Exodus

The English word Exodus comes from the Ancient Greek: ἔξοδος, éxodos, meaning "going out", from ἐξ- (ex, “out”) + ὁδός (hodós, “path, road”).

Westward route out of Sacramento, California. Date long forgotten.

Exodus, 5th century BCE (or earlier): As told in second book of the Torah (included in the Old Testament of the Bible), the Israelites left Egypt and began their long wanderings in search of their homeland.

"The Crossing of the Red Sea". Nicolas Poussin, 1634.

Exodus, 2015 CE: I left California for Indiana, part of a trend of my peers leaving our home state. We found ourselves in Idaho, Oklahoma, Indiana, North Carolina, countries in Latin America and Asia...
I was relieved to be away from the fire and the drought, in a place where it rains.

Leaving Yosemite by way of the Tioga Pass. California, 2015

Lost somewhere in Fortville, Indiana. 2015. 

Exodus, 2019 CE - Part 1: Following 2 years of service in Peace Corps Ukraine, I returned to the US to work at Exodus Refugee Immigration. Our office was filled with people who had trudged miles through jungles, who had jumped out of windows while handcuffed, who in myriad ways had made their respective escapes from war and persecution.

Leaving Cherkasy. Ukraine, 2019.

My work commute to Exodus Refugee Immigration. Indiana, 2019

Exodus, 2019 CE - Part 2: In one day, five Exodus staff members had to make unexpected farewells after being laid off or otherwise deciding to leave following the Trump administration's decision to drastically reduce refugee admissions.
I was one of them.
For us and for the thousands of refugees left waiting in dire circumstances, perhaps this is more accurately called Exile.

Photo with an Exodus coworker. We knew not everybody agreed with our message, but we did not know that my last day would be exactly one month later. Indiana, 2019. 

Exodus, 2020 CE: I have decided to leave Indiana. I am taking the road out; beginning a long and wandering path through the woods of Indiana and Arkansas, through the deserts of the vast American Southwest, bound for my homeland.

California, 2012. I'll be seeing this sign again soon.  

The Number 10 Bus

It must be a skill you learn living on the streets - keeping a cigarette in your mouth even when fast asleep. Or perhaps the man leaning at an almost impossible angle against the plastic interior of the number 10 bus only looks fast asleep. We bump along, and I recall a documentary I saw once about a 24-hour bus line back in California where homeless people sleep each night. It seems people also get some rest on the number 10 in Indianapolis; two of them are asleep across from me. I try not to stare at the miraculously unmoving cigarette. It is so still.

*     *     *

"You got the fare or not? We gotta get going."

Getting going on the 10 is a sort of ritual. Would-be passengers linger in the doorway, talking with folks in the street behind them, rummaging for their tickets or their change. We sit for several minutes while a woman tracks down her bus pass, occasionally shouting at some people in a gas station parking lot. She's agitated. She drops her things. A couple people get up to help her with her stuff while she cusses at the imperturbable bus driver, and I silently chide myself for underestimating the kindness of my fellow passengers. After a few tense exchanges she settles into the seat in front of me, with her feet on the seat in front of her. I watch as she fidgets with her hair.

A lady across the bus aisle asks if she's hungry. If she wants a coffee. She says yeah, and leans into the corner. Maybe she's going to fall asleep, too.

Later that day I see her in a news clip, walking away off camera as a police officer mouths something from the window of his police car. The disembodied voice of the news man drones on about crime and trouble and cops while the camera lingers on shots of familiar sidewalks, of the bus stop where I catch the number 10.

*     *     *

"I'm hungry! I'm so skinny, like those celebrities! Those famous women are all so skinny!"
A woman is talking loudly to everyone and no one on the number 10 bus as we head into town. She's going on about wanting to get free coffee somewhere. I have a chuckle at her joke about skinny celebrities, silently congratulate myself on my ability to appreciate the sense of humor of a poor, hungry woman on the bus, and then chide myself once again for thinking I'm such a goddamn saint.

A man tells her there's free coffee at the Wheeler Mission. It's a shelter behind the dance studio where I work as a receptionist. People checking in for their dance classes sometimes tell me they're nervous walking by.

*     *     *

"You coming or not? We gotta get going."

Different stop, different driver. Same ritual of getting going on the number 10 bus. Three people linger in the doorway, figuring out whatever it is that needs to be figured out. Saying whatever it is that needs to be said. They eventually come aboard. One man reeks of alcohol when he plops down in front of me, but he's a happy drunk. He's bringing the party. I'm rather relieved.

They realize they are on the wrong bus, and hop off at the next stop. They are replaced by a tiny old woman meticulously clipping CVS coupons from unbelievably long receipts.

I guess they weren't coming after all.

Остання мандрівка Україною - частина 3: Яремче | A final wander around Ukraine - part 3: Yaremche

There's something particularly romantic about the way the train winds through Yaremche: a certain grandeur as the train approaches the platform, heralded by that classic whistle sounding of industry and faraway places; a quiet grace in the way the tracks curve on the way out of town and disappear into mountains dusted with fresh snow even in May. The tracks are a reminder that Yaremche is a gateway; a place from which one is constantly beckoned to go onward, in search of adventure or quiet or authenticity or whatever it is that one seeks in mountain meadows and pine forests.

I'm glad I made it here before the end of my service. Yaremche is well known among Ukrainians and foreign visitors alike as a destination for outdoor recreation. It is home base for numerous youth summer camps and a starting point for day hikes and backpacking trips. Perhaps most importantly, from Yaremche you can enter the Carpathian National Nature Park, where if the capricious mountain weather is in your favor you can hike Ukraine's tallest peak, Mount Hoverla.

I was fortunate enough to summit Hoverla in 2018

I've been to the Carpathian Mountains three times since coming to Ukraine, and each time it has been a journey of discovery. Yaremche elevates that feeling further with its constant beckoning: the train tracks heading onward to mountain towns like Vorokhta and Rakhiv; the many cottages with their vacancy signs hung outside, inviting tired travelers in for the night; the ubiquitous advertisements for bus tours and guided treks and cozy mountain evenings in hot tubs.

Є вільні місця - "There are free spaces". These signs, in various shapes and sizes and styles, are all over Yaremche. 

It can almost be a bit too much. When I was walking around Yaremche hauling my suitcase, it was like I had a target on my back. Did I need a taxi? A room for the night? Did I want to go four-wheeling for 1500 hryvnia? How about some traditional Hutsul cuisine? Local souvenirs? But while the tourist-targeted advertising can be heavy-handed, the feeling in Yaremche of being on the way to something, of being in motion, is deep and unshakable. It was there long before the advertisements.

Shot from an overnight horseback trek in 2017.

An unshakable sense of motion perhaps sounds like a contradiction, but I think anyone who has gotten to know a mountain or two will understand what I mean. All around Yaremche the Carpathians stand, ancient, silently beckoning, and then they catch you off guard with unanticipated fields of newly bloomed wildflowers or sudden spring snowstorms.

These two photos are from the same hike. 

I cannot say much else except, "Come to Yaremche." In doing so I join the chorus of advertisements and vacationing locals and rushing rivers and creaky old bridges and mountain breezes and train whistles. They have different voices. Depending on where you are, you will hear some louder than others. But they all, in their own way, are saying, "Come to Yaremche."

Остання мандрівка Україною - частина друга: Коломия | A final wander around Ukraine - part two: Kolomyya

I thought Kolomyya would be quaint. The mid-size city (population ~60,000) at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains is known for its Easter egg museum, preservation of Hutsul culture, and proximity to popular backpacking trails. Restful little mountain town, or so I thought.

Once you set foot in Kolomyya, however, the city will quickly disavow you of such a notion. It is a place keenly aware of its history, and the city itself seems to express its own strong opinions. Kolomyya has a rebel heart and a bustling feel of importance. If you have in some way tried to tread on Kolomyya, your misdeeds will be written in stone with no sparing of dramatic flair. 

Inscription: "Here once stood a monument to Taras Shevchenko, opened May 28th, 1914 in honor of the 100th anniversary of the poet's birth. It was ruined during the First World War in September, 1914 by Tsarist Russian soldiers."

The monument to the monument of Taras Shevchenko is one of the first examples that caught my eye and made me think, "Well alright, Kolomyya, you don't mess around." Virtually all Ukrainian towns and cities have monuments to the beloved poet, but Kolomyya is the only one I have seen that acknowledges the ruining of such a monument, and, moreover, explicitly calls out who did it.

via GIPHY
(I really hope somebody understands my Taylor Swift reference...)


Monuments here don't just wait for you to notice them, either. They demand your attention - like this one did as I was meandering my way through a quiet part of town on the way to a coffee shop.

Inscription: "Passer-by, stop! Here, in this building, for a decade (1942-1952) there was a prison where your countrymen were tortured and killed. These fighters for the freedom of Ukraine were innocent victims of Nazi-Bolshevik totalitarian regimes."

In my central Ukrainian city, Cherkasy, we have an entire park dedicated to the 50th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution. Out west in Kolomyya, however, the Bolsheviks are grouped alongside the Nazis as villains who wronged the Ukrainian people. Sure, one can find some Soviet nostalgia in dusty corners of the antique shops in town, but as for the parks - the first one I wandered into is devoted to a leader of the Ukrainian Radical Party who founded a movement to form and train "sich societies": groups of ax-bearing Ukrainian firefighters and riflemen who learned the ways of Cossack tradition, created their own Ukrainian songbooks and publications, and gathered annually in the thousands until their societies (named for a form of military-administrative unit from the Cossack times) were banned after World War I by the Polish government.

I had never heard of Kyrylo Trylovskyi before coming to Kolomyya, and it took three Google searches to find any English-language articles about him, but this through-and-through Ukrainian nationalist leader is quite the big deal in Kolomyya. 

Kolomyya does have its softer sides - the giant pysanka (Ukrainian Easter egg), elegant 19th-century architecture, and shops selling traditional handicrafts. The locals reliably cross themselves whenever they walk by a church, which is quite often given the number of them dotting the city. But with all its small-town charm and devout religiosity, Kolomyya is not to be mistaken for being quaint or humble. This is a proud, cultural powerhouse of a city with deep roots and strong convictions, and it displays them unabashedly at every opportunity.

The Pysanka Museum is partially housed inside a giant pysanka!

They were planting flowers out front during my visit. 

Kolomyya's central square is named Renaissance Square - something I've never seen anywhere else. I've seen Market Squares, Cathedral Squares, and squares named after various important Ukrainian historical figures - but this is the first Renaissance Square I've come across, and I suspect it is named for Kolomyya's central role in several periods of Ukrainian cultural renaissance.

There's a lot to this little city, and folks here will make sure you know it. Thanks for the good times and the stern talkin'-to, Kolomyya! Time to move onward into the mountains.

The contents of this blog reflect my personal views alone. 

Остання мандрівка Україною - Частина перша: Київ | A final wander around Ukraine - Part One: Kyiv

The conductor is displeased.

"What is this? Where is the train number? Where is the coach number?"
"It's the Ukrzaliznytsia mobile app. The app from this company."
"I don't know what this is. Do you not have our website? Why didn't you print a ticket like this girl over here?'
"I don't have access to a printer, so I use your company's mobile app."
"What's your nationality?"
"USA."
.......
She stares, unwavering.
.......
"My nationality, right?"
"Right."
"USA."
"Oy, I don't understand! Anyway, what services do you have?"
"Bed linens and tea. It's written here."
"What? This isn't in Ukrainian! Why isn't it in Ukrainian?"
I translate the words from the app's English interface, and after a few more such minutes I am finally in place on my westbound train from Kyiv and well aware of who is the boss of Coach 10.

Despite the conductor's skepticism, this app is actually very handy! 

On the way to the station, I had stopped by a hip all-vegetarian sandwich shop, Orangutan, for some barbecued seitan. The night before I was up late at Swinglandia, a multi-day blues dance and lindy hop exchange where I chatted with software programmers and international visitors in between dances to live jazz music. But in case I was starting to think Kyiv was entirely modern and metropolitan, the conductor was there to remind me that not all things in Ukraine are changing quite so quickly.

Simultaneously so Ukrainian, and so lindy exchange:
"Ballroom dancers and gopnyks clap on one!"
"Salo-Charleston"

Kyiv is a crazy place. As far as global cities go, it is right up there with other world-class capital cities in terms of history, culture, and grandeur. It has been the seat of empires and has survived the rise and fall of various nations that have possessed it.

Near the Kyiv City Hall

Monument to Bohdan Khmelnytskyi

St. Andrew's church

Yet unlike cities that feel somewhat unmoored from the countries in which they're situated (think London compared to rural England, or Washington D.C. compared to the "wild west" 3,000 miles away), Kyiv is permeated with strong veins of Ukrainian culture that are just as familiar here as they are in a small village. There are old ladies selling vegetables on the sidewalks; art (or advertisements) on every available patch of wall, sidewalk, or telephone pole; Uber coexists with marshrutkas and tough-looking taxi drivers smoking hand-rolled cigarettes in their old Ladas.

A low-cost sign for a local museum, with a fancy hotel in the background

On the metro

Art? Art. 

You can have a sleek, modern experience in Kyiv if you want. You can stay at the Hilton, sip fine scotch at a spot where the bartenders wear bow-ties, and while away your time and your hryvnia in beautiful coffee shops where you can easily spend your month's salary on matcha lattes and avocado toast.

One Love Coffee sits above the Pinchuk Art Center. It's where I go if I wish to temporarily bankrupt myself for the sake of drinking green beverages. 

Alternatively, you can experience hip, hidden Kyiv: hunt down the cash-only ramen joint tucked into the courtyard of an apartment complex, or visit the rooftop bar that you can only find if you pass though the kitchen of the cafe below and climb a sketchy-looking ladder.

It's not easy to find, but most Peace Corps Volunteers know their way to Noodles vs. Marketing

Worth remembering to go to an ATM first

And at least for now, in Kyiv you can also buy veggies from the old ladies on the sidewalks, glimpse Soviet art alongside murals commemorating the Revolution of Dignity, ride the signature yellow marshrutkas, and have your urban life slowed down for a few minutes by a train conductor who doesn't like it when you use the train company's mobile app.

I feel like a good way to sum up Kyiv is the fact that it managed to pull off hosting the Eurovision song contest while at war. The bells of ancient churches frequented by tourists aren't just for show - in 2014 they rang out in warning when special forces attacked protesters. A lot of history happens here, and the city has a way of making you feel small but not anonymous. Like you are at the center something, albeit something you perhaps don't fully understand.

Placards nearby share people's recollections of the church bells ringing during the Revolution of Dignity

A man pauses on his bicycle by Maidan Nezalezhnosti, where just five years ago protesters overcame violent repression in what is now known as the Revolution of Dignity 

The first protester to be killed in the Revolution of Dignity now constantly looks over the peaceful mornings in this Kyiv park. 

There are a lot of articles circulating nowadays, enticing travel-inclined people to visit this "undiscovered" city. Kyiv is not undiscovered; the rest of the world just hasn't been paying attention. Come on over - and be ready for the train conductors. They run a tight ship, but if you learn their rules they'll get you where you're going, with a cup of tea along the way.




The content of this blog is indicative of my personal views alone, and does not reflect the views of Peace Corps Ukraine or the US or Ukrainian governments. 

Остання мандрівка Україною - вирушення | A final wander around Ukraine - setting out

I am once again in motion, with my cheap, missing-a-few-parts yet somehow still functioning laptop in tow.

I tend to enjoy blogging most when on the road; when there are trains to be boarded, bridges to be crossed, miles to be logged. Perhaps I enjoy life most when on the road. Anyway, I have a month left in Ukraine and I'm headed west, to the mountains and the heartland of some of Ukraine's most famous cultural traditions. What better way to end my two-year stint in this country than by soaking up a few more trips on the overnight train?

The itinerary: 

 Kyiv: Ukraine's capital city. Epicenter of the Revolution of Dignity. 

4 hours by train from Cherkasy

I'm in Kyiv over Easter weekend to take in the architecture and the great cafes - and to attend the final edition of the Swinglandia swing dancing exchange! At the moment, I'm writing this blog from a hip coworking spot called Urban Space 500. They serve avocado toast and matcha lattes and they offer drinking water for free. 



I'll write more on Kyiv soon, after I've enjoyed my next couple of days here. For now -  some shots from the platzkart ride that started this trip. What other way to start my travels around Ukraine than a pre-dawn trek to the train station and a few hours' sleep on the platzkart?

Kolomyya: Heart of Hutsul culture and crafts. Not shy about its history of resistance. 

15 hours by train from Kyiv. 

I'm headed to the western city of Kolomyya to visit the famous Pysanka Museum (museum of traditional Ukrainian Easter eggs) and the Hutsul Museum (The Hutsuls are Ukraine's "mountain people", an ethnic group that has lived for generations in the Carpathian Mountains and whose distinct language and traditions have influenced much of western Ukrainian culture.)

Yaremche: Outdoor adventure and ecotourism destination. Encircled by mountains on all sides.

1 hour by bus from Kolomyya

I'm lucky enough to have a work-related opportunity in Yaremche, where at the invitation of another Peace Corps Volunteer I am delivering a presentation to national park staff about souvenir production and sales. The organization I work with in Cherkasy does an amazing job partnering with local artists to create products that help boost local pride in the city - local pride that can ultimately be channeled toward caring for the city's architectural and natural heritage. We hope the national park can find a way to do the same!  

I'm also trying to squeeze in a horseback trek through the mountains. I wouldn't be me if I didn't ;-) 

A Hutsul pony I was delighted to meet on a trek back in 2017.

From Yaremche it will be another 15 hour overnight train back to Kyiv, and a bouncy few hours on the marshrutka from there to Cherkasy. I plan to blog regularly throughout this final tour around Ukraine, so I'll be delighted if you read along! 

Two years in

Exactly two years ago today, I and some 70 other trainees first set foot in Ukraine. We were shepherded to a Soviet-era hotel with rust-colored water for a few days of orientation, then scooped up by our host families for three months of training and borshch. Then we swore to serve for two years as Volunteers, and now here I am.

My service has just become my regular life. Ukraine stopped being a foreign country a long time ago. I've blogged about the local bazaar, the cornucopia of Snickers-themed desserts in my city (there are even more now than before), the "Falling of the Lenins". I hope you've enjoyed my entries about Ukrainian music and poetry.

I'm going to keep my two-year-anniversary blog simple as I start contemplating the end of my time here and the alternately exciting and terrifying idea of returning to the US. What are some of my favorite things in Ukraine? What do I think I'll miss when I'm no longer here?

All the tea

Ukrainian culture is tea drinking culture. Not only are your standard black and green teas available at virtually all work events and social gatherings, but Ukraine boasts a huge variety of herbal and fruit teas.

Ginger tea, sea-buckthorn tea, blueberry tea, citrus tea, cranberry tea, plus your standard herbal teas like mint, chamomile, melissa... I've even had linden flower tea, basil tea, and a whole array of things I never tried in the US.

I once went down quite an impressive internet rabbit hole to figure out what ivan chai is - folks call it fireweed in the US, I think. In Ukraine, it's harvested in the Carpathians. I am now awaiting a promised care package of home-fermented ivan chai from a Lithuanian friend.

Na zdorovya!

The bazaar

My first 6 months or so in Ukraine, I was intimidated of the bazaar. It's big and disorienting. It's crowded. Ukrainians don't share Americans' love of personal space, so people constantly bump into you and otherwise get too close for comfort.

To face my fear of the bazaar, I wrote a blog about it, and now it's my favorite place to shop for food and certain household wares. I live in an agricultural region of this very fertile country, so the bazaar is overflowing with whatever fresh fruits and vegetables are in season: giant watermelons, fragrant fresh herbs, staples like potatoes and garlic and onions, fragrant apricots, a huge variety of apples, and the best berries of every kind. Everything at the bazaar is fresher than what you can get even at the nicest of the grocery stores.

In the US, farmers' markets are luxuries. They only happen on certain days of the week, during limited hours. If you don't live near one, they're not always convenient to get to. But in Ukraine, every village and town and city has at least one bazaar. And while a farmers' market is the closest American thing I can imagine in comparison to the bazaar, the bazaar is so much more. Imagine if Home Depot, Target, Goodwill, and the local farmers' markets combined forces to become a giant outdoor trade hub every day of the week. And if they were staffed primarily by grannies. That's the bazaar, and I'm going to miss it. 

Work-life balance

This is not universal across Ukraine, of course, but in my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer in a small NGO, I have almost full autonomy over my schedule. Ukraine generally tips toward the "life" side of work-life balance, and while this can be frustrating when trying to get things done at a pace that corresponds to "Western" expectations, it's also afforded me a pretty comfortable daily life.

I can visit the bazaar at 11 AM on a Wednesday if I want to. I can take my cat to the vet whenever I feel like it (and by the way, everything's on a walk-in basis - no appointment needed unless it's for surgery, and I never wait more than a few minutes). If it's a beautiful day, I can spend the bulk of the afternoon in the park and then do all my work at home in the evening. As long as I finish my tasks, meet my reporting deadlines, and keep up with my occasional presentations, clubs, meetings, etc. I can pretty much do as I please. Adapting to the more regimented and inflexible workplaces of the US is one of the things I most dread about returning. 

Easter

Yes, we celebrate Easter in the US, but not like folks do in Ukraine! While there are many holidays specific to Ukraine or to Slavic cultures more broadly, the global holiday of Easter is still my favorite holiday here. It's hard to surpass the beauty of streams of people with candlelit baskets making their way in the pre-dawn darkness toward the town church to have their Easter bread blessed.

The all-night church service may sound familiar to some devout American Christians, and I was lucky enough to sing in the choir for one such service. When dawn finally comes on Easter Sunday in Ukraine, the joy is palpable. Everybody greets one another with the Ukrainian version of "Christ is risen!", and even though I am not Christian, I get caught up in the excitement. It feels like the resurrection has just happened - that word has just gotten out and people all over are spreading the news. The joy is infectious. That Easter coincides with the coming of spring only heightens this joy, and most people go out for a festive afternoon picnic (if they have survived the all-night service and the following breakfast feast complete with much more cognac and vodka than one would usually drink at 6 AM).

Photo by Georgiy Solonko

Ukraine is world-renowned for its various Easter eggs, and in particular for pysanky - eggs painstakingly decorated using wax and dyes. Different regions of Ukraine have different styles and motifs, and every detail is symbolically meaningful. People hang pysanky and other varieties of Easter egg from the still-bare branches of trees in the springtime, while cities make giant Easter egg sculptures to display in the main plazas. I'm lucky that the timing of my service has allowed me to spend three Easters in Ukraine.

Ukrainian language

I love the challenge and sense of accomplishment that come with speaking a foreign language every day. Each day is suffused with a sense of discovery. Maybe I hear somebody use a word I just learned in my last lesson, or I finally conjugate a particular verb correctly on the first try. Now that I've become somewhat confident speaking Ukrainian, I like testing myself to see if I can "pass" as being local in basic interactions. I usually can't, but at least when people try to guess where I'm from, they guess something like Poland or the Czech Republic - countries that also speak Slavic languages.

Learning and speaking Ukrainian has added significance because of the persecution this language and its speakers have faced throughout history. Listening to an episode of the Ukrainian Lessons Podcast suddenly feels like a big deal when I reflect on the fact that just some decades ago, the girl teaching the podcast would have been arrested for such work.

I think I will feel a sense of loss when I am back in the US and don't get to hear Ukrainian spoken all the time. I will miss it. I recently had a nightmare about returning. I was in a restaurant, speaking Ukrainian out of habit, and then realized that nobody understood me. 

All-encompassing sense of identity

While it's exhausting being a cultural ambassador 24/7, it is nice having the clear and persistent sense of identity that comes with being a Peace Corps Volunteer. This has been my whole life for the past two years. My work is Peace Corps, my friends are Peace Corps, my medical care is Peace Corps, my oversized pajama shirt is Peace Corps, my baseball cap is Peace Corps. Everything is Peace Corps.

Nobody in Ukraine knows what school I went to, what neighborhood I'm from, who my family is, who I am. I came here and put on the identity of Peace Corps Volunteer, and that is the identity I have inhabited every instant of every one of the past 730 days. It is, essentially, my only identity here, and I worry about how disorienting it will be to suddenly not be "Cortney Copeland - Peace Corps Volunteer"; to return to a place where Peace Corps is just some far-off thing that people can't fully understand about me. I'll define myself again, sure, but it won't be quite so simple. Here in Ukraine I get to be just one thing, but in the US I'll have to go back to being many at once. 

Anyway, I have two and a half months left to enjoy all of the above - so I'd better get off my computer, head to the bazaar, and have myself a cup of ginger tea while I still can.




The views expressed in this blog are mine alone and are not indicative of the views of the Peace Corps, the US government, or the Ukrainian government.