Traveling Ukraine

For my "grand trip" in 2010 I spent 17 days in several locations in China; this year I decided, along with my friend Gil, to spend a like number of days in Ukraine (15) and Georgia (2). At each end of my 17 day-trip I appended two or three days in the Munich area, both to take in the waning days of Oktoberfest,to practice my German, which had fallen into considerable disuse since the early 1980s, when I studied at the University of Tuebingen, and to visit the incomparable museums of that city. These essays address my activities and reactions to Ukraine in 2011.

Ukraine in the News

I write this essay in the shadow of yesterday's conviction of former Ukrainian Prime Minister Yulia Tymoskenko for acting ultra vires (beyond her powers) in securing an unprofitable gas contract with Russia in 2009. At this point she was sentenced to serve seven years in jail, though most observers believe this time will be reduced, especially because the world's attention will be drawn to Ukraine in 2012 because of Euro 2012, the world soccer championships. I mention this important news because it frames what was, otherwise, fifteen days of pleasure and learning in Ukraine: at every level of Ukrainian life there is a great temptation to practice both grand or petty corruption. I was the victim of it many times, which I will narrate below. Yet, rather than having the corruption theme be the dominant tone of these essays, I would stress that my 17 days in Ukraine and Georgia introduced me to beautiful people, helpful people, layers of painful and inspiring history and, at its base, a deep spirituality (especially in Western Ukraine) that infuses nearly everything part of life. In passing I will mention here that the four areas of Ukraine I visited were Lviv (Western--five days); Kiev (Central--three days); the Crimea (Black Sea--five days) and Odesa (Black Sea--two days).

Beginning with Spirituality

Within 24 hours of my arrival in Lviv, Western Ukraine on Sept. 16, I witnessed two seemingly incompatible phenomena: earnest, and public, demonstrations of religion (such as kissing of crosses festooned with flowers in public parks), and the most high fashion among women. The women take incredible care for their appearances; the heels are super-high, the bodies are lithe, the skirts short and the faces youthful. They willingly endure the almost ankle-breaking inconveniences of cobblestone streets in the old city of Lviv, both to look their best and to demonstrate their piety. Brides were everywhere; I saw many a white-clad women, with husbands/grooms in tow, being photographed on the long plaza stretching from the Western style opera house to the monument to Ukrainian nationalist Taras Shevchenko.

And, speaking of Shevchenko, Western Ukraine, with Lviv as its unofficial capital, is the hotbed of contemporary Ukrainian nationalism. The country has been independent for only 20 years but its consciousness of being "Ukraine" goes back hundreds of years, though the story of its langauge and political consciousness development is far to complex for me to try to tell here. Suffice it to say that Lviv has been under the control of five or six great powers since its founding in the mid-13th century--the early Russian state, the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Poland, Austria-Hungary, Poland again (after WWI), the Soviet Union and finally, in 1991, it achieved independence. But the joy of independence has to be tempered by the reality that most other places in Ukraine, such as Kiev and especially the Crimea and Eastern Ukraine, don't really see themselves as Ukrainian patriots. Russian language is used by most in non-Western areas (many Ukrainian people in the East are only monolingual--Russian in speech, not Ukrainian), and the history of the areas is more sympathetically tied up with Russian history. For example, Odessa on the Black Sea and the Crimean resort towns, such as Yalta or Alupka, or the Russian naval-staging ground in Sevastopol, owe either their origin or continued viability to Russian money or vision. Catherine the Great, for instance, wanting an outlet to the Black Sea, founded Odessa in the 1780s; even today it is a Russo-European city, that devotes little of its time to cultivating a Ukranian identity.

Western Ukraine's spirituality is fueled by the strength of the Greek Catholic Church, an incredibly vibrant movement of about five million people who are orthodox in ritual and theology but devoted to the West in governance. The technicalities go back to the 16th century when Western Ukraine, whose religious origins were Orthodox Christian, was under the control of Poland--a Roman Catholic land--and the Polish rulers wanted to appoint (Western) Catholic bishops. A sort of compromise was reached, resulting in this Greek Catholic Church. The worship centers on St. George Cathedral in Lviv, perched high on a hill overlooking the Lviv University and an expansive city park. I walked into the cathedral on a Sunday morning and was roundly criticized by one of the 70-something widows who keep watch for the dignity of the facility. Apparently I had let my hands stray into my pockets....rather than having them folded before me.

In any case, on Saturday evening Sept. 17, I went with my friend Gil and his wife Ira (a professor at Lviv University), and we drove to the countryside, over almost impassible roads, to take part in an evening mass at a Greek Catholic monastery about 20 kms from town. Her family has had a small home near the monastery for three generations, and they look to those simple and whitewashed structures as a kind of spiritual home. I learned that during Soviet times the monastery (a Basilian one--shaped by the piety of Basil the Great of Cappodocia) was, like countless other religious facilities throughout the country, changed into a home for disabled people. But, rather than providing services or any kind of expertise/counseling, the facility was strictly a "warehouse" for the disabled (so my hosts).

Well, we arrived at the monastery, housing perhaps 40 monks in a large compound, and made our way to the church. Father Andre, the abbot, came by to greet us, with Ira speaking to him in Ukrainian. As the service continued, however, Father Andre seemed to take an almost fixed interest in us. Though he faithfully discharged the ritual, he intently stared our way, making us feel both welcome and a little uncertain. After the service he invited the three of us for "dinner"--which happened to be water with stewed tomatoes covered with cheese. We learned a little about each other and, after dinner, we took a walk together in the orchard.

In a scene that reminded me of Chekhov, the four of us trudged out in the cooling evening amid the rows of apple trees, seeking some apples to eat but, even more, seeking some insight into ourselves. Father Andre would look intently at each one of us, make an educated (and usually correct) guess about our lives and then ask us to explain ourselves. The insight that he demonstrated was, in fact, almost eerily uncanny. As we walked, he looked at me and said, "It has been five years since you made a major life change." I admitted that it was almost precisely five years ago that I gave up my law teaching to go "on my own" in consulting, language study, book-writing and travel. He wanted me to explain, to tell him how it fit into a life of faith, how it made me feel, and then he blessed me. He did the same for Gil and Ira, making insightful comments that always came back to the centrality of the rosary or to spiritual concepts for a happy life.

His own story mirrored the recent checkered history of Ukraine. He was first recruited out of school in the mid-1970s by the Soviet army to serve in East Germany. Later he was sent to technical school but, eventually, he decided to try to get a little schooling as preparation for the priesthood and was ordained in 1985, in the midst of huge changes that were beginning to roil the Soviet system. Now he builds the monastery; the priests are dirt poor, but his life is so pervaded by an adherence to faith that it was as if God had compensated for material poverty by giving him an incredibly rich and insightful spiritual life. I interpreted that opening Mass, just a day after I entered Ukraine, as an indication to me that I would get most out of my trip, and perhaps out of life in general, if I always rooted my quests and desires in the realm of the spirit.

Well, at this rate I may never get to my trip--but I think I can go more quickly now, in the next essay.

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