Bicycles, Berries, Bananas (& Firemen)

I love summer in Ukraine.

However, since arriving back at site at the tail end of June (following a pan-Ukrainian exploration with my wonderfully awesome maternal unit – oh the stories I could tell…) it’s been raining. Every. Single. Day. Apart from a few days of heat and blisteringly bright sunshine at the beginning of June, it seems that summer in Ukraine involves storms, wind, rain and general cloudiness. Also, a temperature hovering around 72 (dropping to the high 50s, low 60s at night.) Far be it from me to complain about cooler temperatures (current average daily temp is about 100 in the great state from which I hail), but I’ll admit to puzzlement. Perhaps sunnier days lie just around the bend.

Despite the persistent precipitation, the last few days have been marvelous. I have, in no particular order, bought a bike, gorged myself on berries picked out of the very woods surrounding my demesne, eaten frozen bananas with cinnamon and been given a private tour of the local firehouse.

My new Ukrainian potato-hauler.

Buying a Bike (or “No no Amanda, we must go with you. It is process.”)

I finally decided to get a bike. My town’s small, and I can easily walk anywhere I choose, but with start summer my desire to explore the myriad of dirt roads/iffy paths that spiral out through the fields, forests and out-of-the-way cemeteries surrounding my little town has intensified to a fever pitch.
I expressed my desire to get a bike and was told, in no uncertain terms, that I would need to be accompanied on this expedition. I simply can’t be trusted to buy a bike of reliable quality. Of course not. So I met up with my “helpers” at the Friday morning bazaar, and we set out. Two hours later, I was the (proud?) owner of a bike which used to be produced at factories in Belarus, but no one’s certain where they’re made now… just that they are definitely, 100%, not made in China or India. The bike is “good”for “carrying potatoes from the field.” While I’m not certain I’m going to be engaged in any potato-transportation, this was deemed to be an essential aspect of the purchasing process.

Post-acquisition of my new metallic green potato-sack worthy bicycle, we encountered my colleague’s elder brother, who offered to (as far as I can tell) check it out, and grease the gears, so that it would be in prime working order. Not one to refuse help (not that you can, as a foreigner living in a small town in rural Ukraine), I agreed. The bicycle and I were escorted post-haste to the local firehouse (aforementioned elder brother being on of the head firemen). My new bicycle was leaned against the fence and I was instructed to wait. The Ukrainians disappeared and I stood in the fire yard, arms crossed, contemplating the sky.

After about five minutes, a young fireman, swarthy and strong-looking (the sort of look you’d hope for in a fireman, honestly), stepped out of the office and crossed to yard towards me. He nodded a greeting and inspected the bike. I asked him what he thought of it, and he launched into a lecture about why it “wasn’t the bike for him” (he prefers mountain bikes, even though we live a long way from anything remotely resembling a hill, let alone a mountain.) More fireman joined us, and eventually one of them proposed giving me, the American, a tour of the firehouse.

Let me say, straight off, that the firehouse is well-maintained, and has good equipment when you consider that I live in a very poor region of Ukraine. The men who work there (while in various states of fitness, admittedly) are professional and alert, take their job very seriously and very proud of their firehouse. In short, they should be commended (as should almost all people who work in fields whose primary concern is the protection and welfare of the community.)

The firehouse consisted of a dispatch office (with four very old – and charmingly Soviet-looking – phones… more aren’t needed, the dispatcher told me with a wry smile – there just aren’t that many people in our region, or fires, thank God), a small kitchen, a training classroom, a room with beds for “relaxation” (according to my chief tour guide), and, of course, the fire engine garage, with one shiny new fire engine, and two older models, one dating from the later 1970s.

The tour was very thorough… I had five guides, all talking over each other, in a mixture of Russian and Ukrainian. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I understood… their commander was keen to point out all of the things they had that he has seen on Western TV shows/movies about firefighters. The most exciting thing was when they let me climb into the fire engines (what? I’m a kid at heart, I admit it), and try on the old school gas masks that are still part of their standard equipment.

Regrettably, I didn’t have my camera with me, but I have been invited back any time I like (there are apparently some unmarried fire men – color me surprised.)

I leave Friday for Camp S.L.A.M. out by Donestk. Stay tuned for more broadcasts from the sunny side of Peace Corps Ukraine.

Note: I’ve decided to test run something new re: this blog. So my darling friends and marvelous family members (and those of you who turn in for kicks), what would you like to hear about? Is there anything about my life in Ukraine you’re just love to know? Ask away. Or face the consequences…which will probably not be too terrible.

Music: Bon Iver – Towers