Thoughts on the Metro

Early in the week I did not ride the Metro, as I was commuting to and from Kharkiv. Now that I have ridden it several times, I renew my sentiment that the Metro is my favorite mode of transportation. It is a mammoth system which must have required enormous allocation of resources to build. It also serves a vast segment of the population--hundreds of thousands of people ride every day.

I have always been fascinated by the demeanor of the people riding the Kyiv Metro. There is mostly silence as the throngs descend into the cathedral-like underground structures of the Metro, and as they ride. As you descend on the long escalators, you can see the faces of thousands of people pass by you coming up. It is almost as if you can read the history of the people in the eyes of old women, workers, the young and fashionable, the handful of small children. I find the Ukrainian people generally very open, friendly, happy and even joyous--but not on the Metro. Perhaps it is memories of darker years which the Metro may symbolize. Perhaps it is an odd feeling of solitude and detachment one feels in the midst of a sea of strangers. Whatever the source, riding the Metro is a unique experience.

The Funicular in Action

Its Fun, Funny, even Funky. The Funicular is a unique nineteenth century trolley system that runs from the Poshtovo Ploscha Metro Station (which is almost at elevation of the Dnipro River) up the steep wooded hillside to the top of the Volodymyrska Hill Park. It is one of my favorite attractions in Kyiv, as it evokes the period of late Tsarist Rule of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. There are two cars, each suspended from a huge steel cable, like counterweights on a grandfather's clock. Thus when one car ascends from the riverside station, the companion car at the top of the hill begins a smooth descent. The cars are both custom constructed at a nunique angle so that the passengers in each of the compartments are always sitting or standing upright. The ride is very smooth and very quiet, hardly disturbing the birds sitting on the boughs of the surrounding trees. In fact, one has this surreal sense of detachment, leaving the crowded Metro and the busy Kyiv sreet and then boarding the Funicular as if entering a separate peaceful world. So far I have ridden the Funicular six times, as it is a very convenient way for me to get either to the Volodymrska Hill Park, to the Monument to Prince Volodymyr the Great (the "Baptizer"), to St. Michael's of the Golden Domes, or to the Andriysky Spusk.

Dear Jonathan: This is for You

To my dear son in law, Jonathan:

I found another accordian for you in Ukaine. Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy it.

Your loving father-in-law.

P.S. Is that really all you want for Christmas ?

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.

Where Will the Children Play?

I fear a little for Kyiv. From my first day here I noted how few children are seen on the streets and in public. Olga once commented to me that Kyiv was no place for children. I have previously commented on how this is a city for the few with cars, not for the many on foot. Though I have traveled on the Metro many times each day, and probably seen ten thousand fellow commuters or more, I have seen only three children--two toddlers, and one infant asleep in a baby carrier. This appears to be the city of the University student, of the worker, of the professional, of the party-goer, of the entrepreneur, of the fashion model, but not of the child. I imagine that outside the City center there are many children living happy lives in happy homes and growing into beautiful young people. Among the most touching things I have seen in my few days in Kyiv are the parks with playgrounds, where each evening a very few parents can be seen playing with their children in the snow, running and laughing, or throwing snowballs playfully. I fear a little for Kyiv. There ought to be children on streets that are safe. This all brings to mind the words of a song I very much liked in high school:

I know we've come a long way,

We're changing from day to day,

But tell me, where will the children play?

Olga Prepares to Battle the Thought Police

Yesterday, Olga was very indignant when she heard that the Metro officer had ordered me not to take photographs of the statues of the artists, writers, musicians and scientists featured in the Universityet Metro Station. When she met me this morning in the station she immediately suggested that I finish taking pictures of all of the statues. I said that it was okay, and I didn't mind, but she insisted, and then said, "If you are challenged again by the officer, I will ask him by what right he would deny you the privilege of taking photographs!" So I proceeded to take the remaining pictures, albeit with a wary glance over my shoulder should my Antagonist confront me again today. But my Protector, Olga, appeared ready to go to battle for me, and despite her diminuitive stature, she is a real fighter.

I finished my pictures, just as the Antagonist appeared in the archway. I was able to quickly take his picture to complete my set before he spotted me. The series is suitable for framing.

"Keep Your Hands and Arms Inside the Vehicle At All Times"

It is difficult to describe the speed with which the Metro cars arrive in their various stations, and the speed with which they depart. Yesterday I barely got on the car when the tail of my overcoat was caught in the door. Two days ago I saw an old woman fall in the doorway and she was only rescued by three men just before the doors closed. Olga tells me that the Metro can be a dangerous place for children, and that is very nerve-wracking escorting a child by the hand into this underground world. This video was taken this morning at the Universityet Metro Station. Note that this is not rush hour, and so the number of riders is unusually small. It is said that over one and a half million people ride Kyiv's Metro system each day.

(Incidentally, the English speaking voice you hear faintly in the background is the Protector, Olga, urging me to take more pictures of the statues in the Metro station so that the Antagonist will emerge from his lair to challenge me again.)

Travails of a Pedestrian

Kyiv should be the quintessential pedestrian's paradise, with a miraculous and awe-inspiring subway system which can move one and a half million passengers a day, with more city parks than any other major European City, and with such beautiful and inviting streets. But, as in other things, the forces of commercial interest are squeezing out the little guy. I have been amazed at the brazen gall of the drivers in this City. Crossing a street, even on a "walk" light and in a zebra stripe, can be a frightening experience. Drivers barely swerve around you if you are in the crosswalk. Few traffic controls are enforced, and the sidewalks appear to have become secondary highways for the fat Mercedes, BMW's and Lexus's so prevalent on the road. Tuesday night, for example, when we were stuck in absolute gridlock traffic returning home from the National Aviation University, we had to watch for cars behind us as we walked along the pedestrian path through the trees to the Metro Station.

As I walked through the City this morning, I noted also that most of the sidewalk space is occupied by cars parked overnight by their owners in front of their apartment buildings. And to reserve spots in the public right of way, people have begun to install steel framed locks which can be locked in an upright position to prevent other drivers from "stealing" your place on the sidewalk.

Taras, Lev, Boris and Me

With the winding down of the first week of teaching, I had a moment to give thought to taking some mementos home to Salt Lake City. I first stopped at a little antiques store underground at the Metro station below my apartment, and inquired about some nice looking bronze statues which I thought might look nice in my judicial chambers. I inquired of the proprietor, a bearded man wearing a leather jacket and smoking a long and very thin cigarette, who one of the statuaries represented. "Lva Tolsoi," he answered. "How much," I said. "800 Dollarov," he said. I thanked him for his time, and headed quickly up to the Literata bookstore just up the street from the Lva Tolstovo Plaza and across from the Taras Schevchenko Park. There I spent an hour or so browsing, and came away with a five volume set of Tolstoy (in Russian, of course), a copy of Schevchenko's masterful poetic work, Kobzar (in Ukrainian), and three volumes from Boris Akunin's Erast Fandorin detective novels (also in Russian). I already feel a kinship with Schevchenko, pictured above writing with a candle in his hand (from the flyleaf of my new book). May my nighttime scribbling also cast its small circle of illumination.

The Literature Police in the Universityet Metro Station

This morning as I was passing through the Universityet Metro station, I noticed for the first time the beautiful and ornate artwork of this station. Most of the Metro stations are like underground public cathedrals, built during the Soviet era as kind of monuments to the state. Each station has a different motif and style. The Universityet station, I now see, has a literary theme in keeping with its name and proximity to the Taras Schevchenko University and other schools in the district. I was fascinated by a series of a dozen or more large busts which flank the two walls of the central underground chamber, and so I got out my digital camera and started taking pictures. An officer in a blue uniform with an officious little cap came running up to me, shouting for me to stop taking pictures. He didn't explain what the great harm would be in taking pictures of the busts of Pushkin and Tolstoy and other Russian writers, and I didn't ask him. I suppose that the stifling totalitarian mindset of seventy years of communist tyranny are hard to shake off. I only wish I had been able to take a picture of the little minion who reprimanded me.

Passing By Grid Lock on a Snowy Evening

I had quite an adventure getting home from the National Aviation University this evening. This was due to a massive traffic jam that appeared to affect the entire city, from the center of the city outward for several miles, as far as the Polytechnichni Metro stop. We first became aware of problems when our bus stopped for several minutes near the large campus that gives its name to the Metro station. Finally, after several more minutes, Olga and I and a few other daring souls got off of our stranded and idling bus and walked through the snow to the wide pathways running through a stand of trees at the edge of the campus. We trotted along with a throng of other pedestrians under the snow covered trees, feeling a little like participants in Robert Frost's poem, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening," trudging through the snow "between the woods and frozen lake" while repeating over and over the lines, "and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep." There were also many cars who followed us up over the curb and shared the sidewalk with the pedestrians. After several hundred meters, we finally attained the Metro station, whose warm depths felt very comforting to the frustrated traveler. When I got home a few minutes later to the Lva Tolstovo Plaza, I heard a cacophony of vehicle horns out of my window, and looked out to the site pictured above. The gridlock continued for about two hours, until a solitary police officer showed up with white gloves and whistle and little by little cleared out the traffic.

Eating in "the Lunchroom of the Cosmonauts"

Following my lecture at Kiev International University, Olga and I walked some distance from campus through the snow and caught a private bus to take us to the campus of the National Aviation University, which is very far from any Metro Station, and is thus the most difficult to get to of any of the five schools. The small bus was extremely crowded, with single seats down each side, packed with people, and at least twenty others standing in the narrow aisle, like pop cans in a vending machine. Since Olga and I entered the bus at the back door and there was no chance of working our way up to pay the driver, we sent the fare (one and a half hryvnia) up to the driver with the other passengers, who conveyed it hand over hand all the way to the front. I soon saw that this was de rigueur, and as other passengers entered and sent their money up, I saw that the driver would even send coins or bills back as change. Later in the evening, as we returned part way home on a similar bus, I marveled at the multi-tasking skill of the man, negotiating horrendous traffic, while also making exact change.

At the National Aviation University, we went to a large lunchroom where we ate and visited for an hour or so, while waiting for our next class. The National Aviation University is a very large school, with a student body of about 35,000. Under the former Soviet Union it was one of the chief training schools for pilots, members of the air force and for the Soviet space program. Thus, my very tasty lunch (Chicken Kiev, bread, with both mashed potatoes and rice) was partaken in the lunchroom of the cosmonauts. Seated around us were many University students wearing uniforms with wings. Olga explained to me that when the Soviet Union fell there was a great dearth of attorneys and law schools. It was in the early days of independence that a law school was formed here, as well as in many other major Ukrainian Universities. Thus, the need for lawyers and the schools to train them is a necessity (or, as ill-informed critics would say, a curse) of a free and democratic society. Notwithstanding all of the jokes and horror stories, without lawyers to stand up for the little man, there could be no true access to the courts and the constitutional protections they afford.

Over lunch, Olga and I also continued a most interesting discussion about the history of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church, its relationship to the Russian Orthodox Church, and the history of political manipulation and suppression of the various churches by the Soviet authorities. Olga has agreed to accompany me to a Ukrainian Orthodox mass in St. Michael's on Sunday morning, which I am looking forward to with great anticipation and joy. Olga also agreed to accompany me to the ballet on Friday evening (provided we can obtain tickets), and she gave me a gift today of a beautiful presentation book on Kyiv. She is a most excellent guide, confidant and "handler of American Judges."

Helping Hands on the Metro

There is an old Russian proverb, Старость--не радость (I guess one translation would be, "Old age is no fun"). I saw a touching demonstration of this today on the Metro in the Vokzalna Station. A very feeble woman, quite aged, was exiting the subway car with an armful of parcels, when she tripped and fell directly in the doorway. One of her parcels fell partway into the crack leading down to the tracks. Immediately three men, one middle aged and two teenagers or young men in their early twenties, sprang to her assistance, and without a word lifted her gently up and gathered up her parcels, leading her to a bench on the platform, where she sat weeping. One of the young men, with pierced ears and a red streaked Mohawk hair style, had reached quickly into the crack between the car and the platform to retrieve her last parcel. By this time the train was rushing out of the station, and the last I saw, this poor little soul was seated in tears on the bench.

There is an innate goodness in all people regardless of their nationalities, religions, political persuasions or (in this case) the color of their Mohawk. It is comforting to know that the spirit of peace, cooperation, compassion, friendship, good humor and Wisdom runs strong in every human heart.

Afterwards, I discussed this little incident with Olga, and she commented on how the Metro is really a place for healthy adults, and not for children, the elderly or the handicapped. She said that when children are brought on the Metro, that parents will scarcely dare to let go of their hands.

Teaching at the Академії адвокатури України

Today was the first day of teaching. The first assignment was at 11:00 a.m. at Академії адвокатури (the Ukrainian Academy of Advocacy), a private law school specializing in the training of defense attorneys, with a student body of a little over a thousand. I had agreed to meet Olga at the Universityet Metro station, so left the apartment at about 10:10, boarded the Metro at Lva Tolstovo, switched to the red line at Maidan/Kreshchatik, then on to Universityet. It was my first experience in the Metro during the prime working hours. When the doors to the subway cars open, there is a tremendous press to both enter and exit. It then appears that the car is packed, like sardines in a can, but people continue to plunge in through the open doors, literally pressing the crowd back into the car. I got in myself, and quickly found that I should have remained by the door. After two stops, I was about in the middle of the car, and so when my stop came up, I had to put my briefcase over my head and push my way out.

It is interesting to observe the throngs of people as they ride the very long escalators up and down from the surface (the one at Universityet must be easily 500 feet long. Not a word is spoken, each individual rider lost in his or her own world.

The Academy is a pleasant building, with arched lecture rooms containing fireplaces. I lectured for an hour and twenty minutes on closing arguments, receiving many questions from the students. The group was unusually small because of finals, but it was a nice and pleasant way to break me in as a visiting lecturer. Afterward the department head and another professor from the school invited me to join them for "tea" in the on-site commissary. She seemed to know all about Utah, and told me that she had recently visited Salt Lake City, and had been to the "Temple" to hear the organ play and the choir sing. I told her that my sister sings in the choir.

Overall, I am very impressed with the students. Their command of English is amazing. I used a few English references which need a Russian/Ukrainian translation (such as when I talked about Gerry Spence's use of a three legged milking stool in jury summation to illustrate the prosecution's burden. The Russian word for milking stool is доения стула.

Inside Krasnoarmeyskaya 23A

The apartment on Krasnoarmeyskaya 23A (sometimes also called Lva Tolstovo Plazha by some locals) is a four story apartment building. The apartment, No. 33, is on the top floor and includes a living room, bedroom, bathroom, separate toilet, and kitchen. The ceilings are high and very ornate. I don't know how old the building is--I think I first presumed an age of 75 to a hundred years. However, today I noticed that some workman had laid year numbers in small stone fragments set in cement on one of the landings--1961 if I remember correctly. So this may just be a Soviet-era apartment building of fairly recent vintage.

Here are the pros and cons of this apartment.

I'll give the bad news first. Ironically, my main difficulty with the apartment is the temperature. Who would have thought, given that it is below freezing outside. It is so hot, with the heat waves just rolling off of those Soviet-era radiators into the room. Even with the high ceilings, it is very hot. I have slept very well without any covers since my arrival, and a few times I have arisen in the night to step out onto the balcony for a few minutes or to open a window briefly to cool down. For example, as I have been sitting here in the living room writing this, I have opened the window twice, even though it has been snowing outside, to cool the room down a little.

The good news. The location of this apartment is amazing. It overlooks one of the main subway stations, with fast connections to virtually any point in the city. It is also close to shopping, sightseeing, etc.

Enjoy the house tour!

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.

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.