Thursday, Day 3

Thursday, Day 3:

The first thing that needs to be recorded is that, even with our squeaky beds, we slept through the night!! Hooray! We finally can open our eyes and taste our food, etc, etc.

Last night’s dinner was really fun. In my post-nap cranky I was really unsure of spending another few hours on the fringes of Russian conversation, but I readjusted myself and had a great time with Sasha and his wife. She toned him down a bit; he’s such a character. Dad told him I have a fondness for the Lada cars and how small and cute they were and he said “just let me install you on the roof and we will make a picture” or “pretend to open the door while we make the picture” and so on! (Even I am saying, let me make the picture, lately.) He said I am like his wife; so easily off-kilter by the jokes and humor, such an easy target (obvious?).

Sasha and Dad spoke of the corruption in today’s Ukrainian society, how many people you have to bribe in order to get things done, play the game, etc. He is basically in charge of the construction of things (like traffic lights, etc) by the port. Big job. He is Jewish too, but his grandfather was in the KGB, so it was much easier for him to build a life here. Such an ironic statement, right? His wife is not Jewish.

Sasha actually was visibly surprised to learn that my mom is Jewish, too. “You have a Jewish wife?” he said. “I thought you married an American!” What a loaded statement. Many times, both Dad and I referred to something/someone as “Russian” and Sasha would be quick to correct us, no, not Russian, Ukrainian. Identity for him is much more allied with Ukraine since he stayed through the fall of the USSR. Their family had just been to Mexico, and they speak lovely Spanish and French.

I got praised for my snippets of Russian speech, pointing at dogs and cats and saying their names, or even the pleases and thank you’s.

Today had such a good start. We made tea and ate bread and sort of a kielbasa/salami cross, though I cannot explain better, and cheese which is sort of like feta and sort of like cottage cheese, and also, at the same time, neither. We ate with our hands, and that felt really good. We then went to the café, used the computer, drank coffees, and came back to the apartment, and met up with Valya, the wife of the dude with the Bentley and bodyguards.

It was nicer and less intimidating to be with her, and she was so helpful and generous. She took us around in her car (for a long time, I thought, who is this dude driving?? Are we in a taxi? Is this a relative? And then, finally I understood it was a driver. I am sometimes on a need-to-know basis). We saw Dad’s college, and, really interesting, saw the prospective students lining up before the lists of those accepted into the school for the future fall semester!

Also, the article I was sent about the mass grave of Jews from WWII discovered at a construction site in Odessa? We went there. Super creepy. We totally walked right through the ongoing construction.

Best part: she took us to the beach, and then left us there for an hour to swim in the Black Sea. (She’s grandma-aged, not exactly the jump-in-the-sea type.) The Black Sea is said to have healing powers, so I’m planning on getting over my bum ankle and maybe having 20/20 vision by the time we leave.

What’s really funny is, while she left us, she went back to the center of the city for something-or-other, and someone from our apartment building recognized her (because I guess her and her husband’s wealth make her quite famous in town?) and knew she was talking to Dad, and asked to be let into our apartment so they could fix something. They were super apologetic and suddenly very accommodating – our connection to her made them want to spruce our apartment!

We swam in the water and it was very clean and not too salty and just amazing to be in water! Lots of little fish and sea glass and pretty stones. I took some. We saw former residences of Soviet figures and KGB people, now converted to Newport-like estates by the sea.

After she dropped us back off, we had lunch/lunner, and it was so so delicious. I had a salad with peaches and avocados and chicken and almonds and I know this is not very important but it was phenomenal so I must include it to prove Beckian wrong; the food is OK here. Bought water (without bubbles, finally, I hate damn bubbles in my water) and got matches so we could light the stove.

We came back around 5, only to get a phone call from Boris and his wife, family friends, wondering where we are! They thought we would be arriving around 5, not leaving our apartment at 5, and we were all beachy and needed to shower. Dad already felt bad, bc of a miscommunication: somehow Boris thought he was supposed to pick us up from the airport when we landed, and, unbeknownst to us, waited there for a long long time before giving up. I think this was why he would not come and get us to come to his house for dinner, and it was a long, hot bus ride away.

So Dad showered, left it running for me, and I ran in to find the bathroom flooded! (The shower head is just on a hose, not fixed to the wall, so I guess it slipped and…showered the whole floor. I said that one of us needs to know how to not be so awkward and ditzy bc one of us is going to end up walking into a car or something.) So I finally showered, then completely wasted being clean sweating on the bus, and arrived and Boris was (poor guy) waiting for us of course. Dad must have been super nervous (these people knew his mom before WWII) and introduced me as Renata!! (My cousin, from Israel, his brother’s daughter is named Renata…like, what? Shto?)

We laughed it off but he was very sorry after and asked me not to write that here (sorry papa). I think its funny in retrospect. I was not really introduced to anyone so what I gather is this: grandparents Boris and Vera were there with grandson (shoot, nameless?) and friend (who spoke perfect English and went to high school in Rochester) and their son, Sasha. Dad remembered Sasha which means he was old enough to be a walking talking creature before my dad left the USSR.

Very little English and very awkward sitting before food and wine was flowing and I performed my Rachel-botches-Russian antics which is unfailingly amusing. (I heard Zavtra, and thought it was Zavtruk, and said “breakfast!” but Zavtra is “tomorrow” and has nothing to do with food. Crap.) This is all just as funny as dad translating Russian with Russian for me, or not remembering a simple word (cow) in English or Russian, and so on.

Sasha the son is going horseback riding tomorrow, I think (all in Russian, hence the zaftra mistake) and Dad told him I like horses and I think I’m invited? Not horseback riding on the beach, but in the city, which is cool. Trying to get Dad to come too. We’re home now, tired from the bus ride back. I can’t think of anything more to say.

Oh crap yes. Before I forget. This isn’t a thing-that-happened, so much as an observation. Until now, this place, Odessa, has been about as real and tangible to me as Neverland. So, I am realizing, only coming to understand now, as I sit here, that this trip is essentially like dancing with Peter Pan, getting sprinkled with pixie dust, or whatever other cheesy metaphors I could think of. This is as surreal as it gets, and the only thing that makes it any closer is physically writing these sentences, “I did this…” and “we did that..” etc. This sounded really poetic in my head but I am tired. Words, before I pass out:

zaftra: tomorrow
apple: yableka
pill: tablietka (a mishearing, from taborietka)
write: pisatt (soft “t”)
sorry (like excuse me, not like, so sorry I ran over your cat): isvinityeh
sorry sorry: prostityeh (poor cat)
good: horasho
I: ya
cow: korova

I have a hard time with R’s, because you have to roll them, and an EE-ish type noise that I can’t really differentiate from the “ee” sound we have. We don’t have a letter for it.
(notice that my words avoid them)

PS, This is the most important part of yesterday. Vera, Boris’ wife, said I look like Dad’s mom. Neither of us (he or I) have really ever seen pictures of her while young, so, somehow, this helps us both understand her. I am honored to look like her, or even receive the comment even if it was just a nice thing to say.

PPS, Just spoke to my waiter in English and made him so nervous he tripped over a chair. Then he said “sorry!” Dad tried to make up for this with something that he didn’t translate to me.