Національні Лампуни Карпатські Вакації

   One thing that nobody told my before my rendezvous with Стьопко and his wife, Надя, is that they recently lost a daughter of 22 years. Both of them have children from previous marriages, however the child that they had together passed away three months prior to my visit.

   Neither Стьопа nor Надя mentioned her name to me; I am not sure if this is emblematic of traditional Ukie mourning practices: abstaining from celebrations, dancing, weddings, etc. for a period of time following a loved one's passing. I remember that when бабуня, my great grandmother, passed in the early 90s, Бабця draped a black scarf over her mother's photograph, refusing to look at it for a long time...

   Anyway, Надя explained to me that their child had 'розгориня мозку,' something that I took to mean cerebral palsy or another type of degenerative brain affliction. The child lay bed bound for 22 years while Надя cared for her. I sensed a bittersweet rationalization of events: bitter because it is an unspeakable tragedy for parents to outlive their child, but sweet because the young woman is no longer suffering--as cliche as that may sound. Instinctively, I know that Стьопа and Надя are recalibrating their own relationship as well, reconfiguring their roles in the absence of a child who had such exceptional needs.

   At times during our trip, I imagined us to be a makeshift family of sorts, adopting convenient roles of mother-father-daughter on a very weird family vacation. Стьопа insisted on paying for everything, which affronted my stubbornly independent Western female identity at first. He insisted on buying me a gift--a beautiful black chiffon embroidered dress--despite my protests. "А чому?! Мені того не треба!," I tried to reason with him. "Бо я хочу тобі щось гарного купити!" He was just as stubborn as I was.

A roadside stop during our makeshift family vacation :)

   Aside from our mutual stubbornness (a universal Ukie trait), I found that Стьопа and I have quite a bit in common. He is rather soft-spoken, and we would both rather listen than speak. He also reminded me of Дідо in the sense that he chooses his words carefully, and does not chatter for the sake of eliminating silence. We both enjoy the outdoors as well, and were equally excited to embark on our Carpathian mountain climbing adventure :)

What 60 year old strips down to his skivvies and jumps into an ice cold Carpathian lake on a whim? That guy (Стьопа)!

   Originally, Стьопа had arranged for us to stay in a hotel owned by his friend from elementary school, a former Ukrainian (Soviet?) Army soldier by the name of Володимир. Unfortunately, due to a last-minute booking our rooms were given to someone else, which seems to occur frequently in Ukraine (future travelers beware). We ended up staying at a rustic hotel next door, a ski lodge by the name of Гуцулія.

In the Карпати. (Гуцулія summer kitchen in the foreground)

   Гуцулія was a cross between a traditional Hutsul homestead and a caricature of the American Wild West. Indeed, the host Андрій spent seven years working as a ski-guide on the slopes of Colorado. He proudly showed us one of his prized possessions from his time in the States: one of those old-timey photographs of his family dressed up as cowboys and saloon ladies, complete with the caption, "WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE, REWARD $20,000 IN GOLD COIN." And now he resides in the Wild West of Ukraine. Go figure.

   We settle into our accommodations and take to the preparation of the evening meal. Стьопа arranges for us to eat dinner with his friend Володимир. The men prepare шашлики, while Надя and I sip самогонька al fresco. A word about самогонька (Ukrainian moonshine)--BE CAREFUL! Even the most seasoned drinker will suffer a case of самогонька-stomach the next day if one doesn't moderate (read: me).

   It's dusk at like 10 pm, and again the table is plentiful: tomatoes and cucumber topped with dill and sour cream, pickled wild mushrooms with scallions, fresh bread, grapes, plums, and hot grilled pork kabobs (or is it крилики?). No matter, everything we need is right here: good food, good company, good times.

Стьопа and Володя shootin the breeze...

   We alternately eat and drink toasts of самогонька, and the conversation naturally turns to the political crisis in Eastern Ukraine. The discussion centers around the ability to collect pensions (a relic of the Soviet Era), the lack of employment in Ukraine, and the corrupt government that sold out the citizenry in order to line their own pockets. By now, this is an all-too prevalent and familiar tune. Alas, we retire to our quarters after retiring the second bottle of самогонька. Tomorrow, we depart for our Carpathian excursion...

Five stars, compared to the foot-smelling hostel in Kyiv!