It dawned on me the first time I pulled my Soviet-era vacuum cleaner out from the closet and realized the thing actually works: I need to write a blog about housework. Housework is a nearly universal occupation of humanity. All across the world, we are joined by the simple acts of sweeping and scrubbing and tidying up.
Let me first tell you about my home. Like a lot of residents of Ukrainian cities, I live in an apartment rather than a house. Big blocks of apartments are a Soviet legacy (
read more here!) They were built mostly from the 1950s to 1970s to resolve the post-WWII housing crisis in Communist countries, and are known as Хрущевки (Khrushchevkas, named for the leader who envisioned the massive pre-fab housing project). My building is relatively small compared to the sprawling apartment networks that can leave one wandering forever in a maze of identical concrete structures.
I love my place. I might be going a little crazy, because I tell my place that I love it, and sometimes I say "Bye, apartment!" when I'm leaving for work, or "Hi apartment!" upon my return. There's a chip in the paint in the entryway that looks uncannily like the face of a bull terrier. I have named it Chip Bull.
Although I grew up with the habit of wearing my shoes in the house, in Ukraine shoes come off at the entryway. In summer it's because my shoes are dusty, and in winter it's because they are covered in mud and snow. Sweeping the entryway is always satisfying; it yields quite the impressive little pile of sand, especially if I shake the rugs out first.
Sweeping is a funny thing in Ukraine. You see, the brooms are tiny. I don't know why. I see old ladies with deeply hunched backs bent over and using tiny brooms to sweep leaves off the sidewalks. Are the people hunched over because the brooms are tiny? Or are the brooms tiny because the people are hunched over? Anyway, the brooms are tiny, but at least they are in good supply. You can always find somebody selling them on the sidewalk outside the bazaar.
As you can see from my photo session with my tiny broom, my apartment is equipped with a washing machine! It's small, but that works for me, because I only have so much room to hang up clothes to dry. A big, American-sized load of laundry would overwhelm my laundry-drying capacities.
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| The guidebook for my washing machine. Not sure why the cover is handwritten, as the rest of the book is printed. |
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| It comes with instructions in English! Thank goodness, because there are 20 different wash cycles. The translations can also be quite entertaining. |
In the winter, my laundry simply gets draped all over the heaters to dry. Socks go on the kitchen heater, dresses and hoodies on the hot water pipes in the bathroom, pants and sweaters on the big heaters in the bedroom and living room. On a given winter day my entire apartment may be draped with damp clothing. It's saved me from needing to buy a humidifier. In the milder seasons of the year, however, I dry my laundry on the balcony. It's humid in the summer anyway, so I don't need a humidifier.
As you can see, the balcony also houses my small salad garden. Right now it mostly consists of arugula in self-watering pots. Cut a large water bottle in half, put the top part upside-down into the bottom, insert a rag in the bottleneck to wick water, and then plant a plant in the upturned top part. Pour water into the bottom half, and the rag wicks the water up into the soil so that the soil stays moist. In addition to my arugula, I have somehow ended up growing a willow tree in one of these pots. It was an unplanned willow tree. I'm not sure what to do with it, as most people don't keep willow trees on their kitchen windowsills.
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| Once part of a bundle of Palm Sunday branches, this thing was determined to grow. You can probably figure out how I ended up with it if you read my Easter blog. |
The discussion of the unplanned willow brings us back to the kitchen, and hence to cooking! I am stupidly proud of the fact that I learned to flip pancakes with the giant wooden spatula thing that came with my apartment. Especially when you make buckwheat pancakes, which break very easily, flipping them with this thing is an art.
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| Bonus points if you can spot the tiny broom |
Shortly after taking these pictures, I finally bought a more standard spatula, and the giant wooden spatula now serves as a stake for the unplanned willow.
I've mentioned pancakes, and as you can see, I have a pretty familiar-looking stove. It's definitely older than me, and I have to light it with a lighter, but it is my trusty companion and has browned many a perfect buckwheat pancake. I have to turn the gas on first - there's a big valve in the pipes leading in to the stove - and then I have to turn on and light the burner. I also have to light the oven if I want to use it, which is terrifying... it takes a while of holding the flame there, and then the thing erupts into flame with an epic whooshing sound. I find that I now chronically have the question in my head: "Did I leave the gas on?" I am not sure how many times I've left the apartment, and then turned around to check the gas.
The crazy lighting in the photo above is a result of my lovely kitchen windows. Almost the entire kitchen wall is windows, and the sill is wide enough that I can use it as my little dinner counter. I sit there and people-watch during my meals. Of course, these windows are old and poorly insulated, so one of my spring cleaning tasks has been to remove all the tape with which they were taped up during the winter to keep some of the draft out. I moved into my apartment in December, so everything was taped up already when I arrived. The first time I opened my kitchen window felt like such a momentous occasion. It meant that winter was really over.
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| Scarf to make me feel better about all the crud lurking under the tape in these old, flaking window frames. |
Of course a part of spring cleaning is taking out the garbage. I don't have a garbage can, so I just use a bucket and old plastic grocery bags. There is no recycling bin at my building, although the landlady tells me at one time there was. These things have a way of just... disappearing. The containers for plastic bottles usually look like large yellow cages, and for a while I was taking my plastic bottles for a good 20 minute walk to dispose of them in one such yellow cage. However, Ukraine is trying to implement new garbage-sorting laws, and now there is a small plastics bin along the sidewalk in front of my building.
And finally, the inspiration for this blog. It needs no explanation; I just wanted to share a photo of this vacuum cleaner. It is a champ. This thing was born of the domestic industries boom that began in the 1960s Soviet Union, about which you can read a fascinating little article
here. Judging from internet searches and ads selling old Soviet vacuum cleaners, I think this one is from the 1970s. I have to be careful when I move it around because the hose will pop off, but heck, the darn thing survived the Cold War and it still works. It has the word "cyclone" written on it in Ukrainian.
Wait.... actually I'm not done. Because you know what works even better than this old vacuum?
Beating rugs with a stick. Paddle. Wand.
Thing.
I don't know what it's called, but it came with my apartment and has the sole purpose of beating rugs. On a nice sunny day, I found myself needing both a workout and an excuse to get outside, so I hauled some of the many rugs that cover my apartment down the 6 flights of stairs it takes to get to the little yard, hung them up on the playground, and beat the living daylights out of them. It was very cathartic. If you hit the rug just right, it sounds like a car backfiring.
Anyway, it definitely got the job done. When my landlady came by later that day, she complimented me on how nice the apartment was looking. I still have a few more rugs to clean... but I'm waiting for my arm muscles to recover.
Cheers to the universal art of housekeeping.
(This blog reflects my personal views and experiences only, and is not indicative of the views or policies of Peace Corps or the governments of the US or Ukraine).
