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Published: September 18th 2007
I first arrived in Ukraine in the middle of a snowstorm, in the winter of 2005. My friend Anastasiya had invited me from
my then home in Russia to spend the New Year's holiday with her family in Luganskaya oblast', and we stopped in Kyiv for two days to break up the long trip.
We wandered around the freezing cold streets, arm in arm so as not to fall over, then took shelter in a café and chatted for hours while warming up with hot chocolate. As the snow settled in the beautiful courtyard outside, and my confidence when speaking in Russian grew with each empty cup, the hostility and injustices of life across the border seemed an age away. I soon learned that Ukraine is just as harsh as Russia, but the generosity of the people - as well as their sayings and superstitions - left an impression on me. The countryside is timeless and peaceful; the capital is busy but not overbearing, classical but not old-fashioned. Ukraine is slowly moving out of the shadow cast upon it by three centuries of Tsarist and Soviet chauvinism, and a sense of national identity is being formed.
As I lay in a compartment of the sleeper train back to Moscow I promised myself that I would return to live there one day, once I had finished my Russian degree. And the best part of two years later I am finally able to, with a hostel room booked for a few nights and a job interview at a law firm scheduled for the day after I arrive, but nothing to fall back on.
I had really wanted to spend a few months after University exploring the satellite states of Central Asia; from the mountains of Kyrgyzstan to the mosques, madrassas and bazaars of Uzbekistan, to the eccentricity of Turkmenistan. I'll make that silk road journey while I'm still young (next year, if I can afford to) but the chance to live with Ana again and work in Eastern Europe was too good to let pass.
The name of this diary (
Vinavát, Sudárinya, or Виноват, Сударыня in cyrillic), is one of my lines
from a play in which I acted with my classmates in Yaroslavl. The friends I made at the Yartek language school, and their own travels throughout other undiscovered parts of the former Soviet Union, have inspired me to make the most of life in my early twenties.
It may go horribly wrong, but I am determined to do something positive this year.
Next diary: Chukotka chic and Kievan whispers.
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