Chapter 266: Oct 19 - Odessa, Ukraine (3) (Sunday)
Heaven... I'm in heaven,
And the cares that hung around me through the week,
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak,
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.
So yes, feeling a little silly today. Those lyrics were from a song Momma used to love. Sometimes listening to it and playing it for Poppa was the only way she show her love for him. She couldn’t bear to be touched on some days, it was too painful and she was so fragile. Poppa … he was so sad. But when she would ask to have that playing when he would walk in the door, he knew she loved him even while the pain was taking her from him.
Oh boy. I didn’t mean to get weepy. I don’t want to spoil my good mood. Vit was able to accompany me today. I wish we could have just been on our own, but something is better than nothing and for as long as I can, I want to make the higher salary to help Vit obtain his dreams. And support him. My day has been good. Vit’s day has not been bad but he is a man who is distressed at the possibility of showing strong emotion to strangers, so he was a bit stiff at times. He finally brought himself to read the papers that he was given concerning his biological origins. His mother was born in Odessa but her family was originally from Transcarpathia and extremely insular. So for him, this journey is less and less an academic activity, but an attempt to find a connection he was never allowed to have. And wonder if he should bother with now that he seeks citizenship elsewhere.
“Vit, this place? It will always be part of us in some way. But I have come to feel … perhaps understand … that each of us is a bigger piece for the other than this … place … this Ukraine … could ever be.”
“Ah, my wise wife,” he said after thinking my words over. “Yes. This is just a place but, I do not wish to have regrets. I do not wish you to have regrets. I cannot arrive if I never leave.”
“Now who is being wise?” I asked then I kissed his cheek. “Please don’t be miserable. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I am not miserable Veta. It has taken time but … my beginnings are not my fault. Anitchka’s end was not my responsibility. There really is no one to blame or hold accountable. Not even the Russian government and the orphanage that we were put into. Without the orphanage, well I would not have survived the street at such a young age and could not have protected my sister. Perhaps my life could have been easier. Things happened that should not have. But they have made me who I am today.” He brushed some hair back from my face. “And I would live it all over again if I knew with certainty it would put me here with you.”
And he says he isn’t romantic. Honestly.
At least I was able to provide him was some fun and retail therapy opportunities today, our last day in Odessa. The last group of personnel that signed up for excursions did so to see the Privoz Market. After watching them spend their per diem I can say with certainty that our ship does not need ballast.
Privoz is a well-known bazaar that has both a wide selection of local and international wares. Located in the heart of Odessa, it opened in 1827 and is one of the oldest in Ukraine. The market’s name means “driven” in Ukrainian, a nod to the days when wares were sold from the backs of horse-drawn carts. As a local saying goes, “There is nothing that you cannot buy at Privoz.” The gigantic farmers’ market sells everything from locally grown meat and produce to electronics and imported world goods. We walked through the four two-story buildings connected by arches with forged iron gates that comprise the “Fruit Passage.” It wasn’t my preferred method but to give everyone time to shop to their heart’s content I divided the larger than normal group into smaller sizes. Some went with one of our guides and a security personnel. Another group went with the other guide and my second security person. A third group went the remaining two security personnel both of whom I knew spoke enough Ukrainian that they could help with any language barrier that might come up, but they could also call my communicator for assistance. I took the fourth group with Vit and the few “hardheads” that were making my acquaintance. It all worked out quite well once they realized I was more than willing to help strike a bargain for them so long as they were reasonable and respectful with our hosts and the vendors. There were the numerous stalls in the fish and meat houses where I encouraged them to purchase some nibbles to keep them from shopping purely because they were hungry. A couple from the other groups wished they’d been so wise after buying a lot of local junk food.
One of the snarkier women … well before she settled down and started to treat me like an ally instead of the enemy … did ask, “Your husband. He is … well?”
I chuckled. “The chocolate is for me. The rest?” I shrugged. “He works hard and long hours. Occasionally he just needs to cut loose.”
“Ah. And the … er … stick?”
“It isn’t a stick. It is more like a mace. It is actually called a bulawa, a Cossack weapon and very effective in battle. Many royal scepters are based on the shape of such a weapon. And Vit collects reproductions.”
“Oh. It’s a reproduction.”
I chuckled. “Yes. Can you imagine trying to send a real mace home, much less get it back on the ship?”
She chuckled but I could hear that it was exactly what she had been wondering if we’d be able to do. Honestly. Of course I hadn’t gotten as good a look at it as I thought I had. Before we returned to the ship, Ms. Snark wasn’t the only one wondering how Vit was going to pull off that feat.
Chocolate and weapons weren’t the only thing on Vit’s shopping list but I’ll start with the chocolate. Hopefully describing it will not make me dream of it. One piece was enough to make me wonder how I was going to get it home without Angelia sniffing it out. I’m not near the chocoholic that some of my sisters are but I might could be persuaded if Lviv chocolate was on the menu.
Lviv Chocolate Factory is the only one of its kind in Ukraine. All chocolates are handmade with great care. The factory uses the same traditional production technology as they have since the Medieval era when they came to be. Lviv chocolate
[1] melts in your mouth like something truly decadent. It’s like being wicked without sinning. Oh my. Let’s put it this way, there was a sign in the vendor’s stall that said,
“Warning, You cannot wipe off Lviv chocolate from your fingers and lips with tissues or napkins. It is highly recommended to lick it off delicately and thoroughly.” Mmmmm. Chocolate.
Goodness, I need a bib just thinking about the pieces hiding under our bed. Best describe the next goodie, Poltava Honey. Poltava region is considered to be a cradle of Ukrainian culture with its songs, language and traditions. It is also one of the ecologically cleanest regions in Ukraine, and as a result has become the perfect spot for bee farming. Poltava honey is one of the most popular in Ukraine and abroad, and has a unique flavor, a mixture of buckwheat, herbs and prairie flowers.
And have we ever left a place without trying the “local fire water”? Vit is already fond of Horilka, or so he tells me. I heard him talking to Henry about it our first day in port. It has quite as history, dating back to the 16th century. It is essentially a 40% solution of ethyl alcohol to water. Eye watering. The main difference between vodka and horilka is that the later utilizes peppers, thus making it burn (
hority in Ukrainian) in your mouth and all over your body. In addition to pepper, some recipes also contain honey. It gives the horilka a soft taste and eliminates the alcohol (read fuel) smell. It is recognized as the purest drink in the world, or so claim the makers. I asked if it was similar to Everclear and some of the men in the discussion snorted saying that Everclear was for women. Sure it is. I heard big talk. I decided to test the theory and tossed back a shot, managed to keep my face straight and then said to all, “Nice. It’ll at least clear your sinuses.” I walked away and all the men stared at Vit. He told me it was very difficult to keep his composure.
When he walked back over to me I said, “Yes, well you need to find me something with butter in it. Soon. I do not like this peppery drink one single bit.”
“Butter?”
“It works when I eat too many hot peppers.”
“Ah. Perhaps a lady’s … er … powder room?”
What goes down must sometimes come up. And that is exactly what I let happen with that pepper water. Bleck. I came out of the stall to find one of the other women that had seen me “toss it back” trying not to dissolve into giggles. I asked, “Did Vit semd you to check on me?”
She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Oh tell me they got that on film,” she said pointing to where she thought the body cam was.
“The toss in? Yes. It coming back out? No. It gets turned off in the restroom or other such locations.”
She finally lost it and had to laugh or have apoplexy. I then had to explain to the monitor that was taking care of the restroom at the time. She started laughing too, as did some of the other women in there. Glad to make everyone’s day. They all said, “We won’t tell. The look on their faces when you did it was just too …” Giggle, snort, laugh.
I left and tried to return to Vit and our group only to find a commotion over by the vendor’s stall. “Oh my. What happened?”
Vit asked in an odd voice, “You are well?”
“Of course. Why?”
I heard a moan and saw a vaguely familiar young man on the ground just that moment coming around. “Oh Dear, I hope I didn’t start something. He needs something solid in his …” The young man suddenly sat up and grabbed the nearest trash bin. “Never mind.”
The men were all laughing and slapping Vit on the back saying Peace Mission personnel could come to the market any time they wanted to. We were good fun. I later found out Yegor was heard to mutter, “Never go up against her. No. I won’t speak of it. Just trust me, never go up against her.”
The last of Vit’s purchases were not consumable but clothing. A Ukrainian vyshyvanka is not only a national symbol of the country but is also a real piece of art. The story of vyshyvanka goes back centuries, but no one knows exactly when the first one appeared. There has been embroidery in this area of the world since before the birth of Christ. Vyshyvanka is a traditional item of clothing, usually a shirt or a blouse, made from linen and decorated with embroidered patterns. Ukrainian vyshyvanka have long played the role of a talisman against the dark forces. It was believed that the embroidery on the chest protects the human soul from destruction, decay and dying. Embroidery on the shoulders, especially in menswear, empower and defend against enemies. I embroidered Vit one when we were first together, he wore it as his wedding shirt. He still cherishes it and it is wrapped in acid-free tissue paper and is in the same box as my “wedding dress.” I also have a night shirt in the vyshyvanka design that Vit is quite fond up but for a … er … different reason. I don’t know what possessed him to purchase what he did. Some of the pieces were traditional and some were more modern. He bought them for both of us. I notice he paid particular attention to the ones with a label that said “made in Ukraine.” The women running the booth were very happy with the sale. They folded all of them up and put them in a shipping box and I know that’s going to be sent home, but I haven’t got the foggiest idea when.
I dared anyone to complain about having to carry all their purchases. As it was some were only limited by their faraday bag and how well they could pack. Vit is lucky I was willing to play pack mule for some of his or even he would have been at pains to find a way to get them back to the ship and through security. Luckily for everyone the end point for the morning’s excursion was the pier and that I had warned security beforehand so they could run things back and then return to me if they were on the next excursion. Most were not so I didn’t have to justify the stop too much.
Vit returned triumphant. He’d called Polina and told her he’d been able to get the chocolates she’d requested. Oh. So that was the reason for the ridiculous amount. Yegor’s appetite is legendary. He would even give Angelia a run for her money. In exchange, she turned a blind eye to some of his purchases. Tit for tat. None would be used to the detriment of the Pease Mission and it is good to have friends in interesting places.
Our afternoon excursion was to Akkerman, one of the region’s most strategically important fortresses. The 13th-century Akkerman Fortress, also known as Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi, is an imposing citadel that dramatically overlooks the Black Sea. Its sweeping view of the Dniester River estuary as it spills into the sea gave King Stefan I an advantage over the ever-threatening Turks. However, the Turks prevailed in 1484 and gave the fortified town its current name. At the fortress, surrounded by walls stretching more than a mile and a 20-foot-deep moat, we toured three courtyards, the residential wings, the garrison and the arsenal before being given some free time and the run of the place to take photos and have a picnic tea that for Vit and I doubled as the lunch we’d missed while traveling to and from the market. As soon as I got the last personnel aboard the ship weighed anchor and pulled away from the pier.
No more quick reports that I turned over to someone else. Now it is myself alone that must gather all of the excursion reports, assuming there are any others, and put all of the information into a form that fits both the demands of the Home Office and the usefulness of our onboard security office. I also needed to collate any onboard entertainment though I know there will be little of that. Polina gave me a few requests for info that needed to be changed around and since it didn’t conflict with the report format the Home Office needed I was able to incorporate it into the template that I have created. Vit came to find me when I didn’t show up for dinner, took one look at my face and said, “Ah. The reports. Now you sympathize?”
“I always sympathized. I just didn’t know how close to murder you must have been a few times.” He chuckled when I eyed the letter opener on one corner of the desk that I had been given to use. I then said, “Please tell me I haven’t kept you from eating.”
“Nii. But now you will eat. Yes?”
“As soon as the computer understands I mean for it to send the blasted report, not make copies of it and send to locations I didn’t not request it to go. It keeps trying to go to the wrong parties and I have to stop it and start all over again.”
Vit became serious and walked around the desk. “May I?”
I gave him a look the question deserved and said, “Of course.”
After a moment he cursed very creatively and said, “Chiefs Ivanov needs to be informed.”
Turns out I had inadvertently caught someone trying to hack the ship’s computers. It was traced, the personnel and staff dealt with, and I finally got something to eat but only because Vit walked into the kitchen and made it himself.
Scandalized I yelped, “You didn’t!”
“I did. Exceptions must be made. If they will not do it then there will be consequences. Now eat. You are too thin.”
“And you are bossy,” I retorted taking a huge, grateful bite of the omelet he’d fixed me. “And a wonderful cook and a better husband.”
“Ah, you notice.”
We were being a little silly, but I knew tomorrow he and Yegor would be playing with the toys Dylan sent. Sigh. Why won’t people stop? We aren’t telling anyone what to do, we are simply trying to get them to talk to each other so problems can be resolved without violence to the mutual benefits of all parties involved. We aren’t asking for gratitude for Heaven’s sake, just a little cooperation.
As Poppa used to say, Peoples is peoples. It is from
Fiddler on the Roof. And very apropos these days. I am turning in. Tomorrow looks to be wicked busy between one thing and another and I don’t want Vit to start suggesting that he will call Derrick if I lose another ounce.
[1] Lviv Handmade Chocolate