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Location of the Sniatyn Raion (District) in Ukraine

Chance Encounters of a Good Kind

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Location of the Sniatyn Raion (District) in Ukraine

This story was a submission to EntertainingYourself.com’s first ever “Best Running Story in a Foreign Country Writing Contest” – April 2011. Our story’s author, Tammela Platt, is currently serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in a town in southwest Ukraine. She writes “I have been in Ukraine since last September and at my permanent site since December.” She heard about the contest from a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer, Runner, Oberlin Graduate and EY Writer: Samantha Kyrkostas.

This is a story about an incomplete run. An incomplete run thanks to the incredible openness and hospitality of the Ukrainian people.

Sniatyn’s stadium in winter. There is a cement track around the soccer field.

While doing a speed workout at my town’s stadium – 100-meter repeats, sprinting down the straightaway and jogging back – on the first day of February, I kept running by a woman taking a toddler for a walk – rather, he was walking her. On one of my recovery jogs, the woman called me over and asked me something – in Ukrainian, of course – about my running that I didn’t quite understand (upon reflection I think she asked how fast I run 100 meters; that day was not an especially fast day). When I told her I didn’t understand (Я не розумію/“Ya ne rozoomiyoo” – probably the first three words I mastered in Ukrainian), she said, “Oh, are you Polish?” It’s the blond hair and blue eyes. Or the assumption many Ukrainians make that anyone here who doesn’t speak fluent Ukrainian must be from Poland. When I told her I’m American and talked a little about the Peace Corps and why I’m here, she asked me to wait until her daughter (mother of the toddler) came back and then invited me directly to their apartments in the building across from the stadium. “Right now?” I asked. She answered in the affirmative. What could I say but yes? Sure, I would have liked to finish my workout, but it would have been stupid to refuse this offer from such a genuine woman.

Zhenia & Tanya's Apartment -To the right, behind the fence, is the stadium. Far center-right is the apartment building complex where Zhenia and Tanya live.

So off we went, Zhenia (Женя, short for Yevhenia (Євгенія)), the not-so-old grandmother, and Tanya (Таня, short for Tetiana), her daughter, guiding me across the street and up the stairs of their building, chattering the whole time about how glad they were to meet me and how I would be welcome anytime and must come see them. They showed me around their apartments and then, in typical Ukrainian fashion, sat me down with tea – despite the fact that I was sweaty from my run and surely did not smell sweet – and offered me some delicious cheese pancakes (called сирники/“syrnyky”) as we talked for a while about Ukraine and America. When it started to get dark I pleaded work to do and, full of snacks and happy feelings, jogged slowly home. Meeting Zhenia and Tanya was a great cap-off to what had already been a great day: I had talked with my 11th Form about Romanticism in art, had sung “My Favorite Things” to my 3rd Form, and had gotten three boxes in the mail. Days like that make spending two years in Ukraine a little less daunting.

And it all started with a run.

~ Tammela Platt~

A Procrastinating Pragmatist With A Heart of Gold

Part 1 – An Engaging Story

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A Procrastinating Pragmatist With A Heart of Gold

My Engagement

or

How A Procrastinating Pragmatist

Rediscovered Romance

I was romantic once.

It was late summer and I’d been walking with my girlfriend of somewhere-between-eight-and-nine-years down a rolling, park single-track. We’d climbed the dusty hill, descended the empty river bed and were just passing the riding ring and red barn of a stable I know intimately. It was where my mother brought my sister and me as children, ostensibly to pet and feed horses, but actually to inoculate us against farm diseases. 

The stables smelled of old redwood, dry hay, and also of horse manure, which as manures go is quite pleasant. And I felt quite pleasant, even though she and I were fighting.

It was one of those arguments, where problem A (I’d ditched her friends) was presented as the issue when in fact it was problem B (we weren’t engaged). I was winning.

As I petted a mare that searched my hand fruitlessly for something good to eat, my girlfriend broached the real subject.

“All I want,” she said, “is a sign that you are committed to this relationship and to me and that we have a future together.”

It was a very practical thing to say, and “Be pragmatic” had recently become an unofficial motto, a companion to the official: “When in doubt, procrastinate.” These may be difficult to reconcile, but I can be persistent.

“Listen,” I said, “give me one year and I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

We’d reached the edge of the park and were walking quietly past a bulldozer idling on a vacant lot when I had a flash of inspiration. I would propose on her birthday, April 19th. She’d like it. It would be romantic. It would be easy to remember.

At that moment I was excited. I was committed. Then I forgot.

***

Mid-morning on April 18th I woke up, looked at my phone, then rushed to the laundry room for pants. I had a lunch appointment with my girlfriend’s mom. I needed permission to marry her daughter. The rest of the day would be for ring shopping.

Seated across from the woman who’d once found you in your underwear, hiding in her daughter’s closet, might be intimidating for some, but not for me, until it came time to propose the big pre-question. 

“I’d like to ask your daughter to marry me tomorrow, but I wanted to ask you first.”

 “Awww, that’s nice,” she said. “Why should I let you?”

She looked at me keenly. I was unprepared and didn’t ace the response.

 “Well, it’s a responsible thing to do… it’s important to have commitment… it’s been such a long time…”  Then I rallied for a solid B-. “When it comes down to it, we really care for each other.”

I’d come out of the lunch date with more than I had going in and felt good walking my future mother-in-law to her car. I’d received her blessing, plus she’d improved my proposal plan. Instead of handing over a simple ring box, I would hide it in a second box filled with my girlfriend’s favorite Parisian macaroons, which they just happened to have at home.

I held the car door open for my girlfriend’s mom.

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, “But a taqueria? Couldn’t you have chosen a nicer place?” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to give any illusions about the kind of guy I am.”

***

To Be Continued –  in Part 2: The Engagement

-Will-

photo-5a

Throwin’ Down

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Title: New Year's Eve! Artist: Rosemary B Mudry Painted: 2002, Oil on Canvas

There are party goers and party throwers.  There are amazing stars that shine at both and duds who’d best just stick to dinner and a movie.  What determines success?  How much fun was had by all. 

Consider Robin, a consummate party thrower. She loves throwing parties, but even more, Robin loves planning parties.  Before she has completed one party, she already has 3 or 4 more under construction.  Themes and events stream through her brain at rapid speed and inspiration is found everywhere.  She has a list of people she relies upon to get the job done and she knows who to call for everything.  Need a cake?  Ask Robin and she’ll provide the top 5 bakeries to contact.  Looking for tables and chairs? She knows who to call and how much it’ll cost (if anything).  Need a prop?  She’ll check her “closet.”

The Party Closet - that is – a common element among party throwers.  This space is dedicated to housing props, gifts, costumes and anything else that screams PAR -TEE!  These items are not frivolous.  Expert party throwers are not pack rats. They are selective about what they keep on hand, knowing exactly what is required for the perfect party and impossible to find on short notice.  Everything in the party closet is used at some point or it gets passed along, and not every closet is the same.  Each depends on the unique interests of the party givers.  For example, there may be gowns, tuxedos, table linens, western gear, wigs, folding chairs, assorted hats, palm trees, cake pans, crystal, paper plates, jewelry, strobe lights…the list is diverse and seemingly infinite. 

Robin shops all year, looking for bargains that may come in handy for a future event.  She’s bought Swarovski crystal and iPods at rock bottom prices knowing that they will make perfect prizes for a raffle or contest.  She’s found curtains, lamps, chairs and a sundry of inflatable’s to suit every conceivable backdrop. 

One time it was an in-door beach party, complete with sand, trees and water (beach attire required, despite the minus zero temperatures outside).  Another time it was a Red-Carpet Oscar party, complete with what else?  A red carpet (lined with Paparazzi) and Oscars (awarded through a traditional envelope opening ceremony) for all the guests!

“Parties take work.”

“They cost a lot of money.”

“It is impossible to make everybody happy.”

“There is always a crisis.”

“Throwing a party is exhausting and thankless.” Really?

Not according to Robin.  Throwing parties is pure delight and she hosts parties to entertain herself!  She enjoys every minute of it, from the first idea to the day after clean-up.  A last minute crisis to others is an opportunity for her to tap into that unending reservoir of ideas, props and resources.  Friends and acquaintances come out of the wood work to help her prepare and clean up with the hope that they will end up on the next guest list or get a referral from her in the future. And she is always ready to step-in to save the day for others – that’s just what party throwers do!

Excuses don’t fly with Robin because it’s not about the venue, any locale can be party ready.  She regularly moves furniture in and out of her bungalow style house to accomodate her theme.  It’s not about the money, finding ways to party on the cheap is part of the thrill.  And it’s certainly not about hiring someone else to do it for her.  That would absolutely defeat the purpose.  According to Robin, there is only one real reason to throw a party – and that’s simply for the fun of it!  Stick to that premise and the rest will fall perfectly into place. 

~Nancy~

 

The open road ahead

How to Beat Boredom

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The Ngong’ athletic training camp is located thirty kilometres, west of Nairobi, Kenya’s capital city. The camp consists of a group of individuals from different parts of the country and indeed, the world with a common goal of achieving success in the field of athletics. (A note to our American readers- the word “athletics” is used around the world to mean the sport of running including cross country and track). Athletes train as a group under the careful watch of their coaches and guidance of senior athletes. Health services such as massage and a fitness gym are offered to keep the athletes in good shape. The training camp is located in an extraordinary location near the Ngong’ Hills. The hills provide beautiful sceneries for sightseeing, hiking and team building. One gets a chance to see the country side from a bird’s eye view; the scenery is spectacular and reassuring. The cool bushes also provide an ample, silent environment for meditation and building on one’s mental strength. Athletes depend on both physical fitness and mental strength for their success. Mental stability and good health translates to better performance.

As an athlete, my day is predetermined due to my training schedule. The morning hours and the evenings are my busiest moments. When I am not in the field training, I usually make sure that I engage in various activities to keep boredom at bay. Spending time with friends is the best way to beat boredom. We always engage in endless but exciting chats. The latest athletic events usually dominate our talks; analysis of athletics performance is done in a critical and entertaining manner. We all learn from the performances and experiences of other athletes in the camp. Laughter is said to be the best medicine: – Exciting stories from the team members leaves the crowd roaring with laughter.  One funny story is of an athlete who bought a car and could not drive it at a slow speed since he is used to running fast. He got in trouble with the police for the better part of the year.

Ngong Hills outside Nairobi, Kenya, Africa

When I have free time, I spend it visiting relatives in Nairobi. There, I get to rekindle my best childhood memories with my family. I have made a personal choice to keep boredom on the periphery. Happiness, in most cases, is a matter of choice, so I spend most of my time thinking of the positive things in my life, not dwelling on the setbacks.

-Elisha-

An easy way to travel in Kenya

A Perspective on Air Travel

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An easy way to travel in Kenya

This could pass as an ordinary experience for most of you, but this is the moment that defines my adulthood.  Throughout my childhood and teenage years, I have been used to travelling in public transport vehicles and in rare occasions, get a chance to ride in private vehicles.

My first experience on a plane was in late 2009. I had been asked by my manager to go over to Sweden for athletics trials in the hope that I would join a training camp in the country. (A note to our American readers- the word “athletics” is used around the world to mean the sport of running including cross country and track). The first time that I went near an airplane was when I went to see off a friend named Martin.  He was heading to his homeland, the United States. As the saying goes, everything is possible if you believe, and I promised myself that I would board a plane just as my friend did.

Because I have gotten used to the chaotic public transport in our country, I thought the same applied to the planes. I was in for a pleasant surprise; the seats were big and so comfortable. I never thought that one could have a chance to eat something while in the air. I thought the food would defy the force of gravity and go upwards.  I was filled with mixed reactions; I did not know what to do, should I go to sleep?  Suddenly I felt the plane shake, (that was the most terrifying moment for me), and I thought the worst had come to worse. I struggled to free myself from my seatbelt. It took the reassurance of the gracious air hostess that that is a normal occurrence and that I should not panic. I could see that the other passengers were surprised with my behavior, others smiled at me to reassure me that all was well.

When we left Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Kenya, I thought that was the biggest airport in the world; I was wrong. After some hours, we landed in Amsterdam, and as we touched down, I was amazed with the size of the airport I saw. The planes landed every minute and I could not believe my eyes. The environment around me was so different than the one I am used to. I saw skyscrapers and bigger planes than I ever imagined, I simply could not believe what I saw. We then boarded another plane to Stockholm. The journey to Stockholm was great because I had no worries when we experienced some turbulence. The view was so breath taking that I forgot my fears and worries and lived in the moment.

On touching down in Sweden, I was picked up by a man holding a placard containing my name. That was when I was taken to the best hotel that I have ever seen. This kind of hotel is always reserved for the wealthy and politicians in my country and I finally knew that I had fulfilled the promise I had made to myself and that the future would only bring more experiences to strive for.

-Elisha