Cargo Ship Booked!

It's confirmed. I will be crossing the Pacific by cargo boat in the beginning of November from Busan, South Korea to Long Beach, California on board the Hanjin Boston. After a long struggle in trying to get the payment made by wire transfer and a lot of paperwork and correspondence, I opened a new bank account, transferred the funds, and made the wire transfer, which was the only means of payment accepted by the company. The payment finally went through and now I will be spending ten days on the ocean in a cargo ship, sailing homeward.

Why do this? A lot of people ask me this. Most people assume that travel by cargo boat is cheaper than flying. It's not. The voyage includes all meals and lodging for about ten days. I've heard that the chefs on cargo boats are excellent. I'll be dining with the captain and the crew and may even get to see how the vessel operates. As the primary function of the cargo ship is to ship cargo and not entertain tourists, it will be upon me to entertain myself. There may be from 5 – 10 other passengers like me aboard.

There's no real advantage to sailing over flying. I'ts not cheaper. It's not particularly entertaining. It's certainly not faster. So why am I doing this? I guess I'm doing this for the experience. How many people do you know that can say that they've crossed an ocean by boat?

Also it will give me a lot of time to read and think. I'll probably read a good deal of the Bible and I'm hoping that I'll be reunited with my Kindle by then.

People often ask me where I got this idea from. I couldn't say where it came from but I can say that it is on my bucket list. I feel as though Inception happened in my head. I really can't trace the genesis of the idea but once it took hold of me, I had to go through with it. Since several months ago I began researching. For any likeminded people, or if you're just curious, this is a good place to start: http://www.flightlesstravel.com/plan/cargo-ships/

More Goodbyes

Friday was my last day in Shevchenkove, the town that I called home for the past 27 months. I decided to make one last visit to my old apartment to say goodbye to my old landlord, Sasha, and some of the neighbors. Sasha would welcome me in and decided that we needed to this right: tea and cookies. So we went to the store to get some cookies. As he was going to make some tea, we found that the water was out at the moment so we went to the well to get water. After he'd fetched some water in the bucket he decided that we needed to go pick some berries from his garden. I said that we didn't need to but he insisted, saying that I will remember this. So I stood there with my hands open while he picked some berries and placed them in my palms. We sat down to some tea, cookies, and berries, and talked.

Yesterday I met with my friends in Kharkiv. They planned a big party for me. They cooked all day and set a table for our last meal together. One notable cultural difference between Ukraine and America is that here, when one is celebrating a birthday, that person is responsible for cooking and paying for everything. I cited this fact and tried to help but they insisted. I said, “But Zhenya, this is my party. I should be cooking everything or at least pay.” Zhenya wittily replied, “But it's not your birthday.” I had nothing more to say. They had me stay in the other room while they set up and wouldn't let me see the surprise. When came time, I walked into a room decorated with balloons, pictures, and Christmas lights amid cheers. They'd set a table with all kinds of salads, vareneky, Champagne, and wine. We spent the evening in true Ukrainian fashion: dining, drinking, singing, and reminiscing. I have the best Ukrainian friends, ever!

Unexpected Conversations

The internet at school has been down all last week and still hasn't been fixed. My sitemate Jing, who was my other source of internet has left for Kiev. So I had to bite the bullet and ask my old landlord if I could come over to use internet. Our last meeting was tainted with some bitterness that I need not expound on. I called him this morning to see if I could come over and everything seemed fine.

Less than an hour later I was over at my old building and my landlord's mom and one of my old neighbors was sitting outside lounging on a bench as they normally do. They were glad to see me for I'd been away most of the summer. They knew of my departure and we reminisced about my time here a bit. Tyotya (тётя - “auntie”) Tamara and Vera (my old landlord's mom) began planning a good bye party for me at the place where I live now. I said, “did you talk to Valya about this?” and they waved me off as if it were of no consequence. They will have their way. Then while petting me, Vera began telling me how much of a good boy I am and how I left Sasha's apartment so clean when I left. Mid-sentence she began to tear up and bawl. About a minute later it was Tamara's turn: she would say some words about me and did the same. I was not expecting this.

Tamara went inside the building and called some of the neighbors from the building and they poured out of the entrance. Soon we were taking pictures amid heavy serzhik (Ukrainian-Russian hybrid) banter. They were jokingly telling me to take some of the children with me to America. I said, “do you have a suitcase?”. Laughter ensued. Tamara said to me, “did you leave any потомик (offspring)?” I promptly answered no. I don't know if she was joking or not.

A Nice Касса Lady? It Must Be A Sign.

Today I bought my train tickets out of here. I'll be leaving Shevchenkove on the 28^th, Kharkiv on the 30^th, Kiev on the 3^rd of October, and finally I will be leaving from L'viv and out of the country on the 5^th. I bought all the tickets for these trains in one transaction at my train station. This to many, including myself, is a stroke of luck simply because the cashier ladies in Ukraine, particularly train ticket cashiers, are notoriously mean. The one I encountered today was abnormally nice. It's all the more puzzling when I consider that she was one of the meanest that I've encountered in the past. But that was when I first ran into her. Since then, there has been a gradual decline in her meanness with each encounter thereafter. And today, I dare say that she was quite pleasant. I thought it appropriate to tell her as I've been telling all the cashier ladies at the stores that I frequent in my town that I am leaving next week. She wished me good luck and even asked me about my time here. I was able to procure all of my tickets with no problems and two of them with bottom bunk seats. The other, though a top bunk seat, is in a kupe wagon rendering that fact irrelevant. Thus far my long route home bears positive forebodings. Now we'll see about this cargo boat...  

Plucking Ducks

Last week I spent most of my time at my site taking care of business. That meant buying boxes and stuffing them with things I needed to send home ahead of time. It also meant squeezing in a few last visits with neighbors. I hadn't seen Natasha and Yeva all summer so I gave them a call at their apartment to see if they were there. Yeva picked up and promptly told me to come over so that I could be fed. This is the way it usually works: I call to see when I could come over and she will say to come over immediately. I still haven't accustomed myself to self-invitations. Calling, knowing that they will invite me, is the closest I've come to it.

I brought them a magnet from my travels as I usually do: this time from Koktebel. It usually serves as a conversation starter: "Where did you travel to this time? Tell me all about it. "

I walked into the kitchen and saw a bucket filled with feathers and a partially bloody duck carcass laying in another one. She began to set the table where I would eat just a few feet away from her handling a dead duck. I excused myself not from squeamishness but so that I could go and get my camera. I came back to a set table of borscht, cold potatoes, tomatoes, bread, and ... duck.

A lot of things just don't faze me anymore. So I sat and attacked that roast duck while we talked and Yeva continued plucking the rest of them.

Conversations In the Kitchen

Sitting at the table was Baba (Grandma) Valya and Ded (Grandpa) Sasha. I sat and joined them for butterbrods, or what we might think of as open-faced sandwiches. Today it would be with liver pâté and copious amounts of butter. She'd made some mint and linden tea and set it on the table as she usually does.

I started the conversation: "Do you remember when you pointed at the sugar and said, 'white death' (белая смерть), and then did the same with the salt, and then you did this:?" I made the motion of scooping two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into one's tea. She laughed and answered affirmatively. She went on to explain to Sasha what I was referring to. Sasha then reached for the "white death" and began shoveling spoonfuls into his mug as Valya carefully watched and counted, "one... two... two and a half". Sometimes Valya will watch me cautiously as she adds sugar to her tea as if I were judging her. This is a running joke that we have. Sometimes she will ask me for permission to add sugar to her tea. And with a grin I reply, "нет"

Valya asked if I would have a butterbrod. I said that I would. So she portioned off some slices of the liver pâté onto a plate. I spread some butter on a slice of black bread. It reminded me of my surprise at how much butter Ukrainians like to put on their bread when I first got here. "How much butter do you use in America?", she asked. I scraped off the excessive butter from my slice of bread and showed them. They looked in disbelief. I said, "Now look at me. I don't spread butter like I used to. I put slices of butter on my bread."

Valya drew my attention to Sasha who was peculiarly spreading the pâté on his slice of bread. "He's already on his fifth slice." I drank my tea and went back to my room.

Welcomed Wanderings

On Tuesday, still at Alla's place visiting, I awaited a call back from Joohee, whom I'd planned to visit in Sovetskiy. I was diligently cooking a meal of spaghetti carbonara and hamburgers for my hosts. They were ecstatic when I offered to cook something different for them. Most people in Ukraine have never had a real hamburger, for what passes as a hamburger here is usually a soggy bun with a disproportionately small piece of meat that is probably not beef with mayonnaise and sometimes some Korean style shredded carrots.

After a satisfying meal, I received a call back from Joohee, who said that it would be okay for me to come by that evening. Now my plans were solidifying. If there is one thing Ukraine has taught me, it is that plans fall through: sometimes the best plan is no plan. Alla and Sergei took me to the bus station where I could catch the bus to Sovetskiy.

A couple hours later I found myself in a small town with a population of about 9000. Joohee and I did some catching up and walked back to her apartment where there was a canning operation going on. I'd done it before but was in no place to be giving pointers on how to can properly. So she called over her sitemate Brad, who had canned some 60+ cans over the summer with his wife Bryn. We chatted, canned, and had some 미역국 (seaweed soup) with rice. I never really liked 미역국 but it was nice to have a small taste of home.

The next day Joohee and I decided to take a day trip to Новый Свет (Noviy Svet). Noviy Svet offers a beautiful hiking trail along the pristine sea among rock formations. They also boast a champagne factory that we didn't have time for.

The next day I'd finally leave for Kharkiv but as my train got in late, I had to run from the train station to the metro, which was probably the last one. Just then my phone died again and i had to rely on my memory (which of late has been pretty bad), to find my friend Zhenya's apartment where I'd be spending the night.
Zhenia is one of my close Ukrainian friends and though our meeting was somewhat haphazard this time around, it was most welcome. We'd catch up on our summers since ABC Camp over some mashed potatoes, chicken, and a little beer. It would be one more day before I make it back to my site.

Dasha biting into her first real American burger 

Dasha, Alla, and Sergei. Alla is my host mom's niece. 

At Noviy Svet. These trees are somehow growing on rocks.