A few years back, I bought the book ‘Europe: A History‘ by Norman Davies. I didn’t actually buy it for myself, rather, I bought it for my little brother for his birthday, but I liked it so much that I took it back and just showered him with lots of love and affection instead.

Since I’ve actually been living in Europe, I’ve pulled out the book from time to time to have a read. The perspective I get about Europe, living in the Eastern part of the continent, has helped me appreciate and understand the book better too.

My most recent foolish quest is to read the book from cover to cover (1300+ BIG pages). Already, I’ve skipped the Introduction, but hey, that doesn’t really count. But imagine my surprise when I saw, on page 53 in the ‘Environment and Prehistory’ chapter, an entire page and a half break-out box about ‘Ukraina’.

I’ve decided to reproduce some parts of it, as it’s really interesting and shows that Ukraine has been a historically important country for centuries. So here you go…

“Ukraine is the land through which the greatest number of European people approached their eventual homeland. In ancient times it was variously known as Scythia or Sarmatia, after the peoples who dominated the Pontic steppes long beofre the arrival of the Slavs. It occupies the largest sector of the southern European plain, between the Volga crossing and the Carpathian narrows; and it carries the principal overland pathway between Asia and Europe. Its modern, Slavonic name means ‘On the Edge’, a close counterpart to the American concept of ‘the Frontier’. Its focal point at the rapids of the Dniepr, where the steppe pathway crosses the river trade-route, was fiercely contested by all comers, for it provided the point of transition between the settled lands of the West and the open steppes to the East. Ukraine is rich in mineral resources - such as coal of the the ‘Donbass’ and the iron of Krivoi Roh. The loess of its famous ‘black earth’ underlies Europe’s richest agricultural lands, which in the years prior to 1914 were to become the Continent’s leading exporter of grain.”

…..

Yesterday the city turned the heating off. From about midday onwards, I heard the telltale creaking of the radiator doing god knows what, shrinking back into place, I guess.

This year, I knew the heating was going off on 15 April, courtesy of my friend, Mind the Gap’s, cleaner Olga. Olga told us the heating would turn off on 15 April. Last year, I was visiting a friend when the heating turned off, and I had no idea it would. I was so cold I had to put my coat on like a big numbskull just to sit indoors.

So I was anticipating the 15 April greatly, as I wanted to see if it was REALLY going to turn off. Now I’m not generalising about Ukrainians as a whole, but occasionally, when you ask a Ukrainian a question they don’t know the answer to, they will pull an answer out of the air rather than check and give me the answer later. It’s strangely similar to some of the East and South East Asian cultures that can’t bear to lose face. I understand the dignity behind the concept, but it can be frustrating when you don’t know what’s going on.

So I was very excited when it DID turn off.

The good news is that it’s really warm in the apartment. It’s only 8 degrees outside, but so far the only extra protection I’ve required is a little bit of help from my 8-year-old leopard-spot fluffy slippers. It helps that I get the full brunt of the sun first thing in the morning.

Over the past couple of weeks, the inside of our place has reached 26 degrees, so I’m not sorry the heat is gone.

It’s early in the morning (okay, it’s 7:50am, but I don’t do anything, remember). Mr Moi has been up for a while, splatted on the couch watching television. This is like a continuation of sleep for him, he remains in a catatonic state and registers nothing.

However, I walk into the room, boot up the computer and idly listen to the news on bbc world. Let me first point out that it’s one of only three news channels, and a total of 10 channels altogether, that I can watch in English, on my cable TV with 126 channels.

And listening to the news, all I can think of is ‘My, aren’t those Brits a bunch of misery guts!’ The first ‘headline’ I heard was “If the honey bees are in trouble, then so are we”. WTF? Is this the British idea of a sensationalist headline? Why are they doing an expose on the humble honey bee? Ohigeddit, global warming is the honey bees’ fault? Little pricks.

Besides that, it’s the usual doom and gloom, but all from a pommy perspective. The pound is going down (about bloody time. Brits have been enjoying The Rest of the World on peanuts for long enough, thanks very much). House prices in Britain may have gone into decline, rather than just being static. All of this interspersed with pictures of people looking ethnic in different countries around the world.

There’s no point to this post, except really to point out that news is designed for people who can’t mentally digest more than a soundbyte at a time, and watch anything about a certain topic for longer than 40 seconds. Sometimes I think my brain, in Ukraine, has become moulded by the likes of BBC world.

But I do like to listen to those nice plummy BBC English accents.

…

Okay jokes aside. Perhaps now that there is a little bit of green on the trees outside, I’m not feeling so depressed. I’ve decided that winter in a truly cold place really sucks. This aussie girl isn’t cut out for no green, slush, ice, and freezing cold temperatures with nary a sunlight ray to boot.

That’s my obligatory once in a blue moon blog post. Feel free to tell me how lazy a blogger I am in the comments box. May provide some motivation.

When I was living in Sydney, I’d get up every Saturday morning, take a walk around the neighbourhood, and stop in the the local shops to buy the papers (The Sydney Morning Herald and, on rare occasions, The Daily Telegraph. The Tele - only because, on a Saturday morning when two people - i.e. myself and Mr Moi - are reading the papers, I don’t really want to share).

I used to pour over those papers at the same time I poured over breakfast, usually on the deck in the sun (lovely and warm in winter). It took me hours to read the Saturday papers, and by the end of the experience they where filled with crumbs and splashed with milk and juice. Anywhere I went on the weekend, I’d take the papers with me, to read in the car (when Mr Moi was driving), or to friends’ houses to share the reading love with them.

There are no Saturday papers in Kyiv. Well, there are, but they’re in Russian or Ukrainian. And even if I could read them, they aren’t those special breed of Saturday papers, with the book review sections, the real estate section, the travel section, the glossy weekend magazine, etc etc.

I know people here who occasionally purchase the English newspapers (which arrive over a day after publication anyway). But at the extortionate cost of about $15 per paper, I’m not about to partake. I’ll whinge about the lack of Saturday papers, but they don’t mean that much to me.

So, all of you bloggers out there, while you’re reading your Saturday papers and dripping eggs and coffee on them, think of the expats who can’t buy a paper in a language they understand, and are reduced to trying to avoid their cornflakes dripping on the keyboard as they pour through the news online.

It just doesn’t have the same feel to it.

It’s better to write something than nothing, right?

You tell me:

Something (ohh, how exciting)

Nothing (bahh, how boring)

From my perspective, it was kinda the same to write something and nothing.

Now, I could jazz up these philosophical writings with a the embodiments of these words, according to Little Miss Moi at 4:59pm on a snowy/sunny/slippery Valentine’s Day afternoon.

Something: The weird bug that seems to be giving me cold after cold, runny nose after runny nose, and the occasional sore throat since my return to Ukraine post Christmas.

Nothing: What I am doing as a result of the above.

I hope I’ve enlightened you, and made your day more deep and meaningful.

PS The things you discover after visiting wordpress for the first time in a long time! We now have 3GB of free storage space on these lovely free accounts. Previously, it was 50MB (pah, nuthin’), which I deemed to be the only downside to this very good free blog service. Hurrah for WordPress!

The other day, I checked my mailbox for the first time in a while (hey, there wasn’t a drunk guy sleeping in front of it!) and lo and behold, I have my first ever package from Australia!

“And who is it from?” you ask.

It’s from the “beloved of all bloggers cause he’s a sweetie buried under a grumpy bastard exterior“, WT! (Who, by the way, is sporting a rather sexy new blue look! Ya lyublyoo blue!)

Unfortunately, my camera bit the dust, so I can’t take a photo. But I will tell you that, for the next 12 lonely Ukrainian months, I will have a reminder of home pinned up on the kitchen wall courtesy of WT, who sent me a lovely calendar with pictures of home!

Thanks Willowtree! You have a purdy mouth. (Well, I coulda said “I heart you WT” but heart is so overused these days).

I’m guessing it’s because the Soviets didn’t like religion that the tradition of New Year’s trees came about here in Ukraine (and likewise, the rest of the FSU).

The ‘Noviy Got’ (New Year) spirit is kicking in, with decorations going up and pictures of Ded Moroz and Snegurochka appearing all over town. However, even though to me, it looks like Christmas, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas, especially when every tree is emblazoned with a giant 2008 sign in place of an angel or a star.

Noviy Got is just like Christmas - it involves a huge feast, the exchange of presents and lots of drinking and fun. Red furry hats, Christmas carols, and a big tree. Fireworks for six hours straight after the clock ticks over to New Year….

Yah, lotsa fun.

But there’s a niggling sensation that I just can’t shake. It’s winter, right? The season to be merry?

Well, not for me. For me, Christmas is sweating through the month of December is a shopping mall, buying lots of ice to fill up the eskies for Christmas. It’s a melt-worthy session in church on Christmas Eve, before going home to enjoy the long summer evening* by tucking into a roast turkey dinner (because it’s too hot to have it the next day).

It’s a lazy summer brunch by the pool (eggs benedict and champagne), then a huge seafood platter for lunch (more champagne and probably a nice crisp Sauv Blanc). It’s the afternoon in the pool or playing cricket, before eating leftovers on Boxing Day and watching the first day of the MCG Test Match.

And yes, to most Australians, Christmas is still about wintery-looking Christmas cards, people dressing up as Santa (who usually almost melt), snowy scenes, jingle bells and (fake) wintery trees.

I guess, because the wintery Christmas was so far removed from our summery reality, it just made Christmas even more special. (Bwahoo hoo I’m getting homesick for a hot hot Christmas).

*Except in Queensland, where I grew up. Because they refuse to go onto daylight saving time. As they say when you land in Queensland in the summer, “Ladies and gents, welcome to Queensland. Please set your clocks back an hour, and your mind back 20 years.”

The other overcast, snowy day, I decided to keep myself occupied after the sun went down (but before Mr Moi came home) (the sun is gone by 4pm) by toddling down to the shops. So I rugged up (we’re sitting at an average temperature of about minus 1 at the moment), locked the door and walked onto the landing. And I could smell something wafting up - a combination of bad cigarettes and urine.

“Interesting choice in cigarettes from one of my fellow apartment dwellers,” I thought. But that’s all I thought about it. There are a few oldies who have lived in this building since time immemorial, and you know what old people are like. Even if their cigarettes are smelly, you can’t expect them to change.

Anyhoo. I popped in the lift and went down to the ground floor. Now, there are two doors to get into my building. And when I opened the first door, I got the fright of my life.

Between the first and second door, a drunk had taken up (sleepy) residence on the floor. I was so shocked and not a little scared, that I scuttled quickly through the second door, over the drunk and onto the street.

But I had discovered the source of the yukky cigarette smell - it was the drunk. But whether it was his cigarette, or his clothes, alight, I didn’t stop to look.

He was gone when I got home, but there was no pile of ashes on the floor. So even if his clothes were alight, at least I know he didn’t burn to death.

The racist, sexist, bigoted old pain in the arse has retired!

First go the Liberals, then go all the cronies. What a week.

*And in real life, maybe he isn’t racist, sexist or bigoted. Maybe he just did it on his talkback show to get the ratings.