Reflections

It's been more than 2 months since I boarded the plane in Lviv to come back to my life in Philadelphia.

I think about the second trip to my genetic crock pot often. People and places pop into my head at unexpected moments and I find myself smiling at memories of frail yet feisty Catherine, bigger than life Yaraslav and charming Yura- not to mention the lovely Natalya.

l remember telling Maria about the political voice Americans believe they own, how difficult times seem less so with the realization that change will eventually come. This is so true when I think of the miracle of last week's election-how countless citizens stood in line for hours to cast their votes for our first Black president, Barack Obama. I love this country and am proud to be an American. My grandparents' emigration gave us all limitless possibilities and a far easier life than that experienced by the families they left behind.

None the less, my journeys have left me with a deep appreciation and affection for Ukraine and its people-my people. Life there is simple and complicated simultaneously. I remember how uncomfortable I was in hot, steamy Zhuravno with no water or flushable toilets. But what wonderful times I shared there with virtual strangers who opened up their hearts and homes- becoming cherished friends in the process!

It's a long day's night...

My trip home started at the Lviv airport. I've been lugging four heavy jars from Hubici-gifts of local honey, jam and preserves- with little expectation of getting them through customs. The official, an older woman who actually spoke English, kindly took me aside after my baggage went through x-ray. She told me there was no hope that the jars would make it as carry-on in Warsaw. When I protested that it was from my grandfather's village, she smiled and said," Here in Ukraine we understand about honey from grandfather's village, but liquid regulations forbid it as carry-on." She then led me to a small table and advised me to take out some clothing from my checked-in suitcase and substitute the sticky treasures. With trepidation I did so, really afraid for the rest of my clothes. I found room for 2 jars and had to throw the others in the trash. When we came into Ukraine 2 years ago by train, the officials were really scary so this kindness is a good change for Ukraine.

On the plane to Warsaw I sat next to a Hutsul woman, living in Bucks County, PA for nine months of the year, who has a home in Yavoriv-deep in the Carpathians. We really hit it off-she told me about her own wedding on horseback, dressed in full folk dress- musicians playing traditional music with everyone singing. She mentioned that her home was big in Yavoriv and that I should come to visit and gave me her address. I intend to pursue this opportunity and spend time with the Hutsuls, who are related to the Boikos, both being early White Croate tribes (probably with origins in Persia) and, along with the Lemkos, were the first people to inhabit Western Ukraine. The Hutsuls were never enslaved as serfs because of their untameable landscape. They are known as fiercely independent people who have kept their folk customs until this day.

The rest of my trip was long and almost uneventful. In New York, customs took one look at me (tired and bedraggled) and waved me through, unaware of my sticky contraband. I made the last limo to Philly and traveled for 3 hours to arrive home at 2:30 a.m., to find that Alexander had accidently locked me out of my house and, unfortunately, I didn't have the right key! This has been the only flaw of my wonderful trip. Thank goodness my friend Bernice, who lives across the street, was home!

Finding a locksmith on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend was tricky but I found one who had to drill out my deadbolt and replace it-the bill being $300! What a stressful ending to a remarkable journey!

I finally opened my bag to discover that the honey and raspberry preserves made it home intact, almost making up for my expensive mistake!

Last post in Ukraine

Yesterday I moved back to Slav's apartment and caught up with Cousin Leysia and her new husband and baby. They took me back to the interesting Museum of Folk Architecture and Life that my son and I visited on our last trip, where dwellings from all over Ukraine are displayed. It's a huge place-helping me to burn up some of the billions of calories I have consumed in the last several weeks. Next we went to a huge park in Lviv, over 2 miles long. I was impressed with how beautiful and beautifully kept it is. Hundreds of people were enjoying the early evening coolness, feeding swans, roller blading, biking and just relaxing. I now understand how people can live in the exceptionally small flats that most have. They really use the parks as an extension of their living space. Leysia said there is virtually no crime or problems with the homeless in these verdant oasises. They then treated me to a yummy meal in a restaurant called Shakespear. With thoughts of starting teaching next week, I ordered brain and scrambled eggs which was really delicious!

As we traveled around Lviv, I noticed bridal parties all over the place. Leysia explained that it is a Ukrainian custom to take photographs at various monuments and scenic vistas. Most couples are married twice-once at City Hall and again in a church ceremony.

Tomorrow a contingent of relatives will take me to the airport. I feel like I have been here for years yet it seems too soon to leave. I'll miss all these great people and the country itself. I've experienced a trip of a lifetime and I'm very grateful for the opportunity for a second journey to the land of my ancestors.

The Lviv airport is the most unusual one I have ever seen. Built 50 years ago with almost no improvements in the interim, it's just like walking into someone's living room, one that has terrific Soviet-style murals of workers on the ceiling! Arrivals and departures are in the same small space. Ukraine is hosting the World Soccer Game in 2011 and is planning big improvements to the airport.

Hopefully I'll continue my positive experience with Air Lot and arrive at JFK in time for the last limo to Philly-otherwise it's a long night at the airport. Thanks for all your comments and good wishes-they meant a lot to a lone traveler in a foreign land!

Success on the road

Today I traveled to Sambir, a large town about 1 hour south of Lviv. This was quite a feat since I had to navigate transportation systems (bus and taxi) and the language itself, having no relatives to fend for me.

The bus was a small, fairly comfortable vehicle but packed to the roof with passengers and their belongings. I got a seat thankfully, because about 15 people didn't and stood shoulder to shoulder for the entire trip. A Ukrainian cultural oddity puzzles me. I wasn't expecting air conditioning but the refusal to open windows has been surprising. I've been in many homes on very hot summer days. We sit at the crowded table loaded with countless goodies, surrounded by functioning windows, with sweat literally pouring down our faces yet no one ever lets in some fresh air. It was the same on the bus. A skylight was right over my head, bringing in a delightfully refreshing breeze. Suddenly a very burly man,preferring to swelter, reached up and closed my salvation. Thankfully, the weather has turned pleasantly cool.

When I got off the bus, I started showing locals the Internet printout of the Boiko Museum that I cleverly thought to take. Each person sent me, yo-yo like, in opposite directions. Finally I realized a taxi was my only hope-actually I wouldn't have found the place without the driver since it was tucked in a side street behind some buildings.

The museum was small but fantastic. The staff was intrigued that I, an American Bioko, had made the long trip to check them out. Halting English was spoken but they went out of their way to demonstrate various items so I feel certain that I didn't miss anything. Even better, they let me take photos to my heart's content. Now I can go home and post what I found-one of my wishes for this trip.

I can't get over how friendly and helpful Ukrainians are. I think it is very important to them that visitors see their country in a positive way. I have not had one problem.

The only flaw to my adventure was the inability to get something to eat. I sat in a cafe in a lovely little park in Sambir, waiting to order. The staff studiously avoided looking in my direction until finally I got up and left. This has happened before-in fact, I have not eaten out on my own at all. Either I'm doing something wrong or the staff is hesitant to deal with a foreigner, as I obviously am. No problem, it was only an hour back to my hotel where I had a relaxing meal sitting outside on the patio.

Relaxing in Lviv

I can take about a week of intense family research before my mind starts to go blank. Therefore it's very nice to be at this modern hotel, chilling out. They have a pretty good business center and I had wonderful, historical family photos scanned and emailed to me.There's an interesting set of pics of Marko's wife in her coffin and being carried to the cemetery. There's also a great picture of the Hubici Collective during Soviet times.

Slav told me that farming is actually a capitalist system and that it never worked as a socialist experiment. I knew that Stalin starved millions of Ukrainian peasants in a false famine during the 30's in an attempt to break their spirits and force them to accept collective farming. My people were not effected because their land, fortunately, belonged to Poland at the time. After the war, however, these peasants were forced to join Soviet collectives. Maria's mother told me how badly treated the farmers were and how hard they worked, almost like beasts of the fields. They were refused passports so, in fact, they lived almost like the serfs had before 1850. Maria's mom related the good child care she was privy to while raising 3 children and working as an internist. She said the farmers were not given child care-the children were raised by the old people- and the schooling was minimal at best, just 3 or 4 years. Eventually this Soviet mindset changed and the USSR realized it needed more educated people in Western Ukraine. That's when Michael, the youngest child, received a free education to be trained as a doctor. It was impossible for Catherine to get a good education-it was just too expensive.

I decided to stay in Lviv today and went to the Art Museum which has an excellent collection of religious icons. The Ukrainians were very good painters as early as the 15th century. I was tickled to see how much I understood just by sounding out the letters. Words like apostle, Mark, Paul, etc. sound the same as English.

It's quite upsetting to think about how much priceless art was destroyed by the Soviets who were trying to wipe out religion as well as Ukrainian culture. I saw a breathtaking exhibit of Carpathian religious sculpture at the Ukrainian Museum in New York City. It is owned by the current president of Ukrain and he is generous in allowing it to be displayed-although I believe it should be in a museum for everyone to see.

I'm missing the political scene at home. Eastern Europeans are interested in our elections and keep asking me about Barack Obama. It's funny that every time they bring up Bill Clinton they also mention Monica Lewinsky-even the teenagers know about the scandal. Ah, Bill, what a foolish man you were!

A Great Adventure!

I just got back from a wonderful adventure. When traveling, I most enjoy letting the day unfold. Not much of that has happened so far because of being with family. Today I left my hotel, which is a distance from the town center, with the goal of purchasing a necklace I saw at the Ethnographic Museum. I had a map and good shoes and set off with high spirits, enjoying this extraordinary weather. After an hour of vigorous walking, I arrived back at my hotel-obviously having gone in a large circle. Not to be deterred, I approached two young girls, who looked like university students, asking for directions. Amazingly, they go to the same banking institute as Natalyia, my young relative who translated for me in Zhuravno and they know her!

The girls took me under their wings and showed me interesting sights in Lviv as well as taking me to the Ethnographic Museum and several book stores to find some English books. They pointed out the former home of Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch, for whom the term masochism was coined. I was amused to find out that he used to beat his wife whenever she refused to whip him. A marrigae made in heaven! We stopped for a bite at a terrific little coffee house called The Blue Bottle, named for a Ray Bradbury short story. While eating I discovered that Ulina and I had the same tastes in music. We passionately discussed Janis Joplin and most of the artists whose albums grace my shelves. She does not, however, know Leonard Cohen who wrote The Chelsea Hotel, a song about Janis Joplin. We then got talking about the Carpathians. She had just spent time with an old Hutsul couple, sleeping in their lovely home and being treated to authentic foods. This is exactly what I wanted to do-I'm so jealous! She gave me the contact info and, who knows, maybe I will make this journey in the future.

It has been my experience that Ukrainian young people are truly delightful. I fondly remember my exhuberant 13 year old scooter driver, Yura, insisting that he treat me to an Ukrainian ice cream as we walked about Zhuravno. There is something very uncomplicated about these kids.

Well, tomorrow I'm off on another adventure. I will try to find the bus station and go to Sambir where I will visit the Boiko Museum. I am keeping my fingers crossed that I don't travel in any more large circles!

Quick trip to Kolymia

Yuraslav woke me at 6 a.m. to start our journey to the Carpathians. Michael, Irene and Natalya were going back to Zhuravno so I gave them big, grateful hugs-I will miss all of them! And Catherine, oh sweet, dear Catherine! I hope to see her one more time on this earth.

As we backed out of the driveway, Yaraslav pointed out a memorial in the field next door dedicated to the abolishment of serfdom- a condition my ancestors endured off and on for hundreds of years. My people were owned by Polish lords and had to give them labor and goods in return for their protection.

Everything is always complicated in Ukraine. First we had to go a distance to pick up Dimitros- we are visiting his sisters in Kolymia; next we had to pick up translator Maria, who had traveled from Lviv by bus to Stryj. Finally we were on our way!

Traveling with my cousin, an ex-taxi driver, is a hair-raising experience. He drives like a madman, speeding down the road with two fingers attached to the steering wheel, talking over his shoulder to Dimitros in the back seat, while wildly gesticulating with his free hand, all the while lurching from one side of the road to the other to avoid the deep potholes he somehow intuits are there, since his eyes are rarely looking ahead. Suddenly a truck is heading straight towards us-both the driver and Yaraslav are startled to see a large cow in the road. Each takes a quick second to apprise the situation and then neatly swerves around the cow and each other. Whew!

On the way, Yuraslav again plays tour guide and we stop at 2 lovely monasteries. It's good to see that Uraine is restoring these gems, one from the 1100's and the other from the 15th century.

At one point, my cousin suddenly pulls off the road into a forest. As we get out of the car, Maria mentions that we will have a nap. I thought this was extremely odd but, as I have been trying to be a good sport on this trip and live like the natives, I dutifully follow them into the woods, searching the area for a likely napping spot. She means, of course, to say that we will have a snack, not a nap. Out came the picnic basket and Yuraslav's huge and impressive version of a swiss army knife which he uses to expertly slice sausages, tomatoes and cucumbers. This was one of 3 stops for a little bit to tide us over until we get to Vira's house and the inevitable many course supper.

It is amazing how these Ukrainian women manage to create the feasts they do in their very spartan kitchens. Usually they have only a stove, sink and refrigerator and almost no counter space. They put the chopping block on a chair and either bend over or kneel on the floor to prepare the dish. Each course is comprised of many small dishes. How their backs must ache by the end of the day!

What I feared would happen, happened. It was only on the morning of our visit that the guys called Kolymia to let our hostesses know we were coming although I had asked Maria about two months ago if we could make this visit. Danka, unfortunately, was moving that very day into a new apartment and she and her husband were planning to stay at Vira's small house until theirs was organized. No room for the contingent of 4 so we wound up at a nice hotel. This was my preference anyway because sleeping at a Ukrainian house means using one of the many sofa beds tucked here and there-none of which look particularly comfortable. And bathrooms are a real issue. Plumbing is an area in which Ukraine has miles to go before being close to adequate. My hotel room, in contrast, has a flushable toilet, hot shower and a comfortable bed,

Because of the bad weather and word from Lviv that Maria's small son was having difficulties with her absense, we decided to cut the trip short. After another feast at Vira's we left for Lviv. The 2nd thing I feared would happen, happened. I had been after Yuraslav for days to call Slav and let him know I would rent his apartment again. By the time we phoned, the flat had been taken since Lviv was totally booked because of Independence Day celebrations. Slav kindly called around Lviv and found a room at the Hotel Dnister which is twice as expensive as Slav's place and not so well situated but no matter. I've spent almost nothing so far on this trip- thanks to my relatives generosity.

I was happy to be in Kolymia for Ukrainian Independence Day. The toasts at our meal were passionate wishes for Ukrainian prosperity and success. These people love their country so much.

I liked everyone I met -such nice, friendly people. This is a very family orientated country. Three people, so far, have approached me about finding more about their own relatives who emigrated years ago.

A Fairytale Setting

Yaraslav donned his tour guide hat and took us to see the Lavriv Saint Onuphrius's Monastery near Sambir. It was built in 1278, and supposedly contains the burial spot of Prince Lev Danylovych-founder of the city of Lviv. We stopped first at the city council in Sambir to pick up Cousin Dimitro's wife, Anna, who wished to see the site with us. It's quite lovely with some interesting, ancient frescoes.

When we got back, I noticed a commotion in the kitchen. Irene and Halya were fussing over Catherine who was sitting on her bed wearing a fancy babushka. I knew we were going into Hubici again, this time so I could visit the inside of Grandpop's house. I didn't know, however, that Catherine was taking her first trip out of the house in 3 years to join us!




This was both thrilling and scary for me. She's very frail and has great difficulty walking. I kept my fingers crossed the entire afternoon that nothing would happen. We set out in 2 cars on this very hot day, an undercurrent of excitement in the air.

The cemetery where my paternal ancestors rest is large, uneven and overgrown. Catherine sat at the graves of her parents and siblings, obviously overcome with emotion. Ukrainians often display a likeness of the deceased with either a photo or an engraving on the stone. I noticed that Catherine's oldest brother Vasil, named for my grandfather, looks surprisingly like my oldest brother, James, who died this April. I keep finding these unexpected connections on this journey.

Catherine took me to the grave of my grandfather's mother, Eva. She actually remembers the funeral when she was about 6 years old. There is a interesting mixed message here as my great-grandmother is buried right next to the church, a sign of great respect, underneath a sidewalk with no marker. Hmmm...

Next we stopped at my grandfather's home. When Vasil's widow could no longer stay by herself in Hubici, no one else in the family wanted the house so it was donated to the Greek Catholic Church. The grandson of Grandpop's best friend met us there with the key and a briefcase full of pictures and papers. I knew that my grandfather had corresponded with his for years-were some of those letters possibly in that briefcase? (Be still my beating heart!) Alas, no letters and no new photos of my paternal grandparent. Soviets frowned on keeping in touch with the West so all that mail was destroyed years ago. One picture of a group of Austrian soldiers did interest me, even though Grandpop wasn't in it.

Michael pointed out the attic. It was here his interest in his American family was piqued when, as a young boy, he would retreat to read the Ukrainian literature given to all peasants by Prosvita or (Enlightenment societies). He found a photo of a stranger his older brother later identified as their uncle who had emigrated to America in 1902. This captured Michael's imagination and he thought about my grandfather over the years and actually tried to find us back in the 1980's.

We then went to visit Catherine's 90 year old cousin. What a charming man! His wife gave me a large jar of Hubici honey- I can now taste the flowers and sun of my ancestors who have lived on this soil for more than a thousand years! She also gave a jar to Natalya who was extremely moved.

Prior to setting out on this little trip, she confronted me with a look of panic. "Sandra, Sandra!" she confided anxiously, "I just don't think I can stand one more dead ancestor!" I told her the story of how Alexander moaned toward the end of our stay, "If I had a gun, I'd shoot myself right now!" Fortunately, Natalya thought this was very funny so occasionally I break the tension with a surreptitious finger to the temple.

I see the gentle look in her eyes as she speaks with the old beekeeper. Natalya tells me that the woman has lost her own daughters and now there is no one left to care for her and her husband. "Natalya," I say earnestly, "You don't care now but as you listen to all these stories, remember that you will be the family historian someday-you now know things no one else in the family does." She is very quiet.

I've been very impressed with how Ukrainians treat their old people. Yaraslav shows great respect and tenderness to his mother. Michael, the youngest child in Marco's family, remembers when his sister took care of him and made him clothing by hand. Now he is so gentle and patient with his frail sister-they are the only siblings left in a large family. Assisted living facilities are unheard of here-I don't think it's just an economic factor. Ukrainians appreciate the wisdom and sacrifices of their elders and seem happy to give back.

Catherine keeps looking at me with such love-I'm so glad I made this trip while she is still alive. She is very much like me-we actually have the same hair style, once the babuska is removed! She also is the single mother of an only son. She liked building things and taking care of her goats and bees and gardens and is also interested in dreams. Yaraslav showed me a large ladder his mother constructed by hand. Michael told me she would have liked to be educated but there was no possibility in the Polish education system so she has lived her life close to the land in much the same way as our ancestors.


We came home to a truly wonderful feast of lazy man's verenyki and kneidils (sp) which are terrific dumplings filled with plums from Irene's garden. We ate both with fresh, homemade sour cream. Yaraslav treated me to his own salo (raw porkfat). This sounds awful but actually is quite good. It seems he can cook anything-I guess as a result of having a mother who didn't like the kitchen. He makes all kinds of fresh juices, including birch tree, fruit compotes and his borsch is very tasty. Since he has to take care of his mother and several local businesses, Yaraslav only visits his wife and family on the weekends- not an uncommon arrangement in Ukraine.

I have finally uncovered my relatives' diabolical plan - to fatten me up like a turkey and then have me climb Mt. Hoverla, the highest mountain in Ukraine - which is near Kolymia, tomorrow's destination. I have left instructions to bury me in Hubici!

A Computer at Last

This has been an extraordinary trip for a genealogist although it has been frustrating not having computer access sooner. Happily, I'm sitting in the Internet cafe in Dobromil that Alexander and I used during our last visit. What a contrast to Zhuravno, where I finally fulfilled my wish to live like a Ukrainian-meaning with great deprivation but even greater resourcefulness!

Family researchers joke about discovering they come from royalty or some notable personality. Well, I knew about some distant village mayor providing the family surname and realized that's probably all I'll ever find in the royalty department but I was totally unprepared to stumble across a local hero sharing my bloodline! It seems that 18 year old Bohdan Cicik, related to me on my paternal grandmother's side (and looking very much like Uncle Pete!), shot and killed a KBG commander behind the city hall in Dobromil. Captured and wounded, he ripped open his chest injury and died, not wishing to put himself in the hands of the KBG for fear of giving up, under torture, important information.

To commemorate this bravery, the school in Lacko has been named for him. It's such a nice place- with a total of 35 students in grades 1 through 8. The custodian forced open the locked door of the history class and let me look at local artifacts gathered over the years. These, along with an outhouse, well and woodpile, took the school back in time.

On the way home, Yaraslav suddenly swerved into a neighbor's driveway to surprise me and Michael with a new "leaf" on the family tree! Our great-grandmother Eva's mother was Anna Duleba. Her direct descendant, Maria, still lives in Lacko. She and Yaraslav, both strongly opinionated people who don't give in easily, have had a contentious relationship. Thanks to my research, Yaraslav has had a wonderful time teasing her about being cousins (she is not amused!)

Decadent eating resumed today in nearby Hubici, birthplace of my grandfather and his brother Marco. First we went to the home of Marco's son, Stefan. We gathered at the table with his widow, Stefania, some of their children, grandchildren and even a great-grandchild. Oldest son Michael is a married Greek Catholic priest who has a passionate interest in local history. It is frustrating speaking through a translator-in this case, the lovely Natalya who is giving briefer and briefer translations as the week progresses.

I've grown very fond of Natalya who looks up occasionally from texting on her cellphone to perform her duties. She informs me, as she slips outside to take or make calls, that her love life is becoming increasingly complicated due to the ardent attentions of several young men-one is her best friend's boyfriend! She corners me and asks in desperation to tell her the truth, is she fatter than when I last saw her? I look at this raven-haired beauty with her porcelain skin, blue-gray eyes, her petit, rounded young body and assure her that she's perfect.

I can understand her concerns, however. I, through much hard work, recently lost 15 pounds. I was pleased that my relatives noticed and commented on my figure. Now two weeks into my trip, less and less people are noticing the new svelte me while my buttons are getting harder to fasten!

To continue my carbohydrate saga, our small yet oh so full group squeezed into the priest's machina to go to Yaraslava's house for a quick visit. She is the wonderful old peasant woman who found my family for me. I love her and was really looking forward to seeing her again. Last time I walked to her home from Stefania's by forging a small stream. This time, the priest, who obviously shares his cousin Yaraslav's DNA, drove in the stream at break-neck speed. We arrived in record time, with Yaraslava, her daughter and grand-daughter welcoming us with radiant grins.

Yaraslava's daughter Olya, an acclaimed baker and cook, treated us to lovely pastries and a wonderful hot raspberry infusion. Making a connection with these women who are unrelated to me has been especially heartwarming. Thanks to a picture taken by a Canadian I met on the Internet, I became acquainted with Yaraslava on my first trip to Ukraine. She is the one who went to the archives in Stary Sambir and also contacted Marco's daughter, Anna, who is now dead. Anna remembered that my grandfather married a girl from Lacko- which proved to be the missing piece in my genealogy puzzle. Everyone at the table agreed that the story was truly a miracle! I was so happy, also, to see that the gas line has finally come to Lacko and Hubici. Yaraslav's yard was full of chopped wood on our last visit but was very bare this time round. When I left, Olya handed me a bag filled with her homemade preserves!

We arrived home, again stuffed to the gills, for a little rest before Cousin Dimitro and his wife, Anna, come for one of Yaraslav's perfectly roasted chickens with baked apples from the tree outside the door. Perhaps the chicken is also from outside the door -I won't ask!

I'm having a wonderful time!