Yesterday I decided to go to the station to get my boarding pass printed out which I'd ordered online for my new departure date three days hence. I like it here so much I decided to stay longer, even though I need to subtract the equivalent number of days I will be able to spend in Lviv.
After much asking around I figured out which of the many minibuses to take. The numbering system is confusing to me. My system is to get on the bus and say to the driver in my broken Ukrainian where I want to go. Sometimes a passenger who knows a little English will help us figure this all out. From this I find it's the number 9 bus.
At the station i am able to show my boarding pass on my smartphone and get the boarding pass printed. Then I walk around the station and take pictures. it is a beautiful day and they are painting the station a bright yellow. It looks very nice and I wonder where they get the money to do this with the economy down so far and who decides to do this.
Then i notice this hotel. Go over and check it out. It's quite nice and maybe I'll stay even longer, in Mukachevo. My Inn is filled up after my current departure date. But this hotel is only 10 minutes from the town center by bus which I now know how to work, so this would be convenient to the town center too.Next I want to get the bus to visit the castle. It turns out I have to bus back to town to get the bus to the castle. This takes a while to figure out after i realize the bus I am waiting for doesn't show up here. This nice young woman helps me figure this out. We talk a mixture of English and Ukrainian. She tells me she understands English but finds it more difficult to speak it. I find it just the opposite. I can speak it (what little I can ) but find it harder to understand.
Back to town and I get on the right bus to the castle and am sitting next to this old guy (I realize I'm as old or older than most of the "old" people I see, but I see that as a positive .. my not thinking this til I think about it). I ask him in Ukrainian if he is Ukrainian. I know he is but it is something I know how to say in the language. He says yes in Ukrainian. I tell him I'm American. He gives me a friendly smile and says "delaco". I recognize the word but can't remember what it means til i look it up on my smartphone later It means "far away". I tell him I am going to the castle hoping he will tell me where to get off.
Good thing I did this as I thought the bus drove up to the castle. When we are at the foot of this high hill on which the castle sits, he gets up and steps back indicating I should get off here which I do. Had he not done this, I would have stayed on the bus and missed my stop.
Another long hill to climb which seems to be a big part of my tourist activities but, gives me something to brag about and is great exercise.
Two paths diverge on the way to the castle. Channeling Frost, I say to myself "and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference". As it turned out, it really did, as I never made it up to the castle.
1/3 of the way up the hill I see these 2 guys in front of some paintings. I stop to talk to them. I'm taking every chance I get to talk Ukrainian as I saw a Ted talk where this guy explained how he learned to talk 5 languages. After many different courses and diligent hard work he found that none of this worked for him but just plunging into talking with people did. So I am doing this and think it works far better than you'd think. I think there are many reasons why this works including that we connect visual cues, and use sign language with greater "live" motivation than reading out of a book and with the greater support and interest for learning live with another person.I talk to the two guys and strangely they don't try to sell me the paintings, but just seem to want to talk. Part of the less aggressive nature of the people here I've noted before. I like the paintings and buy a little one for $10 and pull out a $20 bill as the painter quoted the price to me in dollars He takes the money and runs down the hill for change before I can stop him to give him the right change in local currency which i did have.
He comes back up the hill, sweating and out of breath and gives me the right change or maybe a little more. We get talking and I ask if they can mail the paintings to me as there is another I really like but it won't fit in my suitcase. A long discussion amongst the three of us ensues. The painter's friend speaks broken English, the painter none at all.
The painter offers me the bigger painting I like for 1/2 the price written on it which results in it being about $15 and I pay him in hryvnias this time
It turns out we need to go to get the proper documentation for customs and can get this at the artists' school in town. So off all three of us go to do this. The painter packs up his paintings and rides off on his bicycle. The other guy and I walk down the hill and take the bus into town. We get to know each other during the hour or so we spend walking down the hill, taking the bus, walking about town and waiting for the painter to arrive at the art school on his bicycle.
When our bus arrives in town he tells me we will have to wait for the painter as it takes longer to ride a bike here than take the bus, even tho we had to wait for the bus and it seemed to take a winding way, and the painter got a head start on us as we had to walk down the hill and wait for the bus.
I suggest we go get a cup of coffee, my treat. He demurs and suggests we walk about town. So we do, though i'd rather sit down. He gives me a guided tour and points out some things I'd missed: the statue of a famous Transcarpathian (the region we're in) author (history not fiction). The angel who saved the city from the enormous rains that flooded up to the top of the river bank but not over. The amount of water to do this is incredible since there is a lot of low land next to the river that had to be filled prior to the river's climbing the bank. 
We then walk to the painting school, but the painter has not arrived. My new friend calls him on his cell phone but there is no answer. He figures he doesn't hear the phone as he is riding his bike. While we are waiting he walks me over to a statue of a man with a cat. You pet the cat's head and the man's hand for good luck which I did. I believe luck is very important and believe I've had more than my fair share, but don't want to take this for granted. So I pet the cat and the man's hand.This whole venture is, of course, taking up the better part of the day by now and I haven't seen the castle. But, I tell myself, this live experience and getting to talk to the people is more important and I can go see the castle tomorrow since I've extended my visit to Mukachevo.
The painter arrives and we walk into the painting school. While there, I feel a connection to home, seeing a copy of one of my favorite paintings, Bruegel's "Hunters in Winter" a copy of which I have in my living room and also having had the good fortune to see the original years ago in Vienna.
They get me to write down my name, but can't read it as they gave me a grease pencil and a tiny piece of paper to squeeze it on. So I show them my passport from which they can read and copy my name, but it turns out they have no other need for my passport for the document they are preparing.They fill out and print this document on the computer.
I have no clue what it says, of course, but figure they know what they're doing. The "Russian" tells me I have to give them, I think it was, 5 hryvnias (about 25 cents) or maybe it was less, for printing the document, which I do.
We walk outside and it appears we are not going to the post office. The guy in the art school has apparently told them they are likely to "lose" the paintings in the post office. So what now?
An argument erupts between the Russian and the painter. Finally I ask the Russian what they are saying. He says the painter wants to go get a cup of coffee and introduce me to a guy who speaks good English. Great idea in my mind. But the Russian decides to leave and I thank him. Earlier when I took pictures he did not want his picture taken. I'm not sure why. Playing hooky from work? No, I think he's retired. Somehow involved with the military?
The painter takes me to this small cafe, just 3 tables, all filled, and introduces me to this guy and then we leave (i'd wanted to ask him to talk to the painter and clarify why we weren't going to the post office).
We go to a nearby cafe and get a cup of coffee. During all our time together the painter talks directly to me non stop, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I don't speak Ukrainian. The few phrases I know, i speak well enough to make some people think I can understand them far better than I do.
The painter writes his name and telephone number on the back of his paintings. I would call him if I had more time here just to sit and talk as he is not deterred by my lack of comprehension and I think I could learn from him to speak this language if I persisted with it long enough. I find it great fun to try to do this although I believe I lack any natural talent for learning languages.
I ask him if he is Ukrainian, knowing of course that he is, but this is one of my very limited number of phrases I can use to make conversation. He tells me he is not Ukrainian. I ask him again if he is Ukrainian, and I am sure he says no. So I get the waiter to come over who speaks fair English. He tells me the painter is Romanian, but he has lived here all his life. Interesting. He doesn't consider himself Ukrainian.
We leave the cafe and shake hands but he wants to take me one more place. He has already introduced me to a couple of painters who are painting on the square. We walk into this store with paintings on the walls for sale and art supplies. He handles and looks at a tube of paint. I go into the archway looking into the next room with paintings on the wall. When I turn around, he is gone. I walk to the door, look out and see him riding away. This makes me feel a little odd but I say to myself that we had already shook hands and I guess said goodby when he suggested he take me to this store.
I walk back to my Inn and tell the manager at the desk I want to send these paintings back to America. He is a take charge guy. Although he doesn't speak any English he talks into his lap top with a translator and a woman's voice says in English what he's saying in Ukrainian. A little disconcerting until I realize it's really him talking, but in a woman's voice.
He rushes me over to the neighborhood post office where they tell us they can't do what we want. So he tells me he has to take me to the "new" post office (or rather the woman inside the computer tells me this). We will go at 5 o'clock, 45 minutes from now. Great, I am exhausted and can lie down for a bit.
I then take a quick picture of my paintings, in case I never see them again after they disappear into the postal system. Not well posed, but not necessary as it won't matter if I never see them again to have good pictures just to disappoint me.As I look at the pictures they are beginning to look better and better. Perhaps, it's because of the effort put into getting and dealing with them? I am no expert in art, but my daughter who minored in art history in college will be able to tell me. And the Russian kept telling me how good the painter is and, of course, most importantly, I like them.
But, they definitely won't fit in my suitcase and I would rather not lug them around, so it is with hope in my heart that we head out to the "new" post office. Strangely, rather than heading into town we are heading away from the center. But, we soon arrive at a post office, but it sure doesn't look new. The clerk in this post office shakes her head no.
So we jump back in the car and the inn manager drives like hell which is ok since I am in the back seat. (He had waved me from taking the front seat which had a lot of animal hair on it.) Also reassuring are rosary beads and a cross hanging from the mirror as in this part of the world saints protect you from peril.Our first stop is at the lawyer's office. I can now read the Cyrillic alphabet which is a great joy because when you do, words reveal themselves which are similar in English. The word when sounded out is "Advocate" which I know in Portuguese is the word for lawyer. Out from the office comes a woman and I think maybe, she is, and we are going to need, a lawyer to process this transaction. Or maybe she's the manager's wife.
At the post office we go to one clerk she sends us to another who confers with another in a back room. The Inn manager gets in an argument with them and says, in disgust, the first word that I've understood him say to me "bureaucrat". He prevails, however, and it turns out they are going to set themselves to this difficult task. And with enthusiasm as well, as all of us participate in wrapping the package.
The manager and I write the addresses, Inn for return, and mine for destination. I pay 460 hryvnias or rather 60 less which the manager advances to me. He knows I'm good for it since he had me pay the extra 3 days up front I'm staying here.
When we walk out of the post office, I suggest we go to a Bankomat (ATM), but he waves me off saying "Zatra" (tomorrow). He then says good by and I understand I am to walk back to the Inn as he drives home with the lady who I think is his wife.
Elated, I walk home, take a shower and walk to my favorite restaurant by the river, just a block from my Inn.
While I'm sitting there, after ordering for dinner, I realize I know one of the two guys sitting at the next table. I think he's the taxi driver who was so appreciative of my tip, just 50 cents. I figure if that's him he will recognize me and as his friend goes to the WC, he looks over and a look of recognition lights up his face.
I had been thinking of lining him up to take me to the train station a few days hence, but decided this would be too complicated to transact with our limited linguistic comparables and would not want to be waiting for him after miscommunicating and have him not show up and miss my train. But, then it occurs to me to get his cell phone number and I can call him on the day of my departure rather than trying to do this in advance where he might forget or other things intervene to prevent his arriving on time.
He comes over to my table with his beer and sits down and then his friend, after some apparent reluctance, but much urging, joins us.
Both the taxi driver and his friend are Ukrainian and natives to this town, Mukachevo. They both teach "physical culture" (gym teachers or coaches). The friend is the taxi drivers "coach" and it turns out my taxi driver is a world class walking athlete. Or was some years ago when he won the Soviet championship competing, he tells me waving his arms with great pride, with athletes from Belarus, Russia, Ukraine, and Kazakhstan. The friend is now 42 and the taxi driver,I think, 5 years older.
The friend asks me how old I am and looks both startled and incredulous when I reply. We then make sure we are talking about the same number (my age) by trying to repeat it in both languages and finally, the taxi driver enters it on his phone to show me and be sure we've got it right. I find this conversation very satisfying.
They ask me why i am in Ukraine. I say tourist. They re-ask, apparently, thinking I must be here for some other reason. Then they want to know why I decided to come here. I tell them it is a beautiful country i find very interesting and off the beaten track and very good value because of the favorable exchange rate. All this, of course is in broken English and my very very broken Ukrainian. The friend keeps apologizing for his English. People here don't expect foreigners to speak Ukrainian, but think they should be able to speak English.
I ask them about the war with Russia. They tell me Russia has a very bad government, but they do too. They do not think much of Poroshenko, the Ukrainian, President, or, I believe, the Prime Minister either.
The taxi driver says, repeatedly, that the Ukrainian people are good people and the friend says repeatedly the people are not "political". My reading of Ukraine current history tells me that since the break up of the Soviet Union, and Ukraine's independence, Ukraine has been pillaged by one government after another. Indeed prior to the recent revolution, Ukraine has been ranked even lower than Russia in corruption which is
no mean fete!
We talked about the War with Russia. I've noted soldiers everywhere here as I walk about town. The taxi driver says many of his friends and, I think, his brother have been called up and that he may have to go tomorrow. I say then he will not be able to take me to the train station. They both laugh, thinking I'm making a very bad joke about it being all about me. But, I said this just to see if I've understood him about when he's going. I think they tell me he could be called up at any time because he is in the reserves. The friend may be called too, but it appears that is less imminently likely.
The taxi driver is quite emotional about the men dieing, especially the very young. I say war is stupid. The friend agrees with me. It seems such an unnecessary waste to me. Why do people do this? You say it's Putin not the people? And yet he is very popular with the Russians, just as Bush was in the beginning with Americans until they woke up to what he was doing.
The taxi driver tells me he loves Ukraine. The people are very good. It is a beautiful country. All reasons why I have come back to Ukraine, after visiting last year. His friend says again that the people are not political.
When I leave the patio, where we are sitting, and go to the WC, I pay for their beers as well as my dinner. When they learn of this they are very appreciative. I say it is the least I can do, thinking that they are fighting for our values with very little help from us.
Earlier when the friend had asked me how Americans feel about the war in Ukraine, I answered, honestly, that I believe they don't care. They are more concerned with their day to day lives. For me Ukrainians are fighting for something we are supposed to believe in and deserve more support from us
As I walked back to the Inn, I felt strange. Seeing all the soldiers walking around town and talking to these guys about what is going on had made the unfolding tragedy far more real and unsettling than reading about it from home far away.
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