Survival Mode: Egypt Impoverished

Surviving in impoverished Egypt:
Vendor at a fruit stand; taking tourists closer to the pyramids; collecting trash; a guard at the Luxor Temple.

The guard at the Luxor Temple caught me hiding behind a beautiful hieroglyphic-inscribed papyrus column, crying. I was thinking of my brother Loren, wishing he could be here, sharing his vast knowledge of the history of Egypt, wanting to hear his voice again. The guard asked if I was okay, in halting English; I smiled and said yes, and thanked him. I was embarrassed. 

He took me by the hand to another corner of the temple and said this is where he and other Egyptians pray for good health and loved ones. "Put your forehead on this spot," he said, pointing to a well-worn shiny round spot on a marble panel, and pray. It looked a bit like the round lumps on the foreheads of devout men who have prayed five times a day for years and years, only indented. I did what the guard suggested, and I felt better. He held out his hand, and I gave him 5 pounds. He had helped me, and now he asked that I help him. I realized, as much as I disliked the hustling, haggling, and begging, that poverty and survival dictated the behavior as much as anything. If someone found it annoying and reprehensible, well, okay, so be it; the vendor, trader or hustler would just go on to the next tourist, give it a try, and keep going. All day, every day.

One of the things you can't help but notice when walking the streets of Cairo and other towns and cities is how difficult daily life is for the majority of people. They collect trash, plastic and cans for a few pounds. They work as vendors and at day jobs, in hotels, in restaurants, in hospitals, for businesses if they are lucky. They try to get as much money as they can from tourists. It's survival.

Half of Egypt's 80 million people live in poverty. Unemployment is rampant and seemingly intractible. Certainly the Mubarsk government, with its $1.5 BILLION in annual aide from the U.S., never used a penny of it to help the people. Our Egyptian guides sniggered at the huge statues of Mubarak we passed along our way to the temples, and said that's where the money goes, and into Mubarak's pockets. There was an underlying animosity at US foreign policy, but I didn't sense any anti-American sentiment. Egyptians liked Americans, and enjoyed the bartering and the bantering. What they could not abide, and it was beginning to show then, was the persistent daily endless struggle for survival.

That's what American foreign policy has done to the people of Egypt. It has caused untold anquish and suffering, and the people have had it.

Now they have taken their destiny into their own hands, and the status quo governments in Egypt and abroad be damned. Time for a change. The Tunisia effect. "Tunisia is the solution," one news report quoted a protestor as saying.

Journalist Roger Cohen, in a thoughtful NYT opinion piece, interprets the protests as Arabs finding their voice at last, moving "from a culture of victimization to one of self-empowerment." What a difference this could make in the world. That's why Mubarak should just leave, now, so an interim coalition can take over. Why prolong the struggle and the agony? Make way for hope!

Where will all this lead? Who knows. I've heard lots of concerns, lots of fears. But honestly, for the people of Eqypt, it can't be any worse than 30 years of Mubarek's US-supported dictatorship.

Museums and Tanks

Now and Then

The Egyptian Museum is a national treasure, a journey through 5000 years of history, a vast warehouse of artifacts from ancient times. It's Egypt evocative. The Egypt we dream about.

This is why in the midst of the chaos of protest on Cairo's city streets, citizens formed a human chain around the Museum to prevent looting and damage to the building and its fantastic collections from the tombs of the pharoahs.

Where we stood on the main side of the rose-colored Museum, coming out of our Hostel; where we contemplated the best way to get to the other side of the busy street; where we stood to take photos, now there are tanks. It is such an unreal juxtaposition.

Jud and I consider ourselves lucky to have been there in more tranquil times. But even then, I realized the tranquility was more mirage than reality, more a patina on deep discontent than a reflection of people's true state of mind.

Ideas were stirring. I felt it on my tour to the Pyramids and especially to the Valley of the Kings and Queens, and Hasheptut's tomb. Those soft sarcastic voices, the jokes, the feigned laughter, have now become shouts of outrage and protest. The widespread discontent underlying Mubarak's Egypt, a pseudo "stability" that underpins the US's support, at $1.5 billion a year, of a dictator, has erupted into the streets. The genie is out of the bottle. Let's hope someone like ElBaradei will carry the day.

If contemporary Egyptians honor their past, they will protect it, use it as a foundation to build a brighter future for new generations. They will coalesce around an inclusive democratic regime of many voices, find common ground to work toward common goals, whatever their differences. Then the U.S. can put its money where it's principles are, and reverse a foreign policy that has caused widespread hunger, poverty and devastation. Then the need for tanks in the streets of Cairo will also be a thing of the past.

Egypt Unplugged

Egyptians protest in Cairo; a protest in Boston/Cambridge area supports the pro-democracy protests in Egypt and questions American policy (fickr photos, gaelic nielson and others).

I’ve written about Egypt Evocative, Egypt Provcative, Egypt Seductive, and Egypt Unveiled, about the country along the Nile’s awesome antiquity and beauty, but I never thought I’d write about Egypt Unplugged.

Imagine having the power to shut down internet access to a whole country. The government asked all four internet providers to unplug Egypt, and all four complied. That action alone reveals the extent to which Hosni Mubarak’s totalitarian regime will go to stay in power, and the depth of the oppression the people have suffered for so long.

Is it any wonder that protests still rage in Egypt? Is it any wonder America has been forced, by crisis and under pressure, to reconsider its foreign policy? President Obama said that review will include the $1.5 billion we give to Egypt, too. What? We give $1.5 BILLION to Egypt? Why? To line the pockets of the dictator? Certainly the people never see a dime of that money, and we know it. Even a casual tourist can see that.

American foreign policy exposed. We have supported and kept in power an oppressive dictatorship for 30 years. We are complicit in the people’s oppression. It raises a lot of questions, and doubts, about the kinds of regimes we support in the Middle East and around the world. It has echoes of Haiti written all over it.

But look what it took. Only after the Mubarak government shut down the internet in the entire country, an “unprecedented” action the press has called it. Only after the use of excessive force against peaceful protestors, and more than 60 people dead. Only after the president for-life dug in his heels to stay in power. Good heavens. Of course the U.S. has no choice but to review it’s overall policy toward Egypt, and indeed, the entire Middle East and Northern Africa. And where is our Secretary of State in all of this? Where is Hilary?

It’s now evident to a broad public what perhaps the experts have known for a long time: that our foreign policies have been a boiling cauldron of misguided self-interest for too long.

There are broad principles at stake as well, principles we preach to others incessantly: freedom, equal opportunity, equal justice under the law, the right to protest, consent of the governed, the search for common ground in a democracy. It’s hypocritical to preach these principles then undermine them. It’s the kind of inconsistencies in our foreign policy that infuriate the rest of the world and undermine our credibility. I would go so far as to say it’s the kind of foreign policy that encourages terrorism. At least let’s practice what we preach in this ever-shrinking world. Let’s put our money where our principles are. That’s the only way to make the world safe for democracy.
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Time to make a new beginning in Egypt, across the board. That’s the message we’re hearing from Egypt now. And let’s pray it happens sooner rather than later, that more lives are spared, more hope restored.

We pray as well that Nobel laureate Mohammed ElBaradei, the articulate long-time challenger to Mubarak who just returned to Cairo, is safe and can remain a voice of reason and change. Many fear for his life. What a sorry state of affairs the protests are unveiling and revealing.

How lucky I was to visit Egypt before the inevitable turmoil erupted. The people yearn for freedom and opportunity. They want the dictator out. They want real change. I hope the young leaders and visionaries like ElBarade can find common ground for bringing Egypt into the modern world with the same granduer it bequeathed to us from its glorious ancient past.

The Tunisia Effect

Maps of Egypt, Tunisia and Ukraine to right

What do these three countries--Tunisia, Egypt and Ukraine--so different from one another, with such different histories and cultures, have in common?

In all three countries, long-simmering discontent with political intransigence, corruption, persistent unemployment and poverty is erupting into public protest. Other nations with similar long-standing problems are also lining up, on the verge of unrest. Yemen's an example

The human need for self-determination cannot be held down forever. It will break out in time, a tiny spark enough to cause a giant conflagration on top of years of mounting discontent and rage. It's like a volcano that smoulders for years and then finally erupts.

The anti-government protests now rocking Cairo, Egypt, Suez and other cities, echo the protest phenomenon in Tunisia, where the people came together to overthow an oppressive totalitarian regime. The people of Egypt, like the Tunisians, are fed up with the one-man rule that has dominated their country with an iron fist for over 30 years. They are fed up with corruption, lack of basic freedoms, police brutality, and the daily struggle for survival.

Egypt has 80 million people, almost half of whom live below the poverty level. They are finding their voice. They are speaking out. And they are making no bones about it: they are inspired and emboldened by the example of Tunisia.

I wasn’t surprised, because when I was in Egypt at year-end I regularly heard quiet complaints, more in the form of jokes or sarcasm or a feigned resignation, about their “president for life” and his self-promoting monuments throughout the capital city and in other cities along the Nile. The criticsm was muted but persistent. It seemed only a matter of time that people’s discontent would find an outlet. The 10,000 protesters in Tahnir Square, waving Egyptian and Tunisian flags, called for the president's outster and for the formation of a new government.

An AP article by Maggie Michael (1/25/2011) and journalists from Egypt quoted a 24-year-old hotel worker who lives on a salary of $50 a month as saying: “This is the first time I am protesting, but we have been a cowardly nation. We have to finally say no.” Another protestor proclaimed, “We want to see change, just like in Tunisia. ”

"Just like in Tunisia." Something similar I think is happening in Ukraine. Thousands of protesters, for example, turned out in Kyiv's Independence Square to call for changes in the tax codes, which they say favor the rich and hurt small businesses and working people. I heard supporters in Starobelsk cheering them on. They also called for new elections and a new national government.

Protests are erupting in towns and villages, too, in outraged response to local governments adopting Comprehensive City Plans without public input, as called for by law. In Lugansk, protestors urged more transparent, accessible and responsive city governments. This in far-eastern Ukraine, not in the west where it might be expected. The Tunisia Effect.

Revolts against oppression have taken place around the world throughout time. They are often slow in coming. They often reflect decades of unhappiness, simmering rage, pent-up disgust with things as they are.

Today, the communications revolution may be speeding things up. Like in Tunisia, the calls for rallies in Egypt went out on Facebook and Twitter, with 90,000 expressing support. Same thing is happening in Ukraine, where reformers are taking to the internet and social networks to keep people informed and to call for support.

Vovo and Yulia, of the NGO East Lugansk Center for Civil Initiatives, whom I've written about in my blogs about change from the bottom up, are out there leading the actions for honesty and open government. I'm no seer, but I've long sensed the yearning for change in Ukraine, and I've long noted signs of it at the grassroots level.

This is where human agency--the people's will, the people's voice--comes powerfully into play. It is human nature, I think, to struggle against oppression. It is human nature to fight for freedom and self-determination. This doesn’t mean all governments must be alike, or like the US government or any other government. There are many models of political governance. It simply means people want a say in how they are governed. They want opportunity. They want transparency and honesty. They want the chance to shape their own destinies.

The means to the end may vary, but the human need for freedom and autonomy will win out in the long run. Simmering outrage eventually becomes outright protest. If only dictators understood this basic human need they might not dig in their heels and use violence to stay in power. They might bend like willow trees in the face of the inevitable gusts of change that blow across the paths of time.

The human need for freedom, economic opportunity, justice, and self-determination will triumph. It's just a matter of time. The Tunisia effect.

Winter Scenes

Photo collage: General Panfelova dressed for winter; cleared streets and sidewalks, thanks to city plows and street shovelers; the Cultural Center and Ukrainian flag; my favorite book store (книги) in town, right across from the Post Office (пошта).


It's been snowing a lot lately in Starobelsk. We now have at least 2 feet of fresh snow piled up on the ground. With my newfound sense of winter wonder I am enjoying it. It looks like a fairy tale picture right out of an old nostaglic children's book.


The amazing thing is how fast and efficient the town is in getting out the snow plows and clearing the streets. All the main roads are just fine, Lenina, Korykomov, Kyrova and other streets leading in and out of town. The same with the sidewalks: I walked a clear path from the center of town out to the bus station, no problems. All clear. Homeowners, business-owners, and residents are out with shovels, making a clear continuous path. Winter doesn't slow down this town at all. It's normal'no (нормално).


Ukraine can teach many American cities, say Washington, DC, or New York City, for example, a thing or two about snow removal. Fast, efficient, effective. The snow kings and queens of the world. It makes me happy just being able to say that!

Sharing "Starobelsk Memories"

The English Club with the new 2011 calendar, hot off the press. Andrew ran out and bought me a rose, he was so pleased to have one of his very own. We had a great time at the English Club this weekend going over my new 2011 calendar, “Starobelsk Memories/старобельскии избранное.”

This is the calendar idea that was floating around for a while, sat at the Library, and just didn’t fly. So I decided to do it myself, as a memory book of my time in Starobelsk, something to leave behind here and to share with friends in America.

The calendar is a personal journal rather than a tool for promoting a cause, as originally conceived. The Library thought the start-up costs too high and the benefits uncertain. I understand. These ideas can be risky. Maybe the next PCV will run with it. Maybe the Library will think of ways to keep the cost down, the price up, and make a little money for books, computer supplies, and things for the English Club. Maybe another NGO will have uses for it. Or maybe the idea will continue to float.

Meanwhile, I have a bouguet of memories to mark my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Starobelsk, Lugansk Oblast, Ukraine. Turning lemons into lemonade, that's what PCV's are pretty good at!

So what memories does this wonderful town evoke? This was our English Club "question du jour." We went month by month, talking about every photo, the design by Nikos--English Club member, teacher, graphic designer by hobby--and the seasons each encompassed. We talked about what makes a place special, unigue.

It was good English practice, and good fun. And I could see it really helped create a "sense of place," a sense of identity and belonging. I think that's why everyone loved the calendar. It spoke to one and all. Each page meant something special to each member, and also something shared. Their hometown. A sense of place.

How blessed I feel to belong to this particular community of memory, to share a sense of place in Starobelsk, Ukraine. I never imagined it. I will always cherish it. I will always remember.

Sargent Shriver's Spirit Shines

Peace Corps photos and logos. Shriver in Ghana, the first PC post.

I was in college in Massachusetts when the Peace Corps idea was born in 1961 and President John F. Kennedy appointed Sargent Shriver as the first director. I was in graduate school in Madison when Lillian Carter became a PCV in India at age 68. I remember thinking “how neat!” I’d like to do that some day. And so the Peace Corps idea simmered in the back of my mind for many years as I raised a family, did some teaching, made life changes, had different jobs, moved around the country.

By the time I retired, in 2004, the idea came into focus again. It began to take definite shape. I decided it was time to make the dream a reality, and in 2009, after a lengthy application process, I was accepted into the Peace Corps and sent to Ukraine. I turned 70 last year, during my Peace Corps service in Starobelsk. Maybe I'm channeling Lillian Carter!

The road from Peace Corps idea to realty has had many twists and turns but the Peace Corps experience has been transforming. Serving in Ukraine has been an incredible adventure.

In this spirit I remember Sargent Shriver, who died on 11 January 2011 at the age of 95 after a long battle with Alzheimer’s. Shriver was the pioneering director of the Peace Corps, a new government agency with idealistic goals: to share American expertise with other countries; to learn about their needs, cultures and dreams; and to have them learn about America through our service. It began in Ghana: changing lives from the bottom up.

The Peace Corps embodied exuberant hopes for a peaceful world and positive change. It still does.

More than 200,000 PCVs have served in 138 countries since the PC’s founding 50 years ago this year. It remains a noble enterprise, bearing fruit slowly but surely, one volunteer at a time.

President Obama called Shriver “One of the brightest lights of the greatest generation.” What a wonderful tribute! Shriver’s legacy will live on as long as the Peace Corps remains relevant and the volunteers serve in the spirit of Shriver’s dream.

Orthodox Epiphany Holiday: Plunging into the River

Priests and the Holy Father of the Church of the Monestary stand on the river, next to an ice cross sculpture, blessing the waters of the Aydar; people of all ages gather to honor the holiday of Orthodox Epiphany or to take the plunge into the icy river; Olga after her self-baptism.

I went to the river with my friend Olga on 19 January for the annual Orthodox Epiphany holiday called Krishenia (крищение). I had just finished a blog on religion, ironically, when she called to invite me. I asked several people what it was all about and they said vague things about water being blessed by priests and having special curative powers, and people jumping into the river. Through the ice? Yes, through the ice and into the water. There's a special religious holiday for this? I finally figured out, with some help from PCV Stacey, that it is an Orthodox holy day celebrating the baptism of Jesus Christ.

The priests from the Church of the Monestary held a service on the hard iced-over river, standing next to a cross carved out of ice, sparkling white and very beautiful. They blessed the water in a series of colorful rituals, dipped a wooden cross into the river three times, and said a few words about loving one another (Olga translating). It's the only time of year, as far as I know, that the priests comes out of the Monestary and into the community. After blessing the water and proceeding back to the Monestary, just a few blocks away, the priests dipped bouguets of dried basil and other herbs into jugs filled with the river water and sprayed the crowd, blessing them, washing away sins, purifying them. It's like being reborn, a celebration that reminded me of the Easter holiday.

After the service, many brave and hardy souls, Olga among them, took turns plunging into the icy water in a ritual of self-baptism. A hole had been cut through the ice and a ladder secured so people could climb in and out if they preferred this more delicate approach to jumping in. I shivered at the thought of either option. Security police and medics stood by in case of emergencies. I saw many people I knew and they were glad to see the Amerikanka joining in this special holiday. Of course they all joked with me about taking the plunge, ready to help me strip and jump.

PCVs do lots of interesting things but this seemed beyond the call of duty. It was -22 degrees, a normal Ukrainian winter day, bright, sunny and frigid. The weather did not deter the devout. The icicles on homes and buildings and trees along the river glistened in the sun, as dozens of men and women took the plunge. I captured Olga as she got out of the water, her eyes glowing, shimmering crystals on her face, standing in bare feet on the ice, her cloudy breathe the only thing providing some warmth.

I could never do it, I told Olga. She said she had felt that way long ago, but now she is not afraid of the cold water. “I feel better,” she said, “refreshed and energized.” At a time when Olga is worrying about her frail mother's health, rapidly declining; her daughter's need for documentation that she was born in Ukraine but now resides in Russia; and the daily struggle for survival, Olga got a needed boast. The river bathed her soul and renewed her courageous fighting spirit. Epiphany for the people.

Religion in Ukraine

Orthodox churches: St. Nickolas in Starobilsk; a church in Odessa; St. Andrews in Kyiv; stunning interior of Cathedral in Yevpatoria.


Here's a subject from which I've shied away, mostly because I can't figure it out. What religious faiths do Ukrainians follow? I saw a poll last summer that showed the following percentages: Orthodox 77.3; Greek Catholic, 16.5; Protestant, 2.4; Muslim, 0.7; Roman Catholic, 0.5; other 2.8.

But under "Orthodox" there is a split too: Ukrainian Orthodox of the Moscow Patriachy, 41.7% (the current president is a member); Ukrainian Orthodox Church/Kyiv Patriachy,22%; Ukrainian Autocephalous/ Orthodox church, 2.3%; and other, about 23%.

I looked at the poll and put it aside. It re-appeared during one of my periodic house cleanings (well, room cleanings) and I took another look.

Journalist Svitlana Tuchynska gave a brief history in her excellent article "Orthodoxy, autocracy, nationalism" (KyivPost, 23 July 2010). Early Kievan Rus, she notes, was pagan until 988, when Prince Volodymyr converted to Christianity, the Byzantine variety not Roman Catholic, and ordered everyone else to do the same. This church was closely linked to the state. According to history professor Volodymyr Serhiychuk at Kyiv's Taras Shevchenko National University, resistance was so strong that baptisms were forced and sometimes violent. Pagan shrines were burned and pagan priests murdered.

In the 17-18th centuries, the Ukrainian Byzantine church fell under Russian control, and more violence followed. Most of Western Ukraine, however, which was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, remained partly Orthodox and partly Catholic, or Greek Catholic. It still is. Crimea became a Muslim stronghold, while Jews were spread throughout Ukraine, with strong communities in most large cities and towns until they were wiped out by purges and the holocaust during World War II.

After the Bolshevik revolution in 1917 communism became the new religion and atheism spread. In the 1920s and 30s, according to Tuchynska, most churches were destroyed or turned into storehouses, military arsenals, or other secular uses, and many priests were murdered. Today, in post-Soviet Ukraine, Tuchynska thinks religion is again a political football. More people attend a church, and many churches are being restored, but secularism among everyday Ukrainians predominates.

According to Anatoliy Kolodny, a professor of religion in Kiev, President Yanukovitch, like his predecessor, uses religion to further his own political agenda (Tuchynska, KyivPost). Yanukovich is closely tied to the Moscow Patriarchy, a church with "a history of subservience to Kremlin leaders." Kolodniy thinks "Religion is again being used for politics as a tool of strengthening the power of the state....Let's also not forget, Orthodoxy is a huge business."

Orthodoxy is a huge business? What does this mean? I know most churches do a brisk business in books, crosses, candles, icons, and souvenirs, and I’ve contributed to the enterprises. This would be another interesting topic to explore further, or a good dissertation topic.

For now, the only thing I can say with certainty is that there are a lot of stunning churches all over Ukraine, most Orthodox. Some are quaint, but most are massive, monumental, with golden or brightly painted domes and fantastic gilded interiors that take your breath away.

As massive and opulent as these churches are, I find it interesting that they do not have pews or places to sit. Instead people wander from icon to icon, lighting candles and saying prayers. There are seldom sermons or services, seldom music, no choirs or organs, so I wonder what kind of community these churches foster.

Priests seem to perform certain rituals, at Easter say, or marriages, and on Krishenia, but they don’t seem to do anything else we associate with a pastorate. As far as I know, these churches are not noted for helping the poor or doing charitable work, unlike religious institutions of all faiths in America from their inception. Is this a byproduct of Soviet times? I am not sure. Maybe I'm missing the more subtle spirituality and social aspects of these grand churches.

Religion, like everything else in Ukrainian society, is in transition, its past complex, its present as uncertain as its future.

For Richer, for Poorer

I just discovered this UN project against poverty (http://www.endpoverty2015.org/en/about, for more information). Below, November protest in Kyiv's Independence Square against new draft tax laws, which protect the richest and will hurt small businesses especially (flick photo by Stelih).

While Ukraine’s economy continues to tank, the rich are growing richer and the poor poorer. The gap is as bad as it gets here, where the 50 richest “robber barons,” to use a quaint late-19th century phrase, overpower the rest of the country’s 46 million people, about one-third of whom are economically destitute, with a combined networth of $67 billion or almost half of the nation’s gross domestic product (KyivPost, 26 November and 17 December). Good lord.

A recent State Statistics Committee says 16 million Ukrainians live below the poverty level, which in Ukraine is $115/month (or 907 HGR). Pensioners get $91-$100 per month at retirement. It’s impossible to live on these amounts. Impossible. In a recent experiment by the KyivPost five people tried living on the minimum wage for one month; only one lasted, barely. They could not do it. “It’s not even enough to buy food, let alone pay bills. Meat and medicine are luxuries." They suffered from constant hunger, weakened immune systems, illness, social isolation and, yes, anger. Rising anger. That’s when four called it quits.

In order to afford a healthy diet, just the basics, people need at least 2000 HGR a month, according to a Trade Union report (Kyivpost, 26 November). Current wages and pensions couldn’t be farther from that amount. How long can this go on?

At the other end of the spectrum are the 50 richest Ukrainians, a list led by industrial titan Rinat Akhmetov. He’s the richest of the rich. (“Rich man in a poor country,” Kyiv Post, 17 December 2010). Although they were affected by the global economic downturn, the richest Ukrainians held onto to their wealth, and their power. The richest list “is dominated by lawmakers or people with strong ties to government.”
“In elite cartel countries such as Ukraine, top political and business figures collude behind a façade of political competition but in reality they colonize both the state apparatus and major sections of the economy,” a USAID report concluded in 2006. The KyivPost says this still holds true today. Almost half of the richest top 50, it notes, are either in government or they are elected officials, and 12 are members of Parliament, including Rinat Akhmetov. It’s not surprising that they are close friends with President Yanukovich, all in the same ruling Party of Regions.

It’s not a good thing obviously, especially since many of these fortunes came from acquiring Soviet assets rather than creating new wealth, according to the KyivPost. The vast wealth from metals, mining, transportation, and energy are examples. A few of the 50 richest Ukrainians are in the agri-business sector, which is growing. Maybe this is a good sign, but it doesn’t change the larger picture.

The way this oligarghy functions does more harm than good for Ukraine’s economy, according to many analysts. Not only does it discourage new foreign investments, which are desperately needed, in fact key to economic revival, but also “it creates obstacles for real economic growth and integration with the world economy.”
Friends in Starobelsk are pretty much saying the same thing. The economy is getting worse every day. “The rich have everything, the rest of us barely make it,” Olga, a pensioner, lamented. Business is bad; unemployment is bad; prices for everything, the basic necessities of life, are up, way up; wages are down or non-existent; local governments are bankrupt and, worst of all, more and more people are living in poverty, an alarming increase that bodes ill for this community, and for every community across Ukraine.

I’m considered an optimist around here, but nowadays even I wonder what will happen. Protests are growing. People are calling for new elections and changes in the tax codes, which favor the rich and hurt small businesses and working people. People are desperate.

Where will this all lead? Andrey Kurkov, a Ukrainian writer, says in a BBC report “the main question is whether economic hardship will further dampen Ukrainians’ interest in politics or spark popular protests. The latter is more likely.” I hope he’s right. There are signs on the horizon, protest signs among them, that may turn the tide.

A Man for All Seasons

I can understand now why Loren always said he wanted to move “back home.” By that he meant back home to Rochester, NY, where he was born. We always pooh-poohed the idea, but he was adamant. He loved the Rochester area, it’s beauty and rich historical legacy. Also he was a four-seasons man. He was a man for all seasons. Going “back home” meant not only Rochester, but I think also anywhere with four seasons. He loved summer, fall, winter and spring. He embraced all seasons equally. He hiked all seasons. He hiked all paths.

Now it is winter. I got to a point where I really didn’t like this long, cold season. I welcomed a more temperate climate in Washington, DC, where daffodils push through the ground at the end of February. We had our winters, often lots of snow, but they were short. Florida outshined even DC. I grew to love the warmth and especially the winter months in southcentral Florida on the Gulf Coast. I didn’t miss winter at all. No snow, no ice, no shoveling, flowers all year round.

But Loren did. He missed winter, and since becoming reacquainted with it during my time in Ukraine, I can see why.

Not that he didn’t love Florida, too. He did, wholeheartedly, in the glorious way he had. He loved Florida’s flora and fauna, it’s rivers and streams, it’s forests and farmland, its orange groves and strawberry patches. He loved hiking its trails. Wholeheartedly. That was Loren.

Whenever he came to visit me in St. Pete from Tallahassee he’d make stops at local, state and national parks along the way to explore them, to bird watch, to listen to nature’s sounds. He did this wherever he traveled. For me it was always getting to the destination. For Loren, it was the process along the way, it was the journey. While it took me 5 hours to get to and from Tallahassee, it took Loren all day. It was his way. He immersed himself in the environment he loved, that gave him so much satisfaction and joy.

So Loren missed the turning of nature from one season to the next, the natural order of the universe, the journey of time. We’d tell him it was silly to think of going ‘back home." I’d jokingly tell him “you can’t go home again,” as many novelists and philosophers have written. But he insisted, and more so as he gained more understanding of and confidence in himself, in his own thoughts and ideas. He grew impatient with all the advise Andy and I had for him. He staked out his own ground, and held firm, sometimes just for the sake of holding firm, we felt, but now I see he needed to do that. He needed to assert his unique identity, to make himself heard, to be taken seriously, to put his overbearing sisters in our places. I’m so glad he did. I wish I could tell him so.

I have a feeling this is a human condition: this tendency to not fully appreciate someone until after they are gone. It’s a tendency, I’ll call it that for now, to let daily life get in the way of more meaningful exchanges, deeper relationships. I wish I had talked more to my Italian-born grandparents, for example, asked more questions, shown more interest, learned their stories. I wish I had listened more to my mom and dad, taken their advise, been more appreciative when I was growing up, been less arrogant in my ego defenses and my own inner uncertainties.

Maybe some people can do that, go through all the developmental stages from youth to adulthood with open minds and hearts. I am a slow learner. I have regrets. I sometimes feel guilty about it, about the mistakes I’ve made, about my inability to get out of myself and really take in what others say and do and think. Without defenses, without judgment, without opinions that need to be expressed, without screening. I didn't know myself enough to be able to be in the now with others, fully present and open.

Loren was my mentor in this, but I thought I was his. It was the other way around. I was too arrogant, too self-absorbed, too immature to know it. I could have listened better while he was alive. I could have put aside my habitual responses and just opened up to him. When I did that, and sometimes I could do it, I saw Loren’s brilliance, uniqueness and beauty. I saw the world from his perspective. I saw his soul.

It keeps me going, because my brother knew it when I was present with him, and he opened up, like a flower. It’s why we were soulmates. It’s why he put up with me. He knew I had a better side, and I knew he had a kind of wholeness that was sacred. My dearest brother, a man for all seasons.

Back from Egypt: Sledding down Panfelova

Nothing like snow, frost and ice to bring you back to reality! After sunny and warm Egypt, wintry Ukraine has almost covered those golden images of ancient pyramids and temples in a dusty white.

I called Luba as soon as I got back from Egypt to let her know I was in Starobelsk. She was glad and invited me for lunch on Sunday. It’s a big holiday weekend in Ukraine. It was a clear day, and the trees and bushes, roofs and housetops, sidewalks and roads were covered in snow. Very pretty. A mixture of snow and sand over the ice made walking okay (in my trusty yaktraks), as I strolled up Lenina, through the University, and over to Panfelova. What a pleasure. I thought to myself that I would miss this walk, and that Ukraine had taught me to enjoy winter again.

I had lots of gifts for Luba, which she loved and added to the desk in my former room with other gifts and photos I have given her or made for her. It almost looks like a little shrine. It touched me deeply, and I secretly wiped away a tear while Luba fussed with the gifts.

Ira, Luba’s stalwart friend and wife of her boss Nickolai, was there, and Nikita, Luba’s 13-year-old grandson. That’s the sad part of the story of Luba’s son Sergei, leaving behind his son who longs to be with his father. It pains Luba too, the pain etched in her face. Whatever the details, it seems, Ira whispered to me, that Sergei will be in jail for a long time. A tragedy for everyone.

And yet this lunch with Luba, like so many others, was full of fun and laughter. Luba is a great cook and she filled me up with her borsch, which she knows I love. We toasted to a new year, to a short winter and early spring, to good health and glad tidings. Для вас. Для нас. для хорошего здоровья и удачи.

When it was time to go, Luba, Ira and Nikita all put on their coats to accompany me up Panfelova, so I thought. Luba, however, had something else in mind. She grabbed her trusty duster, went to the shed, and came out with a sled, and a big smile on her face. ‘We’re going sledding,” she announced, and led the charge. So like Luba. I demurred but Luba would have none of it. We took turns on the sled, pulling the sled, pushing the sled, and generally having the time of our lives. We laughed and laughed, fell, got up, tried again, laughed some more. Luba was at her best, full of a zest for life. A moment of forgetfulness and joy. I was happy to see her happy. Sledding on Panfelova: it was so good for Luba, good for all of us, good for the soul.

Egypt Unveiled: From Cairo to Luxor

Scenes from train windows, Cairo to Luxor, along the Nile. 

We were up at 6:00 am to catch the 8:00 am train from Cairo to Luxor. We chose a day train because we wanted to see the Egyptian countryside. We wanted to see Egypt unveiled. And we did.

The train station is behind a lot of rubble, I think because it's under construction. Lots of things are hidden from Western eyes, like the veiled women in burkas. We stood bewildered, bogged down by baggage and void of our morning coffee fix. Fortunately an elderly man offered to help carry our luggage and get us to the station. There was no path but the one he made. It was good enough. We tipped him 5 pounds and agreed that it was the most worthwhile tip we'd given so far. Sometimes Egypt provocative is just what we needed!

We met a lovely couple as we boarded the train, Leo, from Austria, and Lucia, from Melbourne, Australia. They were a 50ish couple who had known each other 25 years ago, met up again in Cairo, and are on their way to Ethiopia. How wonderful is that?! We chatted off and on during the train ride. I hope I hear from them again. We also met some friendly English-speaking travelers who were curious and helpful. One woman asked where we were going and when we said Luxor she told us how beautiful it is. "You should go to Aswan, too," she said. "We're thinking of a day-trip," Jud said. "You should make it a 2-day trip!" Ah boy, we don't have enough time to do all we'd like to do.

The train was clean and comfortable; a waiter or steward came through our first class car from time to time offering tea and coffee and biscuits. The whistle, however, never stopped blowing, so if sleep came it was interrupted by the constant announcement of the train going through one Nile river town after another. I caught a name every once in a while, first in Arabic, which is such a beautiful script, and then in English. A darkening sky and gray haze followed us for several hours from a small town called Matti to another larger city called Assuit. And then the heavens opened up and the rain fell.

People on donkeys, which are still the predominant beasts of burden and main source of transport in rural Egypt it seems, rushed hither and thither. A man stood with his hands outstretched, as if welcoming the rain. At one point it hailed, large stones almost the size of golf balls, falling hard on the dry ground. How odd to see hail, or rain for that matter, in the desert! At one point it rained so hard water came pouring through my window and I had to move.

We were rewarded with a beautiful rainbow in the Eastern sky as the rain subsided and the sun set. It seemed to start in Cairo and end in Luxor, the end of the rainbow! The eastern landscape glowed in stunning golden light. Oh how I tried to capture the magic, but rain-streaked windows on the moving train made it difficult!

From the windows of a train, the Cairo countryside along the river and canals looks very green and pretty, miles of fertile fields, of what I'm not sure. Fields of wild grasses, some corn, alfalfa, other vegetables, herbs maybe, some sugarcane. The means of farming looks pretty traditional, sythe and sickle, but the irrigation systems, canals and ditches carrying water from the river to fields seem to be effective. We learned only later that some of the canals are polluted and we were warned not to put even a finger in the water. Except for the donkeys and minarets, the Egyptian countryside looks a lot like Florida, with many varieties of palm trees.

After being in the bustling and chaotic city of Cairo, the rural scenes seem calm and serene. The palms compete with the minarets in reaching for the sky, lovely pastoral scenes in pastel.

Stacks of hay are bundled into humps with stalks reaching out from them, making them look like camels sitting in the desert.

And yet poverty is evident too. People live in stick huts, dank hovels and crumbling buildings along the canals and the railroad tracks. Donkeys, cows, goats, and chickens run around muddy yards. There's little to no protection against the elements, or the harsh sun. Nothing in the way of material possessions, which seems ridiculous even to note. Material possessions? For people living in huts, tents and stick structures with only a few palm fronds for a roof? It's survival.

Still, women did laundry and hung it out to dry on posts and falling fences. Boys kicked a soccer ball around a muddy field. Young children in ramshackle buildings next to the train tracks smiled broadly and waved as the train passed, so close to windows without glass that I could almost touch them.

Sometlmes Jud's side of the train had the prettier views, while mine filled with the gray-brown of poverty and slum dwellings. Sometimes I had brilliant green fields on my side, with swaying palms, while Jud had row upon row of brown brick dwellings surrounded by brown dirt paths and fields.

You have to look out of both sides of the train to get the whole picture, to process all the images, the conflicting views and visions, the beautiful and the ugly, the rich cultural overlays and the gray-brown underbelly.

On the train from Cairo to Luxor I could see both sides of Egypt.

The train was almost three hours late and we arrived in Luxor in the dark, the lights of the city shining brightly after the unusual rainstorm. We found that out later: how rare the rain and how welcome, no matter the damage it may have caused or the activities it slowed down. Rain in the desert is a gift, like the huge clear rainbow we saw over the landscape of Egypt, a sign of good luck I thought.

The train ride from Cairo to Luxor shows daily life over the patina of antiquity. It’s Egypt in the now, an unfolding panorama of rural and urban landscapes, grace and poverty, green and brown, palms and minarets reaching for the sky, people going about their business, farming, buying and selling, seeking tips and advantages wherever they can, heeding the Call to Prayer, heeding the call to survival and daily life. It's Egypt unveiled.

Eqypt Seductive: Our Whimsical Hostels

For me, staying at funky hostels or B&Bs is always a fun part of any travel adventure. Jud and I tried one night at a more upscale place in Luxor, which had a beautiful view of the hills, all lit up, and the river. We decided it wasn't for us! For one-quarter of the price we could stay at a unique, modish, idiosyncratic hostel that was more our type, and usually more interesting. So the next morning we got situated at The New Everest Hostel.

There were some glitches, but they soon got straightened out. People who stay at hostels are friendly, from all over the world, the staff is helpful, the places are clean and tidy. We usually run into Peace Corps Volunteers, as we did in Cairo. And Jud is good at checking the hostels out online at Trip Advisor and www.hostelworld.com. This is a wise thing to do, and these internet sites are reliable. The hostels usually give recommendations and make arrangements for tours, restaurants, and things to do. It's a good thing to make sure your tour guide speaks English, which we learned from experience on our way to the Pyramids at Gize. Check Jud's blog for more advice!

The top photos are of the rooftop cafe at the New Everest Hostel in Luxor, where we had a hearty breakfast of eggs, rolls and coffee every morning. Mohammed, our young cook, made me feel special and I have a soft spot in my heart for him. He is from a poor rural family, trying to make it in the big city. May God go with him. It was also nice to listen to the music of Bob Marley, a favorite of our hosts at New Everest. The collage shows the location and the lobby, decked out in New Year's holiday finery. It is on an alley off of an alley, the real city. Once inside it is clean and cozy, and its smack in the middle between the Train Station and the Luxor Temple. Can't beat the location.

Our Cairo Hostel, Egyptian Nights, was also off an alley. We could see the Egyptian Museum across the street out of our window, a beautiful sight, day and night. It is also near the heart of downtown. The building seems in bad shape at first sight, but on second and third look you can see the beauty, in the entrance way, the high ceilings, the large doors and windows. It's not for everyone, but it was fine for Jud and me. Very clean, with a staff that wanted to please. And wi-fi, which was great.

Egyptian Nights. The name alone evokes dreamy images of the golden, magical and sometimes mysterious Egyptian past. Sergey Prokofiev's "Egyptian Nights" suite came to mind, and the hundreds of films set in Egypt, from Cleopatra movies to Mummy movies, Agatha Christie and James Bond movies, Death on the Nile and The Valley of the Kings. A swirl of images and sounds, like the poster in the photo collage (right). Now I want to listen to all the music and see all the movies inspired by and set in the Egyptian landscape.

Egypt seductive!

Egypt Provocative

These 3 little girls wrangled 20 pounds out of me for soda and chips (but they were so cute!). Women traditional and modern. The Alabaster factory and shop: hard to resist, right? A Brazilian woman from our Valley of the Kings and
Queens tour group with young Egyptian women at Queen Hatshepsut's temple.

The architecture of ancient Egypt evokes powerful images of a gilded past. We see

fantastic, almost surreal, monuments to Kings and nobles. We see craftsmanship and

exquisite beauty. We learn how ancient Egyptians viewed themselves and the world,

all in beautifully graphic ways. As one scholar said of the ancients, “They thought graphically,” in images and pictures, not intellectually, not in words. I'm no expert, but the art of tombs, temples and pyramids support this view.

Contemporary Egypt is something else. It is more provocative than evocative; mostly in the hustle and bustle of daily life. From art for the dead, to the art of the deal, Egypt has come a long way!

Egypt is a Moslem country with a mixture of Islamic conservatism and modern practices. Terrorist threats are also an unfortunate reality, reflected for example in the recent threats and attacks on Coptics, Egyptian Christians. A recent suicide bombing killed 21 Christians, I believe at a church service. Jud and I passed a large Coptic demonstration on our last evening in Cairo, with the police out in force. It’s a sad commentary on lack of tolerance, although educated and thoughtful Egyptians bemoan the trend. I also do not understand the role of women, but it seems patriarchy rules. Some women are totally covered in burkas, head to toe, some with only a tiny slit for their eyes, a vision that seems mysterious and eerie to me. Many cover their heads only, including young teenage girls. Others dress in jeans and tee shirts, contemporary and upbeat, some with and some without head scarfs. It is, moreover, customary to have many wives, and thus many children, and to treat wives without much regard for their person. Why do women accept this? Aladdin, our guide through the Valley of the Kings, expressed concern about this and the resultant over-population. "It's big problem," he said. Again, more modern practices are emerging, driven by water shortages and related problems, the influence of the internet and the global economy, and the press of modernity, but the mixture of old and new and evolving is provocative.

Architecture for the dead. Artifice for the living. This is a central contradiction or dichotomy of Egyptian life. No matter where one goes, but especially in large cities like Cairo, there are scam artists, hustlers, and vendors waiting to make a deal, to up the ante, to get as much tourist money as they can for everything from magnets to papyrus to perfume and trinkets. I found it difficult. I am one of those “soft” tourists, as Steve Ricks calls us, who is not good at negotiating deals on every little thing. We stick out like sore thumbs and draw vendors like magnets! Most distressing are the hustlers, those who accompany you on the streets as you are walking along admiring the scenery. Charming and articulate, they befriend you, gain your confidence, say things like “don’t worry, I’m not after your money,” and then take you to a family or friend’s business. I ended up at three perfume shops in this way. The first turned out to be rather pleasant, but the perfume is so watered down that it hardly has a scent now. The second one made me mad, and you would have thought by the third time I would have been wiser. Jud was. He saw through the scam immediately and continued on to the museum, while I was seduced and sidetracked by a hustler who told me about an art gallery right up the street. HAH! Turned out to be a friend’s perfume shop. Then the perfume vendor couldn’t understand why I wasn’t a happy camper. Smile, he said. Don’t worry, be happy. Full of cheer, he continued selling me perfume all the while, aggressive, persistent, insistent, relentless.

Same thing happened when Aladdin made one tourist stop at an Alabaster shop. He said it was to learn how alabaster is mined and shaped into beautiful vases and other objects. And there was a little demonstration of this, before being led into a huge warehouse of a store where we were to buy some of the products. The lead vender stopped me along the way several times to pry me with objects, and at one point even asked for “baksheesh,” a tip. Such encounters always left me flummoxed and feeling bad. Just ignore all vendors, advised Kundar and James, the professors at the American University in Afghanistan, and yell at them if they don’t stop. It’s okay to yell at them? Well, sure, you must say no very firmly.

So it’s in our hands, the tourist’s hands, to resist such efforts, to say no. The vendor’s job, the hustler’s job, is to trick us into buying, in whatever way they can. I’m not sure how to explain this, but it is always a “no-win” situation for the tourist! Vendors and hustlers do not take “no” for an answer. Some will even chase you down the street, yelling every trick in the book about the deal they have for you. Young kids learn it from their elders, by the way, and are also very adept at this art. This is the side of Egypt that makes it a challenge, and I must admit by the end of our stay in Cairo I felt comfortable enjoying tea in our hostel! On the other hand, if you are wise and firm, you can avoid being entrapped, misled, and otherwise taken advantage of for the sake of a few pounds. And there is so much history and astonishing art and beauty and adventure just being in this ancient land.

This is Egypt provocative.

Egypt Evocative: Art and Architecture for the Dead

Couldn't take photos at Valley of Kings, but here are some of the incredible

Queen Hatshepsut's temple and tomb, on Luxor's west bank. Just amazing.






I'm back in Starobelsk via a few days in Kyiv with lots of Peace Corps stuff, mid-term medical exams, trying to close grants (unsuccessfully because I didn’t have the right receipts and have to go back and get them), and then the long overnight train ride to Lugansk, and the two-hour bus ride through the snow and ice of eastern Ukraine. I'm unpacking and getting organized, and I welcome a rest, but Egypt is on my mind.

It’s the Nile River calling, for tourists almost like the Call to Prayer, almost like it called the Pharoahs from about the 18th to 11th centuries BC.

Today, the Nile River valley is a huge amazing archeological site, one of the largest in the world (it’s a World Heritage Site) and this is what fascinates and dazzles. It includes, among many others, the Valley of the Queens; Queen Hatshepsut’s tomb, carved dramatically into a limestone hillside; and the larger and renowned Valley of the Kings, the pharoahs’ burial sites, all on the West bank of Luxor. Digs are still going on and new tombs are still being unearthed. It's a never-ending archaeological feast.

The sun rises in the East: LIFE. The sun sets in the West: DEATH. So the pharaohs built their tombs in the setting sun, “the Necropolis of Thebes," now called Luxor. Mind-boggling art and architecture for the dead.

I toured these sites with an informative and funny guide, Aladdin (another Aladdin), along with his excellent driver Mohammed, and 14 other people. We were from all over the world: Japan, Australia, Brazil, Germany, Belgium, England and America. Among them was a former Peace Corps Volunteer, James Hunt, who served in Kazakhstan several years ago, and his wife Kundar, a former Muskie fellow who studied at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. Small world, especially since I just finished reading 54 Ukrainian applications for the Muskie Program, and discovered how many talented people apply and how extraordinary it is to be accepted. They both now teach at the American University in Afghanistan, something else I’d like to learn more about. Imagine, we are fighting a war there, and James and Kundar are teaching at the university as if nothing extraordinary is going on around them.

So here we were in the desert on the west bank of Luxor, new friends and strangers from around the world. We stood together in the rising sun, surrounded by the undulating brown hills of the Valley that holds so much history, so many legends from the Old and Middle Kingdoms, united in our amazement at the fantastic findings that the royal tombs reveal, some 63 of them, all built, sometimes buried, deep underground, some 30 or more meters under the sand. Archaeologists must have had a field day discovering these tombs, and still do! The tombs range from small to very large with over 100 chambers. Some have been raided beyond recognition, and some are nearly in tact, decorated with scenes from Egyptian mythology that tell stories in elaborate details that are works of art. Egypt evocative.

We weren’t in search of a magic lantern with Aladdin, but he showed us the power of ancient funeral arts in the elaborate designs, paintings, bas reliefs and carvings of the entrances, corridors, columns, walls and ceilings of the tombs of Ramses I, II, VI, and IX. We asked about King Tut's tomb (probably the most famous), but Aladdin said there wasn't much to see because all the furnishings and art were at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, and in other museums around the world. After seeing the Egyptian Museum I could understand that, not to mention all the Egyptian artifacts, mummies, papyrus, gold and silver items, jewelry, and art in just about every museum I've ever visited, including gems like the Rosetta stone in the British Museum in London. Egyptian obelisks adorn the world too, like the twin of the Luxor temple obelisk that is in Paris, or "Cleopatra's Needle" in Central Park in New York City, now the cause of concern for Egypt's Director of Antiquities (NYT, 7 January), who threatens to bring it home to preserve and care for it.

Also, the west bank "Necropolis" is so huge that it's impossible to see all the royal tombs in a day. It's a lot of walking in the hot sun from one tomb to another. We just scratched the surface.

Aladdin took us to four of the best, all awesome in their own way. The tomb of Ramses VI was especially beautiful, because it's almost fully restored to its original splendor. The gloriously painted walls and ceilings graphically tell the story of creation and death, of sunrise and sunset, in bold blue and gold with many images and hieroglyphics, packed with exquisite paintings, carvings and artisanal flourishes. Cameras are not allowed in the tombs, not even on the grounds, but I have vivid mental images that will last a lifetime.

We could take photos of Queen Hatshepsut's grand tomb and temple, however, and for me this was among the most impressive sites of all in the Valley of the Kings and Queens. Queen Hatshepsut is considered the most powerful of the queens who ruled Egypt. More an arts patron than a warrior, Hatshepsut, who dressed like a man, had her architect built the most expansive structure imaginable, an incredible work of art, for herself and for her father, Thutmose I. It is set in a limestone hillside, built on 3 floors, a sweeping set of stairs leading up to the temple, the ochre color rocks fanning out behind it, the carvings and reliefs bountiful, clear and colorful on walls and columns, statues and obelisks, astonishing detail, a story in pictures, graphic, haunting. Hatshepsut's temple and tomb are all that's left of her legacy, which was wiped out, intentionally it seems, after her death, and replaced with other stories. For a while, Hatshepsut's temple even became a Christian church, which some scholars think protected it from destruction. It remains one of the most glorious structures of ancient Egypt, truly a wonder to behold, an architectural feast, an archaeologist's dream.

Discoveries continue in the Valley, with a recent dig in 2008 being worked on now, and more on the way. There’s an underside to these fantastic finds: in one small village an enormous new site has been discovered and the government is forcing people to move out, without any compensation whatsoever, so archaeological work can begin. Some residents are holding out, but Aladdin thinks it's a losing battle. He was sad about it. Perhaps if people were paid for the cost of their homes, the situation might be better, he suggested. We understood, and sympathized. Aladdin pointed out a dramatic yellow house against the desert sky, informing us that a photo of this very house had served as the cover of the 2008 Lonely Planet Guide to Egypt. It now stands empty, it's inhabitants forced to leave, a forlorn presence in the Valley of the Kings and Queens.

Egypt evocative. Evocative of hopes for eternity and warriors' triumphs, mythology and reality, culture and craftsmanship, awesome architecture rivaling anything that came after, and the complexities of archaeological discoveries and people's daily lives. It's all part of the complex mosaic that is ancient and modern Egypt.