I have readOksana Zabuzhko, Польові дослідження з українського сексу | Fieldwork in Ukrainian Sex (1996)
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I have written... nothing ...
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love and tenderness
As I mentioned in other places, such as the memories of my first travel to Hungary, as young Poles, we were educated to despise roughly speaking all the Eastern Europe. I must confess having received, at home, literally an education for fear and hatred, as far as Ukraine was concerned. My mother warned me against any love relationship with a Ukrainian; they were dangerous people who might kill the Poles. What is more, as she imagined, they were close at hand; many people she didn't like were "Ukrainians" for her, including the wife of my father's brother, together with all her family.
I don't know why she did not object to my participation in a short trip to L'viv organized by my art school. I was around 19 at the time, it must have been early in the year 1992, for I remember it was a trip to Ukraine, not to Soviet Union, and Ukraine as a country gained its independence in August 1991. The economic crisis at that moment must have been almost unimaginably acute, because I could not even spend the money my mother exchanged for me on the bazar; I had no clear idea how much it was, but I suppose she didn't give me a lot. I also remember a strange scene at the hotel where we stayed, a more than modest place, where tea-towels were distributed to serve as bath towels. But on my bed there was none, it was missing. The hotel administrator came and accused me, with a great rage, of having stolen it. Finally, she said that if the towel were not found, I had to pay 10 roubles. I took the money out of my pocket and gave her. I will never forget the sudden, uncontrollable expression of gladness on that woman's face. I have no doubt that she hide the towel on purpose to get those 10 roubles, and it made a big difference for her to get them. It was the first time in my life that I met people poorer than myself, and it caused me a considerable surprise.
At the art school, we organized that trip in order to see a couple of monuments, such as Boim Chapel and Lychakiv Cemetery, as well as the gallery that contained a considerable collection of Polish impressionists and colourists from the first decades of the 20th century, when those territories were making part of Poland. So it was one of the first truly meaningful travels I had in my life.
I returned to Ukraine only much later; I visited L'viv with my husband in winter, if I remember it correctly, of 2016/17. Once again, at the time, I was surprised with the riches that our (or rather my husband's) money could buy. Obviously, it was quite a different Ukraine at the time. We could go to opera almost every evening of our stay (we saw I'm not sure how many, Madame Butterfly, and others); we ate remarkable Tatar food, and I dared to order bull's testicles in an Armenian restaurant.
It was thus with a great pleasure that I went to Kiev next summer for a conference. The train was a brand new one, bought with the EU funds, yet the passage of the border still had that old taste of humiliation, especially for the Ukrainians; myself, I also had a heavily stamped invitation from the university, to show to the border guards in case of trouble. But the guard only enjoyed taking his time at turning the pages of my passport, that contained numerous visas of West African countries. A woman seated at my side got visibly nervous because of it. I explained that it were just the exotic stamps he liked; she was alleviated to hear that.
Overall, I've built a sense of love and tenderness for Ukraine and the Ukrainians, still treated like colonial subjects by the Poles, even those who were flocking to L'viv and Kiev for vacations. For the Poles, Ukraine was the cheapest destination on earth, no wonder that many of the country's worse elements were to be met there: lower working class, aimless nationalists, all sorts of strange people. The Ukrainians tolerated us, I must confess, with sweetness, suavity and kindness of Christian saints. Much better, in any case, than we deserved.
I don't know why she did not object to my participation in a short trip to L'viv organized by my art school. I was around 19 at the time, it must have been early in the year 1992, for I remember it was a trip to Ukraine, not to Soviet Union, and Ukraine as a country gained its independence in August 1991. The economic crisis at that moment must have been almost unimaginably acute, because I could not even spend the money my mother exchanged for me on the bazar; I had no clear idea how much it was, but I suppose she didn't give me a lot. I also remember a strange scene at the hotel where we stayed, a more than modest place, where tea-towels were distributed to serve as bath towels. But on my bed there was none, it was missing. The hotel administrator came and accused me, with a great rage, of having stolen it. Finally, she said that if the towel were not found, I had to pay 10 roubles. I took the money out of my pocket and gave her. I will never forget the sudden, uncontrollable expression of gladness on that woman's face. I have no doubt that she hide the towel on purpose to get those 10 roubles, and it made a big difference for her to get them. It was the first time in my life that I met people poorer than myself, and it caused me a considerable surprise.
At the art school, we organized that trip in order to see a couple of monuments, such as Boim Chapel and Lychakiv Cemetery, as well as the gallery that contained a considerable collection of Polish impressionists and colourists from the first decades of the 20th century, when those territories were making part of Poland. So it was one of the first truly meaningful travels I had in my life.
I returned to Ukraine only much later; I visited L'viv with my husband in winter, if I remember it correctly, of 2016/17. Once again, at the time, I was surprised with the riches that our (or rather my husband's) money could buy. Obviously, it was quite a different Ukraine at the time. We could go to opera almost every evening of our stay (we saw I'm not sure how many, Madame Butterfly, and others); we ate remarkable Tatar food, and I dared to order bull's testicles in an Armenian restaurant.
It was thus with a great pleasure that I went to Kiev next summer for a conference. The train was a brand new one, bought with the EU funds, yet the passage of the border still had that old taste of humiliation, especially for the Ukrainians; myself, I also had a heavily stamped invitation from the university, to show to the border guards in case of trouble. But the guard only enjoyed taking his time at turning the pages of my passport, that contained numerous visas of West African countries. A woman seated at my side got visibly nervous because of it. I explained that it were just the exotic stamps he liked; she was alleviated to hear that.
Overall, I've built a sense of love and tenderness for Ukraine and the Ukrainians, still treated like colonial subjects by the Poles, even those who were flocking to L'viv and Kiev for vacations. For the Poles, Ukraine was the cheapest destination on earth, no wonder that many of the country's worse elements were to be met there: lower working class, aimless nationalists, all sorts of strange people. The Ukrainians tolerated us, I must confess, with sweetness, suavity and kindness of Christian saints. Much better, in any case, than we deserved.
Kiev
Lviv
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Boim Chapel
