In addition to the temples over the caves there are very interesting museums. One of the strangest is a museum of sculptures displayed on pin heads – one exhibit was a flea wearing shoes made of gold. All are viewed from a line of high-powered microscopes. The kids got a kick out of this museum.
But Pippa and her mom really got their kicks from the museum that houses traditional Ukrainian folk art, furniture and clothing. There was everything from a magnificent collection of Ukrainian painted eggs (ancient to present day); farm implements, farm furniture and textiles and clothing of ancient Ukrainians to the similar clothing still worn everyday in the Carpathian mountains. The glassware and pottery both old and new was breath-taking. Much of the painting felt like Pennsylvania German, but even more detailed and sophisticated. The director of this museum was a very friendly woman who took a special shine to Pippa. She spent a lot time (hours, I can tell you honestly because I waited for her) telling Pippa in great detail about the techniques, the artists, upcoming festivals in our area––in fact she even shared the living artists’ phone numbers. Pippa was quite excited to learn about a village of artists that is on a list of places we must visit (only a 10 hour drive, of course).
I also was impressed by the friendliness of the museums’ staff. Each room had a security person, an older woman making sure no one touched anything or failed to visit a room of art. When they saw how genuinely interested we were in the work they would come over and in great detail give us (my mother, Yelana and me) the history of a piece explaining the region and symbolism in the piece.
But all this wasn’t that interesting to Andry and Olya. Besides they were starving. Fortunately we were only a 3 minute walk away from our favorite restaurant USSR, which is decorated from stuff from the soviet days. The children’s mood really brightened when we said they could eat in the soviet era car that had its front end sticking our of the front of the restaurant and its convertible (topless) passenger space inside the restaurant.
It was a very pleasant lunch; Olya and Andry sat with Pippa’s parents in the car and Pippa, Slava (our regular diver’s son who was taking over for the day), Yelana (our translator) and I sat at a table across from them. Great food and service and cherry vereneky for dessert.
Keeping with the ‘car theme” we headed out to the go-cart race track. A fairly serious place for Ukrainian guys who fantasize about a grand prix. Pippa was too anxious to let the kids do it until I suggested that she go in the first car followed by Olya in her car, Andry in his car and me in the last car. We signed a contract in Ukrainian and they fitted us with all the helmets and driving gloves. A quick driving lesson (in Ukrainian) and we’re off.
The plan about keeping our places didn’t even begin to work. But we all drove slowly as the Ukrainian burly boys weaved in and out of our parade. Olya who normally drives like a bat out of Hades in her own go-cart took things very, very easy. Andry was a good driver too. We all had fun.
That evening Yelana taught Pippa and her mom how to make traditional borsch for our dinner. We all loved the soup but the kids inhaled it. Just about bedtime, all hell broke loose. I thought the Germans were back, dropping bombs on Kiev once again. But it was only fireworks going off in the parking lot next to our building; a magnificent sight from our 18th floor apartment windows. But the sound was amazingly loud. All of us admitted to being a little queasy. There was a sense of what Kiev must have sounded like in 1943.
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