The Taras Shevchenko Museum

Olga told me on Thursday that she thought I was beginning "to understand the true Ukrainian Spirit" and urged me to pay a visit to the Taras Shevchenko Museum. This I did after a long day of sightseeing in the oldest parts of Kyiv.

My experience was unique and enriching. First, my story of visiting the museum itself. This is housed in a beautiful, ornate and grand residence of the nineteenth century, with eighteen foot high ceilings and spacious rooms. I entered the building, which was as quiet as a church. I was apparently the only visitor in the building at the time. I first spoke to a security guard and two receptionists in the grand marble foyer. They directed me downstairs to buy a ticket. In a warren of rooms in the basement, I found a little woman in her seventies at a ticket desk. She told me the price was five grivnia. I produced a fifty grivnia note. She frowned and then laughed and shook her head. I deduced from this action that at that point in the day (4:00 p.m.) they had not yet had ten visitors to the museum). I dug for coins in my pocket and was finally able to produce the five grivnia admission price. She handed me a pair of hospital-green foot covers, telling me (all in Ukrainian/Russian, of course, as was my interaction with all of the Museum staff) to put them over my shoes. She then directed me further into the warren to check my coat. There was another functionary in the very ornate coat-check room. Mine was the only coat hanging on the many, many coat racks in this large room. She gave me an ornate numbered token--68 I believe, although I don't know why I needed a token for my coat since I was the only one in the museum--and sent me back upstairs.

Upstairs I was greeted by two other women, who asked for my "билет"--my ticket. I produced my numbered token--68--and smiled. Oh no, the woman said. I needed a ticket. The other woman frowned, pointed to my feet and stage-whispered to her companion, "But he has the coverings on his feet." I explained that I was given no ticket by my little septuagenarian friend downstairs, only the token by the coat woman. One of the women then said she would check, so she went downstairs and returned with my "ticket," which was a small crumpled up cash receipt. I was then in business.

Since the women spoke no English, I was given an English script detailing the contents of sixteen grand rooms containing artwork, manuscripts and memorabilia from the life of Taras Shevchenko, the greatest Ukrainian writer.

I had a marvelous time proceeding through this museum. As I entered each room--with high ornate ceilings, chandeliers, long windows with heavy curtains, thick Victorian era carpets, parquet wood floors, intricate wood carvings, etc.--I found a separate woman docent sitting in the room. They would snap on the light for me as I entered, and turn it off as I left--sometimes with great alacrity. It was dark outside by now, and so the docent with no museum visitors in her assigned room was required to sit in the dark waiting for a visitor. Sixteen rooms. Sixteen docents. And me. In two of the rooms I found the new docent alseep, whereupon the previous docent would run into the darkened room ahead of me and find the light. This light followed me around the museum as if I was the prophet Samuel carrying a lighted torch, filling each room with light and then leaving darkness in my wake.

Now to Taras Shevchenko. He was an artist and a writer of the early to mid nineteenth century. In trouble with the Russian authorities because of his Ukrainian nationalism, he was tried in St. Petersburg, then sent in the military for an exploration of the Aral Sea. There he honed both his writing and his drawing. His drawings are very appealing to me, reminiscent of the charcoal and pencil drawings of the German Carl Spitzweg which I have collected.

The other day I bought a copy of his life-work "Kobzar" and found a beautiful poem about "моя Україна"--"My Ukraine".

• Світе тихий, краю милий,
• Моя Україно

(See page 220 in my edition of Kobzar) I copied down the first lines and showed them later to Olga, who helped me translate a couple of unknown words. Well, in the museum this afternoon I found the original manuscript for this very poem. It showed that the first word, had originally been "краю" тихий, which the poet had crossed out and changed to "Світе" тихий.

I am very glad that Olga suggested I visit the Museum. It has been one of the highlights of my trip.

Shovelers and Loafers

It snowed again in the night, and as I enjoyed my perambulations in the morning sun, I noticed many diligent workers wielding snow shovels. Some were on the sidewalks in front of private residence buildings. Many were on public walkways in or near Pechersk Lavra. They were using what looked to me to be very primitive shovels--straight and flat pieces of sheet metal rivited to wooden boards, or wooden shovels, or even old mediaeval looking brooms made from long branches. Interestingly, the men I saw working with the shovels didn't seem to be accomplishing much, but the women--and these were not young women--were making real headway.

One of my grandfathers built his own snow shovel, which could plow the entire width of a Salt Lake City street, and even into his seventies, he would arise at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, and essentially shovel the snow all the way around the block in his West-side home. He was of the same mettle and determination as the older women I saw this morning.

I guess we could classify people in this world as shovelers and loafers. Some are willing to clear the path for those who follow, to scrape away the ice, push aside the snow. Others are content to watch, to chat, to smoke, to let their fellow laborers do the heavy lifting.

Peeling Away the Veneer

I have been curious to note on very many old churches here that there are sections of the exterior which are left stripped down to the bare stone or brick. At first I wondered if there was some symbolic religious significance, but finally concluded it may just be an effort to demonstrate the underlying antiquity of the structure.

I believe it is a good thing to be constantly aware of our underlying foundation. We spend much of our lives applying stucco, plaster, paint, varnish and filigree. It is a good thing to know who we are and what our underlying fabric consists of. Otherwise, the interior masonry may decay, and we are left with an empty shell.

The underlying foundation stones of Ukraine are steady and sure. I am grateful on this trip to have been able to see a few sections of this nation which are "left exposed," beneath the plaster and paint of all of the "Western" or "Russian" influences which threaten this society like a tsunami.

Open and Closed Doors

I was struck by the beautiful doors in Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra. Golden doors leading into churches, cathedrals, temples. Doors into ancient dwelling places. Doors in walls. Doors open and closed. Many of the doors I saw are of obvious antiquity--massive, heavy timbered, studded with iron bushings, with wide iron bolts and hinges. Most of the doors I saw were locked shut. Only certain of the doors were open to visitors.

On many of these very ancient doors I have seen these flimsy little padlocks of modern make. It is almost laughable to see a "ninety-nine cent" lock from the hardware store on a monastic cell door dating back to the twelfth century.

The shut doors for Ukraine are of very ancient date. Many doors are still shut, bolted, barred. In the past fifteen years, many an iron door has swung noisily open, groaning on rusted hinges long disused. Locks have been broken. Cheap and inconsequential locks of the present. May the doors open. May the chains fall may the prisoners go free. That--and more--is my hope as I continue my small service here in this sacred nation.

Pechersk--The Trinity-Over-The-Gate Church

Here is another very appealing Church in Pechersk (there are dozens). I just like the name--Trinity-over-the-Gate. There are some spectacular murals on the outside of the Church, as well as on the flanking walls. The "Gates" I have seen in Kyiv will bear much future rumination. "The Great Gate at Kiev" is the concluding number in Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition." Of course, there is also the pseudo-historical "Golden Gate" at Zoloti Voroda, which I will see in the morning. I like the idea of "gates" which lead us to new places and connections. May the "Gates" of Kyiv be wide open in the future, and may the inhabitants of this beautiful find "The Great Gate." This is my hope.

Pechersk--St.Nicholas's Church

St. Nicholas's Church is a beautiful little seventeenth century chapel, with a single golden cupola, golden in its uppermost onion shape, but sky-blue beneath with many painted stars. I really like the starry domes I have seen on this church, as well as the Volodymyrs-ska Cathedral near Taras Shevchenko Park downtown. This little church in Pechersk is very appealing to me. White walls, except for the blue and gold dome, set in a little walled-in garden. It is clearly "outclassed" by the soaring bell tower and Grand Church in the adjacent plaza, but this is a wonderful little church.

Pechersk--The Refectory "Temple"

For me the most significant experience I had at Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra was attending a mass inside the Byzantine Refectory which is adjacent to and just east of the Grand Church at Lavra, the Dormition Cathedral. After spending more than an hour in the Refectory and walking back outside, I asked three different priests or worshippers in Russian, "What is the name of that Church?" to which they all replied, "трапезной храм." It was interesting to me that they used the word, "храм,"--Temple--for that is the precise Old Testament connection which struck me again and again during my hour's visit inside.

After inspecting the Grand Church and visiting with the beggar woman near its golden door, I saw many men and women converging on a comparitively plain looking building to the east with a distinctive Byzantine structure--that is, like the ancient St. Sophia's in Instanbul (now a mosque since the fifteenth century Islamic conquest of the city) it has a domed structure rather than a square or cross-shaped structure. This is a very ancient form and architecture, much copied in the ancient world, including here in Kyiv, which, as I say, was patterned after the Byzantine Christian Churches of the first Millennium. (Since I was not allowed to take pictures of the interior, I have enclosed copies of pictures taken from a book I later purchased).

To continue the story of my visit, I followed the throng of worshippers to the side door of the Refectory, where I donated a small amount of money to the women holding donation boxes at the door, and joined perhaps a hundred or more worshippers inside. They stood facing the screen and altar in the inside of the domed structure. I was again impressed (as I was at St. Michael's of the Golden Domes) by the very, very pleasant smell of burning candles pervading the interior of the Refectory. The most striking feature of the service was the rich and beautiful singing of the priests. Several priests were dressed in black robes on the worshipper side of screen. The fabric covering veil and golden doors leading behind the screen were swung open wide, and three priests dressed in long white robes with golden capes or coverings over their shoulders came out toward the altar. The singing by the central priest was a beautiful chant in a rich baritone, to which all the priests would add cadenza-like choruses in as rich a harmony (four or five part or more--it was difficult to tell) as I have ever heard in my life. The singing was truly moving. The central priest had a metallic senser, smoking with incense, which he held in his right hand swinging, with a large golden cross in his left hand. He was a man of perhaps forty, with a very pleasing and smiling face, which radiated deep affection to the people he was serving. This was no routine experience for him, was my impression. After a long service, whose words I did not understand, the central white and gold-bedecked priest placed the cross from his hand on the altar. The white-robed priests then retired back behind the massive screen, closed the golden gates, and drew closed the curtain beyond, and that was the last we saw of them. The black-robed priests, however, continued to minister in the area of the standing worshippers. (Here, as at St. Michael's of the Golden Domes, I saw no seating for worshippers. They all stood.

The murals inside the dome of the Refectory are stunning. In particular, they seemed to depict incidents from the life of Christ as portrayed in the scriptures. Above the screen in the center was a mural of the Last Supper. On the wall to the left was a depiction of the Sermon on the Mount, and on the right (if memory serves) a portrayal of healings performed in a throng. There were many, many other murals, with intricate webs of design tracery, reaching essentially from the floor all the way to the top of the vast dome overhead. The diameter of the domed space must have been 150 feet or more. It is a very large and open space, illuminated brightly by a large golden chandelier with many lights hanging from three great chains in the center of the Byzantine dome. What impresses me about the Orthodox Churches I have seen are the murals, which are so lifelike and filled with rich and vibrant colors. And these murals are everywhere, including on the outside walls of Churches. They are truly stunning.

There is a long rectangular chamber running south of and entered by great doors from the domed structure. Here, again, are floor to ceiling murals along walls hundreds of feet long. At the rear of this chamber was a place for the sale of candles, icons and books. I also noticed two long tables at the back of the room where many women were writing upon long narrow paper slips--I presume they were writing down names of individuals, as these appeared in list fashion on this long narrow slips. I then observed, as these women took their lists to an altar at the head of the room, near the doors leading into the domed Refectory proper, where they joined another great throng of women, and a few men, who stood around two priests who were standing at a table-altar filled with loaves of bread, flasks of wine, candles and sensers with burning incense. The priests (these were dressed in black cassocks) were singing a beautiful hymn in harmony, joined by many of the common worshippers, some of whom held hymnbooks of a sort. Between the beautiful choruses--all a cappella, as had been the vocal music in the Refectory dome--the central priest would take the long slips of paper, and "singing" down the list, would read each handwritten line (again, I presume these were names of persons whom the women wanted prayers said for), then tear the sheet in half and place it on the table.

I spent more than an hour in the Refectory "Temple" and its adjoining chamber observing the services and inspecting the murals. It was truly one of the more interesting experiences I have had in some time, and brought to mind a flood of connections to passages in both the Old and New Testament, which I will not burden this record with, but may write about in my private diary.

I Receive an Angel's Reward

Near the main entrance to Lavra's Grand Church there was a little old woman sitting, huddled in modest clothing holding a small paper cup, begging. It was an interesting contrast to see her rags juxtaposed against those beautiful golden doors of the restored Dormition Cathedral. I have no doubt that there are beggars in Kyiv whose activities are questionable, as there are in every society. But I have always been of the opinion that one should never "allow the beggar to raise his petition to you in vain," and so I dropped a small bill into her cup. I then quoted to her one of a handful of Russian scriptures that I have memorized: "да благословит тебя Господь и сохранит тебя!" ("The Lord bless thee and keep thee!"--Numbers 6:24). She burst into tears, and, sobbing, reached for my left gloved hand and kissed it.

Mine was an angel's portion then.

Pechersk--Lavra's Grand Church and Belltower

The Dormition Cathedral, which is Lavra's Grand central church, is esteemed as the holiest site in all of eastern Europe. It was first built soon after 1170, though it was almost completely destroyed in 1941. It stands in the center of a large plaza completely surrounded by walls, monastic buildings and other churches. Adjacent to its main south-facing front is the amazing belltower. The golden cupolas and domes of this stunning structure were radiant in the sun when I saw it. I had originally intended to come here the day after my arrival, last Saturday, but was turned back by rain. I am actually glad that I waited until a morning of rare sunshine so that I could see this place in all of its golden splendor.

In the book shop I spent some time looking at some historical pictures of this site. The most stunning is an aerial photograph taken during the 1940's after the building was almost completely destroyed in an explosion in 1941. One account that I have read indicates that it may have been destroyed by the Soviet forces after the occupation of Germany in an attempt to kill visiting German dignitaries. The destruction did not affect the adjacent Refectory "Temple"--of which I will have much, much more to say later.

Pechersk--The Monastic Buildings

After leaving the little Transfiguration Church, I entered a back gate directly into the monastic buildings. These appear to be in current use. See, for example, the icons in the window with the pigeons, and the homemade cross and inscriptions. There are many enclosures with cloisters or galleries facing upon quiet gardens, which are very beautiful in the snow. Here, again, I saw many, many young Orthodox priests, some mere teenagers, walking to and from the various churches, shoveling snow, etc. There is a vibrant quality about the monastic enclosure that I have never seen in any American religious retreat. The monastic buildings appear to be very old, and I was especially interested in the doors, with their heavy timbers and massive hinges and bolts. However, I also noted several Russian placards on the monastic walls, identifying this or that "ministry" or "bureau," which undoubtedly means that there were many government uses for these buildings during the long Soviet winter. I understand that the Soviet authorities twice drove the monks from these enclosures, once in 1930 and again in 1961. In one of the monastery museums I also saw an aerial photograph of the Soviet destruction of the Dormition Cathedral (it was rebuilt after the fall of the Soviet Union). However, the main single-domed Byzantine style Refectory, which all of the local priests and worshippers I talked to here called the "трапезной храм" (that is, "trapezoidal temple"--not chapel, but temple) survived the Soviet destruction in large part. More about the amazing Refectory--Temple in a later post.

Which all goes to show how enduring are the things of the heart and soul. This monastery has stood here for more than a thousand years, through countless invasions, coups, famines, wars and even through deliberate destructive acts such as those of the horrific twentieth century.

Pechersk--Berestove Transfiguration Church

Coming up the snowy hill from the Park of Eternal Glory, it appears that most of the visitors to Pechersk Lavra enter by the main gate. I noted, however, that there was a small staircase leading over a snowy hill on the left, and decided to explore. This took me into the Monastery by the back way. The thought of sneaking up upon this great monastery--which is said to be the most sacred Orthodox site in all of eastern Europe--appealed to me greatly. I didn't want to see it by the guidebook, but let it unfold to me in its own way.

The first sight one has upon cresting the little deserted hill is the small and slightly dilapidated Church of the Transfiguration. This Church, not properly a part of the monastery and outside its walls, was once a local parish church for the local neighborhood. It has four golden domes over the main nave of the church, and a protruding bell tower. (At first I wondered if the domes symbolized Peter's statement in Luke 9 about building three tabernacles, but there are four domes instead of three). I like this church. It is small and somewhat unobtrusive. While it might be a centerpiece in another city, here, next to the monumental Dormition Cathedral and related buildings, the Transfiguration Church is considered by some as a mere footnote.

None of us should waste our lives worrying whether we happen to be a humble Transfiguration Church or the Soaring Cathedral in the Square. There is something appealing about standing on our own foundations, giving the service that we are able to give. The sun glints as beautifully off of the domes of the little Transfiguration Church as from the highest pinnacles of the Cathedral.

Park of "Eternal Glory"

Coming out into the vast green spaces lining the Dnipro River north of Pechersk Lavra, one comes upon Vichnoyi Slavi Park, or the Park of "Eternal Glory." Dedicated to the fallen of World War II, it has an impressive granite obelisk as the focal center of several long walkways. These looked very beautiful in the early morning sunlight, glancing up off of the new fallen snow. Coming out onto the round plaza surrounding the obelisk, I saw for the first time a wide (and clear weather) prospect of the Dnipro River and the rest of the City beyond. With this perspective, one sees how really big this city is, sprawling in all directions for dozens of miles. On a clear day this spot might provide the furthest possible perspective that this city affords.

After visiting Pechersk Lavra, I returned by the same way, and saw that the Vichnoyi Slavi Park was a popular gathering place for wedding parties and families with small children. While the little kids rode their sleds down the surrounding hills, newly married couples and their guests had pictures taken with their backs to the Dnipro. I suppose that on this, one of the most important days of their lives, they want the furthest possible perspective from which to launch forward together.

The Sun Appears

After an entire week of overcast skies, sub-freezing temperatures and snow, the Sun showed its welcome face today. I left the apartment at nine for an excursion to Kyiv-Pecherska Lavra, taking the Metro to Arsenalna, where I came up to see blue sky and sunlight for the first time. The wide sidewalks of Hrushevs'kovo, which connects Arsenalna and Pechersk Lavra were filled with pedestrians (including, wonder of wonder, children!), and everyone seemed in very good humor. When I took a picture of the sun on the sidewalk, some utility workers called to me, "What about us?"

Street Minstrels

Brazen hawking and peddling isn't the only game on the street. I have seen a goodly number of street musicians, including singers, at least three different accordianists, and today a trio of minstrels with guitars. There are also a fair number of beggars, including a rather heart-tugging elderly woman at Pechersk Lavra, of whom I may write more later. Though I almost always give to the beggars, I sometimes wonder how well the money will be spent. One feels good, however, about dropping a few coins or small bills with the street musicians.

Buying and Selling in the Streets

One of the distinctively Ukrainian customs which I have observed is the amazingly robust practice of street vending. I have seen nothing like it either in America or in western Europe. Everywhere the streets are filled with shops, advertisements, kiosks, tents, tables or impromptu displays full of things for sale large and small. Furs, boots, hats, books, electronics, telephones, drinks, snacks, antiques, music, movies, ribbons, scarves, newspapers, bread, fruit, vegetables, flowers. Any product you can name can be found on the tables or pallets of some vendor. Many have sophisticated kiosks or tents with slick marketing signs. Others have no signs at all. Especially varied are the above- and below-ground markets of the Shulyavska Metro station. The colors, scents and sounds are amazingly varied. Some of the vendors appear to have some kind of relationship or agreement, official or otherwise, with the public authorities. Many operate out of permanent locations, with steel security doors lining public walkways or tunnels or in permanently parked outdoor trailers which can be locked at night. Other "deals" with the officials appear more ad hoc, as when one evening I saw a flower vendor pulling large buckets filled with plants into a utility and equipment room right inside the Metro itself. Perhaps some petty police officer or maintenance worker was getting a share of the till in exchange for looking the other way. But most of the vendors appear to have no permanent presence, as they are just set up on some curb or wall. Especially touching are the many, many women, most of middle or old age, dressed in simple smocks with boots and scarves, who set up a few buckets filled with garden produce--beets, carrots, potatoes--and watch stolidly as the tens of thousands of commuters pass by, many wearing expensive and stylish clothing, furs and boots.

I perceive both positive and negative aspects to this burgeoning commerce. It is, of course, a positive sign that the gates of freedom of thought and expression have been blown wide open. An Associated Press article this week from the United States commented favorably on the openness and freedom that currently pervades Ukrainian press, politics and public discourse. This same openness is evident in the marketplace. On the downside, however, is the unfettered intrusion of advertising, buying and selling on the lives of people. One is inundated with pitches, from the absurd pseudo-sophisticated banners covering the sides of architectural gems (such as the bizarre vinyl "Tuborg" banners gracing the building across the street from my window, whose three ridiculous-looking models I have named "Anime," "Disturbia" and "Luigi") to the throngs of commercial pampleteers standing at every corner and in every tunnel handing out colored fliers selling this and that or promising great incomes with no training. The last straw for me was to be standing in the stacks at the bookstore and to hear very loud American or European hip hop and rock music blaring annoyingly from the sound system. I fear the tsunami effect of too much advertising, too much "western" influence, which may drown and destroy the unique and beautiful culture of this special land.

Giving Away Pysanky

When I came to Ukraine I was anxious to take home many pysanky (Ukrainian singular is "писанка"), which are Ukrainian Easter eggs decorated with vibrant and highly symbolic colors. The word "писанка" is related to the word "to write," as the process of creating the eggs involves literally "writing" on the eggs. This morning I bought dozens of pysanky, both the original eggshell and more recently used wooden varieties. This is something that I had hoped to be able to do, since the hand decorating of Easter eggs has been the defining tradition in our family since our children were infants.

I have talked to a few Ukrainians about the various pysanky traditions, which are not universal by any means, but the following is my summary understanding: The purpose of the pysanky is to give them away as blessings to those around you. You don't keep pysanky--you give them away. I like that. To give away a pysanka is to give a unique symbolic gift of life and happiness. Each of the designs on the pysanka is supposed to have a deep, symbolic meaning. Traditionally, pysanky designs were chosen to match the character of the person receiving the gift. Usually pysanky would be displayed prominently in the largest public room of the house.

At Easter the women in a large family would create about 60 pysanky. In some communities, the preparation itself would be a deeply religious experience, requiring a certain peaceful and receptive state of mind, because blessings were to flow through the giving away of the pysanky to loved ones. The finished pysanky would be carried to the Church in a basket to be blessed by the priest on Easter Sunday, after which they were given away. I understand that the gift giving might proceed roughly as follows:

• One or two pysanky might be given to the Orthodox priest in the village Church.
• Three or four might be carried to the cemetery and placed on the graves of departed family members.
• Ten or fifteen might be given to children or grandchildren.
• Ten or twelve might be exchanged by the unmarried girls with the eligible young men in the community.
• A few might be saved to place in the coffin of loved ones who might die during the coming year.
• Several might be saved to keep in the home for protection against fire, lightning, storms or other dangers and intrusions.
• Two or three might be placed in the mangers of cows and horses to ensure safe calving and colting and a good milk supply for the young.
• At least one pysanka was placed beneath the family's bee hive to ensure a good harvest of honey (Ukraine is famous for honey--I have been having bread and honey for breakfast almost every morning since my arrival).
• One was saved for each grazing animal to be taken out to the fields with the shepherds in the spring.
• Several pysanky were placed in the nests of hens to encourage the laying of eggs.

Everyone in the family from the youngest to the oldest would always receive at least one pysanka for Easter. Young children and teenagers were given pysanky with light colors and bright designs; dark pysanky were given to older people. I understand that it was appropriate to give very young children pysanky which were very nearly white, signifying that they still had much in their lives "to be written." The pysanky for those of old age were glorious and rich with many deep hues and intricate designs. A bowl filled with pysanky was invariably kept in every home. It served not only as a colorful display, but also as protection from all dangers.

So, its a wonderful tradition. There is something powerful and moving in the idea behind pysanky--that it is better to give blessings away than to hoard them for ourselves. Though the colors and patterns are bright, we never really enjoy them unless they are given away. I will take home pysanky to give to my family and friends (and maybe even one for my Golden Retriever, "Lady," and one or two to give to the "Bishop" of my village church, and, of course, a bowl full of pysanky to sit in the large family room of our house).

My New Judicial Bulava

Before coming to Ukraine I had in mind bringing home some antique, or replica of something old, which I could display in my judicial chambers in the courthouse. Hence, a few days ago I visited a Russian antique vendor in a tiny underground shop near the Lva Tolstovo Metro station to try to buy an old statue. Today while browsing in the Andresyky Spusk I found just the thing--a replica of an ancient bulava ("булава" in both Russian and Ukrainian). A bulava is a ceremonial mace or baton carried by an officer of the highest military rank, and hence is a symbol of power and authority. It's historical use extends to all of the Slavic nations, but especially in Ukraine. Hence, when Ukrainian President Viktor Yuschchenko was being sworn into office he held a bulava in his right hand. My new bulava is about twenty inches long, and feels very substantial as I heft it in my hand. It has a richly carved handle, two large Ukrainian coats of arms on two sides of a block, and Kyivian crest on the other two, and a massive, bulbous head with at least nineteen spikes. It is a formidable looking thing. (I now remember that our young friend who had served an LDS mission in Donetsk told us that he brought a bulava home from Ukraine as well.) I intend to hang it up in my judicial chambers as a wonderful memento of my Ukrainian journey. (Note: It could also double as a backup defensive weapon--four or five years ago I was with a group of judges being trained by a security expert, who told us that if all else fails, we could strike an attacker from the bench with our gavels, right between the eyes.)

St. Andrew's--Stray Dogs--Street Vendors

Between St. Michael's and St. Andrew's, I was attracted to the many shops and outdoor street vendors on the Andriysky Spusk, or "St. Andrew's Descent." Here I spent an hour or more looking for a few little gifts to take home to my family. I had an especially pleasant conversation with a Ukrainian woman who spoke no English. She appeared to me to be the one Ukrainian plying her Ukrainian-themed souvenir wares in a frigid outdoor tent in the midst of a dozen Russian men(with excellent pitch-man's English) plying their distinctly Russian wares (e.g., "This Christmas Matroshka very popular this year; I make you good deal!" or "Do you want whiskey flask with Soviet symbol?" etc.) Needless to say, I wound up buying from the Ukrainian woman. I never got closer than a half a block from St. Andrew's itself, which rises up almost intimidatingly on a steep hill above the street. The high stairs and forbidding prospect aren't the only intimidating things. If you click on the picture you will see several loose dogs in the street before St. Andrew's. Frozen and exhausted and in no mood for dodging dogs, I took my little purchases home, far away from the stray dogs and Russian street vendors.