Weekend Holiday to Kyiv, Ukraine

1-3.12.12 After a twelve hour train ride, Captains and Moscow 1 made it to Kyiv, Ukraine. Jake’s Ukrainian friend, Nastia, met us on the platform; she was to be our guide for the day. First, after some of us took money out of the ATM at the train station, she led us to the metro that would take us to the stop by our hostel. It would take us one stop, where we would switch to another line. The first train was packed to bursting and we practically exploded out of the door when we got off. As I stepped out of the train, my arm rubbed against something in my pocket: I looked down to see my passport sticking out of my coat pocket. I was absolutely certain that I had not put it there; I opened it up and searched for all my visas: to my shock, they were all there. Then, Whitney shrieked: “My wallet is gone!” Yep, twenty minutes into the country and we had already been robbed. Whitney’s small purse, which she had kept in front of her, was open and her wallet (including her driver’s license, credit card, social security card, and cash) was missing. Instantly, she was in tears and I was in shock: as Head Teacher, I had to take control of the situation, but all I knew to do was hurry up everyone so that we could get to the hostel as soon as possible so Whitney could call her dad and have her credit card cancelled. Finally, we made it to our hostel and Whitney was able to get a hold of her dad and have her credit card cancelled before any money was taken out of her account. Her dad would wire her money the next day; until then, my girls and I would spot her for any expenses she might incur. This incident rather dampened our day in Kyiv, if not the entire vacation. However, we tried to be troopers and show our appreciation to Nastia for taking time out of her weekend to show us around. We took an outdoor metro/tram that was built in the 1920s that goes up a wooded hill to an overlook of the city; the Ukrainian landscape is picturesque with rolling green hills and forests. We passed a monument to those who died during Ukraine’s revolutionary war with Mother Russia during World War Two and another monument to the victims of Stalin’s starvation of the country in 1921-1922 where thousands of people perished. Nastia then brought us to the Kiev Pechersk Lavra (a lavra is a cathedral with catacombs of the priests); it was beautiful and full of history. We explored downtown Kyiv, saw Kyiv’s Lady Liberty (like we have the Statue of Liberty), the pedestrian souvenir promenade, and an underground shopping mall. If I were to describe Kyiv, I would say that it’s a mixture of St. Petersburg and Moscow yet more ghetto—and I don’t just call it ghetto because my opinion is biased after getting robbed: it really does seem ghetto, even in the tourist streets. The architecture in the city centre is old, gothic European, which is always stunning, but the streets are covered in trash and graffiti and the city just had a general grey, dismal vibe. Maybe it was, again, simply because I’d been robbed there, but I never felt so wary or vulnerable during this entire semester as I did in Kyiv. Once, we suspected a man of following us; when I glanced behind me and gave him my best Russian Woman Death Glare, he finally decided to take another route. I wizened up and put the (remaining) contents of my little purse in a secret pocket in the inside of my coat—there would be no way I would be taken unawares again. Thank goodness, we never had any problems after that. The best thing about Kyiv was the food: we discovered this buffet-like restaurant where you chose whatever you wanted and then paid for those items. It was traditional Ukrainian food and absolutely yummy, for super inexpensive even. That’s the thing: it’s ridiculously cheap to live in Ukraine, which would make sense if you’ve been there. Our second day in Kyiv, Captains did our own thing: after sleeping in, we went back to the underground mall so Whitney could get the money her dad wired her, and then we found another main souvenir street. This street winded down a hill lined with quaint cottages and houses and shops, all lit up and golden in the setting sun (the sun goes down super early now). It was a pretty street, especially with the teal and gold St. Andrew’s Cathedral at the summit. As per a recommendation from an American from our hostel, we stopped inside a chocolate café at the bottom of the hill. Lviv Handmade Chocolate shoppe is designed to make you salivate for chocolate the moment you step through the door: the walls are painted in hues of brown and everything is brown, gold, or cream coloured. While it is a café, Lviv makes its own chocolate and there is a chocolate shoppe in the back with all kinds of chocolate of all shapes and sizes. It was a chocoholic’s paradise. I ordered a hazelnut hot chocolate, Shelley ordered a hot chocolate with orange, and Ally and Whitney ordered Lviv’s specialty hot chocolate. It wasn’t until after I ordered that I realized mine was only 90 grams while the others’ was 200 grams, yet they were all around the same price. However, I stuck to my gut and my order and gosh darn it I’m glad I did: although my mug was small, it was filled to the brim with the most delicious hot chocolate I’ve literally, seriously ever tasted—literally, it was hot chocolate, as they melted a chocolate bar and cream and poured it in my mug. It came with a glass of water to help dilute the richness of the chocolate. Oh goodness, I was truly in heaven. I thought I could keep eating (for that’s what I did; I ate it because it was too thick to drink) forever, but once I scraped out the last bit of chocolate I wouldn’t have been able to eat any more—it was that rich. Although the others’ cups were much larger, their orders were liquid hot chocolate—like normal hot chocolate, but still tasty. My girls and I chatted and discussed our experiences in Russia and Ukraine and simply had a pleasant time together. It’s interesting: even after being with each other almost literally 24/7 for four months, we still enjoy our “girls’ night outs” and hanging out with each other. I’m so blessed to have these girls in my group—and my life. After warming up our insides and our moods, we ventured out into the cold and found our way back to the hostel. We changed into comfy clothes and hung out in the common room, where we met Arjun Bhogal and Kieran Rae, Lucky, Sasha, and Dorin Ellis. Arjun is English and Kieran is Welsh; they are walking from the British UK to the Australian UK over a distance of 10,000 miles and three years (check out their websitehttp://theborderwalk.wordpress.com/). Lucky is Sri Lankan and studying in Kyiv. Sasha is Russian and on extended holiday; he didn’t speak any English except the basics and curse words. Dorin is from Washington State and says he’s here for various things, like work and such; I didn’t really understand. All I really knew what that he was the spitting image of Jack Black, personality and all (though, unfortunately, not as witty). We had a lot of fun getting to know everyone; this is my favorite part of hostels, meeting people from all over the world. Sasha (tall, burly, bald, physically stereotypical Russian) was probably my favorite: he obliterated any and every Russian stereotype: he tried to communicate with us, teased us with the little English he knew, and even surprised us by buying us (Captains) morozhino, or ice cream. He asked me what Russian I knew and I threw out random phrases, and then looked him in the eye and said, U vas horoshaya popka (you have a nice butt). As soon as my compliment registered, his eyes grew wide and he gasped, then covered his face in sheepish embarrassment; he even ran into the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. When he returned to the room, he muttered words like diavushka (girl) and krasni (red) and I understood that I made him blush. I made your stereotypical burly, bald Russian man blush. That’s equivalent to making a Buckingham palace guard smirk, right? My life is complete. The next morning, Kyiv decided to convince us that it was a miserable, dismal place to be: it was sleeting/snowing heavily. We slept in and took it easy that morning while we waited for five P.M. to roll around so we could catch our train to Moscow. Captains found an Italian restaurant called Olive (Oh-liv-uh) for breakfast/lunch/brunch. It was a clean, quaint, fancy sit down restaurant with legitimate 30’ Italian pizzas for seven dollars or less—complete with bread sticks and oil olive for dipping. Somehow, food makes everything better and worth it. I ordered a pizza with chicken and peaches; yes, it sounds weird, but now I refuse to eat any pizza without peaches on it—so tasty! Our hostel gave us directions to catch the trolley that would take us to the train station, and after saying goodbye to our hostel friends, we and Moscow 1 headed for the train station.

As soon as we boarded the train, I set up my bed, stripped off my jeans, and crashed: I just wanted to be “home” at last. I slept most of the night and never felt happier to be in Moscow than I was the next morning. All in all, even though the city was somewhat of a disappointment (I’ve heard so much praise from acquaintances and had such high expectations), the weather was nasty, and felt vulnerable the entire time, I saw some beautiful things, met some awesome, awesome people, ate some amazing food, and enjoyed spending time with my girls. Having another international experience with my girls was really what made it all worth it; I adore them.

Final November Updates

End of November update: 17: Guyla told the ILP groups to the Kremlin Armoury, which holds some of the oldest, most significant royal regalia, armour, furniture, bibles, Faberge eggs, dinnerware, and carriages of Russian royalty throughout the past centuries. It was incredible; my favourite part was the carriage room, which holds several real carriages that Catherine the Great and others owned. There was even a child carriage that used to pulled by ponies and accompanied by dwarfs to create a “mini procession”—the Russians are so politically correct. Afterward, Captains met Vlad Tropi in Red Square and took more photos around St. Basil’s cathedral and then we went to the Moscow Ikea so I could fulfill my promise to Ally that we would go to a European Ikea. We ate Swedish meatballs and 10 ruble ice cream cones at the café; it was a successful, enjoyable day. I’m going to miss Vlad when I return to America. 24: Both ILP groups went to the Russian circus. There were acrobats, tight rope walkers, trapeze artists, divers, ice skating acrobats, camels, puppies, sea lions, cheetahs, a kangaroo (we saw a medieval clown get beat up by a kangaroo wearing a tutu—my life is average), polar bears, and other crazy things. It was shocking, terrifying, and hilarious—all together entertaining, though I think I liked the Chinese acrobatic shows better: those were shocking and awe-inspiring from beginning to end, with contortionists and all that, while the animal skits in the circus were entertaining for the first few minutes and then became monotonous. However, the two and a half hour show was definitely worth 200 rubles ($6). 26: Tonight, we had a Thanksgiving feast with Moscow 1 and Vlad in our apartment. Captains provided the chicken and the veggies, while Moscow provided the mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, bread, hot chocolate, pumpkin pie, pudding pie, cinnamon rolls, fruit salad, and potato salad. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out with everyone’s various cooking skills, but oh my lands it was delicious. It was nice to have an actual Thanksgiving feast and to spend time with Moscow 1 and Vlad; Vlad taught us phrases in Russian and we all went around in a circle and said things for which we were thankful. I look forward, however, to having a normal holiday season next year. This is my second one in a row to spend in a foreign country—with friends, but not family. Regardless, this night helped to make the season brighter.

HD9-10: Helsinki and home

11-12.11.12: Sunday we spent a few more hours in Helsinki, where we ate lunch at a pizza buffet that had decent pizza, great salad, and delicious ice cream; we had to explain to some of the Russian tourists with us how a buffet works: they don’t have them in Russia and it was difficult for them to comprehend that they paid one flat price and then could eat as much as they wanted, over and over again…. American culture, in so many ways, would undoubtedly astound Russians. Helsinki was, as usual, freezing and wet and rather underwhelming, but we found a few cute souvenir shops and I bought a Christmas ornament because Finland is pretty much the Christmas capital of the world. I collect scarves from the countries I visit, but I couldn’t find a scarf in Finland for under thirty bucks and I felt I wouldn’t be devastated if I didn’t have something to remind me of how cold I was in that country, so I didn’t buy a Finnish scarf. We rode the bus from there all the way to St. Petersburg, where we were to board a train for Moscow. (We made it through customs without any trouble; it’s great being legal.) Before boarding the train, I had shawarma, which was delicious (and inexpensive—Russia may be expensive but it’s nothing like Scandinavia) but made me smell of garlic all the way to Moscow. Although, by the time we made it to our apartment, I was exhausted and ready to be home, this was a holiday I will never forget and will always cherish.

HD8: Stockholm Take 2

10.11.12 Today, we started our trip in the direction of home. We returned to Sweden, where Shelley, Whitney, Ally, and I were the only Americans to opt to join the tour bus to Museum Island, which was home to the Swedish culture museum, the history museum, a fairytale museum, an open-sky museum, and the Vasa Museet (Vasa Museum). We chose to visit the Vasa Museet for its historical significance: it houses the Vasa, a gigantic warship of the 17th century that sank on its maiden voyage in 1628 and was salvaged from the mud in 1961. The Vasa, in its time, was built to be the most intimidating, monstrous warship on the seas: it was designed with over 900 sculptures and carvings and was originally painted with a bright, colourful palette. Truly, had it been able to stay afloat, it would have struck fear into any and all of Sweden’s foes. Unfortunately, however, the ship was built too narrow for its height and toppled over with a gust of wind thirty minutes after leaving port. Around 30 men, women, and children drowned, but most of the passengers survived only because it sunk so close to the harbour and those on shore were able to rescue them. The Vasa remained in its watery burial until it underwent a humongous salvaging and restoration project that took several decades to complete. The Vasa is now on display and is over 90% original; the giant museum is kept cool to slow the decaying process of the wood. Guests are not allowed to enter the actual ship, but the museum offers a simulation of the gun deck that guests can explore to get a feel of the size of the ship’s interior. After exploring Old Ironsides in Boston in 2010, I was able to compare it to the Vasa: the Vasa is much, much taller and much narrower: it made sense to me why the Vasa was disproportionate and sunk so quickly and why Old Ironsides survived for so long. Regardless of its unfortunate past, the Vasa today is still awe-inspiring with its hundreds of intricate carvings and sculptures and towering decks. The museum was well worth our time. Ally wanted to go to the Stockholm Ikea, but it turned out that all the buses that went to Ikea were closed on Saturdays. This was a bummer, but we spent the rest of our time in Stockholm exploring old town and the new pedestrian shopping district, where we got delicious Mexican burritos for lunch. Unlike our last visit to Stockholm, today was cold and wintry, but the city was still as stunning as ever. I will forever adore Stockholm.

HD7: Copenhagen, Denmark

9.11.12 It was the devil to pay when we awoke two hours later and quickly dressed, cleaned up, and packed as the ship docked into Copenhagen, Denmark. All my life I’ve wanted to visit this city as I’ve heard it’s stunning: I wasn’t disappointed. The tour bus’s first stop was Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid” statue, the original of which was stolen; the second cast was beheaded, until this third cast replaced its predecessors. Next, we had a few minutes in the palace square which has Amalienborg Palace at its centre and is dominated by the dome of Frederik's Church (The Marble Church) and several elegant 18th century mansions. I took a picture with a palace guard, who wore a tall furry hat reminiscent of the Buckingham Palace guards. After this, we were set at liberty to explore the city on our own. We wandered the beautiful, clean, historic streets of downtown Copenhagen, particularly the main pedestrian shopping district. The architecture is gorgeous old European style with stone sidewalks and cobble stone streets, broken up by intricate stone bridges over the many canals that snake through the city. I instantly fell in love. We found a small pizza place for lunch, we shopped for souvenirs in quaint shops, and tried our darndest to not let our exhaustion damper our experience. Fortunately, this wasn’t too difficult as everywhere we looked we saw beautiful, scrumptious European men with the ultimate European swag. I’ve never been in a city so full of beauty—the architecture, the landscape, the canals, the shops, the men…. Yes, please, and thank you. Our goals for the day were a boat tour of the city and the Christianborg Palace, but it turned out we only had time for the boat tour. Although I was disappointed we didn’t make it inside the palace, the boat tour was fantastic and enabled us to see so much of the city, including old factories, palaces, statues, monuments, and Nyhavn, the 17th century harbour with its famous colourful buildings and period ships and sailboats. Nyhavn (pronounced new-haven) was the main harbour in the 17th century and leads into the main canal that slithers throughout the city. This canal was the main trading route within the city and allowed imported and exported goods to move more quickly to their destinations. By the time we landed, the Christianborg Palace (which is now a museum) had closed to visitors, so we found a pastry shop and helped ourselves to raspberry Danishes—because we were in Denmark! It had begun to rain, so I also ordered a cup of hot cocoa; although it warmed me up, it was bitter like dark chocolate. The rain had come with nightfall, and the glowing shop windows and random Christmas lights painted a rather stunning portrait of the city. As we wandered the pedestrian district for the last time, a man played hauntingly beautiful melodies on the violin and the night was altogether romantic. For the heck of it, we decided to check out what we could of the Christianborg Palace. The doors were locked, but the square was empty so we sat on the steps and chatted. Whitney and Shelley decided to impersonate Danish guards and patrolled the door while taking gigantic, awkward steps; then Whitney performed for us her cheer routine from high school. If there were cameras, the security guards were no doubt having the time of their lives watching us embarrass ourselves; we certainly were sleep deprived. It was then time to return to our bus; I could have stayed a week in that gorgeous city, but my body argued that it would just sleep that entire week, so I was grateful to sit in a warm, dry, padded seat. Besides not visiting the Christianborg Palace museum, my only other regret is not visiting the LDS Temple; it looks so interesting in pictures and I’ve always wanted to see it in person. However, like most of the European temples, it’s on the outskirts of the city and would have been difficult/taken a long time to reach. Oh well; someday I’ll get there, I’m sure of it.

HD6: Oslo, Norway

8.11.12 To milk the most out of our time in Norway, our tour bus planned to leave at 7:30AM. Although it was an ungodly hour, I awoke to a continental breakfast of eggs, toast, veggies, sausage, fruit, yogurt, and cereal with decent-tasting milk (Russian milk is…weird; who knows what they do to their cows). However, the cereal seemed stale, so my favorite part about breakfast was a plateful of delicious fruity yogurt, mixed nuts, and dried fruit stirred together. I think the best part of part, however, was that it was free: Scandinavian prices are staggering; I’ll just warn you now. And, apparently, Norway was the most expensive of them all. Too soon (I could have eaten forever), we boarded the bus and I instantly felt carsick. For whatever reason, motion sickness has been a regular visitor of mine while overseas. However, I quickly forgot about my stomach as the sun began to rise and the Norwegian landscape unfolded before my eyes: rocky, snow-covered cliffs and frosted hillsides rose out of a lake of glass and a gentle snow fell from a sky of swirling grey clouds; the horizon was kissed by the soft pinkish rays of the rising sun. I felt like I had, in fact, never woken up that morning: surely, this was a dream, just a scene from some fairytale. If I had ever any doubts that God existed, this sight would have set me right: this was what heaven must look like. Norway, without debate, has the most stunning landscape I’ve ever seen—especially during sunrise. I think sunrises are particularly beautiful and make anything more attractive, but I’m usually too lazy to see many of them; I’m extremely grateful, however, to have been able to see Oslo at sunrise. Our first stop was the world-famous Vigeland Sculpture Arrangement in Frogner Park. Gustav Vigeland designed the arrangement and its 212 sculptures, all depicting scenes from everyday life and death. The sculptures are of adults and children in everyday situations: some are laughing, others crying; some are hugging each other, jumping for joy, dancing, juggling babies (don’t ask—I don’t understand, either), kissing, sitting, crawling, strutting what their mama gave them, etc. Every statue in the park is naked, to continue the theme of being in a natural state. The giant fountain in the middle of the arrangement is covered with the skeletons of children and adults in trees, suggesting that death brings new life. The main attraction is a towering monolith covered in bodies that entwine and tangle with each other; it was quite a sight. Between the bridge of sculptures and the monolith was a rose garden; the world was covered in snow, but somehow the roses had survived and were still colourful and soft—in Norway, roses do bloom in winter. This thriving rose garden combined with the soft yellow and pink sunrise, the quaint park benches, the snow covered trees of Frogner Park, and Vigeland’s masterpieces, caused an absolutely breathtaking sight. Far too soon, it was time to board the bus. Our next stop was the old Oslo fortress, the inside of which we would not have time to explore, though the outside of which was stunning enough: the fortress sat on the edge of the bay, with an overlook of the harbour and the distant islands. The water was as still as glass and reflected the sunrise and partly overcast sky like a mirror. A small sailboat opportunely glided past the fortress, painting a picture worthy of Johan Christian Dahl, who is considered the first great romantic painter in Norway, the founder of the "golden age" of Norwegian painting, and one of the great European artists of all time. I could have stayed right there for the rest of our time in Norway, and longer even. However, the tour had to go on: while most of Moscow 1 decided to explore downtown Oslo, my girls and I opted to go to the Viking Ship Museum on Museum Island. It’s a small museum, but was well worth it: it boasted three original Viking burial ships and artifacts from the 9th century, all of which were discovered preserved in the thick Norwegian fjord mire. The artifacts included dishware, silverware, pots and pans, crates, chests, shoes, coins, jewelry, and even bits of cloth from clothing. Uncovered with the ships were also skeletons in ornate sleighs, or coffins, proving that these were burial ships for their leaders (the skeletons were not displayed at the museum, unfortunately). I thoroughly enjoyed learning more about Norwegian history and seeing it come alive before my eyes. We returned to the downtown and headed to the Norwegian National Gallery, where we saw original Monet, Picaso, Cezanne, Peder Balke, Manet, J.C. Dahl, and others—including the museum’s main attraction, an original Edvard Munch’s The Scream. We even saw a casting of Rudin’s The Thinker, though I just discovered it’s not an original but, alas, a posthumous casting. In any case, it was an incredible museum and I’m glad we went. Unfortunately, a lifetime too soon, it was time to board yet another cruise liner—this time, to Copenhagen, Denmark. Shelley and I went to the sun deck for one last glance of Oslo—it was stunning even at night, with all the lights reflecting in the water. Gosh, what an incredible place. I’m sure it’s miserable in January and February, but I can’t even begin to imagine how gorgeous it must be in the summer. We found our room for the night, which happened to be on the lowest floor—even lower than the parking garage level. Yep, we were in steerage. The doors were a tacky pastel pink that clashed with the carpet and the room, though clean, was tiny: two bunk beds with hardly a foot in between them, a small bathroom, and a puny vanity and closet. Although it was awkward to get cleaned up in together, we actually wouldn’t be spending much time in our room that night. Soon after entering the discotheque, we met a few Norwegian men who started to chat us up. One of them, Maurice and I chatted about pretty much anything possible: Obama, Romney, the election, Norwegian government and socialism, food, travelling, alcohol, dancing (I taught him how to waltz—to hip hop), relationships, and even Mormonism (when Romney was mentioned, I admitted to being Mormon). We had a gospel discussion, actually: I clarified his misconceptions of the Church and explained to him various gospel principles, like polygamy, moral standards (no sex , no drinking, no smoking, etc.) and even the New Jerusalem and how Christ will come to reign in North America (that was a first for me—no one’s ever asked me about it before, and I was surprised he’d even heard about it). In all of our discussions, he was the utmost gentleman—I never felt pressured or persecuted for my opinions and beliefs. In fact, he even confided in me that he was jealous of my faith and the hope and drive it gave me; he wished he could believe in something as powerful as faith. I told him that a desire was the first step and maybe even hinted that he should keep searching and asking questions throughout his life. This whole experience was pretty incredible; I felt like I had met a kindred spirit. I hope I was able to improve his opinion on Mormons.