An Apartment Which Elevates Thought

I am staying in a beautifully decorated and maintained apartment in a nineteenth century building in the city center of Lviv. The owner of the apartment is a Canadian artist who has filled the rooms with paintings and other works of art, as well as many fine old pieces of furniture. In fact, this room reminds me of the inner vision I have always had of the characters of Tolstoy's War and Peace, which I first read as a fifteen year old and have read many times since. Whenever I walk into this fine sitting room at No. 2 Lysenka Street, I can almost imagine the Rostov's and the Bolkonskys at dinner or conversing. This is where I get to serve my own little solitary breakfast or dinner each deay! It is a delight to hang my hat here for the next two weeks.

The apartment is emblematic of this fine old city, which is one of the great treasures of the old Hapbsburg and Austro-Hungarian Empires. The city center is on the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites and contains a wealth of significant churches, museums, squares and among the finest late Renaissance architecture found anywhere in Europe. I haven't had a chance to do any exploring yet, but am looking forward to taking many solitary walks and excursions over the next weekend.

This all gets me to pondering how places often have the capacity to elevate one's very thoughts. I find that I think best in my home library, surrounded by books and the peaceful surroundings of my unique and idiosyncratic home camp. The same is true with great churches and temples, which invite the thoughts to soar beneath their vast domes.

Kyiv in Shirtsleeves

My previous trips to Ukraine have all occurred between the beginning of November and early March, so it was an amazing experience to walk around downtown Kyiv in shirtsleeves on a hot early fall Sunday afternoon. I walked through the district around St. Sophia's, visited St. Volodymyr's Cathedral, strolled down the long aisle of trees in the center of Taras Shevchenko Blvd., passed through Shevchenko Park south of the Red University, and then to Lva Tolstovo and into my old haunts from my first trip to Kyiv in 2007.

In the park there were children riding on ponies, many families picknicking on the park benches and a throng of men standing around the stone chess boards watching chess games and smoking.

I had on my suitcoat, white shirt and tie, as I was visiting several churches on this Sunday morning, including the little Mormon congregation at the Ukrainian speaking ward on Shota Rustavelli, but even though it is late September I had to remove my jacket in the warmth of the autumn sun.

It is fascinating to see a familiar place during a different season. There is a mountain near my home in Salt Lake City which I run past every day, which changes dramatically with the seasons, wearing deep green in the spring, browns and rust colors in the summer, brilliant oranges, yellows and reds in the fall, and finally brilliant white in the snows of winter. It is always the same mountain, of course, but it is endlessly fascinating to watch it change under the procession of the seasons, almost as if it were a living thing. The same is true with any special place, like Kyiv. I have barely begun to know this city, and to see it in a new season and temperature makes me see it almost as if for the first time.

This phenomenon--of getting to know something more deeply with the passage of time and with the change of fortune--is especially true of people. You may think you know people well in their youth, but your appreciation of them changes and shifts and deepens as the years pass.

My wife and I just celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary three weeks ago. We thought we knew each other then, but my love for her has ripened as the spring and summer have passed. May it be an even richer connection as autumn turns and the snows of winter fall.

The Faces of the People

I am fascinated by the amazing diversity of those in the Old City--Jews, Muslims, Christians, Priests, Rabbis, tourists, pilgrims, vendors, thieves, soldiers, beggars, men and women and children of every color, creed and nation. Indeed, I find myself sometimes more interested in faces of the people who come here--the worshipers, the curious, the seekers, the pilgrims--than in the monuments they have come to see.

Taking Leave of Kyiv

In a few hours I will be on a plane for Prague, and then connecting to another flight to the Holy Land. My time in Ukraine has, as before, been much too short to see and do all that would. This nation holds a special place in my life's experience, and I hope to return again. I have been inspired by the lives of many young law students who are as bright and hopeful as any young people I have met in the world. I have been thrilled to visit some of the great cultural treasures of the world. I have continued to learn all that I can about the history of this nation, its people, its religions and its culture. This has also been a place where I have made several major decisions in my life and have embarked on several new projects. For example, it was here in 2007 that I made the decision to start running again, which has reaped great blessings in my life as I have begun to attain robust health. For all of these reasons, Ukraine is sacred to me. And so, I can join with my friend Taras Shevchenko in affirming:

Світе тихий,

краю милий,

Моя Україно!

A Very Cold Monday

I ventured out a few times today, for my morning run, to visit St. Michaels, to shop for groceries, and later to browse along Andriysky Spusk.

It was bitterly cold all day, although the sun did come out now and then. I ran only about three miles, all in the Volodymrska Hill Park district of the city. On laps behind St. Michaels and past the Funicular, I was intrigued to watch an old man feeding the little birds out of his hand. He would stand very still with his palm upturned, and the birds would hover over his hand to eat bread crumbs. There were also many parents or grandparents out with little children in sleds.

I had a nice conversation with a woman in the refectory shop at St. Michaels, and bought a nice book on ikons.

In the afternoon I went to Andriysky Spusk, which is a sort of tourist trap in Kyiv, and browsed in the many outdoor art and souvenir booths. I was bare-headed and a woman came up to me and remonstrated that I needed a hat--actually I think she was trying to sell me one. I looked at a few navy and army caps with either Soviet or Ukrainian insignias, and wondered about their authenticity (or lack thereof). I didn't buy anything but did get a nice picture of some intricately wrought gates with (I'm sure) genuine Soviet insignias. These were behind the ministry building next door to St. Michaels.

St. Andrew's rises dramatically from the street, with dramatic gold trimmed blue domes. I love the dramatic exterior of St. Andrews, but it has a more ostentacious feeling inside than other Orthodox Churches--less worshipful, perhaps, more for show than for worship. I know people like that--they look very impressive, but somehow leave you cold when you take a look inside, as it were.

I returned home in mid afternoon to finish some laundry, to do a little grocery shopping and to pack for my evening train ride to Kharkiv.

Can You Spot the American?

I had a bizarre experience this weekend, as follows. On most occasions when I go out exploring, I wear my black shoes (as opposed to my grey Nike running shoes), as the black shoes have a more skid-proof sole. However, yesterday I spent about an hour on the street in my grey Nikes. During that hour I was approached no less than four times by strangers asking me if I spoke English and offering to sell me something. While wearing the black shoes I have had no one even speak to me.

I guess the black shoes look more "Ukrainian," right? Who knew?

It makes me wonder what else I do or say or wear which labels me as positive or negative, forward or backward, gullible or wise in the eyes of those around me.

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.

Sacred and Profane

One of the most fascinating things about this great city is the close juxtaposition of the sublime and the ridiculous, the sacred and the profane. Outside the monastery walls there are drunks leaning on the rail--next to monumental works of art are garish billboards. I actually like this contrast, as it simply reveals this city--and all the world--for what it is, a rich, endlessly varied and vivid tapestry. The sad thing is when people are blind to one side or the other. As a wise man once said, "Thy mind, O man! . . . must stretch as high as the utmost heavens, and search into and contemplate the darkest abyss, and the broad expanse of eternity."

I Reconnoiter

Last night I returned to the Kyiv apartment near 11:00 p.m. It was odd to return here in the dark--I had not yet seen the apartment or the city in the light. After doing some wash, I went to sleep.

This morning is a new day. It is bright and fairly warm outside, and I scouted out the neighborhood. First item of business was to find some groceries and water. A call to my faithful friend and handler, Olga, led me to a nice little market located in the basement of my apartment building. I got eggs, bread, milk and a huge container of spring water--at least two gallons in size. I had breakfast while listening to a Mozart string quartet and then went out again to reconnoiter the neighborhood. I walked across the street to the Baptizer statue, down the ravine to the National Philharmonic house, then along the crest of the bluff overlooking the river to the great arch monument on a high hill above the river. This arch is called the "Friendship Arch," and supposedly symbolizes the friendship between Russians and Ukrainians. I understand from one source that in Kyiv it is sometimes called "the Yoke," as the relationship historically has been less friendship and more servitude on the part of the Ukrainians. Underneath the arch are two great statues--one a Soviet bronze of two workers--Ukrainian and Russian--holding the seal of the U.S.S.R.--the other one a statue of priests and other participants in the Pereyaslavska Rada of 1654.

Most impressive is the grand viewpoint next to the Yoke Arch overlooking the river, which was blazing with light and vitality in the sunlight of this wonderful day.

The Birches Seemed Dream-like

After about three hours of sleep I met Tetiana Rogozianska at 6:00 a.m. for a wild taxi ride to the main Cathedral-like Kyiv train station, and then a six hour train ride to the eastern city of Kharkiv. We found seats in one of the cars, which soon filled up with a variety of travelers--old and young. We spent the first hour or so of the journey talking about the teaching assignment. I then had much opportunity to watch the fascinating countryside slipping by outside the window. Only an hour out of Kyiv the landscape was amazingly open and sweeping, with snow covered fields surrounded by thick stands of trees. There were many small villages, most with very old brick railway stations, a few fence lined streets and old houses with freshly painted yellow, green or blue doors and woodwork. I saw an old couple pulling a small sled on a rope through the trees lining the railroad tracks, a couple of old horse carts and many uniformed militia guards at sleepy railroad crossings.

I gazed for hours at the endlessly fascinating landscape passing through the window, every coop, shed and dacha has fine paintwork and trim. Most beautiful were the trees, thick stands of maple and beech, their branches filled with migrating birds. It was a misty, cold and icy day, and truly "the birches seemed dream-like on account of that frosting."

Courage, Service, Humanity

I'll confess that today had a few tense and even frightening moments--when the plane seemed about to crash in Paris, when I missed my connecting flight, and when I momentarily couldn't find anyone at the airport (David & Chelom Leavitt were outside with their driver).

As our plane descended into the heavy cloud cover over Kyiv this evening, just after sunset, I marveled at how the pilots are able to land these big birds in the darkness and mist. Even with a full instrument panel, it takes a great deal of courage to fly a plane.

David & Chelom Leavitt's organization has had a motto of "Courage, Service, Humanity" for several years. I like that very much, and especially since it so well describes this couple. They are truly courageous people. In 2004 and 2005 they brought their entire family to live in Kyiv, during the Orange Revolution and its aftermath, no less. And this year they have again moved to Kyiv for several months to oversee the B.U.I.L.D. Initiative and to work with the mock trial teams in the spring. I saw several of the kids at their home this evening. They truly epitomize the qualities of "Courage, Service and Humanity."

Taking Leave of Kyiv

The Dnipro rolls on far below me, under the winter skies,
River barges moving suspended, detached on the waters,
And the wheeling birds in their winter flight, hovering over the trees,
The trees bowing over the majestic snows of Kyiv.
Around and over the river swarm you thousands,
And tens of thousands, people of the City, buying, selling, returning home,
Moving in countless conveyances on land and water,
The screeching of your wheels and blare of warning horns,
And vehicles above and below the earth, ever moving,
Ever breathing in and out with the passage of people.
I descend with you, I ascend with you,
The endless conveyors of the people, the stream of bundled figures,
I see you, each one, the secrets of your eyes and faces,
The history of your wanderings and toils,














The imprint of the village and farm, the survivors of Tsars and Tyrants,
The imprint of the West, the imitation of foreign trends and traits,
The careless pride in your boots, your bells, your sashes, your furs,
The hopes of young eyes, the memories of the old, the peace and serenity of your spirits.
Close now in my thoughts, you people of Kyiv, wending your way home, over the silvery streets, Walking now in bundled figures,
In companionable and silent throngs beneath the golden domes, the sky-blue walls,
Walking through your City, with the churches of the saints strung like pearls on a silver string,
City of a thousand churches, with all the bells ringing,
The sunlight gleaming from your onioned domes.
City of an ancient fame, City of an ancient name,
Your heroes fixed in bronze, the snow bowing down their shoulders,
The icicles run from elbows and beards.
City of Sorrow, of the prison doors, the starving millions, the fearsome pollutions,
City of death and life, of prison doors closed and then flung wide.
City and nation at the crossroads, at the junction of languages, tongues and people,
Gateway of Europe, highway of Asia, headwaters of the Black Sea and Mediterranean,
The cradle of culture, the prisoner of Empire,
And now, finally now, you City of the past, present and future, your free banners flowing, ,
City of lights, of endless passage, of learning, of love and of hope, I take my leave of you,
City of the Great Gate, long sealed and barred, now swinging wide.

Daniel Bay Gibbons

Kyiv, Ukraine

Friday, November 23, 2007

A Final Walk Through Kyiv

Though it is a cold and overcast day, I left the apartment at mid day (after packing) and took a final ride on the Metro and a walk through the streets of Kyiv. I rode the Funicular, saw St. Michael's, walked past St. Sophia's, visited St. Andrew's, browsed on the Andriysky Spusk, and ended up in my gazebo on the promontory overlooking the Dnipro. From there I said my goodbyes to this great and ancient City, and took my leave.

An "Avoska"--Just in Case

I learned a valuable lesson this week from the Leavitt Institute's Ukrainian "handler, confidant and guardian," Olga Kupriyevych. (Olga is pictured here with Ukrainian First Lady, Katerina Yushchenko). On Tuesday night we were walking past the myriad humble food vendors lining the sidewalks near the Byeresteyska Metro station, when Olga spied some very nice looking potatoes. "Oh," she said. "I need some potatoes." She then reached in her blue briefcase and pulled out a large, sturdy plastic sack. She purchased the potatoes and stowed them in the bag, and we were on our way.

She later explained that growing up in a small village north of Kyiv, her grandfather taught her that she should always carry an extra bag. He called this an "авоска," which means, "just in case." Thus, "just in case" you saw something along your way that you needed, you could immediately buy it and place it in your "avoska" without having to return home for something to carry it in.

There is great wisdom in carrying an "avoska" in our journeys. We ought never to be so smug to think that we know it all, or we have all that we can ever need. There will be rich stores of experience, knowledge, friendship and Wisdom along our paths. When we meet someone new, or attain some new insight--think thoughts we have never had before--we should pull out our "avoskas," and go on our way rejoicing. Thanks, Olga, for sharing your rich experience and perspective with me these past two weeks. I will carry them in my "avoska" forevermore.

"Is There a Light For Me?"

Over the past several days I have been dipping into my new copy of Shevchenko's "Kobzar" (which means, "The Bard" in Ukrainian). I attempted to work out the meaning of several of his little poems. The first few lines of this one, entitled "Сестрі" with a date of July 20, 1859, appealed to me:

Минаючи убогі села

Понаддніпрянські невеселі,

Я думав: «Де ж я прихилюсь?

І де подінуся на світі?»

(In my edition of "Kobzar," this appears at page 642) My rough attempt at translation (with vast textual liberties taken) is as follows:

Passing Dnipro's towns and streets,

Of leafless trees and pavements gray,

I thought: "Is there a light for me

Above some porch along the way?"

This seems to capture the deepest longing of the human heart--to belong somewhere, to have a refuge from the night, to see welcoming faces peering through the evening windows, yellow with light. This sentiment has come to mind again and again over the past few days, as I have seen men on crutches asleep in the portals of the Metro, old women sitting hunched on street corners with little paper cups, begging for a few small coins, or long lines of plain-looking men and women selling home-grown beets, potatoes, cabbages, nuts or home preserves on busy sidewalks. It touches your heart to see those who are lost, alone, frightened or struggling to survive in this cold and wintry world.

.

In some small way, my efforts of the past few weeks have been to light a lamp above some little front porch by the wayside--to assist in kindling the light of freedom and liberty among a people who for too long have been subjected to fear and darkness. May the porchlights of this great nation burn ever bright.

A Hilltop View of the Rolling Waters of the Dnipro

This Thanksgiving morning I spent about an hour seated in an old Victorian style gazebo which sits on the promontory of Volodymyrska Hill Park. From here there is a sweeping view of the Dnipro River, far below, of the monument to Prince Volodymyr, the "Baptizer," of the beautiful tree-lined avenues of the park, and even of the sunlight glinting off of the spires in St. Michael's of the Golden Domes. I sat for a long time in solitude, gazing at the river and writing.

The view of the Dnipro from this point is incomparable. With the Nile, the Mississippi, the Amazon, the Yangtse, the Ganges, the Rhine and the Danube, this is one of the great rivers of the world. It has been the broad avenue of cultural change. The ancient Rus settled on these banks, ultimately carrying their great culture north into present-day Russia. There were great Viking trading outposts here and elsewhere along this river in the tenth and eleventh centuries. In more recent times, this river has been the chief commercial road between the Mediterranean and Black Sea ports and the great interior of the Soviet Union and of Russia. It has witnessed both great prosperity and great tyranny. And the Dnipro flows ever on, oblivious or indifferent to the rise and fall of Tsars and tyrants.

A great man once wrote, "How long can rolling waters remain impure?" As long as the rains and snows of heaven continue to fall upon the land of any people, how long can their rivers run polluted and choked with mud and debris. How long can oppression and hatred and tyranny bind a people when the waters of liberty, goodness and Wisdom are flowing freely. Even in the face of the darkest oppression, the rolling waters will ultimately run as clear as the mountain stream. The waters seem now to be running clear for the Ukrainian people. May the rolling waters sweep away all that clouds and pollutes this great people. May it ever be so.

These, and other thoughts crowded around me as I sat overlooking the beautiful Dnipro. This may be my most memorable Thanksgiving Day, spent in a little gazebo overlooking this special and sacred spot of Kyiv.

The "Baptizer" in Sunlight

This morning I paid another visit to the great monument to Prince Volodymyr the Great in the beautiful Hill Park bearing his name. To me this is the most special and sacred ground in the City, as I have an indescribable feeling come over me as I walk in this area. There is a peace, a tranquility, an awe that permeates this amazing monument. This monument is a survivor and a transmitter. It has survived the last years of Tsarist Rule, and the entire dark era of the Soviet Union. It is the largest religious monument to have survived the depradations and desecrations of Stalin. It is also a transmitter of the most ancient history and traditions of Ukraine, dating back a thousand years and more. This stark, awesome monument epitomizes Kyiv and all that the city means to me.

Thoughts About Packing

I imagined that packing to go home would be a breeze, since I had brought an entire suitcase full of gifts for the law students. This suitcase is now entirely empty. However, last night and today I began to think of all of the things I intend to take home, including many gifts for my family. I decided to make an attempt to put everything in this suitcase. I gathered together everything and began filling the suitcase, finding to my delight that everything fit in, albeit somewhat tightly. Then I realized that I had not even put a single book in the suitcase.

Now I am exploring other options, such as loading two computer keyboards in my carry-on hanger bag, holding my largest book in my hands (a one volume set of Tolkien in Russian), and fitting a few books in my briefcase.

Fortunately, the most valuable possessions I take home--my friendships, my memories and the written descriptions of my trip--do not occupy any space in my luggage. All of my luggage could be lost enroute home, and I would still retain forever the most precious gifts from Ukraine, to treasure and cherish forever.

The "Golden Gate" in an "Iron Curtain"

Right outside the exit doors of the Zoloti Voroda Metro station is the monument which gives the place its name, the "zoloti Vorota" or Golden Gate of the city of Kiev. The history of this gate is emblematic of the long and often troubling relationship between Russia and Ukraine. This is, indeed the site of a very ancient gate to the City of Kyiv, constructed by Yaroslav the Wise in the eleventh century. Historical records show that the gate was used for many centuries, although by 1750 the gates were in ruins and partially covered with earth. In the nineteenth century the earth was scraped away from the ancient foundations of the gate so they could be seen, and this was the state of affairs until the 1982 construction of the monument depicted here. In 1982 there was a celebration of the 1,500th anniversary of the founding of Kyiv, and at that time the Soviet Union commissioned architects and archaeologists to construct a new gate upon the original site. The problem is that the new "reconstruction" is built upon the ancient one, thus essentially destroying the archaeological site. There are also many questions about the accuracy of the Soviet reconstruction. Upon inspecting the new "Golden Gate," I found it telling that there are placards commemorating the event in both Russian and Ukrainian. On the south side of the monument are huge doors, and on the north side a sliding spiked grate with timber latticework.

In contemplating the presence of this monstrosity, it occurs to me that the intent behind the Soviet reconstruction was to coopt Ukrainian history and place it within the ambit of the Russian-dominated Soviet Union. In other words, the Soviet gate it is not a gate which "opens" but a gate which only "closes." It closes freedom, inquiry and even history for the Ukrainians. This was literally the "Golden Gate" in the "Iron Curtain." Thus, I find it poignant that the "Golden Gate" was locked when I inspected it.

Now that the "Iron Curtain" has been breached, the doors of the "Golden Gate" are swinging open for Ukraine and all of the other oppressed nations of eastern Europe. May the doors of the "Golden Gate" never again be locked!