Life Advice

One thing I learned in Ukraine was that all women dye their hair. Blonde? Not natural. Brunette? Not natural. Redhead? Not natural. Purple? 

Purple? Definitely not natural. 

What was interesting about the purple was not the color itself, but who was dying their hair this color. Not the young women, as was common for the other colors, but the elderly ladies. The women who had already gone grey. Rather than be grey, they had fun with their hair and opted for lavender.

I met several of these women in my months there. Most were friendly and very personable. One was not.

My group, made up mostly of Americans though some had family in the country, were out on our downtime. We may have been in Lviv. Maybe it was Kiev. But we were out at a restaurant having food, having drinks. Nothing out of the ordinary. On this occasion, the weather was nice (I lived there June and July 1997), so we opted for outdoor seating. This seating area was out on the sidewalk, though enclosed in railings. Under a parasol. Nothing that can't be found in any other country.

We enjoyed our company. We enjoyed the drinks. We enjoyed the food. Mostly, we enjoyed just sitting outside and talking and relaxing. We spoke about the things people in their early 20s speak about. Music. Our views of the world. Our stay so far. What plans we had for after......

WHACK!!!!!

I cocked my head to the side, to see my one teammate who just screamed and was now holding his capped head. I turn some more, and I see a tiny little old lady holding her cane with a look of utter disgust on her face. Her cane was in her hand ready to strike again. She began yelling while looking at her victim. Another teammate began translating. The woman was mad because even though we were outside, we were still considered inside the restaurant. Since we are "inside," he should not have a hat on (this teammate always wore a baseball cap). He was showing disrespect. She was teaching him manners.

As the words were translated, she kept tapping his head hard with her cane trying to force him to remove his cap. He was not budging. He looked at me for support. All he found was me not being able to control my laughter. Right or wrong, however we decide to define that, mattered less to me at the moment than the sheer humor this afforded me. I could not help him. This angered him. This made me laugh harder.

Frustrated, our new friend kept walking while maintaining her eyes on him, cursing loudly as she shuffled off. 

What were we just talking about? Oh, who cares now?

Fortunately for my American friend, that was our only encounter with a battering babushka that summer.

Other little old ladies turned out to be more friendly. None more so than another teammate's grandmother. This teammate had her whole family in the country, in Lviv (also known as Lvov). As a result of this, and my friend's and her family's unending generosity, I was invited into homes and to dinners and celebrations, made to feel welcome. While I may not have enjoyed all the food, I did appreciate their hospitality and the hot showers (the entire summer was spent living in a school that had no access to hot water). Often conversations were held in Ukrainian, which I did not mind. I sat there hoping to understand, but mostly reading people's eyes and reactions. And laughing and smiling when it seemed appropriate.

One evening, we sat around the dinner table. I remember a delicious cake. And people talking. And overall a good, fun time.

There was a break in the conversation. The grandmother turned and looked at me. She pointed, said something, and the whole room exploded into laughter. I smiled, as something good must have been said, I just needed to catch up. I looked around hoping for a translation, at which point my colleague waited for the laughter to subside.

"My grandmother says you should marry a woman with really big breasts."

Knowing the translation had been made, the room laughs again. A smirk appears on my face, slightly embarrassed not knowing what to say. I just look at the grandmother, and nod in agreement. Sage advice.

Unfortunately, not everyone has her wisdom. 

I learned a lot that summer, about Ukraine, about archaeology, about myself, many things I will forever be grateful for. But nothing could measure up to the simple life lesson I learned over dinner one night.