch. Then I came to a clearing and saw the restaurant Hutsulshchyna! First I walked around the souvenir bazaar and on a footbridge that overlooked what I hoped were not called waterfalls; it was a lovely view but I think I’ve stepped off curbs in Los Angeles that were higher.
Although I’d just had lunch, I decided to go into Hutsulshchyna for the first course (soup) which I hadn’t had. Plus, Lonely Planet said it had a good wild mushroom soup. It actually had four on the menu; I chose the house style (po domashomy) with potatoes and beans. The soup was 21 hr but worth every kopek; the mushrooms were so flavorful I wanted the taste to linger forever. Even the kitschiness of the restaurant didn’t bother me because I’d never seen such decorations before, like a wooden hutch filled with white-glazed earthenware etched and painted green and red, and waiters wearing sheepskin-lined vests and leather shoes.
“Vy ne ukrainka?” (You’re not Ukrainian?)
After soup, I walked up the paved road everyone else was travelling (yes, I recognize the irony here) and saw some high-end hotels in the distance. I started walking toward them and then saw a sign (in Ukrainian) that said “Church of Peter and Paul 400 m”. Intrigued, I turned right and soon saw some spires in the distance. It looked cool, but there was a fork in the road. I turned right, and ended up walking past a pile of plastic bottles that must have been carried there by a river of stinky garbage. In other places I’ve seen signs like “thank you for keeping this place clean”, but I think Ukraine might be ready for a commercial like the American Indian shedding a tear over litter. Maybe a weeping Hutsul?
At the other side of Stench Gulch, I saw again a hotel I’d passed and realized I had made a pointless circle. I felt tired and demoralized—I’m just not a mountain girl. A woman and her daughter stopped me to ask for directions. I said in Russian (which maybe passes for Ukrainian too), “I don’t know. I don’t live here.” (Ja ne znaju—ja ne zhivu zdes’). She must have said something like “where are you coming from?” I said I was trying to find the – the – suddenly I couldn’t remember how to say “Peter and Paul” in Russian. Finally she looked at me and said incredulously, “you’re not Ukrainian?” I said no, I’m American. She asked why I wasn’t in a group. I said I’d lived in Ukraine several years (niskilko let), but told her (and as I told her realized it was true) maybe it’s better to go in a group.
In retrospect, I don’t think I blended that well or my language skills were that exceptional; I think she like other people simply don’t expect to find a non-Ukrainian in this neck of the woods. But in the moment, it felt totally awesome to be mistaken for a local and that gave me a boost to continue on the journey.
Hotels and Return to Ivano-Frankivsk
I turned left to continue to head towards the spires and discovered that it wasn’t a church—it was a hotel! That was a disappointment. I decided to trudge up the hill again and this time get to Hotel Edelweiss (written in Ukrainian as “Edelvase”). It was only worth it because I could read a sign that the hotel’s restaurant earned the distinction of being one of the top 100 restaurants in Ukraine. I walked back down the hill and started walking back towards the bus station. After about 50 m, though, it didn’t feel right. The road was heading away from the railroad tracks I had crossed to get to Hutsulshchyna. Maybe I’m not so helpless after all. I turned around, tried to go through a tunnel I’d seen on the way to the Hotel District, but it led to a roadless “cul-de-sac” of houses. I realized the only way to get back was to retrace my footsteps exactly.
Reluctantly I started down the paved road to the restaurant and saw a girl walking the other way. I stopped her and asked her in surzhyk (or maybe Bridgian) how I could get to the bus station (budlaska, jak ja mogu doiti do avtovokzala?) For the first time in my life, I felt like I got directions in Ukraine that I could follow (once it was clarified that the word kolii meant the tracks of the poezda). I found the tracks, crossed them as she suggested, and was right at the main road without having to clamber through the forest!
I trudged down the main road again and made it to the bus station just as people were boarding a bus to Ivano-Frankivsk. Having seen the bus on the way up stop at the “drama theater” bus stop next to the hotel, I was able to ask the driver to stop there, saving me a .5 km walk. I went up to my room at Hotel Nadia and collapsed.
Around 8 p.m. I got hungry and went down to the delicatessen for one last snack—holubtsi (cabbage) stuffed with rice; a potato dumpling consisting of mashed potatoes stuffed with mushrooms and fried; and “beets with horseradish.” I thought it would be a beet salad that happened to have horseradish in it, but it was really horseradish with beets like I would serve at Passover (but not as hot). Oh well.
Luggage Part 2
In the morning I went to Colby, cash ready. As soon as I walked in, they recognized me and brought the suitcase out. It took me a while to understand (i.e. the lady had to demonstrate) that they wanted me to check that all of the zippers worked. (They were using the word zamok which I understood to mean “lock” or “castle”; I didn’t know it could also be used for zipper.) The thoughtfulness and attentiveness of these two acts really made an impression on me.
They had me fill out a form for a discount card which I can use on future purchases. It seemed one woman was talking another through inputting the data in the computer. I said if Philadelphia, USA was causing problems, I could just say I’m from Khmelnytsky. Another work replied (in short Russian), “No! We want to say we sold something to someone from America. It’s a plus!” It was a plus for me to buy something from nice people in Ukraine.
admin