Friday, February 9th
I woke up before my alarm rang, full of anticipation of the day that lie ahead. Julie and I decided that we'd cross the border into Ukraine on this day. Since the end of World War II it had been impossible to legally cross the border from Sighet. However, in mid-January of this year, just 3 weeks before my visit, President Traian Basescu of Romania and Ukrainian President Viktor Yuschenko met for a ribbon-cutting ceremony on the newly rebuilt bridge over the River Tisa (which had been bombed during the war), thus once again linking the 2 countries at this historic crossing point. I really had no idea what to expect. I didn't even know the name of the town across the border. All I knew was that I wanted to set my feet in uncharted territory.
The border crossing station was brand spanking new, with modern facilities manned by well-dressed, professional staff. We approached a border guard, told him that we wanted to cross and asked him if any other Americans had crossed at this location since the border opening. He informed us that we were numbers 4 and 5, as 3 had gone over in a car during the first week. However, we were to be the first Americans to cross on foot. Following a pleasant conversation and the obligatory passport stamping, we made our way onto the bridge and across the Tisa. Once we crossed the yellow dividing line pained on the bridge, things began to change.
It was foggy, cold and wet that day, so it was impossible to see the Ukrainian side until we were well past the dividing line. As we approached, the first thing I noticed was a large blue and yellow sign in cyrillic. Welcome to Ukraine - burly blond, blue-eyed border guards and sounds of a language I had only heard in movies and on television, etc. I was nervous and felt like I was in a kind of no man's land, a very foreign and potentially dangerous world, albeit for a few hours.
I tried to speak to the customs officer in English. That didn't go so well. We didn't fill out the entry form correctly. We fixed the problem and went back for a second try. As we made our way back to his area, I heard him speaking Romanian. What a relief. I politely apologized for not using Romanian in the first place and he seemed happy that he could now communicate with me. "Alright.", I thought, "This isn't going to be so difficult after all. He stamped my passport and I moved to the inspection area.
Things weren't so cordial at this stage. These guys didn't speak English or Romanian and were a bit thuggish. I emptied my pockets and put my camera and umbrella on the table. One said to me, "Bani". I looked at him, surprised, and said, "Bani?". "Money", he said. "Money?", I replied. "Euros, dollars, money", he stated firmly, gesturing so that I understood that he wanted to know if I was carrying any cash. Clearly these were the only words he new in English or Romanian, and important ones at that, no? I said, "Money? Yes, yes." He grinned and waited with anticipation, probably thinking I'd be easy pickings for a bribe. "I only have Romanian Lei", I said, and this was the truth. He stared me down for a bit and, disappointed, let me go. Clearly he was perplexed. How could the American "tourist" not be carrying Euros or Dollars? Score one for me.
Julie got through and off we went to the town of Solotvyna, or to the Romanians, Slatina, population 9,000 (approx.). At first glimpse, things didn't look much different than in Romania. However, as we walked further away from the border and deeper into the town, it became apparent that we had entered a different land. Poverty was more visible. The people looked even more worn-out and down-trodden than small-town Romanians. I geared up for the stares as we walked, and boy did we get them.
We observed that people were speaking Romanian on the streets, so I asked this old dude on a bike where the center of town was. With a thick Russian-like accent, he said to me, in Romanian, "this is the center of town". Ah. Okay, cool. The town center consisted of a Ukrainian Orthodox church (which was locked), a park in front of a Romanian-language school and a handful of shops and grocery stores/bars/cafeterias. I honestly believe, especially after talking to the shopkeepers and a couple of people on the street (80% speak Romanian), that we were the first Americans to ever take a stroll in "downtown" Slatina.
First stop was the ATM. We didn't know the exchange rate, so when posed with the decision as to how much money to withdraw, we hadn't a clue. Julie went first. She used her Romanian bankcard, an account containing only Lei. She took out 50 whatever-you-call-thems. I withdrew 100. We walked a bit further up the street and found a bank with exchange rates posted in the window. It was 5 to 1 Ukrainian/USD, so that meant it was roughly 2.5 to 1 Ukrainian/Lei. That being said, stuff was cheap.
We checked out a few stores, one of which had goods strewn about the floor in crates and a long line of old women in babushkas waiting silently to buy their groceries. The place smelled like wet, moldy socks. It was a scene straight out of the Soviet Union. Needless to say, we got the hell out of there and found a better smelling and more professional looking operation. I bought some chocolate. One bar with Red Square on it and another with a Ukrainian peasant girl named Alionka. We found another grocery store. This one had a bar with two beer taps and some tables and chairs. Score.
The barman/owner couldn't believe that 1) there were Americans in his establishment and 2) that we spoke Romanian. I had to show him my passport to convince him. Suspicions now set aside (sort of), he set us up with a couple of pints of solid Rogan lager, some stale bread and bowls of Ukrainian borscht. The borscht wasn't much different than certain kinds of Romanian soups. It contained beets, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, beef, oil and a dollop of sour cream. It was your standard Ukrainian borscht. As we ate, one by one people would come in, sit down and start to whisper and look at us. When we we getting ready to leave, someone got up the courage to speak to us. We conversed in Romanian with the owner, the cook and some others. We told them who we were and where we came from. They were incredulous. Really. We must have been the first Americans they had ever seen and/or spoken to in person. We bought some beers to take back with us, hit the road and headed across the park to the school.
Of course, we just walked in. We didn't see any teachers and the few kids we saw in the halls simply stared, whispered and giggled. We felt right at home. The halls were cold, drab and empty. We went up to to the third floor and peered out a window looking out onto the back courtyard. There was a wheelbarrow and shovel parked next to a HUGE pile of coal, out in the open. Obviously this was the school's source of heat and, hopefully, a disciplinary tool. I certainly would love to make some of my little darlings go out to the back of the school and shovel coal if they've been misbehaving. Damn natural gas. I should have done PC Ukraine. Seriously though, it was all so surreal, I felt like I was in a time warp. After seeing the coal pile, we realized that the strange smell that hung in the air was from the plethora of coal-burning furnaces in town. Romanians use wood as an alternative to natural gas. I've never encountered any houses or buildings here that burn coal for heat.
Our final stop was a liquor store. The woman inside was super friendly and spoke Romanian without a heavy accent. I said I wanted a bottle of something "very Ukrainian" to take back with me, something akin to the national drink. She smiled and pulled a bottle off the shelf. Nemiroff Vodka with hot peppers floating in it and a touch of honey. Hot and sweet vodka. Nice. I'll take it. The 750 ml bottle cost me about the equivalent of US $3.50. What a deal. We talked a bit about the town and she encouraged us to come back and visit the museum. I could only imagine what that's like. We got some info. about transport to Kiev and Lviv, as I was curious about travel times to these cities. They were entirely too long of course. We exchanged pleasantries and said goodbye. Again, it was so great that we were able to communicate with people in town. We only encountered two people that day who didn't speak Romanian, one of whom only spoke Hungarian!
On our way back to the border we came across a Ukrainian television crew interviewing people as they came in from Romania. I had to get back across the border, as I still had to pack and catch a train later that afternoon, but I couldn't resist the chance to speak with them. I approached them, and in Romanian said, "Hi, we're Americans". The looks on their faces were priceless. They paused, stared, and after regaining their wits motioned excitedly for us to come talk to them. They interviewed Julie and I for about 10 minutes. The television audience probably had never seen anything like it. Two Americans, out for a day of shopping and sightseeing in Slatina during the dead of winter, speaking Romanian on a Ukrainian news broadcast. Awesome. Julie and I were true pioneers that day. And back we went with sacks full of beer, vodka and chocolate, problem and hassle-free.
I hopped on the train back to Brasov around 5:30pm. It was a night train that got in around 4am. I shared a sleeper cabin with some gypsy dude from Bucharest, a perfume salesman/smuggler. It was a furnace in that compartment. We were burning up. The gypsy dude couldn't take it anymore and had to take his shirt off. He smelled, and the whole trip was pretty awful. Just another day on the CFR (Romanian Railways).
What a trip. I saw and experienced things that were truly new and unique to me, things that most Americans never do. I want to go back to Maramures someday and explore the villages when the weather is nice. I also must go back to Ukraine, maybe to Lviv or Kiev and definitely to Slatina. Most of all, I want to go back to that liquor store and grocery/bar and chat with all of the friendly Ukrainians I met that day. They changed my world, my perspective, and I think we did the same for them. They're going to see more and more visitors from the West as spring and summer comes. The new border crossing is going to change their lives in a big way. I hope that they never forget us, the Romanian-speaking Americans who came to Slatina one rainy winter day in February. I'll surely never forget them.
Photo Highlights
The border crossing at Sighet.
Julie can't believe that she's about to leave "home". Yes, the former Soviet Union is just across that bridge.
The mighty river Tisa.
Welcome to Ukraine comrade.
Borscht and beer. Hits the spot on a cold, rainy winter afternoon in Ukraine.
Welcome to the Romanian school. I should have taken a photo of the coal pile out back. That was the one that got away.
This was on the wall in the hallway. I believe that this is something about Maramures, based on the costumes and hay bales. However, I do not read cyrillic.
I liked this one. Maybe something about the good 'ole Red Army?
In the park with some sort of Soviet-era WW-II memorial. My Belarussian blood compelled me to salute.
Shopping bag full, Julie's ready to go back across. But not before...
...we talk to the TV crew. Check out their cool little Lada 4x4 in the background.
The border approach, Ukrainian side.
Yes, I really was there.
Yes, I took out too much currency. But check out my cool "wallet".
Back home in Codlea with Alionka and Nemiroff.
