"Your Head Will Explode"

Here I am with a warm beer (pronounced "pee-va" in Russian) in hand, waiting for Dima and Irina to decide if this is a good swimming spot. This was taken on our last day in Ukraine, one which we had hoped would be kind of a day of rest, since our flight home the following day was going to require us to get up at 2:00 a.m. the following morning, and there was all that packing stuff to do, as well. How does one put six bottles of vodka in a suitcase to insure no breakage? Anyway, apparently resting wasn't on the agenda for that day. Swimming and shashlik (a kebab barbecue) was the plan. I was also informed that the hat was a necessity, not an option, but I do think I was kind of stylin' in it. It was pretty amazing that we had to think as hard as we did about whether or not that algae-infested body of water was the place to dive in, and it was a good thing when we headed back to the Lada to move on to the next stop.

Dima found this reserved campground area, and told Bill, Irina, and me to get out of the car. After he ordered Zach to get into the front seat, they were off. We had come to call this particular string of events "doing a Dima". During the approximate hour-and-a-half that we waited in the 100-degree temperature for their return, I had the impulse to burst into song, choosing that great sing-along by Queen, "We Are the Champions." It might have been the highlight of my day when Irina exclaimed, "Freddie Mercury!" Bill looks pretty good in the hat, too, don't you think?




The title of this piece is what Zach told me over the telephone after he had been in Ukraine for about three weeks, living in a three room apartment with our cousin, Lucy. Lucy's daughter, Irina, and grandson, Dima, were also there much of the time, though they didn't actually live in Kramatorsk. The warning was something like this: "Mom, when you get here, just don't try to figure anything out. If you do, your head will explode. I'm doing much better since I learned the rules." He's a pretty smart guy, if I must say so myself. And certainly right on target with that particular observation. It turns out that Ukrainian hospitality consists mostly of dictating to guests how they will spend virtually every minute of the day. What time you'll wake up, what you will eat, whether or not you can go for a walk, or buy a certain thing that you think looks like a souvenir. And we were very special guests, because we were family, deserving of the most attentive hosting possible. Our last day with our new-found family in Ukraine was most definitely one of their best efforts at premium hospitality. We eventually found an acceptable place to swim and picnic, and, after a late evening dinner, made it to bed a little after midnight.

By the way, if you're ever traveling from a place where it is difficult, maybe impossible, to find anything like bubble-wrap, and you need to baby your bottles of vodka for the trip home, do just that. Each one of ours made the journey safe and sound, wrapped in a disposable diaper.