I miss Ukraine — Kaitlin Vitt

I miss Ukraine. A lot.

At this point, you could swap out “Ukraine” in that first sentence with a number of things. Dance practice, family meals, friend hangouts not through a screen, when breaking news was just that and not a new constant in our lives. But because my focus for this blog is Ukraine, I’m going to leave that sentence as is.

So, yes. I miss Ukraine.

I miss it because I haven’t been there for two years. And because of the ongoing pandemic, which has pushed aside any plans of going back sometime this year.

And that’s OK. We’re living in some pretty uncertain and undesirable times, and travel dreams put on hold is not a giant concern by any means. I’m healthy. My friends and family are healthy. And that’s what’s important right now.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t still think about Ukraine a lot. As you probably understand at this point, that’s one constant in my life.

For the past couple months, I’ve been writing and editing for What’s On, an English-language arts and lifestyle magazine based in Kyiv. I wrote a monthly column for the magazine when I lived in Ukraine. When the opportunity came up to get involved again, I took it, excited to keep that connection to Ukraine even more so than I had been.

Now that I’m working for What’s On again, I keep learning about new places I want to check out, in Kyiv and beyond, making me even more excited to go back. Yet, I still keep thinking back to the places I know, the experiences I had, and I wonder if and how they will change by the next time I’m back, when the world is suffering a little less.

I think about the markets, which are closed due to quarantine restrictions, and the people who work there, selling and trading their goods to make a living. Whether it was a busy day or just because of the narrow aisles, you’d be shoulder to shoulder with the other market goers.

When the stand you were at didn’t have the right size of the sparkly platform sneaker you absolutely needed, the vendor would pull out their market map then disappear for a few minutes, going to check if another stand had the size you needed.

To try on the perfect pair of black-on-black embroidered jeans, the vendor would take a look at you to size you up, hand you the exact size you needed, then would give you some “privacy” in the “fitting room" — when I tried on said jeans, the vendor led me to the back of the kiosk, held up a smaller-than-body-sized board, and would turn to me every couple minutes to see if I was ready to come out, all while talking with and trying to sell to people who were shopping at her stand.

At this point, it’s hard to imagine when those will be typical market scenes again. And that’s just the clothing section — the food section, with products out in the open, on display, maybe even to taste before you buy, that’s even more difficult to imagine if things will go back the same.

The ideal lunch from Kyivska Perepichka.

I’m also thinking of hot spots like Kyivska Perepichka, the kiosk in Kyiv known for its sausage in fried dough and long, crowded lineups. And pubs on karaoke night, filled with people waiting to take their turn to sing a tune or two in their superstar-quality voices, wowing — and intimidating — any foreigners (like me) in the crowd. (Every single karaoke singer truly sounded like Ukraine’s next big thing — every singer besides me and my friends, that is.) And the regulars you’d see while exploring the city, like the guy who walks around with a racoon in Kyiv and your favourite busker and the interesting folk you’re guaranteed to find at the local Pyana Vyshnya.

And I’m thinking about my family and the bus ride out to their village, catching up with them while eating a giant meal, then driving around to pick up some new friends to head to the fair in town. At the table outside the bar, the only one available, people would cycle through the one empty chair, filling their friends in on what’s new in their life while having a drink and picking at some cured fish on the table.

No keeping six feet apart. No sanitizing hands. No face masks that have become the norm.

The bus ride out to my family’s village.

Things will get back to “normal,” whatever that means. The markets, the favourite food stands, the pubs, the streets, the villages will all come alive again, maybe not quite resembling how they once were, but there nonetheless.

So instead of thinking about how I’m missing all those things — all those things and so many more, like visiting my grandparents, hugging my nieces and nephew, and not tearing up every time I read the news — I’m going to think about all the things I love, which is just another way to say all the things I miss.

I love the busy markets in Ukraine and going not only to buy local goods but also for the atmosphere, to watch the vendors play chess against each other and to hear them gossip about the alleged Canadians who are at the market today.

I love how every time you eat is an experience in Ukraine, whether you’re cooking at home and trying to get the hang of how to shop at the grocery store (each city seemed to be different) or going out to eat for the country’s take on classic food (no two Caesar salads were alike — or actually Caesar salads).

I love people watching in Ukraine, sitting on a park bench as you watch couples and their families come out of the Department of Civil Registration after getting married, champagne and balloons and new spouse in hand.

And I love my family — in Ukraine, Canada, the States, and everywhere else — and the time apart now will just make gatherings that much more special later.

I miss — no, I love — a lot of things right now, and if it helps me get through these times to keep thinking about them, dreaming about them, and remembering that I’ll be united with them again one day, even if they look a little differently than in the past, well, that’s what I’ll keep doing.

And let’s just hope this virus gets kicked by a duck soon.