VISIT TO UKRAINE

                                                                              By       Joseph Orost

The Difficult Part

Most countries only require a passport for visiting and touring.  But the Ukraine requires in addition to a passport a visa, which is very difficult to obtain by an individual. Getting a visa to go to the Ukraine took some doing.  They are very fussy about the kind of application forms to use and where to send them.  The applications had to be obtained from a Ukrainian Consulate.  It required a letter of invitation from an official touring company who I contacted on the Internet and who sent me one by email, the cost of the document being about $50.  In addition, the Ukraine Consulate requires a fee of $150 divided into two separate money orders (no personal checks are taken).  It was virtually impossible to reach anyone at the Chicago Ukraine Consulate by telephone since they have an automated answering system, which cuts you off at the end of the message.  After about two months of trying I literally gave up.  

I had booked a flight from Montreal to Budapest for Saturday, September 20th and when the plane was about to leave I still was without a visa.  The touring official, who was a great help, urged me to try to get one in Budapest.  He rewrote the invitation and emailed it to me moments before I left for the airport.  I carried it with me to Budapest and settled in at the Best Western Hotel.  On Wednesday we took a cab to the Ukrainian Consulate where with great difficulty I attempted to cut through the red tape.   The place was located in Buda on top of a hill.  The Consulate entrance had high black steel doors guarded by a couple of Ukrainian guards.  A Mercedes and a new Ford were parked in the driveway in front complete with diplomat licenses.  One of the workmen there was busy hosing them off when we arrived there.

Sitting in front on some old benches were a group of people waiting for the place to open.  I walked up to the barred window and told the guard that I wanted to get a visa.  He tried to speak to me but I could not understand his Ukrainian language and he couldn’t understand my English or Hungarian.   So in frustration he wrote my name down on a pad of paper.  When the gates opened about four of us walked up the long flight of stairs into a waiting room.  There were a couple of tables and a few chairs to sit on.  Two service windows were to one side of the room with venetian blinds drawn.  After a short wait the agents opened the blinds causing the people queue up by the windows.  When it came to my turn most of the business had to be conducted in Hungarian and sign language since the clerks at the Consulate spoke very little English.  I stammered through the little Hungarian I knew and as tempers heightened I was told a visa would take three days and if we were eligible would be ready on Friday afternoon.    It was Wednesday and that meant that I still had to make arrangements to buy train tickets to the Ukraine.

On Friday morning we went to the train station.  The ticket agent there told me that I could not get a ticket unless I had a visa.  I came away from the window but returned to ask for train departure schedules.   But fortunately when I returned to the window to ask someone else was already there.  So I slid over to the second window.  The young lady there, who only spoke Hungarian, was very pleasant and gave me the information and went on to inform me that if I wanted a ticket, the law required that I make the payment in Forints, the official Hungarian currency.  Its value reminds me of the Japanese Yen during World War II or the Confederate money during the Civil War.  For instance, an old car sitting on the sidewalk in Budapest had a for sale sign in the window to be sold cheaply at a price of 750,000 Forints.  An inexpensive house advertised in a Real Estate Office window was at a bargain basement price of 12.5 million Forints.  Wow!  What a steal! I then gave her the required $50 (in equivalent Forints).  (I soon was able to convert between Forints and Dollars by simply dividing by a thousand and multiplying by four).  She asked to look at our passports, smiled, returned them and issued the tickets.  No mention was made of our lack of visas, which plagued the other agent.  At least we now had the tickets to go to the Ukraine if only we could be sure that the visas would be issued. I took a chance that the visas would be forthcoming and the money would not be wasted.

I hailed a cab and after arriving we waited the customary half-hour which seems to be a prerequisite coeval with being an official. The clerk indicated that the visas were ready and all we had to do was to pay the fee of  $150 but not to her.  To their bank.  She showed me a map where the bank was located.  It was about a mile down the hill.  After paying the fee we were to return with the receipt and then they would issue the visas.  The downhill walk was easy.  After the sojourn we climbed back up the hill and by the time we reached the top we were tired and sweaty with tongues hanging out.    With a deep sigh I gave the agent the receipts and she with a smirk in turn handed me the visas.  This had to be our greatest victory of the whole trip.  It was now clear sailing to visit the Ukraine. 

The Great Train Ride 

 The train to the Ukraine was scheduled to leave a 6:00 a.m. on Saturday. So I figured that we should be looking for a cab about 4:00 in the morning.  Luckily, the cab driver that drove us home from the Consulate agreed to pick us up in front of our apartment at this ungodly early hour.  I had a lot of trepidation but true to his word the next morning at 4:30 he was waiting for us.

 We arrived shortly before 5:00 a.m. and boarded the train about a half-hour later.  The lights in the train were out and no one was on the train but us.   The train smelled from a strong detergent deodorant no doubt used to cover the stench of the restroom facility in back of the car.  The cars there had a three-foot aisle on the left with seating compartments on the right.  Each compartment had two facing seats, room for six normal sized people with luggage space over head.  Three people had to ride backwards with two having window seats.  Being the first on the train we able to occupy the window seats.

Right on time, at 6:10 a.m., the train pulled out of the station.  It left Budapest and headed for the countryside.  The scenery was simply gorgeous passing picturesque farmlands and pristine villages.  It made many stops and at times got crowded with people left standing in the aisle with all seats occupied.  Unfortunately some of the people boarding the train were kind of chunky and required more than their share of seat space.   The people are very friendly and quick to engage you in conversation.  Since the few words I knew in Hungarian had the right accent, they mistook me for a native.  When they spoke to me their words flew pass my brain like bullets which caused me to just shake my head in polite condescension which turned to dread when they stopped to await my response.  I had no idea what they had said.  When I pulled out my dictionary from my back pocket I must have looked like a confused idiot. Although the language is phonetic and easily read with the accent always on the first syllable what it means is another thing.  It is a very difficult language to learn since it derives very little from the familiar romance languages of French, German, Spanish and Latin.  It has its origins in the Urals of Asia far away from the influence of these languages.  U35.jpg - 45674 Bytes

 There were many stops and after each stop the conductor would ask for passports and tickets and then hastily stamp away, glancing suspiciously at the passenger before handing them back.   The ride took six hours before it reached the border between Hungary and the Ukraine at which time the Ukrainian Police boarded the train complete with menacing side arms.  The border looked like an armed camp, barbed wire every where and a lookout tower complete with gun toting guards.  It looked different than the Berlin wall that had been knocked down between the two Germanys about a decade ago, in that it consisted of a ten-foot chain link fence complete with barbed wire on top setting on a berm.  It looked like they were trying to prevent people from coming in and/or going out. About an hour went by before the police were satisfied and we slowly pulled across the border into Chop, the Ukrainian town across the border.   There we were met by the border guards and escorted into the custom’s enclave.  We were quickly separated from the rest of the people and shepherded into a corner of the building. According to the tourist guides that I have read, they would tear our luggage apart, search us and determine how much money we were carrying.  But amazingly none of this happened.  A tourist representative and a driver, as was prearranged, met us.  The representative who spoke English and Ukrainian was welcome since the customs people did not speak English, Hungarian or German.  He acted as an interpreter getting us through the customs swiftly without even a search of the luggage.  We did however have to buy an inexpensive medical insurance policy.   The only way into the Ukraine was by invitation from a tourist bureaucrat who issues the invitation and selects a driver and guide for you.  The touring guides generally state that one is simply not allowed to visit relatives there except under supervision of a bureaucrat.     If you insist on seeing them they were generally herded into a police station where a bureaucrat orchestrated the meeting.   But we did not find this to be true.  We had no more trouble entering the Ukraine than entering Hungary from the US. 

The Road to Mukancs

At Chop the four of us crowded in a small Alfa-Romeo which was driven by Sergi, a former Captain in the Russian Army.  Both he and Kosta, the tourist representative, were very pleasant and both tried to please us and were literally at our service. I found the highways to be modern and except for the many police patrols were pleasures to drive. Sergi obeyed the speed limits and at one time during our trip someone passed us only to be caught by the waiting police.

The Ukraine is a verdant and beautiful place with large open fields.  I marveled at how clean everything was and how I could see clearly for miles without the smoke and pollution distorting the view such as found in many parts of other countries.  The clean U21.jpg - 31965 Bytes air seemed pure and caused me to involuntarily breathe deeper sucking in the pure oxygen.  It was about a two-hour drive to Mukanc, a small city northeast of Chop.  All of the houses were lined up along the street, each with a grape arbor and a garden in front.    Huge Concord grapes were growing  on the vines.  Most of the grapes were consumed locally since the Russians no longer had the rubles to purchase them.    On my arrival I noticed that the local transportation was either the bicycle or the horse drawn wagons.  Automobiles were few but the ones we did see were newer models.

The Plush Hotel Langer

We were booked into the Langer Hotel in Mukanc.  The Alpine style hotel was very ornate and garish.  The view was simply breath taking.   It was located on the Latoryca river.  The river has green grassy riverbanks upon which many families were sitting, running or walking.  People were playing with their dogs, and there was a cow and a goat eating the grass.  Some people were even swimming in the river.  Young men and U37.jpg - 41228 Bytes some boys were fishing using long old-fashioned fishing poles.  No one was catching fish though.   The hotel was recommended by the tourist agency as a quiet and peaceful place.   But unfortunately on the day of our arrival a wedding reception was being held.  Since the cerebration lasted until six in the morning, it was difficult to sleep with the loud music piercing the night air.  I can still hear that trumpet blasting away even though I am not there. 

The side streets in Mukanc were generally in good repair with a few potholes scattered around here and there, but nevertheless very clean.  The hay wagons were plentiful filled with people going to church or later for a Sunday drive. 

Groups of people with brooms and shovels were seen everywhere keeping the streets clean.  We were told that since the Russians moved out there wasn’t much work there and most of the work was the type provided under the Roosevelt administration during the depression.   They had a television plant in Mukanc, which manufactured all of the televisions for Russia and had employed many of the people there.  But it was closed down when the Russians left.  It was no wonder everyone we spoke to claimed to be U38.jpg - 52087 Bytes better off under the Communist rule. Going wages are about a hundred dollars a month.   Being close to the border many of the natives there find work in Hungary which compared to the Ukraine has a thriving economy.  They cross the border daily and apparently are not impeded since they bring in scarce hard currency. Mostly Hungarians inhabited this area of the Ukraine. It was partitioned after World War I and this part was considered a sop to be given away for the sake of appeasement.  It finally ended up in the Ukraine after the breakup of the Russian Empire. 

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Now for the reason for my visit: My mother was born in Janosi in Hungaryand we were told that the house where she was born is still there.  My first cousin, Elmer and his wife, Ilona, now live there with their children, Stephen and Sandor.  I was determined to see where my mother lived before she emigrated to this country.  Her many stories about her homeland have intrigued me for many years.  And I just had to see the origins of her stories. 

 It was a bright sunny Sunday morning and the taxi driver, Sergi, was scheduled to meet us in front of U2.jpg - 44803 Bytesthe Langer Hotel at ten in the morning.  We sat on the front porch chatting with a couple of graduate students who were on holiday.  Sergie was about fifteen minutes late when he arrived in his red Alfa Romero. As he approached I could sense an odor emanating from his direction.  He had obviously consumed a few glasses of the local brew made from the abundant grapes, although he was by no means intoxicated.  The hostess at the hotel standing on the porch shouted at him and scolded him in Russian for being late. Sergi just hung his head and didn’t speak.    

On the way to Janosi, there were dozens of bicycles on the road and it appeared that this was their primary mode of transportation.   The older generation under the Communist rule has so deprived U1.jpg - 82167 Bytesthem of their God-given right to think for themselves that they have lost their drive and ambition and didn’t seem to care about getting ahead anymore.  Under the Communist rule the thinking was done for them.  If they didn’t own cars, it was because they didn’t deserve them.  The younger ones try to emigrate but are unsuccessful.   The graduate students we talked to at the hotel expressed a strong desire to leave their country as soon as possible so they could make a decent living.  But they sadly admit that they have very little hope of getting out of there.   

 

Sergi, our guide (driver) couldn’t speak English or Hungarian.  He was a former captain in the Russian Army and was now retired.  Larraine sat in the front seat of the car while we were driving and kept bombarding him with talk all the while as he just kept nodding his head in polite agreement.  I sat in theU13.jpg - 44797 Bytes back enjoying the comedy act. I handed Sergi an envelope with a return address of my ancestral home.  He was able to find Janosi but could not find the street (Church Street) since it was written in Hungarian.  Finally Larraine drew a picture of a church and from that he found it.  Turning into the street a lady was sweeping the leaves on the side and as we drove past Larraine shouted, “It’s Ilona (Helen).” She had recognized her from the many pictures she had sent us during the past few years.  Ilona was my first cousin’s wife.
 

 Their property had a large gate in front.  Dogs were barking a chorus of cacophony and she asked us to wait while they were put in their doghouses.  Of course, I could only speak a little Hungarian (thank God) just enough to get around.  Elmer, my first cousin, and their two children were also there to greet U19.jpg - 45461 Bytesus.  After the preliminary introductions they showed us the little house where my mother was born in 1885.  They said that half of the house was torn down in order to build a newer one along side.  Bricks were taken from the old house to build the new one.   Rest room facilities were still the ubiquitous out house.   Inside, the gated property looked like a throw-back into the last century.  Most of the buildings were old and unpainted and in need of repair or replacement. In the newer house there was a small dining room then a living room with two couch beds for the two sons and a storage room for all the vegetables that Ilona preserves.  There was also a bedroom for her and Elmer. The old house was still used for a kitchen and sewing room.  The porch had a clothesline with some wash hanging there to dry.  

 

They had about two acres of prime farmland on which they raised the largest vegetables I ever saw.  Their vegetable garden was filled with every vegetable imaginable. They are very dependent on the garden for their livelihood. They also had three goats and a lot of chickens in a coop.  There were stacks of wood stored for the U4.jpg - 18689 Bytes coming winter.  There was an enormous walnut tree and the walnuts were falling down on our heads.  Elmer and I posed in front of the ancestral home and Larraine took our picture.  I noticed that I was taller than most people there.  Whether that was a trait remained to be seen. 

 

Bottles and bottles of wine, soda and carbonated water lined the table.  A typical Hungarian dinner was prepared for us.  There was so much delicious food and drinks that we could not have possibly eaten even part of it.  Elmer had poured champagne for all and we were given a toast. Sergi joined us for dinner and luckily Elmer and Ilona spoke Russian.  At least they could converse.  With the little Hungarian I knew and a lot of hand waving I also was  able to join in.

 

Even though the place was like a Utopia the people there were not able to live off the land entirely so some them had to emigrate or face slow starvation.  It must have taken a lot of courage to choose to leave and come to this country with all of the unknowns one had to face especially for my mother who was about a 16 year old girl.  Undaunted she made the trip alone, giving up her birthplace, her language and with the courage of knowing she would never lay eyes on her family again.  After earning enough money she brought her sister, Pearl,  over to this country.  It didn’t take Pearl long to take a dislike for her new home and the terrible working conditions which prevailed at the time.  After earning her fare  she returned. The United States was just too much for her. In this country, most of them worked in factories in 1901 as indigent-slave labor in order to exist.  My mother wanted to return U8.jpg - 38802 Bytestoo but her voyage across the Atlantic Ocean was  so disastrous that it  kept her from returning.  She was seasick most of the way over and she could not face a repeat performance.

I was told that during the Communist Era after World War II the Russians rounded up all of the young men and older boys and loaded them into boxcars never to be seen again.   But they still cling to the land so much so that they were willing to face the extreme cruelties perpetrated by the Communists.  Were it not for the courage of my 16-year old mother to emigrate, I could have been one of the young men humiliated, dragged and shoved  into the odoriferous  boxcars like so many cattle perhaps to serve as slave labor in the salt mines or drafted into their army.  Would I now be part of the zombie generation whose mind had been altered to obey and not think for fear of reprisal?  Would I be one who had lost hope to aspire for happiness and a better life.  Would I never have reason to smile again?  One of the stark realities in this land is the hopelessness of people who no longer possess the ability  to laugh or smile. 

Even though they are no longer faced with such extreme actions under the Ukrainian law, the loss of work and the devaluation of the ruble have made earning a living almost impossible. Elmer is a meteorologist and even though he is retired, he still works part time.  Ilona works in a factory in the nearby town of Bereksag.  She rides her bicycle seven miles to work every day.  Town names appear on signs in both Hungarian and Ukrainian language since the vast majority of the people there are Hungarian.

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But when we arrived in Janosi, luckily one of my relatives who teaches  English in their high school relieved me and acted as an interpreter.  Her name was Elizabeth and she was the sister-in-law of Zoltan Toth another one of my first cousins.  She told us that she never had a lesson in the English language but incredibly learned through home study and reading.  Zoltan is a mechanical engineer and although retired still works part time in order to make ends meet.    

After much conversation most of which clarified how we were all related and the viewing of many old photographs we took our leave of Janosi taking back the many pleasant memories crammed into the few hours of visitation. 

Sergi drove us back to the Langer and on the way stopping to take pictures of the countryside.

 The Journey Back to Budapest

We had arranged for Sergi to drive us to Chop for the journey back, which was about a two-hour drive.  He parked in front of the train station after paying the parking attendant.  It was a rather large train station with a large, dark and dingy waiting room inside.  Rest rooms were on the side with the usual two or three people in front collecting the so-called toilet toll, the charge to use the facilities.  Upstairs was a snack bar with a coffee machine, which made coffee so strong that one could only drink a very small cup of it.  Accordingly, the cups provided were like small doll cups. 

Also upstairs was a row of sleeping rooms which were probably provided for the customers who were stranded there overnight.  The train made one trip per day and terminated at the rail station in Budapest.  We waited  for about a half hour before the Customs opened.  About thirty or forty other people were queued up also waiting.  Only a few minutes were spent there and the only question asked was how much money I was taking out of the country.  I showed the young lady my wallet with about ten Hrivnas which amounted to a few dollars.  She waved me on to board the train. 

The train pulled out on time at two o’clock in the afternoon.  Since we had a round trip ticket is not unnecessary for us to go through the fuss of buying one.  After boarding the train, the usual scrutiny of the visas, passport and tickets with the concomitant slamming of the rubber stamps.  Across the border the usual changing of the crew and the guard took place.  This took about an hour before we were on our way to Budapest.  I breathed a sign of relief knowing that I could feel free at last. 

Would I do it again?  Yes, I would.  But in the near future, I hope the Ukraine becomes more of a democracy.  Under the present climate, I have my doubts.  Should you do it?  Yes, you should.

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