Losing--and Finding--My Key

This afternoon I had one of the most frightening--and then enlightening--experiences of my life. After taking a two hour nap and then doing some writing, I decided to walk up to the Litera bookstore, and then to try to find the site of the little Mormon meetinghouse on Rustevelli, where I hoped to attend on Sunday with a Russian speaking congregation. I left the apartment at about 4:30. It was already dark outside and raining heavily. This time I took an umbrella from the apartment and did quite well in the rain. On the way to the bookstore I stopped at a boot shop where they advertised for currency exchanges. I exchanged another hundred dollars into griven, getting 505.10 in the exchange. I then went to the bookstore and browsed for an hour or so, but did not buy anything. When I left the bookstore, it was raining harder than ever, with rivers of water running down the sidewalk, the sidewalks full of people, and the vehicle traffic very heavy. I walked down past the Mormon meetinghouse location, although I had forgotten the exact directions and address, but just walked in the general area. I then presently found myself lost again, this time in the rain and in the dark. One of the frustrating things about navigating the city is the lack of clearly marked street signs. The best approximation I have found is to read the signs above doorways, which often have the street name, although this is not always foolproof, because the names have changed over the years. I have seen three different names, for example, of the street on which my apartment sits. But in any event, I wandered in a circle, always turning left and never crossing a street, and presently found my way back home, this time winding up on the side of the street where the McDonalds sits. Being hungry and deciding against trying to find another restaurant in the dark and rain, I walked up to the express window, kind of a pedestrian version of the drive-through, and ordered my dinner to take home with me.

Here is the remarkable part of my story. I entered the apartment building, walked up the four flights of stairs to my door--and couldn't find my house key. I had put it in my front right pocket, next to my little velcro wallet in which I put my Ukrainian currency. It just wasn't there. I put down my umbrella, took off my coat and searched every pocket I have about four times--my coat pockets, all four of my pants pockets, including the little coin pocket on the right, my velcro wallet, and my hidden passport and money pouch. My key just wasn't there. It was then that the gravity of my situation presented itself. I realized that I had not taken the cell phone with me which has all of the numbers programmed into it, including Olga's number. It occurred to me that while Olga has a spare key to the apartment, I had no idea how to contact her and I didn't know where she lived. Also, I remembered that she was out of town today at her country Dacha. The only phone number I had was on a business card which the driver, Yuri, had left me, but I had no idea where he was or whether he could even help me get a key. I also realized that all of the phone booths I had seen took not coins but calling cards, and I had no idea how to buy one, let alone who to call if I could, and how to communicate the intricacy of my situation with Russian or Ukrainian speaking strangers.

It suddenly dawned on me that I was in deep trouble. I don't know how religious the readers of this entry are, or what shape their innermost beliefs may take, but for me, in this circumstance, I said a private and sincere prayer for help in finding my key. I then decided that as crazy as it seemed, I would go back outside and try to retrace my steps--over sidewalks streaming in rain water--to the currency exchange booth in the boot shop, to all four floors of Litera, the bookstore, past the Mormon Church, through the neighborhood where I had become lost, and finally to McDonald's and its express window. I collected my coat and umbrella, walked down the four flights of stairs and onto the bottom level to go out into the rain to search.

As I rounded the corridor corner and was about to step outside of the iron door and into the street I heard a little metalic clink. I looked down as my key fell and bounced on the floor at my feet. I have no idea where it had been. Perhaps lodged in my scarf, in my glove, in the folds of my coat. Perhaps I kicked it as I rounded the corner. Or perhaps it was just placed there for me in answer to my prayer. In any event I was profoundly grateful, and moved almost to tears.

This experience affected me on various levels. The reader will forgive me if I draw an analogy between my little experience and what I am trying to accomplish here in Ukraine. The Ukrainian people are in many ways now a people wandering in the dark, out in the world, trying to find the entrance to a future of freedom and stability in the face of host of dangers. And without the key to that freedom, they are in a frighteningly lost state. One key for them, of course, which swings the door wide open to a free society, is the jury trial. To paraphrase Thomas Jefferson:

I consider trial by jury as the only key ever yet imagined by man,

by which a government can be held to the principles of its constitution.

My hope is that I and others can help the Ukrainian people to find and possess that key forever.

Navigating the Metro

It is now about 5:30 p.m. I had a wonderful day. I first decided that I needed to learn how to use the Metro system. I purchased a couple of little green plastic tokens at a cashier's station (they cost 50 kopiykas each, or half a griven). I deposited my token in the turnstile, then followed a vast throng of people and we descended into the entrance at Lva Tolstovo. Here you descend into a long escalator, perhaps several hundred feet long, into a cathedral like space with archways opening onto parallel tracks, one on each side. I noted that some of the ornate grillwork bore the year, "1960," so I am assuming that is when it was built or refurbished. There is also, embossed in the brick and cement work, colored signs showing the direction of travel, all of the succeeding stops, as well as connections down the line. The trains come rushing in every few minutes, pause probably twenty seconds, and then hurtle off down the tunnel. After observing the procedure for a few minutes, I ventured into the subway car headed for the Maidan station. There I disembarked, and found the connecting tunnel which leads to the sister station, Chreschatik, which is on a different line.

The connecting tunnel is amazing. It has a high arched ceiling, and the whole thing gradually rises, then falls again to the other station. The connecting tunnel must be considerably longer than a football field. It was here that I met my new friend, Valery, playing his accordian for passing change.

At Chreschatik, I again observed and studied the signs, then boarded an east bound train for Arsenalna, a station further east. It was here that I hoped to begin a walk down the Dnieper River to Pecherska Lavra. When I got to the surface, however, I found that it was now raining steadily. I paused in the square at Arsenalna long enough to watch a plainly dressed woman, wielding a very old-fashioned looking broom, sweeping a spot for her to display her fresh flowers. I also inspected the Arsenalna statue, which is a war memorial, noting both the remaining sickle and hammer imagery of the former Soviet Union, as well as the poignant flowers and bouquets recently laid there.

Deciding to go to Pecherska Lavra another day, I again descended into the Metro at Arsenalna. Here the depth of the train platform is amazing. There two very long escalators leading down, each of which was easily 3-400 feet.

I left the Metro at Chreschatik, and decided to look for "Arena City," where I understood a somewhat Western-like grocery store exists. I had in hand the handwritten notes from the family of one of the other judge instructors, giving directions. Their teenage daughter wrote the notes out and, not knowing any Russian or Ukrainian, had drawn a very nice picture of the Cyrillic words "Мандарин Плаза" ("Mandarin Plaza")and logo on the grocery store door. I soon became lost trying to navigate the streets of downtown Kyiv, but in my travels, I recognized the logo and words written by the judge's daughter, and so decided to buy groceries. I purchased a couple of loaves of bread, some butter, honey, milk, orange drink, cheese, oranges and cold cereal. Upon leaving Mandarin Plaza, I asked a uniformed security guard how to get to the Lva Tolstovo Metro stop. He told me that it was only one street away and showed me the direction. I was quite proud of myself for being able to converse enough to find my way. Incidentally, I must not look like a total American idiot here, because in my travels I had two different people stop me to ask for directions.

Valery and His Accordian

I promised my son-in-law that I would find him an accordian in Kyiv. I found it my first morning.

In the vast, cathedral-like passageway connecting the Kreschatik and the Maidan Metro stations I met and spoke with Valery, who was just setting up shop for a day of accordian playing. The acoustics of the vast arched ceiling were amazing, and he had quite a number of paying customers--Metro goers who dropped a few coins or small bills on his knapsack as they passed.

The Apartment Entrance

I am staying in a one bedroom apartment overlooking the Lva Tolstovo Plaza, where there is an entrance to one of the main Metro stations. The apartment is entered through a nondescript and rather imposing iron door at 23A. The apartment is on the fourth floor of this building (the numbering starting on the second floor above ground). I have noticed that there is the Latin lettered word "Notar" cast in bold letters in the transom of the doorway, and, indeed, there is a Notary (I think this is some legal-related function--I'll have to look it up when I have a minute) on the second floor. I am interested, however, as to why the name appears at street level in Latin rather than Cyrillic characters. I have no answer, unless the Latin characters conveyed some special prestige or cachet to an esoteric function, much like the way Norman-French was used by lawyers in England.

Inside the iron door (accessed with a special pass code, which probably hasn't been changed for years) is a rather spartan landing, with staircases and galleries spiraling overhead for five stories.

First Impressions of the Grand City on Foot

I have just returned from a three and a half hour foray into this great city. Here are some random first impressions:

It is bitterly cold this weekend. I slept very well during the night without any covers, due in large part to the high BTU output of the Soviet-Union-Era steam heating system in the building (complete with Soviet-Union-Era paint in many layers preventing one from turning off the unit or turning it down). Indeed, the apartment has been so cozy that from time to time I have opened a window to let in a little cool air. Thus, when I left the apartment this morning, I was unprepared for the bitter cold.

I walked first up to Taras Schevshenko Park. There were many people walking their amazingly well behaved little dogs on the east side of the park. On the south side, in a little walled off plaza are a multitude of stone benches and tables. Under a gazebo was a lone man with a chess board, I suppose waiting for his opponent for a chilly match. There were others in the park, including two or three women sitting on benches, and an old man in an ornate military uniform with braided cap, walking, absorbed deep in thought. In he center of the park is a soaring bronze statute of the writer, Taras Schevshenko.

Walking in the immediate neighborhood of the apartment, I was struck by the vibrant commercial and entreprenuerial spirit in this city. Everywhere people are doing business--in storefront shops, in basement restaurants and pubs, in kiosks on the street, on makeshift platforms at curbside, on the street itself or on the sidewalk. Everywhere people are selling, advertising, doing business. Flowers are for sale at the corner, vegetables under a green awning. And everwhere the advertisements are pervasive, emblazoned in streaming banners from tall buildings, neon lights atop steel frames, on temporary billboard signs, and in hand-scrawled or printed fliers. These are pasted on telephone poles in such thick layers, that the original metal or wood is long obscured, buried under the alluvium of commerce.

I next ventured for the first time into the underground world of Kyiv. My head is still swimming. There is an entire subterrean world in this city, and, at least in this weather, the underground city is more massive and vibrant, if possible, than the one at street level. At the corner of nearly every major intersection there is a staircase leading underground, and underneath the intersection is a kind of mall lined with little shops, or by people hawking things from tables or platforms. It is also warm and dry below ground, and the snaking and twisting corridors were full of people. At intersections boasting a Metro station, the below ground commercial world is more ornate, tony and upscale, as these passageways are also connected to the vast Metro or subway system of the city. Much more about the Metro in a later post.

After a few hours of exploration, I found the grocery store in Mandarin Plaza and returned home for a bite of lunch and a rest. More later.

Early Morning Reverie Overlooking Lva Tolstovo Plaza

I awoke spontaneously this morning at 6:00 after sleeping like an Orthodox monk in cell for eight uninterrupted hours. The world is good, I feel wonderful, and this Saturday morning approach my first venture into this special city with trembling anticipation. I am seated comfortably by one of the arched windows of the apartment overlooking the Lva Tolstovo Plaza, a three cornered intersection named for the novelist Leo Tolstoy, with its two Metro (or subway) entrances. I have the window open a crack partly to let in the pleasant sound of the traffic four stories below, and partly to let in a cool breeze. The cast iron steam radiators in this wonderfully old apartment building are emitting a nice heat, but the valves appear to have been painted shut seventy or eighty years ago. I read somewhere that Ukrainians never open the windows in the winter, but I enjoy the slightly wafting breeze carrying the sounds up to my ears in this lofty aerie.

I am amazed that the effects of jet lag have not yet struck me. I slept very well last night after intentionally remaining awake until the normal sleeping hours of the Kyivan world. I have also been drinking a lot of water and intend to go out this morning in a few minutes when the sun arises. May the solar and circadian rhythms of this new clime sink immediately into my system.

My plan today is to venture forth to explore. I go first to make a personal pilgrimage to Pecherska Lavra, the complex of hilltop monasteries and churches which is one of the holiest sites in all of Orthodoxy. The weather should be good for my pilgrimage, with highs in the 40s today and only a slight chance of rain. Tomorrow we expect snow, which will be most pleasant to see early tomorrow morning, descending upon the life-filled triangle of the Lva Tolstovo below me.

The Adventure of the Lost Bling Bling Bag

As noted previously, Larissa from Austrian Airways, found me by the baggage carousel at the Kyiv Airport to tell me that my checked luggage had not yet arrived, but would do so sometime after 9:00 p.m. tonight. This is the suitcase which contained all of the nice little trinkets--the "Bling Bling"--that I intend to reward my students with over the next two weeks. This posed a dilemma for me, as I am so exhausted that I could fall asleep on the street. This evening I stayed awake as long as I could, then laid down to doze on and off while I waited for the return. The phone rang twice, causing me to jump up and try heroically to remember how to answer the phone and carry on an intelligent conversation in Russian. The first time it was Olga, calling out of concern for my lost suitcase. The second time it was Larissa herself, stating that the driver was "5 minutes away" with my case, and asking me what the pass code was for the street entrance to the building.

It is now 30 minutes later, and no one has yet arrived. The adventure (and total fatigue) continues.

P.S. It finally came an hour later. And now I get me to sleep.

Olga

The Leavitt Institute for International Development has a representative here in Kyiv. She is a Ukrainian, an educator of many years experience, who is indispensible to the work. I have heard three different people refer to her as a "gem," which is certainly the case. Olga Kupriyevych phoned me within an hour of my arrival to inquire after my well being. She then came by to bring me some homemade dinner, as well as a book and a DVD to lend to me. She also gave me much practical advice regarding travel, currency exchange, teaching, as well as noteworthy sites and events that I ought to see while here.

I will next see Olga on Monday morning, when I teach my first class. More about her later.

Travels with Yuri

After I breezed through customs, I passed up a nondescript staircase and hallway into a large lobby packed with people thronging a long roped off walkway, waiting for friends or family to get through customs. I ran the gamut of several hundred people, and presently saw a pleasant looking and very slender man in a leather jacket holding up a sign which read, "Dan Gibbons."

He introduced himself as Yuri Dregolas, (it rhymes with "Legolas," and actually now that I think about it, he kind of looks like a Russian battle elf) and lead me to his late model five speed car in which he drove me the twenty or thirty kilometers into downtown Kyiv, all the while keeping up a cheerful chatter in very good English. He is the son of a scientist, and attended an advanced English speaking school from a very young age, being trained to be a translator. He now works frequently for the property manager from whom the Institute has rented our apartment. On the card he left me, he wrote, "Taxi Driver."

The traffic in Kyiv is OUT OF CONTROL. The flow from the airport was easily 130 to 140 kilometers per hour. In town the traffic was horrendous, and most remarkable by the apparent disregard of all traffic regulations by all drivers. Constant merging, tailgating, driving on the wrong side of the road, driving up and over curbs, driving on sidewalks. But everyone seemed pleasant and amazingly courteous.

On the way into town Yuri played the accomodating tour guide, commenting on Soviet era cars and brand new Lexuses, on the landscape, on the tax laws, on the recent elections, and on the wide variety of buildings. He pointed with especial pride at the "skyscrapers" under construction.

Kyiv is much larger and busier than I ever imagined. Having lived in Europe during my mission, its older neighborhood have a strong European feeling, but there is also a dilapidated, Soviet style decreptitude about other neighborhoods that is very striking. The people appear to be very attractive, happy and positive.

Yuri took me right to our apartment, and upstairs, where we met a girl who had just finished cleaning. (More about the apartment later). I have already arranged for Yuri to drive me back to the airport on November 24th.

From the balcony of the apartment I can see Leo Tolstoy square, one of the main traffic intersections of the city. There is a large, and beautifully renovated building directly across the street, the bottom two floors of which house a glassed-in McDonalds. In front of this building I count this evening easily 40 cars parked on the sidewalk, and there has been a constant din of honking horns (not annoying, but rather oddly pleasant--like Gershwin's "An American in Paris," Annie) all evening.

Vienna to Kyiv

From the time I deboarded the Delta flight from Atlanta in Vienna, I had only about 40 minutes to check in to Austrian Airways, race through the Austrian passport check, and then almost run all the way to the other side of the airport for my flight to Kyiv. As it was, I was about the last one to arrive.

The flight was very interesting, with announcements made by the flight crew in German, Russian and English. Also, they passed out newspapers in both German and Ukrainian. The flight was short, only about 90 minutes, and much of that was spent filling out the Ukrainian "Immigration Card." As we broke the cloud cover and saw the countryside around the airport for the first time, it really struck me that we were here. I have dreamed of this day for thirty years.

The Kyiv Airport is an older building with a very institutional Soviet-era feeling about it. There is no extending gate which would enable the passengers to walk right into the concourse. Instead, we had to walk down an open stairway some considerable distance out on the tarmac (at least two football fields away from the building), and then board a bus without seats (only overhead and side rails to hold onto) in which we were driven to the concourse. We then enter the building past some sinister looking guys in leather coats and radios through a staircase entrance, and go through a maze of passport and customs stations, all manned by uniformed guards. Before customs, there are carousels where the luggage is being disgorged from the arriving plane. I waited for about fifteen minutes, when a woman in a red uniform walked through the throng calling, "Gibbons, Gibbons!" It turns out she was from the airline, and had learned that my suitcase did not make it to the plane in Vienna (unlike me) but would come later tonight. She then rapidly filled out three or four forms, had me sign them and literally walked me through customs, without the slightest by-your-leave from the uniformed guard there. So, I got through customs in about thirty seconds. That may be why I look so happy in this picture taken in front of the airport by my driver. (More about that later). I had been dreading customs more than anything, and it was over like that.

The down side is that I will have to stay awake tonight until ten o'clock or later waiting for my suitcase.

Now I am especially glad that I carried on all of my clothes. I do worry, however, that my incentive gifts for my students will be lost somewhere in central or eastern Europe.

Over the Darkened Sea--Atlanta to Vienna

My layover in Atlanta was tedious, and I was very anxious by the time I boarded the plane for the trans-Atlantic crossing about sundown. By the time we had taxied to the runway and waited in line, it was pitch dark. Until sunrise I didn't see a thing. Our flight took us over New England, the

Canadian Maritime Provinces, and the North Atlantic. Immediately after takeoff, the flight attendants served dinner. After that I decided that I would try to get a head start on overcoming the jet lag and go to sleep. The inflight movie, "Mr. Bean's Vacation," did not interest me in the least. There was, however, a young mother with two very active sons across the aisle who were enthralled. I used my earplugs, and the airline provided two pillows, a blanket and a eye mask. I slept almost the entire night until sunrise, awaking only briefly while we were over the North Atlantic, and imagined that cold dark water 30,000 feet below us.

I awoke when there was just the faintest hint of a sunrise on the eastern horizon. We were over England by now, and the rest of the trip over Europe was spectacular. We arrived in Vienna at about 9:50, Vienna time.

I'm Underway--Salt Lake City to Atlanta

Early this morning I loaded my three bags in the back of my wife's car, and I was off. We first dropped my son off at the high school, then my wife dropped me off at the airport, curbside. I first checked in at Delta's International Ticketing Area, where I joined a long snaking line with fifty or so other travelers. There were families with luggage carts loaded with suitcases and taped-up crates, and many children standing sleepy-eyed with parents or grandparents. One little girl in particular struck me, standing there with a pink fleece blanket draped over her shoulders. There were a group of Russian speakers in the line ahead of me, all wearing fur coats, and I couldn't help but try to eavesdrop on their conversation.

My journey to Kyiv required stopovers in Atlanta and Vienna. I waited at my gate and then boarded a Boeing 737 to Atlanta. Amazingly, I am ninety percent sure that a woman sitting two rows ahead of me was the same woman who appeared before me on a criminal matter two days ago. I kept my head low, and I am certain that she did not recognize me.

My "Soft Stages"

A few days ago, as I was pondering how to reduce my luggage to the absolute bare minimum, I wondered if I could find a pair of shoes which were designed as all-weather walking shoes, with a treaded sole, but which would also look acceptable in a business suit (I intend to do my teaching in a suit and tie). I mentioned this idea to my wife and fifteen year old son at breakfast a few days ago. My wife then said that she had just seen an ad from an athletic shoe store, and handed me the ad. We perused the ad together, she looking at it upside down over the kitchen table. "Look," she said, pointing to a one of the pictured specials showing a pair of black walking shoes. "They're called 'Soft Stages.'"

"You mean, 'Soft Stags?'" I answered, and my son burst out laughing. "Stages" just doesn't have the manly sound of "Stags."

That afternoon I went down to "Big 5 Sporting Goods" and checked out the "Soft Stages." They were perfect--about the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn. They're not the best looking things in the world (although a cut above the hideous "mailman shoes" I initially wore during my two-year mission in Germany in the late 1970's), but they'll do.

At least I won't be sliding and careening down the streets of Kyiv in a November snow storm wearing my all-leather dress shoes.

Money Worries

I have been told that travelers cheques are useless in Ukraine, because no one will cash them; and credit cards are risky, because everyone can steal them (or at least steal the data). Hence, I am traveling today with cash.

A few weeks ago I bought a hidden money and passport belt or pouch at Shapiro's, a local travel store. It is an ingenious little device which attaches to your belt, but is secured inside your trousers on the side. Here I have my cash, passport, other identification, insurance information and (for emergencies only) a major credit card. I have practiced using my money belt exactly once. It is a little awkward--especially when you need to get your passport out in a hurry; people may do a double take at this guy reaching down into his pants for something--but it works. Of course, I will make sure that I attach the thing to my belt loops. Otherwise, I have visions of dropping the whole enchilada on the concourse floor, while I walk away obliviously with my luggage.

I understand that there are a plethora of money changers in the City where I can turn my American cash into the local Hryvnia. One of my fellow judges, who taught in Kyiv in September, tells me that there is a kiosk just a half a block from the apartment where he went every day or two to convert money.

Based also upon advice I have been given, I will carry a small wallet in which I will put only a small amount of Hryvnia bills. This I will use to purchase meals, souvenirs, books, etc. That way I won't have to fumble to pull my money belt or pouch out of my pants, thus broadcasting to the world that here is some idiot carrying a HUGE wad of cash around Kyiv.

One of my worries has to do with the condition of my American currency. When I went to my local bank here in America a few days ago, I asked for fifties and hundreds. Since then, I have been told that the Ukrainian money changers only like to change the NEW fifties, and eschew the old ones. Late last night I inspected my fifties, and found that most of them are the old issue. I hope that I will be able to use them.

Armchair Traveler

This morning I awoke at about 4:30, very excited and anxious to be underway. After showering, shaving, dressing and putting the last few items in my luggage, I paused for a few moments in my upstairs study, where I have spent so many hours reading, studying, pondering this world, its literature and my place in it. Up to now I have been an armchair traveler only, never venturing beyond the safe cocoon of my little insular world. My daily routine has carried me, as it were, only between the safe poles of my leather reading chair and the comfortable environs of my judicial bench and chambers.

I have been reading and thinking about eastern Europe, and particularly the former Soviet Union for thirty years. Now is the time to venture forth from my secure niche and see it for myself firsthand, and even attempt to give some service there which will be of benefit to those who live there. My teaching of the great democratic bulwark of the jury trial to a new generation of lawyers may the first step in that service. My hope is that all of the years of pondering, reading, studying and musing over the subject and the people may be fruitful in my first venture beyond the leather chair in my study.

Law Schools Where I Will Teach

My schedule has me teaching at the following Kyiv law schools:

• Academy of Advocates:
  Академії адвокатури України
  Taras Schevchenko Blvd, 27
  01032 Київ, бульвар Тараса Шевченка, 27
  8-044-234-4242
  metro stop –University (Red Line)


• Vadym Hetman Kyiv National Economic University
  Київський нацiональний економiчний унiверситет
  м. Київ, Проспект перемоги 54/1
  38 044 4564142
  Metro stop - Shulyavka (red line)


• Kyiv International University
  Київський міжнародний університет
  49, Lvivska St.,
  Kyiv, 03179,
  8 044 450-06-31
  metro stop- Zhytomrska (Red Line)


• National Aviation University
  Національний авіаційний Університет
  Ukraine, Kiev, Kosmonavta Komarova Ave. 1
  03058
  8 044 406-79-01
  metro stop – not available


• Economics and Law University
  Університет Економіка та Права "КРОК"
  Lagerna Street, 30-32
  03113, Kyiv - 133
  8 044 455 57-57
  metro stop – Beresteyska (Red Line)

I teach Monday through Thursday, commuting from campus to campus, usually on the Metro, or underground subway system. I will present four lectures of about an hour and twenty minutes at each of the five schools.

Packing Light--Bling Bling

Based on advice received from seasoned travelers, I'm packing light. All of my clothes are in a small hanger-bag, and I have a few items in my briefcase. I am not taking a laptop, but I do have my Windows Mobile handheld device, although I will disable the phone. The Institute has two cell phones and a laptop for me in Ukraine in the apartment.

Two of my packing mentors are my parents, who spent three years living in Sao Paulo Brazil and who traveled virtually every weekend to various cities in South America. They had it down to a science. Dad would put a clean shirt and a pair of clean unmentionables in his briefcase, with essential toiletries. Mom would do the same in a large purse. In 2004 my wife and I traveled with my parents to Nauvoo, Illinois for several days. Whereas my wife and I had multiple suitcases, my Dad had his briefcase and my Mom had her big purse.

Although I am packing light as far as personal items go, I will check one large bag for my flight. Inside I have "American Gear" to give as incentive gifts to my students and others. This includes 135 commemorative pins, 100 presentation pens, 60 pencils, 9 book bags, 55 T shirts, 5 baseball caps, 3 beanies, and 30 very cool law enforcement patches. The nicest stuff is the "Utah Gang Coppers" Gear from the law enforcement Metro Gang Unit, including very nice caps, beanies and long-sleeved T Shirts with the distinctive cross-like logo. Donors for all of this "bling" include the Cities of Holladay and Cottonwood Heights, Utah, the Salt Lake District Attorney, the "Heart of Holladay" race coordinator, and the Salt Lake County Sheriff's Office. My goal is to use the "bling" to draw out my students and loosen them up a bit.

My plan is this--once I unload all of the "bling bling," I will use the empty suitcase to pack Russian books, Pysanky, religious icons, shapkas, and other "touristy" stuff that I plan on buying while in Kyiv.

Also, my son-in-law tells me, he wants an accordian!? I'll do my best, bud.

Getting Up To Speed in Russian

In 1978, at age 21, I enrolled as the equivalent of a first quarter freshman at the University of Utah after spending two years as a volunteer missionary for the Mormon Church in Germany. The first class I registered for was Russian 101. The desire to learn Russian was first kindled in Germany when I met many Russian refugees from the former Soviet Union. I studied Russian for two years, attaining an average reading ability and a mediocre conversational capacity. In 1980 I was making preparations to spend a semester at Moscow State University when I met my present wife, fell in love and became engaged. That was the end of my formal Russian studies. I ultimately earned a bachelors degree in History and then a law degree. And I let my Russian languish.

I briefly took up the study of Russian again in about 1990 when my family and I sponsored a number of Russian immigrants to the United States.

Since accepting the invitation to teach in Ukraine this November, I have recommenced my study of Russian in earnest. My chief tools have been Rosetta Stone's Russian learning tool and the wonderful help of a Russian tutor, Tatyana, who has come to our house once a week since August to help me get back up to speed. Tatyana grew up in Dniepropetrovsk, and is fluent in both Russian and Ukrainian (and probably other languages she is too modest to mention). She is married now, and living in Salt Lake City, working and attending school. Her English is better than mine, I think. I have made better conversational progress with Tatyana's help than I did in two years of University Russian. I have also listened regularly to the Voice of America in Russian. She has also helped me to improve my grammer, my pronunciation (especially of that most simple word, это--Tatyana pointed out that I was inexplicably pronouncing a rolling "R" when saying the word) as well as Russian jokes and proverbs.


Also, I had a pleasant visit one evening with the suitor of one of our daughter's friends, who recently served a mission in the Ukraine Donetsk Mission of the LDS Church. He taught me such important information as, how to shop in the massive marketplace, or Рынок. He also taught me several little proverbs, such as "У матросов, нет вопросов." (Among the sailors, no questions).

Clearing the Decks

On this my last day in court before my great Ukrainian adventure, I worked in chambers in the morning dealing with a number of last minute matters given to me by the clerks. From mid morning through late afternoon I handled a moderately large calendar of about 120 criminal and miscellaneous arraignments. These were mostly retail theft, assault and numerous minor offenses. I did handle two domestic violence and child abuse cases, with the defendants in custody. One of the defense attorneys was checking his calendar to schedule a disposition hearing in December and apologized that he was unavailable because he was taking his wife on a trip to Central America. He said, "But I would gladly trade places with you and go to Russia, Judge." We have arranged for a substitute judge to handle any emergency matters halfway through my trip.

The temperature in Salt Lake City today is in the 60's, with clear blue skies and the trees bedecked in bright fall colors. I have high windows in my courtroom, letting in all of that warm sunlight. Beyond the windows is a park where there are frequently football or lacrosse games in progress during the last hour or so of the court day. Sometimes I look out over the spectators in the courtroom and marvel at the unusually rapt attention they are giving me. Then I turn around and realize that someone is scoring a goal. The next twenty-four hours will be a shock. The weather forecast for Kyiv is rain on Friday and Saturday and snow on Sunday, with the highs below 35 degrees Fahrenheit. I intend to dress warmly.

I should finish my trials by 4:30 p.m. Tonight, I will finish my packing, and try to get a good nights sleep so that I can arise early to get to the airport.

A Newspaper Article Which Changed My Life

In the Fall of 2007 I read an article in Salt Lake City's Deseret Morning News which changed my life. The article, "From Nephi to Ukraine--Trek for Justice Reform," describes how two Utah lawyers, David and Chelom Leavitt, husband and wife, spent a year living with their children in Kyiv, Ukraine volunteering for the American Bar Association, and helping Ukrainian lawyers and judges set up a more democratic justice system. Within days of their arrival in Ukraine, the Leavitts witnessed firsthand the so-called "Orange Revolution," when millions of protestors descended peacefully upon downtown Kiev to show their disapproval of the fraudulent Presidential election of 2004.

The Leavitts returned to their hometown of Nephi, Utah in 2005 and set up a nonprofit organization dedicated to advancing knowledge of the jury trial as a critical mechanism to ensure democratic freedom. During the 2006-2007 school year their organization, The Leavitt Institute for International Development, taught a year-long jury trial course in three Kyiv law schools. The course was taught by American judges and attorneys, primarily from the Leavitt's home state of Utah, and culminated in a mock jury trial competition held in Kyiv this past spring.

For some reason, this article moved me in a profound way. It spoke to something deep within me, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. It kindled a desire within me to do something similar in my own life. This desire was not born out of any dissatisfaction with my life. At the time I had been a criminal trial judge for six years, and was very happy and fulfilled with my work on the bench. I felt as if my work as a judge was making a profound difference in my community, and I approached each day of work with relish and excitement. But I had long harbored deep longings to work with the people of eastern Europe. So deep was this desire, that as a young man I had studied Russian for two years while attending the University of Utah. Later, my wife and children and I sponsored six Russian and Armenian immigrants to the United States through the Tolstoy Foundation Refugee Resettlement Agency.

After pondering the matter for a few weeks, I contacted David Leavitt in December of 2006 to ask if he needed any assistance with his organization's Jury Trial Initiative. And now, eleven months later, I am embarking on one of the great adventures of my life--teaching about the jury trial in five law schools in Kyiv, Ukraine.