Though I should feel more owing to my numerous cultural ties, can’t express sentiment far beyond indifference with any conviction - appealing, rather, to the palatable notion of presence and belonging in Ukraine, than international sympathy.
The language leads me into jams and pickles. The i and и vowel conundrum for one: the Ukrainian i maps to the Russian и, while the Ukrainian и maps to the Russian ы.
That’s by no means easily reconcilable when accustomed to the Russian Cyrillic as the only specimen of the sort; not within a period of a week. Not that it’s any different over handling the u and v historical reversal of the Latinized languages.
Charming is the word for please, ласко. There’s an entirely divergent word for minute.
Point being, in contrast to Belorussian, I face struggle with Ukrainian comprehension. But it depends. I’ve reasonably managed extended (Russian-Ukrainian) interchanges. But come those brief utterances at the point of commerce, that one-word question (much of human communication comprising of these low-entropy brief utterances) - and I plummet into dumbfounded awkwardness.
At that point, chance incumbent, the Ukrainian interlocutor expresses frustration bordering brisk impudence, insofar as it might appear in relation to any land further west starting from the immediate neighbour Poland.
It’s that edgy impudence generally more identifiable among this far eastern-European block that tends to amplify my apprehension. Not that remarkable pleasantry is not to be witnessed. But all considered, it’s a livelier dichotomy in Ukraine. And I’m by no means pleased over the handful of border and transit terminal encounters.
Someone shared a photo of the stereotypical contrasts between the different Slavic groups: the Central (Poland-Czechia-Slovakia) friendlier bunch; the Eastern Slavs, a bunch of impertinent bickerers; and the South Slavs, feuding at the edge of a blade.
Strangely enough, though the entire bus occupancy on the way back (to Poland) spoke Ukrainian, I no longer hear it once in Poland. I hear the Russian just about everywhere. Which I’ve thus largely ascribed to the eastern part of Ukraine, owing to the greatest refugees (and a small portion of Belarus). So are the western Ukrainians so relatively few in numbers in Poland? Or am I grossly misled in some element?
I don’t think I’ve addressed a word to Lviv. Pleasant infrastructure. Older, but fairly well preserved constructions, all considered. Many much older, nearly Soviet, buses and trams. Charming to the observer. Probably rugged to the occupant.
I appreciate all those glorified benches and armchairs arranged throughout public spaces. Much of that in Poland, but no less in Lviv. Except that in Lviv I found them not only in parks, lawns and nature areas, but concrete plazas, convenient for urban spectatorship in royal comfort.
I won’t lie that I’d spent hours in reading or pretending to write in the said configuration. Observing the decrepit bulldogs meander by. Pale faces. Purple dreadlocks. Water fountain hooliganism. Invisible fumes of electric cigarettes.
Pondering why the church across bears the Eye of Providence shared by the Freemasons and Illuminati. Then it strikes me that secret societies haven’t monopolized the symbol, shared also by the US dollar and general religious doctrine.
One still functioning Synagogue (A hundred + before WW2). A poorly maintained Jewish memorial. A site of the former concentration camp. A train station. Then the central region of the older Jewish quarter … Most value owing to the explanatory signs: yet a significant channel of my ethnographic study.
A daily book (and vinyl) fair. Plenty in the Russian language. Couldn’t find anything worth sacrificing the luggage space. Otherwise, an impressive variety of older Soviet editions.
Gastronomy, solid, and naturally, much shared with the Slavic neighbors. But here I found kotlety made of chicken almost universal, something otherwise of a nuisance in Poland. And overall, damn fine home-cooked quality in these smaller cafeterias dealing by weight.
Questions, comments? Connect.