Since camp has finished I’ve spent most of my time in my new apartment: my new apartment that has running water, a bathroom, a toilet that flushes, a bathtub, and internet. It’s quite an upgrade from my previous abode. With my free time I’ve been doing a lot of reading, writing, and studying a little bit of Russian here and there. Due to it being summertime and hence the lack of work, life has consisted mostly of a daily routine of trying to figure out what to eat, cooking, doing laundry, walking around town, reading, writing, playing my guitar, surfing the internet, etc. Here are some pictures of my new apartment:
I got a care package from my parents, which I was really excited about. It contained a football (American) and pump, a bottle of sriracha, gochujang (Korean red pepper paste), some USB flash drives, a t-shirt, and a DVD from my grandmother’s funeral.
This made me very, very happy:
So far I’d only used the gochujang for two things: dalk doh li tang (spicy chicken and potato stew) and sauce for my bon chon chicken.
Owing to the need for some more flavor, having a lot of time on my hands, and a hint of boldness, I decided that I was going to make bon chon chicken (or try to). So I made a deep fryer out of my pot by pouring sunflower oil into it and heating it up. Here were the results:
Garlic Soy
Gochujang
It wasn’t bad for the first time. I’ll need to tweak the recipe a little bit but it’s nothing a little trial and error can’t fix. To throw away the oil after one use I thought would be wasteful, so I decided to make fries. Oh it was delicious. I used this recipe. The joys of deep frying:
The second camp was held at the same facilities but with a new set of kids. However there were some kids at the second camp that were also at the first camp. This second group of kids was a mess. They were completely the opposite of the first group: nice, obedient, and respectful. The latter group, I referred to as животные (animals). The other counselors got a kick out of that. I had them laughing for a minute.
At camp, I witnessed the morale of the staff burning out due to the children’s disobedience. This second camp was for me more of a means of connecting with the staff. I’ve gotten pretty close to them and we even keep in contact. The camp cop, the second time around, was much more amiable than the first. The first cop was lazy and stayed out late every night, drinking with the locals and sleeping during the day. He was for the most part detached from the kids and the other staff. The second cop was much better and we connected more. One of the first things he told me was that he liked Bob Marley. How could you not like a guy that likes Bob Marley?
Here is a quick anecdote. For the first time in my life I stepped in poop with my bare feet. Of course it would happen during Peace Corps service. But it was due more to a lack of awareness than anything else. We were at the river, swimming. I had to pee, so I found a spot in the reeds that branched off of a narrow pathway. I had been drinking with the other counselors, but I had only a few. It shouldn’t have affected my ability to see. However I felt a warm smudge under my left foot as I set myself to urinate. It gushed between my toes as I peed. I was hoping it was just a melted Lion Bar. I had to check after I was done relieving myself to make sure it was just a chocolate bar. So I wafted at it and I sensed that it was not chocolate, nor was it from a canine. It was human. I quickly ran to the closest part of the river, far from where people were swimming, and cleansed myself to the best of my ability. I walked across the hot sand slowly in hopes that it would kill any remaining bacteria. Then I went in the river and dragged my foot in the sand to exfoliate any possible remnants. I know it was fresh poop because I went to the same spot earlier in the day to pee and it wasn’t there before.
One of the peculiarities I noticed during camp was an Indian day that the kids had. They’d dress up as Native Americans: face and body paint, feathers, exotic headdresses, etc. And all along I thought to myself, “only in Ukraine”. This would not at all fly in the states. Better yet, shouldn't. Of course the kids would howl and make Indian sounds. I couldn't help but be reminded of the short-lived ABC series Cavemen, based off of the Geico cavemen commercials. It ended up not lasting 1 season but I thought the show was genius and touched on the very important issue of racial relations through the lighthearted paradigm of cavemen humor. I may be the only person in the world that liked that show. Anyway, here is a clip I think is pretty relevant to what I experienced:
And some pictures from the Indian day:
I didn’t participate but I did help with the body painting. Somehow during camp I’ve become like a makeshift artist. After that Indian day celebration, kids would come up to me and ask me to paint them. So I did. Who knew? I’m a dormant tattoo artist. Check out my work:
I even drew one of the girls during an art session. As you can see they framed it:
Here are some other pictures from the camp:
What TV sitcom character does this guy remind you of?
This is Bogdan. When he's not asking me random questions, you can find him modeling on a random sand pile at camp.
A few weeks ago I was back at my site for a few days due to an intermission from the camp. During that time I decided to get a haircut. I figured I’d test the waters and see how they would cut my hair. It’s simple enough. I normally just get a regular buzz cut.
Sitting in the seat, I watched the mirrored figure before me turn from something familiar to something “fresh”. She cut only the sides and back to my desired length and left the top like a plateau. She gave me a flat top. I asked her nicely to make it shorter but she wouldn’t have it. She refused to give me what I wanted and for the next three weeks or so I felt like the Fresh Prince of Ukraine. In addition, the haircut was tilted and I don’t think that was done on purpose.
(You can't see how flat it actually is in this picture.)
The next day I was to go back to camp so I didn’t get a chance to fix it. I just kept it. It was a little weird but I didn’t mind too much. How could I really care what people think about my hair in a place where the mullet is popular? Yes you read that correctly. In the words of Chris Miller, a clustermate, “the mullet in Ukraine is alive and thriving”.
I won’t post a picture of a mullet because that’s not necessary. However, the day I was coming to site at the train station, I saw what may have been the weirdest hairstyle on a girl I’ve ever noticed. It was like a girl version of a mullet but it was like 2 haircuts in one. I’m not even going to try to explain it anymore. Just take a look:
Anyway, back to my hair. When I came back from camp, I bought some clippers so that I could cut my own hair. It’ll pay for itself in about 3-4 uses. However, since I’ve been back, all I’ve been doing is sweating. The past 5 days or so I’ve been sweating nonstop. Literally nonstop. I sweat when I’m sleeping. I sweat when I’m eating. I sweat constantly. Due to the constant sweating, I’ll wait ‘til the weather cools a little before I fix my hair. By the way, when else will I ever wear a flat top?
I haven’t had a chance to update since my last entry because I’ve been at camp. So I actually saved this onto Word and you, my readers, will be reading this after the fact.
The day before coming to camp I had the privilege of going to Kharkiv, the second largest city in Ukraine. The purpose of my excursion was to draw money from the bank because the bank that Peace Corps uses doesn’t have any branches in my town. I took the liberty to explore and enjoy the city. By the way, I did this all by myself. I was so proud of myself for pulling this off without any major problems.
Like Kiev, it has a metro system and the stations are beautiful. Here are some pictures:
I walked around the park near the University station for a bit and then went on a mission to find some shwarma. For my Philadelphian readers, shwarma here is not what you would find at Saad’s on 45th and Walnut. It’s not nearly as good or authentic. It’s simply a shwarma wrap and it’s usually just seasoned chicken with some assortment of vegetables topped with a garlic aioli. It’s about as ubiquitous in Ukrainian cities as funnel cake at an amusement park or boardwalk in America and just as rare to find outside of them. And it’s got the same kind of feel to it. When you’re there, you gotta have one. You just gotta. So with that in mind, you can understand, while I was walking around the city all I wanted was a shwarma and some beer afterwards to wash it down. And when I found it, oh it was heavenly. I almost got two. Actually, later I got another one.
At the metro station I was stopped by a cop. This was the second time that this has happened to me in Ukraine. We’d been warned that minority volunteers tend to get harassed more by the cops here. Luckily I had my ID card and things went smoothly. Here’s how it happened: I went to put my subway token in the slot and the one I happened to pick didn’t work so I stalled for a moment and went to the next one. In that short period when I was dumfounded I caught the attention of the cop on duty at that station and he pulled me to the side. I showed him my ID and he let me continue.
But before when I was in Kiev during training, I was stopped by a cop and didn’t have an ID (we weren’t issued our ID’s at that time and for one reason or another Peace Corps held onto our passports). But we had copies of our passports and so I showed him that. Of course he interrogated me and gave me a hard time for not having proper ID. I happened to be with Mike and Maggie, two of my cluster mates, who were ahead of me. When they saw that the cop was giving me trouble they came back to vouch for me that I was indeed a Peace Corps volunteer and had the right to be in Ukraine. The cop asked for their ID’s too. I think in this case we had power in numbers. I’m sure he didn’t want to cuff three of us. After a long and dramatic pause he let us go. If I’d been by myself it could’ve been a different story.
Walking in the city is fun but not as fun alone. After a couple hours and a couple beers later I decided to go back to Shevchenkove. At the bus station, I bought my ticket but thought the clerk said it was 16.50 gryven. So I sat waiting for change because I thought she was shorting me 3.50 gryvnia for I’d given her a 20. After a few seconds of an awkward staredown I let it go and walked away. I looked at the ticket and found that she meant 16:50 in time. I ended up waiting 2 hours at the station for my bus. There was a bus loading en route to Shevchenkove and I asked some of the people waiting in line if I was allowed to just go on it even though my ticket was for a later bus. They said that my ticket was for the latter and that I couldn’t go on the current bus. Now I realize they said that because of a conflict of interest. They wanted themselves to go on the bus. For you don’t have to have bought a ticket beforehand. It only guarantees a seat. I found this out when my bus had come that there were people paying for tickets right on the bus. It was yet another misunderstanding for the foreigner but at least I got home safely.
